Sure, I'll Post It

DISCLAIMER: Alright, I actually wrote and posted this film review a few days ago. However, I removed it because I think that the writing sucks and it's too long. I'm going to repost it though because I feel bad that Skaht and I have been lazy about updating this thing and I know that we have a few readers out there. So, here's my shitty post about a movie:

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It’s pretty rare when I feel compelled to write a film review. That’s mostly due to the fact that I don’t really like movies. However, if Skaht manages to have me sit through one and I like it then hey, great. If the movie sucks then we’ll probably discuss why it sucked, be done with it and there you go.

This time it’s different because, well, here I am writing a film review. Last night, we watched The Haunting (1999 version) and it was so retarded that I was inspired to actually think about it long enough to mention it here. Seriously. This film is retarded. Retarded.

…I like saying “retarded”.

Anyway, I’m going to provide spoilers here, so if you actually want to spend $5 at Blockbuster and rent this thing, stop reading. I don’t know why you’d want to do that, but hey, I’m warning you anyway.

At first glance, I was actually psyched to see this movie. It looked like a classic haunted house type of tale which I really like. So, when Skaht and I found it, it didn’t take long to figure out that this was the film that we would use our free rental coupon on. After a dinner of Christmas left-overs and white Zinfandel champagne, we put it into my trusty PlayStation 2 (it doubles as my DVD player) and got comfy on the couch.

Shortly after the movie begins, Eleanor (a woman who has been confined inside, taking care of her dying mother for years), gets a call from an unidentified person, informing her of a sleep study that she should participate in. The details are vague, but in the paper, she learns that she would receive room, board and a $900 stipend per week. Not too shabby!

Some insignificant stuff happens next and then before you know it, Eleanor is on the road to the location of the study. After driving to the destination and consulting her map, she figures out that the huge, hulking mansion/castle in front of her is the correct place. The first image of the mansion/castle was so massive and fake looking that I began to wonder if this movie would end up being a huge CGI cheesefest. As the movie kept going, I realized that I was right.

Eleanor meets the caretaker and his dour, old wife who quickly informs her that once the night comes, no one will be around to help her should she need any assistance IN THE DARK. The wife repeats the same foreboding phrase to Theo (the next study participant), after she arrives as well. Theo is more interested in showing Eleanor her Prada boots and playing out her clichéd New York bisexual hot girl vibe, so she doesn’t really pay much attention. After this scene, an annoying super-anxious guy shows up and this completes the arrival of the study participants.

The three study participants meet the doctor in charge of the study plus his two assistants. Both assistants leave the mansion and never come back after one of them receives a facial wound from some supernatural force. How they leave is a mystery as the gates have been locked shut by the caretaker (and they remain locked after everyone tries to escape later on.) The house itself is gigantic and ornate and very fake looking – with lots of trap doors, heavy sculptures and a revolving, mirrored ballroom. The three ‘patients’ take to their rooms and have a few questionable things happen (these are supposed to be scary things, but they aren’t.) and then they go to bed. Meanwhile, we learn that the doctor isn’t concerned with studying their sleeping habits. Rather, he is interested in learning about how they cope with fear. Wow, what a jerk!

As the movie drags on, creepy things start happening to Eleanor and everyone starts questioning her sanity. Then, they blame the doctor for rigging up the house to make them all scared when they learn about the true intention of the study. Things change, however, when the good doctor himself is almost drowned by a blood spewing fountain sculpture in the greenhouse – making it undeniable to everyone that the house is insane, not Eleanor.

As far as scary imagery goes, this film has none. It’s billed as a “shriek filled funhouse”, but what you get is a lot of cheesy special effects and laughable dialogue. Did you ever see Casper the Friendly Ghost? You know the movie, not the cartoon? Well, most of the spirits in this movie look like him. I’m not joking. Fun scenes like a comical beheading by a fireplace ornament and a battle between Eleanor and a highly digitalized hawk sculpture come-to-life are additional worthy moments.

Look, I praise a good horror film that relies on minimal gore and effects to instill a sense of fear. But, this movie was so full of mediocre computer generated “grabby hands” and moving sculptures that it began to make a real mockery of itself. The best part came near the end when we find out that Eleanor’s great-grandad is actually the asshole who built the house in the first place and his spirit still imprisons the legions of children he killed in his textile mills way back in the day. So, the whole reason she ends up there (we find out) is because the house “needs her to protect the children.” Um. Ok. Seriously, Monkey could write a better screenplay then this.

Merry Christmas

and Happy Holidays

Christmas Gifts

Skaht and I gave each other our Christmas gifts early this year.

Skaht got us both spots in a ballroom dancing class. It starts on January 14th!! I'm sure that Skaht and I will tear it up. Look for us on the professional circuit sometime next year. Yeah, I think that we'll be that good. Seriously.

I made Skaht's present. It's a shrine to creativity (creative writing creativity.)

Here are some shots of it:









Materials:
Wood
Paint
Vintage papers and book excerpts (from the 1800's to 1940's)
Wire
Vintage glass beads
Bronze sparrows
Vintage typewriter keys
Peacock feathers
Lacquer
Dollhouse chair
Electric light
Cellophane
Love

Name that 80's band!

Well, actually that's just me and my friend George at my other friend's birthday party (Sara.) Looks authentic though. It inspired Alli P. (she took the photo) to propose a photo shoot in the near future. If we do the shoot, then maybe I'll be inspired to get back to learning electric guitar - since my guitar is rotting away in storage.

So yeah. Take heed. I might be famous some day. A famous old person. Holla!

Special Guest

Hey, everybody, Skaht here. We have a guest blogger today, Molly, from We Are Not Funny. She’s locking down her blog for a minute, since she’s looking for a job and her boyfriend’s mom has been reading her stuff. I think that’s kind of lameass behavior, but whatever. I woke up late today, and although I’m eager to post some stuff, it’s nice to have this as a place holder, especially since, knowing me, I probably won’t put up anything else today.

Molly’s stuff:

Hi Ya'll (thats how I say hello when I am a guest blogger) It's me Molly (mollybush.wordpress.com) Scott kindly let me guest-post-blog here because there was something I really wanted to write about. I was going to title it (cleverly) "What not to blog about when your boyfriends parents read your blog" But then I realized since this matter hits me close to home I really can't post it on my blog. It is, now, not safe for this type of literature. When I am no longer dying inside imagining my boyfriend's sweet mom reading my blog (and vomiting at my content) I will re-release it from it's hiding in the wordpress attic. I will then have a re-release party. You're invited, ya'll!!

Anyway, a couple things you shouldn't write about when your boyfriends family reads your blog. An important one is them. Yeah leave them out of it. Completely. Leave the Thanksgiving you spent with them in your mind and off the interents and don't mention making love (iIhave never referred to it as that in the blog) to their son in their home while they are home in their now guest room (pretty sure I didn't mention this, but I am too horrified to look at my blog at the moment) Don't use terms like "hate-fuck" in your blog. I know that, now. Don't link to a site for amputee porn and than say something like, "that makes sense, humping a peg leg could feel good" Yeah really don't do that. Just retyping that made me ill. Refrain from multiple usage of the word "cunt" and if they didn't know before reading your blog, don't out yourself for working at a tanning salon. Don't seem incredibly hateful and depressed. Parents like to think of you as happy, fun, adorable, innocent. Don't let your blog ruin that idea. Try not to use the term or coin the term Eye-AIDS, and if you absolutely must don't let it be applying to you. This might make them think their son was given a sexually transmitted diseases from you. GROTCH! Eeew, I just thought of another, don't write about how you never want to work. This may bring concern.

I have to actually stop this guest post, ya'll its making me incomfy. For now don't check my blog. But maybe check back soon. If I am alive inside again, ever.

Bye Ya'll

(PS – Skaht here, again. I didn’t edit Molly’s stuff. I just noticed the misspelling of “y’all.” Also, the picture is courtesy of me, a random Flickr search, and MS Paint.)

Snow

This morning I walked out to the first snow I’ve seen in Boston this year. The rain washed it away by the time I got to my office. I think I need to get a pair of boots. Somehow, I made it through all of last winter in Chuck Taylors without losing any toes to frost bite, and only slipping, falling and busting my head on the ground once. I guess it’s time to grow up, and by grow up, I mean I’m glad I finally have enough money (hardly any, but more than last year) to look at boots as a good purchase for winter instead of a frivolous indulgence for bourgeois pussies (people above the poverty line).

Another year older, and I find I’m colder this year. Last year, I wore hoodies or zip-up sweaters layered over T-shirts all through winter. This year, I’ve already found I need the added warmth of a long-sleeve shirt added to the mix. I guess that’s part of the slow march towards death, and I’m starting to understand why I see old people wearing cardigans in the summer.

I miss sledding, tubing, whatever, etc.

Picture of the Day

Call Me

Yo, dudes, I’m up blogging at you early-like. The drain in Tanya’s shower is fucked, so after she showered, getting up an hour before me, there were still a few inches of standing water up in there when I looked, so I skipped the morning shower. I took one yesterday evening after the gym and didn’t have a physically taxing night, so it’s no big deal. Besides, I’m wearing the same shirt I wore yesterday. What can I say? I like being a slob.

I saw a link to the Lame Game on Amy’s Facebook page and checked it out. I’m feeling it. They call out Boston for being the shitty smug city it is, and I always appreciate that. They need to step up their game, though, because it didn’t take me long to work through all their entries.

Since coming back from Pittsburgh the other week, I’ve been hating on the people in this city more than usual. It’s been tough going anywhere or doing anything. Yesterday, since it was in the 60’s, I decided to try to do some shopping on my lunch break. I went to Filene’s Basement, looking for some underwear. I’m kind of particular about it. Filene’s Basement almost always drives me into the red pretty quickly. I thought 2:30 on a week day might not be so bad, although I obviously factored in people Christmas shopping. It wasn’t too crowded. There was the usual mix of brand-hungry foreigners, gross old people, girlfriends buying cheesy shit for their boyfriends, neutered men shopping with their spouses/girlfriends/sisters, and predatory Newbury Street homosexuals. Man, pervy old dudes just camp out in the underwear section. I had to bail.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s gratuitous phone usage, which you’ll find plenty of in Boston. I work with someone who takes about 15 personal calls a day. Out trying to shop, I saw several people shopping while talking on the phone. Two days ago, while in a group having some normal conversation someone just had to look up some bullshit on their phone, for no reason. Even eating at Frank’s last night, people across from us had to make a couple phone calls just trying to confirm something, all, “Larry, do you remember the name of that steak place? No, okay I’ll try Carl…” Fuck you. People who talk on their phone at the gym are some of the worst. Some flisp has to be all, “Okay, I’ve got like twenty more minutes on the elliptical, then I’m just going to take a quick shower and put on my American Apparel leggings and Uggs and I’ll meet you at Starbucks.”

Tanya and I want to move. For now, I’m trying to convince her to stay in and watch movies.

RIP Miss Bettie

It saddens me to hear that Bettie Page passed away last week. She was definitely an inspiration for all of us Burlesque freaks and the occasional Goth girl (i.e. the "Bettie" haircut.)

Drinkin' and Dialin'

I’m happy Skaht said that it was ‘cute’ when I decided to drunk dial him multiple times last night on my way back from a friend’s birthday dinner. You see, I just wanted to give him a call and ask him to come over because I thought that it would be fun to hang out. I had no idea what time it was (past midnight on a weekday) and I was feelin’ fine from all those nice blackberry cosmos (seriously, they were good.) So, I figured – why the hell not? Skaht loves me and I’m sure that he’d want to stop by!

So, I proceeded to call and the phone just rang and rang before Skaht’s voicemail picked up. For some reason, I thought that there must have been something wrong with my phone, because if my phone had worked correctly, Skaht would have answered. I then called him again with the same results. On the third try, Skaht answered because the constant ringing of his phone must have woken him up or annoyed him to no end by this point. He didn’t sound upset or anything and I was psyched because I was all like – yay! My phone works!

Now that I had him on the phone, I started babbling and saying drunken cliché phrases like “come over here and do me” and “I miss you so much, I can’t stand it!” As I went on and on, I ended up walking right into a patio table, knocking over a plant and smashing into the back of some person’s bicycle on Mass Ave. The person wasn’t there, so that’s good.

Skaht finally told me that it was too late for him to come over and do me and that he was in bed already. I was sad but I let him go, walking into a trashcan as I hung up.

Sorry, Skaht.

I'm back

I’ve been meaning to blog at your asses, but shit has been hectic with work. Plus, I was in the Burgh for a minute after Thanksgiving and spent almost an entire week unmoored from the internet, something I highly recommend. I’ll possibly blog about the trip at some point.

Tanya has a pretty good strategy for lighting my blogging fire, though. She just posts a picture of me in which I look like I have Down syndrome. Then, I feel the need to post something so the pic is not at the top of the page. I guess I deserve that shit, though, since I make fun of people who look like they have Down syndrome but actually don’t have it. You know, that certain type of waddling baby-faced fat person. Come on, I know you know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, Tanya and I love animals. The next pet we want to get is a pug and we’re going to name her Nude Panties.

As you know, Tanya and I hit up the YouTube a lot. We’ve clocked many any hour watching funny pet videos. Still, sometimes we have divergent tastes.

For example, Tanya turned me on to Hamster on a Piano, and I’ll admit I really enjoy it.


However, this one had me howling with laughter for minutes, and Tanya just wasn’t as into it.


There’s this whole weird genre of fake animal farts on YouTube. It’s pretty awesome. There are also a lot of really phony suicides and suicide jokes. The internet is great.

Thank, God, some of the shit on the internet is real. This dog rules.

Surprise Day!

Today is Surprise Day.

I got Skaht delicious candied ginger:



Skaht got me 10 Mega Millions bets ($270 million payout!) (NOTE: Monkey is not freeze dried in this picture):

Together Forever

I’m in an odd mood today and as a result of that, I started looking at pet taxidermists online. Now, I’m not all psyched for Monkey to kick it (in fact, I’ll probably be completely crushed when he does), it’s just that the whole idea of stuffing your pet is very strange to me. I don’t understand why someone would do this. I can acknowledge that losing a pet can feel the same as losing your best friend, but why would you want to keep a shell of that pet around after death?

In some ways, I find the whole thing a bit disrespectful of the pet. Now I realize that once Monkey buys the farm, he’s not going to give a rat’s ass whether he’s six feet under in the backyard or frozen in the ‘sleeping kitty’ taxidermy position on my couch. But, I wouldn’t feel right making him have to be with me beyond death. It would feel like I was robbing him of eternal rest or something. Not only that, it would probably make me more sad about his death than if I just buried him. Every day, I would look into his hollow, lifeless marble eyes and wish that maybe today he’d decide to jump off the couch and attack my ankle, or beg for food or...anything, really.

I’m getting sad just writing this.

Num num num

I'm waiting for Skaht and I'm bored. So, I found this. It's like an alien face hugger sandwich! Yum!

VS Fashion Show

Ok, so I did end up watching a little bit of the Victoria’s Secret fashion show last night after I got home from dinner with Jen. I just watched the first ten minutes though, because I couldn’t slog through much more. I do think that if I end up getting a bottle of wine tonight, I might try to watch the rest online. But, that is only because I am a masochist and I like to torture myself. It’s sexy.

Anyway, the first few minutes had the annoying backstage cut-ins with some guy in an English accent yelling out model’s names and telling them to “get ready to work” (or something like that.) It was pretty retarded and I definitely think that this guy is the same guy that they had doing the same thing during the last three shows. So, he’s yelling and the camera work is all over the place in an attempt to make the whole thing feel exciting. I don’t know, do people find that exciting? I don’t understand why this kind of media style annoys me to no end, but it does. I was about to shut it off, but then Usher was coming on stage to perform and well, I totally had to watch Usher.

Usher comes on and does one of his Usher songs that everyone seems to know. Then, the models started coming in, one after the other. People started to freak out at this point. See, I get it…they are models in skimpy clothing and well, most people applaud that sight. But, the annoying celebrity that these models are met with is kind of irritating. Each one came out and did a ‘yo homey’ gesture to either Usher or the audience, and I have to tell you that watching these total white-ass women throwing shout-outs was kind of embarrassing. Why couldn’t this just be like a normal fashion show? Oh yeah, I forgot, these are THE Victoria’s Secret ANGELS. Totally different story..totally.

Fashion wise, the outfits that I saw were pretty bad. You always get a mixture of crap and creativity at fashion shows, but the first few get-ups were seriously lacking in any imagination. Basically, each model was wearing what looked like clearance rack lingerie from Walmart (in lovely shades of gym sock gray and beige.) Seriously, this is shit that my 60 year old mom probably wears. Over that, some models either had fabric haphazardly tied around them or weird, brown leather belt things that looked like something straight out of Braveheart. At this point, I was asking myself where is the glamour? Where are all the sparkles and big wings and fantastical sex nymph costumes? The opening outfits looked more like the remnants of some art school drop-out's failed creation than anything interesting. But, yeah, I did only watch the opening scene, so maybe all that came later (I guess I will find out tonight when I settle down with some booze.)

The models were models and I won’t dispute that most of them are or are not hot in some way. They all had the standard model body, which is fine…but, am I a freak to think that lingerie actually looks hotter on women with curves? Sure, the models are tall, but some of them still look a little too pre-pubescent boy for my tastes. I think that real hourglass figures are the hottest (you know, voluptuous with a skinny waist and full hips like a pin-up.) Most of the VS models just look like one long pair of thin legs with little in the way of curves. That's not a bad thing - I guess that I just find this body type more appropriate for high fashion than for lingerie modeling. For lingerie shows, I think that Dita Von Teese makes an excellent model. However, girlfriend is like 5 feet tall, so I guess that excludes her from Vicky Secret's elite model force. Too bad.

See, I think this kind of body is the epitome of sexy:


This one ain't bad by any means, but where the hips at girl?:


After watching the show for a bit, I grew bored (as predicted in my previous post) and decided to work on Skaht’s super surprise Christmas gift. It’s not a sexy gift, but at least it’s unique.

Newsflash: Victoria's Secret Sucks

I have a like-hate relationship with Victoria's Secret. I like it because I am a girlie girl and I like lingerie. However, I hate it because it is the epitome of every ridiculous mass-consumerist idea of what sexy should be. To be more concise, it's a place where everything has "sexy" written all over it because the marketing people think that most of us women need it all spelled out for us.

It's funny that the entire line of lingerie has been recently redesigned so it will look more feminine and retro, rather than the circus-pornstar fluorescent shit that they used to sell. I guess that sales started to plummet as more people left the store empty handed (it's difficult to find the sexy in lime green butt floss with sequins.) Hell, I do burlesque shows occasionally and I couldn't even justify any of that crap most of the time.

However, this rant comes on the heels of my most recent shopping excursion when I went in to use up some discount coupons on a couple of panties and shampoo. I really like their shampoo. It smells nice. But, it took damn near an hour to get through the process of buying it because I was accosted relentlessly by salespeople trying to get me to look at sweatpants (with "sexy" written on the ass), gross fragrance sets or credit card offers. I was bothered continuously by every staff member in the store. I can only imagine what a guy must feel like, should he shop there for his woman. But, then I remembered that only ya-doods without any semblance of creativity shop there for their girlfriends and I proceeded to not give a shit about that any more.

Note: if you want to impress your lady friend, blow some extra dimes on a gift from Agent Provocateur. The classiness and high sex appeal factor will score you extra in the bedroom. Trust me.

So yeah. I hate that place, but I still shop there sometimes. I still like to buy bras and panties and all that crap that women spend a fortune on. I do it, but then I hate myself later because I feel like I just bought into the gimmick. If only I had the funds to outfit myself correctly in some La Perla. Someday...someday.

Oh, and I hear that the VS fashion show is on tonight. Usually, I make a date to watch it because I love fashion shows and the VS wings and all - but, this year, I'm going to forgo it. The last two times I watched it, it was like 10 minutes of total fashion runway and 50 minutes of annoying backstage cut-ins showing models on speed preening for the camera and running around in heels. It was fucking boring. Not to mention, if I have to hear Heidi Klum and her annoying mangled English one more time, I'm going to jump off the roof. Too bad - it's a cool idea, but if I want to watch a train wreck, I'll just go over to eonline.com and look at some fun Britney Spears videos.

This is most awesome show on tv

I am obsessed with this Japanese show where they take cute boys and dress them like cute girls. Yeah, yeah, I realize that every white chick you know has a crush on cute Japanese boys (me included), but you should check this out because it's brilliant. Besides, the Japanese boy in the green shirt is sooo cuuuutee! LOL! OMG!!!!

La la la la

Just sittin', drinking wine with Monkey and feeling fatigued from work. My friend Forest sent me this after I sent him the Shakira/Danzig video. It's pretty nice:

Ice Cream Thank You

A bunch of millionaire executives came to my office on Monday and gave my department ice cream. It was to thank us for all of the work we did on our last big project, which ended up costing something like $40 million dollars. Supposedly, it’s considered one of the most expensive projects ever in the IT industry.

Those ice cream parties tend to be half-hearted attempts at making people feel good about working 60+ hours a week. As a consultant, I’m shielded from a lot of those excessive demands, but it’s still difficult to work around people who are expected to just take it.

I’m beginning to realize that consulting wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Basically, I work in a super corporate environment, but I get treated better than the actual employees and can leave at 4. It’s sad, really, but there are a lot of business guys here who seem to like working so much that they get all excited about the shitty ice cream thank you. I don’t know about them, but I’d rather have the executive millionaires show me their gratitude by giving me a nice bonus rather than gross cafeteria ice cream with generic candy toppings.

Friday

Wednesday night, I went to the Joshua Tree to meet up with the Young Team. As usual, they were running late, so I was chilling with a drink, watching that sick Celtics win (Paul Peirce insane). Anyway, since the bar is a big rectangle I had to look at a far away TV above the heads of some couple across the bar. I’ve been watching a lot of Squidbillies and this clip kept running through my head, and I was LOLing by myself like an asshole, and the dude from the couple was shooting me dirty looks because I think he thought I was laughing at his douchey beard and wondering how he pulled a decent chick, which really means he wonders how he got her and is constantly insecure. I should just wear an “I Love Tanya” shirt with her picture and our blog address, so people know I’m taken, and I’d be getting the word out about this stupid site. Anyway, thanks for the laughs Squidbillies. I’m glad I didn’t get my delicate ass kicked.

The clip in question, demonstrative of my puerile sensibilities:

Tanya and I ate at Frank’s last night, for the second time this week, getting ready for our future roles as early-bird-special-eating oldass regulars (practically already there). We bought some wine and had a pretty solid YouTube session.

We stumbled across this. I’d never seen it before, but given the number of views it’s made the rounds and gone to bed. Still, if I ain’t seen it it’s new to me, like most of the things I post here.


We’re really into these two literal music videos, too.




Brendan Donnelly’s clothing web site went live. Amazing and solid. $35 bucks ain’t bad for these gems. Too bad, I’m a poorass. Remember me for Christmas, people.

Part III: More Early November Crap

Yours truly finally got another legit well-deserved day off on Veteran's Day. Monday night, Tanya and I watched that last Indiana Jones movie and went to bed early. The Indy movie was pretty mediocre, as most people know. No one wants to see oldass Indy and oldass Karen Allen and the douche from Transformers and Cate Blacnchett grabbing a paycheck. Those cheesy jungle scenes were on some Endor shit. I expected it to be worse. I mean, it still stayed true to the Indy formula by bending over the willing suspension of disbelief and often getting into some goofy antics. Plus, it threw in inter-dimensional aliens!

So, Tuesday, Tanya had to work, because Fidelity cares about money not war veterans. I guess there’s some bad shirt going on with the economy. I went home and did some laundry and watched Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead. Marisa Tomei getting naked at 44 and looking good, cut by Philip Seymour Hoffman at his fattest. The first shot is of Hoffman giving it to Tomei Snoop Dogg style. Talk about setting a tone, lolz. Throw in some whiny Ethan Hawke and Albert Finney lumbering around as a monstrous old man, add enough dark plot twists to take it from crime melodrama to gothic territory and, bam, my laundry was done and I went to the gym, then Shaw’s, then met up with Tanya for dinner at Frank’s. I swear I was more tired from running around on my day off than I ever am from a work day, excepting really hungover work days. Being old sucks.

Tanya gave you the Surprise Day lowdown. I think the sleep balm is working. I’m also avoiding the caffeine still, so maybe that’s working, too.

I’m not feeling this season of Biggest Loser. What happened to the jovial hopeful fat people? I can see mean dour fat people anywhere.

Lastly, how could I write this terribly long post and not mention that November is National Novel Writing Month, a month in which more skeletal loosely autobiographical narratives are written than any other? It’s a good thing, though. Writing novels is hard. I know because I’ve failed at it several times. Doing the exercise this month teaches people discipline about writing, which is necessary for anyone who wants to write seriously. It’s just weird, though, how I know several people who aren’t really big readers and aren’t writers but throw down for the month. It’s not completely weird, given some of the egos. Last time I tried the exercise, I ended up with a skeleton of a novel that either needs some good research and depth added to really make it a novel, or some good research and some crap cut out to make it a solid long short story or novella. I also maybe want to turn it into a screenplay at some point, since that’s the medium I mostly work in now, in my spare time, when I’m not writing really long blog posts that will go mostly unread. It’s about a guy who mugs people at movie theaters, a gay guy who takes photographic portraits of urinals, and a bored depressed trust fund girl, and how their lives come together. Hey, want to pay me to write it? Get at me, we’ll talk. That’s likely to happen. But, seriously, I need to get back at that, maybe after I finish the screenplay I’ve been working on for awhile now. So, I hope a lot of people that do the exercise like what they write and keep working on it, or at least keep writing. And, if you get successful, hook a brother up. Nah, why would you do that? I suck.

Watch the whole thing!

Part II: Election Magic

Like most Massachusetts Democrats I was psyched for the election. I was registered in my old Brookline hood, so I voted out there, and saw it as a chance to get drunk early. I met a friend at the Avenue and downed several dollar drafts. Boy, had I missed those. Then, getting ready to celebrate, I stopped by Blanchard’s and picked up a bottle of South African mead. I met Tanya for a drink at Charlie’s, then we watched the results roll in at her place, sipping on mead. I managed to stay awake for McCain’s concession speech, but like my parents on New Year’s, I couldn’t stay awake for the big deal, not that it mattered since I caught that shit first thing when I got to work. I slept easily and happy, since we had a cool half-black Democrat going to the White House.

Of course, November 5th got a little annoying, with every single white person who voted acting like they got in a time machine and went back and single-handedly ended slavery. As usual, lame whites were ruining my high. Of course, voting for Obama was the most meaningful interaction many of these people ever had with a black person.

My brother turned 33 on the 6th. I’m glad he made it. On facebook, I saw some pics of him at a party. I thought it was a Halloween costume party and my brother was owning it with a spot-on Corey Haim. Turns out, it was just someone’s birthday party and he wasn’t dressed-up. Jokes!

Hells Yeah!


It's a mental block

Updates Part I: Happy Belated Halloween

Hey, y’all. I haven’t rapped at you in a minute, so I thought I’d bring you up to speed. After all, the end of October and early November were pretty exciting times. Halloween came and went. Then, America rejoiced as a cool black dude meted out a humiliating beating on an elderly war veteran nearly twice his age. And, through all these heady times, I was right there with you, drinking sometimes, hanging out with Tanya a lot, hating on people, and being a tired cranky old man, just like Jesus and the two sets of footprints in the sand, except when there was only one set, it was because I was at home watching Biggest Loser instead of hanging out with your dick ass. This season of Biggest Loser sucks, by the way. It’ll probably break this up into a few posts to catch up, so the first one will cover Halloween. I know some people would say the Halloween ship has sailed and it’s time to get current, but those people don’t all run blogs nobody reads.

So, Happy Belated Halloween.

A lot of people love Halloween: pagans, creative people, chicks who like to dress like sluts and dudes who like to see chicks dressed like sluts. The slut costume gets old and unoriginal really fast. Still, it has its merits. It’s easy to identify and you basically know what you’re getting, except for the fact that you think the chick will slay in the sack and she probably ends up sucking, because she only dressed as a slut because all her friends did, because they all think that’s what Halloween is all about, no longer getting candy, but getting drunk and looking like a hooker and smashing into some overcrowded bar or club and doing the walk of shame in a cheap nurse costume.

I think I’ve done dinner theater or some other odd job the past several Halloweens, or I just stayed in not caring, too lazy to figure out a costume. Once, I went to a party, no costume, and saw a girl dressed as Carmen Sandiego, the red hat and red trench coat, etc. I liked the fact that she was bucking the slut costume trend. Plus, she was cute and obviously old enough to think of being Carmen Sandiego. I was pretty drunk and we made out at the party. We went out a week or so later and I found out she was chubby, and she lived with her parents, and worked at a bank, and I never saw her again. I probably could have made out with an albino dressed as a cat at the party. The point is: going for the girl who shows a little creativity is cool, but figure out what you’re getting into. Didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to get drunk that night and I did. Also, there’s nothing wrong with a pretty chubby girl, per se, although I’m not a fan of bankers who live with mom and dad. Still, kids, remember there are only a certain number of years where you can wake up with a cheap slutty police officer costume next to the bed, and a cheap slut in the sack. Thank God, I have Tanya and don’t have to worry about all that.

Anyway, Tanya loves Halloween, and wanted me to get out of doing a show, but I couldn’t get out of it and needed the money. The upshot was Tanya ended up doing the show. She needed money, too. She had to play the part of the French Maid, so she got to dress up anyway. I did a button-down shirt, dress pants, dress shoes, and a blazer, which is a costume for my jeans-and-T-shirt-and-sneakers ass. After the show, we spent our hard-won cash on drinks at 6B, which was totally empty except for a few anti-Halloween sad sacks. So, it was awesome. I was tired and slammed down five or six beers in an hour and then ended Halloween by dressing as the Guy Who Couldn’t Perform Sexually. Decent. There’s some trick or treat joke in there somewhere, but I’m not sussing it out right now, especially since it’s almost the middle of November.

Awesome Beyonce costume! Work it girl!

Surprise Day!

Yesterday was Surprise Day!

Skaht got me a coaster featuring cats selling lemonade. The coaster is made out of a recycled bath tile. I got Skaht the Badger Sleep Balm since he has been having trouble sleeping lately.

Working for the man - Part 1

I have had a ‘real’ job for about 10 years now. However, it has taken me almost 10 years to become fully used to the idea of working 9-5. In fact, I’d say that this whole desk job situation hasn’t become fully realized until the past two years or so. For some reason, I always felt like working an adult job would be a temporary phase – like going to college. I waited patiently for the time when something would happen and I’d wake up and be on to my next thing, whatever that was. Unfortunately, we all know that unless one is already wealthy, money has to be made somehow. Sadly, that’s where the 9-5 job comes in.

When I finished college and got my first corporate job, I was actually working right down the street from where I am working now in South Boston. I tend to think of that time a lot, since I can still see the building I worked at on my way to my current office in the World Trade Center. It’s a big, brown, depressing building that houses a few different businesses. The Harpoon Brewery is there in addition to some fish packing place. BTE, Inc. (or whatever it’s called now since they were bought out some time ago) is sandwiched right between. That’s where I worked.

This was a time when, like most early 20-somethings, I tended to thrive on late nights out and no sleep. How I actually pulled myself out of bed in the morning and got myself in the office is a big mystery to me now. For the first two or three months that I worked there, I didn’t have a place to live, so I couch surfed at my friend’s place, waiting for one of the extra rooms to open up. No one had a regular day job in the house, so I had to deal with people up at all hours and no privacy. I actually kept my clothes in an old boarded up fireplace since I didn’t have any closet space to call my own. People would come in while I was asleep on an air mattress on the floor and watch movies sometimes. Obviously, this wasn’t a good situation for a working professional – but I made the best of it.

Thankfully, my job at BTE was a relatively brainless administrative type job, so I didn’t really have to think that much and I could coast through the day. It was insanely boring there, and I rarely had anything to do. I pretty much sat in a back room, surfing the internet and trying to make myself look busy. I worked for the Director of Marketing. He mostly gave me reports and business proposals that I had to type up. The rough drafts would be coddled together from old proposal clippings and marked up with highlighters and red pens. They were very infantile looking, like some kindergartener had made me a story that I was supposed to decode and put into adult language. That’s pretty much all I did, maybe three times a week.

Since typing up proposals took me about an hour or so each, I was left with lots of free time on my hands. I became very adept at escaping the office unnoticed and I often took long walks around the pier. There are some strange buildings out here and lots of weird abandoned fish shacks, which I always promised myself I would photograph one day. One time, I illegally gained entry into the design center (a huge factory type building that contains interior design showcases for licensed buyers.) Walking around inside was like being part of another world. “Look at all the people who actually have cool jobs” I would say to myself as I looked at all the eccentric designers dashing about. It made me pretty depressed.

I’m not sure what my real hours were supposed to be, but I never worked more than 4 hours a day. After a two hour lunch, I’d go back to my cubicle and stare at the monitor. Maybe type up a story or email or letter or something. At around 4:30 – maybe 4 – I’d escape again, running across the parking lot and down the long street that I would have to walk in order to catch the shuttle bus from the WTC to South Station. I’d run like crazy, although most people at my office probably never noticed when I left. The walk was about 10 minutes to the shuttle and then the shuttle would take 10 minutes to South Station where I would run down to the T. The T ride took 15-20 minutes from South Station to Central Square, where I lived.

All in all, it wasn’t an awful gig, especially since I had a ton of free time and pretty much did whatever I wanted. However, I was sad a lot. I wondered how I would get used to having to work Monday through Friday, 5 days a week. I wondered how people seemed to do it so effortlessly. Do they actually like working? It wasn’t that I was particularly lazy or anything, it was just that I was expected to play a part of society that I didn’t necessarily agree with. I was in a corporate environment, with people spewing business talk all day and being around that seemed to deeply affect my soul. I always felt like I was playing some huge part in a play. Look at me, I totally agree with you about status reports and marketing and customers and products. Yeah, I do…really.

Going from being a full-time college student to a full-time professional was tough. My loss of freedom during the weekdays really got to me in a big way. I’d look at all the students in Boston and long to be a part of their world again. I toyed with the idea of graduate school and taking outlandish international jobs so I wouldn’t have to type or take dictation or pretend to care about meetings and business proposals anymore. Wouldn’t it be great if I went to art school? Or, how about the Peace Corps? I dwelled on all of these questions and inwardly, I started to fall apart. I had no idea how I would be able to handle real life. I did know, however, that I needed to work and I needed to make money. Eventually, I thought, I’d figure out how to make money and not work. I still think that will happen sometimes.

As the year dragged on, it was apparent that BTE was going to be acquired by another company. I didn’t know much about how these things progressed, so I didn’t really care. I did start to care, though when there was talk about changing the office décor and putting all the Admins in the front of the office so we could greet clients. This really set me off. If I was moved to the front of the office, that would mean no more cubicle walls, no more privacy – people would see me constantly and I wouldn’t be able to sneak out. Worse yet, I’d have to talk to people and be cheery and accountable and answer phones.

I was complacent about finding a new job up until this point, but now it was urgent that I find something else. Luckily for me, it was the ‘dot-com boom’ and jobs were plentiful. Even higher paying technology jobs were open to people who didn’t have the background (me.) So, I hit up Monster.com during work hours, applied to one Marketing Coordinator job at a software company, got called into an interview and got the job all within a week. That’s how this French/Anthropology major ended up in technology..where I still am today. I’ll write part two soon.

Rules

I slept all right last night, and day two without caffeine is going okay. I got hot chocolate at Dunkin Donuts this morning. Ordering hot chocolate is pretty emasculating.

Tanya and I have been in the people-hating red zone lately. So, we met up for a couple drinks last night, after she put in some time at some knowledge base training her consulting agency put on after a full day’s work. After two drinks, we had to leave because the bar was annoying. Then, I broke one of our new rules.

See, we all live by rules, those we set ourselves, which are easy to break, and those set by others, also pretty easy to break. Anyway, we decided we weren’t going to buy wine during the week. We thought it would be all right to go out for drinks, but not to bring drinks home. On the home front, this quickly turned into the idea that it’s okay to buy one regular-sized bottle of wine on any night we’re staying in, just not a magnum. My thoughts were still along the lines of not getting anything to take home, if we went out for a couple on any given night. But, last night, one the way home, I bought some shitty bottle of cheap red from the ghetto convenience store near Tanya’s apartment. Tanya wanted a couple cigarettes, too, and gave me money for a pack. We’re not supposed to smoke, at all, but Tanya’s new thing is buying a pack, smoking a quarter of it, and throwing it away. This is supposed to enforce the idea of not smoking, through negative reinforcement in the form of throwing away money. It’s not working out so well, since Tanya doesn’t really mind tossing the cost of a whole pack of cigarettes on just a few of them. We are smoking a lot less, at least.

Anyway, I ended up spilling some of this gross red wine all over the table where Tanya keeps her computer, while I was looking for some YouTube clip we’ve watched about twenty times.

In other news, I had to collect my urine over a period of 24 hours and turn it in to the doctor, because there’s something wonky going on with my kidney function. I’ll keep you posted on what that’s all about.

This post was pretty pointless and not funny. So, I’ll leave you with a fun treat.

Who needs opposable thumbs?

Reflex

Suggestion: for best results, listen to the audio from the first clip while watching the second clip. Obviously, I have no internet skills.

duran duran



reflexes at work

caffeine

I’m in a bad mood. I’ve been having a lot of trouble sleeping, more than usual, so I’m experimenting with cutting down on caffeine, which means totally cutting it out for the day. It sucks. Also, as usual, people who comment on blogs, and the low standards of these people, and their general failure to ever write anything clever, funny, valid, insightful, or remotely worthwhile, is bothering me, again. I wrote a dumb long post about that general topic awhile back. To reiterate: if the content on Street Carnage or Blognigger makes or breaks your day, I feel sorry for you. I dig both those sites, especially Blognigger, but come on. Also, if you love their shit so much, why don’t you think before you mire a decent read with your inane comments? They have standards and you should, too. Fuck. I should have sworn off reading blog comments today and bought myself a delicious large coffee.

Luckily, drunk Orson always cheers me up.



Respect to these dudes, well done.

~*~ Art Sunday ~*~

Today, Skaht and I rented a ZipCar and checked out the Decordova Sculpture Park and Museum. It's located in Lincoln, MA - about 20 minutes or so from Cambridge. If we ever win MegaMillions (I'm hoping that one of those tickets we buy each week will score), I'm thinking that it would be cool to retire in that area. Very picturesque New England, with lots of estates, apple trees and not many people. Nice.

We had a nice walk around the park, checked out the museum and then got lost in the woods, too.

One of my favorite sculptures is still up: Sharks In The Trees


Skaht and the sharks:

Hearts:

Social commentary:

Artsy landscape with Skaht:

Pinecone people:

Thinkin' about art:

Face:

Skaht and the autumn leaf:

Art things:





Skaht immitates art:

Love in a sculpture park:

I'm back

Yo, dudes and chicks, sorry I haven’t hollered at you in a minute. I’ve been pretty busy. So, yeah, to recap, we went to NYC. We went to Salem, and in the post below you can see why I try to stay out of pictures, Ellen-looking like a motherfucker. I’m getting a haircut on Thursday.

I also put a decent bit of free time into some part-time work grading SAT essays. Keeping your kids out of Harvard like whoa.

Anyway, when I had a minute to look at the internets I’d usually get sucked into a YouTube hole. I’d check a blog, hit a link, then find myself watching 20 Jeopardy clips, followed by a handful of clips from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, and not even Regis clips, but the version with that chick, who is decent and much more tolerable, on every level, than Regis. Is that show even still on?

Or, in another case, I read about how Sasha Grey is starring in a new Steve Soderbergh joint, the Girlfriend Experience. Then I found myself watching the old interview she did on the Tyra Banks talk show. Then I watched a bunch of Tyra talk show clips, mostly about racism. By the way, the Tyra/Sasha interview is kind of infuriating, and you can find many better Sasha Grey interviews online.

Sasha Grey fascinates me. She’s pretty unique. I don’t want to get into the whole thing right now. She actually makes me want to get back into freelance journalism. I’d A) like to do a sort of filler fluff softball piece about porn stars appearing in mainstream movies, and B) I’d like to do an in-depth profile/interview piece about her. I need to research both things a little more, to see how overdone those topics are. I’d definitely like to do an interview with her, though. I have about a million questions I’d like to ask her.

Back to Tyra, I love black drag queens. I thought of a great name for a black drag queen: Diversity Weekend. Any of you nubian would-be queens out there can use that if you want. Just invite me to a show.

Wrapping it all up, I think Beyonce got her new name from watching the Sasha Grey interview on the Tyra show. It’s the perfect synergy of those two dynamic personalities.

Jeopardy clips!

Skaht and Tanya Do Salem

We went to Salem, MA on Saturday for HarvestFest which was a wine/beer/meade tasting event.

This is us before drinking a lot of alcohol:



Still before alcohol, but Skaht isn't sure if it's me or not:



Skaht relives the olden days:



After alcohol, Skaht gets chummy with a pirate:



After alcohol (and at home after like 10 hours), Monkey enjoys his gift from Skaht. A wizard hat!

Autumn

It's autumn time again - my favorite season. I just came back from walking around outside. The weather is perfect, and there is a gentle breeze coming through the window. Right now, the foliage is hitting it's peak and a lot of the trees around here are bright yellow and orange.

There is something about autumn that makes everything surreal and fantasy-like. Maybe it's the association I have with Halloween, which is happening soon. I'm not sure. I've felt this way for my entire life though. I always feel happiest right now.

A year ago, when I was still getting to know Skaht, I told him about the Kodamas. They are Japanese tree spirits that are depicted in one of my favorite anime films, Princess Mononoke. In Japanase mythology, they are described a bit differently than in the movie, but I think the little white Kodamas in Princess Mononoke are so sweet.

I think that the Kodamas come out in autumn, because it's the best time of the year. I can almost count on seeing one sometimes, bouncing around on a fragile tree branch before fading away as the winter approaches.



And of course, I have to mention the forest spirit - inspiration for Spirit Cat - which I'm sure we will cover in subsequent blog posts...

AcidFace Mondays!

Every Monday, Skaht and I get together, drink wine and put glycolic acid on our faces in an effort to ward off age (it's a good exfoliant.) While our faces are coated in the acid, we do a little AcidFace dance since it can sting. Skaht's skin is getting used to it, so I think he is up to 4-5 minutes now - I'm up to 10. That's mostly because I've been using glycolic acid for a while. It usually works well.

I took a picture of AcidFace Skaht topless, wearing my fuchsia and orange polka dot headband that's made out of towel material (the headband keeps hair out of our faces.) He won't let me post it. So, here is a boring picture that illustrates what glycolic acid looks like at the molecular level:

Surprise Day!

It was Surprise Day last Friday (October 10.) Skaht and I completed our gift exchange before we left for NYC.



Skaht gave me the most expensive hand soap that I have ever had (it was $10.) I gave Skaht the jade green crystal growing kit. The cat is Monkey. He is the gift that keeps on giving (not a surprise day gift.)

In other news, this is the only picture I took in NYC:

Can I Have a Scarf With That?

As I predicted in my original post about American Apparel, I ended up in a minor obsessive phase where I bought another hoody (purple), a scarf (dark red), a tank top (black) and a thermal T (pink). This all came on the heels of my first AA purchase, which was a black hoody. I think that I can stop now, though, because I am starting to lose my dignity.

Seriously, after setting foot into the AA store in Harvard Square, I almost swore off buying anything from them ever again. It was just how I pictured it would be - only worse. I won't go into details right now. But, if I see another gold lame bodysuit, I'm going to hurl.

What really did it for me was reading up on Dov Charney - the founder of AA. This guy is a greasy, jerkface cokehead with a penchant for sexually harassing young girls. And, don't get me started on the self-proclaimed title of "innovative designer." Please...a plain t-shirt isn't really an objet d'art. This guy is just really good at making a plain t-shirt look cool using the tired old formula of selling sex to self-obsessed hipsters. Yawn. Next, please.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to wear all of my AA stuff because I just bought it and I do like it..however, every time I do, I will disgust myself just a little bit more. Skaht, ready the Wellbutrin.

When Monkey is a sweet boy....

Stuff

Man, blogging is so awesome. There’s so much to blog about and so little time. This might be a little random. We’ll see. Now, blog with me.

Tanya and I have some adventures coming down the line.

First of all, let me just tell you, Monkey has been acting like a total asshole lately. So, in hopes of getting him to straighten up and fly right, we’re taking him to the non-denominational “Blessing of the Animals” at the North Church on Sunday. I hope he doesn’t burst into flames. I could seriously see some Omen shit going down, just a grey tuxedo cat version.

Secondly, Tanya and I are going down to New York next weekend to see a Killing Joke show (we’re old people) and hang out with John. We’re going to shop for neck armor this weekend, since we’re taking the bus next Friday, the Mega Bus, thank the sweet Lord. Good thing John doesn’t live in Philly anymore, so we don’t have to worry about hammer attacks, but he does live in Brooklyn, which means you won’t find me fucking around with any fluorescent bulbs.

Anyway, here in Boston, I’m doing improv tonight at Improv Boston, stand-up tomorrow night at Improv Boston, and improv in Brocton Saturday night.

Tanya and I plan on setting up an eBay page whenever we get around to it, because we think we could put together enough stuff to rake in tens of dollars.

Grand Buffet’s Lord Grunge has been clocking a grip for months now, selling shit on eBay. Before the GB boys head out on the road with Girl Talk, check out his latest lot. If you like GI Joe’s you’re going to bust a nut. Do people still say that?

Don't Taze Me, Bro!

We're on a road to nowhere - Part 2

Here is another rant about people who ride the T. I encountered most of these people today.

1.) Short Stop Jim

Short Stop Jim (or Jane depending on gender) is the person you always end up behind when you are running toward the T before the doors close. He’ll be running too, but what makes him suck is that he’ll either stop or almost stop once he gets on the train. We’re not talking about running into the train for a bit and then stopping. No, Short Stop will stop once he is about three inches inside the train. This causes you to either miss out on boarding since the doors just closed, or if you make it in time, you’ll most likely end up in a face plant to the back of Short Stop’s head (or backpack if he is also a Mr. Backpack type.)

Short Stop Jim really infuriates me because people who are oblivious to their surroundings and assume that they are the only ones trying to make the train fucking suck. The world is full of them. Listen, I always go all the way into the train when boarding it, regardless of whether the doors almost slam in my face. Why? Because I know that I’m not the only person in the whole city of Boston who needs to get on the T. I guess that makes me better than most people.

Anyway, Short Stop Jim is also related to Stonewall Bill. They are usually the same person, depending on the situation. I’ll get to Stonewall below.


2.) Stonewall Bill

Stonewall Bill is almost always a guy, although there are some Betties out there occasionally. Like Short Stop Jim, this douchebag automatically assumes that he is the only person who matters and therefore won’t be accommodating when the T is crowded. Stonewall Bill will get on the train and stand in front of the door regardless of the fact that more people need to bust past him while boarding. He’ll usually do this when there is plenty of room on the train, so moving in to make way for more riders is always feasible. Stonewall tends to be either a businessman or a foreigner and assumes that he is the only one who should be able to easily vacate the train when appropriate. Purposely smacking or running into a Stonewall when exiting the train is highly recommended. Seriously, you’ll win karma points back this way. Try it.


3.) The Flisp Coalition

I came up with the term “Flisp” to describe a woman who talks with a lisp. Lisps aren’t inherently bad, but when used by this specific type of woman, it is the most annoying, irritating, grating thing in the entire free world. The T boasts a lot of flisps, especially after work around 6pm. They tend to ride the train in large groups.

A flisp is usually in her 20’s or 30’s, works in Finance, sports designer purses (with the designer logo really, really visible) and hangs out with meathead date rapist looking men. Flisps like to appear non-threatening and somewhat unintelligent so they will usually talk to each other using questions rather than stating anything that might indicate that they think for themselves. For example:

Flisp A “What do you think of that new guy in accounting?”
Flisp B “I don’t know, do you think that he is gay?”
Flisp A “I’m not sure, did you hear what he said the other day after the meeting?”
Flisp B “Yeah. Isn’t that so crazy?”

And on it goes. Usually, you’ll hear the lisp in the middle of phrases, with an emphasis on words that end in ‘th’ or start with ‘s’. Depending on proximity, it’s difficult to tune them out, even with the loudest, most feedback oriented song you have in your playlist. If a group of flisps comes your way on the train, the best advice is to either go to the opposite side of the car or get off at the next stop entirely and walk.

We're on a road to nowhere - Part 1

It’s not a big secret that people in Boston love to hate the MBTA. I personally curse it daily, mostly because it sucks in every way possible. It also turns me into a total hater because the disdain I have for the T transfers over to the people who ride it. Sometimes, this is just me being a jerk. However, most of the time, hating fellow T riders is warranted. Let me list why:


1.) Mr. Backpack

This one is pretty obvious. Mr. Backpack is usually a white college student who came to Boston from either New Hampshire, Maine or somewhere where there are a lot of places to hike. He loves hiking so much that he will wear his huge, hulking backpack and hiking gear everywhere – even in the middle of the city where places to hike do not exist. You will see Mr. Backpack a lot during rush hour when he’s on his way to class. What makes Mr. Backpack so annoying is that he’ll walk on the T with his huge backpack on his back, thereby making it impossible for anyone else to get on the already overcrowded T. If you happen to be sitting down, get ready for a blow to the face by either the big silver carabiner hanging off the front of the pack or the pair of Tevas dangling from the bottom. Even the fortunate few who aren’t in direct contact with Mr. Backpack will get a nice whiff of B.O. which comes from his insistence on using only natural deodorant (which we all know doesn’t work).


2.) The Big Ball Krewe

Everyone knows that young urban males in their late teens have the world’s largest balls. How do we know this? Well, it’s pretty obvious when you see them sitting on the T with theirs knees so far apart that no one can sit next to them. I feel bad for them, I mean, if your area juts out so much that you have to sit spread eagled all the time, that must be kind of embarrassing, right? And what to do about pants?! Maybe that’s the deal with those insanely oversized jeans most of them wear.

Or, maybe their junk is just so great that everyone should look at it. Maybe there are secrets to be told if we would only stop and listen once in a while. Tell that disabled old lady to shut up, she can’t have a seat because this dude is on to something with that glorious basket of his. Seriously, I hope that these guys get some good porn jobs out in Hollywood, because with packages that huge, there ain’t no way that they should be poor.


3.) AssCreep Sally

Okay, I know that keeping oneself at a healthy weight is difficult. In this day and age, with all the time at the office and meals on the go, some of us get pretty portly. Yeah. I understand that.

But God help me, if you are a large woman who happens to have a humungous ass, don’t attempt to plant dat azz in a space that can only accept an ass of half your size. This is called AssCreep and I have coined the term to describe this rather gross and annoying predicament. Imagine, if you will, that you are sitting on the T and even though there is plenty of room to either stand or take a seat on the opposite side, AssCreep Sally has her sights set on sitting between you and someone else. Nothing will stop that heaving ass from squeezing into a space no larger than your purse. What happens next? Well, you and your neighbor end up stuck with some of Sally’s terrycloth stretch pants caressing (or smashing into) your thighs. Sometimes, Sally will be of the one shower a week persuasion, which makes the ride even more fun. Seriously Sally, stand up and burn some calories please. Thanks.


This rant was fun. I’ll try for some more after tomorrow’s commute back into the office.