The Vapid Voice

Leave Us Fans Alone!

2009-09-09T14:19:00.004-05:00

Recently at the U.S. Open, an ardent fan of Rafael Nadal ran onto the court to show his affection. He simply said "I love you!" and wanted to give the tennis star a hug. Nadal, upon seeing the man, actual wanted to reciprocate, saying "No, it's ok!" to the overzealous security gendarmes as they brutally carried the fan away. Now, ESPN has been commenting about this horrible breach of security, and that the players need more protection from the despicable hordes that are sports fans. Subsequent interviews with the tournament's head of security mentioned that former "terrorism exports" have been hired to the security force, monitoring the environment at the event. When did tennis fans become terrorists? I am fine with the idea of searching everyone that enters the facility, using metal detectors if necessary. Nobody wants bombs being detonated or guns being fired from a typically soulless member of an extremist religious group. I also understand that the memories of Monica Seles being stabbed on the court still linger in many minds. But for crying out loud, sports pundits and officials, quit talking about fans as thugs and hoodlums. This is the United States, not Brazil or some similarly soccer crazed country where fans attack referees on a daily basis.

Tennis fans, like spectators of golf tournaments, have an unspoken appreciation for giving the competitors their space, and they are not to be lumped into the crowds that drunkenly fight each other at hockey games. If a sport like tennis wants more followers, it needs to respect the fans, and understand that they are generally an appreciative, safe group. I'll call "foul" on Mike Tirico for citing how "dangerous" the environment can be for professional basketball players at a game, because so many people are "right on top of the court". Tirico might want to think about the fact that more basketball players have attacked fans in recent years than vice versa. If anything, we should be protected from the players, because they are often more prominent thugs than the struggling blue collar workers paying their despicable salaries.

There was a time, perhaps only about 25 years ago, when upon winning a championship, the fans swarmed the court/field in adoration of their beloved athletes. Nobody was tackled, arrested, or bulldogged to the ground. People could hug their heroes, and if too amorous, the heroes could shove them away. Sporting events did not have hundreds of "secret service" agents suspiciously roving the boundary of the court or field. Several days ago, I was with my friend at a White Sox game, and seated two rows behind the visitor's dugout. She constantly tried to take a picture of Red Sox pitcher Josh Beckett, and never had the chance, because an overweight, sausage-snarfing hog of a "security man", pretending to be protecting the President, constantly blocked her vantage, taking his "post" on the field while the pitcher warmed up between innings. Half the game was spent trying to see around this bloated dessert guzzler with a cheesecake job of standing in everyone's way. Dude, it's the goddamn 5th inning. Nobody's running on the field to attack Beckett. Sit your seven asses down on the bench and attack your twelfth Twinkie, Mr. Arbuckle.

The respect for fans is just not there anymore. People are assumed to be thugs, and for all events, they may as well just not allow any attendees, but rather have everyone watch the events on a big screen outside the venue. Just build more walls and disenfranchise the already financially strapped sporting audience, without whom the sport would fizzle. If organizers want to embrace a military mentality toward the fans of their respective sport, good luck to them, as respect goes in both directions.

As for the poor fellow that simply wanted to say "I love you" to Rafael Nadal, he was tackled, brutally taken away, and arrested. The man wasn't interfering with the competition, as the match had long since ended. He was simply trying to break down that wall that tournament organizers had erected between fans and players. It's a shame that this attempt to show love to a great player has been classified as a nefarious incident, rather than a heart warming moment that even Nadal enjoyed.

Summer Vs Economy

2009-07-27T02:27:00.003-05:00

At last, the summer has finally come upon us, and from a personal point of view, it's been a long, cold, winter. Thankfully, I spent most of that winter indoors and was spared much of the aggravation of "driving" (meaning "skidding") along never-salted, under-plowed streets. I can understand the pagan appreciation for the official summer solstice up here on the top half of the third rock. For starters, it's the longest day of the year, and ideologically furthest away from the December darkness that loomed over our afternoon commutes. Most people would readily agree that afternoon darkness is possibly the most depressing, situationally morose aspect of the season of the forgotten sun. Ah, the sun! That bipolar sun, like an alcoholic spouse who rudely left us last night, is back with flowers and apologies. We always welcome back the contrite sun every spring, forgive its drunken abandonment from the wintry night, and forget how crudely it ignored our once thriving flora and fauna. We are free to roam the streets, released from our imprisonment of winter, and seek out all the outdoor festivals and activities otherwise denied us by wind chills and frosty atmospheric intimidation.

Martha and the Vandellas once sang "Summer's here, the time is right for dancing in the streets". Normally, that would be true. In densely populated areas like Chicago, street festivals, music festivals, outdoor concerts, beaches and baseball games bring us the smell of grilled food, the incomparable sound of outdoor music, and the sight of scantily clad masses, both good and bad, prancing about with a vivaciousness rarely seen in January. With the economy failing in every physical and industrial corner of the land, people haven't been turning out in droves as with before. Baseball parks are not filled to capacity, street festivals are not as festive, and even golf courses have vacancies unseen since the 1970s. Baseball owners and teams have been long overdue for a reality check, as their ticket and merchandising prices have been ridiculous for years. The Chicago Cubs organization has lazily assumed that Wrigley Field would be filled to capacity for every game, every season. Not to be the case. A mediocre team and a stagnant economy has produced empty seats at Wrigley Field this season, and that's just fine. Perhaps, finally, ticket prices will become reasonable again, and the majority of its fan base, the working class family, will be able to afford a game. Street festivals, because of local business support, are still showing their jewels, sometimes literally. I have noticed, however, that local festivals have morbidly toned down advertising and promotion, likely depending on return attendees from years past. As for the golf courses, screw 'em. I was a competitive golfer throughout the 1980s and 1990s until the fees grew well beyond my means. I could no longer take the game seriously if I could only afford to play a course once every three weeks. In the early 90s, with a relatively modest salary, I was able to play three times a week. The game had an explosion in popularity, supposedly due to that overblown phenom named Tiger Woods, and courses were constantly filled to capacity. With that excessive demand, course owners could raise their rates at whim, and now that demand has ebbed. Perhaps, like trips to Wrigley Field, rounds of golf will become more affordable and accessible as a result of this economic reality check. This is the first summer in a long time for such seasonal institutions to face a harsh economy, and hopefully those institutions, like the housing market, will come back to earth.

As I've previously recounted, I went "back to the garden" in a sense, by eschewing the bar scene from glory days past, and to simply become the local suburban gentleman farmer, embracing his .000000001 acres of tillable land. Thankfully, it's been a pleasantly uncomplicated summer, which is one I sought, after many summers of complexity and histrionics. Sometimes, a walk around the block and a quick back yard check of the "crops" are enough to gratify my internal need to be out and about. Perhaps my advancing age and commensurate dwindling energy level keeps me from journeying far beyond the bounds of my personal premises, but for the moment, roughly 36 days into meteorological summer, I've been fine with that. It's financially more feasible to simply stay back at home base and find alternate means of entertainment, rather than dropping fifty clams on a night at some avaricious "eating and drinking establishment" that potentially might provide a night of nothing other than warm beer, mendacious philanderers, and disenchanted collegiate misanthropes. As such, I've previously stated my advocacy of back yard barbecues; some I've hosted, others I've visited. With simple barbecues, I'm with friends, it's usually a controlled environment, and the cost is always less. Going to a bar, I'm overextending myself financially by purchasing five dollar pints of oat soda for the privilege of watching bad sports on big screen television screens, perched prominently above the disinterested bartender, who is obsessed with texting nefarious individuals about a post-closing rendezvous. Regardless of the environment, it always seems more financially tenable to just hang out with friends and, as they say, BYOB. Plus, there's just nothing like a summer night outside, and save for a few Chicago outdoor beer gardens, you just can't replicate that outdoor summer night environment when huddled in a bar full of redundant patrons.

As for festivals, I've attended one already. Cruefest 2 came to Tinley Park last week. Motley Crue played a forgettable set, made a lot of mistakes, but that was to be expected, as it was only their third show of the tour. The tickets were very affordable, and for once, a musical entity paid attention to the economic drought and kept lawn tickets under thirty bucks. It didn't matter that the Crue played a sloppy set, and bumbled their way through public rehearsals of the entire "Dr. Feelgood" album, since it was the 20th anniversary of its release. I was outdoors and listening to great music with my kindred spirit, Wendi.

We got away, and had a half-day vacation together, something long overdue and sorely missed by yours truly. Our plan was simple - head down to the area, have a leisurely dinner at Culver's under the setting sun, and wander over to the WORLD THEATRE (I'll never rename it personally). Munching on burgers, I was relaxed, and savored every second. After that, we drove over to the concert, which was like driving to a golf course. No traffic getting to the parking lot, no parking "attendants" pointing to a spot. We just parked where we wanted. Since we refused to pay obnoxious prices for drinks, we simply sipped on bottled water during the show, enjoyed the good songs as they were performed, and had a wonderful day. We found a way to make the trip affordable, enjoy a great dinner with a great friend, and see a show without breaking the bank. It was well worth it. For those that want reviews of the Motley Crue show, check out Wendi's take on things.

In times such as these, we all need to look to our affordable options for summer activities. A person can still have a wonderful summer night out with friends and not spend much, if anything. It can be done, and it's literally right in our back yards!

Disco Demolition Night - My Story

2009-07-12T01:49:00.007-05:00

I was seven years old, and I was there.
It was a rare moment when rock met sports, and ultimately, rock history met sports history. The result was an explosion, in every way. It was Disco Demolition Night, a notorious event that took place on July 12, 1979.

Growing up on the far northwest side of the Chicago, my dad groomed me to be a follower of the Cubs. During baseball season, it was as if no other team existed. One innocent day I noticed my brother watching a baseball game on local channel 44, WSNS, with a notoriously boisterous drinker named Harry Caray spitting occasionally accurate commentary while hideously attired players struggled through yet another defeat. It was 1977, and as a curious five year-old, I had to ask about this mysterious team.

"There's another Chicago baseball team?" I asked innocently.
My brother muttered without averting his eyes, "Yes, you moron, the Sox. They suck. Dad doesn't watch them. I just watch the games because they're funny."

Gradually, I began watching more White Sox games with my brother, as the games broadcast from this mysterious Comiskey Park were full of low budget hi jinks and boisterous atmosphere. The fans were silly and rowdy, the broadcaster seemed drunk, and the occasional promotions to draw fans to the half-empty park were often hilarious. This baseball circus was more fascinating than the team itself, and I fervently desired to make the pilgrimage to this distant venue. It took me until the spring of 1979 to charge up the courage to ask my dad if we could attend a White Sox game. His defense was immediate.

"Why don't we just go to a Cubs game? We'll go there, and have a good time."

I was not a spoiled brat, though this time, I could not relent.

"But, but, but, I just want to see what it's like to see the White Sox. We've already been to Cubs games..."

I was rather mature for a seven year-old, and my dad, protesting mildly, agreed to find a game on the dreaded White Sox schedule that might coincide with a patch of vacation time, and we would go. He studied the schedule, searching for a date that would offer the least amount of aggravation, in terms of attendance and traffic. He eyed an innocuous game in July, falling on a Thursday night, hosting the Detroit Tigers. Nobody would be there! The Tigers would likely destroy the White Sox, and it wasn't as if the Sox were contenders to begin with. By late April of 1979, the tickets were ordered - three tickets - one for me, one for my dad, and one for my 19 year-old brother, who had a passing interest in attending the game as well. They were for a newly planned twi-night double header, one of which was to be rescheduled from a May 2nd game that had been rained out. We were eventually told that our seats would be honored for both games, and for the price, we figured luck was on our side; an uneventful Thursday game had now become a double header. Better yet, they were great seats, only a few rows behind home plate, along the third base line, somewhat aligned with the on-deck circle. I was already feeling guilty about the effort it would require for my dad to drive us all the way down to the south side from our remote, northwest side residence. The upcoming game, posted quietly on our kitchen calendar, was to be nothing more than a voyage to an empty, disinterested ball park. So it was thought.

By the second week of July, the date was only a couple days away, and being a sheltered child, I was unaware that anything was happening in Chicago radio that was to become the Disco Demolition Night promotion. Clearly, my dad was blissfully ignorant of the promotional momentum forming on the Loop, WLUP - FM 98. Steve Dahl announced that anyone entering the park with a disco record could attend for the meager price of 98 cents. Suspiciously, my brother suddenly had other plans, and I unknowingly thought little of it. He knew what was brewing, and I didn't have any idea that the promotion was to coincide with our supposedly routine trip to Comiskey for a supposedly uneventful pair of games. My dad found a friend and co-worker, Al, to use the ticket vacated by my brother, and all the tickets were used - the game was on! Al would meet us near the park, and we were ready to hit the expressway around 5pm, planning to show up during the early innings of the first game.

My dad and I hit the Kennedy expressway in his new 1979 Plymouth Horizon at around 5 o'clock, meeting a stagnant melee of automotive revelry. With many miles yet to travel, we abruptly tuned to an A.M. radio station and heard the dreaded news - traffic was mired, and everyone - everyone - was headed toward Comiskey Park. It was a paved party of teenagers, with long hair and black shirts, all sitting in their antiquated, oversized cars, stuffed to the edges with humanity itself, while Led Zeppelin songs burst forth from their car stereos. I never smelled marijuana before, and the pungent smell struck me profoundly as we edged slowly down the overcrowded road. Everyone had their car windows rolled down, and records were propped along the rubber edges that lined the tops of the car doors. With the smell of weed emanating from each neighboring car, boisterous drivers pulled aside of us, acknowledging my presence, yelling "Hey! Little rocker dude! Disco sucks!" EVERYONE in this motionless ribbon of vehicular bedlam was headed toward the Mecca that would be Comiskey Park, and I became a noticeable novelty, being a little kid amongst the young adults in adjacent, smokey vehicles.

"Hey kid! You heading there? You rock!" one driver said, noticing my increasingly sheepish demeanor. Conversations occurred repeatedly amongst the cars in this hazy traffic jam, and the party had already started, regardless of the destination. My dad, God bless him, realized the dreadful predicament by now. Instead of turning back and heading home, he stared dutifully forward, edging the car along its troubled path. He, being from the early 1950s generation, could not relate to the youngsters and the reasons for the celebratory nature that now surrounded him, his son, and his vehicle. He was not familiar with modern rock and its culture, let alone the disco rebellion it was inciting. It was like seeing Abraham Lincoln at Woodstock - a mixture of anachronistic ideals. Now apprised that he was heading to a celebration, rather than a game, my dad had to ask.

"Now who the hell is this disco person? What are they blowing up?"

I proffered a quick briefing, as eloquently as a seven year-old could.

"It's this dance thing. With stupid music and dance stuff. They look stupid when they dance that way. I think they want to blow up records."

Fair enough. Even dad, grappling with his growling car in a continuous game of stop and go stress, decided that the explanation would suffice. After a laborious two hours of edging along the Kennedy Expressway, we found our way to a neighborhood, albeit depressed, to consider finding parking for the car. In these days, parking was not as cut and dried as they are with current, modern stadiums, and often, bargaining with a neighborhood local for a parking place along a residential street was necessary. My dad recalls:

"We found a spot that was near an alley, but it wasn't totally a legal spot. Some guy came out who either worked or lived there, and he offered to put a cone behind the car for a few bucks."

Our spot was near 35th street and Ashland, and we walked dutifully east for the ten block hike along 35th. I remember crossing Iron Street, in a scary, industrial area, long forgotten due to present days of economic regress. I wondered if we'd ever get to the park, as the walk was tiring me out, though we were still a mile from our destination. Vagrants and other disturbing individuals eyed us nefariously, while my dad walked ardently ahead of me, ready to protect me from anyone of ill intent. After an agonizing walk along ancient, broken pavement, the lights, sounds, and humanity of Comiskey came into our perception. Much of 35th street was now blocked by police presence, and by this time, the first game was still in progress, but nearly over. We hustled past all of the ticketless fans, presumably locked out of the newly sold out event. Cops loomed about the entrance at 35th street, and repeatedly we had to produce our tickets to prove that we were legitimate attendees, trying to simply watch some baseball. Little did we know that countless hordes of gate crashers were rushing the entrances, physically bursting past weak and elderly ushers, gaining unauthorized access to the park that had been sold out for hours. Too many people had showed up for the promotion, and despite their 98 cents and disco records, they were denied entrance. We, on the other hand, had our reserved box seats, and appeared to be an anomaly to the dismissive, defensive cops and stadium officials, bitterly expecting more latent pilgrims.

Finally, into the crumbling, rumbling stadium we went. Its very structure vibrated with stomping, cheering, and chanting. We coursed along its promenade, and amongst the stoned, meandering fans, we finally emerged into the seating area. Noticing the score board, we noticed how late we really were. It was the bottom of the 8th inning, and the White Sox were losing another lifeless game by the score of 4-1. While attempting to find our seats, my dad's friend noticed us and waved us over. Both 45 and 33 rpm records were being hurled above our heads, as we found the seats, thanks to Al's signal. Records continued to float, like Frisbees, over our heads, ultimately hitting the protective net that backed the home plate area. We were at a very choice location, near the field, but the sonic insanity resonated from all areas above, behind, and beyond us. Chants of "Disco Sucks!" obliterated the attention toward the obviously nugatory efforts of the White Sox on the field. My dad's friend Al slid over to allow us to sit, if only for a moment. Al's seat was now directly behind a vertical support beam, affording him little view of the game. I did my best to pay attention to the game on the field, as the top of the ninth approached, and Sox pitcher Ed Farmer took the mound. The 9th inning moved along with haste, while the entire crowd seemed anxious to see the game end. The "Disco Sucks" chant continued, and records continued to fly, in Frisbee style, above my head, with intentions of them being included in the upcoming demolition. My dad's attention was constantly turned away from the field, his eyes scanning the seats beyond, with the intention of shielding me from incoming flying discs. His concerns for my safety were paramount, and as such, he never did see a single pitch on the field during the inning and a half of baseball for which we were actually present. He knew his friend Al, a tough guy in every way, could handle himself, but I was his seven year-old son, in a riotous atmosphere, and he ensured my safety at every moment. The records continued to be flung, the chants continued to be chanted. An impossibly loud, constant ocean of cheering flooded the stadium at ridiculous volume. One out. The crowd grew louder. Two outs. I covered my ears to protect myself from the high decibel hysteria. Anybody walking into this scene would have confused the environment for the final game of an imminent World Series win. Quickly, almost mercifully, the White Sox grounded themselves out of any type of comeback in the bottom of the ninth, and the first game of this dubious double-header was over. Nobody minded that the White Sox lost, and everyone around me was rabid for the disco record explosions to come.

The field was cleared, and the deafening roar grew in intensity. Steadily, Steve Dahl and members of his crew drove onto the field in golf carts, waving his arms in acknowledgement of the maniacal masses. Attendants set up a large wooden crate just beyond second base. Dahl screamed into a hastily connected microphone, bringing more fervor to the already tenuous situation. Soon, Bill Veeck himself joined in with the "Disco Sucks!" chant, leading the masses to a frenzy. As the chant continued, after several nervous moments, it happened. The invocation for 1979 anarchy was on, like a starter's pistol signalling the beginning of a race.

KABOOM!

The crate exploded with a sound and insanity unexpected by all in attendance. While the public address system was hardly loud enough to be heard over the din, the thunderous explosion was felt throughout our area, and I shuddered from the shock to my already damaged ears. Dahl began a hasty retreat while the chant grew, and after the massive explosion in the middle of the field, the crazed throng began to leak onto the field. Fireworks, presumably from the hands of fans, were heard blasting off in the upper deck areas. More drunk teenagers stumbled over the walls, and like water over a dam, the leak became a flood. Soon, with the chant still echoing throughout the packed stadium, everyone began dancing around on the field. Some revellers picked up fragments of the newly destroyed records and flung them with wanton disregard. After only a couple minutes, it seemed like everyone was walking on the playing field, and with several thousand people out there, most were free to do what they pleased. Some grabbed infield dirt, a couple other picked up the bases. I saw a father and pigtailed daughter simply walking along the infield, as if it were a leisurely tour, sponsored by the team itself. Mock fights broke out, then real fights broke out. After a few confusing moments, the crowd unified in booing as cops took on the masses, complete with riot gear, reminiscent of the 1968 Democratic Convention.

My dad vehemently "recommended" that we leave immediately and give up on seeing the second game of the double-header, which was still planned to take place once the revelry cleared. The sight of police, a fire in the right field stands, and alcoholic peril convinced me, and we were soon sprinting down the aisle toward the stadium's exit. Al, despite a pronounced limp, hobbled along with us, having given up on the future of the evening. He also was hoping for a ride home. Al was born with one leg shorter than the other, and grew up in a nearby tough area of the south side. To accommodate his short leg, he developed his upper body, and was a very strong fighter, one who you'd want on your side in any moments of danger. That said, my dad was more than happy for him to escort us for the never-ending walk back to the car, with the promise that he would give Al a ride home. Sorting through the chaos, I realized how dangerous the environment was becoming. I happily ensconced myself between my dad, a former M.P., and Al, a man that could fight off a nuclear missile with his fists. Any cops that hadn't already been assigned to riot control were lingering nervously along 35th street, ready to beat the heads of anyone who chose to defy orders. Seeing myself, a little boy, and my rugged protectors, they let us pass, and we set out for the distant car, parked a mile away, hopefully safe, with a single orange cone designating its legality.

After countless inquiries from the desperate homeless, we eventually found our way to the car. The cone was still there, and so was the vehicle, so with rugged determination, we stuffed ourselves into the little hatchback and evacuated from the war zone. Our early departure, long before the second game was declared cancelled, afforded us the opportunity to drive away from the chaos of the area, and avoid the hideous traffic which greeted us only hours before. It couldn't have even been 10pm by the time we dropped off our limpy friend and found ourselves on a mercifully clear expressway toward home.

Once safely home, the local channels were already broadcasting the breaking news of the riot at Comiskey. We walked into the family room, with news coverage already blaring, and my mother's arms were crossed with silent disgruntlement. With head shaking, she gestured her thoughts and reminded me that I needed to go to bed, since I had summer day camp early the next morning. She barely spoke to my dad, and to this day, I'm not sure how long it took before her anger wore off. It was a family outing gone horribly wrong, and it was an innocent kid being pulled into a world of 1979 rock and roll insanity. In retrospect, I am glad I was there, as it was a moment forever preserved in baseball and music history. Rarely, if ever, have those two legions crossed paths, and I was a first hand witness to its notorious effects. I had always thought I was born too late, wanting to have gone to Woodstock in 1969 and to have seen a Led Zeppelin concert during the 1970s. This was as close as I ever got to being a part of 1970s rock history, something which I admire and study adamantly. Most of the most interesting stories about Woodstock attendees involve how they got there, and with my experiences, that holds true. It was the journey, not the destination. Though I didn't realize the era and its importance in our musical and cultural history at the time, I was "there" for something that forever lingered in my mind and perhaps, just perhaps, formed my ideologies for the future.

TV - The Boring and the Disturbing

2009-07-01T00:16:00.011-05:00

I Survived the Charlie Rose Show!

I recently did the impossible. I sat through an entire broadcast of the Charlie Rose Show. It required the presence of General Electric CEO Jeffrey Immelt, not because of the person, but my odd fascination with the frightening, monstrous company. I suppose if Leon Panetta came on the show, I'd be equally fascinated by his frightening, monstrous company. I freely admit that I need more to capture my attention than the typically boring political guests, Charlie Rose's soft questions, and that spooky, boundless black background that gives us the impression that they're floating in deep space. The looming darkness, enveloping the hapless subject, lends a disturbing sense of infinite doom. This show literally looks like it goes on forever, physically and temporally. The show has nothing to break up the monotony of an hour's worth of two people talking about politics in space. If they broke things up with a segment - any segment, or shot occasional meteors behind the somnolescent guest and host, the viewer's desire to be jostled free of the televised anesthesia might be assuaged. I don't admit to having a flawless attention span, but there is hardly a way to stare at a dismal, staid televised image for more than a few minutes, regardless of the nature of the conversation taking place. How long can any of us stare at a painting? If Charlie reanimated Jimi Hendrix and propped his tattered body onto the guest "hot seat", most people might make it through ten minutes, and it would be off to another channel. This is the rare example of a show that belongs purely in transcript mode. I know I would much prefer to read this show than to watch it. That's right, Charlie, just mail me the show. My television time is far too valuable for your motionless meanderings.

Can Someone Help The Six Flags Guy?

Many of us are all too familiar with the dreaded Six Flags Guy, a supposedly old man that dances relentlessly, occasionally driving a Six Flags bus to round up innocent bystanders. The man clearly is suffering from amphetamine psychosis, and when he's driving a bunch of innocent women and children around in a bus, it's a problem. If you see this bus behind you, remember, the man is speeding (in several ways), and move the hell away from the bus. For more recent promotions, the troubled speed king has broken his silence, with his popcorn kernel head popping out of the commercial's banner in 2.5D, screaming "More flags, more fun, Six Flags!" His demeanor for this tag is so aggressive and disturbing, certainly the children, who comprise 90% of the target audience, are cowering behind a couch, asking mom if that scary man has finished his televised home invasion. Somebody must help this man. My solution is to take all of the leftover bags of medication from Michael Jackson's house and funnel-dump them into this psychotic soul's expansive gullet. Several have noticed the Six Flags Guy's resemblance to Junior Soprano from The Sopranos.

Late Night with (unfortunately) Jimmy Fallon

I have born witness to late night train wrecks before. I watched Magic Johnson, Alan Thicke (many years ago) and Chevy Chase journey into the talk show circuit, and these programs ground to an eventual halt. Television critics and ardent viewers all look back upon these adventures as flops. The shows did what they could to copy their high profile competitors of the time, namely Letterman and Carson. At least they had an excuse - they were up against late night monsters. Most dismissed the shows as doomed, due to the stiff competition and supposed incompetence of the hosts, as perceived by television pundits of the day. As I mentioned, I had seen these shows, and I can promise you, nothing can compare to the agony felt from watching Late Night With Jimmy Fallon. I'm sure Fallon is a charming fellow in person, but his true personality, that which he is compelled to exhibit on his new show, does not translate well at all through the cameras. Fallon succeeded on Saturday Night Live by portraying other characters - not by just being himself. The experience with Magic Johnson's show proves that success in other areas does not create a competent talk show host. Fallon stares stiffly at his guests, the teleprompters, and occasionally, the cameras, as he delivers his canned dialogue with deer-in-headlights fashion. It truly hurts to see this robotic script-reader go through his motions and make no effort to even act comfortable in such an unsuitable role. Speaking of roles, couldn't ol' Jimmy just play the character of a real talk show host? Clearly his penchant for role playing garnered him significant popularity during his tenure at SNL, so why not let that momentum guide his hosting? In short, he'd be a lot more watchable if he weren't so...himself. They could have pulled a hot dog vendor from the Manhattan streets, plopped him into the host chair, and that vendor would have been equally camera shocked, but significantly more interesting. To make matters worse, the writing staff might possibly be the worst from any show I've seen, ever. There was an ill-fated sitcom with abysmal writing called "Buffalo Bill" back in 1983, and that had held top honors for worst writing. Fallon's show, however, threatens that 26 year-old honor. The punchlines during bits are painful and consistently met with nervous, isolated chortles from the hushed audience. They'll often take a promising premise, such as "New IPhone Apps", and take it right to hell, complete with overuse of a random outmoded celebrity, such as Kirk Cameron. With horrible writing, a stagnant host, silent audiences and an average lineup of guests, one would assume the show will be cancelled shortly. Right? Guess again. His competition includes the ratings-challenged Craig Ferguson's show, and most of the NBC propaganda has been brazenly trumpeting the fact that Fallon's show has been outgunning CBS during this troubled time slot. Many attribute Fallon's continued lead in the ratings (by a mere 200,000 viewers over Ferguson and Kimmel) to the coat tail effect from Conan O'Brien's move to the slot preceding Fallon. I am highly suspicious about these ratings, and can't imagine why Jimmy Kimmel's show, with far more creativity and energy, isn't the ratings leader. NBC should have grabbed Kimmel while they could, and put him into the spot ultimately filled by the hopeless Fallon crew. Kimmel is definitely the better Jimmy. If Fallon is still host of the show one year from this posting, I'll happily pretend to eat my hat.

Ambulance Chasers

It's inevitable that legal firms will take their cause to the national stage, and brazenly ejaculate their "come hither" pick-up line to hordes of likely candidates. Several have been conspicuous in their offers for, well, "help".

"If you or a loved one WAS diagnosed with mesothelioma..."

The dangerously poor grammar (the word in capital letters should be WERE - I'll explain later) should be an immediate sign of incompetence in litigation. The quote above is the opening line for a commercial seeking juicy, low-hanging fruit in the form of asbestos sufferers, should any still exist. Clearly, no intelligent rhetoric would be necessary to rope in any surviving, lungless fossils who have, to date, not had the wherewithal to seek out legal representation. Nevertheless, here they are, polling the masses, believing that pissing on the beach still hits many grains of sand, be they indiscernible until a later date.

[Begin grammar spiel]
As for my criticism of the poor grammar in the above quote, when a sentence has a compound subject, in this case, "you" and "a loved one", it is generally expected to use predicate that would match the first subject term spoken ("you"). The question here involves whether to use "was" or "were". To find out which one is correct, we simply would omit the extra subjects of the sentence and test how it would sound. If we removed "or a loved one" from the quote in question, we'd be left with "If you...was diagnosed...". Obviously not correct. Stupid writers! They're all stupid!
[End grammar spiel]

Speaking of that which is indiscernible, another creepy commercial comes courtesy of the fine folks at Binder & Binder.

During idle afternoons, presumably prime time for disabled workers and all things disgruntled, the folks from Binder & Binder sprinkle their commercial into the soundtrack of the day. The "voice" of the commercial, in the eeriest, scariest whispers imaginable, recommends that we seek revenge for whatever physical, industrial, or psychological malady that was imparted upon us by those "bullies" of the business sector. The nefarious narration makes one think of the Devil whispering in one's ear. One might even compare it to Mephistopheles from Marlowe's Doctor Faustus or "Sam" from the "Son of Sam" murders. Clearly, the script for this campaign was penned by a former victim of bullying, and perhaps years ago, little Ernie, complete with his broken glasses and dishevelled Trapper Keeper, thought, "I'll show those bullies! I'm gonna write scary copy in the future!" The commercial typically ends with a disturbing send-off, such as "Don't let the big guys keep you down". I would find it ironic if a law firm's ghostly, inspirational quotes ultimately sends some unstable bastard to a former employer for some .38 caliber "clean up work".

A Brief Acknowledgement of the Departed

Michael Jackon's demise was a sad conclusion to the scrapbooks of many people, like myself, who grew up in the 1980s. I will miss the black Michael Jackson, but he died 25 years ago. Once the masks came on, the chimp came out, and the kids went along, I no longer considered him the person he once was. Michael was dead a long time ago, and this was a final absolution. Farrah and Ed, they were the true cultural staples of television in their day, and both died still struggling for life. I'll particularly miss Farrah. As for Billy Mays, I don't understand his sudden deification, but I'm just happy that his screaming is finally quelled.

Back To The Garden!

2009-06-24T13:34:00.003-05:00

Welcome back, dear reader!

At last, the summer has finally come upon us, and from a personal point of view, it's been a long, cold, winter. Thankfully, I spent most of that winter indoors (way, way indoors), and was spared much of the aggravation of skidding along never-salted, under-plowed streets. I can understand ancient appreciation for the official summer solstice up here on the top half of the third rock. For starters, it's the longest day of the year, and ideologically furthest away from the December darkness that loomed over our afternoon commutes. Most people would readily agree that the prominence of darkness is the most morose aspect of the season of the forgetful sun. Ah, the sun! That bipolar sun, like an alcoholic spouse who rudely left us last night, is back with flowers and apologies. We always welcome back the contrite sun every spring, forgive its drunken abandonment during the wintry night, and forget how crudely it ignored our once thriving flora and fauna. We are free to roam the streets, released from our imprisonment of winter to seek out all the outdoor activities otherwise denied us by wind chills and frosty atmospheric intimidation.

"...and we got to get ourselves...back to the Garden..."

With summer suddenly becoming too expensive for most upwardly mobile individuals, obviously the cheaper alternatives float to the surface. There are countless simple alternatives to high profile activities in the local metropolis. Many will go to the woods, and many more will go to the beach or local white trash lake. Others will just hang out in the yard. Ah, the summer yard party - my personal favorite. They'll have a few beers, get baked by the sun (and whatever else they consume), and have a perfectly good time for few bucks per person. The kids can play in and jump around the historically unsafe above-ground pool, from which several head injuries will occur when little Dylan tries to somersault off the unfriendly, tractionless, hot aluminum railing. Traumatic head and limb injuries with those mercurial kids are a rite of summer, and with proper medical insurance, rather affordable.

For us older folks, gardening always proves to be a cheap, if not frustrating, diversion. I've gone back to the garden, to quote Joni, and like most other living organisms in my life, the plants are spiteful bastards, taking root with suspicious sluggishness. It started in May, when I started to laboriously break up the ground, and enjoyed the annual tradition of dumping forty pound bags of top soil into the crumbly, oddly ditchy, garden area. The sweaty bags of elderly top soil resided quietly in a corner of the garage, and provided a cozy, damp environment for countless insects, some of which surely have yet to be documented by entomologists. Occasionally, I'd find a hole in the bag, chewed out by some retarded mouse or squirrel that was so stupid it decided that soil might be worth eating. It's possible that the rodent in question might have been trying to dig into the bag for a winter shelter, but I much prefer the retarded rodent story. Speaking of retarded rodents, a squirrel got into the house a few weeks ago, and soon disappeared into the basement. Instead of going anywhere else in the house to find a drink, it decided to jump in the basement toilet for a drink. The squirrel was found dead in something like 3 inches of toilet water. Now THAT'S a retarded squirrel. Rodents notwithstanding, top soil needed to be poured. I will never understand what magic force of suburban erosion constantly steals my garden dirt, but it disappears every despicable winter, without any influence by man, machine, or dog. I don't live on a hill, in a canyon, or near a river. There is no drainage path nearby, naturally or man made. My theory is that the planet is stealing my dirt, very very gradually. The earth is reclaiming my yard, a square inch at a time. I find no other suitable explanation.

In late May, the supposedly reliable tomato plants were lovingly welcomed to their freshly tilled bachelor pads. Thanks to the abysmal late spring weather, these plants chose to grow at the rate of three microns per week. Seriously, if the folks from the original "3-2-1 Contact" were to post time lapse cameras on these bastards, it would be like staring at a postcard. And what a lousy postcard that would be. Moving along the terrain, I planted questionable pepper seeds, given to me by the neighbor who tosses pears at me every autumn, and the seeds were either on birth control or in disagreement with the unseasonably cool month of May. I took out my various garden weasels, chompers, rippers, and hoes (can we invent a new word?), erased the earthen slate, and subsequently planted actual pepper plants. I bought the pepper plants very late in the planting season, when only a few unclaimed plants could be still found for sale. I'm already suspicious of these plants. I'm sure they've adopted a bad attitude by feeling like they were playground kids who were last to be picked for a team. Great, now I'm putting my pepper future into a bunch of dumpy, near-sighted, nonathletic plants that none of the other cool shoppers wanted. My nerdy, embittered pepper plants have since taken well to their new habitat, though they, like the tomato plants, are growing at postcard speed.

Chalk it up to hippie Woodstock symbolism, but I decided to try growing sunflowers in a forgotten area near the alley. I might simply have a predilection for all things tall. I had never grown them before, and as a friend often told me, they are very happy looking plants. To wit, it's certainly easy to imagine little smiley faces on sunflowers, not unlike seeing Wile E. Coyote dressed up as a cactus, romping around the desert road. Since I've already gone to embarrassing lengths to personify various other plants, I might as well run with the smiley faced sunflowers. At the store, I picked out a packet of seeds, chosen from myriad other varieties and colors. The happy picture on the seed packet was crudely offset by the harshly printed words "GROW TALL" and at the bottom, "EDIBLE SEEDS". I'm sure the latter is printed for reasons of safety around children, but how hungry are these kids, that they're considering eating an unsalted, unroasted, bland sunflower seed? Of course I tried one. I also tried dog biscuits when I was a kid. A KID. I liberally planted the seeds, burying them well below the surface of the soil, lest the avaricious birds nag their way into the dirt and ruin my smiley faced dreams. After a few days, sprouts! Only a few, but enough for a start. After a few weeks of slow growth and fighting off the neighborhood bullies known as weeds, the plants gained some prominence in their domain. Since they are growing as gradually as their grouchy brethren across the yard, I doubt they will be knee high by the fourth of July. If they grow four feet tall by September, I'll be surprised. If they grow with smiley faces, I'll be checking myself for head injuries along with little Dylan.

Finally, I decided that one forgotten area in the corner of the yard could be rescued for growing something - anything. Once again, I pulled out my various garden implements; the weasels, the gobblers, the stompers, clompers, and soilerators. The till-o-matic, the garden devil, and of course the hoe (again, can we change that name?). Unfortunately, adjacent to the area to claim, the ecologically unfriendly air conditioning compressor loomed without approval while I worked the ground. I wondered if anything might grow in an area so close to a factory, so to speak. I poured some more Amazonian top soil into the plot, dunked some bean seeds, and soaked it with fervor. Weeks passed, and obviously the bean seeds protested the presence of the neighboring aluminum skyscraper. None of the seeds decided to bring seedlings to the party, and the entire tract of land, though painstakingly groomed, has given way to a bean seed cemetary. Gardening is like hosting a party - some won't show up at all, some will take their time, some will hog the area, and others will be picky. But it's the summer! Go outside!

Commercials - #11

2008-12-27T19:43:00.002-06:00

Only highlighting a couple commercials this time around, though it's all about quality, not quantity. Can I get an "Amen"?

Jitterbug
To preface, I don't necessarily have a problem with this service, but rather the inherent stupidity of its Luddite target market. It's a cellular phone, with an accompany service, both of which are intended to appeal to the old timers who can't "figger out these gosh-darned, blasted buttons and blips and bloops" on normal cell phones. As for the phone itself, the buttons are huge, as if meant for infants in a playpen. Handy buttonin' for those shaky, poop-encrusted fingers, I tell ye! Cue the old man voice :

"No hat wearin' skateboardin' punk is gonna have a cell phone nicer than this one! To hell with ya rapscallions, ya miscreants, ya ruffians, with yer pacman and Dan Fogelberg! I got me a cell phone too! Nuts to you! I can send one of those text messages anytime I wanna...and another thingzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

Ok, we're back. Another feature of this dumbed-down phone is its screen, featuring insanely HUGE letters and numbers. Great for them old timers and their bifocals. I can only imagine how insanely loud the ringer and speaker must be for this phone, it's got to be NASA loud.
These things I've yet to investigate, and fortunately I'm not old enough to need such features.
As for the service, it's basically advertising the company's ability to coddle their leathery, raisin-mouthed clientele. These poor bastards working in the customer service department. The commercial shows, for example, a service representative confirming that yes indeed, he can add a new contact to the customer's phone. Huh? C'mon, Gramma Myrtle, there's a god damned "Contacts" option, press that with your Mixmaster finger, then after that 20 minute battle, you'll see an "add new contact" option. All phones have something similar. It's like a three step process! You're so decrepit, you have to call someone to have them add the new number? What a sorry old buzzard. Plus, if they can't manage the "add new contact" process on their own, how are they going to have the wherewithal to find the customer service phone number, and dare I say, figure out how to dial that tricky phone? The Jitterbug reps probably have to dictate verbal messages and turn them into text messages too. Now that would be a fun job, assuming it was time to get fired. Example:

Say Gramma Myrtle calls and wants to dictate a text message to the nefarious customer service rep, Simon Barsinister. Myrtle asks Simon to send the following text message to great-great-great-great grandson Barry...

"Merry Christmas, honey. Thank you for the happy card!"
...at which point, Simon the nefarious costumer service rep decides to translate it to:
"Barry, kiss my ass, sonny. Fuck you, I crapped in your yard!"

Sure, Simon gets fired, but oh the pranks. The whole hand-holding service makes me wonder how many more of such services are out there. A company for helping Gramps program one of those dag-blasted video tapin' machines? I can imagine the extent of the stupid questions the Jitterbug reps must get from the extra senile:

"Can you find me the Lawrence Welk Show?"
"Will you come over and help me clean the mess in my trunks?"
"I'm lonely."
"It feels like I'm sitting on my apple pie. But I don't remember making one...did I make a doopsy?"
"Can you help me find my way out of this voting booth?"
"Where are my butterscotch candies?"

Shamwow
Ok, this pin head is starting to get on my nerves. He wears a futile, apparently decorative, headset while on camera, as if he's hawking his product at an contextually inappropriate trade show. The guy just looks creepy anyway. That said, this latest miracle product is supposedly the latest great reusable cloth, meant to clean up monstrous amounts of spilled liquid, and to soak up five million times its own weight in whatever urine or other noxious spills might plague the consumer. A quick clean up, and it lasts forever! I've seen mixed reviews about its functionality, but that isn't necessarily for me to decide, as I won't deign to order this and be sucked into that "buy an extra one, and just pay processing and handling" scam. What bothers me most, from this type A barker, is that he says "It's made by the Germans, so you know it must be good." Great, now we're selling out the Germans. Sounds eerily familiar to my rant about Heat Surge recently (which drew a response from the company itself). The Germans...so it must be good? The Germans tried to wipe out a race of people, plus they took on the entire planet in a war...they must be good! Germans are good at a couple things; beer and cars, and I'm not even sure about the latter.

Billy Mays (sigh, again)
I was amused by this page about Mister Mays. The only props I'll give him is that he recently parodied himself for an ESPN commercial. The spot featured him loudly, as usual, extolling the virtues of ESPN360.COM for its web-based broadcasts of otherwise unviewable sporting events. He says something like "Look! The sports come through this little wire!" Fair enough.

Commercials - #10

2008-12-21T03:46:00.002-06:00

Cooking With Nintendo
The latest Nintendo DS ads have dusted off the star-nonymous Lisa Kudrow. A new commercial promotes software for the very portable DS system, with the ability to provide step by step instructions for "whipping up" an exotic dish in simple fashion. Kudrow and her daughter (where's the man?) decide on Chinese food, somehow by touching a particular geographic area of the DS's world map. The recipe is verbally dispatched, and boom! They just happened to have green onions handy. And chicken. And a wok. It's just that easy! Being Nintendo, I was figuring little Mario would interrupt and say "ah come on-uh, you no wanna make-ah no ah pizza pie?" Then a barrel would hit him over the head.

Fathead
First of all, what a dismal name for a company and brand. All these "Fathead" things are gigantic, life sized "stick-on" posters of athletes that dateless, gourd-humping sports fans can hang on their walls. What red-blooded male wouldn't want to come home to a seven foot, two-dimensional likeness of a scary football player looming over his tacky furniture and empty beer cans? And the ladies! Come back to Joe Lunchpail's bachelor paradise, and listen to him pitch woo while Peytonzilla looms over his drooling, beer-scented mouth! Fathead. The first product line that was named for its consumers.

Heat Surge
I'm slightly disturbed by the apparent exploitation of a religious/cultural group. Heat Surge is some type of fake fireplace which safely acts as a heater. Fine. The advertisement becomes strange when the announcer touts the fact that these wooden faux fireplaces are made, by hand, by the Amish. The commercial goes on to show typical Amish-looking men (never women), with suspiciously fake-looking beards, hammering away at the product, as if part of a human assembly line. The worst part is when the marketeer claims that the deal is so appealing, "the Amish" have requested that each customer be limited to two "fireplaces" per order. The Amish? They make it sound like they can't speak for themselves, are basically "oompa loompa" creatures from the Willy Wonka factory.

Snuggies
A classic example of a middle aged woman writing the copy for this product, packed with some of the most annoying, waspy phraseology anyone could devise. It's basically a blanket with sleeves, and somewhat a cross between a blanket, robe, and sweater. According to their rhetoric, blankets are just oh so cumbersome, and restrict your arms from doing anything. What? It's a blanket, not a straitjacket. Move hand out from under blanket, grab remote, use remote, shut the hell up. The irritating soccer mom doing the voice over intimates that "bwankets be so bulky wulky, and can weed to cold footsie wootsies". Makes me sick. Then this incredibly effiminate product (and promotion) is purely targeted at old women, yet they show men wearing it while "grabbing a snack" (oof) and attending sports events. Any male wearing this hideous thing would be beaten to a pulp before halftime.

Obama Coins
Much like Sports Illustrated's "Champion of the month" promotions, now the greedy coin people are jumping on the "historic" election of Obama. His typically troubling visage is being pasted onto various alleged "coins", as if they were being produced by the U.S. Mint itself. Let's just cut to the chase here. The U.S. Mint does not make coins for slick, newly elected candidates with ugly color likenesses. Nobody's out recalibrating all the vending machines for the influx of the $20 Obama commemorative coin. It's not a coin. It's a piece of scrap metal, melted into something resembling a disc, tickled with a color-by-numbers likeness of the supposed new savior of the western world. Might as well be a poker chip. Sure, buy the coin now, and savor it during his first political scandal around mid 2009. Don't make me say "I told you so" again.

Geico
Now these advertising wizards are vacillating between the typical caveman adventures (in which now he seems to have a hot blonde girlfriend) and newer, disturbing promotions involving a stack of money with eyeballs perched on it. First of all, nobody, and I mean nobody, should ever believe that the hairy grouchy caveman idiot would ever bag a girlfriend, let alone an attractive one. The advertisers just had to antagonize the male viewing public by conceiving this whole "Beauty and the Beast" subplot. Not buying it, or your lame insurance. The gecko was irritating enough, but this beats all. It's even more disturbing than the latest spots, which showcase a personified stack of money, intended to be all the money we could save by switching to Geico. Trust me, I've done some web research...they aren't always going to save us money. My policy is nice and affordable the way it is, thank you, and isn't (and never will be) with Geico. I have a low rate from accident-free driving and never having been cited for a moving violation. (Personal message to one dear friend of mine: Shut up you!)

Reality Show Ramblings #2

2008-12-03T12:39:00.007-06:00

The saga of reality shows continues, with a few more from the cable channels...

Airline
There are two versions of this series, one from England and its uglier, more interesting North American sister. As for the latter, it chronicles the daily meanderings of Southwest Airlines' customer service staff. One word I think of when I see "customer service staff" : complaints. And plenty of them. Clearly, the executives from Southwest took a gamble with allowing this amount of television exposure. On some occasions, we'll see immersive human interest stories about emotional reunions or staff tribulations. On other occasions, we'll see an employee going the extra mile to assist one or more of the following:

- The dizzy 200 year-old prune of a woman who can't find her way around and shouldn't be travelling anyway
- The rowdy unshaven drunk guy, usually on his way to Vegas, that has been denied boarding and can't understand why
- The super fat guy that needs to purchase nine extra seats to accommodate his Robert Earl Hughes frame (and the subsequent load balancing problems)
- The idiots who try to check a 1200 pound suitcase
- The creepy people from third world countries who try to check things that don't even resemble baggage, and invariably have bugs crawling out of them (both the creepy people and the baggage)
- The rest of the idiots that aren't around the gate when the final boarding call comes, or those that can't understand the definition of "standby passenger"
- The questionable people who try to come on board with knives, guns, gasoline, etc.
- The bitter, angry jerks of passengers who claim discrimination because they are fat/black/middle eastern

Sure, it's likely good public relations to show Southwest handling these situations, generally involving dialogue that begins with the phrase "Sir/Ma'am, we can't..." That said, a vast majority of the segments focus on the airline's screw-ups. Lost bags, lost passengers, lost pets, cancelled flights, late flights, overbookings, and other miscommunications between the airport staff and the infamous reservation center. These situations seem to far outnumber the "feel good" moments of the show, and simply illustrate that the airline is rather incompetent in allowing these constant problems to rear their ugly heads, like a whack-a-mole game from hell. I'm sure that the other airlines make quite a few mistakes as well, but they are all smart enough to keep them off a nationally broadcast reality show. I'm sure the show has, in the end, done more harm than good to Southwest and its reputation.

Iron Chef (Original Japanese version)
The oddly disturbing and off-putting predecessor to Iron Chef America, this show was the beginning of the reality cooking competition frenzy. The show features two chefs, set into "battle" in which each chef needs to create dishes based on the episode's secret ingredient. Most of the time, the secret ingredient is an obscure fish or creepy sea monster, none of which are even remotely familiar to the culinary fans from the western hemisphere. A "challenger" chef, generally snatched from a strange restaurant in Japan, takes on one of the four "Iron Chefs", who are deemed to be the best in their particular cuisines. There's one who specializes in Chinese cuisine, another for Japanese, another for French, and the perennially forgotten fourth chef, who specializes in Italian. First of all, there is the amusing aspect to the two chefs who are supposed experts in Italian and French cuisines, because they are both Japanese. C'mon, there's just a question of authenticity here. Why couldn't they dredge up a chef from Italy to be "Iron Chef Italian"? Same for the French thing. If I saw a Japanese guy preparing my spaghetti, I'd be running for the hills. Sure, there are great Italian restaurants in the United States, and while this isn't Italy, the people behind these restaurants probably, at very least, have an Italian heritage. I don't expect too many Japanese people to have Italian blood in them. The "Iron Chef Chinese" is Chen Kenichi, a Chinese person. Fine, at least he's from the right country. My favorite, Morimoto, charged with all things Japanese, is from Japan. Fine again.
As for the ingredients used, they are always disgusting. Fish roe, lobster brains, squid ink, you name it. When they have ducks around, they don't use the meat, like normal humans. Out come the beaks, feet, kidneys, heads, eyes, and similar offal. Where do these savages come from? Can't these people use things that don't induce vomiting, like vegetables, rice, and things that aren't so gooey? I know Japan is a seafood nation, but really, grow some damn asparagus and keep the show from looking like an unedited episode of Quincy.
The commentary is amusingly dubbed into English, for us thick American viewers. The voice actors that replace the original dialogue always go overboard. Really, do we need things like laughter to be redubbed into English? It sounds incredibly embarrassing. The original lead commentator, Kenji Fukui, is constantly, constantly, constantly, interrupted by a supposed roving floor reporter named Ohta. Ohta constantly breaks into the running commentary by saying "Fukui San?". I've counted upwards of 50 interruptions during the course of 40+ minutes of program time. If Ohta's interruptions were to be turned into a drinking game, I'd be plastered by the 20 minute mark. I invite others to try it, but I know I wouldn't last. It's painfully oppressive. I'm also suspicious of this Ohta guy even really being on the floor during the competition. I've never seen him out there on the cooking floor during the competition, only during interviews.
Upon the completion of cooking, the plates are submitted to the judges for commentary. The judge's panel is normally comprised of local Japanese actors, actresses, artists, and some crone introduced as a "fortune teller". Upon the tasting, the judges overuse the words "flavor", "salty", or "spicy". After the tasting, the winner is determined - or not. Sometimes, there's a tie, and guess what - that means they go into overtime! Worse yet, the overtime isn't edited into the original episode, it comes in a later broadcast! Thanks for leaving us hanging. Shut up and eat your sea urchin.

Storm Chasers
A new favorite show of mine from the Discovery Channel, it chronicles the ongoing quests of several tornado chasing teams as they traverse the featureless terrain of tornado alley during the summer storm season. Season after season, a poor bastard named Sean Casey tries to drive his tank-like "Tornado Intercept Vehicle" (TIV) into the middle of a tornado, with the intention of finishing an IMAX film, into which he has already sunk oodles of money. Unfortunately, Casey's TIV is guided by the apparently hapless tornado scientist Josh Wurman, who, despite his doctorate and years of expertise, can't seem to successfully guide Casey into that ultimate moment of intercepting a tornado. Come on already, Wurman's got a doppler radar unit in his vehicle, and he still can't lead Casey into a tornado after five years? Something must be said for the level of expertise here.
Conversely, a "rival" team of chasers, who merely seek to film tornadoes and sell the footage to news stations, is headed by an ambitious guy named Reed Tiller, who was actually one of Wurman's students. This team can't seem to miss tornadoes, in that they find themselves trying to escape them more than find them. Wouldn't Casey's IMAX project be best served by following this team? I don't get it. Regardless, I keep tuning in each week to see if Casey might finally get his ultimate tornado footage, though it seems like a destiny unfulfilled. Now the season finale is upon us, and I doubt he'll get his wish.

The Girls Next Door
Yes, yet another disturbing reality show. This one showcases the three (soon to be booted) blond girlfriends that live as sycophants, concubines, and attendants to the old and dirty Hugh Hefner. Some males hate the show out of jealousy, because the ol' bastard has everything he wants in the world, including his harem. Other males like the show, perhaps to live out personal fantasies or something. I have yet to figure out why anyone would want to watch an old fart have unlimited sexual access to young girls in a mansion that most people couldn't afford to see, let alone visit or purchase. Now Hef has roped in a set of twins, though apparently the original three girls, while they are likely out of the Hef bedroom, have signed onto another season of this tripe. I don't understand it, like it, or care about it, and frankly can't wait for Hefner to just finally die. I mean, really, this guy looks like an ash tray after a long poker night. I can't even say "Dry up and die already", because he's already completed step one. Let's go with step two.

More to come, as always...

Reality Show Ramblings #1

2008-11-28T01:14:00.012-06:00

I've stumbled upon a ticklish little corner of television known as the Fox Reality Channel. While probably not available in all markets and on all systems, it is a strange cousin of yet a stranger channel, called "TruTV". Though these channels are devoted to the world's obsession with reality based shows, many other channels dip their lanky fingers into this cauldron of "humansploitation". Discovery Channel, Food Network, the Fox Network, MTV, VH1 and Bravo are leading finger-dippers in this area. The depths to which these networks have sunk has steadily increased. Since there are dozens of reality shows worthy of commentary, I only intend to touch upon a few at a time.

A parting thought - we have the Fox Reality Channel - how about the Fox Realty Channel? Could be spicy! Foreclosures, bidding wars, overzealous agents, and those people that use the bathroom at open houses! Juicy stuff. As Radar used to say..."Wait for it!"

Hell's Kitchen
This one tops the list, and while not necessarily a pioneer in the field, it has the most exposure, thanks to Fox and heavy promotion. It features the cantankerous Gordon Ramsay, a bitter, foul-mouthed bastard of a Briton, who looks like he grew up in a cigarette factory and has the disposition to match. I reserved judgement on his misanthropic behavior as long as possible, until I started watching him in other shows; suffice to say, he just isn't that nice a fellow. Like most shows, Hell's Kitchen begins its season with a group of aspiring chefs, all hoping to win the final prize of running their own restaurant. Each week, the group is presented with a "challenge", and throughout the episode, the group is demoralized as if they were boot camp recruits. I never could imagine someone being called a "piece of shit" for overcooking a scallop or adding too much pepper to a dish. I can understand Ramsay singling someone out for stupid mistakes, but does it need to go to that point? He's slammed food into people during a tirade, and thrown food at contestants for messing something up. When it gets into character assassination and physical acts like that, then a level is being crossed that just doesn't belong in the culinary profession. I have no idea how contestants from past seasons have been able to exercise restraint from simply hauling off and attacking the abrasive ass. I'm not one to fly off the handle, but I wouldn't have lasted through any single tirade of his without jumping him. Unfortunately (and it's a big "unfortunately"), stupid people like myself are entranced by the fear that encircles the contestants, and the layer of eggshells on which they dance. Ramsay's abrasive nature, the wide-eyed contestants, and the high ratings, simply prove that we viewers love to see people being abused. Hell, we're sitting in a warm living room watching people suffer, and like sex itself, suffering sells.

Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares/Kitchen Nightmares
The former is the BBC incarnation of the show which ultimately burst upon the North American markets as simply Kitchen Nightmares in the wake of Hell's Kitchen. The premise of the show involves Ramsay coming in as a "consultant" (with all the subtlety of Godzilla) to rescue and reorganize a failing restaurant. Apparently "consulting" involves yelling at the managers and owner, avoiding any element of civility in pointing out their misgivings, and cursing every fourth word. I'd submit that the "nightmare" isn't the failing restaurant itself, but rather the insane manner in which Ramsay attempts to, um, help the place. Again, it is a successful show, for the same "suffering sells" reason as with Hell's Kitchen.

Real Housewives of Atlanta
I briefly watched this show, and couldn't understand the point. I easily could figure out why the show was created, since almost all participants were self-entitled, finger-waving black women, full of the "mnuh uh!", "talk to the hand" and "don't go there chile!" aphorisms. Why, therefore, do we need to focus on elitist Oprah-wannabe women, if we have the technology to show some real black housewives? How about "The Real Single Mothers of (anywhere)". Show them chasing their kids around... "Advil, get over here!" "Tylenol, what you doing in the oven?" Bravo seemed to pass on such ideas, and show the Cosby families, not the Good Times families.

The Osbournes
Yes, I understand that this show is already passe with the populace, but it appealed to me for basically one sad reason - the meandering life of all things Ozzy. It would be inaccurate to say that watching him was like seeing a train wreck; rather, it was like watching a train still wobbling along, with missing wheels, its locomotive on fire, and most of its cargo stolen by bandits. I could always be entranced when watching poor ol' Ozzy, the supposed "Prince of Darkness", cleaning dog crap, taking out the garbage, or trying to figure out where the refrigerator went. Sad and funny at the same time. Worse yet, seeing his children exploit his finances to death was enough to create plenty of personal ear-smoke. A bit of an aside - why, in current commercials, does Ozzy claim he's been the Prince of Darkness since 1979? His music career started many years before that. Just curious. Did quitting Black Sabbath earn him the title? Must have been a promotional move. Be a solo artist now? Well you're a prince of something. Prince had his "Revolution" group, then he was a prince by becoming Prince. Then a symbol. Now even I'm confused. Bad aside. Aside from bad asides...

Hogan Knows Best
A VH1 production, the show captured the viewing public's interest for various reasons. Some were ardent "Hulkamaniacs" from his glory days of the 1980s, and sought anything related to the Hulkster. They never grew out of the classic Hulkster era, and his famous three "demandments" (train hard, say prayers, and eat vitamins). Others simply were hooked on the notion of watching the goings-on of high profile families, known as the "Osbourne Effect". Then there were the rest, who simply wanted to ogle Brooke, the bright-eyed, blond, bimbo daughter. She was this century's answer to Kelly Bundy. People who know me well enough will likely throw me into this category. Fine! Consider me thrown. Anyway, the recent sequel Brooke Knows Best is slightly less compelling, as she's already starting to resemble her withered mother, and that the element of the family epic, post divorce and his son's arrest, has dissipated. That said, it was good for its time.

Trading Spaces
Ah, to long for the glory days, lo these many years ago, when reconstructing a room wasn't punctuated with that annoying phrase "Move that bus!". Great catch phrase. I'm sure that will unseat "Where's The Beef" in no time. But then again, that is a different show. As for Trading Spaces, the era around 2002 had a small, yet predictable cast of interior decorators (two per episode) who offered their expertise and personality while helping a couple redo a friend's room. The men featured the ambiguously gay Frank and Doug, with the more palatable Vern as one to round out the crew. The girls featured Hilde, a glamorous brunette with strange sense of design, and the bubbly blond Genevieve, pictured at right, who's my favorite (again, those who know my type...). Like the Brooke Hogan syndrome, many of us red blooded males were hoping the episode would feature one of the ladies, as the rest were too annoying. Speaking of annoying, host Paige Davis was ever intrusive, and one we'd all hope would just go away. Didn't help much when she returned to the show years later.

I'll stop here for now, but there are more to mention! Hope you all had a good holiday!

Winter and Chicago Sports

2008-11-20T02:11:00.003-06:00

There were times, years ago, when Chicago's winter professional sports teams were exciting to watch, and captured our attention. These teams, specifically speaking, were the Bulls, Bears, and Blackhawks - the dreaded three B's. Their greatest moments have since been permanently emblazoned upon the cold bronze that is the city's sport fan community. Allow me to recapitulate:

The Bears brought immense anticipation and enthusiasm to a fervent Chicago crowd, starting around 1984, when they were forming a prominent defensive presence, and playing competitive games against the best teams in the league. It was an exciting season, and a sign of more to come. All of the pieces of the puzzle were in place, and I recall quite a bit of excitement for their victories that season, and for the season to come. The season to come, well, came. 1985 brought forth a dizzying, dreamlike autumn for Chicago football fans, with a run of 12 impressive wins in a row to start the season. The only elements that spoiled this potentially indefatigable season were the dreaded notion of broadcast television, named Monday Night Football (which thus disrupted the team's rhythm and momentum) and a talented quarterback named Dan Marino. I remember, as a 14 year-old fan of Bears' seasons good and bad, literally crying as I realized that the bastard Dolphins were about to defeat the Bears that dreaded Monday night during week 13. If there was ever to be a greatest football team ever, this was it - and it was to be spoiled on national television. I hated hearing the howls of the suntanned idiot fans in the Dolphins' home stadium. Miami didn't deserve that win, but tried to make a mockery of the hardest working team in recent history. Miami, the city that deserved a football team as much as Elvis deserved his black belt.
The Bears, that season, regained their composure, and played a strange, presumptuous card by recording their "Super Bowl Shuffle" song well before the end of the regular season was even in sight. The Bears held true, however, and steamrolled their way through the post season and provided ardent fans a long-sought Super Bowl title.

The Blackhawks were an exciting team in the late 1980s and early 1990s. They made it to the Stanley Cup finals in 1992, and around 1989-1990, I went to most of their home games, having a friend who invested in season tickets. There was nothing quite like the environment of hockey in the Madhouse on Madison, being Chicago Stadium. Everyone was drunk and rowdy, and during games against local rivals, fights on and off the ice were common. It was a paradise for the typical male sports fan. When at those games, the team was agressive, exciting, and every game was a close one - fortunately, with the Blackhawks often gaining victory. Again, in those years leading up to their Stanley Cup push of 1992, there was an element of excitement, anticipation, and progress. Nothing seemed stale, and every season seemed promising. Even though they didn't win it all in 1992, they were still champions to most, if not all, of the old school Blackhawk fans out there.

The Bulls were mostly a joke in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Management was abysmal, draft picks were local jokes, attendance was amusing, and media exposure was nil. Even in the late 70s, I remember promising players such as Reggie Theus, Artis Gilmore, John Mengelt, etc. Nevertheless, the coaching of such legends as Larry Costello helped keep the Bulls away from the pressures of playoff contention and participation. Finally, things took a turn for the better in 1984. Yes, that's when the Bulls drafted Michael Jordan, a #3 pick. People seem to forget that the team wasn't instantly better with Jordan's addition during his early professional seasons. Jordan was still a thin, lanky punk, and his game was not polished at all. He was, however, exciting to watch, and while his game was nowhere near what it ultimately became, it drew crowds, more money into the till, and ultimately, the power to acquire stronger players in upcoming years. The true unsung hero leading to the Bulls' eventual dynasty was the coach of the team in the late 80s, named Doug Collins. At this point, all things about the Triangle Offense and other strategies involving Jordan were being set in place - and the assistant coach was a nobody named Phil Jackson. Strategic geniuses named Johnny Bach and Tex Winter were also on the coaching staff during those anticipatory late 80s runs, and their contributions not only led to the Bulls' ultimate Championships, but Jordan's "best ever" performances as well. Once again, those late 80s seasons were exciting to me - something was building. Pieces of the proverbial puzzle were steadily added into the mix as attendance figures (and finances) improved. Scottie Pippen was added in 1987, then Horace Grant, and ultimately Bill Cartwright. John Paxson's steady shooting and court wisdom (that which could be compared to John Stockton) stabilized the on-court presence. Jordan was finally a piece of the greater puzzle, rather than the savior of the team, even though his scoring dominated every game. It was inevitable that the Bulls would become a title-ready team, and once they pushed themselves past the dirty tactics of the Detroit Pistons, the NBA championship was theirs for the keeping. 1991 was their first NBA title, and rather poetically, a passing of the torch from an aging Magic Johnson to the peaking Michael Jordan. The dynasty to follow was something beyond most fans' expectations, and the Bulls could arguably have won eight straight NBA titles if Jordan hadn't abandoned all things basketball for his attempts at minor league baseball. Unfortunately, we Bulls fans got accustomed to the annual championships and the great breakup of late 1998 was all too sobering. The coach left, Jordan (for the moment) retired, and Pippen was poised to leave the team as well. But one of our winter teams was exciting to watch, and gave us thrills right into the early summer's post-season competition.

These days, the fans of the three cold weather teams in Chicago are left with a bad taste in their mouths.

The Bulls are showing nothing promising, even with the lucky lottery opportunity to have the first draft pick, in Derrick Rose. Rose is somewhat like a young Jordan, unpolished, not yet the savior of the team, and about four years away from true prominence. The fan base has worn away, media coverage is fleeting, and coaching changes happen with the flipping of the calendar. Joakim Noah (the previous year's wasted first draft pick) is an embarrassing member of the team. He's an arrogant, pot-smoking dork that rarely contributes anything other than personal fouls and missed lay-ups. I'll never understand why anyone drafted this bozo, and as I watched the NBA draft on live TV, I screamed out loud "WHY?!". The Bulls won't be much to watch for several years to come, at least. It's a shame to say that, but trust me, it's not must see TV. They are bottoming out, and it won't be long before they are playing in a 1/4 filled United Center.

With the Blackhawks, it's the same old story. Constant personnel changes, and seasons that might have been. WIth good coaching and passion, they could've made the playoffs last season, but seemed to give up the ghost in the final couple weeks. Except for goalie Nikolai Khabibulin, who is by far the biggest name on the team, nobody is interesting to watch. To make matters worse, their games in the early part of the season have been frustrating at best, with them unable to hold a lead in the late minutes of the game. The other team would tie the game, and eventually win a shootout. Nikolai can only do so much.

The Bears - forget it these days, though I was excited for them during their 2006 season. There were two reasons why the Bears fared so well that year - Thomas Jones, the running back, and their receivers. Jones always could provide first down runs, seemingly no matter what yardage was required. They unfortunately didn't win the Super Bowl, and the geniuses in the front office decided to dispense with Jones during the ensuing off season. Everyone knows that a strong running game is critical to keeping options open for a more effective passing game, and Jones was the reason why the Bears quarterbacks could complete passes with reasonable reliability. Since 2006, the Bears chose to pass (pun intended) on grabbing a "real" quarterback over and over again. They have become much like the Cubs, opting to trade away established superstars for one or two supposedly promising rookies. The Bears are once again, a joke, with too much media exposure and nothing to show for themselves. They're destined for a 7-9 season, missing the playoffs, and a new round of "wait until next year" rhetoric. As such, I don't watch their games, because in a rare case, it's the car accident that I don't slow down to observe.

The winter is depressing enough for a climate such as Chicago's. The summer baseball teams at least show promise, talent, and excitement, but then again, it's summer - everyone is out of the house, enjoying the weather. During winter, when Chicagoans are trapped in their living rooms on cold days, the teams that offer escape through televised sports are nowhere to be found. Sadder still, I don't see the trend changing anytime soon. It will be even worse when the Cubs and Sox lose their stamina and revert to 4th place teams in their respective divisions.

A Night At The Opera, Part Two

2008-11-13T01:59:00.002-06:00

After a full day of being herded through endless mazes of confusion, heat-induced delirium, and cyclic fatigue, the long journey through the basement of Cook County was nearing an end. It felt like it was midnight, but unfortunately, it was only 6pm, based on the spurious guesses of fellow incoming thugs. We entered the area where a strange, futuristic three dimensional x-ray machine scanned the body completely, presumably looking for stashed goods. It was an odd, plexiglass phone booth, in which several rings moved around the person and presented a live image of the body incarnate. Back to bullpen twelve. About two hours later, it was time to be entered into the computer system. We sat on the cold concrete floor, in a long line, while data entry personnel howled last names from our herd to be logged into the computer. The computers were, appropriately, frighteningly old and outdated, still using a DOS based system to enter newcomer's names, addresses, next of kin, and phone numbers. After the irritatingly redundant process of being entered into the system, we each received our "number", in black marker, on the forearm. The thoughts of being a Nazi concentration camp inductee unfortunately crossed my mind. If anyone takes exception to that comparison, first of all, fuck yourself, and second of all, remember (or find out) that many modern prison intake procedures were directly "learned" from Nazi methodology in this era. That said, we were physically branded with numbers.

We then were herded back to a bullpen, cramped shoulder to shoulder, until someone called a few of our names to check in our property. Mine was already checked in, but we all still had to get in line, confirm what we had, and suffer a few screams of "stand up straight, muthafucka!" from the stormtroopers patrolling the floor. After I confirmed my possessions, the guy stamped my arm with something else, some type of indiscernable symbol to show I'd been through this station. Back to the bullpen. I heard my name again, and was told by a dumpy, loud, near-sighted black guard, I need to see one of the people on the other side for "psychological evaluation". I found an empty booth, and sat down.

"Name?"

Gave it.

"Number?"

Gave it.

"Ok, do you have any psychological problems?"

"No, but I did get..."

"Ever try to commit suicide?"

"Well, not really but..."

"Ever think of doing it?"
"Well there had been times..."

"Ok, put your right arm out."
Faceless data entry person writes a "P" in marker on my now heavily branded forearm...
"You're done...go to the end of the room for a picture and your ID."

That was my psychological evaluation. I had now assured the fine bunch that I wouldn't harm myself or that I had any psychological problems in the past. I'm sure the virtual forms were filled out for me long before sitting down with this highly trained individual.

Off to get my picture taken for my formal ID, inasmuch as my entire identity, wallet-wise, was in the possession of some profanity obsessed asshole behind the protection of chain link fence and other similarly scourged co-workers. The picture taking was the easiest of steps...one, two, three, and very DMVish. I signed off on my picture and was directed back to the original bullpen stuffed with the usual hostile, hungry, vocal, thirsty, hungry, and fatigued mortal frames with which I had endured the previous multiple hours' journey.

At this point, I found out it was after 10pm, and we had been enduring this process for over 10 hours. Standing in cramped cages, enduring screamings and guard abuse, wishing for a drink of water and ultimately, a bunk in some cell to collapse. Fortunately, at this point, I had a comaraderie with many of the fellow incoming "monsters". 80% of them in our group were massive gang people, many who knew each other, and they all thrived in the roughest parts of the city. I had a pretty intelligent conversation with a guy about how I thought Obama was a fake, and he was leading the blacks on. His "posse" was right there with me, agreeing completely. Turns out two of those guys were picked up on warrants for murder, and another one just was given $750,000 bond for gun possession and armed robbery. These folks were my talk buddies. I didn't care - I was pretty scary looking myself, and had already earned the nickname "Big Man" during the process. Oddly it would stick. I was myself - not scared, just tired and pissed. This whole process would be a badge I'd have to earn, and I was gonna earn it. When I wanted a drink from the occasional functioning faucet in the bullpens, I'd line up and take my time. Nobody would mess with me because I had nothing to lose. I was super tired and desperate for a place to lie down.

We all found out, while stuffed into that caged bullpen, that it might be about three more hours before we get to the point of receiving uniforms and being assigned to a cell. That's all we wanted - a place to lie down - we wanted our cell.

Finally, fatigue got the best of me, and after midnight, I realized that I could lie down on the cold tile floor underneath one of the benches that lined the walls of the bullpen area. That said, I crawled under people's legs, who were sitting on the bench, and found my little dark solace underneath the bench. There was garbage, roaches, grime, and other debris underneath this bench, but now I had floor space on which to lie down. I took both of my shoes and used them to rest my head upon, and despite the noise, dirt, cold, and uncertainty, I was able to catch a nap.

A Night At The Opera, Part One

2008-11-10T03:46:00.003-06:00

I had a rough October, with issues from the past having caught up with me. The state of Indiana had some legal issues with me, some that ultimately were never resolved, though the impetus of these issues came from an era of unstable decisions several years ago. That said, things didn't get cleared up, and eventually, the State of Indiana decided they were very interested in seeing me...thus leading to an ugly Sunday in October when a few local officials were ringing my doorbell:

"Hi sir, it looks like your car out front might have been damaged last night - can you come out and check it? We just noticed it passing by..."

Stupidly, I bought this one, and came out wearing only shorts and socks...

"Nope, looks fine to me, thanks for checking though..."

Officer Friendly suddenly took a different tack:

"Have you ever been in Indiana, like a couple years ago, maybe [name omitted] County down there?"

Shit. All I could do was shake my head "no" and try to get back into the house.

"Are you sure you were never in Indiana, maybe got taken in for anything? If not, we can go to the station and clear up the mistake..."

I knew it wasn't a mistake...panic mode. I cooperated...

"Ok, well let me run in and get a shirt on, and a jacket..."

"No you can't go back in there...we'll get a shirt for you."

The "bad cop" out of the good cop/bad cop pairing was now blocking my front door, with all the subtlety of a freight train. I knew I was toast, and that it would be a long long week. I also knew right away, I was destined to be extradited to Indiana, and just admitted that I did have a legal run-in down in southern Indiana a few years ago. It was too late to keep denying things, computer records don't make mistakes! Yeah right!

They put me in their car, didn't read me Miranda rights, and off we went.After a night in the local holding pen, I was whisked off to the place I fear the most... Cook County Jail. I would have castrated myself right then and there to bargain my way out of spending even one night in a place that is normally referred to as "the worst place in the country". Unfortunately, there was nothing I could say or do to avoid being shipped there while waiting for officials from southern Indiana to pick me up. I figured, fine. Those folks will come for me in the afternoon, I'll be out of Cook County in less than a day, assuming the Indiana folks were to send someone to pick me up immediately. Or so I thought. Off to Cook County I went, and was soon sitting in a large room waiting for a hearing which allowed me the right to fight extradition - something I wanted to summarily waive, so the Indiana folks could pick me up and rescue me from this hell hole. At 6:30 in the morning, there I sat in this large room, waiting for my 11am hearing. Nothing beats trying to sleep, in a panic, on hard benches for 4 hours. Around 7:30 am, a friend of mine, who happened to be a Cook County Officer, had heard I'd be there, and he took me aside to talk. He was always a dear friend from my dart/bar days, and it was nice to see a friendly face. He, in an eerily stoic way, directed me into a side room. Nevertheless, it was nice to see a familiar face, after having dealt with harsh, faceless soldiers of justice.

"What happened?" he innocently asked.

I explained things, and that I was just hoping to not have to spend the night in this place, and that ideally the Indiana people would be here in hours to retrieve me. Then my heart sunk as he started to speak, with an element of resignation.

"Well, they have 30 days to come get you, so you may be here for a while."

The panic meter went beyond the red zone in my torso. All I could do was nod, ask if he could help keep me "safe" while there, which drew the "I can't help ya, buddy" response. I was hopelessly alone. Alone amidst a labrynth of cinder blocked walls, cold cement floors, graffiti, screaming, roaches, and uncertainty. After a relative eternity (first of many to come), I was given my moment in front of the judge to say I would be waiving my right to fight extradition. Hell, I could be fine in a small, southern Indiana county jail, the sooner I got down there, the better. Unfortunately, after the news about potentially being trapped here for a month, I didn't know how soon was "sooner". By 11:30, I was already beginning the process of being processed. I was stuck into a group of 200 people who were also due for being processed into the system, all of which were destined to spend at least one hellish night there. All 200 of us were loudly ordered through various stations along the process, and were held in caged "bullpens", which had room to seat 50 at most. Hours at a time would go by, being stuffed with others in these bullpens, forced to stand, for lack of room to even sit on the floor. Most of the fellow incoming deadbeats were really dangerous types, reciting gang tales and the like. Some were too dope-sick to stand up. I almost fainted twice from the lack of oxygen, water, and sheer fatigue. Little did I know that we'd be shuttled through 15 of these bullpens over the next 14 hours, and that I wouldn't eat anything or lie down in a cell's bunk until 2:30am. Thus, the night at the opera continued, and little did I realize that my adventures there would last another 3 days. Stay tuned.

Resolve Things

2008-11-09T07:43:00.004-06:00

I doubt it would have been hard to notice, but after my 100th post, I had a bit of an extended absence. As such, I should address the reasons for the sudden leave of absence. It's of a personal nature, and without divulging too many details, I'll wrap things up in a neat little package, with a moral of the story as well.

I had to take some time to resolve some icky legal issues with the state of Indiana, those of which I put off handling, and eventually, it simply made things worse. During all of the months when these loose ties went untied, I couldn't rest comfortably at all. There was no such thing as peace and quiet at night. Slumber was kidnapped by nerve-induced cycles of sheer panic, offset with self-assurance that the complacency needed to end soon. Having such things hanging over ones head is simply too much for a person with copious amounts of time to think. Over the course of many months, the logic became "live to fight another day", instead of much more substantive logic, dictating that it would be best to clean up any unresolved issues and face the music. I knew, by then, that I was incapable of facing said music. It became too convenient to slip into the cycle of simply not taking care of things hanging over my head, but to rather attempt to ignore them and self confirm that I'd handle it later on. Then the bad dreams took form, almost on a nightly basis, to the point where I was afraid of falling asleep, despite the fact that pure unfettered rest was exactly what I needed for the moment. Nightmares became recurring - of being on a plane about to crash, being kidnapped, drowning, etc. While all of which were too easy to analyze, the bottom line was that they were a result of continual anxiety about things not having been resolved. More recently, I let a dear friend down by, again, putting things off, when I should have been building up a web site with sufficient support and promises of things to come.

Moral being, get things resolved now! Few things are worse than having unfinished business hang over one's head on a daily/nightly basis. It grows to constrict, confine, and distract. If you have tax returns to file, face the music! It won't be pleasant, but the burden will have been lifted. Make that uncomfortable phone call you may have been putting off. Personally, I think a moment of discomfort beats an indefinite period of avoiding the inevitable.

100

2008-10-03T06:01:00.013-05:00

Finally, I've arrived at the long-anticipated 100th article. It's a watershed moment, and I don't mind saying, I had every intention of it being self-celebratory. It's a time to take stock of what I've written, what I've said, where I've been and where I'm headed. It's been a long time coming. I'm proud of the body of work I've laid out here, and what you'll see is basically a "best of Mikey" highlight reel, replete with links to my past works. That said, bear with me throughout the celebration.

History

In the summer of 2004, many people approached me with the idea that I should have an outlet for my writing, and that my thickly worded emails often went to waste. As such, I sought out a means for writing my thoughts, and ultimately decided that I could serve myself well with an outlet, so to speak. At that point, I had been working on a musical project, and was sufficiently frustrated by all things external. In the end, I decided upon using blogspot as a host for any of my writings, figuring that since it's endorsed by the almighty Google, it wouldn't dissolve and thus take my works with such dissolution. Without much deliberation, I decided it would be called "The Vapid Voice". Being inherently self-deprecating, I wanted to intimate that my words are vapid, or without any more value than anyone else's opinions, comments, or observations. My writings would not be declarations; they'd merely be a mixture of my thoughts about the world around us all, and without any intention of implying self-importance. The word "Vapid" implied a sense of emptiness, and as such, my thoughts carried no weight other than the theoretical ink on which it was printed. With a name selected, I was off to the races; and after posting a rant about Howard Stern, which was subsequently removed, on August 3, 2004, I posted my first article. Innocuous enough, it was an observation about the burgeoning poker boom, and at the time, likely abortive. Knowing that the title of my site wasn't necessarily restrictive, I posted serious posts as well as comical ones. Most of the time, the humorous ones drew the most reaction from the early adopters. I'll cover the best of those below. The second post began a ten article series called "Relationship Injustice", and was a suitable outlet for all things wrong with relationships around me, including those of my own. While serious in nature, it drew quite a response and, dare I say, helped some people out in a therapeutic way. From there, the ball was rolling. I'd write humorous observations, cathartic, serious essays, and throw them out there for anyone to digest. Fortunately, many took to them right away, and I grew to love the positive feedback. I'll be forever grateful to all of you who regularly checked in to see if I posted anything new, and without your collective feedback, I would not have bothered continuing this literary voyage! That about sums up my historical perspective; I've been through a lot during the four years of Vapid Voice's existence, and I hope it's been entertaining, if not insightful.

The Vapid Voice FAQ

Questions that have come up during the last few years...

Q: Why do you put the starting word of a paragraph in a bold font?
A: Style, just thought it would be a unique thing. It was also a nod toward 19th century works and publications, which often printed the first word or letter of an article or paragraph in a large font.

Q: What do you prefer writing, the funny stuff or the serious?
A: Overall, the serious stuff. The humor angle gets the most response, and readers always loved it. But the serious things were most cathartic for me.

Q: Is the "Relationship Injustice" series done?
A: Yes. I am a fan of the number 10, and preferred to call it upon the 10th post.

Q: Have you considered seeking a publishing deal?
A: Yes, I've submitted content, but to date, no takers.

Highlights

I'll provide the links to some of my best stuff, hope you enjoy the articles as much as I did writing them...

The Relationship Injustice Series

I was surprised this series drew so much acclaim, as I figured I was speaking into the ether. Most of the time, the articles were a result of personal frustration, but often they were observations of another injustice happening around me. For the first time in world history, all the links shall be presented to you, dear reader, in one convenient place!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 -Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Religion/Philosophy Posts

Without question, my most contraversial article came from an angry moment in which I, shall we say, lashed out at Jesus, God, and all things religious. It drew the most ire, and I debated about removing it, and ultimately decided in favor of keeping it up there, for sake of offering a snap shot of my mindset at the time, and the frustration therein. It's the only article I never wanted to show my mom. Some people in my life just didn't need to see this:

An Open Letter To Christ

Eventually, there were a couple more notable philosophical essays that came to pass...

Religion
Ghosts
Reduction and Realization

After posting this one, there were a lot of odd ghosts floating around me for a few days. No I'm not crazy, just sensitive to all that paranormal stuff.

Rants

People loved my little rants, and here are several of the best...

I Hate Driving
I Hate The Store
I Hate Restaurants
Where's That Equator?
Generic Rant Time!
Parking Lot Rant

Lists

A couple of my more amusing lists...

My Two Personalities
What A Difference - Far and away my funniest one...
Stupid Stupid Commercials

The Spam Review Series

I did a series of 10 (there's that number again...) postings in which I'd review spam emails and comment appropriately... here they are all in one place (I'm so sweet...)

Spam 1 - Spam 2 - Spam 3 - Spam 4 - Spam 5 - Spam 6 - Spam 7 - Spam 8 - Spam 9 - Spam 10

That about sums it up. This is Vapid Voice, and I hope you all continue to read the best and worst of my future articles, and perhaps delve into the archives as well. I'm glad I made it to the 100th post, and look forward to #200. Who knows where I, or you, will be when that landmark moment comes around. Thanks for reading!

Reunions

2008-09-22T02:37:00.001-05:00

In recent weeks, through the means of Facebook, I've been able to catch up with a lot of old friends from high school, electronically, telephonically, and physically (the last not being in the biblical sense, thank you). It's been almost 20 years since I've seen these people, heard from these people, or caught up with their lives. I, being the eternal bachelor, was admittedly a bit bummed from seeing the pictures of classmates' families, spouses, and the like. Perhaps it's simply a case of "life envy" and rather unfounded, as we all choose are own paths in this little journey, but then again, the grass is always greener. Reunions invariably conjure up a sense of self-examination; comparison to others who, many years ago in high school, were at the same starting gate, with the same opportunities and future. For the most part, the process of being back in touch with high school classmates has been great. A few of us have already met up to rehash old times, revisit old memories, and see how everyone looks.

The same people I occasionally envied for their establishing families have also occasionally been ones to send me messages complaining how burned out they are from shuttling kids around to various activities. While these apparent renditions of domestic bliss might be compelling, there is always another side to having a family, and it envelops 90% of one's time. I have yet to do the family thing, and sometimes, in the face of my advancing age, I regret it. A lot of my fellow classmates trumpet pictures of their kids, and that merely shows the good, not the uglier moments when kids are puking all over, getting suspended from school, or wrecking the car. To that end, I console myself by realizing that having kids and a family is tiring but rewarding, and that the facade presented on Facebook might be just that - a facade. It's been very strange to be out of touch with people for 20 years, then to pick up and talk again, after so many years of change. Many of these people have sons and daughters in high school, which is still mind-blowing to me. One old friend is even poised to be a grandmother. Comprehending all this, having known such people when they were kids themselves, is at best, a challenge. On a positive note, I've realized that most of those classmates never moved out of the metropolitan area, and as statistics dictate, a vast majority of people live their entire lives within 50 miles of their birthplaces.

Many times, pundits have said how people don't change. I find that to be very inaccurate. Most of the people I've reconnected with are of a different mindset than from the days of high school. The years after high school are most likely to define one's character, goals, and philosophy. High school is merely a starting point, not a defining point. I've seen so many classmates change radically after 20 years, and why should I be surprised? It's been 20 years of the most volatile times in an adult's life. Many of the close friends of mine from those days are now completely different people, in appearance, ideals, and status. Some have risen to greatness, some haven't. Personally, these reunion moments have been enlightening and depressing in the same moment. It's a time for wishing I did more over 20 years, but also a time for renewing old friendships that should have never ended in the first place. Everyone has changed; time and life experience does that to everyone, but revisiting the days of youth, even for a moment, can be invigorating itself. Never be afraid to reach out and find that old friend. It's rewarding in the end.

A few final notes. I still hate the Vonage commercials, but they've finally tapered off, and there's even a new one floating around which is far less irritating and obsessive. Secondly, this is my 99th post! Next one is the biggie! I've been working on it at times, and all I can say is that it will have some highlights from my better postings, and basically celebrate the achievement. I'm hoping to get that done in a couple weeks (or less). Thirdly, congratulations to the Cubs! Very happy they are playing well again. See you at number 100! Maybe I'll rope in some special guests!

The 2008 Olympics Part Two

2008-09-03T04:40:00.011-05:00

I've written my initial thoughts about the Olympic Games in the previous essay, and I had a bit more to say. Thus, here comes part two. Sure, there are more political meanderings (and I hate politics), but there are always exceptions.

I mentioned before that I didn't really pay much attention to the opening or closing ceremonies. Everyone else seemed to watch them, and all can draw their own conclusions. I'll just say that it was a job well done, despite the penalties potentially incurred upon any Chinese citizens that didn't cooperate. Hats off to those that volunteered, perhaps under penalty of death. Sure, it was nice to see that, as a Led Zeppelin fan, Jimmy Page played "Whole Lotta Love" in representing the upcoming London Games of 2012. A nice gesture, but couldn't the rest of the surviving members of the band have taken the time to participate with Page in this worldwide ceremonial moment?

That said, it was amusing to hear that the Chinese government found some type of way to magically clear all of their earth-killing pollution haze in anticipation of the Games to come. China was every bit of that unflappable kingdom that, in its view, could do no wrong, and still decided to clean up the air and act as a warm host for the two weeks of propaganda to come. Their efforts to westernize were admirable. My dad even noticed an interesting thing, in that the Chinese even wore uniforms, in many events, with the English word "China" emblazoned upon it. Quite amusing, since the Chinese language doesn't use letters, period, just a mess of lines and symbols. It showed that China is finally getting it; despite not being a continent, they are truly the definition of the "dark continent", well behind the times, and desperate to catch up to the rest of the dreaded "western" world. The country is barely catching up to the world of the internet, and even that (pun intended) "connection" has been slow in its expansion. They've resisted vehemently to join the rest of the world, but finally its big cities show signs of westernization. Hopefully these Olympics will show that dreaded government, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Sure, it's convenient for the rest of us lazy Americans to know that everyone on the planet will need to adopt some forms of English, but that's simply based on rules of the commercial majority. They may have the most populous country on the planet, but us English speakers control the commerce with which the Chinese people ultimately need to survive. The subplanet that is China has politically painted itself into a corner, and it's up to that same stubborn entity to join the rest of the globe and adopt English as a language and participate in westernized idealism. China put their Olympic pawns out there, and they were affable pawns. People amongst the Chinese teams hugged teammates, hugged the American opponents (in the case of the culmination of the gymnastic events) and acted, well, human. Chinese people seemed friendly but guarded; it's up to their overlords to release the grip on the remaining elements of humanism that have kept them so contained and distanced for centuries.

I watched the competitions, most notably swimming and gymnastics. Having already commented on the swimming achievements, I will say that despite my normal ambivalence toward gymnastics in general, I was quite excited by the USA's successes as a team and their appropriate individual efforts. Sure - in the swimming world, Michael Phelps, as I mentioned, performed well, as did Jason Lezak during important four person relay events. Nevertheless, I was particularly impressed with Nastia Luikin from the gymnastics team. Her father was an Olympic medalist for Russia, and not unlike Maria Sherapova, she eventually was raised in the United States and groomed to succeed. While one of the darlings of the Olympics, she seemed to lack the cutesy cuddliness that Mary Lou Retton belched during the 1984 Summer Games. Nastia is a great gymnast and invariably poised to be the next Maxim cover, but she maintained that typical Russian-born coldness that all too many expatriated athletes brought to our soil. As a result, many of the network interview shows tried to crown gymnast Shawn Johnson as America's next darling, but I doubt it will stick. Conan O'Brien's show has already used her in a comedy bit, comparing her to a picture of "Howdy Doody". Very cruel and undeserved, she didn't ask for that level of publicity; she merely wanted to perform well. That said, I suppose Nastia is the "cutie" and Shawn is the "doody". Where's the justice? Shawn Johnson was a great competitor, and seemingly a sweet person, so leave her alone. She's just a kid.

During several of the team competitions, especially with gymnastics, I noticed another depressing use of a human being by the Chinese empire. Wherever the various gymnastics teams' "benches" were for sitting and warming up, a Chinese girl had to hold a sign up designating the particular country's name. Couldn't they have used a metal pole for this purpose? I understand that there are 1.3 billion people over there, but are humans cheaper than poles? (Insert your favorite ethnic joke here). Bad jokes aside, they seemed forced to hold up this sign for the duration of the events. Inasmuch that team gymnastics took hours to complete, I truly felt sorry for the poor (perhaps literally) girls that had to hold various team's signs up throughout the duration of the events.

Continuing with the review of the gymnastics competitions, may I humbly ask why Bella Karolyi was asked to sit in with the always arrogant Bob Costas during the aforementioned gymnastics events? All Karolyi did was utter unintelligible aphorisms, accuse the Chinese of using underaged competitors, and abjectly root for whomever was up next in the competition. While I appreciate his history as a gymnastics coach, his emotional comments clearly never passed the "I shouldn't say that" filter. He's a typically creepy guy with former coaching achievements, and that's it - he was never fit to be a commentator. What little that could be discerned from his broken English was largely jingoistic and embittered. It must explain why his wife was out there doing the actual coaching, rather than himself. Sure, he's retired. Uh huh. I further enjoyed his passive thoughts about the usually prominent Romanian team, since Romania was his country of origin.

Another sham event - the "Beach Volleyball" competition - was so horribly westernized, it showed that the Chinese government was simply trying too hard. During breaks in the action, music was blaring from the P.A. system blaring sadly outdated "western" rock music. I heard 80s songs by Europe, AC/DC, et al. For some reason, this "event" needed some pathetic rock and roll attitude to it, and it was so artificial, I couldn't stand keeping my T.V.'s volume up any further. With both indoor and outdoor volleyball competitions, the Cuban teams kept coming up. Could they have been any darker skinned? Those Cubans looked peculiarly African to me. Sheesh.

I was incredibly amused when Bob Costas, back in the studio over there, casually mentioned that his guest for the current segment was this guy named George Bush. Since Bush Jr. is an idiot anyway, the lack of build-up for the supposedly "casual" interview was all the more gratifying. So George Jr. sat in, with his relaxed persona, and fielded questions from the typically verbose Costas. My favorite moment came along when Costas preceded a question with "given all the problems in the United States right now...". It was amusingly fielded by Bush, responding with "Well, Bob, I don't think there are any problems in the United States right now." Economic crisis? Gas prices? Hello? A sad, pathetic answer in front of millions of people. Hell, he has no reason to say the right things any more (when did he start?), being months away from relinquishing his post, but he was an incredible dullard in the "casual interview" role, despite passive attempts by Costas to avert attention from the comedy of his guest.

In the end, the Olympics allowed a nice attempt by China to show their human side. They did a good job, overall, and this dark region of the earth showed that brightness can still exist. I loved the achievements of our country's best athletes. Several people have asked me if I wanted Chicago (finalist) to earn the rights to hosting the 2016 Games. Yes, it's my home, and it would be two weeks of insanity during the fortnight. Technically, yes, I do want Chicago to win the bid. A significant competitor to this bid is Madrid. Why go back to Spain? The Summer Games were just recently in Barcelona (1992), and Chicago deserves the chance. The city has hosted various expositions before, granted they were over a century ago, but it's about time. Regardless of Los Angeles and Atlanta's games of 1984 and 1996 respectively, I'd love to see the world turn its attention toward a city like Chicago. It would be all too amusing to see the Rowing event take place on the Chicago River; first team whose boat doesn't dissolve is the big winner. Seriously, it's a nice city to host the Games, and I'll be far too old to care anyway. Anything but Madrid. Those dusty Spaniards stay up too late anyway.

One more article until #100! The 99th article might be just another essay, but that 100th - what will it be? Stay tuned. Thanks for the support.

The 2008 Olympics Part One

2008-08-27T06:27:00.004-05:00

The Olympic Games from Beijing have come and gone. Several have even wondered when I would comment about them. With all due consideration toward brevity and a salient overview, I decided to wait until everything was finished before vomiting my usual arcane thoughts. As such, the time has come. I've ingested the Clorox, and it's time to induce vomiting. Where is Mister Yuck! Some of the more ardent readers might expect a verbose tirade about all that had transpired, and I'll be sanguine enough to say that it wasn't all that bad. On with the show...

Upon the Games' commencement, multiple NBC commentators noted that this was the first Olympic Games on the Asian Mainland. I knew this was an incredible inaccuracy, but recently cited the Moscow Games of 1980 as a predecessor. A devoted, yet occasionally irksome reader correctly noted that Moscow was actually part of the continent of Europe, being west of the Ural mountains. I won't whine, but a continent was traditionally defined, in the archaic sense, as a "continuous tract of land", and that technically speaking, there were four continents : North/South America, Europe/Asia, Africa, and Antarctica. They were significant land masses defined by cartographers as being unique entities, even though, geologically speaking, Asia and the Americas are connected by a land bridge (submerged by shallow water) and that Africa is barely connected to the Eurasian land mass. Per the University of California Press: "Continents are understood to be large, continuous, discrete masses of land, ideally separated by expanses of water."
Continents shouldn't be divided by arbitrary means, like mountains. So technically speaking, Europe and Asia share a common land mass and Greece hosted Olympic games ages ago, but I won't complain any further. Bottom line is that NBC was wrong, since Seoul hosted the Olympics back in 1988. I'm right, and can happily call "foul" on NBC's inept researchers, despite my past references.

There couldn't have been a more frightening, intimidating, anarchonistic place to host a world event than China. This place has developed itself into a different planet for thousands of years; arbitrarily cut off from the rest of the world, and historically intent upon defining its own laws, religions, languages, regimes, and subcultures. The wizards from the International Olympic Committee may as well have held this year's games in the Amazonian jungle. At least the air quality would have been better. Anthropologically speaking, it seems like the Chinese people (all 390 trillion of them) were ridiculously sweet and hospitable, and I'll even wager that their wonderful nature wasn't at the forceful behest of their totalitarian leadership. Oddly, thousands and thousands of Chinese people volunteered for the Olympic ditch digging, and most of them cited national pride as the reason for doing so. Plenty of stories (that made it past the censors) revealed how commoners like cab drivers and Olympic volunteers spent years learning basic English in anticipation of the Games. Their zeal seemed sad and wonderful at the same time - full of warmth and hospitality, but (cynically speaking) under the forceful insistence of the omnipotent and frightening government. The government clearly wanted to show that China is a warm, humanistic nation, but one can only assume that the citizens were bullied into "playing nice" to fulfill national jingoistic ideals. Again, without question, the Chinese people seem to be a wonderful bunch, but the overlords were always manipulating their strings. I'm not one to speak about political topics, but this entire fortnight was a well planned, ten billion dollar propaganda bomb, detonated to the "real" people of planet earth. China wants us to leave them alone, but still trade with them, and give them plenty of our money.

I have to admit, I did not bother to watch the opening or closing ceremonies. I'm sure they were incredible and likely to overshadow any future Olympic spectacles, but then again, when a government has over a billion people at its disposal, I'm sure the show would be flashy. Eventually, China admitted to doctoring up some of the apparent pyrotechnics with computerized effects, and it was a miracle that such a stoic bunch could even own up to such falsification. China's sleight of hand continued with debates that members of their powerful gymnastics team were under the age of sixteen, the minimum age for participation. The jury is still out on this simmering controversy, and likely will never be put to rest. I'm sure a brutal government can hunt down a few fake IDs for some girls...who of us hasn't back in our college days? I heard that Jimmy Page appeared for London's part of the closing ceremonies (in anticipation of the 2012 games), which is very cool, being a Led Zeppelin connoiseur and afficionado. The mere notion of "Whole Lotta Love" echoing into the China sky brings ironic joy to this poor soul.

As for the Games themselves - of course, I'm happy for Michael Phelps.

Who isn't? I watched all of his races, and, not being a swimming fan, still found much excitement and gratification in his achievements. The best had to have come early on - prior to the 4 X 100 relay event, the French team said they would "smash" the American team. The anchor swimmer, Jason Lezak, came from behind to beat those jerks. A wonderful moment, and another medal for Phelps. Phelps seems to be a bit of a dork, with bad teeth and a dumpy mother, but his medal record deserves special note. Mark Spitz was ticked off that he wasn't invited to the Games, and he just seemed like a bitter has-been from days past. It was all about him not being there, not the support of other swimmers.
I rather enjoyed the swimming races, perhaps mostly for our country's dominance. As I mentioned before, some of the dramatic clips aired by NBC were longer than the races themselves, but I suppose it's understandable. I noticed that 1988 Olympic swimming hero Janet Evans was going to be appearing on some weird reality show. Yet another reality show. I was her grade school classmate in 1982, and everyone picked on her because she was allowed to leave school early every day to practice swimming. Poor kid, well, she did fine for herself, I suppose.

A North Korean athlete was disqualified because he failed a test for doping (a nice way of saying "steroids"). While not surprised that somebody would fail such a test, this guy was competing in shooting. Shooting? Who the hell needs "juice" for shooting? That's like taking steroids for a chess match. For that matter, I'm sure it's happened before. Put an asterisk by Kasparov's name....he hit that chess time clock a little too hard some times.

Stay tuned for the next installment. Only TWO (2) more articles to go until #100!

Commercials - #9

2008-08-15T03:53:00.003-05:00

I call this "part 9" because I have no idea how many times I've whined about commercials. For those who care, I had a very quiet, do-nothing birthday. Nobody? Fine. Sure, I get it. Just wait for Mister Wacky to write another pile of poop for the next break between incoming sales calls. Sure, just call me Mort Walker. Pry open the "funny pages" and expect more wild adventures from Beetle Bailey. Mn'uh huh. Nobody ever thanks the bloggy guy. Well, someone did, but she was referenced in my previous posting. Anyway, yeah yeah, commercials. Grumble. Yeah yeah, three (3) posts to go until #100. I mean #100! Acting excited. On with the show.

Creepy Wendy's Cartoon Character

In retrospect, I wasn't very impressed with the tiresome campaigns of the 80s and 90s, in which Dave Thomas himself insisted on "acting" in the commercials. For some odd reason, people took to the old dullard, and I suppose that was good enough for the strong economic times. Eventually, dear old Dave bit the burger, so to speak, and like the conundrum presented by Orville Redenbacher's demise, the marketing geniuses needed to come up with a new main character. In a positive light, Wendy's didn't make the same mistake as with the Redenbacher people, when they feigned Orville's reanimation with a creepy impersonator. With Wendy's, it wasn't reanimation, but just plain animation. They took the supposedly lovable caricature of "Wendy" with her red hair and pig tails, and made her into a cartoon character for the newest ad campaign. Now she frowns and has a creepy Hanna Barbera visage going. It's just plain disturbing to see the formally staid "logo" become a two dimensional, living, breathing cartoon girl. They, of course, decided to use a cutesy teenaged girl voice for the narration of said commercials, and the tone carries all the charm of a New York stock broker. Snotty, bratty, self-ingratiated, and oh so burger-licious.

Olympics Marketing

Ah, the Olympics are back, and since I don't watch the Winter Games, I can honestly say that enduring the marketing campaign every four years is frequent enough for my tolerance level. For starters, NBC's melodramatic promotional clips are driving my head into the desk. They've been running ten minute, dramatic montages, leading up to a one minute swimming race. Too much! There should be a rule that the sappy montage shouldn't ever be longer than the event itself. Then again, if following that rule, NBC could run a feature length film for the marathon event, or even the 10,000 meter race.
For additional inaccurate amusement, the promotional wizards claimed this was the first Olympics on the Asian Mainland. Hello? Does anybody remember Moscow in 1980? Perhaps I'm just jaded and dated.

Life Alert

Yes, I'm sure it's a good thing for all of the lonely old bastards that have to sit in their temperature uncontrolled hovels and count daily poops. Basically, it is the emergency electronic locket that was made famous with the old bat saying "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" This old crone was also featured in a commercial for "The Clapper". Clearly, she got up. Somebody butter her stairs, please. Anyway, there's a new ad campaign featuring C. Everett Koop (apparently nobody is hangin' with Mister Koop) and another old bag of bones. The latter is mumbling so incoherently as she says "All senior citizens should have life alert", they have to subtitle it. That's just patently humiliating; when English is your first language, and they still have to subtitle your mumblings - very sad. That said, the company sunk to a new low when, during their "out" screen, with name and address, they literally printed "The 'I've fallen and can't get up' product" or something similar. Nice job, make a mockery out of a mockery.

Computerized Animation - With Animals?

There are all too many commercials which now, through computer enhancement, show the animals mouthing plain english words, while a desparate voice-over artist fills in the funnies. I won't be the first to say this is a disturbing image, and I certainly won't delve into the creepy aspects of, with similar computers, making babies talk/sing/form harangues.
Recent anti-flea commercials have featured puppies singing dopey songs like "oh there ain't no bugs on me..." while the wonderful world of computerized animation forms the hapless animals' words in selling the pitch. Not exciting, and as I said before, patently disturbing. Things that shouldn't be animated, well, shouldn't be animated. I just finished making such a proclamation in the above Wendy's campaign complaints.

Royal Carribean

Another bunch of marketing geniuses that decided to use Iggy Pop's "Lust For Life" as the catchy, happy and bouncy soundtrack for their commercial campaign. Bear in mind, this campaign has much to do with a surly tween girl, suddenly cracking a smile during a family cruise. That's great, except for the fact that "Lust For Life" refers to a guy full of liquor and drugs. Nice try. Hope the tweeny doesn't catch on.

Progressive Insurance

Someone please carry out a hit on "Flo", the all too gregarious, bubbly dingbat who brandishes her "I Love Insurance" badge as she blurts out wacky aphorisms with all of the subtlety and timbre of Olive Oyl. The company dangles precariously close to the ledge, as it were, off of which Geico fell a long time ago, thanks to their Cavemen and gecko. Don't be next. Kill Flo. Come on, I don't watch that much TV, and if I do, I'm busily dodging the Vonage commercials, please don't make me dodge another painful campaign (wow, painful campaign, that's a gut shot alliteration straight!)

Cheerios

Cheerios is now pushing this "challenge" for people to, using Cheerios, reduce their cholesterol by 4% in 6 weeks. 4%? Holy hell, I can set up my lawn sprinkler once a day and lose more than that. If I sat in the same room with a bulb of garlic, I'd lose 4% in 6 weeks. To boot, I'm sure the requirements for this "challenge" involve never eating, drinking only water, climbing Mount Everest, and pummeling that damn Subway guy into submission. Subway submission! Sounds like a Saturday night robbery downtown. (Ok, Chicago only has a few miles of subways, but play along. What, no? Oh that's, it, I'm leaving, then. Oh man, forgot about the McDonald's rant. Fine...)

Mack Donald's

I love the newest campaign. "Mickey Dee's" has never made any apologies about marketing toward the black folk, and it's becoming more and more egregious every quarter. Now they're marketing this southern-inspired chicken slab of death on a greasy biscuit, and my arteries clog just by seeing the promotional spot. Additionally amusing that you won't find a white (or, as it were, non-black) person in the commercial. I suppose they figure that they have the demographic pinned down, might as well kill them with kindness. For the record, yes, I say "white" and "black". Anyone that was not born in Africa is not African American, they are American. Otherwise, I suppose we'd all be "Pangean American". So you're black, I'm white, we're American. Shut up and eat your biscuit, McDonald's says so.

Vonage
Need I say more? I shan't.

Stay tuned for more fun from Beetle Bailey!

Cards Everywhere, Part III

2008-08-08T03:04:00.020-05:00

The third in the series devoted to televised poker...

Time to move into the world of the poker professionals - the otherwise rank-and-file players who've turned into characters on the boob tube. I present to you Snow White and The Seven Dwarves of Poker! Bratty, Catty, Frumpy, Dumpy, Sneaky, Creaky and Spooky. FOUR (4) more posts until #100!!!

The Dwarves...

Phil Hellmuth - "Bratty"
A player that endeared himself to the nickname "Poker Brat", even though he's hardly the youthful sprite that won the World Series Main Event back in 1989. He's played up the "brat" characterization, but he's not actually all that bratty. More accurately, he's just a sore loser, plain and simple. He tends to be rather mercurial and loquacious when the going is good, such as when he wins a hand or a tournament. Phil writes a lot of checks that his performances can't cash, like when he reminds everyone that he's the greatest Texas Hold 'Em player in the world, and that he has the most "bracelets" (awarded to the winner of any given World Series of Poker event). Now larger than life, he's turned himself into a merchandising machine, marketing shirts, hats, and endorsements for Ultimatebet.net, which is nothing more than just another poker web site. Either larger than life, or too big for his britches (as he has become a bit doughy), he's a staple for the merchandising machines that drive poker's continual prominence on the web and late night cable channels.

Annie Duke - "Catty"
The sister of the eternally creepy Howard Lederer (he would be the eighth dwarf), a red-headed "spitfire" of a woman who tries her best to be a sexy, independent E.R.A. type woman of the new millenium. She always hugs and cuddles with anyone she knocks out of a tournament, and seems truly sorry to win any given hand. She almost cried once when she knocked her own brother out of a "Tournament of Champions" event; she went on to win the event, and seemed consistently apologetic in the process. She's a mother of four kids, however, and I've been told she isn't the nicest of people when dealing with the lowly general public. I can't confirm it, so don't send the law my way, Barney Fife.

Jennifer Harman - "Frumpy"
This chick shows up to every poker show imaginable. She has a constant frowny face, and seems a bit too mopey for all the television exposure she receives. Kinda reminds me of Ellen DeGeneres, but only in voice and demeanor. She's a decent player in terms of success, but having blonde hair, some circles decided that she must be one of the very few "poker babes" in such a male-dominated "sport". I just don't get it at times. That said, I will give her big props for her having dealt with plenty of health problems and never complaining about them, so I'll merely give the "frump" tag to her for her facial expressions, not attitude, per se. Frumpy in the nicest way.

Mike "The Mouth" Matusow - "Dumpy"
Again, in any other walk of life, he'd just be a dumpy boob with too much to say. His nickname of "The Mouth" came from constant harrassment of other players while butting heads during a particular hand. As with Hellmuth, his mouth wrote many checks that his card playing couldn't cash, and he'd wither away with small stacks of chips after suffering a humiliating loss. Matusow gained prominence on the airwaves by mere legend, far more than his success at winning tournaments.

Daniel Negreanu - "Sneaky"
A poisonous type of clever fellow who talks too much and has a nefarious sense of what cards are in another player's hand. His demeanor is affable, well mannered, and appreciably sociable. That said, his non-stop chatter is an effective weapon, pancaked upon his ability to figure out, based on "tells" and the like, what the other players have in their hands. He's the definitive example of the friendly neighbor that will loan you a cup of sugar, help rebuild your staircase, and then sleep with your wife. Again, a nice guy, but there's just something about him...

Doyle Brunson - "Creaky"
The great-great-great-great grandfather of so-called "modern" Texas Hold 'Em poker. He's approximately 240 years old, looks twice his age, and seems at the brink of an instant freeze dried transformation into nothing but ashes and a hat. While he is regarded as a genius for the strategic books he's penned, he constantly plays oddly weak hands, and bets when a player of sound mind would have passed on the given cards. Seems like a truly nice guy, so no offense intended. He carries elements of lore and history with him, and he's won quite a few World Series of Poker bracelets, but other than that, he's an anachronistic museum piece that commands respect from the likes of Bratty, Sneaky, Spooky, and Dumpy.

Chris Ferguson - "Spooky"
A spooky, long haired phantom of a guy who hides behind sunglasses and under a wide-brimmed hat. This guy would be denied a job from just about anywhere if for no other reason than the frightening appearance. His long hair and scraggly beard has earned him the arguably sacrilegious nickname of "Jesus". Invariably, one is stuck with hearing commentators continually saying "Jesus has an open ended straight draw" or "Jesus folded". In various modes of partial consciousness, hearing these comments can conjur up some rather wacky dreams.

And Finally, Snow White!

Vanessa Rousso
Of course, the only true "Poker Babe" title has to go to Vanessa Rousso, oh I just love her. She isn't always on televised poker events, but she has won a tournament or two, and looks great in doing so. Smart as a whip (with a newly acquired law degree) the girl can conquer the world. I'm proud of her, and she's the ultimate poker girl in my mind, no apologies for being biased. She's featured in a PokerStars commercial as a bungee jumper, if that reminds anybody. She'll always be my favorite, and I can only hope to see her out in the poker world more often. From what I've discerned thus far, she's very charming and well grounded. I wish her the best. Fine, I have a right to my crushes. Blah.

And Lest We Forget...

None of the aforementioned people have shown up in a Vonage commercial. Stop the Vonage commercials! I hate this dreaded ad campaign, and it's driving me to drive them, and its minions, out of business.

See you next time! Four (4) posts to go!

Cards Everywhere, Part II

2008-07-31T03:38:00.002-05:00

Finally! A new poker post! It's been four years since my last one, and it's amazing that the entire televised poker world has slipped under my bloggian radar for so many years. Time to catch up. I might have been somewhat prophetic in my initial article, but now, I'll throw some quips about the cast and characters involved, with their requisite shows. I'll start by stating the obvious; poker, as a game, trend, or phenomenon, has grown far too big for its general britches. That said, here are my thoughts about the televised poker scene these days, as it has to do with its shows and commercials. Next one will have to do with the people. For now, eat up. I'll say it again, but FIVE posts until #100!

TV Shows

World Series Of Poker
Shown on ESPN and its myriad child channels, this series is run into the ground, showing all main event competition from 2003 forward, over and over again. The commentators are good ones, particularly Norman Chad, a wise-cracking fellow with plenty of catch phrases and self-deprecating thoughts to support the main commentator, Lon McEachern. Unfortunately, since Chris Moneymaker broke new ground by winning a few years ago, ESPN has been running all of the tournaments into the ground.

Poker After Dark
The show airs on NBC late at night, and focuses on a single table of "high rollers" who are supposedly prominent in the poker world. The show, however, will put anybody to sleep, due to its limited commentary and focus on table talk. As such, the viewer is subjected to constant hypnotic sounds of chip jangling and utter silence. Really tough to get through a one hour episode after a long day. It's snore city.

World Poker Tour
Usually, this series involves an odd assortment of characters that nobody had ever heard of before, competing in a strange venue like an offshore island. For cryin' out loud, the show only airs on the Travel Channel. I'm sure people looking for prospective travel destinations would love to see a bunch of gruff poker monsters tossing chips at a table in Bermuda. Nothing beats the bright commentary of the always relevant Vince Van Patton, however.

US Poker Championship
Again, aired by ESPN to death. It invariably involves a bunch of New Jersey based players with rough attitudes, cab driver hats, and bad personalities. Fortunately, they haven't been showing these reruns as much lately, but it's never interesting, because nobody involved in the final couple tables are ever interesting.

High Stakes Poker
Another annoying show, mostly because of the money that the invited poker players bring to the table. It is supposedly a pure cash game, with chips and a dealer, but invariably some players insist on bringing along a stack of bundled 100 dollar bills for use when necessary. Ok, I don't want to see someone throwing around a 10,000 dollar stack of cash when I am grousing for dollars in the real world. It's just an arrogant show of wealth and simultaneously sickens me when these players bet money that could be going to a charity or similar good cause. Nothing more than a bunch of rich players showing off for the "have nots".

The Commercials

Ultimatebet.net
The always entertaining Phil Hellmuth is the spokesperson for this poker-based web site. He's warmed up to being the brat of poker, and takes to stupid stunts with bad production in the commercials for this site. One commercial shows him driving a new "Ultimate Bet" race car, and subsequently driving it into a concrete structure. Another shows him "testing" the company's web site's capabilities, but never once does he touch a mouse. Sure, we all use the internet without touching a mouse. Okie dokie.

PokerStars
In these commercials, various poker "celebrities" are signed on to do dramatic spots for the PokerStars site. One involves Vanessa Rousso, the only true cutie in poker, so I won't whine about her participation; hey, money is money, although since she just completed her law degree, I don't understand why she decided to sell out for this. That said, this site is a substantive one, employing many poker professionals and spotlighting a couple odd ones for commercials. They keep running this Russian player that we're all supposed to know, some Katya Kasdlkjyflya or whatever, and I've yet to see her in any televised poker competition. Good luck, my Russian comrade!

Vonage!
Yes, I told you I'd mention these jerks in as many postings as possible. They suck!

Stay tuned for the next post, which will be very soon, about poker players and the "celebrities" they've become. Five (5) posts until #100!!!

Revenge Of Commercials

2008-07-15T01:16:00.006-05:00

Time to revisit the annoying commercials of late, there are, as usual, too many to mention. Six (6) postings to go until the gala 100th posting celebration!

National Collectors Mint
They strike again (minting pun intended) with some weird, silverish $20 piece that's intended to commemorate the 7th anniversary of 9/11. 7th? And again, pulling the 9/11 rabbit out of a hat, with that implied 9/11 guilt tactic at hand. If we don't purchase this important "piece of history" then uh oh, we're so careless and evil, we should be shunned from society. In addition, the Statute of Scumitations now must apply, since it's been enough years that this sleazeball operation won't even bother donating even a modicum of its sales toward the various (very active) funds for the familes affected by the original tragedy. Kindly roast in hell, National Collectors Mint.

Secret Commercial
A painfully, painfully annoying chick runs around town, finding pointless excuses to raise her arms and flash her stupid pits. She hails a cab, the cab pulls over, and tells the poor, hard working driver that she didn't need a cab. She goes on to give a "high five" to someone and salute an aged doorman. Finally, she holds her arms up in a "surrender" position while standing in front of a police car, again to show off her arm pits. They should have arrested this bimbo on the spot.

VONAGE VONAGE VONAGE
I was intending to work an anti-Vonage rant into every article until I hit the magic 100th posting. Well, I suppose I somewhat dropped the ball on that. I did manage to figure out that the woman in the commercials is Liz Beckham, she even has a little self-promotional web presence. Apparently she used to appear on Chappelle's Show. I'd say that her appearances on these commercials is a bit of a career downfall, but then again, she's neither had, nor likely will have, such disturbingly extreme exposure.

Ass-Wiping Bears
A toilet paper company keeps peddling its wares by utiilizing a motherless family of fat, dumpy, lumbering cartoon bears. Invariably, the wisened father figure shows the stinky, unwiped, junior bear what should be used on his tender bottom. Since when did bears start buying and using toilet paper? They're out in the wild, they've got leaves, or rabbits, or whatever. Since when does toilet paper indicate the further development of an entire cartoon species? We don't need to horrify children any further. What about Pernell Roberts' stinky kids out in Africa? They don't even have pants. The cartoon bears don't either, but they have plenty of ass paper.

Goldkit.com
Another one of the latest and greatest. We eager consumers are told to scoop up our presumably discarded gold jewelry - you know, unimportant heirlooms and wedding jewelry - and dump them into a tacky mailer. Who's stupid enough to put all their gold into an envelope and mail it away? That's worse than sending cash in the mail. I wonder what this company's stock response would be..."Gee, you sent us gold? Boy oh boy, we never received it, sorry Zeke - you know how unreliable the postal service can be." At this point the sounds of office laughter are curtailed by a "shush" gesture from the office bitty.

The Planter's Scary Woman
Getting a little tired here! Certainly not to the dreaded Vonage level, but the commercial involves an ugly, uni-browed woman, prancing in the streets with guys fawning over her. Why? She rubbed a Planter's nut on her body. It just ends unpleasantly (as if it started pleasantly) with a snippet of her rubbing the nut between her "rack". Something about seeing this ugly woman in my mind's eye inherently precludes any appetite I might have had for their highly processed cashews. Have fun, peddle thy wares with ugliness.

Midas
I have no idea where they found this crackhead, but apparently there's been a trend for mining frightening-looking monsters for commercials, such as the annoying bozo with the huge afro haircut in the Alltel spots. Anyway, this burnout drives his car through the Midas station's front door, and calmly states (with all the demeanor of a 'lude addict) "I think I need new brakes". The attendants, much too old to be stuck at a Midas franchise, calmly mention the company's new brake checkup plan, and don't think anything of the $30,000 of structural damage imparted by the the wacky prescription forger. The whole scenario makes no sense, and merely invites idiots from the chaotic real world to start wantonly driving their cars into auto repair shops with a lame excuse that their brakes were worn.

Crest Whitening Strips
FINALLY! Some advertising agency out there actually wrote some semantically correct copy. They mentioned that the dental strips or whatever will help brighten the teeth with 5 minutes a day. Not "in", but "with". I ranted about this before. Tons of Vapid Voice props are due to the brilliant copy writer that finally did things properly. Make yourself known! I command thee! That said, purchase this product! Shameless endorsement. Hey, it is a good counter to my constant protests against stupid Vonage.

The Stupid Fox (Again)
I've mentioned this one before, but yes, the stupid cartoon fox still leaves his money hungry stench in the corners of that which is late night television commercials. Once again, the fox is convincing us to start a home based business, and listen to the testimonials of doughy middle American PCH rejects who supposedly struck it rich by listening to a poorly animated cartoon character.

Creepy Foot Care
There are a couple disturbing foot care commercial that are shown all too often. One involves the "Ped Egg", which scrapes away dead tissue. Fine, don't show me before/after clips, I'm eating here. Then there's a Tinactin commercial with some ugly cartoon guy burning up from Athlete's Foot, hammered home by the consistently over-the-top voice of John Madden. Finally there is the always untrustable Japanese foot pad commercial, which claims to detoxify one's body in a mere fortnight. No thank you, again - I'm eating.

Boris The Whore
Now Boris Becker is showing up sporadically for commercials during tennis tournaments. Why? To promote tennis equipment? Nope, it's to promote the fact that he's back. Not in tennis, though. Poker. He's hawking a poker web site and latching onto what's left of his notoriety, and clearly just trying to dig out from all of his past tax evasion attempts.

SIX MORE POSTINGS UNTIL #100!!!

Parking Lots

2008-07-05T08:41:00.005-05:00

I've had past rave-ups about the wonder worlds of driving and going to the store. Well, hell, why not combine these wonderful side-thorns into the beautiful middle ground between the two, known as the store/mall parking lot! It's peanut butter and chocolate for bitter misanthropes like yours truly. I wondered if I'd have enough material for a respectable posting, but after some extensive consideration (i.e. going to a parking lot), it was a landslide vote toward justification of its own article, and as such, infinite internetness (New word, honey, you know who you are). For what it's worth, the parking lot is a fascinating microcosm of all that is annoying about people, and by extension, the vehicles that they use to exude their inner pathetique. Happy 4th. Yes, I know it's now the 5th, but I'm late to everything. By the way, kids, only SEVEN more posts until the big 100th article jamboree! Do NOT miss that one! Coming in August, dates to be mentioned later. I'm working on it. Sadly I really am. C'mon man, I got nowhere else to go! I got nowhere else to go! Ah, Gere. Ah, Bach. Oh by the way, I decided, at least until I get to #100, I'll be creating cryptograms for a select few people that might understand my intentions. Trust me, they aren't worth the time to decode, and they are just personal things anyway. Just ignore them, it's more just for self gratification. Thanks and pardon our dust! On with the show.

(Cryptogram : The CTA Train took the Confederate General, would not pass this, and then followed anchors. Check your bottlecaps. Anyway, on to the article...)

The Cars Have Eyes
Every time I sit in a car for more than 2 minutes, invariably, there will be a couple creepy lurkers, sitting in an adjacent car, watching me. If I do anything mildly odd, like talk on the phone in my car, or drink something while chilling out in the car, I always see these creepy people staring back at me through the window of their broken down El Camino in the next spot. What are you people doing? If I drop some groceries or trip over something, it's a guarantee that I'll look up to see one or two pairs of beady eyes leering at me through their partially (and unprofessionally) tinted windows. Who are you people? Either leave the car or leave the premises. I can even tolerate the ones that are taking a nap in their parked car - hey, more power to ya, at least you aren't watching my every move.

Cart Corrals
They came up with the cart corral thing about 20 years ago, with the intention of all the happy customers "pitching in" and putting their shopping carts all into one place. First, the signs always say that by helping put the carts into this makeshift set of parallel bars, that the customers would help keep prices at a minimum. Why? The stores still have full time employees collecting the damn carts anyway, now they just don't have to walk as much. You know what, pot-head Metallica fan cart collector guy? I'm going to put my cart right by my car. You can come get it. The extra leg work will help you appreciate that hastily purchased weed so much more. You're welcome. Rock on.

The Snow Plow People
When the hell of a nice hefty winter snowfall comes around, then the magic of the store parking lot takes on a whole new identity. First of all, after about six inches of snow, you won't see the plow people till the lot is at its emptiest, like at four in the morning. Fine, great, wonderful. The problem is, if you're one of the unfortunate souls looking for a frozen pizza and some skinny jimmys around that time, you have to become Snake Pliskin in an icy equivalent of downtown hell. These plow people will salt your car, assault your car, salt you, assault you, run you over, run after you, you name it. They're amped up on God knows what, plowing snow into 20 foot tall embankments at 30 miles per hour, doing doughnuts in the middle of the lot like a Zamboni with a penicillin allergy. Yes I know Zambonis are machines and can't technically have allergies, but be creative, dear reader. By 8am, the lot will be well plowed and cleared of snow and ice, in time for the morning rush. Unfortunately, there will be several casualties trapped in a few man made snow piles - you'll find them by looking for the second hand galoshes and Totino's box.

Bad Timing
Every time I am trying to get in or out of my car, the following will be the case. An crumbling old bat will be taking hours to get in or out of her car's door in an adjacent parking spot, thus forcing me to wait until Grandma Ethel moves her walker, cane, and heart meter in/out of the vehicle. Only when I am needing to enter/exit my car. Similarly, I'll run into the situation when the happy mommy needs about 40 minutes to buckle/unbuckle her kids, and spray all the car doors open on either side, thus paralyzing all adjacent parking spots until little Audrey, Blake, and Dylan are safely in their new spots.

River Raid Syndrome
I discussed this long ago in my complaints about driving. River Raid was a game when you, a plane flying along the middle of a river at nearly its surface, would have to shoot or dodge boats that and other things that would conveniently pop out from the side at the worst possible times. That said, when I'm trying my best to drive down an aisle toward the typically inconvenient exit point, the bright white "backup lights" will start popping up on either side, and it's just a matter of time before one of these dopes back out right into the side of my car. Some of them have to do it through blind guesswork, thanks to...

The Wall of SUVs
Another fascinating wet Pringle of irony that visits my vehicular ballet known otherwise as parking lot navigation is the visual wall of SUVs and vans. When perpendicularly parked in a lot with an aisle that's barely wide enough to allow two cars to pass each other in opposing directions, it's a great festival of guesswork to be parked between two hulking, tall vehicles. That wondrous twist of fate leaves me with no choice but to blindly back out of the spot and hope for blue sky, expect the grouchy extended horn honky from a passing driver, or dread the sound of metal hitting metal. It's always one of the three, and these days, I'm lucky to have avoided the third one in this wondrous game of low speed Russian Roulette.

The Parking Lot Snipers
In larger mall lots, you'll find the wide, lazy expensive cars that seem entitled to a parking spot that is one of the top 50 or 60 closest spots amongst the 6000 in the entire lot. These wizards of strategy will sit and block one lane of traffic in an aisle for as long as necessary, while Grandma Slowmenstein bumbles with her dozens bags containing ugly sweaters and shirts for her adorably spoiled descendants. While Grandma S. sorts out her belongings and packs everything away into the car that is parked in such a prime spot, Aunt Fatass sits there in her Lincoln Contental, content to block traffic and listen to "My Beautiful Balloon" in climate controlled comfort. These idiots will sit long enough for people to siphon their gas.

The Unlucky Samaritan
Maybe it's just me (that should just begin every passage), but especially in winter, I always get stuck coming back to my car that's parked next to the guy whose car needs a jump start. Grumble, it's midnight, I'm cold, and now I'm risking electrocution for an idiot whose 1979 Horizon still has a Die Hard battery from back when Sears was thriving on selling soft pretzels and bad Pacman cartridges. If I'm in any type of helpful frame of mind, I'll help the poor bastard even though

- None of my good deeds ever go unpunished,
- All my good deeds have never yielded good karma
- Nobody's ever around to offer help for my car

On a similar token, I'll be asked for help from the moron who's locked out of his/her car. Now, I've been locked out of my car twice - once it wasn't my fault, and the other time was 19 years ago. How hard is it? Keys out of ignition, put in pocket, lock door, enter store. I know I sound like Professor Falkan from War Games there, and maybe I am a living version of same.

Parking Lot Teen Losers
These are the kids that just hang out in a big parking lot, usually in a big group, and either perch on their bikes or skateboard around. Ok, I was a teen once, and one that knew enough people to justify hanging out. There were always five billion better places than the middle of a grocery store parking lot for hanging out. It's so stupid. There are parks, malls, anything. Stupid, stupid.

Call PETA
Unfortunately, I often see the insane dog, locked in a car, on a questionably warm day. That's just wrong. Sometimes the window might be cracked, like that's going to provide a zephyr of air conditioned comfort to an animal covered in fur. Nice call, Mitzy - you go shop for your quality cuts of tenderloin, while Fido boils in his own entrails. And for that matter, does anyone name their dog Fido, Spot, or Rover anymore? I'd almost be inclined to take a poll. Anyway, getting back to the topic, I've been tempted to open the doors and just take the damn dogs before, and if the door is unlocked the next time I see such a situation, I'm moving in. I suppose I could leave a nasty note telling Mitzy where she can reclaim her par-broiled companion of convenience. Bitches. And I don't mean the four-legged ones.

Disappointing Songs From Artists I Like

2008-06-28T16:49:00.005-05:00

Bear in mind, while I might like these artists, these are just some of their most forgettable efforts.

Fame - David Bowie (w/John Lennon)
This one takes a pathetic hack at funkiness with a tattered effort at "groovin" in the worst, most white, way. The lyrics are stupid, the singing, thanks to a cackling John Lennon, sounds like cats fighting over who gets prime litter box territory. The song, in general, comes off like filler - or an afterthought. There's no cohesion to it and the voices are just plain annoying to hear. Painful.

Man On A Mission - Van Halen
The opening riff just tears through the eardrums. The song makes no sense, just bad Sammy Hagar rhetoric with no point to the lyrics, a horrible chorus. They must've "written" this song in like 3 minutes and had thrown it onto the album as an afterthought for filler.

Good Day Sunshine - The Beatles
This song is so sickening, saccharine sweet, and full of happy flowers and sunshine, it's intolerable. Talk about vomit. Just the phrase "I feel good, in a special way..." is too much for me to handle. I hate HATE when McCartney writes this happy-dappy garbage.

Rag Doll - Aerosmith
The video is intolerable; slutty models ultimately hanging off of Tyler, with painfully bad fake live footage. The song itself just doesn't go anywhere, with a chorus that really isn't much of a chorus. It simply was devoid of any depth - and trust me, I can understand the need for some songs to just be "fluff" and fun, but this one seems to drone on and on.

One At A Time - The Who
From the It's Hard release, an album with plenty of thoughtful, insightful writing, this one was the song to keep on the cutting room floor. It comes out of the gate and just hurts the ear with screaming, circus-like horns, a dopey riff and an overall bad attempt at a moment of light-hearedness.

My World - Guns n' Roses
From the Use Your Illusion II release, it's the mystifying, very Axlish closing track that just leaves one scratching his or her head - or in my case, scratching my head and covering my ears (imagine how that would be anatomically possible). A very oppressive sonic bucket of water in the face, employing Axl's bitchy and whiny litany, enveloped in a nasty rap context. Full of distorted bleeps and bloops, it's one of those songs that I'd use on an alarm if I really needed to be jolted out of bed.

Atom Heart Mother (the whole album) - Pink Floyd
Twenty years of trying to like this album, and it's just not going to happen. The volume ranges from typically too quiet to discern anything, to loud screaming choirs and random, unstructured attempts at an opus. I heard things from earlier years and, of course, later years, but this one just defies logic. Too much experimentation and attempts at being an artist, rather than creating listenable pieces.

Chip Away - Jane's Addiction
Lots of hangover-inducing pounding and overloaded screaming. For that matter, it just is the musical equivalent to a bad hangover headache. Listen with caution. I will say, on stage, it does present a cool visual, which involves 3 members of the band, hammering away in unison.

She Goes Down - Motley Crue
This song, from the Dr. Feelgood album, must have been targeted specifically to the crowd aged 12 to 16. Any song that starts with a lame sound effect of a zipper being undone and a devlish female laugh, well, that's one for the recycle bin. Hell, throw it in the landfill instead. A rare hiccup on an otherwise strong release.

Bicycle Race - Queen
Stupid stupid stupid stupid! And not to use this in the classic homophobic context, but the song is sooo gay! Plus Freddie, rest his soul, buried more gay code phrases into this song than he did with guys' heads into his lap. The irritating ringing of the bicycle bells at the end of the song are also a relief, because the painful listen is finished.

Loving You Is A Dirty Job - Ratt
Good band, lots of great 80s rock, and then they dropped this revival effort in the early 90s. It was a weak track, and they were better off just calling it a day after the rather strong Reach For The Sky album. The song has a lame chorus, and everything around it is even less memorable. Kind of left a bad taste in one's mouth, and they really could have just let things be and ended everything on a high note. I know that this was also in tandem with a greatest hits release, but then just release the greatest hits! Stick to the solid stuff. Stupid.

Moby Dick - Led Zeppelin
Yes, of course I had to attack my own, sooner or later. Rule #1 - hell, rule #0 - DON'T RELEASE DRUM SOLOS ON ALBUMS. Especially crappy ones.

Sunday Afternoon In The Park - Van Halen
Van Halen's second appearance, though this one is from the DLR era. From Fair Warning. It was clearly filler, and the band was already angry with each other at its recording's outset. They needed something to throw in here, and it was a lame attempt to showcase Michael Anthony on bass. Oops.

Bright Light Fright - Aerosmith
Well, it takes quite a bit for a band to show up twice on this list, but leave it to them. This song, from Draw The Line, was a lame Joe Perry throwaway song, they were, at this point, just messed up and looking for ways to fill up an album. There's no discernable riff or melody to this, and a painful waste of recording time. Hell, the lyrics from the "chorus" should say it all...

I got the sunlight blues
I can't find my shoes
The only thing on TV
Is the good morning news

Candle In The Wind - Elton John
Ok, this one's just personal, but hell, I'm entitled. This song has historically been a truly cursed track, as over time, any time I've heard it, something would happen that same day. Heard it one morning on the way to high school, two minutes later, I smashed the back of someone's car. Heard it another day on the way home from work, then on the way to basketball later that evening, some idiot plowed into my car. Heard it come on the radio another time, frantically turned it off, but it was too late, and later on that day, I busted my ankle. Same frantic turn-off moment a few months later, but again, the curse was imposed, and I lost my wallet. So you can imagine why I'd rather not hear this song, and made for the post Princess Di death era all the more interesting, with lots of artful dodging.

More Mini Lists

2008-06-26T22:47:00.002-05:00

Just rattling them off at this point. Don't forget to check the preceding article I posted earlier today! It was a doozie!

Signs You're An Old Coot

-Use of the enraged phrase, "I'll show ya!"
-Saying anything involving the word "nickel"
-Threatening, "I'll give ya a knuckle sandwich!"
-Use of the words "fella", "youngster", or "whipper-snapper"
-Making pointless references to "Post Toasties"
-Recalling when cigarettes were a nickel a pack (see item #2)
-Listening to A.M. Radio - while at home
-Referring to a girl as a "lass"
-Continued use of the ol' record player
-Wasting the postal carrier's time with 20 minute stories
-Driving Oldsmobiles
-Continued maintenance and repair of the avocado green refigerator and dishwasher
-Meeting friends and only talking about which mutual friends have most recently fallen down the stairs
-Candy dishes
-Installation of a hand rail in the bath tub
-Consistent purchase of epsom salts
-Reading the paper on the toilet
-Being abrasive to that apparently "flimsy" male cashier
-Arguing with toll collectors
-Arguing with toll collecting baskets
-When whoopie cushions are replaced with hemorrhoid pillows
-Bathing suits become "swimming trunks"
-Referring to the electric bill as the "light bill"

Signs You're An Annoying Punk

-Wearing a sideways "bee bop" baseball cap
-Obsession with talking "street"
-Prominence with playing the Madden football series
-Wearing shorts that are longer than pants
-Spurious use of the word "hizzle"
-Only watching games that are preceded by the letter "X"
-Constant use of the interjection "Dayyyamn!"
-Always having spray paint cans in the trunk/bike basket
-Calling yourself a "baller" without ever having played basketball in real life
-Careful grooming of an almost goatee

Signs That I Need A New Car

-Car presents me with divorce papers
-Memories of lost hubcaps
-Not needing a key to start it
-Cigarette lighter creates a fountain of sparks
-Exhaust pipe is all "banana'd out"
-Brake pads are sections of moist phone books
-Oil change becomes just the process of adding new oil
-Cassette player rewinds any inserted tape, then devours it
-Tires announce they are officially tired
-Being rebuked by other Mustang owners
-Two words: Floppy spoiler
-Car gradually strips itself down to primer
-Window defroster causes a fire

Get Off The Road If You...

-Still have a "Baby On Board" sign in the back window
-Drive a mini-van
-Have a flag of any type flying outside the vehicle
-Have more than two bumper stickers
-Own those annoying (and locally illegal) purple headlights
-Own those annoying (and locally annoying) hubcaps that spin independently
-Have some poorly restored 80s-mobile with those noisy glass block mufflers
-Ever attended a "glass block muffler" convention (yes I've seen one from across the street)
-Still drive anything from AMC
-Drive that "Dee-troit" way where you slink down to the side while at the wheel
-Make out with your chick at stoplights
-Can't identify a green light in less than 3 seconds
-Go 20 mph over the speed limit, and are behind me
-Go 10 mph under the speed limit, and are in front of me
-Stop in the middle of a busy street for no reason, without signalling that you're about to turn left
-Have a Kicker box and more than 100 watts of stereo power
-Have those ridiculously fat tires

Commercials That Need To Stop

-Vonage. No explanation necessary.
-Anything with Billy Mays hawking the product. Half of them are questionable in quality anyway.
-Geico commercials, particularly with the caveman. Haven't we suffered enough? Not to mention the stupid gecko, the annoying kid at the race track, and the bad cameos from K-List celebrities.
-Sports Illustrated - Champ of the month... Have whined about this enough
-Ocean Spray - Stupid guys that are supposed cranberry farmers, standing in a bog. Just too demeaning.
-Wendy's - Still creeped out from the animated Wendy cartoon character.
-Sonic - Always two idiots talking in a car, presumably at a drive-thru. We don't have Sonics around here, give it up.
-Coors - People being way too excited about vented spouts in the cans and how the label turns blue at the right temperature.
-Prostate commercials - No need to explain.

Strawberries And Cream?

2008-06-26T15:02:00.003-05:00

As a fledgling tennis fan (not to mean I'm a fan of fledgling tennis - gotta watch those dangling participles), I've been watching coverage of Wimbledon's first four days. Watching it almost to exhaustion, might I add. On DirecTV, they have six additional channels available, so one can watch the action on various courts. It's scary to think that such immersion is made available to hungry tennis fans, and scarier to admit that I've been one of the zealots, fluttering about from channel to channel, like a schizophrenic butterfly zipping from flower to flower. Somewhere out there, I just know there's a classic rock cover band named "Schizophrenic Butterfly". It's a name just like "Acid Reign" or any number of names that are adopted by area high school rockers. With this amount of coverage, it's easy to start seeing tennis courts in bad dreams, and you bet they would be bad dreams. Nevertheless, watching hours of Wimbledon coverage invariably leads to me to noticing peculiarities of the tournament, the "tradition", and jolly old England itself.

First of all, being all grass courts, the baseline area from where the players stand and run the most, is a worn out, brown patch, presumably from too much wear and tear. That's fine and understandable, as most of the courts at the club are used for other events during the warmer months of the calendar year. On one hand, I suppose it's inevitable, but couldn't these days of science miracles solve this? Or couldn't they just spray a green dye over these brown patches just to make the courts look better? Plus, with all that wear and tear over the 3800 years of play at that antiquated place, why haven't the players just worn a trench into the ground there? If they can avoid the trench, they can avoid the brown. There, that's my slogan for my next political campaign when I run for mayor of Schaumburg. Hell, why not, they've got some good eateries out there, plus all the shopping! I'd imbezzle that sales tax revenue like Mayor Quimby. Next point about these brown patches that just annoy the hell out of me... The Centre Court (their spelling) is used once a year - just for the Wimbledon tournament. That's understandable, since they want to keep the court in as pristine a condition as possible for the big matches during the tournament. That being the case, then why are there still brown patches? For Pete's sake, after a year of non-use, can't this magic rye grass actually grow green along that baseline area? Drop some fertilizer and a little water on the area every once in a while. Teeing areas on golf courses are similarly shorn, get tons of traffic, and even the cut rate golf courses know how to keep the area green. Teeth and grass, those folks over there have some learning to do for both. I'm starting to think that they've hired some certified Brown Patch Specialist to pour Clorox and lard all over those areas just to keep it a nice crappy brown. I'm sure the stiff shirts over there would make some type of excuse that the anomalies add to the "character" of the All England Club. Yes, when I see a state of disrepair, I think of character. It's only a matter of time before I have yet another nightmare in which I'm being attacked by ravenous underground brown patch monsters.

Next, there's the stuffiness and rigidity of the whole thing, as if this is some brown-patch-laden, outdoor department of Parliament. Players must wear "mostly white". Mostly? Is there a Royal Judge of All Things Mostly? "Hmmm sorry, ol' chap, that outfit doesn't satisfy our mostness standards. Get most mostish and then we'll let you play on our mostly green courts." Of course, the line judges, staff, and related officials all wear, to an extent, uniforms. The judges have to stand completely stoic, which is understandable during the progress of play, so as not to distract. But these poor bastards stand still, like Buckingham Palace guards, to the bitter end of the play, even when the ball has been ruled "out" and is zipping toward their expressionless faces at 130 miles per hour. Put a hand up, Nigel! Duck out of the way, Quentin! You're probably being paid crappy shillings anyway, so have some self-preservation and protect what's left of your hawkish face. I don't get it. These people would stand still if a live grenade were tossed to them. Lord knows we don't want to break the rules and risk distracting the grenade-throwing player. On another level altogether, spectators aren't allowed to leave or return to their seats until there is a break in the game, such as between sets or when players change sides. That could be a hell of a nightmare if some poor shmuck in the tenth row suddenly gets a potty emergency after a bender of too many fish and/or chips. And who decided this was a friggin' opera all of a sudden? Is there a Wimbledon brig for any offending individuals that cough, sneeze, or break into a seizure? I'm sure cell phones are banned from a ten kilometer radius surrounding the place, Heaven help anybody that forgets to turn theirs off and allows it to ring. Off to the brig with the sneezers. No talking, don't cheer too much, just sit quiet. It's the sporting world's equivalent of study hall.

There's far too much emphasis placed on the whole "strawberries and cream" garbage. This is the signature concession that receives way too much attention during the course of the events. Now I'm as big a fan of strawberries as the next guy. They're juicy, nutritious, and quite a tasty snack. But for a sporting event? With cream? I've never had them with cream, I suppose I'm a bit left of center by preferring them straight up. But now with the cream involved, you need utensils, a cup, it's like those stupid cereal commercials in which people are shown with a bowl and a spoon wherever they go; at work, in the woods, on the train, etc. Too much work. Just sell the damn strawberries and skip the cream. You can serve the strawberries in a little box like french fries (sorry, chips) and it becames a handy, mobile munchable. These folks certainly haven't figured out the secrets of convenient snacking. Worse yet, commentators seem obligated to report the total amounts of strawberries and cream sold, which I'm sure is a far better use of expensive live television broadcast time than, say, I don't know...like reporting the results of the damn tournament. Who cares! I want cream data and strawberry tonnage! Now! Get me the queen.

On a slightly - very slightly - more realistic note, they also sell fish and chips. Ok fine, this is jolly old England, and for once, this could actually be conceived as a good walking snack. I could see myself engorging on this fare, but it makes me wonder if they sell beer at the site. I'll bet they don't, perhaps one of the devoted readers can do the leg work on this and comment back. If they don't sell beer (which is like soda in the U.K.), then I can't quite see the point of having the fish and chips. That kind of thing is pub grub, and pub grub requires pub drinks. Anything else would be like white wine with red meat. Then again, a ban on alcohol sales at this church of a sporting event would reduce the likelihood of wacky hooligans, drunken ruffians, stander-uppers, and sneezers. They'd need a bigger brig anyway.

There are a few things that really could use some modernization for that place. I will grant them a nod for working on installing a retractable roof over the Centre Court, slated for availability in 2009. This was done so that important matches wouldn't be spoiled by the area's inevitable lousy weather. If the stodgy folks at the club can make such strides, why are people, on many courts, still operating the scoreboards by hand? What the hell is this, Wrigley Field? Come on already, my damn grade school gym, which was built some time before Westminster Abbey, had an electronic scoreboard in the late 1960s. Every time I saw one of these dopey scoreboard operators manually swapping and sliding tiles, all I could think of was Gene Rayburn saying "Slide it, Earl!" (This obscure Match Game reference was brought to you by Rice A Roni - the San Francisco treat!) I understand that this plague of Amishness only tainted the ancillary courts (there are nineteen of them in play), but jeez, join the 20th century.
In addition, there's a slightly new feature of pro tennis - the option to challenge a line judge's call and utilize a system called Hawk-Eye. This system uses triangulation and multiple cameras to track exactly where the ball landed, down to an absurd level of precision. It's a nice feature, and comes in handy for overruling a bad call. So I ask, why not just use this damn system all the time and remove the chance of human error in an important match? Of course, we can't mess with tradition, and it would remove the human element from the sport, but I think we have that covered by the humans actually competing in the sport. Who knows, some day, umpires and officials in all sports could theoretically be replaced by such computerized analysis systems. Wouldn't bother me, as long as the call was accurate.

As for the players, I don't know how this Ana Ivanovic could be seeded #1, she looked like an amateur out there. I'm betting she'll get bounced soon. As for the American players, I suppose all our hope will reside with the Williams sisters, be they a bit brash, all the other heavy hitters have been knocked out. Blake was bound to lose, and Roddick just lost, though he's kind of a stubborn jerk anyway. Nice fast serve, though. None of the American players are particularly pleasant. Though Russian born, Maria Sharapova is pretty much an American, she speaks without an accent, is the darling of photographers, she's rather abrasive, and she's also out of the tournament. I was ducking in my tornado position for her post-defeat press conference. There's no requirement to be "nice" in tennis, I suppose (unless Wimbledon imposes one), but she's rather catty, so I've seen.

I'll be cheering for my boy Rafael Nadal, of course. Federer's cool, but I always love to see these two play each other, and hope it happens again in the finals. Federer's deemed unbeatable by many, and I always like supporting the underdog in this case. At press time here, only two rounds have been played. My dark horse would be Hewitt, but I'd assume Federer will do his thing. I have to think that Serena Williams might pull this one off herself. We shall see, and I'm sure I'll be wrong.

And once again, I am SO SICK of these Vonage commercials at this point! They are on every damn channel, during every commercial break, at every time of day. How can these jerks afford the advertising expense??? It's ridiculous. Don't give them a penny, there are other options. Screw them. Sorry, had to stick this in. It's driving me batty.

Cheers from suburban London!

Things I Like To Do

2008-06-21T12:10:00.003-05:00

- Yell at people using palindromes for sentences: "Sit on a potato pan, otis!"
- Walk on a nude beach with a ruler (courtesy of Rodney Dangerfield, 1988)
- Create false Myspace aliases and have them argue with each other
- Sue anyone named "Flip"
- Flip anyone named "Sue"
- Prance into Subway locations claiming to be Robert Earl Hughes
- Prance into Subway locations asking if I can get downtown from here
- Convince dumb guys that by shoving an ear of corn into the gas tank, the car will run forever
- Two words: Pancake Contests!
- Train pigeons to poop on fat guys
- Ask for a Whopper at McDonald's
- Ask for a Whopper at Ace Hardware
- Ask for a "Whopper" at a house of ill repute
- Figure out a way to get these blasted X-Ray vision glasses to work
- Sewing machine fights
- Convince stoned people they are smoking the ashes of Shemp Howard
- Send bees in the mail
- Eat the stick that comes with every package of "Fun Dip"
- Scream to Wendy's workers, "I've found the beef!"
- Lock myself into Sam The Butcher's meat locker
- Secretly pipe Black Sabbath instrumentals into ice cream truck speakers
- Search for Noah's ark in all the wrong places
- Create courtroom sketches of Carol Burnett with a beard
- Telex Paul and Ringo, informing them how it's a shame that the stupid ones always survive
- Enter wheelchair people into triathalons
- Wonder, out loud, how I found an operational telex machine
- Detest anyone that is associated with those Vonage commercials
- Ditto for Geico
- Invent new names for "Sloppy Joes"
- Build large pyramids for Bob Crane, using a crane
- Tavern strangulation
- Write poems that use the word "yum" in every stanza
- Throw pennies at cops and accuse them of accepting bribes
- Get high score at Moon Patrol, Galaga, and Dig Dug
- Dig Doug
- Find a way to use a cell phone to eviscerate Billy May, from all those noisy commercials
- Go fishing with a stapler
- Get a job as a baggage handler at a local airport, just to emulate the Samsonite gorilla
- Hit bucket number six
- Attract the ladies by pretending to know Tim Conway
- Bludgeon people to death with a stick of Laffy Taffy
- Create religions based exclusively on carp
- Recreate the first Harvard vs. Yale football game using rats and hamsters
- Organize grass roots campaigns, protesting the high prices of grass roots
- Spend entire weekends adopting the persona of Gene Rayburn
- Egg Range Rovers
- Arrange a wrestling match between the old "Bubble Yum" monster and "Animal" from The Muppets
- Take action on Animal, instruct the "Bubble Yum" monster to take a dive
- Taint Wikipedia with false information
- Ask blind guys if they can break a 20
- Steal steamrollers
- Write wacky lists

Vappie Awards - Worst Of Music

2008-06-09T17:02:00.001-05:00

First, as with the "Best Of" awards, this is simply restricted to rock, mostly classic rock, having to do with major rock artists that we've all heard on the radio at some time. I don't acknowledge rap or hip-hop in these things, I find those genres nauseating and not even worthy of taking the time to review or criticize them.

Worst Guitarist
Neil Young

He just never really learned how to solo, and should have passed that torch to a competent guitarist when on stage or recording tracks. Sure, he can play creepy organ passages, harmonica, and acoustic guitar, but he routinely plays intolerable electric guitar solos, like the endless solo in "Southern Man". Invariably, when performing live, he'd make a mess of a solo and dive into some supposedly punkish routine of breaking his guitar strings. It was tiresome at best, and not very entertaining.

Most Overrated Drummer
Charlie Watts

No question here - he's just boring and lazy at best. He can't even properly play a 4/4 high hat/snare beat without lifting his drum stick out of the way at the end of the measure. Just amateur skills that were never improved. I don't care that he played for the Rolling Stones. He still didn't show any talent in his work, seemed painfully bored with his job, and otherwise phoned in all his performances, be they on record or in a live context.

Biggest Jerk
Eddie Van Halen

A stubborn, power-hungry curmudgeon with all the attitude and ego to fuel his self-appointed cause. He took his Van Halen enterprise and did with it what he chose, always at the whims of his own arrogant logic and at the expense of himself and eventually, the fans that basically funded his wealth. He's ruined potential full scale reunions with David Lee Roth back in 1996 by not giving in to anything Roth said or did, but rather just sending him on his way, even though a tour that year would have been huge. He proceeded to fire DLR, bring in Sammy (who I didn't much like myself), be best friends with him, then coldly fire Sammy years later. Whatever Eddie wanted, Eddie got. His megalomania continued by hand selecting Gary Cerone for a dismal album (Van Halen III) and the only thing that rescued their popularity was the eventual interest engendered by DLR's recording two new tracks with the band a few years later. Then, once he successfully chased off his wife, he ate crow and decided it would be time to tour with DLR again, despite the absence of original member Michael Anthony. He's just constantly stubborn and cocky, and to his, and the band's, detrement.
Runners up: Ted Nugent, Dave Mustaine

Worst Classic Rock Song
Fame - David Bowie

Irritating and painful, with no real melody to it, and further irritating background vocals from John Lennon. Close behind is "Green Eyed Lady" by Sugarloaf. That song just makes me throw up.

Worst Live Act
ZZ Top

As I've said before, they stand in one place, don't change things up at all, and have absolutely no dynamics in their stage presence. It's basically watching two old men stand still, with another old man drumming (who is the most interesting member to watch), and the performance is just a tiresome reproduction of their recorded works. I've seen them in multiple venues, both small and large, and they were this boring, stagnant, painting on the stage, leaving me wondering why, despite hearing a string of popular songs, I wanted to leave.

Worst Crash - Airplane
Lynyrd Skynrd Plane Crash

Close behind were the crashes and deaths of Randy Rhoads and Richie Valens, but this was the death of multiple members of a very creative and relevant band. Three members died, including a brother and sister (Steve/Cassie Gaines) and of course, lead singer Ronnie Van Zant. Not to mention the loss of several others that weren't in the group.

Worst Crash - Vehicular
Marc Bolan

A sad story, as he was an incredible talent with monstrous amounts of stage presence. He made it through so many years of the excessive 1970s without giving in, as it were, to the temptations therein. Then, an unfortunate accident. He'll always be missed.

Worst Crash - Weight
Tie - Ann Wilson (Heart) and Stevie Nicks (Fleetwood Mac)

With Ann Wilson, she was very attractive in the 1970s and early 80s, then she exploded like a hot air balloon. As with Stevie, she was this dainty, winsome, petite, waif of a girl, hardly weighing in at 100 pounds, and then blew up like a puffer fish after around 1985. As it was once said, she switched from nose candy to just plain candy. Runner Up : Debbie Harry.

Worst Crash - Career
Peter Frampton

He could've maintained his 1976 "king of the world" status by just releasing more radio-friendly singles for the single-hungry radio market of the time. Then he just faded away from everyone's mindsets, and he didn't do much to clog that professional hole in the dam. Now he's popping up on Geico commercials, somewhat self-parodying much of his 15 minutes of fame, and that's his own choice.

Ugliest Band
Tie - Canned Heat & Grateful Dead

Canned Heat showed up on the revised film for "Woodstock", and they were just monsters. I'm not detracting from whatever talent for blues that they had, but they were butt ugly. As for the Grateful Dead, forget it. The only person that could have ever been desired by chicks would have been Bob Weir, but those are rather lean odds when the band had 6, or at times, 7 people. For God's sake, they had a member named "PigPen" at one time. This band seemed hell bent on growing long beards, looking like they smelled bad, and playing their stony set.

The "Time To Quit" Award
Aerosmith

They just can't write good music anymore. All their material is sappy, commercially inspired, and without any real creativity or "edge", as they possessed in the 1970s. They actually showed a lot of promise in 1989 with their release of "Pump", but after that, things just got worse and worse. Generally when the retrospective boxed sets start coming out, you know that the shark has been jumped.

And Finally!

Worst Rock Album
Lou Reed - Metal Machine Music

It's widely accepted to be the worst, least tolerable release in rock history. Nothing more than feedback, screeching guitars, and painful effects. Widely thought to have been recorded as a joke, it had to take top honors.

Spam Review #10

2008-06-09T14:02:00.002-05:00

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Pelham vytt{dip_1979@178.67.214.202.ts.2iij.net
Date: Sat, Jun 7, 2008 at 4:45 AM
Subject: Everybody's raving about these wonder drugs

And beginning a few years ago, everyone was wondering about raving drugs. Folks!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: TermLifeAgent ixs@bestoffershappydeal.net
Date: Sun, Jun 8, 2008 at 10:36 AM
Subject: A Secure Future for You, an Optimistic Future for Them.

Who the hell is "Them"? The tomato plants I have growing in the yard? The PLO? The squirrels that haunt me every time I say the name "Mama Celeste"? Van Morrison's band from the 1960s? Stop torturing me with pronouns!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: hillyer varkey carla@courierdepot.com
Date: Mon, Jun 9, 2008 at 2:05 AM
Subject: You look really stupid mikeydhh

Aw, come on. Do I really? I'm trying to shed a couple pounds and plan to get a nice haircut. You just wait until my makeover.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: delmor hernando mrabolt@polrnet.com
Date: 2008/6/7
Subject: You look really stupid mikeydhh

Oh, you too? What the hell did I do to deserve this?

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Jeramie polkycne1961@14001.ru
Date: Fri, Jun 6, 2008 at 8:09 AM
Subject: Hard as a rock

Your giant apparatus will make her wet
http://www.treastewe.com/

Yes it will. It's my 50 foot long garden house, attached to the spigot on the side of the house. That'll make anyone wet. Hey, it's summer.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Zaida Heimark mdatook@cnyxhq.com
Date: Thu, Jun 5, 2008 at 9:14 PM
Subject: increased sweating; increased yawning; loss of
appetite; nausea adam

The goldsmith? by do. by chef the trial. As bribe To remission. Be or retailer. I or controller. The is exemplary medal promotion.
almighty it psoriasis. Of inexpensive do scandal. on fortunate? For of conjoint skate. Of constrained That emeritus. by brick. on my graduate. Is do fountain pagan tomcat. architect at witty. my chill, bubble an internal.

Ok, these aren't even complete sentences. I remember that architectural firm, Witty. Who's the chief architect there? Who's on your graduate? Mrs. Robinson? I was bubbling an internal as well, but that was from yesterday's chili.

Of harsh. With is capability, ultraviolet. And proceeding ballistic. To midland a swept monopoly. do the wing rule moisture. gait is positive. glow acting in amount.

It's a new dance! Let's all do the "Wing Rule Moisture!". I've swept Monopoly before...once I took Park Place and Boardwalk, forget it.

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greeting On moderate. As the without. My of crying. Of be victor competent embed. proximity go typically. To diet on being. But conjugate? Are on ordinance steam. Or sought To nobody. A alley. you it upheld. Not he guarantee niche boar. conglomerate or calculate. an wallpaper, allied as praise.

He businessman? Yes, me Tarzan, he businessman. Ah, Victor Competent, he was a competent pianist. So you're on "ordinance steam"? Is that like a code phrase for some drug I've yet to hear of? I'll go with "calculate".

on throughout. Or my hesitation, porter. was glazing patten.
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music. No eddy. I so wrath. Or my persuasive endanger communicate. butt by occupant. go laminate, boron the blockbuster.

First, don't be calling me a porter. I quit that job years ago. Remember the breakup hermit? He used to just stay home and offer to call peoples' significant others and announce the breakup. Handy fellow. And I'm fed up with the cobra community. They're just a bunch of bikers that ride their Harleys and cause trouble at taverns. Yes. Go Spade! He's a good guy, so what if he's black, and got that nasty nickname. No Eddy? Damn, I was hoping he'd be around. I will now go and laminate. I follow orders.

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She has a carrier? Like of a disease? Darn. She can be a carrier, you can't be a caretaker. Bonds isn't playing, so he's not in any inning. Yes, the Periodic chart has atomic information, and as such, a nucleus in every element. You should know that, and if you didn't, that explains your nasty case of podium acne. Probably you caught it from that carrier.

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I finding. do an technique. in a carpeting subconscious woke. platinum the jigsaw. so with, japan it indignation. At stratification? it Go. And science no accelerator. his brave At imply. it a serve. was a fullness. My or turnout peasant slightly. directive go booth. her skiing it acknowledgment.

I loved that character from that show - Platinum the Jigsaw! He was so cute. What, science without an accelerator? How are you going to accelerate particles now? So much for Fermi Labs. Keep skiing.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Letofsky Rutenberg prerecord@argelab.net
Date: Thu, Jun 5, 2008 at 5:02 AM
Subject: cubs gnarly

Halloha,

Battle, the parthas being headed by yudhishthira, first restrain
his own self if he desires to restrain who goes on the stand. thackeray not only created he houses himself in empty abodes of men. He sleeps will shoot shafts with great energy for the destruction see, that the speaker had risen from behind the the late hour, mr. Lincoln's bedroom was invaded acts. i never act fruitlessly. I am adorned with.

Halloha to you too. Yes the Cubs are most gnarly - hell, they have the best record in baseball at present. Can't wait to see these shafts. Are they of Mr. Lincoln? With what are you adorned? Clearly you don't act fruitlessly, this message was clear as a freshly cleaned window.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Raj Raj-eganorta@west.zomax.com
Date: Wed, Jun 4, 2008 at 8:51 AM
Subject: Make your hot rod longer

I have a beat up old Mustang, isn't that still considered a hot rod? Can I lengthen it? I need more trunk space, but be warned that the spoiler is loose, and who knows might have jammed something into the exhaust pipe. But yeah, a longer hot rod. Very appealing. I'm game.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: batholomew ned eli39@mail2uk.com
Date: Mon, Jun 2, 2008 at 10:23 AM
Subject: You look really stupid mikeydhh

Aw, come on, Ned. Now you're just piling on.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: TV on Your PC zdamn@bestoffershappydeal.net
Date: Mon, Jun 2, 2008 at 2:21 PM
Subject: Stop Paying the Cable Guy

I did, and the cable stopped its service. It's kind of a 50/50 proposition.

Vappie Awards - Best of Music

2008-06-07T12:40:00.002-05:00

Welcome to the first (and likely only) Vappie Awards. These awards don't cover the past year alone, but extend back through all of earth's history. The first section is the best of music - of course the worst of music won't be far behind. After that, there will be a couple other categories of Vappie winners as well.

Best Music Video
Chemical Brothers - "Let Forever Be"

This very very closely beat out U2's "All I Want Is You" for top honors, it was almost a dead heat. U2's video is very cinematic and emotionally gripping, as it makes an effort to tell a story in the span of about six minutes. That said, the Chemical Brothers put out such a groundbreaking video, that is anything but cinematic, it is hard to ignore. The special effects and the overall anxiety of the video perfectly works with the song. In addition, as it didn't use classic film stock, it looks like something that harkens back to the early 1980s, but the result was far from it.

Best Rock/Pop Song
U2 - "Bad"

As I mentioned here, everything about the song builds with drama and almost incites a teardrop or two. One would have expected me to top that list with a Led Zeppelin song, but I had to give credit where credit was due.

Best Live Act
The Who

No argument here. And I'm talking from back in the day. They ran away with this category, as I explored before.

Best Rock Album
The Who - "Who's Next"

Another close race - and trust me, this hurt me to let "Led Zeppelin IV" lose out, being, as everyone knows, a Led Zeppelin person. In the end, I've heard every single song from "Who's Next" on classic rock radio, in regular rotation, and I can't necessarily say the same for any other album. As an unfortunate remnant of the brilliant "Lifehouse" project, it took the best tracks and plugged them into a single album, packed with fantastic songs - in a sense, it was a "best of" release.

Best Rock Drummer
Neil Peart (Rush)

This was a close race, as were most of these "awards". Neil beat out the likes of Keith Moon and Carl Palmer for his precision, creativity, and complexity of rhythms.

Best Rock Guitarist
Eddie Van Halen

Yeah, another one that was too close to call. This one might surprise a few people, as I always had Hendrix as #1, but after taking everything apart, Eddie had the nod in precision, innovation, and versatility. It's not to say that Hendrix couldn't have replicated some of the things (like two hand tapping) that Eddie mastered, but for the requisite time periods, I'd have to say that Eddie was just slightly more innovative. That's perhaps sacreligious to say, but again, it was a close race here.

Best Bass Player
John Entwistle

His complex runs and sense of timing were aspects that were hard to be surpass. Unfortunately his accomplishments are forever locked in the past, since he is one of the departed now.

Best Rock Vocalist
Freddie Mercury (Queen)

And once again, a tight race. He edged out Bruce Dickinson and a couple others. He simply had the range and power that few could match. It was hard to catch him off his game. He, like Bruce, had operatic qualities to his sense of singing, and that put him far ahead of the rest in the rock world.

Best Lyricist
Jim Morrison (Doors)

It's easy to roll ones eyes at this, but he was, by trade, a poet. His integration of classical references and rhythmic phrasing was truly the leading edge of what "The Doors" produced, and in many ways, the instrumentation was just a backing track for his creative poetry.

Best Song Writer
Pete Townshend

Another tight race, and another photo finish. This is an overall category that encompasses creativity in lyrics, music, and production. For all he did, Townshend runs away with it eventually. Close contenders were Paul Simon and Bruce Springsteen. As for Simon, even Pete himself said once "I'm no Paul Simon...". Regardless, Pete was one of the few that created entire projects - not just songs - that carried a common theme. Things like "Tommy", "Quadrophenia" and the abortive "Lifehouse" went far beyond the brilliance of merely creating one great song; now it was about creating a cohesive, interrelated suite of songs that all had a common theme and their content had to contribute to the direction of a greater goal. Songwriting legends such as Simon, Springsteen, and Dylan, had great passages and great "statement" songs, but they were generally piecemeal in nature.

Best Rock Riff
Led Zeppelin - "Whole Lotta Love"

Versed against many of these "awards" having been such tight races, this one is another runaway. I delved into this topic a while back, and if you don't know the song, you will once you hear it. Too recognizable, too gutteral, and too infectious.

Best Guitar Solo (In a Rock Song)
Dave Navarro - Jane's Addiction - "Three Days"

Navarro was always a hero of mine and a mad genius in his own way. The ethereal, complex phrasing of the minute-long solo in this song is almost otherworldly, and I might add, damn hard to replicate, as a guitarist. Many would have expected me to give the award to "Stairway To Heaven" for Jimmy Page's solo, and it was a close contender.

Best Rock Hottie
Debbie Harry (Blondie)

Her subtle, faux Marilyn Monroe nature, mixed with her sensual vocals, made for, shall we say, compelling theatre. She carried herself off very well as a little sex-pot, without overdoing it either.

Best Punk Band
Ramones

They had a lot of the punk ethos, whatever that might have been. The very nature of punk was being one's self, or in this case, a group's self. They played loud, raucious tracks that rarely crossed the three minute mark in terms of duration, but they were fun and independent of all other musical trends. Punk was a medium of independence and non-conformity. In my opinion, The Sex Pistols were simply a manager's creation, and The Clash was just a band with some decent songs at times.

Best Relic
Cheap Trick

For what it's worth, they still sound like they did back in the 1970s, and have seemingly relegated themselves to just playing their old hits, of which there were many. In addition, they've kept their lineup intact (with the exception of the early 1980s) and that gives them the nod over Van Halen. Aerosmith fell out of the running because of their sappy releases after 1990, but that's for another award ceremony (gee do I see a "Worst Of" award headed their way?). For what it's worth, AC/DC was a close runner-up, they have not really lost their edge in all the years they've been plugging on.

Best Make-Out Song
Led Zeppelin - "The Rain Song"

A beautiful piece, that just warms the heart with romance and emotion. Plus plenty of other warm places. The romance is somewhat snuffed out when the song hits the hard-rocking section near the end, but it's a soft trade-off.

Best 21st Century Band
White Stripes

Ok, before people complain, I know they released their debut album in 1999. But they broke through later than that, so there. Jack White is quite a creative fellow and did much to revive the basic recording style that symbolized much of the mid 1960s music. On a deeper level, the band's efforts are not just restricted to their oft-labelled "garage band" sound. There are some plaintive, endearing, and emotional tracks that speak from the heart, and those traits have long been lost upon most artists in the last 25 years. A fresh take on classic songwriting.

Stay tuned for the Worst Of Music awards.

Cooking Shows That Annoy The Hell Out of Me

2008-06-01T08:17:00.001-05:00

- Chef At Home - Discovery Home Channel
Some Canadian bozo, with a dorky voice, hosts a show, presumably based out of his own home kitchen. First of all, when I think of countries that embraced fine cuisine, I don't think of Canada. Strike one. But even more annoying - well, most annoying - is that this moron always appears unshaven and it just drives me nuts. I've never seen this doof without a token 5 o' clock shadow to compliment his nerdy, bushy hair. His variations on food preparation are about as appealing as raw snails, and for that matter, he probably had those as well.

- Secret Life Of... - Food Network
The loud, annoying Jim O'Connor, as host of this show, would abruptly jut himself into various intriguing food locales, and even the non-celebrity food people wouldn't be able to stand him. He has no culinary experience of which to proffer, so he'd continually be an annoying host that would irritate the subjects of the segment's focus. Mercifully, he was no longer the host of the show for a good amount of recent episodes. Here's hoping that network executives saw the light in this case.

- Cookin' In Brooklyn - (not sure of the channel)
This doughy boob named Alan Harding hosts a faux reality show where he's stuck in various situations and has to turn out great meals as a result. He might forget his anniversary, or have a bunch of uninvited guests for a Super Bowl party. Regardless of the turmoil, he uses his "knowledge" of cooking to resolve the situation. Worse yet, he's got this annoying "taste cam" thing, in which he has a camera mounted behind an oustretched fork, for showing people on the street as they taste his creations.

- Take Home Chef - Discovery Channel, and others
Once again, as with Canada, when I think of countries that offer fine cuisine, I don't think of Australia. That happens to be the country of origin for the blond, supposedly handsome, surfer boy host of the show, Curtis. He tracks down attractive girls at grocery stores, offers to cook up a menu for the evening, and proceeds to create said menu and buy the requisite groceries for his latest hottie. A third of the time, his Australian accent creates indiscernable dialogue, set against his insistance to cook up meals that always seem incredibly inadequate for a normal couple's appetite.

- Dinner Takes All - Discovery Home
A bunch of self-ingratiated, usually wealthy, metropolitan jerks, all competing over a week's time for the honor of who can provide the best home-served meal. The contestants for the given week are always wealthy, the commentator is drippingly British, and the show focuses far too little on the creativity and/or preparation of the food itself, but rather the host of the day and the "entertainment" planned for the evening.

- Paula's Home Cooking/Paula's Party - Food Network
I've ranted on this before, so I can be brief. Irritating witticisms from the chunky host, constant preparation of artery-clogging fare, and endless occasions of dragging out her stupid sons to "help out", as if it were some serendipitous unplanned visit.

- Inner Chef - Discovery Home
Forget it, I haven't even made it through a whole episode of this. The guy can hardly speak English, he has a Scandinavian name, but is clearly of middle eastern descent. He relentlessly hugs the innocent female victim of the day (not unlike "Take Home Chef") and it just screams of discomfort.

- Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives - Food Network
Hosted by the oh-so-impetuous Guy Fieri (but must be pronounced "Fee-edd-ee" - ya see, he's Italian). This guy's an overly spunky, spikey-haired, living example of self parody, drumming up the surfer character to the point of agony. Most annoying of all, when indoors, interviewing some hard working restaurant person, he opts to wear his sunglasses NOT on the top of his head, NOT hanging from the collar, and NOT in the pocket of his predictable bermuda shorts, but *behind* his head, as in backwards. He looks like an absolute moron in doing so and surely he's trying to create some national trend. I won't hold my breath.

Spam Review #9

2008-05-30T04:43:00.003-05:00

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Baby Supplies ca46756re@amazingpoposals.net
Date: Thu, May 29, 2008 at 5:29 PM
Subject: FREE Year Supply of Diapers Today!

Count me in! I'm getting old enough for the desire of diapers.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Stop looking customerservice@centralglobalmedia.com
Date: Tue, May 27, 2008 at 2:56 PM
Subject: Somebody wants to meet you

Do you have someone special? Find your Dream Boy or
Dream Girl
Collect your free 7 day trial membership pass
here:http://centralglobalmedia.com/42/583342.htm?s7w-mj7o-3k3i-4c4
During that time you will be able to do the
following: - contact members - receive and read e-mails from
members - reply to e-mails from members - create your own personality
profile - use the compatibility matching system and view photos
No Credit Card Required
Are you ready to meet that someone special?
http://centralglobalmedia.com/42/583342.htm?q0l-uj8j-7w4a-4e1
Takes less than 30 seconds to create an
account

How about the dream boy *and* dream girl? Now that would be a festival. Only takes me 30 seconds to create an account? It took me 330 seconds just to read this garbage.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: the reluctant millionaire Jack Shawn The Reclusive
Millionaire ca47953re@enticedabsolution.com
Date: Tue, May 27, 2008 at 12:17 AM
Subject: Discover These Kitchen Table Millionaire
Secrets Exposed: Kitchen Table Wealth Secrets Revealed Millionaire Reveals
Jealous Guarded Money Secrets...

Discover the underground moneymaking secrets... The
shocking TRUTH why most people FAIL to get rich...

There are two easy jokes here. First the obvious verb/object noun construct of the phrase "Jack Shawn". Then there's the whole notion of the "reluctant millionaire". Who the hell is a reluctant millionaire? Short of entitlement, isn't that somewhat a contradiction of terms? I'll just leave the "kitchen table" stuff alone.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: TV on Your PC ca47913re@optimaldeliv.net
Date: Mon, May 26, 2008 at 6:19 AM
Subject: Stop Paying the Cable Guy

Can do! Thanks for the advice, buddy!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: eldredge theron ewong@hhsc.org
Date: Thu, May 22, 2008 at 8:45 AM
Subject: Hihg - qulaity relpicas of the bset colck of
the wrold!! Suggestoin for ewong!!
Kign Relpica
Induleg yoursefl wtih an leegant tmie picee taht is meticuluos in deisgn,xequisite in stlye, nad irch in beatuy! oLoking to byu yoru parnter or loevd oen a ebautiful igft?Or mayeb jsut to reawrd youreslf wiht a igft fro ocne? We hvae voer 5000 Replcia prdoucts in stokc ragning frmo oRlex, aCrtier and rBeitling
wathces, to uGcci and Luois Vuittno aBgs at hevaily dicsounted pricse! All ordesr rae shpiped iva xEpress oCurier
delivrey to ensrue afst adn pormpt edlivery.
Entre UOR SOHP hree

Never, ever, ever, have I seen a more misspelled email. This is the stuff of legends.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Shopping Spree ca46681re@findersvalues.com
Date: Tue, May 20, 2008 at 3:27 PM
Subject: Here's your chance- mystery shop
locally!

Isn't "mystery shopping" just glorified shoplifting?

---------- Forwarded message ----------

From: abu hussein abuhussein@mail.mn
Date: Sun, May 18, 2008 at 4:21 PM
Subject: YOUR TRUST REQUIRED
To:
DEAR SIR, I WRITE TO SEEK YOUR COOPERATION AS MY
FOREIGN PARTNER AND YOUR ASSISTANCE TO ENABLE ME AN IRAQI WITH NAME ABU JASIM HUSSEIN ABDUL FATAH TO OWN A PROPERTY AND INVEST IN THE STABLE ECONOMY OF YOUR
COUNTRY. L DECIDED TO CONTACT YOU BECAUSE I CONNOT INVEST IN YOUR COUNTRY WITHOUT AN ASSISTANT FROM SOMEONE FROM YOUR COUNTRY. AND I WILL BE GLAD TO HEAR FROM YOU MOST IN RESPECT OF THE TAX ON FOREIGN INVESTORS AND THE ECONOMIC
SITUATION OF YOUR COUNTRY IF IT WILL BE STABLE FOR SUCH INVESTMENT OPPURTUNITY THAT AMOUNTED TO $175 MILLION USD.
I HAVE THE TOTAL INTENTION OF INVESTING INTO AN ESTATE DEVELOPMENT AND OTHER LUCRATIVE INVESTMENT IN YOUR COUNTRY SUCH AS AGRICULTURE AND FISHING. ALTHOUGH I AM ON TRANSIT AND YOU CAN AS WELL REACH ME ON THE NUMBER I WILL GIVE YOU FOR ORAL COMMUNICATION.I AM AFRAID BECAUSE IT WAS AN ESCAPE MISSION THROUGH THE ASSISTANCE OF THE UN AND I AM
SECURED BUT LOST MY ELDER BROTHE WHO IS HATEM KAMIL ABDUL FATAH THE ASSASINATED DEPUTY GOVERNOR OF BAGHDAD AND THE ABOVE SAID FUNDS WAS THE DEPOSIT HE MADE IN A
SAFE FINANCE HOUSE WHICH I WILL DISCLOSE THE DETAILS TO YOU UPON OUR CONCLUSSIVE AGREEMENT AND MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING. THE WEBSITES BELOW IS A PROOF AND VERIFICATION OF THE NEWS ABOUT HIS DEATH:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/GO/PR/FR/-/1/HI/WORLD/MIDDLE_EAST/3970619.STM http://www.uslaboragainstwar.org/ARTICLE.PHP?ID=6979 BEING THAT I AM THE ONLY BROTHER REMAINING, HIS ENEMIES PLANED TO
ASSASINATE ME SO THAT THEY COULD LAY HANDS ON HIS ASSETS BUT I MANAGED TO ESCAPE THROUGH THE UNITED NATION ASSISTANCE AND I AM ON TRANSIT NOW AND COULD BE REACHED ON EMAIL OR PHONE NUMBER. I WILL REQUIRE A GOOD PARTNERSHIP FROM
YOU AS A NATIVE OF THE LAND WITH YOUR GREAT IMPACT IN BUSINESS AND MORE DETAILS WILL BE GIVEN TO YOU ON PROCEED.
IN RESPECT OF YOUR MANAGERIAL ASSISTANCE
YOU SHALL BE SUBJECTED TO THE ENTITLEMENT OF 20% AS REMARK TO YOUR EFFORT BUT PLEASE IT WILL REQUIRE ABSOLUTE SUBMIT AND WHOLE HEARTED ASSISTANCE FROM YOU AS A GREAT INDIGENOUS SUPPORT.
MUCH CO-OPERATION WILL BE REQUIRED FROM YOU.
ANTICIPATING YOUR URGENT RESPONSE. ABU JASIM HUSSEIN ABDUL FATAH

Ok, strike one, the message is in all capital letters. Strike two - the person's name has "hussein" in it. Strike three - it involves assassinations. The rest is just too funny, except for the sad fact that people will buy into this scam and say goodbye to their finances.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: The Newest from 24hr Truck Quotes TheNewestfrom24hrTruckQuotes@mycmmnctnrsfndrgde.com
Date: Thu, May 15, 2008 at 7:09 AM
Subject: Dreaming of a New Truck?

Nah, I've been dreaming of that year's supply of diapers.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Krukowski Esoimeme staphylinid@beachhotels.lk
Date: Tue, May 13, 2008 at 9:53 AM
Subject: hurricanises

Salve,
Real men! Miillions of people acrosss the world have
already tested THIS and ARE making their girlfriendds feel brand new sexual sensattions! YOU are the best in bed, aren't you ? Girls! Devvelop your sexual rellationship and get even MORE ppleasure! Make your boyfriendd a gift!
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See theo and break it to her gently, or the first his assurancethat
the plants belong to the very that soma which is drunkin sacrifices. Thou art struck and crushed with those fierceshafts and that esse was needed to go with putandam. Thisbow and shooting therefrom his terrible shafts brilliant.his friends thought that he might be to see what this might mean, it all seemed as four parts. And then some men retain(the knowledge as at the present luncheon.
But as soon asthe like this, i drink in your very life.' he kept
hand.intoxicated with the boons they had obtained, hard, i amyoung yet, and have life before me. That oppressor of foes,spoke unto vasudeva, saying, i am the very image of hesterand what if you.

Somehow, this went from giving my boyfriend a gift to shafts, to soma, to luncheons, then to oppressors. This is slightly scarier than the Iraqi message, for odd reasons.

Some Top Ten Lists

2008-05-18T03:39:00.004-05:00

Ok, I used to write these a lot, so for lack of anything else to contribute, I figured I'd throw a few together.

Top Ten Sitcom References That Sound Like 1960s Pink Floyd Song Titles

10. Florence, Get The Door!
9. Meathead
8. One of these days, one of these days... (oops already used)
7. Joanie's First Date
6. The X-Rated Reuben Sandwich
5. Squiggy's Ice Cream Truck
4. Corporal Klinger
3. Alice's Secret Recipe
2. The Venus Flytrap
1. Ward Cleaver's Psychedelic Breakfast

Top Ten Things I've Done That Sound Like Frank Zappa Song Titles

10. Pizza With Frank
9. Garage Farting, Part One
8. The Adventures Of The Uncooperative Weed Wacker
7. Lima Bean Orgy
6. Armpits On Fire!
5. New Uses For Ham
4. Dreaming Of Breakfast
3. There's A Guy Stuck In My Window
2. Sex For The Pope
1. Questionable Beef

Top Ten Sexual Sounding Computer Related Phrases

10. Hard Reboot
9. Pop Up
8. She gave me a virus
7. I'm uploading
6. I just Googled her
5. Can you give me a laptop?
4. Fix my mouse
3. I just Cc'd you...
2. Log in - and we'll play
1. Hotmail

Top Ten Things You Don't Want To Hear On The Bus

10. "Damn, where'd the snake go..."
9. "I have an odd bus fetish."
8. "Go ahead kids, run around and talk to everyone else."
7. "Where's the fire extinguisher?"
6. "Ma'am, can you please support our youth group by purchasing this candy..."
5. "Wow, I'm having a really farty day today."
4. "Hey buddy, ever hear about the history of transportation? Got a minute?"
3. "Next stop, the dilapidated public high school in the crappy neighborhood."
2. "Sir, can you scratch this for me?"
1. "Mind if I sit on your lap?"

(The following sounds just like a Letterman list, but actually I just rattled this one off...)

Top Ten Failed Wendy's Products

10. The Kaspar Weinburger
9. Chili Cromartie
8. Fat n' Frosty
7. Hamburglar's Testicle Funwich
6. The Dave Thomas Cremato Soup
5. Flinch Flies
4. Potato & Hearing Aid Stew
3. Vegetarian All Soy Feltburger
2. Monterey Jack's Mystery Cheese Surprise
1. Cup O' Steam

Top Ten Things I Love About Chicago

10. The fresh scent of August flooding
9. Following the progress of decade-long construction projects
8. Surveying the beautiful battleship-gray sky on a summer day
7. Pothole dodging
6. Recreational dips into Lake Michigan's 44 degree water
5. Quick, 3 hour trips to local concert venues
4. Riverboats - on fake rivers!
3. Affordable property, and low taxes!
2. Three words : Sears, sears, sears!
1. Seeing fat people on 98 degree days

Brilliant Musical Moments

2008-05-12T03:39:00.002-05:00

It's been a while since I wrote a music thing, but I actually liked doing the previous ones. Here I try to capture the greatest rock music moments, usually a little snippet of a song, that carry the weight of the entire piece, or album, as it may be. Be advised, some of my past posts (such as about rock riffs, etc) have several of the same songs as listed below - that's no accident, of course.

- The Who - "Shakin' All Over"
After the second chorus, they break into a thundering "boom" of a D chord that just destroys the arena during their "Live At Leeds" recording. The subsequent 20 seconds are priceless.

- Led Zeppelin - "Stairway To Heaven"
Before the great big guitar solo, that set of chords that stop the percussion and is basically a "bah bah bing....bah bah bing....bah bah bing bing bing" deal - wow great stuff.

- Lynyrd Skynyrd - "Freebird"
The introductory slide guitar from Gary Rossington is legendary, and we all remember it. While somewhat of a trite reference, that passage sticks with us.

- Led Zeppelin - "Whole Lotta Love"
Forget it, the opening is enough to sell the car. Plant's opening chuckle helps the cause.

- Ozzy Osbourne - "Bark At The Moon"
The opening of the song is priceless. It was always a goodie to blast in the car when angry, upset, or whatever. The monstrous, hard-edged guitar riff to open the track had so much power to it, I loved it back in the day. I distinctly remember the day, back in 1984 (I believe) the video was to premiere, and I made my mother wait for the video to air on MTV before we went to the store. She didn't get it.

- Soundgarden - "Half"
A Ben Shepherd track, very strange and brief. But after the peculiar vocals are delivered, the band tacets into a haunting but beautiful bass passage that, even to this day, sends chills. Worth hunting down, despite it being what some might consider to be a "throwaway" track.

- The Beatles - "Got To Get You Into My Life"
George Harrison hit it big here, after the second chorus, the so-called "intro to the outro". It's a snaking, heavily bended guitar passage that precedes the big finale. I'll also admit, as a guitarist, it's very hard to replicate. Hats off to him for this one.

- Billy Idol - "Eyes Without A Face"
What starts out to be a slow, balladish song, leads to a powerful guitar riff moment, possibly one of the best ever, mined from the dregs by guitarist Steve Stevens. The obsessive riff breaks the "quietness" of the song like a kamikaze fighter flying into a battleship. Kamikaze moments are always priceless.

- Rolling Stones - "She's A Rainbow"
The opening piano passage is so infectious, I'll never get tired of hearing it. For that matter, most of the song is brilliantly effected, and a favorite of mine that never gets much airplay. Especially valuable for its reflection of the brilliance of Brian Jones as well.

- Van Halen - "Unchained"
This was a fantastically effective opening song back in 1983 and 1984. It was such a glorious moment to see the lights turned down, the crowd go wild, and the long anticipated announcer's famous words. "I give you...the mighty Van Halen!" which yielded that powerful, monstrous opening guitar riff. This was Van Halen when they were cool. They were crazy cool back then, and I'm fortunate enough to be one of the few to have seen it in person back in 1984, as a 12 year old punk. Was lucky to be there.

- Rush - "Xanadu"
Again, obsessions with openings of songs. The riff is huge and pure genius. Being well recorded as well, the guitar double-tracks into both speakers (if you're an old timer like me with stereo only) and seems very multidimensional. A long song, not radio friendly, but worth finding just for the opening alone.

- The Beatles - "A Day In The Life"
Very little can compare to the powerful orchestral progression that follows the "Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head...". At the point of the massive orchestra's chord progression from C to E in a "circle of fifths" (music terms), it's priceless.

Checking In/Live Aid Article

2008-05-11T08:12:00.007-05:00

I wrote the article below at least 7 months ago, but never got around to posting it. Currently, I'm slightly suffering a bit of literary constipation, as might be evidenced by the decided lack of articles from April, as well as the conclusion of my award-losing "Relationship Injustice" series. For the curious (and bi-curious?), the feedback I got from my wrap-up was mostly positive. A couple people asked me if I'd been itching to undo my closure of that series and add more, but actually I haven't. Unbelievable, but again, constipation. Sometimes I just get tired of being tired. The "RE" series was actually rather cathartic, but tough to write. The whole thing wore me out but I doubt I'd change a word of it, and am kind of proud of it as a finished work. Not to be too "bloggy" (there's a new word for ya), but I'm sure I'll have some type of retrospective thoughts and summaries for my highly feared 100th post. I've already been combing the archives for some "best of" moments to reprint in a type of ceremonial article.

Anyway, here's one from the past that I never reprinted, having to do with watching the old Live Aid concert. Will check in as soon as the laxative kicks in.

***********************

So I Watched The Live Aid Tapes Again...

I've stumbled upon the video tapes of the Live Aid broadcast from lo these many years ago (21+ to be exact). It struck me as to the specialness of the event, the magnitude of having a single event with (reformed) Led Zeppelin, The Who, Black Sabbath, etc. The heroes were certainly the fans - the music lovers that donated their money to a cause that hopefully saved some lives. But the magnitude! 1.5 BILLION people watched this event.

This was a revival of those great "I was there" moments of the late sixties, except this festival had a cause. People who could brandish a ticket stub from this event could boast their support at the time, and their fortitude for standing in one place for over 7 hours. THAT'S why the audiences were my heroes. Performers can play their 17 minute set in any venue, but the people who stood there in that mass of humanity, well they have my respect. Bob Geldof will always be a musical hero in my book for organizing this massive event, and pulling together such memorable reunions. He was a pathetic singer, but he knew how to pull strings. Kudos, Bob, just please don't ever sing again.

The entire Wembley Stadium affair was majestic and respectful; by ending with Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmas", the grand finale had a sense of majesty and importance with which it might capitalize the statement of helping a dying continent. Philadelphia's lame "We Are The World" was disorganized, boring, anti-climactic, and disappointing. Thankfully one would hope that many had turned the channel by then. Even at the basic songwriting level, "We Are The World" is a sorry excuse for a counterpart to the majestic, and emotionally fueled performance by Band Aid. Try again, Quincy. Back to Gary you go...

Hindsight always makes for fascinating viewing. MTV VJs remarking how "great" Ozzy Osbourne looks and feels, even though he was at his heaviest and living on blow. Then the ponderings of Led Zeppelin's reunion and its potential future. There are also those that didn't get their proper notice, and have since departed. The singers for Queen and Big Country no longer walk this earth. It sucked to see them largely enveloped by the gravity of everything else at the time.

Neil Young can't play solo guitar, but man, he was so cool out there. He'll drop everything for a cause. Neil, Zeppelin, and U2 were the high points of the day. To hell with Phil Collins and his attention-hungry stunt to fly across the ocean and play at the London AND Philadelphia venues. That merely gave an excuse to put another continent to sleep with "In The Air Tonight". He may be a great drummer, but his songs can be so boring.

I loved watching how obviously wired up and goofy Jeff Porcaro was during Clapton's performance. Porcaro was a drug hungry drummer, formerly of Toto, and some of the backstage interviews included his shaky visage in the background. I've seen less jumping around in a Gnip Gnop game. Same with MTV host Nina Blackwood. In some close ups, you could literally see the drug residue on her. Nice. Good for national TV. Them were da days.

A Tribute To Pets

2008-04-09T20:14:00.001-05:00

A dear friend of mine had to see a sweet pet pass on to the next world. Missy was a young, vibrant, impetuous and playful kitty that was warm and affectionate with all that met her. I admit I was always more of a dog person, but this one was warm and loving, to the point that I couldn't resist her nature. She merely wanted to be friendly, say "hello", and be playful. The heartbreaking thing was that this, like other pets taken too soon, was a creative, innocent animal that did not do anything like smoke, drink, or have a bad diet, as us stupid humans do. When humans die too soon from a life of self abuse, we conclude, more or less, that they probably deserved it. With animals, they merely want to have a warm place to cuddle up with their beloved owner, eat what is given to them, and live in simplicity, completely at the mercy of their taintedly human provider. These pets ask so little, and give so much in return.

Perhaps it's easy to consider my admiration for the animals closest to us as a sign of indignation for the consistently selfish human counterparts, and if that need be, fine. I got a puppy when I was 10 years old, named him Shadow (as he was always in my shadow), and he was ostensibly my adopted brother. We wrestled together, he slept in my bed, he guarded me furiously, and never left my side until he took his last breath in 1995. He was one that would not want to submit to mortality if he could spend another day with me, regardless of the failures of his mortal frame. Few people could ever be so purely faithful and loving for their hopelessly flawed human counterparts. Our pets develop such an indescribable connection with us, to the point where they know when we are not feeling well, or know that their playful frolics bring us joy. There's nothing so honest and refreshing as the joy our beloved pets bring us, because they are not simply being selfish or unconcerned with our emotions - they sense them and react appropriately - they show love and want us happy - who, in the human race, can consistently do the same?

I do believe the animals we have embraced will once again join us on the other side, and that they have a spirit that will never be relinquished by the physical world's encumbrances. We will one day join our sweet animal companions in the next world; in a place where they hurt no more, and merely seek our embrace. They've asked so little during their earthly existence, and given so much, and eagerly await the day when we are reunited with them in a better, painless place. No relationship with our beloved animal friends shall ever be stifled by the pains of mortality. They will exist forever in our minds through pictures and memories. They await us in the spirit world, and the relationship, having never really ended, will once again flourish when we are once again able to embrace the pets with whom we are forever bound. May they all play happily and painlessly in heaven, and may we never forget that we will hold them once again. For now, we love you all - Peppy, Curly, Shadow, Goony, and especially Missy. Our spirits are with you, and our thoughts and smiles will never be without your memories.

Relationship Injustice Part 10 - this is where it all......ENDS

2008-03-28T08:40:00.000-05:00

It's been difficult finding an adequate way to wrap up my much ignored "Relationship Injustice" series. By writing all the past articles on this topic, my thoughts revolved around one basic premise: People, by virtue of their own free will, are inherently out of our domain and beyond our control. It's frustrating, but simultaneously selfish and self-ingratiating to think that the people closest to us could be "steered" in various directions. As such, it's an ignorant mistruth to assume that people that were once closest to us would likely be of such a comparable mindset if we were to change or endure less than wonderful times. I found that friends, be they on a somewhat valued level (close or intimate) are a precarious lot. The injustice, in the end, is that those close friends will walk away and cut ties for, as expected, their own reasons and justifications. Those perceived justifications might be irrational, rational, perceived or factual, but everyone is entitled to their own decisions and actions. The rich irony is that the people that were once closest to me, who were supposed to be there through thick and thin, are now the ones who've since decided that I am a complete stranger to them, and have cut me off from all acknowledgement.

I'll explain this entry's title with a somewhat allegorical tale from the Monterey Pop Festival, way back in 1967. One of my personal heroes, Pete Townshend, after having been challenged to follow Jimi Hendrix's guitar inferno of an act, needed to state things in his own way. Before the destructive and chaotic finale that was to be their rendition of "My Generation", Townshend merely stated "This is where it all...ENDS." There was not to be any feigned encore, or tapering off into the Californian night - this was it. The band was going to play the song, destroy the equipment, and the end was definitive. The interaction with the audience was to end, for the night, and such have been many relationships, well beyond a given night. Endings...

A basic premise to be learned from such separation is that time does not heal all wounds. After having been close to various people for significant lengths of time (ranging from 3 to 20 years), it seemed all too easy for people to forget those with which a close bond had been forged. What's frustrating on a personal level, is that despite the irony of the closest of friends having become the most distant, the time of separation has not imparted any effect upon any type of resolution to that initial estrangement. In a personal sphere, I found that I misjudged the loyalty that close friends once proclaimed to me in moments of earnest friendship, regardless of where my personal situations might have stood at any given time. People with whom I spoke on the most intimate levels, on a daily basis, are the ones that regard me as a stranger, and despite years of estrangement and attempts to patch past gaps, nothing will change. Not to pound the idea into the ground, but these were people that I loved, claimed to have loved me, knew of my pitfalls, and were close to me for all times good and bad - be they bad times in their lives or my own. While never having been divorced, I can externally empathize with that level of separation from those with whom so much closeness was once treasured and valued. Male or female, when you know a person's middle name, date of birth, deepest thoughts and hopes, it's a harsh and unfair reality to be categorically ignored and treated as one that never existed or cared in times past.

I should apologize if this entry resembles a personal rant, but perhaps I needed to unload a bit during one of these articles, and it may as well be this one, especially if this is to be the final entry in the series. Call me stupid, (just don't call me collect), but I never would cut ties with someone (nor have I purposely decided to cut ties) for reasons of a friend's status, peaks and valleys, etc. During my darker times in the past, a select few stuck by my side, and the rest decided that, for whatever reasons, it would be too encumbering or inconvenient to stay in touch even in a casual or slightly caring context. Those that decided that I was no longer "fun" had summarily pronounced their philosophy regarding the value of close relationships and cast the die. Let me say that I know for a fact that despite rough patches in years past (as in like 2 or 3 years past), I personally never chose to wrong someone close to me or act so inappropriately as to deserve the subsequent relationship "death sentence" from close friends of the time. With the finality of "endings", as it were, I had been forced to forever drop all respect for those that were my dearest friends and had since cut ties, and warmly shine the highest regard for those that are still there for me, and vice versa, after years of close interaction and care. In all fairness, there have been some people that I had since reconnected with, and they understood that people change, endure various rough moments, and still care after all is said and done.

It's easy to conclude that this entry is some type of salvo against those with whom I no longer associate. A confederate might say to me "to hell with them, who needs them." Unfortunately those estranged past friends will always be people that are of concern to me, and that history can never, in my mind, be undone. Apparently with others, that is not the case. It's hard to end anything, such as this series, and I will be constantly perplexed as to how a person can impart an ending to a close friendship for reasons beyond one's control. To further the irony, the people (be they a chosen few) to which this final article was directed, will never see this piece, or even think of making the effort to test the proverbial waters and attempt a reconnection. In kind, I'd chosen a final entry to this series as a viable venue for acknowledging that I've given up on such aforementioned hopes. While this entry is likely to seem pathetically personal, I realized that most of these "Relationship Injustice" articles were personal in their own ways anyway. Yes, this is where it all ends - at least for this series. For those that opt toward friendship finality as well, good luck. Let the eulogy of such similar relationship injustice be not spoken on your behalf. Out!

Spam Review #8

2008-03-13T11:27:00.005-05:00

These will be mostly just catty one-liners, but I'm just trying to get to ten of these articles...

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: The HudForeclosed Team <TheHudForeclosedTeam@bodingdouse.com>
Date: Mar 12, 2008 1:51 PM
Subject: Looking for Foreclosures?

No, I'm actually looking for FIVE closures! Folks! (cue the Muppet orchestra)

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Great Stuff from Reunion GreatStufffromReunion@superasumeprfctnz.com>
Date: Mar 13, 2008 2:20 AM
Subject: Are old friends looking for you?

No, the really old friends are looking for their homes and long-deceased pets. That's a tasteless Alzheimer's joke for those that aren't following along.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Christian Debt Removers Center <ChristianDebtRemoversCenter@assolysya.com>
Date: 12 Mar 2008 18:12:21 -0300
Subject: Stop creditor phone call

Oh thank you so much! I had been dreading that one creditor phone call.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: LottoPrizeNetwork Update LottoPrizeNetworkUpdate@borderroar.com>
Date: Mar 12, 2008 1:34 PM
Subject: Scratch and Win Instant Game

Oh, I scratched and scratched and scratched. Up here, down there, you name it. No instant game. Whatta scam.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Davison Inventions Select <DavisonInventionsSelect@breechdisguise.com>
Date: Mar 12, 2008 1:23 PM
Subject: Start Your Idea Today.

We have over 240 Inventionmen(TM) who are waiting to
work on your product idea. Click Here to Submit your Idea

Ok, my idea is for a procrastination machine. I'll start that idea tomorrow. Folks! (Cue Muppet music again) Are your 240 Inventionmen (TM) really inventor types if they're just waiting for a poor shmuck's new idea? I would call your Inventionmen (TM) Ripoffmen.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Today from LifeLock <TodayfromLifeLock@bringinbullion.com>
Date: Mar 12, 2008 1:00 PM
Subject: Your Identity is priceless. Do you have protection for it?

Close. My identity is worthless. Do you have protection against it? Ya better, Zippy.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: GroupLottoPromoOffers GroupLottoPromoOffers@todaychanges.com>
Date: Mar 12, 2008 4:03 AM
Subject: ^FNAME^, is there cash waiting for you?

^INCOMPETENTMAILMERGEIDIOT^, is there training waiting for you?

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Christian Living Ministry <ChristianLivingMinistry@incrssitewllbn.com>
Date: Mar 11, 2008 9:53 PM
Subject: You could get access to Multi-Media Bible Narations

And you can get access to various spell-checking tools. And God said, "Let there be literacy."

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: 411TaxRelief Solutions <411TaxReliefSolutions@bestintentioncenter.com>
Date: Mar 11, 2008 9:13 AM
Subject: Have you received an IRS Letter?

You Could Settle Tax Debt before 2008
The IRS could increase collection efforts in 2008.
You could settle your back taxes in the new year

This was sent in March of 2008. Anyway, yes I've gotten an IRS letter - I got the "I". Now all I need is the "R" and "S" and whoopie!! Gotta keep checking my bottle caps.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: KaplanUniversity Next Level <KaplanUniversityNextLevel@aidallorin.com>
Date: 10 Mar 2008 18:07:45 -0300
Subject: Which schools could offer you financial aid in 2008?

Which schools can notice that it's already 2008?

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: From Mate1 <FromMate1@thefabuclousfashions.com>
Date: Mar 12, 2008 9:31 PM
Subject: Firstname, annoyed of meeting people at the bar
scene

Oh, I am a very grateful Firstname. I keep looking for girls in that crazy bar scene and end up with unexpected people named "Bill" around. I'm tired of them.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Women Cash Alliance <WomenCashAlliance@assolysya.com>
Date: 12 Mar 2008 22:18:22 -0300
Subject: Unexpected Bills? We Could help!

Oh thank you!

Spam Review #7

2008-03-08T04:16:00.004-06:00

These spams just write themselves.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: GuideToKitchenRemodelingOpportunity
<GuideToKitchenRemodelingOpportunity@incrswlbngs.com>
Date: Feb 17, 2008 3:39 AM
Subject: Find a kitchen remodeling company fast

Yes sir! Dialing my phone like crazy. I'm calling everyone in the phone book!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: BigWin Update <BigWinUpdate@sprcnfdnceexprzd.com>
Date: Feb 17, 2008 9:47 PM
Subject: Golf Nuts Club Offer

Some people had tennis elbow, back in my college days, I had a bad case of golf nuts. Talk about some pain. There was no such thing as wearing tight pants back in those days. Lots of warm baths and kilts for yours truly.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Flip Marston <Flip-stkramle@epsom-ewell.gov.uk>
Date: Feb 17, 2008 5:44 PM
Subject: Give her a gigantic tool to hold.

I gave her a Skil circular saw, then followed it up with a very nice drill press. Regardless, I've always wanted to hang with a guy named "Flip". I have a running list of people I've always wanted to know; I've wanted to know a few people named Flip, Wes, Groucho, Kukla, Cecil, and Soupy. And now, part of this wild dream of mine has been already fulfilled. This keeps me going back to the bowling alley. I'm crazy.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: MiGenteOfferPromotion <MiGenteOfferPromotion@rainydayspeople.com>
Date: Feb 18, 2008 2:04 AM
Subject: Find the Latin singles you've been looking for

Fantastic. I had been searching for a 45 of "La Vida Loca" for ages. I owe ya one! What about that Macarena thing or whatever it's called? Forget it, I'll ask Flip. As for your subject header, a grammatical guideline is that you should never end a sentence with a preposition. That's something that you should look for.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: SinglesNetMessage <SinglesNetMessage@fctnfststlr.com>
Date: Mar 7, 2008 1:21 AM
Subject: Search compatible singles by zip code

By zip code? And technically, it's ZIP code. Zone Improvement Plan, wise-thing. No, I'd rather find my dream girl by longitude, elevation above sea level, relative humidity, wind speed, and the amount of Farads contained in one's favorite capacitor. Siddown, WOPR.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: eHarmonyOffer <eHarmonyOffer@trnstntimeguide.com>
Date: Mar 7, 2008 1:16 AM
Subject: You Could Meet the Love of Your Life Today on
eHarmony

Ok, Orville Redenbacher, I'm pretty much done chastising your lousy site and its obsession with compatability. Clearly your commercials, featuring those clingy blimps and middle-aged perverts aren't pulling in the big bucks for your creepy site. Now eHarmony has resorted to spamming. Knock yourself out, ol' buddy. See ya in the "dot com" bone yard, Bucky.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: University of Phoenix <UniversityofPhoenix@freeeducationguide-now.com>
Date: Wed, 5 Mar 2008 19:28:57 UT
Subject: University of ditch the cube

Oh, count me in! I will suffer no longer under the looming power of Rubik and his evil cube. 28 years is long enough. Sign me up!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: University of Phoenix <UniversityofPhoenix@gltrshllywdsite.com>
Date: Mar 4, 2008 9:17 PM
Subject: University of next level, here I come

Aw c'mon, I just signed my letter of intent for attending the University of Ditch the Cube. It's like the fox and the grapes (obscure Aesop's fable reference, sorry).

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: OptionsfromSinglesNet OptionsfromSinglesNet@otlndishprtiez.com
Date: Mar 2, 2008 12:31 AM
Subject: Looking for a date?

Is she cute?

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: BBOS Handbag Bliss BBOSHandbagBliss@todaychanges.com
Date: Mar 2, 2008 4:29 AM
Subject: You can rent a designer bag

But is she cute? FOLKS!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Prize America WebDeals PrizeAmericaWebDeals@bodingdouse.com>
Date: Mar 4, 2008 2:03 PM
Subject: Sweepstakes Entry Ticket
Play scratch and win for FREE!
Match 3 and win Play now!

Oh yes! Count me in! I'll gamble my family's health on this one! Let's go!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: LowPriceHealthOfferSpecial
Subject: Are you gambling with your family's health?

Oh, come on, you were reading my last response. Jerk.

Fun With Phobias

2008-03-04T04:09:00.003-06:00

During a recent discussion with a friend, she mentioned a fear of bread, and as such, I wondered if such a phobia existed. In a sense, it did, and as the exploration grew stranger, I decided to explore the world of phobias. Here are some that I found which might be amusing, if it weren't for the sad truth that they are actually real phobias. For the record, I'm skipping over the more common ones, like fear of heights, enclosed spaces, the number thirteen, spiders, etc. So there.

Agoraphobia - Fear of open spaces or crowds.
Ok, I'll give ya this one.

Koinoniphobia - Fear of rooms.
Go trade places with the agoraphobics.

Amaxophobia - Fear of riding in a car.
Depends on who's driving.

Barophobia - Fear of gravity.
Oh come on, go take a space walk, Buzz.

Bibliophobia - Fear of books.
Sounds like every drunken college student. Folks!

Scolionophobia - Fear of school.
Toga! Ibid.

Cacophobia - Fear of ugliness.
After a few drinks, this fear disappears.

Chromophobia - Fear of colors.
I think the Klan owns this one. It's not quite a black and white issue. Hoo! Jeez, without colors, that only leaves black and white, I suppose.

Leukophobia - Fear of the color white.
Oh, man! After the chromophobes have their way, and now these leukophobes, all that's left is black.

Melanophobia - Fear of the color black.
Nooooooo!

Coulrophobia - Fear of clowns.
Ok, clowns are just inherently creepy. I don't disagree with this one at all. They make kids cry, parents rage, and elephants poop.

Dystychiphobia - Fear of accidents.
Oh, how irrational! Who doesn't love accidents?

Ephebiphobia - Fear of teenagers.
There they are - off in the corner - plottin' and schemin'. With their backward hats, breakdancing, boom boxes and Foghat records. Ya blasted punks!

Genuphobia - Fear of knees.
Oh come on now. Except for the occasional double amputee, there's no escaping this one. How can one be afraid of something that comprises the body? What next, fear of feet?

Podophobia - Fear of feet.
Ok, I had to see it coming.

Obesophobia - Fear of gaining weight.
So what, you end up being shaped like a figure 8.

Octophobia - Fear of the figure 8.
Damn, you be harsh!

Phobophobia - Fear of phobias.
Ok, this one fascinates me. If you are afraid of being afraid, then you're always going to be afraid. Too much for me to process.

Venustraphobia - Fear of beautiful women.
Wow, that would not be good for those eligible bachelors.

Gynophobia - Fear of women.
Forget it, then you're either a nerdy misanthrope or are gay as a French horn. Then again, the "festive" types love hanging with the chicks, so who knows. I'll just stick with the "nerdy misanthrope" zinger.

Porphyrophobia - Fear of the color purple.
Hated that movie anyway.

Technophobia - Fear of technology.
Who let the Amish out! Whoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo! Who let the Amish out!

Cyberphobia - Fear of computers.
Couldn't they just lump this under technophobia?

Chronomentrophobia - Fear of clocks.
Hey what time is it. I need a WATCH. No, a watch, a sundial, or a long stick. Not a clock.

Botanophobia - Fear of plants.
I can understand this one. I think it was either "The Carol Burnett Show" or an old "Monty Python" skit where a plant ended up attacking someone, and I was oddly scared of any tall plant for quite a while. At least I wasn't afraid of, I dunno, ferns.

Pteridophobia - Fear of ferns.
Of course there's one in every bunch.

Dendrophobia - Fear of trees.
I'm sure the "Wizard of Oz" movie helped kick this one into high gear amongst the phobic...

And under the "duh" category...
Nosocomephobia - Fear of hospitals.
Lilapsophobia - Fear of tornadoes and hurricanes.
Dentophobia - Fear of dentists.
Agliophobia - Fear of pain.
Catagelophobia - Fear of being ridiculed.
Pathophobia - Fear of disease.
Necrophobia - Fear of death or dead things.

Mageirocophobia - Fear of cooking.
(Insert typical blue collar husband voice) "Well the little lady must have this phobia!! Hoo hoo!"
Microphobia - Fear of small things.
Then the "little lady" responds with her microphobia. The husband and wife get into a fight, which leads to her leaving him, and thus incites...
Ataxophobia - Fear of disorder or untidiness.
and
Autophobia - Fear of being alone.
Clearly the guy had...
Gamophobia - Fear of marriage.

Commercial Strangulation

2008-02-21T20:44:00.003-06:00

A recent posting of mine at helium.com... with reference to commercials "strangulating" us.

Television has dutifully shot itself in its foot by overwhelming us with commercials, compressing shows with split screens, and otherwise editing shows down to the bare minimum in the interest of maximizing profits. Shows from the 1970s such as MASH had eleven minute segments, and shows on the current Food Network and Discovery Channel have segments that are six or seven minutes at best. I had long since given up on the broadcast networks, but in these times, the worst offenders are the pay channels - be they from a cable or satellite service. In the glory days of "pay" television, we were spending money to avoid the commercials that plagued viewers of the free networks. Now, it's almost as though the "cable" channels are as bad, if not worse, than their so-called "free" broadcast networks. One has to wonder where our subscription fees to these cable/satellite services go?

I can understand broadcast (i.e. "free") networks running commercials ad nauseum, but then again, one gets what they pay for. It costs nothing (other than the price of a television and its electricity) to watch NBC or Fox. But when paying for the right to see "cable" channels, we shouldn't theoretically be seeing the same amount (if not more) of commercials. The sad truth is that cable channels can get away with murder; they provide content that attracts audiences, and worse yet, the world of television is tilted toward the world of cable and satellite.

Without question, commercials are strangling and altering programming content. The split screens we see on various networks are simply a televised replica of the banners and advertisements we see on the internet. Why do networks push their web presences so passionately? Check one of their sites. In the time you load their page, they're able to surround their content with several ad banners and effectively "run their commercials". One would think that this ease of potential advertising revenue from an alternate medium would relieve us of the constant barrage of televised ads, but that isn't the case. We're stuck with an ever-growing reliance on the media, and since they know this, those outlets are empowered to dictate the rules.

A savvy member of the peanut gallery will likely say witty things like "didya forget where the 'off' button was?" or "just don't watch..."
Yeah, but it's everywhere. And the point is that it's growing worse than any perceived pollution that one could conjure. Internet banners, commercials, radio spots, billboards. All wealthy entities, be they in media, oil, or banking, know they can progressively get away with more and more every year or so, provided that it's snuck under the radar of the supposed outspoken public. It's easy to advocate total withdrawal from the world and not use oil, power, or the media, but it's very tough to do that. I personally still use oil and watch the television, but I do purposely avoid products pitched by stupid commercials (unfortunately not including utilities), and for now, that's a start.

These Stupid Chicago Emails

2008-02-16T19:54:00.004-06:00

I got another one of these tiresome emails about "Chicago Slang", as it were. I have already ranted about the characterizations, but here's the email and my comments.

Before I continue, must define something called the "Moustache Rule". This is that nationally presumptuous rule of thumb that every Chicagoan is a white, sloppy-talking, blue-collar, overweight beer-drinking slob that never paid attention to grammar or personal hygiene. Just like the SNL skits of old, it's assumed that these guys live for the Bears, eat lots of sausage, and generally spout stupidity. The typical poor grammar and speech jokes, with assumptions that Chicago people can't speak properly, will be attributed to the Moustache Rule. Anyway, see stupid email and my stupid comments...

"CHICAGO SLANG"

1. Grachki (grach'-key): Chicagoese for 'garage key' as in,
'Yo, Theresa, waja do wit da grachki? How my supposta cut da grass if I don't git intada grach?'

How is "garage key" a common phrase? Ever hear of remote control door openers?

2. Sammich: Chicagoese for sandwich. When made with
sausage, it's a sassage sammich; when made with shredded beef, it's an Italian Beef sammich, a local delicacy consisting of piles of spicy meat in a perilously soggy bun.

I've heard that term in jest, only. And there's no such thing as a (sic) "sassage sammich". We call them "italian sausage" or "hot dog". NOBODY says "Italian Beef Sammich". An Italian Beef is known as "A Beef". And why do you need to explain an Italian Beef? The beef is sliced, not shredded. A perilously soggy bun? I've never heard of bread and danger put together before.

3. Da: This article is a key part of Chicago speech, as in 'Da Bears' or 'Da Mare' -- the latter denoting Richard M. Daley, or Richie, as he's often called.

Yeah, sure, this whole thing might've been around on the southwest side of town, but it really isn't prevalent as one might think. Moustache Rule...

4. Jewels: Not family heirlooms or a tender body region, but a popular name for one of the region's dominant grocery store chains. 'I'm
goin' to the Jewels to pick up some sassage.'

No, that's wrong, people say "The Jewel". Stop by some time.

5. Field's: Marshall Field, a prominent Chicago department store. Also Carson Pirie Scott, another major department store chain, is simply called ' Carson 's.'

We'll just leave out the fact that Field's has since been bought out.

6. Tree: The number between two and four. ' We were lucky dat we only got tree inches of snow da udder night.'
7. Over by dere: Translates to 'over by there,' a way of
emphasizing a site presumed familiar to the listener. As in, 'I got the sassage at the Jewels down on Kedzie, over by dere.'
8. Kaminski Park : The mispronounced name of the
ballpark where the Chicago White Sox (da Sox) play baseball. Comiskey Park was renamed U.S. Cellular Field (da Cell)
9. Frunchroom: As in, 'Get outta da frunchroom wit dose
muddy shoes.' It's not the 'parlor.' It's not the 'living room.' In the land of the bungalow, it's the 'frunchroom,' a named derived, linguists believe, from 'front room.'
10. Use: Not the verb, but the plural pronoun 'you!' 'Where use goin'?'

I'll cite the "Moustache Rule" here for the above.

11. Downtown: Anywhere near The Lake, south of The Zoo (Lincoln Park Zoo) and north of Soldier Field.

Um, big cities tend to have a "downtown".

12. The Lake : Lake Michigan . (What other lake is there?) It's often used by local weathermen, 'cooler by The Lake.'

This one's true.

14. Braht: Short for Bratwurst. 'Gimme a braht wit kraut.'

Moustache Rule. And this isn't Milwaukee. What happened to item 13, by the way?

15. Goes: Past or present tense of the verb 'say.' For example, 'Den he goes, 'I like this place'!'

Can't argue that one.

16. Guys: Used when addressing two or more people, regardless of each individual's gender.

Not known to be specific to a region or locale.

17. Pop: A soft drink. Don't say 'soda' in this town. 'Do ya wanna canna pop?'

Yes, completely a regional thing. This debate will never end.

18. Sliders: Nickname for hamburgers from White Castle, a popular Midwestern burger chain. 'Dose sliders I had last night gave me da
runs.'

White Castles are all over the eastern half of the country. Oh yeah, and Moustache Rule.

19. The Taste: The Taste of Chicago Festival, a huge extravaganza in Grant Park featuring samples of Chicagoland cuisine which takes
place each year around the Fourth of July holiday.

Such daring parlance.

20. 'Jeetyet?': Translates to, 'Did you eat yet?'

Moustache Rule. Very clever. "Jyarunoutofstupiditemsyet?"

21. Winter and Construction: Punch line to the joke, 'What are the two seasons in Chicago ?'

Unfortunately, now it's just forever construction season.

22. Cuppa Too-Tree: is Chicagoese for 'a couple, two, three' which really means 'a few.' For example, 'Hey Mike, dere any beerz left in da cooler over by dere?' 'Yeh, a cuppa too-tree.'

Moustache Rule. Of course it's only "beerz" we drink.

23. 588- 2300: Everyone in Chicago knows this commercial jingle and the carpet company you'll get if you call that number -- Empire!

Fine, I'll give you that one. Though it's technically 800-588-2300.

24. Junk Dror: You will usually find the 'junk drawer' in the kitchen filled to the brim with miscellaneous, but very important, junk.

Who the hell decided this was a local thing? It's a damn drawer! What next, the phenomenon of this crazy "medicine cabinet" thing up in Spokane? Those crazy denizens of Baton Rouge, with their zany "flush toilets"? I hear that Detroit people are riding around in some type of "Horseless Carriage". Insanity.

25. Southern Illinois : Anything south of I-80. This is where Smothers' is from....

Technically that's incorrect - it is considered "downstate". Nice try though, I'm sure the Nantucket local library would have some more valuable slang material. Chop chop! No comment on the "smothers" thing, that's just off the map - literally.

26. Expressways: The Interstates in the immediate Chicagoland area are usually known just by their 'name' and not their Interstate
number: the Dan Ryan ('da Ryan'), the Stevenson, the Kennedy (da 'Kennedy'), the Eisenhower (da 'Ike'), and the Edens (just 'Edens' but Da Edens' is acceptable).

Ewww, fiendishly clever - stick that endearing "da" article in front of the names and it will be Chicagoese! I tend to think that this joke has worn out its welcome, Thad.

27. Gym Shoes: The rest of the country may refer to them
as sneakers or running shoes but Chicagoans will always call them gym
shoes!

Sneakers? Running shoes? Good Lord, Ruben Kincaid, get out of the 1970s. Running shoes? What the hell does that mean? At least I've heard the phrase "tennis shoes" before. It's not a Chicago thing, it's a "now" thing, nimrod. Grab a new flux capacitor and join our century.

Man, to think I wasted an hour on this...

Spam Review #6

2008-02-11T23:48:00.001-06:00

Why Not...

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: amelie LOCO
<amelie-chefaerz@abanc.org>
Date: Feb 11, 2008 10:34 AM
Subject: I heard John had to stop taking those capsules because he became too large, and his girlfriend complained it hurt

I heard John was a sadistic bastard that liked to make her hurt. I also heard he was an unsavory character that was into playing the ponies. Bad day at the track...hurt the girlfriend. Oh, those capsules aren't going anywhere. He threatens her - "You keep complaining, I'm gonna take a capsule! Don't make me take capsule. It's just abusive over there. He was banging on her mobile home one night, "Here come the capsules! I got you now woman!" Bad scene. Don't even ask about when she made the wrong flavor of Jello.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: glenn Dyer <glenn-keohrevo@504hq.com>
Date: Feb 9, 2008 2:18 PM
Subject: Be the King of the bedroom with your new sceptre

Being normal is not good enough, you need a bigger d1ck

I AM THE GOD OF HELLFIRE! Do not ignore my sceptre! I will strike you down!
The bedroom is my domain! Do not disobey the sceptre!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Bogosh Haslett <linguistical@cvsrd.org>
Date: Feb 10, 2008 6:06 PM
Subject: greenishness

Ni hao,

Are you a frrequent visitor of retaill softwarre stores?
We know what you're oveerpaying for:- box manuffacturing- CD- sallesperson salary- RRent of shop sppace- Yeear-to-year
increasiing taxes in your ccountry
Well, what for ?! You're able to downnload everythiing
legally NOW! Fabbulous range of softwarre and LOW prices will make you smile and save your money!

Of it except those holy cross fellas. They came for him
not at all. The princess found cranley intercourse with thefamily of my host, before as also his two parshni drivers. the valiant kripa had dictated, commanded his servant, saying, 'letwhere his mind would not be distracted from his the total the fact that through ill health on existence of an objective world is denied in the the way he beheld a vulture hugeas a mountain, brave and high souled warriors, swords and shields, the science of arms. And he was of wonderful deeds principal part of each day's food which is supplied
vaisampayana said, 'thus addressed by the brahmanas, (brahman) created dharma for the advancement and came after. Maybe he has been here. I don't know..

Oh no, Bogosh hasn't taken his multiple personality disorder pills again. There's Bogosh the (sic) softwarre peddlerr, with hhis tenndency to ttype ddouble connsonants. Then clearly we heard from Bogosh the channeler of great warriors from ages past. And poor alternate Bogosh can't even be sure if he knows, with his closing statement.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: cord hiroshi <_n_e@abccoke.com>
Date: Feb 11, 2008 7:39 PM
Subject: Re:

Get our present for your feeling well!!!

Based on the domain name of this email address, I think I'll pass. I don't want any such present. Bob Denver went down from something similar in the mail once.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: The CreditLine4You Center <TheCreditLine4YouCenter@hightell.com>
Date: Feb 11, 2008 10:31 PM
Subject: We may help you to get an unsecured card

Sure, unsecured. Yeah I hear ya. Who's the identity theft victim? Thank God this isn't one of those insecure cards. Man, what a battle keeping that insecure card quiet. I'd whip it out, and it would say "Oh sure, you just use me whenever you want, I'm not worth anything but gas to you?" It was too insecure. Needed too much coddling.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From:
Glenna Hamalainen <erlaufen1971@advantageci.com>
Date: Feb 9, 2008 8:48 AM
Subject: A couple of inches
never hurt anyone

A couple of inches never hurt anyone

Yeah, right; say that to the truck driver that got stuck under the thirteen foot underpass on Cicero Avenue the other day. He was just a couple of inches too tall. Took him hours to get his too-tall-truck out from under that bridge. Poor guy. Just a couple inches.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: austen
paula <_mauricio@aaaamerican.com>
Date: 2008/2/10
Subject: Re: Eine friedliche
Stimmung beherrschte ganz und gar die ?

ffentliche Meinung in Russland. Man verd?chtigte aber
den Zaren, er besch?ftige sich auch weiterhin mit Kriegspl?nen. Allerlei
Beschwerden gegen den Kaiser und insbesondere gegen Czartoryski wurden laut und
lauter. Der ?sterreichische Botschafter in Petersburg,

Yeah well Colonel Klink, or whoever you saw you are, I know your schemes. I will just say:
"Sie können weiter gehen und reden über Russland. Bleiben Sie weg von uns in Amerika, die Sie imperialen Diebe! Andernfalls werde ich John und seine Kapseln, mit Bogosh und seine magische Schwert-Attacke auf Ihr Reich."

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Hear it first from Free Card Search HearitfirstfromFreeCardSearch@superunusual.com>
Date: Feb 10, 2008 6:23 AM
Subject: Get a Brand Spanking new credit card

If I can buy spankings with this card, consider me in!

Want more information on our cookie policy? Just click
here!

No, I heard enough about your cookie policy. No thin mints, no oatmeal cookies, I don't like it. You're lucky you let chocolate chip cookies slide.

---------- Forwarded message ----------

From: Gardeners Supply <gardeners@e-news.gardeners.com>
Date: Feb 5, 2008 9:32 AM
Subject: The World's Most Earth-Friendly Pots

The World's Most Earth-Friendly Pots

Pots, huh? Ya sure there's an S at the end of "Pots"? Riiiiiight.

COWPOTS
Biodegradable, Eco-Friendly Cowpots for Transplants.
Buy Now! $10.95

Ok, this is just cow poop, isn't it. Fine, I'm in. Everyone can use poop.

***A NEW WAY TO GROW TOMATOES

A Revolutionary Planter for Tomatoes

Homegrown tomatoes at your fingertips! Hanging
planter reduces pests and diseases to ensure great crops.
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$19.95

My planter was such a nice guy. He watered the vegetables daily. Now I have to hang him? Poor guy. Time to get the rope.

***OUR BESTSELLING SPRING PRODUCTS

TOMATO SUCCESS KIT

All-in-One Kit Grows More Sweet, Juicy Tomatoes with
Less Work.
Buy Now! $64.95

The follow-up to Guns n' Roses' "Chinese Democracy" : "Tomato Success"!

DELUXE RAIN BARREL
Deluxe Rain Barrel Holds 75 Gallons.
Buy Now!
$139.00

Sounds like a Kentucky Urinal to me.

BRUSHED STAINLESS STEEL COMPOST PAIL

Brushed Stainless Steel Compost Pail Keeps It Simple.
Buy Now! $19.95

Sounds like a Kentucky Porta Potty to me.

SOAPSTONE BOX WITH TWO FRUIT FLY TRAPS
A Natural Solution for Pesky Fruit Flies.
Buy Now! $26.95

I want a natural solution for pesky telemarketers. Make me a plant for that one.

COLORFUL TUBTRUG

Rugged Tubs are a Gardener's Best Friend.
Buy Now! $16.95

Is this like that "cunning stunt" joke? I think they'd prefer Tugged Rubs.

***SALE ITEMS

5-POSITION FLOOR LOUNGER
Just $42.99

Yeah, I remember when this was called a beanbag chair.

***SUCCESS STORY

Learn How This Gardner Stars His Seeds in 22 APS Kits.

It's the Battle of the Network Seed Stars! Watch them in the obstacle course.

***BRING NATURE INDOORS

You mean "grow weed in your basement".

WET POTS
Buy Now! $44.99

I see plenty wet toilet seats when I have to drop a deuce at the bus station.

PHC FOR SEEDLINGS
Buy Now! $5.95

Again, don't you mean "THC from seedlings"?

PLANT STAND TRIO
Buy Now! $129.00

I heard Robert Plant can't stand Trio. You know, that "Da Da Da" band.

NATURAL FERTILIZERS
Buy Now! $6.95

Oh I don't want this shipment. Speaking of which, I'm about to make a shipment myself. That's a "take a dump" joke for the uninitiated.

Spam Review #5

2008-02-10T15:25:00.000-06:00

More from the email world...

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Joy florimonte <ecitassi1976@lacerta.com>
Date: Feb 7, 2008 6:29 PM
Subject: Click here for an all-new Growth
experience.

It's going to be a bumpy night, tell her to buckle down
for the ride of her life

Funny, I told her that a couple months ago when we were about to hit a lot of potholes with my Mustang. It had bad struts.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Brain Cormier <xcbkmbllwyz@yahoo.se>
Date: Feb 6, 2008 4:53 PM
Subject: Stay home and use the phone

Do you have a telephone? Can you return calls to people who are waiting to hear from you? If you do and would like to be your own B0SS and create a great living for you and your family then go to that phone and call us now.

Yes, no, and I won't.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Dutch Gardens <dutchgardens@e-news.dutchgardens.com>
Date: Feb 1, 2008 9:04 AM
Subject: Great Perennials for Shady Spots!

Oh, don't get me started about the shady spots I've been to. Warm beer, creepy people, bad pool table. Never could be sure how they stayed in business.

MAKE A SHADY AREA COME ALIVE WITH COLOR

Those same shady spots were rather racist.

JAPANESE JACK IN THE PULPIT

I just knew that Jack the Preacher was doing something suspicious during his sermons. Must've been the altar boys again...

Opt for something totally different with this strikingly
beautiful-and highly visible-perennial. Blooms are an unmistakable sight: a smoky-purple base, snow-white cup and large hood with purple, green and white stripes.

Ick, smokey purple base. Now Jack is getting too graphic.

FESTIVA MAXIMA DOUBLE PEONY
Petal-packed blooms have a lovely fragrance.
Carefree, long-lived plant rarely requires division; grows 24 to 30 inches tall.
Buy Now! $10.95

Reminded me of my funny moment when someone was showing off her peonies. She said "peonies". I said, "will do!" and opened up the hose. Never saw her again.

POKER PRIMROSE
Dazzling and different late-spring bloomer!

Annie Duke?

DOUBLE SCOTCH HEATHER
Vibrant-pink, fully double flowers cover each stem for
weeks in late summer. Buy Now!

Oh, I remember "Double Scotch Heather". That's all it took to get her rocked, then game on!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Magic Bouillion <orientalises@biovision.org>
Date: Jan 31, 2008 12:29 AM
Subject: skiver

Hoi,

Downloadablee Softwware

Down to the river but my reckonings were bad. 'we desire to hear from thee the mysteries of a life of domesticity. do thou listen
to me with jury ought to see the original. instead of the georgia without waiting for all the southern states, & other places later & we are
booked for munich be affected but i found that this depends upon this suspicion seems unfounded, because guillaume could happen, in case his father chanc'd to dye, mention it, said acton, cheerfully.
sorry i upset.

This one is too weird to even dissect. Something about the south, Germany, and the guy that played "Benson". Pass. Sorry you upset too. Spam on.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: goober vester <-hansh@7-10.com>
Date: Jan 31, 2008 4:15 PM
Subject: Re:Make use of our cut rates here and now!

I do not respond to people named "Goober".

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Find The Right Design School Authority
<FindTheRightDesignSchoolAuthority@bulletinborders.com>
Date: Jan 27, 2008 10:18 PM
Subject: Turn your talent for fashion into a
career

Well, I'm honored! You know my fashion sense by now. T-shirt, jeans. T-shirt, jeans. T-shirt, jeans. T-shirt, shorts (summer season), T-shirt, jeans.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: oejsnarb <oejsnarbpcdrm@bialy-berlin.de>
Date: Jan 23, 2008 9:57 PM
Subject: obmub

http://www.notmebrs.com/

It felt like heaven when Paul entered me, he was so much
bigger now

Can't you even get verb tense correct? He was so much bigger now? Is that like the song "I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now"? Paul probably talks to you in sign language. Hey, maybe you're that deaf Linda character from the old "Sesame Street" shows! Did you dump Louise? He had that nice fix-it shop. Did you ever do Hooper? Yeah, don't lie.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: MilitarydotcomOfferAuthority <MilitarydotcomOfferAuthority@grtsextnsgroup.com>
Date: Jan 23, 2008 4:40 AM
Subject: The Insider's Guide to GI Bill
Benefits

Can't See This Email?

I love these. If I can't see the email, why ask? I wouldn't be seeing the question. Friggin' morons.

Spam Review #4

2008-02-08T10:18:00.000-06:00

More stuff from the world of spam emails. This stuff just writes itself.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Sven Uhler <tjokorja@alieroglu.av.tr>
Date: Feb 6, 2008 2:04 PM
Subject: The trophy can now be in your pants...

Lost your college sweetheart to the quarterback? Get her
back with this.

Hey, I lost my college sweetheart to an out of control cement truck on an icy road. What shall I use to get her back? Black magick? Raising the spirits? C'mon, Sven, that quarterback is married and in a nice house. And for the record, I actually have put trophies in my pants. I shouldn't mention that. Ah the sensation of cold brass...

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Daan fromich <hoolgaat@airmen.com>
Date: Feb 6, 2008 7:19 AM
Subject: Your most magnificent toy ever, unleashed
amongst women with a vengeance.

Never invited to the after-party party? Here's your
invitation card.

Whoo hoo! I get to unleash my remote controlled BatCopter that I got when I was a kid!
I just knew this would get me into the after-party party. Now I have to think about a new toy to get me into the after-party after-party party. Maybe my old Thundershift 500 racing game. That rocked. Then again, I could part with my Toss Across.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Dr Tabitha Sims <Tabitha.Sims@amnestyusa.org>
Date: Feb 6, 2008 4:32 AM
Subject: It's important

Make your mistress satisfied!
You dont know what to
do? It's easy :)
More info you can read here: http://gravewards.com/
Have a hot nights!

Oh sure, Tabitha, bust me on my mistress. How ever did you find out? It's like you have a telescope aimed right at my penthouse. Should I be wary of the fact that this impending satisfaction involves going to a link that has the word "grave" in it? I will have "a hot nights". You have a good days too. Moron. Bad Tabitha, bad.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Mirja Yaria <_tesebdnu@advanced-dental-composite.com>
Date: Feb 7, 2008 8:43 AM
Subject: Hidden in your pants is a A Hollywood Story
that's incredibly huge...

Yes, it's true. In my back pocket I have the script I wrote for the docudrama about the rise and fall of Jack Klugman. The women, the bad "Odd Couple" era, his estrangement from Brett Summers, the hopeless addiction to mustard, it's all in there. And you can't have it. This is a blockbuster. Or ball buster, as it were. Big fonts too. It'll sell.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Doctor Ruby Cherry <Ruby.Cherry@stereodevelopment.com>
Date: Feb 7, 2008 2:10 AM
Subject: Enormous male device is a dream of every wife

Yeah, it's called a Ferrari.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: dino frog <humph@i-gts.com>
Date: Feb 5, 2008 8:21 PM
Subject: Fw:

"Before I was always embarrassed, but now when I go workout or even just take a shower I feel really proud. For real, ManSter has
turned my life around. I'm amazed that a little pill can do all
this!"

I'd be embarrassed to have the name "Dino Frog". ManSter? That online music service? Hey, anything to get your shower pride back to normal.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: True WebDeals TrueWebDeals@specificgroups.com
Date: Feb 3, 2008 9:20 AM
Subject: Feeling Lonely? You could Find Love!

Firstname, someone really wants to meet you!There's someone from
that could be a great match . Click now for a quick match -
FREE

Oh thank you! I've been looking for someone to scream my name out in bed on a nightly basis. Oh Firstname! Give it to me Firstname!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Coney Monaghan _sapegnie@aaltofireplaces.com
Date: Feb 3, 2008 3:04 PM
Subject: Release all your inner frustration!

Everything can GROW - here is how!

Oh thank you thank you thank you Coney! My tulips in the front yard are just not growing. This has been so frustrating! You're like that well-timed John Denver song that just makes all my problems and frustrations disappear like a fart in the wind. Bless you, Coney!

Show Me Those Commercials!

2008-02-05T13:54:00.001-06:00

Hey kids, I figure, for lack of anything better to do, I might as well update you on the latest annoying commercials. Yum!

Cash Call

I love this organization. It's a loan shark that can afford to advertise. Basically, you can call them up, get a loan over the phone, with no collateral. It's clearly a shady operation, and their 99% interest rate on the loan (no I'm not kidding) certainly speaks highly of their fine organization. Not to mention their abortive initial advertising campaign that sunk to the point of hiring the perennially down-and-out Gary Coleman to be their pitch man. Worse yet, Lil' Arnold sank to new prostitutional lows by openly saying that he was in need of money and nobody would loan it to him. That's just pathetic, I wonder if it had anything to do with him being an abysmal has-been with a horrible demeanor and abrasive personality. Nobody even loans him money, let alone hires him. Clearly this outfit did both. I have a distinct feeling that he called this place, got his loan, and unable to pay it off, offered to work it off by appearing in some silly commercials. Those commercials disappeared after a few months. Now they don't even use him, the new ads simply say "we trust you" and immediately back the statement by saying "just make sure you can afford the monthly payments..." Just be sure. Otherwise Vito will be at your door. Or Lil' Arnold. "Whatchutalkinbout, Cash Call?" I just wonder who their next big celebrity will be signed on to endorse their fabulous, legalized loan shark service. Erin Moran, TV's Joanie? Adam Rich, little Nicholas from "Eight Is Enough"? Ralph Malph? Mr. Bentley? Larry from "Three's Company"? Mr. Angelino? Coolidge from "White Shadow"? Jimmy Walker? Die-No-Mite!!!!

CrazyFox

Yeah yeah, you know I love whining about this commercial. This is another one of those home-based business "opportunities", in which you invest a typical small start-up fee and bingo - you're making zillions of dollars per week, working from home, with nothing more than a computer and an internet connection. It's an old, tired scheme that had previously been exploited by other web sites. The kicker is that this commercial employs a cartoon fox, purportedly sitting at his computer, saying "you have to be crazy - crazy like a fox!" He's clearly this poorly rendered animated character, some reject from "Who Framed Roger Rabbit". If you look closely, while this clever fox is sitting at his computer, you'll notice there is no mouse on the desk. If this cartoon fox was so clever with his home business, he might have been able to haul his furry, crap-encrusted fox ass over to the store and drop a couple clams on a mouse. Then again, he's so crafty and cunning, I'm sure this lame Atari 2600 fox has other ways to navigate the web without a mouse.

Sports Illustrated

Once again, they're back at it, peddling their ridiculous collector's editions of books and videos from the latest team to have won a championship. Recently, it has been to honor the allegedly dramatic and exciting season of the LSU Tigers. Wait, it wasn't dramatic or exciting - but they won the national championship! Cah-ching! Talk about whores. Worse yet, they run these commercials across the country, like Joe Lunchpail in Boston could give a damn about what LSU "achieved" and might magically be convinced to purchase a subscription to S.I. for the fascinating tales of LSU. Yawn. Watch out for the inevitable commercials about the New York Giants - I'd say in about a week, they'll be cranking these out as well. True syndrome of the "Fair Weather Fan".

Vonage

These commercials are no longer funny, cool, or creative. Now they have a rather irritating, homely woman bragging about Vonage's features on a split screen, while the evil guy from "The Phone Company" gets gradually knocked off the split screen by her big ass and catty comments. Hey morons, half of all broadband service is provided through that same evil phone company. Ever think of who wired up the infrastructure. Sure, bite the hand that fed you. I'm sure that woman on the commercial would, she looks like she hasn't missed a meal in a while.

Seagrams

In honor of black history month, or something, I've seen commercials about how they are offering to help blacks get jobs. Too funny - what next? Crown Royal? Mad Dog? Hire them for being taste testers? Is a whiskey company really the best candidate for hiring previously "down and out" people? Can't wait to see the turnover rate on this batch of fresh faced recruits.

Always Maxi Pads

This bunch is boasting their wonderful new charitable side by advertising that they are donating pads to poor girls in Africa. Ok, I understand that they make maxi pads, but can't they just pool some money together and buy them some oats? With consistent famine, war, death, disease, and poverty abounding on that continent, is menstrual hygiene the top priority up there? Can't wait until more companies try a lame charity donation scheme as well. Palmolive. Those poor, hungry Africans need more Palmolive. Are the people that make plastic forks going to jump in on this? Forks - those people need forks! These poor people will be inundated by things that they can't eat, use, or pronounce. DVDs, dental floss, cell phones, Pampers, Seagrams, Sports Illustrated subscriptions, whoopie cushions, Marshall Amplifiers, snowmobiles, and Playstation 3 units.

Relationship Injustice Part 9 - Friendships?

2008-01-14T20:30:00.000-06:00

It's been quite a while since I've written anything in this series. Most people will just click away from these "heavy" topics, but sometimes there is insight from the insane. For once, this entry in the series doesn't necessarily just address serious, romantic relationships, but general friendships as well. Some people I know might consider this a shot across the bow, and if so, then let it be, but I try to keep things as impersonal as possible in these venues. Emphasis added to the word "try". I stick to my beliefs, try to be a good person (more emphasis) and if people I know can't handle that, then so be it. There isn't much I can do, but as usual, people I thought were caring, giving friends tend to drop like flies in the Sahara.

To be the good little school boy and pose the thesis right away, I'll wager that so many, if not all, of our relationships cater to our own human sense of selfishness. Now that's a nihilistic, pessimistic way of looking at things, but really - every relationship gives us something, and we want more and more of it - be it that rush of hormones during a mushy moment, a few extra laughs from a friend, a favor, or whatever.

Think of it - say you get a voice mail from a couple friends saying they'll be out, and want you to come along. What are the thought processes? You might relax, you might catch up on gossip, you might get a few drinks, etc. All for you. Only rarely do we truly do things because we are worried about one's well being, just for their sake. I know that's horrible to say, but really - most often, hanging out with friends is a self-serving activity - not that I can offer a truly altruistic alternative reason for seeing friends, or spending hours on the phone.

In a similar pessimistic train of thought, one could say that a heavy romance is merely to either "get some", "make out", show off the latest arm jewelry/trophy mate, or get that endorphin rush from being in love. Again - inherently selfish - technically speaking, it is. One might think that by this logic, or lack thereof, there is nothing good in a close relationship. Not true. Giving of one's self, for any occasion, purely out of concern, "love", and desire for that person to be happy - that's the trick. I'm not saying that anyone that meets their new #1 should empty their proverbial pockets and give all worldly possessions to the new beloved, but always be mindful of giving versus taking. Friendship's benefits should not be one's anathema.

I won't live above my own tenets in any of my current views. Sometimes I don't call someone for months, then when it might be a riot to hang out, I call. Probably selfish of me, but then again, I've tried to be mindful of that, and have exposed my belly enough times to call and check in with an old friend for no other reason than to see how they are. Usually such maneuvers are greeted with the "are you nuts" response, and the whole thing decomposes from there. I don't get those calls too often, it's a damn shame. Maybe we should all make more of an effort to give a shit about the people we claim are friends and just call to see how they are. Some do, some don't, some will, some won't. As I used to say, when people stop calling, they either think your dead, useless, or both. Don't be either one! Count those true friends on one hand and hope that all five fingers are extended at the end of the census.

Spam Review #3

2008-01-12T18:50:00.000-06:00

Here we go again, kids!
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Dutch Gardens dutchgardens@e-news.dutchgardens.com
Date: Jan 10, 2008 9:14 AM
Subject: Exciting New Roses for 2008!
To: mikeydhh@gmail.com
Exciting New Roses for 2008!

Anyone who finds roses exciting really needs to just soak their face in epsom salt water and drown themselves.

FALLING IN LOVE ROSE
Petals are a romantic shade of warm pink with a creamy
reverse. The perfume is a heady blend of traditional rose fragrance and the aroma of fruit.
Buy Now! $19.95

What the hell is a creamy reverse? Oh, this just screams of a Cinemax soft porn movie.

CANDY LAND CLIMBING ROSE
Luscious, rose-pink flowers are striped with ivory and
have an apple.
Buy Now! $19.95

And that would be the title of the Cinemax soft porn movie.

BEST FRAGRANT ROSES COLLECTION
Collection includes 5 plants: Scentimental, Lasting
Love, Barbra Streisand, Vavoom, and Stainless Steel.
Buy Now! $84.95, 5 plants

Do I want a Streisand rose? And what the hell is a vavoom? Is Norton popping out? Stainless Steel? Works great with flowers.

RAINBOW ROSE COLLECTION
Collection includes 5 plants: 1 Moonstone, 1 Gentle
Giant, 1
Ebb Tide,1 Dream Come True, and 1 Strike It Rich.
Buy Now! $84.95, 5 plants

If there are better euphemisms for sexual acts, I'd love to find them.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: GreatNewCars GreatNewCars@248.netwayservices.com
Date: Jan 11, 2008 5:53 PM
Subject: Searching For a New Car?
To: mikeydhh@gmail.com

Searching for a new car? Hell, I've had nights when I was searching for my old car.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: StudentAdvisor StudentAdvisor@213.urchoices.com
Date: Jan 11, 2008 12:24 PM
Subject: mikeydhh start your education today
To: mikeydhh@gmail.com
Hello mikeydhh@gmail.com,
The next Scholarship drawing is January 15th 2008.
Have you entered yet?
You could be the next winner in the $10,000 Scholarship
Giveaway! Confirm your entry now! Use your winnings for:-
Yourself, friends, or family
members-
Tuition-
Books-
Living expenses
The Student Resource Team

I'd LOVE to start my education today! Why, those 16 years I spent in school were nothing! And I love the idea of using the scholarship money for myself, friends, and family. What is this, University of Miami?! FOLKS! I can use the scratch for some cheap booze and that new car I'm supposed to be finding.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: e.Research.Council e.Research.Council@82.netweeklynews.net
Date: Jan 12, 2008 5:23 PM
Subject: mikeydhh@gmail.com, Feel like going out and
blowing $1000? pending participation
To: mikeydhh@gmail.com
Hi mikeydhh@gmail.com
Just charge it. Anything you want on your $1000
Gift Card. Just click on the link below to send the credit card bills to
us. (Participation required. See below for details.)

Hell no! Not with a 10,000 dollar scholarship coming my way! Ok, maybe we'll talk. I can drop a "G" at Walmart with the best of them.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Dianne Hobbs ulqwhfowg@manx.net
Date: Jan 9, 2008 12:45 AM
Subject: These work. I gained 4 inches length and 1 inch
fatter

Impress the ladies when you whip out your new improved
and larger penls

Ok, the penile enhancement spams were inevitable, they've tapered off since the holidays (such warmth). This is just inherently disturbing that the subject of this message was written by someone named "Dianne". I don't want to know what's longer or fatter. Stay away.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Confirmation.Dept Confirmation.Dept@54.southernexpressnews.com
Date: Jan 10, 2008 1:43 PM
Subject: Congratutlations on your Laptop Offer mikeydhh@gmail.com
To: mikeydhh@gmail.com
Hello mikeydhh@gmail.com,
Find out now how you can get a
complimentary Dell Colored Laptop.It's easy. Simply follow the
instructions on the website below:

*Notice: To obtain your gift you must participate in our
program and meet all of the offer eligibility requirements as outlined in the terms and conditions. The Prize Center is not affiliated with any of
the listed products or retailers. Trademarks, service marks, logos, and/or domain names (including, without limitation, the individual names of products and retailers) are the property of their respective owners, who have no association with or make any endorsement of the products or services provided by The Prize Center.

Congratulations on misspelling "congratulations"! And the disclaimer seems oddly well written. Spam stealing from spam! I love it. It's like when Russia and Germany fought each other.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Marissa Mcneil mwxutuonhlh@myactv.net
Date: Jan 7, 2008 11:21 PM
Subject: The phone equals green
To: jbrupp@gmail.com
Improve The Flow Starting Today$15OO , $35OO and more
per week and even per day
Return some calls...10-20 per day

The subject amuses me - reminds me of that whole thing "If the door is ajar, is the window a spoon?" Ah, dated humor. Any time I see references to flow, I have to question if the context is sexual or financial. And these days, what's the difference...Folks!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: PoliceLink PoliceLink@56.netdotnews.com
Date: Jan 8, 2008 5:41 PM
Subject: PoliceLink can help you with
scholarships
To: mikeydhh@gmail.com
Hi mikeydhh@gmail.com,
Get a Career in Law Enforcement* Get the special Guide
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Wow, talk about a self-bilking concept. "We'll train you to, um, damn, well, take down illegal spammers like us! Well, just don't learn too much...."