There are so many intelligent and articulate people covering the hard-hitting
issues in our country these days, that I felt it was my duty to cover the
rather inconsequential bullshit that tends to make up the vast majority of
our lives. Actually, I'll just be griping a lot which, if you weren't aware,
doubles as a synonym for complaining, and as a descriptor for
a sharp pain in the bowels.

Friday, December 28, 2007


Today's events got me thinking about vanity or, more specifically, vanity license plates. Perhaps it was because I was simply more attentive on the road today, but there seemed to be a surfeit of the aforementioned objects in circulation on interstate 84 in the westbound direction.

A lot of them weren't too special, things like GRAMP6 - whatever the hell that means - and GOLDY 1. There were several more I can't recall, but there was one tandem on the Saw Mill Parkway that I won't soon forgot. In front of us was "MMMBOP," which I can only assume was in homage to the original Hanson hit as there aren't too many other instances (read: zero) in which I can recall such a word coming up. Unfortunately, the appearance of MMMBOP, in her silvery late 80s Nissan, was rather disappointing, as she was somewhat generic and dumpy, lacking a certain "je ne sais quoi" as I literally don't know what I was hoping for or expecting from her appearance.

Situated ahead of MMMBOP at the stoplight was none other than an SUV with the moniker "ILOVEBI," or rather, that is what my eyes wanted to see. It did have a delightful Brick Tamland-like flair. It was then pointed out by my cousin that the plate did in fact say "ILOVELBI," a far more sensible vanity plate to witness, especially given LBI's popularity as a vacation spot. Still, I never looked back to confirm these were in fact the letters, and I hold out some hope for ILOVEBI as the second "L" would represent an eighth character, violating what I thought to be a seven-character limit on United States' license plates.

Aside from that, Juno is a kick-ass movie that I highly recommend.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Running: For the Retards

Last night, feeling particularly stiff and sore from a day of standing, I decided a short run was in order. This placed me on the main street of neighboring Highland Park somewhere in the vicinity of nine pm. As I passed a newly minted Papa John's a guy yelled out of his truck: "Retard." Maybe it was because I was wearing shorts? I will forever be baffled as to why the sight of someone running incites anger and/or the need for commentary. I've been called a lot of things while running, had things thrown at me, had cars attempt to hit me, even been stopped to turn on a random family's lights during some Jewish holiday, and retard intrigues me a good deal.

Incidentally, I wanted to make the Papa John's link for something toilet related, because I love puns, and I stumbled upon this gem of a website simply by googling "best toilet." I actually don't know how much of a gem it is, but I'm optimistic and plan to give it a little more attention sometime soon. Lest I not post for a bit, Happy Holidays a few days early to some, and belatedly to the Jews.

That's a wrap.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Don't I Not Know You From Somewhere?

You know those moments you are walking behind someone and you probably haven't seen them in a while and you keep wondering if you should say something or not since however awkward it might be it's sure to be less awkward than when they inevitably turn around and one of you has to make some move because at that point you're so close no one can continue the denial? It's not like when you're walking towards one another and you both see each other and mutually pretend as if you just never happened to be looking in that person's direction. Only then they turn around and it isn't that person but they give you a weird look almost as if they knew what you were thinking behind them that whole time. Yeah, that is such a relief. Sometimes I worry about strangers judging me but in that situation I'm just so happy it's not some schmuck I have to go through trivialities with that I overcome my standard anxieties. Chances are, if you don't want to talk to me, I don't want to be talking to you either, so don't feel bad when you ignore me because you really are doing both of us a favor.

Great tales like this vacuum cleaner-related incident always brighten my day. Nothing like a first-hand account of the tale. Also, here are some interesting musings on living longer by eating less, among other things. Oh, and because who doesn't like to read about dinosaurs, especially fossilized remains beyond the standard skeleton.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Six Pack Abs

Everybody wants them. Your mother, your best friend, your enemies, your neighbor's dog, your girlfriend's cat…everyone. And everyone has them. They just might be hidden under layers of fat, a little thing the fancy medical community likes to call adipose tissue. Sometimes, when I am in to see a doctor, which is pretty often actually, I will throw around big words like that. Also anterior tibialis, fasciotomy, sesamoid, and nerves. These words are to demonstrate my expert medical knowledge.

Before I continue I have to say that I recently received a comment telling me that I was an idiot and to do more research. The first part is true and I don't believe in research, just hearsay. It is for that reason that everything preceding and post-ceding this interlude paragraph is pure, hard, researched fact. For some reason comments go to my spam folder, as do all those great bride ads. Periodically I have to scan my spam for this very reason and as a result I've got things in the works to take the hand of a fine Ukranian bride who isn't Oksana Baiul. When she told me she was a "woman-fire" who could fill my life with "bright impressions" promising "mornings' breakfasts in the bed," I was sold. The last line was the clincher because I need someone like me, who just can't do breakfast at any other time than the AM, no matter what diner's and IHOP have to say.

Right, so since with good lighting and an airbrush two years ago I had something akin to six pack abs, I feel I am fully qualified to tell the rest of the world how they too can have a wondrous midsection. The first secret is diet. You must always eat whatever you want, whenever you feel hungry. Binging will be a key component of your ab diet, but purging is not a good idea unless you are on the verge of alcohol poisoning and would otherwise need hospitalization. Hospitals are expensive, even when you have health insurance, and none of that money is likely to go towards six-pack abs. Like I was saying, eat whatever you want, so long as you don't actually want to eat anything. That's not true. For your regular diet you'll want cereals. Costco is a good place to get them, although the variety can be spotty. If you have a Wegman's in your area: jackpot. I really like Frosted Mini-Wheats as a staple. Peanut butter and banana, peanut butter and jelly, turkey and muenster: they will be your closest afternoon associates. Doritos and Edy's ice cream are also essential. Cycle flavors of both to reduce boredom. Another little trick is 1,000 plus abdominal related motions per day. These must all be done at once. Any incidental and inadvertent abdominal motions, like humping, that you may do throughout the day are optional, but not discouraged. Cardiovascular activity, often deemed cardio by the n00b fitness community, on the other hand leads often to injury and is widely discouraged.

The last key component, which actually surpasses illicit drug use, is genetics. But until you can get your hands on a Delorean, and enough plutonium and speed (velocity, not the drug, though amphetamine will boost your metabolism, but be sure to hydrate Carlton) to create 1.21 jigawatts of energy, you'll just have to be jealous of the bum in Central Park who has the body of a Greek (not Roman) sculpture. Everything in this article is verified by fitness professional John Basedow.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

First Snow

So the first snow of the season was actually this past Sunday, at least for the mid-Atlantic, but it's snowing right now too and so I figured why not say a few words on it. Snow really is beautiful when it first falls, but becomes almost universally hideous the moment humans interact with it. I am not denying the wonderful joy and purity of things like the snow tunnel or fort and snowball fight, but when a car rolls through and turns snow to slop that quickly accumulates filth, the magic has been pooped on. It's this sort of ultimate contrast between purity and beauty one minute, and filth and depravity the next. Sort of.

As a onetime and now sometime runner, I must say that a run through the snow is a glorious experience. Long distance running can be a rather solitary endeavor as it is. I consider it a sought after solitary. So when you add in temperatures so cold that there is an eerie silence, where the crunch of a foot through snow sounds like Cap'n Crunch inside your head, its a wonderful and humbling moment. This is inevitably more enjoyable at night when the lights of houses are one of the few signs that there is civilization besides you out there. And the signature crunch I described happens only when the temperature teeters around freezing to create an icy/crystalline snow more akin to a massive accumulation of miniscule pieces of hail than the soft powder that gives barren trees their Christmasy allure. There's something glorious in leaving the first indents in fresh snow and then turning back to see now one set of prints. Sometimes I would match my strides in reverse to land in those first marks. Of course, there wasn't really enough snow for that this time, but I'm calling on the past.

And since I've no place to go, let it snow.

Monday, December 3, 2007

Radio Shack

Every now and then I'll get an e-mail with some questions and, since I don't get many of these e-mails, I feel obliged to answer them. A recent question was: "why don't you write more in your blog." I wasn't sure if this meant in terms of consistency, or simply length, but on both bases I found myself surprised. I'll be honest, I write my damn entries and sometimes I don't want to read them. It's why I stopped blogging for a long while: it loses its novelty and sometimes you find yourself forcing out entries because you think that's what readers want. Maybe it is, but with the wealth of information disseminated on the interweb, I'll be the first to admit there are better ways to spend time than reading my blog. Basically, then, I'm going to continue to write when the mood strikes me and force out some garbage periodically as well. As you might have been able to tell I was alluding to there, increased readership is a double-edged sword (more readers, more pressure to write and maybe even write well). We pride ourselves on integrity over here at Awkward Backhair (yes, it's true there is only me, but it sounds better when you use words like we, as opposed to Wii, something much more popular than my blog) and that is why I refuse to use keywords and post pics of boobies just to up my readership. Besides, I manage to get enough bizarre hits here without actually trying to.

Actually that's really what got me set to throw down textually at the moment. I do have an ip tracker on my blog, but I contend that is mostly so that I can block ip addresses when I notice I am being spammed in my comment section. In reality, these robots are a little too clever and will always find a way to spam. But one of my favorite features on the tracker is the referring url. Oftentimes this will be a google search that mistakenly brings up my blog. I mean, hell, the same thing happens to me and I end up reading a bunch of random blogs as a result. I have to tell you, though, I have no idea why some of these people were searching for the things they were, and why it is my site was a top search result. That said, a few of the more amusing (albeit not always PG) searches include the following: buttholes, crotch on coffee, tap foot restroom, not another boy band, shit the bed synonym (which I thought read "syndrome" and had me chuckling), can you get aids from anal sex, things to do in a public bathroom, and youtube backhair.

The last was my personal favorite. I liked it so much I had to do the same google search myself. The top result was of little surprise, a hairy beast of a man being shorn, but then it had me on a youtube crawl that dealt with funny commercials. I have to admit, I am a sucker for such things, and mostly to see the commercials for other countries. Plus, there are those commercials that simply end up being banned. Still, if you're planning a vacation, you'll want to take this flight, check yourself in at this hotel, and maybe stop in at this bar. In general, beer commercials do seem to come up pretty clutch, and allegedly, this was the finest of 2006? That question mark is intentional. For some reason I tend to get a lot of hits from the Netherlands and, I'm not gonna lie, that makes me happy. I'm guessing that English is spoken fairly widely there, even though the official language is Dutch, but just in case, here is a reminder to learn English. I really only did that to include one last shitty commercial link.

Instead of watching any of those, however, I suggest reading this (I've got to find another word to link to). The article is authored by close chum the Quabbin Qountry Querier. Sure I've referenced him before, and he's one of the few sites I link to, but a little extra publicity can never hurt. For some it might be a bit lengthy, but it's also a lot more articulate and insightful than anything you'll read here, or probably most places for that matter.

Some will note that I have succumb to a profile picture. There is a lot to be said for even relative anonymity but, after much (whole minutes) deliberation, I decided to put one up. In the end I chose to do so as part of a social experiment to see if random readership increases or decreases as a result of posting my picture. That's not actually true, but it would have been a neat idea since lots of opinions are formed based on name and physical appearance. So it goes.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Tempted By the Fruit of Another

Lately this song has been stuck in my head way too much, but not nearly as much as this Erasure song. If that's too gay for you, watch this instead.

I also realized that the month is almost up and I haven't even posted a recipe of the month. I actually really didn't intend to keep that going and I've only done it for one month, but here it goes. Thanksgiving is a holiday chock full of wonderful desserts and I pretty much think dessert is the bee's knees, but my last recipe was for a dessert, so here's a slightly more heartfelt one.

Holiday Casserole

One cup (or more if playing traditional Thanksgiving sports like football)
7-11 Good friends
10-20 Friends' friends (optional)
10-12 Close family members
400-450 Drinkies of choice (Three thirties of Keystone Light mandatory)
Weather cold enough to require sweaters
Pumpkin Pie
Canned cranberry
Fireplace (optional)

Mix friends with friends' friends, combining liberally with drinks, generally during night-time and early morning hours.

In separate place combine family with fireplace, sweaters, and cocktails. Add turkey, cranberry, and pumpkin pie to taste.

I wholeheartedly recommend this recipe for Thanksgiving, and it can be repeated at Christmas and New Years, but turkey, pumpkin pie, and canned cranberry need to be replaced by, in order, candy canes, eggnog, and a mistletoe. I really don't believe in mistletoes and also you're substituting an edible ingredient for a non-edible one, but think of it as a garnish. As something green/living, it's also probably high in fiber. I also don't like candy canes that much, but they are mandatory and they've got a multitude of flavors this days. Also, the cups are to be replaced by Christmas crackers. Here is a preview of the fun you can expect:

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Chronically Underdressed

With Thanksgiving on the horizon, cold temperatures are pretty much the norm here in the northeast. Knowing that, I still decided to travel with nothing heavier than a fall jacket, and maybe a sweater and thermal or two for good measure. That's because on those rare ocassions that I do dress properly any sort of remotely brisk movement causes my body to perspire. And since most establishments keep themselves super-heated to compensate, even if I manage not to sweat or freeze outdoors, I will surely begin to feel the awkward ocassional drip and growing dampness in the armpits of my shirts upon entering.

Since I probably hate sweating more than I hate freezing, I find myself chronically underdressed for the winter. Take this morning, when I headed out for a four or so mile run. Yesterday, heeding the warnings of my cousin about the temperature, I headed out in pants and some form of high-tech running top designed to be light while still warm. On what amounted to twenty to twenty-five minutes of running, I found myself already perspiring to what I'd consider an excess after probably just ten minutes. Not wanting to repeat my mistake, this morning I traded pants for shorts, and threw on an earband or whatever they might technically be referred to. While I failed to repeat my mistake, I managed to make a different one. With a light snow falling, pants were certainly in order as my legs turned a reddish hue and developed that classic itch, becoming more pronounced when I finally returned to the indoors.

It's the kind of thing where you expect to learn your lesson, but I really don't see that happening anytime soon. When I head out shortly to do whatever it is I plan to do for the next little while, it will undoubtedly still be snowing and I will undoubtedly simply throw on a medium-at-best-weight jacket over nothing heavier than a thermal.

And in semi-homage to Overheard in NYC I'll share my favorite overheard in Boston line of the day so far. While running up (or was it down) Comm Ave, throngs of BU students surrounded me. As I said, I was quite underdressed so almost expected to hear some remark. Instead I hear from one male student to two others, in response to a girl in the opposite direction wearing sunglasses, "It's not even sunny, why the fuck would you be wearing sunglasses?" I'm sure it's been said before, but it probably needs to be said again (and again). I'd talk about the Bills for a jiffy but…ouch…

Friday, November 16, 2007

Knife of [D]Reams

Many years ago, knowing what a huge nerd I was, my mother purchased The Eye of The World for me as a birthday gift, said novel being the first installment in the late Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. As it was, however, I would not actually read the book until some years later. Doesn't matter. I'd long been a sucker for fantasy, enamored from an early age with the animated version of The Hobbit. In particular it had really sweet songs, like "Down, down to goblin town…" It's the kind of thing where I'm pretty sure no one has any idea what the fuck I'm talking about. But the point was simply that I liked fantasy and yes, I even played Magic: The Gathering for a time.

So I won't deny enjoying Eye of the World and going on to read the next couple of novels and enjoying those as well. Somewhere down the road, however, things took an ugly turn. Slogging through 700-1000 pages just wasn't fun anymore when characters would die and be reincarnated, maybe even as the opposite sex, and so much of the same shit was being reiterated. I understand that was probably done for people who hadn't read from the very beginning like myself, but damnit, who starts in the middle anyway? I guess maybe a lot of people. It's cool to answer your own rhetoricals. Anyway, I am now realizing I certainly brought a lot of this up in my old blog, but I'm assuming people either forgot, didn't read it in the first place and/or still don't care.

Still I managed to make it through the first ten books. I even read the shitty prequel. But book eleven, it just couldn't be done. I started it three separate times, and it is my fourth, and current, attempt that prompted this post. Having just finished reading Lolita, I felt the time was ripe for decidedly lighter fare. As there was set to be one more book I decided to check online and see when its expected release was, hoping details of book eleven would be fresh in my mind on its release. While I used to joke that Jordan better not die before finishing the damn series, luck would have it that just this past September he did indeed tragically pass. Luck was certainly terrible word choice. And for as much as it makes me an asshole, I'm certainly disappointed that I'll never get full closure to the series, even with a posthumous twelfth publishing.

On the brighter side there are the romances inspired by the series, prompting marriages with character-themed weddings and all sorts of hilarious shit. And by hilarious, I mean frightening.

And since blogging should never feel like a chore, I'm gonna cut myself off, but not before a quick comment on Tim Horton's, which runs shit in Canada. They're also sparsely located in the United States. Apparently the franchise began in Delaware and, though I think that means the state, I think I ate at a Tim's in Delaware, Ohio once. Having spent several vacations in Canada and as well as visiting family in western New York state (as opposed to West New York, NJ), I am well versed in Tim. To me, it is inferior to double D's, but I'm sure it is affected some by what I grew up on. Their donut selection was very limited, with a weak sauce jelly donut, but they did have a bomb peanut crunch glazed cake donut you don't get down these parts and, if it suits you, the maple donut. I can't recall how much I liked their munchkins either, but since they're called timbits, at least the name is excellent. And since I'm talking donuts, I'll take the opportunity to mark Krispy Kreme as horrendously overrated and select the 7-11 blueberry cake donut as the sleeper pastry of the week to whet appetites for the wondrous dessert-fest that is Thanksgiving.

Friday, November 9, 2007

Dreams of Multicolored Calcium Pills

I would have said vitamins, but that wouldn't be specific enough. The other day which, by now is probably at least a week ago, I dreamt of multicolored calcium pills for some reason. That's all that sticks out as particularly vivid. The only reason I bring it up is because I wanted to drop something on the blogosphere before I am likely without interweb for a few days.

Yesterday I decided to shave for the first time in, well I can't even remember to be honest. I simply happen to be against a cleanshaven face because it a) makes me look a healthy 16; b) requires some solid razorburn-inducing upkeep; and c) did I mention I look 16? Plus I need maxiumum hair distributed around my head and face to balance out my crazy eyebrows. But you've got to mix it up every now and then because it's fun to look like an entirely different person. If God did not intend for man to shave, He would not have provided man with the intelligence to invent the razor, although I remain baffled as to how Adam dealt with follicular outbreak. I always threaten to shave my dad's beard since I have never, not even in photographs (save those of his extreme youth), witnessed him sans beard, but these are empty threats because we all know certain things aren't meant to be seen. It'd be akin to seeing Dr. Claw's face in Inspector Gadget except that apparently they've already done that. Trust Hollywood and greedy toy marketers to fuck that up. Bastards…

In the meantime I've got to pack, maybe set up some Domino Rally and, if I were smart, shave off the mangled mane atop my domepiece.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Shitcan Ramalamadingdong

I can't help disliking the New England Patriots, and today's victory over Indianapolis didn't help, but it really didn't ruin my day because the Bills won for the third straight week. Far more important than win-loss records, we have Tom Brady's head. Everyone has to take at least one bad picture, and so I decided to stick up one of good old Tom where his head looks quite out of proportion.

There are plenty of other pictures of Tom looking silly, but I thought this one took the cake. I'm sure the inordinately large upper part of his cranium can be accounted for by his large brain. Hell the guy's a stud on and off the field, even if I could complete a pass with that offensive line, so please no mention that I'm taking a cheap shot. A celebrity or athlete that can't take criticism is akin to a recreational runner (a category I sometimes fall into) calling it quits the first time someone calls him a faggot. Also, the daily readership to this blog is probably less than Brady's net worth (in millions), so why should he care? One thing you won't find in the blog is me thinking anyone gives a shit about my opinions.

While it's commonplace for people like Tom to be photographed by absolute strangers, it happens far less often for me so I'm going to document the three or so times it has happened. Since the most recent occurrence was just about a week ago, I'll start there and then we can take it to back in the day. So there I was, walking through the streets of New York City on a Tuesday evening, when I came to a crosswalk where a lady had a video camera. Whenever people are taking photos or video I do my best not to get in the picture just because I know I'd appreciate it if they did the same for me. So that's exactly what I did as I noticed myself in her field of vision only, as I did so, the camera moved with me. I thought it was coincidence until I moved again and, again, so did the camera. Google might be videotaping me everywhere I go and my cell phone might be tracking my position with GPS, but strangers videotaping you, that is downright invasive.

The next most recent incident involves my running down the Charles River about two years ago on an unseasonably warm Christmas day. I just checked my running log as proof, showing the temperature at a balmy 48° which, in retrospect, was probably too cold to not be wearing a shirt. So the story. Not much. As I ran down the Chuck, a lady in a group of about five, with a video camera, took video of me as I ran by. The group had an air of foreign tourism, but I don't know how that is at all relevant or validates my choosing to tell this story.

The first incident I recall, could be the most boring yet, and took place in nearby Highland Park as I ran down Route 27. It was evening and I was again shirtless, although this time it was Jersey summer and thus actually balmy. As I ran into oncoming traffic to avoid a crowded sidewalk, a girl leaned out of her car to snap a shot. Yup, that's it. Once I started this idiocy, I figured I had to finish it.

Lastly I wanted to bring up the trend of combining words but I'm a bit too tired to do it justice. It really all started with an early episode of the OC that merged words to give us the interfaith holiday Chrismukkah. Now the OC may not have credited itself for inventing this word, but it did make me want to vomit the way it was eaten up, spawning Old Navy commercials and the like. Hell, since my childhood I'd been calling it Chanumas, which I think has a much smoother flow and, trust me, I never thought I was remotely clever for doing this. I should note that countless others likely came up with the same damn thing. Those recent AT&T commercials are what reminded me of the plague I had hoped had receded to simply the realms of gossip columns concerned with the goings on of Bennifer (one "n" or two), Brangelina, and the like. Damn, I said "and the like" again. Too tired to correct it. I wonder if people get exclusive rights for such idiocy. How about GwenGavin StefRoss for Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale since it sounds like Glengary Glenn Ross? I agree, sounds like shit. But I'll tell you right now, if Tom knocks up Gisele repeatedly, yielding a family of six (six pertaining to children/miniature humans, making for a total of eight if parents are to be included), I have full copyright of the term BradyBundchen (©Me 11/5/2007 1:35am).

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Things To Do In a Bathroom

No, this isn't going to be a list of pranks that can be played in a restroom, like dropping a cantaloupe in a public toilet from a height of four feet. It's not my intention to have this blog take on an entirely toilet-related tone, but a couple of things in this post may pertain to just that. As for one bathroom countertop activity, right on the heels of my "Blow" post, comes this news that Martina Hingis is retiring after testing positive for cocaine, a charge she doesn't want to spend time contesting. Martina contends in the article that she has only heard that cocaine produces feelings of euphoria. Then again there's also a quote saying "She's a great legend, one of the most well-liked players on the tour." From what I remember of Hingis' heyday she was a pretty big brat, and comments like the ones included here aren't helping her case. I'm not accusing her of actually having taken coke because frankly I could care less and I get enough nosebleeds as it is.

As I was getting set to take a train home after class the other night, I decided to stop and take a leak in Penn Staon rather than ruin my streak of never having used a New Jersey Transit [on-board] restroom. There was a surprisingly long line, with every urinal accounted for, two dudes about my age in front of me, and maybe a half dozen other schmos to my rear. Conventional wisdom and urinal etiquette told me that, as available urinals opened up, those at the front of the line would be given priority. Apparently not so. Not one, but three of the guys behind me simply cut in front to man recently vacated urinals, ahead of myself and the guy in front of me. Is it really going to ruin my day? No, but it is rude, and that's why I was hoping someone (which leaves myself and the other guy) would have had the gumption to simply urinate on the guy who'd snagged his stall and said, "Oh sorry, I didn't see you there." Alas no, but it was one of those classic bonding moments where you shrug your shoulders, shake your head, and give a knowing laugh to the other guy. And if you think pissing on a guy for this minor offense is excessive, remember I could have said, "Now you can have your cake and eat it to," to a man I'd pushed face down into a urinal.

Today I was gripped by that unmistakeable urge to relieve myself in the secondary fashion while at a Barnes and Noble at around noon. For whatever reason, I must have started a trend because, for a not so crowded store I quickly had the company of two other folks who, judging by aural signals had a more dire need than myself. I'm also always glad to hear the sounds of the preliminary flush and the ripping of toilet paper to place a protective layer; it makes me feel good to know I'm not the only person who might be a little neurotic.

Anyway, that's all I've got time for at the moment, but tomorrow I'll do my best to cover Tom Brady's oddly-proportioned head, the annoying trend of combining words, and a couple of weird instances of being videotaped or photographed. Also, don't forget to set your clocks back an hour at two am tomorrow. Does that mean bars are open one hour later? How did I only think of this loophole now? Regardless my old-ass laptop still operates on the assumption that last week still marked the return to standard time so I've been full of occasional false hope that I've been wasting one less hour a day than I really have been.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007


'Tis a loaded word and I'd love to do it justice, but first I should note this is what got me talking about blow for the moment. It's also an award-winning film which, regrettably I have yet to see, a great band when "the" is placed in front of it (sorry Jess), and a synonym/shortening of a specific act, referenced here (shout out Jon Kraus 2k6). Only the film and this newly proposed energy drink powder draw their inspiration from the product the term is most synonymous with, cocaine.

As near as I remember, and apparently correctly, they've already attempted once to market a Cocaine-inspired energy drink and as you can see from those three letters in front of "cocaine" on that link, it is also recently deceased. Of course, only the name is taking a rest, and even then, only in the United States. And for all that people are doing to fight the shit-eaters that came up with this brand, I think it's wrong to neglect the asshats who are drinking this shit. I admit I've partaken of the occasional energy drink (perhaps succumbed is more apt terminology), but adding an extra gimmick to the already gimmicky, and lucrative, energy drink business just rubs me the wrong way, kind of like the damp liner of running shorts against an inner thigh.

Anyone in need of the rousing benefit of energy drinks need go no further than a quick whiff of my running shorts. A quick note on running shorts for the less informed is that they contain a crepe liner, generally comfortable as all hell. Given that, many, though not all, persons tend to wear these products sans underpants. I fall into this category. However, when wearing your shorts for more than one run, factoring in the additional olfactory effrontery that is the daily accumulation of unwashed nether-regions, it makes for the kind of smell that could bring a puke sandwich to tears. Such was my discovery when I removed my shorts today pre-shower and, tempted by a fate akin to looking into a used tissue or an unflushed toilet bowl, I took a whiff. Sadly, even with my parents' Chemistry backgrounds I did not waft, and while we might all secretly enjoy the scent of our own farts, this pungent odor did not have the same endearing quality. Bottled up in true eau de toilette form, no human could safely succumb to slumber.

Returning briefly to the impetus for this posting, I really do wonder how long this product will last. For the moment at least, I'm kind of diggin' the crappy song and skanky chicks on the frontpage of their site. With double the taurine and triple the caffeine of Red Bull, identical proportions to the liquid cocaine, something tells me these boys might be in cahoots. What benefits do I get from the powder then? Well, you can mix it as strong as you like and get crazy fucked the way I used to on Tang. Of course, if I were to saturate "blow" to the levels I did Tang, my heart would actually explode (this link is vile and, from me, that is saying something). I say choose Tang. It's even available in a whopping 38 flavors. That's more than Baskin' Fucking Robbins! I don't even use exclamation points. And to think, I spent all these years thinking it was only available in orange. Wow, I'm about to run out and buy some Tang.

On an even tastier note, I just had some delicious home-made roti, which might have gone down even better than the Bills latest win. Anyway, all this talk of energy drinks has made me oddly tired. Happy Halloween…

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Technologically Retarded

For starters, my eyeballs ache. Secondly, my brother got all the technological know-how in the family. Between feeds, diggs, and, not to mention the new FriendFeed, my mind is ready to explode. I am such a crotchety old man set in my ways that I don't even want to employ any of these alleged time-saving devices which organize your favorite websites, notify you of updates, and tell you about all the sites your friends and family are checking out. These all come in addition to all the social networking sites which already allow you to share all sorts of information and the conventional linking route. Should I post it, share it, blog it, e-mail it…damnit I broke the rule of three. Sounds like bop it anyway. It could all have something to do with my inability to use time efficiently, but I also like to do things away from the computadore. Don't worry, that sentence didn't really express a clear thought, but I know what I mean. When I do hit up the interweb, I kind of enjoy wandering about aimlessly, stumbling from website to website. Besides, it's like phone numbers back before cell phones (less than two years if you're me): you had all the important ones memorized.

Still, I was glad to see the Borders next to Penn Station packed tonight. It's nice to know people still read things published on paper and that I scare/make them uneasy/maybe it was coincidence. Three separate times in only a fifteen minute span I would wander into a section and any other person there would immediately retreat.

Last thing. This guy, probably early twenties like myself, was calling in his dinner order on the train tonight, on his Motorola Q to be precise (not that it actually matters. If I had a crazy job, I guess I might be forced to get one too). He was trying to order a fish sandwich, but apparently there was some trouble with the connection. "Fish. F-I-S-H. No, fish, like…" only he couldn't think of an example (and neither can I at this moment) and so he said, "you know, like fish. Like, it's a fish, and you cook it, and you put it on a sandwich." I guess you had to be there, although the story still might suck. I'm sure he got the freshest tartar sauce around.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Recipe of the Month

Since I enjoy cooking, and sometimes baking (I looooove desserts) I thought that I should offer up what can be perhaps an ongoing thing: Recipe of the Month. This month's pick was easy. Sure I didn't actually test it out, but the title of the recipe says it all Grundle Chip Cookies! I hate exclamation points as a general rule, but that one seemed warranted. Also, in my bike collision the other day, though my shin seems to be a bit sore still, the real kicker was the grundle cramp I got. Those things can be downright treacherous. And even though I linked it, it's not my recipe, and I haven't even tried it, I've pasted it over anyway.

"The secret to this chocolate chip cookie's great texture is oat flour made out of regular oatmeal. Since it makes a large batch I usually freeze some of the dough in cookie-sized drops. The frozen cookies need to be baked about 2 minutes longer and seem to be even "grundlier" in texture and more chewy."

Original recipe yield: 4 dozen


* 2 cups all-purpose flour
* 1 teaspoon baking powder
* 1 teaspoon baking soda
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 2 1/2 cups rolled oats
* 1 cup butter, softened
* 1 cup white sugar
* 1 cup brown sugar
* 2 eggs
* 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
* 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
* 1 cup chopped pecans


1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Set aside. Process the rolled oats in a blender or food processor until almost powdered, combine with the sifted ingredients.
2. In a large bowl, cream together the butter, brown sugar and white sugar until smooth. Beat in the eggs one at a time then stir in the vanilla. Gradually stir in the dry ingredients until well blended. Fold in the chocolate chips and pecans. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet.
3. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes in the preheated oven. Allow cookies to cool on baking sheet for 5 minutes before removing to a wire rack to cool completely.

I'm skeptical about the pecans (I don't like them in things except salad; alone they are also tasty) and also a bit lost on what exactly a "grundlier" texture is. When I think of grundle…well…it's not exactly what I have in mind for a highly-palatable texture. Of course, to recipe contributor Lorelei - undoubtedly either the mother or daughter from Gilmore Girls - this might not be the case. I plan to whip up a batch if I have time Friday.

On my way to class tonight, I also happened to be interviewed by FUSE (eff youz) about the holidays since I have "sucker" written all over my face. I'm sure it won't air (indubitably a positive for all parties involved) but maybe tomorrow I will go through what I really should have said.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Burger Time: A Bizarre Sexual Parable

On the surface, Burger Time was an oddly devised early 1980s video game where you starred as a chef whose quest it was to assemble enormous burgers that happened to be set out in separate layers which you had to access by walking across platforms and ascending and descending ladders. A layer of sandwich is dropped when you manage to walk from one edge of the bun, meat, or vegetable to the other. Obviously there are certain tricks. If you step on the topmost layer, it will also knock down subsequent layers of sandwich below it. While you do this, you must escape the clutches of the evil hot dogs (henceforth referred to as weiners), sunny-side up eggs and, I believe, pickles, sliced ones. You may encounter further foes later, but I've only ever made it to the sixth stage. If you want to know more about Burger Time, you can play it here, or ask my old buddy Matt Moss, the gamemaster. Your only defense against wiley weiners, energetic eggs, and persistent pickles is their extreme mental impairment (read: inability to walk by a ladder without traveling up or down it) and a supply of pepper which can be replenished with, you didn't guess it, ice cream cones. More on this later.

A frightening artist rendition of the classic game, and proof those enemies were pickles.

Perhaps you can already see where I'm headed. First, I realize that parables are generally moral or religious and also a fable is more the place for inanimate objects, but I contend that the chef is the main character, and these outsiders mere symbols. So it's time to assess the thinly-veiled sexual undertones of Burger Time. Disregard the chef as a male character and take note of his pursuit by weiners (judging by the above photo, wrapped sausages is more poignant, i.e. a wrapped weenus), sliced pickles (i.e. circumcised weenI and pickles be salty), and sunny-side up eggs (i.e. fertile eggs, i.e. I'm already stretching it badly at this point). These obstacles come in the face of chef's attempt to complete his daily duties. His only defense against rape by egg, vegetable, and meat product is pepper, clearly pepper spray, which momentarily paralyzes these nemeses. The ladders represent the classes and social milieus through which chef must travel in his lifetime with later stages symbolizing the increased difficulty of rising to such heights as time bears on.

I know what you're thinking: I haven't said shit about the ice cream cones and, it seems like an honors-track middle schooler could have written this. Well, middle schoolers resent that. I'm sure they would do a better job than I have as I reach back to the high school education that taught me every novel has a Jesus figure and maybe something about the number seven in Beloved, a book I beloathed. As for the ice cream cones, well, who doesn't like ice cream. Clearly it symbolizes Ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, hence its ability to replenish your pepper, which bestows upon chef the power to paralyze, a god-like power.

If you want higher-level video game analysis and commentary, look no further than the Angry Video Game Nerd. He even drinks Rolling Rock.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Leave Preaching to the Church

Not that anyone e-mailed me about it or anything, but I decided that I've got to get a little less preachy in my posts. People need to keep in mind that I am rarely serious, even (perhaps especially) when I say I am. As a former History major I do tend to deal mostly in fact, but since facts are up to interpretation, shut up.

Take today for instance. Gorgeous day. I figured I would go for a bike ride down to the lovely Raritan towpath which, incidentally, I originally wanted to spell toe path, probably as two separate words, with a hyphen considered. I only bring it up since I'm generally (read: always) a stickler for spelling and slowly I struggle more and more to spell words like "the" (and in the interest of truthfulness, that is a mild case of hyperbole, which I've always wished were pronounced hyper-bowl). On the path, I thought I would go for a run. I did both of these things. While alcoholic beverages are prohibited, luckily for a lot of people they say nothing about porn because if you get near to where it intersects South Bound Brook, there's lots of porn and, surprise, beer cans near the creepy old train tracks going across the river. Sometimes when I ran that far I would stop and grab a few sips from a can to rehydrate and take a look at a few high-gloss photos for inspiration. Once before I had surgery I decided to bike all the way to around Princeton, about sixty miles round trip for me, and at least forty miles more than I'd ever biked. In some ways it went poorly, but that's for another time. I've got lots of mediocre towpath stories for a rainy day.

So right, interpretation of facts, what is fact, the acknowledgement that I only recieved a B in my one introductory Philosophy course (where I earned a B+ and my lilly-livered self never took the initiative to rectify it and while not exactly bitter I still think about it), etc. I don't know why I put in et cetera, I kind of hate that shit. So right, as I'm biking back after a nice stretch (literal stretching of muscles) that really wasn't particularly nice, I get to the outskirts of Johnson Park(where I still have yet to visit Olde Towne) and I'm just about to exit onto River Road, where I spy a Mexican guy with his two kids. I know what you're thinking, why did I mention they were Mexican? Well it's because they weren't white or any other race. Actually, I just needed at least one adjective so spice up that sentence, but really it could be the first reason.

So I'm biking towards them at no great rate and the one kid, who had made eye contact with me, I swear, makes a spin move right in front of me so that his back is facing me, not more than two feet away. I had nowhere to swerve so I jabbed the breaks and rolled right onto this child of probably seven, knocking him slow-motion to the ground, while trying to toss my bike so it wouldn't land on him (tire prints are sooo Spring) and, in the process, slammed it into my already brittle shin (they're both brittle, but it only hit one). Luckily the kid was fine and here's why I really mentioned they were Mexican - I knew they were here illegally and had I really hurt the kid they wouldn't press charges. That's not true. It was actually because the father didn't speak much English so when I apologized (it might not have been much of my fault, but I still knocked the kid down, and it takes two people to have an accident in these kinds of situations), all he said in response was "Ees s'okay," repeatedly, with one of the winningest smiles I've ever seen. What the hell does that have to do with these people being Mexican? Nothing, I really only used to as an adjective, like I said, but people love to read into these things. What the hell does any of this have to do with interpretation? Well, you know, whose fault the accident was, you know. Thankfully I'm in good hands with All-State and like a good neighbor State Farm was there, except I don't have All-State, and where the Hell was State Farm when someone robbed my house on Christmas? I know the answer to that last part, and it is: changing my deductable to $500 so that when I had ~$470 worth of things stolen at college, they wouldn't have to cover anything. Then they called my health insurance to tell them not to pay for one of thirteen things tested for on a blood test. But back to facts, if I hadn't hit my shin, I'd count my little smashup a totally winning experience.

Speaking of winning experiences: The Buffalo Bills finally won again this afternoon. For as dinged up as they are, the Bills, were they any other team in the NFL, would be 4-2 right now. But such is Bills' luck that, with time running down in Dallas, an onside kick gets touched at exactly the ten-yard minimum, and too much time is put back on the clock after a booth-reviewed play. But that was a fortnight ago. Today the Bills were winners.

One last plug for winners goes to Bob Chiapetta, the equipment guy at my alma mater. All I know is, Bob always had a grungy towel fresh from the boiling laundry pot for me that would never fit around even my small to medium-sized frame. Nor did he blink the time I returned twenty-one towels. Good guy.

Time to go focus more on this Sox-Indians game.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

NJ Transit: Ride in Style

Coming back from class tonight I had the privilege of riding on one of NJ Transits new double-decker affairs. I don't actually know how new they are as this is the second one I have ridden on. Still, the first was on Monday, so we aren't talking any great length of time here. When I went to get on the train the first time I really thought I might have been on the wrong train. It was pristine and it waited at the station for a hell of a long time considering it was an intermediate, not high volume, station. I opted to sit on the nearly subterranean level (more like subtrackanean since the track is raised up but you get the idea). A quick google search just now shows me I am waaay out of the loop as apparently this guy caught the inaugural ride on December 11, 2006. But like the old NBC rerun mantra goes: if you haven't seen it, it's new to you. On this second ride, I was really hoping to sit up top just for some form of comparison but, alas, impatience won out and I just took the lower-level.

And rather than continuing on about boring trains that I'm out of the loop on, how about musical elitists. I never get tired of these people. Sometimes I think I used to be one of these people, and then I remember I listened to Good Charlotte and Blink182. "What, those are my favorite bands," I can hear you saying. Hey, I'll still pop them in for a listen. I tossed on some Blink to clean my room as recently as the last couple of weeks. I can remember the time I spilled the cup of…shut up. And I'd still rather hear The Anthem than read Anthem. The point is there really is nothing wrong with this type of music. The fact that I struggle to say the same for bands like Slipknot and even a large volume of elsewhere beloved country music just goes to show that, to someone, I probably am a musical elitist. There is a distinction between music I don't like and music that actually sucks, but I am not about to make it.

Still, I'm not the type of people I'm talking about. I'm talking about the people whose playlist includes Radiohead as the only band you've ever heard of. These people constantly have to be on the cutting edge. Shit, that's what I have friends for. Without my friends I wouldn't know shit about shit, and I still don't, but at least sometimes I can track down a good song or album. And because I basically haven't listened to the radio since coming back from Hawaii, Soulja Boy is still a novelty to me. Fox seemed pretty slick for rockin' it during highlights of last Sunday's Giants/Jets game but, then again, Monday Night Football blasted Maroon 5's Harder to Breathe back in the day. What the fuck am I getting at? As with many things in life, music is never good just because you say so.

Band discovery is always a topic of much contention. I won't deny that my parade has been piddled on in the past when people tell me how awesome a band I've known of for years is, or when someone I despise happens to have similar music tastes to my won, but for a full-blown elitist this is a diarrhea shitstorm with corn niblets everywhere. Don't even get me started on the idea I like to call retro where it still might be cool for an elitist to look Justin Timberlake (and hey, sometimes I like him). And since I'm bordering dangerously on both my bedtime and making sweeping, mostly unfounded generalizations about indie rock and hipsters among other things, I'm pulling my own mic.

Quickly then, a word from myspace user Barcoder via google search of "musical elitist:"

I don't think there is anything wrong with being a musical elitist. In fact, I think it's wholly desirable. It shows a natural progression/evolution of one's musical taste leading to the will to defend that which you have taken the time to acquire.

Take the average popular drivel that is played on the radio stations. I used to love that shit when I was 9. But i'm above that now. Some people, however, will still be eagerly lapping up that nauseating, mind-rape dreck when they're in there 50's and onwards. Sure, not everyone takes music as seriously as I, and are therefore less likely to progress musically as a result. But some people do love music and are spiritually satisfied by pop. I'm more intelligent than them. End of.

Don't deny your musical elitism. Revel in it. Just don't persecute those who have musical tastes different to your own. Unless they like The Scissor Sisters cover of "Comfortably Numb". In which case make it look like like suicide.

Where we differ is that, to me, implicit in being an elitist of the musical variety is precisely to "persecute those who have musical tastes different to your own." Go laugh about Dashboard while I cry listening to it (note: this is exaggeration. I am not saying I have not and do not cry, but I do not cry listening to Dashboard). In conclusion then, opinions are like assholes: everybody has one; and my opinion is that your opinion is wrong. Honestly though, I'll bet there are people out there who don't have assholes. Don't worry though, I hear their lives are a lot less shitty than our own.

Monday, October 15, 2007

[B]Links and Buttholes

Recently I decided to go ahead and finally add links to my blog. This is a fairly common practice by bloggers and websites of most any sort for that matter, but in the past I'd strayed from it, mostly because I don't really go to all that many websites. I won't deny that there are those occasions on which I piss away gross amounts of time on the internet, but the sad truth is I only really check about four websites. So why are there already five links, with surely more to follow? I don't know either. The fact is, I only check two of those sites regularly: Wikipedia and ThreeQ. That being said, I almost never go directly to wikipedia, opting almost uniformly to google something and then select the wiki entry, which ends up generally in the first couple of search results. Why I do this, again, I have little explanation. Sites like TMZ and Perez Hilton, same thing holds true. Periodically I hear a rumor about some celebrity, google it, and end up with a TMZ or Perez entry as a top search result. From there I go on to read any manner of crap from these and many other sites, wasting copious quantities of time and gleaning little in the way of actualy useful knowledge, but rarely at a loss for celebrity slip-ups. Still, by visiting such sites bi-weekly at best, it's amazing the kinds of gossip you can miss. Don't talk to me for two weeks, and you probably only miss four or so boxes of cereal and about thirty-one bowel movements.

The next thing I wanted to address concerns noted sex educator Sue Johanson. Last night I happened to catch a chunk of her show Talk Sex With Sue Johanson which, yes, is on Oxygen, the network for women. I'm happy to note their lineup also includes Xena: Warrior Princess starring good old Lucy Bra-less. Since I never had cable at home, I actually used to watch Xena sometimes, though it didn't have crap on the Hercules show from which it spawned.

Getting back to Sue, then, the format of her show involves viewers calling in to ask Sue any manner of question they have regarding sex. It quickly became evident that there is no call screener for stupidity level of question, but it does drive home a good point: sex education is not as superfluous as a lot of people might like to assume. My favorite question, then, came from, I believe, Tammy in Ohio, with runner up going to another Tammy, this one from Florida. I'd heard some pretty inane things on lovelines back in the day with Adam Corolla, but these may have taken the cake. Tammy II (that is, Tammy from Florida) detailed how she and her boyfriend liked to incorporate eating into their sex life and asked for information on the feasibility of using chocolate syrup and peanut butter in the box realm. True to form, Sue didn't flinch and addressed the effect the syrup in particular would have on the pH, but unfortunately I missed the reasoning behind the shortcomings of, in particular, crunchy peanut butter.

Of course, it's easy to not flinch at a question like that when Original Tammy starts out asking "can you get AIDs from anal sex in the butthole." Well Tammy, where else exactly did you plan on having anal sex? When Sue went on to ask if Tammy's fiance had ever been a drug user, Tammy responded in the affirmative. When Sue then advised a condom always be used Tammy replied that "condoms are expensive…what about saran wrap?" I want so bad for this to be funnier than it is sad…

So to get back to humor quickly before I close things out, let's talk Lance Armstrong. I'll admit I was never a Lance fan, but after just reading his autobiography, It's Not About the Bike, that really changed. Armstrong famously battled cancer to go on to win a record seven straight Tour de France victories. But what could very well be the most miraculous aspect of Lance's life is Sheryl Crowe's explanation for why their relationship ended. Apparently she had no idea that Lance's treatment for, and recovery from, testicular cancer, just might have left him sterile. Poor Sheryl, she just wanted to soak up a son…

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Not Cynical At All

We all know the cliched tale of the gold digger, but I think this posting from craigslist takes the cake. I intended to link to the post at craiglist directly but it's been removed, so I'll copy and paste it here. This news is at least four or five days old, but I'm not here for up-to-the-minute updates. Anyway, here is the ad and the wonderful response that ensued.

What am I doing wrong?

Okay, I’m tired of beating around the bush. I’m a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I’m articulate and classy.
I’m not from New York . I’m looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don’t think I’m overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won’t get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she’s not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms

-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won’t hurt my feelings

-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I’m 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I’ve seen really ‘plain jane’ boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I’ve seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What’s the story there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I’m putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I’m being up front about it. I wouldn’t be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn’t able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 432279810

Dear Pers-431649184:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament.
Firstly, I’m not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here’s how I see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here’s why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here’s the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity…in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won’t be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you’re 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold…hence the rub…marriage. It doesn’t make good business sense to “buy you” (which is what you’re asking) so I’d rather lease. In case you think I’m being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It’s as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as “articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful”
as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn’t found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn’t need to have this difficult conversation.

With all that said, I must say you’re going about it the right way.
Classic “pump and dump.”
I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

Back to cutting my own hair…

Dane [Can't] Cook

In the past few days I've had a whole mess of things I'd intended to bring up but as with my usual ways, I somehow managed to be doing nothing else and not get around to it. Marion Jones is one of those issues, but I feel as if that topic is being covered well enough that I need not post any link. As a track nerd I had an early beat on it, but that has been squandered. Also in sports - which I am pretty sure I have already pledged to talk about less in this blog, a pledge I will recind so that I can avoid restating it and risking any hypocritical labels - the Buffalo Bills. It was a rough Monday night last night and it wasn't just from all the ziti, chili cheese fries, chicken wings, and even a few brews (violating the palatable "rule of threes" in list-making, which also corresponds to joke telling). A long time Bills fan, last night was business as usual. The boys in blue looked like they were doing everything right, but even after five interceptions the Cowboys believed in Tony Romo.

So now back to my originally intended content. Dane Cook. I'd heard of the guy; I even think I caught a few minutes of his act on Letterman, Conan, or Leno, I honestly don't remember which. This was a while back. Subsequently he made Waiting, which I didn't realize goes all the way back to 2005. I never saw the film and I don't remember the stand-up, but I did note Dane's increasing popularity over the years. He's currently in some film, alongside Jessica Alba and I refuse to go look up the name despite the fact that it can't take longer than about twelve seconds. Ads for this film plus a spot as spokesperson for the mlb playoffs (aided by his affiliation to Boston) are what really got me thinking: who actually likes Dane, and why?

My only other Dane Cook experience was at a bar in New Brunswick sometime last year. I even recall the bar, the wonderful Golden Rail or G-Rail if you went to Rutgers or have a penchant for abbreviating things. I will say for the G-Rail that they offer pretty cheap drink specials on popular college drinking nights. That said, some waitress was attempting to sell my friend and I promotional shots of some disgusting variety, the kind of shots you would buy for a girl, but only a really slutty girl, probably who is teetering on the edge (the edge of what exactly, you can decide), but I don't know because I don't buy girls drinks. I think they were watermelon flavored. Point being, after I made some inane comments it prompted said waitress to ask if I was a Dane Cook fan and, after some other banter, whisper "taste the rainbow" in my ear. That settled it: I would be buying no shots from this skank (generalization based on circumstancial evidence and hearsay).

This weekend, then, I decided to watch the HBO on demand broadcast of Dane Cook's "Vicious Circle" with my girlfriend where, after much fast-forwarding, I heard the line from above. Unfortunately (fortunately) I don't recall any of the context. What I do recall was Dane's pants being so tight, his movements around the stage freaked me the fuck out. That and his energy was so high the whole time and his build-ups so long that there was, for me, no punch in any punchline. I also had no patience for his shitty little laugh when his ego was tickled (often).

I am pretty sure I actually didn't laugh once during the entire show which, as I said, I fast-forwarded liberally. But as with most things I intensely dislike, I am never the only one of my kind. On the Wiki page for Dane linked above, not only did it inform me that Dane is no spring chicken at 37, but that he is reviled by many, especially others of his trade, several of whom he is more than alleged to have stolen from. I won't be the first and I won't be the last to say it but, "Fuck you Dane. You are a hack." Carlos Mencia might be funnier.

On the bright side, if you are looking for largely comic genius (until the front row insults segment) D.L. Hughley's Unapologetic is pretty damned hilarious.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Pour Hot McDonald's Coffee On My Crotch

It's an open invitation, really it is. What really brought it to mind was the news that Anucha Browne Saunders won her sexual harassment suit. I'm not saying she wasn't sexually harassed, in spite of her hideous appearance, and I'm not trying to condone sexual harassment as a practice, I'm just saying $11.6 million is a lot of food. The fact that this lady was earning $260,000 before she was fired, or whatever the precise circumstances are, alarmed me as well.

In the article, Browne-Saunders alleges that "it isn't about the money." I understand, it's a principle thing, so how exactly does $11.6 million get picked out of a hat? Don't the people on the jury kind of think, "Holy shit, that's a truckload of bills, especially for someone already earning $260,000 a year prior to termination of employment?" I would hope they would use those exact words. Exorbitant settlement fees of course bring to mind the McDonald's coffee case. There is a more thorough rundown on Wikipedia but, for some reason, I seemed unable to link to it (perhaps disallowed). A detailed review makes it seem much less ridiculous than media originally would have you believe. This was not the first or last time McDonald's was sued in coffee burn-related incidents. Still, while McDonald's coffee might burn you slightly faster than competitor's brands, I struggle to find fault on this issue with a corporation I don't generally support (aside from chicken nuggets). After all, if I brewed a cup of coffee at my own house and spilled it on my crotch, who do I get to sue?

In more important news I hope to finally call it quits on Ben and Jerry's ice cream. I routinely used to talk shit about it and contend that I find Edy's much tastier, but that doesn't stop me from periodic BJ purchases. Take for instance, the other evening. Slightly inebriated, having consumed some delicious fried chicken and french fries (from a KENNEDY Fried Chicken), I sought out a sugary conclusion to my meal. I opted for Ben and Jerry's S'mores, the artist formerly known as Marsha Marsha Marshmallow. Not only did I have the same problem I always do - ice cream is the wrong consistency, harder than needed for optimal spooning - I just didn't find it particularly flavorful. Stand me in a BJ's shop and I'll delightedly eat it by the scoop, but I contend they just can't cut it in the pre-packaged market. And I still might try to eat a Vermonster solo. It doesn't matter what I think, though, because almost everyone else seems to reach for the Ben and Jerry's or, I should say, Unilever's. Maybe it is just Unilever's fault, who knows. I also had fond memories of Breyer's (Unilever owns them too, though I am not sure how long that has been the case) ice cream, only to find it grossly sub-par upon my last few tastings. The only solution is, at some point, to have a blind taste-testing. Choosing a consensus flavor, however, may prove difficult. In the meantime I really wish Good Humor would bring back the Fat Frog. Maybe they were terrible? Maybe I was five years old the last time I had one. Maybe desserts just taste better in frog form.

Friday, September 28, 2007

David Beckham

Late Sunday night (technically early Monday morning) I happened to catch the last half of a BBC special on Victoria Beckham and her unhealthy look and obvious boobjob, and inevitably it meant mention of her husband, super-stud David Beckham. That reminded me of a discovery I'd made a little while back that I'm surprised I hadn't divulged yet. Before I do, some pertinent photos to see if you can spot the real Beckham.

Wembley Backdrop

Press Conference

Fresh Threads

Well, what's the verdict? Actually, only the middle man is the man affectionately deemed Becks, with the other two being Paul Mansley, one of two celebrity personators for hire as David Beckham over at this place. I suppose people have been making careers out of being impersonators for years and I never really thought about it, but somehow when you read the profiles of Paul or Andy they seem to have done advertising work for major companies like Coca-Cola and Vodaphone which seems as if it ought to be illegal. Sure celebrities often endorse products they would never use, but shouldn't it be up to them to compromise their integrity, not their impersonators?

Anyway, interesting to note that none of the look-alikes I took a quick gander at in the top celebrity listing really looked much like the true celebrity except for maybe this Sam Brown character. Time for some z's.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Life's Struggles

One thing I try to keep a handle on no matter my own complaints are those everyday struggles for everyone else. Not too many people get to say hakuna matata. What made me think of it was one of my neighbors who just now was yelling for some wipes because his kid had just written all over the back door and the siding. But it's nothing new, Brian is always yelling for some reason or another, he just happens to be home for sukkos on this sunny afternoon. Judging by yells, he has three children. Rachel was getting it good today, "Rachel, I need the wipes now!" "Are these the Clorox wipes? I told you to bring the clorox ones. I need the Clorox ones!" I think Rachel is all of five. "It's not coming off!" Apparently disaster was averted as he seems to have shut the fuck up. But Brian is otherwise outwardly successful. Big house in a nice neighborhood with three children I have never heard speak but only heard bellowed at. Maybe I need to start getting pissed about meaningless shit. But I guess I do anyway…

For instance, we've got this Squeeze list of the 25 ugliest celebrities. Everyone's got opinions. Opinions are great. That's why I keep this blog. Maybe. Anyway, it's not that I got pissed about this list, I just feel it could be a whole lot better. The quick write-ups for each celeb are a hint funny, but to me they are trying too hard. See, opinion. To me it wasn't all bad; a couple of those facial matches were dead on.

Anyway, I'm alleging to be busy lately so we'll call that a post. Last tidbit, J. Lo is preggers. And Marc Anthony, I think, could have made that ugliest celebrities list ahead of a couple of folks on there. To each his own…

And look, I said I was done, but check this out. It's an article about the English practice of "flipping" whereby houses are turned over for profit, often even before the initial sale is finalized. I'm sure the Americans have another term for it which doesn't sound nearly as cool. Lots of things sound cooler across the pond…like getting to say "great flipping wads of cash." I guess I'm a bit of an anglophile in some regards, but that's allowed because I'm a dual-citizen, right?

Friday, September 21, 2007

Yom Kippur

It's the day of atonement for Jews and while I was not brought up religiously, I've been fasting on this day since age twelve, with a couple of violations while in college, and maybe another this year. Surely I have things to atone for, but the fact remains that I am just not all that religious of a guy. If I were, I wouldn't be writing this post right now because one thing you don't do on Yom Kippur is post crap on the internet. Last year on opening night of Yom Kippur I witnessed a panther morph into a man with a briefcase strongly resembling one of those nineteenth century medical bags. Right before that I thought I saw a ghost. I got that horrible nape of your neck tingling. I swear I am not making this up.

So religion, right. Well, I saw Jesus Camp and it scared me. I realize that it's not exactly objective, but what is? If you want objective, type blogpsot into your browser bar the next time you are entering the url for a blogger-based blog. "P" before the "s." How those boys got the monopoly on all the dyslexic attempts to type blogspot is beyond my technical know-how. What I should have said was, "How all those guys got their hands on little boys…" but I digress. Anyway, it's not as if I formed my opinions about Evangelism, or religion in general, on the basis of one film. I actually freely admit to not being nearly enough of a scholar when it comes to religion. Religious freedom I am all for, just don't push your politics on me, pal. As proof of my benign feelings toward religion (save, perhaps, Scientology, and some other obscure ones I'm sure I've missed the boat on) I once bought homemade root beer from the back porch of an Amish teenager. I even purport to have enjoyed it, despite it being warm, what with it being the summer and the Amish not really buying into the whole electricity thing. Also, I don't know why I said purport. I think I've even used it once prior on this blog, but probably never before that. It's fascinating how these words enter your lexicon.

Another Amish related thing I loved was Witness with Harrison Ford. Sweet movie. To this day I more easily recall the lyrics to Weird Al's Amish Paradise than I do Coolio's Gangsta's Paradise. Also, for whatever reason, Amish country is loaded with outlet stores. It's sad to me that this is used as a lure, when the Smörgåsbords alone should be enough of a draw. Sadder still is that I purchased these at the Nike outlet in Lancaster, proof that I was a total boob. Still, they were sweet kicks.

Interestingly enough, I think I would be allowed to wear those shoes on Yom Kippur, as they contain no leather. The following are the five main prohibitions of Yom Kippur, lifted from the Wiki article linked above:

1. Eating and drinking

2. Wearing leather shoes

3. Bathing/washing

4. Anointing oneself with perfumes or lotions

5. Marital relations

It is likely that these have been arbitrarily ordered. Otherwise it is pretty funny to think that wearing leather shoes is a greater violation than "marital relations." Clearly that term refers to yelling at one another, making BLT's for the kids, and getting divorced. The BLT's are actually prohibited year-round due to their containing chazzer, one of my favorite Yiddish words, although not as cool as "chazzerai," a term often used by my father to describe a generalized bloc of humans of whom his opinion was decidedly low.

And that's a rap…

Reel Big Fish

One time this lady referred to me as looking like Oscar de la Hoya. At the time I assumed it was supposed to be a compliment, now I'm not so sure. Keep in mind that that link is frightening and probably NSFW as they like to say.

I started taking some classes just the other day with the aim of getting a start in advertising. I'd long joked about getting involved in the industry by writing letters to all of my favorite companies (Kellogg's, then General Mills, and probably Edy's/Dreyer's could go on there, with a hint of McCain Ellio's) containing perhaps some catchy jingles. See, I figured, I like their products, and I am a corny punmaster, so it's sort of a match made somewhere other than type of deal. Sadly it's not that easy and so I'm in the process of deciding if I want to really get into this stuff. I mean, I have this little thing where I can't really deal with pretentiousness of the sort I tend to detect here. That is the school at Wieden and Kennedy, which is a fairly legit advertising firm as these things go. I just wonder, on the off chance that I were ever hired by a company of their style, nevermind standing, if I have enough enamel left to grit my teeth and not punch everyone in the face. That's one of the downsides of being a hateful bastard, it really is.

But I promise I'm not that hateful all the time, just sometimes, like when I am trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life and all the options aside from Thugz Mansion seem pretty grim. Maybe since the hour is somewhat late, this sappy acoustic version seems a little more fitting.

And remember, if Oscar is any indication, be wary of what success might do to you…

Monday, September 17, 2007

I Don't Care About the Emmy's

Probably since the eighth grade, when I made continual Simpsons references, people have been assuming I watch a lot of television. This never was, and continues not to be, the case. The simple fact was that I had, and have, a high retention rate for what I do watch. This includes ads for television shows I've never actually seen. If you pay reasonable attention to these alone, you'll end up with a pretty good idea of what's going on. That said, these days I have a hard time watching any programs on a routine basis. I avoided Lost for a long time, and after catching up on the first two seasons, I committed myself to the third. Unfortunately it seems doomed to the same fate of many television series: carry on for one to five seasons too many. Nothing beats a dead horse like the entertainment industry. I don't actually remember how many Friday the Thirteenth films were created, but at least ten, to go along with six or so Nightmares on Elm Street, and a collaboration picture. If a film is called Final Destination, doesn't the title suggest that it is the last one? I know what the premise is, I saw the film, and part of the third, but stay with me while I bitch. It's the horror and scary film variety where they seem to delight most in this practice and thankfully they did decide that no one cares what these kids did last summer any more.

I'm really only scratching the surface here, but I am going to return to television since my original point was to reference last night's Emmy Awards. No, I didn't watch them, but yes I watched part of Access Hollywood while I washed the dishes before eating dinner, which obviously focused on the Emmy's. Among the winners was Katherine Heigl of Grey's Anatomy. Heigl's real claim to fame is being my celebrity bizarro according to Count it. Grey's joined Lost as the only shows I managed to keep up with last season, with both perhaps to be removed soon. Maybe it says something about me as a person, but after a while I just don't care anymore. The first 1.5 seasons of Grey's I was an avid fan, going so far as to be that annoying guy talking it up to his friends, but if last season is any indication, it plans to leave the McShitty path well-trodden. Lost is looking better, but not by much. I was once a huge X-Files fan, but Lost looks as if they're going to make the same mistake, and stretch out the conspiracy and puzzle a little (or a lot) too long. There's a fine line between suspense and "frankly I don't give a shit any more." I'm just hoping these two ABC shows will call it quits soon and keep the quality high.

But it's always easy to be the critic and, as usual, all of these folks are smiling on their way to the bank. I just hope that a couple will try to maintain some integrity and not milk their show for all it's worth or, if not, maybe leave their atm card behind like people keep doing when I am in the bank. Plus, for all of my orneriness surrounding TV shows, a lot has to do with my mood when I first see an episode. Also, the syndication of shows is brilliant, as I became a fan of The King Of Queens and yes, even the occasional Friends viewing, while watching re-runs. That said, a short list of shows that I kind of like, those that I'll probably watch, and those that are likely to be well-rated on the Nielsen scale (translation: I don't really like). No one is likely to give a shit, so good thing this is my blog.

Kind of Like:
Everybody Hates Chris: Finally saw a couple of episodes. Likable show.
Tell Me You Love Me: I don't have HBO, but if I did I would watch this. Depressing meets softcore porn.
Top Chef: I hate Padma. I think that's her name. I haven't seen it in a while, but if Casey wins I'll be pissed.
House: Never get to watch it, but I've always been a big Hugh Laurie fan. Great comedian, and apparently can do drama.
Boston Legal: Never watch this either, and it's pretty weird, but also pretty damn good. Dig Past-tense-of-shit-ner.
The Office: Steve Carrell is amazing, John Krasinski is just so likable, and the guy that plays Dwight is hilarious. Actually, everyone on this show is pretty damn good.
My Name is Earl: Hard to lose with Jason Lee, at least if it's Mallrats or Mumford, or even this show sometimes.

Watch List:
These shows I like less, but am probably likely to watch more. Doesn't make sense to me either.
Lost: How much longer will I stay tuned in, I can't say. I followed the OC to it's poopie end. History could repeat itsself.
Grey's Anatomy: See Lost. They might have to banish the title character.
Las Vegas: I'm not going to watch it, but I figured it fits more here than on my like list.
The Hills: If you have a tv with MTV and it's raining, let the rain fall…
Laguna Beach I think it's called Newport Beach now, or something to that effect, and the above lyrics apply here. Watching these kids makes me want to stab myself in the brain. As above, will watch if in front of an MTV-equipped television.

Nielsen Champs:
Actually Lost and Grey's probably apply, but I sort of like them.
Heroes: Intrigued at first, but didn't grab me. I wish they would just bring back the X-men cartoon from the 90s. Once overheard a guy in a Dunkin Donuts saying, "What am I gonna do tonight? Heroes isn't on." Maybe what you did before the show existed.
CSI: Certainly dig this show, but I fear they're running out of cool story lines.
Desperate Housewives: I think this show gets high ratings. Watched about eleven seconds once. No thanks.
Deal or No Deal: I also think this show gets high ratings. Yet to see it. Howie looks scary. Heard they might bring back Bobby's World.
Survivor: CBS. I have always hated this show.
The Amazing Race: I really just have a hard time watching shows on CBS.
Two and a Half Men: Allegedly the top-rated comedy. Again, CBS. People think this show is funny? See also: Everybody Loves Raymond.
American Idol: Simon Cowell is one rich man.

And that's where I have to call it a day. I've realized my compiled lists are pretty shoddy, and don't follow any sort of real guidelines, and that there are an awful lot of shows I have, and will leave out. Also, I don't know why they made a whole television show based around the Geico cavemen, where the premise of the humor is based around quick, one-liner-esque and non-sequitur humor. A final prediction is that whatever network and individuals created Kid Nation should be sent directly to Hell. Oh wait, surprise, it's CBS. I swear I'm not really a negative, hateful, bastard of a man.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Public Opinion

I got a couple of e-mails concerning my last post, the jist of it being what I already know: don't bother with the serious shit. Isn't that what my blog description says? That I am here to cover the nonsense? One bit of nonsense that always confounds me is the battery flip trick. You know what I'm talking about, where the remote control to whatever device it is you're trying to operate isn't functioning and you sure as hell don't want to get up to find fresh batteries, which you probably don't have anyway, so you just pop out the existing ones and alternate what position each was in. Close up the back and voila, everything is peachy again. I know there is some form of scientific reasoning behind this, and I'm sure I could find it out with a bit of simple googling, but isn't a lot of the fun of magic believing that there is such a thing?

Magic, maybe it's what the Patriots seemed to have during the course of their three Super Bowl victories in four years, or maybe it was just cheating. As a long time non-fan of the Patriots, I hate to say I am rooting for the latter. Football is a sport that I think requires more coaching than any other. Actually, there probably can't really be any question there. The complicated offensive and defensive schemes, knowledge of all the rules…I'm always impressed at all the work that goes into it, even for the crap teams, for that just accentuates how good the good coaches really are. Whether or not the videotaping scandal turns out to be true, and I am thinking it probably is, I still think Bill Belichick is an amazing coach. That doesn't mean I like him, or the Patriots, and I promise that isn't influenced by the fact that his daughter moved her seat in class when I sat next to her one day in a French History course. Did I smell or something?

Anyway, I just wanted to throw in a quick post to change the tone from the last one. I'll try to cut down on the sports too, which should be easy since I am so out of the loop on sports anyway. Happy New Year to all my fellow half (fake) Jews, and Shana Tova to the real ones. Blow on that shofar for me.

Bill cheating in more than sports?

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Sometimes Serious

Without a doubt, I like to spend a good quantity of my time joking around. When you do this, there is always the problem of not only establishing a line for yourself, but being able to determine the line that others have. It doesn't so much matter if it's their own line or one created by what popular culture deems an appropriate line, the line is still there. Reader discretion is advised. But just as it is easy to take things too seriously, it is also easy to not take things seriously enough. Probably no one ever comes out perfectly, but with a little tact, riding the middle ground is generally possible.

When I read about a shooting at Menlo Park Mall, then, I decided to take a step back from my mock serious manner and be a tad more serious for a change. I've lived in Edison, New Jersey, on and off, for the better part of twenty-four years and while it is voted one of the twenty-five safest cities, what does that really mean anyway? Periodically shit goes down here, just as it would anywhere else. My house has been robbed, a lady around the corner from me was raped in broad daylight, people have had their asses kicked, here and there is a homicide victim or transgressor, be they within the township boundaries or not. I even recall a time I was riding my bike as an eight year-old and for no reason a youth of probably age fifteen or so walked up and smacked me hard across the face. Amidst that, the closest I've felt to unsafe was probably in the eerie silence of the AM while doing lengthy runs back in the day. If you were to think of every possible scenario in which something might happen to you, you'd spend your days locked in a room, paralyzed by fear, and you're not necessarily any safer there. A fire can start, you could have a heart attack, an aneurysm, or any number of things. All of those possibilities sound rather remote, and that's because they are. In general, people feel safer in a car than on a plane because they are in control, even though statistics show far greater incidents of death and injury in automobile accidents than those attributed to aviation.

The most important part of the story on the Menlo shooting, that I could see, was the comment section. So many people commented that they would no longer be going to the mall, or would be barring their children from hanging out there. Why? Does the fact that you now feel that the mall is unsafe make it any less safe? Wouldn't that be like no longer driving on any road where there had been an accident? Perhaps there is a difference, but not as much as one might think. And I can guarantee you'd have a hell of a time articulating that difference. Is there really a greater chance something might happen to you at the mall now because that happened to be where an unfortunate young woman was working when a troubled young man decided to act on his emotions? And the media doesn't help. What they choose to show or report heavily dictates public opinion and action to an unhealthy degree. Just because you saw it on the news or read it in the paper does not make it true, and it certainly doesn't make it any more important…it can often simply be what the media perceives to be important and thus focuses on in the hopes of ratings. I'm erring on the side of an extremist and conspiratorial bend here, but I am a firm believer in measured confidence. I'm not saying trust no one, I'm just saying don't trust everyone. The margarine and butter substitutes once reported to be much healthier than butter are these days, before reformulation, known to be chock full of public enemy number one: trans fat. The truth is out there, but the research isn't always.

And now because I was serious and slightly crazy there for a bit, I have to go ahead and attack other comment leavers to that article. I think my personal favorite was a user under the handle "centralnj27." I believe the premise was location followed by IQ. Centralnj27 reports to have been at the Fox and Hound when the incident took place, but rather than speak for him I have copied and pasted his first comment:

I was at the Fox and Hound(for those of you who don't know it's a bar connected to the mall at the Macy's end) at the time the shooting occured and for most of the night. Around 9ish word trickled around that there had been a shooting in the mall but no one really knew it was definite or what the details were until later in the night. Rumors were going around that the mall was put on lockdown.(not sure if this is true) I'm very very disappointed that at the time of the shooting there was no security or police that came around the area to be stationed for protection. People were saying it was an isolated incident but as soon as it happened, who knew that? There easily could have been a 2nd gunman somewhere wandering around and with a packed bar watching the rutgers game, it would have been open season if someone came over there. You would think the mall security would have some kind of crisis management system but apparently I guess that does not include the Fox and Hound. On most nights during the week, you'll see 2 Edison cop cars parked next to eachother on the sidewalk by the Fox talking to eachother for about 30-60 minutes at a time, but yet why wasn't anyone hanging around there last night?

The patron complains that no police or security arrived to be stationed for protection. He purports to have had worries of a second gunman, which "would have been open season" if he/she chose the bar as their next target. What if the second gunman had been in the Apple Store? There are a lot of possibilities of where this next shooter could be, along with the possibility that there was no other shooter, coupled with a limited number of police and security. Should the rest of the mall, specifically the scene of the incident have been ignored in favor of protecting the Fox and Hound? I am no lover of law enforcement, but it's someone's (in fact multiple peoples) job, and with that job comes discretion and the need to act under pressure. Seeing as how this guy shot one woman and then committed suicide, I think the police made an intelligent assessment in assuming it was an isolated incident and dealing with the immediate problem. I think a lot of the problem is people relying on creating better security rather than trying to create happier people. Centralnj27 also notes that, on an average night, there are normally two cop cars patrolling in front of the Fox, yet not on this night. Could it be they chose to move to the scene of an attempted homicide and suicide? No, that would be crazy.

Other comments would allude to the possibility of another Virginia Tech, the type of postulating that I find to be ridiculous. Was part of the reason Virginia Tech happened because they didn't have a system in place to deal with an angry and depressed gunman on the move? Sure. But was part of the reason that nature and society forms such individuals that feel the need to commit such acts? I would say yes to this as well. Historically, there have always been, and probably always will be, individuals that we might characterize as crazy, that do things we simply can't relate to, but let's not live our lives in the shadow of fear that elects presidents and raises defense budgets.
Thanks for stopping by…you stay classy Planet Earth.