Dear Ms. Jackson,
I just heard one of your hit singles on the radio and felt I should write you.
I'm not sure what song it was (it had a lot of "baby"s in it, does that help?), and that's partly the reason I'm writing. I'm inspired to write to you only because I was so unmoved by the song. It's totally unremarkable, and I was so astonished by my utter lack of reaction that I thought I should share.
It's not just that it's indistinguishable from your other pop songs. It is, but that's important only so much as your other songs also completely fail to excite any response in me. I don't feel one way other another about it. It's not that it's so bad; in fact, it transcends "good" and "bad" to become something totally irrelevant, something that may as well not exist at all.
At least with a pop song like "Bootylicious," I can enjoy the kitsch value. In bad rap-rock, I can appreciate the energy and mutter in disgust. Muzak is your partner in blandness, but that's music designed to be ignored. I don't think that's what you had in mind. Actually, even Muzak has the power to stop me in my tracks when I hear a K.I.S.S. song over the P.A. at Walgreens. I can't see that happening with your music.
We're living in a time and place where many people feel they don't matter because they're not famous, and yet they admire a hugely famous person whose music doesn't matter at all. I'd investigate the ironic potential, but frankly, I just don't care.
In fact, I'm not sure I've ever cared less about anything in my entire life. I've held stronger opinions on dishwashing liquid than I have about your music.
Sometimes blandness is a good thing: in saltine crackers, for example. I'm just not sure it's such an admirable goal for a musician. If it's not a goal, then it's not an admirable effect.
Anyway, please don't take this personally. I'm sure you're a fine person, and I wish you the best of luck with your recording career. May you continue to record your music and sell millions of albums.
Or not. Whatever, I'm not likely to notice.
P.S. I would not, however, kick you out of bed for eating the aforementioned saltine crackers.
Sad but true. I haven't got anything constructive to post (yet). So my Sunday morning banter should do for now. Hehe.
I take back all the nasty stuff I said about my sister today. Stuff that you haven't heard of.
We had a thrilling time at the supermarket.
Especially at the meat section.
We poked at mutton ribs, fondled some chicken breasts, molested a couple of thighs, and laughed our asses off at the obscene shapes of the sausages on display.
Today is so hot. We helped ourselves to frozen packets of minted peas on our foreheads. That was before the sales assistant came along and stared at us. We quickly throw the bags back into the freezer and scuttled away...guiltily. Not! :þ
Kellogs cornflakes' on sale. Me and sis can't help but to bitch about the cornflakes because they sucks. They're tasteless and they crumbles too easily. The cereal from the bulk food section is so much more yummier than those fancy branded ones. So after much laughing and bitching at Kellogs we then head for the bulk food section for our daily cereal needs.
" Let's treat ourselves to something special this week!"
Yeah...that's what we say EVERY week....
It was a difficult decision. I wanted novelty waffles whereas the brat insisted on oriental cracker mix.
We ended up with a muffin each.
I bought some spring onions and since we're going to treat ourselves this week ( not taking the muffins into account, hehe ), I will do something 'interesting' with the vegetable. You know how they have hollow 'leaves'/stalks or whatever they call it ? Ya, I'm going to pour egg yolk into those 'holes' and cook them in a wok under medium heat. Wouldn't it be cool to eat an egg 'stick' ? Hahaha.
Bought a brand of juice I've never tried before. Fakkin sweet. Hate it. Everything here is so damn sweet. Freakin hate it. They have sickly pink icing on top of pastries, colourful sugar beads on doughnuts, M&Ms on gingerbreadmans and I see castor sugar everywhere.
So damn hate it. Yaks!
Yeah..more fruits..we always have to stock up fruits every few days because the brat eat fruits like crazy. She can finish 3kg worth of apples under 3 days. Apple whore.
I haven't eaten cheese for ages. So why the hell am I still feeling roundish??!!
Taugeh. Must have. No bean sprouts. No dinner.
I miss gingko nuts.
Do you like baby porridge? I 'accidentally' cooked some yesterday. Keep them under the heat for too long. But they simply reek awesomeness when complimented with Bovril and spicy fermented beancurds. One thing about baby porridge is the experience of eating it. Because the rice were so badly broken down from extended cooking, so when you eat them , its like..blabbb..blabbb..blabbbb..
Haha. Damn yummy! Feel like a baby all over again! Hahaha.
Okay. Here's my menu for today's dinner:
1. Stir fry taugeh with chilli flakes and 'hay bee' ( baby prawns ).
2. Beancurd. Don't know what to do with them. Maybe steam them with fish sauce, oyster sauce and sprinkle some fried shallots and garlic. Ohh. Yes, that's it!!
3. Spring onion egg sticks.
4. We need soup!
5. We have no soup!
6. That's okay I supposed. We don't have rice either....
On and immediately following the attacks of September 11th, an email message circled ‘net quoting a prophecy of Nostradamus. There were many different versions of the prophecy, which seemed to predict the attack on the World Trade Center, but this was probably the most common:
In the year of the new century and nine months,
From the sky will come a great King of Terror.
The sky will burn at forty-five degrees.
Fire approaches the great new city
In the city of york there will be a great collapse,
2 twin brothers torn apart by chaos
while the fortress falls; the great leader will succumb;
third big war will begin when the big city is burning
Whatever version of the quote you got, it was total bull poop. Or was it?
This photograph of Osama bin Laden and Nostradamus in a pool with some of their barely-legal naked friends doesn’t prove anything, but it certainly casts doubt onto the theory that the prophecy is false. In light of this picture, I’m not willing to make a judgement, are you?
Bad Samaritan was dead from around 4 pm EST yesterday afternoon until about 1am this morning. I don’t know why, but I do know that I was frustrated as hell. I really wanted to say something last night, but in the morning light, I can’t remember what it was for the life of me.
I’m sure if it was of absolutely any importance at all, I’d rememebr it. So, you are probably all asaved from some terribly boring post. As if this isn’t one already.
If you haven’t noticed already, this is a Three-Minute Blog ©. The meme is really starting to catch on. Yesterday three more people caught on to 3MBs:
* mike @ trible b (I mean triple b)
To write your own 3MB, just write for 3 minutes and then let me know to add you to the ever growing list.
Phew, got it all out with time to spare.
The leisure center was more impressive than we anticipated. From the outside marble blocks padded the structure, huge sheets of glasses betrayed the interior and…they have the smallest parking lots I’ve ever seen. Hmm…Anyway, me and Cynthia were blew away by the gorgeous building. ( Ah...we really need to get out of the house more often..)
Cyn was behind the wheel and we kinda overshot the place but couldn’t turn back. So we drove ahead for quite a distance until we made a U-turn once the opportunity arise.
Funny. Somehow we can't find the traffic lights. I mean, there are traffic lights in front of us but where are the lights?
Why are the traffic lights facing its back at us ?
Then realisation dawned upon us and we screamed. It was a ONE WAY street!!!
We were still screaming our heads off when Cynthia managed to make an emergency turning and placed us once again on safe ground.
Then we laughed and laughed until we overshot the leisure center for the second time…
Anyway, we managed to arrive at our destination….
The changing room. We saw more nudity there than we did on the TV. Women just casually move around without a thread on them. Can't say we were aroused because real bodies are as real as they get. No surgical tuck-ups or nips to comfort the pictures, sadly. Not intending to discriminate the aesthetically challenged but you’ve got to see those bodies to believe. They’re just…urm…’awesome’…
The steam room. There are at least 9 men and only 2 girls. Us included.
It was so hot and steamy. I could see no shit. Cynthia was unusually quiet. She was covering her face with her hands. And I kept on pulling my hair. The room bored me. The people put me to sleep. The steam did not excite me. Worse place to get naughty. Won't even perform a quickie there for a million icing doughnuts.
Barely 20 minutes later, we couldn't get out of there fast enough. I felt like somebody really really fat has just stepped squarely on me. Cynthia nearly blacked out. She had to lie down for about 10 minutes before she could sit up and bitch with me.
The experience didn't exactly live up to our definition of FUN.
We were so sad. We were so excited. We nearly risked our lives ( the one way street ) getting here.
And boy, were we hungry!
Since we were too 'weak' to eat, Cyn shouted me a shake and herself some juices.
Only then, we got a bit stronger and started to bitch bitch bitch again.
And oh yes, our hair are now softer. Hehe.
So, by this point I’m sure your thinking, “Another day, another naked Osama bin Laden picture. *Yawn*”
Well, stifle that yawn because today you aren’t going to get just another naked Osama bin Laden picture, you are going to get two naked Osama bin Laden pictures.
And in these pictures we’ll all get to see Osama’s gentle side, and that ain’t no joke. He isn’t just some cartoon like evil super genius, but a real live flesh and blood person. You may not believe it, but Osama bin Laden cries when he gets shampoo in his eyes. And he may be able to orchestrate a boat bombing, the destruction of two embassies and four plane hijackings, but bin Laden puts his panties on one leg at a time, just like you and me.
After seeing those pics, do you still wanna drop a nuke on him? How can someone with a rack that great possibly be evil?
It seems like many moons ago when I introduced the Three-Minute Blog ©. I started up what would surely, in other times, have quickly brought me into the ranks of Internet Rockstardom, just like that “I Kiss You” guy. But world events stopped the burgeoning momentum of a sure fire meme success story. Damn you Mariah Carey, and your nervous breakdown!
But, from out of the depths of obscurity, one woman saved the meme. And what an unlikely woman it was.
The Three Minute Blog redeemer was none other than bobthecorgi, internationally renowned anti-meme activist (she organized the protests at the World Meme Development Conference in Seattle last year). BTC decided to give the Three-Minute Blog © the Corgi seal of approval by attempting one of her own. This post will probably certainly be remembered throughout all of weblogging history as the first Three-Minute Blog © to mention “Blokes” and “Sheilas.”
The very same day, Three-Minute Blog © received international attention when feral living decided to give it a whirl. The thin air of the Austrian Alps must slow the flow of time. How else to explain Miguel’s boyish good-looks at the age of 103, and just how many words he was able to type in three minutes.
And, if all that wasn’t enough to signal a new golden age of the Three-Minute Blog ©, the Joy of Soup lady, (who bears a striking resemblance to bobthecorgi) graced us all with a Three Minute Soup. Sure, even if it didn’t involve beef, and I wasn’t a vegetarian, I’m not sure if I would try this soup. I mean, I like soup and all, but I don’t like jello. And I don’t like cold things that should be hot. My former roommates could eat cold pizza for breakfast right from the box, which had been out on the floor of the living room all night. Gross. So, thanks for the recipe soup lady, but no thanks.
At any rate, it appears the Three-Minute Blog © is back, and better than ever. Hurrah! If you want to join the growing rush of Three-Minute Blogers, go on, what’s stopping you!? Just get writing, stop after three minutes, publish your post, warts, grammatical errors, and all, and make sure to let me know so I can link you up. Get the recognition you deserve: write a Three-Minute Blog ©!
I've always done best in jobs where I could become the company's beloved & generally tolerated pet weirdo. The only time I succeded outside of that capacity was the three years I worked for a nonprofit mental health agency, in which fully 60% of the managing staff had a diagnosed disorder of some sort but was on medication and much better now, thank you. There, no matter how flaky I got, it could never measure up to a member of management having a psychotic break and needing several months off to get their dosages adjusted in a lockdown facility.
But anyway. Where I work now, a hotbed of kneejerk redneck sensibilities, with the redneck viewpoint heavily represented in the owners and their siblings and progeny who are a large percentage of the workforce, I stick out like a sore thumb with a nose ring. I'm the only techie chick there. The office chicks wear office chick garb & well, they're office chicks. I show up in bellbottom jeans and a hooded sweatshirt I got from my daughter's friend which features a bunch of stoned mushrooms with little red eyes, smoking a hookah. Well that's what I wore today, anyway. It pisses off the accountant, who is an owner, but she's outnumbered by the others who put up with me.
And as it is with any flaky small-business workplace, shit happens. Email jokes that are in *extremely* poor taste and would offend an ex-sailor truck driver, get sent out regularly, by management. My own boss has made no bones about the fact that he is in love with me. His word, ‘love’. He runs himself down conversationally but never misses the opportunity to make tool-time manly grunting sounds, in his phlegmy old man voice, every time he accomplishes the smallest geek-task. I could go further into this ickyness but I won't -- you may thank me now.
I love my job but I hate my company. I finally got full time and decent money and benefits. Yet I am monumentally unproductive, because I am ever so distracted by the hostility of the workplace. At least that's my excuse. It sucks. I actually envy the unemployed, because their future consists of possibilities. Much in the same way that I envy the single, and all the while the single and/or unemployed, wish they had what I do.
I guess it's not so bad, really, it has been so much worse - you all have no idea. I'm really quite glad I have a job to hate and a relationship to bitch about. Really, I am.
Osama bin Laden is still on the loose. You know what that means. That’s right, it’s another edition of naked bin Laden.
So here it is, the picture that will finally answer the question “what is under that turban?” - today’s nude bin Laden pic of the day.
Some of you have questioned the veracity of yesterday’s picture. Now, I just want to say that I’m paying big bucks to the Bad Samaritan photo department, and if these pictures are fake, I’m wasting my money. Sure, I’m a trusting man, but I just don’t believe that Dorothea Lange would be ripping me off that way.
September 11th. I didn’t want to write about it anymore, I didn’t even want to talk about it. But in the chat room the other night I got asked about what’s the mood like in New York right now. And I talked about it going down to Union Square Park. And then I talked about some other, less depressing stuff (like how to pick up space if he were a 7 year-old girl), and then logged off.
I thought I’d be fine with it. But then I lay in bed, awake, just thinking. And the minutes passed and I kept thinking. And thinking. Until finally there was nothing left to do but boot up the old computer and get writing.
So, now I’m here and not exactly certain what to say. First, I guess, I’m very satisfied with George Bush’s speech from last week. I wished he hadn’t done it in front of Congress, with all that showy clapping and standing, but he did what he needed to do. Said what he needed to say. No rush to war, because we aren’t going to war, we are going after justice. And for that I am glad.
Our government has shown remarkable restraint when a lot of its citizens have been making all manner of Osama bin Laden jokes or screaming to bomb Afghanistan back to the Stone Age (too late). I don’t think I went that far, but even if I did, it’s nice to know our leaders are a bit more level headed. I’d never have suggested freezing anyone’s bank account as a proper response to killing 6000 people, but I’m not an elected official, am I?
So, the question of what the mood in New York is right now. Tough to say, really. Are things back to normal? No. I don’t know what you in the rest of the country (and world) are feeling right now, but as of this moment, things here really have changed, and it is tough to imagine that things will ever get back to normal.
I’ve yet to force myself to look at the giant hole in the skyline where the World Trade Center used to be, but I did go down to Union Square Park this weekend. Union Square is hardly a park really, just three square blocks with a couple of trees and some patches of grass. Union Square is where they filmed the opening scenes of Mad About You. They have a statue of Ghandi there and four days a week they have the city’s best farmer’s market.
But, more important than any of those facts is that Union Square Park is right at the northern cutoff of where they closed the city the day after the attack. On September 12th, it was the southernmost point any non-rescue-involved New Yorker could venture. Mind you, there is a good two miles south of Union Square ground zero was just that large an area. Since it was the closest point people could get to the towers it was where people congregated, lit candles, hugged strangers, and sang.
Now, a common passerby can get within two blocks of ground zero, but people are still congregating at Union Square Park. When I went on Saturday night people were still singing, still lighting candles, still hugging strangers, still grieving.
I can only say it was the most amazing human situation I’d ever personally witnessed. I’ve seen videos of (the first) Woodstock, thousands of people singing, and doing drugs and loving each other. I’ve seen news clips whenever the pope goes somewhere and a hundred thousand people show up to pray together. Those, I imagine, are magical places to be, with love just so think in the air it’s hard to breathe. That is what is what like in Union Square Park.
On an average summer Saturday night, there would probably be a large number of people sitting, or passing through Union Square Park. But all these people were stopped, purposefully. They weren’t concerned with getting from point A to point B, they were concerned with sharing their grief and somehow hoping to understand just what the heck happened.
Now, this is New York. No one loves anyone here. But complete strangers were singing together. In a city where space is a premium, hundreds of people where standing shoulder to shoulder.
The park is about three city blocks big, one block wide and three long. Every single square inch of the park was full. Full of people, full of candles, full of cards, posters, flowers and hundreds of other little shows of affection and remembrance.
In one part of the park, a group of about 50 Tibetans were chanting. In another part were some Hare Krishnas. In another part of the park were a group of teenagers playing drums and doing freestyle. In another part were over a hundred people singing Amazing Grace. But mostly, people were just walking around, lighting candles of their own, and reading all the cards and posters people had left.
I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job describing things... what it was really like to be down there. For that I apologize. I do, however, feel much better having tried.
You should also check out Surreally's ever growing Osama bin Laden joke/image gallery. I don't exactly approve of pictures of bin Laden with a bullet hole in the cranium or with the Empire State Building stuck up his bum. So why do I mention it? Because Surreally is reporting hundreds of extra of hits a day from people searching for some variation of the phrase, "Osama bin Laden jokes."
In fact, people all over the Internet are reporting increased interest in anything Osama bin Laden related. I read on mefi that some bin Laden beard hair sold on eBay for close to six grand! I hear Mattel is already in production of Operation: Infinite Justice action figures and Osama bin Laden with kung-fu grip has already pre-sold their entire production run. Unfortunately, the Dick Cheney (with heart-stopping kicking action) figure hasn't shown the same demand.
And most importantly to a webmonkey like myself for the first time in, well, forever, sex was not the most searched for thing on the net. Osama bin Laden has replaced porn as the Internet's favorite destination. Remarkable.
The old equation for Internet success has always been tits = hits. But in these past 9-11 days all the old rules are out the window. Apparently, the future is a strange and mysterious place where people don't want to see pictures of naked nude preteen lesbians, but would rather read jokes about Afghanistan, see cartoons with Bush and bin Laden, and play Flash games that let you beat up terrorists.
So, in keeping with Bad Samaritan's long hit slutting tradition, I'll cave in to peer pressure and give Google, Yahoo, and all the rest exactly what they want. But, since this is bad samaritan, not only will I give the people what they want, I'll take it one step further.
I don't care what people are saying, tits still mean hits but, for the time being, Osama bin Laden means more hits. So, I thought, why not meld the two together? If Surreally is getting an extra 400 hits a day for people looking for Osama bin Laden jokes, how many hits will we get from people looking for preteen naked lesbian bin Ladens? That is why we are introducing the first naked bin Laden pic of the day.
We will continue to post up nude pictures of Osama bin Laden every day until he is brought to justice. Or people get bored of it.
Now that the networks have stopped showing 24 hour a day news coverage (except CNN, because that’s their bag, baby!), TV is getting back to normal. A week later, we are getting the opening of the new fall line-up, and man am I chuffed. Last night, I watched the premieres of 7th Heaven and Angel. And no, I’m not a 15 year-old girl; I just like the WB, so shut up already.
Over the next few weeks we’ll get to find out who’s the papa of Rachel’s baby, whether Darma and Greg survived the car crash, how they’ll bring Buffy back to life, and whether Ellen is still gay. The new fall line-up is usually a cause for celebration and a double sized TV Guide. Like the first buds of spring, the new season is a sign of rebirth, a symbol of the circle of life.
But for me, it is often a sad time. A time to mourn our fallen heroes. Shows that have ended, and will never see another fall. Who could forget Townies, or that spin-off of Who’s the Boss with the models?
But most of all, I miss Seinfeld. Sure, Kramer made an ill-fated comeback last fall, with the Michael Richards Show. And it looks as if Jason Alexander is making what looks like an ill-fated comeback this fall with Bob Patterson. But where is Jerry, where is Elaine?
I don’t know what Jerry is up to (probably dating some hot 18 year-old), but here is a picture of Elaine, AKA Julia Louise Dreyfus. It actually looks like a really old picture, maybe from her around the same time as her short stint on Saturday Night Live, but yadda yadda yadda, she is, naked.
Don’t “Get Out!” me, I told you she was naked, and if you don’t believe me, take a look for yourself.
Bad Samaritan is proud to announce the successful fruition of a top-secret collaboration with our friends over at Surreally. Our scientists have been working together non-stop for month and we our now finally able to reveal what they’ve been working on all this time.
There has been a lot of speculation by the news media about exactly what we’ve been up to in our secret labs. Investigative reporters from the New York Times thought that missing intern was dead (she was only sleeping and not pregnant at all). People Magazine wrote that we were suffering from exhaustion and had checked ourselves into rehab (Fuck you, I don’t have a drug problem!) The National Enquirer speculated it had something to do with hybrid alien/sasquatch children (which is just ridiculous, we got that figured out years ago). And the United Nations Security Council sent us a letter, saying they were concerned about the nuclear testing we’d been doing (I was just making popcorn with my 1950s microwave).
Well, now all that speculation is over, as we can finally announce the completion of our project, something likely to revolutionize the way every one of us lives our life. We usher in a new era in world history with the creation of “chat.”
What is “chat,” you ask? “Chat” is a totally unique technology we’ve developed that uses something called the “Internet” to allow people to talk to each other live, from anywhere in the world. No spending a fortune on expensive long distance phone charges. No waiting seconds, even minutes, for your email to arrive somewhere. Yes, with “chat” you can talk to someone live, instantly, and best of all, for FREE!
Currently, you can access the “chat room” from both surreally and bad samaritan. If you are a webmaster, you can join our affiliate program and offer visitors to your site access to the hottest new technology available. Just send an email and I’ll send you a free information packet about how to give your site’s visitors access to the surreally/bad samaritan “chat room."
So, I watched the Telethon Friday night. I'd actually made a pledge to myself that I wouldn’t watch it, but heck, it was on every TV and radio station, what the hell else was I supposed to do, have a conversation? And after my tirade the other day, I'll be big enough to admit that the telethon wasn't nearly as god-awful as I thought it'd be.
Some moments were even quite cool, the most notable of those moments being Neil Young's rendition of Imagine.
Certainly, there were moments of painful, gut wrenching uncomfortableness. I can’t imagine anyone being able to sit through Willie Nelson's unfathomably awkward performance of America the Beautiful. He sang (I guess that is what you’d call it), and had all the stars as back up singers. It didn’t look like a single one of them wanted to be there, except maybe Cuba Gooding Jr, who looked like he was really into Willie.
It was also pretty embarrassing every time the camera panned across the phone banks and we got a chance to see the likes of Jack Nicholsen, Whoopi Goldberg and Tom Cruise answering calls. It felt like they had so many stars involved they didn’t know what to do with them, so they had them answering phones, holding boom mikes, and holding cue cards.
There were so many people involved, they had to match people up who really had no business being on the same stage together. Like when the members of Limp Bizkit and the Goo Goo Dolls played together on Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here. The leader singer of the Goo Goo Dolls is easily the gayest guy in the world (and I don’t mean that in the homosexual way). It is hard to imagine that he and Fred Durst would be in the same place at the same time unless they were double-teaming a stripper, unless Fred Durst’s badassedness is really just an act put on to help sell records to angry suburban teenagers. But that couldn’t be the case! I guess they just care about helping people so much they put away all those silly distinctions between music styles.
I guess I have to give props to everyone there. I was expecting skits and lame bits and stuff like that. But it was just actors retelling stories and bands playing songs. There weren’t any graphics telling who was who, or announcers saying things like “This is Mariah Carey, her new movie, Glitter opens this weekend, and she is here to talk about all the children who lost a parent in the attack.”
Speaking of Mariah, she must really care about helping people. I mean, even I’ve got to give her credit. She took a break from being a total loon for the whole five minutes it took her to belt out Hero. Actually, she looked very well rested and sane, though as she finished the song and they cut away from her, I could swear I heard a whispered voice saying “Man I’m tired. Positively exhausted.” Good thing Maria doesn’t have to take a lot of time reading all those positive reviews of her new film, Glitter.
I actually felt so good about how the show turned out that I actually called up to donate some money. As I picked up the phone I remembered how I don’t have any money. But I still dialed up anyway, if only to show my support. And with real live Hollywood celebrities manning the phones how could I not call? The first time I rang through I got hold of someone I didn’t recognize. He said his name was Kurt Russell. Oh. I can’t remember the last Kurt Russell movie that came out, much less that I saw, so I asked him if I could talk to a bigger celebrity. I guess he didn’t like that so much because he hung up on me.
I tried calling again and got through to Brad Pitt. I asked him if he whether he thought it was possible that someone could have planned the attacks without knowing it because they have multiple personality disorder. He said “Fight Club is only a movie, I don’t think that could happen in real life.” I said, “fight club?”
Then I told him how even though I wasn’t gay I thought he was really hot and stuff and if, like, someone had a gun to my head and told me I had to have sex with a guy, he would be the one I choose. He asked me whether I planned to donate any money, and I had to tell him no. He hung up on me, but not before giving me his home phone number.
I called again and got hold of Julia Roberts, I told her that my name was Donald Trump, and I’d donate $10 million dollars if she’d take off her top. She told me that the real Donald Trump already called and if she wasn’t going to take of her top for him, she certainly wouldn’t take it off for me. Then she hung up on me too.
I could go on like this forever. But I’ll stop now.
More bad TV news: Danish sexologists (no, that's not the joke) claim that reality-based TV show Big Brother causes viewers to have more frequent and improved sex.
Maybe watching the Big Brother contestants sit around and generally make asses of themselves inspires couples at home to imagine that they too are being watched, as they argue about who left Cheez Whiz on the coffee table and pee with the bathroom door open. "Honey, did you use my Lady's Schick to shave your back again? I hope that gets you voted out of the house." I know I'm turned on.
Taking an interesting stance on the concept of "science," one of the "scientists" stated: "I believe, even if it hasn't been scientifically proven, that TV viewers have a better and more active sex life by watching Big Brother."
Well, if you believe it, then. I mean, who am I to criticize someone's beliefs? I should probably worry about the integrity of your profession, but I honestly feel a lot better that YOU'RE JUST MAKING THIS SHIT UP.
Since we're not worried about trivialities like the "scientific method" or "evidence" on this issue, let's state some other correlations between tv watching and the sexual habits of the viewers, shall we?
Farscape: inspires viewers to secrete green, viscous substance from the pores of their skin during sex.
The West Wing: improves posture during sex, inspires viewers to make "presidential" grand entrances, spend 3.7 seconds in each position.
Pokemon: viewers 80% more likely to use birth control during sex.
Frasier: sexual participants adopt haughty, intellectual attitudes and/or bark like dogs.
So Little Time: (a.k.a. "that Olson Twins show"): causes viewers to imagine their partner as themselves, subscribe, optimistically, to Barely Legal.
Battle Bots: Results in no sexual activity. At. All.
Checking my logs I noticed that Bad Samaritan, remarkably, has topped nine hundred hits a day every day in the month of September. Except for a couple days at the begining of the month. But, other than those three or four days at the beginning of the month, nine hundred hits, every damn day. It was actually closer to or above one thousand hits a day for most of those days, and I probably should have just said "We've gotten a thousand hits a day every day in the month of September" since that is way more impressive sounding, and it isn't like any of you could check, but, like I've said before, I'm way too honest for my own good sometimes.
Anyway, even nine hundred hits a day is pretty amazing. Considering, this site was up for almost three months before it got nine hundred hits total, I'm happy as a clam.
Speaking of clams, our friends over at Lover’s Caught on Tape are donating 10% of their profits to the American Red Cross for victims of the NYC and Pentagon tragedies. I know you've been waiting month and months, just looking for a good reason to buy some porn. Now you’ve got that reason!
Like, sure, you could donate your cash to some yammering celebrities looking for screen time. But how does that even compare to donating cash to relief efforts AND getting to watch some girls gone XXXtray crazy (during spring break, no less!) or sexy naked fishing trips.
Sure, you’ll still be as big a pervert for ordering the video today as you would have been a month ago. But now, when you watch one of the videos you'll know that warm feeling you're having isn't just the jizz shooting everywhere - it's your heart, overflowing with kindness and good will toward all men and women (or both, depending on how you swing).
So, yeah, just go buy a video.
Its strange to realize, but about a week ago I was crowing because the webring I started, ameriBLOGs, had just topped twenty members. I'd started the ring back in March, expected it to grow a lot quicker, and at one point even thought about disbanding it. Then, some crazies flew a plane into the side of a building last week and people decided that it was okay to be an American again.
Good for them!
The people who are proud to be American, not the people who flew the planes into buildings. *Ahem*
The ring is now up to 41 members. You should go here and visit every single one of the sites in the ring. And if you run a U.S. based weblog, journal or e/n site, you should join up. I check up on all the sites before I add them and it is interesting to note that they aren't all just right-wing nut's like me. There are also some pansy-ass liberals too. Everybody can be proud to be American, even if you don't necessarily agree with everything your government does.
There should be some sort of segue here, but I couldn't think of anything good.
It got buried in the flood of post-apocalyptic postings, but I made an offer last Monday to link up anyone who asked me to, whether I like your stupid site or not. In light of a recent Hapsburgian thread at Surreally, I am looking to link up (and just read) sites that aren't already linked up by anyone else that I am linked to now.
Not that I don't love all my friends, I just feel like I'm in rut. I don't feel like I've discovered any new sites in ages and I know there have to plenty out there to be found. So, if you run I site that maybe isn't that big or linked up by a lot of people or you know of a site that I probably haven't heard of, then you should drop me an email! I ain't no slashdot, but I can guarantee you a pretty good amount of traffic and you'll be helping me out of my rut too!
Speaking of ruts, this site is supposed to be interactive. Comments are good. I like comments. But I also like emails. I know I'm pretty unapproachable, but feel free to drop me email whenever you want. I love hearing from people. You know, some webmasters even get fan signs. But I hardly even get emails.
Hey! You know what is amost better, but probably closer to being equal in goodness to just plain email? Submitting questions to bad advice or potential studs to Samaritan Stud de la Semana (semana? ha!). But also emails.
Ugh. This is probably one of the most boringest posts ever to be ... posted here at BS and for that I apologize. Isn't it amazing how long I can write, even if I've got absolutly nothing to say? Ugh, I've got nothing to say now, so I'll stop soon, but hey, if you want to be entertained, you should check out Dream Log. I was recently added to the ranks of dreamers over there and I just posted my first dream a little earlier today. My dream involved cats, DVD porn and Amanda's parents. You should go there now and analyze my dream. I'm going to end now, but I would really just like to say "dream" one more time in this paragraph.
If the country hasn't suffered enough over the last week, just wait until Friday night. The four major broadcast stations, ABC, CBS, NBC and Fox have announced they are joining forces for a star-studded, commercial-free telethon. The telethon, dubbed America: A Tribute to Heroes, will be simulcast on all four networks, a pants-load of cable stations, and any other TV or radio stations that would like to carry it.
According to the press the two-hour live event will "raise funds and raise the spirits of all who have been touched by the horrific tragedy that has struck America." Excuse me? You are going to make us forget one horrific tragedy by forcing us to sit through two hours of another? How could Ray Romano, Clint Eastwood or even Neil Young possibly hope to console anyone who lost a loved one? I can just see it now:
Conan O'Brien: Let's bring out our next guest, she lost her husband in the World Trade Center attack and is now trying to explain to her children that daddy is never coming home. Please welcome Jane Doe.
Jane Doe: Hi.
Kelsey Grammer: I thought it was a tragedy when NBC moved my show from Thursday night, but what you are going through now is a real tragedy.
Ray Romano: Everyone loves me, Raymond Romano, but I know who we should all hate - Osama bin Laden.
Jon Bon Jovi: That bin Laden is going down, and not in a blaze of glory!
Dennis Franz: I don't have anything to say to comfort you, but do you wanna see my ass? I'll show it to you right now, really I will.
Conan O'Brien: Well, that’s all the time we have with Jane, let’s go back to Julia Roberts at ground zero.
Oh, the spectacle of it all might be enough to just give up and turn himself over to the nearest American embassy. How long into the show do you think it’ll be before Calista Flockhart pledges to go on a hunger strike until whoever is responsible is brought to justice. I’ve heard Willie Nelson has already pledged to spend the entire time until justice is served high, and maybe even after then.
waiter, this food is terrible, and the portions are so small!
George Clooney, Paul Simon, and Robin Williams should be ashamed of themselves. And not just for Batman & Robin, Songs From The Capeman and Bicentennial Man (respectively). This may seem like a benevolent act, what with all these TV, Music and Hollywood types getting together working for free and raising money for a truly worthy cause. But it just seems so obvious that the entertainment community really doesn't think this disaster is really that big a deal. They certainly don't rank it up there with other causes, like Muscular Dystrophy or sending food to Ethiopia. Jerry Lewis, host of the annual MDA telethon, goes a whole 21 hours for his cause. The musicians who performed at Live Aid played for more than 16 hours for their cause.
The networks are giving up only two hours of their precious airtime to raise money for the relief efforts, yet have no problem broadcasting one hundred straight hours of "news" coverage. And all those stars are giving up just two hours of theirs lives (time that they'd probably have spent beating up paparazzi, falling off the wagon, or soaking in a champagne glass-shaped hot tub) to honor those rescuers who spend 16 hour shifts digging through rubble.
How very gracious of them!
land of the lazy, home of the couch potato
According to the joint press release announcing the event, the telethon "will seek to unite a shaken world with words and music while paying tribute to the indomitable spirit, unfaltering fortitude and courage that truly makes America 'the land of the free and the home of the brave.'"
Man oh man, nothing like a big Hollywood extravaganza to prove to the world that America isn't overindulgent and frivolous. Nothing like asking 300 million people to sit in front of a TV for two straight hours to prove Americans aren't slothful and superficial.
Sweet Jesus, maybe Falwell was right.
Not much to be happy about in New York at the moment. Things may be returning back to normal, but nearly 5,000 people are still missing. That and I’m still unemployed. People have been known to survive buried under rubble during earthquakes, for two weeks, but I’m not sure my checking account can survive two more weeks with out a deposit.
My bank account is as sick of “withdrawals” as some people are with the still constant media coverage. Sure, I still watch about thirty hours of news a day, but if I see one more graphic proclaiming “America: At War” or “Terror at the Towers” I’m going to call in an air strike on Dan Rather. But, lets get back to my problem. I’m still sans job. It is getting rather depressing.
I did this automated online interview at Best Buy yesterday. Yes, I’m so desperate that I’m even willing to return to retail. Well, I was taking the interview and there are, like, a million questions. Even though there were 50 questions there were really only 5 different ones, they were so repetitive. They’d ask things like “Do you prefer to work in a team or by yourself?” and then two questions later ask, “Would you say you’d rather work alone or as part of a team?”
I can only assume that the person writing the questions must have just gotten a new thesaurus and was all excited for the chance to use it. “Let’s see, ‘alone’ has seven synonyms, so I might as well come up with seven questions. Huzzah! God bless you, Roget!”
A couple of the questions were about stealing. Shit, I’ll admit it; I’ve stolen things before. But man, I felt terrible about it afterward. And I’ve certainly never stolen anything from work (besides office supplies, and who can really call that stealing?). However, when they asked whether an employee should be fired for stealing only $1 from the company I answered “no”. And when they asked whether an employee who gets caught stealing $5 from the company should get a second chance I answered “yes.”
Besides for those two questions, I answered everything exactly like I’m sure they would have wanted their employees to answer. I said I wouldn’t mind random drug screening, or working late, or performing oral on my manager in the stock room. Well, after I got through the all the questions the automated system told me I didn’t fit the profile of a Best Buy employee.
Shit. Rejected by Best Buy. I feel bad, but at the same time, I don’t feel so bad, because if I had fit their ideal employee profile, I’d probably end up working there. I wasn’t going to apply at all, but I don’t have a job and I need a job. It doesn’t look like that’ll happen any time soon so I’ve decided to apply for other types of jobs, even if I will end up hating them. So I applied at Best Buy and they rejected me. I may feel like a complete loser right now, but at least I don’t have to feel guilty for not trying. “Better to have applied and failed, than never to have applied to Best Buy at all,” my mom always said.
I need a job, and real bad, but damn, I think people deserve second chances, don’t you? Maybe that employee stole the money to buy his kids one of the new season three Digimon action figures. I’m not going take a toy out of a baby’s hand. Or maybe that employee stole the money to take his 15-year-old girlfriend out for a Big Mac and super-sized fries. I’m not going to C-Block a kid who is only trying to get his swerve on. If it was only $5 and only one time, I say, forgive and forget.
But, apparently Best Buy doesn’t feel the same way I do about the matter. I guess this is what I get for being honest. I was honest at my last job too. One day my boss asked me how I was doing and I said “I hate working here, I hate my job, I hate my desk, and most of all I hate you and your stupid, ass-face.” Which is pretty much why I’m unemployed now. Damn that honesty, you’d think I would have learned by now.
I cannot even begin to estimate the volume of words I've produced online over the past week. Some ridiculous sum, I'm sure. My weblog, my dreamlog, here, even a little Top Ten Blogging but not much. Oh - and Metafilter! I discovered that on, I think, Thursday night, and that got addictive quick.
I went on a couple of commenting binges that involved me going through my entire link list plus the link lists of a few people on my link list and commenting everywhere that was possible and sometimes even emailing if I couldn't comment. I argued, agreed, commiserated, condemned, repented, ranted, flamed, and raved. Sometimes I would go on these sprees, utterly sober mind you, and when I was done it was like I'd been in a blackout - couldn't really remember where I'd been or what I said there, so sometimes I had to go surf around and find out what this other aspect of myself was out there doing. I swear some of that wasn't me. Oh by the way if you're reading this and you were bothered or offended or just annoyed by me last week, chances are, it was an aberration. Or maybe it wasn't, I did mean some of the things I said, especially recently, now that I've calmed down some and found an opinion or two I feel comfortable with. Not that I'm going to tell you about that now - I've opined often, in many many places, I'm sure you'll see your share, so I won't add to that. Yet. The night is young.
I saw people taking breaks, rethinking/redesigning, and even quitting weblogging. Reflecting on what it means, spreading all these words out here, everywhere, and why? Those exact doubts assailed me just this afternoon, on the way back to my desk from the bathroom. I thought, why am I doing this? What does it matter? What difference does it make? Nothing! I thought about doing a little break-taking myself, then thought, naah. This entire thought process happened between the hallway by the printers and me walking in the door of my office - eight steps, and by the time I turned around to sit down in my chair, it was over. Nope, not shutting up yet. I'll have plenty of time to be quiet and inobtrusive after I'm dead. Writing is life? (Even just writing all this BS?) Hmmm... that would be awfully pretentious of me to say. Maybe I'll say it anyway.
On Thursday's 700 Club, Falwell placed responsibility for the attacks in the hands of pagans, abortionists, feminists, homosexuals, gay rights supporters, the American Civil Liberties Union, the People for the American Way, federal courts, and any African Americans who may have used the "whites only" drinking fountain.
"All of them who have tried to secularize America, I point the finger in their face and say, 'You helped this happen.'"
Falwell has since removed "the finger" from my face. He now believes it is impossible to tell which particular sin caused God to withdraw His protection from the United States, and admits it may have been his own 50 megabyte collection of fake Britney Spears pornography.
It should be noted that Falwell's colleague, Pat Robertson, who hosts the show, agreed vocally with Falwell during the program, but later decided the remarks were "frankly, not fully understood" which, if you've seen Mr. Robertson lately, is not at all hard to believe.
If Dr. Falwell would like to meet me after work, I'll give him reason to wonder why God has withdrawn His "curtain of protection" from various parts of Dr. Falwell's anatomy.
Checking my referrer logs I notice that just as many people have been coming to Bad Samaritan looking for naked pictures of Betty White and Sally Field as on any other week. Last week, just as many people wanted to learn how to get even with their ex-girlfriends. And just as many people (if not more) are looking for information about the world’s largest penis.
I guess I’ll take that as a sign to get back to normal around here, even if I feel anything but normal. Things where you are may have gone back to pretty much the way they were before, but here in New York, you can’t help but be constantly reminded of what has happened. Life has changed here.
I turned on the T.V. to catch the Simpsons last night, forgetting that Fox no longer has a broadcast tower. I then tried to call some friends, but was told by a computerized voice that, “all circuits were busy.” I’ve finally heard from some people who had been trying to reach me all week, and they said that every time they called another mechanical voice told them the area was “experiencing tornadoes.” Amanda and I decided we needed an escape, so we headed out to rent a movie. When we walked into the video store I noticed a sign saying that you couldn’t play lotto because the system was down as a result of last Tuesday.
These all may seem like little things and really, they are. Considering the stories I’ve been hearing from people who were in and around the World Trade Center Tuesday morning or who have been helping in the rescue efforts since then, I have nothing to complain about. Not being able to watch Malcolm in the Middle is of no comparison to having to perform last rights on a leg.
So, regardless of the way I feel, I declare that starting now, the Bad Samaritan will return to its old, irreverent self. And you’ll excuse me if I have to take a moment to rant every once in a while, wont you?
Over the past couple days I’ve been variously called everything from naïve to possessed of a “misguided patriotism.”
I may be a patriot, but I am not misguided. I am not confused about the true intentions of American foreign policy. I wont deny that our interests are not nearly as prurient as we’d like to claim they are.
Just look at Japan and Germany. In the first half of the last century Japan was in a constant state of war. Germany was the major catalyst in two world wars in the period of 30 years. After World War II ended the United States poured billions of dollars into countries we had just been at war against. Everyone is calling this attack the “Second Pearl Harbor.” Fifty years ago the United States helped the country that perpetrated the first.
Was our primary interest in helping Japan and Germany or in guaranteeing our interests overseas? It was in guaranteeing our interests, of course! We didn’t want to go to war again and there was only one way to ensure that. By installing more democratic forms of government, by spending billions of dollars to help build infrastructure, by guaranteeing education and by creating a new economy we ensured our interests were looked after.
Today, Germany and Japan are among the world’s super powers. They are among the most educated, wealthy, healthy and technologically advanced countries in the world. Is their current success a result of the United States having an interest in them being successful? Yes, of course. Are they, as nations, better off because of America’s interest? God, yes.
If a full-scale war does indeed break out as a result of the events of the past week, you better believe that, in the end, any country at war against us will end up in a better position than it is now. The type of country that could spawn, sponsor and conceal is most likely impoverished, uneducated and oppressed. It is not in America’s interest to simply destroy another country, because that’ll only make the people hate us more. Our interest is in helping countries like that, so such hatred won’t exist in the future.
The United States may have an empire around the world, but that empire is one of ideology: democracy, freedom, and equality. What is wrong with that kind of empire?
If we use our financial and political might to force our convictions on others, it isn’t exactly right, but it isn’t exactly wrong. Sometimes we use the threat of military force to twist a few arms, which, is morally dubious at best. But, in a time of peace, the United States would never knowingly and willingly kill innocent civilians in order to compel foreign governments to do anything.
Violence is never the appropriate response to a political, social or religious disagreement. It can’t be.
Gandhi had more success in ousting the British from India than any terrorist could have. Martin Luther King Jr. had more success in guaranteeing the equality of all Americans than the Black Panthers ever could have. Violence is not the right way to alter wrong thought.
But violence is certainly the answer to violence. Of that I am absolutely sure.
America, and, in fact, the entire world, cannot allow the attacks on the WTC and Pentagon to go unpunished. People argue against capitol punishment, saying that it is not a deterrent against future crime. Who cares? It may not deter other criminals, but it will certainly stop one person from committing any future crimes.
And, speaking of future crimes, people are arguing against U.S. retaliation, saying any attack will leave us all toothless and blind. These people say that any U.S. (or coalition) retaliation will only bring about more terrorist attacks. Those people are entirely naïve. The terrorist attacks will continue no matter what the United States does in response. These terrorists are at war with us whether we decide to be at war with them or not.
The United States could facilitate an agreement between Israel and the PLO to give Palestine it’s own homeland by tomorrow afternoon, but the Palestinians we saw dancing in the street Tuesday would still hate America. The nations of the world could drop the sanctions against Afghanistan and give them billions of dollars in strings-free aid, but the kind of person who could plan the attacks on New York and Washington would still be able to conceive and carry out those plans unflinchingly.
The events of September 11 were the actions of irrational men. And retaliation won’t turn an irrational person into a rational one. But here is an analogy: what if someone was to walk up to you and punch you in the face. Would you be able to turn the cheek? If this were an isolated incident, I know I probably would be able to turn the other cheek, forgive and move on with my life.
Now, lets say someone was to come up to you, punch you in the face, kick your wife in the stomach and hit your daughter in the knee with a baseball bat. Turning the other cheek becomes a little harder, doesn’t it?
Now say that person comes up to you, punches you in the face, kicks your wife in the stomach, hits your daughter in the knee with a baseball bat and tells you that he is making it his personal mission to destroy you and everything you hold dear and he has ten friends who will carry on that mission, even if you find some way to stop him. Do you turn your other cheek in that situation? How could you possibly? Your life, and the lives of your family and friends will be constantly at risk until that person and all his compatriots are stopped.
American retaliation will do nothing to stop that hate that could cause the events of September 11th, but it will surely remove the means of perpetrating further attacks. Give someone a tool, and they’ll find a way to use it as a weapon. When we discover who brought about these attacks, and who supports those groups, we should remove every potential weapon from their toolbox. Retaliation may not convince those who hate us of anything, but it will surely remove their capability to cause any further damage.
There is a heavy discourse revolving around a certain post of mine from earlier this week. There are 26 responses to that post here, and responses on at least a half a dozen other sites that I know about. The attention is nice, I never thought I’d be famous, but it is nice, for a while, to be infamous.
While I don’t think anything will be resolved (but I encourage people to keep talking), all you liberal types got me thinking. If you all don’t believe U.S. military action is the proper response to the bombings of September 11th, what is our proper reply? How do you suggest we get out of this without further bloodshed? And mind you, sticking daisies in rifle barrels has already been done.
My life may have changed Tuesday morning, but I am still unimaginably lucky; none of my close friends or family were killed or injured in the attack. I was home, safely locked in my apartment, more than 5 miles away when the planes hit. I may not have lost someone directly connected to me, but what happened has touched my life, and all our lives, in so many ways.
My mother is a New York City schoolteacher. When classes restarted on Thursday, the schools spent a great deal of time counseling and talking to the children. She told me about one student, normally the most energetic and happy child in the school. He came in that day changed. No longer smiling or talkative, he was silent.
She told me about a kindergarten class that was discussing the events of the last week. One of the children, a six year-old, Moslem child, said he wanted to get a gun of his own to fight the Americans. A six year-old child said he wanted to go out and kill the people of the country he lived in, his fellow classmates. I hope to God he didn’t even understand what he was saying, but even if that is the case, his parents most be indoctrinating him with hatred.
On the other side of that story, a colleague at my mother’s school is married to an Arab man. They were watching the news on Wednesday night and he turned to her and asked, “Do you hate me?” This was the man who loved her and whom she loved deeply, and he honestly didn’t know if she hated him for the acts a few crackpot members of his religion.
My grandmother has had both her knees replaced, so she has a home healthcare worked come by and help her around the house. Her nurse’s brother works in the World Trade Center. He got out alive and safe. But as he was running away from ground zero, he was hit by something falling from the building. You want to know what it was? An arm.
Over the summer, my cousin worked as an Intern at a company in the World Trade Center. I had forgotten that. Because he was working there, his name was on a list of employees. Until yesterday, he was on the list of the missing. And if this had happened a month earlier, he would have been there, at work, on Tuesday morning. Luckily, he wasn’t there, and is now back, safe and sound at school.
I may have gotten by physically unharmed, but these stories, and so many more, will affect me, and all of us, for the rest of our lives. The attack was not the beginning and not the end. This has touched everyone’s life, even in the most tangential of ways.
It is like a windowpane hit by a hammer, but not destroyed. The window (our lives) may be shattered, the glass broken and taking the appearance of a web made by a very confused spider. We may be unable to see through the window for all the shards of splintered glass. We don’t know what is on the other side of the window, but we do know one thing, that the glass is not broken. We may not be able to see the storm rising on the other side, but we are still protected from it. And that is what makes me feel better.
Just watched the National Day of Prayer and Remembrance service from the National Cathedral in Washington D.C.
I am not what anyone would call a religious person, but I’ll admit that I was deeply moved several times. They had representatives of various Christian, Jewish and Moslem churches speak, and they all had much to offer in the way of solace. Nothing, surely, can make America feel better at this point, but seeing the people of various religions, and political persuasions prey and sit together with a singular intention is certainly a step in the healing process.
As much as the service made me feel better (better isn’t the right word, because I don’t feel better, nor safer, nor less confused, but I will make do since I can’t find the right word to express exactly how I feel now), all I could think of was Bob Dylan. For some reason, Bob Dylan has seemed very appropriate the last couple days.
Watching Billy Graham and all those other holy men and women up there today made me think, more than anything, of one song in particular. Make your own minds up as to why, because I really can’t say why.
With God on our Side by Bob Dylan
(From The Times They Are A-Changin' (1964)
Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.
Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.
Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.
Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.
When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.
I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.
But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.
In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.
So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.
Ugh. I logged on this morning with something to say, but got too distracted after reading that article (below).
I woke up to the smell of something burning. I jumped out of bed and looked around, making a quick survey of my apartment. Nothing was on fire. And then it dawned on me that what I smelled wasn’t something burning, but something burnt.
I began to remember the news reports from last night. I remembered how worried rescuers were about a change in the winds. The wind was now blowing from the southwest and could cause more buildings to collapse during the day.
But for me, living to the north and east of the wreckage that is now lower Manhattan, it means that I now have tangible evidence of the carnage. The ash and soot from the wreckage blows through my open windows, filling my lungs with the proof.
This article from today’s Guardian is disgusting. Their argument is that it is American foreign policy that is at fault for the tragedy of the last week.
Here is a quote from the article (but I encourage you to read the whole thing and make your own decisions):
Any glimmer of recognition of why people might have been driven to carry out such atrocities, sacrificing their own lives in the process - or why the United States is hated with such bitterness, not only in Arab and Muslim countries, but across the developing world - seems almost entirely absent. Perhaps it is too much to hope that, as rescue workers struggle to pull firefighters from the rubble, any but a small minority might make the connection between what has been visited upon them and what their government has visited upon large parts of the world.
This is absolutely ridiculous. To make such an argument is like blaming someone for the acts of Jeffery Dahmer, Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy. Those men were disturbed, sick individuals, whose acts cannot possibly be explained or understood by anyone with the capability for rational thought. Likewise, those who planned and carried out the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. Anyone who could do something like this is sick, twisted and evil.
Anyone who can decry those people as heroes, or in any way justify what they did is just as sick and wrong. President Bush, along with the U.N. and leaders from around world have stated that this attack isn’t just a declaration of war against American, but a war against the entire world. But, as this is a very different kind of war, where the enemy has no home, no flag to wave, any retaliation would be taken against those countries found harboring or in any way supporting the terrorists who brought this violence.
We may not know who, precisely, is responsible for this atrocity, but irresponsible rhetoric, like that found in the Guardian, cannot be allowed to dismiss the end of all those innocent lives and it is clear from the words and tone of this article, that the The Guardian supports those terrorists.
I’ve previously used The Guardian as a source for news, but I never will again. This is the last time I will ever visit that site. I urge everyone who is as angered as I am to boycott The Guardian, send them emails with your opinions of their defense of these terrorists, and to alert others about The Guardian’s America bashing, which has, in whatever small way, “justified” the killing of thousands of people.
The whole point of this site is to allow me the chance to speak my mind. But really, what is there to say?
I could offer prayers and memories to the families of those hurt and injured. I could reveal the utter sadness I feel when imagining how any person could inflict this kind of pain on another human being. I could go into a tirade about terrorism, and how those responsible for this need to be punished. I could talk about the threat to democracy, and how to ensure American’s freedom, we will lose freedoms. I could talk about the intense patriotism that I’m feeling; how I’m proud to be an American and that for the first time in my life I’ve seriously considered enlisting in the army. I could express the emptiness I feel every time I look at the New York skyline and realise those beautiful towers are gone forever.
I could probably sit here for another week and doing nothing but list all the emotions I’m feeling right now. But in the end, it doesn’t make one difference what I’m feeling.
The World Trade Center is gone. Thousands of people are dead. Thousands more are injured and families across the country are mourning those losses. New York City, the United States, and the whole world will never be the same, and nothing anyone can do or say to change that.
Amanda just yelled at me from the other room, I was worried. With the events of the day, my immediate reaction was something awful just happened.
I yelled back: What?
She came running into the room: The subway!
Perplexed, I asked: The subway?
As ernestly as could be imagined, she replied: The subway. World Trade Center. They'll have to change the signs.
I immediately knew what she meant.
The signs for that stop on the E line say "World Trade Center." But the World Trade Center is no more.
The two most evident examples, the Twin Towers, are destroyed. Building 7 collapsed around 5:30. The rest of the buildings in the complex are most likely damaged beyond repair, and it will be a long while before we know the true extent of the damage. But one thing is for sure, New York's World Trade Center is no more.
And with all the times we've seen the video today and all the commentary we've heard, things slowly begin to seem unreal. As I've read, heard and felt a thousand times, this all seems so much more like a movie than reality. And then, something simple like the name of a subway station brings you back to truth of what has happened.
I can remember, back when I was still in college, all the times I made the trip from Ames, Iowa back home to New York City. When I was in my freshman and sophomore years I didn’t have the money to fly home, much less the cash to take a train. So, I took Greyhound.
The bus trip took 30 hours, shoulder to shoulder with my fellow bus riders, whom I like to call, the dregs of the dregs of society. There would always be a couple hour lay-over in either the Cleveland or Chicago Greyhound terminal, two places you don’t want to be at 4 am, especially after spending 10 hours on a bus, and especially considering the terminals were packed with tons of people so bad off they either couldn’t afford bus tickets themselves, or thought they’d be able to make their fortunes preying upon those who could.
Those trips, no matter how awful they ended up being, were worth the trouble. I was just a poor college student. I couldn’t really afford to go home very often, even with the cheap Greyhound fares, and only made the trip once or twice a year. That 30 hours, a time spent amongst the smelly, crazy masses letting Greyhound do the driving for them, was absolutely worth it, if only for the chance to go home and spend some time in the bosom of my friends and family before I’d have to take another 30 hour ride and head back to classes/work.
These trips usually followed a hard fought battle with exams and finals and, invariably, I’d have the beginnings of a cold. After about 29 hours on the bus, in a state of zombiehood brought about by cold medicine, and lack of sleep, good food, or bathing, I’d begin to think I’d never make it home.
Then the Greyhound bus would leave the Newark station and jump on the New Jersey Turnpike for our final leg home. Soon enough, we’d crest a hill and get the first glimpses of the New York skyline. This would usually be pretty early in the morning; the sun would be just rising over the city. As we’d be coming from southern New Jersey, heading toward the Lincoln tunnel, the buildings closest to us would be the World Trade Center. I can’t tell you how beautiful it was to see the sun glistening off the steel and glass cathedrals of our modern society known as the Twin Towers.
That first view of New York City, those towers in particular, would be enough to lift my spirits after a long semester and what seemed like an even longer bus ride. When I first glimpsed those buildings, I always knew I was home. Now, that's a feeling I will never have again.
The towers burning. Now, neither of them stands.
The cloud of smoke covering lower Manhattan, just following the collapse of both towers of the World Trade Center in New York.
In this pic, you can see the second plane heading toward the World Trade Center. Amazing. Scary.
At approximately 8:30 this morning, a plane crashed into the side of one of the two towers of the World Trade Center in New York. A half hour later, another plane crashed into the other tower.
This picture follows shortly after that second plane crashed. At this moment, there is NO explanation for either crash. Additionally, every broadcast television station in New York is currently down. Add to the list the fact that I am unable to access the CNN, NY1, Fox News, or BBC websites (MSNBC went dead shortly after I grabbed the picture).
At 9:30 am, all bridges and tunnels into and out of New York City have been closed. All area airports have been closed.
All of these things separately, and it doesn’t seem like that big a deal, but all together, not to mention the constant sirens outside my apartment (which is a good ten miles from the WTC), this is awfully scary.
I was in high school when the WTC was bombed in 1993. My school was only about a five minute walk away from the WTC, and when the explosion occurred, you could feel it. At the time, my uncle worked for a company headquartered in one of the towers. He had to walk down 83 flights of stairs, as the building was evacuated, and the family wasn’t able to hear from him for hours after the explosion.
With all those personal connection to that bombing, seeing the smoking embers of both towers is so much more scary today.
Maybe it’s because I’m older, and so much more invested into the working of modern society. I’ve got so much more to lose today than I did seven years ago.
Maybe it’s because the state of the world is so much more tenuous today than it was then. The 1993 WTC bombing was a shock. But that shock wore off. Then Oklahoma City happened. After years of isolation, it was proven that Americans were not safe, even on our own soil.
No one knows what really caused these two planes to crash. Though, nothing is certain yet, reports are trickling in about a hijacked plane out of Boston. Without any further news, I’d say this has to be another terrorist attack, and one more serious and organized than anything this country has seen before. I hate to be an alarmist, but this seems like the beginning of a war. Is America ready?
And if you happen to be a weblogger (or e/n or a/c person), and you reside within the United States, you should join the ring.
Why a ring for American webloggers you might ask? Well, Australians webloggers have their own ring. So do Great Britain, Canada, and I’m sure a whole slew of other countries that don't even speak English. So, to the world the United States is like some sort of hidden gem amongst all those other countries. In my opinion, there are not enough people who know about us in the U.S., but they should. It is kind like that beach in the movie The Beach, only, America would be a much better place if more people knew about us, came here, hunted sharks and smoked pot. Don’t you think so too?
So, do your part by joining the ring and sharing with the world the little known features of American society, like our food (hmm, McDonalds french fries), entertainment (the world deserves to know about Rat Race), fashion (blue jeans and t-shirts are just too comfortable to keep to ourselvesguns don't kill people, people kill people).
In other news, I’ve added a couple new sites to the “friends” list. Visiting Project Monkey will probably save you hours a day by saving you the hard work of surfing the net; I’m saying they got links. I really like the typography at Chunshek. And Fredo Today is just Fredolicious.
I’ve gotten rather lazy, I don’t check my refers as often as I used to, and I don’t really “surf” the net anymore so much as let the net come to me. So, if you would like to be added to the friends list, the easiest way would be to link me up, and then let me know you linked me up. I’ll take a look, and if I like what I see, we become all friendly and junk. If I don’t, I hunt you down and eat your gall bladder.
I’ve also updated the authors page. Actually, I created one from scratch. You can go there to learn all about your favorite Samaritans and find out the best ways to stalk them.
Speaking of authors; while I am not currently in the midst of a full out open casting call, if you are interested in joining the Bad Samaritan team, you should let me know, because I’m always interested in trying someone out, especially if they want to buy me something.
And, just to make this the single most link filled post I’ve written in months, I’d just like to mention that I just played the Weblogger Twin game. I think I must have won because my twin is Meg and I’ve always liked the name Meg.
Unlike the book by the same title, this is not about how to outdo anyone in the business world. Quite the contrary, it's the sort of activity you might be drawn to if you're more of a loser than a winner, if you've had enough of this tired old world, your daytrading portfolio of hot dot-coms is no more than a fabulous delusion in your memory, and you're looking for a new thrill to enliven your boring existence. Have I got a hobby for you!
You might have heard some tragic stories about shark attacks off the East Coast of the US, but what you probably don't realize is that only the first few were truly tragic; after all the intense publicity, the rest have been pure, Darwin Award-class stupidity. If you are hungering after your own moment in the spotlight of this media circus, and want the excitement of a truly extreme sport, just follow these simple steps:
First, get yourself to one of our fine Atlantic beaches. If you can find a deserted beach, plastered with ‘Danger! Beach Closed! Stay The Hell Away From The Water You Idiot!’ signs, that's a good place to start. If the beach is truly deserted, you're going to have to put some extra effort into it, because sharks are attracted to creatures moving about on the water's surface. Get out there in the waves, splash around, make some noise, work hard!
If this doesn't pan out for you, it's time to work smarter, not harder. Sharks don't necessarily prefer people food, so you might want to disguise yourself as one of the shark's favorite snacks, the sea lion. Squeeze your behind into a shiny black wetsuit (might want to fatten yourself up first), strap on some flippers, and swim around madly while making barking noises.
So, you say you've been doing wild animal impersonations to the best of your ability, yet you've still failed to attract even a nibble? Well, sharks have a keen sense of smell, and are attracted by something called ‘chum’, which is essentially bloody, puréed fish. If you don't have a readily available chum source, try sleeping in your wetsuit until you develop a pungent, fishy B.O., and then right before you go in the water, cut your foot on a seashell or other sharp object.
If you're still alive and in possession of all of your limbs after all this, then I can't help you. You will have to find some other way to fulfill your death wish. How about cordless bungee-jumping?
Perhaps we should call this feature "Stud de la Mes", since it's been that long since we've honored a stud. That name would be an appropriate play on words for this
week month's stud, Andy Pressman of ohmessylife.com. Get it? Mes - messy? Ok, not funny. In any case, Andy is a hottie even on a bad hair day. He also has the ability to inspire his readers to write reams of comments with only a nine word post. He also has an army of robot minions, so obviously this is a stud that should not be trifled with.
Yet another reason why Andy is not a stud to be trifled with. He'll draw yo' ass into a sling.
Oh Messy life was one of the first blogs I ever read. At the time, I was a little hazy on the concept, and I even felt a little dirty. Should I be reading this? What happens if I ever actually meet this guy? However, now that the whole blog thing is petasus tritus, it makes a bit more sense.
Now that I'm a real design student, too, I can empathize a bit more with some of Andy's words and troubles. "Oh Messy Life" could very well describe my life, as well. Plus I have a thing for websites that use a person's handwriting. I had a cute site once with handwritten titles and stick figures, but I took it down for some reason.
And now, loyal readers, it is time for Bad Samaritan Snaggle to return to the graphic design work he should have been doing all this time. Wish me luck.
It is all of the above and more! "More!?!" you say. "Shar, you so crazy!"
Indeed I am. Still, crazy or not, Andy Pressman and I are destined to be together. Consider the following items:
He likes comics. I like comics.
He likes good music. I like good music.
He started journaling in 1998. I started journaling in 1998.
He's 22. I'm 22.
He likes bellies. I have a belly.
He has sideburns. I have sideburns. (oh wait...)
See? We're meant to be! Now if he'd only get rid of that restraining order...
Why menstruating is as enjoyable as anything else that are not:
- You get to tumble out of the car instead of using the more conventional way. Thanks to the cramps.
- You get to change pads more often than you change your knickers. Which is good since you can't afford enough knickers to keep up with the 2 per hour limit.
- Nude girls on TV doesn't seem appeal anymore. Impaired desire, horniness goes south when cramps beat up all your horny hormones. You rather spend time reading your textbooks instead. Too bad its just only once a / two month thing. Otherwise, I could been brainier than I am right now.
- You get to pee Ribena. Eye freshener in the bowl...
I gained some weight this year. For quite a chunk of time, ending in early March, I was living apart from Chris, and somehow feeling any sort of singleness in my life will give me an edge, an edge which keeps me thinner than usual. My guess is, it's possibilities. In order to remain open to the possibilities life offers, it's necessary, at least in my mind, to avoid being a special interest case (and attracting chubby-chasers). So, I was keeping myself in single-digit size clothes, remaining fairly active (if you call having a crappy car you have to push-start ‘active’), putting effort into the whole hair/makeup thing, and generally trying to look and feel available.
That all ended when I finally moved back in with Chris, and after a month or so of on-and-off expressions of animosity and discomfort, settled into a fairly calm and pleasant existence. Put away the single-digit clothes and settled into my fat pants. Bought a much nicer car, which I've only had to push once. The Buick has nice, wide seats that fit my butt just right. Chubby, but comfy, and fairly happy. All was well.
However my relationship with food is always fraught with peril. I always wanted one of those neat eating disorders like the cool kids get, where they eschew food entirely or just somehow manage to get themselves to puke it up, leaving them fashionably waiflike and appealing. However, I am always on the verge of a big pig-out. I like to call it Alzheimer's Bulimia - I eat and eat and forget to throw up. I know, it's the lamest joke ever. I apologize.
In times of relationship stress, I lose weight. Once, Chris broke up with me, and I lost twenty pounds I didn't necessarily need to lose within two weeks, because I couldn't swallow food, couldn't sleep, and shook all the time. You burn a lot of calories if you spend two weeks trembling with heartbroken angst. Ahh, the good old days.
In times of other stress, I eat until I hurt. The past two days have brought some fairly severe and lifestyle-threatening financial setbacks, which caused me to consume, conservatively, at least ten thousand calories. Yesterday I ate a huge bag of cashews in the morning, had a chicken pot pie and a half a tub of frosting in the afternoon, wolfed down a large helping of orange chicken and rice, then ate dinner, and then drank some beers. Today I finished the frosting, ate most of the ketchup flavored potato chips someone put on the filing cabinets to share, and handful after handful of the candy from the receptionist's basket. I then had two monster tacos for lunch and so far for dinner, a huge plate of spaghetti and then the spaghetti my son didn't eat. I know there was more than that, but I've blocked it. It's blocked me, too, but we won't go into that.
At this point, I'm bloated, puffy, fussy, and miserable. Chris broke out the cookies and chips and I ran in here to write this. Now, I have to do some basic maintenance on one of the floaty hippie dresses I haven't worn yet this week, because at this point, my fat pants are a mere memory, and even if I could buy bigger pants, I woudn't, because I am philosophically opposed to pants that size. I worry I'm making myself sound huge here; what I am, I believe, is approximately the national average size, however I stand firm in my belief that people who are that size should wear long, flowing, unrestrictive dresses if at all possible.
I have to go sew now, thanks for listening to me whine.
What's this I'm feeling?
Ah yes, the cheap beer hangover. I remember this, though it's been a while. Those of you who don't drink much might not realize that not all hangovers are created equal. You get different effects from what you drink. In fact, when I can't remember what I've had to drink, sometimes I can figure it out by the way I feel the next day.
"Ah, sun. Painful. Let's see. My stomach's swimming, but doesn't hurt. That's probably whiskey. I'm going to have to pee for a year, so I probably drank a lot of beer. My brain feels like it's rattling around in my head. That must be some combination of clear liquors, one of which was probably tequila. I probably did that after the beer, judging by the exceptionally hollow quality of the rattle." These are the morning thoughts of an experienced hangover connoisseur.
I've been pretty good about sticking to quality liquors, especially Jack Daniels, and moderately decent beer. Those hangovers are mostly bearable. The beer gives just my head a sort of throbbing sickness. The Jack turns my stomach a bit, and the world kind of seems breakable. Gin twists all my insides up like licorice. Cheap gin has given me some lovely all night vomit sessions. I'm told the champagne hangover is the worst of all, with the possible exception of aftershave, for you diehards out there, but so far I've avoided that.
Cheap beer hangovers make my limbs feel heavy. I'm clumsy, and my head pounds murkily, like engines underwater. My skin feels peelable. I'm usually hungry for bacon, until I eat said bacon. After, I have to go sit somewhere quiet, with my eyes closed. Cheap beer hangovers are visible on my gut the next day. I'm not a thick guy, so an extra quarter inch of beer fat around the middle shows. Cheap beer sleep causes cheap beer nightmares. Probably the worst symptom of a cheap beer hangover is having Lynyrd Skynyrd songs stuck in my head and the sudden strange desire to work on car engines.
Though I really never want to stand around in a yard and drink from a red plastic cup again, cheap beer does hold some fond memories. Fond memories of, um, standing around in a yard, drinking from red plastic cups. But it's all about the company right? It's who you're with that counts. I miss some of those people. Like the guy with the hat and glasses. And the guy who always wore shorts. And that one girl, the hot one, the one always holding a red plastic cup.
You know those flyers they hand out to college freshmen, the ones that ask, "When you graduate, will you have friends or just drinking buddies?" They don't tell you that those are not exclusive concepts. Me and that guy with the hat were this close, man.
I'll say this for standing around in a yard, though: fresh air. Mornings like this one, you think you're stepping into the shower stall alone, but when you close the door you discover that the B.O. of everybody in that dive has followed you home and has been waiting for you to get naked to say "hi!"
So why the cheap beer hangover, you ask? Everybody's broke and we wanted to show a friend of ours a good time. He's leaving the country, and nothing says "Have a good time in Turkmenistan!" like pitcher after pitcher of cheap beer, right?
Well, maybe this way he won't come back, and we can avoid any such future nonsense.
I’m only going to give myself three minutes for this because I dont want to think about it or write about it any longer than I have to.
I was lying in bed at 4:30 this afternoon, which is not that weird because what else is an unemployed bloke supposed to do at 4:30 on a Thursday afternoon? The weird part was that I had the covers pulled way up. Amanda came into the room and said I look like that kid from the Sixth sense.
The first thing that popped into my mind was “I see dead relationships.”
Well, we got to talking, kind of a state of the union type deal, and we both agreed things weren’t working out as well as they could be. Unfortunately, she had to leave for work before we were able to really get into things, but we will be continuing the talk when she gets home.
(Wow, done with time to spare.)
I’ve always found Anne Heche to be a major league hottie. I’ve also always thought of her as a major league loon, even before last years Ellen-break up induced break down. Last night’s interview on 20/20 with Barbara Walters didn’t do a whole lot to dispel either notion.
She looks just as cute with longer hair as she does with short cropped hair, and, even though she declared to Barbara Walters that she wasn’t crazy anymore, she still sounded a little off the nut as she described being abused by her dad, her past romantic relationships, her career, and the voices she was hearing in her head for 31 years. I think it was kd who once said, “crazy girls are hot.”
I learned something about Anne Heche that I never would have suspected; she dated Steve Martin for two years. I used to like Martin, but now that I know he had my future wife, I hate him. Heche’s relationship with Martin, who is 24 years her elder, ended badly. She then hooked up with Ellen Degeneres, who is a woman, and that ended badly. That Anne; isn’t she such a wild and crazy gal? She just got married a couple days ago to a guy that isn’t even famous (!) and is already pregnant. (Err, I suppose I could correct the previous sentence, but it is easier to just clarify that Heche is pregnant, not the guy she married, because that would just be crazy.)
Last year, at about this time, Heche was discovered by a Fresno, California family, speaking in strange languages, and asking whether they’d like to join her when she returned to the mother planet. Seems she has had a split personality since being sexually molested by her homosexual, Baptist choir director dad. This alternate personality, dubbed “Celestia,” was both a reincarnation of god, and an alien from outer space.
When Heche was possessed by this alternate personality she spoke a different language and was in direct conversation with god himself, receiving messages from the big man himself even while on the set of Wag the Dog. She also described Ellen as the “most ravishing woman I had ever seen in my life.” If that isn’t a clear sign of insanity, I don’t know what is.
I’ve had a thing for Heche ever since she played twins (Vicky/Marley) on the soap opera, Another World. I must have been about 9 or 10 when she was on that show, and it is fairly conceivable I shot my first load while watching her. (To tell the truth, that honor probably goes to the Baroness, from G.I.Joe (actually, Cobra). I never understood what she saw in Major Blood. It must have been that phallic helmet thing he always wore. Anyway.)
When Heche hooked up with Ellen, I was upset because if Heche was a lesbian, it meant I’d never have a shot with her. But, last night, learning that she is crazy gave me hope. I mean, if she believes she is from outer space, surely I could convince her to give me a shot. Woo hoo!
I saw you on the street the other day. But it wasn't the you of today. It was you of ten years ago.
You thought you were a punk rocker, a skater chick, a riot grrl. You had green hair. You wore baggy jeans and an attitude that would take the sneer off even Johnny Lydon's face.
Now, you are 30 pounds heavier, think Sting's new album isn't half bad, have a subscription to Martha Stewart's Living and drive an SUV.
This girl, both you and not you, had green hair, baggy jeans and is what I think they call a raver.
She didn't have an attitude at all - probably because of all the Ecstasy.
I knew she wasn't you - I haven't lost it that much.
But the same lines worked on her that worked on you ten years ago.
And her hair smelled the same – a mix of Manic Panic and sweat.
And her lips tasted the same – a mix of Camel Lights and Big Red.
And when she screamed out that night, it was my name her neighbors heard.
So, here's hoping you're all drunk.
Any Ogden Nash fans out there?
Erm. Hi. I'm Space. I'll be writing here.
mg told me to introduce myself. I do feel a little like I've been left alone at a party where I don't know anyone, but I'm rather good at those. I find that a good start is to make an ass of myself.
Maybe not this time.
I've been writing at a site called SpaceCheese. There's a link to it over there on the right. Never noticed that before, have you? No, no, you can't fool me, statistics don't lie. My posts here will probably be different in that they'll be less personal and less linky. Why do the same thing at both sites, right? I mean, if you liked that sort of thing, you would already be a SpaceCheese reader.
Yeah, I'm a little nervous. Don't worry, I'm sure we'll get to be great friends. It's not like I have no idea at all what to do. I've been reading this site since, oh, before you were born.
You're all four or five months old, right?
This'll be just like a new relationship: I figure I'll probably try too hard for a while: you'll get posts with lots of complicated humor and teetering sentence structure. Dates in expensive restaurants and lots of oral sex. Stuff designed to impress you with my better qualities. Then we'll get used to each other a bit and I probably won't try hard enough. You'll get a lot of posts about mundane things like how drunk I got last weekend. I'll start hanging out with my poker buddies and fall asleep right after I come. Then you'll yell at me about the magic being gone, and I'll look startled. Hopefully, things will then settle down and I start to write about how drunk I got last weekend in perilously overwrought prose and start falling asleep as I'm performing oral sex.
So, things to know about me:
Tall, skinny, hetero male. 23 damn years old. Narcissistic, smart, but not as smart as I pretend to be. Considerably lazier than I pretend to be. Occupationally slumming and sexually frustrated, which seems to be a bit of a theme around here.
Went to the same university as snaggle, shar, and mg, though I only met that last guy after we'd both graduated. Seems a nice enough sort, I suppose.
pet peeves: People who drive slowly to be on the safe side, yet don't use their turn signals; the sound of someone chewing if I can't see them; people in grocery stores carefully selecting a brand of white zinfandel; midget jokes.
That should give us a nice, sturdy foundation. I'll have more "about me" stuff later this week. You may have had enough, but I haven't. I'll be honest with you here: I'm my own favorite subject. Don't believe me? Look at this way, what kind of person has an ego so large it needs two websites to contain it?
Well, you're about to find out.
I was making myself a three-minute egg for breakfast this morning and I came to a startling revelation; the word “egg” sounds very similar to word “blog.” And, considering how tasty three-minute eggs are, I decided I’d try my hand at writing a Three-Minute Blog. Surely a Three-Minute Blog entry would be equally as tasty and nutritious!
What is a Three-Minute Blog? Well, it is a post that takes exactly three minutes to write. No more. No less.
You start writing about anything that might pop into your head, and when the three-minute time limit is up you have to stop. Even if you haven’t finished your sentence, or if you get caught in the middle of a really funny joke without a punch line, you are done. Then you post it up, warts (spelling, grammatical, and factual errors) and all, for the world to see.
(To tell the truth, this is just a very narcissistic way to get hits to my site. In my ever-growing quest for fame, glory and Internet Rockstardom, I’ve decided to try my hand and meme creation. And even though certain people find them offense, they’ve got their purpose, which is to bring the weblogging community closer. It is also to generate hits for the creator of the meme, me. And like Jennifer Lopez’ ass, those are two purposes I can get behind.)
So, here it is, the first ever three-minute blog:
Last night I rented The talented Mr. Ripley. I it to is the most annoying movie I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty of annoying movies, and that is just in the past couple months.
Take A.I. for example; I kept thinking through the first 3 hours that it was one of the best movies I have ever seen. Then the last twenty minutes came along, with the aliens, ice and DNA and I felt liking wlaking out. I’ve never walked out of a movie, not even Three Ninjas.
Then there was Final Fantasy. The computer animation was phantastic. The plot was less so (and it would take far more than three minutes to get into that). But, can I tell you how annoying, not to mention distracting, it was to hear Alec Baldwin, Donald Sutherland and that one chick from Frasier’s voice coming out of bodies that didn’t belong to them?
But The Talented Mr. Ripley took the cake. Normally, I have no problem getting into a stories that has an unlikable central character. I actually…
I don’t know about the rest of you, but reading back over my first attempt at a Three-Minute Blog, I can’t help but think this post is pure gold. Seriously though, these will hopefully get better as I get used to doing them, and as other people catch on and start writing there own Three-Minute Blogs. And, if you do decide to try your hand at a Three-Minute Blogs, you should send me a note and I’ll link you up; which should be reason enough for you to want to try out this creative new art form.
Snaggle life update : School has begun and you know when you’re up late on Tuesday, the second day of school, that it’s going to be a rough semester.
Graphic Design has already started kicking my ass. I suppose I knew exactly what to expect, but still... it’s different when you’re actually doing it. My archnemesis, Sleepiness, is once again rearing his ugly head and preventing me from being the stellar student I know I am deep down. It’s odd starting a program when you’re a senior and everyone else around you are sophomores. It’s not quite as bad as being in freshmen-level classes, but there’s still a good amount of naïvité that can be annoying and at the same time, it can be sweet. It’s refreshing to see youthful dreams and aspirations. It’s scary when you’re already seeing those around you and those you knew begin to put their dreams on a shelf along with their photo albums and memories. I’d like to think that everyone ends up where they’re supposed to... yet it keeps me up at night. What happens to those like me who, instead of having one driving dream keeping you pushing towards one goal, you have multiple little goals and more a sense of where you want to be than any real idea of what you want to do with your life. By now, most people my age around me have decided on their life plans, have been pursuing a degree towards it, and are 9 months away from entering the real world. And here I sit, starting over. My dreams have always been vaguer than most.
The fact that I’m steeped in a university atmosphere most definitely comes out right now. I have very little exposure to people my age who aren’t in school and I can’t fathom not being in class right now. Though school is bent on kicking my ass every five minutes, I can’t imagine September coming around without grumbling about classes and classwork. There’s something comforting about the rigidity of a university schedule that keeps me going.
Sorry I haven’t been posting much. I know I owe you a few. I promise... sometime soon I’ll post regularly.
If mg reckons his dreams lackluster, I think mine's too garish. If only we could stick our foreheads together and transfer some of my overabundance armamentarium into his nocturnal reverie.......
I woke up this morning feeling awfully sad because:
Last night's dream was kinda heavy on the heart.
A gentle giant was in love with me but I wasn't confident enough to requite his devotion.
- He was so tall. I was only up to his nipples. We wanted to take a quiet walk down the beach. We tried but somehow ended up in somebody's backyard.
My 'mother-in-law' kept haunting me. I don't know how on earth I know and why the lady was my 'mother-in-law'. In my dreams, I just know and she just was.
- Every night after I spotted her floating aimlessly around the house, I would wake up the next morning to find my sleeping sister sucking my tits. Every morning! Fak!
I was 'driving'...until I 'cycled'.
- First it was a Toyota Ceres. The traffic lights took on the green hue and I was just going to push the pedal when my car suddenly transform into a kiddy tricycle and every one was honking madly behind me urging me to speed up!
Why can't I have more common themes that are more forgiving on the mind rather than wacky ones that brought me nothing but a profound sense of foolishness. Come to think of it, I strongly suspect my dream engineers are made up of nipple sucking toddlers. That would explain my horny sister and of course, the tricycle. Yes! Eureka!
Great, now I'll have to wait for another decade or so to enjoy 'adult material' in my dreams...