This blog is old and never updated, but this week I've become a part of two new blogs:
www.theshinyforehead.blogspot.com
AND
www.summerofaction.blogspot.com
The second one is not a naughty site, though I could see how you would think it might be.
Tell your friends and family and any strangers you meet.
8.26.2010
8.17.2009
6.28.2009
The King is Dead
In a week that started with the inevitable divorce of Jon and Kate transitioned to the shocking, "tragic" death of Michael Jackson. A lot happened between the two events...Ed McMahon found death to be his only escape from staggering debt, Farrah Fawcett lost her long battle with cancer, and a heroic football coach from Iowa was senselessly shot down in his school's weight room. I don't want to diminish the significance of the three "other" deaths that occurred this/last week, especially that of the football coach, but I don't have time nor the ability to write poignant tributes to a football coach or an actress or a sidekick I really never paid much attention to. All I know is the world is becoming a stupid, stupid place, and it's culminating in people shooting others dead.
Michael Jackson is dead. I debated putting my thoughts into the written form, but after diving in head first and reading gads of "he'll be missed," and "what a treasure," articles from various media sources (ranging from a novelty pop-culture site I frequent due to its up-to-date professional wrestling news--411mania.com--all the way to a pretentious, small liberal newspaper out of the "Greatest City on Earth"--The New York Times) I felt someone had to comment on the coverage of Michael's life rather than Michael himself.
First things first, let's all stop pretending we're going to miss Michael. Or at least let's have all the people who are saying, "OMG, he's gone forever!" stop pretending they are going to miss him. He was around for the last seventeen years and you didn't care. You don't care now either. Some people seem to be overcompensating for the guilt that comes with the death of a punchline by now focusing on the fact he was an unmatched performer.
It's similar to someone saying, "Wouldn't it be hilarious if that person on the bike over there crashed into that garbage can and flipped onto the table of people drinking coffee," only to have the person on the bike over there crash into the garbage can and flip onto the table of people drinking coffee. The joke was merely a diversion of the brain...it did not will the unskilled bicyclist into the accident. The person who thought the crash would be funny shouldn't feel guilty because the crash happened. He didn't cause it. He might feel guilty afterward for giggling when it did happen and it turned out the bicyclist broke his back or his brain or his femur and will never ride a bike again.
All the people who said under their breath, "That sick freak needs to go away," over and over again over the last seventeen years feel bad because now he's forever gone away. To cover that guilt they talk about all the good he's done for entertainment and finally add some brief reflection on his strange, sad life. At the end of each "tribute" you'll find some 'and oh yeahs.' And oh yeah, he was raised by an increasingly failed society. And oh yeah, his father beat him and forced him to be a celebrity at age seven. And oh yeah, some of the greatest psychologists in the world gave their professional opinions that his mind had regressed to that of a ten-year old. And oh yeah, we skipped that point when we vilified him for wanting to hang out with children of the same age. And oh yeah, he was arguably the last great entertainer we will ever see.
That's not to say Michael Jackson's death isn't interesting or that his life isn't fascinating. It very much is. My generation grew up on Michael Jackson. Then, we moved on and let him struggle and described every pedophile as Michael Jackson and giggled giggled because he had a song called Beat It. We reduced his talents to kitsch and nostalgia because a man so strange surely couldn't be so good. That did not compute in our mere human brains. We watched with cursory interest as Michael Jackson staged comeback after comeback and dangled babies out of windows and dressed in traditional female Muslim garb to buy lavish gifts his bank account could not afford and treated monkeys like people. We wanted it to all go away. As we grew up and realized the world really isn't all that great of a place we learned our childhood idols really aren't all that great of people. Regardless of whether or not he had deep-seated psychological problems, it's hard to invest in a grown man who has sleepovers with young boys. That's why my relationship with My Brother has been so strained lately (or as he's known around Ankeny--the King Queen of YMCA Junior High Lock-Ins).
As mentioned, Michael was alive for the last seventeen years. Over those seventeen years the same entertainment industry he helped mold, wrote him off. The "It" rap stars of the day would rather beat their "It" rap girlfriends prior to the Grammy's Michael was no longer invited to than be associated with that "child molester" and "freak." Then he died. Then Twitter (whose world-ending potential is a subject for another day) exploded with messages from celebrities being oh so sad. Did you see Lindsay Lohan was in shock? Oh no! Did you know that some guy from a Jimmy Fallon's house band loved himself some MJ? Did you know every performer who uses bass beats as his/her primary melodic device wouldn't be where he/she was if it weren't for Michael? It's easy to pretend and be sad while you're making a peanut butter sandwich and texting on your cell phone. The same people that could have easily used their fame to help their fame-seeking fallen idol via some sort of collaboration when he was alive, now lament his death.
I hate to say this, but I think John Mayer was the only celebrity who nailed how people felt when they heard the news. It wasn't as much we were going to miss Michael as much as we were going to miss "our childhood sitting around listening to Thriller on the record player" or something like that. This is the first (and maybe one of the only) musician death(s) that has (or will) resonate with my generation. I have several Michael Jackson related memories from growing up.
I remember the time when my family visited my Rich Uncle in Chicago, My Brother and I could each rent one movie to watch while the Adults went out for dinner. My Brother chose Robocop. I chose Michael Jackson's The Making of Thriller VHS. I had never seen it. It scared the absolute bejeezus out of me. Later that night when My Brother and I went to bed I could not sleep. I told him that while I wasn't scared of the zombies, because I knew I could take them if it came down to it, the werewolf freaked me out and could pose a problem.
I remember the time at my old babysitter's house where everyone in the neighborhood sat and watched MJ videos on MTV all day because at 4:00 PM they were going to debut his brand new video (the strangely animated but quite fun "Leave Me Alone"). I remember the time I did this again for the debut of "Black and White." I remember the time I did this again for "Remember the Time." I remember the time the girl across the street and I played MJ's "Bad" and Weird Al's "Fat" back to back to back to back to try and figure out which one came first. We were stupid. I remember the time the same girl across the street and I wished that "Man in the Mirror" was on Side A of the "Bad" album with the rest of the good songs. We then decided that he put it as the first song of Side B so it would be easy to rewind the tape to the beginning of the song because it was so good. I remember the time I watched a Simpsons episode and saw Michael Jackson and Bart Simpson write what is still the best birthday song ever written. I remember the time I tried to dance a spin move in my parent's living room wearing a button-up shiny red jacket. I would end the spin move by ripping open the jacket to reveal my bare belly, similar to Michael Jackson in his "Dirty Diana" concert video. I remember the time I got excited when Dangerous came out. I remember the time no one ever felt that way again.
Doubling back, will any musician make us feel this way again? There are a few lingering 80's era stars that are true legends--Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Madonna--but none of their candles burned as tall and bright as MJ's. Besides, they all seem poised to die normal deaths, old and anti-climactic. They won't die at age 50, suddenly practicing their asses off for one more chance at a comeback with only agents and background dancers they just met and don't know as their only company.
Call it a lost childhood if you will, but I think Michael represents something different we all lost along the way. He reminds us of times we didn't have mortgages or jobs or savings accounts, and we didn't have to read the newspaper or drink coffee or get the car fixed. Michael made a whole ton of mistakes between 1992 and his death, but so did we. Since our generation is incapable of reflection, we're using MJ's death as a lightning rod for our own "what ifs."
It's almost appropriate that the week he died Jon and Kate Gosselin, reality parents of eight children, filed for divorce. MJ grew up as a star in the seventies and the eighties then the media decided to change how news was reported/created and and they destroyed him in the nineties. They've used this model for every celebrity that has come along since. They tell us to like them for a short time, then they tell us why we shouldn't, and then they crush and pound and destroy the likeability of anyone famous. That's what they do. It took over twenty years for MJ to get crushed. It took Jon and Kate about three years.
I'm not here to say that Jon and Kate are anywhere near as relevant as Michael Jackson, but I do think there are eight more kids out there who are destined to be victims of the media circus, tabloids, and Go America's lust for dirt on people. I keep hearing that "Jon and Kate asked for it by being on TV." What the hell? Just because people agree to be on a television show (exploiting their kids or not), does not mean they deserve to have the media pressure their lives to ruin. Why does it have to be that way?
In my mind Michael Jackson owns the top five music videos ever created. Nothing else even comes close. We could have had seventeen more years of entertaining videos and impossibly hypnotic dance moves. We could have, but we don't. We didn't want it. We wanted to be more entertained by the tabloid coverage and the possible going-ons of his personal life. Why can't it be as simple as someone who is entertaining releases something entertaining and we are all entertained? Why does it have to be more? Why does it have to mean more?
It doesn't. But we'll probably continue to make it that way.
Michael Jackson is dead. I debated putting my thoughts into the written form, but after diving in head first and reading gads of "he'll be missed," and "what a treasure," articles from various media sources (ranging from a novelty pop-culture site I frequent due to its up-to-date professional wrestling news--411mania.com--all the way to a pretentious, small liberal newspaper out of the "Greatest City on Earth"--The New York Times) I felt someone had to comment on the coverage of Michael's life rather than Michael himself.
First things first, let's all stop pretending we're going to miss Michael. Or at least let's have all the people who are saying, "OMG, he's gone forever!" stop pretending they are going to miss him. He was around for the last seventeen years and you didn't care. You don't care now either. Some people seem to be overcompensating for the guilt that comes with the death of a punchline by now focusing on the fact he was an unmatched performer.
It's similar to someone saying, "Wouldn't it be hilarious if that person on the bike over there crashed into that garbage can and flipped onto the table of people drinking coffee," only to have the person on the bike over there crash into the garbage can and flip onto the table of people drinking coffee. The joke was merely a diversion of the brain...it did not will the unskilled bicyclist into the accident. The person who thought the crash would be funny shouldn't feel guilty because the crash happened. He didn't cause it. He might feel guilty afterward for giggling when it did happen and it turned out the bicyclist broke his back or his brain or his femur and will never ride a bike again.
All the people who said under their breath, "That sick freak needs to go away," over and over again over the last seventeen years feel bad because now he's forever gone away. To cover that guilt they talk about all the good he's done for entertainment and finally add some brief reflection on his strange, sad life. At the end of each "tribute" you'll find some 'and oh yeahs.' And oh yeah, he was raised by an increasingly failed society. And oh yeah, his father beat him and forced him to be a celebrity at age seven. And oh yeah, some of the greatest psychologists in the world gave their professional opinions that his mind had regressed to that of a ten-year old. And oh yeah, we skipped that point when we vilified him for wanting to hang out with children of the same age. And oh yeah, he was arguably the last great entertainer we will ever see.
That's not to say Michael Jackson's death isn't interesting or that his life isn't fascinating. It very much is. My generation grew up on Michael Jackson. Then, we moved on and let him struggle and described every pedophile as Michael Jackson and giggled giggled because he had a song called Beat It. We reduced his talents to kitsch and nostalgia because a man so strange surely couldn't be so good. That did not compute in our mere human brains. We watched with cursory interest as Michael Jackson staged comeback after comeback and dangled babies out of windows and dressed in traditional female Muslim garb to buy lavish gifts his bank account could not afford and treated monkeys like people. We wanted it to all go away. As we grew up and realized the world really isn't all that great of a place we learned our childhood idols really aren't all that great of people. Regardless of whether or not he had deep-seated psychological problems, it's hard to invest in a grown man who has sleepovers with young boys. That's why my relationship with My Brother has been so strained lately (or as he's known around Ankeny--the King Queen of YMCA Junior High Lock-Ins).
As mentioned, Michael was alive for the last seventeen years. Over those seventeen years the same entertainment industry he helped mold, wrote him off. The "It" rap stars of the day would rather beat their "It" rap girlfriends prior to the Grammy's Michael was no longer invited to than be associated with that "child molester" and "freak." Then he died. Then Twitter (whose world-ending potential is a subject for another day) exploded with messages from celebrities being oh so sad. Did you see Lindsay Lohan was in shock? Oh no! Did you know that some guy from a Jimmy Fallon's house band loved himself some MJ? Did you know every performer who uses bass beats as his/her primary melodic device wouldn't be where he/she was if it weren't for Michael? It's easy to pretend and be sad while you're making a peanut butter sandwich and texting on your cell phone. The same people that could have easily used their fame to help their fame-seeking fallen idol via some sort of collaboration when he was alive, now lament his death.
I hate to say this, but I think John Mayer was the only celebrity who nailed how people felt when they heard the news. It wasn't as much we were going to miss Michael as much as we were going to miss "our childhood sitting around listening to Thriller on the record player" or something like that. This is the first (and maybe one of the only) musician death(s) that has (or will) resonate with my generation. I have several Michael Jackson related memories from growing up.
I remember the time when my family visited my Rich Uncle in Chicago, My Brother and I could each rent one movie to watch while the Adults went out for dinner. My Brother chose Robocop. I chose Michael Jackson's The Making of Thriller VHS. I had never seen it. It scared the absolute bejeezus out of me. Later that night when My Brother and I went to bed I could not sleep. I told him that while I wasn't scared of the zombies, because I knew I could take them if it came down to it, the werewolf freaked me out and could pose a problem.
I remember the time at my old babysitter's house where everyone in the neighborhood sat and watched MJ videos on MTV all day because at 4:00 PM they were going to debut his brand new video (the strangely animated but quite fun "Leave Me Alone"). I remember the time I did this again for the debut of "Black and White." I remember the time I did this again for "Remember the Time." I remember the time the girl across the street and I played MJ's "Bad" and Weird Al's "Fat" back to back to back to back to try and figure out which one came first. We were stupid. I remember the time the same girl across the street and I wished that "Man in the Mirror" was on Side A of the "Bad" album with the rest of the good songs. We then decided that he put it as the first song of Side B so it would be easy to rewind the tape to the beginning of the song because it was so good. I remember the time I watched a Simpsons episode and saw Michael Jackson and Bart Simpson write what is still the best birthday song ever written. I remember the time I tried to dance a spin move in my parent's living room wearing a button-up shiny red jacket. I would end the spin move by ripping open the jacket to reveal my bare belly, similar to Michael Jackson in his "Dirty Diana" concert video. I remember the time I got excited when Dangerous came out. I remember the time no one ever felt that way again.
Doubling back, will any musician make us feel this way again? There are a few lingering 80's era stars that are true legends--Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Madonna--but none of their candles burned as tall and bright as MJ's. Besides, they all seem poised to die normal deaths, old and anti-climactic. They won't die at age 50, suddenly practicing their asses off for one more chance at a comeback with only agents and background dancers they just met and don't know as their only company.
Call it a lost childhood if you will, but I think Michael represents something different we all lost along the way. He reminds us of times we didn't have mortgages or jobs or savings accounts, and we didn't have to read the newspaper or drink coffee or get the car fixed. Michael made a whole ton of mistakes between 1992 and his death, but so did we. Since our generation is incapable of reflection, we're using MJ's death as a lightning rod for our own "what ifs."
It's almost appropriate that the week he died Jon and Kate Gosselin, reality parents of eight children, filed for divorce. MJ grew up as a star in the seventies and the eighties then the media decided to change how news was reported/created and and they destroyed him in the nineties. They've used this model for every celebrity that has come along since. They tell us to like them for a short time, then they tell us why we shouldn't, and then they crush and pound and destroy the likeability of anyone famous. That's what they do. It took over twenty years for MJ to get crushed. It took Jon and Kate about three years.
I'm not here to say that Jon and Kate are anywhere near as relevant as Michael Jackson, but I do think there are eight more kids out there who are destined to be victims of the media circus, tabloids, and Go America's lust for dirt on people. I keep hearing that "Jon and Kate asked for it by being on TV." What the hell? Just because people agree to be on a television show (exploiting their kids or not), does not mean they deserve to have the media pressure their lives to ruin. Why does it have to be that way?
In my mind Michael Jackson owns the top five music videos ever created. Nothing else even comes close. We could have had seventeen more years of entertaining videos and impossibly hypnotic dance moves. We could have, but we don't. We didn't want it. We wanted to be more entertained by the tabloid coverage and the possible going-ons of his personal life. Why can't it be as simple as someone who is entertaining releases something entertaining and we are all entertained? Why does it have to be more? Why does it have to mean more?
It doesn't. But we'll probably continue to make it that way.
6.07.2009
Is This Funny?
This week at work an announcement was sent out announcing the impending arrival of new hire, James Brown Jr. We get these announcements a few times a week. I usually read them and delete them. This one I handled a bit differently. I let it sit in my inbox for four whole days before ultimately forwarding it to my gmail account and deleting it from my work account forever.
Why did I hold onto it for so long? Because I debated if I should forward it on to several people and say, "Sure he's got a job, but does he have SOUL?" I found this amusing. I worried no one else would. So I ask you, if you received an email asking you if James Brown Jr had soul, would you find it funny? I would.
Why did I hold onto it for so long? Because I debated if I should forward it on to several people and say, "Sure he's got a job, but does he have SOUL?" I found this amusing. I worried no one else would. So I ask you, if you received an email asking you if James Brown Jr had soul, would you find it funny? I would.
5.28.2009
The Nightingale Flees
Previously on Shiny Forehead...
Jay took his wife to Galena on February 13th and 14th and 15th...On Friday, February 13th at 11:11 Jay hit 100,000 miles on his Nissan automobile causing all sorts of luck paradoxes that could have imploded the most logical of worlds...The world did not end but Jay got called for a job interview...He got the job...He and his wife bought a new house...During a farewell party Jay drank too much and put on pink flamingo glasses and gave a much better version of Abraham Lincoln's four score and seven years ago speech that I don't remember but luckily is forever captured on camera...Jay moved back in with his parents and started to eat a lot of meatball subs...Jay learned that supervising in a Union environment is really the exact same as supervising in a non-Union environment if you're not a power hungry asshole...Jay is not a power hungry asshole...Jay took a few days off to road trip to a Pennsylvania wedding where he learned his friend Dan will give money to homeless guys...He forever pissed off a stuck-up southern blond debutante by calling her out on her stuck-upedness...He drank more than most people probably thought possible in a four day period...He taught a black man how to hit on black woman because after all, Jay's a white, married guy from Iowa which screams MAN WITH GAME...He did not get killed by the black man and instead was deemed one cool motherfucker...He probably helped him get babies made with future unwed mothers...He gained a lot of weight again...Damn those meatball subs...
For the record, I had a theme I wanted to run through those flashbacks but I decided not to. It would have related to this season of Lost which I know two of my readers haven't watched yet. As to not have to precede statements with the oft-ignored *SPOILER* warning, I edited out my Lost themed rant. Which was great.
Hi! How's life treating everyone. Good? That's good. Life's so rad. Are you going to the party after the show? I am, but my friends don't want to go...can I have a ride?
Sorry. I had a brief distraction there. Here's some thoughts:
--Twitter is further proof the world will be ending soon. Also, I think the sun is getting closer to the Earth and the globe may be slowly stretching out a bit.
--I finally figured out how to properly describe the origins of Go America. I'm very excited about this.
--I'm almost done with a short story that might not be very good, but it's at least a story.
--The 'Loo is much cleaner than the QC. The QC is really dirty. However the QC has something like 800 Hungry Hobos and five gas stations that sell fountain Diet Caffeine Free Coke while the 'Loo has 0 of either.
--I think I'm done with baseball. The playoffs have become unwatchable, I only have the option to watch one game on Saturday afternoons AND IT IS 2009, their online service still has ridiculous blackout rules that prevents Iowa from accessing six teams, oh yeah, and all the players are unethical cheaters with God complexes.
--I want to punch Tyler Perry in the face. Not just for me. For everybody.
--You know how sometimes you haven't done something in a long time, and you're worried about doing something again in case you've forgotten how to do said something, so you just stop doing that thing entirely, then you realize you should just do it again it doesn't have to be good you should just get it out of the way so maybe you can start doing it again regularly? That's how I am with writing, sex, and eating meatball subs.
--I can no longer make fun of the uselessness of my job. In the past I made sure you got all the products you didn't need at a store that overcharged you but pretended not to. After that I bought packaging and was the definition of unnecessary overhead: useless salaried positions that aren't really needed much. Now I watch people make engines that eventually go into tractors and combines which help farmers farm corn and wheat which you eat for breakfast, lunch, and supper. Without me, you'd starve to death. I think this offsets the fact the engine my guys make is also used in the ships on "The Deadliest Catch," which sometimes causes you to waste hours in front of the TV watching addicting and thrilling marathons.
--Really everyone...go watch Lost's first five seasons before season six airs. I can only hold back so many rants.
--I have no interest in proofreading right now. If you find any mistakes, please let me know.
Jay took his wife to Galena on February 13th and 14th and 15th...On Friday, February 13th at 11:11 Jay hit 100,000 miles on his Nissan automobile causing all sorts of luck paradoxes that could have imploded the most logical of worlds...The world did not end but Jay got called for a job interview...He got the job...He and his wife bought a new house...During a farewell party Jay drank too much and put on pink flamingo glasses and gave a much better version of Abraham Lincoln's four score and seven years ago speech that I don't remember but luckily is forever captured on camera...Jay moved back in with his parents and started to eat a lot of meatball subs...Jay learned that supervising in a Union environment is really the exact same as supervising in a non-Union environment if you're not a power hungry asshole...Jay is not a power hungry asshole...Jay took a few days off to road trip to a Pennsylvania wedding where he learned his friend Dan will give money to homeless guys...He forever pissed off a stuck-up southern blond debutante by calling her out on her stuck-upedness...He drank more than most people probably thought possible in a four day period...He taught a black man how to hit on black woman because after all, Jay's a white, married guy from Iowa which screams MAN WITH GAME...He did not get killed by the black man and instead was deemed one cool motherfucker...He probably helped him get babies made with future unwed mothers...He gained a lot of weight again...Damn those meatball subs...
For the record, I had a theme I wanted to run through those flashbacks but I decided not to. It would have related to this season of Lost which I know two of my readers haven't watched yet. As to not have to precede statements with the oft-ignored *SPOILER* warning, I edited out my Lost themed rant. Which was great.
Hi! How's life treating everyone. Good? That's good. Life's so rad. Are you going to the party after the show? I am, but my friends don't want to go...can I have a ride?
Sorry. I had a brief distraction there. Here's some thoughts:
--Twitter is further proof the world will be ending soon. Also, I think the sun is getting closer to the Earth and the globe may be slowly stretching out a bit.
--I finally figured out how to properly describe the origins of Go America. I'm very excited about this.
--I'm almost done with a short story that might not be very good, but it's at least a story.
--The 'Loo is much cleaner than the QC. The QC is really dirty. However the QC has something like 800 Hungry Hobos and five gas stations that sell fountain Diet Caffeine Free Coke while the 'Loo has 0 of either.
--I think I'm done with baseball. The playoffs have become unwatchable, I only have the option to watch one game on Saturday afternoons AND IT IS 2009, their online service still has ridiculous blackout rules that prevents Iowa from accessing six teams, oh yeah, and all the players are unethical cheaters with God complexes.
--I want to punch Tyler Perry in the face. Not just for me. For everybody.
--You know how sometimes you haven't done something in a long time, and you're worried about doing something again in case you've forgotten how to do said something, so you just stop doing that thing entirely, then you realize you should just do it again it doesn't have to be good you should just get it out of the way so maybe you can start doing it again regularly? That's how I am with writing, sex, and eating meatball subs.
--I can no longer make fun of the uselessness of my job. In the past I made sure you got all the products you didn't need at a store that overcharged you but pretended not to. After that I bought packaging and was the definition of unnecessary overhead: useless salaried positions that aren't really needed much. Now I watch people make engines that eventually go into tractors and combines which help farmers farm corn and wheat which you eat for breakfast, lunch, and supper. Without me, you'd starve to death. I think this offsets the fact the engine my guys make is also used in the ships on "The Deadliest Catch," which sometimes causes you to waste hours in front of the TV watching addicting and thrilling marathons.
--Really everyone...go watch Lost's first five seasons before season six airs. I can only hold back so many rants.
--I have no interest in proofreading right now. If you find any mistakes, please let me know.
3.04.2009
Random Thoughts to Keep the Vandals Away
My blog was hacked. Let me give a behind the scenes version of the hacking: Last week while my wife and I talked about whether or not I should take a recently offered promotion, she got distracted by her computer box. This is not unusual. In fact, this happens almost every five minutes. Here's a typical conversation between the two of us:
"Hi Wifey!"
"Hi Wifey!"
"I'm going to the deli Wifey, to procure some bread."
"I'm home Wifey."
"Do you want to eat part of my delicious deli sandwich?"
"WIFEY!"
Then she says, "Oh hi. When did you get here? Are you eating a sandwich?"
The night we decided to accept the promotion, we also decided to eat dinner. In the middle of making the excruciatingly difficult decision of what restaurant we wanted to visit, she opened her computer and started taking her own picture. This took about twelve minutes. She told me she was doing it for very important reasons. She then smiled quite beautifully and obtained a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. I later learned of the hacking because I inexplicably check my own blog on a nightly basis to see if its updated itself. I sometimes hope the me of the future or me of the past, assuming the past is alterable and the past version of me was warned by a future version of me to warn the present version of me, updated my blog to tell me of some dire circumstance I have to spend the next thirty six hours trying to prevent. This has yet to happen. However I was surprised to see a very lovely forehead on my blog and then scroll down and see my wife's (bah bah ching!)
It did make me realize I'm long overdue for a blog update however. There's been quite a bit going on for a change and with that a lot of little stories, anectodes, and life lessons that I've failed to share with you all. In no particular order:
1) I love the iPod's Genius Playlist feature. It works like this: You let Apple to analyze your music library, do a full scan of every file on your computer, and then take said information and sell it to all sorts of their business partners. However, unlike the Patriot Act, this complete invasion of privacy is voluntary and yields results that aren't talked about with the, "Well it may seem like its not doing anything, but you haven't seen us attacked lately have you," BS disclaimer. Quoth the Homer: Lisa, I'd like to buy that rock! The iPod, after knowing everything about you, including those naughty little websites you like to go to, will become a Genius. Whenever you listen to a song, you can say iPod, Geniusize! It will grow three sizes bigger and create a playlist of 25 similar songs based on eras, genres, your own personal history, and of course, awesomeness. I enjoy this feature at work so much that I've actually stopped watching movies while working on spreadsheets.
1a) That said, just like real Geniuses, it's very fun to fuck with this feature. For instance I have Hulk Hogan's theme song on my computer. You'd know why if you went to my wedding. I decided to base a playlist off of this song. The iPod pulled in a song from a Celtic Anthology, the fifteenth song on the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, and the Flaming Moes song from a Simpsons Anthology I own. My iPod wouldn't even attempt to create a playlist off of Sifl and Olly's beloved "Pots and Pans." It looks like I've outsmarted another genius. Go me.
2) True story: Last Friday Kelsey and I had to drive to the county recorder's office, so that we could switch the deed of our house over to my name. This all has to do with the impending move back to Cedar Falls/Waterloo. Here's what we had to do: I had to pay $15 for a form. I had to fill out said form. Kelsey and I had to stand in line to have Woman A look over the form. Once Woman A approved the form she pointed us down the hall into a room with three more women. One of the women in that room (we'll call her Woman U) reviewed the form and said, "Yep. It looks like Woman A got it all." Woman U then stamped the form and said, "Go back to Woman A. She'll take care of you." We then went back to Woman A and stood in line again. When we handed her the form back she took notice of the stamp and said, "Good Woman U added what she needed to." She then filed the paper and the house was mine. I've actually watched satirical corporate comedies with less made-up bureaucracy than this version of reality.
2a) When we were leaving the recorder's office, I looked lovingly at my wife and said, "I can't believe you just wilingly signed the house over to me. You know this just means I'm going to kill you and take it all for myself."
3) I've been adding a lot of really horrible movies to my Netflix auto-play queue lately. I don't know why. All I know is when I added Dollman Vs. Demonic Toys it recommended Stupid Teenagers Must Die whose adding recommended The Class of Nuke 'Em High. I'm assuming you've all seen the movie, so you can imagine my embarrassment on Saturday morning when my father in law stopped by as I watched the scene shortly after the prudish girl inadvertently smokes the radioactive marijuana cigarette and immediately must do the bedroom hippity-hop with her boyfriend--the cool guy who was dating the prudish girl because he thought it might be real love. After the ridiculous sex scene (where I think we can all agree the prudish girl had too large of nipples to be interesting at all) the two teenagers part ways. They now love each other. Unfortunately both of them start to experience strange feelings in bed later that night. The boys face begins to shrink, looking like a skull, but on the plus side his penis grows to be approximately six feet in the air and is now constantly erect. Unfortunately for the girl, her face becomes demon-like and she becomes pregnant and her stomach swells and the small alien baby (born from radiation) starts to sneak out of her belly button. I stopped the movie, so I'm not sure how it ends, though probably it does so awesomely.
4) I recently got emails from two separate friends that are now stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan. That's scary. I hope they return home with all their limbs. Better yet, I hope any injury that causes permanent damage does so in a way that they could later milk for humor. "I'm one armed crazy Joe! Welcome to my Dollhouse."
4a) That begs the question: Is it better to have all your limbs or have no limbs but be hilarious?
4b) Keep in mind that having only one leg would prevent you from having to feel guilty for not running.
I had more, but I'll write again later. My wife just came into the living room and shook me awake. Thus I'm posting this blog with no proofreading, brushing my teeth, filling my big yellow cup with water, stripping down into my skivvies, and going to bed. Peace and love. Peace and love.
"Hi Wifey!"
"Hi Wifey!"
"I'm going to the deli Wifey, to procure some bread."
"I'm home Wifey."
"Do you want to eat part of my delicious deli sandwich?"
"WIFEY!"
Then she says, "Oh hi. When did you get here? Are you eating a sandwich?"
The night we decided to accept the promotion, we also decided to eat dinner. In the middle of making the excruciatingly difficult decision of what restaurant we wanted to visit, she opened her computer and started taking her own picture. This took about twelve minutes. She told me she was doing it for very important reasons. She then smiled quite beautifully and obtained a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. I later learned of the hacking because I inexplicably check my own blog on a nightly basis to see if its updated itself. I sometimes hope the me of the future or me of the past, assuming the past is alterable and the past version of me was warned by a future version of me to warn the present version of me, updated my blog to tell me of some dire circumstance I have to spend the next thirty six hours trying to prevent. This has yet to happen. However I was surprised to see a very lovely forehead on my blog and then scroll down and see my wife's (bah bah ching!)
It did make me realize I'm long overdue for a blog update however. There's been quite a bit going on for a change and with that a lot of little stories, anectodes, and life lessons that I've failed to share with you all. In no particular order:
1) I love the iPod's Genius Playlist feature. It works like this: You let Apple to analyze your music library, do a full scan of every file on your computer, and then take said information and sell it to all sorts of their business partners. However, unlike the Patriot Act, this complete invasion of privacy is voluntary and yields results that aren't talked about with the, "Well it may seem like its not doing anything, but you haven't seen us attacked lately have you," BS disclaimer. Quoth the Homer: Lisa, I'd like to buy that rock! The iPod, after knowing everything about you, including those naughty little websites you like to go to, will become a Genius. Whenever you listen to a song, you can say iPod, Geniusize! It will grow three sizes bigger and create a playlist of 25 similar songs based on eras, genres, your own personal history, and of course, awesomeness. I enjoy this feature at work so much that I've actually stopped watching movies while working on spreadsheets.
1a) That said, just like real Geniuses, it's very fun to fuck with this feature. For instance I have Hulk Hogan's theme song on my computer. You'd know why if you went to my wedding. I decided to base a playlist off of this song. The iPod pulled in a song from a Celtic Anthology, the fifteenth song on the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, and the Flaming Moes song from a Simpsons Anthology I own. My iPod wouldn't even attempt to create a playlist off of Sifl and Olly's beloved "Pots and Pans." It looks like I've outsmarted another genius. Go me.
2) True story: Last Friday Kelsey and I had to drive to the county recorder's office, so that we could switch the deed of our house over to my name. This all has to do with the impending move back to Cedar Falls/Waterloo. Here's what we had to do: I had to pay $15 for a form. I had to fill out said form. Kelsey and I had to stand in line to have Woman A look over the form. Once Woman A approved the form she pointed us down the hall into a room with three more women. One of the women in that room (we'll call her Woman U) reviewed the form and said, "Yep. It looks like Woman A got it all." Woman U then stamped the form and said, "Go back to Woman A. She'll take care of you." We then went back to Woman A and stood in line again. When we handed her the form back she took notice of the stamp and said, "Good Woman U added what she needed to." She then filed the paper and the house was mine. I've actually watched satirical corporate comedies with less made-up bureaucracy than this version of reality.
2a) When we were leaving the recorder's office, I looked lovingly at my wife and said, "I can't believe you just wilingly signed the house over to me. You know this just means I'm going to kill you and take it all for myself."
3) I've been adding a lot of really horrible movies to my Netflix auto-play queue lately. I don't know why. All I know is when I added Dollman Vs. Demonic Toys it recommended Stupid Teenagers Must Die whose adding recommended The Class of Nuke 'Em High. I'm assuming you've all seen the movie, so you can imagine my embarrassment on Saturday morning when my father in law stopped by as I watched the scene shortly after the prudish girl inadvertently smokes the radioactive marijuana cigarette and immediately must do the bedroom hippity-hop with her boyfriend--the cool guy who was dating the prudish girl because he thought it might be real love. After the ridiculous sex scene (where I think we can all agree the prudish girl had too large of nipples to be interesting at all) the two teenagers part ways. They now love each other. Unfortunately both of them start to experience strange feelings in bed later that night. The boys face begins to shrink, looking like a skull, but on the plus side his penis grows to be approximately six feet in the air and is now constantly erect. Unfortunately for the girl, her face becomes demon-like and she becomes pregnant and her stomach swells and the small alien baby (born from radiation) starts to sneak out of her belly button. I stopped the movie, so I'm not sure how it ends, though probably it does so awesomely.
4) I recently got emails from two separate friends that are now stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan. That's scary. I hope they return home with all their limbs. Better yet, I hope any injury that causes permanent damage does so in a way that they could later milk for humor. "I'm one armed crazy Joe! Welcome to my Dollhouse."
4a) That begs the question: Is it better to have all your limbs or have no limbs but be hilarious?
4b) Keep in mind that having only one leg would prevent you from having to feel guilty for not running.
I had more, but I'll write again later. My wife just came into the living room and shook me awake. Thus I'm posting this blog with no proofreading, brushing my teeth, filling my big yellow cup with water, stripping down into my skivvies, and going to bed. Peace and love. Peace and love.
2.26.2009
VANDALS
Jay hasn't posted on his blog in a while, and I got bored of checking it frequently for updates. Today I was bored enough that I decided if I tried a few of his common passwords, I could hack into his account and post something myself.
Try 1 - DENIED.
Try 2 - I'm in.
Now that I'm in, I realize I don't have much to say. Jay, on the other hand, has plenty to say. He rants and babbles about thousands of topics from boobs to baseball.
For example, he told me the other day his next blog will be about the screenplay I wrote. Did he write it? Nope. You all should really look forward to that one, by the way. It should win an Oscar.
Then why doesn't he blog anymore?? He chooses to waste his time mindlessly playing video games and watching movies.
Well that's all for now. If I write much more, I may destroy the credibility of this blog. By that, I mean you may think it's reasonable in length and appeals to a broad audience.
Thanks for listening, folks.
- Mystery Blogger
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