a tale of fright!

Let me tell you a ghoulish tale you can relate around the campfire (cool Halloween parties have them) and you’ll be sure to frighten even the hardiest of souls. Last Friday I came into work and began diligently typing away at whatever I happened to be working on. La di dah. It was about 8:30 when a co-worker of mine, Freddie, came over to my cube and said, “Roger. Did you know you’re not here today?” What does that mean? Why would I not be here today? After all, here I am. My mind began to race.

Then it struck me. I started grow dizzy and disoriented. I was quickly spiraling into my own version of hell. What had I done? Well, I had taken the day off and FORGOTTEN ABOUT IT!!!!! I came into work when I had already received approval not to be there. (I will wait for your screaming to subside.)

Upon realization of my horrible mistake, I began dry-heaving and hyperventilating. It wasn’t pretty. How could I forget an off day? It was disturbingly easy. I had taken a bunch of random days in order to use my remaining vacation. This particular day I had made no special plans. Somehow, it slipped my mind.

I’ve been battling the deep depression caused by the event ever since. My next vacation time I’m leaving work early to wait for the directv guy. If I forget again on that day, it’s time to put me out to pasture. I thank whichever kind soul amongst you that puts me out of my misery. A world of forgetting vacation days is not a world I want to endure.

thought . . .

Someone needs to "fall back" the office wall clock, with its false hope and expectations of things not-so-soon to come.

eat it health screening!

Yah, well, I just took my fat aggression out on a 5.2 mile run. I finished in 43 minutes, 54 seconds. It's not fast, but it's not too shabby either. I’d like to see Fat Albert do that, let alone Obese Larry.

i can actually hear me getting fatter

At work we have this health screening dealie. They want for us not to be all fat and lazy and they kind of get all up into our grills trying to change our behavior. I'm innately opposed to pseudo-neo-fascism, essentially because I'm both fat and lazy and exercising would surely cut into my blogging time. At any rate, I've always secretly had the opinion that while I might be a little "husky", probably other people didn't pay it no mind unless they were unfortunate enough to see me topless for whatever reason (i.e. performing CPR on me after a horrendous car accident).

The whole screening takes about 20 minutes and then you watch this silly video presentation which explains how to interpret your results. I'm watching for a few minutes and a lady comes over and gives me my personalized results sheet. My results required no interpretation as what could be staring back at me? Uhh . . . "obese". Yah, obese, and it said it right there on the page. Damn, do they want everyone to find out? I quickly folded the paper and put it in my pocket, lest someone see it.

Now, I'm not all big on pc terminology, especially when it doesn't apply to me, but I think they could have been a little more sensitive in their description. Just because I'm built like a shrick-bithouse doesn't mean we need to go flinging aspersions. (Frankly it's time to upgrade our aspersion delivery systems.) How about we say I'm "soft and pliable" or I "can't wear regular pants" or that I "have a good personality"? But, oh no, we just have to come right out and call a spade a spade and not a black leafy-looking thing.

dueling foodstuffs

Somebody put about three dozen cookies on the community food cabinet. Then somebody (the same body?) put a half-dozen apples next to the cookies. So far: Cookies - 22, Apples - 0.

Not that I'm surprised. It's like having a "Kiss the Model" booth at the county fair and then opening up a "Get Punched in the Face" booth right next door. Well, I haven't been punched in the face yet, but I have kissed the model 10 or 15 times.

curious

So, when I had the same post up twice, was it funnier the second time?

lazy man's guide to Halloween costumes

(Not to be a hyper-masculist or anything, but I am a guy. Most of these costumes will work for lazy ladies of the fair gender.)

If you're lazy like me (and I know you are), you loathe Halloween. Sure it's fun and you're almost guaranteed to score some free booze somewhere along the line, but it takes work. And how often do you think of a sweet costume, like the JFK assassination, and then realize you don't have the time, resources, number of friends and most importantly AMBITION to pull off such a feat?

Well, I am here to help. Here goes:

1. Your evil twin. Shave in or paint on a black goattee, dress normally and say all the evil, evil, funny things that you normally reserve for the dark recesses of your mind. When someone asks what you are dressed as say, "What's it to you fatass?" Or, "I'm dressed as you, a stupid idiot, with a goatee." If you are already evil, you'll get no points for creativity. Try doing the reverse and be nice to people for a change. Jerk.


2. Euclid. Get a toga-type outfit going and when you tell everybody who you're supposed to be add, "Oh, yah, I look exactly like Euclid. You didn't know that?" You might carry around a protractor as well. This will work pretty well for most ancient Greek/Roman historical figures. If someone claims to know that your historical figure doesn't actually look like you, ask if he's dressed as a history dweeb.


3. Keg. Only applies if you have the proper girth. Dress in all gray, try to affix a tap to your head . . . also, if you can vomit beer on command, it would really tie the whole costume together. Basically, this costume gets better as the night goes on. Skinnier folk can be pony kegs, party balls, forties, etc.


4. Crazy Spoon Hands Man. Now gimme some candy!


5. Emotions/states of being. I think it would be fun to go as an emotion. Rumor has it that Charlton Heston always went to Halloween parties as "righteous indignation" because he had it down pat from his movies. Someone asks, "What are you?" "How dare you subject me to this insidious line of questioning. I am outraged! I have never been so insulted!" Or if Co-dependency: "I love you. Don't leave me Batman!" Or if Unctuousness: "Doesn't really matter what I am when the manatee are dying?"


6. A Blog. Just talk about yourself all night and bore everyone to tears. . . not that I am capable of that.


7. Me. And I know you only have like one picture for direction. That's the fun.


8. Local TV Reporter. "What killer Halloween 'trick' should you be on the watch for this year? You might die if you don't hear our report. Story on Friday!" You could walk in, go to the fridge, "Tonight at 9:42, I will drink this beer." All you need is very stiff hair, a suit and a microphone.


9. Father Thyme. Green, fuzzy outfit. (I don't know - like a St. Patrick's Day sweater that pills or something.) And then, when the inevitable happens, "Oh Father T-I-M-E." Works best when you don't know a lot of the attendees.


10. A Ghost. In deference to the lazy man forefathers.

I hope this helps. And remember not to mix candy corn and booze. It can get ugly - fast.

dialogue

guy1: Don't you get it?
guy2: Sure I got it; it just wasn't funny.
guy1: C'mon. It was kind of funny.
guy2: Yah it was funnier than that time my grandma died.

This was funnier over email. Alas, the constructs of the conversation I am too lazy to recreate here. Maybe I should give public access to my email account.

rated mmmm for delicious

I like post titles because they can mean something or they can be apropos of nothing and who's to know the difference? Me? Hell, most of the time I don't know what I'm going on about.

Few blog notes here . . .

• I'm thinking about sprucing the site up a bit. But then, I stop thinking and I don't do it. It's rather bland, but I always error on the side of being too sparse rather than too gawdy. That's why I don't wear my bejeweled cape anymore. I don't know why I felt compelled to share that, but it leads nicely into . . .


• I've noticed the blog becoming more autobiographical. It's not a Pepysian examination of my daily life, but I do draw more on things that happen to me. Ouch. How incredibly boring for you. I will try to improve upon that. I usually have a few "posts in process" at any given time (the ones with pictures), but those require more than five minutes of concentration and always within the first three minutes, I'm distracted by something shiny. I also have the tendency, with anything I spend more than a day working on, to begin to hate, more and more what I've written. Most of my posts I churn it out and post and it's over before I hate it. But anything I spend any amount of time on, I kind of cringe when I'm working on it.


• I was so confident when I started this list that I threw out "Few" rather than "Couple." Stupid egomania.

In conclusion, expect more of the same, sometimes with pictures.

only a wooden shack away

I spent much of the weekend in solitude. Friday I was actually involved in doing "work" for my job. Where my "work" consisted of calling some people and waiting for them to call back and ultimately deciding I didn't have to go into the office or turn on my computer. This is my favorite kind of work - the kind where I don't do anything. However, this obligation prevented me from making any plans for the evening. By the time I was assured I wouldn't be going into the office, it was too late to scrounge up any friends. No matter. I entertained myself. And boy was I hilarious. Particularly when I told myself this joke I had heard the other day: A termite walks into a bar and asks, "Where's the bartender?" You think it doesn't sound funny, huh? Whatever, guess you had to be me.

Saturday, I had this insane compulsion to clean. I know that I promised I wouldn't, but apparently I was subconsciously practicing reverse psychology on myself. (That's some shit that insane pervert Freud never even thought of.) True, people were coming over, but they were people I had priorly not cleaned for, many, many times. (I hope the lack of manly aroma didn't perturb them.) On the plus side, I only cleaned the living room and scoffed at the uncleanliness elsewhere.
Sunday I went to a bar and watched football - by myself. Unbeknowst to me, I was at the tail end of the official weekend for stiffing roger over. That's fine. I don't care; a lot of cool and successful people were complete loners, like Ted Kaczynski.

Attention New Yorkers (Joe, NYM, etc x's 8 million)

nyMonica is amongst you. See if you can figure out which one she is! (Hint: She looks nothing like this.) It should be a fun and easy game. How many tourists could there be in New York on any given weekend? Oh really? That many you say? Huh. Well, she'll be sporting a backpack that's technically not a backpack and will undoubtedly be followed by scores and scores of male models trying to shower her with expensive perfumes, cheeses and showerheads. Do me a favor and try to swat some of them away - the models, you can keep the cheese. Models look all big and muscular, but really, they're weak. A well-placed hair insult should scatter them sufficiently.

What's a boy to do without his girl? Definitely not clean. It's kind of dusty around my apartment, but really, what was ever accomplished by cleaning? (BESIDES stopping the spread of deadly, infectious diseases.) I didn't get any takers on happy hour today, thus FORCING me to go jogging. I allow myself to skip Friday jogging if I have a social event. No dice. Man, if I don't find some more friends I might start to lose weight. We wouldn't want that. I wouldn't fill out my wife-beater as nicely.

high-pressure sales

cashier: Have a great day.

Damn. Thanks a lot for the lofty goal cashier lady. I had planned on sitting on my ass and watching movies all night, but I guess I can't do THAT anymore. Well, I gotta go now and get to work on my "great" day.

i hate the button fly

What a terrible, terrible thing it is.

I have one pair of pants that has a button fly and I hate wearing them. They are a nice khaki, no pleats, ample pocket space, belt loops, the works. But there's just too much maintenance involved with owning them. I need to give them to Goodwill or the Button Fly Preservation Society. Seriously. The button fly adds like 3 minutes and 94 seconds to any trip to the bathroom (What? I have to do all the math around here?). How do people not wet themselves with this contraption. When you're all boozed up, you don't want to be fiddling with a bunch of buttons.

God bless Mathias Zipper (pronounced Zee pair) legendary inventor of the zipper. He will forever have a special place in me heart.

thought . . .

The problem with "Fruit on the Bottom" is the accompanying "Yogurt Snot on the Top".

how I roll

I'm on myMonica's computer and she has this wonderful new technology called "digital camera." What is digital camera? Well, it allows you to take pictures and easily transfer them to a computer. And here I am, at said computer. This picture is from a "White-T" "Party" that my friend had. I quote White-T because it's obviously tongue-in-cheek. (I estimate I'm genetically 52% white-t.) I quote party because there were about six of us who were properly attired and the rest of the guests claimed not to know that it was a themed party. I'm sure at least one person thought this was how I dressed normally . . .



Unfortunately, that's not my own hair. But those are my legs. GRRrrrrrrr!

Leno say what?

For some reason I caught the end of Leno last night. Some weird kid actor was on. Right, is there any other kind? As they're going to commercial I hear Leno say something about a ____ Black performance being up next. I was intrigued. I would be happy with Jack or elated with Frank, either Black would bring me joy. myMonica thinks he said, "We'll be right back." We anxiously sit through the commercials . . . and who should appear but. . . CLINT Black? Didn't see that coming.

Netflix: Sex and Lucia

Sex and Lucia is perhaps the most aptly named movie ever. Although they should have called it, Sex, Lucia and a Somewhat Chronilogically Confusing Storyline.

The Lucia is played by Paz Vega, whose pretty easy on the eyes and apparently has a difficult time finding comfortable clothing. While I enjoyed her performance, there was something about her that was really disconcerting. For the longest time I couldn't figure out what it was . . . and then it dawned on me. I must say, she looks a lot like . . . Martin Short?! Not a clone of Martin Short, but like the illegitimate love-child of Martin Short and Salma Hayek.

Whatever, I couldn't find good pictures. But like 1 person is on board here and I assure you, they are laughing their asses off . . . or shrieking in terror.

say anything

girl1: Where do I know you from?
guy1: Your dreams.

This is something I for-real said. Well, a paraphrase of something I said. My buddy was saying some girl he went to high school with asked where she knew him from and I said, "Your dreams." And I must have said it fast because he asked if it was something I thought up myself. Imagine that. Actual words I thought of coming out of my mouth. You may infer the impression I make on people. But then I thought, "Maybe he's right. Maybe I've heard that some place before." And maybe I have. I'm sure somebody had to of said it before in the course of human history. Maybe not as an actual pick-up line, but as a possible pick-up line. Right? It seems too good to have thought up on my own. Whatever, I'm taking credit for it.

Then, whilst trying to discover how it turned out with this high school classmate, I asked, "Did you FedEx her your package?"

Isn't it cool? It's like you get to hangout with me, but better. I don't post all the unfunny, disinteresting and mean things that I say. My blog: all of the funny, funny pick-up lines, none of the passive-aggressive bitterness.

WTF SNL?

I had the unfortunate luck of being home on Saturday at 11:30 p.m. As we all know (or are about to know), Saturday Night Live airs in this time slot. Why was I at home when most people are out, partying down? Was it the overindulgence of Friday night? Was it the arduous co-ed touch football battle royale of Saturday afternoon? Was it the voices in my head demanding Cool Ranch Doritos and Heath Chunky Ben and Jerry's? It was all of this and more my friends. But my harrowing tale is essentially unrelated to the circumstances of my empty social calendar.

Jon Heder was the host. Can anyone say "one-trick pony"? You can? Excellent. Repeat it often. Heder was not funny. He stumbled over nearly all of his lines. It's a little soon to be phonin' it Jonny boy. My thoughts on the merits of Napolean Dynamite notwithstanding, the American public is in the midst of deciding if you'll be getting an extension on your 15 minutes. At least until Napolean Dynamite II: The Return of Random Meaningless Shit Said in a Funny Voice.

Ashleeee Simpson was the "musical" guest. (Have I tipped off my thoughts on her performance? Damn sarcastic quotes always providing too-revealing foreshadowing.) The good news was she wasn't lip-synching; the bad news was she wasn't lip-synching. One should never underestimate the soothing effects of computer-enhanced music production. Ash's sonic qualities are roughly equivalent to a hangover. Dear lord, the girl simply can't sing. It had been another night like Saturday when I witnessed the original jiggy-awkwardness that was the sound guy starting the wrong track for her second song on the SNL stage. Oh the schadenfreude and how I reveled in it! Then I felt kind of bad as, after all, she's only a kid. It should have been her creepy dad out there, stunned and embarrassed, but he was probably too busy expounding on the merits of Jessica's rack to be bothered. At any rate, there weren't any great blunders and I have to give her props for going back to endure further scorn at the hands of insignificant bloggers everywhere. That's right Ashleeee. Perhaps a dozen people will read this entry and they will be returning their Ashlee Simpson albums to your location posthaste . . . simply because of my influence!

As bad as I thought Ashleeeeeeeee was, I have to admit that her performance was funnier than anything else on the show, as its stupidity did not anger me. The last three episodes of SNL that I've seen have been progressively the worst episodes of SNL that I have seen. I'm beginning to think they're changing the format to docu-drama or something. The "commercial" was good and Weekend Update had a couple of chuckles, but otherwise I didn't laugh or even smile. I smirked twice, I think, but one of those times I had stubbed my toe. Has Fred Armisen ever said anything funny? Did you witness it first hand? Do you have video? Could you send it to SNL, so they can air it and I can watch and join in on the joke? How someone can look that much like Alfred E. Neuman and not be funny is beyond me. Amy Poehler is probably the funniest of this year's terrible ensemble. (We need more words for unfunny. Like if the cast of SNL had their own language would they have 30 words for "not funny"? I think so. Other words fit, but not encompassing the sense of something that is supposed to be funny.) Debbie Downer has been known to make me laugh - if only because of the alliteration.

I've always thought the quality of SNL has been pretty consistent over the years. A few funny sketches in the beginning, a funny "commercial", a clever, if uninspired, Weekend Update followed by 30 minutes of hit-or-miss filler. Well, the 2005-2006 season aims to give you all filler, all the time.

whatever this is supposed to be . . .

Exact change is one of the fairer genders annoying peculiarities. And every fairer-gendered person at the place of my employment seems to prefer providing precise pecuniary portions. Digging through purses feverishily as I patiently pine, preparing to consume my delicious stir-fry. Do you not have a piggy bank fair princess? What horrible fate awaits you should your purse reach critical copper mass? Isn't the toll of achieving perfection, even the mundane perfection of exact change, too much to defray? Isn't it simpler - and more importantly quicker - to accept a nickel and store it away?

Often I wonder, this and more; as I wait, tapping my foot, in many a store. Thinking of life and other worldy events, while madam in front of me, fishes out 68 cents.

door-to-door ego boosting

So, I had an Avon-type lady come to my door and start a-ringing. Usually I won't answer if I'm not expecting someone, but she was persistent enough for me to go down and check it out. I answer the door and the following ensued:

Lady: Is there a lady of the household?

Ok, good start, she doesn't think I'm a chick. Was the Cheeto-stained wifebeater too much of a giveaway?

Me: No, no lady. Just me.

myMonica wasn't around and I didn't think the woman downstairs would appreciate me pawning off Mary Kay on her.

Lady: Oh.

Disappointment distorting her face.

Lady: Well, do you buy like aftershave or deodorant?

Well, I do buy deodorant. Apparently I'm not wearing enough of it.

homonyms

I know me some grammar. I'm generally pretty good with the language, but sometimes I think I've drank too much in my life. Today I almost typed, "Neither was eye," in an email. And I wasn't talking about my ear not hurting. WTF cerebral cortex, WTF?

vegas notes

Feeling a little emotionally better, I've been able to reflect on my Vegas trip and provide a few notes . . . I'm still depressed though. Stupid freaking Indians!

• I would spontaneously combust in the Vegas sun after about 35 minutes of exposure. I was sure never to reach that amount, quickly scurrying into a casino before my skin actually began to bubble. I don't know how anybody under 85 lives out there. Yah, that's the age your blood starts to chill naturally.


• 29 is the official age for thinking it's sweet to get carded. The pit boss at the Luxor even went so far as to guess that I was 23 years-old. Why did he think so? Undoubtedly because of my lily-white skin, which doesn't suffer the ravages of the evil, evil sun. Also, the fact that I was sobbing like a little girl over my losses, probably knocked a couple of years off.


• Some old lady gave me beeds. I haven't gotten my pants back yet.


• I was so displeased with my gambling experience that I demanded a refund, in full. BUT, the casinos refused. i thought Vegas was all about customer service for high rollers like me.

That is all. I need at least 30 days off before I go back.

American Legend: Charlton Heston

Charlton Heston, one of American cinema's finest products, turns 81 today.

Charlton Heston is one of my favorite actors and I credit him with one of the Great Moments in Cinema.

His inspired body of work is not limited to this hilarious screen capture. Though Ben-Hur and The Ten Commandments were great, epic films, I've always particularly enjoyed Chuck's "message movies" of the 1970s. "Global biological warfare is bad; Caesar is a good chess player." (Omega Man); "Racism is bad; non-lingual proto-human cave chicks are hot." (Planet of the Apes); "Overpopulation is bad; Soylent Green is made out of people!" (Soylent Green)

Some, seeing these movies, might claim Chuckles was a bit melodramatic. Balderdash! I say. Mr. Heston simply perfected the art of righteous indignation far before its time and it's difficult for people to appreciate how avant-garde he was. When you sit down to watch a Chuck Heston movie, you know you're in good hands for the next two hours.

So, happy birthday to Charlton Heston, the man who inspired many a woman to say to me, "Get your stinkin' paws of me you damned, dirty ape!"

Netflix: De-Lovely

Maybe they should have called it De-Pressing.

The movie tells the story of musician/composer Cole Porter. Porter is portrayed as a known bisexual. I don't know if that's accurate. I think bisexuality implies an even split between preference for the sexes. Cole was more 90% gay. For whatever reason, he decides to marry and live the rest of his life making his wife miserable. She went into it with her eyes open, but more than a little naive. We know what Cole thought about the whole thing, "Anything Goes."

At any rate, it was an interesting movie-musical.

p.s. I know this post sucks, but I wanted to draw your attention to the movie. Whatever. You write a sweet post every time. All right then, I look forward to reading your blog.

vegas wins AGAIN

So yah, the city took all my money, almost as if it's rigged against me, the gambler. This is the shady thing about Vegas. I'll do some research to see if there's any truth to my suspicions. For now, it's all anecdotal.

At any rate, I'm too depressed to post. Coming into this morning, if the Indians won and the Yankees won, then the Tribe would play a one-game playoff with Boston for the wildcard berth. You can see all the gut-wrenching I had to do. Actually, root for the Yankees? As it turned out, the Indians lost, so it was a moot point. I could go back to happily hating the Yankees. Now that the Indians are out, who do I root for? Feels like nobody. Sorry. At least I'll get to watch LeBron 4 times a week in about a month.