Shizhead

Cell phones rule...

2007-07-14T10:55:00.000-04:00

I made my way through the sea of faces. It was dark, which made it even more difficult. I knew I only had mere moments before it all started. I thought, ‘There’s no way I’m going to make it in time…” Just as I slipped into my seat, the lights dimmed, and the band walked onto the stage and picked up their instruments. Immediately the drums thundered, the bass boomed and the electric guitar screamed. Then, Roger Waters sings, ‘So ya… thought ya… might like to… go to the show.’ The sound was perfect. I could hear every note, every word, as my seat was just next to the sound technicians… the perfect place to be, and center stage at that. Only 3 sections back, there wasn’t a step taken on stage that I couldn’t see clearly. ‘That one is Jewish… and look, that ones smoking a joint… get them up against the wall…’ The screen behind flashing images of walking hammers periodically washed out by blasts of fire coming from behind that band. The song winded down, ending with the sound of an airplane spinning out of control and crashing behind us… then the screen went black. The crowd went wild, naturally, and I thought to myself, ‘That was just the first song.’ They followed with Have A Cigar.

I managed to snap a picture of Roger Waters standing in front of a video of him walking through a wheat field when he was younger. A white blast of sparks igniting behind him. Good thing I brought my camera phone in here. I love technology. Waters grabs an acoustic guitar in the dark, and goes right into Mother as the lights all focus on him. I made sure I kept snapping pictures at the appropriate time. I got a great one of the screen with a close up of Sid Barrett during Shine On You Crazy Diamond as thousands of bubbles filled the room we stood in; the few lights that were on shimmered through the slowly falling bubbles, which would sparkle softly as they burst.

The show was originally scheduled for a Friday night, but ours got moved to Thursday night. Because of that, my wife wasn’t able to join me like originally planned. Unfortunate, as we weren’t even half way done and I already didn’t know what to do with myself. So, when Wish You Were Here came on, I sent her a text message saying the same. She wrote back saying her and the little one were going to bed, and hoped I was having fun. I knew she got the reference… and the sentiment.

I wasn’t sure what to expect of Waters' solo work. I’ve heard some of the albums. It’s not bad, I’m just not familiar with it. No matter, as he played a song or two from one off those albums, and that too, was incredible. At the time, I was making my way back to my seat again, as I felt it was time for a refreshment. Just as I was getting back, I could hear Pigs On The Wing start. Soon after, 4 stage hands walked through the crowd towing a giant inflatable pig. The pig flew above us, covered in various graffiti style messages. Of course, I got pictures of them as well. Things like ‘All Religions Divide’, ‘Freedom At Last’, and ‘Fear Builds Walls’ where adorned on the sides and bottom of the animal. As I listened, and watched, the pig got closer and closer. It was just as it was passing overhead that I noticed what was written on the back end of the pig. Right below the tail where the words ‘Bush – What An Asshole’ with an arrow pointing to the pigs… well, asshole.

Vera begins. I always forget how great that song is. The drums march builds, and bombs explode on stage while the words ‘Bring The Boys Back Home’ pierce through the air. An image of every nation's flag involved in the current war fades on and off the screen. Call it lamely patriotic, but I waited until the American flag was up to take my picture. It was fittingly during the line, ‘Don’t leave your children out there all alone.’ The song came to the end. Roger Waters announced, ‘We are going to take a 15 minute break, then we are coming back and doing Dark Side Of The Moon. Bring it.

During this break I wondered how it was that we came to be here. In decades past, if someone from another country came here and made public statements like that, the place would have rioted. It just shows you where we stand politically at this point. It’s unfortunate, really. Obviously we can’t hide it. Everyone knows. Yet, no one seems to be doing anything about it. At least we have the freedom to say what we want, but how much longer is that going to last? Scary times we live in, whether one wants to admit it or not.

15 minutes isn’t long enough for this discussion, as I soon noted, when the image of a moon appeared on the screen. No sound could be heard but a heart beat. A satellite popped out from behind the moon and floated towards me. The light on it blinking in rhythm with the heart beats. Then Speak To Me/Breath began. Dark Side Of The Moon, live, in its entirety? Again, I say, bring it. It was all perfect. Right into On The Run. I got a picture of spinning rainbows and the band jammed on. The next picture I snapped was classic; a close up of Roger Waters making the tock-ticking on his bass. Behind him, hundreds of clocks floated towards the audience. He never stopped making the ticking through the entire drum solo, which I got a picture of as well. The drum solo was second to none, and was 8 minutes long if it was a second. Pounding on the tom toms next to the drum kit he used through out the rest of the show, the percussionist slipped seamlessly back into his seat to begin Time. Excuse the pun, but he never missed a beat. Time floated into Great Gig In The Sky. I apologize, as I was too entranced by the vocal solo to even think about a picture. All I could think about was, ‘How the hell do you audition for that?’ Words can’t describe.

Us and Them, and Any Colour You Like followed. It was during Brain Damage when I was taking pictures of Bush standing in front of a wall with words like, ‘Shame on you Bush’ written on them that I wished this concert wouldn’t end. As Eclipse came to a close, which was no rushed event I might add, images of Bush waving goodbye in military garb where followed by Nancy Reagan waving goodbye from the back of a limo. The lights came on, and each of the 11 people on stage held hands, bowed, blew kisses and walked off. Roger Waters tossed his pick to someone in the crowd as he left. The crowd pleaded for an encore. The walking off, at this point, was just a formality.

It wasn’t more then 5 minutes before everyone came back out. We were thanked again. The band was introduced; each of the 11 members on stage received the same roaring ovation. Each responded with a sincere grateful bow through pressed hands held to their lips. The lights went dark. The sound of a helicopter flew around the crowd. A spot light from above searched through looking for someone. It stopped on the 5 foot radius that we stood in, and before I realized what was happening, I hear Roger scream, ‘You! Yes you behind the bike shed… stand still laddie!’ It was at that point I thought there was someone in my head, but it’s not me. Following that was Comfortably Numb. A great song, obviously. And one that many people in the audience would have felt cheated had they not heard. The light show I couldn’t begin to explain… but thank Moses I had my camera.

I’m driving home, as it’s now 1 am after we finally got out of the parking lot. I’m sitting in the back thinking about how I can possibly explain what I just experience. I’m looking through all the pictures from that night, planning my eventual article. The picture were intermixed with all from that week. All great pictures, none-the-less. As I made my way in the door and began to load my picture on the computer, judging the importance and order, I realized which one was the most important. I realized which one would perfectly round out the evening. One perfect image. Cell phones rule…

ButtSwiper

2007-06-11T22:24:00.000-04:00

Before I proceed, I want you all to know, that I have made nothing up. This is all completely true. I'm even going to try, with all my might, to not embelish too much with this story. Butt I make no guarentees. The reason for my attempt to curb my standard sarcasm? Frankly, you can't make this shit up.

In Rochester NY a woman has been arrested for theft, and is facing 3 years in prison for the crime. Butt what, I'm sure you are asking, did she attempt to swipe that would warrant such jack assery? I mean, seriously. I scratch my butt in confusion. The answer, my friends, is toilet paper. Yep, toilet paper.

No big deal, right? Who gives a flushing shit? Well, she tried to swipe it from the local court house. She was seen stuffing her bra (not embellishing) with the items in question, by another 'patron' and was reported to the police. I couldn't even give two shits about what kind of person would turn someone in for stealing toilet paper.

Now, I know, at this point, you are all saying to yourself, 'What the shit? This story sucks hard monkey crap!' And I would agree with you... normally. The reason why I don't agree is because I have left out one very important detail. That is, the offending ass wipers name. I did so in a vain attempt to allow you to prepare yourself... butt it's not possible to fully prepare.

Amanda Butts was arrested in Rochester NY for stealing toilet paper. I will repeat that, because it warrants repeating. Amanda Butts, as in the equipment one uses to dispense shit, was incarcerated for stealing toilet paper. A toilet being the place one would placed a butt in order to dispense said shit. Like I said folks, I can't make this shit up. As hard as I try... I simply can't.

Amanda Butts was arrested for stealing toilet paper... holy shit.

My Soap Box Is Better Than Yours

2006-09-11T13:29:00.000-04:00

Every generation has their predilection for demise; every generation has their revelation. Ours is simply this; we are what we eat, but we are not what we play. In a society where more than half of its members are unhealthy and overweight, and almost 1/4^th is morbidly obese, this fact adds verification to my statement. My point is not to slam a vain fist on the table, Atkins’ book clutched tightly to my chest, preaching the abomination of man’s gluttony and apathy. Rather, I take a well-known statement and add another level to its complexity.

Being the first generation to “grow up” with video games and computers unlike our predecessors, our technological advances, instead of our accomplishments, became our labels. Labels, like it or not, justified or pure fabrication, put a burden on he whose lapel it is pinned. Branded like cattle, we lumber around the convention known as life with a plastic smile and a “Hello, my name is Samus Aran” slapped crookedly on our chest. This very label is the cause for alarm, not cartoon violence and simulated sex.

We have an escape from out realities. In turn, we’ve grown weaker than our parents and our parents’ parents. They too had minor distractions: booze, drugs, music, films… but our's is truly an escape. Video games are our Narnia. The reason being is we have been groomed to believe that we can create our own reality. We don’t have to answer for our actions or face our fears; that’s what the reset button is for.

This is our great revelation. Life doesn’t have a reset button. We can’t apathetically lumber through life, then simply fix our fuck-ups by reloading to a previous save point. Unfortunately, we actually have to work for our money, practice to hone our skills, take caution in our steps, and understand to learn. It has been vigorously argued that our modern technologies have corrupted our youth. To this, I agree, but not because they put the ideas of violence, sex, war and death into their minds. This is all in our nature. Rather, these vices have taken away our sense of reality, our accountability, our motivation, and worst of all, our imagination.

Perhaps this too, is in our nature.

Douche, Or No Douche?

2006-03-14T15:20:00.000-05:00

I should learn to use a bit more caution when choosing the comments I make with certainty. Not because I’m afraid of being wrong, because, let’s face it, I never am. The reason for my caution is, quite frankly, I hate repeating myself. One solace I can take is in the fact that it is not I that has forced me into this situation; it is the television industry that put me in such a predicament.

I know in the past I have said that there is NO WAY for the TV industry to sink any lower into the abyss of useless programming. I have been forced to eat my words with a side of “Oh yeah? Well take this!”. NBC is currently the front-runner, in my opinion, in the cavalcade of anger ensuing, facial self-punching, brain with sharp pencil jabbing, TV shows. The dignitary of NBC being a new show called Deal, or No Deal.

The premise of this “game show” is simple. People are asked to choose a briefcase with a number which they keep, then, slowly they select other numbers to eliminate. Each case holds a dollar amount meant to be a prize. As said case is opened, the prize is removed from the board. This means there is no change that dollar amount is in the constestants case. Above this fantastically mind-numbing train wreck sits a “banker”. He looms over the stage from his darkened room like The Once-ler from The Lorax. Sitting there in the dark, nothing visible save his phone grabbing arm, he makes calls to the shows host and offers a settlement amount for the contestant to quite and walk away. It is at that time the phone on stage rings. The host picks up and, with a stern tone, accepts the offer. The offer is then passed on to the contestant, who is asked, “Deal, or No Deal”? This “game show” requires no talent, and couldn’t be any more boring or pointless if all they did was see how many times they could smash themselves in the testicles with a claw hammer until passing out.

I know I’ve kept you in complete suspense. Who is the host of this fabulous peace of shit? Howie Mandel. That’s right, of Walk Like A Man fame. The same guy whose grand finale when performing stand up “comedy” was to pull a rubber glove over his face and blow it up with his nose.

Quick side note – this all ended when he ruptured a blood vessel in his head from the build up of pressure. Sadly, this didn’t kill him, or even turn him into a vegetable. This blood vessel must have controlled his talent, because, inconceivably, becoming even LESS funny and talented was the only result of this injury.

Well, I’ve decided to help to good people of NBC out by making some creative changes to the show I think will help it be a success. Instead of deciding between taking the deal and quitting, or pressing on, I think the contestants should have to make a different decision. The new name of the show will be Douche, or No Douche. Contestants will come up on stage, and be shown a clip of Howie’s past work, or maybe a small, live comedy routine. They will then be offered a small sum of money to ease their pain. The contestant will then have to decide if it is at all humanly possible for Howie Mandel to make a bigger douche of himself. Howie will then ask the question, “Douche, or No Douche”? If they say No Douche, they will then have to sit through another gut wrenching clip of Howie. Each time they will be offered more money until they finally crack and say, “Yes, yes… ok! Good lord! You really are a Douche!”

I don’t know if most people are hip to the following info, but Howie Mandel was actually the voice of Gizmo in the Gremlins movies. I don’t know where this fits into my little rant, other than further proving my point that Howie Mandel is a douche.

Evil Witch Woman Pollutes Minds Of Her Students

2005-11-22T09:46:00.000-05:00

Today I happened to be reading the news and came across an interesting story. It seems as though a 26-year-old female teacher has been fired from her position as a preschool teacher at catholic school in Queens. It seems she violated one of the rules in their handbook of values and principles. She has been accused of not conveying "the teachings of the Catholic faith be her words and actions.

That bitch! What the hell did she do? I say we get her! Man, I bet she was dressing inappropriately. No, wait, she was getting drunk and high every night then showing up at work and falling asleep instead of caring for the children. I bet... she was giving the kids drugs and alcohol. Damn her soul to hell!

It turns out that her evil secret of sin and hatred is that she is pregnant and unmarried; that has been grounds for her termination. It seems she hasn't been living up to the imperative morality we see being exuded from today's Catholic church.

She is currently in a court battle with the school. Perhaps if she explained she were gay, and not allowed to be married, maybe them it would be ok? Seems so. Or maybe, maybe if she explained it was ok, because the father was a 10-year-old alter boy? That's fine. Just so long as she doesn't, gasp, have sex at the age of 26 when she isn't married. Evil bitch! She is what's wrong with out country. It's not Bush, with his lies and war mongering. It's not the oil industry, making record profits off the entire country during times of crisis. It's not the priests that abuse little boys... hell no. It's the already established 25 and up crowd. You know, the ones that put themselves through college, and get jobs as teachers. It's all a front, you know. They use all that to cover up their evil double life. A life filled with wine tastings, cartoons about sponges and sex with their partner even though they don't have a little certificate stating so that they paid upwards of $15,000 or more for.

You sicken me, you evil, evil heathen.

Armageddon… In His Pants

2005-08-27T23:55:00.000-04:00

Lately, in spite of my consumption of epic proportions of hops, barley, and fried chicken arms, I’ve been trying to put better substances into my fragile system. In accordance with Operation Enduring Freedom… From High Cholesterol and Other Heart Related Health Risks ©, I recently tried a new breakfast cereal. GoLean. Or should I say GoOften.

This cereal is pure, unadulterated evil.

Born in Satan’s wheat fields, it is an ungodly mixture of rice, fiber, wheat and other grains supposedly beneficial to healthy living. Unless having to shit sixteen times a day, so hard that you actually see Jesus, is healthy, then I think there is some fallacy to the claims on this box. No wonder you’re lean. When you expunge half your body weight in shite, how can you not be? Sure, they tell you that it contains enough fiber to jar a bowling ball lose from a mosquito’s ass… but what they don’t warn you about is serving size. Again, sure, they have a suggested serving size on the box. No problem. Strike that... problem. What they DON’T warn you about is if you exceed said serving (which is about a cup) you are in for serious trouble.

Now, I ask, who amongst you actually makes a regular attempt to read over not only the nutritional states of all your food, but the suggested serving size? SHUT UP! It was a rhetorical question. Me personally, I normally check that sort of thing. But, I usually don’t put forth the effort of considering the serving size, cross referencing said serving size with the percentage daily recommended ingredients, then running the equation to figure out how much of all said ingredients I’m actually ingesting. So… consider this.

The recommended serving size is one cup. Each serving has forty percent of your daily-recommended fiber. I fixed myself what most would consider the “normal” cereal proportion: one giant assed, heaping bowl full. So, if you take the time to run Shiz’ Cereal Paradigm, you’ll come to the conclusion I came to way, way too late; too much fucking fiber. I think it ended up that I consumed something close to one hundred and forty six thousand five hundred and sixty two times the recommended daily allowance of fiber. What does that amount to in the long run you wonder? Well I’ll tell you anyway.

Abdominal pains far exceeding any wrath Zeus or even the Titans could ever reign down, so many trips to the bathroom you’d swear I was a twenty year old bulimic model finishing a two hour session at the local all-you-can-eat Pizza Hut lunch buffet, and the worst case of swamp ass this side of Bourbon Street.

Since that fateful day, I can’t even look at a box of cereal without breaking into a cold sweat and clinching my cheeks together.

Check This Out, Sucka!

2005-08-03T16:52:00.000-04:00

I know I haven't been there for you in a while, Internet. I'm sorry, baby. I promise to be around more often. Just to show you I care... I created something special for you.

Love,

Shiz

Click here, fool!

Land Of The Free, Home Of The Idiot

2005-06-08T17:27:00.000-04:00

It seems the recent decision to lower the unavailing Terror Alert from Holy Shit Orange to Watch Your Ass Yellow has had some repercussions. In late April, a 22-year old man, Gregory Despres, was stopped by customs trying to cross over from Canada into the US with a carload of weapons. He was carrying a homemade sword with a swastika, two sets of brass knuckles, a hatchet, a flack jacket, and a chainsaw that was covered in "what appeared to be blood." After explaining that he was "on a secret mission for the President", his weapons were taken, and he was permitted to enter the US. The next day, a senor citizen couple living next door to his shack in Canada was found hacked to pieces. It was assumed to be Despres who murdered the couple.

No shit assholes!

You think, possibly, that the asshole carrying, amongst other things, a blood soaked chainsaw, "might" be the one responsible for cutting off the head of his neighbor? Nice detective work, dipshits.

Am I the only one that finds it utterly disheartening that a person carrying weapons, some complete with blood, can get across our borders, yet most of us can't get into the lobby of an airport with out someone checking out stool for drugs? Yah for suckurity!

When questioned about the lack of detainment of Despres, Bill Anthony, a spokesperson for Border Control, stated, "Nobody asked us to detain him. Being bizarre is not a reason to keep somebody out of this country or lock them up." He also added, "Our people don't have a crime lab up there. They can't look at a chain saw and decide if it's blood or rust or red paint."

Holy shit! Are you serious? Being bizarre isn't a reason to arrest people, sure. Plus, lots of people spill red paint on their chainsaws. Kiss my ass! I've been yanked out of my car by a gung-ho, power hungry cop using what little authority he has to make up for his shortcomings. Then forced through ridiculous questioning and a full search simply because I was young and driving a crappy car in a nice area. Yet crossing over a national border with an insane look, several weapons, and what COULD be blood is no reason to detain someone? Wow. Apparently simply thinking the leader of another country has dangerous weapons is enough to warrant a full scale invasion on said country, but a crazed jack-ass wielding homemade weapons and a shirt with "brown and red stains" is no cause for alarm.

Amazing. Utterly amazing.

Since you're wondering, it turns out he killed his neighbors over some dispute they were having over a fence. Makes sense. Good thing the Border Control wasn't too pushy when he tried to cross. That might have gotten ugly.

The Booze Strikes Back

2005-05-14T10:02:00.000-04:00

My first order of business yesterday morning was the casino. Strike that… making sure all my dangly parts where properly covered was my first order of business, then coffee, then it was off to the casino. Did you ever notice that most hotels that have a coffeemaker in the room have it placed conveniently in the bathroom? What gives? No matter, with a fresh cup of ass coffee in hand, I was off to the casino. I thought about hitting the poker room, but decided against it for two reasons. One being that I didn’t have the funds for such an event, the other being my unwillingness to spend a few hours at the table, which is normally the case. So instead I played a bit of Caribbean Stud.

I was doing well at first. Winning here and there. I was probably about $40 up after an hour or so. Then this frat boy, eyes shrink-wrapped from the mornings hang-over, lays a $20 bill on the table and asks, “So, what do I have to get to win?” I find this rather aggravating because not only is he wasting everyone’s time, but also because he sat down two seats to the right of me, the cards I was getting are now going to the person to the right of me. Why would you find this aggravating, you might ask? Well, the first hand after Captain Dipshit sat down; the guy sitting next to me got himself a flush. (Which was MY god damn flush). For this, he was awarded $200. (This was MY god damn $200). Don’t get me wrong, the guy was nice, and probably deserved it. I don’t fault him for winning; I fault Archie for jumping in and screwing it all for me. Ah, well. Such is life. At least I got to watch him lose his $20. I tasted redemption, and it tasted good.

Something I’m finding out about my visit here is that I stick out like a sore thumb. Not because I walk around with my Johnson hanging out like I’m a human compass, but because I can’t seem to understand anything anyone is saying. There’s no accent, there’s no slang… I just don’t get it. And it's definately NOT because I've been drinking most of the time I am awake here.

Someone asked me if my wife was a gambler. I’m not kidding when I say I thought he said, “Do you like white grapes?” I literally had to ask him 4 times what he said. Then, of course, I felt like an ass for making him repeat himself over and over again. At Starbucks, when we ordered an iced coffee, we thought the person behind the counter asked, “What the hell is that?” Of course, we responded with, “Well, it’s coffee, with ice in it.” The pride we felt from educating someone about a new menu item was quickly smashed to pieces when he exclaimed, “Uh, right. That’s why I asked what size was that.” I guess it’s not all my fault. At lunch I asked if I could substitute fries for gumbo. I felt that since it was hotter than two rats fornicating in a wool sock outside, I wasn’t in the mood to eat piping hot stew. The guy looked at my like I was completely insane. Then he said, “Uh. Yeeeeaaaah. I guess I could do that.”

On top of the language barrier, it is also painfully obvious that everyone, aside from the taxi drivers, is painfully slow. So slow, in fact, that if they weren’t trying to get a tip out of me for doing nothing more than the job for which they are paid, I’d think they were statues. There was a “we appreciate tips” cup in the Voodoo Mart a block from the hotel. Come on! These people aren’t shy about asking for a tip, either. Not only that, but they’ll also let you know when it’s time for you to tip, or, to tip again.

I know I’m making it seem like the indigenous people of New Orleans are oddities, but man, most of these tourists are far worse. It’s as if they lose all concept of reality once they step off the plane. Once the foot hits the ground, the camera is snapping away like a Japanese tour group at the Hoover Dam. I saw people posing with and taking pictures of fire trucks. It’s just a goddamn fire truck. That doesn’t seem to matter. They’ll waddle over, sit down on the back of the truck with their arm around one of the members of the New Orleans Fire Department and smile like it’s prom night. A friend snaps a picture; they quickly shove a dollar in the fireman’s tip jar, and head down the street lighting up the night with the strobing of the camera’s flash.

Well, I know I promised wild and crazy times, and they are soon to be discussed. I have many pictures, none of which I can upload from here. So, there shall be a few more installments of this epic voyage. It all depends on how many pictures and how much story content I end up having. As it stands, it looks like there will be two more New Orleans Special Edition posts. Stay tuned for Episode III: Attack of the 32 Ounce Hurricane.

The Liver Of Might

2005-05-13T10:06:00.000-04:00

Despite my attempts to thwart the life of my liver through fried, spice covered sea fare and oceans of booze, my liver seems to be surviving. No matter, I still have at least one more full day.

On to more important things. Yesterday, I woke up early. Not sure why, but I figured I'd make use of my insomnia. I ventured from my room to the lobby with my trusty laptop in one hand and my much-needed "wake up juice" in the other. I found a spot and began typing. After yesterdays post was finished, I walked around for a bit, and then went back to the room. Keep in mind there is a convention for doctors here. So amidst this lonely soul and his meandering were swarms of doctors, who all seemed uneasy by my presence. I thought keeping still might relieve their curiosity, but then I remember that they weren't bears. I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. I was a lone buoy of normalcy in an angry sea of nerd. Eventually I had enough and left.

I dropped off the laptop and headed for the casino. I walked around for a bit then settled on a poker slot machine because all the table games were full. I was there for about 2 hours, during which, I was getting some of the same bewildered stares I was back at the hotel. Once I'd thoroughly bored with the casino, I left. It wasn't until I had to fight my way back through the judging eyes of the crowds in the lobby and arrived in my room that I realized the folly of my ways. I hadn't been the subject of ridicule for the last 4 hours due to my not fitting in with the doctor dorks or the yokels. The credit for such attention is due to the makers of American Eagle cargo shorts. It seems as though they incorporated shoddy zippers into the very pair I was wearing. Thus, I had been walking around for several hours, amongst crowds both on the streets and in the lobbies, with my fly down. That's right, I had Windows open on my laptop. The wall had come down and my Pink Floyd was showing. Frodo had made his way out of Moria. So I did what any normal person would do in that situation, I zipped up. Then, it was off to the bar.

It was here in my little tail that I was going to post pictures of this evenings outing. The problem is, my FTP is being blocked by the service here at the hotel. So, rather than tell you wonderful stories and try to explain the pictures I took, I will save this one for when I get back on Sunday. However, stay tuned for tomorrows installment titled - Yeah, who's your daddy know, Liver?

And So It Begins...

2005-05-12T10:01:00.000-04:00

I’m sorry for not being around lately, Internet. You know I missed you. I thought about you everyday, Internet. I’ve just been busy. Come on, baby, don’t be angry with me. On the bright side, I have some stories to tell.

I am currently sitting in the lobby of a hotel on Canal Street in the great city of Nawlens. I know most of you have already been, or heard enough about it to feel like you have been. But I haven’t. So, I’m going to see if I can show you what it looks like through my fresh eyes. My fresh, beer soaked, boob filled eyes. Huzzah!

Well, since last night was my first night here… this will be a short one. Didn’t have much time but did manage to venture out to Bourbon Street for a while. I grabbed a “Huge Ass Beer to go” (patent pending) and was off to pound the pavement fueled by beer, and hope. All I can say is, I was amazed, even though I thought I knew what to expect, by the sites the graced these inspired eyes. I saw beer being handed out by the gallon right on the street. I witnessed street performers who dressed like statues, stand still then jump out at unwary passers by who then paid them a dollar for their efforts. I had a glimpse of the awe-inspiring power that little, plastic balls strung together with fishing line can harness. Madness, mayhem, and obstreperous conviviality... then I looked down at my watch, which screamed 9:35 pm back at me.

That’s right… and that was only part of the first night.

You Sure Got A Perdy Mouth

2005-04-05T09:45:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, a friend of mine and myself were searching for entertainment during the dreary, rain-soaked Saturday. What came to the rescue? The gunshow at the local convention center.

That's right, boys and girls, we strapped on our plastic mullets, chugged a Budweiser, punched our wives in the face, and mosied on down to the gun show. Yee haw.

It wasn't what I quite expected. I really wanted to see toothless yokels and bikers sluts. Much to my shagrin, there was only one biker slut, and the missing teeth department was rather lacking. (No pun intended) There were, however, some rather odd and sometimes frightening scenes.

Some event goers who were too, uh, thrifty to rent a table just toted around guns on their backs with signs and price tags sticking out of the barrel. How is that legal? Can you imagine walking around the local Walmart (I'm sure some of these people have tried) toting an AK 47 that has a sign poking out of the barrel reading, "Like new! Al peises work in good!"? No, you can't. It must be witnessed.

Also, there was a group of Let's Play Civil War types. Fat, dirty middle aged men in rented Civil War uniforms all standing around trying to act authentic while drinking a can of Bud and talking in a cell phone. Huzzah for accuracy! Speaking of Bud; they were, in fact, serving beer at this function. Beer, red necks, guns, and ammo? Not good.

There were a few outstanding sights I might add. I snapped a picture of the sign below:

Can you imagine some poor kid, sitting in the stands bored out of his mind, playing with a laser pointer? All the sudden, one of the "vendors" spots a dot on his chest. He screams, "Yee yaaaw! It's Charlie!" flips his table over, leaps behind it, and starts pumping 50 cal rounds into the stands.

I also saw an old man, sitting at a table, actually making bullets. What makes this site fall beyond words was as he did this, he wore a baseball cap. On this cap, it inquired "Got Bullets?". I tried, without success, to get a picture of that was well. It was a site to be seen.

All in all, it was entertaining. Not what I expected, but still entertaining. I say, if one comes to your town, grab your camera and giddy up.

R.I.P. Mitch

2005-04-01T16:49:00.000-05:00

Mitch Hedberg, in my opinion, was the funniest and most clever comedian out there today. Sadly, he died this Wed. I'm not going to get all sappy, I'm simply going to list below some quotes from his various stand up routines. Hopefully I won't get sued.

"I tried walking into a Target, but I missed. Target entrances should have people splattered on the walls around them. When you get inside, a guy says, 'Can I help you? No, I'm just practicing.'"

"I haven't slept for ten days, because that would be too long."

"I wish I could play little league now. I'd be way better than before."

"I would imagine if you understood Morse code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy."

"I played golf.... I did not get a hole in one, but I did hit a guy and that's way more satisfying. Your supposed to yell FORE, but I was too busy mumbling there ain't no way that's gonna hit him."

"I wrote a letter to my dad- I wrote, I really enjoy being here. But I accidentally wrote rarely, instead of really. But I still wanted to use it, so I crossed it out and wrote I rarely drive steamboats, Dad. There's a lot you don't know about me. Quit trying to act like I'm a steamboat operator. This letter took a harsh turn right away."

"And then at the end of the letter I like to write P.S.- This is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R were eliminated."

"The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how much I play, I'll never be as good as a wall. I played a wall once. They're relentless."

"When someone hands you a flyer, it's like they're saying here you throw this away."

"I got my hair highlighted, because I felt some strands were more important that others."

"I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it."

"I got into and argument with a girlfriend inside of a tent. That's a bad place for an argument, because I tried to walk out and slam the flap. How are you supposed to express your anger in this situation? Zipper it up real quick?"

"This product that was on TV was available for four easy payments of $19.95. I would like a product that was available for three easy payments and one complicated payment. We can't tell you which payment it is, but one of these payments is going to be hard as shit."

"I was going to get my teeth whitened, but I said ‘fuck that, I'll just get a tan instead.’"

"I was at this casino minding my own business and this guy came up to me and said your gonna have to move you're blocking a fire exit. As if there were a fire, I wasn't gonna run. If you are flammable and have legs you are not a fire hazard."

"I'm sick of following my dreams. I'm just going to ask them where they're going and hook up with them later."

"My friend said to me ‘You know what I like? Mashed potatoes.’ I was like, ‘Dude, you gotta give me time to guess. If your going to quiz me, you must put a pause in there.’"

"I went to the park and saw a kid flying a kite. The kid was really excited. I don't know why, that's what they're supposed to do. Now if he had a chair on the other end of that string, I would have been impressed."

"One time a guy handed me a picture of himself and he said. "Here's a picture of me when I was younger." Every picture of you is when you were younger. Here's a picture of me when I'm older. How'd you pull that off? Let me see that camera."

"Alcoholism, is a disease, but it's the only disease that you can get yelled at for having. Dammit Otto, your an alcoholic. Dammit Otto, you have Lupis. One of those two doesn't sound right."

"I was walking by a drycleaner at 3a.m. and there was a sign that said Sorry, we're closed. You don't have to be sorry. It's 3a.m. and you’re a drycleaner. It would be ridiculous for me to expect you to be open. I'm not gonna come by at 10 and say, ‘hey I was here at 3a.m and you guys were closed. Someone owes me an apology.’"

"I get the Reese's candy bar, if you read it, there's an apostrophe. The candy bar is his. I didn't know that. Next time your eating a Reese's and some guy named Reese comes up to you and says let me have that. You better give it to him. ‘I'm sorry Reece; I didn’t think I would ever run into you. Man, you are a bully. Can I just get a piece?’"

"Y'know I order a club sandwich all the time. And I'm not even a member. I don't know how I get away with it. I like my sandwiches with three pieces of bread. So do I. Lets form a club. Okay, but we're gonna need more stipulation. Yes we do. Instead of cutting it once, lets cut it again. Yeah, four triangles. And we shall dump chips in the middle. Let me ask you something, how do you feel about frilly toothpicks? I'm for them."

"I opened a yogurt and underneath the lid it said "please try again" they were having a contest that I was unaware of. I thought maybe I had opened the yogurt wrong. Or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me. Come on Mitch, don't give up! An inspirational message from your friends at Yoplait, fruit on the bottom, hope on top."

"I bought a donut and the guy gave me a receipt for the donut. I don't need a receipt for the donut, I give you the money, you give me the donut, end of transaction. We do not need to bring ink and paper into this. I cannot imagine the scenario where I would have to prove that I bought a donut. Some skeptical friend. Don't even act like I didn't get that donut. I got the documentation right here."

"When you go a restaurant on the weekends and it's busy so they start a waiting list. They say Dufrane, party of two, table ready for Dufrane, party of two, and if no one answers they'll say the name again, Dufrane, party of two. But then if no one answers, they'll move on to the next name. Bush party of three. Yeah, but what happened to the Dufranes, No one seems to care, who can eat at a time like this? People are missing. You people are selfish. The Dufranes are in someone's trunk right now, with duct tape over their mouths and they're hungry. That’s a double whammy! We need help! Bush search party of three. You can eat once you find the Dufranes."

Not sure for how much longer, but as of rightnow, you can still buy Mitch memerobilia at his site:

www.mitchhedberg.net

FYI, the site might be down due to heavy traffic, but try back later if so.

Welcome Back, Jesus

2005-03-28T22:42:00.000-05:00

I was visiting my family this weekend for Easter. As I sat in my aunt's retro 70's basement on her lime green couch, betwix gold wall paper and thick, shag-like carpeting, I began to wonder. When Jesus came back on Easter Sunday, was he as bored sitting around with his family as we all are on Easter? Would he sneak off to watch TV to help pass the time? If so, what would he watch?

I think I found the answer. Looks like John Travolta will finally be working again.

Welcome Back, Jesus... premiering this fall.

Debauchery, 375 CC's At A Time

2005-03-18T11:57:00.000-05:00

Being the good little Irish boy that I am, I was determined to ensure last night was one liver beating good time. What helped make this easier was the fact my wife’s work was having an all expenses paid party. By all expenses, I mean drunk.

Now, what most people don’t know is that I’ve become somewhat of a surrogate Amy when it comes to her work functions. The reason for this is simple, she works all the time, and gets screwed out of attending fun events. So, in her stead, I go. Keeping her dreams alive, and my liver pickled. If you can’t foresee my quagmire at this point, I must be more of a belligerent jackass than I thought.

My job, at these functions, is to represent Amy as best possible. That being said, it is a delicate balance between upholding the work ethic and overall good persona she carries with her, and the voice inside me the beckons, “two shots, tequila, here.” It is extremely hard, obviously, since my conscience and good judgment is at work, and not keeping me in line. Now, for the last two years, when I show up at one of these functions, alone, no one gives a second thought. What I fear is that I wake up the next morning, empty bottles in hand to an angry wife standing over me, cloaking me in the shadows of her disappointment, blunt object in hand.

Sure, I’m exaggerating a bit… but those of you that really know me might think, “Is he?” By no means am I the only, or even worst, display of ‘what not to do in public’ at these things. In fact most find my playful nature inviting and entertaining during these little get togethers. Still…

I always have this lingering fear. But, I will say, it was an eventful Drinky McStuble Day for me. It started with a 12-person Irish Car Bomb salute. What’s that? Driving out the snakes? Sure, bottoms up! Of course, stuffing ones gullet with coconut fired shrimp, prime rib sandwiches, and Samuel Adam’s… gratis, is a good thing.

I will end with this, my wife and her colleges work hard… very hard. But, they get treated well when it comes time to relax and enjoy ones self. It can be, as well, an interesting scene.

Ever see a cardiologist doing a keg stand while 6 other doctors hold him upside down and cheer him on? I have.

Understanding Al-Qaida

2005-03-10T09:25:00.000-05:00

In recent news, Al-Qaida announced the latest plan for terror against the United States. Ironically, this new plan seems to have striken an accord with many Americans.

In an attempt at ‘cultural destabilization’, the Bin Laden headed group announced a plan to kidnap American icons. First on their list is Russell Crowe.

No, please don’t go to Crowe’s 560-acre ranch in Australia (about 7 hours north-west of Sydney) and kidnap him. I don’t know what we’d do if we lost this New Zealand born actor… uh, legend… wow, I can’t even fake liking him.

So, with a plan like this, I’m saying, Al-Qaida can’t be all bad, can they? While they are at it, maybe they can rid us of a few other people who are ‘the key members of our entertainment infrastructure.’ (hint-hint, wink-wink, nudge-nudge, say no more…)

Below are some letters written to our editor suggesting additional targets for the terrorist group.

Dear Al K Duh,

My name is Timmy, I am 10 years old. How bout you take Jared from Subway instead? I’m really sick of that guy. No wonder he lost 150 pounds on the Subway diet. That stuff tastes like recycled ass. You can’t get through a whole sandwich with out wanting to shave your taste buds off with a power sander. In conclusion, take Jared. Cause if you don’t I will.

~ Timmy

Osoma,

I was wondering if you could take Jessica Simpson. That spoiled bitch is really pissing me off. Always galavanting around in expensive cars, spending money on useless things, while the rest of us work hard for our money. Seriously, I can’t take much more of this.

~Nick

Dear Mr. Bin Loden,

I was drink… uh, I was thinking. If you really want to kidnap someone in the limelight, why not coke, I mean, consider taking Charles de Gaulle, the President of France. He won’t play nice. Also, I think I heard him say something about your mothers. I’ll make you a deal, any Alcohol…er, Al-Qaida members that perspire in taking Mr. De Gaulle, will receive 10 bonus oil points. This will help put food on your family. In addition, I will - we will rename them Bin Loden fries. Thanks.

~G.W.

Well, there you have it. Looks like we’ve given Al-Qaida enough busy work for the next few months. I’m sure by the time they find Crowe, start making demands, then realize nobody cares; we’ll have a few more suggestions for their list.

I bet you thought I wasn’t going to mention how idiotic it is that someone is threatening to kidnap American icons yet the 1^st person on their list is from New Zealand. The stupidity speaks for itself.

I’m off time to get myself a Liberation burger with a side of Regime Change fries.

Let's Get Ready To Grumble !

2005-03-09T11:31:00.000-05:00

Monday night it was proved to me, once again, why our society is on a slow, cloudy spiral down the toilet. The proof? A new television show called The Contender.

“Why do you insist on poisoning your mind with such trite dribble,” you ask? I don’t know… I simply don’t know. Perhaps I’m a glutton for punishment.

This is another “reality” show forced down the throat of the viewing public. I normally don’t even give something like this a 1^st look, let alone a 2nd, or an entire viewing. (sigh) In this case, I think I knew ahead of time that it would give me fodder for this site.

For those of you much, much smarter than I am, who didn’t subject yourselves to The Contender, let me share my pain.

The Contender is a reality based show that focuses around the lives of 16 skilled pugilists, punching for a chance to fight at a Las Vegas casino for a 1 million dollar purse, thus “changing their lives forever.” Some of you may be thinking, “Ok, that sounds mildly entertaining.” Wait, it gets worse. The show is hosted by ex-boxing champ Sugar Ray Leonard and ex-movie flopper Sylvester Stallone.

Like every other pointless reality show, the boxers were split up into teams: West side and East side. Apparently, they are going to start a gangster rap war at some point. Each week there will be a 5 round fight, which ultimately results in the losing boxer going home. In addition, they have to perform tasks as a team. The team that wins the task chooses who fights that week. The losing team has no say in the matter. The advantage to winning, obviously, is the winning team can match a better fighter from their team with a worse fighter from the other, in hopes their boxer will win the fight that night and send someone from the opposing team home.

The humor comes not in the tasks, or the struggles of these promising young fighters, but in the dialogue between everyone on the show. For instance, Leonard and Stallone come into the house where all the boxers are staying, for a motivational speech. One of the fighters tells Stallone how great Rambo was, and then asked him how he could ever agree to be in Oscar. I would have asked what the hell Stallone was thinking with Stop, or My Mom Will Shoot, but hey, he’s on the right track.

Stallone, instead of getting pissed which any normal person would have done, retorts, “Aaaaaeeeeeeeee, yo. Well, how do you think I felt having to be in the movie? I’m like a truck engine with my hat… I gotta go sew up my arm.” All the while, Leonard, whose brain is scrambled and one eye shaken loose from being hit too many times, is always chiming in with lines that make no sense at all.

Like, “Hey, just remember, to become a champ, you have to make it.”

What the hell does that mean? Jesus, they might as well get John Madden in there to start circling random crap on the screen while Sugar Ray mumbles.
“See, John. These fighters, they have to have heart. Cause that is what will take them all the way. That and being better than the rest.”

Madden starts drawing a heart on the chest of the boxer, then draws a bunch of arrows point from his heart down to his feet.

“That’s right Sugar. See, if, uh, if, uh, if, if, if, uh, if the boxer’s heart is right here… then uh, you got your feet right here. That right there, that’s gonna, that’s gonna, that’s gonna be where the athlete gets his foot. With the flare ups and BOOM, tough actin’ Tenactin.”

The trainer wasn’t much better. I think Stallone cast him because he looked like Mickey’s little brother. The team challenge this week was for them to carry big logs up a 1 mile hill in the middle of a 100 degree heat way. The entire time, Mickey’s brother is riding in the back of a pick up truck shouting things at the boxers. Towards the end of the challenge, the teams have to unlock a pad lock using numbers on the road signs they passed as they were carrying the other logs up the hill, in order to get the last log. One team got there way ahead of the other. The problem was, he forgot the combination. So the trainer is screaming at him.

“Come on, you’re way ahead. Open the lock. It’s a combination lock. You gotta remember the combination. That’s what it’s for… that’s your job.”

As if the boxer was standing there, befuddled, wondering if he should try to open it, or sing it a song.

So then comes fight time. Before the fight they showed random clips of celebrities who were attending the fight. I’m not sure of the point behind that, but it almost seemed like they used stock photography of the actors they stole from somewhere else and edited them in to seem like they were really there. First it was a shot of Melanie Griffith smiling. Then there was a shot of James Caan lying in bed with two broken feet with Kathy Bates sitting next to him. Then they cut to Mel Gibson covered in blue paint screaming “Freedom!”

Stallone and Leonard are sitting next to each other in the first row. For the length of the fight, they would make comments to each other. The funny thing was neither of them were making any sense because they would respond to each other’s comments, only with something completely unrelated. For instance, Sugar Ray says he was surprised by one fighter, to which Stallone replies by yelling, “flip the jab, Tommy.” I kept expecting him to start punching random people in the audience, mimicking the fighters in the ring.

All in all, I’d say, watch The Contender. It proves to be this season’s new break out comedy.

Oscar Grouch

2005-03-01T10:55:00.000-05:00

First, let me apologize for the length of my absence. I’ve been stricken with some evil foulness that had infested my lungs and sinuses. (cough)

I’m sure most of you are thoroughly bored with reading the opinions of others concerning the Academy Awards. I know I am. Which is why I’m not going to subject you to my irrelevant opinions. What I am here to do, is accept the Oscar for Best Oscar Speech Given By A Person Who Watched The Oscars And Noticed How Lame Many Of The Presenters Are/Short Subject.

“Wow… this is so unexpected. Whew. Ok. I’ve only got 325 words left and so many people to thank. First, I’d like to thank John Travolta. By going up on stage and cracking a joke about Saturday Night Fever which resulted in nothing more than the boos of the crickets in the theater’s kitchen… you sparked this little blog entry.

‘Martin Scorcese, Marty… Mart… Ma. Only you can pull off something like wearing a set of eyeglasses containing lenses that look like you got them from the windshield of a Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet.

‘Antonio Banderas. Who knew you could sing? I’ve got to thank you for proving to the world, by that stunning rendition of "Al Otro Lado Del Río", that everyone is blessed with at least one talent.

‘Oh, and that guy who was nominated for best short but lost anyway, and was caught by the cameras sleeping. Who else has the courage to sleep through a televised award show, when you are nominated, and need to be elbowed by your girlfriend as the camera pans over to you? Thank you.

‘Prince… my man. Without you, we’d never know what the Spanish/African American version of The Grinch would look like. You're a clever one… Mr. Prince.

‘Sean Penn. You made me realize that even if I were invited to one of the biggest events of the year, I could show up un-showered, in the same wrinkled tux I passed out in at the detox clinic, after my bender the night before. Such style and class.

‘Of course, I have to thank the announcer this evening. Upon Hilary Swank being announced for her roll in “Million Dollar Baby” you, and only you, had the where-with-all to inform the audience that she was the only female to ever win the Best Actress award for portraying a boxer. Finally, all those before her who were shunned so erringly at the Oscars… you’ve all won this evening. Um, wow… hey, no, no! You aren’t cutting me off yet!

‘Chris Rock, thanks for hosting. Thank you for providing, in my opinion, the only slight bit of entertainment to this otherwise pointless show. With out you, I would have been overwhelmed with the stupidity and tried to pull enough elastic out of my boxer shorts to hang myself with.

‘Last but not least… my beautiful wife. We did it, baby! We made it through this entire show without gouging our eyes out with a dirty spoon! Thank you!”

I've Got Your Crappy Quiz Right Here!

2005-02-23T11:23:00.000-05:00

I've really had all I can take with these inane online quizzes that people keep passing around and posting on their sites. So much so, that I've decided to make a quiz!

Warning - it's in Flash, so if you don't have Flash Player not only can you not see it, but you are incredibly lame.

Click here for said quiz

For Get A Life: The Andrew Fleischmann Story, Press One...

2005-02-22T11:25:00.000-05:00

For those of you actually visiting this site and reading the literary diarrhea I post here every so often, the following is something to get used to, for it shall happen often. It is an angry rant, much like my first post all those… uh… days ago, about a story I saw on the local news. This story, as is the norm, made me so angry through its utter stupidity from those involved, that I wanted to kick my own ass just for having watched it.

This story has been circulating for a few weeks now, so you may have already had the displeasure of being exposed to such nonsense. My infuriation, this time, was ultimately at the hands of State Rep. Andrew Fleischmann from Connecticut. Mr. Fleischmann is tired of movie theaters “not being honest” about the start times of their shows. So much so, that he is proposing legislation to force theaters to list the “actual” start times of their movies, as opposed to when the trailers/commercials start.

"We're being robbed of our freedom of choice because we're not told when the actual movie will begin,” carps Fleischmann.

Personally, I enjoy the previews. In fact, if I am running late and fear I’ve missed the trailers for a film I planned on attending, I will postpone my viewing for another time. I understand this is a bit ridiculous to some, but so is trying to pass bill through congress requiring movie theaters to list a start time that factors in previews and commercials. Fleischmann’s argument is that we are paying to see the films, so shouldn’t be inconvenienced with ten minutes worth of previews.

Perhaps our government officials can better spend their time on more important issues. Issues like, requiring the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) office to post actual wait times for customers who are there for hours at a time for a simple process like registering a new car. After all, we are paying for it. Why stop there? Let’s post signs in the DMV warning, “Workers Will Be Inexplicably Slow.”

You may be asking why something so simple can make one so angry. The reason: because it’s so re-damn-diculous. This is the type of person who shows up usually right as the movie is starting, if not a few minutes in. Lumbering around in the dark, trying to find a seat. Standing to remove his jacket in front of anyone unfortunate enough to be seated behind him. Ignorant and even callous to the fact that he is disturbing everyone in the theater.

No matter. The Motion Picture Industry will never completely dispose of previews, how else will we know what we want to see next time? In addition, theaters keep prices from rising even more than they currently do by showing commercials. At best, they will list the start time, with an estimation of how long the trailers and commercials will be. This means we’ll have to deal with even more ignoramuses disturbing paying theater goers. How self-absorbed is that?

“I can’t possibly sit through ten whole minutes of upcoming film trailers! I want the entire film industry to change their way of business for me.”

I think that, for most people, that preview/commercial buffer is helpful. I know people who are consistently late. So, instead of interrupting the experience for everyone else by coming in during the movie itself, they come in during the unimportant part, disturbing no one. Yeah, the commercials are annoying, I agree. But life is full of annoyances. And if you can’t bear ten minutes of minor annoyances before a two hour film, then you have bigger problems.

To take this a step further, I have a complaint for the author of one article I read supporting this legislation. My complaint is not directed towards him for his support of this issue, nor for having his own opinion. Giving idiots the false hope that anyone is interested in what they think, therefore they should write it down for the entire world to see, is what makes our country so great. Why else would I bother writing this? My complaint is about a comment he made concerning the issue at hand.

“It’s another reason why I’d love to see movies simultaneously released on pay-per-view and DVD.”

Spoken like a true dud. Why bother going out at all? While we’re at it, why don’t we force all restaurants to deliver meals to us? That way we don’t all have to suffer the unbearable agony of waiting in those long lines just to enjoy a decent meal, other than pizza and fast food, at a restaurant. Plus, we can all sit home on our fat asses and NEVER have to learn the appropriate social skills we still haven’t learned at this point in our lives.

Someone needs to wake these people from their Peter Pan existences.

Next Stop, Hell

2005-02-21T10:23:00.000-05:00

This weekend was more productive than most. Among the many things I actually accomplished was a trip to the local minor league hockey match. It promised to be packed with action and excitement, considering we were blessed with two fights in the first four seconds of the game.

As is to be expected, the beer flowed like wine, and the action was action-packed. Our seats were three rows from the glass, behind the visiting team’s goal – not bad for last minute. I would go into the struggle it took to actually order the tickets, but that would be a 6 pager. Long story short, I felt like I was calling Dell’s support center. It took a lot of spelling and talking loud for one to properly understand, from my end. Moving on.

I immensely enjoy going to hockey games, but I am somewhat different than most in the fact that I don’t scream officiating advice at the referee. However, I thoroughly enjoy those that do. I had the pleasure to be sitting directly in front of an older woman, who must have been a retired hockey referee, because she seemed to know all the correct calls to make and made sure to point out, rather loudly, her thoughts to those on the ice. What made it even more amusing was hearing her yell things like, “Great call, ref, why don’t you open your eyes,” then mumble “jerk” under her breath. I’m assuming he’d been her neighbor for years, and was constantly swiping her newspaper. Of course, the more enchanting amber nectar that graced my taste buds, the more I enjoyed her impudent pandemonium.

I’m of the opinion that unless you speak through vast amounts of experience, you really aren’t in a position to bark orders or advice at the adept. Continuing, if you simply can’t help yourself, then why should you be free from similar disparagement? It’s the “something tells me I can easily beat these trained professionals” mentality that of many overzealous fans. So I like to mock the mockers. I began to heckle her anytime she heckled the refs.

“You can’t shout any louder than that? What, do you have emphysema or something?”

Or, “Oh, nice complaint, lady. Get better seats next time so you can actually SEE THE GAME!”

My fun with her, though, came to an abrupt end due to the fact that she ceased her shouting during the entire third period. My life seemed to lack meaning. That is until I heard a new voice, from 4 rows back, shouting at the refs with what seemed like a drunken callousness.

I believe he was rooting for the visiting team, because he was rather upset every time something bad happened to one of them. I wasn’t completely sure, though, because all his belittlement was directed to them. Let’s just leave it at; I was confused.

His first insult he shouted at one of the team members when he was checked head first into the boards. As the left-winger of his favorite team lay sprawled out on the ice, lifeless as a bear skin rug, when he shouts,

“Hey, can’t you just get up or something?”

Another remark was something about calling the player’s mother to come pick him up. I found much enjoyment in his remarks. They seemed to lack depth, but were quite playful. So, I decided to join in… only when I shouted things at the ref or players, I did so in a fashion much like a completely inebriated fan might. I would mumble, shout things that didn’t make sense, or even trail off in the middle of a taunt and pretend to pass out. By no means was I the only enjoying this situation, either. I was sitting next to a friend of mine, who for the sake of concealing the identity of those involved; we shall simply call him “Ken.” “Ken” was enjoying my musings as much as I. That is until he had the foresight to turn and see whose expense at which we were having so much fun.

Suddenly, “Ken’s” mood became somewhat somber, and in a stern voice he said,

“Uh, I don’t think that guy you are making fun of is drunk.”

It was at that point I stopped and looked at “Ken” in utter befuddlement.

“Turn around,” sighs “Ken”, in a somewhat ashamed tone as he covers his face with one hand and motions over his shoulder with the other.

I turned to see exactly whom it was I had been “ridiculing” for half of the third period. It turned out to be a middle-aged gentle man who was, I’d say, for the sake of being politically correct, “special”. He was there with what looked to be were his parents, obviously having a great enjoying the game. Along I come, transforming an otherwise great excursion on a Saturday afternoon into an episode South Park.

In my defense, I had no idea. Perhaps I should have looked before I started making fun of someone… but I’ve never been astute enough to do something of the like. So, for my follies on Saturday, along with those of you that have been laughing and enjoying yourself at the expense of this poor man who was only trying to have a good time, I shall see you all in Hell, where we have now secured our very own parking spot, right up front.

Everybody Was Haiku Writing

2005-02-18T08:03:00.000-05:00

Haiku is an old, traditional form of Japanese poetry. A Haiku is a 3-line poem, written in a strict metric pattern of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, respectively. Since the poem is limited to 3 lines, with each line remaining somewhat individual while pertaining to the other two, they are both intriguing to read and difficult to write. I would like to share a few I have written over the years.

No, You Want 6601

Ring, ring, ring, hello…?

Uh, yeah, is this Dominoes?

Sorry, wrong number.

A Flower Blooms

I have a secret.

I’m a homosexual…

No, I’m just kidding.

Symmetrizing Ascension

Two, four, six, eight, ten,

Twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen,

Twenty, twenty-two…

Untitled

My cat has bad breath,

It kind of smells like cat food.

She should brush often.

The Linguist

Perspicacity

Great word to start this poem,

The hell does it mean?

Far-sighted Love

Adorn from afar,

Approaching yields elegance.

Oh wait, that’s a guy.

A Buzz With Life

The worker gathers,

The Queen completes life’s circle,

My rock hits the hive.

Youthful Inquisition

A son asks his dad,

Hey, daddy, why does it rain?

Cause you made God cry.

Star Wars: Episode III - Meh

2005-02-16T12:03:00.000-05:00

The long awaited and much anticipated final episode in the generation spanning epic, Star Wars, is already becoming news worthy. After long, arduous meetings between creator and once great idea ruiner George Lucas and producers, the official title is decided upon.

The upcoming and, with thanks to God almighty, final film will be titled Star Wars: Episode III- Meh.

Tossing aside previous suggestions from studio executives like Episode III – Who Cares?, Episode III – Anything That Was Once Good About Star Wars Has Been Flushed Down The Toilet, and Episode III – Revenge of the Sith, Lucas remained intransigent in his battle to not let his beautiful and pure vision be tainted by hackneyed marketing schemes.

I managed to track Mr. Lucas down at his luxurious California home and drag him away from his already busy schedule for a few questions about his recent victory.

Shizhead: Before we begin, I’d like to thank you for taking the time to speak to some, uh, fans?

George Lucas: (Simulating a futuristic dog fight with a still in the box Millennium Falcon and a near-mint Tie Fighter) Peew! Peew! Peew! Peew! RAAAAAOOOR… WHOOOOSH. TAH TAH TAH TAH TAAAAH…

SH: …

GL: (pointing to a picture of him and ex-wife Marcia Lucas) It’s the ship that made the castle run in less than twelve parsecs…

SH: Right, right… so, Mr. Lucas. How do you feel about your victory over the studio in regards to the title of Episode III?

GL: Aren’t you a little short for a Stormtrooper?

SH: Uh... moving on. What do you have to say to the fans that are, let’s say, less than satisfied with your films in the last few years?

GL: I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

SH: Oooookay… I’m just going to let myself out.

GL: R2-D2, is it you? It is you!

I managed to get out of there unscathed… for now. I guess we’ll see what major damage is caused when and if my time is reluctantly despoiled by one more giant disappointment upon the "film's" release.

Grammys: The Emmys of Music

2005-02-15T08:50:00.000-05:00

I've never been one for award shows. Not that it makes any difference what-so-ever, but the truly deserving never actually get an award. Case in point.

Led Zeppelin, arguably the Christopher Columbuses (sans the Indian killing) of 60's and 70's rock, finally won an award. This happened 25 years after the fact. I should at least give some credit to the panel Grammy recipient choosers for not simply waiting until the entire band was dead, which is what normally happens.

What really chaps my ass about this year's Grammy contest is the fact that U2 won anything, let alone multiple awards. Why? Well for one U2 sucks worse than a $2 crack whore with lockjaw. Another reason is that bands who use other languages, like Spanish, in their lyrics for no reason other than they are trying to cover up the fact that their music is intolerable by using other languages in their lyrics, is painful and unbearable. Especially when said band uses the Spanish in the most incorrect way. This simply makes you look like an idiot. Job well done.

The song that U2 was given a Grammy for opens with the line "Unos, dos, tres, catorce..." So not only is his Spanish atrocious, but it's apparent that he missed his counting class in the 1st grade. This is because uno not unos means one. Unos means some or any. In addition, quatro would be 4, where as catorce is 14. Not that we need another song beginning with "One, two, three, four...", as original of an idea that is. But "Some, 2, 3, 14..." is even worse. For those of you no-taste in music havers who say, "But Bono sings 14 cause it's their 14th album... waaaaah..." thank you for further proving my point of how lame this band is as well as its fans. I think Bono should stick to hugging trees and leave the music to the musicians.

Moving on. There was one of those multiple-band tribute songs for the victims of the tsunami. It was so bad, that I wished I were one of said victims. I don't mean to sound callous, because it was a huge tragedy, but so was "Across the Universe". This performance was so mismatched that it makes the Nsync/Aerosmith combo from the Superbowl look like meat and potatoes. The only time that Billy Joe from Greenday should be on the same stage with Tim McGraw is if he's beating Tim to death with his leather cowboy hat.

I think we should hold a fundraiser for Victims of the Multiple Band Tribute to the Victims of the Tsunami. It will be Debbie Gibson, Mc Hammer, Meatloaf, Queen Latifah, and Jared from Subway. The single with be nothing more than the suicidal screams of the washed up singers (and Jared) as they fly a personal jet they don't deserve, loaded with explosives, into U2's studio during a recording session. Thus making the world a better place for all.

Random thought... you know those cheesy coffee mugs they make with a picture or your choosing printed on them? I want a coffee mug with a picture of me holding a coffee mug printed on it.

They Got Paid For This?

2005-02-14T12:32:00.000-05:00

Everyday I am amazed by the things I see in Rochester. Last night, was yet another moment of jaw-dropping, eye rubbing disbelief. One may be thinking...

“What could it be this time? Could it be the ungodly amounts of snow during the winters?”

Nope.

“Perhaps the vehicular maundering by every person over 60?”

No.

“ Ok, ok. I got it. It’s the shear lack of economic growth and stability!”

Guess again.

“I give up.”

Rochester is unique in the fact that based on the chosen commercials that air on major television stations here, I have concluded that it is illegal to advertise anything unless said advertisement was:

a) Thought up by a drunk/high retarded monkey with one arm and a lisp

b) Created with a VHS camcorder (circa 1982)

c) Actually “filmed” in the creator's basement, using friends, family, and local homeless persons as the cast

I know we all have our favorite and least favorite commercials. A good commercial is clever, effective, and makes us actually remember the product, or at least remember we “liked that commercial, with the guy who takes the picture with the frames, and moves it over his face… you know what I mean, right?”

Adversely, a bad commercial is not only ineffective, but we have no desire to ever see this commercial again. In fact, if we do suffer the misfortune another time, we are often over-come with an uncontrollable anger many times leading almost to the destruction of ones television and the severe beating of a neighborhood senor citizen. (The senor citizen had SOMETHING to do with it, even if it was the fact they you were stuck driving behind them as they drove 6 miles an hour, erratically, swerving back and forth between lanes.)

What is it, you ask, that could possibly be such an abomination on the eyes and brain that could impel me to drone on so incessantly? I could go on and on... but I won't

Diverging, I never understood why certain companies thought there was a need to advertise? I mean, Coca-Cola, MacDonald’s… and so on. They spend hundreds of millions a year… A YEAR on advertising. It’s not as if we’ll be strolling along a sidewalk when a bus passes and suddenly exclaim, “What’s that? A sandwich? You know, maybe I should try this eating thing…” You never see an ad for cups. But we all use them, now I want to see an ad.

“Tired of making a mess everytime you’re parched?” (Black and white scene depicts a man trying to drink from his hands, unsuccessfully, as grape juice pours all over his white pants. He looks painfully into the camera and we hear the sound of WAH… WAAH... WAAAH… WAAAAAAH.)

“Now, from the geniuses that brought you plates, comes the latest in rehydration technology… cups.”

Maybe this thought is idiotic. Maybe this thought is crazy.

Idiotic, yes... Crazy, yes...