One More Cup of Coffee For the Road

New Site

2011-07-30T21:14:00.000-05:00

I am writing on a new website called "ccMyself". Jens, who runs the site, lives in Greece; he is a very cool guy who is interested in young writers and giving them a platform where people might notice them, which is what the site is all about.

You can check out my writings here. There are also some other cool writers on the site. Feel free to explore.

Yep.

Where was I? (Welcome to the Trollhouse)

2011-07-14T23:54:00.000-05:00

It has been more than 18 months since the last time I wrote to you, but I've come back like a drunken, abusive husband begging his way back into your heart. The right side of my brain is rusty and my chops are weak -- it will take some time to develop them, so forgive the blandness. I'll get to the reasons as to why I stopped writing and why I've decided to start up again, but first I want to tell you about what has happened in my life for the last year and a half.

During the end of 2009 and the beginning of 2010, I had basically stopped writing to because I was embarking upon the very beginning stages of my CAREER (and when I say that I'd stopped writing, I don't mean simply writing on this blog; I mean WRITING). At that time I made a conscious decision to dedicate every moment I had at my disposal to the CAREER. This decision affected every area of my life -- my social life, my writing life, my sleeping life, my sanity life, and others. Some areas were enhanced, some areas were neglected, and many were changed for both the better and the worse. That time and that shift in priorities was something that I had been working toward for a very long time. I did what I had been planning to do.

What I had planned to do was to work very hard, mostly sacrificing the aforementioned sanity, sleep, writing, and social life, among other things. And that is what I did.

Things went well. I started as a student teacher at an amazing high school with an amazing English department. I did well, I made friends with my colleagues, and I became a good role model for a lot of my students. I was depressed after it was over, four months after I had begun.

Lucky for me, though, one of the teachers at the school was pregnant, and the English department hired me to take over her classes while she was out on maternity leave. I got to go back, to work with my friends, to see my old students again, and to develop new relationships with new students. I was there for the duratioremainder of the school year -- about three more months. It was great.

Summer came, and for the first time in a long time (ever) I had a decent amount of money with which to enjoy myself. I hung out in the city, I hunted down the Stanley Cup, I taught a summer-school class, I bought things I'd needed but could never afford, and I read books. Things were great in every area except one: I didn't have a job for the next school year. At this time, teaching jobs in America -- and especially in Illinois, where I was -- were being mowed down like the St. Valentine's Day Massacre all over again; a flood of tens of thousands of experienced, valuable teachers had been fired, and in theory they would have had first crack at any jobs that should open up. The only problem was that teaching jobs weren't opening up. Anywhere. Almost every teaching department in the country was cutting staff, not adding staff. And the departments that were adding staff essentially knew who they were going to hire before they even posted the job publicly (districts are required by law to publicly post all available positions). I applied for dozens (hundreds?) of jobs all over the country, but the situation was so bad that I would be grateful for an automated email response that simply told me the position had been filled. I think I got about three of those.

Luckily for me, however (and I did feel lucky), one of the friends I had made in the English department I'd student taught/maternity gigged at was having a baby, and she wanted me to teach her classes for the first few months of the school year. I jumped on it; I loved it there, and I wanted to end up there. Secretly I was hoping that if I stuck around long enough, something would open up and my wish would come true.

That job lasted until mid-October. Again I was sad to leave my friends at the school and the kids, and I found myself in the familiar position of not having a job (which, if it's never happened to you, you have no idea how depressing and degrading it can be). I went back to applying for every job teaching English I could find, and I got the same response I had gotten before: nothing. No phone calls to schedule an interview. No emails to clarify information on my resume. Nothing.

I haven't yet mentioned that I was good at what I did. I was good at it -- that's all I'll say. I'm confident about that.

And then something happened. I got a call from one of the English teachers I'd been working with for the last year and a half. Her sister was an English teacher in a different district, and her department had an unexpected vacancy they needed to have filled immediately! I'd already been talked up and recommended, and I had to contact the English department chair immediately!

I went in for an interview later that week. A few days later, the principal called me and told me that someone who used to teach in the district decided at the last minute that she wanted to come back. Thanks anyways.

Through various channels I heard that the English department head had loved me, but the principal didn't like me because I was too casual (and because my hair was a little longer than the standard buzz cut, because I had a goatee, and because I wasn't an exact replica of the government-issued douche bag, if you ask me. Kids don't need alternative role models, anyway, right? We're each one of two perfect types of people anyways:the perfectly male or the perfectly female).

Back to the job board.

No bites. Again.

Things went like this for about two more months, until Valentine's Day, of all days (I was actually on a date on this particular Valentine's Day -- first Valentine's date in quite a while), I was hit with a storm of phone calls and e-mails from the English department head I'd interviewed with a couple months back. They had another unexpected opening! And he'd thought of me right away! He'd already spent time convincing the principal to change her mind about me, and things were looking great! Full-time salary and benefits would be involved! Was I interested?

The thing was that I had already committed to doing yet another maternity gig for one of my friends at the old school. I was due to start in a week or two, and I didn't want to leave them without a replacement lined up so late in the game (they were my friends, after all). But, as a testament to their goodness, they found out what was happening and called me to tell me that I absolutely could not pass up on the opportunity for a full-time job at the new school. It was really great of them. So I took it!

I started the new job in late February. The teacher I was replacing had been one of the most popular at the school, which made it a bit more difficult to pull my usual "get the kids to love me right away" trick. But I was confident in myself. I worked hard, and the kids began to really like me. Things were going well!

In the classroom.

Outside of the classroom -- in the teachers' office, the principal's office, and the district offices, things were not going well for me. It turned out that, of the two positions that had opened unexpectedly in the English department that year, only one would remain as an actual position for the next school year; the other would be eliminated. That meant that of the two teachers who had been brought in to fill those positions during the school year, only one would be brought back.

No problem, right? For the most part, I'd had nothing but the highest recommendations and fantastic success wherever I'd taught, and I'd developed a relatively well-known (in the area) reputation as an up-and-coming, hot-shot young teacher. Once I got into that classroom and people saw how I was with those kids, no one could compete with me.

**Unless she was married to the Dean**.

That's right -- that teacher the principal had hired instead of me after my first interview?

Dean's wife.

This was the person I was up against in competition for the job.

I felt good about my chances.

Not.

Long story short: after a long, painfully grueling couple of months, I did not get the job.

I do not mean to completely discount the ability of the Dean's Wife to teach, mentor, and serve as a role model for young people; she may, in fact, be the better teacher. My issue was that I had not even gotten a look from the higher-ups, not even a consideration. I assumed this was because they knew, as did I, that I could not compete with the Dean's Wife. At one point late in the school year, when I asked the English Department Head how I had been doing in his English department, he literally responded with, "I don't really know. But I assume you are doing fine, since I haven't heard any complaints."

I was frustrated. Everyone who had seen me teach up to this point had told me what a bright future I had, but there weren't any jobs; now I had a job right in front of me, but no one was looking.

It pissed me off. I had been working my ass off for two full years, sacrificing my sleep, my sanity, my social life, and I was basically right where I'd started: jobless, miserable, and nowhere near the top of the hiring heap of hundreds of thousands of teachers in America. Another year of working 80 hour weeks for almost nothing was staring me right in the face; if I was lucky, they'd ask me back to do it again.

I wondered how long I would have to allow myself to be miserable before "it" happened, "it" being that moment when the recession breaks and schools started hiring teachers instead of firing them (either that or people realizing that teachers are kiiiiiiiiiiiiiindof important).

It made me even more miserable. During those months, I was probably lower than I had ever been. I felt I had no control over my life, my future, or my own happiness. It was an entirely hopeless, helpless feeling, and it had been nagging at me for a very long time.

Then something happened: at the end of the school year, I realized that the full-time salary the district had been paying me had been piling up in my bank account for a few months and had gotten to be a relatively substantial amount -- more money than I'd ever had, anyway. What was I going to do with it -- string it out for as long as I can as an unemployed, miserable teacher? Hope it lasts until the next grueling, temporary thing happened? Save it, and keep my nose to the grindstone? Again? Until the whole running-in-place cycle repeated itself?

I decided to get the fuck out of the Midwest at some point in early June. It was an incredibly easy decision once I realized I could do it -- once I realized that the shackles of my previous life I had always imagined being there were really only in my head, as they are for most of us. I did not realize until then that no one is ever really tied down to anything unless they choose to be tied down to it, and that anyone at any time has a choice to try to do what might make them happy. It was a liberating feeling -- quite the epiphany.

Less than ten days later I had flown to Seattle and was spending my nights sleeping on a friend's couch and my days searching for an apartment one of which I got. It was about three weeks after I decided to leave Chicago for Seattle that I packed up my tiny Honda left the Midwest for good.

I took my time driving across the country, laughing along the way as if I was an escaped criminal who'd just avoided being locked up for the rest of his term. It was the time of my life. I spent the first weekend in Minneapolis with two friends who lived up there; we drank beer, ate Jucy Lucys, and in general had a great time. After a few days there, I drove off, stopping for the night in dead Bismarck, where I could hardly get a fast-food taco and soda for dinner. And I don't like to drink soda.

I left Bismarck as early as I could the next morning. Although it was interesting to see the flood waters that were creeping up to the edge of the highway at that time, North Dakota is not a good state visually speaking until you get to the western edge, near Montana. I don't know if they are mountains or hills in the western edge of North Dakota, but they are beautiful -- a welcome relief from the flat farmland of the rest of the state.

Almost as soon as you cross the border of the mammoth Montana, you know that you are in for a great ride. Looking out your window, you get the feeling that you are seeing land that almost no one else has seen: mountains, huge expanses of grass, houses with miles between them, herds of cattle, herds of buffalo, moose, and the Big Sky. Nobody knows Montana, but it is America.

After five days on the road I crossed over the sliver of Idaho, where I stopped in a strange but beautiful town in which they had never heard of Italian salad dressing. I took this as a sign that there was no need for me to investigate the town, but that I should just take it for the beautiful, backwards lake town that it was, and cross the border into Washington.

My last stop before I hit Seattle was in Spokane, which is a great college town filled with beautiful college girls and millions of bars, pubs, and restaurants. As soon as I got there and was being checked into my hotel for the night by one of those beautiful girls I was reminded of the strange, unknowable quality that Washington girls have that makes them different from girls from other places, though I guess that can be said about girls or people from anywhere.

While I was in Spokane I got the news that a friend of mine had died in a motorcycle crash the day before. He had not been in my immediate circle, nor had I been in his, but we had been friends for more than a decade, and I could have called him any time for anything, just like he could have called me. This was strange for me, and I started thinking about how I'm not too young to die anymore. This was what I thought about as I sat at the college bar right next to my hotel, mostly alone. I silently raised my glass to my friend many times that night.

I didn't wake up the next morning until almost noon, which was check-out time at the hotel. I really couldn't afford to spend an extra eighty dollars for nothing, so I called down to the front desk and ask the beautiful Washington girl if I could have an extra hour. She let me. I showered, packed up, and raced off for Seattle.

I really can't tell you how I felt as I was pulling within viewing distance of the Space Needle, the Seattle skyline, and Mt. Rainier, or how I felt smelling the Pacific Ocean water again for the first time. I could tell you I experienced a moment of Zen, but that wouldn't mean anything. What I can tell you is that I laughed out loud to myself again, like I had when I left. I don't even know what I was laughing at; maybe it was all the people who were telling along the way and before I left that I was crazy to do what I was doing while I was thinking I would've been crazy not to go. I felt as though there had been some sort of deep secret no one knew about even though it was right there in front of all of their faces this whole time, and I'd found it.

In answer to your question...

2010-01-27T21:42:00.000-06:00

I saw John McCain during President Barack Obama's State of the Union speech tonight roll his eyes and turn to the senator (I presume) sitting next to him; I then read his lips as he asked the question, "Is he still blaming Bush?" The answer to this question is simple:

YES, you stupid fucking assclown, we are still blaming Bush.

I Am Ready to Secede.

2010-01-27T17:02:00.001-06:00

How long will it be before those rich, smug, opressive, conservative, Palin-loving morons start arguing that this James O'Keefe clown and the three other fake phone guys in Louisiana -- incidentally, I find it quite sad that there existed three people whose lives were so pathetic that becoming one of James O'Keefe's cronies seemed a step up -- are heroes and martyrs, before they convince a majority of the American public of this, and before they get yet another rich, smug, opressive, conservative, Palin-loving moron elected to the United States Senate because of it. Hasn't anyone realized yet that it doesn't matter what is being said; even if they might like the idea, the conservatives' game at this point is to declare it "un-American" and tear it down so that they can scare the American public via lies into voting Republican (see also Massachusetts) and then continue to impose their beliefs on all of us.

Why Are You Famous: The Jay Leno Edition

2010-01-23T15:34:00.005-06:00

I look at you and I see a guy in a bar wearing a black, worn out 1980s leather jacket over a denim, collared button shirt that is pathetically darker than the tapered, stonewashed, almost-white flood jeans, but it isn't 1987. No one can figure out why or even how you smell so intensely of Life Savers. You don't really talk to anyone in the bar; people try to say things to you, but you respond by shrugging your shoulders, raising your eyebrows, and contorting your lips into a weird sort of frowning duck thing that screams, "It doesn't matter what you think because I always get what I want out of life." Some people think that it also conveys your self-perceived martyrdom, but smart people know that it's really just the classic this-guy-is-an-ass-clown face. Your wife married you for money; you think that this is the way it should be. She married you for money and you've given her more than she ever could have imagined she would have, but she still hates being married to you. The people who watch your show are the same people who voted for Scott Brown and who would vote for Sarah Palin. You are a company man, a yes man -- a stuffed suit who is the host of the Tonight Show because you are exactly like those pricks in the boardroom. If I was in the same bar as you, I would wait until I got really drunk and then approach you in my stupor; I would shake your hand, put my arm around you, and generally charm the living hell out of you because you are an ignoramus and I would be able to do that. I would ask you for an autographed photo, and you would make your wife go out to your 1939 idiot-mobile and get one out of the trunk, because you always carry head shots of yourself in your trunk. She would bring you the picture and you wouldn't notice the hint of mascara running down her cheeks, and you would write "A guy walks into a bar" on the photo and then sign your name and give it to me. But I would ask for your pen so that I could sign it, too, which confuses you, but which you assent to do. I would write "Talentless corporate ass-clown hack" on the picture, and then I would sign my full name in big John Hancock cursive. I'd give the photo to you, grinning, and I would say, "Keep it, ass-clown," because one of the main things I would be trying to do would be driving the point home to you that you are a major ass-clown. Then I'd pat you on the back and say "See you later, ass-clown," as I walked away, still grinning. You'd throw the photo on the floor, laughing and thinking to yourself that millions of people watch your show every night, but I, being the smarter of the two of us, would know you would thinking this and so would think to mysef that millions of people also watch that show Two and A Half Men, so that basically cancels your theory out. Then I would grab the microphone in the bar and would tell everyone that they should really cut it out with all the Jay-Leno-raped-and-murdered-a-girl-in-1990 talk. You like Charlie Sheen; you think he is a great guy, and you wonder why people are all over his gullet sometimes. Charlie Sheen thinks you are hilarious. You once played basketball with the kids down the block just so that for the rest of your life you would be able to tell people that you play basketball with the kids down the block. Your concept of the American Dream includes a grill, a lawn, and never acknowledging the fact that everyone in your family hates each other. You associate the word "America" with driving a truck. If you were a state, you would be Indiana. Like I said, Charlie Sheen thinks you are hilarious. Secretly, you are a little bit racist; you rationalize this by saying, "It's true, though." You are a close personal friend of Arsenio Hall's. You have Terry Bradshaw on your show, but that's actually true. You eat like a goddamn squirrel, chewing quickly and with your mouth open, making a smacking sound with your tongue with each chew; your wife has given serious consideration to suicide based on this issue alone. You bring a newspaper into the bathroom with you, and you make it through an entire section in there. When you are finished, you put the newspaper back on the table for other people to read. People make jokes about you raping and murdering a girl in 1990. "All that hooey" is a part of your verbal arsenal. People can't help but think of powder blue suits and collared shirts with ruffles when they get a load of that goddamn ridiculous mug of yours. Seriously, what is with that fucking chin. I am not comfortable living in a world in which your ridiculous chin is a socially acceptable topic of converstaion. I long for the day when Letterman just chops that thing off with a meat cleaver; then it might be worth talking about. You've never consummated any of your relationships, which enrages you. You are filled with rage. You tell stories about the seventies, even though every one thought you were a jerk-off back then, too. Jokes about you are funny because they are true. You once agreed with Rush Limbaugh. You've never figured out that you are mentally retarded and that no one has ever told you. You don't understand that there is no such thing as NBC or The Tonight Show; we just made them up to get you off of our goddamn backs. Your mother named you Jay because she hates you. Your name is Jay. Your brother thinks you are a prick. You don't like art. Your favorite Beatle is Paul. You really like Detroit. For some God-forsaken reason, your psychological make-up has provided you with the ability to take pride in being what you refer to as a "Hanes man".

The Big Pitch: Have You Ever Been to Walmart?

2010-01-22T14:11:00.000-06:00

The American Dream has just killed itself; or perhaps it was murdered, finally suffocated with a pillow by its own children for the insurance money. Our politicians are now owned by Coca-Cola, Target, and Walmart, and they get billion-dollar bonuses to make whatever laws their employers tell them to make; they get billion dollar bonuses to vote whichever way their employers tell them to vote; they get billion dollar bonuses to peel through the Constitution of the United States of America, eradicating and erasing any laws, rights, or principles that their employers tell them to eradicate and erase.

And whom is it that the biggest corporations in the world -- yes, foreign mega-corporations now own our rights, too -- are hoping to serve? What might be the political agenda of a Walmart, a Target, or a PepsiCo? The answer -- and your bleak future -- is right there in front of you; turn on a television or radio, surf through the Internet, take a walk down your streets, or go talk to anybody. Everything you see, hear, smell, touch, or taste has been designed by advertising men and women dressed in slick suits and wearing rectangular glasses. Your life is a product that you have been sold; they churn them out in fifteenth-floor board rooms all across the country every day. They own your soul, too; you bought God from a man on the street who was taking a break from the Three-Card Monte game he runs on a bench in the park.

Corporations exist only to serve themselves, and everything they do is by definition designed for their own benefit; i.e. to make money. Of course there are and have been for years laws in place to ensure that these corporations remain at least somewhat ethical; they can not, for example, pay their employees less than minimum wage, unless, of course, they own the minimum wage laws and the politicians who make them, which they now do, and they pay their politician/employee one billion dollars to lower the federal minimum wage to one dollar per hour.

The people who are responsible for selling rifles in aisle five, bullets in aisle six, and milk in the dairy department, the people who are responsible for censoring whatever pathetic excuse for art that we have left, and the people who hooked you on Starbucks coffee, Domino's pizza, Jay Leno, Taco Bell, and skinny jeans are now in charge of your rights; they can take them away at will, and before long, none of us will be able to stop them because we don't own the laws -- they do.

Walmart is our king. This is not a call to arms; this is an obituary.

Oh, really?

2010-01-17T11:35:00.003-06:00

You're Steven Seagal? Well, I'm not Steven Seagal. I win.

YES! YES!

2009-09-20T12:06:00.000-05:00

I, for one, am rooting for the stripper.

Everyone wins?

2009-09-11T05:35:00.001-05:00

As in, the rest of society? Then?

Know Your Rights

2009-09-07T13:32:00.003-05:00

As an American, I have the right to make sure that my children turn out to be just as fucking stupid as I turned out to be.

The Catholic Church continues to lead the world in intelligence.

2009-09-02T05:39:00.002-05:00

Idiots.

Am I Experiencing Premonitions? (A strange and morbid tale in two and one-tenth parts)

2009-06-29T21:47:00.011-05:00

I consider myself to be like everyone else when it comes to deja vu -- I experience it sometimes, and when I do, I find it strange and fascinating. But then I disregard the experience.

There are times, though, when I have an experience that seems meaningless when I first experience it -- but which strikes me (abstractly) nonetheless, and for no identifiable reason -- that actually turns out, in retrospect, to have possibly been some sort of bizarre and indecipherable omen. Am I alone in having these experiences? (Ed. note: I basically guarantee that no one will respond).

For example. I have to take the highway for about thirty miles to get to work. It is not, for the most part, a very big highway -- two or three lanes running in each direction, with farms, cornfields, trees, and telephone poles lining each side. Two or three weeks ago, as I was driving to work in the late afternoon, traffic came to a complete stop for about twenty minutes. Drivers were getting out of their cars and walking ahead, some with cameras, in order to figure out what was going on. As we finally started moving again I came upon, about a mile or two ahead of where my car had idled, the reason for the stoppage. A long, brown car with sharp, rectangular features had driven straight into one of the telephone poles that lined the side of the road. The front end of the car was wrapped in the shape of a V around the pole, which didn't appear to have given an inch. The windshield was shattered -- gone. And the front half of the car was black and looked charred. There did not appear to be anyone in the car and, strangely, I did not see any emergency vehicles; perhaps they had just left. Someone had set orange cones on the shoulder of the road in the area around the car. As I drove past and took in the carnage, I thought to myself that the driver must have died. I was of course affected by the scene, but I more or less dismissed it as a horrible and unfortunate accident and drove on.

Approximately thirty minutes later, I had exited the highway and was waiting relatively far back in line at a traffic light. When the light would change from red to green, however, I would move forward only a few car lengths; I would then have to wait for the next cycle. As I slowly approached the intersection I saw that the police were directing traffic and that I would not be able to cross the intersection; I would have to turn into the parking lot on my left, make a right out of the parking lot in order to gain access to the cross-street, and finally turn left onto the road that had been my original planned route. As I was performing these maneuvers I saw that there had been another accident -- this one not nearly as bad as the one I had seen thirty minutes before on the highway. It appeared that a dark-colored luxury car had collided with an ice cream truck, of all things, and that debris had been strewn across the intersection, therefore making the intersection uncrossable from that one specific entryway. Again I drove on -- this time more annoyed than anything, as it seemed impossible that there would have been any fatalities or even any serious injuries as a result of the accident.

At this point I thought it strange that I had seen two vehicular accidents in one day. I commented on the strangeness of the coincidence to both my boss and my father. I had hoped to tell my good friend X, with whom I usually worked, but he had taken the day off in order to drive to Tennessee for a musical festival.

Some hours later, as I drove home from work along the same highway -- albeit in the opposite direction -- I cruised along the road without much interruption. As I was moving along, however, I saw on the side of the road a blue-looking car in the grass and under the shade of some big trees along the side of the highway. The car had flipped over -- it was upside-down, and what was intended to be the top of the car had been crushed under the weight of the heavy engine, the tires, the axles, and the steel. Again I saw no emergency vehicles or personnel, and again I felt that the driver must have died. I immediately called my father to tell him that I had now seen a third accident on the day; he told me half-joking that the accidents may have been omens intended to warn me to slow down. We both laughed uneasily and then ended our conversation.

Four days later I received a phone call that X -- the friend with whom I worked -- had been involved in a terrible car crash in which his car had hydroplaned coming out of a tunnel and ultimately wrapped itself around a large tree along the side of the road. X suffered a compound fracture in his arm -- the jagged edge of his broken bone had cut through the skin -- and a concussion. The doctor more or less told him that he had been lucky to have survived the accident. In retrospect I find myself connecting the three accidents I had seen five days previous to X's accident and, of course, X's accident.

An unrelated and much less devastating incident occurred maybe two weeks after X's accident. I was again at work -- X is currently able to work -- on the phone with another friend. It is imperative that I relate to you certain specific bits of verifiable data in this anecdote that will seem at first to be irrelevant but that will emerge as being of the utmost importance. I hereby acknowledge the stupidity of this anecdote, but I feel that I must tell it to you.

At precisely 4:21 p.m. on this day, I placed a phone call to my friend Z. Z let the phone ring for maybe ten seconds before answering. Z and I spoke for exactly four minutes and two seconds. At the end of the conversation, Z said: "Goodbye, Jackson," as we often joke with each other like this. I responded by calling Z the first name that came to mind, which was, of course, Michael. And then we hung up at a point in time that could only have been, based on the verifiable data I have presented, 4:25 p.m. or 4:26 p.m. This conversation, of course, took place on the day that the internationally famous Michael Jackson was pronounced dead at precisely 4:26 p.m. Central Standard Time, which was, of course, about the same time that our conversation ended. A stupid anecdote, I know. I told you that. But mildly curious.

Other strange things: Highway lights seem to either burn out or, alternatively, turn on when I pass underneath them; Z actually told me once that there is some strange religion (or, perhaps, cult) that believes that the energy or aura of a person will affect lights in these ways. During the first week I spent in college, in town K, town K was the hottest town in the country, with a recorded temperature of 115 degrees Fahrenheit. During the first week I spent in graduate school in town S, town S was besieged by a massive flood that knocked out most of the roads leading into and out of the town. Aged nineteen, I flew to state F in order to visit an old family member. After landing I discovered by listening to the radio that the town that was my final destination had been the home of someone who had contributed to the writing of, and who had been a member of the band that had become famous for, the song that was and is unquestionably my favorite song; I have an almost spiritual connection to the song. This musician had of course died in the town I was visiting for the weekend at about the same time I had landed in the town. I am fairly certain that I have been physically touched by a spirit; this same spirit has visited X in a dream and communicated things that X could not have known of and that had no relevance to him whatsoever.

And now to my present situation. Approximately four months ago I began taking a different sleeping medication than I had been taking for the two or three years previous, as I am an insomniac. The new medication has been working and has even allowed me to experience dreaming -- something that my previous medication had eliminated. I have noted several times during these past months during which I have been taking this new medication that the dreams that I am now able to have while I am sleeping are oddly poignant, vivid, and oftentimes bizarre.

Two or three nights ago I dreamed that I was in an area of Minnesota that housed a significant number of large hotels. I am fairly certain that I was out-of-doors for the entirety of the dream, although I do have a vague recollection of a great number of people panicking and running through a hallway toward an exit, trying to find a way out of one of the hotels after a large explosion had shaken the building. Later on in the dream I remember watching at least four or five large airplanes striking these hotels and destroying them; I was fully aware in the dream that I was experiencing the sequel to 9/11.

I bring it up because I have a flight booked that is destined for Minneapolis in three or four weeks. Could the dream have been a premonition? Even if it was, it doesn't really matter, because I do not believe that I am very afraid of dying. This life is not so thrilling, anyway.

We will all find out in three to four weeks.

Guilty Pleasure

2009-06-26T01:24:00.002-05:00

This is the dumbest thing. I don't even really like Michael Jackson, although you've got to admit that The Jackson 5 kicks ass. Anyway, here is a song that I've always thought was very good.

Guilty pleasure.

Because I am twelve years old,

2009-06-23T21:55:00.003-05:00

because I possibly live in some sort of emotionally retarded fantasy land, and because I spend each of my nights watching the White Sox in lieu of, say, having a girlfriend or contributing to mankind in any way, I have realigned entirely Major League Baseball. You can see my electric mind at work below. I spent the first five or so innings of tonight's Sox game working on this. Yes, I am an actual person.

There are six divisions. Each division now contains six teams. This means that there are six new teams.

AMERICAN LEAGUE

Northeast Division
Baltimore
Boston
New York Mets
New York Yankees
Philadelphia
Washington

Midwest Division
Chicago Cubs
Chicago White Sox
Kansas City
Milwaukee
Minnesota
St. Louis

Northwest Division
California
Oakland
Portland
San Francisco
Seattle
Vancouver

NATIONAL LEAGUE

Southeast Division
Atlanta
Carolina
Florida
Houston
New Orleans
Tampa Bay

Eastern Midwest Division
Cincinnati
Cleveland
Detroit
Louisville
Pittsburgh
Toronto

Southwest Division
Arizona
Colorado
L.A. Angels
L.A. Dodgers
San Diego
Texas

Enjoy.

I can't help it if I'm lucky.

2009-06-07T16:51:00.000-05:00

Bob Dylan performing "Idiot Wind"

New Word: Nafsty

2009-06-02T17:43:00.000-05:00

Nafsty: exceedingly nasty.

Doctor who provided late-term abortions gunned down outside Kansas church

2009-05-31T14:01:00.004-05:00

I find news stories like this one interesting because they pit two ideologies against each other, and violently. And the fact that it happened as he was on his way into/out of a church adds an interesting religious angle to it.

Stop looking at me, swan.

2009-05-28T21:15:00.002-05:00

They might just as well have been closed.

2009-05-28T00:02:00.000-05:00

Baby, you got what I need.

2009-05-27T21:50:00.003-05:00

Poetry.

True. Good point.

2009-05-24T10:18:00.004-05:00

"Words mean things."

-Tom Ridge, former Secretary of Homeland Security

A Passage from Fyodor Dostoevsky's "The House of the Dead"

2009-05-20T23:13:00.003-05:00

"Can you read fluently?"

"Of course, your Excellency. I'm baptized, and I was taught to read when I was a child."

"Then read this."

The convict already knows what it is he is asked to read; he knows, too, how the reading will end, because this joke has been repeated more than thirty times. Smekaloff, however, knows also that the convict is not his dupe any more than is the soldier who now holds the rod suspended over the unhappy victim's back. The convict begins to read; the soldier, armed with his rod, stands motionless. Smekaloff ceases even to smoke, raises his hand, and waits for a word agreed upon beforehand. At that word, which from some double meaning might be interpreted as an order to start, the lieutenant lets fall his hand and the flogging begins. The officer bursts into fits of laughter, and the troops all laugh with him; the executioner laughs too, as does the victim himself.

-From Fyodor Dostoevsky's The House of the Dead, 1862

Watch Caroline on Live TV Tonight

2009-05-20T11:25:00.003-05:00

I don't have much time to write (heading to class). But Caroline is going to be on live TV tonight. She will be live on WTTW (Channel 11) at 7 p.m. She will appear with Jessica Crispin from Bookslut, and they will be (I assume) discussing Jessica's move to Berlin and Caroline's taking over as managing editor of Bookslut. Watch.

*I don't think that the previous paragraph wass grammatically correct. But I don't have time to fix it.

Happy birthday Audrina. My gift to you is the ever-increasing knowledge that we were obviously meant for each other (plus making out)

2009-05-09T10:28:00.012-05:00

What do you know! Tonight is my birthday party (even though the b-day was a few days ago), and now it turns out that it's my girlfriend's birthday, too! Audrina turns 24 today. The list of things that she and I have in common continues to grow:

-Both Tauruses

-Both born in the month of May

-Both born in the fifth month of the year

-Both born in the eighties

-Both ridiculously attractive

-Both love each other intensely

Destiny.

Moral Issue-ness

2009-05-04T10:11:00.002-05:00

It took about four seconds for this story to turn my brain into a pile of Jello.

Bookslut

2009-04-28T21:30:00.003-05:00

One of our friends just got a really cool job. Congrats to Caroline on being named managing editor of Bookslut, effective June 1 (I think). Bookslut is a lit mag/review site/Chicago literary hub. Click here to check out the story in the Tribune, and click here to check out Bookslut. You'll be able to find the Bookslut link on One More Cup of Coffee For the Road in the "Sites You Should Look at Every Day" section, or whatever the hell it is called, from now on. Good job, Caroline. You now have many, many more readers than the four that I have.

Well, that was nice.

2009-04-28T09:56:00.003-05:00

In my dream I was walking down the street with a girl. We were holding hands and walking, and I was looking at our hands. I looked up and there was a dark-haired man in front of us; he wore a beard. He pulled a gun on us and pointed it at my face. I woke up.

You don't know me. Shut up, you don't know me. Squeal like a pig when you...

2009-04-27T22:02:00.009-05:00

It's the fucking Swine Flu. This happens every couple of years; last time it was the damn avian flu, or whatever. It's not the fucking plague, and we're not all going to die. Nobody you know is going to get the swine flu. I think about .00000000000000000000000000000000001% of the population is going to be affected by this. So let's all FREAK OUT. Let's all start TALKING ABOUT THE SWINE FLU. NOBODY GOES TO WORK; NOBODY GOES TO SCHOOL; NOBODY LEAVES THE APARTMENT. You probably ARE more likely to contract the actual bubonic plague/black death/whatever, which fizzled out... what, 5 centuries ago?... than you are to catch the goddamn swine flu. Let alone die from it. But whatever -- let's all FREAK OUT, let's all start talking about BILLIONS OF DOLLARS IN VACCINES, let's all look at the maps of the U.S. with the little circles of Swine Flu infections that get BIGGER AND BIGGER as the news people project the TERRIBLE DEATH OF HUMANKIND FROM THE SWINE FLU. Clue: that little map with the circles (that get bigger and bigger the farther ahead the news people look into time, until the entire country is covered in one big circle)? It's the same map that they used the last time we had a deadly plague kill us all -- the avian flu. And it's the same map that they used that one time when that other plague killed everyone. Seriously, it's the fucking Swine Flu.

FREAK OUT.

Summer/Autumn Lit Challenge

2009-04-20T23:24:00.002-05:00

On the heels of DeWolf's announcements about his summer projects, I thought that I would tell you what I have been/am/will be doing. As you may know, each semester I undertake what I have dubbed a "Lit Challenge." In a Lit Challenge, you select one writer and use his or her biography as your night read (because we all know that biographies make the best night reads, right?); for your daytime/pleasure reading, you read as many (and, hopefully, all) of that writer's (major) works. During the fall/winter of '08, I did Joyce; during the winter/spring of '09, I did Hemingway. Here is what these Lit Challenges boil down to:

The Joyce Lit Challenge:
Nighttime bio: James Joyce, by Richard Ellman
Start with: Dubliners
Then: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Then: Homer's The Odyssey (you need to read this before reading Ulysses)
Then: Ulysses
Optional: Finnegans Wake

The Hemingway Lit Challenge:
Nighttime bio: Any bio except James R. Mellow's Hemingway: A Life Without Consequences (I thought Mellow was a crap writer and an idiot)
Start with: In Our Time
Then: The Sun Also Rises
Then: A Farewell to Arms
Then: Death in the Afternoon
*At this point, you should be just about finished with your bio. Switch your nighttime read to A Moveable Feast
Then: For Whom the Bell Tolls
Then: The Old Man and the Sea
Throughout the challenge, you should be reading as many of Hemingway's short stories as you can, whenever you have a half-hour or so to spare.
Optional: To Have and Have Not

I just finished my Hemingway challenge; actually, I should say that I just ended my Hemingway challenge. I made it about 100 pages into For Whom the Bell Tolls and decided that I was burned-out on Hemingway, and that I needed to finish up the challenge. So I scrapped that book and picked up The Old Man and the Sea. I only made it about 60 pages into that one because I was so burned out on Hemingway that I couldn't handle it anymore (and hopefully I will have reviews of all of the ones that I did finish posted soon). Also, I had finally figured out what my next Lit Challenge will be, and I was really excited to get started on it.

Before I tell you what my next Lit Challenge is, I will tell you what I ended up thinking about Ernest Hemingway.

In one word: overrated.

But he is still great, and he is a genius. His greatest strengths are in his stylistic abilities (fear adjectives, write short sentences, don't say anything that you don't need to say, the iceberg theory, etc.) and in his ability to write dialogue (although I do have some issues with that one). His greatest weaknesses are his plots, his absolute inability to create characters that resemble females realistically in any way whatsoever (his females are ridiculous fantasy-caricatures), and his tendency to overdo his trademark bravado. When it comes to Hemingway it's the shorter, the better. The vignettes he included in his debut, In Our Time, are really his best work. The longer a Hemingway piece gets, the more it seems like an over-worded vignette. But...reviews later (hopefully).

And now for my next Lit Challenge. It is:

Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

Dostoyevsky of course lived in Russia during the 19th Century; he wrote Crime and Punishment, Notes from Underground, and The Brothers Karamazov. I am just beginning the Dostoevsky challenge, and so I am not sure exactly how the challenge will play out. Here is what I am thinking so far, though:

The Dostoyevsky Challenge
Nighttime bio is the Mochulsky bio referenced in the "Currently Reading" section above.
Start with: Poor People (or is it Poor Folk?)
Then: possibly The House of the Dead
Then: Notes From Underground
Then: Crime and Punishment
Then: The Gambler
Then: The Idiot
Then: The Possessed
Then: The Brothers Karamazov

Obviously, it would take me about a year to get through all of these books (and he's got more, too), so I will have to make some cuts (unless I can manage to keep this going for a year or more).

So that's what's on tap. I'm excited (and, as I was told recently by someone who I had just told about my Lit Challenges, a nerd).

Why Are You Successful: the Charlie Sheen Edition

2009-04-15T23:03:00.003-05:00

If you had a real job, all of your colleagues would go home to their wives and tell them stories about you that end with the phrase, "He's an idiot." No one would eat lunch with you. I look at you and I see a drunk guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt on a boat. Also in that picture is your wife, who is thinking about divorcing you. You have a six-pack of Beck's in the refrigerator, don't you. True story: My friend used to work on your show, and he once drove you to the dentist. You got caught in a traffic jam along the way. You told him to buy guns. You are an even bigger loser than the other guy on that show, which is saying a lot. I've never had a conversation in which any of the following phrases have been uttered: "I like Charlie Sheen." "Charlie Sheen is talented." "Charlie Sheen is funny." "Charlie Sheen has a redeeming quality." You're like that guy you knew a long time ago who you think about now and say to yourself, "Yeah, that guy was kind of scary." One of your eyebrows is stuck in eternal-furrow mode, and the other is stuck in "Hmm, that's interesting" mode. If I was hanging out with a group of girls and we saw you, you would have an inescapable nickname within thirty seconds. It would probably be "Brow," but when I talked to you I would make it sound like I was saying "Bro," although it would have that California pansy accent that would make it sound like I was saying "Brahhhh." "What's up, Brahhh." But I would really be saying, "What's up, Brow." You would try to hang out with us because we would all be laughing, but you wouldn't realize that we were laughing at the fact that you aren't realizing that we are laughing at you. Eventually, I would start making fun of you directly -- to your face. You would let it go, though, and you'd stick around because you'd think I was kidding. I wouldn't be, though; that's why it's extra funny. Years later, even, one of those friends would ask me if I remembered "Brow (Brahhh)," but I would have no idea what they were talking about. You watch Ferguson, don't you. You listen to Creed, don't you. You've been to a Britney Spears concert. Nothing is more important to you than your niece, because no woman would ever have children with you. Your dad still pisses you off, and he still tells you what to do. You don't spell well. You get into some cocaine sometimes. You have pinched a waitress' ass. You are on Twitter. You have a cat. The cat's name is Bongos. You blow pot smoke into your cat's face. You have been to jail. You have a son you've never met. You have your own storage space; there is a tent in there. It's blue, and it's never been used. You keep asking people to go camping. You talk about Kobe a lot. You have the bad Korn records, and you don't have the good Korn records. You listen to Dave Matthews. You keep calling him Dave. You ask chicks to go to Dave shows with you; some of them go with you, and this sustains you. You take vacations to Florida by yourself. You ask people what they are doing three Saturdays from now because it's your birthday on that day. No, not this Saturday -- three Saturdays from now. You get your haircut at Supercuts. You have had the same really short and meticulously groomed sideburns for twenty years. You own a pair of white sneakers. You call them sneakers. You call people the next morning to tell them how hungover you are. You watch your own show. You frequently mispronounce the names of athletes who play for your favorite sports team. Every one knows that you are only a fan of that particular sports team because you are trying to fit in, and it's awkward. You had a sub-woofer installed in your car.

April 8: December 8, Jr.?

2009-04-08T10:05:00.003-05:00

December 8 is already the most mythologically important day for rock fans. Today might be the runner-up.

Today is of course the fifteenth anniversary of the day that an electrician discovered Kurt Cobain's suicide, and I just realized that today has a weird connection to December 8. April 8, in addition to being the anniversary of the Cobain discovery, is the birthday of John Lennon's son, Julian. Weird?

The next year is going to be tough for me: I am going to be 27 (the rock star death age), and will have to negotiate not one but TWO magnetic death days.

Kurt.

My 2009 MLB Predictions

2009-04-05T15:20:00.004-05:00

Spring is here again, and that means that it is time to start watching the White Sox every night, to start making fun of your Cubs-fan friends every day, to start actively hating the Yankees and the Red Sox, to start passively roting for the Cardinals, and to start blowing off important things and going to day-games instead. Here are my predictions for the 2009 MLB season, which starts tonight.

A.L. Central

Division winner: Chicago White Sox

Runner Up: Minnesota Twins

Last place: Detroit Tigers

Most people aren't picking the White Sox to do much this year...but more on them later. The Twinkies are always there in the end. A lot of people are picking Cleveland to win this division this year... but everybody does that every year, and Cleveland always chokes. The Royals will have a productive year by getting out of last place -- a spot that will be occupied by the Detroit Tigers, who will not get out of the free-fall that they started on last year.

A.L. East

Division winner: New York Yankees

Runner-up: Boston Red Sox

Last place: Baltimore Orioles

I hate the Yankees, but they -- and especially Derek Jeter -- are going to be more motivated than they have been in years because they will definitely be wanting to christen the new Yankee Stadium with some World Series champagne; they are going to play hard and will have the most wins in all of baseball this year. I hate the Red Sox too (or, as I like to call them, "The Yankees, Jr."), but they will continue being a pain in the ass, taking the A.L. Wildcard with 90-plus wins. Tampa Bay, who won the division last year, just won't be able to stay with the Yankees and Red Sawks all year. Toronto will be a .500 team, and the Orioles might be the worst team in baseball this year.

A.L. West

Division Winner: L.A.A. Angels of A,

Runner-up: Oakland A's

Last place: Seattle

The Angels really have no competition in this division; they could take September off and still win it. Oakland is supposedly going to be better than they were last year, but they've got no chance. Texas sucks, and so does Seattle -- although I'd really like to see Ken Griffey, Jr. have a nice year in his return to the Mariners.

N.L. Central

Division winner: Houston Astros

Runner-up: Chicago Cubs

Last place: Pittsburgh Pirates

Every one on the planet is picking the Cubs to win this division and Houston to finish in second-to-last place. But I think that the Astros' signing of Ivan Rodriguez is really going to make a huge difference for Houston -- especially their pitching staff (and yes, I do realize that this is a pretty crazy pick). Listen to some of the names on the Astros: Ivan Rodriguez; Roy Oswalt; Miguel Tejada; Carlos Lee; Lance Berkman. Sure, their pitching staff looks shaky... but I think Ivan Rodriuez is going to be the difference in this division. I think also that the Cubs are in for a let-down season -- one in which their key players under-perform and they miss the playoffs. The Cardinals will compete; the Brewers, Pirates, and Reds will not.

N.L. East

Division winner: New York Mets

Runner-up: Philadelphia Phillies

Last place: Washington Nationals

The Mets really did themselves a favor by signing closer Francisco Rodriguez in the off-season. I think that he is the reason that they finally stop choking the division away at the end of the year. The Phillies look good, too, and they'll take the N.L. Wild Card. The Braves will be there for most of the year, but won't be able to keep pace at the end. The Marlins will compete for half of the season, and Washington is going to blow.

N.L. West

Division winner: L.A. Dodgers

Runner-up: Arizona Diamondbacks

Last place: San Diego Padres

The Dodgers have Manny. The Diamondbacks are going to be pretty good. San Fran might be pretty decent. Colorado and San Diego are going to blow.

A.L.D.S.

White Sox over Red Sox

Yankees over L.A.A.A. Angels

A.L.C.S.

White Sox over Yankees

N.L.D.S.

Mets over Houston

Dodgers over Philly

N.L.C.S.

Dodgers over Mets

World Series

50 year anniversary special: White Sox over Dodgers.

So, What IS the Difference Between Barack Obama and George W. Bush?

2009-03-28T10:35:00.004-05:00

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Barack Obama is their W.

What I mean when I say this of course is that Barack Obama is to the Republicans in this country what George W. Bush was to the Democrats during the Bush administration: the complete opposite of what they thought was right, even down to the instinctual level.

So how can you defend the position that one of these Presidents is or was the perfect answer for our country while at the same time arguing that the other one is or was the perfectly wrong answer for our country? You can't, really, because I don''t think that most Americans have simply chosen to place their respective faiths in one or the other; we are talking about instincts here, and innate beliefs. We are talking about the very cores of each of us individually, which were all well-formed and strong long before most of us had even heard of Barack Obama. I don't know that there is a way to just simply convince someone to change that core; it would be like trying to convince them to stop having their blood carry the platelets to... wherever... the platelets... go...

The "W's" of the world aren't going to change their instincts, at least not overnight; and neither are the "O's" (with apologies for lame labelling). So doesn't the question become, then, about how we can begin to defend the one that we have placed our faith in -- a decision that is based purely on the make-up of that inner core of ours -- while at the same time tearing down the other guy, simply because we believe that we are right? A simpler way to put it might be to ask ourselves how we can know and prove that my instincts are right while your instincts are wrong, or how you can know and prove that my instincts are better than your instincts. You can't, because both sides of the argument will answer in the same way: "Because I am simply right, because this is what our values dictate, and because you are arguing for the opposite, wrong side." Yeah, well, the other guy said the same thing.

What you have to do -- always, not just in this instance, but for every decision you make -- is to question you own core and your own instincts, and to not really worry about what the other side believes for a while. You need to do this because the faith that you are putting in either Obama or Bush is really blind; you can't tell me who history will recognize as the right man for the job and who history will look at as the wrong man for the job. You believe that you can but you are wrong.

My instincts and my core call for me to enthusiastically believe that Obama is the smart guy and that W is the idiot. In questioning my instincts, here is what I have come up with:

-Obama's War in Afghanistan vs. W's War in Iraq. Both wars are theoretically based in 9/11 and national security, i.e., stopping the terrorists. But here is the thing: Don't we know that the al Queda, or whoever it was that attacked us, was and is still based in Afghanistan? We all know about W's "misinformation" (on its best day) that led us into the Iraq War. Yes, I do believe that our country is safer in a world without Saddam Hussein, but I don't think that that alone justifies the War in Iraq; in other words, I don't think that the goal of the War in Iraq was tied directly to 9/11, which is what the goal of whatever war we fought in the wake of 9/11 should have been tied to. And I think that there is really only one identifiable reason for the War in Afghanistan, and that is to wipe out the al Queda. I think that we have a good enough reason to do that, and I don't think that we had a good enough reason for going into Iraq. There were benefits that came from the Iraq War, sure; but I don't think that you can spend your life picking off all of the little guys who are out to get you. Now, if someone attacks you, or if you know that someone is going to attack you, then sure -- you fight back. We didn't know that Iraq was going to attack us, and as a matter of fact it has never been proven that they were going to; we only knew that Saddam Hussein hated us and that he might try to attack us someday. We know that the al Queda in Afghanistan attacked us, and that is of course a justifiable reason to go to war. I think that as the most powerful entity in the world, we need to be strong enough and secure enough to live knowing that some people in some parts of the world want to take us down. I don't think we should be allowed to physically destroy all of those who oppose us philosophically; I just think that we need to make ourselves strong enough to know when those intangible philosophical differences are about to evolve into a tangible act of violence, and to be able to prove it. Then and only then may we strike. The War in Afghanistan follows this guideline, while the War in Iraq does not. Therefore I do feel comfortable in my faith that Obama is right on this issue while Bush was wrong.

What if, you might ask, we are not able to identify those moments when an intangible philosophical difference evolves into a tangible act of violence, and we are attacked, or even wiped out? I will here use an analogy that I have used several times before: If you are ever in an airplane and the plane is going down, to the point that you are facing certain death, why be scared? If you are going to die, you are going to die; and if I ever find myself in a situation in which I know that I have no means of preventing my own death, I hope that I will be intellectually strong enough to accept the fact that my time in this world has come to an end and that this is simply the natural course for all things.

It wouldn't be the end of the world.

Alright, this is all that I can write for now. Perhaps I will get into the other Obama vs. Bush issues at some other time.

Darrin Jackson Update

2009-03-24T21:23:00.004-05:00

Darrin Jackson is in Arizona broadcasting White Sox games on the radio, and he is filled with rage.

Who's got two thumbs and is really excited for Friday?

2009-03-23T19:53:00.003-05:00

This guy.

And I Will be Watching Every Episode

2009-03-18T17:24:00.008-05:00

And hopefully it will be called "In Which Audrina Moves to Chicago and Sexes Up Some Guy Named Cornelius."

Rap Music

2009-03-17T15:00:00.003-05:00

It's how dumb rich people communicate with dumb poor people

Rap Music

2009-03-17T14:59:00.004-05:00

It's how dumb people have sex with dumb people

Rap Music

2009-03-17T14:52:00.004-05:00

It's how skinny white boys let you know that they can whoop yo' ass

Do this

2009-03-16T22:39:00.003-05:00

I work with a guy named Saul. Saul has a 15 year old son named Saul, Jr. Saul, Jr. is a pretty talented kid -- he has actually written and published a children's book called Down South!

Saul, Jr. has been named as one of five finalists in a commercial-making competition that is being run by Univision TV (Spanish language broadcasting network in Chicago -- channel 66 on non-cable TVs). The other four finalists (according to Saul) are much older than Saul, Jr. (at least in their twenties, if not their thirties, forties, etc... but I'm not exactly sure of their stats) and have college degrees. Some or all of them may already be in the advertising industry. Oh -- and Saul, Jr. is the only one of the five finalists who made his commercial from scratch (he drew the cartoons, did the voices, and wrote and performed the music). The others (according to Saul) had a lot of help from the Internet, or at least had access to the tools that make this kind of thing a lot easier. I know I have made it sound as if Saul (the father) is bashing the other contestants -- he is not. He told me all of these things because he is proud of his son.

This is an online voting contest. If Saul, Jr. wins, I believe he gets some money (which will go towards the publication of his second book, which he has already written), prestige and a bunch of good stuff that I'm not really sure of... OPPORTUNITY for a young guy who seems like he could use the opportunity and seems like he may be both driven and talented enough to make something of himself... if given the right opportunities. I think he might also get to be on Oprah, or something?

To vote for Saul Jr's commercial (and getting you to vote for his commercial is the whole point of this blog entry), follow these steps. The Web site is in Spanish, but you can get through it.

1. Go to this link.

2. Scroll down until you see the links to the five commercials.

3. Watch Saul, Jr's commercial (the second one from the left; it is called "Quieres ir al Cine?", and Saul, Jr's name is underneath it) by clicking on the Ver Video link underneath it.

4. Click your mouse on the circle next to Saul's video link. Make sure that you have checked the circle next to Saul, Jr's video link before completing the next, final step.

5. Click the red VOTAR button at the bottom of the page.

The Web site has restricted me to voting for Saul, Jr's commercial only once. You can try voting for the commercial more than once. If the site lets you, great. Also...maybe you could get a couple of co-workers and friends to vote for Saul, Jr's commercial, too.

DO IT.

Sunday Music

2009-03-14T23:25:00.002-05:00

I have lately been rediscovering the great Frank Zappa. Listening to these songs again has really been kind of soothing and has made me feel pretty good for some reason. I would really like you to give these songs a listen. Maybe they will make you feel good, too.

"Don't Eat the Yellow Snow/Nanook Rubs It"
-The only Youtube video I could find for this song also has two other (really great) songs attached to it. You can listen to those if you want, but if not you can stop the video at about the 7 minute mark (you'll know):

"Cosmik Debris"
-This song, like "Don't Eat the Yellow Snow/Nanook Rubs It," is off of Zappa's Apostrophe. I couldn't find the studio version (I wish I could have), but this live version is pretty good, too. This song includes the most amazing line of all time: "Now is that a real poncho, or is that a Sears poncho?"

One of my all time favorites, "Black Napkins." You can find this song on Zappa's album Zoot Allures.

"San Ber'dino," which contains the great line, "His name is Bobby, he looks like a potato."

And, of course, "Muffin Man." Wish I could have found the studio version of this one.

Math

2009-03-12T00:49:00.008-05:00

Claire from Lost = Babe

Also, I'm starting to say "babe" again.

Emilie de Ravin.

So what are you supposed to be. The idiots' mascot?

2009-03-11T19:58:00.007-05:00

Ari Fleischer served as White House Press Secretary under George W. Bush. This bitch is one of those people who makes me sick just because of the way he looks. Bitch is the personification of the stereotypical Republican. Seriously, just look at this dude. How much do you want to bet that he wears silky pink thongs under his Republican uniform. I guarantee that this bitch is messing around with some under-agers. He probably met them on the Internet. I get the feeling that he smells, too. You know that weird smell that some people have that's like...not really anything...it just smells like wrong, and it's there every day? Maybe a little bit of mothballs + ass? That smell is the smell of a black soul, and I bet that this bitch smells like that.

Anyway, this bitch was on the Chris Matthews show tonight (on MSNBC). He was on the show, admittedly, to try and make former President Bush's legacy look better (because that is what morons like him are doing these days, because no one will hire them for a real job, because they are known minions of Satan). The most moronitudical thing this bitch said (among many, many moronitudical things that he said) was, to paraphrase, that Bush and his regime did a damn fine job during their eight years in the White House because they did not allow any further attacks on U.S. soil to be made after 9/11.

Well congratulations, you fucking moron. Can I just bring up the fact that the Bush regime DID allow 9/11 to happen? Basically this bitch is saying

"Well, for seven out of the eight years the regime was in the White House, the regime did not allow massive and beyond-obscene terrorist attacks. But for one of the eight years, the regime did allow one of these attacks."

So...what. We should be happy that you bitches protected us from terrorist attacks 87.5% of the time (math)? What about the goddamn 12.5% (math) of the time that you bitches didn't do that?

And another thing. I'm not sure whether or not you are aware of this, but... Most... Presidents... haven't... actually... allowed... horrendously... obscene... terrorist... attacks... on... American... civilians... So, statistically, you are pretty much at the bottom. That's basically like saying

"Well, I took care of my kid all week. He died on Saturday, but he was fine on all of the rest of the days, so... I think I did a pretty good job."

I'm not a history major, but I can only think of one other President who allowed anything close to 9/11 to happen on American soil, and that is FDR, who was President during Pearl Harbor. And that was a damn military base. So, yeah. Congrats on preventing huge terrorist attack 7/8ths of the time. Yeah, Fleischer. I don't understand why Bush's legacy needs so much help, either. What's up with that?

"The good news is that we have had a 100% success rate for seven out of the eight years we were in charge. The bad news is that the one instance in which we did not have a 100% success rate was basically one of the worst, most horrific, and deadliest things ever to have happened to America, if not the worst, most horrific, and deadliest. So, you know. You take the good with the bad. OH. And, we are pretty much the only American Presidential administration which has ever allowed anything like this to happen. But, like I said. It only happened once, so."

Fuck you, you pathetic, idiot pawn.

SELL TEXAS

2009-03-08T10:42:00.000-05:00

-my new rallying cry for dealing with the recession and, possibly, my new T-shirt.

You know what I hate?

2009-03-06T21:13:00.003-06:00

Symbolism. I try to keep any kind of symbolism out of my writing. Intentional symbolism makes for crap writing. If it is in there unintentionally, or if it can't be avoided, then it is okay. I have been thinking about this for a while, and here is a list of irrelevant terms that I have come up with:

SYMBOLISM THAT IS NOT OK:
-Obvious symbolism
-Intentional symbolism
-tangible symbolism

SYMBOLISM THAT IS OK:
-unintentional symbolism
-inherent symbolism
-intangible symbolism

I had a lot more but I can't remember them now.

Just tell me the damn story. Don't tell me what it means. I don't care what it means. And I especially don't care what it means to you.

I kind of don't really like a whole lot of adjectives/modifiers, either. What difference does it make if the girl in the story has blue eyes. You are just writing that because you are talking about some girl that you loved once, or really liked, and she had blue eyes, and this is like your own little personal tribute to her, like your secret way of connecting with her, or even having a relationship with her, because you are a douche bag. You are telling me that she has blue eyes because you are a crap writer and you are not concentrating on what you are doing. You are not taking your emotion out of it. Anything that you write that you can't take your emotion out of is going to be crap, because why the hell would I want to read about how much you loved some chick, or how much you loved some guy, or how much it hurt you when they left. I don't. I want to read about them, and not you. I am not reading this because I want to solve the puzzle of your emotions. No one's emotions make sense to anyone but themselves. That is why I think they cause so many problems. Because the intensity or even existence of one person's emotions doesn't make sense or seem right to the person who those emotions are directed at. So maybe everybody feels emotions at different intensity levels; like, maybe I am composed so that I feel love, heartbreak, pain, anger, or any other emotion more intensely than you do. Or maybe less intensely. Maybe this has something to do with the way I was brought up, or maybe it is genetic. I don't know. I don't think it is possible that one person can feel the exact same emotion as another person. This is why I don't want to read about your emotions or how something makes you feel when I am reading a piece of literature. Because your emotions suck. If you are writing something as a way to express your emotions, it's called a journal. Not literature.

Book Review: Harry Potter, the first one, by the British chick

2009-03-06T21:08:00.001-06:00

Sucks. Have to read it for class. Sucks. Hatred.

Book Review: Animal Farm, by George Orwell

2009-03-06T21:07:00.000-06:00

Sucks

Because you don't matter?

2009-03-04T19:25:00.003-06:00

Rush Limbaugh challenged President Obama to a debate today, citing the White House's recognition of Limbaugh as the leader of the Republican Party.

Limbaugh said on his radio show today:

"If these guys are so impressed with themselves, and if they are so sure of their correctness, why doesn't President Obama come on my show? We will do a one-on-one debate of ideas and policies."

He ranted on. And, just to remind you, Limbaugh is not an elected official -- he is a radio show host.

There are a couple of different answers that I can come up with in response to Rush's question, "Why doesn't President Obama come on my show?"

First answer: "Um, I am actually the President, and I actually have important things to do."

Second answer: "The. American. People. Elected. Me. This. Means. That. They. Preferred. My. Ideas. To. Republican. Ideas. Oh, and, since we kicked your fat, rich asses out of government relevancy in the elections, it also means that You. Don't. Matter. At. All."

Third answer (preferred):

Book Review Snapshots

2009-03-02T22:31:00.003-06:00

I am way, way behind on writing book reviews for you all. Here are some really quick reviews and recommendations about the books I have read lately.

James Joyce (biography), by Richard Ellmann. The best biography I've ever read. Joyce's life was incredibly interesting and makes for a great story. Ellman is a great writer. Reading this book will make you a better writer because of what you learn from both Joyce and Ellmann. Reads better than a lot of novels. Because the book is a biography, it makes for a perfect pre-sleep read (because we all know that the "pre-sleep time", when you are laying in bed for 20-30 minutes right before you turn the lights off, should be reserved for biographies, right?). A must-read only for Joyce admirers or fans of the literature from the first half of the Twentieth Century; anyone, however, with anything more than a passing interest in literature will enjoy this book, perhaps even immensely.

The Metamorphosis and other selected short stories, by Franz Kafka. Kafka is perhaps the most disturbed person of all time. Most of you are probably at least somewhat familiar with the concept of "The Metamorphosis," which is that a low-level businessman who lives with his parents and his young sister wakes up one morning to find that he has transformed into a bug of some sort. The story was written in the early part of the Twentieth Century and so was quite a diversion from the main-stream lit of its era. I think that the story is a must-read for lit fans, but I think that this is mostly for the hype that surrounds it. It's good but I don't think it's life-changing. Read it and move on.

In Our Time, by Ernest Hemingway. An absolute masterpiece. This is a collection of short stories and vignettes, and is the first major work that Hemingway published. The book first appeared in the mid 1920s, when Hemingway himself was only about 25 or so. Hemingway's writing style in the book revolutionized writing and literature. The stories themselves are about nothing and everything at once: man's communion with nature, man's communion with his fellow man, the difficulty that men and women have understanding each other, trying to make sense of the world, transcendence through self-imposed exile... This is absolutely a must-read for everyone -- especially for lit people. This is also a great starting point for anyone who thinks that they might be interested in literature but who may be somewhat intimidated by the length/volume/subject matter/whatever of many of the great works. These stories are great and you should read them.

The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway. This is Hemingway's depiction of the post WWI literary exiles living in Paris and traveling throughout Europe in the 1920s. Much of the plot actually takes place in Pamplona, Spain and revolves around the bullfights there. The characters were for the most part real people, renamed by the author. Many consider this novel to be Hemingway's true masterpiece (at least as far as his novels go...the man is the God of the short story), but I disagree. I think that this is a fine novel, but one that is slightly overrated. The best parts are the descriptions of the bullfights -- these scenes alone would make the novel stand up. The novel as a whole is good and I would recommend that everyone read it, but I think it gets too much play from literary "experts" (I think it was the #10 novel on Time's Top 100 of the 20th Century list? I disagree). A worthy read, though. The language and style, again, are fantastic.

A Farewell to Arms, by Ernest Hemingway. The best American novel I have read. I think this was ranked #48 on the Time's list, and I would have put it in the top 5, probably even the top 3. The novel takes place during WWI and revolves around a wounded American soldier who has been driving an ambulance for the Italian army on the Italian front (which Hemingway did in WWI) and the British nurse he meets as he recuperates in the Italian army hospital. The two fall in love and... This is the only book I have ever read that caused me to cuss out loud and shout out "Jesus" as I read it. This is one of the best books you will ever read and puts most other novels to shame. Read it.

Into the Wild, by John Krakauer. Some might not agree with me, but I think that this book is fantastic. Krakauer tells the true story of Chris McCandless who, after graduating from a prestigious American university in the early 1990s, abandons his possessions, burns his money, ensures that his family will never be able to find him, and begins hitchhiking his way across the country en route to his death in Alaska (Krakauer tells us that McCandless dies in the first chapter, so I'm not ruining anything). This book is all about transcendence, and if you can get over Krakauer's emotional attachment to the subject, I think that you can really get something out of McCandless' story. i.e., I must accomplish what McCandless accomplished. This is a quick read, too.

Technology Never Lies

2009-02-26T21:08:00.004-06:00

Have you ever been asked to be friends on Facebook by someone you hate? And who probably dislikes you back? Why are you asking me to be your friend on Facebook. We are not friends in real life; we hate each other. Or at least I hate you. Perhaps I have given you too much credit in assuming that you would pick up on that. If I don't like you there, in the real world, why would I like you here in this fake world of mine that I create and control. And yet I feel bad about rejecting you. Until I hit the reject button. Then I feel good. The best is when after not hearing back from you for a couple of days they think there has been a technical glitch and they try again. Oh no, my friend: this is no glitch. [whispered]: technology never lies.

"Hey! 'Ts'up? You know how we hate being around each other? I was hoping we could spend more time hating each other."

--or--

"Hey! 'Ts'up! I'm a huge tool and...I didn't know that you didn't like me, so... I'm going to go ahead and move on into the pathetic zone. If I don't hear back from you I'll try again in a couple of days."

Can't I just have one moron-free zone in my life. Even if it is only on the Internet. Guess what, man. If I wanted to be friends with an idiot, I'd call you. All the time.

I am fairly certain that some sort of air-borne virus dropped a bunch of acid before infiltrating my body

2009-02-25T15:37:00.002-06:00

Yesterday morning at about 4 a.m. I awoke and felt like death. I spent the entire day in bed (save for two horrendous hours during which I was forced to work on assignments that were to be turned in later that evening), bailed on both of my classes, ate 1.5 pieces of toast, died and came back to life (I am pretty sure), had the most horrifying and vivid dreams I have ever had (hence my belief that the virus dropped acid before attacking me), became afraid of everything and every one in my life, feared and hated Ernest Hemingway (one of my current favorites), thought about all of the women who have been in and out of my life in the last few years (and then feared, loved, and hated them from my bed as the acid virus did its work), died and came back to life again, transcended human existence, etc.

Here are some of the dreams I had last night (the longest night of my life) that scared the hell out of me. Keep in mind that I am pretty sure I was awake while I was having these dreams.

1. Moving from my current town back to my hometown. I am pretty sure I had to walk at some point, I don't really remember. But then for some reason I was back in my current town and didn't know anyone. Also, I was always lost. This is where one of my friends from college came in: she had a cousin or something like that who lived in the town and she wanted him to be my friend, or something. I was walking down the street in the dark and a car slowly rolled up behind me. It was him and his friend. When we shook hands, he had a werewolf hand (i.e., furry, with super-long nails). I don't really remember the rest of the dream, except that I was lost the whole time, and that this werewolf-hand guy was supposed to be my guide, but he scared the hell out of me and I wanted to get away from him.

2. Two of my best friends, who have been dating for a few years, broke up. I know that this doesn't really seem like a "scary" dream, but it was. Because it revolved around the girl being absolutely destroyed and the guy not really caring. Sorry to get all sentimental on you. But I was literally trying to cover up the fact that the girl was in such horrible shape...I don't know, it was weird. It was not good. It also involved my Nana's old house and the pool that she had. And throwing frisbees at about a mile per throw.

3. Literally had a dream where this girl that I really like was just making out with another dude. That was it. It was great. Not.

There were a lot of others that I don't really remember right now. The dreams probably don't seem very scary to you, but I actually feel like an entirely different person today because of them (and the whole dying and coming back to life thing). Because literally, since I am pretty sure that I was awake (or at least half-awake) while I was dreaming (hallucinating?) them, I honestly feel like I lived them. And they were all about absolutely horrible experiences.

And I am not kidding when I say that I feel like I died and came back to life. Seriously,

[oh, great. now i am having visions of looking in my bedroom and seeing my own body on the bed. Great.]

this is not a fun virus, this is like a government experiment gone wrong, or something. It's like an air-borne hallucinogen that causes you to want to die. And, maybe, that kills you but then allows you to come back to life.

I also would just like to point out that I have been hallucinating in other aspects of my life besides the dreams. From example, I remember thinking as I was laying in bed this morning that I was "hearing" my brain "shifting."

Have a nice day.

I've invented a new emoticon

2009-02-23T19:55:00.000-06:00

:-{)

Chef Boyardee

"Paracelsus In Excelsis"

2009-02-20T23:13:00.004-06:00

-by Ezra Pound

'Being no longer human, why should I
Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?
Men have I known and men, but never one
Was grown so free an essence, or become
So simply element as what I am.
The mist goes from the mirror and I see.
Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath --
Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,
And we that are grown formless, rise above --
Fluids intangible that have been men,
We seem as statues round whose high-risen base
Some overflowing river is run mad,
In us alone the element of calm.'

(1910)

Owed to W

2009-02-17T16:09:00.001-06:00

When the first thing
On the agenda
Of the president
Right after you

Is called
The Big Bailout Package

It means that
Yes
You were a very bad president

Does anyone else ever have this problem

2009-02-17T13:58:00.002-06:00

The spellcheck/grammarcheck tool on my Microsoft Word has, for the last six months or so, been either:

-drunk

-getting old and senile/developing Alzheimer's

-in the mood to mess with me

.

Seriously. Today it is recommending that I change this sentence:

-What does the sign posted at the gates of hell represent to Dante?

into:

What do the sign posted at the gates of hell represent to Dante?

I think my spellcheck/grammarcheck guy has moved to the ghetto and made some new friends.

Stop it,

McCain and Other Republican Senators Say Obama is Off to Bad Start, Democrat Reminds Them They are Dumb-asses

2009-02-15T14:42:00.013-06:00

McCain and some other Republican senators are saying that President Obama is off to a bad start. But, I mean...since McCain and the Republicans got their asses kicked in the elections, shouldn't we all be happy that they are unhappy? I mean, didn't we all kind of decide that their opinions were moronic? And so, doesn't that kind of mean that the things that they want are, by definition, the things that they don't want? And that the things that they don't want are, by definition, the things that we do want? So...shouldn't we all be pretty happy and relieved that they don't think things are going very well right now? Because if they didn't, and they thought that things were going well, that would mean that they weren't going well? Since, you know, they thought that George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and Sarah Palin were good ideas? Isn't theirs the political party of the deformed, demented, and insane? Isn't their political party comprised of some of the scariest and ugliest people on the planet? Aren't these the people who ran around the Constitution, started torturing people, lied to start a war, and were (are), in general just dumb?

Forget Democrats vs. Republicans. Let's realign so that it's Smart People vs. Dumb People.

And yes I am happy that the Republicans think that this is not going well because if they thought it was going well that would mean that their ideas would be advancing and ours would be stumbling. It's like that person you know -- maybe you work with him or her or maybe you know him or her socially -- who you just can't stand because he or she is dumb, ignorant, a horrible person, a total whack-job, etc. But some of your other friends are friends with this person, so you interact with him or her on a semi-regular basis. But no matter how much easier it would make your life if you would simply accept this person as your friend and trust his or her opinions and ideas as being good, you can't do it, because you know what kind of a person he or she really is. So when you are making plans on a Friday night and someone says that this person has invited everyone to this particular place, you refuse to go because you know that this person's idea of a good time and a good and positive atmosphere is just wrong. Whatever this person likes, you do not. Whatever this person does, you do the opposite. Because if you started liking or doing the things that this person does, it would make you just like this person, and you know that that would be horrible. Because you don't want to be like this person. As a result, when this person tells you that he or she likes listening to reggae or the Grateful Dead while getting high, you think to yourself "Yes. And that is why I don't like reggae, listen to the Dead, or get high. Because I don't want to become a moron like you." And when this person invites you over for a party, you think to yourself "No. Because I don't want to hang around with a bunch of morons like you." And when this person tells you that Obama is off to a bad start, you think to yourself "Good. Because if you thought he was off to a good start I would be really worried.

Because you are an idiot,

Note: I have recently discovered that ending a hanging sentence (i.e., a sentence that ends a complete thought or I guess a soliloquy or whatever) with a comma makes it much more insulting for some reason. And so yes, I am aware that the above quote is missing it's ending quotation mark and that it also ends with a comma instead of a period. I have chosen to do this in order to be more insulting.

Ending a sentence with a comma really does make it more insulting. Watch:

Does this dress make me look fat?

Yup,

Why don't they put this on TV?

2009-02-10T23:48:00.008-06:00

Stump, a 10 year old Sussex spaniel (that's 70 in dog years), has been named "best in show" at the 2009 Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. I don't talk trash about dogs. But seriously, Stump doesn't look like he's very cool. As a matter of fact, he comes off as being a little bit pompous. But, like I said, I don't talk trash about dogs. So I'll stop there.

When I heard the news about Stump it reminded me of something I have been thinking about for the past couple of days because I have been hearing odds and ends about the dog show: Why the hell don't they show this crap on TV? Seriously, I would watch that. I am not even joking; I really think it would be a lot of fun to watch the competition unfold over a few nights. And yes, I would yell at the TV. I would root for the dogs that I thought were cool and, yes, would root against and jeer the dogs that I don't like. I don't think I am the only one who would enjoy this, either. I think it would be hilarious to watch, and I really hope that they put this on in prime time on NBC next year.

Don't furrow your eyebrows. You know you would love it, too.

I also wanted to say that my dog, Ginger, could kick the crap out of Stump. And Ginger is about the size of (read: is, basically) a small and hilarious pillow.

Here is some more information about Ginger, just in case you've never met her:

-A couple of weeks ago, she got sick and threw up on the welcome mat in her room (she sleeps in the laundry room, which is attached to the garage), so my folks had to throw the mat out. Ginger was afraid of the new and much bigger rug and refused to walk on it, opting instead to tiptoe around the edge of the mat until she was appeased with (you guessed it) treats.

-Ginger was also afraid of the new washer and dryer that were installed in her room about a year ago. She barked and growled at them for days.

-We counted once and determined that Ginger understands about one dozen words. Among them are: out, treat, walk, ride, bed (doesn't like that one), no (pretends not to understand that one), stay (when she feels like it), potty (new one), ball, down (when she feels like it), the phrase "go to your place" (when she feels like it), and Ginger.

-Ginger likes to invite people into her room. To watch her eat.

-Ginger has two best friends: the cleaning lady and Andy the guitar teacher.

-When Ginger gets her haircut she looks exactly like the dog from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

-Ginger used to have a huge problem with barking at (and assaulting) anyone who came over who wasn't a member of the family. My folks had to hire a personal "teacher" for Ginger, and she went to "school" every other Saturday morning.

-The teacher once had Ginger run on the treadmill, and she wasn't trying to be funny.

-The teacher said that Ginger was her smartest student.

-The teacher told us that when dog owners pick up their dogs a lot and carry them around (like we do), the dog gets the impression that she is really big because she thinks that she is really as tall as her eye-level is when you hold her.

-Therefore, Ginger is under the impression that she is big and ferocious.

-Ginger is not ferocious. Like I said, she is basically a small and hilarious pillow.

-Sometimes when you talk to Ginger she will move her mouth like she is trying to talk back.

-When Ginger was a puppy, she did something bad and then hid underneath a table. My mom started yelling at her, and when Ginger wouldn't respond by coming out from underneath the table, my mom asked Ginger if she was deaf. If Ginger somehow could have answered, she probably would have said "No, I can hear you. I just can't understand human language."

-Every so often Ginger's breath smells mysteriously like Doritos.

-Every so often we will find empty bags of Doritos in Ginger's bed.

-Ginger really likes to play fetch.

-Ginger really only understands how to play the first half of fetch. After you throw the ball and she runs it down, she brings it over to you but will not give it back to you.

-The rules of the house are that Ginger is not allowed to go upstairs. The only one who really enforces this rule is my dad. Ginger is smart enough to know that she can break the rules when my dad is not home, even if there are other people home. Once, we had her upstairs because my dad was gone. He came home while she was up there, though, and when she heard him coming she hid behind the bathroom door, all on her own.

-Ginger likes to go outside and just stare.

-Ginger will not tolerate this noise: "pwwwut." No one knows why.

-Two Christmases ago I bought Ginger a "Clifford" book for a gift.

Ginger.

Greatest Website of All Time?

2009-02-10T16:47:00.000-06:00

This one might be.

Message to Republicans who won't stop whining and crying for bipartisanship

2009-02-07T12:43:00.004-06:00

Couple things.

First. Do you renember [intentional typo] having your asses fucking handed to you in the November 4 elections. That was because we don't like your brains, and we wanted to take your power away from you. Which we did. The reason you are having so much trouble accomplishing your goals in congress is because there are so few of you in congress -- far too few to vote your goals into reality. And the reason there are so few of you in congress is because America only wanted a few of you in congress; this was proven by the vote on Nov. 4. And the reason that America wanted only a few of you in congress is because you have bad brains.

Second. Um. When all of you republicans were running the country [into the ground] during Dubya's term in office, I don't really remember much bipartisanship coming from your end. I remember the opposite of bipartisanship coming from your end. I remember your leader, Dubya, continually enforcing an "I'm doing what I want to do even if most of the country hates what I want to do" policy. So why the hell would you expect to be treated differently. Especially when the entire country just rejected your agenda (and your asses), hard, in the election. We voted the other way because we don't like you or your ideas or policies or whatever, so...why would we want to include those ideas and policies in what we are trying to get accomplished now.

Basically, nobody gives a fuck about you anymore so you can whine all you want but why the hell should we care. You didn't, about us. Shut your bitch pipes.

Eddie Vedder Sings Karaoke

2009-02-06T20:17:00.002-06:00

I just think that Eddie Vedder is great, and has made some really great music. I actually think that the soundtrack for the film "Into the Wild," which Vedder wrote and performed, is a great album: very under-rated. At least check out the movie (and the fantastic book by John Krakauer) and listen for Eddie. I just wish that he wasn't a die-hard Cubs fan.

I got this clip from Deadspin. It's Eddie singing karaoke at the Cubs convention ("Where the Streets Have No Name," by U2).

He is really one of my favorite performers.

Columnist Navarrette Propagandizes Ill-Fated Birth Control Funding Clause, Is Moron

2009-02-02T12:50:00.006-06:00

I now present you with a lesson in how sociopolitical propaganda works.

You are probably by now familiar at least with the notion that our government is working towards passing an economic stimulus package. You may also be aware that the government, at the urging of President Barack Obama, removed a clause from the proposed package last week that dealt with the issue of birth control. The now stricken clause basically called for the package to include over $200 million that would basically make various forms of contraception more affordable for citizens. And, since this clause was intended for inclusion in the economic stimulus package, it is fair to say that the clause was economically motivated. The idea that the backers of this clause most likely had was that by making contraception more affordable and available to those who may choose to use it, fewer children would be born; as a result, there would eventually be fewer people on welfare and other such government aid programs. Because there would be fewer babies (and families) who needed that support. Does this sound like a logical train of thought to you? Regardless of your position on the issue of birth control, I don't think you can argue against the simple mathematics of the thing.

I feel that Ruben Navarrette's CNN commentary from Feb. 2, 2009, is a fantastic example of the propagandization of this issue, which eventually led to the removal of the clause from the stimulus package. I also feel that the commentary is a fantastic example of the kind of rampant and public idiocy that is being handed down to the American public by many of those with more powerful voices. For the purpose of this blog post I will focus only on the stimulus/birth control issue, but it is my wish that you consider what your leaders say, why they say it, how they say it, and the effect that it has on the majority of the citizens of this country who take their words as higher law because they often have no other sources of information (secondary wish: realize that this guy and everyone like him is an idiot).

To sum up Navarrette's commentary: He begins by going over what he considers to be some of the "ridiculous items" in the stimulus. Good: as Americans we should be very picky with how the government spends our money. But then he gets to the birth control clause, and literally almost compares it to genocide, and just coincidentally happens to invoke past issues of forced sterilization. He writes,

"You know the nation's cupboard is bare when politicians propose limiting the number of births as a way of improving the economy. That's a conversation we shouldn't be having" (Navarette commentary).

That's actually not a conversation we're having. We were actually just talking about making contraception more available to people who may need it. We weren't talking about surgically installing iron condoms onto anybody, or force-feeding women the morning-after pill every day. I don't know if you know this, but just because there are contraception methods available to you doesn't mean that you have to use them if you don't want to. Congratulations on placing the phrase "limiting births" so that it comes off so subliminally, so that most people don't pay too much attention to it and yet it still becomes associated with this issue in their minds.

Congratulations on (thinking that you are) taking a moral stance in saying that limiting the number of children people are allowed to have is wrong. Even if the non-idiotic portion of the world's population actually began to take this stance a number of centuries ago. NICE! GOING ! :p

Also, congratulations on basically comparing Nancy Pelosi (and others who supported the birth control clause) to the Nazis. This is a logical connection to make (if your brain is made of Jello and mashed potatoes and jiggles every time you turn your head):

"For a minute, it sounded as if the House Speaker was channeling the ghost of Margaret Sanger. The 20th Century birth control advocate is a hero to those who worship at the altar of reproductive freedom. [...] Sanger also embraced birth control as a means of social engineering. [...] Many in that school of thought considered immigrant groups like Jews, Italians, and Irish to be inferior genetically, and they felt that these groups were having too many children, a trend they believed needed to be stopped -- by forced sterilization if necessary" (Navarrette commentary).

And so, Craphead Navarrette, you have taken the notion of providing easier and more affordable access to contraception for people who may need or want it into the realm of reproductive genocide. And you almost kind of labeled some people 'genocidists' in the process. You're just the personification of human progress, aren't you. Again, reader: here is an instance where you should realize that someone is attempting to propagandize you by associating one thing with another very bad thing that really has nothing to do with the original thing. He is just trying to build false bridges and connections in peoples' brains in order to advance his own personal (outdated, inhumane, illogical) beliefs, and he has probably succeeded on a pretty massive scale. Because a lot of people have been buying in to this kind of crap for a very long time.

Here is the problem with your (illogical) logic, Navarrette. First of all, as I wrote earlier, the purpose of the clause in the stimulus package was to PROVIDE EASIER AND MORE AFFORDABLE ACCESS TO CONTRACEPTIVES FOR PEOPLE WHO may need it or want it. We weren't planning on welding any chastity belts on young women. We weren't planning on soldering condoms onto any men. And actually, to reference the actual center of your argument, which your whole argument is therefore based on, we're not moronic assholes and so therefore were not intent on "limiting the number of births." You know, since contraception is OPTIONAL, and all. I really don't think that the sex police were going to roll out from underneath the bed as soon as they saw the bra hit the floor and say to the (now un-)happy couple "Nope. You already got two kids."

Let me pause here for a second. And actually let me pause in my original pause to tell you that yes, I have now moved on to full out bashing pro-life dipshits. OK. Back to the original pause:

I am not sure that you understand what the meaning of the word choice is. Because what it means is that you can either decide to employ something, or decide not to employ something. Like when I say that birth control is a choice, it doesn't mean that everyone is actually forced to use it if they don't want to. Just because birth control pills exist doesn't mean that nobody is ever allowed to have babies again. And just because you think or believe that abortions are wrong doesn't mean that someone who doesn't believe that shouldn't be allowed to practice their belief, which is that having an abortion is not wrong. That would be like if I told you

ME: It is my belief that you have the word "dumbfuck" tattooed on your forehead.

YOU: No. But I don't want to do that.

ME: But it's my belief that you should have that done. And, so, yer...have to.

YOU: But. I. Don't. Be. Lieve. The. Same. Thing. You do. I. Be. Lieve. The. Opposite.

Goddammit I wish I could just put a giant condom over these dumbfucks' faces so that I wouldn't have to listen to their bullshit anymore. I'm sorry that you were born stupid but that doesn't mean that I'm going to dumb everything down just for your sake.

Leader: Group of Unstoppable Morons "Undeterred" by Own Moronitudity

2009-01-30T17:09:00.002-06:00

Writes that group is "in this thing for the long hall."

[side note: greatest gym class ever]

Because Trial and Error is for Suckers

2009-01-26T18:25:00.005-06:00

2nd floor men's room door, Graham Hall, Northern Illinois University. Note the Blue Sign:

If we look at that blue sign a little bit more closely, we are reminded of the #1 principle of door operation:

Yeah, but what if I don't feel like reading on that day. Hey: That's your problem. Not mine.

Not pictured: A man in his early twenties rolling violently in a puddle of his own urine, lamenting the fact that he never learned how to read.

Idiots.

Pop Star Ironically Makes World Dumber while Attempting to Make Herself seem Smarter

2009-01-23T15:06:00.006-06:00

I know that I am not the first person to realize this, but it has been brought to my attention that there is a song in existence by Britney Spears that is called "If You Seek Amy." Oh wait, sorry, upon further review, it is titled "If U Seek Amy." Smart. Ok, so I didn't realize when I first saw this title that when you say it aloud (you have to say it REALLY FAST, according to dumb people), that it obviously sounds like you are saying "F-U-C-K me." Well. Who is the punning prodigy who came up with this one.

One of the things that makes this even dumber is the lyric to the chorus of the "song":

Love me, hate me, say what you want about me
But all of the boys and all of the girls are begging to if you seek Amy
Love me, hate me, but can't you see what I see?
All of the boys and all of the girls are begging to if you seek Amy

Ok, but, aren't you not really hiding your ingenious pun if you put it in a sentence that contains a grammatical mistake that makes it obvious that you are punning? That's not even really punning...at this point, you are just spelling out the word fuck, and then adding the word "me"...I don't really understand...are you...trying to...hide that...or...

I also don't really understand the "message" of this song. Spears seems to be striking back at the h8ers! who keep bringing her down, yo. And who think [accurately] that she is just a brainless and talentless party girl who sells sex for a living. But... that's... what... you... are... Britney...

It's like she is trying to say, "Hey, people keep trying to bring me down, but it's not working because people still want to fuck me." Well, Britney Spears. Congratulations on succeeding biologically. Congratulations on having boobs that men want to touch, and a vagina that men want to...do...other...stuff...with... Yeah, because nobody else has that. You've really achieved something there with your attainment of femininity. I am so happy for you that you have finally accomplished the impossible dream of having a vagina that men want to fuck. Yes, you are right. Your boobs do make you smarter, better, and more enlightened than everyone else. Nobody mess with this chick: her vagina will kick your ass. Or out-spell you.

Yeah, you've been bringing me down, but people want to fuck me, so I win.

Yes, Britney. Congratulations on inventing human sexuality. We couldn't have done it without you. Congratulations on coming up with the concept of the libido. Congratulations on growing the world's first vagina.

The worst part about this is that now I have to barf while thinking about all of the morons IN DA CLUB that are going to be humping each other after "dancing" to this song. Note to all morons who do that dance IN DA CLUB where the girl bends over and presses/rubs her ass up against the guy's obviously aroused crotch: that's not called flirting. That's called being a dumb slut. And/or an ugly whore.

Now excuse me while I go vomit at the notion of your existence.

Happy Birthday Kelly Kapowski

2009-01-23T09:31:00.003-06:00

Kelly Kapowski turns 35 today, so I decided to write her a love letter:

To my dearest and eternally youthful, Kelly,

I write you today so that I may express to you my sincerest wishes for you to have a happy birthday during which you are surrounded by those who love you and whom you love the most. I wish for you to drink the finest champagnes and dine on fresh lobster by candlelight tonight at a table overlooking the ocean's orange sunset. It is my hope then that you shall walk on the sands of the beach in the dark with the waves lapping softly at your feet, and by your side a companion of your choosing. And may the dwellers of the village disappear for the evening, providing you with silence and sanctuary; and may the darkness of the evening cover all until eternity, traveling by side of your youth; and when the star of the morning finally breaks the horizon, may you behold within yourself the eternal youth I behold in you.

Happy birthday, Kelly Kapowski.

Book Review: Ulysses, by James Joyce

2009-01-21T22:25:00.004-06:00

Is Ulysses the most beautiful work of literature written in the English language?

Maybe.

Should everyone read that book?

Everyone with a brain.

Is Ulysses easy to read?

No, very difficult.

Why difficult?

Even after committing oneself to studying the work, chapter by chapter, as one proceeds in reading, one cannot possibly understand all of the puzzles, the allusions, the references, and the whathaveyous that Joyce put into the book.

How much work to put in?

At times more work than it takes to read the book.

Is reading it not, then, enjoyable?

Quite to the contrary.

Alright I'll stop being a fuckburt. You probably already know that Joyce's Ulysses is the story of one man's -- Leopold Bloom's -- movements through Dublin on June 16, 1904 (the date of Joyce's first date with his wife, Nora Barnacle; it was Joyce's private tribute). Bloom is an outsider in Dublin for several reasons: he is Jewish, which sets him apart from the Catholic Dubliners; he is a somewhat feminine man who lives in a world of big-drinking, brawling, cigar-smoking Irishmen; and his wife, Molly Bloom, cuckolds him for his impotence (a state of affairs which everyone in Dublin, including Bloom, seems to be aware of).

The story of Bloom's day, of course, parallels closely (and intentionally) the story of Odysseus' (also known as Ulysses) years-long journey back home from the Trojan War in which he fought, which is told in Homer's Odyssey. Throughout Ulysses, Bloom runs into characters and situations that are symbolic of the characters in the Odyssey; it can be difficult at times, however, to pick up on the references that Joyce makes to Homer's epic -- the subtle symbolisms -- without studying some sort of a guide as you go along. The effect that the parallel eventually has on the reader, however, is quite breathtaking, as he is made to view each day, hour, or moment of his life -- as inconsequential as it may seem -- as a vital, beautiful, devastating, or ultimately consequential part of a whole.

It seems that it would be impossible to relate to you much more of the plot because there is both so much and so little of it there to tell you. I might say that the plot of Ulysses is somewhat inconsequential (although it is a fantastic, suspenseful, and wonderfully constructed plot), but at the same time I would have to tell you that the plot is everything...Yeah, my brain is being a pile of Jello right now (again) and this review really isn't coming out all that well (poorly written, again). Here are some bullet points and then I'm done.

-The book is comprised of 18 episodes, each of which is named for, styled after, and contains symbolism from a different episode of the Odyssey.

-Each of the 18 episodes is written in a different style. None of the episodes are written in the same style. For example, the last episode, "Penelope," takes up about 40 pages. Eight sentences make up those 40 pages. That's right: eight sentences.

-Ulysses is considered to be the watershed moment (or perhaps even the invention of) the interior monologue in literature. The interior monologue is just one of the styles that Joyce uses in the novel.

-Stephen Dedalus is one of the main characters in the novel. Stephen was the protagonist of Joyce's earlier novel, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

-Ulysses, published in 1922, was banned in many countries for perceived obscenity. One of the major issues in dispute was that the novel contains scenes of urination and defecation, as well as any and all other human bodily functions.

-Ulysses was recognized as being the best novel of the Twentieth Century by Time Magazine (and many, many other organizations).

-Joyce originally imagined writing Ulysses as a short story for inclusion in his debut publication, Dubliners.

-Many of the major and minor characters from both Dubliners and A Portrait of the Artist appear as major or minor characters in Ulysses.

-Many of these characters were based on real Dubliners of the time, whom Joyce either knew or knew of. It is said that when the novel was released (and the people of Dublin got their illegal bootlegged copies), the big question in Dublin was, "Are you in the book?"

-Readers will uncover new puzzles in Ulysses for years to come. For example: in the first episodes of the novel, Bloom leaves his home (at 7 Eccles) in the morning to run errands throughout the streets of Dublin. Joyce takes care to name all of the streets that Bloom travels down. To the uninformed reader, the street names mean nothing. But if you trace Bloom's movements throughout these episodes on a map of Dublin from the time, you will find that Bloom's path has been a great circle. Symbolism, anyone?

And although Ulysses may be one of the more difficult novels you or I will ever come across, I must say that the pay-off that I got upon completing the novel was much more rewarding than the work that I put into reading and studying the text was intimidating or hard. It was well worth the effort, and I sincerely hope that all of you get the chance one day to read Ulysses. Life can be more complete.

The two best reactionary quotes to Dubya's farewell speech last week (paraphrased)

2009-01-20T10:00:00.003-06:00

"It seems as though he is making an acceptance speech for an award that nobody wanted to give him."
-Keith Olbermann

"It's that whole mentality of every child gets a trophy just for playing."
-Chris Matthews

Hippies

2009-01-18T14:01:00.007-06:00

I think it's funny that hippies think that they are a part of some really cool, fun, exclusive, elite, and enlightened society, when really they only think that because they are high, and too stupid to make that connection.

I think it's funny that hippies think that getting high enhances their abilities to connect with other people when really it only enables them to fool themselves into believing that they have done so. Getting high is only a way of hiding from yourself, and when you believe that you have done that you also assume that you have hidden from everyone else. But you haven't; they just can't see the real you because they, too, are high and stupid.

I think it is ironic that hippies are all about peace, love, and non-violence, and that I would love to just punch one some time.

I think that the hippie who told me that the "light turned on for him" at one of Jerry Garcia's last concerts, at which he witnessed two hippies hugging each other and their young children while a bunch of losers (the Grateful Dead) played some garbage, was a fucking shit-for-brains. Because he can pinpoint the exact moment at which he became a complete dumb-ass.

I think that it probably goes without saying that any person who idolizes a moron must be an even bigger moron than the original moron.

I think that most hippies become hippies because they are ugly and have no other way of getting laid. Because if you join a community in which ugliness is the standard, you suddenly become the standard.

I bet that if we built a big spaceship that could hold all of the hippies in it and carry them to outer space, and if we told them that we were just "giving" them the Moon to inhabit and govern themselves on because we had made it safe for human life, and then we took them to the moon and dropped them all off there, and then when they got off of the spaceship and started to say "Hey wait, we can't breathe out here. You didn't make this safe for human living," and then the captain of our spaceship mouthed the words "See ya" to them through the windshield of the spaceship as he drove back towards the earth, we would all have a lot more free time becasue we wouldn't have to spend half of our lives dealing with moronitudity. But they would only buy it if we used the word "community" somewhere in the title of the Moon Village.

Seriously, just get out of my fucking way. Because I am tired of spending the majority of my time making concessions for your idiocy. Congratulations on being a part of a community -- a community comprised of the dumbest and least desirable people in the world. We're all very happy for you and are glad you've finally found your place in the world (the dirt beneath society's ladder).

Idiots. You look like a moron when you dance. You look like a moron when you don't dance. Not into appearances? Guess what: you've got a horrible personality that even your mother could loathe. You annoy the hell out of everybody with your crap music and your kindergarten art. Your ethics are based upon the damage that you've done to your own jello brain. You get high because you never got over the bullshit from your youth. Think I am wrong? That's only because you are too high and stupid to see it for yourself. Go hide. Go hide from yourself and others. I don't want to see your ugly face anymore.

Fuck off, and stop making everybody else dedicate their lives to making up for your God Damned idiocy. You're dumbing everybody else down. Fuck. Off.

Filth

2009-01-18T13:50:00.002-06:00

Things like this are a big part of the reason why I hate the world and its people sometimes, and why I get so pissed off sometimes. The same should go for you.

Fucking dirty filth, you are in the fucking way.

Book Review: The Inferno, by Dante Alighieri

2009-01-14T21:51:00.005-06:00

The Inferno is, of course, 13th/14th Century Italian poet Dante Alighieri's vision of hell. The long poem is the tale of Dante's own journey through the nine circles of the underworld as he is led by the Roman poet Virgil, a dweller of hell. The circles themselves (and all of the various sections/bolgias/etc. that lay in each of the circles) are actually levels or tiers of a downward spiral that serve as torturous homes for those who sinned during their natural lives, and who have become the inhabitants of hell.

In the poem, hell is designed so that those who have committed the least offensive sins during their natural lives inhabit the circles that are closest to the top of the underworld, i.e., the first circle, the second circle, etc., while those who have committed the most atrocious sins inhabit the deepest circles of hell, i.e., the eighth and ninth circles. The ninth circle, as one might imagine, houses only Satan himself.

As the sin that the inhabitants of the underworld determines the level of hell to which each soul is assigned, so too does each sin determine the type of torture that soul will endure for all eternity. The inhabitants of the upper circles of hell, then, endure a torture that is less horrific than that which is inflicted upon the inhabitants of the lower circles, who have committed greater sins.

For example, in the third circle are the Gluttons. These are the souls of those who during their natural lives on earth "made no higher use of the gifts of God than to wallow in food and drink, producers of waste and offal" (Ciari translation, page 65). Proportionally, their punishment in hell is to inhabit a region (the third circle) in which a rain of foul-smelling waste matter falls on them constantly. These souls lay in the sludge of this waste eternally, becoming waste themselves in the waste that was the result of their lives. The punishment doled out in this circle, which is higher in hell than many of the others, is more tame than those below it.

The eighth circle (seventh bolgia) houses the Thieves. Here, some the souls of those who committed thievery emerge as reptiles, while others appear to be human. Both the reptilian and human bodies, however, are merely vehicles for the souls, and the inhabitants of each change frequently. The souls who have been relegated to the reptile form are constantly attacking the human forms, so that they may "steal" the body/vehicle and walk as a man through hell. When a human form is attacked, the soul that was inhabiting it is transferred into the reptile that attacked it, and the soul of the reptile overtakes the human body. The catch is, of course, that once a soul has "stolen" a body, that body will soon be stolen again by another soul. Yeah, don't steal.

I recommend that all of you read The Inferno, even though this is an extremely poorly written review of it. The imagery contained in the work is the most intensely realistic and disturbing that I have ever read, the metaphor challenges the reader to think on new levels, and the plot even builds a lot of suspense and does a lot of other literary things that my rusty brain can't communicate as of this moment.

Verdict:

-If you want to base your life around building upon the greatest successes of mankind, and hopefully advancing the human race, read The Inferno. On the other hand, if you just kind of want to get high, go to White Castle, ask women that you have impregnated the timeless question "Well, so what are you gonna do?", ask your sober coworkers to take piss-tests for you even though you are in your mid-twenties, or watch South Park, or if you laughingly tell people that you don't understand how or why your parole officer hasn't thrown you in jail for failing a piss-test because you totally smoked like two days before, then maybe skip it.

-Reading The Inferno is not as daunting a task as you have probably been led to believe throughout the course your life. It is of course not a light read by any stretch of the imagination. It requires time, effort, and thought. But it is a highly enjoyable and even entertaining read. And of course there is the payoff at the end of knowing that you have just fully experienced one of the greatest artistic works that any man has ever created, which is something that not everyone can say.

-I would advise against making this your bed-time read because I, at least, tend to forget the last few pages of what I read at night because I am half-asleep. This is a work that you really want to concentrate on. If you have a half hour during the day on a consistent basis during which you will not be distracted, read it then. Or, make it your vacation read. Bed-time reads should be reserved for biographies. Trust.

-Get a version with footnotes. Read all of the footnotes as you go along. It will also help you to get on the Internet and look up some of the people that are featured in hell as you go (yes, many of the souls in Dante's hell were real people who committed real crimes and sins. In addition, there are figures like Achilles and Odysseus, as well. It is helpful to know why Dante puts such figures in the specific circles that he does). (Side note: I learned by doing some quick Internet research while reading this that Virgil's last name was MORA, which, if you jumble up the letters, spells ROMA [Rome], which is where he is from and was the setting of much of his work and which, if you jumble up all the letters again, spells AMOR [love], which is apparently one of the major themes of his works, although I haven't read any of them. MORA, ROMA, AMOR. See? These are the kinds of things that you [I] like to know.)

So, what's it going to be...advancing your brain function and learning about the history of mankind's greatest achievements, or Taco Bell and piss-tests/sitting on a tree stump and urinating on yourself.

Review: The City, starring Whitney Port, and life update

2009-01-12T21:17:00.002-06:00

Why am I watching (e)M(p)T(y)V's (thank you Kurt Cobain) "The City?" Because I am obscenely tired -- too tired to watch the Ulysses film (book review coming soon) -- because there is only so much channel surfing that a person can do, and because I am hoping that Audrina Patridge is on. Here are some of the things that have occurred to me:

-Well, this is embarrassing. I had better turn down the volume.

-Whitney Port is not very good looking, unless she is on the beach staging wardrobe malfunctions for the paparazzi (which happen to coincide with the premiere of her new television show).

-Since when do beautiful (relative term), prestigious women fall in love with bums. I'm kind of a bum. And I don't have Audrina on my arm.

-Audrina Patridge is not going to be in this episode.

Also, in the back of my head, I was kind of thinking, maybe this will give me some insight as to how women really are, and how they think and act when there aren't any guys around. Hypothesis:

-Flawed experiment. This can't be how women really are, because these chicks are dumb as rocks and more annoying than running out of coffee grinds in the morning. Prognosis:

-This show is about stupid girls who I do not find attractive. It does not feature Audrina Patridge. I will not renew my viewership.

In other news:

-The spring semester started today. I guess.

-As I said, I have finished Ulysses. I will write a review soon. Thus completes my study of James Joyce (excepting Finnegans Wake. Far too complicated for light, in-semester reading). I have begun studying Ernest Hemingway, and am planning on touring his Oak Park in the spring.

-The Hot Genius is in three of my four classes this semester. In case you don't know, the Hot Genius is, literally, a hot genius. A super-hot genius. She could be in the magazines. She has read everything, she writes like I do (when I am trying to sound smart), and she speaks like I do (when I am trying to sound smart. Although, in both instances, she pulls it off, while I don't).

-The Hot Genius got engaged over winter break. Not cool. And I was just about ready to awkwardly not ask her out for the entire semester, until it gets to the point where she eventually figures out that I am pathetically trying to ask her out, and then literally watches me crumble in fear, disappointment, and self-loathing right in front of her eyes. So close.

Finally

2009-01-12T10:54:00.002-06:00

The most hilarious thing of all time. I'll bet you anything that Andy Samberg is behind this.

I give you the Doogie Howser theme song, performed by the SNL orchestra. Notice the tear on Doogie Howser's cheek at the end.

Heartbreaker

2009-01-12T10:36:00.002-06:00

Do not watch this if you don't do well with disturbing images. The kid didn't make it through.

Die

2009-01-11T12:54:00.001-06:00

Can we Impeach this Moron, too?

2008-12-30T14:28:00.002-06:00

Bobby Rush: Your decision to continue to see the world through only the lens of racism will forever prevent you from moving past that very thing. I and others like me invite you to join us in the newly-arrived future in which race neither defines nor influences our world, the growth of which is being prevented ironically by your own outdated worldview.

Who is the Dumbest Person of 2008?

2008-12-09T14:38:00.003-06:00

I've been thinking about doing this for a while now, and I feel that the time is right to unveil this contest:

Ladies and gentleman, I present to you One More Cup of Coffee For the Road's first annual 'Dumbest Person of the Year' Contest. In this contest, I and you (readers; unfortunately, still only about four of you) will vote, choosing between several yet-to-be-determined candidates in order to determine which of them will be the recipient of the highest honor we have: the coveted Idiot Extraordinaire award.

The recipient of this award will receive, of course, nothing -- well, unless you consider bragging rights, immortal status on this blog, and a seething diatribe written by myself to be nothing. Which, basically, they are.

In addition to these nothings, the elected winner will become the first ever appointee to an institution that I have created, which shall be called The International Association of Legendary Morons. As this contest will be an annual occurrence, taking place during the last month of each year, a second Idiot Extraordinaire shall be appointed to this association in December of 2009, a third in December of 2010, etc.

There will be a trophy; that is, there will be a photo that I find on the Internet that will serve as a trophy that will be awarded to this year's winner.

I think that there is a way to set up an interactive voting thingmabob on my blog, which I will set up as soon as we have decided on all of our candidates. This list of candidates should be completed sometime next week, and so the voting thingmabob should be unveiled on December 18. This will give you (and me) a two week window in which to vote before the winner is unveiled on December 31st.

Now, as for the candidates. I have three candidates in mind, and I urge you to nominate your own candidates as you see fit. The three candidates I have in mind are:

Sarah Palin
Rod Blagojevich
Ashley Todd (Backwards B moron)

OK, let's get to thinking. Who else needs to be on this list?

Chicago is exploding.

2008-12-09T09:23:00.002-06:00

Blagojevich is going down. The Trib is nearly drowned. Obama's got the world watching us and we are

not disappointing.

F.Y.I.

2008-12-08T20:53:00.003-06:00

Coming soon are reviews of the following works:

The Inferno, by Dante Alighieri

The Odyssey, by Homer

James Joyce, the biography by Richard Ellman

The Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka

Also, I am about to embark upon winter vacation, and in keeping with the plan I made upon my return from Ireland in July I am going to dedicate much of this free time to taking my second stab at reading Joyce's Ulysses (hence the Odyssey reading, and the Joyce biography). Ulysses will be my morning/daytime reading, while Ernest Hemingway's In Our Time will be my pre-sleep book. While I figure that it will take me the entire four weeks of winter break to complete Ulysses (that is if I finish it at all), I should be finished with the Hemingway selection rather quickly in comparison. This is the cause of my present difficulty:

What do I read next? For the first time in a long time, I don't have any books "on deck." I would appreciate any suggestions that any of you may have for me, keeping in mind that my taste as of late has found me preferring the classics (the big-time classics, like Homer, Dante, Joyce, and Hemingway, etc. I am not currently interested in "modern" literature, nor am I very much interested in the Dickens kind of crap). I suppose that the most logical solution would be to pick up some more Hemingway, as I have not read much of his work and have become recently intrigued by his writing. But even then I would not know which of his works to select.

Any suggestions? What am I forgetting?

Beckett?

Why should he be in the Hall of Fame?

2008-12-08T14:22:00.002-06:00

Ron Santo was denied by the Hall of Fame again today. I do not believe that Ron Santo should ever get into the Hall of Fame. A career batting average of .277 and 342 career home runs are not Hall of Fame numbers. I apologize to Ron Santo, who I actually enjoy listening to on Cubs radio broadcasts and who seems to be a great guy; also, of course, it would be nice to see the man made happy with an induction. But baseball players don't get inducted into the Hall of Fame because they are good guys or loveable characters, or because it would make them happy. Sorry, Cubdom. He should never get in.

A Strange Day Has Found Us.

2008-12-08T10:16:00.007-06:00

December 8, 1943: Jim Morrison is born
December 8, 1980: John Lennon is killed

A bunch of other strange coincidences have occurred on this day, as well, but I don't have time.

This is pretty incredible to see

2008-12-05T11:35:00.003-06:00

I got this video off of Dlisted. It shows one dog, who had been hit by a car on a highway, being saved by another dog, who drags him to safety. It's actually pretty incredible to watch. Dlisted says that the injured dog survived.

p.s. I know what kind of dog I am going to get when I can afford one (a long time from now): a "red" Golden Retriever. I'm going to name her Penny (full name Penelope, Joyceans/Homerians!). Penny!

Great

2008-12-02T10:10:00.002-06:00

Gee, I wonder what city they'll be gunning for this time? They've already gotten New York before, not to mention that New York is not really the epicenter of America anymore. So New York is probably out. I wonder if they will be gunning for the city that has usurped New York as the epicenter (or is at least in the process of doing so, in my opinion) of America? The city that our new president calls home? The city that will be providing said president with countless advisors, etc.? The city that may be hosting the Olympics in 2016?

Fantastic. I'm sick of this!

Jonestown

2008-11-20T07:24:00.004-06:00

I forgot to mention the other day that Nov. 18 was the 30th anniversary of the Jonestown "mass suicide" (or, depending on your view of it, the mass murder) that took place at the command of cult leader Jim Jones.

I saw a documentary on this a while ago and I have to say that this was some crazy Brave New World type of shit. I also have to say that I think Jim Jones was at least as insane as Charlie Manson, if not more so.

In a nutshell, Jonestown was a religious cult that had moved from somewhere in California down to somewhere in South America (what became known as Jonestown). There were apparently about 1,000 followers of this Jim Jones guy, and at least some of them were scared shitless of him.

Here is where it gets to be like Brave New World: Throughout Jonestown were speakers through which Jim Jones would speak for like 10, 12, or more hours per day, telling his people as they worked that America was coming to get them and would try to kill them and destroy them, etc. He would also tell them about how some of the people who had escaped Jonestown and had gone to the media about the scary conditions down there were "liars" and were trying to destroy Jonestown. Jones made all of his followers sign blank documents so that he could type up a contract later and already have their signature on it. Oh, and also, during his sermons, he would make all of his followers drink a "Kool-Aid"-like liquid before telling them that they had just ingested a fatal poison and would be dead in 10 minutes. These came to be known as "suicide drills."

Well, in 1978 an American Congressman went down to Jonestown to investigate what the hell was going on down there. Jones made all of his followers put on a big show, and the congressmen was somewhat satisfied; that is, until, before he was leaving two members of the cult passed him notes (they were separate incidents) that begged him to help them get the figgity-fuck out of there. So the congressman asked if anyone else wanted to leave, and some people did, and so all of the sudden a bunch of people started saying that they wanted to leave.

Well, then Jimmy Jones (who by the way was also super drugged-out) decided to assassinate the congressman (and some others he was with) before he could leave, so he sent out some of his "soldiers." T

After the congressman was killed, Jones got on his microphone and basically said to his cult, "Well, we just murdered an America congressman, so we are pretty much fucked." He told them that the U.S. would be down to Jonestown soon and would surely seek out a bitter revenge. They would destroy Jonestown and kill us all, he said, along with some other fucked up stuff. And he gave them the Kool-Aid, only this time it wasn't a drill.

There are literally audiotapes of Jonestown in the moments after the cult has ingested the Kool-Aid but before they have died, and you can hear Jones commanding a mother to feed her infant child the poison, along with some other stuff.

I believe that there were over 900 people that died from the "Kool-Aid," and I think only five people got out of that place alive.

Happy Birthday Jodie Foster

2008-11-19T11:49:00.004-06:00

Jodie Foster turns 46 today. Foster's birthday is worth noting because of her portrayal of Iris, the 13-year-old prostitute in Martin Scorcese's 1976 film, Taxi Driver.

Taxi Driver is the greatest film of all time, hence the birthday mention.

Happy birthday, Jodie Foster.

Superheroes in Real Life, Volume One: Super Alone Guy

2008-11-18T00:01:00.007-06:00

From time to time I tend to for no reason whatsoever imagine society as a collection of real-life superheroes. This practice basically started during my teen years, during which I spent a good deal of time reading various biographies of rock and roll legends like Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, and John Lennon. I enjoyed reading these biographies so much that after a while they evolved from simple tales of lives lived into "The Adventures of Such and Such." I was often able to identify in their stories the often unspecified and unidentified "evil" forces that Cobain and the others were fighting their battles against; for example, Cobain's arch nemesis seemed to me to be insincerity (Holden Caulfield's phonies?), while Lennon's seemed to me to be the suppression of the human spirit, and Morrison's seemed to me to be fear in any and all of its various manifestations. The stories of these men's lives became therefore the stories of the respective wars that they fought against their chosen and respective nemeses and enemies. And, in this setting, those stories became more or less battles between good and evil forces. The extreme and outlandish manner in which these battles were fought only added to the intrigue.

Well, I seemed to have developed a habit, because I find myself often categorizing others and attaching to them a "superhero" name and identity. For example: a couple of weeks ago I was at a bar in the city wearing a pair of $4 aviator sunglasses (because I rule in them) that my little brother had previously used as a part of his Police Officer Halloween costume. As I was walking through the bar, a girl in her mid-twenties approached me and grabbed for the sunglasses. She was pretty good looking, and so I let her put them on. I was figuring that this would be a good opportunity to hit on her; that is until she proceeded to just kind of "dance" (and I use those quotation marks loosely) and giggle, and just sort of speak gibberish to me. After I made a few more attempts at conversation to which she "replied" in her accustomed manner I, somewhat dumbfounded, with my mouth hanging open and my eyebrows furrowed downward, mumbled something along the lines of "...yeah...can I just, like, have those back..." To which she replied by employing her continuous giggle and moron dance. She reluctantly handed over the sunglasses.

I nicknamed her "Super Weird Sunglasses Girl."

In addition, I have lately been applying this practice to James Joyce -- as I have during recent months been reading his biography -- and have henceforth nicknamed him "Super Intelligence Guy."

I think you've got it by now.

So without further ado I present to you my latest superhero incarnation: "Super Alone Guy."

I think that we have all been Super Alone Guy at one time or another. I became Super Alone Guy this past Saturday night. I had planned to meet a friend of mine at a local bar at 10 pm. I therefore left my house at about 10:15 (this is how I operate). I walked through the front door of the bar at about 10:30, scanned the place for familiar faces, saw a few (but none to which I would have liked to speak), and so figured that my friend had not yet arrived. I ordered a drink and pulled the classic elbow-lean-on-the-bar move, watching the thirty or so people around me whom I either didn't know or wished I didn't know who had come to the bar equipped with friends and allies to defend against rogue wanderers such as myself who might at any moment infiltrate their zones of operation and therefore skew the vibrations of the evening. Little did they know however that this particular Super Alone Guy was equipped with the superpower of preferring to be alone in most ambiguous friendship situations.

That being said, Super Alone Guy does have his weaknesses, the primary of which is his aptness to appear clingy and in desperate need of companionship (even though, of course, this particular Super Alone Guy had come equipped with the superpower of preferring to be alone in most ambiguous friendship situations; the weakness lies in the fact that that particular superpower is virtually undetectable to all other superheroes). Luckily, though, I carried with me an ace in the hole: I have during my career as a superhero developed a rare superpower which provides me with the ability to make endearing comments to other superheroes whom I have deemed worthy and then turning away and therefore ending the conversation while they are still looking at me, smiling, and waiting for more. This might sound cruel, but it isn't; you must remember that Super Alone Guy is of course not equipped with any of the friends and allies that the rest of the superheroes can employ as defense mechanisms, and that therefore the rest of the superheroes do not need Super Alone Guy -- they might simply find him intriguing or entertaining (or weird, possibly). These comments and subsequent brush-offs -- "social missiles," if you will -- are designed and intended by Super Alone Guy to make it known to the other superheroes that he is not currently in need of their assistance or, in extreme cases, their defensive capabilities. They also enable Super Alone Guy to establish his very own zone of operation, which is an essential element to any Super Alone Guy mission.

At this point in the night, Super Alone Guy suffers a setback: his friend, who has unfortunately earned himself the title of "Super Bail-Out Guy" after years of various no-shows (Super Bail-Out Guy's main superpower is his ability to disappear at any moment, in the blink of an eye) is not showing. Fortunately, however, Super Alone Guy is also blessed with the superpower of super-awesomeness, and had hours previous to the social outing invited Super Cool Guy out to the bar as well. So, after about an hour during which Super Alone Guy has carefully and masterfully established his very own zone of operation, which has earned the respect of the other super heroes, Super Cool Guy shows up, which causes Super Alone Guy's zone of operation to expand exponentially -- even aggressively encroaching on that of the other superheroes who had come equipped with friends and allies to defend them. This dominant and continual expansion gets even stronger minutes later when Super Cool Guy's girlfriend, "Super Hot Girl," shows up along with her friend, "Super Hot Friend Girl."

At this point, most of the other superheroes are attempting to infiltrate the zone of dominant operation which has been established by Super Alone Guy and his friends and allies who have come to defend him. A select few of the chosen and worthy are allowed into the zone of dominant operation, but many of the superheroes are, unfortunately, turned away (occasionally because of the Awkward Hopeful Romantic Missiles that some of the superheroes choose to fire at both Super Hot Girl and Super Hot Friend Girl -- I'm looking at you, Super Northwestern Guy). Others are turned away because they fight on the evil side and can not be allowed into the inner circle of the good superheroes for obvious reasons.

It is of course academic now when I tell you that Good triumphed over Evil that night, my friends. But some stories simply must be told. Lesson learned: Super Alone Guy knows what he is doing.

I feel also that I should tell you that the "Super Alone Guy" story is only the first installment of stories about my numerous superhero experiences. In that vain, here are Super Alone Guy's essential stats and descriptors:

SUPER ALONE GUY
Distinguishing Features: Complete lack of friends or allies available to defend zone of operation, classic elbow-lean-against-the-bar pose, disinterested facial expression

Major Strengths: Possesses the ability to make witty and endearing comments to other superheroes at the precisely correct moment which he follows with an intense brush-off at an even more crucial moment; usually has friends and allies on the way to help defend zone of operation (not to be confused with Super Pathetic Guy, who doesn't); possesses the superpower of preferring to be alone in ambiguous friendship situations

Major Weaknesses: Can at times succumb to paranoia; is apt to appear clingy and in desperate need of companionship

Major Allies: Any and all members of the good side, but especially Super Cool Bartender Guy and Super Hot Waitress Girl

Major Enemies: Evil superheroes who believe that the evil side is really the good side

Motto: "How's it going," (indifferent, condescending tone).

Super Alone Guy.

Fucking Tragic

2008-11-16T11:25:00.005-06:00

GET THAT FUCKER. GET THAT FUCKER. BITCH SLIGHTLY INCONVENIENCED SUPER HORRIBLE SPOILED BRAT COKEHEAD LOSER. GET THAT FUCKER. WORLD ENDING.

I guarantee you that at one point, while in the bathroom cleaning herself off, she or her lady friend said "Dude. How sweet would it be if this was coke."

(you don't have to watch the whole video. You can stop it after the awesome part)

OK. And now I have found Samantha Ronson's blog posting about the "incident." Here it is (I will share my feelings about this after her blog posting):

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Flour Power

I posted a blog last week that angered some people who didn't know how to read properly, I then wasted my own time defending myself and now I regret that.

There is a fine line that distinguishes the difference between exercising our freedom of expression and offending others, for example the debate regarding freedom of speech vs. hate speech.... i feel that this principle should apply to protestors also. It's a pity that some groups feel the need to assault people as opposed to fighting with words.

Whenever I feel the need to vent about something that feels unfair to me I reach for my computer, I don't run out of the house with abusive intentions. I don't expect everyone to react the same way, but I do expect people to respect each other. Maybe that's my first mistake? It seems lately I am learning that there are too many people who put another species before their fellow man and that's sad. I don't wear fur, but I don't think I have the right to ATTACK those who do. No one has that right.

PETA should focus their efforts on educating people on what they believe are injustices instead of seeking press via harassing those in the limelight. I received an apology too many days late from the PETA folks (the blog removal was too little too late) and today I'm pissed at the bag of flour thrown on Lindsay last night. Not because I got powdered down, but because the girl who threw it acted like an animal herself. I take that back, it's an insult to animals to group her in with them, my dog is FAR more civilized than that person. I would have more respect for them if they didn't use other people to get their point across. Lindsay, Mary Kate, Ashley Olsen, Anna Wintour and the rest of the targeted celebrities aren't the problem, I'm pretty sure they're not the only ones wearing fur, in fact, they should be appreciated by PETA for giving them a target. If it weren't for them, who would get them press?????

I know I'm probably going to get a lot of angry emails in response, but I don't really care. I got enough last week for no reason so I'm more than happy to ignore the nastiness after seeing what I saw last night. I'm not about to throw on a fur coat in retaliation, but had I had one within reach, I'm not sure I would have walked away from it.

p.s. when was the last time you saw an animal attack one of its own in defense of a human? hmmmmm..... that's one to grow on!

p.s.s. i think there are plenty of families that could have used that flour for a meal. nice job, lady.

Alright listen bitch. Shut the fuck up because you are a fucking idiot. I don't like it when morons like you think that they are intelligent and then spread their "shit-telligence" (new word: you heard it here first) around so that other morons think that they, too, are intelligent because they think that your shit-telligence validates their shit-telligence. If you really had any sense to you you would realize that you were an idiot and an obstacle and you would simply go away and allow the rest of us to move forward.

First of all, "there are too many people who put another species before their fellow man"? Bitch, she didn't get shot at. She got some flour thrown at her. And I don't really give a shit about fur (although I love my dog and would beat someone up for her if I needed to, no questions asked), but, your girlfriend was wearing an animal's skin. Just because you are human doesn't mean that you are allowed to skin animals for pleasure. Give me a fucking break. Not that I really give a shit about fur, but seriously...Lohan got some flour thrown on her. The animal had its skin removed. Cry me a fucking river, moron.

Second, "[Celebrities] should be appreciated by PETA for giving them a target." Are you serious? I kind of thought you were joking at first, but then I started to think that you weren't smart enough to make a joke like that. I think you are actually serious. I think that this is a conversation that you have with your stupid friends. How about: you should be appreciative of the fact that idiots like you are allowed to continue on in your infinite moronitudity because the number of morons in this world far outnumber the intelligentsia. Seriously, isn't there anyone in California who can call this bitch out.

Third, "When was the last time you saw an animal attack one of its own in defense of a human?" First thing: all the time. For example, my dog actually does this all of the fucking time, and so do most peoples' dogs (dogs, FYI, are animals). Second thing: I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but humans have actually for a long time now had much greater mental capabilities than animals. Animals can't really comprehend social issues in the same way that humans can. Are you seriously saying, "Hey, as soon as animals smarten up and start behaving like mature and responsible adults, I'll start respecting them a little bit more." Hey. Stupid. Over here. Yeah. It's called "brain function." And it's called "the thing that separates the humans from the other animals." Do you think that animals are behaving that way because they are "just being jerks," or something? They are animals, you fucking moron. They aren't really capable of doing a whole lot of thinking. They are interested in food, water, treats, and belly rubs. That's about it. They don't really think much about social issues. I can't even believe how stupid you are right now.

Two small things: It's P.P.S., not P.S.S. P.S. stands for "post-script," and P.P.S. stands for, I assume, "post post-script." Also, I'm not so sure that doling out spoons and having your starving family dig in to a nice bag of flour would do much to combat the hunger. As a matter of fact, I don't think you could even eat more than a spoonful or two before your mouth became too dry and chalky to eat anymore. I ate a spoonful of (I think it was) nutmeg once (you know who you are) and let me tell you: eating powdery cooking ingredients will not provide you with your daily sustenance.

PWNED!

Learn to swim, bitch.

p.s. my spell-check tells me that it's protesters, not protestors.

LEARN TO SWIM

George Brett, Hall of Famer

2008-11-14T12:01:00.003-06:00

Special thanks to Matt Z for finding this again. This is the infamous George Brett "I shit my pants last night" video.

The last line is the best one.

Words of Wisdom

2008-11-12T07:45:00.002-06:00

"My wife reminded me that, hey, as president of the United States, be careful what you say."

-George W. Bush, legendary moron

Another blog.

2008-11-05T20:27:00.003-06:00

I have started another blog on which I will be publishing (God willing) bits of a story that I am thinking about writing. As it stands right now, the story is not going to be published in any sort of order, as there really is none yet. But you can read what I publish on the blog if you would like.

I am not publishing any of the content from the new blog on this one because I feel that the somewhat sensitive content of the story might make some people (namely people that I don't know, or people who don't know me) squeamish. The new blog is set up so that you must be invited to read it if you wish to do so. Being invited into the blog is the only way you can read it. I have built a wall around it.

If you would like to read the blog, let me know by leaving a comment on this post, e-mailing me, or getting in touch with me in some way. I will invite you to read it if I do not think you are dumb-assedly inclined. The readers of this blog (all four of you) -- the one that you are reading right now -- will be fine to read the other blog if they would like. They just have to tell me that they want to read it and I will give the old online invite to you.

If I don't already have it you will need to give me an e-mail address that I can "invite." I probably have most of your addresses.

The link to the new blog is here.

Literacy Prevails

2008-11-05T13:03:00.006-06:00

I have to give Kurt Cobain credit for that quote.

I must admit that I am moving a little bit slowly today; in my (perhaps slightly overzealous) celebration of the Obama victory last night, I got into some whiskey.

Literacy prevails!

Star Spangled Banner - Jimi Hendrix

It's All Over Now, Baby Blue!

2008-11-04T17:11:00.007-06:00

My intention is that you watch the video and play the song simultaneously, smiling...

Obama!

Landslide - Smashing Pumpkins

Get This Geriatric Maverick Ass-Clown Out of My Fucking Face

2008-11-04T00:54:00.006-06:00

And as for your running mate: Shoo, shoo. The grown-ups are trying to have a conversation and we are using big words. Go sit in your room and look out the window at the Russians, you pathetic excuse for human intelligence. Shoo.

Sadness

2008-11-03T16:53:00.002-06:00

Madelyn Dunham, Barack Obama's grandmother, died today, just one day before the election. I'm not going to claim to be an expert on Barack Obama's childhood, but from what I know it could be argued that Dunham contributed to the raising and shaping of Barack Obama as much as or perhaps more than any other person on the face of this earth. Sad story.

The only reason I am linking to Gawker as opposed to a (much) more credible news source is because Gawker's story is a bit more personal than those on CNN or the Chicago Tribune at the moment.

Theme Music for an Election

2008-11-03T00:18:00.005-06:00

Tuesday night's election is going to be like one of those end-of-college parties during which you get compltetely wasted and have the best time ever with your old friends, but in a melancholy way because you all know that at the end of the night you will be saying goodbye to each other. After Tuesday night's going away party, our old friends George W. Bush and Dick Cheney will no longer be parts of our every day lives, and neither will the Clintons. Sarah Palin will either fade into relative obscurity or take over the world. John McCain will either fade into relative obscurity or be Sarah Palin's right-hand man in her Kingdom of Dumb-Assitudedness. And Barack Obama will hopefully (please, God) be elected as our President.

And so, for really no reason, I present to you the theme songs for each of these figures on their respective Election nights (Tuesday!), sponsored in part by Guns N' Roses (pre-shitty era). Listed below.

I imagine our friends, The Politicians, making each of their individual ways through what I can only assume to be the chaos and havoc of Tuesday night's election, with these specially selected songs playing through their heads. Hopefully this will help us to say goodbye to our friends, The Politicians.

Theme Music For an Election: George W. Bush

2008-11-02T23:10:00.004-06:00

"Estranged."

How do you say goodbye to someone you wish you had never met?

Estranged (Live) - Guns N Roses

Theme Music for an Election: Dick

2008-11-02T23:03:00.005-06:00

"Live and Let Die."

Because he is a dick. See you later, ass-wipe.

Live and Let Die - Guns N Roses

Theme Music for an Election: John McCain

2008-11-02T22:58:00.005-06:00

"November Rain."

Because McCain will hopefully be in a melancholy mood on Tuesday night. And since it's November, and all.

November rain - Guns n roses

Theme Music for an Election: Sarah Palin

2008-11-02T22:54:00.007-06:00

"You're Crazy."

Because she is fucking crazy.

Youre Crazy - Guns N Roses

Theme Music for an Election: Hilary Clinton

2008-11-02T22:36:00.006-06:00

"Don't Cry (Original)"

Sincerely. You truly helped to energize both the Democratic Party and the 2008 election as a whole.

Dont Cry - Guns N Roses

Theme Music for an Election: Bill Clinton

2008-11-02T22:22:00.006-06:00

Because I imagine that he will on Tuesday night be thinking about playing this love song and whispering sweet nothings into the ear of that special lady in his life (hint: she is not his wife).

Patience - GnR