It's half of a love/hate relationship

Guess which half.

I made a terrible mistake in 2001. Well, I made many terrible mistakes in 2001, but I'm only going to talk about one right now.

I subscribed to Spin magazine. I fell for some sort of "two years for $10" type of deal. Ugh. And, because I'm a moron, I resubscribed a few years later under the same deal. But soon after I learned my lesson, and never gave them another cent. Which is why it's so surprising that now, 3 years after my subscription ended, they still send me magazines (often along with those annoying "hurry! this may be your last issue!" letters).

It's like Spin is an alley cat that I fed once and now won't leave me alone.

I'll spare you (and myself) an in-depth discussion of why it's a terrible magazine, and instead just give one example.

In the latest issue they reviewed 57 new albums using a star rating system:

1 star: poor
2 stars: fair
3 stars: good
4 stars: excellent
5 stars: classic

And of those 57 reviews, 46 are rated between 2.5 and 3.5 stars. That's 80%. One page from the review section has 11 ratings on it, and every single one is either 3 stars or 3.5 stars.

What's the point of reviewing music if almost every album gets the same score?

Anyway, I'm bored with this already.

go away

Where's Nitro?

My family is watching American Gladiators, which somehow, the powers that be have made even more ridiculous by making the challengers in this episode win their spot by some feat of amazing weight loss.
It's Oprah-tastic. At any moment I'm convinced the guy who builds houses is gonna show up with his whole crew and tell the audience what a hard life this particular challenger has had, but its okay because they've got a new three story lake-front villa now. And then I'm gonna have to watch the Gladiators cry.

You haven't watched television until you've seen a muscle bound Aryan-Nation posterchild named "Titan" cry.


Please, someone, tell me I'm adopted.

And why doesn't the coffee shop deliver?

It's 71 and sunny and I have a whole list of fun things I can do today (really--a list) and I can't get this fucking permafrown off my face long enough to go do any of it. Last night I worked late tattooing the twitchiest man alive with the dumbest tattoo I've done since I did that Taz holding a shotgun in one hand and a confederate flag in the other.

Then, when I went to the awesome dump of a bar with Kara I couldn't even play darts because somehow I lost my driver's license. A week ago. And just now realized it. And you know the probability of finding it is inversely proportionate to the length of time it's been missing so that thing is fucked.

Oh, but I almost forgot the good news. My MasterCard should be up for a promotion soon following its unusually hard work over the last couple of days buying all that internet crap for the guy in Oslo who stole my credit card number. Way to go, you silver piece of shit.

I'd rather be babysitting a six-pack

I have a baseless and longstanding prejudice against Arizona. Actually going there has done nothing to mitigate that. It's not a bad place. I'm just not into it.

So far on this little adventure, I've trained Donkey to come when I whistle. But this baby won't do anything I tell her to no matter how long and loud I blow my whistle

I'd rather be doing anything than my paper(s)

hence the influx of (bad) posts by moi.


GET THAT MOTHERFUCKING SNAKE OFF THIS MOTHERFUCKING BABY!!

seriously, though, cheapest nanny ever.




my favorite part is that the parents (or best older siblings ever, seriously don't tell mom and dad what they did) who filmed it can afford a video camera, but can't afford baby pants.

Spring Homework Death Camp

I'm chained to my desk until I can fill up 35-40 pages of drivel for my classes next week. But no worries, for those of you who'd like to know what it's like, now you can play along at home!

Just hit play on my youtube playlist, which is what I'm listening to, and imagine yourself in great misery. Now we're twinsies!!

Cleaning out my spam email...

... means deleting such gems as

Dunkelburg (swear to god)---------gun her good gun her well

Coy Osborn -------------Ice cheep replica watches

Solomon Rich -------------Enlarge your machine size

Estela Bruno --------------Enlarge your instrument length

Mabel Poe --------------Enlarge your arm length

Brock Mayfield ------------ No test, No class, buy yourself bacheelor degree

Komi Sarkenko -------------The giant rose from my boxers

Cristal --------------- Blow her away with this (I opened it hoping to see
a gun, no dice)

wsmmrii ----------------why won't you answer my calls?



I'm impressed with the names; they're fantastic. Now if only my inbox were as interesting.

The way things were

I've never been one to seek out an episode of South Park, but if one's on I don't run the other way either. Because, let's face it, the show is funny and has been for a long time--a rare accomplishment.

I'm certainly not in love with the show. Mr. Hankey was stupid. Towelie is boring. And if I hear another fucking musical number . . . Hackneyed much?

But I have liked this season's treatment of two of the most painful cinematic experiences of my young life.

I was a little heartened when a friend of mine said he didn't recognize Cartman's turn as Jaime Escalante/Edward James Olmos in a recent episode. I was just happy that my friend had been spared, unlike the schoolchildren of USD 489, repeated viewings of that Stand and Deliver movie.

Our teachers and administrators probably thought that because we had a diverse school population and were pretty crappy students districtwide, that this movie would really inspire us. The thing is, I've known many teachers--worked closely with them, lived with them, spoken to them outside of the classroom--and they actually believe stuff like that works. The punchline of course, is that from 3rd grade on, if a movie was playing in school it was Stand and Deliver, Johnny.

In another episode Cartman and Kyle contract HIV and Cartman gets all Ryan White on us.

I only watched the made for tv Ryan White Story once. When I was in fourth grade. And it terrified me.

I wasn't scared of AIDS or anything. This movie kind of with my head because it opened up a whole new world of ways adults could to be unrelentingly stupid, mean, and annoying. To a child who already believed the world was a dark, forbidding, and irritating place to begin with, a movie about a kid who gets AIDS from his medicine and then gets treated like garbage until he dies was just too beyond the pale.

Around this time I also became obsessed with Mississippi Burning. I think I just had a real hard kink for people causing other people unspeakable misery.

And speaking of misery. Here's a clip.

Coming Soon: Movie Review

Caddyshack

fucking sucks.

I'll edit this post into a longer review if I can get through an entire screening without falling asleep (hopefully third time's the charm).

SoDak Rulz

I don't know how ya'll do it 'round these parts, but here's a little story of some legislation done in the LoDak style:

A House Concurrent Resolution was submitted in February 2008 to give one Martha Smith, an 80 year old woman, the hide of a mountain lion she recently killed from her back porch. You see, she came outside to find her dog in a standoff with the catamount, called 911 to deal with the problem, but upon being told that a "conservation officer" was not available currently, she grabbed her .22 caliber rifle and "taking steady aim" killed the cat.
When asked why she kept a loaded gun in the house she responded, "What good's a gun if it's not loaded?"

The legislature wants to give her the hide "to enjoy for a while" before donating it to a local museum, because she has "the spirit of the pioneers who tamed this prairie wilderness" and is someone who "will rise up and do what needs to be done."

to which locals have responded with mixed results:

-- "Good on you South Dakota!"

-- " May I remind you that Bill Janklow (ex-governor) has killed more people (drunk driving) than Mountain Lions."

--"The legislature must have decided that the Mountain Lion was Pro-Choice, somehow."

I take issue that I had to learn about this on my own time, and was never introduced to this kind of lawmaking in Lawst School.

Those bastards at the cable company...

...took away my cable this afternoon. Apparently they did an audit of what customers where paying, and compared it with what services customers were receiving. Fucking assholes.

Life no longer has meaning.

A few things

Last weekend I reformatted my computer back to factory settings; while I was deleting all the stupid programs Dell pre-installs, I accidentally removed Wordperfect, my word processing program.

So now I have to type up my research papers using Final Draft Pro. Which is fine, except now my thesis reads like a Quentin Tarintino knock-off.

And, at school (where I'm currently at), it's tour week for next year's class.

I'm not sure what's worse, hearing my stupid classmates trying to explain how the school works, or hearing the stupid questions the new fuckfaces ask. I'd type out some examples, but then I'd get all riled up and ruin my day.

Also, if I hear one more person tell me how much better a.v.e.'s blog is than this I'm gonna... I don't know, probably just call moronica and bitch about it.

whatever.

Plus it's always easy to find hookers and drugs.

Today I found myself standing in a parking lot with a half dozen half-tards and miscreants, freezing, wet, hands numb, ass numb, halfheartedly making small talk when one of them says,

"Why the hell do you work in that dump?" When I just stare at him he says, "I mean in that fucking shithole slum. Oh, you live there too? What for?! Just a bunch of thugs."

OK, I'm not sure if it's agoraphobia or racism or the fact that that local news reports almost exclusively on the crime that occurs in poor/black/inner-city neighborhoods, but I get a lot of this and it really pisses me off. I love my neighborhood. It's diverse, it's close to a lot of really great restaurants and museums and cool eclectic houses and businesses and everything's open late. The people here look out for each other in a way unlike any other place I've ever lived, and they're fiercely proud of their neighborhoods. And it's NOT a slum, goddamnit.

Although, I just remembered that when Bars and Babbles stayed here one time we all woke up in the middle of the night because there were like 15 or 16 gunshots REALLY close. So maybe my point is invalid. Speaking of invalid - Babbles and Gal, have you guys seen the new courtroom-format Lewis Black show on Comedy Central? It has sort-of-funny assholes pretending to be lollers. Much like this blog.

Anyway, I was tired and cranky and I had cold wet feet inside my boots, but I swallowed my pride and told the guy that I didn't blame him for feeling that way because old white guys from the suburbs always get a little antsy in the city.

He was unimpressed with my magnanimity.

Darth Efficient, Sith Lord of Homework

I'm in the middle of an historic procrastination session, and I dare say I may have outdone myself this time. And I'm no slouch in this area, in fact I'm an expert. As far as not doing homework goes, I'm world class. I still haven't turned in my Spanish 3 final; it was due at the end of the hour four years ago.

Anyway,
I'll be up all nite writing a stupid paper that probably won't even ever get read (and certainly not by me), so entertain me.

And I know, I know, worst post ever. Beat you to it.

It's the Monday after Spring Break and you know what that means...

It's sometimes-commenter Usher's birthday!

Also, I don't know if it's stress, my awful, awful diet, lack of sunlight, or what, but you should see my complexion; more like spring break-out.

Anyway, HAPPY B-DAY or whatever. And since it's your special day, treat yourself; don't read the blarg today.

Hybrids should be able to park in handicapped spots

I mean the cars, not like wolf people or something. And I'm not just saying this because I want one.

fuck you, i'm sick.

This is what I feel like:



Not even regular ass, but stupid brown cat ass. I have the fucking usual list of symptoms that accompany the death flu and goddamnit I want some sympathy. Or at least some Tylenol. I would even settle for coffee. We ran out and I'm too weak and sickly (and mostly just too self-pitying) to go get more.

On the bright side, along with the cat ass illustration I found a pic of my (or your?) next tattoo:




*GROAN* going back to bed.

I'm so out of the loop

How the fuck did I not know about this little nugget??

There was a time when my entire existence revolved around repeat screenings of MS (my life was much better then).

And, one of my favorite pieces of Corey Feldman related trivia is that MS was supposed to be another Haim/Feldman blockbuster (as was Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure). Wouldn't that have been the cat's pajamas?

My Gym (again)

Joining a gym has proven quite useful, if for no other reason that it keeps giving me (boring) blog material.

The latest is this:

Naked Realtor was in the free weight room (clothed). I walk by and say "hey."

He looks at me like I was fucking scum. Motherfucker (clothed) didn't even recognize me from three days ago when he yakked my goddamned ear off (unclothed).

But that wasn't even the highlight of this workout, no the highlight was this:

Morbidly obese man wearing a weight belt to protect his back, spent thirty minutes doing one, yes one, exercise over and over and over (not that it matters but it was a tricep pulldown, which is the sort of thing you'd want to do three sets of, not three hundred).

Astonished that he was still doing it a half hour after I arrived (and lord knows how long he'd been doing it before I showed up), I happened to walk by him only to overhear him say to no one in particular "this is stupid."

Yes it is, Mr Morbidly Obese, yes it is. He's my new favorite gym character, beating out the previous favorite, cat tattoo dyke lady. Yes, I'm not the only one with a cattoo. But she's got no Ptattoo (at least that I"m aware of), so I still win.

Attention: Molly Slaggerty

So while at my gym today a man in the locker room started a conversation with me. This is the first time someone at my gym has spoken to me (and hopefully the last).

Anyway, Miss Molly, this is your fault. It was painful; he was a real estate agent.

Realtor: Hey man, how many tattoos do you have?

Me: (what? you're talking to me? fuck) ... (mumbles something incoherent)

Realtor: Yeah, I go to the shop downtown. I'm thinking of getting a big dragon.

Me: (You mean like as a tattoo, or a pet) ... (mumbles something incoherent)

Realtor: On my chest.

Me: (that doesn't answer the question) ... (mumbles something incoherent)

Then I did that thing I do where I try to drum up business for you... Hope you don't mind doodling dragons on lame dudes' boobs.

And oh yeah, he was fucking naked the entire time.

I told him to go to your website. And to put on pants.