Thursday, October 26, 2006

Some blogs just suck

I've discovered a new way to pass the time on boring conference calls. It involves randomly and repeatedly hitting the "Next Blog" link and seeing whose blog you land on.

This is a great way of finding out what people blog about.

It's also demonstrative of just how sad and pitiful some people's lives really are. And what they think others will find interesting.

Blogs that suck:

  • Anyone blogging on behalf of their pet. Putting words you think your pet MIGHT be saying if they could talk - and that you think people will find cute and adorable - is pathetic and sad... just like country cute decor. If your life is so uninteresting that you have to live vicariously through your pet, please go kill yourself now.
  • 13-year old Japanese girls with a graphics program and a camera. You have obviously never heard of BANDWIDTH. Three terabyte blog sites that take an hour to download are not required to discuss your passion for round, adorable animated creatures with deadly martial arts skills and no eyelids.
  • Goths. Yes - life is unbearable and the world is awash in darkness and ennui. There is no hope for tomorrow. Please - take your life. Right now. Then I will never have to read your stupid, brainless, faux-angst ever again.
  • Happy Christians who love to type (and who have ALL that extra sin-free time on their hands). That's all I'm sayin'.
  • People who don't have opinions of their own and whose "blogging" consists of posting a link to a news story and adding a sentence like "My head is blowing off!"
  • Political extremists of any stripe. You are on the fringe, baby - no one even pretends to think you are sane. They are laughing at you. Right now.
  • People who blog - expansively - on obscure topics that like three people in the entire world even care about. "This is Bob's blog about all things to do with Linux for Eskimos with Blade Servers."
  • Unhappy Christians who think that they alone know the truth - and want you to be miserable with them.
  • Anyone with a Ph.D.
  • Co-workers who whine on the company blog.
  • People who think they are "deep" and choose to examine their sad and uninteresting lives publicly, lacking any proper analytical skills.
  • Any performer who isn't talented enough to have an agent. Sell your guitar and get a job, please.
  • Anyone in recovery.
  • Most blogs, in fact

Friday, October 20, 2006

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

You've got to be kidding

Fellow former toddlers of the last few generations - do you find yourself more and more amazed at the fact that we somehow managed to survive such hellish and dangerous childhoods? That our parents abandoned us to a world of daily peril called.......the school playground?

News flash!

Officials at an elementary school south of Boston have banned kids from playing tag, touch football and any other unsupervised chase game during recess for fear they'll get hurt and hold the school liable.

I just can't freaking believe this.

Have we become such a litigious society that kids are no longer allowed to run and play?

Man - when I think of the positively medieval playground equipment and activities that I survived - it's a wonder I made Jr. High School.

  • Tetherball. Until the balls started disappearing at night and they replaced the ropes with chains. With the ropes, you'd occasionally get only a little burn - but those chains....those chains will F up your arm but good.
  • The spinny thing. Immortalized in Bill Cosby's 'Playground' sketch - I loved "the round thing that you rode on - around and around - until you puked." Favorite activity on this was to lie on my back, feet pointing out, and then get someone to get it up to top speed - and let go. You never knew where you were going to land - or if you would survive it. Now THAT'S FUN.
  • Circus animals on industrial springs. Dude - I was never short enough or light enough to ride these things without them hitting the ground. I was a TALL and DENSE child. So I have to use my imagination to think about what it would be like to ride one of these without hitting my head or ass on the pavement.

  • Fiberglass slides. How much collective skin do you think America's children lost to these instruments of Satan since the mid 1960s? You never saw kids limping around with STEEL slide burns (except in Phoenix). Especially dangerous were those circular ones where you had a 360 degree opportunity to scrape off enough flesh to build another small child.
  • Monkey bars. Now - I actually enjoyed the monkey bars and have no issue with them per se. But whose BRILLIANT idea was it to put them over either asphalt or rocks?? You had to be GOOD on the monkey bars, man - you had no choice. Or you went home with a rock in your face or your brains showing.
  • Swings. Maybe this is a particularly personal peeve, but why could no one design a swing or a chain that would not break at the precise moment you managed to swing up HIGHER than the top crossbar of the frame? I have kissed the sky on numerous occasions - only to wake up in a heap - or in an ambulance - or some other damned place with my head hurting.
But I return to our earlier point:

Did my parents sue when my finger got broken playing basketball on the playground? No.

Did they sue when the little leaguer in the ball field adjacent to our playground popped me in the head with a line drive - causing me to flip backwards in a double-bass-ackwards somersault off the top of the monkey bars...into the rocks? I think not.

Did they sue when I took a face-plant from the top of a 16 foot slide after the rusted railing snapped, causing me to skin half the flesh off of my face? It never crossed their minds.

Usually - after the disorientation subsided and/or stitches healed, my father would call me to his side, lower the volume on the television and snub out his ciagarette in the ashtray...and then he'd belt me right up side the head.

"You dumb shit. Be more careful next time," was his fatherly advice.

Maybe we were tougher then. Maybe our parents helped us be stronger human beings by finding our own ways to cope with things.

Whatever it was, that old man had better hope my mother goes first. 'Cause his ass is going in a home first thing.

Tonight's the night!!!!

The Project Runway season finale........

Make it work. 's all I'm sayin.

The Blame Game

I wish someone would shut Mark Foley the f*ck up. He's really embarassing to the rest of the gay community.

Okay , maybe not everyone (cause there are some really sick tickets in the GLBT community - I know, I work with enough of them).

But I am embarassed - and offended.

Now, Foley's latest tactic to salvage his image is to name the likely now-harmless fossil of a priest who allegedly "abused" him nearly 40 years ago in Florida.

Just stop it, Foley.

First, you blamed the alcohol. That was such an insult. Like "I'm not gay, but I have an alcohol problem that makes me act this way." Now you're not directly blaming - but inferring - that all your problems stem from being groped or whatever by your priest four decades ago.

Foley - you're a letch. Plain and simple. No further excuse required. Drunk or sober, touched by a priest or not. You're a letch.

Just admit it.

You used your power and abused your power. You got caught. Too bad - so sad.

Just tell the truth - perhaps first to yourself. Then the rest will come.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Still p*ssed

I know...get over it, right?

Obese dogs and insane animal people

ARRRRGH. It's all you can say. ARRRRGH.

Have you ever met one of these insane animal people? You know who I mean - the ones who have nothing but love and compassion and the desire to save the lives of every animal under the sun (which is wonderful - don't get me wrong) - but who have the human social skills of a sock full of wet sand - usually upside your head?

After the passing of our beloved canine companion, Boris, just before Christmas - we adopted another older, homeless Shar Pei who we named 'Dutch." Dutch came from a rescue organization located about an hour away from us - founded and run by one of the aforementioned big-hearted yet insane animal persons.

From the start - it was obvious that this woman's only contact was with her own animal-loving, socially-inept kind. Going through the introduction and adoption process in this woman's fetid, cramped office while watching her chain-smoke one bargain cigarette after another - we got the clue that this lady was someone to reckon with.

But we wanted the dog. So - we kept our mouths shut.

Poor Dutch. Dutch came to us in a fetal position - even standing, he was curled up. He was a little black skeleton with fur - every rib and vertebrae visible in excruciating detail.

So - we got him home, got him to the vet and, eventually, he bounced back. He became social, happy and nicely proportioned with regular food and exercise. See for yourself...

Recently, I sent updated photos back to Ms. Animal Crazy as a courtesy - to show her how well he was doing and how good he looked.

In return - we received a SCATHING reply - basically shrieking at us - saying Dutch was morbidly obese and that we were killing him. She also inferred that our vet was unqualified and that we need to listen to her to save this dog's life!

Say f'ing WHAT?!?

Okay - let's examine the facts:

  • We adopted a scared, beaten down little dog with no will to live and the physique of an Auschwitz survivor
  • We've had a Shar Pei before - we know the breed
  • We gave him medical attention, daily exercise, special hypo-allergenic dog food (because we know the challenges of Shar Pei skin and allergies) and a good, comfortable home.
  • He looks GREAT.
Now let's look in the crazy corner:
  • Ms Crazy, on the other hand, admitted to knowing nothing about Shar Peis (she specializes in rescuing another breed)
  • She said definitively that he was 3-5 years old - he's NINE. At LEAST. (that's per our unqualified veterinarian)
  • She did not even know he was BLIND in one eye - I mean, the eyeball is essentially NOT THERE!
I'm gonna root for our side - okay?

We've decided to let this pass without responding to the Crazy. We feel to do so would be a HUGE provocation - and next thing you know, we will have masked animal lovers with limited social skills - dressed in black - storming our house by night to liberate our morbidly obese animals to save them from a yummy death.

Come one - even if we were insane enough to pork out our animals - Dutch is the dog equivalent of 70 years old. If I'm still around and in my seventies - I'll smoke, eat and drink my way to the grave - it ain't gonna get any better!

Crazy freaking animal person.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Let's start the weekend right!

And I can think of no better way, sweetie...

American salvation - on a stick

Why are there no corn dogs in major shopping centers anymore?

I can remember going to Woolworths, K-Mart and other early chain stores with lunch counters - and being able to get a hot fresh corn dog that would put me in a zen-like trance for at least five minutes.

And OMG - getting to nibble that last little burnt bit off the stick. Imagine a 7-year-old with his eyes rolling back into his head, drooling on the Woolworth's lunch counter.

I love them. From their golden brown, tactile and luscious exterior - to their firm, fleshy, meaty middle.

I believe that America would not have the troubles it has today if everyone had ready access to corn dogs. I mean, who isn't happy when they are eating a corn dog?

Communists - that's who. And godless hippie vegans who eschew processed foods.

Corn dogs should be free - and then the message of food salvation can be carried across the waters to our friends in foreign lands.

  • "Don't be angry - have a corn dog."
  • "Don't bomb Israel - have a corn dog."
  • "Instead of weapons of mass destruction - please try this with mustard and a salty pretzel."
Wars would end, aggressions would cease, and the godless hippie vegans will have long since died from malnutrition or choking on a piece of tofu jerky.

Embrace the dog. Love the dog. Be the dog.

Happiness - and salvation - on a stick.

Random thoughts on a Friday

A collection of unanswerable and, most likely, unimportant questions and musings from the week that was:
  • Why, when I decided to become a fan of a dog breed with extra long nails, did I think that putting silk and down pillows on the sofa was a good idea?

  • In a 1,400 sq. ft house with three floors and numerous rooms - why did the dog decide to be sick on my Gamecube under the TV cabinet?

  • If my neighbor is fairly attractive - why do his children resemble furry, monkey creatures?

  • Who discovered rhubarb? Explain.

  • What are the boundaries of functional alcoholism?

  • Why do bad employees happen to good people?

  • Why hasn't Mel Gibson been put on a desert island where we don't have to hear him?

  • Will this week ever end? Oy.
And just a reminder - if the Rapture comes...I am taking your stuff.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006


Just finished reading Stephen King's "Dreamcatcher" -purportedly a New York Times bestseller...


This was like, possibly, the stupidest book I have ever read.

I love vintage Stephen King. His original stuff was awesome. I have re-read "The Stand" no less than a dozen times, because I admire the smart, engrossing story-telling.

But come on...

Alien invaders and parasitic weasels from outer space flying out of people's butts?

I'm gonna go re-read Christine.

Snark Alert!

If you haven't discovered Snarkywood .com yet - you had better put your coffee down, plant both feet firmly on the floor and fasten your seat belt.

The ultimate site for celebrity bitchiness, cattiness and absolute hilarity has just posted a new feature on Flavor Flav. While still funny - mostly the comments about Brigitte vs. FF - it's not quite as hilarious as some of their previous attempts.

Whether deconstructing Whitney, trailer-trashing Anna-Nicole, or warning us not to "hassle the Hoff," Snarkywood is the best spot I can think of for blowing coffee out of your nose.

Bookmark it - and enjoy often!

Monday, October 09, 2006

Future governor buys coffee, drives minivan

This morning - at my favorite gas station/convenience store along the Taconic Parkway - I ran into our current NY Attorney General (not literally) and future governor (hopefully), Elliot Spitzer.

Elliot was with his wife (I assume) and daughter, buying gas and coffee.

It was surreal to see this man - perhaps the country's most visible corporate giant-slayer - in a pair of pale blue Dockers and LL Bean jacket, discussing what type of danish to purchase.

Even more surprising was seeing this mondo politico get into a pretty standard-looking Chrysler Minivan.

I was expecting to see something flashier - like a Mercedes or Lexus SUV.

Watching this charismatic man and his family laugh and smile and chatter away - as families do - made me feel even better about my decision to support his bid for governor.

He's a real person, after all. Wish we had this opportunity to see our political figures in real life.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Oh, my nerves!

I only recently began to feel well -adjusted after having to miss last week's Project Runway episode (thanks to my company's learning center not having Bravo on their cable network - I was forced to go calm my nerves with my fellow attendees in the bar - until it closed - just to get through).

And now - NOW - another scandal!

Laura has accused Jeffrey of cheating - CHEATING! - and getting assistance with sewing for his collection.

What's even more shocking is that the reason Laura found out about the details behind her accusation - was because Laura and Jeffrey's mothers have become friends! AAAAAAAAAAGH!

Talk about wild - this is Bizarro World wild.

I just hope my vodka stash holds out until the final episode!

My nerves!

Lordy, lordy Miss Cleo

It looks like our favorite TV phone psychic has come out of the closet.

Stand up, Miss Cleo!
(or should I say, Miss Youree Dell CleomiliHarris)

So - did you predict that this was gonna happen?

That crazy dictator style...

That's right.

Ladies love him.

His countrymen fear him.

World leaders just don't know what to do with him.

Makin' news and rattling international cages - sporting some of the most bizarre hair since Liza got out of rehab - it's feisty, plucky, crazy as a sh*t-house rat, Kim Jong Il.

This lovable little homicidal monkey is breaking hearts, taking names and has the world dancing on a nuclear string.

How can you not just adore the brave new fashion sense this crazy little mo-fo puts out there? Eschewing any traditional fashion sense, Jongie (as he likes to be called over frosty glasses of Pink Ladies) keeps the world guessing by alternating rock-star style with thrift store chic.

One day it'll be Chanel sunglasses and italian suits - the next, polyester wipe-clean zip shirts and fat-lady glasses obviously purloined from the Kiwanis used eyeglasses donation box.

That's right - nuclear ambition and world domination meets mental instability and dollar-store style - all in one nutty little package of fruitcake.

Love him or hate him - fear him or nuke him - it all comes together in that Crazy Dictator Style.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

GOP: Culture of corruption?

more like a "culture of delusional thinking"
if u ask me.

Bush: "Iraq critics are wrongheaded."

And anyone else who doesn't agree with, I mean a big old boogerface.

Monday, October 02, 2006

What is wrong with some people?

Today has been profoundly upsetting for me. My delicate sensibilities have been assailed by uncaring and uncivil persons.

First, it became obvious to me as I was returning to my office from refreshing my morning tea, that the heathen in the office next to mine had been - shall we say, "floating air biscuits" - in his office - but didn't have the decency to shut his damned door. As a result, the entire hallway reeked of wolf bait and threatened to impinge on my continued personal enjoyment of a funk-free office.

I have been glaring at him all day to let him know that I KNOW.

THEN - as I was returning from lunch, I entered the elevator and found that the barbarian who had last ridden in the elevator car was guilty of the exact same crime!!!

I also panicked at the thought that someone would be waiting at my chosen floor to ride the toxic car of poisonous death down - and that they would think it was me!

Fortunately, this was not the case, and I was able to exit the sulfurous box and beat a hasty retreat.

What in the world makes people think they can get away with this unchivalrous behavior?

Perhaps the worst instance of this occurred when I was located in Vermont. I actually had a co-worker walk in my office, begin a professional conversation and then blithely rip one without missing a beat of his diatribe. I was trapped!

If you are an unmannerly person of this vile stripe, I have two words for you that I hope you will take to heart...


Think about it. And go funk up your own damned workspace.