I wonder if it's just coincidence that the release of the Cat in the Hat comes at about the same time as Michael Jackson's arrest. The visual similarities are striking, although the Cat in the Hat, I think, is far cuter.
The REAL danger of masturbation is exposed for all the world to see right here.
Being that it's so close to Thanksgiving, I wince with a small little bit of a sardonic grimace when I read such headlines as "At least 27 killed in Turkey blasts."
Come on, people, learn how to prepare those birds correctly. They'll explode in your oven with little or no warning. Exercise caution.
UPDATE, KIND OF: Wow, I'm reading Lileks right now. He's steamed and, as usual, when James Lileks gets steamed, he's about the best thing on the Web. My choice for best paragraph, out of several candidates:
"It's going to take another attack to convince the fence-sitters:" I hear this all the time. I don't think that's the case. I think the next attack on American soil will jolt whose who've moved on, who've forgotten the aching, clammy dread we all felt after 9/11. But others will believe that we brought it on ourselves. You already read it around the web – the bombings in Turkey were a response to Britain's assistance for toppling Saddam; what did we expect? In other words: if we fight back, we get what we deserve. If we do not fight back, and we are attacked again, you can blame it on the crimes for which we have not yet sufficiently atoned. The only proper posture for the West is supine. Curl up and let them kick until they're spent. Give them Israel and New York and perhaps they'll go away.
He also takes on Salam Pax, and he does so with an uncharacteristic (for Lileks) "effenheimer." Really, though, I think Pax had it coming.
UPDATE, THE SEQUEL: On the other hand, there's this, which also makes a valid point.
I've been insulted. Many times in fact. I've been called swear words, I've been called practically every permutation of "stupid," and I've had more middle fingers extended in my direction than is probably healthy for most people.
Yes, I've been insulted a great many times. But, I always take the insults in stride, mostly because they don't bother me, but also because, somewhere in the back of mind, I'm pretty much aware that I probably deserve each and every insult hurled my way. I mean, I have to admit it: I can be a real jerk sometimes.
But, I think another reason insults don't tend to bother me is because I've heard every insult, every swear word, every name calling exercise, so many times repeatedly, they just don't have any affect on me any more. I think what the world is ripe for is a degrading insult that can apply to practically every situation and every person, yet still be innocuous and humorous enough that it doesn't really totally piss someone off.
And, last night, I came up with one. Well, I sort of came up with one.
Melissa, my girlfriend, is an interior design student, and she spends a lot of time on the computer drafting commercial and residential layouts and designs. Her latest assignment was to design a home for a handicapped individual, complete with wheelchair accessibility, while adhering to so many legal regulations she sometimes sounded like a lawyer.
Well, I'm a guy, which means I can't watch TV and listen to my girlfriend talk about stuff at the same time. So, last night, as Melissa was telling me about how hard it was to design her latest project, and I tried to catch snippets of the news, my listening skills were stressed to the max.
"This was a really tough house to design," said Melissa, I think. "It's hard to design a house for someone who is a blind duck in a wheelchair."
"Excuse me? A blind duck in a wheelchair? What?"
"Would you LISTEN for a change?!" said Melissa, rolling her eyes. "I said 'for someone who is blind, deaf, and in a wheelchair.'"
"Oh, well, THAT makes sense. For a second there, I was really feeling bad for that poor duck."
That's when it hit me; I had accidentally stumbled across the catch-all insult that had been eluding me all my life. Of course! The next time somebody does something collossally stupid, I'll be SO ready.
"Jeez," I'll say. "That was a really stupid thing to do. I'd expect behavior like that from a blind duck in a wheelchair, but not from you."
It's PERFECT. It can be tweaked to fit practically any situation, and it belittles while still sounding ridiculous and funny.
Somebody bumps into you by accident. . .
"Hey, watch it, buddy. What are you? A blind duck in a wheelchair?"
Telemarketers. . .
"Sorry. I don't feel like talking to a blind duck in a wheelchair right now, sorry."
So, I implore you, America! Get out there and start insulting people the way they were meant to be insulted.
What?
Are you scared?
You're just a bunch of blind ducks in wheelchairs.
Just so you know, I'll probably be thinking a lot about http://www.timboucher.com/journal/wp-content/uploads/2006/11/scarlett_johansson_allure.jpg. I'll be trying to imagine Scarlett Johansson . Because a Scarlett Johansson would be pretty awesome all around. Or Hayden Panettiere. Mmm, Hayden Panettiere. Hayden Panettiere. Hayden Panettiere. Hayden Panettiere.
At the risk of becoming one of those bloggers who just post links to humorous news items, here's another humorous news item. Just for the record, Kirin Beer is the best tasting beer. Now you know. *STAB!*
Archeologists, rejoice! The oldest known EUROPEAN toothbrush has been found!
Best paragraph: While the bristles have rotted away, the brush's 4 inch (10 centimeter) handle of animal bone is carved at the other end into a tiny spoon believed to be used for cleaning out the owner's ears.
Okay, like, ewwwwww. What every home needs, a combination toothbrush/Q-Tip. Be sure to remember which end is which.
Sarah Chalke. Sarah Chalke. Sarah Chalke. Made you look! Sarah Chalke.
Sorry, way-minded people, but my girlfriend's birthday is Dec. 3, and since I'm such a last-minute-shopper, even though I already know what I'm going to buy, I have to opt out of your little, you know. . . whatever-it-is.
I'll call it a failure, if you don't mind. I don't mind. I'm used to failure, er, at least at dating.
Dumbasses.
Ryan says: Now I'm jamming to Pure Moods.
Caroline says: You be jammin
Ryan says: Well, not jamming so much as chilling out.
Caroline says: I haven't jammed in a long time. I should start jamming again.
Ryan says: Jamming is becoming a lost art.
Caroline says: Yes, indeed it has.
Caroline says: The hokey-pokey is somewhat of a lost art as well.
Ryan says: If we could somehow jam to the hokey-pokey, we'd kill two birds.
Caroline says: Do you like Seal at all?
Ryan says: Not at all.
Caroline says: I didn't either until I heard his latest song.
Caroline says: I like it.
Ryan says: Except for clubbing baby seals. I like that.
Caroline says: You would.
Ryan says: I love the soft squeaking plea to their mothers as I bludgeon them.
Caroline says: You're a tad sick.
Nothing like a three day weekend to rejuvenate the soul and remind you just how much you hate Mondays. I took Friday off because I had to drive up to the Cities for work Thursday afternoon and I just plain didn't feel like driving all the way back Thursday night or Friday morning. That, and I'm a lazy guy.
The work-related crap on Thursday was a corporate get-together so the publication company I contract with for IBM could pat the appropriate backs of the worker bees who performed well over the year. I guess I don't have a problem with such ceremonies, but I just don't like taking part in them. It seems like wasted time to me. I would rather be out with people I want to be out with rather than being told to attend a back-patting exercise with people I never see and frankly could care less about.
I think I irritate some of the upper-management types with my "don't care" attitude, and truthfully that doesn't really bother me. One guy, Frank, in particular, is obviously nonplussed with my disdain for corporate game-playing and my refusal to play by the rules he enjoys adhering to.
You see, for me, my job is my job, it is not my life. While I'm at work, I do my work (and occasionally blog), but as soon as I exit the building at the end of the day, work is behind me. I just don't think about it any more. My work is not what defines me. It's what pays the bills. As I understand it, this is a very Generation Xer mentality. We do good work, us Gen Xers; just don't ask us to do too much or sacrifice our lives outside of work.
Frank doesn't know how to approach me beyond a hand shake and a "how ya doin." He hasn't known how to deal with me ever since I turned down a managing editor position earlier in the year. "But, that's the next step. This is a promotion. Doesn't everyone want to be promoted?" Nope. I want to write. I don't want to manage. Next question. So, Frank tried to force me into the position by going past me over to my publisher. My publisher, knowing me, told Frank I probably wouldn't go along, to which Frank said to make me go along, to which I said I'll quit, to which Frank huffed but ultimately fell silent on the issue. Therefore, when we do see each other, we don't have much to say, because he doesn't understand me, and I don't want to understand him.
Not surprisingly, I didn't win any awards Thursday night. Damn.
After the two hour back-patting ceremony, I was off to see Melissa. She's still swamped with enough school work to keep her busy till spring, if it weren't all due next week. She's stressed, to put it mildly. Her apartment is littered with interior design layouts, and pens, and markers, and freshly pulled out hair. Okay, no hair, but she is stressed out enough to do just that.
One of the main things that keeps her going is the knowledge she'll be going to Hawaii with me this Christmas. This came as a surprise to her, and to me as well. I knew I was going to Hawaii, but then my parents offered to pay for Melissa's ticket too. I didn't know what to think of that. I mean, I hope they're not expecting a wedding or anything in return. Mom assured me she wasn't expecting that. She just wanted me to have company to do things with while I'm in Hawaii. Ooookayyyyy.
When I extended the offer to Melissa, she was shocked, to put it mildly. She kept thinking I was kidding around with her, and it would have been a really good joke to play on her, I have to admit it. Now that the reality has sunk in, she's obsessing about doing something nice for my parents, which is understandable, but she's starting to become obsessive about it. I mean, chill out, girl; these are just my parents, they're not royalty. Granted, they just shelled out over a grand for airfare for you, but don't over think things. It's actually fun to watch her over-ponder this. It's like watching a neurosis develop from scratch.
UNRELATED CONTENT:
Regarding the on-going situation in Iraq: permit me to make a bit of a prediction here. No matter what exit strategy the U.S. implements, and no matter how stable we manage to leave that nation, the anti-war crowd will undoubtedly cry "retreat" and "failure" and "Vietnam." I say this because, prior to the war, the anti-war crowd claimed the U.S. didn't have any intention of staying with the rebuilding for the long haul. Once it became apparent that the U.S. did, indeed, have the gumption to stick it out despite casualties, the anti-war crowd cried "quagmire." So, now, the U.S. tries to expedite the transition of power and the anti-war crowd cries "abandonment." Crap on a cracker. And don't tell me for a second that this guy isn't a raving lunatic who, quite arguably, hates America.
UPDATE: Interesting.
ANOTHER UPDATE: Iraqi blogs just keep popping up all over. Granted, it's difficult to verify their authenticity and all that, but that can be said of about, oh, 75 percent of bloggers. Anyway, Omar has a few words for war protesters.
