Monday, January 30, 2006


Blogging is a strange creature. I sometimes find myself seeing posts in every action I take. The ideas flow freely. I have to self-edit a lot of things as I deem them either too mundane or too stupid to warrant a post (and you thought I posted EVERYTHING).

Other times it's not so simple. It's not as if I'm sitting around, crippled with an inability to post. It's just that sometimes the muse doesn't speak. I shall not slap her for lack of talking. I leave her be and hope she finds it in her heart to visit me later. Or I wait for Netflix to do something funky with the mail.

As you might guess from the fact that I'm writing this, I am in the latter phase right now. I have a couple of picture posts I plan on working on in the interim, along with an "outside the blog" writing project. So, don't fret if my posting drops off slightly. I don't think it will, I'm just trying to soften the blow if it does. You know, let you down easy. And away you go.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

thought . . .

It doesn't cost a dime to be nice, but honesty will run you 20 bucks. At least when you lose a Netflix movie and don't pass the blame onto the US Postal Service.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006


Yes, these two pieces of mail were physically stuck together - an offer to start a Netflix subscription and a Netflix subscription movie. I swear I did not stage this. As you know, I'm not that clever.

Is this irony? I don't know. Let the smart people decide. Where is that Alanis when you need her?

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

the dark side

Northeast Ohio (and some parts of Dayton) are riddled with women who turned down my ginormous brain and winning smile. That is all well and good, as I ended up better for it in the end (thanks to theMonica). Well, despite my powerful imagination, these other women continue to exist in all three dimensions and sometimes I see that disappointing manifestation personally.

One of them works in my office building. Way back in the year 1 BtM, I met this lady through a friend here. Let's call her OldWrinklyFace. She wasn't someone I interacted with often, if ever and at the time I didn't recalling seeing her around. I only met her because my friend was being feted with a baby shower. Baby shower ends; I inquire as to her availability, got permission to call her and did. Some other stuff happened - ultimately, we were supposed to go to lunch but we never did because she was getting botox injections or something.

I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I thought she was rude, but whatever - lots of people are - and now I had the upperhand. Since she stood me up, every time she was forced to choke on the searing pain of guilt that she surely felt. I mean, by then she had probably figured out what a cool guy I was.

For the past two and a half years, her guilt has lingered. OldWrinklyFace had not so much as made eye contact with me in all that time. Now the other day I'm going to lunch and she's standing in the lobby. I'm walking by, because she’s forever shamed and not like she’s going to say hi. Then I hear, "See you later." Huh? I look into the guard booth deal and she wasn't talking to anyone in there. I didn't see anyone going into the elevators I had just passed whom she could have been talking to. I figure there's an 80 to 90% chance that she's talking to me. I don't want to say, "See you later," if she wasn't talking to me. I don't waste those on just anybody. At the same time, I don't want to be a jerk, because really I try not to be and in the cosmic/karmic sense I have no problem with her. Barely hesitating and avoiding eye contact, I kind of said, "See you later," as I walked out the door. But I made sure to mumble it so it also sounded like, "Whatever Darth Vader."

Friday, January 20, 2006

good morning starshine

Let me tell you about my friend . . . Ro..bert. This is in no way related to my late night post from yesterday.

Let’s say Robert can’t fall asleep at a reasonable hour - maybe he's drunk, maybe he just ate a big meal - so he watches some Netflix (The Outlaw Josey Wales!). Finally he feels tired enough to go to bed. Now he may or may not have turned on his alarm clock – not sure, Robert was fuzzy on this part of the story.

Flash forward to about six hours later. Robert opens his eyes to a bright light peeking through his blinds. “What is that strange brightness?” he thinks. “That’s bizarre. Usually when I wake up it’s very dark. Hmmmm.” Then Robert, gazing at the clock, comes to the horrible realization that he’s waking up an hour and a half after he’s supposed too. And that bright light coming in through his windows is not the result of some mid-night cataclysmic interstellar event, but is instead the burning shame of sunshine! Robert freaks. "FUCK! I'M SO LATE FOR WORK!!" Running around his apartment like mad, trying to find clothes, a comb, hairspray, anything to get him ready and out the door.

Finally ready, Robert departs and heads to his parking lot. After parking his car, Robert becomes philosophical. “Maybe I was MEANT to be late for work. Maybe something important is going to happen that I have to be witness to . . . Hey there’s a hobo that looks like Charles Manson! He’s really short too – just like Charles Manson. Maybe that IS Charles Manson? No, that’s not him, no swastika scar on the forehead. Good thing; I was getting scared for a minute. Anywho, what could I nickname him? Inducement-to-commit-homicide hobo? Too subtlely legal. Former-hippie-singer-who-hung-out-with-a-Beach-Boy hobo? Too many hyphenated adjectives. I’ll go with the easy one here, Charlie hobo.”

Robert's suspicions had been confirmed. Long ago he decided his true calling in life was the observation and taxonomy of hoboes. Content that this was his purpose and he had fulfilled it, he walked into work with a smile on his face.

the evil bartender

The evil bartender says, "One more beer won't hurt." Evil bartender is a liar, a damned liar indeed.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

blog update

As promised, Brian is updating the template around here. Expect things to randomly appear and reappear as he modifies this subtley socialist template (I think it's the star). There will be color changes, new fonts, graphics and maybe some snow. I'm having a crisis though. Will the improved look increase expectations for the material? Let's hope not. Let's everybody keep our expectations nice and low now, ya hear?

Anyway, while he's at it, I'll update the profile pic. This is called throat slash Roger . . .

I send it in an email whenever I want to intimidate people or to chicks back in my stalking days. The throat slash picture GETS RESULTS. If you are having problems with your boss or a loved one, send this along and stand back with a smug look of self-satisfaction as shit gets done. I once killed a man with the throat slash Roger. His heart exploded from fear. Remember when Reese Witherspoon won that Golden Globe the other day? Yah, well guess what members of the Hollywood foreign press had in their email boxes prior to voting? Throat slash Roger is versatile as it can be used for good or evil. If you hold throat slash Roger in front of a vampire, he'll turn to dust. Girl vampires will be so smitten with throat slash Roger and the exquisite neck excentuated therein that they'll faint in awe - for all eternity. Throat slash Roger gets out tough stains, just by looking at them. It can do your taxes, "creatively" if you wish and it can spay or neuter your pets. You might be wondering if there's anything throat slash Roger CAN'T do, well, yah, it can't be defeated.

Enjoy, but be cautious. Do not anger throat slash Roger.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

thought . . .

With these new-fangled cellphones and their lack of a proper headset, it's getting so a guy can't tell who's crazy anymore.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

dare to dream

Alan and I did some judging at the High School Rockoff. Why? Because I love to crush the hopes and dreams of America's youth. That and free drinks. Actually, while I did have a few libations, Simon Cowell I am not. I was sure to ameliorate all my comments and to phrase all my criticisms in the most constructive manner. Of course, the kids will still say I'm a "playa hata" or whatever they're calling older overweight dudes who criticize their musical stylings these days.

Filling out the comments section was a delicate exercise. If I were to comment, "You suck," it might seem harsh, but would surely motivate all the young wanna-be musicians to achieve the glory that is "music Roger likes." Writing a dismissive, "I'm not saying you didn't sound good, but I saw Ashlee Simpson weeping during your set," would surely make one realize singing lessons might be in order - or in the very least would cause them to please, please, please shut-up. Finally, if I were to pen, "I think your music was fine, but you look like Ron Pearlman - and that's not good. There is already one of him," might leave you cold, but let's be realistic; we can't all be famous.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

hello party people

I hit FIVE bulls in one turn. (That's the middle part of the dart board.) I'll give you a minute to let that soak in . . . yes, I am perhaps the greatest darts player in the history of darts!!

This unusual moment of hubris was brought to you by . . . Bud Light and the soothing confidence of inebriation.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

for serious?

So I'm spellchecking my last post - mainly because I was try to double all the letters in possibbilliitiees and for some reason it didn't look right - when what should throw at me?

Maybe I shouldn't trust these people to host my Bloch - I mean, blog.

something wicked this way comes

Sarah says this week is "De-lurking" week, wherein people who visit the blog silently, like a thief in the night, comment, thereby revealing themselves and admitting their heretofore unspoken love affair with my blog and exposing themselves to public ridicule - the likes of which I receive in the comments daily. And then maybe I can stalk them or something; I'm not sure what happens after the initial comment. Generally, details are hazy, but it sounds neat.

For about five minutes, I was totally pumped about this. What cool and interesting people would leave a comment? Would they bring snacks? Do I get a back rub? A tax break? The possibilities seemed endless. But then I thought about the ratio of my usual number of visitors and my usual number of commenters and I think it's damn near 1. Then the excitement dissipated and I made some hot pretzels and dipped them in a nice honey mustard.

You lurkers never cease to disappoint me. Skulk away now, skulk away.

i heart hoboes

Had this exchange on the way to my car after work:

hobo: (shaking cup) Sir, could you help me out?
me: (haven't helped a hobo out in a while) Ok.

I fish through my pockets for some change and grab some, placing it in his cup. I had a hold of more than what I gave him, but kind of fumbled it in my pocket. As I'm reaching back in to get it . . .

hobo: Sir, that's all right. You don't have to -

By now I'm putting the hideaway change in his cup.

hobo: . . . Hit me again!

It would have been so much funnier if he had said, "Hit me baby one more time." I would have given him all the money in my wallet. But, alas, hoboes aren't up on their Britney.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


I am on a roll today.
  • We had this thing at work. Work things are boring and tedious to explain, especially since I work mostly with computers and I'm dull at worker (yes, duller than here). So, in an effort to elucidate, I tend to use bad analogies. Oh wait, here's one: Basically what happened is this woman and I are traveling to the airport. When we get there, I turn to her and say, "Hand me my ticket." And she says, "Ticket? I don't have the tickets! Don't YOU have the tickets." Me, "Why would I have the tickets? I never bring the tickets. Why would you this one time not bring the tickets?" She, "Because that one time like a year ago, I said you should bring the tickets from then on." Me, "Well, yah, but after that we went to the airport and YOU told me you were still in charge of bringing the tickets!" She, "You should have taken notes. Then you would know about who was bringing the tickets." My companion continued to needle me about notetaking and turnover and other shit I never pay attention to. I was all about how if I hadn't "lost" my notes I'd be ok. If I could only reference my notes.
    Later, inexplicably, I found my notes. As it turns out, I had them and I was right. Prompting me to send this email to a couple of co-workers, "[snip work related drivel] . . . At least that’s what my precious notes say, because you know, no one could ever tell you 2 years ago they keep stored procedure source airline tickets in their library purse and then NOT put them there. That would be OUTRAGEOUS. They can't do things that the notes don't specify! Don’t they know I took NOTES??? If the notes are wrong, all is lost. If we can't trust the sacred note text - it's pure chaos! Save me oh-so-inaccurate and thereby meaningless NOTES!!" If you worked with me, you'd get sweet emails like this about taking notes all the time.

  • theMonica is off to Santa Monica (in my eyes she is the Saint Monica) to attend some work somesuch and for leisure. The last time I see her before her departure, I tell her not to "get discovered" because then she'll have to leave me and become famous and whatnot. I mean, as we all know, the only reason we're on this earth is to try and become famous. If we have the chance, we just drop everything and everyone and do it. That's the bottom line. After I explain this to her she tells me that I don't have to worry because she doesn't have any talents to discover. Me, with my quick goat thinking, says, "Hot is a talent." That's right. Boyfriend of the Year (so far in 2006), coming atcha!

  • The braintrust in charge of the food cabinet have really been racking their brains. I receive an email that says instead of bowing at the altar of food cabinet for the regular consumption sacrifices of cookies, doughnuts, candies and sundry apples that we should instead start a "healthy eating club". Said club would consist of Vegtalosers who pool their money and buy "healthier" snacks such as vegetamables and fruits and whatnot. So, let me get this straight. Either I can wheel my fat ass over to the food cabinet and get some high-in-deliciousness pastry cakes for free OR I can pay money every week for the distinct pleasure of gnawing on celery stalks? You know what I say, "Time to make the doughnuts." Seriously, could they possibly make this any less appealing? How about along with your banana you get a spray of bleach in the eyes and a pay cut? I deleted that email with extreme prejudice.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Netflix: The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (2004)

If you haven't seen the first one, don't bother. You won't be able to follow the dizzingly complicated plot.

Ed's thumb is off today, but he'd be telling you it got two stars.

Monday, January 09, 2006

land of linkin'

Now it's time for links. Prepare to love me even more:

You're welcome.

Friday, January 06, 2006

Year in Review

January 1: Feeling good. Last night did this hilarious thing with the noisemaker. I made it screech really loud and angrily and then screamed, "Happy Fucking New Year!" (Yes, I was sure to scream-caps all the first letters.) Man was that funny 18 or 30 times.

January 2: Disturbing news. Apparently, Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey are breaking up . . . ? I refuse to accept it until I hear it from Joe Simpson's mouth.

January 3: No work today. Glorious. Fought the good fight.

January 4: Work today. Had a good cry. Watched the Rose Bowl.

January 5: Coughed up two or three major organs. Stayed home from work. Knitted socks.

January 6: Worked on year-in-review all day. Piercing head pains.

Wow. That really beats doing a year-in-review in December as I was attempting last month and quit after getting through 170 days. It's much easier to handle when you're only a couple of days into a new year. And I'm sure that's all the important stuff that will happen in '06 anyway.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


Guy1: Dude, XYZPDQ.
Guy2: What?
Guy2: What are you talking about?
Guy1: XYZPDQ. Examine your zipper pretty damn quick. Your fly's down.
Guy2: Oh. Thanks . . . And stop looking at my crotch.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Netflix: The Falcon and the Snowman (1985)

The Falcon and the Snowman is a mid-80's flick about being a spy for the Soviets. Timothy Hutton is the man stealing the secrets while Sean Penn is the mule. Hutton vacillates his motives for selling secrets from "the US government is bad and the Russians will make everything all nice" and "wtf? why not?" Overall, a very ordinary movie. Except for the soundtrack. Wow. It was synthelicious!

Not that you care what I think - on to the fun stuff:

Every morning Sean Penn has to wake up and airbrush his beard. That adds like eight minutes to his "get ready" time.

Falcons evolved helmets nearly 50,000 years ago, in response to their propensity for running into shit with their heads.

Falcon cam! I guess this proves that in every species Hutton is Hotttt!

This guy is your lawyer. How soon do you jump bail?

Hutton recommends, "Don't waste your spyin' cash! Squirrel away your money for a rainy, CIA-y day."

It's hard for Timothy Hutton's girlfriend to focus on the matter at hand.

Finally, Ed, what does the White Thumb of Cinematic Justice say?