Random Thoughts From My Last Nightshift

The hell of working nightshifts is coming to an end. As the immortal Geto Boys (wait, who now?) declared in incomparable verse: "Damn it feels good to be a gangsta'."

--Thanks to the fact that my best guy friend (JH) and best girl friend (FH) got married to each other,* I am going to be a godfather soon. That inexplicable, portentous feeling of doom that just overwhelmed you as you're reading that I will be a godfather? Perfectly normal. Don't worry, though. Besides my impeccable chopstick-holding technique and ability to break someone's clavicle in 126 different ways, I have nothing of real value/danger I can impart to the child.

*Unrelated sidenote and thought I revert back to more often than I should: JH is of German heritage; FH is of Italian heritage; I am of Japanese heritage. Any chance of us combining forces to lead an Axis reunion? Huh? Huh?? No? Fine.

--Stick three starving guys in a car for 20 minutes, and what is the inevitable outcome? An unofficial pact to buy a smoker. I think in my meat-craving zeal I may have promised to allocate $75 of my weekly budget to the Cause of buying meat, sauces, spices for rubs, etc. I can't really remember. All I remember is hearing keywords like "brisket" "bacon" and "ribs," my mind going blank like Bourne's does when he has one of his headaches/flashbacks, and next thing I know I've promised to fund an entire BBQ'ing enterprise.

--Seen these Australian walkabout commercials on TV? Is ANYbody else disturbed by this? I mean, I can't identify the exact point, but somewhere between the random, naked Australian child following a woman home, somehow getting into her apartment, and whispering creepily into her ear while she is sleeping, I get creeped out:



I can't make this anymore clear: Clowns paralyze me with fear. Creepy kids watching people while they sleep makes my skin crawl. Everytime I see this commercial I'm just waiting for the kid's head to spin all the way around, a la The Exorcist. klaxcj awhgoa=asdw awo2 48jhav

Sorry, I began shaking uncontrollably.

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In the Works...

No grandiose promises to be made, but Banker and I have a little project we're working on.

Stay tuned. And I'll keep you updated.

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My Childhood Lookalike -- Photo of the Week 23 Feb 2009

Well, since I ruthlessly slandered James Carville on my initial black list post, I figured I should, in the interests of impartiality, give yours truly the same treatment.

With some help from cousin Matt, who is scanning old family photos, I present my cinematic look alike:


Hold up, JD, hold up! Calling this side-by-side and the one you did with Carville/Gollum 'impartial' is disingenuous.

Wait, how so? I don't get where you're going with this.

You compared James Carville to a grotesque reptilian/alien-like creature deformed by the powers of evil, who is completely stripped of all goodness. You are comparing your childhood-self to an Ewok -- a courageous character from the Star Wars movies adored as a cute and lovable creature. You can't tell me that's fair.

Still not following you.

Forget it. You're impossible. This is like trying to argue with James Carvil--

Hah! Gotcha.

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Random Thoughts From Early Wednesday

--Apparently my feelings for the Disney movie Sword in the Stone run deeper than I ever suspected. Some friends and I were chatting movies the other night and SitS -- one of my absolute favorites -- came up. DJA said he didn't consider it to be a Disney "classic." Without hesitation, and much to my own surprise, I blurted out: "You bastard."

I'd apologize for the language, but it was a knee-jerk response; as natural and uncontrollable as the drooling of Pavlov's dogs or Charles Barkley's gambling. A Wizard's Duel, for heaven's sake! A Wizard's Duel! What more do you need to be considered a classic?

--In seeking feedback from BiL Ben on a previous "random thoughts" entry, Ben said the following quotable quote:

random thoughts are like pulling out little pieces of josh brain and putting them online. I can't change them. They are josh-brain.

--To all germaphobes and your ilk: Bite me. After a 12-hour shift I was brushing my teeth in our office kitchen, and one of yours immediately yelled at me for being "unsanitary" and asked me to leave, as if I'd committed some atrocity. (Admittedly, I could have brushed in the bathroom, but please explain to me how disinfecting my teeth creates a less sanitary environment.) Sheesh.

I raised the incident with sister Jen, and we of course launched into a joint and pathetically accurate recalling of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine rubs her germaphobe coworker's stapler in her armpit and keyboard on her butt... the recollection turned out to be useful in two ways: 1) it was therapeutic to laugh; 2) It gave me retaliatory options to consider. Thanks, Jen.

--To answer some questions raised by some readers:
Re: The "Tuts My Barreh" Video
Q: so would this guy be a laughing stock in Japan for that performance? or would he be on the verge of winning Japan Idol? --CT (Folsom, CA)
A: Funny, tough question. Funny because the idea of watching Asians sing American songs is wet-myself hilarious. Tough because I seriously just sat and stared at the computer screen for five minutes debating which scenario is more likely. I guess the questions to ask are: Would you tune in to watch the kid butcher American songs every week? and would you vote for him to stay on? (My personal responses: "absolutely" and "hell yes," respectively.)

Re: Running late at night by myself
Q: I wasn't altogether worried about the whole running alone thing (for you, not for me) until you brought up the gang thing. Seriously? --BD (Utah)
A: Seriously. Gangs are huge where I live -- supposedly. Let me tell you, though. Running six miles with an ankle-pistol gets uncomfortable.


Hope you enjoyed the pieces of Josh-brain.

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FAIL Blog -- Photo of the Week 16 Feb 2009

Titled "Sales Fail," I found this on my new favorite website, failblog.org, a website so simplistically brilliant I'm mad at myself for not having come up with it. You should check it out.

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Awkward Celeb Moment of the Week

Holy. Awkward.

I hate recycling YouTube clips and hopping on the media-frenzy bandwagon, but wow. All nine minutes are worth it.



Here's a quick survey for you: Which would make you more uncomfortable?

1. To be Joaquin Phoenix's (the Emperor's) sister in Gladiator, where he wants to make babies with you, or
   
2. To be David Letterman and conduct this interview?

Gotta give props to Letterman for salvaging the interview. Boy is quick on his feet.

By minute two, I'd be cowering behind the desk for fear he would jump up and stab me mid-sentence or something.

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My Black List

I usually don't possess enough vitriol towards any individual to keep a list, but I thought maybe I should keep track of people who irk me. Sooooo, the first person to go on my black list is...

James Carville!! now, I'm not going to sink so low as to make this about Mr. Carville's physical appearanc--



Whoa! Whoa! How'd that sneak in there? My bad. That won't happen again. That's juvenile and serves no purpose in supporting a legitimate argument. I guess my point is that James Carvil--



Man. I'm horrible. Sorry. Sorry. Fish in a barrel.

But seriously. Carville is a condescending political pundit who does little more than show outright disdain for anybody who disagrees with him. He compared Gov Richardson switching his support to (then) Obama's candidacy (from Hillary) to Judas betraying Jesus. What kind of analysis is that?

Mr. Carville: Welcome to my black list.

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Delusional Asian Sings

Oh boy. This gem is compliments of Josh M.

WARNING: Finish chewing/swallowing whatever food/drink you have, or it is going to end up on your monitor.



I echo Josh M's sentiment:

my asian side sort of felt bad for the kid but my white side was loving it

The song in and of itself is intolerable, but the rendering by an Asian-native makes it an absolute travesty/masterpiece.

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Optimism Poster -- Photo of the Week 9 Feb 2009

Back with PotW. Sorry about the hiatus last week. My extremely limited concentration and writing powers were being focused elsewhere.

This reminds me of the time JT set the large dumpster outside of our apt complex on fire with a checkbook. See, before the invention of the paper-shredder, JT burnt his unused/old checkbooks. And then, after putting out the checkbook flames, he would throw them in a dumpster full of other combustibles. One night at the end of a semester, we were cleaning the apartment and I looked out the window to see that something was burning in our complex's large dumpster. Fast. I yelled at JT to grab some water and we rushed out. I dove in headfirst and began pouring water in while sucking in toxic burning styrofoam fumes. It was like Backdraft and Ladder 49 mashed all into one.* The source of the inferno? You guessed it: An old, burnt checkbook.

I still "joke" that I am going to sue JT if I develop lung cancer.

*Seen neither of these movies.

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Random Thoughts From a 12-Hour Shift

--The more I think about it...and believe me, the more I think about it, the less I want to... Bundaberg, the Australian root beer that pulled a Matt Leinhart and essentially rode the pine as a non-competitor in the Root Beer Royal Rumble, was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I honestly think it's bottled kangaroo urine. So now I have three bottles of kangaroo pee chilling in my fridge that I don't want to toss because it was expensive. How pathetic is that?

Maybe this scenario bears a similarity to the bottling process? (No, I haven't the slightest clue as to the subtitle language):



A similar post-consumption facial tic (see 2:15) has presented itself in me, and has yet to go away.

--This is my notebook of thoughts:

She has endured a full year+ of sitting in the back-left pocket of my pants. If anybody in the future wants to recreate an accurate and precise die-cast replica of my left butt-cheek, this notebook will no doubt serve as the authoritative mold. It's no time-capsule (lame!), but just a little something for future generations.

--What with my weird work schedule and battle with insomnia, I run at strange hours. Worried people tell me not to run alone so late. And then ask if I have reflective clothing. Or a rape whistle. And if I have life insurance. And if they can be listed as the benefactor if anything happens to me.

But really, I don't have reflective clothing, and I'll tell you why: I live in gang-territory. I debated the merits of high visibility and decided that I'd rather be hit by a car than shot or beaten with a tire iron. That's just me, though.

--Get ready. Get ready. Get ready:

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The Root Beer Brouhaha

Remember Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs? The pyramid mapping out the basic needs of every individual, that works upward to higher functions as the basics are fulfilled? I guess I agree with most of it, but after some reflection (and copious consumption of root beer) since the last entry, I would insert the following level to the hierarchy:

Seriously. I would have stuck Henry's at a lower level, but friends and family would have raised a stink.

Since I just rewrote a fundamentally accepted psychological principle, let me make an unsolicited and unsubstantiated suggestion to psychologists: Give up. You will never be accepted as a "hard" science.

Anyway. A month or so back, BiL Ben made a borderline blasphemous statement:

Josh, I think I found a root beer that is equivalent to -- maybe better than -- Henry's: Bulldog Root Beer.

This was the root beer world equivalent to Martin Luther nailing his 95 Theses to the Wittenberg church door. Keep in mind, this is the same Ben who would -- before it was illegal to carry liquids onto planes -- buy a 12-case of Henry's every year in WA state and use it as his carry-on when flying back east. He would hoard it the entire year until his next chance to go back west; so for him to make such a statement was either the undeliberated delirium of someone experiencing severe withdrawal, or this new root beer had to be considered as a true contender.

So, unlike the BCS, I decided to allow head-to-head competition make the decision. DJA agreed to participate. We would stick five contenders into a de facto Royal Rumble of root beers. The three others ("Natural Brew," "Dominion," and an Australian import "Bundaberg") were really peripheral to the headliner: Bulldog v. Henry Weinhard's. This was the Ali-Frazier of Root Beer Face-offs. Proper preparation was essential.

We took turns doing a blind taste-test -- one would pour and track which root beer was in which glass, while the other mentally prepared himself for sampling. The line-up:



And then we sampled. And took notes. And assessed:



Not to brag, but I went 5 for 5 on identifying the correct root beer.

As for the Henry's-Bulldog Face-off, the jury is still out. This one is close, folks.

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