VIDEO: Very Nervous Fat Kid

PROOF POSITIVE that when you search "fat kid" on YouTube, you will always find gold. I know this is old, but so is your mom, and she gets a lot of views, too.

In which the blogger follows up

An update on the MILF hostilities!! This lady is hot.

And we need to get some sex ed in Russia. Pulling out of Georgia will not necessarily prevent her from getting pregnant.

In which the blogger is wondering why he didn't just adopt one of those Chinese girls who couldn't be in the Olympics

Evidently, "She Bangs!" dudes. Just like he does. Now Clay Aiken's little spawn can have two little playmates!

This article should be titled Queen, Please or See? Butt Babies DO Grow When You Shoot Them Up A Vagina!

Ricky Martin a father of twin boys, publicist says
22 hours ago

NEW YORK (AP) — There won't be much "livin' la vida loca" for Ricky Martin these days — he's now the father of twin boys. The Latin superstar had the children via a surrogate mother, and the babies were born a few weeks ago, according to a statement from his representatives.

"The children, delivered via gestational surrogacy, are healthy and already under Ricky's full-time care," said the statement. "Ricky is elated to begin this new chapter in his life as a parent and will be spending the remainder of the year out of the public spotlight in order to spend time with his children."

A representative said there was no further information on the details of the children's birth.

Martin, 36, is a multiplatinum singer who is best known for English-language hits like "She Bangs!" and "Livin' la Vida Loca." In recent years, the Puerto Rican star has been active in charitable efforts, including the prevention of sexual exploitation of children.

In which the blogger used to think his cat was cool, and now just feels terribly disappointed in her

Look! It's not just the people in the suburbs that have strange appearances! Though that popped-collar thing needs to end. This, my friends, is why I feed my cat only organic kibble and Bombay Sapphire gin (it's made with filtered water). She beats me when she's angry, but it's only cause I do bad things.

They say cats have nine lives, but this one has four ears.

A genetic abnormality gave Yoda, of Downers Grove, Ill., four ear flaps instead of two.

Yoda the Cat Astounds With Four Ears

Ted and Valerie Rock first spied the little guy in 2006 at neighborhood bar on the South Side of Chicago before a Bears game. He was the last of a litter of eight put up for adoption by the bar's owner.

"The people in the bar, because it was coming up on Halloween, were thinking it was a devil cat or had evil powers or something," Ted Rock told FOXNews.com.

But the Rocks, who had lost their cat of 20 years just 6 months prior, saw something special in the gray kitten and decided to take him home.

Their "Star Wars"-loving son thought to name the cat after the tiny Jedi master.

"I had named him Barfly," Rock said. "But we kind of liked Yoda better, and Barfly lasted only about a day."

The abnormality can cause hearing impairments, though Rock said several veterinarians have given Yoda a clean bill of health.

In which the blogger wonders why hot women in the Phillipines are so mad about being hot

"Good morning, General. Today, MILF were sighted in south Philippines. Reports coming from the AFP state that there's a village of MILF; an army even. There is no indication that they are on the move, but we're sure the MILF are probing the area for hard targets."

In which the blogger makes a quick post of the news before he orders holy water and silver bullets

This baby is evil. His conception, his father, the auspicious date and time of his birth, the fact that God let Clay Aiken breed in the first place...

...all signs point to Antichrist.

Clay Aiken is a Father

Tribune wire reports
2:17 PM CDT, August 8, 2008
Former "American Idol" runner-up Clay Aiken is a father.

The 29-year-old crooner from Raleigh announced the birth of Parker Foster Aiken on his Web site's blog Friday. "No hyphens. One first name," he wrote. "One middle name. One last name." Aiken's mother, Faye, told Raleigh TV station WRAL the child was born in North Carolina.

Aiken was a favorite of fans during the second season of "American Idol," where he finished second to Ruben Studdard. His album "Measure of a Man" went double platinum in 2003, and he made his Broadway debut this spring in "Monty Python's Spamalot."

The baby's mother is Jaymes Foster, Aiken's friend and record producer whom he met while performing on "American Idol." Their son was born at 8:08 a.m. Friday, and weighed 6 pounds 2 ounces and was 19 inches long, according to the statement on the Web site.

"The little man is healthy, happy, and as loud as his daddy," Aiken wrote. "Mama Jaymes is doing quite well also."

VIDEO: Devil Sheep

In which the blogger wonders if some, um...shit...is fake

Toilet rained giant hailstones to fill building
An Austrian man is demanding substantial damages after he was blasted off the toilet when hundreds of thousands of hail stones exploded out of it.

Martin Bierbauer said: "I heard the pipes rumbling a bit, and suddenly hailstones the size of golf balls started exploding out of the toilet like it was a popcorn machine.

"There was an avalanche of ice that quickly filled the toilet, then the entire flat, and eventually the entire building."

"I ran down the stairs with the hailstones following me, and other residents did the same."

Another resident, Silvia Streit, said: "I grabbed a board and put it over the toilet, but the pressure was so great, I ended up sitting on the board as the hail flowed through the flat and down the stairs."

Freak weather has led to temperatures of over 35 degrees centigrade in Austria which a few days later plunge to near zero as freak hail storms batter the country.

The incident at the block of flats in Eisenstadt, the capital of the province of Burgenland, was caused by hailstones flooding into a local drain during a torrential downpour, which became blocked.

Local council spokesman Wolfgang Leinner said: "The pressure was too great, the hailstones had to go somewhere and they came out through the toilets it seems."

In which the blogger feels calm, which is a nice feeling he wishes to hold onto

'A harbor, of course, is a place of refuge, a port of entry. I pictured the harbor of my mind – a little beat-up, perhaps, a little storm-worn, but well-situated and with a nice depth. The harbor of my mind is an open bay, the only access to the island of my Self (which is a young and volcanic island, but fertile and promising). This island has been through some wars, it is true, but it is now committed to peace, under a new leader (me) who has instituted new policies to protect the place. And now – let the word go out across the seven seas – there are much, much stricter laws on the books about who may enter this harbor.

You may not come here anymore with your hard and abusive thoughts, with your plague ships of thoughts, with your slave ships of thoughts, with your warships of thoughts – all these will be turned away. Likewise, any thoughts that are filled with angry or starving exiles, with malcontents and pamphleteers, mutineers and violent assassins, desperate prostitutes, pimps and seditious stowaways – you may not come here anymore, either. Cannibalistic thoughts, for obvious reasons, will no longer be received. Even missionaries will be screened carefully, for sincerity. This is a peaceful harbor, the entryway to a fine and proud island that is only now beginning to cultivate tranquility. If you can abide by these new laws, my dear thoughts, then you are welcome in my mind – otherwise, I shall turn you all back toward the sea from whence you came.

That is my mission, and it will never end.'

In which the blogger philosophizes with the shiny, sparkly Countess

Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Using increasingly alcoholic brownies to get what I want isn’t bad, is it?
Felix J. Bedingfield: Mmm…is it working?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: I think. I seemed to be losing ground, so I way upped the alcohol…suddenly I get midday texts and am told “Best brownies yet!”.
Felix J. Bedingfield: So the ends justify the means.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: So it would only be bad…if it wasn’t working?
Felix J. Bedingfield: Eh, sometimes you have to get creative. Also, do you really want what it is you think you want?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Given my attention span, how long do I want anything? But in this case, yeah, I think I really do, for once.
Felix J. Bedingfield: Then go for it! Lure him into your liquor-soaked candy house!!
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Yes, but that would cause a conflict of interests, because I also want to keep him.
Felix J. Bedingfield: Oh, whatever. I’m kicking around the idea of dosing Alan with yohimbe so I can freakin' get some, and I plan on keeping him.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Okay then. Though, him causing me to almost develop morals is a tad bothersome.
Felix J. Bedingfield: You realize we have a history of justifying questionable behavior for one another…right?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Yes. That’s why I came to you.

In which the blogger wonders what he's going to wear

Look whose makeup I'm doing for her concert at The Underground tonight...!

Details and photos to follow, you jealous whores.

In which the blogger wishes that chemistry class could really have been this sugary sweet

In which the blogger explores medical phenomena with the illustrious Countess

Felix J. Bedingfield: Do you think my health issues might be caused by my acid blood?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Acid blood?
Felix J. Bedingfield: Yeah. Everyone knows you can tell a gay by his acid blood.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Oh, I see. I was hoping it was something useful, like spitting acid.
Felix J. Bedingfield: Kind of. It’s useful for destroying the hearts of stupid boys.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Heartburn is in your stomach, so if you would just stop eating the hearts of your enemies, you might feel better.
Felix J. Bedingfield: True, but then how would I absorb their powers?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: That is a small problem.

In which the blogger hopes his whiffle ball never, ever goes over that fence

"You damn kids get off my lawn!!"

In which the blogger feels like he should now appreciate life more, but he wonders, "Whose life...?"

My blood is clean. Urine, too. Sugar is a little high, but that’s what I get for drinking pop with breakfast. Chest X-Rays (front, back, side, side) show that contrary to recent popular belief, yes, I DO have a heart. Lungs, too, a liver, and a bunch of other lumpy organs. The EKG even shows that my heart beats, albeit with an irregular pacing. I like to think of it as syncopated, like a Gloria Estefan song. CAT scan shows that though I feel like lately I’ve not been using it, the brain’s still present and accounted for. I asked if they could us that big machine to zap out the parts that make me crazy/bad boyfriend/ADD/anxious. They said no, so I just laid there and got scanned.

Diagnosis? Left arm paresthesias, accompanied by vertigo. Translation: tingly, numb arm with an unknown cause. It might be a pinched nerve stemming from a wild Friday night out (three words: Hula Hoop Contest). Could be a product of my (evidently) high blood pressure, which is (obviously) a product of my high stress level, which is (undoubtedly) a product of my anxiety, which is (primarily) aggravated by my life. It might be degenerative nerve disorder. There’s a chance it’s the same nerve inflammation my mom experiences. My arm could be slowly mutating into a super-extremity, so I’ll soon live my dream of fighting crime with a quirky sense of good and evil.

And it could be a “small aneurism or stroke”.

I was sitting at my desk Saturday, when my vision clouded twice in rapid succession, and someone grabbed the top of my head, jerking it quickly forward, to the right, back, and then tossed it forward. Well, that’s what it felt like. My hot ER doctor told me it was vertigo, and it was pretty common. Not common for me, I thought.

I passed all the cute neuro-tests he put me through.

Hot ER Doctor: Grip my fingers.
Me: But I just met you. *grip*
HERD: Lift your right leg, then your left.
Me: Should we be doing this in the hall?
HERD: Move your tongue both ways
Me: Only if you do the same. There’s not much room to maneuver in there.

Since CAT scans are rarely enough to make a diagnosis, I’m going back for an MRI so the crazy weird Asian CAT scan guy can look for “bleeding, clots, or signs of trauma”. I asked if he meant emotional trauma and its tendency to become lodged in the folds of my ever-expanding consciousness. He said no.

I’m freaked, but I’m dealing. I’m alive, and the same things that piss me off on any other day are still pissing me off today. That’s why I’ve been instructed to find ways to stop letting things piss me off.

And I said they needed to find ways to remove those parts of my brain I mentioned.

In which the blogger wonders what the hell is goin' on in Salt Lake City

Mia Michaels was wrong. Screw dancing.THIS is the Mormon thing: No sex, drugs, drinking. So turning guns on innocent douchebags who screw around in traffic becomes a great outlet."

In any case, this guy is obviously a [expletive] nutjob. Who doesn't [expletive] like dijon [expletive] mustard...?

---------------------------------------

'Grey Poupon' Antic Leads to Pointed Gun
Mimicking a humorous 1990s commercial, three in car get an unexpected response from a fellow driver
The Salt Lake Tribune

A Sandy man took offense to a motorist, who, after getting him to roll down his window, asked, "Excuse me, sir, do you have any Grey Poupon?" After hearing the request for Dijon mustard, the 22-year-old driver pulled a black handgun from his glove compartment, cocked the weapon and pointed it at the three people in the other car.

"Here's your Grey Poupon, roll your [expletive] windows up," he responded.

The confrontation happened June 18 at the intersection of 900 East and Winchester Street (6500 South) in Murray, court documents state.

One of the three people in the car wrote down the sport utility vehicle's license plate number. Murray police later located the man, who admitted he pulled out the gun, racked the slide and threaten the other car.

He was charged Tuesday with aggravated assault, a third-degree felony.

Food Thoughts: Vol. 2, Triple Sec Spiked French Toast with a Mixed Berry Compote

Here's Alan with another meal that was TOTALLY worth it. I've never been a huge French toast person, probably because the mushy mess I was fed as a child doesn't really count as "toast" so much as, well..."mush". Let's leave my mother out of this.

------------------------------------------

The French have had their high and lows in this county. Sure, we all love to mock them for their inability to win a war, berets, and outrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrragious accents… But let’s get real people. These folks know how to cook… And, aside from the fry, one of the greatest American treatments of a French classic (Ok, probably the Roman per Wiki but who’s counting) is toast. Today we’ll specifically be speaking of Triple Sec Spiked French Toast with a Mixed Berry Compote.

Let’s get started with an opening shot of the goodness:


It’s all good. I mean, there are TWO kinds of booze here peeps. How could you not like that?

The first step is to make the berry sauce...or compote if you happen to be snobby. Which I am. So on with the COMPOTE! This is pretty simple really… Just boil together some OJ, rum and sugar.


While that’s heating away, in a small bowl mix together some equal parts corn starch and water. Now, my grandma called this little concoction a slurry…and I seem to recall Alton or Emeril or some other food personality saying it once…so for the purpose of this blog (and possible even in real life), that it’s official name.


Anyway, once the sweet OJ-rum comes to a boil toss in said slurry and give everything a stir. Here’s an important point for the not so chef-y among us. DON’T turn the heat down yet. Cornstarch only works when it’s boiling…so resist! You won’t burn anything! Plus, it’s pretty cool watching it go from boring orange-water to delicious sauce in seconds. Or maybe it’s the kind of thing only I get excited about.


In any case, once the sauce has thickened up, toss in your berries. I used frozen ‘cause I’m cheap. But if your last name’s “Trump” then go ahead a blow your kid’s inheritance on a couple cups of the fresh stuff. At this point, the sauce is more or less done. Just take it off the heat and cover until your ready to plate up your final brunchy goodness.

Next we need to get down to business with the actual toast. First, chop up the Chollah! Bread. (This must have been named in the Jewish ghetto right?!) This is a wonderful eggy bread that sops up any most anything. Just like those shammys from the 2 AM infomercials…but more delicious. You should have about 8 slices when all’s said and done.

Wait, did I just do a whole step with no booze. Let’s fix that: next we create the egg wash for the toast. (I guess this is the “French” part…) Beat together the eggs and Triple Sec. Not a TON, but you want to know it’s in there. (You’ll see why I point this out in the recap…) After that, you’ll pour in some of the other French toast standards: eggs, milk, OJ, vanilla extract, nutmeg, salt… Whisk thoroughly.

I should note, aspiring chefs, that you can tweak this to fit your taste. Wanna try almond extract? Go nuts! How’s about skipping the OJ and some fresh lemonade? Could be good. Long story short, if the list of ingredients sounds good to you, then it’ll more than likely taste good at the end. And if it does…well kids, that’s what we call learning!

Now there are diverging theories on how long you should let bread soak in this egg mix. Some say it can hang out in there for a while. Me, myself, I’m a quick dipper. A couple 5-10 seconds on each side is OK with me. This helps give me flavorful toast without it becoming all soggy and sick. But again, personal opinion.


Once you have your toasts all good and French-ed it’s a simple matter of frying. For this recipe, I melted some butter in the pan over medium heat and fried the delicious slabs for about 5 minutes a side.




So, the end results were good. Not great sadly, but very acceptable. We all agreed that there probably should have been more triple sec or OJ. I didn’t get enough orange flavor to differentiate it from the “normal” French toast I order at our local greasy spoon. However, I thought the berry compote was excellent. And it was even better with ice cream the next day!

VIDEO: Kitty Boxing

Your Moment of Zen.

COCKTAIL: Pineapple Sangria

On a random, rainy Friday afternoon, Alan and I were perusing the cookbooks for dinner ideas, so I surfed (does anyone say "surfed" anymore...?) over to Epicurious.com to poke around for culinary inspiration. Shining like a brilliant topaz among recipes for Lamb Skewers with Hot Mint and Pistachio Sauce and Asian Avocado Salad was this simple recipe. We cut the mint (it's used as a garnish, not for flavor) and used a 2007 Dancing Bull sauvignon blanc.

Hindsight being 20/20, I would have cut the pineapple soda and used ginger ale. It was a bit cloying in its sweetness. Also, next time I'd like to try prosecco in place of the white wine to give it some sparkle and a different profile.

Oh, and careful with this stuff. It works quick.

Whatcha Need:

3 cups pineapple juice
1 bottle dry white wine, such as Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc
1 cup brandy
1 ripe pineapple, cut into 1-inch chunks
1 cup pineapple soda
1 bunch fresh mint, roughly chopped
1 orange, supremed

Whatcha Do:

In a pitcher, combine the pineapple juice, wine, brandy, pineapple chunks, orange slices, and soda and stir. Pour over ice into large wineglasses and garnish with the mint.

In which the blogger just can't wait any longer, dammit

My butt has been puckering in anticipation of The Dark Knight for weeks. What can I say? The dark anti-hero thing turns me on. Let the following be a precursory nod to what is sure to be my very first film-induced orgasm.

In which the blogger just doesn't really know what to say about Bessy's fart backpack

Cow Farts Collected in Plastic Tank for Global Warming Study
By Rupert Neate
Last Updated: 9:55PM BST 09/07/2008

Scientists are examining cow farts and burps in a novel bid to combat global warming.

Experts said the slow digestive system of cows makes them a key producer of methane, a potent greenhouse gas that gets far less public attention than carbon dioxide.

In a bid to understand the impact of the wind produced by cows on global warming, scientists collected gas from their stomachs in plastic tanks attached to their backs.

The Argentine researchers discovered methane from cows accounts for more than 30 per cent of the country's total greenhouse emissions.

As one of the world's biggest beef producers, Argentina has more than 55 million cows grazing in its famed Pampas grasslands.

Guillermo Berra, a researcher at the National Institute of Agricultural Technology, said every cow produces between 8000 to 1,000 litres of emissions every day.

Methane, which is also released from landfills, coal mines and leaking gas pipes, is 23 times more effective at trapping heat in the atmosphere than carbon dioxide.

Scientists are now carrying out trials of new diets designed to improve cows's digestion and hopefully reduce global warming. Silvia Valtorta, of the National Council of Scientific and Technical Investigations, said that by feeding cows clover and alfalfa instead of grain "you can reduce methane emissions by 25 percent".

In which the blogger shakes his beautiful, perfectly-shaped head in disbelief

No ma'am. No.

"One somewhat-sunny day, after suffering a grueling day of hat hair, Lauren literally pulled her baseball-style cap apart. She wondered if a cap with a hole in front might solve her problems, and began some serious and not-so-serious research into cap design. After multiple trips to fabric and craft stores, and a sack filled with experiments gone wrong, something interesting happened.

To her surprise, she had created a cap that was curiously comfortable. It was flattering. It was a solution to hat hair. And to top it off, the visor could be detached from the cap, so the wearer could choose from two different looks.

And now, after dealing with the usual headaches that plague new business, Bang-go® caps are headed to the marketplace.

"It might seam like a gimmick. It's 'cute', and it does keep hair out of your eyes," Lauren says, "but once you try it on, you'll know it's really all about comfort."

No.


.......................NO.

VIDEO: Cookie Monster F-Bomb

For Senor Roberto Helfen. Happy Birthday!

In which the blogger gets personal on your ass about someone getting personal on his

Never, ever....EVER...underestimate the value of a quick, secret, and hot booty call from your boyfriend. The recouperative powers of such an encounter boggle the mind.

And it makes me feel naughty, which is very rarely a bad thing.

In which the blogger yawns, stretches, and slits his wrists

So far this morning, I've woken up at 7 am with cotton mouth and a searing hangover; had a panic attack; ordered a java chip Frappucino and received a watery disgusting mess; had an hour-long fight with my boyfriend while driving a friends car (that I'm not insured on) in spite of the fact that I don't even possess a valid driver's license; fought with Sunday morning Lakeview traffic to secure a parking space near my building; spilled tuna water all over my kitchen counter.

So far this morning, my cat has woken up in the blazing Chicago morning sun; received a neck massage; eaten six salmon treats; chased a Coke bottle cap across the room a few times; taken a nap; gotten tangled in a cable wire; gotten brushed twice; received three more treats; eaten half a can of tuna.

That cat has my fucking life.

In which the blogger reminds that evil is relative, and is always a good time

"I'd been waiting for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.

Ever since vampires came out of the coffin (as they laughingly put it) four years ago, I'd hoped one would come to Bon Temps. We had all the other minorities in our little town -- why not the newest, the legally recognized undead? But rural northern Louisiana wasn't too tempting to vampires apparently; on the other hand, New Orleans was a real center for them -- the whole Anne Rice thing, right?

It's not that long a drive from Bon Temps to New Orleans, and everyone who came into the bar said if you threw a rock on a street corner you'd hit one. Though you'd better not.

But I was waiting for my own vampire."

I can't express how excited I am for the new HBO series Tru Blood. It's based on one of my favorite book series, Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mystery novels.

The recent invention by the Yakanomo Corporation of Japan of a synthetic blood substitute has brought about the Great Revelation, a night when vampires across the globe pirated the airwaves to officially announce their existence to the planet's population. The books, set in and around Bon Temps ("Good Times"), Louisiana, follow the adventures and exploits of Sookie Stackhouse, a small-town barmaid blessed/cursed with the natural gift of telepathy. Sookie has it rough as the most beautiful girl in her small town who everyone thinks is crazy because of her "disability". She's a virgin, if for no other reason than she finds it impossible to have a relationship when she can hear every thought that passes through her date's head.

The first book Dead Until Dark opens with Sookie expressing how badly she wants to meet a vampire. She gets her wish when Bill Compton, a Civil War soldier and Bon Temps' resident bloodsucker, sits in her section at Merlotte's Bar. Sookie quickly realizes she can't hear Bill's thoughts the way she can with others, and the two fall in quickly together.

Harris uses the convention of vampires "coming out" in the modern world, as well as setting her work in small town rural Louisiana to loosely explore themes of racism, homophobia, sexism, betrayal, sex, and the American class system. They make the reader think while being playful, fun, and fast-paced, all written in Sookie's first-person colloquial Louisiana accent.

The advertising for the show has been really impressive, if a little tongue-in-cheek. Really. Check these out. And, if any of you in Chicago has a TiVo and access to HBO, we might be able to work out a deal.

VIDEO: Reach! A Lecture Musical

This is epic.



(I think it was supposed to be "Teach! A Lecture Musical", but, you know...typo.)

VIDEO: Ethel Mermon's, "There's No Business Like Show Business"

Irving Berlin knew what he was talking about. You can be anyone you want to be, or anyone someone else wants you to be, too. All it takes is a costume, a shift in your pitch, and a willing suspension of disbelief.

I've been ruminating on the concept of identity. Does it belong to us, or is there something in the idea that reality is in the eye of the beholder; that once I close my eyes, everything ceases to exist? "I am whatever you say I am..."?

As humans, it's rather necessary for us to require an "us" and a "them" in order to properly organize the world in which we live. I've can personally apply this line of thought to a few parameters: friends and foes; gay and straight; parents and children; boss and employee, et cetera. In all these relationships, identity inevitably becomes a kind of currency, able to be traded to gain certain priveleges or services. Our boss thinks we're one person, which becomes her reality concerning your place in the organizing of her life. Yet, when we're not in the office, that identity ceases to be, and another identity takes its place with our family/friends/enemies. We're someone different when we're with our partner than who we are with friends.

So which identity is true? Is it that fluid? Does this particular coin of trade really belong to us, or is it another tool with which others manipulate and shape the world around us to suit their particular wants and needs? Or is the currency of identity used to buy and sell on behalf of those others ("I'm ________ because ________ is what I think/perceive you want/need me to be.")

Who gets to decide who I am?

Are we doing people favors (good!)? Are we lying to them (bad!)? Is it all really as Berlin said...a show? As long as the audience loves you, you're a star.

There's no people like show people
They smile when they are low
Even with a turkey that you know will fold
You may be stranded out in the cold
Still you wouldn't trade it for a sack o' gold
Let's go on with the show
Let's go on with the show!
The show!
The show!

In which the blogger continues to believe that all the routes to easy cash have been taken

Ever see something...
...and wish to whatever God that ignores you that you had thought of it first? This doesn't just happen with the jokes on Will and Grace to me.

In which the blogger is desperately seeking a subsitute for this summertime treat

I ate a Bomb Pop today. At some point during the consumption, I realized: I have officially lost my gag reflex. I had suspected this was the case, since I've eaten so, so many popsicles. I knew all those hours weren't put in for nothing.

In which the blogger dreams of how sparkly he'll be in the afterlife

I'm having trouble deciding if this concept is incredibly beautiful or sphincter-puckeringly creepy. Either way, it's legitimate.

Coffins Are Out, Diamonds Are...Forever

AFP News Briefs List
by Patrick Baert

At the end of their days, most people end up six feet under or up in flames, others get frozen or mummified.

But some lucky ones are spending eternity as sparkling diamonds, thanks to a peculiar chemical transformation.

For a fee, a company called Algordanza in the eastern Swiss canton of Graubuenden offers a service to turn ashes into precious stones.

Every month, it gets 40 to 50 commissions -- some as far away as Japan.

One came from secretary Lilly Hess-Sollberger, who saw an article about the service and made her daughter Michele Galmarini-Hess promise to call Algordanza when she passed away.

She died three years ago at 82 and her ashes are now a half-carat blue diamond pendant that adorns her daughter's neck.

"I wear it day and night, even when I go to bed. For me she's alive, and it does me good," said Galmarini-Hess who lives in Montreux.

When asked about the diamond, she said some have shuddered but most people find it a "great" idea.

"You can't imagine how many of them ask if they can kiss the stone," she said.

Rinaldo Willy, 28, one of two co-founders of Algordanza, said the commissions come from "all kinds of people -- they could be bus drivers or professors in philosophy."

At the firm's laboratory, about 15 machines run non-stop alongside employees wearing plastic protective glasses who work behind a yellow and black line that visitors are not allowed to cross -- out of respect for the dead.

"Five hundred grams (one pound) of ashes is enough to make a diamond while a human body leaves behind on average 2.5 to three kilograms of ashes," said Willy.

Potassium and calcium, which makes up some 85 percent of the ashes, are first separated from the carbon.

The carbon is then subject to extremely high pressure and heat --1,700 degrees C, a process which compresses it into graphite, a carbon allotrope or a structurally different form of carbon.

More pressure and heat are applied to the graphite to turn it into diamonds -- the hardest allotrope of carbon.

The entire process takes six to eight weeks, hardly a fraction of the time it takes for the formation of natural diamonds which take thousands of years.

When the process is complete, the crude diamond still requires polishing and cutting. Many are cut into heart-shaped stones which can be worn as a pendant or mounted on a ring.

"Each diamond is unique -- the colour varies from dark blue to almost white," said Willy. "It's a reflection of the personality."

-- The industry of 'human diamonds' is booming --

Willy acknowledges that it is impossible to prove that each diamond is indeed made from a particular person's ashes. "DNA burns," he explained.

But the "chemical imprint" of the ashes, determined at its arrival to the laboratory, allows for documentation to be made and for the finished product to be traced, he said.

The whole process costs between 4,500 and 17,000 Swiss francs (2,800 to 10,600 euros or 4,400 to 16,700 dollars), depending on the weight of the resulting stone (from 0.25 to one carat), and does not include the setting of the stone.

Algordanza, which means 'remembrance' in Romansch, one of the four official languages in Switzerland, defends this as a reasonable price.

"A burial could be very expensive: it costs 12,000 euros in Germany," said Willy, who would not divulge his company's revenues.

Not all agree with the process. Undertaker Yannick Abel-Coindoz, who works for the Murith funeral home in Geneva, said he has never received a request to transform ashes into a "life gem", as some call the stones, and has no plans to offer the service.

"It's not in line with our ethics of burial and remembrance," he said. "To wear your loved one as a ring and carry it with you everywhere prevents you from distancing yourself and thereby recovering from the loss."

Yet the industry of 'human diamonds' is booming, with similar companies in Russia, Spain, Ukraine and the United States.

Founded in 2004, Algordanza has already expanded to 20 countries, including six outside Europe, and employs about 100 people in all.

Willy said it is particularly popular in Japan, which sends between two to four urns daily, and the firm is setting its sights on China and India.

For Willy, a mobile world is fueling demand for such services. As people move farther from home, grave upkeep becomes difficult. And though cremation is increasingly popular -- and the norm in some countries -- special permission is generally needed to transport urns across borders.

Though most life gem requests come from families after a loved one's death, Willy said people are starting to ask for his firm's services themselves in living wills before they die.

Individuals can even pay beforehand, with an insurance policy that covers their wish to become a diamond... forever.

In which the blogger exercises his privelege to take a piece of good advice and write about the good stuff

I could write a post about how much spiritually worn out I am by my job; how various neurotic tendencies continue to crop up at inopportune moments in my day; how insatiably horny I am in the summer; how I wish my friends were closer; how I feel like the penniless loser; how I am dreading turning 26 in a month feeling the way I feel about my existence; how I'm dreading the expectation to disappear when my boyfriend's family visits in a few weeks; how I'm terrified that I'm going to end up alone; how vast and wide the missing spaces in my life seem; how I miss doing makeup so much; how I'm drowning in debt; how floating through my days is just not working for me...

But I'm not.

Instead, I'm writing a post about how head over heels in love I am; how hot I look today; how in the summer, I walk around glowing in the sun; how I have the most profound conversations via text messages with my best childhood friend; how yesterday I couldn't stop laughing about deaf porn; how excited I am to finally get started on this hot sauce project; how I had great sex on my couch yesterday afternoon; how bright and deep my eyes look in the photo I randomly snapped today outside by the river; how lucky I am to be somewhat on the ball when it comes to my bills; how soul-satisfyingly beautiful it is to wake up cuddled in my boyfriend's arms; how I have the best cat in the world; how cute my apartment really looks when it's clean; how touching it was to have someone thank me for being their friend; how much fun I'm having keeping this blog; how crazy awesome it felt to totally geek out for ten minutes with my Warcraft friends on Thursday night; how good this fragrance smells on my skin; how fortunate I am to have both parents in good health; how, even though sometimes I'm driven mad by them, I have very loyal friends; how it's pretty fucking cool that I'm able to tell my mom and dad anything without judgment; how I don't have any fear that being gay is going to cost me my family; how I don't have to hide; how hard I work at improving myself in the small moments, even when no one is looking; how I deserve every single little happiness.

The other stuff just seems to be taking up enough space as it is.

In which the blogger shares a universal truth

In which the blogger can't sleep

I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.
I will not use this blog as a passive-aggressive weapon in my struggle to be understood.

Nope.

In which the blogger makes a rare post regarding politics, because he knows that deep down, they're all corrupt anyway

"I didn't write this -- I just wish I had." -Katie Landers

-----------------

Joe gets up at 6 a.m. and fills his coffeepot with water to prepare his morning coffee. The water is clean and good because some tree-hugging liberal fought for minimum water-quality standards. With his first swallow of water, he takes his daily medication. His medications are safe to take because some stupid commie liberal fought to ensure their safety and that they work as advertised.

All but $10 of his medications are paid for by his employer's medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance -- now Joe gets it, too.

He prepares his morning breakfast: bacon and eggs. Joe's bacon is safe to eat because some girly-man liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry.

In the morning shower, Joe reaches for his shampoo. His bottle is properly labeled with each ingredient and its amount in the total contents because some crybaby liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained.

Joe dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some environmentalist wacko liberal fought for the laws to stop industries from polluting our air.

He walks on the government-provided sidewalk to the subway station for his government-subsidized ride to work. It saves him considerable money in parking and transportation fees because some fancy-pants liberal fought for affordable public transportation, which gives everyone the opportunity to be a contributor.

Joe begins his work day. He has a good job with excellent pay, medical benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some lazy liberal union members fought and died for these working standards. Joe's employer pays these standards because Joe's employer doesn't want his employees to call the union.

If Joe is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed, he'll get a worker compensation or unemployment checks because some stupid liberal didn't think he should lose his home because of his temporary misfortune.

It is noontime and Joe needs to make a bank deposit so he can pay some bills. Joe's deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC because some godless liberal wanted to protect Joe's money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the Great Depression.

Joe has to pay his Fannie Mae-underwritten mortgage and his below-market federal student loan because some elitist liberal decided that Joe and the government would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his lifetime. Joe also forgets that in addition to his federally subsidized student loans, he attended a state funded university.

Joe is home from work. He plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He gets in his car for the drive. His car is among the safest in the world because some America-hating liberal fought for car safety standards to go along with the taxpayer funded roads.

He arrives at his boyhood home. His was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers' Home Administration because bankers didn't want to make rural loans.

The house didn't have electricity until some big-government liberal stuck his nose where it didn't belong and demanded rural electrification.

He is happy to see his father, who is now retired. His father lives on Social Security and a union pension because some wine-drinking, cheese-eating liberal made sure he could take care of himself so Joe wouldn't have to.

Joe gets back in his car for the ride home, and turns on a radio talk show. The radio host keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good. He doesn't mention that the beloved conservatives have fought against every protection and benefit Joe enjoys throughout his day. Joe agrees: "We don't need those big-government liberals ruining our lives! After all, I'm a self-made man who believes everyone should take care of themselves, just like I have."

Note: This was originally published (anonymously) under the title A Day in the Life of Joe Republican. But this is a misnomer. In the last 140 years, the Republican and Democratic parties have switched sides several times, with one being conservative and the other being liberal. But labels and party affiliations change. What doesn't change are the underlying political philosophies of liberalism and conservatism, and the fact that the liberals usually turned out to be right and the conservatives turned out to be wrong. And so it goes.

-------------------

(I've italicized a particularly important part to me -- by the way, if anyone knows who actually wrote this, please comment so I can include the author's name)

In which the blogger takes a break from rolling his eyes to share something really cool with his readers

The item at the top of my birthday list: Dinner in the Sky.

In which the blogger reminds himself to turn his phone on vibrate

Yes. That's a cell phone. In his ass.

In which the blogger reminds his readers that to be proud does not mean to be an asshole

Gay Pride 2008.

I've been thinking a lot about this weekend in the past weeks. Last year did not go so well for me, but I have found that I'm moving past the fear that this festival of celebration is really just an excuse for gay men to get as publically drunk as possible, conduct themselves outside the boundaries of common consideration, and take as many liberties as they can with as many people as possible.

Okay, I'm moving slowly past. And that's something I'm proud of.

I mean, since when have gay men in Chicago needed an excuse to act like fools in public? Have you been to Roscoe's lately?

There are a lot of people in the community who use Pride as a big middle finger to the rest of the city, a "We're here, we're queer, FUCK YOU!". Soak in gallons of alcohol, set aflame. That's...wrong. Why not "We're here, we're queer, COME PARTY WITH US!"...? Granted, this mentality certainly exists, but unfortunately, the public eye tends to gaze on those of us who are falling drunk out of windows and stalking around drugged out of our heads, shirts off and cocks out. Personally, I don't appreciate that image. It's my blog, deal with it. Sure, it's part of the reality, but it doesn't constitute the entire reality, and Pride is no excuse to blur the lines this much. How long does it take to clean up that image once the streamers are swept up and the rainbows are put away til next year? There are plenty of ways to kick the shit out of yourself on this, a sacred holiday, having as much crazy fun as possible, without becoming that asshole at Pride. I can't instruct others on how they can make that happen. But for me, there are some rules:

1. Have fun! There's a lot of it to be had, and it's even better cause it's in the streets, in the sun, with an open container!
2. Hands off my boyfriend! I don't care if it's Pride, Christmas, Zombie Jesus Day, Market Days, Kwanzaa, whatever. Respect.
3. Be safe! It's totally possible to start drinking at 9 am and not end up in a gutter, or in the police station, or (and please, please, God forbid) with an STD. Use your fucking head.
4. Wear glitter! You've wanted to all year. Now's your chance, Mary.
5. Bring straight people! This is a big one. How tired am I of gay men and women who want acceptance and equality but insist upon putting up velvet ropes (or iron gates)? Sure, this is our day, but you know...as an opressed demographic, as people who are routinely discriminated against, as a minority, we have to do things a little better than the straight folks do if we expect to receive the same rights It's fucked, but it's true. That means including them and (hopefully) removing some of that nasty stigma. Oh, and stop trying to convert them. It ain't gonna happen, no matter how pathetic you become. Just trust me on this one.
6. Focus on your friends! Celebration on this scale requires you pay each other the props you deserve. No more ruined Prides, no more Pride drama, because Hot Guy #28 didn't look at you, but checked out your friend Why does everything have to be about hooking up?!?!?!?. That's...that's just stupid.
7. Be yourself! That's what this is about. Even if "yourself" is a drugged-out idiot -- keep it to yourself and we'll have no problems.

I'll be the one in the Boy Scout shirt with the sleeves ripped off, Den 3. Roundabouts Broadway and Buckingham. Happy Pride!

In which the blogger just needs to share something with you

I wouldn't normally do this, but I need to know this has been brought to my reader's attention. Courtesy of Duchess of Dork
--------------

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...



Truck balls.

Truck balls, if you didn't already know, are these pretend testicles that you hang off of your bumper. I've been seeing them more and more, lately. At first, I thought it was cute. I mean, I laughed. Seriously. Truck balls?? Who'd do something like that?? Someone super awesome must do it.

Yeah, not so much. It's mostly a redneck fad, and I see them the further South I go. I don't know why I don't like this. See, I love rednecks. I find them endearing. I mean, sure they can be racist and sexist and severely homophobic... but in their own little way, they're also adorable. Middle to lower class workin' men and women, just tryin' t'get by, while listening to country music and driving trucks with plastic balls.

Are the balls supposed to represent manliness? I'm sure that they buy them as jokes. I mean shoot, they're funny to look at. But when it comes down to it, why? Why is it so needed? Why is some guy shelling out $10 for a pair of fake balls to put on his truck, if it was only for a 5 minute gag? Why do I see them everywhere? Is it some sort of conspiracy? A redneck fad? Are we so obsessed with masculinity that we need to showcase our reproductive organs on our giant gas-guzzling vehicles?

Or maybe I'm overthinking this. Likely it's just a bunch of guys that went, "Heh! Truck balls!" and bought a pair.

I thought about what Sunstreaker would look with some, and realized how artsy I was, because seriously.. I'd give that boy some golden pubes in the same color as his paint job. Make that shit look realistic. If my car's gonna have balls, they're gonna be HIS balls! But sadly, I doubt the idea will come into fruition. It just doesn't seem like a wise investment at the current time."

In which the blogger thanks God for sacri-licious pastries

VIDEO: Jamie Cullum, "All At Sea"

(kind of my song at the moment)

In which the blogger and his friend, a woman more evil than even he, text a catastrophic plan

Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: They WANT drama. Just tell them some people actually hate phony suck-ups, so knock it off and worry only about you.
Felix Bedingfield: This is all true.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Easier answer than my issues.
Felix Bedingfield: If only we had a Death Star.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: That would be awesome.
Felix Bedingfield: My friend is an architect. Perhaps he can help.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: It's a start, but he won't be much use for weapons.
Felix Bedingfield: I bet Katie could help us with that. We just need a huge sock and $200,000,000,000,000 in quarters...
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: I love it!
Felix Bedingfield: That just leaves the whole space thing.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: I'm sure we can work that out.
Felix Bedingfield: Got it. We need a billion two-liters of Coke and around 40,000 cases of Mentos for initial lift off. Once we get free of gravity it's cake.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: We'll hijack a Mentos truck and stage a takeover at a Coke plant.
Felix Bedingfield: ...I think this could work.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: It's beginning to sound like a real plan.
Felix Bedingfield: With this universal mayhem machine, we can finally address those pesky issues you've been having with the Universe.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: FINALLY.
Felix Bedingfield: Yay.
Felix Bedingfield: I'll be putting this on the blog, you know.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Might want to leave out the word "hijack".

In which the blogger gets a craving for that fatty emulsion that, evidently, makes British kids fat

Heinz Pulls Mayonnaise Ad over Gay Kiss Furor

A mayonnaise ad that shows two men kissing has been withdrawn from television after 200 viewers complained that it was offensive.




Heinz, which makes the New York Deli Mayo featured in the commercial, pulled the advertisement less than a week into its expected five week run, in response to the criticism.

Viewers told the Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) that the ad was inappropriate and unsuitable for children to see. The ASA has not yet decided whether to launch an investigation.
Heinz apologised for any offence caused.

"It is our policy to listen to consumers. We recognise that some consumers raised concerns over the content of the ad and this prompted our decision to withdraw it," said Nigel Dickie, director of corporate affairs for Heinz UK.

"The advertisement, part of a short-run campaign, was intended to be humorous and we apologise to anyone who felt offended."

The ad is set in a family kitchen, where, instead of an apron-clad mum, a brawny New York short-order chef is preparing the kids' packed lunches.

Viewers see the children address him as "Mum" as he hands over their sandwiches, but when their father starts to leave for work, the chef calls him back and gruffly demands: "Ain't ya forgettin' something?" The father smiles, and plants a kiss on the side of his mouth.

"Love ya! Straight home from work, sweet cheeks," the chef calls after him.

AMV BBDO, the advertising agency which made the ad, said that the idea was that the product "tastes as if you have your own New York deli man in your kitchen".

It is the first TV commercial that the agency has produced for Heinz since winning the food manufacturer's £10m-a-year advertising contract earlier this year.

Heinz said that it decided to withdraw the TV commercial last week, and that it was no longer on air as of Friday.

It is understood that the commercial was not shown during children's television programming, because of new rules from Ofcom that restrict ads for products high in fat, salt and sugar.

---------------------
This is...ridiculous. I can't even get riled up about it. I'm trying. There's a jar of mayonnaise in my fridge at home that I would smash with my Righteous Gay Hammer of Truth (I got it when I signed up)...if it weren't so creamy and delicious. The only important thing mentioned in this entire article is that the UK doesn't air commercials for shitty food during peak kid TV hours. Maybe some of them are homophobes, but they're taking better care of their kids. They should let the commercial air. Then those kids can grow up into lean, well-adjusted gay men and women. With accents.

In related news, some people don't have enough to worry about: A Petition to Re-instate the Heinz Deli Mayo Ad

I'm all for political activism, but I'm picking my battles. Besides, a gay mayonnaise ad just presents too many hilarious semen jokes.

In which the blogger takes a moment to notice how nice it is to not feel so heavy

It was that strange twilight hour, you know? That really slim period of time between dusk and darkness, when the sky is just as deep and bright as the lights on lampposts. 60 degrees, along Lakeshore Drive so there was a bit of wind and humidity. I was walking home from the bus last night, having left an extremely busy and long day at work, and I realized: I was content.

That's a big deal for me.

Jamie Cullum's All At Sea was playing on my iPod, and I had been humming along for minutes straight, probably. Dogs pranced past, runners huffed on by, cars didn't seem as loud as normal. A mother with a stroller even rudely bustled too close and forced me to step into the grass, except this time...I didn't care! No rolling my eyes, no heavy sighing, and I didn't even have the urge to hurl my water bottle at her head. No creepy old men or pathetic twinks cruised me along the sidewalk, for once. My feet didn't hurt. I wasn't hurrying to get anywhere, cause it would all be there when I arrived.

It was like the world had aligned for a few moments to allow me a really pleasant walk home on a summer evening.

I woke up in a sweat that night, having had an intensely upsetting nightmare about the same thing I always have nightmares about. It was hard for me to get back to sleep after, like usual.

Still, I'm really happy about the walk home.

VIDEO: The Bird Poltergeist

(I find this very metaphorical...)

"The highly coordinated movements of flocks of birds or schools of fish are among the most fascinating phenomena to be found in nature. The group seems to turn and maneuver as a single unit, changing direction almost instantaneously, leading some researchers to hypothesize that electromagnetic communication or even "thought transference" must be involved. In reality this behavior results from far less mysterious causes. Such movements are a prime example of emergent behavior: the behavior is not a property of any individual bird, but rather emerges as a property of the group itself. There is no leader, no overall control; instead the flock's movements are determined by the moment-by-moment decisions of individual birds, following simple rules in response to interactions with their neighbors in the flock.

When flocks are not under attack, but instead leaving a roost site to go to a feeding area, they may also swerve back and forth apparently aimlessly, because random movements by single individuals can easily generate changes in direction. However, eventually a sort of consensus will develop based on the motivation of the majority of the flock members, and the flock will fly off to its destination in a fairly direct manner."

In which the blogger proves to his readers that he's not a bitch; he's just more evolved

Sarcasm Seen as Evolutionary Survival Skill

Meredith F. Small
LiveScience's Human Nature Columnist
LiveScience.com Fri Jun 20, 9:45 AM ET

Humans are fundamentally social animals. Our social nature means that we interact with each other in positive, friendly ways, and it also means we know how to manipulate others in a very negative way.

Neurophysiologist Katherine Rankin at the University of California, San Francisco, has also recently discovered that sarcasm, which is both positively funny and negatively nasty, plays an important part in human social interaction.

So what?
I mean really, who cares?
Oh for God's sake. Don't you have anything better to do that read this column?

According to Dr. Rankin, if you didn't get the sarcastic tone of the previous sentences you must have some damage to your parahippocampal gyrus which is located in the right brain. People with dementia, or head injuries in that area, often lose the ability to pick up on sarcasm, and so they don't respond in a socially appropriate ways.

Presumably, this is a pathology, which in turn suggests that sarcasm is part of human nature and probably an evolutionarily good thing.

How might something so, well, sarcastic as sarcasm, be part of the human social toolbox?

Evolutionary biologists claim that sociality is what has made humans such a successful species. We are masters at what anthropologists and others call "social intelligence." We recognize and keep track of hundreds of relationships, and we easily distinguish between enemies and friends.

More important, we run our lives by social calculation. A favor is mentally recorded and paid back, sometimes many years later. Likewise, insults are marked down on the mental score card in indelible ink. And we are constantly bickering and making up, even with people we love.

Sarcasm, then, is a verbal hammer that connects people in both a negative and positive way. We know that sense of humor is important to relationships; if someone doesn't get your jokes, they aren't likely to be your friend (or at least that's my bottom line about friendship). Sarcasm is simply humor's dark side, and it would be just as disconcerting if a friend didn't get your snide remarks.

It's also easy to imagine how sarcasm might be selected over time as evolutionarily crucial. Imagine two ancient humans running across the savannah with a hungry lion in pursuit. One guy says to the other, "Are we having fun yet?" and the other just looks blank and stops to figure out what in the world his pal meant by that remark. End of friendship, end of one guy's contribution to the future of the human gene pool.

Fast forward a few million years and the network of human relationships is wider and more complex, and just as important to survival. The corporate chairman throws out a sarcastic remark and those who "get" it laugh, smile, and gain favor. In the same way, if the chair never makes a remark, sarcastic people are making them behind his or her back, forming a clique by their mutually negative, but funny, comments. Either way, sarcasm plays a role in making and breaking alliances and friendship.

Thanks goodness, because life without out sarcasm would be a dull and way too nice place to be, if you ask me.

In which the blogger vows to never, ever, under any circumstance, swim in the river

Alligator found in Chicago River
June 20, 2008

FROM STNG WIRE REPORTS
An alligator was found in the Chicago River on the South Side Friday afternoon, police said.
The alligator, which is about 5 1/2 to 6 feet long, was found near 37th Street and the Chicago River about 2:15 p.m. by a citizen who called police, according to police News Affairs Officer John Mirabelli.

The city’s department of Animal Care & Control, 2741 S. Western Ave., took the alligator, which was alive, and no injuries were reported, Mirabelli said.

Animal Care & Control spokesman Mark Rosenthal said they responded about 1:30 p.m. to 1200 W. 37th Street after a worker, possibly from Midland Steel, contacted them when they saw the reptile in the water, near the river’s bank.

“The suspicion is that it’s someone’s pet that was released at some point in time and obviously, was able to survive and did quite well,’’ Rosenthal said.

The alligator has teeth, but is not an adult. It is about 4 or 5-years-old and is about 4 feet long. They eat fish are unpredictable around humans. The alligator was found in an area called Bubbly Creek where large carp were also swimming nearby.

“We had great assistance from a member of the Chicago Herpetological Society, the group that studies reptiles,” he said.

One member of the society was able to use a noose-type rope and was able to “snag’’ it and safely bring it in, Rosenthal said. The society is in charge of finding a proper home for the alligator.

“It’s an exotic animal that should not be swimming around the river,’’ according to Rosenthal, who said no one was hurt in the incident or capture.

In which the blogger finally, after months of procrastinating, begins an exhaustive list of what he's reading lately

Books > Amazon Kindle.

I read constantly. I'm picky, but I'll try anything. I'm judgy, though there's always something redeeming in any book. Even in Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I'm a geek for fantasy, and not just the kind where I get hazed into the frat (Hi honey!). I like 'em big, small, long, short, hardcover, paperback, no cover, dog-eared, bookmarked, coffee-stained, creased, highlighted, old, new, trashy, dramatic, dry, relevant, irreverant, dirty, full of lessons, nice, mean, double-spaced, shiny, dull...

What follows is my constantly updated and I'm sure schizophrenic list of reads, beginning a few weeks back, for the purposes of archiving the millions of words that I experience. Suggestions welcome.

5/14 - 5/21: The Brother's War, Jeff Grubb; "It was the night before the end of the world..."
5/21 - 5-25: Planeswalker, Lynn Abbey; "A man descended..."
5/25 - 5/30: Time Streams, J. Robert King; "Urza says he's sane. Perhaps he is."
5/27 - 5/29: The Orchid Thief, Susan Orlean; "In the case of the orchid story I was interested to see the words "swamp" and "orchids" and "Seminoles" and "cloning" and "criminal" together in one short piece."
6/1 - 6/7: The Sex Lives of Cannibals, J. Marten Troost; "One day, I moved with my girlfriend Sylvia to an atoll in the Equatorial Pacific. The atoll was called Tarawa, and should a devout believer in a flat earth ever alight upon its meager shore he (or she) would have to accept that he (or she) had reached the end of the world."
6/3 - 6/8: Starless Night: The Legend of Drizzt Book VIII, R.A. Salvatore; "The mercenary leaned against the pillar anchoring the wide stairway of Tier Breche, on the northern side of the great cavern that housed Menzoberranzan..."
6/8 - 6/17: I Am Not Myself These Days, Josh Kilmer-Purcell; "Things in New York sparkle a lot longer than you'd expect before they burn out."
6/17 - present: Jemima J, Jane Green; "You don't need to know much about my background, suffice to say that my childhood wasn't happy, that I never felt loved, that I never got over my parents' divorce as a young child, and that now, as an adult, the only time I feel really comforted is when I seek solace in food."

VIDEO: "Get Me Bodied (Extended Mix) #3 - The Sims 2

Shut the fuck up.

VIDEO: Cause the Gays Are Getting Married

I'm with Marc Felion: this is old, but brand-new to me, and, um...hilarious. Also: true.

In which the blogger fights with the voice in his head, which sounds much more fun and far less exhausting than it actually is

I keep asking myself, "What do you want?"

Frustrated, myself answers, "When has anyone ever known the answer to that question?"

Me: "Everyone else seems so...mobile. Moving in a direction. They have momentum. I, on the other hand, feel like I'm burning up all my fuel spinning my tires."
Myself: "You just made a car reference."
Me: "I know. Ew. But you get what I mean."
Myself: "Sure."
Me: "Why does it feel that way? Does everyone else have this built-in capacity to confidently move in their respective directions that I lack? And, if they do, why do I lack it?"
Myself: "You're younger than most of those people, for one, and need I remind you-- you were immensely successful once. It doesn't mean you're done. You've always worried about this."
Me: "Yeah, and look what it's gotten me. ADD; a very serious anxiety issue; a solid track record of hurt; an acute inability to trust; this sense of stalling in so many things..."
Myself: "A bottomless potential for creativity; an ability to see through the bullshit; the ability to love someone deeper than most; talent; intelligence; a mystique."
Me: "A mystique?"
Myself: "Yes. I also doesn't hurt that you have a tight ass and flat stomach."
Me: "Okay, fine."
Myself: "You're in a holding pattern right now, and that's okay. You really think you're the only one who hasn't figured all this stuff out? Please. Listen to those people sometime, will ya? It's okay to maintain stability while finding the answer to that question up there. "
Me: "What if I don't?"
Myself: "What if you get hit by a train??"
Me: "I really don't like you somedays."
Myself: "But some days you see how luminous I really am."