February 2006 Archives
I didn't come by this decision lightly. But the fact is, Charlie is one of those dogs who needs a lot of attention and exercise. She gets bored easily and when she gets bored, she gets destructive. What's left of my backyard is a testament to that. If she were 10 lbs that would be one thing, but when she's 55 lbs of solid muscle, it's a different story altogether. And even if she were 10 lbs, that still wouldn't be fair to her.
So, she's back at the No-Kill shelter whence I plucked her these many months ago, awaiting a new home. I'll still have her looking at me in the site logo until I find another eponymous dog to replace her. Which probably won't be for a while.
Anyway, this is all very depressing, and I don't want to start crying at work. Which I might. Because I'm a big baby about these things. So, that's all I got.
Each Monday, until, well, the big season finale next week, I'll be hosting the soon-to-be-famous Monday Morning BSG open thread.
Got opinions about the BSG? Afraid of saying them out loud because you'll (correctly) be accused of being a dork? Well, this is the place for you!
Oh, and there will be spoilers aplently, so if you have the episode sitting on the Tivo waiting to be watched, don't check here.
More below the fold...
I was checking out the usually entertaining Dilbert Blog, the first entry was this article about defeating terrorism.
It ended thusly:
Your challenge for today is to leave a comment that doesn’t rant about the good reasons for energy conservation or U.S. support for Israel.I left this comment:
Okay, I'll rant about President's Day.Anyway, the more I think about it, the more I think it's a good idea. So, write your congressman or senator or both! Let's get this silly and worthless holiday renamed!Who decided to rename it, anyway? I mean, Washington and Lincoln's Birthday, I can get behind that. Those guys were titans. But when you start calling it Presidents Day, you're lumping the great ones, like Lincoln and James K. Polk, with the duds, like Grant and Hoover.
I say we change it to "Good President's Day" and let everyone decide what "good" is. So that way, Republicans can celebrate Reagan, Democrats can celebrate FDR, and nobody has to celebrate Jimmy Carter.
(Note: I think I was the only guy who passed the challenge. Everyone else used this as an opportunity to bag on Israel, or bag on people who just bagged on Israel.)
This is very exciting news. I'd be the first in line if they put this stuff on the market. Just think of how many more video games I could play if I only slept two hours!
But seriously, though. One quibble with the article is the idea that the military would be the primary market for these new drugs. Hogwash! The military might fund the research, but the primary market would be college students. The secondary market would be, well, everyone.
A quick calculation indicates that if you go from eight hours of sleep a night to two hours, that adds up to be 91 days at the end of the year. That's like adding three months to your life each year. And, to borrow from Dennis Leary, these aren't the hip-replacement, adult-diaper years, either.
Who wouldn't want that? Sign me up!
Note: I'm sure these drugs will end up having side-effects that make Fen-phen look like Skittles. But hey! You have to die of something, right?
Anyway, I recall the last Olympics, there was some controversy about figure skating, that elicited much wailing and gnashing of teeth. However, being that it involved Canadians being jobbed out of medals, I assumed I wasn't interested and tuned it all out.
If anyone was going to bring this story to life, it'd be the great Canadian Mark Steyn, who did so in this story that came out at the time.
It was moving. Not so moving I'm going to, you know, watch any of that nonsense, but worth a read.
Only in America! Or in this case, England.
That's not why I linked it, though.
In the course of reading it, I had this snippet of dialog appear in my head. Proving once again that if you can't joke about cancer, what can you joke about?
WOMAN #1: Thomas was just diagnosed with the Big C.WOMAN #2: Cancer? Oh my God! I'm so sorry to hear it!
WOMAN #1: Cancer?! Good lord, no! The Clap.
WOMAN #2: I thought the Clap was the Little C.
WOMAN #1: No, the Little C is crabs.
WOMAN #2: So, if the Clap is the Big C, what kind of C is cancer?
WOMAN #1: [thinking] I don't believe it has a C. It's just cancer.
Enjoy!
Valentine's Day no fun for the loveless
February 03, 1999
You can feel the excitement that only comes when Valentine's Day is just around the corner. For most people this is a romantic time of year to spend with that special someone.
You might go out to a fancy dinner, go ballroom dancing, exchange woefully cliched gifts and do other things that can't be put in print. But not for me
I like to look at Valentine's as an annual reminder that I'm going to die cold and alone (unless I die in a plane crash, whereas then I would die in a ball of fire surrounded by lots of people).
I usually spend Feb. 14 at home by myself with a paper bag over my head watching reruns of Punky Brewster and Max Headroom.
Every once in a while, the doorbell will ring. I'll answer it, only to to find a jovial couple that decided to take time out of their happy Valentine's Day date to come by my house and laugh at how lonely I am. I'll then give a depressed Morrissey-esque moan which is drowned out by their hysterical laughter as I slam the door.
It's a bit like Halloween except instead of the trick-or-treaters taking candy from me, they take away my dignity.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that after the third ring, I'd just stop answering the door, but I always hope that it might be someone there to love me. I fall for it every time.
Last Valentine's Day was a bit different. I was lucky to only have seven couples to visit instead of the usual nine. I was invited to a party, but I wasn't about to go. The only thing I hate more than parties is my friends.
I was almost out of food, so I was reduced to making a baking soda sandwich.
I sat down, took off my paper bag, and sank my teeth into the sandwich with a cringe.
Suddenly, I was visited by the ghost of Oscar Wilde. "Why so glum, Trav?"
"Don't ask stupid questions, Oscar." I relied.
"Do I really deserve such a response?" he asked in mock indignation. "You know, the mark of a true gentleman is one who is never unintentionally rude."
I smiled, "Goodness, Oscar, you're the wittiest guy I know. How come you haven't visited me earlier?"
"Dear Trav, I never put off till tomorrow that which I can possibly do the day after."
"Very witty, Oscar." I said. "Tell me, what is the secret of being loved?"
"There is one thing in the world worse than being talked about and that's not being talked about." Oscar quipped.
"That's very witty Oscar but it really doesn't answer my question." I told him.
"Why you little ingrate! That's it! You're the last self-loathing wannabe-poet I'm ever going to visit," he said.
"Oh, I think Babylon 5 is on," he said and vanished. I didn't even have the chance to challenge him to an arm-wrestling match.
The doorbell rang. I walked to the door and asked "Who is it?"
"Jehovah's Witnesses!" they yelled back.
"Jehovah's Witnesses?" I asked, opening the door. "Thank God! For a second there I thought it was those..." But before I would finish I saw a happy guy and a happy girl burst into uncontrollable laughter. I'd fallen for it again.
I know I'm unlovable. I require no reminding of that fact, as every moment of my miserable existence is a testament to the fact that I will die as alone and unloved as I was the day God made me.
I would like to ask a favor of all the lovable people reading this.
As you are going on your fun dates this Feb. 14, keep me in mind. Remember those less fortunate people cared about by few and loved by none. Be sure to dedicate 7 seconds of lovemaking to unlovable people like me.
Generic man/woman, vaguely gay looking, and a caption at the top saying "I Questioned Homosexuality". And then another caption at the bottom saying something like "Change Is Possible". I'm not kidding. Here's a a press release about it.
Now, for the record, I really don't give a crap about homosexuality. I'm of the libertarian mindset: if I don't have to look at it and it's not costing me any money, go crazy, folks.
Is homosexuality genetic? Is it learned behavior? Can that behavior be changed? Don't care, don't care, and don't care.
On the one hand, some people do care. I think the fact that they're putting up a billboard is a good thing. Doing so would probably be illegal in Canada. It's still a free country, and when someone displays something wildly controversial on an interstate highway, that tells me free expression is still alive here. For now.
And as for their message, well, let's toss out a hypothetical: If some scientist invented a "not be gay any more" pill, would any gay people take it? You bet. Being gay definitely has its downside. These people are suggesting they have something. Frankly, I don't see what's wrong with that, and attempting to "cure" people isn't in and of itself a bad thing.
It's probably crap, and I'm sure we'll see a 20/20 exposé on the horrors of the Exodus program (that being who these people are), with mentions of their 2% success rate. But then, Jenny Craig is also crap, and will probably cost you a lot more in money and misery than this program will.
That ought to be the end of it. Some Christian fundamentalists are offering gay people a way to stop being gay. If you aren't gay, they aren't talking to you. If you are gay, you can just say "no". But that won't be the end of it. As I write this, I'm sure angry letters are flying around demanding that something be done to remove the hate from our highways.
And St. Louis will be painted as a seething bed of intolerance. And I'll be asked to think more about homosexuality than I'd rather, which is hardly ever at all. Just writing this, I've thought more than I'd rather.
How 'bout that Battlestar Galactica this weekend? Was that explosive or what?
There are more here. Scroll down a bit and look for "Cards are a waste of money".
Researchers... believe they have found a new compound that could finally kill the HIV/AIDS virus, not just slow it down as current treatments do.
However, for another take on this issue, consider Scott Adams's WCM Method, which means deferring to the person Who Cares Most.
There are very few guys who get as passionate about the toilet seat as most women do, so by this reckoning, you should probably just do whatever the woman in this situation wants and find a way to be happy with that.
Travis is my brother. He presents his deeply cynical view of the white rap scene:
Rap was started to give a musical expression to people who could not afford musical instruments, and now it's just for lazy white people. I do it because people give me free drugs, and it makes teenagers want to have sex with me. And that's the only reason to do rap music.(Editor's Note: if anyone's mother is reading, Travis never does drugs. Seriously. And he never has sex with teenagers. Although it's always nice to be wanted. Isn't it?)
Read the whole thing. Especially his breakdown of the three kinds of white rappers.
When real genuine original thinking happens, I think the person should be applauded. This is especially true when that person is me.
So, here's my story. I'm only just now mentioning it because somehow it got lost:
I was at a Superbowl party at my cousin and cousin-in-law's house (no, this isn't the cousin who's my erstwhile roommate, this is his sister). They have this dog, Wally, one of those Boston Terriers a dog that is described as either "hideously unattractive" or "so ugly it's cute", depending on your taste or whether that dog's owner is within earshot and/or armed.
Anyway, one of the weirdos at this gathering was cradling Wally on its back, and someone else was stroking Wally's taint. Don't ask.
She said, "I love Wally's taint! It's so soft, because, like, there's nothing there."
I responded, "Of course there's nothing there! That's why they call it the 'taint'. If there were something there, they'd call it... the 'tis'."
Okay, it's not Oscar Wilde, but it was totally orignal and right on the spot. And it's even more funny when you think about it a bit.
See, because if there were something there, they wouldn't really call it the "tis". They'd call it the whatever it is. Like the bing bong, or the dingus, perhaps.
...
All right, never mind. Maybe it wasn't very creative after all. I officially retract my own back-pat.
But, the one thing they do better than anyone else is run down the Superbowl ads, so I'll pay to hear what they think.
Fortunately, it's all online now. There's also a video page, for that one ad (you know the one), when you come walking out of the restroom and hear roars of laughter, and you know you've missed a good one. You might want to come back to that one later today, though, because it's running very slowly this morning.
For the record, my favorite ads last night were the Fed Ex ad and, I hate to admit it, but the Budweiser ad with the young Clydesdale pulling the cart, and the two fully grown Clydesdales were pushing it from behind made me tear up. I'm not kidding about that.
I liked that ad so much, in fact, I think I'll buy a case of Budweiser in appreciation and drink until I can't feel my legs.
(Editor's Note: J is not going to drink a case of Budweiser because he liked a commercial so much. That's all talk)
Everyone was talking about the Bud Light magic fridge ad, but I think that was the one I came out of the restroom just in time to have missed the punchline of.
