Your thoughtless corruption of an individual's aspiration to partake in a healthier lifestyle has prompted me to take action. Through your "grilling" you have taken part in the cremation of unknowing and innocent animals. Their lives, supposedly inferior to that of yours, were prematurely ended to satisfy your uncontrollable urges for meat. You are the one at fault, allowing said desires to overtake your mental barriers and instigate a mass consumption of animal flesh. Not only do you succumb to these temptations but your infectious cravings are spread to your neighbors. This "plaque" of meat consumption results in the genocide of hundreds of thousands of animal spirits on a daily basis.
I advise you to educate yourself about the cruelty inflicted upon our fellow earth-wandering creatures.
Sincerely, Andy Ruff
(Donning his leather shoes and still remembering how good his omelet was this morning)
Mr. Andy Ruff,
Thank you for your well-phrased response to the aforementioned "thoughtless corruption" of Ms. Shar's attempts to partake of an unnatural lifestyle. While I personally have no problem with the vegetarian "lifestyle," I feel it is my moral obligation to tell you that you, and all the helpless young children that you prey upon, are going straight to Hell for the perversion that you and your kind have unleashed and spread upon the world.
Now, I have no problem with what you "vegetarians," as you prefer to be called, do behind closed doors; that may be your own business. But when you jam it down the throats of the rest of us, the normal populace, and continually flaunt your perversions in front of the rest of us well-meaning God-fearing folk, I feel I must make my voice heard. Does the Bible not say to "sacrifice lambs to create a pleasing odor for the LORD" and "Thou shalt not lie with vegetables as with meat; it is an abomination"?
After all, if this behavior is "natural" and "healthy" as you claim, why did GOD make animals out of meat?
(as he flips through his veggie cookbook trying to decide what to make tonight to ease that hankering for tofu)
And his response to the response:
I have seen the errs of my ways...I am devouring a bloody chicken gizzard as I type this. Thank you for enlightening me. Ooh, what the hell was that crunchy thing.
Woohoo! I converted another!
by mg at 01:01 PM on May 31, 2001
An ingenius piece of writing with an incredible twist of language....witty and amusing...love it!
Thanks for writing in and for the compliments, I think. After this week, I am not really sure if you were being serious or sarcastic. I am going to assume you really like what you read, because that would make me feel so much better.
kassygal wrote back:
Hello there,thanks for emailling back to me. Well, I was referring to Zia's article, which i enjoyed...(honestly, i wasn't being sarcastic). I enjoyed other articles in the site as well, it made me laugh and made the day seem not so gloomy...thank God for such talented writers! Keep it up!
It's nice to get some love mail after all the hate I got last week, and I suppose I feel good for Zia and all, but... she has only been here for about two weeks and has already got people thanking GOD for her existence. I've been here for eight+ months and no one has so much as written me a letter telling me that "Your site is all right, I guess."
by shar at 07:29 PM on May 30, 2001
How the hell do you vegetarians do it?
So in a lame attempt to try and be healty, I've stopped eating red meat. Well, I pretty much threw out all those plans this weekend when I had a random, insatiable taste for beef brisket (preferably prepared by a Jewish mom). I'm sitting in a movie theater watching a good non-meat oriented film, Traffic, practically drooling all over myself because of a weird, animalistic, almost carnal craving for meat. After the movie got out, I made my movie companion drive me to a local diner where I promptly ordered a 5 oz. steak with a side order of eggs. About 90 seconds later, the steak was gone.
So much for trying to eat healthy.
Anyway, I thought that after this, uh, "setback," I'd be okay and not eat meat for a while. Then my crazy neighbor went and planned to grill out. That jerk! Hopefully after having burgers and brats and stuff this weekend, I've got that scary must-eat-animal-flesh urge out of my system. Maybe I should buy some GardenBurgers or something.
The Animal Defense Militia will probably have my ass for this.
by mg at 03:37 PM on May 30, 2001
I was away this weekend. Did you notice? Probably not, considering that the site itself was down for a good chunk of that period (I think it missed me).
I hadnít mentioned that I was going away before I left, did I? Why was that, you may be asking yourselves. Well, for a couple reasons:
One, I didnít really know for sure that I was going away until the day before I left and I was much to enthralled by the MPGEB to write a little note saying that I wouldnít be around.
Two, considering the events of last week and how apparent it has become that anyone could find out my name and address if they really wanted to, I didnít feel entirely comfortable letting the world know that no one would be in my apartment for four days. Okay, that is a really silly reason, considering that anyone who would have the resources to find that information about me probably wouldnít have any interest in robbing me, but hey, I never said that I was devoid of the occasional irrational behaviour.
And, speaking of irrational behaviour, another reason I didnít necessarily want to share with you all that I was going away was that I was going away with my ex-girlfriend. If youíve been around a while, you know all about that mess. What most of you donít know is what has happened since then. Iíve kind of kept quiet about all that, which is certainly weird of me, and I should stop.
Iíve always shared the ďbadĒ in my life, but for some reason I havenít felt entirely comfortable sharing the good, mostly because I have shared all the bad. Regardless, I didnít want to let you know I was going away with my ex-girlfriend. And Iíll save that explanation for another time.
The fourth reason I didnít share where I was going, and this is something Iíve been hinting at for a while, Iím going to, most likely, be moving to California within the next couple months. Why have I wanted to keep that a secret?
Well, for one, I hadnít told my mom that I might be moving. I know she doesnít read this site, because if she did, she would probably be very disappointed in me. But if she did, for some strange reason, happen upon the site, I wouldnít want this to be the way she found out I was leaving. Arenít I a thoughtful son?
So, as I was leaving this weekend, I finally had to tell my mom, and she was kind of pissed at me. But, she has always been so darn supportive that if I decide this is something I have to do, she will stand behind me 100%. Which is a great feeling.
The other reason was that I didnít want to make a big hullabaloo about me moving out to California, just in case things fell through and then everyone would laugh and point at me for not having my shit together enough to handle a simple cross-country move. Iíve come up with some pretty hair-brained schemes in my short life, often getting all excited and spreading the word before Iíd had a chance to really think things through. I didnít want this to be another case of me jumping the gun. I donít want my life to turn into an episode of the Honeymooners.
So, Iím back now and ready to share. I went to California, to San Francisco precisely, with my ex-girlfriend. I am thinking of moving out there, probably by the end of the summer, to attend Berkeley in Fall 2002. I went out there to take a look at the Berkeley campus, and the San Francisco/Bay area in general, to decide if it is some place I could see myself living for the next 6 years (I want to get into the Journalism/Law graduate program, which is a 5 year program).
It feels nice to have full disclosure. Very refreshing; in fact, I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders, the veil from my eyes, and other clichťs like that.
Since I have already written an awful lot for a single post, I will save my California diaries for another time. I bet you all just canít wait to hear about every minute detail of my trip, my impressions of San Francisco and what decisions, if any, Iíve come to regarding my dubious future.
by mg at 12:47 AM on May 30, 2001
* For those of you clamoring for a picture of mg as Peter Parker rather than Spidey, there it is.
* The site cracked 30,000 hits sometime Tuesday (5/28). Holy freakin' crap!
* For the love of god: please vote for the site here - Justin is now beating me on this list. I can't allow that. Vote for me, damnit! Show your looooove.
by zia at 03:28 AM on May 29, 2001
Am all in a rage for making something into reality that had previously only existed in my mind. Ah, thanks for the consonance. No secret that Iím/we're kinda fed up with my/our conventional pedantic life. Yes, keep on nodding. Oh great, now my brain is farting again, no apology attached. Argh, I need a hearty dose of esprit to curb those mental flatulence. The scent itís emitting annoys the hell out of me.* sniffs * It doesnít even smell like vanilla! Buggeroo. A cerebral makeover would be nice. At least the innards of my brains would look more suggestive with added pulchritude and hopefully, attract the likes! Yay!
Any windy tumescent cranium who wish to consort with mine for a fun discreet rendezvous, apply within. Strictly open to those with gassy upperworks ONLY.
Huzzah! BadSamaritan is once again alive! It appears to have been down for about the past 24 hours; maybe that was just a localized occurence - I don't know. All I know is it's up again and this should make me and you happy.
Are you happy? Good.
We now return to your regularly scheduled blog...
by zia at 07:50 AM on May 26, 2001
Oi Canterburians, ( My varsity folks )
This is an averment in good faith to put fleas in your ears of the Schnozzle Digger who surfaced in the Cafť of late. On that baleful Thursday 1.23pm, after a triumphant rhapsodic scrimmage against narcissism, I got myself the yummiest cookie Iíve always wanted but afraid to eat. I have this giddy grin plastered all over my face. I gleefully bounced my way to the checkout counter having to pick up my food and to be confronted by the Cashier Lady picking her teeth with her finger. How charming.
As if to impress me further, she proceeded to validate my eftpos transaction and ploughed her fingers into her nose when I was entering my pin. Oh my god, this is amazing. I tried not to gloat admiringly at her but the anticipation of her impending act was much too irresistible. True enough, she pried out her booger with her red talons and flicked them with her fingers. The dried nasal mucus just missed my hair by inches. Wow.
Despite the fact that she played no part handling my meal, I was caught in a deadlock whether to make a fuss out of the whole entertaining scene or not. Negative. Wonít want to discourage her would we? Yeah! I hear ya!
P/s: For those who wouldn't want to miss this cool shit but are compelled to duck those pelting booger, there is always the big square tray....
by mg at 12:42 AM on May 26, 2001
On the way into work this morning I met the woman I am going to marry.
Okay, I guess I didnít meet her, I just saw her.
Standing there, not more than three feet away from me, on the downtown E train, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. My friend had a nickname for this girl he was into, he called her the Most Perfect Chinese Girl Ever Born. I think the girl I saw on the subway this morning is not only the Most Perfect Chinese Girl Ever Born, but also the Most Perfect Girl Ever Born, period.
She was Chinese, by the way, if that hasnít been made perfectly obvious. But I am not. Which is probably reason alone for to never talk to me. That and the fact that she is perfect, and I am far from it.
I canít even say what it was that was so beautiful about her. She is hardly what most folk would call the typical beauty. She isnít blonde, she isnít blue-eyed, and she doesnít have breasts the size of Australia. She is Asian, remember? And unless your name is Lucy Lui (or, if this was 1991 instead 2001, Tia Carrera) the majority of America doesnít find you drop-dead gorgeous or want anything to do with you.
Which is absolutely insane, because there in front of me this morning was the Most Perfect Girl Ever Born, who just happened to also be the Most Perfect Chinese Girl Ever Born too, yet some people probably wouldnít even give her a second look because she doesnít look like she came out of the centerfold of some girly magazine. I guess this is all off-topic though, and I am hardly what youíd call your typical feminist, so back to the story.
So, there she was, standing not more than three feet away from me, and I could do or say nothing. As Iíve mentioned before, Iíve got no game. Iíve never been able to walk up to a strange girl and just start talking to her. It is really that first step that bothers me, because once I get into a conversation, I am calm, relaxed, witty and charming.
I have to guess about that part since because, like I said, Iíve never been able to approach strange and beautiful women. But, and here is the thing, I was reading something last night, a story called The Tao of Flirting by my idol, Jason Pettus. The story is like a scene from a movie, where two people meet and their back and forth is amazing, they each always have the perfect comment to the others witty one-liner, and it all seems soÖ scripted.
And I watch scenes like that and always think, ďThat would so not happen in real life.Ē But I donít know, because it may happen, just never to someone like me. I canít imagine that kind of repartee ever happening in real life.
And while Jasonís story is no exception, itís as scripted as anything from Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place, it is the kind of dialogue that I would, and have, come up with in my head whenever Iíve been faced with a situation where snappy banter would come in handy.
Öto be continued.
I've seen electronic collars for dogs pretty often and I always thought they were a little harsh. There's nothing worse than trying to coax a neighbor dog into coming over to play and watching it receive a bone-jarring shock. And along with that, as if we who are growing up now didn't already have enough reasons to hate our parents now we have this tracking devices and electronic leashes and such for teenagers.
The Baby Boomer generation, who were so afraid of The Man and The Big Evil Government, has now turned into Big Brother, not even trusting their own children. I know I've had first-hand experience with a bit of this; my parents thought it was improper for me to have friends of the opposite gender when I was younger. Finally, about my second year of high school, I laughed at them and rebelled: I was friends with whomever I wanted. Now, of course, no gay man is complete without his faghags (bet my parents didn't anticipate that repercussion.)
They say that the quantity of time parents are spending with kids is slightly on the increase, but that the quality of time is steadily on the decrease. Job restrictions, generation gaps, techological leashes for parents to their jobs as well as children to their parents... perhaps it's time to finally teach parents how to be good parents? I'll admit that sometimes I would like to be a parent just so that I could "correct" the mistakes my parents made which is a very bad attitude, since a very similar one was what got me in a sticky situation; my parents decided that they needed to "correct the mistakes" they made with my brother and sister, who are both about ten years older than I am. Now we have parents who were at the forefront of a cultural revolution that is still romantizied to this day taking twenty steps backwards from the stances they took not too many years ago and generating more paranoia towards their own progeny than Senator McCarthy would have ever shown any citizen of the United States.
By the way, no matter what your opinion of the Bush administration, I encourage you all to take a look at this StickyBuffalo critical evaluation of the energy policy of George W. Bush directly from the policy itself, not from the glib treatment the press is giving it. Make your own opinions: read the proposal yourself.
by mg at 01:37 AM on May 25, 2001
The front page is up again. Does that mean things are back to normal? Tough to say exactly.
In the sense that life goes on, day after day, then I suppose things are back to normal, whatever that might be. But the fact is the events of the past couple days, stretching their tentacles back through time to the events of one tragic night, have changed me. Among other things, Iíve made a promise to myself and to Kaat that I will be more thoughtful about what I say and who I say it about. I will not break that promise.
Will I be able to be the Bad Samaritan without being a bad person? I donít know. I think I can. Will you, my regular readers, continue to be amused and entertained (if you ever were to begin with) if I refrain from overstepping the boundaries of common human decency? Yeah, I think you guys will be laughing more than ever. I say that because all this time you've been coming back here, it hasn't been for what I've said, but for how Iíve said it.
I guess weíll have to wait and see, won't we?
Those of you that have been reading for more than the last few days are well aware that I make fun of myself far more than I have ever done of anyone else. I donít need the outside world to be the target of my words. I have always talked about myself constantly, and began this stupid website to do just that - to write about myself. Iím kind of a narcissist that way. Yet, for some reason, I am also constantly cutting myself down. Like all good humour, mine is one part reality and one part self-deprecation. I'm what psychologists might call a "self-deprecating narcissist."
And that kind of fun wonít be stopping anytime soon.
As long as I'm stuck at a job that I hate, the jokes wonít stop. I asked a couple weeks ago why I was so unable to quit a job that has made me absolutely miserable from the very moment I started it - a job that has caused me to start smoking again (after more than 6 months without!) and that gives me a stomachaches every morning I have to get up and go into work.
I couldnít come up with any logical reason then, but maybe in the back of my mind I knew that were I to quit, I wouldnít have much to talk about. Itís either that or the fact I like having enough money to pay for food and electricity. Food is good and having material is good. Itís one of those two reasons, kind of a toss up, really.
Additionally, as long as I fall asleep each night spooning with a Pikachu plush doll rather than a warm and cuddly Zia, errr, woman, I'll have plenty of raw material available to me from my own pathetic love life. I'm in the middle of one torrential dry spell. Not only have I not met someone to love and spend the rest of my life with, Iíve not even met someone with whom Iíve wanted to have a meaningful fifteen-minute flirtation with.
So, here is a declaration for everyone to read: Mom, Dad, I'm an asexual. Your grandkids will be budding soon. To the world: Please remember to water me regularly and keep me out direct sunlight.
by mg at 12:04 AM on May 24, 2001
I was going to respond to each of your emails before I posted anything here about this. But I've gotten more letters than I could hope to answer tonight, and I'm sure more will be getting coming within the next couple days. I will still personally respond to every email that I've gotten and anymore that I might receive in the future.
I want to apologize for any pain I may have caused Robert's friends and family who have read the post in question. At times, it's difficult to remember that behind every news story I read, there is a real person, one who has suffered a very real tragedy, leaving behind grieving family and friends that will forever live an altered life filled with a sense of pain and emptiness.
I won't make this a discussion about freedom of speech. I won't make this a discussion about a person's right to not view things that they find offensive. This isn't about principles or esoteric arguments about communication theory. This is about a real person. Someone who was loved by many people. A person who died.
I think it is pretty obvious to everyone that Robert's death was stupid and unfortunate and should never have happened. It was a freak accident that could and should have been avoided.
I understand, more than any of you can imagine, how shocked and frustrated you are by his death. It doesn't make any sense and should never have happened. But your confusion and anger shouldn't be taken out on me. I wasn't there when he died. I wrote a stupid article that may have been in very poor taste and that I didn't think anyone would take seriously.
I've gotten death threats from people. Death threats! Say what you will about me and what I wrote, but if this is really about preserving Robert's memory, is the right way to do that by threatening and harassing someone? Is taking your anger and frustrations out on me going to bring him back?
I want to help. I want the world to know the Robert that you all knew, not the one portrayed in my article. To honor Robert, I will personally help any one of you to set up a website in his memory. I will help you all to do this, because I realize I did something wrong, something that people found to be hurtful and nasty.
I am now feeling pain for Robert because of your letters, by getting to know the person behind the news story. That pain is nowhere near the pain those of you who know him must have felt after his death, and there is no way I could apologize enough for causing any additional suffering. As I am sitting here, reading each and every email you've sent me, I am shaking. Not from fear, but of genuine concern for the pain I've caused an entire community. I am sorry.
by mg at 04:39 PM on May 23, 2001
To any students at Furman University who may be reading this - please send all emails to me, and me alone. The rest of my staff had nothing to do with what has you all upset. And if you want to yell at me by name, please use Michael, seeing as that is my name.
I will personally and politely respond to each and every email that you send me. And just for the record, I am not getting off on them. I find them quite upsetting, actually.
To my readers - I'll explain this... eventually.
by mg at 11:42 AM on May 23, 2001
I think I might have mentioned how much I hate my job. I don't think I've ever mentioned what, exactly, that I do. And I won't now either. Ha ha!
I will, however, say that the company I work for is in the medical technology industry. I was doing a little research today on WebMD and came across this gem which amused me terribly:
One of the stranger complications of long-term alcohol use is so-called "spontaneous human combustion." The term describes a phenomenon wherein a human body catches fire and is consumed by the fire, leaving very little behind.
This topic excites strong interest, so we must tread carefully.
Fact 1: The human body is ordinarily quite resistant to fire. We are, after all, two-thirds water. People who are caught in fires do not themselves catch fire.
Fact 2: That said, there are well-documented cases in which people have been found aflame. An unusually large proportion of these people are alcohol abusers.
Fact 3: As far back as the 1850s scientists demonstrated that tissues heavily soaked in alcohol will support a flame. But once the alcohol in the tissue is consumed, the flame goes out, leaving the tissues only lightly burned.
Fact 4: It is the word "spontaneous" that generates the most heat. Careful investigation shows that virtually all cases occur when the victim is in the presence of a flame, making it very unlikely that ignition is "spontaneous."
Summary: Humans can, rarely, catch fire and burn away. Ignition does not appear to occur spontaneously, but to be the result of a nearby flame. It is thought that alcoholics are susceptible because they are more careless with fire and less able to respond appropriately to accidents. It is probably a person's fat that catches fire and burns -- "the candle effect."
So, in summary, remember you drunken fatties, stay away from fire! Because I don't think Elton John is going to be putting out any special "Candle in the Wind" remixes out if you burn up and die. And if you happen to be a skinny smoker, keep your head away from burning stoves, because while you might not have enough fat to catch on fire, eyebrows do take a long time to grow back.
by mg at 10:35 AM on May 22, 2001
Snaggle made a big hullabaloo in introducing Shar. I was remiss in not giving Zia the proper introduction. So, in liu of writing anything myself, I'd like to print this e-mail she sent me:
Nice hair. Hopped onto your side , i mean, your site and the next thing i knew, you got this. Amazing isn't it. Yeah, the feeling's mutual.
I must say the site proved enchanting for those idylic afternoons, with your feet up and a mug of hot cocoa by your side, pretending not to hear your mom yelling at the back demanding the bed to be made. *sniff* Anyway, irrelevant people.
( Alright! I'm getting to the point, stop poking at me. *snorts* ). My knees has the knack of mutating into burst of every colour conceivable, not to mention the motion it executes that would put any prestigious cha cha dancers to shame when I see, read, or think of the word 'author'. ( Won't have it any other way though. ) So that should explains a few things for my fetish for words. I may not be astoundingly rhetoric but nevertheless I'm all unsparing and no doubt merciless when it comes to spewing my cyber vomitile to those lovely people who happened to be at the right (?) place at the right (?) time.
( Hello? the point? ). Right, that. I need a place to accomodate all that 'speechcraft' of mine, or they'll choked the daylights out of me. See, you know you want to save me, despite the badsamaritan title. You know it! You may or may not regret the appointment but I can promise you that if I ever get shortlisted for the casting and subsequently got the 'coveted' ( hah?!)position, your car won't experience unanticipated faulty brakes the next time you roll down the slope somewhere sometime.
Either way, no hard feelings and no further threats of defective spare
parts. Cross my heart.
P/s: I have no Johnson..but can grow one if you like....
Can I just say that her e-mail left me speechless. Zia writes like Tori Amos would if she had a blog. Or maybe more like a character out of a French absurdist play (same difference). Regardless, I'm in love. I can't tell whether she is for real or not, but I am dying for the chance to read more and figure that one out. I hope you all are too.
by zia at 04:11 AM on May 22, 2001
Hey you! *laughs and waves maniacally*
Great, now that the formalities are out of the way....
It happened again this morning. Basically a reenactment of a past episode which I blogged not many moons ago. This is so...... It's like..... No, YOU be the judge.
"I woke up finding myself reposing in an unfamiliar surrounding (eek!). For a split second I thought I must have been kidnapped by some intruder and was brought to his/her hideout. The cramped quarter didn't permit much liberty nor a thread of clemency was spared for my chunkybutt to wiggle and stretch and my arms felt like a hundred years old feeling incredibly stiffish and were covered with dust (wtf?) and mothballs (?). Disturbing. I tried to get up but it was almost impossible a feat to allocate my ass to a more compromising position at the alloted breadth. Insulting.
By now, I was a perfect impersonation of a hysterical poltroon. Which inevitably swayed me to the subscription of a very sappy thought, or rather deed. Since the constricted space refused any superfluous movement, I tried to perform some innate capabilities to 'check' if I was still a virgin... I know I know... sounds totally wacked-out but I want to know if I would die a virgin or otherwise! Lord forbids, who knows what they did to me while I was dozing (?). Anyways, feckless attempts. Beautiful. Nevertheless, at least I did try to salvage a quiver of pacifier for my flickering will. Floods of what-ifs questions began to drown my rapidly dwindling sanity. Ah, very promising indeed. (Not!)
Just when I decided to yell to high heaven for mercy, I saw my sister's face peering down at me.
"What the hell are you doing down there?"
As she pulls me up, I just realised that I had fallen into the gap between my bed and the wall. Damn."
This time, the only dissimilitude being that I was 'discovered' by my flatmate instead of my sister. Argh, the door!! So, you say, been there done that, yet still...?! That's my problem not yours. Maybe if /mg were here to serve as a warm bolster.... I wouldn't have to wake up on the wrong side of the bed too many a time. You know, like having something to cling on to.... like to a 'pole' of some sort... ahems....
by mg at 12:01 PM on May 21, 2001
My suspicions were right. The whole Kaycee Nicole story was a big fat fake.
And I'm almost as confused by my feelings now as I was when I though she was a real girl, and had really died.
In one sense, I am glad that Kaycee never existed, because that means she never had to suffer, never had to die. But, in terms of loss, "Kaycee" is dead. One way or another, she is gone.
And in one sense, I am glad that the truth is finally out. It is much easier to go back to being an asshole when I don't feel so bad about someone being dead. And as much as I appreciate hearing the truth, I have a feeling we still aren't hearing the full story.
Vanderwoning claims he knew nothing about the dupe, and was as fooled as anyone else by Kaycee and Debbie. I think that is totally bullshit. He claims to have spoken with Kaycee on an almost daily basis for more than a year. If he was fooled that entire time, he is one stupid mofo.
If anyone had the motive and means to pull this off, it was him. Just think about how many hits he has received, just within the last week, mainly from an audience that probably would never have found him otherwise. I would post a link to his site, and his explanation of things, but I'd rather not help in anymore.
I found, in my referrer logs, that he checked my site, following back the link to Kayceeís that Iíd posted last week. When I saw that in my logs, I knew for sure that Kaycee was a lie. So, actually, I will post a link to his site. Visit it and send him nasty email. He might even follow this link back and read this post. I hope he does.
And if it really was him who pulled this off, I have to grudgingly congratulate him. He was able to maintain, for an entire year, the persona of a 19 year-old girl, and for the past six months, her mother too. I have enough trouble thinking like a woman for five minutes bursts, I canít imagine what that must have been like for an entire year.
Add into the mix his own daily blogging, and this was one busy guy. I am impressed. I have a hard enough time being myself on a daily basis, much less two other people. I don't think I would have been able to pull it off. And that pisses me off.
I am upset with myself for not coming up with a plan like this.
Maybe I can invent someone dying of another disease, something really popular right now, like Parkinson's. I could write about sunshine and smiles and angels, and I could make as many typos as I wanted and everyone would find it perfectly be acceptable because, jeez, it is difficult enough to feed yourself in later stages of Parkinson's much less type. Wouldn't it be hilarious if Michael J. Fox began a foundation for me?
by mg at 01:02 AM on May 21, 2001
* E-Mail is back up!
* Two new authors this week, the adorable punk-rawk Shar, and the mysterious and brilliant Zia.
* New and exciting layout. It's clean and minty fresh and I'm not nearly as sick of it as I was with the old.
by shar at 11:42 PM on May 20, 2001
So I'm reading up on Bad Samaritan, and I'm thinkin', "Hey! Why don't I do more with my site? I could be an internet rockstar." Then a few points hit me:
- I suck at design.
- I'm lazy.
- I'm really really lazy.
- Internet rockstars get weird-ass e-mail.
Anyway, I guess I'm writing to offset Snaggle's masculinity.
That kid probably spends more time in the bathroom than I do and has better-manicured nails. Personally, I closely identify with nine-year-old boys, with my bizarre affinity to video games, comic books, and Gillian Anderson. Maybe I should start a support group. I'm sure there are other women like me, aren't there?
I've been a bad, bad boy. School's over and I still haven't lived up to my promise as a worthy Bad Samaritan. Sigh. Soon, hopefully, I will be able to find my Muse. MG thinks she may have moved to Phoenix; if anyone's seen her, let me know and send her back to me. Meanwhile, I'll be bashing my head against my keyboard and attempting to learn how to make matzo ball soup.
However, to pick up some of the slack for mg and me, welcome the newest Bad Samaritan to the site, Shar! Shar is a crazy cool girl who goes to school with me. She happens to be my neighbor, but that's only for another month or so (sad!). Please extend to her all the courtesy and proper Bad Samaritan welcome that you all gave me, not so long ago.
I just hope I don't have to fix as many grammatical errors in her writing as I do in mg's...
by mg at 02:01 PM on May 20, 2001
Erik Williams must have flunked out of Sexual Predator 101.
He seems to have forgotten one of the most important rules to sexual assault - when you are attacking someone, it is best to not put your parts anywhere near their mouth. Unless, of course, you're attacking someone without teeth, an octogenarian, an 8 month old, or anyone from Arkansas.
Which wasn't the case with Williams's alleged victim, who was a well-abled 42 year-old with a perfect set of choppers. She never had a cavity in her life. Which is a good thing for her, but a bad thing for Williams. For, as Williams allegedly accosted the woman and ordered her to perform a sex act on him, she bit off his testicles. Just bit them, clean off. Like two dogs fighting over a piece of steak.
She then walked into a police station and turned over the parts to some officers. Which had to be quite a shock for them. I mean, you are expecting an order of Moo Shu Pork and someone walks in and drops a pair semen holders on your desk.
And don't you think if you were her you'd want to keep them? If I were her, I’d want to keep them as a permanent reminder that I could take care of myself. Having a bad day? No worries, “If I can chew off a man’s family jewels, this big project at work should be a snap!”
Williams showed up at a local hospital shortly afterward complaining that his walnuts were missing, which, unless Chicago is a crazier town that I've always thought it was, makes him suspect number one in the attack.
Doctors tried to surgically re-attach Williams's man sacks, but were unable to.
According to Sandra Wilks, hospital spokesperson, the doctors tried valiantly to repair Mr. Williams’s manly hangings. She said, "You know how when you are watching E.R. and the doctors spend 40 minutes performing CPR, even after their patient is obviously dead? Yeah, it was just like that here. The doctors spent at least seven whole minutes in the operating room trying to reattach Mr. Williams testicles."
According to doctors, Williams is now sterile. The gene pool breathes a sigh of relief.
by mg at 12:14 AM on May 19, 2001
I normally don't feel the need to blog the mundane details of my daily life, but I think this deserves to be mentioned.
I was about to have a cigarette just now, and due to the fact I was in the kitchen and that this strange paranoid delusion I possess that compels me to save matches (you know, in case the Russians drop the bomb and the power goes out and I need to light candles), I decided it would be a good idea to light the cigarette on the stove. I always forget that my stove sort of lights slowly and then jumps up.
As I was getting close to the burner, since it hadn't lit up all the way, the flame jumped up and lit my face on fire.
I managed to burn off part of one eyebrow and an eyelash.
Have I ever mentioned how cool my eyelashes are? They are unnaturally long. When I was little, I always used to get compliments on how pretty they were. It made me feel kind of weird, like, you know, a guy shouldn't have pretty eyelashes. So, one time I cut them real short, so that people wouldn't tell me I had pretty eyelashes anymore.
I've since gotten more comfortable accepting the fact that I am a very pretty guy, so it doesn't bother me that I have nice eyelashes. If I were Michael Stipe, I'd probably even wear mascara to accentuate them. I'd never cut them off now. But, I did burn one off tonight.
So, for those of you who know me in real life, take a good look the next time you see me and try to tell me which side of my face I nearly burned off.
Maybe I should take this as a Sign that I shouldn't have started smoking again.
by mg at 12:11 AM on May 19, 2001
Lookie lookie, a new layout! Kind of.
It is pretty much the same old layout with a couple of minor tweaks, but I think it looks much better.
What do you all think? Leave a comment or you can use the buttons below this post. Press the "amused" link if you like it or the "not" button if you don't like it. Simple, no?
by mg at 09:22 AM on May 18, 2001
If Joey Ramone were here, he'd probably be stinking up the place, seeing as he's been dead for two weeks. But if Joey Lawrence were here and looking at this picture, he'd probably say "Woah!"
That's because he, and I'm sure the rest of you, never expected to see Mayim Bialyk, star of the early 90s sit-com Blossom, nude. Mayim (aka "That Big Nosed Girl") sort of disappeared after her show went off the air, and apparently, like so many child stars, she began a career in pornography.
Okay, okay, I know this picture is a fake. It is so obviously a fake. But I don't care. Why? Because a) it is such an obvious fake that it is really kind of funny, and b) even a fake picture of a naked chick is a picture of a naked chick.
by mg at 01:51 PM on May 17, 2001
I'm registered as a Republican, but I have, at various times, considered myself everything from a Libertarian, to a conservative socialist, humanist, and utilitarianist. I don't get too hung up on labels, or subscribing wholly to any one set of beliefs - which is why I won't belong to any organised religion and will probably never be happily married.
I usually don't get too overly excited about the issues that seem to get other people all burned up. I may, for fun, argue one particular side of an argument or philosophy, but ten minutes later I might be talking with someone else and arguing the other side. When it comes down to it, I'm not political in one way or another. There are very few things, besides myself, that I care about enough to get all bent out of shape over.
What I'm trying to say is that you'll hardly ever find me going all out to support any cause. Abortion, death penalty, universal healthcare, education, whatever, I just can't get worked up enough to care about those things. So why, you might ask, do I support the campaign to divest from companies that profit from Israel's exploitation of Palestinians? I've got three very simple reasons.
Reason One: I'm going to be applying next year to the graduate school at the University of California at Berkeley, where this campaign was started. If I plan to have any friends when I get there, a notoriously liberal and politically active campus, I am going to have to get all political and stuff. If I don't, I'll probably be more of a pariah than I am being a registered Republican in New York City.
I am also guessing that getting involved in rallies, be-ins and such will help me pick up college chicks. "Let me help you burn that bra baby!" If I can fake a political interest, then all I have to do is learn to stand the smell of patchouli and I'll be sure to get myself hooked up with some fly honeys when I get to Berkeley.
Reason Two: As Iíve mentioned on numerous occasions over the last month, my employers are Israeli. I think I might have mentioned that I also donít much like my employers. Short of invading Israel myself, or joining the PLO, supporting an effort to end Israeli of occupation of Palestine is my small way of getting back at my bosses.
Reason Three: Some Robot Wisdom told me to.
by mg at 07:53 AM on May 17, 2001
I just donít know what to think or how to feel about this.
Iíve read Kaycee Nicoleís site on pretty regular basis for about 6 months now. I never quite believed that she really existed. I mean, her posts are as well written as just about anything Iíve seen on any weblog. But there was always somethingÖ I donít know. Something that made me not quite believe what I was reading.
Her writing was too good.
Her story was too poignant.
It almost wasnít like a real story at all. More like an episode of Touched by an Angel.
I just couldnít allow myself to believe that someone who could write so well would choose to write with such a heavy hand. And if I chose, in my head, to believe that it was a real story and to excuse the tone of the writing because of the overwhelming sadness of her story, I can't imagine how a 19 year-old girl could write so well.
Maybe I didnít want to believe that God would allow someone so talented and strong and beautiful to be afflicted in such a way. It just didnít seem fair.
And maybe I didnít believe Kaycee could possibly be real because I couldnít imagine myself handling the same situation as well as she did. I would be bitter and mean and would take all my frustrations out on other people. Kind of like the way I do now, only moreso.
I know how difficult a time I have dealing with the petty problems that I do have, which amount to nothing compared to life and death. I donít know how I would have managed in Kayceeís shoes, but I do know I could never have dealt as well as she seemed to deal with things.
I guessÖ I guess Iíll never know for sure if Kaycee every really existed or not. If she did, she was a smart, creative, strong, and beautiful person who made the most of the life she was given. And though I never met her, I will miss her dearly. I already do.
And if Kaycee was not a real person, I congratulate the person behind this for pulling it off. You are a fantastic writer, I guess. You are also an incredible bastard for toying with the emotions of others. This may have been some big joke to you, but it means a lot to other people. You will get what you deserve one day.
Again, Kaycee, wherever you might be, I hope you are happy. I just want you to know that I am smiling. I got the sunshine you sent. And not only has my room, but my life, lit up because of you. You will be missed.
by mg at 05:46 PM on May 16, 2001
You may all think I'm a big nerd after this, but I've got a confession to make.
I've waited impatiently for the last five years now. I've waited for a new Weezer record to come out, and yesterday it finally did. Tuesday May 15, 2001 was the official US release date for Weezer's self-titled third album, which most folks are calling the Green Album. What with it being green and all.
So, Tuesday May 15, 2001, I was at the record store as soon as it opened to make sure I got a copy. Yes, believe it or not, but I like Weezer. I am indeed, an indie-rock geek.
But I don't feel bad about.
I love Weezer. I love indie rock. I'm comfortable with the fact that I don't need to be 15 years old to feel all hopeless and awkward and angsty, the three requirements to be able to really enjoy most indie rock music. At 25 it is okay for me to feel that way; Rivers Cuomo (Weezer lead-singer) still does and he is even older than I am.
I kind of hope I always will feel this way, to be able to relate this music, and all the new bands that come out. I can't wait 'till I'm 40 and my kids are listening Yo La Tengo the way I listened to Janis Joplin and Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones.
Anyway, I luckily had a 9am job interview yesterday that put me just a few short blocks from the Virgin Megastore in Times Square. Equally as fortuitous is the fact the Virgin Megastore opens 9am.
Little did I expect, at that early hour, to find anyone amongst the aisles but me. When I got there, imagine my surprise to find 50 or so other indie rock geeks who, like me, were there to pick up the album as soon as that Virgin opened.
There were so many people there with bright blue shirts with big letter emblazoned on the front that I thought I might have stumbled onto some kind of superhero convention. Okay sure, no one there was as buff as Superman and the letters emblazoned on everyone's shirt was a "W" not a "S," but allow me to paint a picture here, for chrissake.
Anyway, it seemed that just about everyone there was wearing a frayed cardigan sweater, big glasses and a pair of Converse sneakers.
Except me. I was wearing a suit and tie. But that doesn't matter since I got so much indie-cred that the rest of the Weezer Rebel Alliance people accepted me with open arms. Anyway, I think I was the oldest person there. I felt kinda weird, but I got over it. I had a new Weezer album to listen to!
Apparently the new REM and Tool records came out the same day, and both are selling better than Weezer, but I didn't see anyone dressed up like Michael Stipe or Maynard waiting on line at 9am. So, we know who the true fans are.
I am going to reserve judgment for the disc until I've listened to it a few more times. I've only listened to it 10 times so far (6 yesterday and 4 so far today). It wasn't hard, since the record times in at only 28 minutes! Which kind of tweaked me off, but I'll live with it since that is 28 more minutes of Weezer tunes than I had two days ago.
by mg at 01:02 PM on May 16, 2001
I have a friend who just moved to Los Angeles (from New York, if that doesn't quickly become obvious). This is what she has to say about the city of angels:
Here I am, a Jew in the desert. Thus far it has been confirmed: New York is not America. America is the land of shopping Carts, Costco, Conquistadors and their Cars.
Hand me a sombrero!
I hope to agree with Air in that "I like the alien affect of Los Angeles. It's very empty of everything; it's a virgin place. Because it's like a movie studio, everything is able to be replaced. So this is a perfect area to create something because nothing exists in terms of culture, because you feel everything is done to give you the power to realize something."
Not that I like Air. But that's a good quote.
So that is what she had to say about Los Angeles, California. Did I happen to mention that I'm moving to California in a couple months? Because I am. Probably.
Apparently the apartment my friend moved into in L.A. was used to film several scenes in the movie Swingers. My friend has never seen Swingers, so she can't confirm that particular rumor. I can't imagine how anyone my age could have lived this long without having seen Swingers. That is almost as bad as never having seen Clerks.
Anyway, the point is, her apartment is famous. She also told me that Ashton Kutcher used to live there. I didn't know who Ashton Kutcher was at first, so I looked him up on IMDB and apparently he is Kelso from That '70s Show. I know I should have said that he "plays Kelso" but no matter what this kid does, for the rest of his life, people will run into him on the street and yell "Hey Kelso!" So, really, he is Kelso. He also got his big movie break last year playing one of the dudes in the highly underrated Dude, Where's My Car?
So, my friend lives in the same house that he used to live. That rocks.
As I was doing my Ashton Kutcher research, and this part will probably only be amusing to about 5 of you, if anything I've written so far has been amusing to any of you at all, I found out that Ashton is from Iowa. I'm not sure if that is good or bad. But, regardless, he was born in Cedar Rapids and was a Biochemical Engineering major at the University of Iowa before winning some model contest and high-tailing it out of that state as fast as he could.
hey, i might be nothing more than a dot com asshole, but even dot com assholes deserve the bare necessities right? why havent i been on AIM in the last 3 days? office connectivity to the outside world suddenly blinked off, some mci worldcom issues or whatever, but hey, when connectivity for an entire office goes down, you'd think someone could get it back up in under 3 days.
so last nite, i'm in the office til 1am, mind you, it's saturday nite, but also remember that i'm a dot com asshole and it wouldnt be right if i were out drinking a bottle of cabernet sauvignon with the Most
Perfect Chinese Girl Ever Born. she'd make some remark about the wine's "charming roundedness" or its "hints of oakyness" and i'd be wondering if this girl could give birth to twins, but wait, that would only happen if i werent a dot com asshole.
it's 1:30am and i'm home after stopping in the menlo park safeway for some milk, the kind that comes in a half gallon carton, not the sweet kind straight from a woman's breast, you pervert, stop thinking those things. my place is pitch black, fuck, rolling blackouts in california and i'm tripping over the three pairs of shoes that i'm always too lazy to tuck underneath my bed.
no electricity, so no alarm clock for the morning, and i'm going to sleep and maybe this isnt that bad after all. but it hits me that no electricity also means my fridge is getting warm inside and i stopped off at the safeway at 1am because all i really wanted was a bowl of cereal and milk come sunday morning.
okay, this isn't really eviltom. rather, mg logged in as eviltom. but eviltom did write this. It is really good, right? eviltom also wrote the letter to god from a few weeks ago. That was pretty good too, no?
If he ever stops working his 15 hour days at that dot.com of his, and gets off his lazy ass, eviltom will become a regular poster here. Isn't that exciting?!
by mg at 01:16 PM on May 15, 2001
Thanks for the tip. It worked out wonderfully...
I don't think I ever mentioned this before, but I'm kinda like a HTML guardian angel. If I'm surfing around and find someone with some sort of flaw in their page that makes things look all goofy, or if I read they are having trouble trying to figure out how to do a certain thing, I will, nine times out of ten, help them out.
I think after all the sick crap I post about here on my site that the least I could do to make the world a better place is to help out other people with their sites. And that really is just about the least I can do. Anyway, this is sos's site, all pretty now. Say hi for me.
sos also wrote:
And thank you for having such an entertaining site. I have been there almost every day since finding it. You are quite interesting, I must say :)
Thanks, I am quite interesting, if I must say.
minja ninjarama wrote:
your layout doesn't work too well in netscape 4.7x on mac. not that i use a mac at home, but that's what they give us at my uni to use, so there you go.
Speaking of helping people out with HTML problems. My code has problems with Netscape in general, but in particular the NN/Mac problem is bad. However, I don't have access to a Mac anywhere. Can someone tell me what the problem is (or at least send a screen shot)? Better still, offer an explanation how to fix it. I'll let you touch my twinkie if you do.
minja ninjarama and I got into a misunderstanding because he thought I called his site pointless and boring (which it isn't), when in fact I was making that comment about myself. minja wrote:
if anything, you are the polar opposite of a useless posts.
i find most of what you put up to be fairly topical and well-written.
Oh, you are just saying that because you want me to plug you again. So here you go, I guess. You can go back to thinking me a worthless and boring bastard.
by mg at 04:21 PM on May 14, 2001
I'm a vegetarian, so I am not allowed to eat marshmallows, as they've got meat in them. Did you know that marshmallows have meat in them? Hooves or somesuch.
However, whenever I'm in the mood for a fluffy, gooey treat, I just head on over to Bizzos & Marshmallows. Bizzos, incidentally, is also a new member in the ever-growing Bad Samaritan extended family. They are like a third cousin once removed. Also, I think an uncle, but the outer branches of the family tree get a bit tangled. My mom tried explaining it all to me once, but I had a hard time understand her, what with the Hapsburg chin and all.
At the rate the fam' is growing, we might need to head on out and get ourselves a second doublewide, right quick. Junior's getting' older, and if we let him sleep in the same bed as lil' Darlene any longer, we might be expecting 'nother grandkid/cousin before Christmas.
At any rate, I also don't eat Jell-O, not so much from the meat by-products in them as from a nasty Jell-O shot incident in high school. I haven't much had a craving for Jell-O since then (taste aversion therapy does work), but if I were to have the craving, I'd probably head over to Bizzos for that as well. So, even if you aren't craving marshmallows, Jell-O or Bizzos (whatever the hell that is) you should head over there and say hello for us.
by mg at 10:33 AM on May 14, 2001
I finally got around to watching American Pie. The movie came out two years ago and Iíve never seen it before. Yes, yes, I understand how pathetic I am.
It was actually much better than I was expecting it to be. I was so much better, in fact, that I watched the directorís commentary immediately afterward. I love DVDs.
For the past two years, Iíve been quoting the ďAnd one time at band campÖĒ line whenever anyone would tell a bad story, without ever having actually heard the real band camp stories. Boy was I shocked to find that the band camp story-spouting girl was none other than Alyson Hannigan!
I love Alyson Hannigan. She is the hottest girl (or at least my favourite girl) amongst a cast of hoties on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. On Buffy she plays the cutie lesbian witch, Willow.
So, I guess, needless, I really enjoyed the ďthis one time, at band camp, I stuck a flute in my pussyĒ and ďsay my name, bitchĒ lines.
So much so that I was inspired to go out and find some cute pictures of Alyson. Unfortunately she has never posed nude. Anyway, here are the cute pictures that I did find.
by mg at 08:50 AM on May 14, 2001
I have this girl and well I really like her and I wanted to do something special for her and we have been seeing each other for about 4 months. What do you have in mind?
As every sensitive male should know, there are different themes for different anniversaries. For example, 25 years is considered to be the silver anniversary and 50 years is the gold anniversary.
This isnít widely known, but four months is the brown anniversary.
This is the anniversary that you are supposed to give your girl some hot anal sex. You know she wants it. And you know you want to give it to her.
So, head out to Rite Aid, buy your girl some KY Jelly, and a nice card, of course. While you are there, you should also buy her something soft to sit on, Ďcause with the ass ramming you are going to give her, she won't be able to sit down without discomfort for a while.
A diamond may last forever, but a good butt plugging will stay with her for weeks.
Seriously though, what the hell is it with all these stupid little anniversaries?
Does no one realise that ďanniversaryĒ inherently implies a period of a year? So you canít really have a four-month anniversary, and I think we, as manly men, should rebel against our women coming up with all these silly little excuses they come up with to buy them things.
Why do we let women twist us around like this? No man would ever voluntarily buy his woman a four-month anniversary present, much less a fortieth anniversary present. The only way most guys would even remember a four-month anniversary is because the woman had been dropping hints about it for at least the last three months.
And there is only one reason that men put up with this crap. Sex.
It seems pretty simple, I guess. Anniversaries, like most things in life, are just about sex.
Iím not, for that reason alone, whole-heartedly against buying your woman a nice romantic little present once in a while. I want sex. And Iím guessing, ChaChi, that you want sex too.
But is it worth being forced to buy your girl something just because youíve been seeing each other for four months? Or because she has finally given up the ďexotic tropical plant?Ē Or because itís her birthday or something. I say, screw that shit.
It isnít love if itís on a schedule, thatís what my mom always used to tell me.
So, I say, donít get your girl anything for your anniversary. Personally, I am done with anniversaries. I am done with holidays. I am done with birthdays. And I advise every male reading this to do the same.
Take your stand here and now, on the most appropriate of days, Motherís Day. The day we celebrate the hole we escaped from, can now stand, forever, as the day weíve decided to stop all the stupid little celebrations in honor of the holes we spend our lives trying to get back into.
Get some more bad advice.
Here's a piece of advice for all of you: never let anyone convince you that going to New York City, via car, from Iowa, is a good idea.
It actually wasn't all that bad. We drove, eleven students and two art history professors, together in a university van all that time, straight through, stopping now and then for food and relieving of bladders and such. It took about 30 hours or so each way. Definately an interesting time... we all bonded quite a bit, mostly in a good way.
However, now I am back in Iowa. Sigh. It was great to have not just one but two instances of love from mg and Lilly. Just think, if Lilly actually posted her feelings, it warms my heart to think of how many more of you felt as strongly as she did but couldn't bring yourselves to expose your bare heart and render up your feelings for me to the cold internet for all to see. You may, however, drop me a line to let me know how much you missed me.
I love New York City, center of the universe. Okay, I know it's not the center of the universe, but it's pretty darned close for a person like me. This was my third time in New York sans parents (spacy art history profs don't count) and it was absolutely great, even though I started off the time exhausted. I'll share with you an interesting anecdote about the night I got to see mg, to which he has already alluded. (I called dibs on writing about this.) Don't worry, I'll correct all of mg's grammatical and spelling mistakes when I'm done.
On Thursday night, a couple of us kids from Iowa met up with a few of my friends who live in New York and went out to a little gay bar called Posh, not too far away from Broadway and Times Square and all the Broadway theatres. There were six of us to begin with: five gayboys and one straight girl. We all gathered on or around a single couch, since there wasn't much room. Not long after we got there (about half a beer to be precise), a man came up to our cozy group and proclaimed, "My boyfriend thinks you all are so cute that he's making me buy you all drinks." Thus, we made the acquaintance of a mid-30s-or-40s gay couple who then proceeded to be our sugar daddies for the night. I'll be honest that I don't quite remember their names (reason for that to follow) so we'll call them Steve and John.
After a round, mg met us there. (I didn't know when we'd made plans that it was a gay bar and so I didn't warn him about it, but he was just fine with it. We love allies like him.) When he walked in, Steve offered him a drink. It was starting to become evident to us that they weren't just buying us one round they were buying our drinks the whole night.
I'm not used to having people buy me drinks. I think a good part of the reason for that is that I'm never at bars. I think a good part of the reason for that is that I won't be 21 until next month, and they're very anal about IDing people here in Iowa. But that's a gripe for another day.
Anyway, after about five Stoli & 7Ups it became evident that our two suppliers of booze weren't just being friendly; they not-so-subtly propositioned one of my friends for "a little fun." Around that time (which was at least a couple hours after our arrival) we chose to make a graceful exit. I learned later that my friend Robert had been accompanying the guys back to the bar and watched the bartender pour every drink to make sure we didn't end up getting more than we bargained for. Leave it to Robert to take care of us all to make sure we didn't get collectively date-raped. That would have been bad.
After that fun, we stumbled back to Robert's where I drank two Sam Adam's Cherry Wheats (a delightful brew that mg first introduced me to) on top of everything that I'd imbibed at Posh (not that I'm a lush or anything) and had a delightful chuckle about how we left our would-be ménage à sept partners high and dry. I then proceeded to forget numerous details about the night.
Moral of the story: if someone offers you free drinks, milk it for all it's worth, but don't give them sex unless, of course, that's what you're looking for.
by mg at 12:33 PM on May 13, 2001
YO! On an unrelated note, you should click on this link and vote for my site. Currently, me and mg at badsamaritan are battling it out for the number one site on the list. I love mg and all (not as much as Sophie though), but I wanna kick his ass. Remember, it isn't like the Chicago mayoral election, you can vote more than twice. In fact, you should vote now!
A striking similarity, no?
This is the e-mail that I sent to J, which he published, sans comment, on his site.
Having you steal a post from me should make me really mad.
I remember back in the day, when I first got into weblogging. I used your site (among others) as a template for what wonderful work could be done. To think now that you are stealing things for me just makes me so utterly happy.
So, while I should be mad, I am not. At all. In fact, it made me laugh out loud. Or lol or whatever. I am funnier than you are. Face it. Haha.
So, I can't tell if I am now in the middle of my first blog war, or this is just another blog love-fest.
by mg at 11:55 AM on May 13, 2001
So, at this point, I am getting lectured at work on a daily basis. Yesterday, Friday, my direct supervisor called me into his office to tell me a couple of things. Now, mind you, this was at about 6:30, and I was really just in the mood to leave.
He says, "Michael, can I talk to you for a few minutes?" I fully realise what this conversation is about and that a few minutes to him is actually a lot of minutes. This man cannot have a simple conversation. He cannot give a simple answer to a simple question. Every time I ask him something he gets so distracted we might as well be trying to rewrite the Magna Carta.
Well, needless, I have to go into his office and have a nice little chat.
First, he tells me that they are, so far, very satisfied with the level of work that I am doing. Good, I think, maybe this wonít go so bad after all. Then he begins to go into this long rambling explanation of how they expect me to get more involved with what is going on.
I said I totally agreed with him, and asked him if he remembered any of the 10 conversations we've had in the three weeks that I've started working that I asked for documents or more information. And that he had told me every time that I didn't need it. I asked him if he remembered all the yelling matches we'd gotten into because I wanted to be involved in every discussion going on in the office, but that I couldn't because they only spoke in Hebrew.
He remembered those conversations but he really didn't see the connection between those things and me not being able to do more. Sweet Jesus, this man must have inhaled too much Iraqi death gas during the Gulf War to achieve cognizance now. He is like the Swamp Thing, a rolling mass of muck and menace.
The next thing he wanted to talk to me about was the fact that I had downloaded some software onto my computer, because of licensing issues and such. The ONE program that I had installed was Winamp, a piece of FREEWARE that comes in at under 1mb. I had also put a bunch of MP3s on my computer.
Now, how did he know this? I wasn't using Napster; all my music came from a CD that I had brought from home. The only answer is that he had logged onto my computer one day after I had left work. This infuriated me. But by this point, I was really just too tired to put up a fight. I know if I had said anything, I'd be forced to sit and talk to this fellow for even longer. So I just said, yes, "I won't use Napster anymore. I won't install any pirated software." Whatever I had to say to get me out sooner, I would.
Iím just so sick of this shit.
by mg at 12:28 PM on May 12, 2001
Max doesn't post nearly enough, but the quality of his writing is amazing. Well, not so much amazing, but his use of the english language is amazing. Maybe it comes from some latent writing ability, or perhaps from the fact that english is not his first language, but he has a way of making the most mundane of things sound interesting.
Take, for example, this post about wanting to post more. Every weblogger at some point makes a post on this topic, few do it with the style that Max has:
There is really something wrong with the updates. They just don't show up when they ought to. I wonder where they are, perhaps in the same country where the missing socks live.
So, anyway, go visit him at his new home.
(FYI: this is the hundredth post sincing switching to Greymatter. One hundred posts in 44 days. Eek! I need to get a life.)
by mg at 12:08 PM on May 12, 2001
I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I've got a problem with grammar and spelling.
You'd think I wouldn't have that problem considering that I graduated university with a degree in English and that I'd taken numerous writing classes there and over in the jounrnalism department. Luckily, most high level courses don't look so much at grammar as they do at the quality of writing, and I've got that covered. I can't recall how many times that I'd gotten papers back with an "A" but a note from the professor about all the spelling mistakes I'd made. I guess grammar can be overlooked when you've got a future Hemmingway in your class.
Anyway, the last week of posting has most likely been riddled with problems. Why is that? Well, that is because Snaggle usually edits all my posts after I am done with him. He is one hell of an editor.
He even knows when I am purposefully disregarding the rules of grammar in order to execute a particularly elegant turn of the phrase. And I love him for that.
For the past several days of him being on vacation, I've had to rely on my own editorial abilities to make sure I've spelled and grammatisized everything correctly. I've not done a particularly good job of that. So, hopefully, and undoubtedly, when he gets back next week, he will go through every post fixing all my little mistakes. And I can't wait for that, even if that means he is back in Iowa and not here with me in NYC.
*Sigh* Goodbye, welcome back Snaggle.
by mg at 10:56 AM on May 11, 2001
BadSamaritan.com is looking to add a new author to the site. If you, or someone you know, would be interested, please send me an email. We'd prefer a female, to balance out Snaggle's masculinity, but MG would be willing to swing either way for those with special talents.
For the love of GOD please click here.
by mg at 10:48 AM on May 11, 2001
I just rolled into work now - about 10:30 AM, after having woken up at 9.
After having gotten home at around 4:30 AM.
After having drunk a lot of alcohol, without having paid for a single drink.
After having met Snaggle and his friends, who are visiting New York City this week, at a gay bar.
After having dinner and drinks with a former love interest, who I am co-producing a porno movie with.
After getting yelled at, and practically accosted while in the men's room at work, by my boss, the CEO of the company, for having come in late every day since, well, since I started working.
So, anyway, the point is, I was planning on coming in early today.
(I'll write more on everything above later, when I'm not feeling quite so drunk anymore)
by mg at 11:47 AM on May 10, 2001
Jesus. I simultaneously hate and love Jason Pettus. He has such a way of writing about exactly what I'm thinking, not only much better than I could ever write about it, but always a couple days before I end up feeling and writing it.
I've been wondering, for the past week or so, why I haven't been able to quit my job, despite the fact that I hate it so very much. And so I go read Jason's weblog-type thing yesterday, and this is what he had to say about quitters:
Me and quitting jobs have always had a weird relationship with each other. In a nutshell Ė I can't do it. I just find it almost impossible to voluntarily quit jobs, no matter how horrible they are or how miserable I am in them. And with God as my witness, I don't know why I'm like this.
I feel the same way. I've left a lot of jobs, but, as with how I've left most of my romantic relationships, things have ended with a whimper, rather than a bang. I've really never quit a job before. I've never gone to my employer and said "Bye now! I've put a virus on the company intranet, stole my Aeron chair and set fire to my desk. Do you still want me to give you two weeks?"
Same with relationships, I've never said, "You know, I hate you. I hate the way you breathe. I hate the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you hold your fork. I hate your stupid ass face and never want to see you or it again."
I just donít have it in me for that kind of confrontation.
Quitting/breaking up is just too darn much trouble. I've always sort of let things slide in my relationships, until months later, I realise I haven't talked with my "girlfriend" for weeks. "I guess we are broken up now," I'd invariably think. It is the same deal with work. I'd just stop showing up. Or, keep working there even though Iíd started working somewhere else.
At one point in college, I was working 3 different jobs, not because I especially needed the money, but because I couldnít quit any of them. Eventually, I just kept cutting back my hours until they dwindled down into nothingness.
And things have seemed to work out pretty well for me so far. I don't know if my ex-girlfriends and employers would necessarily see it that way, but who cares about them. There was usually a pretty good reason that I left them in the first place.
That is kind of the point where I am at here and now. I have a pretty good reason to leave. I actually had a pretty good reason to have never started at all, but I think I confused that fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach with hunger, rather than the nagging doubt that I could really deal with working here. In the long run, Iíd probably rather have been poor and happy than middle-class and miserable.
So, I still show up every day, but my heart isnít in it. Iíve managed to roll in late every single day for the past two weeks. Iíve managed to get into little arguments with my one main boss, even managing a couple times to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. I donít know - when I wear that smirk, or when George W. does, it is cute and endearing; when my boss does it, I want smash him in the back of the head with my keyboard.
As the days have passed, Iíve spent an increasing amount of time checking my email, surfing the Internet, and hanging outside in the park across the street. Eventually Iíll hit the point at which I am doing more ďother stuffĒ than I am doing actual ďwork.Ē That is, unless I can manage forcing myself to quit first.
Maybe I should meet up with Jason and we can go work in a coal mine together?
by mg at 08:22 AM on May 10, 2001
Maybe I'm the only one who does this, but sometimes I write things without realising that I'm writing them.
I also do that when talking. It was a constant point of contention between me and my (ex)girlfriend. We'd have conversations, and I'd say things, my mouth working completely without aid of my brain. Later she'd ask me about something we'd talked about and all I could do was sit there and look at her with a blank stare (blanker than usual). Did I mention she is my ex-girlfriend now?
As many a female comedienne has been wont to point out, this is a problem a lot of guys have (a phrase I've heard numerous times). But how many guys also write things without support of the gray matter?
Anyway, I end up seeing things in my referrer logs that make me stare at my computer in a very quizzical, but cute manner. My head all cocked to the side, with one eyebrow raised questioningly. When I saw "whale fungus" in my logs, I was pretty shocked. I thought to myself, "I have never mentioned 'whale fungus'."
And then I went back and read the post and realised, "Yep, I did mention 'whale fungus,' how silly of me to have forgotten."
YO! On an unrelated note, you should click on this link and vote for my site. Currently, me and Justin at FUBAR are battling it out for the number one site on the list. I love Justin and all, but I wanna kick his ass. Rememeber, it isn't like Chicago mayoral election, you can vote more than twice. In fact, you should vote now!
by mg at 10:31 PM on May 09, 2001
Well, this babe is most well known for inciting her Heisman-trophy-winning ex-husband to slice her head clean off her body. Make that allegedly inciting her football playing, B-movie acting ex-husband to slice her head clean off her body. The last thing I need right now it to have F. Lee Bailey coming after my ass, not to mention the allegedly knife wielding, wife beating double-murderer.
If you happened to be in a coma for the latter half of the 1990s, I'm talking about O.J. "I'm still looking for the real killer" Simpson, and his lovely ex-wife, the late Nicole Brown Simpson. You may have seen the crime-scene photos of her head attached to her body by nothing more than a thin flap of skin, but I'm sure you'd never expected to see her nude. And in this picture, the gaping hole you see is only bloody once a month.
by mg at 02:29 PM on May 09, 2001
I want every single one of you to click on this link. It isn't to anything fun. But if you click it, people will see how much all my readers love me, and then more people will read my site, and my already swelling ego can swell even more. So, click this link many, many times.
If you are wondering why Snaggle hasn't posted anything in a while it is because I kicked him off the site. No, that isn't true, he is on vacation. Right here in New York, no less!
So, this would be an optimal time, if you happen to know where he lives, to break into his apartment and steal all his stuff.
He called me up last night about 11:30 and asked me to come out and party with him. Dude, I'd love to, but I'm old. I told him if he had called about 7 hours earlier, I would have been all up for going out. I'm not as young as I used to be. My body needs time understand the punishment, of drink, drug, sleeplessness, it is about to receive. Otherwise it causes me great deals of pain the next day. So, if you are reading this Snaggle, you've got another half-hour window to call me or else I ain't going out tonight either.
I am very much anticipating leaving work today. Not because I hate work any less today than I did yesterday, in fact, I hate it more. No, I'm counting the minutes today 'till 5 o'clock because I am going to do something very fun and exciting after work. I have somehow become involved in the production of a pornographic movie. I'm heading downtown today to meet my compatriot and to begin work on the script. Crazy, no?
Details to follow on that one.
by mg at 05:30 PM on May 08, 2001
Argh. I've managed to survive another day. Hooray for me!
My employers are extremely paranoid. They think they've got a brillant idea and they don't want anyone to steal it.
I, of course, signed the standard non-disclosure agreement, giving up posession of my left nut and both pinkie toes if I were to ever divulge confidential information to one of their (non-existant) competitors. When I was interviewing I wasn't told anything about what the company actually did or produced until after I started working, which should explain why I was so blind-sided when I found out how far (or rather, not far) they had gotten in the process of putting this stupid thing together.
I've also not been given a digital version of any document. There are no documents stored on the company intranet. Everything is kept on the intranet, but there is no place for shared files, and every time I've suggested that it would make it easier to ensure everyone was working on the latest version of the specifications, I was given a dirty look. It is an intranet for chrissakes, what the hell else do you do with it but store company files that you want to share (hence, "intra")?!
So, nothing is digital at this dot.com (which they like to say isn't a dot.com). Everything is printed and handed to me. And then, after things are printed, everything gets shredded. The damn shredder runs for 6 hours a day. I think they then take the shredded paper out back and feed it to homeless people, which, I guess, is kind of nice of them.
The public website, once it is created (also a job fallen to me), will not actually contain any specific information about the products and services the company offers. You'll have to request a password to another site where the company explains, well, still not everything.
So, with all this security, you'd think they had a brillant idea, right?
Well, their idea is so brilliant that every feature and bit of functionality begins with the letter "e." It isn't "Communication" it is "eCommunication."
Isn't that fucking brilliant? We've got another Gates and Jobs on out hands, kids. I bet no one has ever come up with that idea before. Though, I bet if they had, they would have been brilliantly successful.
Oh lord, someone please make it stop.
by mg at 11:21 AM on May 08, 2001
Sometime, early this morning, Bad Samaritan.com received its 20,000 hit. Kick ass!
So far in May (and what is it, only the 8th?) we've already gotten as many hits as we did for the entire month of February. Kick ass!
April was the first month the site turned a profit. Oh no, wait. Remembering from my high school economics class that "profit" means to make money, I realise I didn't turn a profit. So, while I didn't exaclty make money, at least I didn't lose quite so much last month. If you'd like to help me make a profit, you should buy something from here or here.
I've managed, via my refer logs, to find about 10 or so more site that have linked me up. I appreciate that sooo much. All you folks who do link me up, send an email and tell me that you do (and why). Maybe I'll even want to link you up back. I'm no slash/.dot, but I could probably send a couple hits your way.
I purchased a new domain name last weekend, for a new project, which I will bring to light so enough. It should be fun and exciting.
The Internet has been extremely poopy recently. My ISP was forcing me to dial-in 9.6kbps. That speed seems deadly slow now, but, just think, a few years ago 9.6kbps was lightning fast. Back in those days it would have taken almost two minutes to download this picture of Britney Spears's nipples.
by mg at 08:51 AM on May 08, 2001
I got my hair cut over the weekend.
Right now, it is about the shortest it has been in 15 years, to back in the days when my mom would force me to get my head shaved before heading off to summer camp every year. You see, my summer camp was notoriously plagued by numerous cases of head lice. Just like any self-respecting summer camp should be.
I used to really hate getting my hair cut.
I went to the same summer camp for four summers, until I was 13 or 14, when it closed down. I didn't really want to go to a new camp and be the outsider. It is hard enough being 13 or 14 around your friends. My summer camp was also notoriously known for its virginity ending magic. So, even though I was just hitting puberty full-stride and feeling all giddy with the chance to further explore the budding sexual urges that had been tempted and teased the summer before, I decided to not start up at a new camp.
That summer I may have missed out on sex, but I was able to get by without getting my first haircut. That first summer I didn't go to camp became the last time in the next seven years that I got my hair cut.
After letting my hair grow incredibly long, even down to the middle of my back at its longest, I got it cut about a year before graduating from college. It was time. I mean, I wasn't listening to Metallica and Sabbath any more, why the hell should I be keeping the hardrock hairdo?
Since then, I've kept it short, but not too short.
It had been more than 2 months since I got my last cut, and I was kind of growing my hair out. Well, actually, I'd been letting my hair grow not so much out of a desire to let my hair grow long as a complete laziness in taking the time out to go get it cut. Considering that the majority of that two months was spent doing nothing more than waking up, eating breakfast, messing around on the internet, watching TV and going to bed, I must have been extremely lazy.
Anyway, my hair is now really short. Short enough so that I don't need to comb it. Short enough so that I can wake up in the morning and answer the front door, without feeling the need to look in the mirror first. So short that I don't need to use any product to keep it manageable. It is also really sexy.
by mg at 02:54 PM on May 07, 2001
minja ninjarama writes:
hi, i was wondering if i could be your new friend.
in exchange for being your new friend, you will be allowed access to the following:
1. my toothy grin
2. jokes about telnet
3. stories about me trying to avoid pissed-off ninjas
4. constant references to the hole in my back
5. reccomendations of weirdass bands from freaky-assed countries
6. constant bitching about hou much of a putz i am
7. abiguity about my real identity
8. spelling mistakes and grammatical errors
9. emails to justin at FUBAR which deal almost exclusively with breasts
11. the knowledge that for some strange reason the 'zero' button is not working at the moment.
please takes these facts into account when considering my application
Application accepted. Y'all should go visit minja ninjarama at his/her website, affectionately titled, Wasabi Horse.
by mg at 08:11 AM on May 07, 2001
Some more job advice from eviltom:
Indeed, the shoemaker's son is always barefoot. mg, you neophyte. You donít know the answer, and that's fine, nobody knows all the answers. But in this case, you donít even know the question. You shouldnít be asking "should I quit my job or not?"... Your time and energy should go towards figuring out "what's the most entertaining way to get fired?" you're a writer, kid. Getting fired is worth at least one essay, maybe two. Quitting your job is worth 30% off white panties at the Macy's Super Saturday Sale.
Getting fired is fun. You get to say crazy fucked up shit in a work environment. How often does this opportunity come along in a lifetime? Take advantage of it. Be creative. Be more energetic. Here are some ideas...
* go to your neighborhood asian market and buy some pomegranates. Bring them to the office and give them to the C guys as a peace offering of sorts. But they wont know what pomegranates are. So here are things you can say casually... "Hey guys, do you want some pussyfruit?" and "eating the pussyfruit is tricky. Here, Iíll show you how." and "pussyfruits are great, but I hate it when my mouth is all red afterwards."
* Draw a pentagram on your forehead. You can use ash, or you can use feces, both are OK. Donít use magic markers, that's childish. When someone asks why you have a pentagram on your forehead, become visibly irritated and retort, "that's not a pentagram! Itís the star of michael. Please be more sensitive to my beliefs." this opens up a gamut of crazy ass "religious observances" you can get a way with.
This is just the start. You have lots of room to move. Iíve got some ideas involving 14 year old girls, but posting something like that would blatantly violate the terms of my parole.
by mg at 07:22 AM on May 07, 2001
I don't want to quit my job. Mainly because I'd feel bad about quitting and not having another job to fall back on. The month and a half between getting laid off and starting up again was the longest period of time in 6 years that I had been out of work. But really, the main reason I wouldn't want to quit my job is because if I did, I would be able to collect unemployment anymore.
Getting, fired however, would make things so much better. So, short of being grossly incompetent, here are some things I thought I could do to get myself fired:
* If you remember, my bosses are all Israeli; I could show up for work one morning wearing my German Army Jacket. Then, in the afternoon I could take off all my clothes, put on a bathrobe and invite them all to take a "shower" with me.
* Go to the company intranet, grab every document, and run it through the Pornolizer. Replace the old documents with the new, improved versions.
* I could bring a mat with me to work, and take time out each day to set it up on the floor, and pray toward the east. Then, run to my bossís office; kick in his door while yelling "Jihad! Jihad!"
* Secretly replace the office's regular coffee with Folgers crystals. Did I say Folgers crystals? I meant to say Methamphetamine crystals.
* My bosses are insanely concerned with security. Every single document in the office must be shredded, so the shredder is running frequently throughout the day. I'll bring in some tomato, onion, pepper and lettuce and use the paper shredder to make myself some tacos.
* All of the women and all of the wives of the men who work with me are pregnant, or have recently given birth. (No seriously, it is kind of freaky but true. Every damn one of them.) Get some Thalidomide and drop it in the water cooler.
Can you think of anymore? Tell me about it.
Happy National Masturbation Day, everyone! That's right, May 6th in particular and the whole month of May in general are devoted to self-love. Thanks to the folks at Good Vibrations, we can now have a whole month to love ourselves. They have various tidbits such as the Third Annual Masturbate-a-Thon, the Masturbation Hall of Fame, and tips on how to get yourself in the mood. I suggest pampering yourself with a manicure, maybe buying some new hand lotion, taking yourself out for dinner, and maybe liquoring yourself up.
Don't use any date-rape drugs, though - the other hand might want in on the action, and then before you had time to say "orange" you'd have a ménage à trois.
by mg at 12:57 PM on May 05, 2001
event two: boobies!
So, the second sexual / transportational event I've had in the last couple days (see this post for an explanation), involved gratuitous boobies. No, boobies can never be gratuitous, so I guess the second transexportational event just involved boobies.
I was on my way home from work one evening, and I was got on the subway and sat down like usual. The A Train, at 168 Street, heading downtown at about 6:30 is always going to be pretty empty. It is kind of nice that for that part of my trip, I don't have to worry about sweaty, stinky, ugly people rubbing up against me. I only like sweaty, stinky, ugly people rubbing up against me if I had to pay a $25 cover charge to get in.
Well, the train was empty, and as I sat down, I looked across the aisle and saw a lady with a sheet draped over herself. Now, that in and of itself is not at all out of the ordinary. There are enough people who live and sleep on the trains that to think they'd have a sheet or pillow with them is not all that bizarre. Then, as my brain started working again after a day of mind-numbing labour, I also saw the baby carriage and realised the woman sitting across from me must be new mom who was feeding her baby the old fashioned way, via the booby.
That isn't even that strange to see. It is natural and beautiful. Oh so very beautiful.
What sucked about it, from my perspective, is that this is the closest I've come to a naked booby in months. I mean, with the Internet, I can see boobies whenever I damn well feel like. Boobies of all shapes, sizes and colours. But like with the Greatful Dead, Memorex just doesn't compare to seeing them live and in person.
Eventually, feeding time was over. Kind of.
Mom may have been done with the milk-fest, but baby, who was actually pretty old, 18 months at least, wasn't done. She started crying. She slapped her mom in the face. She started pulling her mom's blouse off. She really wanted that teat. It was the funniest thing.
I wanted to get up and tell the kid that, from my 25 years of experience, crying, slapping and ripping has never gotten me to a booby, if the booby owner hasn't wanted me there.
by mg at 08:34 PM on May 04, 2001
You may have been able to believe she was possessed by the devil. Or that she married the man who'd been brainwashed into believing he was her husband after she realised he'd also been brainwashed to believe he had brainwashed to believe he was her husband. And you may also believe that she lived in the same house with Wilfred "the oatmal guy" Brimley and was Shannen Doherty's mom, but I'm sure you'd never have believed you'd see her naked.
Yet, here Deidre Hall is, naked as 14 year-old boy home alone with a porn collection. Hall is probably best know for portraying Marlena "Doc" Evans on the soap opera Days of Our Lives. And even though the first appearance of Dr. Evans came only a two months after I was born, I still wouldn't mind lathering up this body.
I am now convinced: one cannot both simultaneously take care of oneself and properly prepare for final exams. You have to either 1.) neglect your body to the point where other people, noting the glazed look in your eye, have to remind you to eat and sleep, or 2.) fail all of your classes. This semester, I attempted to take care of myself and do well in classes. Needless to say, I don't think I succeeded at either. Next semester, I'm going to strap an I.V. and a pillow to myself, so I'll get the proper nutrition and when I pass out from pure exhaustion, the pillow will be right there.
Humbug. At least I'll never again have to know what St. John was doing in Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper or the date that some half-rate artist painted some half-assed work of art. Oh, by the way, in case you couldn't tell, I don't really care for art history. Crappy Dr. Cunnally's crappy exams.
My spring semester has been officially over for fifteen minutes, yet I don't feel any relief. Sigh.
What was that mg was saying about bloggers sharing mundane and excruciatingly boring details?
by mg at 12:00 PM on May 04, 2001
My grandmother collects dimes.
Not rare or old dimes, just regular dimes. She gets some strange pleasure out of collecting enough of them to fill one of those papers tubes that you take into the bank to exchange for real money.
Actualluy, I think she just likes it when people give her money.
I only bring this fact up because I am going to visit her later today, so Iím carrying about $4 worth of dimes with me and they were rattling around in my bag on the way to work.
On a totally unrelated topic, don't you hate it when bloggers feel the need to share even the most mundane and excruciatingly boring details of their life?
by mg at 08:28 AM on May 04, 2001
I actually got a request for bad advice this week, but I would rather take the opportunity to get some advice from all of you. I need to know whether to quit my job or not.
So, some background. I was laid off the beginning of February. I was on unemployment until last week, when I started again someplace new. The place I started is a start-up Internet company (too many "starts" in the last couple sentences, damn). It is a very small start-up. After the guys with C in front of their titles (the CEO, the CFO, the Cetc...), there are only three employees and a couple contractors.
The project we are working on is a really big one. One big idea, with lots of intricate details (sorry, can't get more into it, confidentiality agreement and all). They want this site up and running in three weeks. We just started last week. If I was still at Razorfish, a project like this would take, at the very least, six months. And that would be with a team three times the size. That might explain why they are going out of business, but still three weeks is ridiculous.
I am an Information Architect by trade. I'd explain exactly what that is, but it is kind of boring to explain. Just think that an Information Architect is like a real architect, only what will eventually get built will be a website, not a house or a hospital, or whatever. They are only giving me enough information to build one ďroomĒ at a time. It would be like deciding to build a bathroom with a only a certain number of urinals, without knowing how many people will be using it and what gender they are. It is like building a hallway, without knowing what rooms you are trying to move between.
I've asked everyday since I've started for more information. Everyone I ask says I know what I need to know to do my work. Fine. Whatever. Yet, today, one of the C guys asked me why I wasn't participating in discussions about the bigger picture. I tried to explain to him, I've been trying to do that, that I've been asking to do that, and that HE wasn't giving me the chance to do that. He proceeded to talk for another half hour about stupid shit I'd already heard twenty times.
They expect of me, not only to do the Information Architecture, but also to do design, some development (code), and some writing. Still, in just three weeks. If this was Razorfish, like I said, I'd have longer, plus I'd probably have at least one other IA and a couple of interns under me, to do all the grunt work. So, I gotta do real work, grunt work, and a bunch of other stuff. Including, one day, to move a server cabinet, which I ended up cutting my finger on.
Most everyone who works there is Israeli. They speak Hebrew around the office. I'm not Israeli. I don't speak Hebrew. I think that is pretty rude.
My first week, I stayed 9 hours a day. On the Friday of my first week, the CEO called me into his office to ask me, among other things, why I wasn't spending more time at work.
One of the favourite offices phrases is "Be more energetic."
Anyway, that is part of the picture. The other is that if I quit my job, I won't be able to collect unemployment. I don't have a job lined up, not even the prospect of one on the horizon. Any job I'd likely take would pay me HALF of what I'm making now.
Yet, is the extra money worth the torture? Would I rather be happy and broke, or miserable and middle class?
So. I come to thee, my loyal readers, for advice. Quit? Stay? Jump in front of a moving bus? Begin a career in thievery? Stand on a subway platform and play the accordion? What should I do?
Either send an e-mail or better yet, use the comments things, right below.
by mg at 11:46 PM on May 03, 2001
All I can say is that this is SO DAMN DISTURBING.
Okay. I can say a little more. This is hyakugojyuuichi. This is the full version of a flash animation that has been floating around the internet for the past couple weeks. The other version is shorter, and can give you the gist, but this full version is worth watching, just for the pure surreal pleasure of it. And Pee Wee Herman.
If you can't guess, it is Japanese. Another example of what exposure to radiation can do to cognitive processes.
by mg at 09:25 PM on May 03, 2001
Yo, just watching the finale of Survivor : Outback and I must say, Colby is certainly destiny's child (i'm so damn clever, no?).
This season has been really awful. Well, not awful, but not exciting. However, that doesn't mean I'm not addicted. I'm even been skipping Gilmore Girls to watch Survivor. I'm missing the chance to watch some hot mother-daughter action.
But, I did get to see the slow motion replay of the Survivor up till now, with lots of shots of the lovely Elisabeth. I saw her on some talk show this week. What is it about hot Survivor girls, they look so damn good on the island, but once they are off it, they really just look so plain.
It was the same with Colleen. She looked so damn hot on the island, even with the scurvy legs, and now whenever I see that Chapstick commercial with her in it, I wonder how I could ever have been in love with her.
by mg at 07:58 PM on May 03, 2001
Charles, from Six Different Ways a frequent reader, and poster of comments, has got his new domain name up and running. That rawks!
He seems like a good enough sort of fellow, so you should all go show him some love. His live-in girlfriend also has a weblog, and they share a webcam. Perhaps if you go check it out, you can see them having sex or something. But don't tell him I said that.
Anyway, if you are/would like to be, a new friend of Bad Samaritan, just drop me an email.
by mg at 12:29 PM on May 03, 2001
My former employer, Razorfish, is in the news today. Apparently, the ambiguously gay duo who run the company, Jeff and Craig, are supposed to be stepping down at the end of the day. Woo hoo!
I don't know why I'm still so interested in the going ons there. It has been two months since I was layed off. And to tell the truth, I don't hate Razorfish as an insitution, or any of the people who work there. Except for Jeff and Craig. Jeff moreso. And maybe a couple other people, but really only Jeff and Craig. Which is funny, considering how much I like to say "Jeff and Craig."
It is actually really good news for me that those two will be stepping down. In fact, it is good news for Razorfish as a whole, I think. From when I first got there, even before things started going badly in the internet industry, I felt that those two needed to move on. They were just a couple kids, not businessmen. They had no place running a multi-national, multi-million dollar businness. Jeff had studied Modern Dance at university, for christ's sake!
Razorfish would have been better suited to have a couple adults running the company. Adults who didn't bring their dogs to work with them. Adults who didn't have a giant mural of a penis in their office. Adults who don't snort so damn much coke. And if that New York Times story can be trusted (the NYT is no Fucked Company), some adults will be coming in soon enough. Though, adults at the helm didn't seem to work too well for marchFIRST.
Either way, I guess it doesn't matter. I don't have stock options anymore, why should I care? I just wish I had my Aeron chair back.
by mg at 10:06 PM on May 02, 2001
I've been back at work for eight days now. Keep reading, this isn't about work, it is about sex.
In those eight days that I've been going to work now (again, this is not about work - think SEX), I've had three really strange sexual/transportation encounters. Not strange sexual/transportational in the Crash kind of way, but sexual/trasnsportational nonetheless. The following events occured on the subway, on the way "to" or "fro" work. In my previous five years of daily commuting on the New York subway, I've only had one previous sexual experience.
At ten subway rides a week, for five years that comes out to some really big number. So the fact that I had only one instance, but three instances in the period of 8 days so fucking weird. Anyway, here they are, MG's weird sex-portation experiences:
[ the first event : accused! ]
The first event occured during the train ride on my first day of work. This really set the tone for my entire working experience so far. The train ride in was packed. It was the middle of rushhour, which is actually like a period of two hours, but whatever, who am I, the ensurer of properly named things? No, I'm not.
So, anyway, it was really packed. Bodies pressed against bodies. But not in a good way, because most of the bodies are really ugly and lumpy and most often stinky. We were all packed in, and there was this short blonde chick in front of me. I was listening to my Samsung Uproar, the cell phone that is also a MP3 player. I had my hand in pocket, on the phone, to skip some of the sucky songs on it that were annoying me. The Uproar rocks, but it requires a computer with a USB port to download new songs to it. My old computer ran Windows 95, no USB support. I had been using my work computer to upload music to my phone. But, after I got laid off, I had to keep the same set of songs on it for almost two months. That gets really boring to listen to, and there were a couple songs I got really sick of.
At any rate, I had to skip songs frequently. So, my hand was in my pocket, and the train lurched, as trains are wont to do. When the train lurched, this blonde chick in front of sort of fell against me. The next thing I know is that she is yelling something, something I can't hear, because I'm listening to my Uproar. I know she is talking about me, because everyone around us starts looking at me, I take out one earphone and hear something like "blah blah blah the guy behind me." I ask, "What did I do?" And she responds, "You just best keep your hands out of your pants."
So, I probably should have prefaced this story by saying I've heard stories about guys on the subway who will cut open the inside pockets of their pants so they can play with themselves whilst rubbing up against girls (and sometimes guys). I think there was even an episode of Law & Order that dealt with that.
I'm guessing that is what this girl was thinking I was doing. It really made me feel awful. I mean, I've never been called a pervert before. Well, at least not someone who doesn't know me very well.
events two and three later.
by mg at 02:31 PM on May 02, 2001
I ain't happy / I'm feeling glad,
I got sunshine / in a bag.
I'm useless / but not for long,
The future / is coming on.
Not in my entire life did I ever expect to hear a collaboration between Del the Funky Homosapien and Damon Albarn (lead singer of Blur), yet here they are, trading verses over a phat beat (laid down by Handsome Boy Modeling School graduate, Dan "The Automator").
The group, called The Gorillaz, which also includes Miho Hatori (of Cibo Matto), Kid Koala and a cast of extras, is fantastic. You can download the song Clint Eastwood here and now, but if you live in the States, the entire album is only available as an import.
You may not be able to get the disc without a hefty import fee (I paid US$25 for it), but the Gorillaz have got a nifty website with some groovy flash work. And the website, like boobies on Fat Tuesday, are free.
Happy May Day! Time to protest!
By the way, in case you hadn't heard the cause of Britain's foot-and-mouth outbreak, look no further than your neighborhood gayboy. Apparently it's a direct result of God's disapproval of Britain lowering the age of consent for gay sex to 16. Ingenious, that. All I can say is, "What does gobsmacked mean?"
I also think it might be an interesting footnote to mg's comment earlier today that I almost got in a car accident today. Why? Because I had slowed down to stare at a shirtless boy running down the sidewalk. Summer is a dangerous, dangerous time to be driving. In contrast with mg, I have no issues with leering at men. Of course, one should usually be more discreet about it here in the middle of Iowa. Thank god for rear-view mirrors.
By the way, does anyone else out there think that Plastic's queer topic icon is a little, uhm, how shall we say... suggestive? Or then again maybe that's just what's on my mind due to the events of last Friday night (the luau mentioned in Shar's Craptastic!.) All I'm going to say is this: it's very interesting that the laundry room in this building has blinds and a deadbolt...
by mg at 08:00 PM on May 01, 2001
I just realised something about myself today that almost made me vomit.
I was standing on the subway platform, waiting for my train to come. Then this girl with a really smoking bod walked by, and as she passed, I turned my head to look at her ass as she was walking away. I even did the thing where my head was tilted slighty to one side. If I had been a cartoon character, my tongue would probably have been hanging out, my eyes popped from my head, and my heart beating out through my shirt.
Anyway, I realised, by catching myself in the act of doing so, that I've become one of those guys who leer at women on the street. I can't think of how many times I've been walking around New York City and caught a guy doing the whole head turn-to-watch-a-woman-walk-by thing. I've always laughed at those guys and swore to myself I'd never be one of them.
Yet, here I was today, checking out a woman's ass on the subway platform. I like to think that I, at least, wasn't leering. But I think I probably was. It made me sick. My self, that is, not the ass. The ass was nice.
by mg at 05:42 PM on May 01, 2001
Oh man. I just checked my stats for the day and they are way down. I haven't even broken two hundred hits yet. That is like, not even close to what the site has usually gotten by this point in the day.
I can only assume one thing, and you know what you do when you assume, that's right, you make an "as" out of "su" and "me." But I'll assume anyway, and I'll assume that you don't love me anymore.
No. Wait. That's silly. Of course you love me. How could you not? I'm so cute, and smart and funny. At least, that is what my mom keeps telling me.
Anyway, the real possibilities are that my counter is broken (considering their entire site was down for a bit yesterday and has been slow for a while), or, that since it is finals weeks (or thereabouts) for most universities here in the States, none of my usual slacker kid audience can pull themeselves away from the books to check out your regularly scheduled Bad Samaritan hilarity.
And then the third possibility is really that you don't love me anymore. I haven't been posting as much lately (though, according to GreyMatter, there were 71 posts in the month of April, which makes me realise I need to get out more). Websites like this tend to lose readers when they aren't updated 17 times a day.
Would you like me to update 17 times a day? Because, I would do that for you. Sure, each post would contain only eight words, and three of them would be oral, kirsten, and panty. But, if that would keep you coming back I'd do it. I'm well renowned for my hit-whoredom.
So, what do I need to do to make you folks happy? Your wish is my command. Seriously. Just drop some electrons in the mail, and let me know what'll make you happy, 'cause I'm all about your needs.