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