yakface speaketh!

I've figured out my Mutant power.

Howdy,

I saw X-Men 3 a few days ago and, for those of you who haven't seen the movie, it is chock full of a bunch of generic "bad guy" mutants. Apparently if you're a mutant, but not part of the X-Men, then you are either Emo or Goth and very disgruntled with the world.

Anyway, there were hundreds of these pleebs being led into battle by the big bad guy Magneto. They were all supposed to be lower level mutants without really powerful abilities. Essentially that just meant they didn't get a cool name like "Storm" or "Pyro" and we generally didn't get to know what their exciting ability was (besides being Goth/Emo). They just seemed to jump around, or maybe teleport if they were extra cool. Mostly, they just seemed to get chopped up by Wolverine or other X-Men.

As I saw them getting blasted, shocked, punched, or hacked to pieces, I couldn't help but muse: "I wonder what wonderful power that guy had before he was mercilessly killed by the X-Men?" Perhaps he had the ability to blow out all the birthday candles on a cake with his nose? Or maybe he could sweat beer in times of great stress?

I feel a deep sadness that I will never know what set that unique and special mutant so far apart from humanity that he/she had to dress like an overboard Cure fan.

Back on point: I have figured out what my mutant ability is. I have known for a while, but was afraid to fully come to the realization that I am, in fact, a mutant. It is a powerful burden, and I learned from the Spider-man movies that with great power comes great responsibility, and I want to assure you all that I will not abuse this ability for personal gain. I will, apparently, have to start dressing in fish-net shirts and get some tatoos/piercings. Be prepared for that.

What is my amazing power, you ask? It's simple:

If I get my car washed, within a week it will rain, no matter what time of year or what the weather forecasters say!

Bam! I know it's exciting!

I was trying to come up with my cool mutant name, and because "Rain-man" is pretty much taken, I came up with: Rain-On-My-Clean-Car-Man. Pretty good, huh?

Of course, my career will basically consist of running towards the X-Men and getting chopped/blasted/shocked/punched. But I think that's pretty much the best that any of us third-string mutants can really hope for.

Stereotyping can be useful and fun!

Do I have a treat for you today.

I've long been working on a system to predict which cars at a stoplight will "come off the line" quicker when the light turns green, and now I'm ready to share this amazing system with the world.

You may be a little confused, but rest assured, all will be made clear to you in just a moment. This system is based off stereotypes collected and determined over the past 10+ years of driving, by me (and me alone), so all results are naturally correct and perfect.

You may be wondering: "why in god's name would I need to know which car is going to accelerate faster at a light?" That is a perfectly valid question and the answer is this:

Say there is an emergency, and you're trying to get somewhere as quickly as possible. You're pulling up to a stoplight and there are three lanes available. There is exactly one car in each lane already stopped at the light. A whole bunch more cars are coming up behind you, so whatever lane you pick you are going to be locked into for a while. You need to get to the next intersection as quickly as possible to make sure you get through it before the light turns red, and if you're stuck behind some slow car, you're probably screwed.

But luckily, with my amazing new system, you can quickly assess the three different vehicles and decide with relative certainty which one you should get behind.

Please note that this will never be 100% accurate. It is based off of stereotypes and generalizations, and as sure as Michael Jackson is white man you can be sure that stereotypes will always have their exceptions. There will always be the chance a mini-van filled with kids will burn off the line and beat the rocker in his lowered Ford Mustang. Anything is possible, but this system will simply give you the best possible chance to succeed.

Here are the modifiers that apply to each car where appropriate. In all cases a vehicle only receives a particular modifier a single time unless the modifier specifically says otherwise:

Type of Vehicle

The vehicle is an SUV: -1

The vehicle is a Hybrid: -1

The vehicle is a Minivan: -2

The vehicle is a Pickup Truck full of equipment/items in the truck bed: -2

The vehicle is an otherwise large vehicle (bus/semi-truck/garbage truck,etc): -3

The vehicle is a Muscle or Sports car: +1

The vehicle was made between 10 and 20 years ago: -1

The vehicle was made more than 20 years ago: -2

Vehicle Adornment/Modifications

There are towels or Doilies over the back seat headrests, or in the rear window area: -1

There are Bobble-head dolls or Stuffed Animals in the rear window area (-1 for each doll or animal): -1

There is a box of Kleenex in the rear window area: -1

The vehicle has one or more Environmental bumper stickers: -1

The vehicle has one or more religious (not counting satanists) bumper stickers: -1

The vehicle has one or more punk/rock/satanic/etc. bumper stickers: +1

The vehicle has racing stickers and/or racing detailing (such as racing stripes): +1

The vehicle has body damage or appears otherwise poorly maintained: -1

The vehicle has been modified to improve its performance (lowered, wide tires, over-sized spoiler, large exhaust pipe, etc): +1

The vehicle has custom rims or is "tricked out" with after-market parts: +1

Driver/Vehicle Behaviors

The driver is turned, talking to a passenger: -2

The driver is looking for something on the floor of the vehicle: -2

The driver is talking on a cell phone: -2

The driver appears to be intently watching the intersection lights of the cross traffic to get a jump on the light turning green: +1

The vehicle has stopped a half a car length (or more) from the edge of the intersection: -1

The vehicle is inching forward towards the intersection in anticipation or is already stopped several feet into the intersection: +1

Driver/Passenger Characteristics

The driver wears eye glasses (not sunglasses): -1

The driver is male, aged 16 to 24: +1

The driver is male, between the ages of 45-60: -1

The driver is a female between the ages of 24-60: -1

The driver is male or female and over the age of 60: -2

There are 3 people in the vehicle (and the driver isn't a male under the age of 24): -1

There are 4 or more people in the vehicle (and the driver isn't a male under the age of 24): -2

The vehicle has one or more passengers and all occupants are under the age of 24: +1

The vehicle contains any number of children under the age of 16: -2

 

Applying the modifiers: When you are pulling up to an intersection, look at each vehicle, apply the appropriate modifiers and add them together to get a grand total for each vehicle. Then compare that vehicle's grand total with the grand totals of the vehicles in other lanes to determine which car has the best chance of accelerating the fastest.

The lower the number, the more likely the vehicle will accelerate slowly. The greater the difference in grand totals between vehicles the greater the chance that one vehicle will accelerate faster than another vehicle.

For example, in one lane you have a Minivan (-2), with a "Save the Earth sticker" (-1), driven by a woman in her late thirties (-1), with three kids (4 people in the car: -2) who are under the age of 16 (-1). The total for the Minivan is -7; which is pretty darn low.

In the other lane is a Hybrid car (-1), driven by a 23 year old (+1) male, who is talking on his cell phone (-2). That car's total is: -2.

With a difference of 5 between each car's total, you can safely assume that the Hybrid will pull off the line faster than the minivan filled with kids when the light turns green.

There you have it. Although it may seem daunting at first, give it a try and tell me how it works for you.

TMI

Here are some random facts/tidbits about me. Some you may know already, others you'd rather you didn't know (that's the obligatory warning, turn back now if you're faint of heart).

1) I like cats better than dogs. This may be because I grew up with cats in my house and not dogs. Or perhaps it's because the attention/affection dogs give takes little or no effort to achieve (most dogs love everybody), and therefore it seems somehow hollow to me. On the other hand, with most cats you have to really work for that attention/affection so then when a cat actually likes you, you feel rather special. What does that say about my personality? I'll let you figure that out.

2) I used to hate the beach growing up because I'd always swallow a little salt water swimming in the ocean and it would make me sick, and I hated how the sand would get absolutely everywhere on your body once you got wet. Now (thanks to running weekly at the beach) I love the beach, although I still don't care for swimming in the ocean. I had a few bad experiences of being sucked under the water from big waves and I think it still subconsciously affects me. Also, the last time I went snorkeling I accidentally sucked in too much salt water and ended up throwing up on the ride home.

3) I don't like wearing socks to bed at night. I think this is because my mom (who is a doctor) told me if your feet sweat at night this is an easy way to get Athlete's foot. Whether or not it's true, I grew up believing that and now I just don't like wearing socks to bed, although I still will when it's just too damn cold to do otherwise.

4) I really don't like the thought of things cutting or puncturing skin (especially my skin). This translates into a strong dislike of knives, scissors, razor blades, needles, etc, etc, etc. It's okay when I'm handling them (I tend to take extra special care), but when I'm watching others with these types of items I'm always afraid they're going to slip and cut themselves. I really, really don't like situations where I know I'm going to have to have my skin punctured (giving blood, getting a shot, etc). I don't have any idea where this phobia came from, but my sisters did start chasing me around the house with knives once they found out about this. They suck.

5) Taking a crap on a toilet while wearing a coat on makes me feel weird. It's happened once or twice in my life (usually in a public restroom) and I don't like it. I'm sure if I grew up in an arctic climate and I had to take craps in freezing outhouses I'd be totally used to it, but I didn't and I'm not. On the flip-side something seems wrong taking a crap when totally naked too. I don't know why that is either. I guess I just like wearing a shirt and having pants around my ankles when I take a dump. Who knew? I told you some of this stuff you wouldn't want to know. . .

6) Whenever I'm skiing really, really fast my mind starts continually playing images of me falling down as hard as possible with my limbs flailing, bones breaking, and my skis smashing into my body all in super slow-motion. This usually has the effect of getting me to slow down a bit (although not always).

7) I've never broken a bone in my life. As a baby I apparently fell through a window and cut my head. I fell off my bike as a kid and scraped up my face. I knocked out some teeth playing Spider-man as a kid. I got in a fight in Junior High and got my face pummeled pretty well. I've had severe back pains, sprains, scrapes and bruises but no breaks. Maybe I'm blessed and maybe I'm just cautious. Perhaps my fear of cuts has subconsciously kept me out of situations where I might get severely injured?

8) I've been in exactly one fight in my life and that was in Junior High (as mentioned above). I wore a cup to protect my 'nads, but the guy never tried to kick me there. He was quite a bit taller than me and had fought other kids many times. He had quite a reach advantage over me (was probably a foot or two taller), was wearing a ring, and proceeded to beat my head until I told him the fight was over and that he had kicked my ass. Then my friends and I rode our bikes away. It was quite silly, although he didn't talk as much shit to me as he used to after the fight.

9) I've worked at an Amusement Park (Great America in Santa Clara) selling Hamburgers, at Michaels art store in the framing department, at my dad's print shop running the copiers, learning how to run the printing press, and delivering orders. I worked at AMC movie theaters first as a concessionist, then as an usher, box office personnel, a projectionist, a supervisor and (years later) as a manager, finally as a "house" manager (an unofficial title that means I sort of ran the entire theater). I worked for Sega testing video games (nice) and at Electronic Boutique selling video games. I worked as a Production Assistant and Assistant Editor on the Christopher Lowell Show and in the Tape Vault at Blind Date/5th Wheel (Bobwell productions). And, of course, my current job as an Assistant Editor/Night Supervisor at Kober Post Productions.

10) In High School I played JV Soccer for the first two years, and then quit when I only made the JV team again in my Junior year. I also played on the Badminton team (yep, that's right). I may have been the best white guy on our team (that's not saying much), although I don't believe I ever won a singles game (I did win some doubles games though). Besides that, I didn't participate in any other after-school activities, although I was the school's M.C. in my senior year for all events, rallies, etc.

The ultimate tranny. Yeah, you read that right.

It's been nearly two weeks since my last blog entry and I'm a little shocked, but I really shouldn't be. It doesn't seem like that much time has passed, but since all I do recently is work and sleep it really isn't surprising that the days have simply melted away while to me it seems like no time has passed at all.

Last week alone I worked more than 75 hours. Ugh. That's just way, way too much for me.

But anyway, there was one incident in the last few weeks that has stuck with me like a flaming arrow vomited forth from the darkness of a moonless night:

That is my encounter with the ultimate tranny.

Many of you may not be aware, but Hollywood isn't all the glamor and glitz portrayed in movies, television and the exciting pages of important journalistic periodicals such as "US Weekly" and "Star".

No my friends, for those who have lived in and/or visited Hollywood you know the truth: most of Hollywood, although not without it's peculiar charms, only really showcases the glamor of fast food establishments, run-down commercial buildings and hard working guys and gals selling a dozen roses or a bag of pistachio nuts on the corner.

The particular niche of Hollywood that my job resides in seems to be home to the highest concentration of transvestites I've ever seen, and remember, that includes San Francisco.

There either must be some sort of transvestite "spawning point" like those found in video games that constantly births them, or else there is some secret meeting place, kind of like a transvestite Justice League of America, where they all gather on a regular basis to discuss the issues that face their community.

Whatever the case may be, I rarely go a day without spotting a transvestite on the corner dressed in some ridiculously garish outfit. It has gotten to the point that when I see an actual female woman person walking around this area I do a double take and almost ram my car into a building; I'm just that surprised.

But back on topic: The other day I saw a transvestite standing on the corner waiting for the light to turn green. As I passed by himher, all my other thoughts totally drained away and I was totally struck by the glory of the ultimate tranny.

If I could fly around the earth and turn back time like Superman I would totally go buy a camera phone and snap a picture of the ultimate tranny. But I can't, so unfortunately you'll have to make do with just your own imagination.

The ultimate tranny was so totally ultimate because heshe made, by far, the least attempt to try to look like a female of any transvestite I have ever seen. Heshe was totally comfortable with hisher look and seemed to care less about what anyone else in this world thought of himher. That kind of confidence is extremely admirable in my book.

The ultimate tranny appeared to be of middle-eastern descent. Heshe had a very dark complexion with big bushy black eyebrows and a dark, dark 10 o'clock shadow of a beard. Hisher hair was cut quite short and bleached stark blonde/white.

Heshe was wearing a dirty wife-beater (complete with exposed dark chest hair) and a very small dirty white jeans skirt. This awesome outfit was rounded off by some dirty white sneakers (think: low-topped Converse style).

Heshe was standing with hisher shoulders slouched forward, one hand perched on hisher hip and hisher pelvic region thrust forward. In other words, displaying the worst posture you've ever seen.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what became of the ultimate tranny. The light turned green and heshe walked off amongst the dusty streets of Hollywood.

But I'll never forget the ultimate tranny. I just wish you all could have been there to see himher, and we could have basked in the glory together.

Like a Rat in a Maze.

Here's my admittance of guilt: I speed constantly. Everyday; all the time. I roll through stop signs, tailgate, make illegal u-turns, cut across several lanes of traffic, and even occasionally run red lights.

Yep. I freely admit I do all of that on a regular basis. So why do I still think of myself as a "good" driver?

I don't know. Perhaps everyone thinks of themselves as a good driver (which would help explain why there are actually so many bad drivers on the road)? If you don't think you're a bad driver why would you try to change or improve anything? You wouldn't (and we don't).

Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm just deluded. Could be.

But a big reason perhaps I feel that way is because I've had my license for nearly fifteen years and I haven't caused a traffic accident in all that time. That seems like a pretty good achievement.

Full-disclosure: There was one time in a McDonald's parking lot some old German lady ran a stop sign and T-boned me. I even saw her coming at me and honked my horn. She suddenly saw me and freaked out instead of hitting her brakes she just let the car slam right into mine. There was nothing I could have done to prevent that accident.

Also, when I was around seventeen/eighteen I fell asleep at the wheel on the way back from a road trip to Santa Barbara. My car spun off the road, but I luckily did no damage to it or anything else. I did learn a lesson I've never forgotten since: don't ever drive tired and pull over to sleep if you feel yourself getting sleepy.

I'm obviously not perfect but in all that time, despite my apparently "reckless" driving style, I've never hit another car/person/animal/building/small child/etc. Besides the crazy German lady, I haven't been hit by anyone else either.

Am I just really lucky? Maybe. But also the way I drive may actually help me avoid accidents.

You see, I consider myself an offensive or aggressive driver. I definitely do drive fast and somewhat recklessly, but I think I also pay more attention to the road than your average motorist.

I try not to talk on a cell phone when I'm in the car and when I do, I try to use a headset. If I have a passenger in the car I don't look over at them when having a conversation.

Because I'm going fast, I'm always checking my mirrors for the police, or in case I need to make an quick lane change. I'm also looking out ahead for ways around/through the traffic and I try to stay aware of gaps in lanes next to me so I can cut around if a slow car is in front of me.

Growing up playing video games has probably helped to give me pretty good hand-eye coordination.

In fact, from my experiences, the people who drive a bit fast/recklessly aren't the drivers you need to watch out for. Those people have to pay attention to the road in order to drive that way.

Its the people who are driving slowly that are the real danger. These are the people who are on the phone or are distracted by things going on in their vehicle. Perhaps they're old and their vision and reflexes aren't what they used to be. They could just be thinking about their work, their spouses, how much they hate their life, whatever.

The point is, a whole lot of people driving slow aren't paying attention to what's happening on the road. Driving slowly and/or leaving an inordinate amount of distance between themselves and the car in front of them are merely symptoms of this.

So what's my point? I'm not sure. I'm just a little frustrated because although how I drive is clearly illegal, I feel my record indicates that I'm also actually a rather safe driver. But that doesn't matter to the law and $350 for a ticket from red light camera is just too painful to ignore.

You'd think I would have really learned something from the first one I got. . .but like a rat in a maze I guess I haven't been shocked enough times to learn that I need to turn right instead of left.

The sad thing is, I'm still driving the exact same way.

How do you change something about yourself you don't want to change? Is that even possible? I'm thinking no.

You lose some. You win some.

For those who see me on a regular basis, much of this blog will likely be old news. In fact, if I were them I'd be downright sick of hearing about it. Those around me probably haven't even noticed that I purposely haven't said anything about it in a blog until this point. But I've done so on purpose.

That's all going to end right now because I want to talk about what happened to me today, and I can't do so without bringing it up. So let's welcome the elephant into the room.

I've lost just about 50 lbs in the last 6-7 months. I did so by following the Weight Watchers program and regular exercise. This is the second time I've lost a considerable amount of weight in my life (the first time was the end of college), but this time is different for a number of reasons:

1) I've gotten to a lower weight than I did last time, and I'm still going.

2) I actually followed the Weight Watchers program this time instead of reading the material and then starving myself.

3) I realize now it is something I can't just "get off of" once I reach a certain weight. I am committed to eating this way for the rest of my life. Seriously.

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So why do I not want to talk about it? Mainly because I don't think it's a big deal. It's kind of like when people cheer or applaud someone who's had a baby. I don't get that. They've just performed a basic function of human existence, so why is that an accomplishment? In a similar vein I think eating right and staying in shape is a basic thing that most people can and should do. So for me to finally get back off my ass and lose the weight I need to lose to live a long and healthy life isn't really an accomplishment, its more like: "It's about damn time."

Just for fun here's a little pictorial collage of me in the last 12 months.

April 2005 (my sister Suzie and I at Hollywood and Highland):

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May 2005 (my parents and I at a Giants game in SF on my birthday):

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October 2005 (about 2 months in/20 pounds lighter; Kelly and I at Halloween):

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December 2005 (about 30 pounds lost; Christmas in Florida):

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February 2006 (about 45 pounds lost; the most recent picture I can find; Jung, Matthew and I at a bar):

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Now that is in the open, I can discuss what happened to me today. I went to get my suits tailored (since I lost all this weight), and the one I bought in OCTOBER for Halloween (even after I lost 20 pounds) is apparently too big to be tailored! Yeah it's the one pictured above.

Gah. And that's the suit I said: "the hell with it", and got the expensive (for me) $350 one.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You see when I bought the suit, I was still afraid to get a suit that fit me perfectly in case I gained any weight. So I got the next size up and had them fit it down to my size. Now that decision has come and bit me in the ass.

But I have to bite the bullet and go buy a new suit, cause I really like having a black suit (and that was the only one I had).

Live and learn, I suppose. I got to use the suit a couple times (Halloween and going to Club 33), but now it's getting retired into the closet under the dark presumption that I might again someday gain a bunch of weight.

As if to alleviate my pains about blowing $350, I got a letter from the IRS today telling me that (even though I used a professional tax preparer) that my refund is apparently $3k short. So I'm gonna get a whole lot more back than I thought.

Very nice. At the end of the day, I'm left feeling pretty good about it all.

This blog is now 100% commited to "24" Analysis.

Okay, this blog isn't necessarily just supposed to be me talking about TV shows, but 24 has again gone and done something this week that I cannot simply sit idle and let slide into history uncontested.

So yet again, if you haven't watched this week's episode of 24 stop reading right now and go paint a wall, or perhaps learn how to use a pogo stick. Anything besides scrolling down and reading.

Seriously.

Stop.

Reading.

Now.

You're.

Pushing.

It.

Dangerously.

Close.

To.

The.

Edge.

Whew. We don't like those people anyway; they were just holding us back.

Pardon my french, but what the f!ck were the writers of "24" thinking when they punked Tony F-in Almeida like that? Weak. Weak. Weak.

This is the mo-fo who has survived 2 bombings, being shot in the neck and drinks beer from a CUBS mug in the middle of the day when most people are working. That's right. He pours beer out of a perfectly good bottle into a MUG. And not just any mug, a Cubs mug. The baseball team that epitomizes suffering.

And those pussy-ass writes went and had him offed like that? Stuck with a needle? A bullet in the god-damn neck couldn't kill this guy!!!

I mean, sure, yeah, the guy who did it is Robocop. If anyone can apparently ignore the effects of a metric ton of drugs pumped into their system its gonna be Robocop (either that or Steven Tyler). And perhaps Tony was weakened from his coma and trauma over losing Michele. . .BUT STILL. WTF?

The freakin' hobbit got to go and save Jack Bauer. It is a rare honor to save Jack Bauer; perhaps more special than meeting with the president or inventing electricity. And they give it to the hobbit and not to Tony Muther-F!ckin' Almeida?

Why did they even keep Tony alive after Michele died? He didn't do anything at all! Why bring him back just to get figuratively kicked in the nuts? Why not just let him die holding his wife in his hands, by getting cooked to death by a fiery inferno?

Why, why, why? 

All I know is that Tony better rise from the grave as a zombie-Tony, a robot-Tony or something like that. And then he better damn well get to die for real this time saving millions of people or Jack Bauer. Those are the only two outcomes that could possibly exorcise the disgrace the writers have bestowed upon Mr. Almeida currently.

Until that happens, I want everyone to bow their heads and give Tony Almeida a moment of silence. Then look up only with your eyes (do it now you sissy), and whisper "yeah!".

This beer in a Cub's mug is for you Tony. Have a safe voyage into the great beyond.

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P.S. Yes, I do have issues separating reality from fiction. Its only a problem if someone gives me a weapon, so no worries everybody.

The Cold War is over.

I'm here to announce today that the cold war is over. From here on out I will be posting my blog on both Friendster and MySpace. Although tensions have run high in the past between the two super-powers, I'm confident that my bold attempt to start a lasting peace will be successful.

Finally now my friends on MySpace can enjoy all the wit and intelligence that I've been intermittently spreading around Friendster for months now.

If you feel the need to leave me a comment letting me know that some other douche-bag you know has already done such a thing, please, don't bother. We all know that anything I haven't read before doesn't actually exist.

With that out of the way, let's talk about what I witnessed tonight. Nothing spectacular, just one of those everyday life moments that stick in your mind for whatever reason.

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Sunday March 12, 2006.

Location: "Sav-On" in Marina Del Rey.

Time: approximately 8:30pm.

Scene: I am at the checkout sliding my credit card through the reader, while the neurotic indie-rocker clerk makes sure I'm performing this complex action correctly. Behind me, a mother with two little boys stands in line.

One of the little boys notices a Coca-Cola mini-fridge conviently located within the confines of the line. He moves towards it.

Boy: Mommy, I want some water. Mommy, I want some water. I want some water.

He looks wistfully at the fine selection of "Dasani" (tm) plastic bottles contained within the fridge.

Boy: Mommy, I want some water. Mommy, I want some water. I want some water! I want some water!

His mother, obviously having built up an immunity to just this sort of nonsense over the years ignores his ever more intense pleas. Meanwhile, the boy has now opened the fridge door and is grasping at some of the bottles as though they contain some magic elixir that can cure him from a life threatening disease.

Boy: Mommy, I want some water. Mommy, I want some water. I want some water! I want some water! Mommy, I want some WATER! MOMMY, I WANT SOME WATER! I WANT SOME WATER!!!

I have finished my transaction and begun to walk away from the register. The mother, finally needing her children to move forward in the line, figures it must be time to actually acknowledge that her child has repeated the same sentence at least two dozen times in the last 30 seconds.

Boy: MOMMY, I WANT SOME WATER! MOMMY, I WANT SOME WATER! I WANT SOME WATER!!!

Mother: No. We have water at home.

Boy: Okay.

A Chupacabra then leaps from aisle 6 (deoderant) and mauls the whole family. With that, I leave the store confident that something that silly can only happen in real life. You just can't make that shit up.

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P.S. Some liberties may have been taken to make the story more dramatic. For example, the "indie-rocker" clerk was really just some guy with a tatoo on his arm. Not the Chupacabra part, though. That absolutely happened.

No More Funny!

My Blog updates have become too infrequent, and they don't seem to actually include many details about myself. I think that's because I've been putting too much pressure on myself to try to make a humorous entry. If I can't think of something I think will be funny, I don't post.

The obvious downside to that kind of thinking is that if I can't think of anything humorous, then I don't update the blog for a month+ at a time. I've decided that kind of aggression will not stand, man!

So I'm gonna mix in some regular 'ole "what did I do today/this week/this month/who died/was born/mutated/got married/etc" blogs. I hope you're ready because it's starting TO-day.

First up on the stream of consciousness: I was watching the TV here at work with the sound off and I saw a funny "lower 3rd" on the screen. Those are those graphics that pop-up during newscasts that give you some information about the person speaking. They say:  "Joe Schmoe: local hero", for example.

Well, this must have been a story about a court case involving some women, because there was (apparently) a lawyer on the screen, and his lower 3rd said (I'm making up his name because I don't remember it):

"Joe Lawyerman: Attorney for the women"

I thought that was absolutely awesome. I think he should make up business cards that say exactly that:  "Joe Lawyerman: Attorney for the women (as seen on Channel 4 News)".

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Besides that, the only other thing that I have to mention was this week's episode of "24". If you haven't seen this episode yet, for the love of god don't read any further.

I'm.

Serious.

Don't.

Read.

Any.

More.

Okay, now that we got the lazy Tivo junkies out of here, I just want to tip my forty over for my poor man Edgar Styles. First his mom was killed by Terrorists and now the big guy suffers the same fate all before getting the chance to hook it up with his dream girl, Chloe.

Sometimes TV can be so cruel. . .

My opinion on this season of "24" has gone up and down more than a Paris Hilton home movie (ba, da, bump. . .ding!), but I can safely say that the last couple of episodes have got me pretty riveted.

From Jack Bauer shooting Robocop's wife in the leg, to the glorious return of the lovely Kim Bauer I can safely say that I HAVE BEEN ENTERTAINED.

And at the end of the day, that's all you can really ask from the 'ole idiot box.

Talk to you soon.

Pocket Dialing

Howdy everybody. Its been a bit of a while, and I've had plenty of time recently to make a post, but I couldn't think of anything funny or interesting to say.

But I digress. Today I want to introduce a term to the world (via the amazing world wide web). I haven't seen anyone pushing a term around for this phenomenon, so I figure I can be the first (or nearly the first, cause nothing is ever original anymore, right?).

The phrase I want to coin is: "Pocket Dialing". Pocket Dialing is when your cell phone accidentally calls someone without your knowledge, ususally because it is wedged in your pocket, purse, or glove compartment and the keypad hasn't been locked.

I absolutely love getting Pocket Dialed.

I treat it like a mystery I need to solve. I listen to clues for who the person might be: What activity they're doing, what any voices on the line sound like, etc. At some point I usually try yelling to see if they can hear me.

Eventually, I settle in and wait to see how long it will take before they realize their phone is running. I absolutely love the moment where they notice their phone is on, and say: "Hello?" in a very confused tone.

"Who is this?" They say.

"Who is this?" I respond. "You called me!"

"Huh?" They retort.

Ahhhhh the joys of modern technology.

Perhaps you're thinking: "Isn't that kind of voyueristic, you sick creep?"

To that I say: Hell no! They called me. It's the same as if I was sitting in my living room and someone walked up in front of my window and then started stripping down naked (preferebly a woman). Am I in the wrong for watching this go down?

Of course not. Listening to Pocket Dialing isn't like being a peeping Tom, its more like being a reaping Tom. Tom gets to sit there and reap enjoyment from the situation without having to do any of the work (like sneaking through the bushes or buying binoculars or breaking the law).

So remember kiddies: Next time you get Pocket Dialed, make sure you use the (now) proper terminology and tell that fool:  "Hey. You just pocket dialed me, sucka!" (although the "sucka" part is optional).