Holy cow

Uh...I just had a birthday and realized something. When I graduated from high school, it happened to be on my 18th birthday. My birthday last week was 18 years after that day. I did that amount of time again since high school -- e.g. I'm an old person. Luckily, I look fantastic considering just how mind numbingly old I am. I mean I am old. You know that stuff in that tupperware in my fridge? Ok, that's old. But that's just a baby compared to me. A little au gratin potato baby.

 

Thank god I can't have children (My doctor ran some tests and I was diagnosed with "not wanting any children." Out of my hands, you know?) Kids would, by comparison, make me look even OLDER than the old, old, old that I actually am.

 

Some things to do once you're as old as I am:

1. Seriously, really, make a decision to refuse to begin numbered lists until you have some stuff to put in the list. It's not helping anyone, so really change that behavior, stat.
2. Eat anything and everything you want. You're going to die soon anyway. You're not going to be on your deathbed thinking, "Boy, I'm sure glad I didn't eat that club sandwich."
3. Wear bad clothing. (I'm way ahead of the curve on this one.)
4. Become ridiculously cheap to the point where you'll eat dinner at 2 in the afternoon if they offer a discount.
5. Learn what "escrow" means.
6. Watch movies that have "adult themes." I'm not sure what that means. Maybe movies about escrow.
7. Lie down as often as possible. Again, you're going to die soon. You'll have to lie down then. Make it easy on yourself and get down there now.

See you on the other side. Go into the light!

Interesting Ways for the World to End: A preview

In re-reading Stephen King's The Stand, it occurs to me that the world will probably come to an end at some point. Personally, I'm all for it. I mean, if we're all going to die anyway, wouldn't it be fun to have it happen all during the same week and a half? (The answer is probably "no" but what are you going to do, right? Am I right, people?)

 

Here's a brief rundown of some of the ways it could all go down.

• PLAGUE: This is how it happens in The Stand. I'm not sure if it is the worst way for the apocalypse to come upon us, but it seems sure to be the most fragrant. (rating - One and a half horsemen) 
• ROBOTS BECOME INTELLIGENT, KILL US BECAUSE WE HAVE BECOME A DANGER TO THEM: I love this one. My only wish is that just once before I die, I get to see a scientist on television saying, "As you can see, D12 is perfectly harmless, and incapable of harming a...D12, put that down. Stop, D12. Seriously. Oh crap."(rating - 4 horsemen)
• NUCLEAR WAR:  I don't know about this one anymore. It's so '80s, you know? I guess suitcase nukes are a little punk, but a full-on nuclear war? Will we have to have spiked hair and parachute pants again? Because if we do, I'm all for total destruction.  (rating - half a wormy horseman)
• ALIEN INVASION: Again, love it. Bring it on, please, please, please. War with aliens would be hell, I'm sure. (Especially if it works out to be as retarded as Spielberg's remake of War of the Worlds. I wouldn't be surprised if there are alien cultures planning our demise right now, just because of that film.) But it's got to be more interesting than going to work every morning, no? (rating - 4 horsemen)
• GIANT METEOR: Meh. Not bad. Although it would have the added benefit of not really having any effect on anything until right at the moment of impact. And if people had enough warning, there would be some of the most stunning sex, partying, and carrying on ever imagined. (rating - 3 horsemen)
• ZOMBIES: Ohhhh, come to papa. The best destruction of society EVER. I would be so great in a zombie apocalypse. I really would. And even if I didn't cut it as a zombie hunter, I bet I'd make a rather dashing zombie as well. Either way, I come out a winner. (rating - 5 horsemen)

I hope this guide has been both informative, and...see, I said the word "both" but I only had one thing that I hoped the guide had been. Gotta stop doing that.

More Subway Letters

Dear Well Dressed Person Who Surely Pooped On the Train,

 

Good decision for you to do that? I couldn't say. Frankly, I don't know what your plans are for the day, so I couldn't tell you if that's going to work for you as the day wears on. Bold decision? Ten-four, good buddy.

 

Sincerely,

 

One of the people who have noses and opinions about where poop ought to be stored

 

=============

Dear Bird Flu,

 

Please don't come to the subway. I'm reading Stephen King's The Stand right now. And while I believe I would really enjoy surviving an apocalyptic event that might make my rush hour commute less crowded, I can't help but wonder if there wouldn't be some kind of a "downside" to something like this. Get over there in the birds where we can see you, and come out with your pseudopodia in the air.

 

-mac

 

==============

Dear Person Who I Can't Remember,

 

I had something funny to say about you, I'm just sure of it. But now I can't think of a thing about you. Were you maybe wearing funny shoes? Probably not, but I'm really at a loss here. I'm getting older, and they say that absolutely everything is the first thing to go. Boy were THEY right, huh? Ok, keep up the good work. Maybe I'll see you again sometime after I've had some caffiene in me.

 

-Jeff

 

 

Say Goodbye to my Little Friend!

Dear Mosquito that I Killed at Around 3am,

 

Hi! Boy, I bet you weren't expecting to hear from me! Thanks so much for being so thwackable at the end, especially after the many fruitless hunting expeditions I embarked upon to find you. In truth, I didn't expect that you were going to be so hard to find. First of all, my apartment is small enough that you were basically my roommate. I was going to ask you to start paying half the rent. Secondly, after the quart of my blood that you siphoned out of me, I expected you to be the size of a sandwich, waddling on the floor, too heavy to fly. You can really hold your plasma, my little dead friend.

 

Well, I guess I'll sign off. I only regret that you weren't intelligent enough to have been terrified and in excruciating pain as I smashed you into oblivion (or into "bolivian" as Mike Tyson once said.) I hope this letter finds you in the pit of hell being drained of blood by creepy, little flying humans who have found their way into your mosquito apartment, and you have no idea how they got in.

 

Sincerely,

 

The Guy Who Will Joyfully Kill Any of Your Kin Who Foolishly Cross Me

A Brush With Lame!

I was walking to work this morning, whistling, skipping, saying hello to little children and playing hopscotch/stickball/jumping rope with them as I passed, thanking my lucky stars that in this cold, cruel universe, I have somewhere to go where everyone knows my name. And expects me to do things at their bidding or else they won't give me money. You know -- the usual.

 

Anyway, I saw a face that I recognized, and my mental filing system went to work to figure out who it was. Is that...it's Jose Ferrer, right? No, he didn't look like that even before he stopped being alive. Miguel Ferrer? No, that's the first guy's son. Alive, so we're getting warmer, but still doesn't look like this guy. And even if I'm sure his name is Ferrer, I can't imagine why Miguel Ferrer would get reconstructive surgery to look like this dude. (Then again, I did just see some of the movie "Stephen King's The Night Flier" on cable. Not so good. But that's not HIS fault, god damn it. )

 

Then the sad truth occurred to me. This was the Ferrer who ran for mayor a few years ago. I think. Freddy Ferrer? Sigh. And as I walked along, I stopped the whistling and the whole bit and just stood on the street corner and wept bitter tears, longing for a better Ferrer sighting where no better Ferrer sighting existed. And by that, I mean that I came into work, made some green tea, and started working. And by THAT I mean, I came and wrote this to you. Also, I didn't "make" the green tea. It was pretty much already there in a little bag.

 

I think having a job is doing things to my brains. I don't know how people do this shit year in and year out, I have to tell you.

Karl Rove was not indicted for leaking!

I don't understand how that's possible. He certainly LOOKS guilty. No good person looks like that, I promise you. I wonder if it's because the word "indicted" is pronounced in-DITE-ed, but it's spelled with that total freakout of a C in the middle there. I've always found that C to be more than a little disturbing. What does that C know that it isn't telling us? I'm guessing absolutely nothing, but who can be sure?  Knowing Karl Rove, I'll bet he used that to his advantage. Dirty bastard.

 

Oh great. Now I'm going to face attack ads engineered by Karl Rove for calling him a dirty bastard. And YOU'RE going to be sued just for reading about it. I'm not being paranoid here, people. It happens. Happens every day. Some days it happens thrice. Yeah. I said it. I said "thrice." I figure if I've got the NSA crawling up into my crawlspace, I might as well go the whole 9 yards with it. Oh and I just want you to know that I fully understand that football reference that I just made. Well, actually I don't. You have to go ten yards before anything really good happens in football (if even then.) So I don't know why we are told to be so impressed by going the whole 9. It's a scam people. Wake up! Wake up! Arise and fight!

 

What is this post about, people? It's about a need to type things, my babies. Sometimes I post things, and sometimes my fingers do it for me. Either way, you come out a winner. And I come out a loser. I thank you and good night. If it isn't nighttime when you read this, just wait awhile. It'll happen. Mark my words.

 

Sincerely,

 

I'm So Bored at Work, I'm Considering Peeing My Pants Just for the Scandal

Soccer? (I barely even know 'er. Hayyyyo!)

Ok, I only have one small observation about soccer. For a game that freaking long, they have some balls to allow there to be a tie. What the hell is that?

"Oh, you know what? Win, lose, whatever. The point is, we both did great. Let's just stop now and admire the long, slow road we took to get here."

Dear American Airlines

Hi! Remember me? I'm the guy who flew on your airline twice in 4 days. Remember how you showed the teen mermaid movie, "Aquamarine" both times? Yeah? Me too. I can't get it out of my head. But I bet you're thinking that you have taken the crown for worst aviatial double feature in history, right?

 

Wrong.

 

The year was 1996. The seas were stormy, my friends. I was on a bus, so it didn't really matter how the seas were. The important thing is that you are my friends, and that you understand the ambience situation. The shit was coming down, is all I'm getting at. Actually, I can't remember what the weather was like. But had the weather been in some way tuned into my soon-to-be-movie-viewing experience, well, giant poops would have been flying out of the sky. Face-seeking poops honing in on each and every one of us.

 

See, now I've got nowhere to go. All I was trying to say is that ten years ago I saw Squanto: A Warrior's Tale on a bus, twice in a single weekend. And on a bus, you can't just not buy the headphones like with Aquamarine. You had to hear the whole thing. In space no one can hear you scream, but on a bus no one...well, no one cares, I guess. Maybe it's "On a bus, everyone can smell your B.O."

 

Incidentally, American Airlines, I just wanted to let you know that I got the gist of Aquamarine, even without sound. Basically, 2 girls are in love with a lifeguard who likes the hot, mean girl. Then they find a mermaid who makes out with the lifeguard they love. For some reason, they are happy about this. Everybody cries at some point. Did I miss anything?

 

Please send me a transcript of the film at your earliest convenience. Or just an old, shit-smeared pillowcase since that seems to have been what they were working with when they made the film.

 

I thank you.

 

-mac 

Things to Do Before Hitting the Desert

Hello all. I'm back from my desert adventure. I have learned things, people. Learned lessons that will help you live your lives, I have. And I will now share them with you. Should you decide to check out the desert, here are some things that you must do first:

• LIKE BROWN: If you don't really enjoy the color brown, Albuquerque is going to be rough on you, I'm telling you right now. There is a city ordinance that says buildings have to look like adobe. Seriously. Everything is brown. And everything that you buy to put on your property is also the same color brown.  So you can go to a McDonald's that looks just like a Spanish mission. And sit outside under brown umbrellas at brown picnic tables. If you want to, I'm saying.
  
• READ YOUR ITINERARY: I can't stress this enough people. JFK airport is NOT, nor will it ever be LaGuardia airport, even if you are really, really late and almost miss your flight because you went to the former instead of the latter. Not that anyone, er, ever DOES this. Surely no. I'm just saying that it would be...ah...a bad thing for YOU to do.
• LOVE CAB DRIVER NAMES: A lot has been made of the very, very foreign spellings of cabbie names. But I had two cab drivers this weekend, and both were not only completely pronounceable, but 100% delightful. Here they are: Lancelot Gibson, and Man Peter. I feel like they might be moonlighting as spammers.

Oh, and regarding my last post -- I did not see an actual lizard, but I DID see a lizard PERSON. She was every bit as terrifying as any lizard. Or at least as terrifying as a lizard's brother.

Jeff Mac, King of the Desert

Well, tomorrow I am off to sunny Albuquerque, New Mexico for a few days. I'm assuming it will be sunny, anyway. Actually, since I've never seen the desert before, I'm assuming that it will be a cross between a Wile E. Coyote cartoon and the Land of Mordor. And what, pray tell, will I do in the land where Bugs Bunny should have taken that left turn on his way to Pismo Beach? Why, I'm glad I pretended that you asked.

 

Things I hope to accomplish while in the desert:

1. I resolve to stop, once and for all, starting numbered lists before thinking of at least one (1) item to PUT on such a list. It's really freaks out Standards & Practices, you know? Something about liability or indemnity, I believe.
2. I will develop standards and/or practices.  
3. I would like to see either a.) a lizard or b.) a person who is so tan that (s)he has become lizard-like. In either case, I hope to squeal and say, "Oh my god, that is SO COOL! Do they bite?"
4. Given my lovely alabaster skintone, I would like to avoid erupting into flames from sunburn.
5. Failing in #3, I will attempt to peel off a single layer of skin from my entire body, so it looks like a husk of my actual self. (i.e. how I am on the inside.)
6. I'd like to find a cactus that shoots its quills at you upon feeling the vibrations of your footsteps. Unless that was just in a book I read one time. In that case, I would like to find that book and read it in the desert. I bet that'd be almost just as good. (As an example, reading about bioweapons and terrorism is actually WAY more fun than seeing them in person.)

I will try to post from Albu (if they even have computers there.)

Dear Guy With the Sweat Problem Part 2 (An Apology)

Hi, friend. Sorry I disrespected your subway perspiration problems the other day. How was I to know that only a few short days later, I too would find myself spouting water from all corners of the bod? You have shown me the dripping buttcrack of my soul, and for that I am both chastened and humbled. I thank you.

 

Now that New York is in the full throes of swamp-assed summer, I see now that you were simply ahead of your time, sweating the bejesus out of yourself when it wasn't even warm enough to be necessary. I see now that you just had the foresight to be proactive about it. And I ask you, I ask all of us: who's laughing now? Uh...actually, I don't know who.

 

And as a sidenote, now that it is so hot and nasty down there in the subways, my condolences on what I can only refer to as your "personal humidity index." I'm guessing that you could sweat through a down parka in about a minute and a half these days. (And as such, I don't recommend that you wear one.)

 

Enjoy the summer, Sweat Guy! And make sure you drink lots of gatorade or something, lest ye burst into flames.

 

Sincerely,

 

Newly Hot as all Hell in Brooklyn

Lost (mmm...not really)

PROBLEM: I wanted to watch the 2nd season finale of "Lost" last night, but up until that moment I had only seen maybe 4 episodes of the first season. I was unprepared. I barely had any unanswered questsion and I didn't know HALF the things I was supposed to not understand.

 

SOLUTION: I decided to watch anyway. Since I didn't have the background information to be properly confused, I would just have to make do by being confused on the fly.  I just have a couple of questions.

1. What was that big, bright ball in the sky that came out during the daytime and then at night -- EVERY night -- went away?! (note: seemed almost "warm", less so when hid behind white puffy things.)
2. I must have missed the episode where they explained why the plane that crashed was filled almost exclusively with attractive people. Probably a total conspiracy.
3. After months on an island, how is the fat guy still fat?

I'm sure that I have more questions, but my mind is just too blown to even know what they are.

The Da Vinci Code Diet!!

That isn't a joke. That is the premise of a REAL article in a magazine I saw while waiting in line at the grocery store. "Lose a pound a day on the Da Vinci Code diet!" I didn't buy this publication for fear of becoming retarded by touching the cover. However, in the spirit of the article, I would like to speculate wildly on the tenets of such a diet.

• Every time you feel hungry, just take a moment and think how the Catholic church feels about this book and movie. Imagine that you are eating their anger and fear. See how full you feel?
• If you are a devout Catholic, refrain from eating anything but communion wafers. You will feel thinner and holier almost immediately!
• Begin reading "The Da Vinci Code." Refuse to eat just until you're done with the chapter you're on. Once you finish the chapter, the cliffhanger ending will keep you reading until you pass out from malnutrition. When you wake up in the hospital, you'll have those washboard abs that you've always dreamed of.
• Eat the book. (Be sure to remove the cover because it is always the fattiest part of a book.)

Open Letters to NYC

Dear Guy With the Sweating Issue,

Look, I know it's lousy for you. I'm sure of it. But if, when you stand up, the back of your seat looks like the outside of a glass of iced tea on a hot summer day, give it a little wipe. Just to let us know that you only sweat like an animal but are, in fact, a human yourself.

Sincerely,

Desiring of Dryness in Brooklyn
==============

Dear Father of Small Child,

Please don't bring that tiny person with you during rush hour. It defeats the whole purpose of naming it that. Now, I'm not saying I blame your child for missing that train. I don't. I blame YOU. Just because you made a decision that affects your schedule, please keep that poop machine away from the rest of us until it can run down the stairs.

Yours,

Childless and Giddy About It
================
and finally....

Dear Lady Cop on the Train,

Thank you for slamming the holster for your sidearm into my crotch as you went by. While I am not a criminal, I feel that you have helped me to understand what it might be like to BE one for a second. Any thoughts of turning to a life of crime are now as gone as the feeling that my balls are intact. Thanks!

With Gratitude,

Gelded and Chastened

Moving Day!

Well, sort of. I did my first bi-annual moving of the furniture in my new-ish apartment the other day. I like to move my stuff around every once in a while to give me the impression that life is shiny and new. Of course it is -- my bed is way the fuck over HERE now. Yesterday, it was way over THERE. You know, back in the old days when they used to have to hand crank just about everything to get it going. You even had to hand crank water -- not the pump (also a hand crank) but the actual water, itself. That's how primitive it was. Yesterday, I'm saying. When my bed was over there.

 

Here's my dilemma: I can't sleep. My bed is about 4 feet from where it used to be. In fact, if you know anything about my apartment, you'll know that it is also about 4 feet from everything else that I own. So what's the big deal? Why can't I sleep now? I have several theories:

• The new spot is on a fault line and I, like a dog, can predict that there will be an earthquake in this section of the room.

• My bed is now directly over an old indian burial ground, and I'm sensing the restless dead beneath me.

• My sheets are made of iron, and the shift in compass direction is making me nauseous.

• I have an irrational fear that I will roll over and out of the window.

• I have an irrational JOY that I will roll over and out of the window, and I can't sleep from all the excitement.

I'm sure that it's either one of these things, or it's something different. That much is clear.

Some Restrictions May Apply

In researching whether or not to get an extended warranty for something, I came across this useful piece of information:

 

"...covered, unless failure is due to accidental or intentional damage." So if something goes wrong they'll pay for it. Unless it was an accident. Oh, also if it's NOT an accident. But other than that...

 

So, that's kind of everything isn't it? That would be like saying, "You can ride this rollercoaster unless you are under 4 feet tall. Or if you are OVER 4 feet tall. Basically, don't ride this rollercoaster. That's ten bucks, please."

 

I love this idea. I am going to use it in every contract I ever draw up. And since I'm not a lawyer, boy will THAT not have any effect on my life! But sometimes it's fun just to type. Or to scream at the top of your lungs, "Pudding! Look out for the pudding! Jesus, God, those madmen! What were they thinking, making all that pudding!!??" Either thing is very fun. Really fun. Uh...yes.

 

Carry on, everyone. And Godspeed. You know, if you're going somewhere. (I, clearly, am not.)

A Face To Die For: The Jeff Mac Not Blogging Story - a LifeTime Original Blog Entry

Scene One: Jeff Mac and his blog are clearly in love, running around in fields and throwing stuff to each other. Hilarious! But the cello in the soundtrack tells you that it's all going to hell, and pretty soon Meredith Baxter-Birney's agent will do battle with Judith Light's agent to see who gets to play the role of Jeff's Blog's wicked mother-in-law.

 

Scene Two: Jeff Mac throws acid in his blog's face. "Who will want you now?" he screams, laughing maniacally. The blog says nothing, but secretly wonders if there should have been maybe some motivation behind that sort of thing.

 

Scene Three: The blog goes to prison, framed for the death of Jeff Mac. (In fact, Jeff has faked his own death and taken the inheritance money. Roll with it.)

 

Scene Four: In jail, the blog meets a strong black woman who tells it that it has to stand up for itself. It does.

 

Scene Five: The blog is paroled, kills Jeff Mac, and is sued by Ashley Judd for plagiarizing her movie.

 

Scene Six: The Present Day. Jeff Mac and his blog are back together again, with no explanation for how Jeff isn't dead, since he was clearly killed in Scene Five. Magical Realism, people. Look it up.

 

Director's Note: Sorry I've been on a bit of a hiatus. I'll be floggin' the blog with far more regularity, once again.

George Clooney Speaks Out on Darfur!

George, I don't know if you're reading this right now. (Of course you are. I can't imagine what you could possibly have to do with all of your time besides read this blog.) But if you are out there, listen to me very carefully before you take up another humanitarian cause with passion and integrity. The women of the world? They surrender, ok? You don't have to keep out-wonderfuling yourself. THEY WILL HAVE SEX WITH YOU.  Please leave some for everybody else.

Sincerely,

A Selfish Dude Who You are Clearly Better Than*


*Or, if you prefer, "A Selfish Dude Than Whom You are Clearly Better."

The End is Near!

...or so said a sign written in magic marker on one of the many carboard boxes that belonged to a homeless man I saw this morning. He had a shopping cart filled with boxes, clothes, a lamp, and a rolly desk chair on top.

 

Suggestion: if the end is truly near, maybe you lighten your load a little. For starters, I know you've been holding out for that secretarial work but I think you can probably let the desk chair go. Hey, even if I'm wrong, most office work is on a, "You do the work, let US worry about the chair," sort of basis.

 

I saw a street lunatic earlier this week. He was having a conversation with a giant pile of blankets. But then he stopped to fix his hair. And I thought, "Way to pick your battles, sir." He senses he's not going to improve his situation all at once. He's got too much stacked against him, what with the homelessness, the total poverty, the hygiene and of course the insanity. But that doesn't mean you can't feel pretty.

A Haiku to Commemorate My Ten Thousandth Hit

Well, the hitcounter at the bottom of this page tells me that I've hit five figures on the page view counter (and it tells you that, too, if you would only listen. Oh, if you would only listen! But nay. to be continued...)

 

And that means that it's time to write a Haiku to let you know how I feel about it. That's how I roll, if you will. Will you? Gosh, I know I will.

 

On My Ten Thousandth

by Jeff Mac

 

my 10,000th hit

what an occasion for me

someone flick my ear*

 

*The meaning of this line has been argued by scholars for over one second. The true intention of the line is lost because the author wasn't paying close attention, even though he was writing it himself.