Tuesday, August 31, 2004
The Agony and the Ecstacy
There’s a man who plays your pop favorites of the ‘70s and ‘80s on a flute on the plaza 16 floors below my office window each Tuesday. It’s terrifyingly Muzak. For the first few weeks I was in this office, I thought there might be a dentist’s office directly beneath me. And today, August 31, 2004, he broke out "O Holy Night" by my calculation some four months early. I’m not saying that if he doesn't stop I’m going to go insane and slice my ears off with the paper cutter; I’m just saying that, if I do, it won’t take Marg Helgenberger and her crack CSI team to figure out why.
On the other hand, I’m actually experiencing a strange and unprecedented feeling I believe they term "job satisfaction" right now. I didn’t recognize it at first; I thought it might just be more puberty. But my doctor assured me that a) those dreams I’m having are completely normal, even for a grown man and b) it is possible to enjoy what you do, especially if you’re a doctor and you get to randomly stick people with sharp objects whenever you feel like it. Although my job is sadly free of the recreational infliction of unnecessary pain, it is suddenly a lot more active, diverse, and interesting than I remember it being. I’m making it through entire days without naps or caffeine injections, and yesterday I even finished five or six tasks without checking my e-mail in between. I’m fairly certain that this must all be the result of some horrible mind-control experiment secretly conducted by my employers in violation of all international standards of ethics and personal hygiene, but for now I’ll take the ignorance and the bliss with my afternoon flute concert, thank you very much.
There’s a man who plays your pop favorites of the ‘70s and ‘80s on a flute on the plaza 16 floors below my office window each Tuesday. It’s terrifyingly Muzak. For the first few weeks I was in this office, I thought there might be a dentist’s office directly beneath me. And today, August 31, 2004, he broke out "O Holy Night" by my calculation some four months early. I’m not saying that if he doesn't stop I’m going to go insane and slice my ears off with the paper cutter; I’m just saying that, if I do, it won’t take Marg Helgenberger and her crack CSI team to figure out why.
On the other hand, I’m actually experiencing a strange and unprecedented feeling I believe they term "job satisfaction" right now. I didn’t recognize it at first; I thought it might just be more puberty. But my doctor assured me that a) those dreams I’m having are completely normal, even for a grown man and b) it is possible to enjoy what you do, especially if you’re a doctor and you get to randomly stick people with sharp objects whenever you feel like it. Although my job is sadly free of the recreational infliction of unnecessary pain, it is suddenly a lot more active, diverse, and interesting than I remember it being. I’m making it through entire days without naps or caffeine injections, and yesterday I even finished five or six tasks without checking my e-mail in between. I’m fairly certain that this must all be the result of some horrible mind-control experiment secretly conducted by my employers in violation of all international standards of ethics and personal hygiene, but for now I’ll take the ignorance and the bliss with my afternoon flute concert, thank you very much.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Memo to God: Church Could Use a Re-Write
All right, lord, I’m sure you’re probably way ahead of me on this one, what with being all seeing and all knowing and all, but I went to church again today and, well, frankly it could use some work. I know, I know, people have been telling you it’s great for round about 2000 years now, but let’s face it, apostles are such yes-men, especially when they’ve got that whole threat of eternal damnation thing to deal with. But I’m not afraid to tell it like it is, because quite honestly, once you’ve been through law school, the thought of an eternity spent with demons clawing out your eyes and maggots feasting on your innards seems downright quaint. So let’s get started, and remember, change is not a four-letter word!
First off, the whole fire and brimstone thing seems like kind of a downer. Sin and punishments therefor have tested very poorly with my focus groups. Why don’t we try to emphasize the whole love and forgiveness aspect of things instead? Perhaps we can introduce an animated character (A ferret, maybe? Ferrets are in!) who just goes around loving and forgiving people. And when parishioners share the peace of Christ, why limit them to just a handshake? Hugging, kissing, and light over-the-clothes fondling would really spice up the service. I’m not saying a dry hump is kosher (har har), but come on, people love to be loved! Use that!
Also, don’t you think the whole "sermon" thing is a little outdated? Maybe people loved sitting around and being bored back in the dark ages, but now we’ve got TRL and internet porn and people want things to be more interactive. I’m thinking sound and light show, celebrity cameos (J.Lo is Catholic, right? Start annulling now and get that famous ass in those pews!), and pop-up touchscreens where churchgoers can vote for their favorite psalms or maybe even vote people out of the church! Excommunication is SO Survivor! Hott!
And this may be a sensitive subject, but could we maybe change up the menu a little bit? Bread and wine are just not filling, especially in those tiny portions. How about Hot Pockets and Bud Lite? The possible ad revenue alone makes it worth considering.
Anyway, I realize we’ve just scratched the surface here, but it is, after all, the day of rest, and I just remembered I’ve got some very important sex dreams to attend to.
Best,
Jay
All right, lord, I’m sure you’re probably way ahead of me on this one, what with being all seeing and all knowing and all, but I went to church again today and, well, frankly it could use some work. I know, I know, people have been telling you it’s great for round about 2000 years now, but let’s face it, apostles are such yes-men, especially when they’ve got that whole threat of eternal damnation thing to deal with. But I’m not afraid to tell it like it is, because quite honestly, once you’ve been through law school, the thought of an eternity spent with demons clawing out your eyes and maggots feasting on your innards seems downright quaint. So let’s get started, and remember, change is not a four-letter word!
First off, the whole fire and brimstone thing seems like kind of a downer. Sin and punishments therefor have tested very poorly with my focus groups. Why don’t we try to emphasize the whole love and forgiveness aspect of things instead? Perhaps we can introduce an animated character (A ferret, maybe? Ferrets are in!) who just goes around loving and forgiving people. And when parishioners share the peace of Christ, why limit them to just a handshake? Hugging, kissing, and light over-the-clothes fondling would really spice up the service. I’m not saying a dry hump is kosher (har har), but come on, people love to be loved! Use that!
Also, don’t you think the whole "sermon" thing is a little outdated? Maybe people loved sitting around and being bored back in the dark ages, but now we’ve got TRL and internet porn and people want things to be more interactive. I’m thinking sound and light show, celebrity cameos (J.Lo is Catholic, right? Start annulling now and get that famous ass in those pews!), and pop-up touchscreens where churchgoers can vote for their favorite psalms or maybe even vote people out of the church! Excommunication is SO Survivor! Hott!
And this may be a sensitive subject, but could we maybe change up the menu a little bit? Bread and wine are just not filling, especially in those tiny portions. How about Hot Pockets and Bud Lite? The possible ad revenue alone makes it worth considering.
Anyway, I realize we’ve just scratched the surface here, but it is, after all, the day of rest, and I just remembered I’ve got some very important sex dreams to attend to.
Best,
Jay
Friday, August 27, 2004
Deleted Scenes
We here at the blog project such a constant air of professionalism and put-togetherness that it’s easy, I think, for people to become intimidated by our unimpeachable perfection. But Gods though we may seem, we are only human, and we’ve made our share of mistakes. Here are some flat-out crazy entries that didn’t quite live up to our obviously sky-high standards:
You know what’s kind of funny? I don’t really believe in the concept of right and wrong. For instance, like how most people think it’s "wrong" to "kill people?" Yeah, I just don’t buy that at all. I mean, if someone starts getting mouthy at the DMV or cuts in front of you in the line at Dairy Queen, what else are you supposed to do? And I betcha Jesus had people whacked all the time . . .
There are so many reasons why Alex Trebek is awesome. First of all, he really knows how to wear a moustache. Big, bushy, seventies-style ‘stache, pencil-thin gigolo-style ‘stache, even a fine handlebar ‘stache—he can rock them all. Which is not to say that he’s not still stunning without his moustache; then it’s simply a sportier, more youthful look . . .
So I had a prostate exam the other day, and . . .
Making your own Beanie Babies is easy and fun! First, decide on a design for your special Baby by picking colorful and unique animals out of your grandfather’s latest issues of National Geographic. (Make sure he’s done with them first! And National Geographic Kids will do, too, in a pinch!) Don’t be afraid to pick a really wild animal you’ve never even heard of before—that’s part of the fun! Then, go to your local fabric store (I prefer Cloth World, but use your discretion) and have a sales associate there help you choose a high-quality felt that matches the colors of your chosen Baby. Don’t be afraid to call the manager if anyone starts using a condescending tone of voice with you . . .
If I had to pick a way to die, it sure wouldn’t be in a fire. I mean, I burned my hand trying to pick up a pancake from my hot plate the other day, and that hurt like heck. I imagine that burning to death is just like that, except all over your body instead of just on your hand, and you die from it instead of just putting your hand under some cold water. Of course, I wouldn’t want to drown, either, because I don’t even like drinking water that much. I barely even get my eight glasses a day, or however many the food pyramid says you need now . . .
We here at the blog project such a constant air of professionalism and put-togetherness that it’s easy, I think, for people to become intimidated by our unimpeachable perfection. But Gods though we may seem, we are only human, and we’ve made our share of mistakes. Here are some flat-out crazy entries that didn’t quite live up to our obviously sky-high standards:
You know what’s kind of funny? I don’t really believe in the concept of right and wrong. For instance, like how most people think it’s "wrong" to "kill people?" Yeah, I just don’t buy that at all. I mean, if someone starts getting mouthy at the DMV or cuts in front of you in the line at Dairy Queen, what else are you supposed to do? And I betcha Jesus had people whacked all the time . . .
There are so many reasons why Alex Trebek is awesome. First of all, he really knows how to wear a moustache. Big, bushy, seventies-style ‘stache, pencil-thin gigolo-style ‘stache, even a fine handlebar ‘stache—he can rock them all. Which is not to say that he’s not still stunning without his moustache; then it’s simply a sportier, more youthful look . . .
So I had a prostate exam the other day, and . . .
Making your own Beanie Babies is easy and fun! First, decide on a design for your special Baby by picking colorful and unique animals out of your grandfather’s latest issues of National Geographic. (Make sure he’s done with them first! And National Geographic Kids will do, too, in a pinch!) Don’t be afraid to pick a really wild animal you’ve never even heard of before—that’s part of the fun! Then, go to your local fabric store (I prefer Cloth World, but use your discretion) and have a sales associate there help you choose a high-quality felt that matches the colors of your chosen Baby. Don’t be afraid to call the manager if anyone starts using a condescending tone of voice with you . . .
If I had to pick a way to die, it sure wouldn’t be in a fire. I mean, I burned my hand trying to pick up a pancake from my hot plate the other day, and that hurt like heck. I imagine that burning to death is just like that, except all over your body instead of just on your hand, and you die from it instead of just putting your hand under some cold water. Of course, I wouldn’t want to drown, either, because I don’t even like drinking water that much. I barely even get my eight glasses a day, or however many the food pyramid says you need now . . .
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Games That I Invented That Are Fun
Celebrity Sighting! With a group of friends (paid actors will work in a pinch, if you do not have friends) sit along a public street or thoroughfare. Take turns identifying each person who walks by as a specific celebrity, as in "Look, it’s Tobey Maguire! Someone slap him!" or "Oh, there’s Kirstie Alley! I read about her struggle with weight gain in People Magazine!" (Hint: Given the un-celebrity-like appearances of many real people, it may be useful to have an arsenal of uglier celebrities—the Steve Buscemis and Camryn Mannheims—at your disposal.) The first person unable to quickly come up with a semi-plausible identification loses, but come on, when celebrities get mocked we all win.
Overrated/Underrated. This game can also be played with celebrities, but it’s more fun to use people from your office, bowling league, or synagogue. As a group, the players name and discuss individuals they know and analyze whether those individuals are overrated or underrated as overall human beings. Remember, the question is not the quality of the individual so much as how that quality compares to the person’s reputation. So Mother Teresa, while a genuinely selfless, caring, delightful human being, must be deemed overrated given the unparalled amount of "sainthood" press she’s received, while my sophomore year roommate, who had screaming fights with himself, never washed his hair, and worshiped the band Queensryche, got mocked enough for any three hopelessly-out-of-touch obsessive compulsives, and thus earns the underrated designation. It’s the precise distinctions that make this fun. Oh, and the mocking of people.
The Bad Joke Game. With several accomplices in the room, tell a really bad joke that literally makes no sense. Seriously. Combine some words in random order and start laughing to yourself while you tell it like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever heard. Mine is always about a black bear and a white bear who go over a mountain, at which point the black bear tells the white bear he’s got a TV on his back. See? It makes no sense. But your accomplices will start laughing like crazy, making everyone else in the room feel insecure like maybe they’re just not getting the joke, until they eventually pretend that they do get it and start laughing as well. Then your own laughter becomes genuine. Playing with people’s minds is, you guessed it, fun.
Celebrity Sighting! With a group of friends (paid actors will work in a pinch, if you do not have friends) sit along a public street or thoroughfare. Take turns identifying each person who walks by as a specific celebrity, as in "Look, it’s Tobey Maguire! Someone slap him!" or "Oh, there’s Kirstie Alley! I read about her struggle with weight gain in People Magazine!" (Hint: Given the un-celebrity-like appearances of many real people, it may be useful to have an arsenal of uglier celebrities—the Steve Buscemis and Camryn Mannheims—at your disposal.) The first person unable to quickly come up with a semi-plausible identification loses, but come on, when celebrities get mocked we all win.
Overrated/Underrated. This game can also be played with celebrities, but it’s more fun to use people from your office, bowling league, or synagogue. As a group, the players name and discuss individuals they know and analyze whether those individuals are overrated or underrated as overall human beings. Remember, the question is not the quality of the individual so much as how that quality compares to the person’s reputation. So Mother Teresa, while a genuinely selfless, caring, delightful human being, must be deemed overrated given the unparalled amount of "sainthood" press she’s received, while my sophomore year roommate, who had screaming fights with himself, never washed his hair, and worshiped the band Queensryche, got mocked enough for any three hopelessly-out-of-touch obsessive compulsives, and thus earns the underrated designation. It’s the precise distinctions that make this fun. Oh, and the mocking of people.
The Bad Joke Game. With several accomplices in the room, tell a really bad joke that literally makes no sense. Seriously. Combine some words in random order and start laughing to yourself while you tell it like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever heard. Mine is always about a black bear and a white bear who go over a mountain, at which point the black bear tells the white bear he’s got a TV on his back. See? It makes no sense. But your accomplices will start laughing like crazy, making everyone else in the room feel insecure like maybe they’re just not getting the joke, until they eventually pretend that they do get it and start laughing as well. Then your own laughter becomes genuine. Playing with people’s minds is, you guessed it, fun.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Update
There’s a lot going on in my life right now, all of it vastly important. In fact, it may be too grand to sum up on this insignificant little canvas, but I’ll at least give it a shot, for the children.
So first of all, the biography I wrote for work was nearly banned in the USA. Apparently the powers that be felt that references to The OC and made-up work experiences involving dwarves were out of place in the contemporary legal community. But when I threatened to simply use key portions of John Grisham’s biography instead, people seemed to be more willing to compromise. That is, after all, the key to a successful marriage.
Also, the bad-small-talk security guard posted near the gym in my building has been replaced with an even-worse-small-talk guard. He manages to make even the tight-lipped smile and nod uncomfortable. And yesterday I saw the original bad-small-talk guard working in the main lobby, thereby receiving the brunt of two lingering, contentless discourses within ten minutes. Maybe conversational pain is their secret weapon in the war on terrorism.
And new people started working at my office this week. This is a nice thing, if only because I appreciate having people around who are, however temporarily, more incompetent than me. I may not understand habeas corpus law, but hey, these kids don’t even have security cards yet! They’re stuck down in the lobby engaging in fruitless verbiage with men in uniforms. I may miss seven important phone calls because I’m tying up the line getting the play-by-play on Days of Our Lives from my sister, but at least my voicemail account is already set up! Ahhh, the advantages of seniority. I think that’s probably how it works in Congress, as well.
There’s a lot going on in my life right now, all of it vastly important. In fact, it may be too grand to sum up on this insignificant little canvas, but I’ll at least give it a shot, for the children.
So first of all, the biography I wrote for work was nearly banned in the USA. Apparently the powers that be felt that references to The OC and made-up work experiences involving dwarves were out of place in the contemporary legal community. But when I threatened to simply use key portions of John Grisham’s biography instead, people seemed to be more willing to compromise. That is, after all, the key to a successful marriage.
Also, the bad-small-talk security guard posted near the gym in my building has been replaced with an even-worse-small-talk guard. He manages to make even the tight-lipped smile and nod uncomfortable. And yesterday I saw the original bad-small-talk guard working in the main lobby, thereby receiving the brunt of two lingering, contentless discourses within ten minutes. Maybe conversational pain is their secret weapon in the war on terrorism.
And new people started working at my office this week. This is a nice thing, if only because I appreciate having people around who are, however temporarily, more incompetent than me. I may not understand habeas corpus law, but hey, these kids don’t even have security cards yet! They’re stuck down in the lobby engaging in fruitless verbiage with men in uniforms. I may miss seven important phone calls because I’m tying up the line getting the play-by-play on Days of Our Lives from my sister, but at least my voicemail account is already set up! Ahhh, the advantages of seniority. I think that’s probably how it works in Congress, as well.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Potpourri
– The Air & Water Show. Basically, the city voluntarily puts itself under an air raid for three days every summer. Them planes sure is pretty, tho.
– Garden State. Natalie Portman minus laughably wooden Star Wars dialogue plus adorably eccentric character scripted by minor TV star equals good times. And it’s not like you see Eric McCormack busting out with any remarkably self-assured feature film writing/directing debuts, is it?
– Maturity. My co-worker brought her children in to the office the other day and they spent about an hour alternately tickling me and trying to pull my pants down. It’s good to know that, at 26, I’m basically getting beaten up on the playground.
– Carly Patterson. I refuse to believe that any child can be that cheerful without the aid of drugs or minor cranial surgery. Still, she’s vaulted her way into my heart and god help me if she didn’t stick the landing. Don’t be obscene.
– Sharing and Caring. The other day at Target a woman nearly knocked me over with her cart so she could get her hands on the last box of oatmeal creme pies. I’d say the last thing that woman needs is more sugar, but of course I am not a registered dietician.
– Oprah on Jury Duty. This is news? I tried, convicted, and executed six people in my apartment just last week and you didn’t see me issuing a press release. I’ve got to fire that publicist.
– The Air & Water Show. Basically, the city voluntarily puts itself under an air raid for three days every summer. Them planes sure is pretty, tho.
– Garden State. Natalie Portman minus laughably wooden Star Wars dialogue plus adorably eccentric character scripted by minor TV star equals good times. And it’s not like you see Eric McCormack busting out with any remarkably self-assured feature film writing/directing debuts, is it?
– Maturity. My co-worker brought her children in to the office the other day and they spent about an hour alternately tickling me and trying to pull my pants down. It’s good to know that, at 26, I’m basically getting beaten up on the playground.
– Carly Patterson. I refuse to believe that any child can be that cheerful without the aid of drugs or minor cranial surgery. Still, she’s vaulted her way into my heart and god help me if she didn’t stick the landing. Don’t be obscene.
– Sharing and Caring. The other day at Target a woman nearly knocked me over with her cart so she could get her hands on the last box of oatmeal creme pies. I’d say the last thing that woman needs is more sugar, but of course I am not a registered dietician.
– Oprah on Jury Duty. This is news? I tried, convicted, and executed six people in my apartment just last week and you didn’t see me issuing a press release. I’ve got to fire that publicist.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Poll Position
Today I am pleased to present the results of our first ever reader poll. If you are a regular reader and do not remember taking a poll, that is probably because you drink too much, as these results are completely not made up. So seek help, before you destroy the lives of those people closest to you. Think of your poor Aunt Mildred. Anyway, here are our undeniably scientific results:
How did you find our site?
35% Looking for nastychicks.com; suffer from complete inability to spell.
23% Performed google search for "Katie Couric brow lift."
18% Just a big fan of the rare combination of self-importance and poor grammar that only internet weblogs can provide.
10% Masterminding class action lawsuit against Jay for intentional infliction of emotional distress; plan to use website as evidence.
8% Fell asleep on keyboard and inadvertently typed address with nose.
6% Other
What do you like best about the site?
46% None of those flashy graphics or intellectually stimulating articles like you find at other sites.
25% Frequent literary allusions revive ability to hate passionately.
15% Colorful drinking stories make own dysfunctions appear harmless.
10% In a cold and sometimes careless world, it reminds us of the true meaning of Christmas.
4% Other
How would you best describe your internet usage?
24% Provides welcome relief from stressful job plotting the course of our nation’s foreign policy.
20% Goes with the territory of being a sexual predator.
18% Just check the weather and my stocks before I leave in the morning, maybe a little girl on girl action just before bed.
15% i luv im 4evr!
10% See the internet as a serious educational tool; also believe that people will one day start loving opera again.
8% Only as permitted by the restrictions of my house arrest.
5% Other
What do you do for a living?
21% Trade arms for hostages.
18% Other
15% Ghostwrite fat jokes for Cathy comic strip.
14% Understudy for Abe Lincoln Robot at Disney’s Hall of Presidents.
10% Dolly Parton.
8% Make up bizarre answers to survey questions to thwart statisticians.
7% Marry well.
5% Fired from Piggly Wiggly by racist manager.
2% Miss Teen USA.
Do you have any advice for the creator of this site?
37% If you upgrade to our Super Mega Gold Plan, you’ll not only get the free set of steak knives, but also the football phone.
31% For best results, rinse, and then repeat.
23% If you’re planning to change your identity and move to another state, don’t change it to Tom Brokaw, because that one’s already taken.
7% Hats are fun.
2% Other
Today I am pleased to present the results of our first ever reader poll. If you are a regular reader and do not remember taking a poll, that is probably because you drink too much, as these results are completely not made up. So seek help, before you destroy the lives of those people closest to you. Think of your poor Aunt Mildred. Anyway, here are our undeniably scientific results:
How did you find our site?
35% Looking for nastychicks.com; suffer from complete inability to spell.
23% Performed google search for "Katie Couric brow lift."
18% Just a big fan of the rare combination of self-importance and poor grammar that only internet weblogs can provide.
10% Masterminding class action lawsuit against Jay for intentional infliction of emotional distress; plan to use website as evidence.
8% Fell asleep on keyboard and inadvertently typed address with nose.
6% Other
What do you like best about the site?
46% None of those flashy graphics or intellectually stimulating articles like you find at other sites.
25% Frequent literary allusions revive ability to hate passionately.
15% Colorful drinking stories make own dysfunctions appear harmless.
10% In a cold and sometimes careless world, it reminds us of the true meaning of Christmas.
4% Other
How would you best describe your internet usage?
24% Provides welcome relief from stressful job plotting the course of our nation’s foreign policy.
20% Goes with the territory of being a sexual predator.
18% Just check the weather and my stocks before I leave in the morning, maybe a little girl on girl action just before bed.
15% i luv im 4evr!
10% See the internet as a serious educational tool; also believe that people will one day start loving opera again.
8% Only as permitted by the restrictions of my house arrest.
5% Other
What do you do for a living?
21% Trade arms for hostages.
18% Other
15% Ghostwrite fat jokes for Cathy comic strip.
14% Understudy for Abe Lincoln Robot at Disney’s Hall of Presidents.
10% Dolly Parton.
8% Make up bizarre answers to survey questions to thwart statisticians.
7% Marry well.
5% Fired from Piggly Wiggly by racist manager.
2% Miss Teen USA.
Do you have any advice for the creator of this site?
37% If you upgrade to our Super Mega Gold Plan, you’ll not only get the free set of steak knives, but also the football phone.
31% For best results, rinse, and then repeat.
23% If you’re planning to change your identity and move to another state, don’t change it to Tom Brokaw, because that one’s already taken.
7% Hats are fun.
2% Other
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Who’s Got Olympic Fever?
Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve loved the Olympics, if only because we only got three channels (CBS, NBC, and PBS) and even the crappy events sure beat whatever Major Dad and Masterpiece Theatre were doing that day. Now that I’m older, I have less time on my hands to watch (sorry, women’s judo, I’ve got to go in to work at some point!), but I still tune in when I can. And the promotional machine was right -- there are some truly magical things about the Olympics:
– Bob Costas gets a fresh coat of paint and name brand oil for his gears.
– Uncomfortably revealing spandex body suits tide Star Trek fans over between seasons.
– Sportscasters rise to new levels of over-the-top imagery, comparing Russian gymnasts to painted china ducks and Kenyan track stars to charging hyenas on runaway trains.
– Americans get a rare opportunity to 1) learn about new and interesting countries and 2) kick those countries’ asses anyway.
– McDonald’s commercials for Big Macs and french fries juxtapose nicely with images of tiny gymnasts who will never, ever eat them.
– Opening ceremonies demonstrate that some universal images can be disturbingly bizarre and at the same time vaguely boring to people of all cultures.
– Athletes enjoy a level of fame somewhat less fleeting than that of reality show contestants but somewhat more fleeting than that of, say, Jared the Subway Guy.
– NBC mercilessly promotes its new fall lineup until elderly Iowa viewers believe that Father of the Pride is an actual event and Joey has three gold medals in archery.
– Daily editions of the Today Show live from Greece help me indulge my fantasy of getting Matt Lauer deported.
And there's so much more to come!
Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve loved the Olympics, if only because we only got three channels (CBS, NBC, and PBS) and even the crappy events sure beat whatever Major Dad and Masterpiece Theatre were doing that day. Now that I’m older, I have less time on my hands to watch (sorry, women’s judo, I’ve got to go in to work at some point!), but I still tune in when I can. And the promotional machine was right -- there are some truly magical things about the Olympics:
– Bob Costas gets a fresh coat of paint and name brand oil for his gears.
– Uncomfortably revealing spandex body suits tide Star Trek fans over between seasons.
– Sportscasters rise to new levels of over-the-top imagery, comparing Russian gymnasts to painted china ducks and Kenyan track stars to charging hyenas on runaway trains.
– Americans get a rare opportunity to 1) learn about new and interesting countries and 2) kick those countries’ asses anyway.
– McDonald’s commercials for Big Macs and french fries juxtapose nicely with images of tiny gymnasts who will never, ever eat them.
– Opening ceremonies demonstrate that some universal images can be disturbingly bizarre and at the same time vaguely boring to people of all cultures.
– Athletes enjoy a level of fame somewhat less fleeting than that of reality show contestants but somewhat more fleeting than that of, say, Jared the Subway Guy.
– NBC mercilessly promotes its new fall lineup until elderly Iowa viewers believe that Father of the Pride is an actual event and Joey has three gold medals in archery.
– Daily editions of the Today Show live from Greece help me indulge my fantasy of getting Matt Lauer deported.
And there's so much more to come!
Monday, August 16, 2004
Moving Day
I changed offices today at work, and the results get a decidedly mixed review. Although I am a big fan of getting paid to load a cart up with my belongings and move them, I do not like the looks I get silently inquiring if I have been fired, nor do I enjoy the especially prudish attitudes directed towards the budding sport of cart riding. I appreciate the kooky retro fun of sorting through a year’s worth of paperwork (most notably a series of strangely accurate caricatures of co-workers and some truly delightful haiku I drafted during a three-hour meeting), but the process of actually deciding what documents are dead enough to be recycled leaves me cold. And there’s certainly no better way to appreciate the excesses of the criminal justice system in this country than to physically carry hundreds upon hundreds of cases the ten floors between offices. I mean, I’m all for due process, but I bet attorneys don’t throw their backs out from lifting in countries with martial law. Plus, I bet bayoneting is really fun.
But at the very least I guess I’m glad to have the change of pace. My view now is of the Sears tower rather than the Metropolitan Correctional Center, which I suppose is an upgrade, since I won’t have to seethe with jealousy as I watch the prisoners enjoy their recreation hour any more. I’m among different co-workers now, allowing for different experiences in backstabbing, rumormongering, and pretending to care. And the rumor is that the offices on this floor feature actual temperature control, which may lessen the number of July days when I get to show off my sterling sweater collection, but will certainly speak well for my happiness and well-being in the long term. And there’s always the possibility that this one little change will set off a chain reaction, leading to other big changes in my life, like fathering Natalie Portman’s children or winning a Daytime Emmy for the role of Dr. Dirk Grayson on All My Children. I’m not saying anything is for certain yet, but at the very least this merits a "wait and see" attitude. So wait, and see.
I changed offices today at work, and the results get a decidedly mixed review. Although I am a big fan of getting paid to load a cart up with my belongings and move them, I do not like the looks I get silently inquiring if I have been fired, nor do I enjoy the especially prudish attitudes directed towards the budding sport of cart riding. I appreciate the kooky retro fun of sorting through a year’s worth of paperwork (most notably a series of strangely accurate caricatures of co-workers and some truly delightful haiku I drafted during a three-hour meeting), but the process of actually deciding what documents are dead enough to be recycled leaves me cold. And there’s certainly no better way to appreciate the excesses of the criminal justice system in this country than to physically carry hundreds upon hundreds of cases the ten floors between offices. I mean, I’m all for due process, but I bet attorneys don’t throw their backs out from lifting in countries with martial law. Plus, I bet bayoneting is really fun.
But at the very least I guess I’m glad to have the change of pace. My view now is of the Sears tower rather than the Metropolitan Correctional Center, which I suppose is an upgrade, since I won’t have to seethe with jealousy as I watch the prisoners enjoy their recreation hour any more. I’m among different co-workers now, allowing for different experiences in backstabbing, rumormongering, and pretending to care. And the rumor is that the offices on this floor feature actual temperature control, which may lessen the number of July days when I get to show off my sterling sweater collection, but will certainly speak well for my happiness and well-being in the long term. And there’s always the possibility that this one little change will set off a chain reaction, leading to other big changes in my life, like fathering Natalie Portman’s children or winning a Daytime Emmy for the role of Dr. Dirk Grayson on All My Children. I’m not saying anything is for certain yet, but at the very least this merits a "wait and see" attitude. So wait, and see.
Friday, August 13, 2004
Bio Terrorism
I’ve been instructed to write a brief biography of myself for inclusion in our staff directory at work. Never one to waste a great opportunity to sum up the entirety of my existence in one hundred words or less, I thought I’d try out a few practice bios here at the blog before submitting my completed masterpiece for what will no doubt be an absolutely zany formatting and editing process.
Pretentious Bio. My story is really just the age-old saga of the struggle of humankind against a cruel and unrelenting world—a man is born, he lives, he strives, sometimes he eats hot dogs. I’m a metaphysical archaeologist, digging each day through the ruins of existence in a desperate search for some sort of meaning in life, or at least the Garbage Pail Kids cards my parents gave away when I was sixteen. I am the shoemaker humming in his shop as he cobbles a fresh pair of clogs, or the actress blowing Harvey Weinstein in lieu of a screen test. In short, I am America.
Cheerful Bio. Hi everyone! It’s so great to be working with such an awesome group of professionals! Most of the time you can find me in my office on the 26th floor, tackling those thorny legal questions that make this job such a blast, but when I’m not around it’s a good bet that I’m either receiving treatment for my stigmata or hanging out with my two beautiful kittens, Jurisdiction and Federalism (formerly Mittens). Stop by my office any time for some homemade candy!
Sexy Bio. After many hot nights spent as a fireman, I decided to pack up my big hose and head to law school, where my penetrating insights quickly had professors and classmates alike on their knees in admiration. Other positions I’ve been in have included pizza delivery boy, plumber, and, briefly, naughty nurse. Stop by my office any time for some "homemade candy."
Crazy Bio. First and foremost, I wash my hands, because there are tiny invisible bugs crawling all over me, sent by the government to read the secret thoughts the ancient Egyptians beam into my head from their colony in space. I also enjoy counting things and having intense, dreamlike visions where I am a Renaissance lord sailing the canals of Venice in a pink paddleboat. In my spare time, I write angry letters to the Federal Communications Commission and smell Oprah’s trash. I’m so glad to actually outrank everyone in this office, even if the ancient Egyptians and I are the only ones who know it.
Truthful Bio. Hi, I’m Jay. I spend a lot of time making fun of innocent little things like biographies because I’m a cold-hearted person and genuinely afraid to let anyone know who I really am. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office, studying my copy of Entertainment Weekly for potential jokes about Ben Affleck. That is all.
I’ve been instructed to write a brief biography of myself for inclusion in our staff directory at work. Never one to waste a great opportunity to sum up the entirety of my existence in one hundred words or less, I thought I’d try out a few practice bios here at the blog before submitting my completed masterpiece for what will no doubt be an absolutely zany formatting and editing process.
Pretentious Bio. My story is really just the age-old saga of the struggle of humankind against a cruel and unrelenting world—a man is born, he lives, he strives, sometimes he eats hot dogs. I’m a metaphysical archaeologist, digging each day through the ruins of existence in a desperate search for some sort of meaning in life, or at least the Garbage Pail Kids cards my parents gave away when I was sixteen. I am the shoemaker humming in his shop as he cobbles a fresh pair of clogs, or the actress blowing Harvey Weinstein in lieu of a screen test. In short, I am America.
Cheerful Bio. Hi everyone! It’s so great to be working with such an awesome group of professionals! Most of the time you can find me in my office on the 26th floor, tackling those thorny legal questions that make this job such a blast, but when I’m not around it’s a good bet that I’m either receiving treatment for my stigmata or hanging out with my two beautiful kittens, Jurisdiction and Federalism (formerly Mittens). Stop by my office any time for some homemade candy!
Sexy Bio. After many hot nights spent as a fireman, I decided to pack up my big hose and head to law school, where my penetrating insights quickly had professors and classmates alike on their knees in admiration. Other positions I’ve been in have included pizza delivery boy, plumber, and, briefly, naughty nurse. Stop by my office any time for some "homemade candy."
Crazy Bio. First and foremost, I wash my hands, because there are tiny invisible bugs crawling all over me, sent by the government to read the secret thoughts the ancient Egyptians beam into my head from their colony in space. I also enjoy counting things and having intense, dreamlike visions where I am a Renaissance lord sailing the canals of Venice in a pink paddleboat. In my spare time, I write angry letters to the Federal Communications Commission and smell Oprah’s trash. I’m so glad to actually outrank everyone in this office, even if the ancient Egyptians and I are the only ones who know it.
Truthful Bio. Hi, I’m Jay. I spend a lot of time making fun of innocent little things like biographies because I’m a cold-hearted person and genuinely afraid to let anyone know who I really am. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office, studying my copy of Entertainment Weekly for potential jokes about Ben Affleck. That is all.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Unsolved Mysteries
So my hubcaps got stolen the other night. Well, I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but I assume it was night, because I find it unlikely that someone just casually removed them during his lunch break from the Cinnabon. The whole situation is very sad, however, because we are, after all, dealing with an eleven-year-old Dodge Neon that already lacks air conditioning and a working radio. Basically, we’re about two parking permits and a pine-scented air freshener removed from scrap metal here. At this point, vandalism is quite frankly overkill. What, did they narrow it down to my hubcaps or Christopher Reeve’s? I’m going to hell for that.
In other mysterious news, I received a nearly indecipherable voicemail the other day from someone whose voice I did not recognize and whose name I could not make out due to a well-placed cell phone click, the kind of thing Joan Cusack goes medieval about in those soul-crushing U.S. Cellular commercials. The caller purported to be a friend from undergrad, but my concern is that it was actually a CIA operative or baby’s momma attempting to trick me into some sort of disastrous confession. Suffice it to say that my caller ID alert level has just been raised to orange.
And to me, the continued existence of office farewell lunches is a mystery on the level of a Shroud of Turin or a Stonehenge. We all gather to salute the departure of a co-worker we never really cared for by paying too much for a painfully long lunch at a restaurant we would never even consider patronizing under ordinary circumstances, with the added bonus of knowing that the co-worker being "honored" wishes to be there about as much as we do, which is to say about as much as we would like to be covered in Cheetohs or backup dancer penis and fed to Britney Spears. Work already owns our immortal souls, must it try for our digestive systems as well? It’s a mystery, people, and that ain’t just an awkward framing device.
So my hubcaps got stolen the other night. Well, I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but I assume it was night, because I find it unlikely that someone just casually removed them during his lunch break from the Cinnabon. The whole situation is very sad, however, because we are, after all, dealing with an eleven-year-old Dodge Neon that already lacks air conditioning and a working radio. Basically, we’re about two parking permits and a pine-scented air freshener removed from scrap metal here. At this point, vandalism is quite frankly overkill. What, did they narrow it down to my hubcaps or Christopher Reeve’s? I’m going to hell for that.
In other mysterious news, I received a nearly indecipherable voicemail the other day from someone whose voice I did not recognize and whose name I could not make out due to a well-placed cell phone click, the kind of thing Joan Cusack goes medieval about in those soul-crushing U.S. Cellular commercials. The caller purported to be a friend from undergrad, but my concern is that it was actually a CIA operative or baby’s momma attempting to trick me into some sort of disastrous confession. Suffice it to say that my caller ID alert level has just been raised to orange.
And to me, the continued existence of office farewell lunches is a mystery on the level of a Shroud of Turin or a Stonehenge. We all gather to salute the departure of a co-worker we never really cared for by paying too much for a painfully long lunch at a restaurant we would never even consider patronizing under ordinary circumstances, with the added bonus of knowing that the co-worker being "honored" wishes to be there about as much as we do, which is to say about as much as we would like to be covered in Cheetohs or backup dancer penis and fed to Britney Spears. Work already owns our immortal souls, must it try for our digestive systems as well? It’s a mystery, people, and that ain’t just an awkward framing device.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Positivity Corner
It occurs to me that a lot of what I write here on the blog tends to be somewhat negative, whether I’m listing out the thousands of reasons that having to get up and go to a job each morning doesn’t quite delight and amaze me or breaking down the slight physical imperfections and vocal tics that I believe dim the shining stars in our great galaxy of celebrities (i.e. Katie Holmes’s lazy eye, Drew Barrymore’s lisp). I think at times I come across a bit like my 93-year-old grandmother, demanding my foot massager from my powerlift recliner while lamenting the sad state of contemporary hairstyles and wondering aloud how That Erica Kane can get so many men when she clearly has an ugly back. Suffice it to say that I do not consider our contemporary world to be beyond reproach.
I do believe that life is basically good, however, and although that may not be imbued with such high hilarity as my daily Hilary Duff musings (How is it that I can love Lizzie McGuire but hate La Duff with the same fervor with which she "powders her nose" in a LA club ladies’ room? And who the hell is Haylie Duff?), it is nonetheless perhaps worth noting, in service of my Bill O’Reilly-level interest in being fair and balanced. I like things (Murder, She Wrote reruns and Chinese food come to mind), and more importantly, I genuinely like people, especially before I actually meet them. Riding on the train each day I create a little stable of delightful fictional characters out of the i-pod sportin’, conversation-about-real-estate havin’ strangers all around me, imagining what secret joy underlies the mysterious smile on the face of the woman in the purple head scarf clutching a copy of Twisted Desire or what hidden insecurity motivates the middle-aged man pouring over printed-out copies of a powerpoint presentation about automotive supplies to unnecessarily take up enough space for any given five people. Of course, I start to like people a lot less once they open their mouths and explain why books are boring or whose personal lives we ought to be legislating against, but the point is that humanity, as an abstract mass at least, is a net plus. Which is good, because I don’t think I’m ready to give it all up and live among the apes just yet.
It occurs to me that a lot of what I write here on the blog tends to be somewhat negative, whether I’m listing out the thousands of reasons that having to get up and go to a job each morning doesn’t quite delight and amaze me or breaking down the slight physical imperfections and vocal tics that I believe dim the shining stars in our great galaxy of celebrities (i.e. Katie Holmes’s lazy eye, Drew Barrymore’s lisp). I think at times I come across a bit like my 93-year-old grandmother, demanding my foot massager from my powerlift recliner while lamenting the sad state of contemporary hairstyles and wondering aloud how That Erica Kane can get so many men when she clearly has an ugly back. Suffice it to say that I do not consider our contemporary world to be beyond reproach.
I do believe that life is basically good, however, and although that may not be imbued with such high hilarity as my daily Hilary Duff musings (How is it that I can love Lizzie McGuire but hate La Duff with the same fervor with which she "powders her nose" in a LA club ladies’ room? And who the hell is Haylie Duff?), it is nonetheless perhaps worth noting, in service of my Bill O’Reilly-level interest in being fair and balanced. I like things (Murder, She Wrote reruns and Chinese food come to mind), and more importantly, I genuinely like people, especially before I actually meet them. Riding on the train each day I create a little stable of delightful fictional characters out of the i-pod sportin’, conversation-about-real-estate havin’ strangers all around me, imagining what secret joy underlies the mysterious smile on the face of the woman in the purple head scarf clutching a copy of Twisted Desire or what hidden insecurity motivates the middle-aged man pouring over printed-out copies of a powerpoint presentation about automotive supplies to unnecessarily take up enough space for any given five people. Of course, I start to like people a lot less once they open their mouths and explain why books are boring or whose personal lives we ought to be legislating against, but the point is that humanity, as an abstract mass at least, is a net plus. Which is good, because I don’t think I’m ready to give it all up and live among the apes just yet.
Monday, August 09, 2004
A Non-Apology Apology
I realize that there’s been something of a substantial break in programming here at the blog, and I just want to assure everyone that there is basically no good reason for it and that it probably will happen again. You see, summer in Chicago is the only season of the year in which the city is truly livable, and as much as the Paris Hilton/Nick Carter breakup is begging for my explication, I simply cannot resist the lure of lying on the beach and secretly ogling passersby from behind my sunglasses or standing in a inch-deep mixture of urine, vomit, and beer as I use a portajohn at one of the city’s finer neighborhood festivals. So I have been out and about gathering material, whether it be the insane mustachioed woman who challenged me to arm wrestle her when I was out with my friends at a beer garden or the small child who struck me from behind with his bike as I was running along the lakefront path. Absent the foot of snow, life is more interesting than ever (although "interesting" is a word that is clearly rather broadly interpreted around here, given the multiple posts dedicated to television programs I have watched or my epic battles with building maintenance), but that sadly leaves much less time for prattling on endlessly about it. Don’t worry, though, I’m way too self-absorbed to stop posting altogether, and it’ll be winter here again in about another five minutes, anyway.
I realize that there’s been something of a substantial break in programming here at the blog, and I just want to assure everyone that there is basically no good reason for it and that it probably will happen again. You see, summer in Chicago is the only season of the year in which the city is truly livable, and as much as the Paris Hilton/Nick Carter breakup is begging for my explication, I simply cannot resist the lure of lying on the beach and secretly ogling passersby from behind my sunglasses or standing in a inch-deep mixture of urine, vomit, and beer as I use a portajohn at one of the city’s finer neighborhood festivals. So I have been out and about gathering material, whether it be the insane mustachioed woman who challenged me to arm wrestle her when I was out with my friends at a beer garden or the small child who struck me from behind with his bike as I was running along the lakefront path. Absent the foot of snow, life is more interesting than ever (although "interesting" is a word that is clearly rather broadly interpreted around here, given the multiple posts dedicated to television programs I have watched or my epic battles with building maintenance), but that sadly leaves much less time for prattling on endlessly about it. Don’t worry, though, I’m way too self-absorbed to stop posting altogether, and it’ll be winter here again in about another five minutes, anyway.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Sharing & Caring
God love office small talk. There’s nothing like being asked ridiculously personal questions by co-workers who clearly know absolutely nothing about you and only wish to feign a sufficient amount of interest to force you to tight-lipped-smile and nod your way through their own horrifyingly graphic retellings of their prom nights, messy child-custody disputes, or recent colonoscopies. One afternoon you’re just standing there at the water cooler, refilling the Taco Bell cup you reuse incessantly because you secretly feel bringing an actual glass in from home would be tantamount to an admission that you actually work at this job and may until you die, and up walks Bob from Accounting with a muttered "hello," a muted "how was your weekend," and a ten-minute account of his thrilling battle to have a public urination ticket expunged. You drift away in your mind to a magical place where Bob has been drugged and sterilized and you feast regularly on Kraft macaroni and cheese and beer, until suddenly you realize that a question of some sort has been asked and you try to respond in some neutral, totally-were-listening-but-choose-to-give-an-arch-and-noncommittal-answer sort of way, like "you know, I’m not sure" or "right, something like that." All too late, you understand from Bob’s horrified reaction that the question was clearly something like "Do you hate babies?" or "Isn’t murdering puppies so very wrong?" and you’ve left him with the impression that you’re some sort of Taco-Bell-obsessed, baby-hating, puppy-killing psychopath or, even worse, a bad listener. And then it comes to you that you really don’t care all that much, even if it does endanger your invitation to Friday happy hours at Bennigan’s. And then you feel peace, freedom, and that lingering bit of murderous rage which is always sort of in the background anyway. And then you down a "fun size" bag of M&Ms. Or maybe that’s just me.
God love office small talk. There’s nothing like being asked ridiculously personal questions by co-workers who clearly know absolutely nothing about you and only wish to feign a sufficient amount of interest to force you to tight-lipped-smile and nod your way through their own horrifyingly graphic retellings of their prom nights, messy child-custody disputes, or recent colonoscopies. One afternoon you’re just standing there at the water cooler, refilling the Taco Bell cup you reuse incessantly because you secretly feel bringing an actual glass in from home would be tantamount to an admission that you actually work at this job and may until you die, and up walks Bob from Accounting with a muttered "hello," a muted "how was your weekend," and a ten-minute account of his thrilling battle to have a public urination ticket expunged. You drift away in your mind to a magical place where Bob has been drugged and sterilized and you feast regularly on Kraft macaroni and cheese and beer, until suddenly you realize that a question of some sort has been asked and you try to respond in some neutral, totally-were-listening-but-choose-to-give-an-arch-and-noncommittal-answer sort of way, like "you know, I’m not sure" or "right, something like that." All too late, you understand from Bob’s horrified reaction that the question was clearly something like "Do you hate babies?" or "Isn’t murdering puppies so very wrong?" and you’ve left him with the impression that you’re some sort of Taco-Bell-obsessed, baby-hating, puppy-killing psychopath or, even worse, a bad listener. And then it comes to you that you really don’t care all that much, even if it does endanger your invitation to Friday happy hours at Bennigan’s. And then you feel peace, freedom, and that lingering bit of murderous rage which is always sort of in the background anyway. And then you down a "fun size" bag of M&Ms. Or maybe that’s just me.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Reader Response
Our readers here at the blog are always full of helpful "suggestions" of ways we can improve our product. Of course, our product cannot possibly be improved; it is perfect, and these people are fools. Let us therefore laugh at their pitiful suggestions:
- Use more fun fonts, like garamond or that one where the letters are made out of logs. I really like fun fonts. Sometimes I dream about them.
- Try to ramble more. Seriously, you're so concise and focused it's distracting.
- Four words: Bea Arthur Theme Week
- You know how sometimes you get a grocery cart with a bad wheel, but you don't notice it a first, and then you've already got a bunch of stuff in there so you just try and deal with it, but then you keep veering to the right and almost hit an old lady on a Rascal Scooter from Electric Mobility? You should write something about that.
- Take your top off!!!!!
- The content should be more country-line-dancing driven. What are the hot new moves? Where are the best bars? What about apparel?
- Tell the readers that you love us more often. Your silence speaks volumes, and it breaks my heart.
- Bill from The Apprentice sightings should become a regular feature, at least until you get arrested.
- Get all political. Doctor up some photos of John Kerry blowing Michael Moore.
- Experiment with format. Why not continue the blog as a one-act play about coming to terms with athlete's foot?
- For a sexy evening look, try dressing the blog in a slinky black dress.
- You should really do something about your hair.
Our readers here at the blog are always full of helpful "suggestions" of ways we can improve our product. Of course, our product cannot possibly be improved; it is perfect, and these people are fools. Let us therefore laugh at their pitiful suggestions:
- Use more fun fonts, like garamond or that one where the letters are made out of logs. I really like fun fonts. Sometimes I dream about them.
- Try to ramble more. Seriously, you're so concise and focused it's distracting.
- Four words: Bea Arthur Theme Week
- You know how sometimes you get a grocery cart with a bad wheel, but you don't notice it a first, and then you've already got a bunch of stuff in there so you just try and deal with it, but then you keep veering to the right and almost hit an old lady on a Rascal Scooter from Electric Mobility? You should write something about that.
- Take your top off!!!!!
- The content should be more country-line-dancing driven. What are the hot new moves? Where are the best bars? What about apparel?
- Tell the readers that you love us more often. Your silence speaks volumes, and it breaks my heart.
- Bill from The Apprentice sightings should become a regular feature, at least until you get arrested.
- Get all political. Doctor up some photos of John Kerry blowing Michael Moore.
- Experiment with format. Why not continue the blog as a one-act play about coming to terms with athlete's foot?
- For a sexy evening look, try dressing the blog in a slinky black dress.
- You should really do something about your hair.
Monday, August 02, 2004
Comings and Goings
- The Bourne Supremacy. Is there any phrase in the English language more thrilling than "Joan Allen action movie?" And from "Bourne Leader" to "Bourne Again," it's taught America's second-tier magazine writers how to pun again.
- Barack Obama. His keynote speech at the DNC had Jim Lehrer acting like Courtney Love in a Wendy's. Forget the senate; he should run for Miss America!
- Paralysis. We started getting ten different HBOs this weekend and my roommate spent nearly as many hours staring at them. Sure, his muscles have started to atrophy, but he's got two-thirds of Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle memorized.
- Millennium Park. The forty gazillion dollars was definitely worth it for a sculpture of a giant, mirrored bean. Where else could we showcase the sticky hand prints of generations of Chicagoans?
- Fireworks. I think it's nice when people applaud them. Let's take it to the next level and begin heckling and haranging as well. "You call that an explosion? My grandma's had bigger chemical reactions!"
- The Bourne Supremacy. Is there any phrase in the English language more thrilling than "Joan Allen action movie?" And from "Bourne Leader" to "Bourne Again," it's taught America's second-tier magazine writers how to pun again.
- Barack Obama. His keynote speech at the DNC had Jim Lehrer acting like Courtney Love in a Wendy's. Forget the senate; he should run for Miss America!
- Paralysis. We started getting ten different HBOs this weekend and my roommate spent nearly as many hours staring at them. Sure, his muscles have started to atrophy, but he's got two-thirds of Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle memorized.
- Millennium Park. The forty gazillion dollars was definitely worth it for a sculpture of a giant, mirrored bean. Where else could we showcase the sticky hand prints of generations of Chicagoans?
- Fireworks. I think it's nice when people applaud them. Let's take it to the next level and begin heckling and haranging as well. "You call that an explosion? My grandma's had bigger chemical reactions!"
Sunday, August 01, 2004
A Higher Calling
I had a celebrity sighting tonight, and it wasn’t the typical kind where I think the cashier at Wendy’s might be Vanilla Ice. Having decided to check in with my good friend The Christ, but suspecting that the hours before noon might not be my godliest, I headed down to my local house of worship for the 7 PM guilt-and-guitars service. I had just settled in for some good sermon-induced daydreaming (I can’t completely recall the content, but chances are that, one, I lived in a house with a two-story waterslide and, two, something horrible had happened to Ann Coulter) when I realized that worshiping behind me was none other than one Bill from The Apprentice. Now, those of you who read this site regularly (a demographic I have determined includes mainly people who run google searches for "Lindsay Lohan boob job" and those who have a frequent medical need to induce vomiting) realize that I went through a period of mild obsession (read: not Degrassi-level) with this particular television program. I don’t think it is an overstatement to say that The Apprentice was The Greatest Artistic Creation in the History of Human Endeavor. I managed to play things cool, however, and even made it through administering the standard "peace of Christ" handshake without doing something inappropriate like requesting a signed hymnal or shouting "Hey, doesn’t Trump own your soul now?" I was a model of restraint.
Of course, this historic encounter has triggered several very important observations. First of all, Bill from The Apprentice has a very good handshake. Firm, but not overpowering. Hands soft and well-cared-for, but no strangers to work. Secondly, Bill from The Apprentice sometimes accidentally leaves his cell phone on in church, but luckily only on vibrate mode. Thirdly, Bill from The Apprentice sometimes leaves church right after communion, instead of waiting for the closing hymn, which is generally an upbeat, country-inflected tune about God moving mountains or tearing down walls (God and Bill from The Apprentice are both in construction).
But the real kicker here is that this is actually the second time in the past week or so that I’ve seen Bill from The Apprentice, having spotted him down at Tavern on Rush when I was last in the gold coast. It’s as though he is following me, and who could blame him? Plus, the same thing happened to me last fall, when I spotted Dave and Cara from Road Rules South Pacific at the Cold Stone Creamery on Wells and then, only six days later, at the Avenue Tavern in lakeview. Everyone has a talent in life, and apparently mine is spotting minor celebrities multiple times within a brief period. Clearly, I have been richly blessed, thanks no doubt in no small part to my scrupulous and unimpeachable attendance at church.
I had a celebrity sighting tonight, and it wasn’t the typical kind where I think the cashier at Wendy’s might be Vanilla Ice. Having decided to check in with my good friend The Christ, but suspecting that the hours before noon might not be my godliest, I headed down to my local house of worship for the 7 PM guilt-and-guitars service. I had just settled in for some good sermon-induced daydreaming (I can’t completely recall the content, but chances are that, one, I lived in a house with a two-story waterslide and, two, something horrible had happened to Ann Coulter) when I realized that worshiping behind me was none other than one Bill from The Apprentice. Now, those of you who read this site regularly (a demographic I have determined includes mainly people who run google searches for "Lindsay Lohan boob job" and those who have a frequent medical need to induce vomiting) realize that I went through a period of mild obsession (read: not Degrassi-level) with this particular television program. I don’t think it is an overstatement to say that The Apprentice was The Greatest Artistic Creation in the History of Human Endeavor. I managed to play things cool, however, and even made it through administering the standard "peace of Christ" handshake without doing something inappropriate like requesting a signed hymnal or shouting "Hey, doesn’t Trump own your soul now?" I was a model of restraint.
Of course, this historic encounter has triggered several very important observations. First of all, Bill from The Apprentice has a very good handshake. Firm, but not overpowering. Hands soft and well-cared-for, but no strangers to work. Secondly, Bill from The Apprentice sometimes accidentally leaves his cell phone on in church, but luckily only on vibrate mode. Thirdly, Bill from The Apprentice sometimes leaves church right after communion, instead of waiting for the closing hymn, which is generally an upbeat, country-inflected tune about God moving mountains or tearing down walls (God and Bill from The Apprentice are both in construction).
But the real kicker here is that this is actually the second time in the past week or so that I’ve seen Bill from The Apprentice, having spotted him down at Tavern on Rush when I was last in the gold coast. It’s as though he is following me, and who could blame him? Plus, the same thing happened to me last fall, when I spotted Dave and Cara from Road Rules South Pacific at the Cold Stone Creamery on Wells and then, only six days later, at the Avenue Tavern in lakeview. Everyone has a talent in life, and apparently mine is spotting minor celebrities multiple times within a brief period. Clearly, I have been richly blessed, thanks no doubt in no small part to my scrupulous and unimpeachable attendance at church.
