Thursday, June 30, 2005
Bloggers -- They're Just Like Us!
At long last I'm getting around to posting pictures from last weekend's events. It's all part of my continuing effort to be more like Us Weekly, but with less coverage of Jessica Simpson.
Like a tiny, alcoholic bird, Allyson receives much needed sustenance. Nothing like a quart of hard alcohol on a 90 degree day. Notice the fine etiquette -- no lips on the nozzle!
Apparently convinced that we are 19 years old (or the 30-year-old stars of a WB "teen" drama), we allow our evening to devolve into an impromptu game of flip cup. 
Suzanne and Daliah enjoy fun and sun (and sixty-year-0lds in scarily small trunks) at the East Bank Club. Clearly, Daliah is no stranger to the Kevin Federline look.
I think I look like one of the villains from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in this picture. At least I'm not a Nazi, though.
At long last I'm getting around to posting pictures from last weekend's events. It's all part of my continuing effort to be more like Us Weekly, but with less coverage of Jessica Simpson.
Like a tiny, alcoholic bird, Allyson receives much needed sustenance. Nothing like a quart of hard alcohol on a 90 degree day. Notice the fine etiquette -- no lips on the nozzle!
Apparently convinced that we are 19 years old (or the 30-year-old stars of a WB "teen" drama), we allow our evening to devolve into an impromptu game of flip cup. 
Suzanne and Daliah enjoy fun and sun (and sixty-year-0lds in scarily small trunks) at the East Bank Club. Clearly, Daliah is no stranger to the Kevin Federline look.I think I look like one of the villains from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in this picture. At least I'm not a Nazi, though.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Accomplishments, Dubious
Damn. I just realized I've done over 300 posts. Seriously. Do I have way too much time on my hands, or what? I mean, I know my various staff meetings and cab rides make pretty compelling source material, but I'm not sure that any single life can bear that much dissection. I feel like I'm going to need to back over a pedestrian or marry Katie Holmes or something just to keep things fresh. Either that or put up some more topless photos of myself. It was nice to hear from the creepy older men segment of my audience.
Actually, though, there’s been a lot going on lately. Friday I had a wedding in the suburbs, which allowed me to A) buy a beer for two dollars, B) stock up on fine Sam’s Choice products at Wal-Mart, and C) enjoy the impressively deep and appropriately smarmy radio voice of the coworker who was DJing the wedding. Then Saturday I spent the day at the East Bank Club, Chicago’s yuppie mother ship, where my friend is a member. (Pictures – including some with me in a hat! – will follow, eventually.) Lots of interesting grooming and apparel choices on display there, to be sure. And Sunday was the Pride Parade, which, well, wow. I have never seen so many plausible-looking drag queens before in my life. Plus you get to see politicians and TV personalities looking vaguely uncomfortable to be riding on the float directly behind the submissive leather daddies. It was a weekend full of entertainment. Which explains why I had difficulty sitting upright in my chair at work for most of the day yesterday. I still maintain that it is very challenging.
Damn. I just realized I've done over 300 posts. Seriously. Do I have way too much time on my hands, or what? I mean, I know my various staff meetings and cab rides make pretty compelling source material, but I'm not sure that any single life can bear that much dissection. I feel like I'm going to need to back over a pedestrian or marry Katie Holmes or something just to keep things fresh. Either that or put up some more topless photos of myself. It was nice to hear from the creepy older men segment of my audience.
Actually, though, there’s been a lot going on lately. Friday I had a wedding in the suburbs, which allowed me to A) buy a beer for two dollars, B) stock up on fine Sam’s Choice products at Wal-Mart, and C) enjoy the impressively deep and appropriately smarmy radio voice of the coworker who was DJing the wedding. Then Saturday I spent the day at the East Bank Club, Chicago’s yuppie mother ship, where my friend is a member. (Pictures – including some with me in a hat! – will follow, eventually.) Lots of interesting grooming and apparel choices on display there, to be sure. And Sunday was the Pride Parade, which, well, wow. I have never seen so many plausible-looking drag queens before in my life. Plus you get to see politicians and TV personalities looking vaguely uncomfortable to be riding on the float directly behind the submissive leather daddies. It was a weekend full of entertainment. Which explains why I had difficulty sitting upright in my chair at work for most of the day yesterday. I still maintain that it is very challenging.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Missed Connection
I made a new friend on the train the other day.
As sometimes happens, there were a number of semi-literate, relatively-unclothed teenaged girls in the same car as me, and they were giggling and malapropisming up a storm. This was, of course, completely hilarious, if not especially flattering for our contemporary educational system. (Whatever happened to No Skank Left Behind?) As we approached their stop, these girls began wondering aloud which side of the train they needed to exit on, with a circularity and intensity generally reserved for Senate confirmation hearings and Faulkner novels.
And that's when my new friend stepped in. In her forties with what is probably best described as a "wrestler's build" and certainly not unfamiliar with the softer side of Sears, she ripped into these young ladies like Kirstie Alley with a jar of extra chunky peanut butter.
"Jesus Christ, you get off on the left side, okay? Jesus. Get off on the right and you’ll be electrocuted on the tracks. Not that I’d mind."
Properly chastened, the limp, useless teens departed silently, probably only later thinking to make fun of her shoes. My new friend then began orating to the train in general.
"I mean, Jesus, how stupid are they? It really makes you worry about the future of this country. Jesus Christ. And somebody ought to buy them some clothes, for God’s sake. I’ll chip in."
Apparently mistaking my best noncommittal face for a look of unadulterated support, my new friend at this point began directing all of her remarks to me and me alone.
"What stop are we at? Jesus, I’m going to be late for my own birthday party. How slow is this fucking train?"
Seemingly thinking it was time to move our relationship to the next level, my new friend continued.
"Hey, you should come to my birthday party. There’s going to be free beer!"
I demurred. This was not, however, enough to stop the onslaught.
"Jesus Christ, is the conductor asleep up there? How slow is this damned train? Jesus."
There were a number of other iterations before I eventually hurled myself off of the train three stops before my own. I won’t trouble you with the details, but suffice it to say that men my new friend used to date and CTA employees fared especially poorly.
People who need people really ARE the luckiest people in the world.
I made a new friend on the train the other day.
As sometimes happens, there were a number of semi-literate, relatively-unclothed teenaged girls in the same car as me, and they were giggling and malapropisming up a storm. This was, of course, completely hilarious, if not especially flattering for our contemporary educational system. (Whatever happened to No Skank Left Behind?) As we approached their stop, these girls began wondering aloud which side of the train they needed to exit on, with a circularity and intensity generally reserved for Senate confirmation hearings and Faulkner novels.
And that's when my new friend stepped in. In her forties with what is probably best described as a "wrestler's build" and certainly not unfamiliar with the softer side of Sears, she ripped into these young ladies like Kirstie Alley with a jar of extra chunky peanut butter.
"Jesus Christ, you get off on the left side, okay? Jesus. Get off on the right and you’ll be electrocuted on the tracks. Not that I’d mind."
Properly chastened, the limp, useless teens departed silently, probably only later thinking to make fun of her shoes. My new friend then began orating to the train in general.
"I mean, Jesus, how stupid are they? It really makes you worry about the future of this country. Jesus Christ. And somebody ought to buy them some clothes, for God’s sake. I’ll chip in."
Apparently mistaking my best noncommittal face for a look of unadulterated support, my new friend at this point began directing all of her remarks to me and me alone.
"What stop are we at? Jesus, I’m going to be late for my own birthday party. How slow is this fucking train?"
Seemingly thinking it was time to move our relationship to the next level, my new friend continued.
"Hey, you should come to my birthday party. There’s going to be free beer!"
I demurred. This was not, however, enough to stop the onslaught.
"Jesus Christ, is the conductor asleep up there? How slow is this damned train? Jesus."
There were a number of other iterations before I eventually hurled myself off of the train three stops before my own. I won’t trouble you with the details, but suffice it to say that men my new friend used to date and CTA employees fared especially poorly.
People who need people really ARE the luckiest people in the world.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
(Sub)Text
With the advent of my new cell phone, I have become introduced to text messaging. I have to say, I think it's absolutely hilarious the way it forces you to edit most of the actual content out of your messages so you don't spend all day scrolling through the letters on your tiny keypad. (Which would leave no time to play Ms. Pac Man.) For instance, I got the following message from my friend this morning:
sorry lft lst nt. not flng wel. 2nt?
The English-language version of this message would have read:
Sorry I said I was going to the bathroom at the party last night and then disappeared completely. The Wild Turkey was not sitting well, and I ended up taking a cab home and stopping every two blocks to open the door and throw up. Still, I wouldn't hesitate to repeat this exercise again tonight, if you feel up for it.
My response followed similar rules of editing:
no prob. hope ok. call ltr.
Which actually meant:
Yeah, it took me a little while to realize you were gone, since I was for some reason engaged in a virulent debate with a total stranger on the subject of mad cow disease. Later, I made out with the stranger. Hope the vomiting has stopped; if so, I feel like we should celebrate with some Wild Turkey.
See how much time technology can save us? This modern world of ours is a miracle.
With the advent of my new cell phone, I have become introduced to text messaging. I have to say, I think it's absolutely hilarious the way it forces you to edit most of the actual content out of your messages so you don't spend all day scrolling through the letters on your tiny keypad. (Which would leave no time to play Ms. Pac Man.) For instance, I got the following message from my friend this morning:
sorry lft lst nt. not flng wel. 2nt?
The English-language version of this message would have read:
Sorry I said I was going to the bathroom at the party last night and then disappeared completely. The Wild Turkey was not sitting well, and I ended up taking a cab home and stopping every two blocks to open the door and throw up. Still, I wouldn't hesitate to repeat this exercise again tonight, if you feel up for it.
My response followed similar rules of editing:
no prob. hope ok. call ltr.
Which actually meant:
Yeah, it took me a little while to realize you were gone, since I was for some reason engaged in a virulent debate with a total stranger on the subject of mad cow disease. Later, I made out with the stranger. Hope the vomiting has stopped; if so, I feel like we should celebrate with some Wild Turkey.
See how much time technology can save us? This modern world of ours is a miracle.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Hammer Time
I just finished watching the MC Hammer made-for-TV movie on VH1. Now, in my defense, I was not just watching the MC Hammer made-for-TV movie; I was also doing laundry and cleaning at the same time. I also took a shower, which resulted in me missing much of the 2 Legit 2 Quit era. But I saw enough to allow me to say with some degree of certainty that it was the most amazing artistic achievement in the history of man. The actor playing MC (I think we're on a first name basis after all these years) was so good I really thought for a minute he might actually be MC, who after all needs the work. But no, it was a non-MC MC, and he did a perfect job capturing all the different facets of the Hammer -- the driven workaholic, the family man, the person incapable of sensibly spending money, the man who appeared in a video with members of the Addams Family. And boy could he do the running man! I find it difficult to conceive of the fact that there was no Emmy attention.
I also watched half of a Dawson's Creek this morning (the one where Andi leaves Capeside after Jen gives her club drugs) and nearly gave myself heatstroke trying to run in the 90-degree weather. This is why they shouldn't give me extra time off of work. For my own protection.
I just finished watching the MC Hammer made-for-TV movie on VH1. Now, in my defense, I was not just watching the MC Hammer made-for-TV movie; I was also doing laundry and cleaning at the same time. I also took a shower, which resulted in me missing much of the 2 Legit 2 Quit era. But I saw enough to allow me to say with some degree of certainty that it was the most amazing artistic achievement in the history of man. The actor playing MC (I think we're on a first name basis after all these years) was so good I really thought for a minute he might actually be MC, who after all needs the work. But no, it was a non-MC MC, and he did a perfect job capturing all the different facets of the Hammer -- the driven workaholic, the family man, the person incapable of sensibly spending money, the man who appeared in a video with members of the Addams Family. And boy could he do the running man! I find it difficult to conceive of the fact that there was no Emmy attention.
I also watched half of a Dawson's Creek this morning (the one where Andi leaves Capeside after Jen gives her club drugs) and nearly gave myself heatstroke trying to run in the 90-degree weather. This is why they shouldn't give me extra time off of work. For my own protection.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Coming Soon to a Theater Near You
If you’re like me, and there’s no way you possibly could be, you’re probably feeling really overwhelmed right now by the neverending supply of high-quality summer movies out there for your delight and amazement. I mean, the afterglow from the good doctor Hitch hadn’t even begun to wear off when along came instant classics like Kingdom of Heaven and that one where Russell Crowe hit the guy with the phone. To make things easier, I’ve created a little guide to the can’t miss movies still to come this summer!
Herbie: Fully Loaded. Potentially our last cinematic record of the pre-Skeletor Lindsay Lohan, marred only by shocking allegations that Disney had her "talents" digitally reduced so as to avoid frightening small children. Also notable for the increasingly ironic title.
Bewitched. Nicole Kidman and Will Ferrell both go slumming! Plus, they use that awesome Police song in the commercials.
War of the Worlds. The chronicle of a celebrity’s fascinating descent into madness. Also, things blow up. And there are aliens and things (and no, I don’t mean Tim Robbins).
Happy Endings. Just because the title sounds dirty.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. What more do you need besides the promise of oompah-loompahs? Okay, fine, Johnny Depp dresses like an Olsen twin.
The Fantastic Four. Jessica Alba’s in it, which means there’s a pretty good chance of T&A.
Bad News Bears. Nothing like an unnecessary remake to liven up your summer! Or several! Plus, this one has Billy Bob Thornton! Who doesn’t love him, besides everyone?
The Dukes of Hazzard. Sure to put to rest all doubts about the extent of Jessica Simpson’s acting range, this hard-hitting drama chronicles the story of a close-knit family fighting against political corruption in the deep South. Plus, short shorts!
If you’re like me, and there’s no way you possibly could be, you’re probably feeling really overwhelmed right now by the neverending supply of high-quality summer movies out there for your delight and amazement. I mean, the afterglow from the good doctor Hitch hadn’t even begun to wear off when along came instant classics like Kingdom of Heaven and that one where Russell Crowe hit the guy with the phone. To make things easier, I’ve created a little guide to the can’t miss movies still to come this summer!
Herbie: Fully Loaded. Potentially our last cinematic record of the pre-Skeletor Lindsay Lohan, marred only by shocking allegations that Disney had her "talents" digitally reduced so as to avoid frightening small children. Also notable for the increasingly ironic title.
Bewitched. Nicole Kidman and Will Ferrell both go slumming! Plus, they use that awesome Police song in the commercials.
War of the Worlds. The chronicle of a celebrity’s fascinating descent into madness. Also, things blow up. And there are aliens and things (and no, I don’t mean Tim Robbins).
Happy Endings. Just because the title sounds dirty.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. What more do you need besides the promise of oompah-loompahs? Okay, fine, Johnny Depp dresses like an Olsen twin.
The Fantastic Four. Jessica Alba’s in it, which means there’s a pretty good chance of T&A.
Bad News Bears. Nothing like an unnecessary remake to liven up your summer! Or several! Plus, this one has Billy Bob Thornton! Who doesn’t love him, besides everyone?
The Dukes of Hazzard. Sure to put to rest all doubts about the extent of Jessica Simpson’s acting range, this hard-hitting drama chronicles the story of a close-knit family fighting against political corruption in the deep South. Plus, short shorts!
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Reality Bites
There's a new Real World starting tonight. I'm trying to muster up some excitement, but I think I may just be getting too old. The fact that they've cast at least two troglodytes doesn't help. Nor am I enticed by the girl who refers to herself as "tough" at least six times during her casting video. That means she'll be openly weeping within three episodes. It's like when Philadelphia Sarah kept calling herself "confident" and "sexual" when she was obviously just a former math team captain with a boob job -- if you have to keep telling yourself, then it's probably not true. You never know, though, a Frankie-style nutcase may rise from among the ranks to surprise and delight us. Let's hide all the knives, just to be safe.
While we're on the subject, I can't help but feel that it's a bad sign for America that "Dancing With the Stars" is such a success. Is watching J. Peterman trip over his own feet and nearly suffer a heart attack really that much of a draw? What's next, Puddy learning how to navigate the balance beam? The Soup Nazi roping and riding? Of course, I did love Circus of the Stars when I was a kid, so maybe I'm a hypocrite. As I recall, Diedre Hall nearly got mauled by a tiger on that show. It might have been better for her if she had.
On another note, today is the longest day of the year. Let's hope it doesn't feel that way.
There's a new Real World starting tonight. I'm trying to muster up some excitement, but I think I may just be getting too old. The fact that they've cast at least two troglodytes doesn't help. Nor am I enticed by the girl who refers to herself as "tough" at least six times during her casting video. That means she'll be openly weeping within three episodes. It's like when Philadelphia Sarah kept calling herself "confident" and "sexual" when she was obviously just a former math team captain with a boob job -- if you have to keep telling yourself, then it's probably not true. You never know, though, a Frankie-style nutcase may rise from among the ranks to surprise and delight us. Let's hide all the knives, just to be safe.
While we're on the subject, I can't help but feel that it's a bad sign for America that "Dancing With the Stars" is such a success. Is watching J. Peterman trip over his own feet and nearly suffer a heart attack really that much of a draw? What's next, Puddy learning how to navigate the balance beam? The Soup Nazi roping and riding? Of course, I did love Circus of the Stars when I was a kid, so maybe I'm a hypocrite. As I recall, Diedre Hall nearly got mauled by a tiger on that show. It might have been better for her if she had.
On another note, today is the longest day of the year. Let's hope it doesn't feel that way.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Don’t Forget to Tip Your Servers on Your Way Out
Today I was in an elevator with a man who apparently believed he was Jerry Seinfeld.
"Have you ever noticed how some of these elevators have rows of three and others have rows of four?" he asked, to no one in particular. "What is the deal with that? Are they just trying to fuck with blind people, or what? It’s like, hey, Helen Keller, don’t use our elevators."
Apparently taking the stunned, unblinking silence for an enthusiastic reception at the Laff Factory, he continued.
"And what about that elevator down on the East end of the building, huh? It’s always lurching around. I feel like I’m on Body Wars at Disney World."
This was followed by a brief foray into insult humor.
"This guy loves it, though. He’s like, hey, I haven’t had this much action since my third wife left me. Nah, hey, I’m just kidding here, buddy."
And I silently prayed for the cables to snap.
Today I was in an elevator with a man who apparently believed he was Jerry Seinfeld.
"Have you ever noticed how some of these elevators have rows of three and others have rows of four?" he asked, to no one in particular. "What is the deal with that? Are they just trying to fuck with blind people, or what? It’s like, hey, Helen Keller, don’t use our elevators."
Apparently taking the stunned, unblinking silence for an enthusiastic reception at the Laff Factory, he continued.
"And what about that elevator down on the East end of the building, huh? It’s always lurching around. I feel like I’m on Body Wars at Disney World."
This was followed by a brief foray into insult humor.
"This guy loves it, though. He’s like, hey, I haven’t had this much action since my third wife left me. Nah, hey, I’m just kidding here, buddy."
And I silently prayed for the cables to snap.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
It's Like Chicago Scene Magazine, but Featuring Only Pictures of Me
Big bash at the apartment last night. Highlights included inflatable boxing, which resulted in four well-earned victories over various tiny female friends and a rather pronounced scrape to my chin that I didn't even notice until this morning, a craft center featuring plenty of things to do with glue besides inhaling it, and of course my Pulitzer-Prize-winning chili cheese dip. Plus there were door prizes, my favorite being a Digimon body scrubber. It was just sad that not everyone could be a winner.
Champion of the females-under-100-pounds weight class.
Big bash at the apartment last night. Highlights included inflatable boxing, which resulted in four well-earned victories over various tiny female friends and a rather pronounced scrape to my chin that I didn't even notice until this morning, a craft center featuring plenty of things to do with glue besides inhaling it, and of course my Pulitzer-Prize-winning chili cheese dip. Plus there were door prizes, my favorite being a Digimon body scrubber. It was just sad that not everyone could be a winner.
Champion of the females-under-100-pounds weight class.
A fashionable Walgreens-brand door prize with an important message for America's youth.
Pin the Tail on William Rehnquist, Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court.
Fine durable products of the Father's Day and Fourth of July craft center.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Feel the Love
I love it when people leave cryptic phone messages. You know, the type that, with no explanation of the reason for the call or narrative content of any kind are delivered with an urgency typically reserved for those who have fallen down wells and invariably end with "call me back as soon as you get this." The type that, once returned, generally result in a forty-five minute conversation about farm subsidies or the eighth grade band trip to Branson or something equally banal. The type that pit your social politeness skills against your very instincts for self preservation. Yeah, there’s no real story here, I just love those.
I also love being harassed on the street about my commitment to the environment. If I didn’t understand our need to shift to cleaner forms of energy so as to ensure our future ability to breathe before, being indefinitely detained outside the GAP definitely brought it home to me. I think the rhetoric was especially effective once it shifted to whether or not I would agree to just run to Starbucks and buy the lobbyist a cup of coffee. Mother Earth is lucky to have such fine friends.
But my greatest love of all? Still reserved for the Tom Cruise Insanity Tour 2005. The proposal in Paris has added an element of unoriginality to go with the already well-practiced unbelievability of it all. If Katie’s not knocked up and babbling dazedly about L. Ron by the time War of the Worlds opens, then frankly someone’s just not trying.
I love it when people leave cryptic phone messages. You know, the type that, with no explanation of the reason for the call or narrative content of any kind are delivered with an urgency typically reserved for those who have fallen down wells and invariably end with "call me back as soon as you get this." The type that, once returned, generally result in a forty-five minute conversation about farm subsidies or the eighth grade band trip to Branson or something equally banal. The type that pit your social politeness skills against your very instincts for self preservation. Yeah, there’s no real story here, I just love those.
I also love being harassed on the street about my commitment to the environment. If I didn’t understand our need to shift to cleaner forms of energy so as to ensure our future ability to breathe before, being indefinitely detained outside the GAP definitely brought it home to me. I think the rhetoric was especially effective once it shifted to whether or not I would agree to just run to Starbucks and buy the lobbyist a cup of coffee. Mother Earth is lucky to have such fine friends.
But my greatest love of all? Still reserved for the Tom Cruise Insanity Tour 2005. The proposal in Paris has added an element of unoriginality to go with the already well-practiced unbelievability of it all. If Katie’s not knocked up and babbling dazedly about L. Ron by the time War of the Worlds opens, then frankly someone’s just not trying.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
A Semi-Funny Sketch I Wrote in Forty-Five Minutes Last Week
It's called "Parental Guidance Necessary." And I'm not just posting it because I'm too lazy to write anything else. It's also because I have total contempt for my readers.
(Tim is in his room, typing at his computer. There’s a knock at the door.)
Tim: Come in!
(Dad and Mom enter.)
Dad: Hey, son, can your mom and I come in and talk to you for a minute?
Tim: Sure, dad. This isn’t about me taking out the trash, is it? Because I’m planning to do it right after I finish this report on sedimentary rocks.
Dad: No, son, it’s not about that. It’s about, well, teenage stuff.
Mom: Your father and I realize that you’re going through a lot of changes right now, and that some of them are probably pretty confusing. You may have noticed that your cousin Tammy developed breasts over the summer, or that your sheets aren’t necessarily as dry as they could be in the morning.
Dad: Maybe you’ve heard that other kids are "doing it," and thought, "hey, maybe I should do it, too," if only I knew what "it" is!
Tim: Are you guys talking about sex?
Mom: Oh, good! They have gotten to that unit in your health class. Did Mr. McMillan give you the ins and outs?
Tim: Yeah, but, I mean, you guys really don’t have to worry. I’m not having sex. I don’t even have a girlfriend.
Dad: Yeah, well, that’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about, Timmy. Your mother and I really think it’s time that you started getting some action. I mean, what are you now, fourteen?
Tim: What?
Mom: We don’t want to sound harsh here, Timmy, and you know we love you no matter what, but frankly we’re a little disappointed by your track record, here. I mean, have you ever even gotten past first base?
Tim: You’re not seriously asking me this. I can’t...
Dad: Have you touched a boob, son? It’s time you touched a boob. What about that Christy Sanders? She’s got a nice set.
Mom: Oh, they’re lovely. I’d like to touch those myself. I bet they’re soft as butter.
Dad: And she’s on the cheerleading squad.
Tim: I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Guys, you are seriously embarrassing me right now.
Dad: Well, see, son, that’s the whole problem. You shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about sex! It’s a natural and beautiful thing. Why, your mother and I have sex all the time.
Mom: It’s almost constant!
Dad: And we don’t just stick to the vanilla stuff, nosiree. We like it hot and heavy.
Mom: Did they teach you about bondage and discipline in your health class, honey?
Tim: Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.
Mom: Oh, that’s nonsense, sweetheart! We’re just expressing our love. Your father and I are never closer than when I’ve got him tied up, shaved from head to toe, and covered in mayonnaise.
Dad: Yeah, you’ve got to get yourself a girl, son. And a jar of Miracle Whip.
Mom: Get the lite stuff. Her waistline will thank you.
Tim: Um, okay, well, I appreciate all this, I guess, but I really don’t think I’m ready for... well, certainly not anything you’ve described.
Dad: Okay. Okay. Well, let’s talk about this, son. Do you think you might be gay? Because that’s okay. God knows I tasted my share of man meat when I was in the service.
Mom: Your father’s had more cock in him than Campbell’s Chicken Noodle!
Dad: And your mother lived with Martina Navratilova for a year.
Mom: She was very gentle.
Dad: So you wanna head down to the Manhole, son? You can borrow my leather chaps!
Tim: Uh, no. No. I’m really not gay, guys. All right?
Dad: Okay. Well, do you mind if your mother and I go without you, then?
Mom: George, our son needs us here now, okay?
Dad: Right, right. No, you’re right.
Tim: Oh God.
Mom: So what’s the problem, Timbo? Seriously.
Dad: Now I know a lot of people are probably telling you that sex is a big responsibility, that it ought to wait until marriage, or at the very least a committed relationship between people in love.
Mom: Those people are full of crap.
Dad: Get out there and fuck up a storm, son!
Mom: I’ve lived a very full life with herpes.
Tim: Guys, I’m sorry, I just can’t listen to any more of this, okay? I’ve got to... I’ve got to get some air or something, all right?
(He starts to exit.)
And when I come back, can we please not talk about your privates?
(He exits.)
Dad: Huh. I wonder what got into him?
Mom: Who knows? Kids these days, huh? You try to raise them right, but how can you compete with all that pressure from the media?
Dad: I caught him watching PAX the other day.
Mom: Oh God. Well, shoot, we’re all alone, do you want to fuck?
Dad: What the hell. Just let me go get my baboon suit.
(Blackout.)
It's called "Parental Guidance Necessary." And I'm not just posting it because I'm too lazy to write anything else. It's also because I have total contempt for my readers.
(Tim is in his room, typing at his computer. There’s a knock at the door.)
Tim: Come in!
(Dad and Mom enter.)
Dad: Hey, son, can your mom and I come in and talk to you for a minute?
Tim: Sure, dad. This isn’t about me taking out the trash, is it? Because I’m planning to do it right after I finish this report on sedimentary rocks.
Dad: No, son, it’s not about that. It’s about, well, teenage stuff.
Mom: Your father and I realize that you’re going through a lot of changes right now, and that some of them are probably pretty confusing. You may have noticed that your cousin Tammy developed breasts over the summer, or that your sheets aren’t necessarily as dry as they could be in the morning.
Dad: Maybe you’ve heard that other kids are "doing it," and thought, "hey, maybe I should do it, too," if only I knew what "it" is!
Tim: Are you guys talking about sex?
Mom: Oh, good! They have gotten to that unit in your health class. Did Mr. McMillan give you the ins and outs?
Tim: Yeah, but, I mean, you guys really don’t have to worry. I’m not having sex. I don’t even have a girlfriend.
Dad: Yeah, well, that’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about, Timmy. Your mother and I really think it’s time that you started getting some action. I mean, what are you now, fourteen?
Tim: What?
Mom: We don’t want to sound harsh here, Timmy, and you know we love you no matter what, but frankly we’re a little disappointed by your track record, here. I mean, have you ever even gotten past first base?
Tim: You’re not seriously asking me this. I can’t...
Dad: Have you touched a boob, son? It’s time you touched a boob. What about that Christy Sanders? She’s got a nice set.
Mom: Oh, they’re lovely. I’d like to touch those myself. I bet they’re soft as butter.
Dad: And she’s on the cheerleading squad.
Tim: I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Guys, you are seriously embarrassing me right now.
Dad: Well, see, son, that’s the whole problem. You shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about sex! It’s a natural and beautiful thing. Why, your mother and I have sex all the time.
Mom: It’s almost constant!
Dad: And we don’t just stick to the vanilla stuff, nosiree. We like it hot and heavy.
Mom: Did they teach you about bondage and discipline in your health class, honey?
Tim: Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.
Mom: Oh, that’s nonsense, sweetheart! We’re just expressing our love. Your father and I are never closer than when I’ve got him tied up, shaved from head to toe, and covered in mayonnaise.
Dad: Yeah, you’ve got to get yourself a girl, son. And a jar of Miracle Whip.
Mom: Get the lite stuff. Her waistline will thank you.
Tim: Um, okay, well, I appreciate all this, I guess, but I really don’t think I’m ready for... well, certainly not anything you’ve described.
Dad: Okay. Okay. Well, let’s talk about this, son. Do you think you might be gay? Because that’s okay. God knows I tasted my share of man meat when I was in the service.
Mom: Your father’s had more cock in him than Campbell’s Chicken Noodle!
Dad: And your mother lived with Martina Navratilova for a year.
Mom: She was very gentle.
Dad: So you wanna head down to the Manhole, son? You can borrow my leather chaps!
Tim: Uh, no. No. I’m really not gay, guys. All right?
Dad: Okay. Well, do you mind if your mother and I go without you, then?
Mom: George, our son needs us here now, okay?
Dad: Right, right. No, you’re right.
Tim: Oh God.
Mom: So what’s the problem, Timbo? Seriously.
Dad: Now I know a lot of people are probably telling you that sex is a big responsibility, that it ought to wait until marriage, or at the very least a committed relationship between people in love.
Mom: Those people are full of crap.
Dad: Get out there and fuck up a storm, son!
Mom: I’ve lived a very full life with herpes.
Tim: Guys, I’m sorry, I just can’t listen to any more of this, okay? I’ve got to... I’ve got to get some air or something, all right?
(He starts to exit.)
And when I come back, can we please not talk about your privates?
(He exits.)
Dad: Huh. I wonder what got into him?
Mom: Who knows? Kids these days, huh? You try to raise them right, but how can you compete with all that pressure from the media?
Dad: I caught him watching PAX the other day.
Mom: Oh God. Well, shoot, we’re all alone, do you want to fuck?
Dad: What the hell. Just let me go get my baboon suit.
(Blackout.)
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Technology Corner
Did I mention that I have a fantastic new cell phone? That's right, the 1990s-model, Zack-Morris-style, plug-it-into-your-car-cigarette-lighter-and-go phone is no more. Now I have amazing high-tech features such as a color display, the ability to recharge without the use of a hazmat suit, and a "9" key that doesn't stick. Plus, it's a camera phone, so I can harass friends and loved ones by taking surreptitious, terrible photos of them and using them to ID their calls. Every time that shot of my friend Suzanne with one eye closed and half a hotdog in her mouth comes up it makes my day.
Of course, this is kind of a big step for me. I'd always maintained that I was not really a cell phone person, not wanting to be associated with those who use their phones in grocery stores, at funerals, or during sex. My phone was really just a necessary evil, you see, to help me carry on my important business -- saving baby seals, curing unpleasant diseases, and so forth. But now my phone is definitely a toy. I've even got Tetris!
Oh, and I'm officially no longer a telephonic resident of central Illinois. 312 all the way, baby! For someone who still eats dinner off the coffee table in front of the television, I'm impressively cosmopolitan.
Did I mention that I have a fantastic new cell phone? That's right, the 1990s-model, Zack-Morris-style, plug-it-into-your-car-cigarette-lighter-and-go phone is no more. Now I have amazing high-tech features such as a color display, the ability to recharge without the use of a hazmat suit, and a "9" key that doesn't stick. Plus, it's a camera phone, so I can harass friends and loved ones by taking surreptitious, terrible photos of them and using them to ID their calls. Every time that shot of my friend Suzanne with one eye closed and half a hotdog in her mouth comes up it makes my day.
Of course, this is kind of a big step for me. I'd always maintained that I was not really a cell phone person, not wanting to be associated with those who use their phones in grocery stores, at funerals, or during sex. My phone was really just a necessary evil, you see, to help me carry on my important business -- saving baby seals, curing unpleasant diseases, and so forth. But now my phone is definitely a toy. I've even got Tetris!
Oh, and I'm officially no longer a telephonic resident of central Illinois. 312 all the way, baby! For someone who still eats dinner off the coffee table in front of the television, I'm impressively cosmopolitan.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Patron of the Arts
This weekend was the Old Town Art Fair, which meant that my normally quiet neighborhood was once again filled with tipsy trophy wives, sociopathic funnel cake venders, and dumpy middle-aged men willing to kill for a parking spot. The Art Fair is the only place I know of where you can see a Hopper-lite painting by a clinically depressed man in a beret and a trust-fund kid in a backwards white cap vomiting in a trash bin within moments of one another; if the two should ever meet, I think the complications could be exceedingly sexy.
For me the Art Fair this year was an amalgam of parties, sunburn, and for some gawdawful reason, Jim Beam. I spent easily ten hours straight on my feet, complimenting people’s decor, grazing on tostito shards and suspiciously lukewarm spinach dip, shouting incomprehensible directions into my cell phone, wondering if it was the actual Chumbawumba playing "Tubthumping" down the street, and, at some point, apparently earning some beads. I’m not really sure where they entered the picture, but I think we should all just agree to pretend I bought them at a store called "Mardi Gras Etcetera."
My favorite moment, however, has to be when my friend decided that the best route for me to walk him home was through several darkened parking lots, ominous-looking back alleys, and miscellaneous yards. As he perched precariously atop some sort of heating and cooling unit, attempting to scale a fence and continue our journey, a disembodied voice from a nearby house threatened to call the police. This led to a vigorous debate on the subject of who was mean, with a brief digression as to whether it was in fact late at night or not. No charges ever actually resulted, but believe me, if it’s a crime to be both superathletic and inordinately articulate, we were guilty as charged.
This weekend was the Old Town Art Fair, which meant that my normally quiet neighborhood was once again filled with tipsy trophy wives, sociopathic funnel cake venders, and dumpy middle-aged men willing to kill for a parking spot. The Art Fair is the only place I know of where you can see a Hopper-lite painting by a clinically depressed man in a beret and a trust-fund kid in a backwards white cap vomiting in a trash bin within moments of one another; if the two should ever meet, I think the complications could be exceedingly sexy.
For me the Art Fair this year was an amalgam of parties, sunburn, and for some gawdawful reason, Jim Beam. I spent easily ten hours straight on my feet, complimenting people’s decor, grazing on tostito shards and suspiciously lukewarm spinach dip, shouting incomprehensible directions into my cell phone, wondering if it was the actual Chumbawumba playing "Tubthumping" down the street, and, at some point, apparently earning some beads. I’m not really sure where they entered the picture, but I think we should all just agree to pretend I bought them at a store called "Mardi Gras Etcetera."
My favorite moment, however, has to be when my friend decided that the best route for me to walk him home was through several darkened parking lots, ominous-looking back alleys, and miscellaneous yards. As he perched precariously atop some sort of heating and cooling unit, attempting to scale a fence and continue our journey, a disembodied voice from a nearby house threatened to call the police. This led to a vigorous debate on the subject of who was mean, with a brief digression as to whether it was in fact late at night or not. No charges ever actually resulted, but believe me, if it’s a crime to be both superathletic and inordinately articulate, we were guilty as charged.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Desperately Seeking Simpson
Every so often, I like to check out the searches that have referred people to the blog. Sadly, I feel I have been of very little help to most of these searchers. Here are some of my favorites:
"Ellie Pai Hong topless"
"Sajak haiku blog"
"Ashlee Simpson hairstyles"
"cbs news portajohn explosion"
"Degrassi Manny thong"
"inflatable costumes that make you look fat & safe"
"theme to Becker starring Ted Danson"
"cheerleading for preteens"
"fantasy female doctors, prostate exam"
"Oprah parasite baby"
Better luck next time, kids.
Every so often, I like to check out the searches that have referred people to the blog. Sadly, I feel I have been of very little help to most of these searchers. Here are some of my favorites:
"Ellie Pai Hong topless"
"Sajak haiku blog"
"Ashlee Simpson hairstyles"
"cbs news portajohn explosion"
"Degrassi Manny thong"
"inflatable costumes that make you look fat & safe"
"theme to Becker starring Ted Danson"
"cheerleading for preteens"
"fantasy female doctors, prostate exam"
"Oprah parasite baby"
Better luck next time, kids.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Spring Break 2000!
In case anyone is wondering what I'm doing today...
In case anyone is wondering what I'm doing today...
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Party Time
Today we’re having a goodbye party for my supervisor. It’s like our fourth office party in as many weeks, and I’m running out of stale and uninformative anecdotes about my personal life. I’m thinking maybe this time I should just make things up; after a few cocktails I imagine that my witticisms about my role in reuniting Wilson Phillips or my internship with Jesus will seem pretty plausible. Otherwise I’ll just go medieval on the appetizers and stand harmlessly in the corner pretending to take calls on my cell phone. It should be a pretty great time.
Speaking of which, we’re having a roof party at my apartment on the 18th. You’re all invited, so long as you can prove to my satisfaction that you are not an internet pedophile or a CIA agent posing as an internet pedophile. I just find they’re kind of awkward at parties. I’m working on the party planning right now; which do you think is classier, Zima or Boone’s Farm Wine Product? And what do you think is the age cap on Spin the Bottle? I want this to be kind of like a prom after party, but with me buying the alcohol instead of Kelly Henderson’s overly permissive mom.
Today we’re having a goodbye party for my supervisor. It’s like our fourth office party in as many weeks, and I’m running out of stale and uninformative anecdotes about my personal life. I’m thinking maybe this time I should just make things up; after a few cocktails I imagine that my witticisms about my role in reuniting Wilson Phillips or my internship with Jesus will seem pretty plausible. Otherwise I’ll just go medieval on the appetizers and stand harmlessly in the corner pretending to take calls on my cell phone. It should be a pretty great time.
Speaking of which, we’re having a roof party at my apartment on the 18th. You’re all invited, so long as you can prove to my satisfaction that you are not an internet pedophile or a CIA agent posing as an internet pedophile. I just find they’re kind of awkward at parties. I’m working on the party planning right now; which do you think is classier, Zima or Boone’s Farm Wine Product? And what do you think is the age cap on Spin the Bottle? I want this to be kind of like a prom after party, but with me buying the alcohol instead of Kelly Henderson’s overly permissive mom.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Connections
-- Oprah. I feel like a person who lacks the fortitude to have her ears pierced without devolving into Tonya-Harding-type histrionics might not want to tackle Faulkner for the summer. I mean, Benjy's castration is slightly more invasive than your average procedure at Claire's.
-- Heat Wave. Just when I thought Chicago weather only punished me for my sins eight months a year, here comes the 70 percent humidity. Must be all those abortions I had.
-- The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I'm not going to say admitting to my new roommate that I watch it was the most embarrassing moment of my life, because I was after all struck in the groin by a floor hockey puck in junior high school. But it was damn near close. But somehow watching crazy Tonya toss all of Beth's clothes into the swimming pool was worth it.
-- Moving. A month and a half after he started moving out, my old roommate is still popping in to pick up items he forgot. I'm trying to decide if I should change the locks or just buy a gun.
-- Personnel. We just found out the name of our new supervisor. Thanks to google, I now know that he really likes cheese and that he writes Star Trek Fan Fiction. Or maybe he just has a really common name.
-- Oprah. I feel like a person who lacks the fortitude to have her ears pierced without devolving into Tonya-Harding-type histrionics might not want to tackle Faulkner for the summer. I mean, Benjy's castration is slightly more invasive than your average procedure at Claire's.
-- Heat Wave. Just when I thought Chicago weather only punished me for my sins eight months a year, here comes the 70 percent humidity. Must be all those abortions I had.
-- The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I'm not going to say admitting to my new roommate that I watch it was the most embarrassing moment of my life, because I was after all struck in the groin by a floor hockey puck in junior high school. But it was damn near close. But somehow watching crazy Tonya toss all of Beth's clothes into the swimming pool was worth it.
-- Moving. A month and a half after he started moving out, my old roommate is still popping in to pick up items he forgot. I'm trying to decide if I should change the locks or just buy a gun.
-- Personnel. We just found out the name of our new supervisor. Thanks to google, I now know that he really likes cheese and that he writes Star Trek Fan Fiction. Or maybe he just has a really common name.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Weekend Update
As the photographic evidence demonstrates, this weekend was nothing short of amazing. In addition to my experiences equestrian and arcadian (ha!) on Saturday, I also went by the Museum of Contemporary Art again on Friday. Having already seen the current exhibits on my last trip, I was able to focus more on the all-important tasks of harassing the nice ladies who sell drink tickets and beating my personal record for number of cheese sticks consumed in one sitting. I’m no philistine, however—I made good and sure to get by the artwork contrasting porn with images from the conflict in Iraq again. Something about it really just speaks to me.
Yesterday was my active, outdoorsy day, like something out of an Abercrombie catalogue, except less gratuitously naked and with more blacks and Asians. I went for a long run along the lake (probably about a hundredth of the distance I need to work off those cheese sticks) and hung out on the roof for a while, breaking in my hott new Wal-Mart brand deck chair. Then I played tennis with my friend, at least until we had somehow accidentally batted all of our balls down into the alley behind the courts. Then I went home and prayed for a sunburn slightly less bad than I deserved. And you know what? He is risen indeed.
So see, pictures can’t tell you everything. My weekend was so much more than just magical creatures forced into performing overblown musical numbers by overbearing stage parents and disturbingly quick changes in my skin color. But really, whose wasn’t?
As the photographic evidence demonstrates, this weekend was nothing short of amazing. In addition to my experiences equestrian and arcadian (ha!) on Saturday, I also went by the Museum of Contemporary Art again on Friday. Having already seen the current exhibits on my last trip, I was able to focus more on the all-important tasks of harassing the nice ladies who sell drink tickets and beating my personal record for number of cheese sticks consumed in one sitting. I’m no philistine, however—I made good and sure to get by the artwork contrasting porn with images from the conflict in Iraq again. Something about it really just speaks to me.
Yesterday was my active, outdoorsy day, like something out of an Abercrombie catalogue, except less gratuitously naked and with more blacks and Asians. I went for a long run along the lake (probably about a hundredth of the distance I need to work off those cheese sticks) and hung out on the roof for a while, breaking in my hott new Wal-Mart brand deck chair. Then I played tennis with my friend, at least until we had somehow accidentally batted all of our balls down into the alley behind the courts. Then I went home and prayed for a sunburn slightly less bad than I deserved. And you know what? He is risen indeed.
So see, pictures can’t tell you everything. My weekend was so much more than just magical creatures forced into performing overblown musical numbers by overbearing stage parents and disturbingly quick changes in my skin color. But really, whose wasn’t?
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Last Night: A Photo Essay
So my friend Jeanne was in town yesterday. Her parents had skybox tickets at the Sox, so we were basically in a hot-dog- and dessert-cart-induced haze by 6 or so. Perhaps this is why we decided to go to Dave & Busters for an evening of Ski Ball and game-ticket-based economics. Or maybe it was the two bottles of white wine. But regardless, I totally rocked the shooting gallery (apparently that year in Cubs Scouts really had an effect on me) and put my Super Mario 3 skills to use predicting the slot machines (although I definitely missed that little mushroom guy in the diaper). Thus, we ended up with literally seven million tickets, with which we "purchased" twin tie-dyed unicorns probably designed for five-year-olds (whom we later named Sam & Earl -- the unicorns, not the five-year-olds), two giant pixie sticks (because, right, I need more sugar), and four highly effective "Chinese finger traps" (non PC-term theirs). But what am I doing rambling on like this? These pictures really speak for themselves.
Parenting is hard work, but so obviously worth it.
So my friend Jeanne was in town yesterday. Her parents had skybox tickets at the Sox, so we were basically in a hot-dog- and dessert-cart-induced haze by 6 or so. Perhaps this is why we decided to go to Dave & Busters for an evening of Ski Ball and game-ticket-based economics. Or maybe it was the two bottles of white wine. But regardless, I totally rocked the shooting gallery (apparently that year in Cubs Scouts really had an effect on me) and put my Super Mario 3 skills to use predicting the slot machines (although I definitely missed that little mushroom guy in the diaper). Thus, we ended up with literally seven million tickets, with which we "purchased" twin tie-dyed unicorns probably designed for five-year-olds (whom we later named Sam & Earl -- the unicorns, not the five-year-olds), two giant pixie sticks (because, right, I need more sugar), and four highly effective "Chinese finger traps" (non PC-term theirs). But what am I doing rambling on like this? These pictures really speak for themselves.
Parenting is hard work, but so obviously worth it.
Jeanne demonstrates the magical healing powers of a unicorn's kiss. Plus she gets to first base.
My new high tech security system somehow backfires on me.
Sam and Earl act out scenes from the Walt Disney masterpiece "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."
Friday, June 03, 2005
Salad Days
You know it's going to be a good day when your weather.com forecast is ten days straight of scattered thunderstorms. I mean, not that they're really ever right, it's just not the best as far as omens go.
It's been a rough week, largely due to my readjustment to getting up at 6:15 each day. I have to get to work early or they won't let me have my extra Friday off every two weeks. Stingy bastards. This has resulted in a startling spike in my purchases of the 32-oz diet coke and several episodes of stunning surliness, including a brief yelling incident when a coworker forgot to return my tape dispenser. I'm just a much nicer person when I sleep, okay?
Matters have not been helped by my decision to eat only salad for dinner this week. This is what I hate about produce -- it goes bad so quickly that you have to make a commitment to several continuous evenings of garden-fresh goodness unless you want a bag of rot in your fridge. I do feel much healthier, though. My doctor's just making shit up when he says "the liver turns alcohol into cholesterol," right?
I would seriously consider crawling under my desk for a nap right now if there weren't a space heater, air purifier, and whole mess of mysterious-looking wires down there.
You know it's going to be a good day when your weather.com forecast is ten days straight of scattered thunderstorms. I mean, not that they're really ever right, it's just not the best as far as omens go.
It's been a rough week, largely due to my readjustment to getting up at 6:15 each day. I have to get to work early or they won't let me have my extra Friday off every two weeks. Stingy bastards. This has resulted in a startling spike in my purchases of the 32-oz diet coke and several episodes of stunning surliness, including a brief yelling incident when a coworker forgot to return my tape dispenser. I'm just a much nicer person when I sleep, okay?
Matters have not been helped by my decision to eat only salad for dinner this week. This is what I hate about produce -- it goes bad so quickly that you have to make a commitment to several continuous evenings of garden-fresh goodness unless you want a bag of rot in your fridge. I do feel much healthier, though. My doctor's just making shit up when he says "the liver turns alcohol into cholesterol," right?
I would seriously consider crawling under my desk for a nap right now if there weren't a space heater, air purifier, and whole mess of mysterious-looking wires down there.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Least Popular Summer Events
-- Squid Days
-- Gay Shame Festival
-- Norman Mailer's Def Comedy Jam
-- Taste of Dubuque, IA
-- Take Your dachshund to Work Day
-- Ye Olde Harlem Renaissance Fair
-- Flag Day
-- Country Fresh Farmer's Market Sponsored by Dow Chemical
-- Ace of Bass Music Festival
-- Celebrate Bran!
-- Hearing Test Thursday
-- South Central LA Fun Run
-- Jennifer Love Hewitt Film Festival
-- The Tony Awards
-- Squid Days
-- Gay Shame Festival
-- Norman Mailer's Def Comedy Jam
-- Taste of Dubuque, IA
-- Take Your dachshund to Work Day
-- Ye Olde Harlem Renaissance Fair
-- Flag Day
-- Country Fresh Farmer's Market Sponsored by Dow Chemical
-- Ace of Bass Music Festival
-- Celebrate Bran!
-- Hearing Test Thursday
-- South Central LA Fun Run
-- Jennifer Love Hewitt Film Festival
-- The Tony Awards
