happiness is a warm pun

Being a good Catholic boy, I've once again given up making fun of people for Lent. theMonica is quite the stickler on this because she thinks everything I say is in some way an effort to ridicule someone. Notwithstanding the fact that she is correct, this criticism will not stand! I contend that while others may deem what I am saying as an insult, it is up to me, in my heart of hearts to determine whether or not I'm crossing the invisible line.

With this in mind, here is a handy-dandy user's guide for my own personal "not making fun of people" self-ban:

• You are safe . . . for now: The purpose of giving the lenten something up is self-sacrifice. To be a sacrifice, the "thing" has to be something you enjoy - ice cream, World of Warcraft, knitting, etc. I am giving up my most favorite thing: making fun of people. Super-most favorite of all is making fun of people to their faces. That is out. Also, making fun of people behind their backs to someone else. By people I mean other friends.


• Fame is no guardian: Celebrities are fair game. This became a sticking point after I referenced Anna Nicole Smith's dead, rotting corpse. I said it was ok, since there was no way it could hurt her personally. 1. She's dead. And 2. She doesn't read the blog, so therefore, it's all good. If you are a celebrity who enjoys the blog, reveal yourself now so that I don't make fun of you.


• The Reverse Jimmy Carter Clause: Mockery in my mind (literally) is not an infringement on my Lenten sacrifice in any way, shape or form. In fact, lack of verbalization is probably grounds for sainthood.


• Ease my way into things: Those near to me should expect, nay, appreciate my myriad slips early in the Lenten season. I am so adept at making fun (and it spreads so much joy!) that early on in the process I'm often just ripping into people unabated. You don't stop a 747 all at once. You gotta finesse it a little.


• Blog exemptions: I'm allowed to write certain things on the blog that count as making fun if I were to say them to someone else. Why? Why should I punish my loyal fives of readers? Certainly they deserve something for coming back again and again. And that something is continued bloggery mockery.


• I did it for you!: This yearly exercise only serves to spike my blood pressure. Consider the serenity you're now feeling comes at the expense of my health. You're welcome.

the man and his dream

I've spent most the day deciding whether or not I should tuck my shirt in. Untucked the shirt is about 12% too slovenly for the office. Tucked it's way on the Geek side of Beauty and the Geek. Right now, it's tucked, but I just had lunch. All that extra material is making for a little too comfy fit.

Hmm. I will be sure to keep you posted.

top 7 days of the work week to go out

7. Monday: You're already through a fifth of the work week, but the remaining four-fifths looms much, much larger, like 17/20ths.

6. Sunday: Psychologically an easier night to go out on than Monday, provided you leave the house before upcoming-work-week depression sets in.

5. Wednesday: The week is more than half over. Knock back a few.

4. Tuesday: I've always liked going out on Tuesdays. Probably stemming from quarter-draft nights back at UD. Not that I remember them so well. I do remember James' Laid twice in a row. GO FLYERS!

3. Thursday: The work week is effectively over. Time to have some fun (although, the older I get the less it feels like the week is effectively over).

2. Saturday: Duh.

1. Friday: Friday takes my top spot because, well, you have the protection of 2 days to recover from a hangover plus the euphoria of the freshly ended work week. I can sometimes get a little loopy from lack of sleep during the week, but in my mind that only makes things all the more entertaining (for everyone else).

there but by the grace of God (and a full tank of gas) go I

The canopy at the gas station which I frequent (probably for about 95% of Blue's fill-ups) collapsed. Some people were trapped beneath and I'm not sure what happened in the end. Strange and kind of scary and strangely I didn't think too much about the fact that it's my primary gas station and it wouldn't have been unusual for me to have been there.

It got me to thinking about life and death. Generally, I've been a "when my time comes, it comes" kind of a person. Typically, this is an attitude risk-takers have. You know, people who cross the interstate on foot as a shortcut home or jump out of airplanes and whatnot. I'm the exact opposite. I don't understand all the unnecessary derring-do that people engage. I like to take things nice and slow. No unnecessary risks for me. In fact, I'm not even going to go risk going to the gas station anymore.

Look-Alike Contest Winners: theMonica Inspired Edition

In my continuing effort to give the people what they want (i.e. more stuff that they tell me to blog, rather than that which I choose), here is a look-alike requested by my beloved . . .

It's sensi-rock superstar James Blunt and 2-time NBA MVP Steve Nash. A couple of years ago Nash won a different Look-Alike contest, but he's back today for more looking-like other celebrities.

I won't go into my feelings on James Blunt other than to say I do a mean impression of one of these guy's inability to sing. I'll give you two guesses.

deduction

Given:

I don't find Carlos Mencia funny. I think he kind of sucks.

and

In the comedy world, Carlos has a reputation for stealing jokes from a lot of comedians.


Therefore, a lot of comedians suck . . . ?

Sure, a lot of comedians do suck, but I suspect when you're stealing jokes you have to shy away from people's best material, provided they're somewhat famous. That would make it, you know, a little obvious.

Side note: I was half-expecting Joe Rogan to choke Mencia out. And how great is it that George Lopez knocked Mencia out (sorry, not shown). I respect that. I'm going to watch whatever that show George Lopez is(was?) in from now on.

Netflix: Barefoot in the Park (1967)

I thought this movie was terrible. I hated Jane Fonda's character. Robert Redford's character was a regular guy - which we're to take (via Jane) as contemptible (you know, until the end). She annoyed me in the beginning and only aggravated me all the more as the film went along.

Jane's mom (Mildred Natwick) was entertaining as was Charles Boyer. Ah, Charles Boyer also starred in Gaslight. In that movie, Ingrid Bergman is married to Boyer who is attempting to drive her insane by claiming to take walks and instead going into the attic and stomping around and dimming the gaslights. (It's set in olden times; it would have driven you insane too).

Bergman's character is named Paula. Boyer had a very distinct way of saying her name, in a disapproving, "why are you going insane?" kind of way, "Paww-luh." At any rate, in the Park movie, Redford's character's name is Paul. He said "Paul" the same way, 23 years later. This was how I knew it was the same guy. Strange.

Back to Barefoot in the Park . . . while looking up the links for the movie, I discovered it was a Neil Simon (screen)play. Ahh, it all made sense. I probably would have figured it out, but there was no dumb guy. I've only seen some of his later stuff, but there was always a dumb guy. The dumb guy comes in and keeps everything loose by saying dumb stuff and possibly falling over things. Oh well.

everything's coming up millhouse

Just as I'm finishing my workout, they announce that the building has been closed. Yes, lots of snow and whatnot had caused them to shut down the building. For some people it means they go sit in traffic for a few hours, but since I'm near downtown, I get to go home and bask in the short day glory.

This is stupid, but I wanted to let everyone know I got out of the hour of work that I wouldn't have gotten out of if I hadn't gone to workout when I did. You know what I did with that hour? I took a nap.

Update: We're off tomorrow too. I hate these flood pants!

not management material

Is it just me or do you laugh to yourself every time somebody wants you to "follow up" on something and they notify you with an f/u somewhere on the email? Maybe we should change it to like f/up or . . . wait, that won't work either. Ok, KIT, "keep in touch" . . . agreed? Agreed.

clear the 23rd . . .

I hope you don't have plans for next Friday because THE ASTRONAUT FARMER will be blasting off in a theater near you!!! I haven't been this excited about a movie since The Lisping Speech Therapist. TAF will have more rockets though . . . probably.

I have to believe Hinder wrote the soundtrack to this bad boy. "I sound like I'm whispering because my face is in a protective helmet-bubble." Fuck. That's gold. I can't even fake-write lyrics as bad as Hinder.

foiled

Well, I was going to give a prize for redundant lyrics of the year or the Captain Obvious Lyricist of the year award or something. It was to go to Hinder for "Lips of an Angel." The dude says something like, " I gotta whisper 'cause I can’t be too loud." I was then going to say the original draft said something like, "I gotta whisper 'cause I got laryngitis." But that just didn't fit in the rhyme scheme.

Well, fortunately for you, you won't have to read that post because, somebody already beat me to it.

The funny thing is that I probably heard that song 100 times before I noticed that particular lyric, so adept am I to blocking it out (icepick to the eardrums). They play the same station in the gym everday and that station plays Hinder every day. I swear, it is the WORST SONG EVER WRITTEN. Trying to comprehend its popularity causes cramping.

At any rate, I'm getting smarter all this week in a structured, classroom environment. Whoopee for me. So, the blogging lags. My apologies. Perhaps I'll make it up to you with babyRoger "crawling" footage.

monday is the new friday

But Tuesday morning is still Tuesday morning no matter how many you try to wish it away via the snooze.

Monday night Alan, A2Z and I went to the Grog Shop to take in a little of the rock music.

Quick rundown of the bands:

Bears: I am like the top, number one, Bears merch whore. I am a merch whore for all bands really. Being as how I'm frequently sweaty, I wear lots of t-shirts. So, I buy a lot of band t-shirts because how many days a week can I wear a wife-beater? Well, I have 2 Bears' Ts now. This is the first one I bought from them that wasn't irregularly sized.

JJ Magazine: I enjoyed them. The lead singer has developed her own elaborate dance repertoire sans shoes which was fun to watch.

Asobi Seksu: This is one of those bands that you just have to listen to, not that you will, but what I'm saying is I don't have a proper frame of reference for describing them - except physically. The lead singer is like 4'8", 37 pounds.

I also saw the plot for every 80's teen movie played out before my very eyes. Guy who wears a funny hat is in love with girl with glasses. Funny Hat (perhaps subconsciously modeling himself after Duckie, with a different funny hat) heads to the girls' wing and asks Glasses if she's going to the Asobi Seksu show at the Grog Shop tonight - ROCK 'N ROLL!! Glasses says, "Oh yah, I'll be there." Hat asks if she wants to carpool. "I can't I'm going to dinner right before." Hat, excited that Glasses will be in attendance and not wanting to push Glasses, asks nothing further. Unbeknownst to Hat, Glasses is going to dinner (and Asobi Seksu) with Ponytail, this guy from her Intro. to Philosophy class; he's really smart. Ponytail hates philosophy, but Glasses eats up all his BS about Wittgenstein. They hang out. It's cool for what it is. Hat sees Glasses at the show. "Sweet!" Goes over to talk to her. "Who is this douchebag with the ponytail that's staring at us?" "Who's this douchebag with the hat?" The game is on. Passive aggressive possessive touching of Glasses begins in earnest. Eventually, Ponytail kisses Glasses and the game is won. After much durress and obsequious adulation, Hat will confess to Glasses (perhaps during his first drunken night) that he loves her. It will be awkward. Ponytail will proclaim, "I knew he was a douche."

Back in the real world, the key bit of information I gained from the night is that I'm getting old. I mean, the whole night, with each swig of Pabst Blue Ribbon, I thought to myself, "Man, Tuesday morning is going to SUCK!" I don't know about you, but I don't want the voices in my head discouraging me from drinking. I want the voices in my head telling me I'm more handsome and stronger and better than most people at a lot of things. I mean, if I can't get false confidence from beer anymore, I'll actually have to improve myslef or something . . . or start doing harder drugs.