Bits and Pieces
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
  Two not entirely unrelated links:

This one is just amazing.

Apparently white people in the town of Zanesville, OH, have had running water from the city system for quite some time, but a neighborhood that included whites, blacks and American Indians has been left off the grid until recently.

"I didn't think I could get used to drinking water out of the tap," Helen McCuen said. "But I did." I don't even have a joke here...

Now let's contrast that with this story, in which a group of College Republicans at Roger Williams University have started a scholarship that is only available for white students.

"If you are a white student on campus, you don't have anyone helping you," said Jason Mattera, founder of the RWU College Republicans.

Oh yeah, and Mattera is the recipient of a $5,000 scholarship from Sallie Mae that is open only to Hispanic students.

Which means that once the Hypocrisy Foundation gets up and running, he'll probably be up for their scholarship as well.
 
Thursday, February 12, 2004
  It's little things that make me laugh:

Medical records show that Dr. Atkins (yes, that Dr. Atkins) weighed 258 lbs when he died.

That's svelte for say, an NBA center, or certain types of gorillas, but Dr. Atkins was a 6 ft tall man. Which means he was, as they say in the business, "obese." Or, as they say on the streets "a fucking lardass."

Based on that height and weight, his Body Mass Index would have been 35, which is just another way of saying that he's fat. I really have no idea what the hell a Body Mass Index means, so let's retreat a little: The man weighed 258 lbs.

That's 1,032 quarter-pounders, even if you remove the bun to make them "Atkins Friendly." Oh, his medical records also show that he had heart and blood pressure problems.

If I was a literary man, I'd make some sort of allusion to "The Picture of Dorian Gray." America: This is your hideous future. Enjoy your bacon and eggs.

But I'm not a literary man, so instead I'll focus on what is easily the funniest part of the story: His widow claims that he wasn't really always that heavy, but that he put on 60 lbs. due to the fluids administered to him in his final days (He was comatose after hitting his head on some ice. That part isn't funny at all...sigh).

Back to the funny part: Gaining 60 lbs. from fluids? Was his IV filled with gravy? How the hell do you put on that much weight like that?

And how long before Subway introduces an "Atkins-friendly" fluid diet?

You know what that sound was? Mrs. Atkins' stock options getting deep fried.

 
Monday, February 02, 2004
  Notes from the Super Bowl:

With the benefit of a few years' worth of hindsight, do we think that teams like the San Jose Sharks, Florida Marlins and Carolina Panthers who adopted teal in their color schemes would like a giant do-over? Back in 1994 were people honestly convinced it would never go out of style?

Right now, Tom Brady is making everyone re-think how they define the term "crazy boy-band ass."

Would the Red Sox be better off just rolling the dice and hiring Belichick as their manager?

Phil Simms and John Edwards should switch voice-over duties once in awhile, just for kicks. No one would know the difference.

Thank god no one has played up the whole "How fitting the Patriots won while our nation is at war" angle. I'm glad we left that garbage back after the 2002 Super Bowl. However, I would have enjoyed a headline that read, "Quarterback with French-sounding name loses game." Except that it probably would have come from Fox News.

How soon before we can just go ahead and substitute Tom Brady in for Ben Affleck as Matt Damon's friend? Would anyone have a problem with this?

Anyone who complains about seeing Janet Jackson's nipple obviously wasn't paying attention to the commercials that aired during the game. Mike Ditka talked about his wang, a horse farted in a woman's face, Cedric the Entertainer got a bikini wax, and a talking monkey hit on a woman. And the outrage is over a brief boob shot? Leave it out...

While we're on the subject, I'm glad this whole Janet Jackson thing happened because it makes ultra-serious news anchor types utter headlines like "MTV apologizes for Jackson's breast."

Also, Justin Timberlake clearly deserves some sort of award for his role in all this. Not only was he clearly responsible for all this, he also blamed the mess on a "wardrobe malfunction."

Not true. Kid Rock had what we could reasonably call a "wardrobe malfunction" when he showed up with his head poked through an American flag. Janet Jackson got her shirt ripped off.

Is it too late for Britney Spears' publicist to go back and blame the Madonna kiss on a "tonsil malfunction"?

 
Thursday, January 22, 2004
  Yikes, another week, no more posts. Talk about your lack of self-discipline.

Art Garfunkel just got arrested for pot possession after his limo was pulled over for speeding in upstate NY.

I was most surprised to hear that Art Garfunkel still had a limo at his disposal.

But more importantly: Can't we all agree to leave Art Garfunkel the fuck alone?  
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
  Holy lord, has it been this long already? If I was the kind of person who believed in New Year's resolutions, first on my list would be to update my blog more often.

Actually, that isn't at all true. It wouldn't be first on my list, but it'd be somewhere on the list, at least.

What I'm trying to say is that I will post more frequently.

Anyways...

President Bush announced that he's going to spend $1.5 billion to promote marriage, especially in poor communities. As if marriage will take their mind off all the ways they've been fucked over...

More broadly: $1.5 billion to promote marriage? Who isn't aware of marriage at this point? I think the word is pretty well out on this one

In other news, I have no idea how to wear a scarf. I either end up looking like a foppish dandy or a biplane pilot, or there ends up being a triangle of exposed skin/shirt right around my trachea. This would be desirable if I had a tracheotomy at some point and needed the area open to breathe.

But I don't.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that there are all sorts of basic things like this that I really am just faking my way through. (I've been tying my neckties with a modified square knot since I've been 11 I think...)

Scarves, neckties, dinner etiquette, relationships...

Is there a book out there or something, or should I just rely on Google?


 
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
  I heard Adam Sandler's "Thanksgiving Song" while I was driving into work today, which is significant for two reasons.

Actually, in the grand scheme of things, it's not at all significant. If it was, it surely wouldn't be posted in blog format, but I digress.

The first reason is that I was actually driving to work, something that I never, ever do. A thought crossed my mind as I fiddled with the radio station and the temperature knobs: "Fuck the Metro."

The car didn't smell like vacant boredom and armpits like the Metro does, especially in the mornings.

There weren't any women jabbing me with their six bags, or any men fooling around with their Palm Pilots, looking up just often enough to reveal that they aren't actually doing work, just passing the time.

Of course, I did have some impatient asshole tailing me, using every light change as an opportunity to honk wildly because I didn't get off the line fast enough.

Hey buddy, if you're that concerned with the speed of your commute, you should have opted for something other than the Hyundai. Like my two second reaction time is really getting in the way of all that excess horsepower you've got brewing under there.

Sometimes you just can't win, I guess.

But that doesn't mean you can't have fun. I like to reward people who have a thorough knowledge of their automobile's horn placement by slowing down and really appreciating their technique. After all, it's not often that you can observe a master craftsman at work.

I then pray (well, not pray so much as just really really hope) for an electrical short in their car. Not the type that simply silences the horn. The type that shorts the horn, radio, blinkers, fog lights, gauges, and door locks.

And sends a sharp jolt of electricity from the horn button rendering the user temporarily impotent.

Which brings me back to Adam Sandler. And the "Thanksgiving Song," which is a comedy classic. (Jimmy Fallon, take some fucking notes.)

The "I can't believe Tyson gave that girl VD line" still makes me laugh out loud. Today, for instance, it caused me to momentarily jerk the wheel to the left, into the path of oncoming traffic. Good times.

Say what you will about Sandler's brand of comedy (or you can type it in a blog that no one reads), but he put together a hell of a run in the early to mid 1990s. SNL, his "They're all Gonna Laugh at You" CD, Billy Madison, Happy Gilmore -- good stuff with a long shelf life. Hell, you could walk into any room right now, toss out a line from any of these, and someone, somewhere in the room could toss one back.

Ok, maybe not a room at a MENSA meeting, but that's neither here nor there.

So what the hell happened? This morning I heard the "Thanksgiving Song," but last night I caught the last 15 minutes of "Little Nicky," and, uh, wow it was awful.

I hope it at least allowed Harvey Keitel to pay off his gambling debts, or whatever the fuck else he owed that made him take this job. Now get back with Tarantino!

So Sandler's clearly lost a good 8-10 mph off his fastball. Actually, he was never a "fastball" comic. Eddie Murphy threw heat back in the day, Chris Rock does now. George Carlin has been for a long time.

We'll say Sandler was more of a curveball kinda guy, but now he's lost the ability to bend it. He used to be Barry Zito. Now he's Eddie Harris from "Major League."

So the question is: Does he realize it? He's got to, right? There's no way he can watch Billy Madison then Little Nicky back-to-back then think, "Man, these are both hilarious. I've really grown as an artist."

A couple of caveats:

1. Most of us never know what it's like to toss a curveball like that. He's throwing big benders that start at the letters and end at the knees, while the rest of us are either bouncing them in the dirt or serving up batting practice.
2. The rest of us will eventually lose the bite on our shitty pitches. It just so happens we won't do so at the local cinema in the form of a heavily-hyped movie in front of the whole country.

Still, he's gotta wonder what's going on, and if he'll ever be able to reach that level again.

Or maybe he just counts all his money.
 
Friday, November 21, 2003
  You know what? I think "male pattern baldness" is a really silly term.

To me, that implies that there are other baldness patterns out there, but you never hear about them. We're pretty much stuck with The Monk (a circular bald spot in the back of your head), The Mongo (a creeping hairline that extends the forehead to drive-in movie screen proportions), and The Horseshoe (you get this one, right?).

Male pattern baldness would be a lot more fun if some other random patterns were thrown in the mix, like The Swirl (Imagine a swirl ice cream cone, but with hair. Now I've ruined soft-serve for you. Good, buy real ice cream.), or The Box (Think "Kid" of Kid 'n' Play fame. All hair from the sides is lost, with only an 8'' flattop leftover.), or The Starfish (Hair recedes until only five radiating lines are left.).

That would spice things up a bit.

Also, I'd enjoy the irony of ridiculing a guy unfortunate enough to have The Box, cause, let's face it, if you have The Box, that's the only box you're getting. 
Ah, you know, the standard stuff. But funny.

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