Photo of the Week -- The LOST Tattoo 17 Jan 2011

I SWEAR this will be the last time I blog a tattoo*-- I realize this makes three weeks in a row and you are screaming for variety... but really, PotW was primarily meant to zero in on the humorous and dumb things that people do, and nothing says "lapse in good judgment" than a poorly chosen/placed tattoo. Also, it's a holiday, and I'm feeling lazy and this was the closest thing available.

Additionally, this will be the last time 'LOST' is mentioned, as well, as I thought I had already bid the show farewell last year:

I hope 40 years from now this person grows old and gathers the grandchildren at their feet:

Old Person With LOST Tattoo: "Children, gather around, gather around!"
/young children gather around expectantly/
"Let me tell you about a show I loved as young teenager, LOST. It rulzed [sic]! It was about a plane that, uh...uh, it was about..."
/checks arm tattoo/
"...oh, yes! About a plane that crashes on a tropical island. And uh...ummm..."
/checks arm tattoo again/
"...and two guys! And one fires a gun at the other. The end."
/children leave disappointed; Old person is smiling in a self-satisfied manner/
"Good thing I got this tattoo."

*I'm probably lying right now. As I type.

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Weekly Selects #39

You might have noticed that I used to do the "DC (Digital Correspondence) Highlights for the Week" every Thursday, posting the funny stuff that people send me via digital media (text, IM, email, etc) throughout the week. You also might have noticed that "digital correspondence" is an incredibly unwieldy phrase -- "correspondence" has like, A LOT of syllables -- and I got sick of explaining to people that "DC Highlights" had nothing to do with what happened the past week in the Washington DC area.

So now we're going to go with "Weekly Selects." Okay? Okay. Let's do this:

--Via Google Reader. From AP:

Wis. Postal Worker Delivers Mail In The Buff

"A Wisconsin postal carrier says he simply wanted to cheer up a woman on his mail rounds who seemed 'stressed out.' But, upon further review, the postal worker says delivering the mail in the nude probably wasn’t such a good idea.

"A police report says the 52-year-old man told the woman he would deliver the mail to her office in Whitefish Bay completely naked to make her laugh. He says the woman dared him to do it, so he took the dare Dec. 4 and brought the mail wearing only a smile."

I considered making this Photo of the Week, but decided to spare you the trauma and emotional scarring. That, and I don't actually have a photo of it (thank goodness). But we can assume that the naked Wisconsonian (Wisconsinite?) delivering mail on that fateful day was a pale-skinned, overweight white man who subsists on an exclusive diet of beer, bratwurst, cheese, Packers' football, and beer.

Who says stereotypes don't work?

--Via IM from JMill:


I think the key takeaway here is obvious: Ladies, never fall in love with a British soccer fan/hooligan.

I thought all that ardent intensity that they put into their teams and fighting riot police ended when the soccer matches did -- but that was obviously naive on my part. It is also present when singing romantic love songs, so is likely present in other aspects of their lives. Can you imagine picking out curtains for your house, or going through the fast food drive-thru, or any sort of everyday activity with guys that have this kind of intensity? You would live in fear your entire life. The second guy with the shaved head is the scariest. Although, to his credit, he does rock a nice harmony.

--Via Email from my coworker CC:


This is creeptastic. Watching this woman stroke her hands and stare at them -- and then get on an elevator with them (00:50-mark) is like watching a stalker talk about his current victim. It gives me the heebie jeebies.

I always laughed so hard during the "Seinfeld" episode when George becomes a hand model because it seemed so outlandish and unrealistic. I guess assuming that these type of people don't exist was, once again, naive on my part. And I've never been so sad to be proven wrong.

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Extended Hiatus

RoSA Readers,

Unfortunately, the time has come -- at least temporarily -- for me to stop blogging.

I will be busy with work for the next four months and will not have the time nor means to blog. Again, the hope is that this is just a hiatus, and not THE END.

Three years and almost 300 posts later, thank you to you, loyal readers: For your suggestions; for your feedback; for taking two minutes out of your frenzied days of ADD-propelled internet surfing to read the posts; for claiming to enjoy what I've written. Most of all, thanks for indulging me in what began as a need-for-catharsis project and morphed into something that taught me how much I love writing. It's been a nice run.

(Writing this, I realize this probably doesn't sadden you as much as it does me... or perhaps Case: "i thought my kid's first words read were going to be from that blog." But hey: No one enjoys writing about and recounting my various moronic deeds more than I do, so I know I'll want to get back to it when things settle down.)

I have no other words to convey my sadness, so I will use this man to express how I feel:



It's like in Empire Strikes Back when Han Solo gets captured and frozen and Chewbacca is distraught and wailing like only a Wookie can. This kind of highly emotional crying would also apply to me during the last episode of LOST; or, whenever I think about David Archuletta and his sweet, crooning voice not winning 'American Idol.' (<-- BLATANT AND SHAMELESS LIE)

So, for the time being, keep me on your RSS feed. We'll continue rambling around Oct-Nov. Until then, enjoy the World Cup, Inception, and whatever else your summer has in store for you.

Peace for now,
JD

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Weekly Selects #38

I was asked to fill-in for a dodgeball game last night -- my first organized one -- which was surprisingly fun. My two personal memorable takeaways: (1) The dude on the other team who was pointing people off the court that he had hit, and who also gave me the "come and get some" wave of his hand when it was just me and him left; (2) The Asian-dominated team we were playing thought I was on their team. Oh, good times. And yes, my arm is sore.

Your videos, and then your Highlights:

Videos:
-An Ian McKellen impersonator doing the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air intro
-NASA How to Poop in Space Tutorial (a little long, but no wonder they cut the shuttle program)
-Watch me run 300 yards of my marathon (not really all that exciting, but you can hear Casey narrate and Shigeko laugh merrily. Thanks, Jay!) 
-Stupidest commercial EVER (and the song is stuck in my head. I hate whoever made this commercial.)

-Via Email from Casey, who sent a strange article about people in Japan (sigh) whose job is to break-up couples instead of matching them up:

Have an ex that won’t go away?  If you live in Japan, you can call on a wakaresase-ya or "splitter-upper": "The function of the wakaresase-ya is the direct opposite of a dating agency: with great ingenuity, and the right fee, they will prise apart human relationships."  For example, these professionals will trick a spouse or undesirable future daughter-in-law into committing an affair, and provide photographic evidence of the indiscretion. "We produce a drama at the request of our clients," says Osamu Tomiya, a splitter-upper.

I apologize on behalf of Japan.

As sad as this is, and as much as I think that reality TV is ruining television society, these type of guys has the makings of a successful reality show. Some sort of cross between "Rock of Love," "Dog: The Bounty Hunter," and "Survivor." It has manipulation, drama, scandal, and tumultuous relationships -- all key factors in melting American brains into a soupy mass of stupid-reality-show-addicted gruel.*

*(In the interests of full disclosure, I was flipping through channels a couple months back and came across "Jersey Shore"...and was so mesmerized by the Guido World and it's complete deviation from everything I've known to be normal, that I watched for three hours. I just couldn't turn away)

-Via GChat from JMill:

we should go on a high dining experience in NYC

Marijuana-inspired food -- not meaning "special brownies" or anything like that, but meaning food whose creation was inspired whilst under the influence.

Something tells me that the key ingredients to most of these recipes will be Funyuns, Doritos, and pork rinds. Maybe some Oreos.

-Via Email from White Josh:

After seeing this picture, I can't tell what the Japanese would be most concerned about.  The fact that the base is staying in Okinawa, or what this guy wears out in public!  wow

Oh, Prime Minister Hatoyama.

I was more concerned about Hatoyama and his party taking power last year from the Liberal Democratic Party -- a political party that was pretty much in power for 50+ years straight -- and whether his administration would have the cajones to battle entrenched bureaucrats, endemic and pervasive governmental corruption, and Japan's aging society.

But now I'm more concerned about his fashion sense.

-Via Email from Banker, who just got in to a prestigious university in Europe for a postgrad program. In celebration, Josh M got him a gag gift of an Indian dreamcatcher, which Banker mocked. This email came in a couple of weeks later with attachment:

this thing must have brought me luck, as I hung it up last night, and this morning I wake to have an email from *university name* saying that one who was awarded the scholarship declined, and since I was the runner up, guess who gets it?!

(see below)

so thank you for the dream catcher, as it certainly caught something. 

(I'll never make fun of these again)

Lesson: NEVER QUESTION THE POWER OF THE DREAMCATCHER.

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I Love the Irish -- Photo of the Week 24 May 2010

The LOST finale was satisfactory.

AM went gallivanting about the Emerald Isle for about 10 days, and came back with this one:

Could there be a better name for pub/venue? No...no, there couldn't.

Happy Monday-- get ready for your Memorial Day weekend...

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Goodbye, LOST

The TV show LOST, which is coming to an end this Sunday, has been called a lot of things over its six-year run: "Gripping," "stupid," "addicting," "a television phenomenon" (<-- after years of hearing this I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANS), and on and on.

As I reflect on my six seasons as a LOST watcher -- and I have thought about it a lot -- I would like to add a descriptor of my own: Abusive.

(For all you non-watchers: Hopefully this post serves as an insight into that cryptic show your coworkers incessantly talk about. At the very least, take comfort in the fact that you live healthy and unfettered lives, free from the all-consuming need to figure out the mysteries of LOST)

Don't get me wrong. LOST is a great show in so many ways: Its first season is one of the greatest seasons of television ever; it is some sort of successful drama-scifi-suspense hybrid; it has great characters; and it has good mysteries. But the mysteries are also where the problem lies. The show continually raises more questions than it answers, and this leads to fans having lives that are dominated by rampant speculation, outlandish theories and a list of unanswered questions.

Let's put it this way. LOST watchers are the victims in an abusive, one-sided relationship that leaves them unfulfilled on a weekly basis -- and LOST is the abuser. The show asks for the commitment of its watchers but rewards them sparsely with answers.

LOST is like the boyfriend who comes home with blood on his shirt and hands and a manic look in his eyes, and when asked: "Whose blood is that??" Responds with an aloof: "Nothing," and then adds: "Where's the shovel? Can you get me the extra strength garbage bags? Do you know our lawyer's phone number?" It always answers questions with more questions.**

**(An analogy for the men, just so you don't feel left out: The show is like the girlfriend who gets dolled up to go out and asks to borrow all of the money in your wallet, then comes back drunk at 4am with no money, tousled hair, smeared lipstick, and hickies all over her neck. When asked "Where were you??" she angrily responds with: "Where was I?? Where were you? What were you doing all night?...Now, where do you keep the rest of our cash?")

But within these unhealthy relationships, I have found that LOST watchers aren't a homogeneous group. There are different types of abuse victims watchers, and I feel they deserve to be recognized for the unique ways in which they watch and experience the show. Here we go:

--Ignorantly Enthusiastic - "If I just keep freshly squeezing his orange juice, keep walking his dog for him, and keep detailing his car, he'll come around." You know the type. Their weekly schedules revolve around 9pm on Tuesdays and feel that the more they dedicate themselves to the show it will become more rewarding... but they have no idea that the show treats them like poop. They Google every book that makes a brief cameo on the show, draw flowcharts to track the connections between characters, hop on online message boards to discuss things. It's not a matter of denial -- we'll get to that -- but rather of blind devotion and obliviousness.

--Kicked Puppy Dog - "He may have 'pushed' me down the stairs once, and given me that black eye. But... he still loves me...right?" These people are in denial. Deep-down, past all of their obliviousness, they know LOST will fail them and their hopes for answers. Like a kicked puppy dog, however, they keep coming back for the punishment. 

--Resigned - "Hell. I'm not really enjoying myself anymore, but I've come this far. I guess I'll just ride it out." They've resigned themselves to the fact that the show has drug them through a bunch of crap, but now are along for the ride. They are not excited about the show, nor do they have illusions about ever getting excited again, but they hang around just...well, because. I fall into this category. I continue to watch -- simply because "I've come this far."  

--Violently Angry -"If the show doesn't answer my list of questions, I am going to hurt someone, or myself." This group of people always gets angry after each show, swearing they'll never watch it again -- but they're back on Tuesday.

Does that sound about right? I think it does.

All of that being said, I will admit, in my resignation, that this final season has been decent. I think the end of the show will be met with some relief, and a sense of freedom. People will look less burdened walking around and will be a little more cheery once it's over.

If Robert Frost had lived in more modern times, he probably would have gotten roped into watching LOST. And he probably would have penned some verse about his own addiction, which would be titled "The Road I Wish I Wouldn't Have Taken (But Now Am Forced To Finish Because I Need To Know What the Smoke Monster Is)."

PS: If you're a fan of the show, check out these movie posters by Gideon Slife -- one for each episode of the show. Pretty cool stuff.

*******

Editorial Note: When I submitted the first draft of this to Ben for review, I received the following response:

It makes little sense. But that is apropos for the subject at hand. I can see how feverish this show is making your thinking.

Just thought you should know that.

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Weekly Selects #36

Sorry 'bout missing last week. Let's do this:

-Via Google Reader, and email from White Josh:

Headline: Biker's corpse propped on motorcycle for three-day wake

So this dude was murdered (sad, and unfortunate), but his last wish was to be propped up on his bike.

Well, this makes me think about a few things, besides the obvious "Huh?" that some of you may have on the tips of your tongues. It got me thinking about what worldly possession I care about enough to be buried with, propped up on/against, or put in my hands in the casket. Root beer? Bacon? A good book? An awesome chrome Barbecue grill? I have no idea.

White Josh chimed in with:

You can prop me up with my racquet and goggles. Yacquetball for lizife.

Yacquetball is a story for another time, but let's just say it was a game we made up at college involving racquetball equipment, eye and/or crotch protection, and caused $800+ damage to the basement of our dorm hall.

-Via Google Reader:

cupcakes flying out of a 120psi cupcake cannon and into people's faces.

I don't know why that's so awesome. But it is.

-Via Email from White Josh, from Williams & Sonoma:

Speaking of BBQ'ing...

Why brand something that you're just going to stuff in your face? Someone needs to explain the relevance of this to me. I mean, yeah, it's cool because it feeds the ego -- I won't deny that seeing 'JD' branded onto a steak would be awesome -- but still...

-Via Email from Case, LOST-inspired Bentos from www.aibento.net:

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Where's the Minority B Roll?

Uh. Stock footage is awesome:



I feel like I could be a stock footage star, much like I was during my Independent Study days.

If you were paying attention to the ad with a keen (read: overly sensitive) eye, I didn't see any minorities in that B Roll. Minorities get frustrated paying bills, too, you know, just as we also put our hands on walls when we're depressed.

Everyone KNOWS that if a company doesn't at least fake like they have a little diversity in their workplace (see posters hanging up in your respective Human Resources' departments at work, displaying diversity), no one is going to buy your products/services because YOU ARE RACIST BASTARDS AND THE ACLU IS COMING AFTER YOU.

But really, think about it. I could effortlessly provide all kinds of B Roll just by having a camera crew follow me around for a day. Here's how it would go:
"Need B Roll of a minority:
Falling asleep at work? Maybe drooling on his desk?
Eating bacon for breakfast? How 'bout for Lunch? Dinner? Midnight snack?
Yelling at old people driving slow? Getting pulled over and racially profiled by a cop? WE GOT THAT B ROLL.
Need B Roll of a minority doing other things, like:
Acting offended at innocuous joke made by coworkers? Laughing uncontrollably at 30 Rock? Weeping inconsolably at generic chick flick? Doing completely manly yet impractical things like eating shards of glass? Procrastinating taking out the garbage? WE GOT THAT B ROLL."

See. We minorities do ordinary things just like the rest of you. Problem is -- we get more credit for doing it.

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Metasatire -- Praise it

Satire exposes the flaws, weaknesses, and idiosyncracies of a political/social/etc system or group; its effectiveness lies in its ability to push equivocation aside and directly address the heart of the problem by using humor (I DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT I JUST TYPED BUT IT SOUNDS RIGHT). Well, whatever it is, I like satire mostly because it's FUNNY.

Take this device up a level to what I will term "metasatire" -- where things are mocked in vague generalities -- and you see exactly how formulaic things in our society such as our 24-hour news programs (first clip) and movies (second clip) have become.

Man, oh man, I love these clips... but it's a little scary to see that we are getting fed this stuff over and over...

The Onion News mocking the news, courtesy of Banker (WARNING: a bit of language here)


Breaking News: Some Bullshit Happening Somewhere

And the mockery of the Oscars (courtesy of C. Dees)




Sigh. Wistful, yet resigned statement about my inferior creativity and sense of humor relative to the creators of these two videos.

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Ham, Illegal Drugs, and Iraqi Diseases

You might be wondering what those three have in common, and I hope nobody was thinking "Christmas dinner with the family."

Yesterday was a strange day. Someone brought in a whole ham left over from a family dinner party and left it in the kitchenette next to my cubicle. My coworkers converged like vultures on a dead carcass (I suppose that technically, it was a carcass -- albeit a honey-baked one). Now, I would be a hypocrite to call it strange to capitalize on free food -- when people bring in jelly-filled donuts I'm the one at the front knocking old women out of the way. The strange thing was watching coworker after coworker leave the kitchenette with a handful of ham wrapped in a paper towel -- apparently there was a shortage of plates.

Next, there was the office-wide email with directions for the holiday gift exchange. It listed the prohibited items, two of which were "illegal drugs" and "knives (with blades exceeding 2 1/2 inches in length)." You know what this means, right? This means that SOMEONE HAS TRIED TO DO THIS BEFORE. "Man, Scott has been such a good mentor to me this past year. I'm thinking he would enjoy a fruit basket and some angel dust."

Finally, Ben called to inquire about my recent illness and the sequence of my symptoms. When did I have a sore throat? How long did that last? Did I have a fever at any point? It was like an episode of House, only Ben didn't insult me, and I didn't have a gruesome symptom like blood gushing out my eyes -- instead, he told me that he had been sick with similar symptoms, and then the surpriser: "[Based on the unique symptoms] I think we have an Iraqi bug of some sort." Ben's an MD, so I'm guessing I have been infected with some sort of Middle Eastern virus.

Wait -- what?

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Weekly Selects #12

There is much this week that left me speechless. Thanks to all for keeping me entertained throughout with digital correspondence. Alright, let's do this:

-Via Gchat from Banker, in the spirit of the Halloween season (from here):

Wow. That pumpkin must have been coming off of a 'roids cycle and got his dual decapitating/skinning RAGE ON. I have no words. 

-Via Email from JMill, whose coworkers are growing mustaches for cancer, and sending around pictures of ones that they randomly find on the internet. This one is UNbelievable:

Mike M, one of the most well-spoken individuals I know, could only muster the following in reply to the email:

Sweet Mercy... words cannot express...

Quite frankly, words failed me as well. Much like we experience the loss of fine motor skills when encountering a shock or trauma, my higher thinking and reasoning also came to a screeching halt upon seeing this photo. But while my verbal capacities may have had a temporary Expression FAIL at the horrifying sight of someone who has grown a continuous strand of hair from his upper lip down to AND around his nipples, my basic instincts still knew what to do when confronted with something grotesque: conjure up a strong and uncontrollable urge to vomit.

And not just in a "threw up a bit in my mouth" sense -- it was more in the I JUST TRIED TO DRINK A GALLON OF MILK PLEASE HOLD MY HAIR BACK WHILST I SHARE FACETIME WITH THE TOILET FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT sort of sense.

Or, if you are more of a visual learner:



You get the gist.

-Via Google Reader, I found an article and amazing video clip about "The Today Show." But first, I want to remind you of something. Remember this side-by-side picture of my 3-year old self?

What's the connection, you're wondering? Well, "The Today Show" did its annual Halloween segment and they hired a few people to dress up in Ewok costumes. According to the author of the article, a friend who works for the show said this:

“For what it’s worth, a friend who works at the Today Show confirms that they were both midgets and drunk.”

The clip is well-worth the watch if you have the time. But here's my question: Where were auditions for this segment 20 years ago? I could have been a DRUNK EWOK:

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
 

-Via Email from Saree; I will provide the headline and leading paragraph of the article:

Bear Kills Militants in Kashmir
A Bear killed militants after discovering them in its den in Indian-administered Kashmir, police say.

Chalk one up for Jack Bauer's CTU. As soon as I finished reading the article, I started visualizing how it went down for the two victims, Qaiser and Saifullah:

(Nighttime. Qaiser and Saifullah, exhausted, approach a cave in the darkness)
Q: Saifullah, this will be our refuge tonight.
S: Are you sure, Qaiser? There are bones everywhere. I do not trust it.
Q: It is fine. Keep your AK-47 ready.
(The two sit down, backs to the mouth of the cave. It is silent for a few minutes. Crickets chirp outside)
Q: Saifullah, is your beard darker, or is it darkness?
S: *chuckles* I actually started using some of the westerners facial hair product "Just For Men" to remove the white from my beard. My wife says it makes me more appealing.
Q: I do not need such western abomination fakeness to impress women. Women say I am handsome; that I look like the Iraqi Sayid on the American show 'LOST.'
S: I hate that show. They only leave questions unanswered. What is the black smoke? Where did the white bears come from? And why don't Jack and Kate just get together?
Q: Bah. Jack and Kate? Sawyer is much better for Kate. It is obvious. And they're called "polar" bears. Guess what I found out, though? I was on the internets and found out that Sayid is not even Iraqi. He is of Indian descent!

S: Disgusting. I can no longer like him.
(Twigs snap in the forest outside of the cave. Some growling is heard)
S: *fearful look on his face* Qaiser! Did you hear that? I think something is outside.
Q: *stroking his beard* Nonsense.
S: I am of seriousness, Qaiser!
Q: *chuckling derisively* You worry too much.  Do you think there are polar bears outside? Like in 'LOST'?? AHAHAHA. I laugh at your foolishness, Saifullah.

(900-lb bear bursts in, commences mauling and bone-crunching of Saifullah and Qaiser. Roll credits)

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Beasties Bracketology

Disputes and disagreements have always been a part of human history, and will continue to be.

As for the best way of settling those disputes -- well, everyone has an opinion, and that is dictated by a combination of factors: religion, education, nationality, occupation. It's a long list.

For example, you ask a surfer how to settle a disagreement, he'll say to "chill, brah" and then burn down a joint. A baseball manager will tell you that throwing a tantrum involving, but not limited to, the following actions will solve things: Kicking dirt; yelling angry stuff two inches from an umpire's face; taking a tazer to said umpire once his back is turned (my philosophy: strike first, ask questions later). And then, if you could ask him I'm sure Aaron Burr would have told you a good ol' fashioned pistol duel; Alexander Hamilton also seemed to be of the same opinion until he had a lead ball stuck in his chest. Anyway, you get the idea.

I have a discovered a foolproof way of resolving disagreements: Brackets. Maybe the 100 Years' War wouldn't have lasted so long if they'd sat down hashed things out, bracket-style. Who knows.

I bring this up because after three weeks and 171 emails of vigorous debate, Boyer, Jay Z, J2K and I have settled the mother of all disputes -- the greatest Beastie Boys' song ever -- via a 64-song tournament bracket. You all care, I know. The winner: Shadrach, a lesser-known song from an even lesser-known album called Paul's Boutique.

Eventually reaching that consensus was much harder than any of us ever imagined it would be. At the outset, none of us knew what we were in for. Had I known, I would have given some deep, profound pre-tourney pep-talk, channeling Friday Night Lights: "We will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls."

Granted, Coach Taylor said the above in the context of his star quarterback having just suffered a paralyzing injury, but whatever.

See, the tournament presented no clear-cuts, no black v. white, no right v. wrong -- just awesome v. awesome. Every single matchup featured two songs that we grew up loving, so pitting them against each other and having to pick a winner between them created intense internal conflict -- like that scene in Spartacus when Spartacus and Antoninus are forced to duel each other to the death. Both are guys you like and you don't WANT to cheer for a winner, because that also means there will be a loser.

Having to pick only one to come out of it alive twisted us all up in knots. Kept us up at night. Found us crouched in the corner of the shower, weeping because we'd never been so lost and conflicted in our lives.

But we pushed on. And here is the end product; our finalized bracket (click to enlargin'):

I will be making a commemorative CD featuring the tournament's final 16 songs. Let me know if you're interested in having a copy.

And now, some testimonials from the participants.

Boyer:

Quite the undertaking we all got on board for...I don't think anyone (certainly not myself) thought things would be this massive or this involved... Perhaps this is a life lesson about our place in the universe and the value in futility. The Beasties still teach us things about ourselves to this day.

Jay Z:

Having recently completed my role as a voter in the greatest musical tournament of all time, I have a few reflections.  I learned more about the Beastie Boys, as well as myself, than I thought possible.

J2K was unavailable for comment, as he is currently planning the massive corporate takeover of yet another company, Donald Trump-style, only he's doing it with better hair.


Sending you off with the greatest music video ever. Enjoy, and be safe over your Halloween weekend.

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Weekly Selects #9

This week featured a handful. Enjoy

-Via TXT from White Josh; while watching a session of our church's worldwide General Conference in which the speaker, a man of the Asian persuasion, Korean flavor, spoke about some men whom he knew when they were young and "rowdy." After the speaker threw up a picture of them, Josh sent:

That was the aewesomest picture of asian bad a's i have ever seen !!!!!

Don't worry; I hunted down a still capture of the photo:


I need some pleated jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt.

-Via IM with Josh M, when I pointed out that one morning I heard the squirrels that have invaded the walls of our apartment:

you should have captured them and THROWN THEM ON THE GROUND

This, of course, was based on an SNL music video we saw last Saturday. Its connection with coherence, much like Lindsay Lohan and sobriety, is tenuous at best -- in honesty, absolutely non-existent. But I suppose therein lies the hilarity:



Whenever something frustrates me now, I see the object in my mind's eye slamming into the ground in slo-mo. Granted, the slow-motion filming of a squirrel being thrown to the ground would be excessively graphic, like watching a Michael Vick-hosted documentary on the torture methods of the Spanish Inquisition, and would no doubt elicit some sort of inane lawsuit from PETA. At the very least it would get their celebrity spokesmen to strip naked in some form of ineffectual protest.

-Via Email from DougC, whom I wanted to guest blog but is working like a slave and has no time. With regards to an important test results he is awaiting, he petitioned:

Maybe if you have a ancient Japanese ritual you could perform on my behalf it would help...or if nothing else a Mormon-style prayer.

It's rare that someone places enough faith in me to importune my help with something that actually matters, so consider it done, Doug: Incense sticks have been lit, ancestors have been importuned, stomachs have been slit. You get the idea.

-Via Email link from JMill, to this article:

Some dude made a coffee table based on an NES controller -- nerdy, right? Well, dig deeper into the story's goldmine of dweebdom, you'll discover the bonus: The controller is fully functional. This reminds me of back when my old roommates, Jay and Johnny, had a multi-week de facto pissing contest via Contra proxy. They were competing to see who could beat the game in the least amount of time. Good luck entering the 30-life bonus code with this size controller.

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Photo of the Week 21 Sept 2009

Walked out of Best Buy with this beauty, and thank goodness for that -- it was the only thing to console me after the BYU game on Saturday. Past experience with rewatching cartoons from the childhood had me fearing that it would disappoint, but I was pleasantly surprised.

See, a few years ago I came upon Thundercats while flipping channels. I loved the show as a kid, so was excited to watch it. I immediately regretted that decision. Dialogue was horrendous; the voices were unbearable; the plot line had no connection with what we call "coherence" or "quality." The cartoon was a confused, jumbled mass of storytelling crap -- basically cast in the Battlefield Earth mold before that mold even existed.

At that moment, I was like Dantes in The Count of Monte Cristo when he found out that Fernand had betrayed him. Thundercats and I had been friends since childhood; I thought it was upstanding and good quality. But no. Like Fernand, Thundercats sucked. And it betrayed and demoralized me with the severity of its suckiness. (I will concede, however, that Dantes may have gotten the shorter end of the Betrayed By Childhood Friend Stick. In a lucky turn of events for me, I was not extrajudicially sentenced to an island-prison to be annually tortured by a deranged prison warden and left to do nothing but stew in my own human waste and vindictive thoughts. Hey, I'm just trying to be optimistic here.)

That experience turned how I viewed my childhood upside down. Was pulling girls' hair really as enjoyable as I remember it being? Was kickball even fun? The Book Fair was worth all of the time I put into circling the books I wanted in the catalogs they gave us, wasn't it? All of my past experiences were under evaluation.

And so I purchased X-Men with some trepidation on Friday and went home to watch it. I attempted to re-create an atmosphere similar to my X-men-viewing from childhood, just so I could get the most out of it: I may have put on some MC Hammer pants, set a Super Soaker next to me on the couch, and poured myself a large bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Something like that. And after watching a fair amount of episodes, I will admit that while the cartoon is not better than what I remember, there certainly isn't the precipitous dropoff between expectations and reality that there was with Thundercats. It's pretty decent.

The lesson: Tread carefully when revisiting pleasant childhood memories. At worst, it will be devastatingly disappointing; at best, mildly gratifying.


Happy Monday, everyone. You'll have this song stuck in your head the rest of the day:

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Black List -- Skip Bayless

I couldn't leave James Carville / Gollum all by his lonesome on my black list. So, I've chosen a new member: Skip Bayless. Mr. Bayless is a part-time analyst on ESPN, and a full-time a**hole.

I dislike Mr. Bayless for many of the same reasons that I dislike Carville -- he's condescending to his fellow analysts and focuses more on insults and elementary school bully-ness than actually providing, you know, some sort of insight.

So why do I bother watching a man I so clearly despise? It's a waste of my time, right?

Wrong. I watch Skip Bayless because I wait in eager anticipation for the day when he gets crushed. And I want to clarify that when I say crushed, I don't mean it in the figurative, "Gee, I hope a fellow analyst verbally destroys him in a debate and makes him look foolish"-sense. I mean it literally.

I haven't really thought about it too much, but the ideal scenario I have floating around in my head is this: Some sort of fur-clad Mongol warrior-looking type walking onto the ESPN set with a large club and/or sword, and Bayless cowering in the fetal position while pleading for mercy. Something like that.

Truthfully, I've heard various anecdotes about Bayless being a nice guy "off-camera." That's fine, but hearing that doesn't deter me from my aforementioned wish. I'm perfectly fine with him getting pulverized "on-camera" -- if he's going to be a jerk there, it's the place where he deserves it -- and being left alone off-camera where he's "a nice guy." The very least it would do is make for some riveting television.

While we're on the topic, I guess I don't understand the fostering of separate on- and off-camera personalities for a sports commentator. Last I checked that was called acting, and not sports analysis. Please do what you are PAID to do, Skip.

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PotW Addition, Survey Results

Just some supplemental videos for the last two Photos of the Week.

C Dees found this clip from The Simpsons to enhance yesterday's PotW:



And, you guys voted on Bourne's best improvised weapon. The ball-point pen came in first:



Here were second (rolled up magazine) and third (hardbound book):

The Bourne Ultimatum - Bourne And Desh Fight

I personally chose the hardbound book-- C'mon! He beats the guy with a textbook. Well, regardless, I'm pretty sure Bourne could kill or seriously maim me with nothing but a coaster or a q-tip.

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Summer Gum (un)Recommendation

If you live in a location where it is hot and humid, do not purchase this gum:


It was my favorite; in humidity, however, it turns into an unwrappable and formless mess of disgustingness. Imagine microwaving a slug, poking the resultant blob with a stick, and then wrapping it in some white paper. That's what this gum becomes. And no one wants to put that in their mouth.

Additionally, their commercials are to TV advertising what Kanye West is to public speaking; and if Case's principled stands have taught us anything, it's that you should place an unqualified lifelong ban on the purchase of any product that has crappy commercials.

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Deadliest Warriors -- Photo of the Week 25 May 2009

Late posting. Was on some vacation.

Taken from the blog at foreignpolicy.com, with a caption that reads:

"Belarussian special forces soldiers use a sledgehammer to break flaming bricks on their backs in Minsk" (emphasis added)

I don't claim to know what is going on in the former Soviet republics, but man.

Anybody seen this show called Deadliest Warrior? Talk about a rallying point for all Renaissance Fair and Quill & The Sword types. This show spends an hour simulating ancient warriors (ie Spartan vs. Ninja, etc) fighting against each other, then has a real-life re-creation at the end. Geeks unite.

Anyway, I showed Josh M this photo and here was the ensuing IM conversation:

JoshM: dude, that belarussian guy needs to be on deadliest warrior
Me: dude is nuts
JoshM: this week they are doing the braveheart guy versus shaka zulu
Me: maybe they'll bring in mel gibson for the re-enactment
JoshM: and wesley snipes as shaka zulu
Me: wesley snipes could use the employment. i don't know if portraying mel gibson killing shaka zulu would do well for his already racist image
JoshM: good point
JoshM: he may have turned down the offer

Too bad.


You better have had a happy Monday, what with the day off and all. And taken a second to remember why we had the holiday.

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Ignorance is Bliss

I learned the painful lesson of this blog title two weekends ago while on vacation in California, where in the matter of a few days I went from ecstatic to homeless-orangutan-level-depressed.

Before leaving for Sac-town, my boys told me that they had Tivo'ed all episodes of a new MTV show called "Bully Beatdown." Based on title alone, it had to be good. Basically, the premise of the show is random people ask the show's host for help with the bullies in their lives. The host challenges the bully to fight a professional MMA fighter for the chance to win money. If the bully loses, the prize money goes to the bullied person. Not quite The Iliad or The Odyssey, but at least it would keep me entertained while I was sipping on some Henry's.

Imagine four friends sitting on a couch howling with laughter, clutching each other in pure joy as a guy -- one they have been manipulated into hating by MTV -- gets the ever-living crap kicked out of him. This was the start of a new chapter in my life.

I came back home from vacation -- and then, out of nowhere, my beautiful world was shattered. A friend (who shall remain nameless for his own protection) who is an MMA fan told me that the "bullies" for the show were actually stuntmen, and that "Bully Beatdown" was all staged.

It is impossible to pinpoint my emotions at the time my world collapsed around me, but, after some reflection, I will try to articulate the range of emotions I experienced, which unfolded in (approximately) the order below:

• Primal Rage (Think Wolverine in X2, right when he stabs that soldier in the chest in the kitchen, screaming at the top of his lungs, saliva flying everywhere)
  

• Confused Betrayal (Think William Wallace in Braveheart after he unmasks that knight, and it turns out to be Robert the Bruce. I mean, I put my trust in MTV and they do this to me? I feel like a teenager again.)
  

• Utter Inconsolability (Think Denzel Washington in Man on Fire before he meets Dakota Fanning: Haunted by past demons, numb to the point of being incapable of feeling comforted)
  

• Abject Self-pity (Think Nancy Kerrigan, immediately after knee-clubbing: "Whyyyyy? Whyyyyyyyyy?")
  

It has been an emotional rollercoaster. I hate rollercoasters.

I considered keeping the news to myself, and sheltering my friends by allowing them to live in their ignorant bliss; but everyone knows what misery loves, so I dragged them down with me. Selfish, perhaps, but I'm just the messenger. Here are testimonials from the friends whose lives have also been ruined thanks to "Bully Beatdown":

"I felt betrayed. I spent hours making lists of all the bullies I wanted Mayhem [the host] to beatdown for me, but it was all in vain, and now I will continue w/ out justice being served against my bullies." --CT

"I felt like I had fallen for a used car salesman's pitch when I could see for myself that the 'pristine' Mercedes he was selling me was in reality a 1985 Pontiac Fiero. . . and I still bought it." --JN

"It was like the time I found out that Nigerian wasn't going to send me a bunch of money and I gave him my banking info for nothing." --JT

So I guess I should change this blog title to: "Ignorance CAN be bliss."

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Spectating the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler

DJA and I woke up at some unholy hour on Sunday morning to go support some friends who ran the Cherry Blossom Festival 10-miler in DC. Don't ask me what we were thinking.

Anyway, I texted Josh M to get his bib number, his starting "wave" (group), and any distinctive clothing he might be wearing so that we could spot him. The reply:

"8072, blue wave, flesh-colored leotard"

Oh really? This could get interesting. If only.

"Naw, white shirt and black shorts"

Sigh. Too bad.

We did catch our boy along the course at about the 3.5-mile mark, after DJA and I trucked across the Mall:Shortly thereafter and out of nowhere, a runner tossed a shirt that landed right at DJA's feet -- now, either the runner had overdressed, or they saw DJA's flowing locks of hair and wanted to treat him like an onstage rock-star. Only in this case it was a long-sleeved shirt, and not underwear.


Again, if only.

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