A.T.F. the movie! (as told by someone who wasn't really watching)

So, I sort of watched a movie called "A.T.F." starring...uh...'Judging' Amy Brennemannnanemen. That's as close as I'm likely to get on that name. Not because it's a tough name to spell. I'm just not that interested in spelling it.

Not unlike how not-that-interested I was in watching the movie. I don't know why I even had it on, but I have to recommend a detached style of viewing for this film. I saw about 40 seconds of it every 15 minutes or so as I did various things around the apartment. From my viewpoint, it went like this.

Hey, that's Amy Branamananamanaaan! She's cute. She's got a gun. Goin' into the Branch Davidians thing at Waco. Her buddy got shot up pretty bad. She's sad.
...

Somebody's yelling at her in court. She's doing the big-girl-not-gonna-cry crying. Ohhh, I think she's remembering something sad and sort of keeping her chin up in the process

...

Is that Judith Light? No, it's Christine Lahti? Nope. I don't even know who Christine Lahti is when it's HER, let alone when it's THIS lady. Who is that lady? I don't know but her weird dog with the totally white eyeball just sniffed her car, and she got scared. Of bombs, near as I can tell

...

Hey, Amy B. is makin' out with some dude. Sad makin' out though -- she was so sad and teary that she had to mash her face up against somebody. I wonder how come she doesn't just eat a lot of ice cream like everybody else? I wonder if one of them is actually going to put the other one's entire head into their mouth?

....

Oh, she's in a bombsquad suit saving a baby from a boobytrapped highchair. Uh, do they just let you do EVERY job in the A.T.F.? Does she work in the cafeteria as well? Don't you have to have specialized training for the different jobs?

...

No, you don't! Cuz now she's undercover! Buying guns from survivalists. Oh, everybody knows she's a cop. No they don't. Yeah they do. The not-Judith-Light-but-close-e-damn-nuff lady wants her pulled out of there. Her ego is writing checks that her body can't cash. And then...


I missed the end. But since it was made for TV, I have a feeling that everything turned out just fine. She got promoted to judge, and was awarded Tyne Daly for Valor in the Face of Something.

Starting my own religion

I am not a religious person, but I do enjoy watching religious people. I think they are adorable and hilarious. I want to invent a religion that exists solely for my own amusement.

Aaaand, premise complete!

Here are some of our beliefs:

• The Buddy System: Like Scientology, we will target celebrities. But we will pair them up in fun and interesting ways, and the "buddies" must hold hands at all times. For instance, we are going to target Ewan MacGregor and Shaquille O'Neal. They must always hold hands, even during NBA games when Shaq is on the court. The Miami Heat will have to hire Ewan at power forward to keep them close together, and they will probably have to alter a lot of their plays. When asked why they are holding hands, both buddies will emphatically deny that they are doing so, and insist that they are the victims of religious persecution.
  
• Fantasy Tax: Anytime a member of my religion has a sexual fantasy about anyone else, they must ask that person for a 5 cent fee using a bullhorn or a concert-grade PA system. The rationale is that you are spending your mental energy trying to please them sexually, and you deserve some small compensation. The amplification is there to show that you are comfortable with yourself and you are not ashamed of your sexual impulses.
  
• Pilgrimage: Like many religions, we have holy sites that our members are required to visit at least one time in their lives. Our holy sites are Northern California, South Africa, and Australia, the homes of the world's population of great white sharks. Once at the holy site, you must reflect upon your sins while swimming in the ocean, wearing a seal costume smeared in blood. Whatever happens next is exactly what you deserve.

There are many, many more requirements for joining my new religion, but I can not reveal them here as they could be dangerous to the minds and souls of the unprepared person. Also, I'm charging $5,000 bucks for them so scram, you.

Shark Fears

As my good friend, Sarah Fisch, has pointed out -- SHARK WEEK is upon us. It's a sort of a national holiday for me because I am terrified of sharks. And very impressed by them. And they are on the TEEvee, which means they are awesome.

In fact, nearly everyone is afraid of sharks. I think it has to do with the fact that they bite us sometimes. I don't care that you are nearly 10 times more likely to be killed by a falling coconut (apparently that's true.) You just try to come up with some scary theme music for falling coconuts. No? Yeah, thought so.

Anyway, the point is this. Sharks have fears too. Fears that can be exploited if you are ever attacked. Here's are the top fears that sharks have, and how to use them to your advantage:

1. Fear of Speaking in Front of a Group. It's just like humans. So, if you are being attacked, immediately put on a nametag and say something like, "I'm really looking forward to your presentation -- how do you handle the pressure?" Either that or take out your travel podium and hit them in the nose with it.
2. Fear of Commitment. Sure, sharks are all aggression* and teeth when they are coming at you, but let them get the hint that you are looking for something more permanent and they are out the door. Consider asking the shark to help you move, or leaving an extra toothbrush at its apartment**.
3. Fear of Success. This is a little known and lesser understood aspect of the shark psyche. A deep seated self-esteem problem where the shark does not believe it deserves to devour you. When you are about to be attacked, try saying something like, "Wow, attacking a person. You're really taking on quite a lot. It's so great that you feel ready for such a big accomplishment!"
4. Fear of Intimacy. If a shark has already bitten you, spoon with it. Nothing sexual, just let the shark know how close you feel to it. And if that doesn't work, whisper, "What are you thinking?"
5. Fear of Abandonment. When a shark is circling you, let him know that if he doesn't stop, you will leave the ocean.

Good luck. I hope that your confidence in my theories isn't in any way shaken by the fact that I refuse to test them. Enjoy!

*I had to do the old football cheer in my head to remember how to spell this. That's called 'full disclosure,' people. Look it up.

** I seriously doubt that most sharks have apartments. I mean, look at them. Do they look like they are RENTING? No, I don't think so.

Blown C.I.A. Coverage

Ok, in light of all of this C.I.A. leak stuff, I feel compelled to address something about myself and my covert status. A friend of mine used to think that I worked for the C.I.A.

(There. I said it. And it feels so good to let that out, like a first date burp where you hold it in hoping to convince your unwitting companion that you're a robot incapable of unsexy body functions.)

She thought I worked for the C.I.A. because whenever I explained my dayjob to her it sounded vague and boring, and she surmised that it was a cover story. (She was a big fan of Alias.)

The truth was (and I can only speak about this on double super secret background) that by my description, she didn't understand my job. Come to think of it, neither do I. Maybe I am C.I.A.!

Of course! I can't believe I've been lying to myself, right under my own nose all these ye--Ow! What the...? Poison dart? Gack! Oh, I'm good. I'm very, very good. Glurble. Glurk.

...

Uh...ahem...hello! Hello, blog audience public people. It is I, just the ordinary, ah, Jeff Mac here. Signing off...just like he...ah, I mean just like "I" always do.

Because I am me, you see. And not an assassin sent to kill me. Uh, him. Jeff Mac, I mean. Who I am.

(sigh) Oh forget it. You're all going to have to be eliminated. All seven of you. I'll be at your homes in a few minutes with either a poison dart or an umbrella filled with an oil slick or something. Please be patient.

Give the man a break

I know that Bobby Brown is getting a lot of crap lately for being, you know, crazy. He's got that show where they follow him around and allow him to behave like a lunatic. I haven't seen it, but my understanding is that if you only saw that show you might think he was maybe on, I don't know, let's call it "crack."

But I am here to tell you all something. I had a dream last night in which I was watching TV with Bobby. In the dream, he seemed very normal, and quite amiable. I was not expecting him to be that easy to be around. Self-effacing, respectful, and not on any crack that I could see.

I think everybody should just calm down, and judge him NOT based upon what you see with your own eyes, but upon what my subconscious decides to have him do arbitrarily. It's only fair, people.

A life lesson...

I was on the subway the other day, and...no, no I really was. Listen, if you are going to doubt me this early in the blog we may as well just call the whole thing off. No, I'm serious. I need you to believe me on this. I was ON the SUBway. Ok? You sure? Thank you.

Ahem.

In any case, after a couple of stops on the train a family of what felt like thousands (but was probably only five) entered my car. It was like being inside of a ferris wheel engine. Children leaping on things, adults howling at each other. Laugh laugh laugh, talk talk talk. Lawn chairs flying around, ocean toys, beach towel capes.

Listen, I am from Connecticut where denial is a sort of ancestral tradition filled with pride and power. But this was testing even MY abilities to pretend not to notice stuff. I decided after a couple of stations that I would switch cars.

I was sure that I would be walking into a karmic nightmare. Life would say, "Ah, you don't want to hang out with the Decibel family? Ok, how about THIS?" and I would be presented with the smelliest, hook-handed homeless person ever to rule over the subway mole people.

But no, it was silent as a tomb. Lovingly air conditioned. Several adults sat serenely, reading their smart people books. You could almost hear soft jazz xylophone playing in the background.

And I wondered -- is this what I want? This silent sterility*. That other car had been loud and obnoxious, but it had LIFE in it. Is this antiseptic** library really what my soul craves? Wouldn't I rather be back in that other car filled with the childlike energy of the living, breathing earth? Wouldn't I like to gain a little of that life back for myself?

The answer was, of course, no. No fucking way. My new car was awesome. Those other bastards can rot in there. I'm staying in snoresville.

* I'm speaking metaphorically here, of course.

** See above. I'm sure there was enough bacteria in that subway car to fill a bowling ball carrying bag thing***.

***I realize that was not the greatest metaphor in the world****.

****I also realize that putting a footnote within a footnote might seem unorthodox and confusing. But that's me, people. Oh, I'm sorry -- did I just blow your mind???

Think about it

An old friend of mine recently told me that she thought I "think too much." Oh really? Gee, you figure? Do you honestly think I haven't thought about THAT? Of course I have -- I think too much! I can think about ten different things at any given moment. During a serious relationship talk, I can think about a sandwich I really like. And vice versa. It's like being ambidexterous, but without the burden of being considered cool or interesting.

Here's my little tip. If you know someone who thinks too much (and if you're reading this website, you know at least one such person) you don't need to tell him. It would be like saying to a drowning person, "You know what your problem is, is all that water that you keep putting into your lungs. It's really holding you back. Seriously, I think if you stop breathing the water, you're going to find a world of difference."

See you at the bottom of the barrel!

I was recently told by a friend of mine that the economy is in trouble. Now, I must confess that I had heard about this before then. But when you're me, the economy is always in trouble. I don't need to wait to hear about the market to know that I'm not doing very well. (It's comforting, in a way. All those Wall Street types have to wait with bated breath to find out whether or not they are screwed. With me, mystery solved.)

Which brings me to our current economic problems. (And no, the fact that I'm posting on this after we've been in this slump for years doesn't bother me in the least.) If the Chinese do whatever it is that my friend told me they might do to the yen, our economy would basically collapse.

At that point, everybody will be scrambling around, trying to figure out how to adjust to their total lack of worth. Basically, everyone would be just like me. Except that I'll already be used to it.

All of a sudden, being a total financial fuckup isn't looking like such a stupid idea, huh? The fact that I own nothing of value suddenly becomes an advantage. Who knew that having absolutely nothing to show for myself would turn out to be such an asset? I feel so vindicated that all of my foolish, irresponsible decisions are finally paying off.

Guidebook for Parents

Hello, parents of small children. Or of gigantic children. I have compiled several helpful hints for you folks. I know that once humans spawn, large portions of the brain shut down to make room for the, "No, no, NO don't eat that!" parts. Hey, that's fine. I just wanted to give you a quick rundown of all the things that we, the unchilded, would like you to keep in mind.

1. Your child is a bit of a nuisance to everyone but you. No one is interested in how cute they are, especially if they are going to be that loud.
2. Please re-read rule one until it sinks in. Yes, even YOUR child. Not just the smelly, dirty children.
3. Don't show me pictures of them. If they are here, isn't that bad enough? And if they are not here, let me just sit and enjoy the quiet.
4. I am not a monkeybars. Seriously, your kid is playing with fire right now.
5. Please let your kid play with fire right now. How else is he going to learn?
6. Please keep the child out of everybody's way. Just because you have chosen a life of inconvenience and exhaustion for yourself is no reason to punish the rest of us.

Feel free to place these rules somewhere that you'll see them. For instance, tattoo them onto your child.

Thank you.

P.S. To the person in the UK who got to my site by Googling "Pooped herself": God Bless you, sir or madam. I hope you found what you were looking for.

SURPRISE!!!!!

Happy 229th Birthday, America!!!

Were you surprised? No, honestly, were you? You have no idea how hard it was getting you out of the house so we could set up the party. I mean, with all that stuff about "Weapons of Mass Destruction" and everything? I did NOT think you were going to buy that!

Anyway, I hope you are enjoying your Independence Day, USA. And please, please when you see the founding fathers, don't tell them about George W. Or the Patriot Act. Or all the church & state stuff going on. And you probably shouldn't bring up the fact that Britain is now our only friend (man would THAT confuse the hell out of them!) And maybe don't mention that we spend your birthday mainly by eating hot dogs and getting hammered while mafia guys set off really pretty explosions for us to look at.

In fact, if they call to ask how things are going, uh, pretend you're not home. Totally screen that call. They don't really want to know.

A final thought on Jury Duty

Hello, gentle readers. If you didn't read my previous entries on Jury Duty...uh...well, I had it. There! All caught up!

As it turns out, there are several ways of getting out of serving if you are called. I will not include the one that my friend and NO HITTING co-host, Becky Donohue, uses-- "What are you, crazy? Who goes to jury duty? I throw the fucking thing in the garbage, tell 'em I never got it!" That's just a little too overtly anti-establishment for me. I prefer to shirk my duties from within the system. Also I am a chump, evidently.

So, if you are being questioned in a case, here's what you do. The judge will tell you EXACTLY what to say. For instance, in my case they kept asking each juror if they could view cops just like they would anyone else. Here is an actual interaction that occurred:

Judge: "Can you be objective when hearing the testimony of police officers."
A: "Uh...I don't think so."
Judge: "You don't THINK so?"
A: "No...I don't trust cops."
Judge: "And you couldn't put that aside for this trial?"
A: "Ahh, not really, no."
Judge: "Ok...you're dismissed. But...you should WORK on that."

Tough guy, that judge. Tough, but fair.

Now, I could not bring myself to say something like that. And to be honest, I wasn't totally dreading serving. The defense lawyer was hilariously pitiful, and I think I would have found his attempts to get his totally guilty client acquitted to be charming and quaint. However, I was not picked to serve. Why? The reason is simple.

They were afraid of me. They were terrified of my jury powers. I would have taken over that case, and every one in that room knew it. The defendant certainly knew it. Every single time I spoke, he (pardon me) shat explosively. (As a matter of law, the prosecution objected but was overruled. That falls under the protection of the First Amendment, thank you very much.)

Look, I've seen television. I know the score, if I may use the slang of a 20s dancing girl. I know the difference between Murder 1, Murder 2, and Felony Murder. Or at least I THINK I do, and that's close enough for me, baby. I already had several objections. I hadn't voiced them yet, but the time was coming when I was not going to just sit back and let these people run amok through our legal system.

To be honest, it's sad they didn't pick me. For them. I'm sure they could have learned quite a little bit about law, about love, about life. Your loss, Kings County Superior Court. See you in six years!

Karaoke Madness Tonight!

Hello, gentle reader. If you are looking at this from within the NYC area (or are willing to travel) why not come on down to Planet Rose (219 Avenue A near 13th Street) tonight at or after 8pm? My girlfriend and I will be celebrating our birthdays (mine on 6/21 and hers on 7/13) with a little something we like to call "behaving like asses."

There will be some serious karaoke. And because it is not at my home, all are welcome! What the hell do I care? Come on down!

I won't promise anything specific, but if you were planning to bet against my doing some hardcore Bon Jovi, I think it would be a big, big mistake.

Even if you don't want to sing, come on down and look at me. And if you can't stop by, try to at least think about looking at me sometime around 8pm Eastern Standard Time tonight. Your attention is what I live for.

Getting Organized- the Jeff Mac Way!!!

Well, it's summer, and that means that it's time to get your act together. Well, maybe it's not time NOW, but it is most certainly time for me to type that last sentence. A little past time, if you ask me. I mean, I did just type it a moment ago. It can't be time to do that now. Not again already.

LESSON 1: Don't get bogged down. It's so easy to get caught up in crap like that last paragraph. It's all nonsense. Or at least mostly. Well, let's say 70/30. Deal. See how easy that was? You just make a meaningless bargain with yourself, and then move on. Shall we?

LESSON 2: Give up. It's important to understand that if you had the capacity to get organized, you'd have done it by now. Wouldn't you? Of course you would have. But you didn't. Did you? No. No, you didn't. You just screwed around, and pissed your life away, and now you're here, reading this crap.

LESSON 3: Beat yourself up. Getting organized is hard work, and you'll never get there if you…well, you'll just never get there (See Lesson 2).

How about some practical tips that you can try right now to help to unleash your inner whatever? Sound good? No? Great!

TIP 1: Clean your workspace. Some people recommend a methodical approach, taking each item in your work area one by one and making a tough decision about what to do with it. But that sounds way too hard. I recommend kerosene or wolves. Either option will really change the look of your desk area.

TIP 2: Make an appointment with yourself, FOR yourself. This means that for however long you have specified, there is to be no working, no reading, no checking your e-mail, no defiling your body. This is time for absolutely nothing. You just sit there and do nothing. It's totally going to blow.

TIP 3: Use Index Cards. The index card is a very common tool used by many, many people to get organized. Here's my method. When someone comes to check on your progress on a deadline, take out an index card and slit their throat with the edge of it. Then, soak up the blood with more index cards. Finally, write down the location of the shallow grave where you dump the body on an index card, and then burn that index card so no one ever finds out. It's fun!

TIP 4: Use visible ink! This one is so often overlooked. I can't tell you how many times I've written down the most brilliant idea ever conceived only to be thwarted by my insistence upon using invisible ink. Or no ink at all. I often just point at a notebook and try to tell it what I mean. This works great when it works, but unfortunately it never does.

Next time, we'll show you how to organize your kitchen area, simply by not minding how messy it is!

Dear Jackhammer Operator,

Hi! I just wanted to drop you a quick note to let you know that I'm a huge fan! I've been following your work since hours and hours ago when you began, and I am blown away. I especially appreciate that you decided to get the jackhammering work done at dawn. I would hate to start my day off with a false sense of peace on earth. No, really. You're right. Life IS that chaotic and loud, even at sunrise. You humble me, sir. You have shown me the jackhammer of my soul. And for that, I thank you.

As a side note, It looks like you're working on the sewer line. Hurray! I hope this portends brown and cloudy water for me like it usually does when you do your little magic show. I don't want this experience to end when you finish for the day. Or when you fall into that hole and die. Just kidding, ha ha ha. Ha ha ha.

Well, that's all for now, you magnificent bastard. Keep up the good work -- as if I could stop you! I dream that I'll see you again one day, maybe playing a gong outside the hospital. Or at the library, throwing grenades.

Sincerely,

-a fan

Dear Brooklyn Jury Clerk,

I don't know if you remember me, but you were the Jury Clerk (or Jury Wrangler, if you prefer) 4 years ago, the last time I served jury duty. I know you see a lot of potential jurors and you can't possibly remember every one of us. I just thought you might, you know...wow, this is harder than I thought it was going to be. Ok. Don't get emotional, don't get emotional. I just...I felt like I had made an impression, and...and when you acted like you had never seen me before...I don't know. I'm trying to understand.

Anyway, I had a couple of quick items for you. You know, if you have the time.

• How badly do you have to fuck up in life to not only get this job, but also to keep it for (at least) 4 years? What happened -- were you taking the civil service exam and accidentally set it on fire?
• Those jokes about "how enthusiastic we all seem" -- why stop at 5 times in one day? That's your A material, man. Use it!

I guess that's all for now. But I just wanted you to know that every time you let on that you were disgusted with all of us in the jury pool...well, you made me feel like the only soul crushing annoyance in your world. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Jeff "millionth juror you've seen and hated" Mac

Dear Guy who got to my site by Googling "Darryl Hall 2005"

First, a little background -- in my web statistics, I can tell how the last 10 people to view my site got here (i.e. if you clicked here from the website of one of my friends who has put a link to me on their site, I can tell that's how you got here.)

I can't tell who is doing the clicking (unless your internet service provider has the word "Arkansas" or "Australia" in it, and then I have a pretty decent idea who you are!) The point is, I don't know who was Googling "Darryl Hall 2005."

So, to that guy or gal, if you ever come back:

Wow. I bet you were surprised, weren't you? And probably more than a little disappointed. Gosh, I know I am.

Sincerely,

-Jeff "Neither Hall nor Oates" Mac

The Worst Old Sci Fi I've Ever Watched in its Entirety

I've done it. I've found the worst one. Well, so far. Remember, you are reading the words of a man who can say (with real feeling) how Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings is a shitty sequel because it is not true to the premise of Pumpkinhead. Seriously. And these are the movies I get to watch when the lady of the house is out of town.

The film I saw this weekend is called "At the Earth's Core." It stars Peter Cushing and...other people. Just forget about those people. Not important. At all.

Ok, this is a film about 2 Victorian men who build a drill-to-the-center-of-the-earth machine. And they do it. And then end up in a place where there are English-speaking humans enslaved by hypnotic bird dinosaurs. Awesome.

By the way, there is no mention of the amazing coincidence that these subterranean people can speak English. Not even a, "Huh, they speak perfect English. Wonder how?" I think the director (wisely) figured out that if you're going to concern yourself with such things, you're not his target demographic.

The first real crap moment is when a dinosaur is chasing Our Hero and Peter Cushing (who is shooing it away with his umbrella.) The special effects are of the guy-in-a-rubber-suit school. And terrible even by those standards. If the guy who directed the old Godzilla movies had been presented with these designs, he would have said, "Listen, I know I'm a shitstain on the world of film, but I really can't work with this."

There was a dinosaur on dinosaur battle that looked for all the world as if 2 fratboys got hammered, put on Barney suits, and beat the shit out of each other.

There was a moment when the main guy was fighting a...uh...thing, and I swear I saw one of the extras actually laughing while on camera.

My favorite sequence came when Our Hero was running around with Peter Cushing, doing whatever the hell they were doing (genuinely unimportant to know these things, even as you're watching), and they stumble across the Pretty Cavegirl. She is being attacked by a giant, fire-breathing frog. (To help you picture how this was achieved, imagine a blowtorch inside of a giant frog statue, because it didn't move.)

Ok, so Our Hero leaps in to save Pretty Girl, but they are pinned down by frogtorch fire. Here's the awesome part. In those 15 seconds, Peter Cushing's character makes a bow and arrow. As in, from scratch. He then kills the frog statue with it, which tumbles off a cliff, and EXPLODES as if it was a fuel truck.

I love this film so hard, it hurts.

Back from Jury Duty!

Hello, all. Sorry I haven't posted in a couple of days. I was on jury duty. It was delightful. I will post more on this, but just a few quick highlights of what I experienced in the Kings County Courthouse:

• I heard the loudest not-from-a-friend fart I have ever heard to date. Impressive. As in "Louis Armstrong solo" loud. At first I was disgusted. And then, after a moment, I continued to be disgusted.
• While being questioned by attorneys, one prospective juror made reference to the Law & Order "dun dun!" sound. The defendant, about to stand trial for attempted murder, actually covered his face in horror as he realized the intelligence level of his jury. (As a side note, she was selected for his jury. Good luck, fella!)
• I was not picked for that jury. Why? Because I would make an AWESOME juror. Frankly, I think they were all terrified of me. In the land of the dummies, the one-brained man is king.
• The juror orientation film made reference to Charlemagne. Good choice, State of New York. Way to understand your core audience and their interests.
• We were told about 10 times how EVERYONE has to serve no matter who they are. And by "we" I mean a room packed with low income people and nobody else.

More on this later!

Dear Crate & Barrel,

While wandering around your store, bored out of my skull, I had several questions for you. I was wondering if you could clear some things up for me.

1. Your couches are so comfy. How many times has someone sat down on one of them, and been so enchanted by the sheer couchiness that they stayed there until they wet themselves? The answer is not "never." You and I both know that. So how many?
2. How many times has there been an official therapy session held on one of your couches? I'm talking a licensed therapist, a patient, a little notebook, the whole thing, scheduled without your permission I'm sure. Again, I know it must have happened. I'm just looking for the numbers.
3. Why so many different waffle makers? Seriously.
4. Has anyone ever taken one of your pillows off a display bed, unzipped the liner, taken a crap inside of it, zipped it back up, and returned it to the bed?
5. Have you sold that pillow? Essentially, have you sold feces? How much of it? How much feces has Crate & Barrel sold since it was founded?

I await your answers with...well, with very little confidence that I'll hear from you. Don't break my heart, Crate & Barrel. Tell me the truth. For once!

Your pal,

Jeff Mac

Carnivorousness

I am not in favor of animal cruelty. Let me just say that right at the top. I am not completely heartless when it comes to animal rights. For example, I had a rabbit once. It was delicious.

That's my main problem with trying to be a vegetarian. It's the pure tastiness of eating stuff. I mean, it's not like chickens were going to live forever, you know. And even if they did, it's not like they bring much to the table as a species. Ever watch a chicken for more than a minute? Of course not. Why would you? They run through their entire chicken repertoire in about 20 seconds. The most impressive thing that a chicken will ever accomplish is being delicious to me.

Cows have it even worse. Not only are they boring when alive and scrumptious when dead, but wearing clothes made from their skin can actually get you laid. Burgers AND sex, vs. watching your boring ass wander around a pasture all day? Uh gee...let me think about that one for a--medium rare, please.

Let's face it -- animals are NOT our equals. They really aren't. Know how I know? Ok, take the most hardcore vegan on the planet, and put him on a deserted island with a cow, and only food enough to maintain one of them. What are they going to do, flip for it? Rock, paper, scissors?

Dear Guy at the T-Mobile Store:

Please learn anything about telephones. I mean it. Anything at all. Don't feel like you have to learn it all in one day. Just start with something. How about the prices of your phones? Or even one. You know, any of the phones in the case. Yes, that was the big, glass, case-like thing that was right between us.

I only mention it because when I asked you questions, the look on your face gave me the impression that I had interrupted a burglar who was now pretending to work there to get rid of me. And it was the burglar's first day on the job. Or possibly the Earth.

Good luck. I have every confidence that you will one day make exactly as terrible a customer service representative as you already do today.

Sincerely,

-Jeff Mac

MELTDOWN!

Can...not...blog....

Must eat...cake...instead!

Must...procrastinate more...effectively.

Blogging against own will....

Must find...strength...to...resist...finding strength...to blog.

Uh...confused self...slightly...

Oh no!

Continuing to...blog...(albeit lamely.)

Must shower.

Again.

Help, please...send...coffee ice cream...urgent...

--end transmission--

Solitaire

I was playing Solitaire on my Pocket PC* recently when I drew the attention of a local moron riding the train next to me. He was watching me play over my shoulder. And not only is that annoying, but...playing solitaire is sad enough, but electing to become a solitaire spectator? That is a special flavor of bored.

Anyway, It was clear that he had a question/comment. Finally, he worked up the nerve to ask me, "Can you cheat?"

"What?" I said."

"At solitaire. Can you cheat on that thing?"

"Why?" I asked.

"So you could win."

I didn't answer, but all I could think was this: I'm playing solitaire. Haven't I already lost?


*I know that they are normally used for personal organization, but it doesn't take a lot of effort to organize oneself when one has as little going on as I do. Scheduling for me goes like this:

"So, Jeff, are you busy on the 23rd of---?"
"No."
"But I didn't tell you which month."
"Go ahead, if you want to."
"July."
"Nope."
"What about on the--?"
"Let me just stop you right there. No. I'm free that day. I'm sure of it."

Hybrid car

I rented a hybrid car recently. A Prius, I believe. (As a side note, I would love to have the job of naming cars. "The new Ford Pimento!") The car was pretty cool, and I'm all for either helping the environment or infuriating the president. Either way is fine.

But there were really only a couple of things about this thing that I found new and interesting.

1. There is this incredible readout right on the dash, and it tells you if you are using fuel, electricity, are you charging, are you draining, etc. And that's what you want -- a dashboard that is chock full of stuff to read for when you get bored with looking at the road. That's one of my biggest pet peeves about conventional cars, is the almost total lack of interesting reading material for me to peruse while operating a several thousand pound machine.
   
   I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do about any of that information anyway. "I just went from gas to electric...uh...Hurray?"
   
   
2. This thing didn't have a key. No, sir. This blew my mind. See, in a normal, old-fashioned car, you take a KEY, you put it in a slot, and you can then drive the car. Not with a hybrid car, Methuselah. This baby has this little cartridge. Like a microcassette tape. And you put IT in a slot, and you can then drive the car.
   
   Take THAT, 20th century!

Kept. Oh, the humanity...

I saw a few minutes of "Kept" yesterday, and I'll tell you one thing about VH1 -- when it comes to trashy reality television, they aren't fucking around anymore. They are really going for the lowest common denominator jugular.

"Kept" is the tale of a bunch of young dudes who are competing to be Jerry Hall's boyfriend. Jerry Hall was with Mick Jagger for years, but they split up, and now she's looking for a new man. On a game show. So things are going well for her.

The guys have to pass various tests to become her boyfriend. I think they have already passed the most difficult test of all -- wanting to be her boyfriend. I'm pretty sure she has become a tranny.

Her voice has dropped several octaves (or maybe it was always this low) but she seems like a low voiced person trying to have a slightly higher voice. And she is...well...I bet back in the day when she went to 54 with Mick, there were flocks of drag queens who dreamed that they were her. Evidently, she decided to meet them halfway. At least.

All-weather lovin'

I just saw a commercial for Bridgestone tires. Very sexy couples dance in the rain. Just then, a tire rolls by. I guess the idea is to get me all horny, and then show me a beautiful tire that I can buy.

I think (and correct me if I'm wrong here) that the problem here is this: tires aren't very sexy. It really doesn't matter what you do TO a tire or NEAR a tire, it's not going to make me want to hump. And even if it did, humping doesn't make me want to buy a tire.

Sorry, Bridgestone. I know sex sells, it just doesn't sell tires. I'll believe a lot of stupid shit (that show on FOX about how we never landed on the moon even had me going for a second there) but even I can't be convinced that a new set of radials will get me some action.

A strange place to be.

Ok, I think that finally, after 12 years, I am a real New Yorker.

I was on the subway platform with my girlfriend, and we were watching a giant rat try to jump up into a little hole in the wall. He was having a hell of a time, and we were pretty sure he wasn't going to make it. And the train was coming. As the train got nearer, he started trying harder and harder, but still wasn't able to get there. Just as the train was about to flatten the little guy, he made one last effort and disappeared into the hole, safe. We cheered.

We actually cheered for a rat. I know that I will never be a REAL real New Yorker, and that I'll always be one cool piece of New York information short to really qualify. I get that. But I think I made a significant step. I think that maybe after you've lived here long enough, you realize that (to New York City) you are on exactly the same level as a rat.

Bless me Blogger, for I have sinned.

It has been one week since my last Blog entry. Here's what you missed.

• I got almost nothing done as a direct result of reading a book entiled, "Getting Things Done."
• I ate 4 or 5 child-sized corn muffins. Call it five. And by "child-sized" I don't mean "sized for a child." I mean, "the size of a child."
• I thought about doing a lot of stuff. And BIG stuff. I mean, I thought about doing some stuff that would have changed all of us forever. Yeah. One of these days I'm gonna get around to actually doing that stuff. I just have to finish reading that "Getting Things Done" book so I can get to the chapter where it tells me to do it.
• I watched the same rerun of "Celebrity Poker Showdown" at least three times. (If you're wondering, it was the championship round between Colin Quinn, Bonnie Hunt, Brad Garrett, Jason Alexander, and Malcolm Jamal-Warner.)
• I just lied to you guys about how many times I watched that episode. It was, I believe...well, let's leave it at 'more'.
• I'm probably not done watching it, either, so get off my back.
• I watched the season finales of 2 of my favorite shows, 24 and Alias. Woe, alas. Now I'm going to have to watch even shittier television.
• I mentally made fun of Alias. Sacriledge. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. But when a girl's been a spy for 4 or 5 years, and her spy power is still limited to, "Get dressed sexy, give the bad guy a boner, kick him in the neck, steal secret doohickey from him," you'd think she might want to expand her spy repertoire.

I can't think of any more right now. But I apologize to you poor souls who checked here, only to find that I am exactly as lazy as I have always known myself to be. I promise to be floggin' the blog with far more blogularity.

Miraculous!!

Everybody relax! Pope John Paul II is on the fast track to sainthood. I had no idea there was a fast track for that sort of thing. I always thought fast tracking was for Wall Street or maybe getting a script approved for a really trashy but topical movie of the week. But who says the Vatican isn't hip and with it? Other than...uh...everybody. Ok, let's move on.

Anyway, in order to be canonized -- which isn't as exciting as that word seems to imply -- you have to have performed two miracles. It used to be three, but...umm...they blew that rule off. (It's almost hard to believe that so many people have lost their faith.) So, one miracle while alive, and one after death. Great.

Here's the funny part. JP2's miracle while alive? There was a cardinal who had major throat problems. The pope massaged the guy's throat, and he could speak again! Sort of! After one touch by the pope, followed by just 7 short months of rehab, the man could speak again!

And now, after his death, I have experienced several miracles that can only have been caused by the former pope. Read on, and be amazed!

• I had a cold for a little while. But then, all of a sudden I got better! Weird, right? Usually when I have a cold, I die from it, but NOT THIS TIME, NON-BELIEVERS!
• I had a salad recently, and it was just too delicious. Seriously, this was not an earthly salad. Plus, it may have contained Romain lettuce, which sounds like Rome if you aren't too picky. Bravo, JP!
• I saw Star Wars Episode III on opening night, and it wasn't as terrible as the other 2 prequels! How can you explain that, Mr. Man? The spirit of the former pope clearly grabbed the demon that lives in George Lucas's writing hand, put him into a hammerlock, and refused to allow Jar-Jar Binks to speak for the entire film! Amen, brothers and sisters.
• Iraq is free, and there is peace in the Middle East. Uh. Sigh. Ok.

If you are still not convinced that JP2 should be on the fast track to sainthood...uh...that's fine.

Dear Star Wars (epilogue)

I have a dilemma. I have no idea how good you were. I am too much of a fan to be able to tell. In a sense, you were very crappy. Or at least you have crappy elements. And yet I had a great time, and will likely see you again. Lots of jedis jumping around with lightsabers. (Note: if there was any justice in this shithole of a world, I would be a hilarious jedi instead of a comedian. Real life blows.)

I will not comment on the specifics of you, Star Wars, so as not to spoil people. But I will say this. I am very disappointed in the near total lack of costumed nerds that came to see you. It was the midnight show, opening night! Nothing? There was one adorable young lady dressed like Princess Leia from the original Star Wars. And there was one chunky, cheeto-encrusted gentleman who I can only describe as a "bathrobe jedi." And that was it. Totally pathetic in its almost total lack of pathetic fans.

Another thing I will say about seeing a nerd movie on opening night is that there is NO fucking nonsense. On that night, the nerds don't fuck around. No talking, no laser pointers on the screen, nothing. No one would dare, lest they get a lightsaber up the ass.

Oh, and I'll offer one critique of you, Star Wars. (This doesn't spoil anything major.) I think maybe yoda doesn't need to talk backwards in every single line. I really didn't need to hear, "Not if anything to say about it I have." That's not bad assed. It's just retarded.

Your fan,

Jeff

P.S. I applaud you for not allowing Jar Jar Binks to speak. It made life much easier for me.

Dear Star Wars (part deux)

Well, thanks for nothing, Star Wars. I have not received a ticket to any special sneak preview or premieres of you, forcing me to purchase my ticket like a chump. Well, if I am completely honest, someone else bought the tickets and had an extra one, so I didn't really do much work at all to see you. I didn't even know I was going until this morning. Regardless, I'm seeing you tonight at midnight.

Wait a second, Star Wars. Maybe that's why you didn't give me a premiere pass -- because I didn't prove my love for you in actions, only empty words. Just like the old proverb says, Star Wars helps those who help themselves.

I've been a fool, Star Wars. Once again, you have become my teacher. You magnificent bastard, I could never stay mad at you. See you tonight!

-Jeff Mac

P.S. If Jar Jar Binks bites the dust, I'd suggest leaving about 2 minutes of relatively unimportant action to follow that sequence. People are going to want to cheer and stuff.

P.P.S. I promise to make fun of people in costumes really hard, but only in my mind. No sense getting your ass kicked by an uber-nerd dressed like a wookie. That's the kind of thing that could haunt a person.

The Etiquette of Charity

I was walking down Houston Street on Saturday night, and I came across a homeless man sitting on a chair. He did own a chair, which I thought was a nice luxury item for him. On top of everything else, to be on your feet all day must make being homeless a real drag.

Anyway, he was sitting in his chair, just hammered. And around his neck was a small bucket held up by a filthy string. On it was scrawled one word:

TIPS

It raises the question -- what do you tip for absolutely no service whatsoever? Is it like with waitstaff where they factor the gratuity right into the wage? You don't want to stiff the guy. (Not that they don't make out like bandits. Cash only? Are you kidding me? Like they report everything they get!)

I went with 20%. I mean, say what you will but that guy was good. I've had people do nothing for me in the past, but never less than this.

I had a dream...

It wasn't that all men should be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character (although that would be nice as well.) Unfortunately, my dreams are not that linear.

My dream was that I saw a buffalo about the size of a poodle sniffing around what appeared to be the dead body of a young deer with a broken hoof. As I approached, the deer blinked and stood up. It offered its little broken hoof to me as if to ask me why it was in such pain, and couldn't I do something about it? I couldn't. I wasn't a veterinarian in the dream.

The deer was so cute. I want a deer for a pet. Or that little buffalo. Either way. I don't care what my landlord says about pets, I want one. And if it gets too big, I guess I can hunt it. Although, my apartment isn't really big enough to keep it very sporting. Eh, what am I, the deer police? I'm just one man trying to own a pet.

Finally, a paranoia I don't have!

I read an article today about national ID system, where everybody would have an ID card (gasp!). And people are FREAKING out about this. I mean, the conspiracy people are FREAKING.

Uh...why?

What are they going to do to me with an ID card? Even if it had a super secret microchip that they could read via satellite?

But they could TRACK you!

Yeah, uh, where? I mean, if it's the job of some poor son of a bitch to track my movements between my bed and my couch with an occasional trip to the deli or to a comedy show, god bless him. Good luck. Any outrage I might feel at being observed is surely avenged by the fact that my life couldn't possibly be less interesting, and that dumb fuck HAS TO WATCH. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! I win! I so win!

I feel the same way when people suggest that there is some sort of a tracking chip implanted in the new 20 dollar bills. Uh, so? What then? So, let me understand this -- I'm supposed to be worried about someone tracking what I do with my 20 dollarses? Hell, I'll fucking TELL them. What, am I buying subversive groceries? All they had to do was ask.

I wish that I WAS worried. If there was some crazy government organization that wanted to track my movements (and also could come up with a reason to do so) that would mean that the world was far more interesting than it is now, and there would be aliens at Area 51, and Nazi UFOs underneath the North Pole being piloted by Bigfeet. Sadly, this is not the case.

And I mean that. It is sad. I wish the world was that exciting. Instead, we have to have jobs and shit.

Please, New World Order, please take over. I would MUCH rather be hiding out in a cave like in Red Dawn than all of this nonsense.

Wolverines!!!!!!

Why, oh cake? Why?!

Why can't they make cake that is good for you? Or, more specifically, good for ME. I'm not talking about cake that isn't that bad for you, or is better for you than most cake. I'm saying, why can't they make it so that it's better for you than portobello mushrooms and steamed vegetables over rice?

I'll tell you why. Because the government is trying to keep us down, man. And by "keep us down" I mean, "keep us eating bad cake instead of imaginary good cake." If we were all in olympic-style good shape from eating genetically engineered supercake, how could they keep us down? That's right! They couldn't.

But if we are weighed down and flabby and in sugar comas, we're sitting ducks. Fat, fat ducks.

I don't want to be a fat duck. I'd rather not be a duck at all, to tell you the truth. I've never liked ducks. You feed them bread, and they all practically kill each other trying to get more than the next duck. That's no way for a bird to spend its time.

I'm getting off track. The point is this: some people say you can't start a blog entry with no plan in mind. Those people aren't completely wrong. Plus, I enjoy cake. And I wish that you could bake individual slices of it so that you don't have to eat a whole cake over the course of the 2 days that it stays fresh. Not that I can't do it, mind you. Oh, I can. I just don't want to. And by "don't want to" I mean, "want to really badly, but am feeling like it's going to kill me if I keep eating this way."

Whoo. I really should watch the sugar intake. It makes me a little loopy. As if I need to tell all of you that. I thank you. Good night.

Giacomo wins Kentucky Derby!!!!

Giacomo -- a 50 to 1 underdog -- won the Kentucky Derby today, proving once and for all that no matter how dramatic the victory, nobody gives a shit about the Kentucky Derby.

Dear Star Wars,

I love you very much. I'm not asking you for anything, because that's not what friends do. Love is not proud or...uh...kind? Whatever that thing is that people read at weddings.

My point is this: If -- I'm saying IF -- you were to give me a pass to an advance screening of you, I would give you a glowing review right here on this blog. FOR FREE! I would do that for you, Star Wars, because even though you are not a person, I believe that you have the power to get me in to see you. And I can't wait any longer.

As a child, I would have eagerly sold my entire family into slavery for Star Wars figures. But now, I am a man*, and am unable to buy and play with toys anymore without it being a little weird. But I can still go and see movies. And if you give me a pass to an advance screening, well, I'll be less likely to have to sit next to some Bill Gates-looking douchebag dressed like Han Solo.

I thank you. May the force be with you. Unless, of course, you don't give me a free pass. In that case, you can go straight to hell.

*You there, stop laughing!

A problem that I am unlikely to have...

I think the most stressful thing about commissioning a sculpture of yourself would be selecting a hairstyle that deserves to live forever.

Dear China,

How are you? I am just fine. Boy, do you have a lot of citizens. Yep, that's sure quite a population you've got. Very impressive. Very impressive. Ahem. Ok. Well, I guess I should quit beating around the bush and get to the point.

My reason for contacting you is a request for assistance. When you are sending some of your folks over to America, please ask them not to open Mexican restaurants in New York City. They just don't know how to do it.

Nobody else does this. People from Sweden don't move to Beijing and open Nigerian restaurants. It would be weird. See what I'm saying? You've got to stop them.

If they insist, please pass along these tips, in the interest of international goodwill and me not throwing up.

• When a recipie calls for a tortilla, go ahead an use a tortilla. It's ok, just use one. No, a mooshu pancake really isn't the same thing, I promise. Yes, I know they're both round. Not the point.
• When making salsa, I know that it is tempting to think to oneself, "Well, it's red, it's chunky -- DONE!" I know you're eager to move on, but try to stick with it for a little longer. For optimum results, it's important to add ingredients that are found in salsa.
• When you sell someone a "chicken quesadilla", it would be great if at least one of those words didn't have to be in quotes like that. And by that I mean that it should either contain a tortilla (see above) with an appropriate cheese, or that the meat on it should have once belonged to a chicken. Ideally both of these would be true.

Please, do what you can. See you soon!

Sincerely,

-Jeff

America's Next Top Model Recap

This week sort of stunk. I don't like saying that about my favorite reality television show. And I'm sure it doesn't like hearing it from me. I'm sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you. Now get back in the reality TV show kitchen, and make me a reality TV dinner. Uh…hm? Fine. Move it on over to the recap.

Crying (sad): ONE - I don't know what to say. This is nearly the worst possible score, obviously. And the only tears were from my very favorite model of them all as she was eliminated. I couldn't even enjoy that crying.

Crying (happy): ONE - I was too heartbroken from the lack of sad crying to be buoyed by the happy crying. I…I'm sorry…let's just move on.

Hilariously lame/campy airplane animation: ONE - As the ladies flew to their new home, Africa, we were treated to a flying animation that looked like it would have fit well in the opening credits to "The Nanny." I think.

Ironically Appropriate Challenge: ONE - This week's drama was about one of the girls porking it a little bit. Not in real world standards, just in model world. And when all of the girls were given an animal to emulate, what African beastie was she given? Yep. Elephant. This was hours after one of her co-contestants likened her to a hippo that they passed on a safari. And one week after her assigned sin (of the 7 deadlies) was "gluttony."

Olde-Tyme Piano Music fer Bug Fightin': ONE - The sound guy on this show is having a blast. Giant African bugs flying around the bedroom? Break out the crazy ragtime saloon music! Slightly overweight girl given the challenge to become like an elephant? Cue up the "wa-waaaa" trumpet! Good for you, buddy. Ain't nothin' gonna breaka your stride.

Patently Un-jackable Girl-on-Girl Action Including Pixellated Buttcrack: ONE - Ok, Janice? Tyra? Don't do that. Not ever again, ok?

Quote of the Week: "That was scary." - Tyra Banks after being mauled by Janice Dickinson. No kidding, Tyra. I'm still scared.

What I'm Looking Forward to Next Week: I'm not sure what it's going to be, but the girls will be critiquing each other in some way. One of them says, and I quote, " I see maybe dirty…in her underwear." Is she saying that one of the models has pooped herself? God, I hope so. This series is getting weak!

BATHROOM SURVEILLANCE

Whenever I'm in a small public bathroom alone, I always act as if I am being filmed. (I've heard stories of such things. You never know.) Further, I act like I'm totally non-chalant about it. I wave to the two-way mirror, wink at the surveillance team. As in, "Yeah, I know what you're doing back there. And I'm not impressed. Doesn't ruffle my tailfeathers*."

The odds of me going into a bathroom that is being watched are not that high. I realize this. And I further realize that if I do walk into a watched bathroom, sure, that's probably when the dude will decide to take his break (Thanks a lot for that confidence booster, by the way, fellas). But if I am ever in such a situation, being filmed without my knowledge or consent, I just like the idea of that surveillor thinking, "Wow, that guy knows I'm back here, and he just doesn't care. Now THAT is one cool customer.**"

Of course, in reality, he would probably go, "Wow…If that guy had any balls, wouldn't he come and kick my ass? Or at the VERY least complain to the manager? What a pussy."

And that, my friends, is how I can never win.


*I realize that using the slang of a 30's gangster's girlfriend probably isn't helping me any. So scram, you. Go take a powder. And also, twenty-three skidoo, if you please.

**Honestly, just shove it. I don't even want to hear it.

Happy Passover!

Well, it's that time of year when our Hebrew brethren and sistren celebrate that time when they totally fooled the Angel of Death into sparing their children by smearing lamb's blood on their front doors. Oh MAN, I wish I could have seen the look on the AoD's face when he figured THAT one out!

What a lot of people don't know is that lamb's blood will not only repel the Angel of Death, but also trick or treaters, and most travelling salesmen. Lambs don't exactly love it either. I learned that from Joel Fleischman on Northern Exposure. Either that, or I might have made it up when I had a really bad fever.

Anyway, there are plenty of other olde tyme door smearing remedies that are perhaps less known than your standard lamb action. But they are no less potent. Try them for yourself!

• If you put the blood of your children on your front door the Angel of Death will spare your lambs. It works both ways. Your choice.
• Rubbing linseed oil into your door will not protect anyone from anything, but it will increase your chances of hearing the following, "Behold! I am the Angel of De…Oooh, this door is in beautiful shape! Oh, uh, you're dead by the way. But such a nice door!"
• Also, if you smear maple syrup on your door, the Angel of Pancakes will upgrade your short stack of 3 buckwheat pancakes to the full 5 at no extra cost to you.
• And finally, replacing your front door with a Gyro on pita will protect your children (and their sandwiches) from Arianna Huffington and/or Anthony Quinn. It never caught on, but still...Makes you think, doesn't it?

America's Next Top Model Recap

This week was not bad. Not great, but not bad. They did some interview technique coaching. It was sort of entertaining to see how many times they said the words, "actually" and "wonderful."

Crying (sad): EIGHTEEN - Now THAT is some serious crying. Granted, a lot of that was the girl who had genuine cause to grieve, so it wasn't as hilarious as usual. But there was plenty of other crying for far less justifiable reasons.

Crying (happy): THREE - We not only had happy crying, but we had a teary-eyed, "I promise, I'm going to LEARN from this, thank you, thank you!" from my favorite model, the former wrestler.

Surprisingly Good Dancing: ONE - That same model, the wrestler, busted out on the dancefloor with some nearly sexy moves. It was so sweet to see her emerge from her dork chrysalis as a beautiful butterfly. A slutty, trashy, wonderful butterfly.

Shameless Exploitation of Grief: ONE - Ok, one of the girls had a close friend that died, and the modelling challenge was to have pictures taken in an open grave. The producers knew what they were doing -- they had just filmed her talking about it. Bravo, UPN! Way to look out for your girls! (Extra points for the campy count chocula funeral organ music when they showed shots of her near the grave!)

References to a single girl as a Drag Queen: TWO - In two different situations, one of the models was referred to as looking like a drag queen. I'm sure it will be a good character builder for her. Put hair on her chest.

Nose Picking Re-enactment: ONE - Ok, when the judges ask you to re-enact that time someone caught you picking your nose, here's a tip. How about just saying no?

Quote of the Week: "We're on a need-to-know basis about your flatulence."

What I'm Looking Forward to Next Week: They let me down on the previews this week. One of the girls is eating doughnuts and gaining weight, is about it. We'll just have to see.

WARNING!

If you find a penny and pick it up and you accidentally say "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight," instead of "Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck," you will not only NOT have good luck, but you will also get lupus.

To counteract this, you must steal your neighbor's dishrag and bury it under a rock. This will also cure warts*.

*Unless the neighbor has warts, in which case this will cause warts.

Dear Guy Who Knew WAY Too Much About Wine at That Restaurant,

How are you? I am just fine. Listen, please, please shut your merlot-hole. No one cares how much you know about wine. (Or about anything, if I'm correctly interpreting the look on your dinner companion's face.)

And while I'm at it, don't go to a fancy restaurant, order chicken, and eat it with your fingers just so that someone will comment on it, so that you can tell that person, "You know, it's actually NOT considered rude to eat chicken on the bone with your fingers. Honestly, I don't know why people are so dainty." Yeah, so said the guy apparently reading articles about the etiquette of poultry-eating. You're a real lumberjack.

Look, I know next to nothing about wine. I was once given a choice between 2 wines, and when I made my selection the steward said, and I quote, "Hm. Interesting." But I do know this much: No one cares what YOU know about wine. And I'm not saying that I wish you bodily harm, but if I heard that an anvil fell on your head I'd probably laugh until I peed.

And if I can actually notice your manners from 4 tables away, that means you're not doing it right, you effete prick.

Sincerely,

Just About Everyone You've Ever Met

Up, up and away!

Michael Jackson's accuser's mom (this is already annoying) was given a pretty rough going over in court yesterday. Apparently, she was quoted as saying that, at one point, she was afraid her children were going to be kidnapped via a hot air balloon from Neverland. And for this she was portrayed as, well, a loony.

Yeah, as if that would be the weirdest thing that Michael had ever done. I understand that this is not the worry of a normal person, and that this woman is very likely a little shaky in the whole reality department. But if someone told me that Michael Jackson was planning to abduct her children in a hovercraft driven by a gay unicorn who was a colonel in the Salvation Army, I'd still have to at least consider it.

Let's All Relax About the Abandoned Refrigerator Doors

Yeah, I said it. I know we've heard that an abandoned fridge is a deathtrap for kids who might get inside. I'm here to tell you that I'm over it. Oh yes, he did!

If I ever accidentally have enough money to have a refrigerator, and then even MORE money to buy yet ANOTHER one, making the first one superfluous, I'm just putting it out on the curb. As is. Here's why:

1. If a fridge was so hard to open that someone can't escape it even in their death throes, well, how the hell was its previous owner able to get their pickles and sauerkraut and such so easily? I smell a conspiracy. Ok, maybe not. But still...
   
2. If your child is too weak to get out of the fridge, and too dumb to stay out of the fridge, I don't feel like he or she would have made a very good adult anyway.

In short, I don't have children, but if I have to sacrifice a couple of yours to make a point, I'm willing to do so. That's called, "making the tough decisions." Look it up.

**Oh, and on a completely unrelated note, there are no situations in which it is OK to utter the phrase, "Don't worry, baby. It was only statutory." It's almost always considered bad form.

The Wholphin and His Friends

Well, apparently a whale banged a dolphin and they had a kid. They're calling it a "wholphin." It happened in Hawaii, so I'm assuming they were at a luau, they were having rum drinks, they were dancing, you know the story.

I love this sort of hybrid animal thing, and I wish they did it more often (and no, it didn't count when IHOP served an omelette on top of a waffle and called it a "womelette".) Here are my ideas for some combinations that will make life a little more bearable.

The Bear-a-Bull: Bull makes sweet love to a bear, and this is the result. Actually, I was just going for the pun from the last sentence. And now I've done it. Just assume that the comedy hasn't started yet. Ok, I really don't appreciate how quickly you all said, out loud in your own homes, that you already HAD assumed that. It's rude, and I'm not getting paid for this. Unless some of you want to pay me for this. In which case you can spank me all night long if you like.

The Multure: A monkey chases down, captures, and bangs a vulture. I don't know how I feel about this one as an animal, but I think that the conception itself could have some comedic value.

The Fronghorned Antelope: A frog and, well, a pronghorned antelope. Eh...let's move on.

The Waltoid: A walrus finds a way to become impregnated by an altoid. It looks like a regular walrus, but it is curiously strong, and the tusks are very refreshing. Very refreshing.

The Stan-a-tee: A female manatee waddles up onto land to mate with my childhood nextdoor neighbor Stan. Nice guy. I'm sure his wife and kids will understand if it was all done for my amusement.

America's Next Top Model Recap

Ok, I was a little disappointed this week. See, it was the acting class episode. Since I'm only in this thing for the crying, this is sort of like Christmas morning. Usually, the girls are given some acting challenge that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy (i.e. they are dying in a hospital bed, and have to say goodbye to their husband, Taye Diggs, for instance.) Instead, they were asked to dress as a cockney flower girl. Think "Little Whore on the Prarie." No crying.

There was one nice moment. One of the girls had done so poorly that her critique was, "Loved the hat." That was sort of magical.

Ok, here's the rundown.

Crying (sad): TWELVE - Ok, we're now at the point where nearly every girl is just GOING to cry every week. Finally, a reason to wake up in the morning. Although, it will be pretty hard to top Tyra Banks screaming so hard at one of the models that she started crying herself. That's just good television.

Crying (happy): TWO - Not bad, but we're getting to the point where every model who gets cut is going to be shocked. And so, if you don't get cut, you cry.

Meaningless Asskissing of a Star: ONE - They went to a restaurant owned by - gasp! - Ashton Kutcher! Hey, guess what? Who gives a rat's ass? He's not flipping the burgers back there. "Well, gooooollyyy!!! That busboy gets his check signed by a guy employed by the guy on Punked!" Wow. Small world.

Awesome Coffee Misconception: ONE - No, sweetheart, there's no juice at the bottom of a cappuccino.

Quote of the Week: A model, upon learning that she would have to learn to speak Cockney: "Cockney!? I can barely speak English!"

What I'm Looking Forward to Next Week: Well, one of the girls has a death in the family, which is serious and not funny at all. What may be funny will be how dramatically they edit the shots of, say, the open grave that they showed during the preview. Yes, yes they did.

Rest in peace, old friend.

This morning, my alarm clock died. It didn't technically die. Its non-performance told me, however, that the time was nigh. Well, not so much "non-performance" as "over-performance." It was not set to wake me up when it did. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but I think that my wakeup time is a call that I should be making. When an electrical device starts disobeying direct orders, well, we've all seen Robocop*.

I have owned this clock radio for more than half my life. I got it as a result of having destroyed my previous clock radio with static electricity**. I lost my virginity to the calm, blue light it gave off. It woke me up for every day of work of every job I have ever had (at which point I would hit the snooze button with such savage fury that I nearly felt like a man).

I can't believe it. First the pope, now this.

But I have to end it. I know it wouldn't want to be a burden. And when an alarm clock doesn't, you know, alarm you when you ask it to…well, it becomes less of an alarm clock and more of an electric brick.

Goodbye, alarm clock. I only hope your predecessor can be as functional and emotionally meaningless to me as you have been. And by 'predecessor' I mean the opposite of predecessor***.


*Which is totally cool. I mean, we're all going to die somehow. If it could be in a robot attack as opposed to in a nursing home, then hey, bring on the 'bots. But this situation wasn't so much 'apocalyptic' as 'annoying.'

**I accidentally learned one day that if I wore certain slippers and walked across the rug, touching that clock radio would zap it with enough electricity to turn on the radio. And after about 1,000 times, it fried the circuits. Now, that was FUN!

***Obviously, I was awakened a little earlier than I had planned to be and I am having language problems as a result. Just one more reason to pull the plug. Sorry, Congress!

Haiku to this website as it crashes for the 80th time in a row, losing all that I typed

you hurt my feelings

I'd complain if you weren't free

instead, my heart bleeds

 

 

America's Next Top Model Recap

This week was not a particularly eventful week on my favorite reality-based television. But there were a couple of breakthrough moments that impressed me, if only by filling the stat sheet in an interesting way. Here goes:

Crying (sad): FIVE - This was, I believe, the calm before the storm. Pretty soon, we get to the point in the season where every single one of these girls cries every week. And then, my life begins.

Crying (happy): ONE - No good, but again, calm before the storm. We're still weeding out the girls who know they've had it coming. Soon enough, no one will be safe, any judging ceremony that you pass, you cry. It's just that simple.

Pretentious Name for a Makeup Artist: ONE - The person's name was "Q". Just the letter Q. Yay.

Pixellated Buttcracks: THREE - Fantastic and surprising stat, and it didn't even include when one girl got hammered and smacked her ass up against the windows of the van. Twice.

Random Hosing Down of Models: TEN - Their challenge was to model while being sprayed with water and hurricane-force wind. Tough stuff, people.

Quote of the Week: WE HAVE A TIE!!!

• Janice Dickinson, the most frightening model alive: "They're all fat. The entire room is fat. I'm fat."
• A photographer saying that a model was too boring, not edgy enough. "Rebecca…is safe sex." Yeah, that's what I thought when I was watching, that she was as boring as not getting an STD.
  

What I'm Looking Forward to Next Week: A whole lot of stuff. Including:

• The models attempting to learn a cockney accent. The horror. The horror.
• The Acting Class episode! (aka Cry-Me-A-River Day)
• Tyra screams "Be Quiet" to one of the girls during the judging ceremony. And on that note, I think I just peed a little.

My Living Will

Being of sound mind and body (hahahahahahahaha), I hereby uh...here's my will.

Since the whole Terry Shiavo thing, people have been talking more about their final wishes. I was recently asked if I would want to be kept alive in that state. My response is as follows: I barely want to be kept alive in my current state. Any excuse you have to drop me, people, feel free to take it.

Here are some situations in which I would not want to be kept alive.

• I am in a coma, or have taken a nap longer than 2 hours (after that, I'm pretty much useless anyway.)
• I have watched an entire episode of Mama's Family. (With this one, feel free to kill me with whatever is handy.)
• The cable goes out for more than 3 days. Just waste me. I would have wanted it that way.

Oh, and as far as the "who gets what?" portion of the will, here goes. Uh...anybody who wants my credit card debt, it's yours. Knock yourself out.

I thank you, one and all.

No April Fools!

You'll notice that I allowed April 1st to come and go without incident. There were no phony posts, no hoaxes, nothing of the kind. Know why? Because I have no respect for practical jokes.

As jokes, they don't exactly bury the "funny" needle. And frankly, they are just not that practical.

Here's my impression of a practical joke.

Man 1 goes to put on his shoes, only to find that his idiot friend, Man 2, has poured cold carrot ginger soup into them.

Man 2: Ha ha! You totally fell for my practical
joke! You're such an asshole!

Man 1: Yeah, you're right. I can't believe I wasn't able to foresee soup in my shoes. I really am an asshole. And so are you!

Man 2: I sure am!

Man 1: I don't really even like you right now!

Man 2: Nope! I barely like myself!

Man 1: Ok, I'll see you later. I've got to spend valuable hours out of my lifespan that I will never regain, trying to figure out some retarded way to get you back for this!

The only practical joke I might enjoy would be one that accidentally killed both parties, but that gave each of them 3 minutes or so of total awareness of what it was that killed them. That, I might really like.

America's Next Top Model Recap

Well, it's time once again for my weekly recap of events on America's Next Top Model. It is still my favorite reality-based programming, because of all the crying. So, without further ado, here's the recap.

Tears of Joy/Relief: ONE - This is low, but there were only a couple of girls who were in position to feel this way. I don't feel terrible about it.

Tears of Sadness/Frustration: TEN - Out of eleven girls, ten cries? I could hardly hope for more. Although don't be fooled - most of the crying was one girl. Which brings me to…

Flesh-eating Bacteria: ONE - Not a big number, but it's more than you could reasonably expect. Sure, it turned out to be only impetigo (which was my guess several minutes before the diagnosis, thank you), but in addition to the Godzilla movie music that they played underneath a couple of shots of the disease, it led to a bunch of idiots running around suggesting such gems as:

• You can get pneumonia from that, and die from the pneumonia.
• Does someone know voodoo in the house?
• She might have leprosy.
  

Astonishingly Unconvincing Age Makeup: ONE - The guy they always see at the beginning of every challenge showed up in an age makeup job that I haven't seen since I did Agatha Christie's "Witness for the Prosecution" at age 17. And the girls were totally fooled. Fantastic.

Crickets Sound Effect: ONE - The girls were asked what "haute couture" meant, and none of them spoke up. The sound editor kicked in with this classic comedy standby. Nicely done.

Lightning Round: ONE - All the girls had to put on makeup while timed. In one instance, they had no mirror. It was just like when the Navy SEALs have to assemble an M16 blindfolded in the rain.

Quote of the Week: "You look like a toasted Miss Piggy on crack." I don't usually care for the 'on crack' tag, it's a little hack. But 'toasted Miss Piggy' makes up for it nicely.

What I'm Looking Forward To Next Week: Well, it's hard for me to say. The models will be hosed down, which might be fun. One of the girls (who has often been accused by the judges of being too porny) will get hammered and moon someone by pressing her butt cheeks against the window of the van. My step-brother did that once in Tennessee on a family van trip when I was a kid. Changed my life, man.

An Open Letter to Shepherd's Pie

Dear Shepherd's Pie,

Ooh, I find you so delicious, I hardly know where to begin. But you are wonderful, and there's nothing I can do or say to change that, so let's just start at the beginning.

There is meat. Not that I'm telling you anything new about yourself. You and I both know that your bottom layer is ground beef. I'm just saying that I approve. There is meat, it is good, and I want more of it. I don't even care if the cow suffered (although I can hardly imagine how he could have done so, given how tasty he was. Or she, or she.)

Some of your kind have a vegetable layer in the middle, and some do not. I prefer my vegetables on the side, but that is only one opinion. I respect the healthy and mirthful debate on the subject. I find it to be fun but never frivolous. You are a serious dish with a lighter side. Anyone who says different will face me on the field of honor.

The mashed potatoes on top, well, let me just tell you something before I pass out. On second thought, I don't believe I want to talk about this anymore. I just imagined someone arguing with me about whether mashed potatoes were perfect in this context. (I was yea, my imaginary adversary was nay.) I nearly put my fist through plate glass. I don't want anger to cloud my mind on this issue.

I don't want to take up too much of your time, Shepherd's Pie. I know that you have enough on your agenda without me bending your ear all day. Just know that I find you to be filling but not overly so. You are seasoned well but not wildly complex. In short, I love you. And I will do everything in my power to eat a lot of you over the course of my lifetime.

Sincerely,

-Jeff Mac

P.S. Please tell Chicken Pot Pie I said "hello."

Summer Blockbuster Preview

Well, spring is here. We're starting to see previews for all the summer blockbusters that will soon be upon us. Here are a couple that I'm especially looking forward to:

Dirtballs! - The next Pixar animated sensation, a heartwarming tale of clods of dirt that talk just like neurotic humans!

The Cash Who Loved Me - The newest installment in the James Bond Series.

The Wild Thornberrys Have a Vicious 3-way - I smell Oscar!

Indiana Jones and the Recovery from Double Hip Replacement Surgery - "Throw me the wheep, I throw you the bedpan! No time to argue!"

Lara Croft: The Lost Treasure of Oh Who Are We Fucking Kidding? - Lips! Boobs! Jumping around! Instant classic!

Friday the 13th Part 12: Jason Slaughters the Rugrats - Oh, if wishing made it so...

The Bridges of Madison Country 2: Electric Boogaloo

Happy Good Friday!!!

Hello, gentle readers. I just wanted to wish you all a very happy Good Friday. Although, you have to wonder how Jesus would feel about that name when you consider that it's the day he got nailed to something. Even though he was doing it to be nice, I just think that he might prefer that we call it something like, Surprisingly Painful Means-to-an-End Friday, or something. Just give a little nod to the fact that it wasn't all that good of a Friday.

I still haven't seen Passion of the Christ, nor will I probably ever, but I did see Braveheart and Lethal Weapon, and if they are any indication of what Jesus went through, well then Christianity is way more exciting than I was led to believe.

America's Next Top Model Recap

I've had a request for some commentary on America's Next Top Model, my favorite reality TV show. I know it's a strange show for a straight man to love. Especially since I don't know or care at ALL about fashion or modelling. I don't get either one. But that's not why I love the show.

I'm in it for the crying. No crying, no show. I don't even know why you'd turn on the cameras unless there was a chance that someone might cry. Oh, and comeuppance. I'm huge with the comeuppance. So, I enjoy seeing people weep for any reason, and I enjoy seeing them get their just desserts. And if they can do both at once, so much the better.

Hey, you've got your problems too.

On with the recap:

Crying Tears of Joy/Relief: 1 - Not great, but I'll take it. You usually don't get more than 2 of these anyway.

Crying Tears of Sadness/Frustration: 4 - Out of 12 girls? This is pathetic. I'm hoping for a far better showing next week. At least one of them was combined with comeuppance.

Group Fake Enthusiasm: 3 - This is when the group is given their next task, and they all jump up and down and scream. Not everything is that exciting. It annoys me, and just makes me want all the more to see each and every one of them cry.

Accidental Barfing in a Restaurant: 1 - Four glasses of white wine and a few, "I love you guys" sort of comments later, spewing right over the armrest of her chair. Bravo.

Ridiculous Crab Suits: 1 - This is the only thing I actually DO like about the fashion industry. It is so weird and out of touch with reality that you occasionally get to see someone dressed up like a giant crustacean. Fantastic.

Quote of the week: "All of y'all bitches are evil!" (FYI: This was from the girl who loved everyone after 4 glasses of wine. Excellent!)

Retarded Tyra Banks moment of the week: When she asked the girls, "How many times has a guy come up to you in a club and been like, 'What's your sign, baby?'" Uh…I'm guessing zero. You know when would have been a good time to ask models this? Around 25 years before you did.

What I can't wait for next week: Ok, the preview included the phrase "flesh-eating bacteria." Enough said.

Satan's Flu, day 10

If you have been paying attention, you might have heard that there is an awful bug going around. (And if you are paying attention really closely, you'll remember that there has never been a time in your life when one hasn't been. Have you ever been sick and had someone say, "Wow, no one else is sick right now. You're the only one!")

Here are some of the symptoms to watch out for in this season's offering:

• FEVER: This is the part where you are sitting on your radiator, freezing AND sweating, wearing a winter hat and flannel pajamas with snowmen on them. Or maybe you just think you are. You're delirious. At this stage, you should drink water, lie down, and try not to mind the barfing.
• HEADACHE: This part was really fun. It was during this stage when I actually had the thought, "I can't imagine something that feels like this, but wouldn't kill me. In fact, this had better kill me. I'd hate to be feeling all this excruciating pain for nothing."
• LOSS OF APPETITE: Good news - you'll finally have those 6 pack abs. Bad news, you'll be too weak to open your eyes and admire them.
• SORE THROAT: This stage feels like you've got half a Dorito stuck in your neck somewhere, and swallowing makes the corners stab you.
• COUGH: Remember what it was like to sleep through the night? No? Me neither. Any time you take a deep breath, you will cough uncontrollably, so it's important to try not to breathe.
• ONE RED EYEBALL: This one threw me a little. Apparently, you can cough so much or so hard that the blood vessels in your eyeballs can burst. Looks like pinkeye, but not contagious. Just hideous. Who knew? So, I basically blew out my eyeball. Just one. I guess I cough to the right.

I wish you all luck. I sincerely hope that none of you get this. Unless, of course, there were some sort of a pact with the devil that I could make whereby I could be healed by giving it to you. In that case, I'd sell you out in a second.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to make my 4,000th cup of tea in a week and a half. I thank you.

Kissing Test on the Web!

I saw an ad on a website yesterday that puzzled me. And it is not easy to puzzle me. But this thing, I'm ashamed to admit, did the trick. I was puzzled. Real hard. I just want to thank my friends and family for their support, and to apologize to them for having been so puzzleable in this instance. I only hope that with their continued support I will find the strength to shut up about this and get on with the story.

The ad had a drawing of a woman and a drawing of a man, and you were supposed to click the one you wanted to kiss to begin a test on your kissing abilities.

I don't know what the test was (I didn't click it because I'm afraid of clicking on strange ads and getting cooties on my cookies.) Truly, I can't even imagine what it might be.

Do you compare different pictures of people kissing and pick the one that is demonstrating the best technique? Like an eye test - "Ok first one, or second one? Better...or worse? More tongue, less," and so forth.

Do you click on different areas of the face to indicate where you would kiss, and it gives you feedback like, "While the nostril is a part of the face, it isn't generally considered a gigantic part of the whole kissing thing. Try again!"

I'm pretty sure about one thing. If you believe that someone can tell you about your kissing ability via the internet, you might not be that good of a kisser. There are probably at least a couple of important things about which you are mistaken.

Spam and Answer

Dear Sir,

I would like to apply through this letter for your express co-operation and to secure in your position an opportunity to invest and do joint business with you in your country. I am looking forward to your urgent and positive response for us to discuss details.

Thank you.

Mr. Davis Jackson

Dear Mr. Jackson,

Thanks! Holy cow, I always thought this sort of thing only happened in movies, but here you are! You're real, you're alive, and you're ALL MINE! While I am flattered that you have selected me to be your partner, I think you should know about my financial situation before you commit to sharing what I can only assume is limitless wealth with me. Lucky, lucky me!

Regarding my finances...how to say this...Boy, did YOU come up snake eyes! I mean, I'm sure you picked me for a good, non-random reason, but unless you have a friend in the Citibank Visa Changing Debits to Credits on a Whim Department*, I may not be able to offer much financial assistance to our business venture initially. At least not until the first couple of checks roll in.

As a show of good faith, how about you start off by paying off my credit card balance? After all, high-interest debt is no good for our business. This way, everybody's happy. It's win-win!

As an equally attractive alternative, please feel free to go fuck yourself at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Jeff "Not Randomly Selected by You at All" Mac

P.S. If you are not finding success in gaining a business partner via e-mail, perhaps you should consider just standing in the middle of the street and screaming, "Does anybody wanna be my business partner!!!?" That's a free tip. Next one'll cost ya! Ha ha! Wink! Just kidding, Partner!

*if there even is such a department (and gosh, I hope there is!)

Star Wars Episode III unsuitable for young viewers!!!

George Lucas has gone on record with a warning to parents that this third SW prequel is not suitable for young children. I'm sure everyone is grateful to him for that.

I'm just wondering why he decided to start now? I mean, those other 2 prequels weren't suitable for any damn body. Where was the warning then, George? You could have saved me $40 dollars*.

*Ok, I saw each of them twice, yes. But the second time was for the irony factor. Totally sarcastic. I was kidding when I bought those tickets. And I had something caught in my eye.

Please, no pictures

I never feel so trapped as when I'm looking at a giant pile of someone's photos. I don't even necessarily like looking at the people I'm with RIGHT HERE. Now I have to look at little pieces of paper with images of them in other places? I think you overestimate how interesting it is to look at you.

A lot of this nonsense is with photos of children, on the assumption that no one could possibly be uninterested in your child. Let's disabuse you of that notion right here. Children are just people -- yes, this applies to YOUR children. Some of them are interesting, some are boring, and some of them are little assholes. And almost none of them are worth looking at in 36 concurrent situations. It's just like adults.

Look, if someone really wants me to look at a picture of their child, here's what they should do. Pick the one photo they really like and put it on top, because that's the only one I'm looking at. After that first one, all of my brain power is tied up in A.) blind resentment and B.) calculating how long I have to pause with each photo before I can flip to the next one without letting on that I'm completely not paying attention.

After all, I don't want to insult them, but I don't want to encourage them to show me any more of these things either.

Humpty Dumpty, indeed.

Ok, I understand that this is a nursery rhyme, and as such is both creepy and incomprehensible to begin with. I understand that we are talking about a being who was sitting on a wall for some reason, fell off of it, shattered completely, and then somebody asked horses to help reassemble him.

The point is, I get that we're already starting in the hole with regard to, you know, making sense.

But what IS Humpty Dumpty? I mean, he's an egg, right? Ok, how do you KNOW that? It's not in the little poem. There's no part that goes, "P.S. This guy we're talking about? Totally an egg. Carry on." Unless I get some hard documentation on this, I'm not believing he was an egg anymore. That was fine when we were children, but we're all growed up now. Let's look ourselves in the eye, just this once, and admit that we have no reason to believe that Humpty Dumpty was an egg.

(Side note: if anybody tells me that this nursery rhyme was some kind of political commentary about the Battle of Agincourt or something, and Humpty Dumpty represented King Edward the Confessor, I'm going to throw up into my mouth a little, and pretend it was just a burp.)

Martha is home...

Ok, maybe I'm just not getting it. First of all, I'm sure her jail cell was a lot more roomy than most New York City apartments. But now she's at home. How is confining Martha Stewart to her estate for 5 months considered "punishment"?

I just think we need to revisit our concept of justice if the worst penalty we can come up with is to sentence someone to 5 months of confinement in a place that is way better than most of us will ever even SEE, let alone live in.

And besides, I barely ever leave my apartment. Where's my parade? Let her be confined to MY apartment for 5 months, see how she likes it. Actually, that doesn't sound too bad either. I mean, do they have to feed you, too? Come to think of it, that sounds fucking awesome. I would love it if I didn't have to leave here.

All right, then. A life of crime it is.

Subway PSA re: Animal Cruelty

I saw this one while walking to the train. It was a picture of Russell Simmons (of Def insert-urban-activity Jam fame) frolicking with a dog. Ok, he was just sitting there with the dog, but he seemed pretty happy. The tagline said:

CRUEL AIN'T COOL

And it gave some numbers to call if you knew about any animal abuse happening.

Now, I'm a huge fan of animals, and anyone who abuses an animal should be sodomized by a bear. And this psa isn't the worst one I've ever seen on this subject. (We all remember that famous one from the 70's with the tagline: The Fonz says "Only a nerd beats up on a bird. Ayyyyyy!")

That said, is this sort of thing really going to be very effective in stopping anyone from beating up their pet? Yes. Yes, it is. And here's how:

Kid 1: (enters stage left, punching a kitty) Dude, check this out. I'm totally beating the crap out of this kitty.

Kid 2: You sure are, pal. And I have to tell you, it is really cool.

(Both boys see the poster.)

Kid 1: (stops punching kitty) No it isn't. It's not cool at all, apparently.

Kid 2: I agree. I retract my previous statement.

Both: Thank you, poster!

Brought to you by the people who think that if you tell kids not to do something, they'll listen to you.

Spotty Bloggery

Just wanted to say a quick apology for not blogging more regularly. Or, to abbreviate, for not being more blogular. I blame the weather. And the tides. And the stages of the moon. And the fact that it was February.

But now, it's March, filled with Marchy goodness. Just look out your...uh...window, and see the...aw, crap.

Well, the good news about shitty weather is this: when it's all crappy like this you don't have to do anything. You're allowed to be lazy. I'm not sure why. I think it's because God doesn't know you're slacking off. He can't tell through the cloud cover. I guess he just gets lousy reception on his all-seeing thing. So enjoy!

Now it's just the Bahamas, what's next??

I saw an ad in the Subway for the Bahamas. Well, it was less of an ad and more of a "punishment" due to my total lack of financial ability to actual GO to the Bahamas. But I can't blame the Bahamas for that. Lord knows I've tried.

Anyway, the main ad had the tagline, "Find yourself on our 700 islands." (And not for nothing, but for an obsessive-compulsive person such as myself, telling me that you have 700 places for me to visit just stresses me out.)

Anyway again (how many digressions, oh lord?), there was a piece of graffiti on the ad. A graffitus, if you will. Someone had written in an extra zero, so instead of 700, it said 7,000.

I guess that someone is trying to bring down the Bahamaian economy by sending New Yorkers down there with inflated expectations of the number of islands they can visit.

"Hey, there aren't 7,000 islands here. What a gyp! Come on, honey. Let's go over to the U.S. Virgin Islands, where at least they tell you how many of them there really are."

Boy, I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of THAT critique. Graffitist, I bow to you. Please don't take, say, my driver's license and make my weight appear to be ten times what it actually is. If I'm ever pulled over, I'll surely be questioned on that. And perhaps prosecuted (or at least directed to a weigh station, or tariffed or something.)