Thursday, December 08, 2005


I was (only partially) wrong.

Luckily, no one fully cares.
However, I said that Patton Oswalt
was the funniest person in the world.
That is still true, mainly because
existing in his own zachosphere,
there is Zach Galifianakis.
So he is the funniest person closest to the world.
So I'm wrong.
I was right after all.

http://www.zachgalifianakis.com/

That doesn't mean that my love and respect
for Patton as the saner one is a bad thing.
It just means if one of them had to do something normal
like make a turkey sandwich with cheese,
I'd let Patton do it before I'd let Zach supervise.
And I'd know exactly which one
might accidentally put my eye out with a fork.

See the documentary
responsible for the series now on Comedy Central
as soon as you can.

"The Comedians of Comedy"




Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Oh yes, that's right.

Don't tell your kid "no." Just blame it on the sponge.


Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Cheers!

Somewhere, my sister is going overboard with the good news.

Speaking of:

Call of nature saves man from garbage crusher.

The man "suffered only a minor head injury and mild shock."

Oh and alcoholism. He suffered that, too.
And mental issues, yes probably.
But otherwise, he was as right as acid rain.

Monday, December 05, 2005




Ah well, so much for my soul.
Maybe next lifetime around, I'll do better.
I seriously doubt it though.

But for now, make your own church sign like I just did,
and I'll save you a seat by me and all my friends
at Hitler's Tea Party in hell.

Thanks for the link, Jacquie!

Saturday, December 03, 2005

The XBox 360 sells out within hours.

What this means exactly:
Ah yes, the unfortunate, veal-like herd of cornfed consumers
have been trained to gorge themselves most efficiently. Huzzaaah.

I can't say a damn thing. I bought the mister an iPod Nano* for xmas.

iMoo.



*Shh. Don't tell him.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

It's not easy, and it's simple at the same time.

Somebody just asked what it was like to be me. Although I personally don't condone or recommend it at all, I suspect not many people really want to try it anyway. But here are the highlights for today, as some of these could change tomorrow:

You're addicted to lipgloss (especially if it has vitamins in it) and toothpaste (especially if it promises you things).

How you did it, you don't know, but you left your purse at home this morning.

You're sorry, you really are, but you have to be true to yourself. Although you don't admit it freely, you feel that Bob Dylan is overrated. There, you said it. Because people who really like Bob Dylan take that comment as a personal attack, and you don't get that. At all. You don't get the Grateful Dead either. But you love The Beatles, and if anyone said they were overrated, you'd get so incredibly pissed off. But you would get over it and probably forget that they said it at all.

Some people call it a buzz. You call it contentment with newfound energy and inspiration.

It's not your fault. You never claimed to be smart.

Remember when you thought "Surely in the 21st century, I'll just get an eardrum transplant or something, whatever" when you listened to alllllllll that music too loud? Oops, too bad: That's why you're staring at lips all the time.

Another thing, you think direct eye contact with someone you don't know very well is piercing and borderline maniacal anyway.

Tunnel-vision just might get you killed one day.

Discussing your feelings about the people who are closest to you: No. That's like breathing. You take it for granted, but it keeps you alive.

Sometimes you hate your hair. Sometimes you like it fine. You really should probably cut it though. All you ever do is wear it up in 3 different ponytails. What is up with you anyway...

Screw it, you like your damn ponytail, and you're growing out your hair long, again, for the apocolypse.

Reading a book is impossible unless you read it in the bathtub. That way, the fear of falling asleep and drowning keeps you awake and focused.

Most of the stuff you read in the bathtub is a bunch of magazines like "Star", "Self", "Real Simple", "New Yorker", and "OK!" and two more that you secretly won't admit: "Cottage Living", and "Countryside" so one day, you can live off-the-grid in a yurt with a cable modem connection and some blueberry eating goats.

You have a good plan, but it isn't completely thought out yet.

Whatever. You just love your damn magazines.

Like you said, there are a lot of things you take for granted. But one thing you know is that all of the friends you have are seriously genuine and talented people, and if they'd never spoken to you first, you would never have known them at all.

Rarely if ever do you talk on the phone.

The cat only tears up the things you like, so you can't ever have anything nice. So just forget about it for a few years, okay?

You like roses and sparkly things, and you admit that freely, too, although no one really cares one way or the other by the way.

Narrowing it down is something you can only do when someone asks you what you don't like.

That garden gnome you laughed at? You have one now. Ha ha.

You get bored/distracted/whatever very easily. That's not exactly your fault either.

Somebody turned the heat up, and you feel dried out and dusty. You can't get up. Man, this is serious -- you are too burned out to get up anyway. Maybe tomorrow. Oh man, yeah, tomorrow is Friday, thank you, God.

Vitamins and supplements: You get 200% RDA and could use more, Dorian Gray.

You think it's only a matter of time before they find the cancer somewhere in your body.

Cooking is fun to you. But you end up cooking mostly pasta, mainly whole grain, with different types of sauces. Quinoa makes you happy, too, in that sad kinda stupid way...

Whoops, you've bored yourself again. Man. Oh well, at least you're consistent.

Weeding is relaxing to you. Oh now that's it -- what a nerd. That makes you feel old, doesn't it? But eh, like you'll ever believe that. Besides, what else are you up to on a Saturday? It's not like you're out running a marathon with that back, granny. You freak you out. Stop it!

Did you really wear black socks with your Nikes today? YOU DID! ... What is WRONG with you?!

Not many people around you understand a damn thing you are talking about ever. For some reason, that never stops you. But the ones that do understand just know everything you are thinking unspoken, and you want to know more about what they think. But you usually don't offer up any information unless someone asks you to because you're either listening or not listening, it's hard to tell.

You forgot to get olives at the store again, so way to go.

People mistake your squinting for aggression. And you're too nice, so stop with the nice already.

Yeah, we know. You can't.

To you, Patton Oswalt is the funniest person in the world right now, and Denis Leary just needs to retire. Honestly.

You miss your sister but not all of her. You miss the person she seemed to be when she was about 21 years old.

You could go on for days, but eventually you get goobed out writing a list about what it's like being you. But you publish it anyway because you're like that.

You like people who like you.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005



Eh. I'm still not convinced she's not fake.

But I think there's a braincell in there just waiting to happen
because I'm nice.
It's hours and hours of not fake fun for you at youtube.com.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005


Thank you thank you, shaunshead!

For the Frank and Frank! from froghatstudios.com.


Monday, November 28, 2005



Welcome to Cyber Monday:
The day everyone does their holiday shopping online,
so they say.

So grab your credit cards and some hot chocolate!
It's time to slow-roast those credit cards.
Here --
make your own snowflake
while your information is being processed.



Wednesday, November 23, 2005


I think it'll be good when the riots come, the world blows up and the survivors of the New World will at least be able to enjoy the holiday season by reinventing them all and making it simple.

I just had to get that out of my head before the standard U.S. Holidays started.

I'm not one of those people who jumps on the "I hate holidays" bandwagon. No way. I love them. In fact, we need more, as long as we get a day off for them.

It's just an observation, but am I right? Every year, Thanksgiving becomes more of a footnote. More of a teddybear with one eye missing that most people think is cute but could take it or leave it. Isn't that just about right? People who are hardcore consumers are usually big Christmas fans. I know a lot of those people. So I watch them plow right down into the XMAS 2005 Shopping Season quite easily. These are the people who, God forbid, would never consider making a gift for someone out of a wad of clay or a fistfull of beads; they BUY BUY BUY, NOW NOW NOW before you might BUY BUY BUY That Stuff they wanted to BUY BUY BUY BEFORE YOU YOU YOU.

The official "waking of the sleeping holiday giant" really begins in October with a "Trick or treat! Smell my feet! It's Halloween." And then, screeeechkerPOW, it's Christmas frag all over the place. My favorite thing about a 21st century Thanksgiving is that people just blow right past it. And I think that is beautiful. But then again, I laugh at the most inappropriate times. Nerves.

"Screw Thanksgivin'!," the over-priviledged middle-class yeehaw screams, "Madision and Addison! Finish them fun-sized Snicker bars and help me throw fairy lights 'round the front yard...hey, Nadine! Where's my blow-up Santa??"

For me, the fun starts with which retailer will have the mixed nuts to play the first whiff of Christmas? Who will play that ambient, canned Holiday musak shortly after Halloween but not quite Thanksgiving, to lull you into the howling-mad buying spree snowballing right over you and those sad Pilgrims and their measely Giving of Thanks with those locals with the beads and teepees and something like that, with corn and pumpkins and all that gravy, until you get to that day where there was some kid in the manger with the hippie couple, yada yada, sheep and kings, whatever...

Hell. I don't think people choose not to celebrate the simple blessings of having small things and sharing them with each other, if that's what Thanksgiving is really all about. Do I look like I know? Alls I know about Thanksgiving is that there's a big parade in New York, and turkey wings are overrated. And I'm thankful I never have to be around my Aunt Martha Ann and her perverted second husband, Russell. The end.

No, I think The Big C (a.k.a. Christmas and its mighty SUV-sized V-12 mean-machine consumerism) just blows a 21st century Thankgiving right out of its pipes before it knows what hit it.

I stay confused and at odds with myself.

Ron and I went to buy a turkey the other day. And my eyes glazed over and froze as I stood motionless with indecision hunched over into the grocery store freezer, bowling frozen-solid turkeys around over and behind each other, and I asked myself "Why am I even doing this? I don't want to cook this damn thing. It'll take $70 worth of gas to even cook the thing. Something small would be nice. Why am I doing this?"

So I looked for tiny turkeys, and I guess they don't make that model because I didn't see one. Then I considered torfurkey, and then my third eye saw Ron turning pink and rolling his eyes at my suggestion, and then I snapped outta that notion. And then I realized, as I hoisted a child-sized frozen headless and footless fowl into my cart that the only reason I was even considering doing this at all was because I was superstitious. No, really. As if I didn't cook and eat a turkey as I have done every year of my conscious life, then I would have Bad Luck or something. If anything, I should try to Not Eat a turkey and see how Lady Luck deals my hand for 2006. So after wheeling this bird up and down a few aisles with me, I rolled it over to the pork section for one last independent thought. Then accidentally glacing over at the 4-pack of fresh-cut pigs feet, I felt a grip tightening around my throat. "Is it demand that created supply, or supply that created demand?"

I suppose I had That (Grayish) Look on my face, so Ron turned pink and rolled his eyes at me as usual, grabbed the turkeyus maxiumus and spun around, then walked it back to its subzero crypt and tossed it back, airborne, into and amongst its brethren. "We'll just have pizza!" His answer to everything.

We're having a small turkey tenderloin. I'm superstitious, raised in the religion "Consumer".

But I am not complaining. Oh nooo. I'm not the type that will complain about a holiday. I am just looking and typing. Not me, boy. I would never look a gift turkey in the beak. As long as we, the barely middle-class working class, get a day or two off to see what it's like to be a fat jolly housewife, lolly-gagging and lounging and napping and eating bon-bons, just for two days, then that is a-ok with me until I win the lottery.

Anyway, what is my point? I have no idea. Maybe that's beautiful. Enjoy the day, wherever you are and whatever you do or don't do. That's probably something you should do everyday anyway. There. That's the only little nugget of zen I can chisel that complex sociological lump of consumerism coal into. And for the road, here is a little bun of senseless happiness for you -- whether you skip the holidays altogether or get all into like a bag of buttered biscuits.
(Thanks for the link, W!)


Dancin' Doughboy