Like Lambs to the Slaughter

Herman Cain's campaign is out with a new "Women for Cain" website described as "an online national fellowship of women dedicated to helping elect Herman Cain as the next president of the United States."

Or, as Herman Cain himself is calling it, a list of potential victims.

Go get'em Herm! Nothing says "Next President of the United States" like inappropiate touching and infidelity and now you have an online database of ladies lining up to get groped!

See ya in the White House in 2012!

Memories

I don't remember when I bought my first copy of Ill Communication by the Beastie Boys. It might have been a gift, but with the large quantity of swear words it contains, I doubt by parents would have bought it for me. I do know that by the fall of 1997 I had bought at least four copies because the first few had met their demise in ways directly related to the excessively high amount of play time they were subjected to: some broke, some got scratched, some were lost. I had other CD's, good ones, but there was only one in my car's CD player or in my Sony Discman (look it up, kids) at ALL times.

I have a couple of homemade, burned CD copies floating around somewhere; not that it matters though. I have a digital copy on both of my computers (desktop and laptop), my cellphone, on my Amazon Cloud Player, and Google Music, plus you can go to the official website and listen to the whole album plus bonus tracks there for free. CD's are rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Just like records, eight tracks, and audio cassettes, a new technology is slowly taking over and will soon force the CD into the "retro" category and only hipsters with their tight pants, black rimmed glasses and iPhones will care about them. And that's fine (not the hipster part, NO ONE deserves a fate in which those brats are the only ones who will pay attention to them. But the advancement of technology part is fine). It's the way of the world.

But as I was sitting at work listening to what is (and after seventeen years, I think it's safe to say) always will be my favorite album, I started thinking about how I am a member of the last generation that will remember the CD.

And I don't mean literally remember; all current and future generations will have Google and Wikipedia and, therefore, the ability to look up "Compact Disc". What I mean is that the concept of a store that exists only for the sale of CD's is already a thing of the past. CD players that you carry around (or better yet clip to your belt) are long gone. It won't be long until it's considered old-fashioned to have a CD player in your car now that cars are coming with auxiliary inputs, hard drives, and USB ports. Hell, I saw a commercial for a car with Pandora installed in the on-board, touch screen computer in the middle of the dashboard. Internet radio, in the car. What I mean is that we (myself and people my age) are the tail end of the last cohort that will really remember the CD experience.

I remember buying a CD for $20 or more only to find out that the only song worth a crap on the whole album was the one I had heard on the radio. But with iTunes and the Amazon MP3 store, you only pay for the songs you want so you don't have that disappointment. Plus, you can preview the songs right there on the website before you buy.

I remember the sinking feeling I used to get when a CD would skip. I would flip it over to find a deep, irreparable scratch right through it. And you could try and fix it, but it never worked. They sold machines that claimed to do the job, someone told me to use mayonnaise once, but the end result was always the same: shelling out another $20 for a new one. MP3's don't scratch, or wear out.

I remember CD books littering the floorboards of every car of every person I knew. You could flip through a book of 50 albums and still only find a handful of songs worth listening to. Now we just shuffle the iPod.

I remember reading the lyrics on the liner notes to try and figure out what the hell they were saying. Now we just Google it.

So, as I'm sitting here, forcing you to reminisce with me and listing to what is, and will continue to be my favorite album in crystal clear digital MP3 streaming over the internet, I can't help but think about all the fun I had as a dumb, teenage kid driving around town worrying about stupid little things that seemed to be so huge at the time, how nothing was more important than spending time with my friends, wondering about what the future was going to be like, looking forward to the time when I was all grown up and how this CD was the soundtrack for it all.

Holy crap...

Model of Restraint

After the Texas Rangers' devastating loss last night, I decided that I can't get too wound up over tonight's 7th and final game of the series. I love baseball season from start to finish and tonight it will be finished. Until the excitement of Spring Training 2012, there will be no Major League Baseball. It's just a bonus that my home-town team is playing for the World Championship. So tonight, instead of forgetting to breathe between pitches and screaming obscenities at the television, I'm going to try and just watch the game and hope the Rangers win knowing full well there is nothing I can do to influence the outcome.

Well, almost nothing.

I have already changed my Facebook profile photo to the Rangers' logo (which is the FB equivalent to tattooing it on my face).

Here's my lucky shirt.

Here's my lucky hat.

Here's my lucky koozie.

Here's my lucky glass.

and my lucky keys.



I'm obsessed. Let's start the obscenities.

Did I Do Thaaaaaat?

I am currently obsessed with the length of my jeans. It's becoming a real problem. I know they're too short. I just know it, but I can't prove it. I currently can't concentrate on anything else and I have that pit of the stomach feeling you get when you realize after you've already left the house that your nipples are showing through the shirt you're wearing and now there's nothing you can do about it.

I'm pretty sure they weren't always this short; I recently washed them in cold water and ran them through the dryer on low heat and somehow they shrunk, like 3 inches. I know they did. They're new and this was the first time I washed them, so I expected a little bit of shrinking, but not an entire inseam size.

But I can't prove it and that's why I'm currently obsessed with my own ankles. I'm blinklessly studying my gait in every reflective surface I pass, I'm staring at my lower half of my reflection on the elevator door, and I'm contorting my head around as far as it will go in an attempt to see the back side of my pants while everyone in my office wonders what excatly is wrong with me.

Here's what's wrong with me: I'm convinced I look like this guy: but I have no way of knowing for sure.

Let's See What Else I Can Get Them to Do

As you may recall, I asked the CIA for a favor in my February, 2010 post. Click here for a referesher if you don't have all of my posts memorized. (Shame on you, Mom!)

Well, it seems as though The Agency picked up on my suggestion for making the United States a safer place. Click here for the full story

Congrats on a job well done and thanks for reading, you crazy spooks!

Hello?

Breaking news: The Ultra-Hip and Exclusive, Invite-Only Club of Google+ is now open to everyone! You may all begin celebrating now.

Being as cool and in-the-know as I am, I had no idea that Club Google+ had been opened to the masses. So, when I noticed I had been asked to join, I was a little excited but mostly just upset that it had taken so long for someone to invite me. I made some snide remarks on Facebook to that effect, then realized my error and tried to retract them. Not my finest performance.

Now that the dust has settled on my entrance, I'm looking around Google's cutting edge internet discotec and see...that there's no one here.

It's less like an exclusive nightclub and more like a stylish coffee bar: quiet, with sleek plastic furniture and a few people hanging around minding their own business.

I do like that it's quiet, though. I feel like Facebook has become a venue exclusively for things that I couldn't care less about all trying to get my attention at the same time.

"Come on down to FarmVille!" What? Why the hell would I want to pretend to live on a damn farm?

"Jimmy likes Bacardi!" Yeah he does.  A little too much, if we're being honest.  That's why he can't keep a job.

"Sally just got the highest score ever on Who Gives A Crap!" Good for her?

"My baby just took her first steps!" Finally.  She's 7.

So, we'll see how the Google+ thing progresses and hopefully it will be a viable alternative to Facebook someday.  But for right now, I'm casually sitting in the corner trying not to bother anyone and so is everyone else: I have a whopping 1 item on my stream in the last 3 days. Thrilling.

Dear Diary,

I can't stop looking at Scarlett Johansson's butt. It's becoming a real problem; at least for my wife.

Dear "Mad Men",

Are you doing that thing that "Lost" did where everyone loves you for some reason and I am the only one who can see you for the steaming pile of dookie that you are? Because I'm only three episodes in, but I'm really getting the feeling like you are definitely doing that thing.

Let me know.

Thanks,

PR

USA! USA! USA!

Holy crap, I love America.

We just spent a week in Belize. It was a lot of fun, we saw some really neat stuff around the coral reef down there and generally had a very relaxing time. The Belizeans we met were all very nice and friendly and the natural beauty of the place is amazing.

But it's dirty. And it's inconvenient to get to/find/buy anything. And no one is in any hurry to do anything, ever. Don't expect to "run to the store for some ______ real quick." Because no one gets anywhere quickly and the store won't have ______ when you get there.

So, if you're ever feeling exceptionally un-patriotic, go to a third world country for a week or so and see how they do things. You'll end up coming back through U.S. Customs painted red white and blue wearing nothing but an Uncle Sam wig and top hat with fireworks shooting up from your back and the National Anthem blaring out of your backside.

I Knew This Day Would Come

Shit. I am on BestBuy.com looking at washers and dryers. Not TV's, video games, DVD's, cell phones, laptops, surround sound, iPads, or digital cameras, but WASHERS and DRYERS.


The cheapest ones are almost $500. Each. $1000 for WASHERS and fucking DRYERS.


For the first time in my life, I'm going to walk into Best Buy and spend $1000 in one transaction and it will be for a WASHER and fucking DRYER!


sigh

Whoa!

Restaurant Review: BBQ Edition

I love food. It's delicious, it keeps me alive, and it gives me the energy to keep all (three) of you who read my blog entertained with my boundless wit and charm. Because I love food and food always tastes better when someone else is cooking, I tend to gravitate toward dining out options when it comes time to stuff my face. Luckily, one year ago yesterday, I married someone whose views on this subject are very similar to my own.

To celebrate our anniversary, C and I took a trip to what has been officially named, by the Texas Legislature in 2003, as the BBQ Capital of Texas: Lockhart, Texas. (This is not a joke. Our elected representatives took time out of their busy schedule to discuss which one-horse-town most deserved this title. Thanks?) We decided that we wanted to do something different to celebrate the occasion, but since she's currently spending every waking hour studying for the bar exam, we needed to do something close to home. So, BBQ adventure it was.

It seems to me that a place must either have a whole lot of something or be really good at it to be named the "(blank) Capital of (wherever)". Since there are only four BBQ restaurants in Lockhart, I was fully expecting to have my socks knocked clean off.

Our plan was to order a small sampling at each of the four and then decide which was the best of the best. We set out in the early afternoon after fasting all morning, eager to eat our weight in smoked meats.

Upon reaching Lockhart, our adventure began at Black's. It's been owned and operated by the same family (the Black's, duh) since 1932. It was very good BBQ. We tried the brisket (of course), the turkey and some sausage. The meats all had a real nice smokey flavor and we ate much more than we probably should have at stop one of four.

As it turns out, it's good that we over-ate at the first stop since stop two was closed, (thanks for nothing, Smitty's) and stop three was out of brisket.

(insert my shocked, dismayed and disbelieving expression here)

I'm sorry...what? You ran out of brisket?!?!?!? At 7:00 pm on a Saturday? How the shit do you run out of f-ing brisket in the BBQ CAPITAL OF F-ING TEXAS before DINNER TIME?!?! Is there some sort of mesquite shortage that I haven't heard about? Are cows extinct in South Texas? How could you have possibly run out?

Maybe it's just really good and everyone got there super early and bought up the entire supply so that they could hoard it all for themselves. Maybe. But the bottom line is that we didn't stick around long enough to figure out how or why this happened. It happened and that was that. So, we left--quickly.

Being still fully stuffed with meats, we decided to venture to stop number four (fingers crossed that it was open and had food to buy), and get the food to go; that way we could sample it at our leisure.

We got to Chisholm Trail BBQ and the line was out the door for dine-in, which is usually a disheartening sight when you want to eat somewhere, but in this instance it was a great indicator that the place was open and serving food. The to-go line was empty, so we popped in, got some brisket and pork ribs and got the heck out in no time at all. Side note, the place smelled delicious.

Later that night, when the meat-sweats had subsided, we decided to take a little taste of the Chisholm Trail pork ribs (strictly for comparative purposes, of course).

Holy crap! They're delicious! They're salty and smokey; they taste a lot like bacon. It's incredible. The sauce is sweet, tangy, and a perfect compliment to the meats. OMG. We ended up eating most of our stash right there in the middle of the night, cold, straight out of the fridge, with our bare hands. Incredible. I'm not doing it justice, here, I know. You have to try it for yourself. The brisket is delicious, as well, but the ribs...I've been dreaming about the ribs...

So, in summation, there is really only one BBQ restaurant in the BBQ Capital of Texas and yet, the designation is somehow still very well deserved.

Go Rangers

I don't know if you heard, but I got a job. You probably already knew that since C called everyone we knew, updated her blog and submitted an iReport to CNN.com all before I finished the phone call in which they gave me the offer.

So now I'm at work.

Hiding.

In the bathroom.

From my computer.

Because nothing on my desk is working the way it is supposed to and IT guys are all rude little men with bad attitudes and no friends and I'm sick of begging them to fix my stuff.

Jerks.

I Know When I'm Not Wanted?

Dear Expedia.com,

Yesterday, I booked a trip through your website and I gave you my credit card number which you in turn charged for the agreed upon very large sum of money. Today, I have a question about the trip that I booked through your website for which you appropriated a very large sum of my money.

The first time I called, I was on hold for forty five minutes and then you hung up on me.

The second time I called, I was on hold for thirty five minutes and my cell phone's battery life expired before you picked up the phone.

The third time I called, I was on hold for fifty eight minutes and then you hung up on me.

Normally, I can take a hint; but you in your case, I'll make an exception. I'm going to keep calling and calling and listening to your gut-wrenching hold music for as long as it takes for me to get through and when/if you finally answer my phone call, I'll have one more question for you: Why do you even have a phone number? You've made it clear that you would prefer that I not bother you via telephone, so why not just take that option off of the table? You'd be happier and I wouldn't have to listen to your nauseating hold music; everyone wins!

Think about it.

Sincerely,

The Guy Who Is About To Take Advantage Of Your 24 Hour Penalty-Free Cancellation Policy And Then Give My Money To The First Of Your Competitors To Answer The Phone When I Call Them

Perspective

I remember the cover of Time magazine in 1993 that said, "the information super highway will change your life," like it was yesterday. Hell, it practically was yesterday.

Soon, I was listening to that ethereal BEEP...GROWL...GROWL...WHIIIIINE...GROWLGROWL....BEEEEEEEEEEEEP..."WELCOME! YOU'VE GOT MAIL!" and the next thing you know, I'm all up in some chatrooms doing whatever the hell it was you were supposed to do in there. You paid by the minute in those days and there were only about five webpages in the entire world, so chatting was about all you could do. Unless you had the holy grail of computer gadgets: the scanner. If you were lucky enough to have one of these massively expensive and clunky boxes, you could take your crappy film photographs and convert them into even crappier grainy, digital photographs that you could then email to your chatmates. That is, if you wanted to wait three hours for each tiny snapshot to upload. And it all worked through the phone line, which was a real problem in the event of in incoming call or some sort of emergency, as the phone line for phone purposes was completely disabled.

I only bring all of this up because I think it is very easy to forget how far we've come and how fast we've gotten to where we are in terms of our technological advancements. In light of what was considered to be the "future" in 1993, we've surpassed every prediction of what life would be like "in the future" and we've done it in ways that we couldn't even have conceived of back then. Currently, the internet is provided to my computer wirelessly through the air. The AIR. No wires, no phone line, no cables or carrier pigeons, just air. My cell phone takes pictures in as high a resolution as my digital camera and can send those pictures via email almost instantly to anyone in the world. From the cell phone. A device no bigger than a deck of cards does all the things that an entire deskload of equipment could barely accomplish, with the help of a phone line, back in 1993 and then some.

And while we're on the subject, I got my first cell phone in 1996 which was large by today's standards but still portable. However, I remember the earlier incarnation that was bolted into the frame of my mom's car and relied on the substantial electrical production of the car's battery to operate. All it did was make phone calls, and it didn't even do that very well. Today, even the largest phones can fit in your pocket and weigh so little that you forget that it's there and sit on it a couple of times a day.

My point is that it is important to remember that the technology that we are becoming increasingly dependent on is still in its infancy and therefore cannot be expected to always do the things that we are asking it to do without some occasional bugs, errors and/or mishaps. We need to exercise patience when using these devices as they are absolute marvels of electrical engineering and technological advancement that we now, less than 20 years after their inception, take for granted as ubiquitous instruments of our daily lives.

Keeping all of this in mind, I am now a little embarrassed by the fact that my phone is on the floor in pieces because I threw it on the ground because the GPS program didn't determine my location as quickly as I would have liked while I was trying to use the phone to check email, send a text message, watch a movie, call my mom and order a pizza all at the same time--while driving. In retrospect, it seems like the phone's sluggish performance may not have been completely the device's fault...

That's Right, I AM an Austinite!

C and I went hiking in the park, kayaking on the lake and exclusively go to bars with patios now. Bye bye Dallas, we'll be sure to visit sometime...maybe.

But even with all this Austin outdoorsyness, one thing stands out among all others as my favorite reason to be back. No, I haven't found a job yet. Stop changing the subject.

Food. Specifically Mandola's Italian Market and Thundercloud subs. I could eat at both of these places every day for the rest of my days and never think twice about it. If I ever had to choose between paying my electricity bill and getting a meatball sub at Mandola's, I would ultimately pay the electricity bill, but only after C and I considered all of the pros and cons of the Sandwich vs Power debate. And in the end, it would be a close call.

Do your belly a favor and patronize these fine establishments if you live in and/or around the Austin area. If you do not live nearby, get in your car and drive. I'm not kidding, it's worth it. Sure, you can crash on our couch. And you can stay as long as you like, as long as you're buying our sandwiches while you're here.

You Can't Say that...Ever: Vol.9

Wife who just returned home from her 3rd straight 10 hour work day: "Why are you drinking red wine out of a coffee cup?"

Me: "I'm unemployed. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

A lot has happened in the last few weeks and, as usual, I don't want to bore you with the mundane details of my life. However, I feel as though I should put the preceding melodrama into context.

The lovely and talented attorney that I am (as of the writing of this post) currently married to has accepted a job offer in Austin. Consequently, I resigned from IDPCA, we packed all our stuff and we moved down here over the weekend.

And now we're here. She's working long hours and I'm diligently searching for a job.

Let me clarify, I mean diligently searching for a job when I'm not:
a. watching videos of cats diving into boxes
b. running errands
b. watching movie trailers
c. shopping online for impractical things like a Vespa, plane tickets to Libya, a movie replica Thor hammer, etc.

You would think that I finally got what I always wanted. I sit around unsupervised all day with very little in the way of structure to get in the way of my constant search for amusement.

You would be wrong.

It turns out being a house-husband (A.K.A. - my ultimate dream in life) is very very dull. We don't have cable, so soap operas are out. We live in a tiny one bedroom apartment, it's just the two of us and we just moved in, so cleaning up takes all of about 3 seconds. As long as we're on one salary, I don't have the means to go shopping all day long, like some stay-at-home spouses do. So, it's just me, online job boards and Maru the Box Cat all day long.

But, it's only Day 4. Maybe it gets better. Maybe, like a lot of other things in life, you just have to ease into it.

Which explains why I am sitting on the couch drinking red wine out of a coffee mug: I'm just trying to put my full effort into it. You know, really get to the spirit of unemployed-ness. Embrace it. And also because all the dishes except the coffee mugs are in the dishwasher.

So, I'm going to give it another couple days, but if being unemployed doesn't get to be awesome pretty soon, I'm just gonna give up on my dreams and get a job.

Hahaha! Take That, Trump

Saturday night was the annual White House Correspondents' Association dinner, but it might have well been a roast of Donald Trump. Except that roasts are usually good-natured and intended as a sign of admiration of the recipient. In this case, it was just some good old fashioned public humiliation in the style of tarring and feathering, only without all the messy clean up afterwards.

Now, before you start getting all, "Oh, how mean. Why are they picking on this guy in front of a ballroom full of people?" please remember who we are talking about here: the granddaddy of all media whores, Donald Trump. You should NOT feel sorry for him in any way for the simple reason that he brought this attention on himself. He forced himself into a conversation in which he is grossly under qualified to participate. He is the one making outlandish remarks that are unsubstantiated by any crumb of fact or proof. In short, he has no issues with making a mockery of the American political system and the 24 hour cable news cycle when it benefits him, so why should anyone (up to and including the Leader of the Free World) shy away from using those same forces against him? The answer, of course, is that they should not.

So, thank you Mr. President and Seth Meyers for taking time out of your busy schedules to publicly pummel this bad-haired-loud-mouth-loser.






Man, I love to watch the public humiliation of a shamelessly filthy sideshow/media whore! Also, look at his face while Meyers is roasting him. He doesn't even crack a smile. What an ass. Don't take yourself so seriously, "The Donald". And if you're going to, then you should get back to doing what you do best--starring in mediocre reality TV shows (read: Fox News)--and stop trying to be a politician. Idiot.

Public Service Announcement

Facebook friends,

I feel it is important for me to let you know that there exists a clear list of things that, if posted by you, WILL get you permanently hidden from my newsfeed. Below is a copy of that list. I suggest that you read it carefully and that you consider the consequences of what you're about to do when you are on the verge of posting one of the following ill-advised status updates.

You WILL get hidden if you:

1. Mention how excited you are about seeing "Fast and Furious 5".
2. Express ANY support for Donald Trump for president, or the idea that the current President of the United States was possibly not born in this country.
3. Post any nostalgic recollection of the "Bush Years".
4. Subject us all to a picture of your fat-pregnant-belly. NO ONE wants to see that. Trust me.
5. Notify me that you have just friended "Prince William of Wales"
6. Discuss the outcome of any reality show. This includes, but is not limited to, American Idol, The Voice, Chopped, X Factor, Dancing with the Stars, America's Next Top Model, Rock of Love, and Temptation Island.

Thank you for your time and attention and I, again, encourage you to strongly consider these guidelines when posting.

Beastie Boys

Make Some Noise. The new single from the Beastie Boys. It's awesome. Check it out. Album available May 3rd. Buy it.

Happy Easter

Dear "Lady Gaga",

Judas does not love you back. He can't be trusted. If you knew how to read, you would already know that.

I honestly believe that being turned over to Pontius Pilate for crimes against the state would be less painful than listening to your music.

Now, shut up and leave my poor innocent eardrums alone. They didn't do anything to deserve the abuse you have subjected them to. Unless of course, they are the twin sons of God and YOU are the devil incarnate.

If only there were some evidence to support that idea...

To understand the U.S. federal budget, divide by 100,000,000

Philip Greenspun divided the U.S. 2011 federal budget by 100,000,000 and wrote a little parable:

"We have a family that is spending $38,200 per year. The family's income is $21,700 per year. The family adds $16,500 in credit card debt every year in order to pay its bills. After a long and difficult debate among family members, keeping in mind that it was not going to be possible to borrow $16,500 every year forever, the parents and children agreed that a $380/year premium cable subscription could be terminated. So now the family will have to borrow only $16,120 per year."

Way to go Congress, you really tackled that problem.


PR

Pet Peeves: Vol. 1

People in their 40's who use the phrase, "It's all good."

'Tis the Season...For Pain, Suffering and Humiliation

Because I know you're dying to hear all about it, I want to assure you that, so far, my softball team is performing at least as horribly as expected this season. We've managed to loose every game, we've had an on-field collision that resulted in a concussion, we've had a season ending ankle injury and we've cleared out the entire supply of Icy Hot patches at our local Target store.

We suck.

You should come watch us play sometime, it's a real hoot.

Here are our individual stats for the season. Keep in mind that this is Rec League, Slow Pitch Softball before you start thinking to yourself, "Oh, a .400 batting average isn't so bad."

Trust me, it is.

April is for Fools

Well done, Google. Well done, indeed.

Gmail Motion

Consider the Source

Dear Jennifer Lopez,

Congrats on your "come back". But let's be honest, do "party people in the club" (her words, not mine) really want advice on how to get down from a 41-year-old-mother-of-two?

Maybe you should release a single titled "Middle of the Night Feedings" or "Everybody Get on the Swing Set".

Maybe "Can't Get Enough of that Menopause Cooldown Spray".

You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 8

In light of the deteriorating contract negotiations between the NFL Players Union and NFL team owners, Adrian Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings recently described the relationship between players and owners as modern day slavery and has received a lot of hell for it.

But, I say he's got a point. I remember reading that the negotiations between the slave union and slave owners got real ugly in 1852, just as this more recent set of negotions has done. In fact, Uncle Tom even compared their situation to that of the Jewish Slaves building paramids in Egypt, and the press gave him hell for it.

Ultimately, the season was suspended, and Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman both decided to retire from slavery, marring their carrers forever and causing fans to wonder, "What if?".

I only hope things will turn out better this time around, but only time will tell.

And give Adrian some props for noticing that history does, in fact, repeat itself.

I can't figure out why, but I am currently obsessed with this video.

Maybe it's her incredible voice, maybe it's human fascination with the vulnerability of standing alone in front of an arena full of people, maybe it's the evocative and relatable lyrics, or the goosebumps I get at the 2:00 minute mark every time I watch.

Or maybe it's the cankles. Who knows. Either way, here's Adele live at The BRIT Awards 2011. Enjoy.

You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 7

C and I live in a really nice part of Dallas. I'm not trying to brag (for once), but it's really nice. To get a handle on what I'm talking about, think of the nicest part of your town. If you're not sure where that is, it probably ends in "Heights" or "Hills" or it is so nice that its just been abbreviated down to its initials (think O.C.). Yeah, I told you it was nice.

So, here we are, living in our nice part of town. But here's the problem with the nice parts of any town: rich people live there. "What's the problem with rich people?" you ask?

They're assholes.

Example:
In our very nice, very small, four unit apartment building there are only five parking spots. Being in the nice part of town, space is at a premium. One parking spot belongs to us, one belongs to the neighbor next door, one belongs to the neighbor in the unit above the garage and the other two belong to the unit downstairs. If you're following along and doing the math at home you've probably realized that there is no place for me to park. C gets the spot and I park on the street. What can I say, I'm a gentleman.

When a new rich (read: asshole) neighbor moved in downstairs, we immediately starting having problems with people parking in a way that blocked our only parking spot. "I'm sure it was an accident," you say. No. No one accidentally blocks in a car that is surrounded on three sides by two fences and a brick wall.

After experiencing this outrage multiple times and trying to eloquently point out that only an asshole would do something like that to another human being, C and I thought for sure that the message had been conveyed.

Until tonight.

We arrived home from Italian class (we're learning the language, not how to be Italian. Although that would be cool.) to find a Range Rover parked diagonally across our parking spot. Infuriated, I knocked on the door downstairs and said, "We're trying to park in our parking spot out back and there is a car blocking it. Again." The Asshole stared blankly at me. "Could you move it? So we can park in our spot?"

Blank stare. And then, "I guess I can go see what's going on."

I know what's going on, you self-centered megalomaniac. You're blocking our spot.

I get out back to find The Asshole looking at the Range Rover and looking at the six inch gap between the Range Rover and the fence and she says, "What's the problem?"

"The problem is that either I'm going to hit that fence or I'm going to hit that car." Maybe I'll hit your face, but that would just be for fun.

"I don't need your attitude. I'm not in the mood." Not in the mood? What the hell do I care about your mood?! Move your fucking car!

"Sorry if I sound a little upset, we just want to park in our only parking space and we can't." Because you blocked it, asshole.

"I guess you guys don't like me very much because you always have an attitude whenever..." Whenever...? Whenever you block our spot with your giant gas-guzzling asshole mobile?!

"Look, it's nothing personal. We just want to be able to park in our only spot." I'll kill you.

"Well, what am I supposed to do? There's not enough room back here." Not enough room? With your two car garage? Not enough room? Your two parking spaces have more combined square footage than our apartment.

"I've been parking on the street for three years now. Also, your lease clearly outlines where it is and is not OK to park." Learn to read, idiot.

"I don't feel comfortable parking on the street with all the break-ins recently." What? This is where I knew I could not possibly continue a civil conversation with this asshole. Remember that nice part of town you thought of a little while ago? Good. Now think about how often "break-ins" are a problem in that particular part of town. That's right, they're not! Why? Because nice, wealthy parts of town can afford so many police officers that no one would dare break into cars for fear of serious reprisal.

Fed up and unable to continue to hide my displeasure with the situation, I looked at The Asshole right in the eyes and said, "You're a horrible person. And you need to scale back on the amount of animal print in your apartment. It's tacky."

I'm afraid things might be a little awkward the next time I bump into her at the mailbox.

That Can Be Arranged

Col. Gaddafi,

So, you want to fight to the "last drop of blood" and "die a martyr in the end," do you? Well, be careful what you wish for, big guy.

You remember what we did to your old neighbor Saddam a few years ago, right? Let me refresh your memory:





Gruesome. Now, let's consider some similarities and some differences between Mr. Mustard-Gas and yourself to get a feel for your chances of having that martyrdom wish granted:

1. Saddam didn't really do a whole lot to provoke us, or anyone else, and we still managed to wage two successful wars against him based solely on the idea that he was a "cruel dictator." You, by comparison, are currently dropping heavy artillery from fighter jets onto crowds of your own civilians who are participating in a peaceful protest. "Cruel dictator" would be a compliment.

2. Iraq is sitting on a modest oil supply that (some say) would be a far more likely motive for those aforementioned Gulf Wars I and II. (Whether or not that is true, click here to compare oil consumption rates around the world and tell me that you wouldn't off a few "cruel dictators" too, if you had the kind of crude oil addiction problem that we, as a country, have.) Libya has the largest proven oil reserves on the African continent, which already makes it look like the house down the street that has lots of nice stuff worth stealing, but now the social unrest and your indefensible decision to continue clinging to power have left the door unlocked and hanging wide open. We are a nation of oil addicts and what do addicts love to do? Give yourself ten points if you said, "home invasion and burglary to feed our addiction."

3. Saddam never had to deal with a broad-based, legitimate political uprising. You, on the other hand, have hoards of normal, everyday people who are are sick of your nonsense and willing to risk their lives to make sure that you know it. And it seems that firing on unarmed protesters has just made them more committed to being rid of you. There's a good chance that, eventually, they will get to you and who knows how peaceful they will be feeling when they do.

So, in summation, I would recommend dusting off your martyr pants and making sure that your last will and testament are up-to-date because if your own people don't finish you off when they storm your castle carrying their torches and pitchforks, there's a good that chance we will.

When in Rome

C and I are taking Italian language classes in preparation for our (twice postponed) trip to Italy. To help me with my foreign language skills, I downloaded an app for my phone that allows me to listen to live streams of radio stations from all around the world. It's called Tunein Radio and it's very cool. You should check it out.

But be careful.

While listening to an Italian pop station, I was exposed to the most offensive musical assault my ears have ever experienced. It was like Katy Perry, Fergie (with and without the rest of The Blackeyed Peas) and Cher had all vomited on the same CD and then the DJ said, "Well, let's take a listen and see what this sounds like."

It's called "Ogni Tanto" by Gianni Nannini and you can listen to it here...if you dare.

You've been warned!

Romance is Undead

For Valentine's Day, I bought my lovely wife some flowers as a way to say, "I love you and thank you for being the most important person in my life."

She returned the favor by getting me two zombie-killing video games. Clearly, she feels the same.

Or she thinks I should start preparing for the impending zombie apocalypse.

Either way, I can't stop smiling...or imagining my co-workers are hordes of undead intent on eating my flesh.

You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 6

When this guy appeared on the TV screen during a commercial:

C: "I thought that guy committed suicide."
Me: "Why would you think that?"
C: "Wishful thinking, I guess."

It's the Little Things

I am currently sitting on the couch eating Taco Bell and watching "The Big Lebowski". I know what you're thinking: "So?"

So, this is something that pre-married me would not have been excited about at all. This is something that pre-married me would have done almost daily, with a rotating selection of fast foods and cinematic masterpieces. But married me noticed today that this is something exciting.

Just because the things we used to do when we were younger are not age appropriate now, doesn't necessarily make them any less enjoyable. Just because we have to be responsible now, eat right so we don't have a heart-attack at 40, exercise so our spouse will continue to think we're attractive and go to work everyday without being under the influence of any controlled substances doesn't mean that we can't take a little time out every once in a while to remind ourselves of the selves we used to be. Not to recapture it, but to compare it to the selves we are now and to admire how far we've come.

So, while C is in DC this weekend interviewing for a very prestigious position within the Federal Government, I will continue to compare my current self to my former self by going out with my buddies tonight to a bar that serves beer in plastic cups and playing foosball at $1.00 a game all night without thinking even once about other and more productive ways I could have spent that money. And when I'm back at work on Monday, sober and wondering why I have to be so responsible all the time, I'll remind myself that being an adult isn't always fun, but it's an important part of growing up.

What to do When Lethal Injection is too Lenient

I've been watching the news coverage of this repulsive act of violence in Arizona and I can't help but think about all the things that haven't changed since the last time something like this happened. And all the things that didn't change the time before. How is that we as a nation can watch these atrocious and possibly preventable tragedies unfold time after time and take absolutely no steps to prevent them from happening again?

This asswipe in Tuscon is just the latest in a string of asswipes who will be allowed to have free and easy access to firearms and will choose to use that freedom to kill innocent people for no other reason than their own mental instability.

I know it's shocking, but the answer is not MORE guns. That line of thinking is akin to, "Holy crap, the kitchen is on fire!! Quick, get the matches before it spreads!!" The only people who believe that a more heavily armed populace is the solution to the problem of gun violence in this country are the people profiting from the sale of guns; and let's be honest, do we really care what they, or their political wing (The NRA), have to say on the matter?

And while it's not a solution to the problem, there is a civic need for this guy and others like him to be disposed of quickly and publicly. Lethal injection is a joke. Why waste our collective time and tax dollars on a person so devoid of any value? Walk him to the nearest dumpster, shoot him once for every one of his victims and leave him there until the next regularly scheduled trash collection.

Even as I say this, I know that it's nothing more than an unsatisfying and disturbing fantasy. Americans as a group would not allow that kind of blatant disregard for even the most despised of human lives. The acts of heroism and selflessness of last Saturday demonstrate clearly that people are mostly good. After wrestling this armed psycho to the ground, the good men responsible for subduing him could have very well used his own gun to finish him off. After all, they would have any number of justifications: self defense, fear, retaliation, etc. But they didn't. Even in a situation that must have been very emotionally charged, while the murder is subdued and yet continued to try to reload his weapon, these men did what was right, and waited for the authorities to arrive.

That is much more heroic than any vigilante justice or grotesque public retribution.

Hahahahahahahahaha!

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=132595004

 

It's like some sort of brain teaser: "If a million hipster iTards oversleep on the same day, will anyone notice?"

The Holidays: 2010 Edition

Well, it's finally over. It's the time of year where I tend to eat too much, sleep too little and start drinking each afternoon. I am, of course, talking about The Holidays.

For your reading pleasure, I will now hit the highlights of a season so filled with familial drama, gift buying deception and intrigue, and boozy eggnog that it's a blessing that it only comes around once a year.

Thanksgiving:
I have the honor of sharing the week of my birthday each year with Thanksgiving. In the grand scheme of things, the holiday of over indulgence is not a bad one to be saddled with. Also, conveniently, C's birthday is a few days before Christmas, so the post-nuptial "How do we do parse out holiday time with the in-laws?" conversation ended up being a no-brainer.

So as expected, we ate far too much and drank cocktails all afternoon. I fried a turkey and spilled oil all over my brand new pants, but that was the only casualty of the day; except, of course, my recommended daily allowance of calories.

Christmas:
The in-laws have a very nice house on a lake in central Texas that we use as a gathering point for family events. They are a pretty far-flung bunch, spread from Washington state, to New Mexico, to New York City, so it is nice to a have a place large enough for everyone. The only problem is that no place is large enough for a family of five adults plus two husbands, except maybe the Grand Canyon. Although everyone has their own place to sleep, coexistence is a very real aspect of every other room in the house. And while family time is ostensibly the reason for the season, anyone born after 1975 knows that the real reason for the season is Nintendo. Getting new games as gifts and playing them for hours and hours a day is a holiday tradition that I take very seriously. The in-laws, however, would rather shear some sheep and make their own holiday sweaters. Or churn butter by hand. Or read by candle light. So after a week of installing new sinks, faucets, and drains, followed by hand washing the dishes after every meal, I was ready to get back to civilization.

Christmas eve, C's sister convinced us to attend services at the local Unitarian Church. Being Catholic my whole life, I'd never been to religious services at any non-Catholic institution, but I figured that all Christian services were all pretty much the same. My assumption was incorrect. In principle, I have no problem with the Unitarian views of religion: everyone is equal, everyone has the right to explore their own religious path, everyone deserves justice, peace and liberty, etc. But all this freedom and liberty creates a relaxed religious environment that I was very uncomfortable in. Children ran free while the minister told the story of the Unitarian church member who wrote "'twas the Night Before Christmas", some guy set up a camcorder to video tape the event, it was all very loose and unstructured. And that's fine for some people, I don't want to deprive them of that. My personal belief, though, is that like your cranky great-uncle Bob, God loves us, but doesn't particularly like us messing with his stuff. That's why there are so many rules governing your behavior when you are in his house.

New Year's Eve:
I got drunk at a concert and fell on my head trying to climb over a railing at the train station. The rest of the night is a blur, literally and figuratively, although I do distinctly remember my lovely wife laughing at me while I lay confused on the floor. Thanks, honey.

New Year's Day:
The wife and I have a tradition of stockpiling supplies in the week leading up to the 1st of January so that we will have no cause to leave the house for the entire day. Like preparing for a zombie attack, or a blizzard, we fill the fridge with any food item that we might possibly feel like eating during the 24 hour stretch between December 31 and January 2. We did pretty well this year. We certainly didn't leave the house, not even to take me to the hospital to have me examined for a concussion. Late in the day, we wanted to make a chocolate cake, but didn't have enough sugar.

Make a note for next year.