I won't even begin to take credit for this, but it was too good not to share. Much respect to the author, who you can follow here on twitter. I give you 'The Kill Rule.'
A guy I worked with about a decade ago once told me about a theory he had for improving society. At the time, it seemed about psychotic an idea as you can ever tell someone you barely know in your workplace. But over the years, I have grown to realize that it’s the most genius idea I have ever heard.
The theory goes like this — everyone is allowed to kill one person. Kills can’t be transferred or sold or carried over like vacation days. You’re allowed to kill one person and one person only. Well, you can kill more if you want, but you’re only allowed to kill one person legally.
After that, you have to get a tattoo somewhere on your body where everyone can see it. The tattoo will indicate that you have already used your kill and present no immediate threat to anyone in your area.
To be fair, he told me this theory a long time ago, and I’m sure it’s far more detailed and thought-out than how I’m explaining it, but that’s the gist. On its face, it sounds insane. And it is, don’t get me wrong. But when you dig a little deeper, it would be the greatest thing to happen to society since the invention of Las Vegas.
I’m sure there are qualifications to the free murders. I don’t think he advocated smothering newborn babies or pushing cripples off roofs. But wouldn’t you be less likely to run your mouth at someone if they lacked a kill tattoo? And wouldn’t you walk around a whole hell of a lot happier knowing that you could snap the neck of the woman on your bus who is screaming into her phone about how much she loved last night’s episode of Jersey Shore?
And, in turn, wouldn’t you temper that sort of thing? If I knew someone could legally murder me for not holding a door open for a lady, I’d be way less of a prick at all times. Not that I don’t hold doors for ladies. I guess a better example would be farting in elevators. I’d knock that off tout suite.
Imagine you’re walking down an escalator where the understood rule is the left side of the escalator is for walkers and the right side is for those who wish to remain motionless. You’re walking down the left side, and there’s Jimmy NoMotionPants and his hipster glasses and canvas shoes rocking out to Death Cab For Cutie. If I’m running late for a meeting and my knife is sharpened, I could take him out like Rambo and continue about my day.
But then maybe I’d have to stop and schedule my tattoo appointment. I don’t know exactly. So there’s holes in this theory. I don’t know. I guess I’d like to stop sitting next to people on the bus who talk on their phones for 20 minutes about nonsense while I’m trying to listen to my Alanis playlist. Her emotion is so raw.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Me, Ray Rice, and DJ Jazzy Jeff
You may be wondering what I have in common with Baltimore Ravens running back Ray Rice and DJ Jazzy Jeff. Besides breathtaking athletic ability and incredible musical talent, we also share a birthday. That birthday also happens to be today, and at the ripe old age of 27, I find myself thinking a lot about the past and the future.
Aging certainly has its pluses. You can, um...well, actually...aging sucks. There's nothing good about getting older. You see friends less, you work more, you gain weight, and you lose your hair. It's baffling to me why anyone would actually want to celebrate their birthday. If I had my druthers, I'd simply let it pass with no acknowledgment at all.
Now, maybe I'm being overly negative because the stress of work and planning a wedding are making me borderline insane (if sales were dating, you could say I'm in an A.C. Green type slump). But in reality, I just long for the birthdays of my youth, where eating a piece of pizza didn't add five pounds and drinking a beer didn't leave me hungover in the morning. The days where you didn't go to class "because it's my birthday, dude" and you got all types of cards, cash, and presents from family and friends. The years when you were finally old enough to drive a car or smoke a cigarette. At one point in my life, I looked forward to turning 65, so I could retire with a pension and collect Social Security. Based on my current income and investment plan, I'll have enough money to retire at 94. And that's only if I die at 95.
There are still a lot of things to look forward to: kids, mounting debt, prostate exams, etc. Everyday I wake up thankful for another one though, and trust me, I know things could be a whole lot worse. And if DJ Pauly D can still beat up the beat at age 30, then I can still rock out with my cock out at 27. Let's party (at 5pm, when I get off work)!
Aging certainly has its pluses. You can, um...well, actually...aging sucks. There's nothing good about getting older. You see friends less, you work more, you gain weight, and you lose your hair. It's baffling to me why anyone would actually want to celebrate their birthday. If I had my druthers, I'd simply let it pass with no acknowledgment at all.
Now, maybe I'm being overly negative because the stress of work and planning a wedding are making me borderline insane (if sales were dating, you could say I'm in an A.C. Green type slump). But in reality, I just long for the birthdays of my youth, where eating a piece of pizza didn't add five pounds and drinking a beer didn't leave me hungover in the morning. The days where you didn't go to class "because it's my birthday, dude" and you got all types of cards, cash, and presents from family and friends. The years when you were finally old enough to drive a car or smoke a cigarette. At one point in my life, I looked forward to turning 65, so I could retire with a pension and collect Social Security. Based on my current income and investment plan, I'll have enough money to retire at 94. And that's only if I die at 95.
There are still a lot of things to look forward to: kids, mounting debt, prostate exams, etc. Everyday I wake up thankful for another one though, and trust me, I know things could be a whole lot worse. And if DJ Pauly D can still beat up the beat at age 30, then I can still rock out with my cock out at 27. Let's party (at 5pm, when I get off work)!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Guilty Pleasures
No need for an explanation at this point.
9) French Fries - Is there any better side order or "vegetable" in the world than fries? The combination of salt, complex carbs, and grease is like an orgy for our taste buds. They are so good, in fact, that other foods have even tried to become them - remember these?
52) Weighing yourself in the morning after a monster bowel movement and convincing yourself that you're "dropping lbs." - I think this one is pretty self-explanatory.
117) Picture stalking on Facebook - We've all done it. I actually did it today. Always fun to see who got fat, who got hot, and who got gay.
101) Using buzzwords and phrases to sound smart - Try this in a meeting sometime. "At the end of the day, we need to circle back and focus on ROI & market segmentation. With that said, I spoke with our social media guru and he said that going forward, SEO has to be on our radar screen."
48) Taking an hour for lunch - Rare in this day and age of fast food and bag lunches (not to mention stuffy corporate settings), the one-hour lunch usually takes place on Friday or is combined with an off-site meeting. You still finish your actual lunch in ten minutes, but you spend the other fifty talking about your fantasy team, kids, or house. The hour-lunch usually results in the 3pm zone-out.
9) French Fries - Is there any better side order or "vegetable" in the world than fries? The combination of salt, complex carbs, and grease is like an orgy for our taste buds. They are so good, in fact, that other foods have even tried to become them - remember these?
52) Weighing yourself in the morning after a monster bowel movement and convincing yourself that you're "dropping lbs." - I think this one is pretty self-explanatory.
117) Picture stalking on Facebook - We've all done it. I actually did it today. Always fun to see who got fat, who got hot, and who got gay.
101) Using buzzwords and phrases to sound smart - Try this in a meeting sometime. "At the end of the day, we need to circle back and focus on ROI & market segmentation. With that said, I spoke with our social media guru and he said that going forward, SEO has to be on our radar screen."
48) Taking an hour for lunch - Rare in this day and age of fast food and bag lunches (not to mention stuffy corporate settings), the one-hour lunch usually takes place on Friday or is combined with an off-site meeting. You still finish your actual lunch in ten minutes, but you spend the other fifty talking about your fantasy team, kids, or house. The hour-lunch usually results in the 3pm zone-out.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
He did what?!?!
Breaking News: Mark McGwire used steroids and HGH during the 90's including his record breaking ’98 year where he hit 70 home runs. In other news, he also admitted to using toothpaste, toilet paper, and wearing shoes over the same time frame. Seriously, tell us something we don’t know. Look, we all get it, there’s an entire “era” in baseball where if you weren't using, you weren't trying, which in all honesty most likely continues today. Thing is, as fans do we really give a shit? I for one can remember racing home during the summer of ’98 to see if either Sosa or McGwire hit any bombs that night. I still probably have a VHS tape of McGwire's 62nd bomb at my mom's house, unless I taped Cinamax late night over it.
My question now is, what exactly is the downfall to steroid use? Obviously there isn’t a juice-up superstar out there, aside from maybe Jose Canseco, who will admit that steroids actually helped their career and their lives. I wish just once, one of these former superstar steroid users would come out and tell it like it is. “Yea, I used steroids during the 80’s and 90’s and ya know what? I got fucking paid, laid, and hit a shit load of home runs, which is probably the best feeling in the world, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, including bigger testicles” Seriously, McGwire admitted to using starting in the early 90’s, twenty or so years ago, and he appears healthy, is back in baseball and probably still counts his gold coins like Scrooge McDuck on a nightly basis. Even if he keels over in the next ten years, I'd still take his life over say, RG$'s.
The only people in this scenario that I do feel bad for are for the players who chose not to stick needles in their ass and did it the legal way. Guys like Fred McGriff, who ended his career with 493 home runs, only 7 away from the elusive 500 that basically guarantees you a trip to Cooperstown. But honestly, what does 500 home runs in a career mean anymore? McGwire, Sosa, Palmerio? All to linked to PED's and douchebaggieness.
My question now is, what exactly is the downfall to steroid use? Obviously there isn’t a juice-up superstar out there, aside from maybe Jose Canseco, who will admit that steroids actually helped their career and their lives. I wish just once, one of these former superstar steroid users would come out and tell it like it is. “Yea, I used steroids during the 80’s and 90’s and ya know what? I got fucking paid, laid, and hit a shit load of home runs, which is probably the best feeling in the world, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, including bigger testicles” Seriously, McGwire admitted to using starting in the early 90’s, twenty or so years ago, and he appears healthy, is back in baseball and probably still counts his gold coins like Scrooge McDuck on a nightly basis. Even if he keels over in the next ten years, I'd still take his life over say, RG$'s.
The only people in this scenario that I do feel bad for are for the players who chose not to stick needles in their ass and did it the legal way. Guys like Fred McGriff, who ended his career with 493 home runs, only 7 away from the elusive 500 that basically guarantees you a trip to Cooperstown. But honestly, what does 500 home runs in a career mean anymore? McGwire, Sosa, Palmerio? All to linked to PED's and douchebaggieness.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Another 48 Hours
No, this isn't a post about the classic 1990 film. It's a running diary of the forty-eight hours I just spent in Puerto Rico for a good friend's wedding. Since most of you that follow the OC know me, you'll enjoy the recap of the wedding weekend; for those of you who don't, I think the description of Old San Juan will be reason enough to read on. And for those who've already been to Puerto Rico and don't know me, you're shit out of luck.
Friday
5:30am - Wake up.
5:31am - Fall back asleep.
5:50am - Wake up (again). This time for good. Take a shower, finish packing, and make a LARGE pot of coffee. Clean the snow off of the car (yes, more snow), and depart for Philadelphia International.
9:00am - Board plane.
10:30am - Still sitting on tarmac.
4:00pm - Arrive in Old San Juan. Pretty eventless airplane ride except for the guy dipping cheese crackers in his water. That's a new one to me. Check into hotel. Cool boutique place close to everything. No TV, though. Going through withdrawal.
5:00pm - Meet up with the (soon-to-be) bride and groom and take a spur of the moment walking tour of Old San Juan. End up eating dinner at what we thought was a pretty authentic latin restaurant; turns out we ate at the Puerto Rican version of Friday's. My bad. Did have a money mojito and discovered the local beer of choice.
7:00pm - Connect with other friends in town for the wedding. Finish mojitos #2, 3, 4, 5, with some more Medalla Lights mixed in for good measure. Officially drunk. Put a Biggie song on the jukebox. If he was still alive, he'd be the Bono of hip-hop. Everybody's nodding their head to 'Juicy.'
10:00pm - Move to next bar. On the way, a drug addict/prostitute offers me sex. I resist. Getting better and better at salsa dancing as the night goes on.
3:00am - Basically a professional dancer. Time to get some rest.
Saturday
10:30am - Up and on our way to breakfast. Ate at a place Rachel Ray visited on her show, $40 a Day. Decent grub, but more importantly, cheap. And an excellent cup of coffee. I'm pretty sure a tourist can survive strictly on coffee, mojitos, and Medalla Lights in Puerto Rico.
12pm - At the beach. Wow. Twenty-four hours ago I was cursing Al Gore's name, now I'm swimming in 82 degree water hanging out with the groom's family. With the ceremony not till 6pm, we enjoyed the delights of a $16 burger at the beach bar while enjoying a truly spectacular day.
6pm - At the church, rocking my guayabera shirt. Beautiful girls all around (including mine) and also a few homeless people to add some character. Besides the ceremony starting an hour late and being completely in Spanish, I'd say it went pretty well.
8pm - Party time! From the church, we all walked down (probably 75 people in all) to the waterfront where the reception was being held. The streets in Old San Juan are extremely narrow, so our mass migration brought traffic pretty much to a standstill. People in their cars seemed really appreciative of the delay.
11pm - After filling my face with ceviche', paella, steak, and potatoes, I proceeded to get locked into a bathroom which I had to kick open Macgyver-style. After freeing myself, I showed my soon-to-be-bride the art of Spanish seduction.
2:30am - On the rooftop of our hotel, hanging out in the hot tub. Best friend 'Turbo' brings back a beautiful Italian bella, who just happens to date a European soccer player. I still think he had a shot, until he asked her if she liked pizza. Crash and burn. Time to go to sleep.
Sunday
11am - Dressed and ready to maximize beach weather. Attempt to purchase a coffee and pastry at the bakery up the street. Fail. Language barrier too much to overcome.
12:30pm - In the Caribbean for the final time til July 18th (honeymoon, holla). Even better day than Saturday. Wondering how difficult it would be to open a daquiri business in the islands.
2:30pm - Sitting in a cab to the airport with a couple from Minnesota. Classic accents.
4:30pm - Check the score of the Ravens game. Make a comment to a man in a Tom Brady jersey with a tribal calf tattoo and Crocs on. I win.
9:30pm - Back at home. Smooth flight and car ride. Easily a 60 degree difference in temperature, but only a three-hour flight. How is that possible?
10:30pm - Sleeping in bed, dreaming of mojitos, sangria, and Medalla Lights dancing in my head.
Friday
5:30am - Wake up.
5:31am - Fall back asleep.
5:50am - Wake up (again). This time for good. Take a shower, finish packing, and make a LARGE pot of coffee. Clean the snow off of the car (yes, more snow), and depart for Philadelphia International.
9:00am - Board plane.
10:30am - Still sitting on tarmac.
4:00pm - Arrive in Old San Juan. Pretty eventless airplane ride except for the guy dipping cheese crackers in his water. That's a new one to me. Check into hotel. Cool boutique place close to everything. No TV, though. Going through withdrawal.
5:00pm - Meet up with the (soon-to-be) bride and groom and take a spur of the moment walking tour of Old San Juan. End up eating dinner at what we thought was a pretty authentic latin restaurant; turns out we ate at the Puerto Rican version of Friday's. My bad. Did have a money mojito and discovered the local beer of choice.
7:00pm - Connect with other friends in town for the wedding. Finish mojitos #2, 3, 4, 5, with some more Medalla Lights mixed in for good measure. Officially drunk. Put a Biggie song on the jukebox. If he was still alive, he'd be the Bono of hip-hop. Everybody's nodding their head to 'Juicy.'
10:00pm - Move to next bar. On the way, a drug addict/prostitute offers me sex. I resist. Getting better and better at salsa dancing as the night goes on.
3:00am - Basically a professional dancer. Time to get some rest.
Saturday
10:30am - Up and on our way to breakfast. Ate at a place Rachel Ray visited on her show, $40 a Day. Decent grub, but more importantly, cheap. And an excellent cup of coffee. I'm pretty sure a tourist can survive strictly on coffee, mojitos, and Medalla Lights in Puerto Rico.
12pm - At the beach. Wow. Twenty-four hours ago I was cursing Al Gore's name, now I'm swimming in 82 degree water hanging out with the groom's family. With the ceremony not till 6pm, we enjoyed the delights of a $16 burger at the beach bar while enjoying a truly spectacular day.
6pm - At the church, rocking my guayabera shirt. Beautiful girls all around (including mine) and also a few homeless people to add some character. Besides the ceremony starting an hour late and being completely in Spanish, I'd say it went pretty well.
8pm - Party time! From the church, we all walked down (probably 75 people in all) to the waterfront where the reception was being held. The streets in Old San Juan are extremely narrow, so our mass migration brought traffic pretty much to a standstill. People in their cars seemed really appreciative of the delay.
11pm - After filling my face with ceviche', paella, steak, and potatoes, I proceeded to get locked into a bathroom which I had to kick open Macgyver-style. After freeing myself, I showed my soon-to-be-bride the art of Spanish seduction.
2:30am - On the rooftop of our hotel, hanging out in the hot tub. Best friend 'Turbo' brings back a beautiful Italian bella, who just happens to date a European soccer player. I still think he had a shot, until he asked her if she liked pizza. Crash and burn. Time to go to sleep.
Sunday
11am - Dressed and ready to maximize beach weather. Attempt to purchase a coffee and pastry at the bakery up the street. Fail. Language barrier too much to overcome.
12:30pm - In the Caribbean for the final time til July 18th (honeymoon, holla). Even better day than Saturday. Wondering how difficult it would be to open a daquiri business in the islands.
2:30pm - Sitting in a cab to the airport with a couple from Minnesota. Classic accents.
4:30pm - Check the score of the Ravens game. Make a comment to a man in a Tom Brady jersey with a tribal calf tattoo and Crocs on. I win.
9:30pm - Back at home. Smooth flight and car ride. Easily a 60 degree difference in temperature, but only a three-hour flight. How is that possible?
10:30pm - Sleeping in bed, dreaming of mojitos, sangria, and Medalla Lights dancing in my head.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
I Told You So
So I hate to say I told you so - actually that's completely untrue. I LOVE being right. Check out what my boy Dan LeFevour did in last night's GMAC Bowl. If you've been reading this blog, you know I basically have a man-crush on #13, and with good reason. The guy is a straight balla. I'll be doing my best impression of him this weekend playing beach football in Puerto Rico, but you can check out the talent right here for yourself. Enjoy!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Count How Many Times I Say Exclusive
I just read an “exclusive” interview with Mariah Carey in Time Out: New York magazine (said so on the cover). You’re jealous. I first want to state that I typically love Time Out: New York (TO:NY). It’s a great place to find everything hip in NYC. They always know about the best music no one likes, the best films that are playing at only one theater with actors you’ve never heard of, and the best places to buy skinny jeans. More or less TO:NY is my Koran. Which makes sense, because I’m Catholic. But seriously, I do like that magazine. The point here isn’t really about one specific magazine, it’s about these “exclusive” interviews.
What makes an interview an “exclusive” interview? I would say the only way an interview could truly be exclusive is if the person has never talked to anyone before, and signed a contract stating they would never speak to anyone ever again afterwards. Either that, or they agreed to have their vocal cords ripped out by a Turbo Snake immediately following the interview. And as unbelievable as it may sound, this wasn’t Mariah’s first interview. And that’s a google-fact. Hell, turns out she was even interviewed by the inappropriate Larry King himself, back in 2002. So I guess this means that interview with TO:NY wasn’t really exclusive … or was it?
Hmm, it just dawned on me that perhaps the reason the interview was deemed “exclusive” was because there were some never-before-asked, hard-hitting questions being thrown at Mariah! Yeah, that makes sense. Let me re-read it … Well, I learned that the rumor about Mariah really liking cheese isn’t true, she typically only eats it with wine. And guess what??? She based her accent in the movie Precious on some random lady from Yonkers. Oh shit, this is exclusive.
Okay, enough of the sarcasm. But it really bothers me when these media outlets rep interviews like this. Like the Today show’s exclusive interview with Jamie Jungers (you know, the chunky Tiger Woods’ mistress). Turns out Dateline interviewed her too. Well maybe the Today show didn’t know Jungers was gonna be on Dateline, so they really thought they were only interview. Oh wait, these two shows are on the same friggin network! So no shit, just like Tiger Woods to his wife, this was not an exclusive affair.
Man, just watch the news tonight, and count the "exclusives" they drop. But okay, the rant ends here. The point is kids, that when a media outlet hypes something as exclusive, pay it no mind -- unless it happens to be with a death row inmate who is sitting in the electric chair at the time. So please don’t let "that word" persuade you to buy that next US Weekly. Buy that US Weekly because you’re interested in Carie Underwood’s diet secrets. I’ve always been more of an inclusive guy anyways.
But one last thing. I assume one day I'll be pretty famous. I'm not talking Michael Jackson famous, but probably Matt LeBlanc famous. Regardless, people will no doubt want to interview me. But right here, right now, I am announcing an offer to Time magazine. I will grant them a truly exclusive interview. If they give me a cover story, they can interview me today, and I will promise to never do another interview as long as I live. I'll even sign something. However, my offer expires at the end of this month. So Time, if you want to have your biggest selling issue of all time ... you know what to do.
Oh, and if you count the title, that's 13.
What makes an interview an “exclusive” interview? I would say the only way an interview could truly be exclusive is if the person has never talked to anyone before, and signed a contract stating they would never speak to anyone ever again afterwards. Either that, or they agreed to have their vocal cords ripped out by a Turbo Snake immediately following the interview. And as unbelievable as it may sound, this wasn’t Mariah’s first interview. And that’s a google-fact. Hell, turns out she was even interviewed by the inappropriate Larry King himself, back in 2002. So I guess this means that interview with TO:NY wasn’t really exclusive … or was it?
Hmm, it just dawned on me that perhaps the reason the interview was deemed “exclusive” was because there were some never-before-asked, hard-hitting questions being thrown at Mariah! Yeah, that makes sense. Let me re-read it … Well, I learned that the rumor about Mariah really liking cheese isn’t true, she typically only eats it with wine. And guess what??? She based her accent in the movie Precious on some random lady from Yonkers. Oh shit, this is exclusive.
Okay, enough of the sarcasm. But it really bothers me when these media outlets rep interviews like this. Like the Today show’s exclusive interview with Jamie Jungers (you know, the chunky Tiger Woods’ mistress). Turns out Dateline interviewed her too. Well maybe the Today show didn’t know Jungers was gonna be on Dateline, so they really thought they were only interview. Oh wait, these two shows are on the same friggin network! So no shit, just like Tiger Woods to his wife, this was not an exclusive affair.
Man, just watch the news tonight, and count the "exclusives" they drop. But okay, the rant ends here. The point is kids, that when a media outlet hypes something as exclusive, pay it no mind -- unless it happens to be with a death row inmate who is sitting in the electric chair at the time. So please don’t let "that word" persuade you to buy that next US Weekly. Buy that US Weekly because you’re interested in Carie Underwood’s diet secrets. I’ve always been more of an inclusive guy anyways.
But one last thing. I assume one day I'll be pretty famous. I'm not talking Michael Jackson famous, but probably Matt LeBlanc famous. Regardless, people will no doubt want to interview me. But right here, right now, I am announcing an offer to Time magazine. I will grant them a truly exclusive interview. If they give me a cover story, they can interview me today, and I will promise to never do another interview as long as I live. I'll even sign something. However, my offer expires at the end of this month. So Time, if you want to have your biggest selling issue of all time ... you know what to do.
Oh, and if you count the title, that's 13.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Random Thoughts, Musings, and Observations for 2010
Hello everyone. How 'bout that flight in? Guess that's why they call it Sin City.
Obviously I spent my Christmas break catching up on movies, 'The Hangover' specifically. I've also spent the last two weeks doing a lot of thinking (and not much writing), so I wanted to share with you some thoughts that have accumulated in my brain over the past 14 days. It's really just a cleansing exercise for me as we move into a new year. Speaking of the New Year:
* Can we come to some agreement on what we're actually calling 2010? Is it twenty-ten or 2K ten or two-thousand and ten? This is driving me crazy.
* Seeing ads for the new season of American Idol is like being diagnosed with a 100% curable form of cancer. You know you're going to recover, but that the next six months are going to be excruciatingly painful.
* A question for all the people that go to Times Square for New Year's: Where do you pee?
* I don't know who this Lady Gaga is, but I like her style.
* Is anyone's New Year's resolution to gain weight?
* Watching Jake from The Bachelor stumble clumsily around trying to pick fifteen girls to give a rose to is the exact opposite of watching the guys from Jersey Shore dominate the females of Seaside Heights. Is there any doubt "The Situation" should be the next bachelor?
* And on that note, why in the world would you not pick the hottest fifteen girls on the first night? I know, personality is most important, but let's be honest: no one is going to marry an ugly chick (unless you are ugly yourself). Trim the fat (literally) and then choose Miss Congeniality out of the 9's and 10's you have left. It's science.
* The Washington Times has dropped the sports section in their newspaper. I actually didn't know there were any other sections of a newspaper besides sports - thought the excess was wrapping paper concealing the gift of the sports page.
* I totally know where Gilbert Arenas is coming from.
* Enough with the podcasts, Bill Simmons. I have a full-time job and manage to post at least one, maybe two, blogs a week. You watch sports for a living and aren't even writing a book anymore (which I bought, thanks to your ten daily tweets about it). Show some effort.
* How come when I'm in the theater, every preview looks awesome, but when I look for movies On Demand at home, I can't find one I want to watch?
* I've never actually seen the show, but how can anybody watch 'Glee'? In case you didn't know, glee is a synonym for happy. So basically people are watching a show called 'Happy.' Would you watch a TV program called 'Funny'?
Well, that's about the extent of it. Thanks for allowing me to mentally regurgitate and feel free to add your comments or thoughts.
Obviously I spent my Christmas break catching up on movies, 'The Hangover' specifically. I've also spent the last two weeks doing a lot of thinking (and not much writing), so I wanted to share with you some thoughts that have accumulated in my brain over the past 14 days. It's really just a cleansing exercise for me as we move into a new year. Speaking of the New Year:
* Can we come to some agreement on what we're actually calling 2010? Is it twenty-ten or 2K ten or two-thousand and ten? This is driving me crazy.
* Seeing ads for the new season of American Idol is like being diagnosed with a 100% curable form of cancer. You know you're going to recover, but that the next six months are going to be excruciatingly painful.
* A question for all the people that go to Times Square for New Year's: Where do you pee?
* I don't know who this Lady Gaga is, but I like her style.
* Is anyone's New Year's resolution to gain weight?
* Watching Jake from The Bachelor stumble clumsily around trying to pick fifteen girls to give a rose to is the exact opposite of watching the guys from Jersey Shore dominate the females of Seaside Heights. Is there any doubt "The Situation" should be the next bachelor?
* And on that note, why in the world would you not pick the hottest fifteen girls on the first night? I know, personality is most important, but let's be honest: no one is going to marry an ugly chick (unless you are ugly yourself). Trim the fat (literally) and then choose Miss Congeniality out of the 9's and 10's you have left. It's science.
* The Washington Times has dropped the sports section in their newspaper. I actually didn't know there were any other sections of a newspaper besides sports - thought the excess was wrapping paper concealing the gift of the sports page.
* I totally know where Gilbert Arenas is coming from.
* Enough with the podcasts, Bill Simmons. I have a full-time job and manage to post at least one, maybe two, blogs a week. You watch sports for a living and aren't even writing a book anymore (which I bought, thanks to your ten daily tweets about it). Show some effort.
* How come when I'm in the theater, every preview looks awesome, but when I look for movies On Demand at home, I can't find one I want to watch?
* I've never actually seen the show, but how can anybody watch 'Glee'? In case you didn't know, glee is a synonym for happy. So basically people are watching a show called 'Happy.' Would you watch a TV program called 'Funny'?
Well, that's about the extent of it. Thanks for allowing me to mentally regurgitate and feel free to add your comments or thoughts.
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