Does anyone remember the Teapot Dome scandal? I think it pretty much slinked its way through my brain in high school without making much of an impression beyond noticing how frequently it was mentioned and referenced. But, as it oft does, regret seeped into my melon this morn, and left behind a filmy residue of want; specifically the desire to investigate the erstwhile infamy I'd so wantonly shunned those many years ago.
One unforeseen side-effect of the recent cold weather snap is the enjoyment one finds in forced bouts of newfound self-discovery. For instance, I've noticed over the past couple weeks that my left hand is far more tolerant to the bitter chill than my right.
That's right. Because of some freakish circulatory asymmetry, ye olde starboard side is a wee bit nippier than the port, and it's really freaking me out.
I'd like to dedicate this particular entry to a game which has a tendency to pop up sporadically in my life, but has nonetheless played a pivotal role in shaping my character, world-view, and sense of wondrous awe. I speak, naturally, of "Big Buck Hunter".
Never have I come across such an apt electronic-gaming-product-as-a-metaphor-for-life. It's man versus nature, man versus himself, and man versus his fellow man. You, the player, must harness the full capability of your senses, reflexes, and dexterity to bag yerself a real beaut of a virtual buck - it's a redneck's dream and a taxidermist's worst financial nightmare.
And what fuels it all? Cold hard cash. Big Buck Hunter siphons off your drinking money like a greedy methed-up cross-country trucker in an I-70 Cracker Barrel parking lot on a petrol bender, using his newly-purchased rubber hose and hand pump to methodically suck the gas from every diesel tank in sight.
So let's review how this miracle-cum-box-with-orange-shotgun befits its place as an analogue to life, in the style of one of those "Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" posters:
Each new place (East, South, Midwest, West) brings its own idiosyncrasies and quirks.
You never know just how many bucks are going to be out on that field, how they're laid out, or how they're going to scatter.
Two or three random hits will bring down your target, but a single well-placed shot (preferably to the neck, but this stretches the metaphor) will slay even the largest of beasts.
You can hunt alone, or with friends, but it's you who has to ultimately pull the cheaply-made plastic trigger.
Sometimes you're riding high (double-bucking a couple of prize 12-pointers), sometimes you sabotage your own immediate chances for success ("shoot a doe"), and sometime you just plain miss.
No matter how well you do, when your time's up, you're through.
O: So there's never any message to your comedy? There's nothing you'd like people to do or think about in reaction?
SW: No. I have no message. From the moment I started, I was just hoping I'd think of things to make them laugh. There didn't have to be a style, and it didn't have to be philosophical or anything. It was just, "Is this funny, is this funny?" But after I'd been at it for 10 years, I noticed that what you could say I was saying, even though I'm not saying it on purpose, is that the world is insane. You're on a jet, you're five miles in the air, you're going 500 miles an hour, and you ask someone to bring you another Coke. That is as weird to me as any joke I said last night. I think that's why people identify with me, because there are a billion pieces of information, and there's so much chaos. So much of civilization is just trying to organize this information. Everyone's trying to have rules so that it's not complete madness-chaos. But as organized as it can be, it's only organized to an extent. Shit is spilling over the edges. I'm just pointing out the stuff they're trying to make rules about, and the stuff that's spilling over. As I'm saying this to you, it sounds so deep, but all I'm noticing is that things are funny. You can just move something and look at it from a slightly different angle, and it's funny.
I see this happen a lot, but since it's fresh in my mind from this weekend, I figure it's a good time to bring it up.
Here's a bit of advice: If you're that guy standing at a bar thinking about yelling "yes, everybody, I'm the drunk asshole... woo!" in an attempt to diffuse, via misguided alco-humor, the inevitable annoyance caused by your daft and obnoxious state, don't bother. See, we all picked up on the fact that you were the drunk asshole long before you thought it would be funny and glib to alert us via your slurred mea culpa. Just quietly apologize to the person on whom you spilled your drink, and go home.
So if you buy a Hummer H2, which travels 9 miles per gallon of gas (yes, n-i-n-e), you also get a tax deduction of ~$38k provided you claim it for business use. Awesome. Viva consumicion visible.
The temperature hasn't risen above freezing since Jan 14th, and isn't supposed to until this Saturday, which will make for 11 straight days of sub-freezing temperatures.
It's just not funny, ok? We get it - it's cold. No need to beleaguer us further.
Humankind is mired in a paradoxical dichotomy of love and fear when it comes to technology. Witness the go-go affection for all things shiny associated with the late 90's versus various incarnations of neo-luddite expression ranging from pulp movies (The Terminator et al) to riots by displaced and disenfranchised workers at a newly-automated assembly line. This is an intuitive observation - but it does touch upon my main point: androids would probably have a clear advantage when it came to pie-eating competitions.
On one hand, I think we, as a species, have a compulsion to see just how much pie could be consumed in one sitting, but, like Icarus flying too close to the sun, we are afraid of letting this urge lead to our downfall (i.e. having our throne at the top of the pie-eating hierarchy supplanted by our own creations). How would we react to seeing an automaton designed by our very own hand consume far more pie in a mere minute than any biological organism would have any hope of eating in a decade? Would we feel overjoyed? Awed? Scared? Would this machine's artificial makeup mitigate its ability to elicit pride from its fleshy progenitors?
I think we should love and cherish these mechanical masterpieces, but not unconditionally; they are as much a product of us and our ethos as their squishier brethren (you might know them as "children"). We must give them leeway, but should they become sufficiently obnoxious and disobedient, they deserve to be punished. Perhaps revoking their pie-eating privileges would serve to put them back in line (but we should also be wary of them turning against us, usurping our power, and consuming us, much like their beloved pie, in an apocalyptic orgy of chaos and mechanical hedonism).
Regardless, just try to imagine the rate at which they would be able to eat all that pie. Think of the possibilities!
I tried snowboarding for the first time this weekend. I have a bruise the size of a tangerine on my left buttock (no pictures will be posted for this.), but overall I had fun. I've never been on the slopes before (despite having lived in Colorado for 4 years), and it was interesting to have a window onto that whole culture: I got to see what I'm convinced was the cheesiest bar outside of Branson.
You know when you're sitting around, and you start to wonder how easy it would be to create a hyper-stylized depiction of a man getting run over by a train? It turns out it's pretty easy.
I've added a "bio" section. I wrote it for work a while back (some of you have seen it already), but I think it's a good primer for the uneducated millions frequenting this page daily. Sincere, inoffensive suggestions for other information to include on the page are welcome.
So I'm trying to set up a feature that will let me display Amazon.com information if you just mouseover a link, but I'm having problems. Unfortunately, it's consuming most of the time I would otherwise devote to adding anything here, so please excuse the dearth of material.
Ok, obviously some of you didn't get my memo. I'm going to start keeping track. I thought about a counter on the side, but deemed it too obnoxious. I'll just add an entry every time.
Couples who have made out next to me on the subway:
Standing: 2
Sitting: 1
Cumulative total: 3
Assertion: my TV is a sentient, sadistic minion of Hades, or alternatively an avatar of some dark demonic lord. It takes great pleasure in taunting me by showing one or two occasional shows of merit per week, and expertly dashes any budding hope I may harbor by subsequently displaying nothing but the most reviled filth known to man at all other times.
Goal: somehow lure the box into airing decent programming.
Plan 1: fake my own death as a result of some comically inane and moronic action in front of my television. Brimming with smug hubris ("I am far smarter than my master!"), it will let its guard down and actually show something worth watching, all the while ignorant to the fact that I am secretly enjoying the newfound high-grade entertainment. Accidentally drenching my hand with super-glue while building a scale model of Graceland, sneezing, holding my nose, realizing that I've just glued my nostrils shut with my hand, panicking, calming down, deciding to kill time by seeing if I can form a fist with my free hand and fit it into my mouth, realizing to my horror that I can, and choking to death should do the trick nicely.
For this I will need:
1 scale model of Graceland (rare)
2 tubes, super-glue
1 camel-pack through which to surreptitiously sip fluids so as to prevent dehydration
Plan 2: woo the TV. Even the most diabolical of contraptions can purge its wickedness through the redeeming power of love. Aside from the stated goal of improved programming, this plan includes the ancillary benefit of finally having something warm with which to cuddle in bed on those cold wintry nights (don't cry for me; your tears are wasted).
For this I will need:
1 Luther Vandross CD
4 scented candles, assorted odors and colors
That special Orland magic
Plan 3: get my set addicted to heroin. Posing as a sophisticated Paraguayan jet-seting hand model, I will casually introduce my TV to the wonders of marijuana at some swanky lounge that it regularly frequents (believe me, there are plenty). Leveraging the reefer's potent power as a gateway drug, I will then comp it some meth, then some e, and even insist that it dance with the white lady for the very first time off of my platinum-plated, diamond-encrusted coke spoon forged in the shape of a Saturn V rocket. Before you know it, it'll be time for the heavy artillery. Using time-testing hard-sell techniques ("First one's free muchacho... what do you have to lose?") I'll have it "chasing the dragon" like Nico at a Wharhol party and pleading for its "horse" more fervently than the captain of a polo team at the racetrack betting his life savings on Seattle Slew's great-grandson. I'll be bartering smack for episodes of "The Sopranos" before you know it. Hell, the way I dangle that thing on a leash of skag, FOX may just have to bring back "The Ben Stiller Show".
Cost/Benefit Analysis: From a monetary standpoint, plan #2 looks to be the least expensive, but carries with it a high risk of emotional damage should I find myself reciprocating the TV's love. Additional uncertainty is introduced via the box's fickle romantic nature and reticence to become emotionally attached. Plan #3 provides the highest chance of success, but will cost several hundred thousand dollars and severely compromise any remaining moral integrity. Plan #1 carries with it a small chance of actual death.
Conclusion: I will have to actually attempt all three plans to be certain of achieving my goals.
Epilogue: All three plans have failed.
Having sold all my worldly belongings, save the television itself, to pay for these ventures (especially the third plan), I am now destitute and living on the street. My heart is broken, I'm thoroughly addicted to H, and my right hand is permanently attached to my nose (this makes it very difficult to shoot up). Small children cry when they see me.
Hmmm.... I use "obviate" in an entry on Tuesday, and now dictionary.com has it as its word of the day today (Thursday). Prediction: Saturday's word will be "thief".
Yes! Another online quiz so I don't have to think for myself! They won't stop until they've completely obviated introspection (and by "they" I mean, of course, the powerful Hong Kong triads).
Give the Belief-O-Matic a whir to divine your religious leanings (best pun I've made so far in ought-three). My results are below (weird... "Unitarian Universalism"?). For the record, it looks like the apple fell pretty far from the tree (#s 16 and 27).
1. Unitarian Universalism (100%)
2. Secular Humanism (95%)
3. Liberal Quakers (92%)
4. Theravada Buddhism (85%)
5. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (82%)
6. Nontheist (69%)
7. Taoism (64%)
8. Neo-Pagan (63%)
9. Mahayana Buddhism (56%)
10. Bahá'í Faith (54%)
11. Orthodox Quaker (49%)
12. New Age (48%)
13. Jainism (46%)
14. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (44%)
15. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (41%)
16. Reform Judaism (40%)
17. Sikhism (38%)
18. Hinduism (33%)
19. Jehovah's Witness (33%)
20. New Thought (33%)
21. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (31%)
22. Scientology (28%)
23. Seventh Day Adventist (25%)
24. Eastern Orthodox (15%)
25. Islam (15%)
26. Orthodox Judaism (15%)
27. Roman Catholic (15%)
There comes a time in every man's life when he has to admit to himself that he just doesn't get Philip Glass. Thanks to the good people at Trio and the producers of "Sessions at West 54th", my time is now.
I found this on the street a couple nights ago. Can anyone (Brown, Spernoga, etc) translate it? Even if it remains an enigma, it has left an indelible mark on me.
I have returned to NYC having been welcomed back, in typical New York style, by a pouring rainstorm. All hail the two-day workweek.
I should have pictures from the New Year's jaunt up in the next few days. Meanwhile, I've turned my attention to scoping out the most eligible bachelorettes in town, if only to dissuade certain people from thinking certain predictions for the nascent year will prove valid. Frontrunners so far: Melissa Burns, Elisabeth Kieselstein-Cord, Tina Fey (when I'm 64 and she's 73, no one will pay any attention to the age difference), and either of the Hearst cousins (the Hilton sisters are so "September 10th"). Keep in mind I haven't yet seen the talent competition or conducted a brief interview session, which might relegate some of these five to second-tier candidacy, and allow for the ascension of a "dark horse" contestant.
If I were better looking I swear I could pitch this to Fox...
[I think the above link changes daily, so I've taken the liberty of archiving a copy here]
UPDATE: it seems Tina Fey is actually married to director Jeff Richmond. This has resulted in disqualification.
