Now Appearing on Craigslist:

So my last entry inspired me to post on craigslist.
See my ad here.

That's all for now.

ISO: Band Members for Mediocre Band

An email just bounced back to me from someone named Mailer-Daemon. This is what he had to say:

Hi. This is the qmail-send program at smtp.webponents.com.
I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message to the following addresses. This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out.

It’s pretty damn cordial for an automated message. He even says "Hi." Next time I’m on a bad date and I don’t want to see the girl again, I’ll use the line “This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out.”

Maybe Mailer-Daemon will be my band name. That is, if I had a band… or talented friends. Or friends. We'd play Prince covers. Not that I listen to him or anything, but he also had trouble coming up with a band name. Keep posted because I'll have a new band next week.

Like a Hamster Wheel:

I don’t think most people realize just how expensive a membership to a gym is. If they did, they certainly wouldn’t waste their money on it. Instead, I siphon my economic resources to filling my ears with sweet sweet music, and my stomach with sweet sweet sweet-corn. In fact, everytime I don’t go, (and I don’t go ever), I think of all the money I am saving. It’s like getting paid to do nothing. Not that I’m advocating physical unfitness. I just prefer running in the park. It’s a cheaper delusional alternative than lying to myself that I’ll go to the gym.

I can’t see how people can run on treadmills when they can run outside. On a treadmill, no matter how fast you run, the guy right next to you always keeps up. If you think I’m lying, try it yourself. When I run outside I can pass people. Not that I can, but if I could, I would. Inside, you’re stuck no matter how fast you are going and no matter how slow your neighbor is. The only satisfaction on the treadmill is being able to stay on the thing longer than the other guy. In Texas that’s called a rodeo.

Treadmills also tell you shit that you didn’t even want to know, or didn’t even know that you didn’t want to know, such as how few Calories you’ve burned. After a two-mile run, I’m like “Man I must’ve burned a million Calories…” but the stupid machine says its closer to 200. Running outside that never happens. Ever.

The other thing horrible about the treadmill, is the scenery. There is none. And again, if you don’t believe me, try it. Or, take my word for it and send me 20% of all the money you’ll be saving by not going to the gym.

Adjectives and Nouns

Anyone else notice something weird about the new 2005 Chevy Cobalt, such as here. That’s right. It’s not just blue. Not even a hue of blue. It’s red. Who would be the idiot to buy a red Cobalt? I suppose you could get it in blue, or according to their website “Arrival Blue Metallic.”

Huh? Arrival? You see, I know my adjectives. Adjectives modify nouns or other adjectives. I know this because I’m a pro at Mad-libs… as pro as one can get. Metallic Blue, for example, is pretty clear. Blue Metallic is a little weird, but if you're European you can move the placement of adjectives around arbitrarily, and therefore it sounds exotic to Chevy owners. But Arrival Blue Metallic? I still don’t know what that means.

What’s your favorite color? Geez that’s hard. Hmphmm… I’d have to say… Arrival Blue. Yeah... probably Arrival Blue.

Speaking of Madlibs. Ever realize that’s how the Bible was written?
“And God made (noun) in (number) days, and then he rested. When (boy’s name) felt (feeling), God took one of his (body part-plural) and made (girl’s name). But she was (adverb) tempted by a (animal) and ate a/an (food) from the forbidden tree of (conceptual noun).”

Or even:
“Joseph, one of (large number) of Jacob’s sons, had a (adjective) (garment). It was (exotic color other than Arrival Blue) among many many others. His jealous brothers sold him into (19th century American Insitution which largely ended after the Civil War) and they took him to (country in Middle East where there are pyramids and sphinxes, and presumably, terrorists).

The Dead can Dance, and Indie Kids too!

At the Thermals show last night Angela and I noticed something we see at a lot of shows, that is, in addition to lots of people. Despite popular belief, New York indie kids can in fact dance, or in the case of last night, dance defined as “thrusting one’s full body against walls of other bodies.” The exception, however, when you finally have a crowd that does unfold its arms, is a new song.

Play an old song and the kids will rock. Play a new song and they’ll stop, look at each other in bewilderment and say “What’s this? I haven’t practiced my moves to this. What do I do?” That’s right. That’s because Indie Rock requires hours and hours of practice to get the moves down. If a concert doesn’t have people dancing, it’s because the moves that the music requires are so complex few have mastered them. It took me years to learn the dance to Belle and Sebastian in my bedroom, and I still sometimes can’t pull it off.

And it looks like I won’t have to practice my moves for the Shins. :( That sold out faster than hell. Assuming hell has a measureable velocity.

Fun Activity for the Day

I dont feel like posting for real today, so instead, this should keep you occupied, or even mollified if this were the SATs, which this definitely could be.

In Google Image Search, type in "Moving Van Bandit." The result should worry my friend Mike who is moving on Thursday. Uh oh Mike!

Hell, I'll do the work for you. Just click here.

St. Patty's Day Remembering

I swore after Thursday night’s St. Patty’s Day Bonanza that I wouldn’t drink again for a long time. In this case, “a long time” is just long enough to sober up. As much as I love being drunk, waking up and going to work drunk isn’t as glamourous as it sounds. Although it’s better than a hangover, the hangover itself isn’t far behind… on Friday it hit right about 3PM.

My resolve to be dry lasted all day, thanks to the company policy of “No Drinking at Work.” Not that this rule is expressed specifically anywhere, but it’s definitely implicit that we are sober while we design. I think a beer could help our firm now and then. It’s not like architecture is as important as like, say… driving or… flying. In fact, all great architects drank, and this is by no means a generalization.

I can’t say the same for all great pilots. I was on a flight once and the landing was so rough that I was actually startled. And then the stewardess had the nerve to announce over the PA just how great a landing the pilot had done. I wanted to jump out of my seat, unbuckling and all, and demand that he take off and try again.

Speaking of stewardess (no they are not hot.) (not usually).: I love how in the demonstration at the beginning of the flight they show how the oxygen masks will pop down if there is an emergency. Then they instruct you to “pull on the tube and breath normally.” Yeah, sure. Normally.

Lil'Kim's Wardrobe

“Asked outside court whether she had any comment, Lil' Kim, wearing a beige pantsuit and a pink jacket, shook her head and said no.”

This is why I love the news. The AP (I think it's shorthand for Apropos, and pterodactylly comes from French meaning “to the point.”) is usually a reliable source. However I came across this quote today while researching on Lil’Kim. It pertains to her recent conviction, and as it appears, her fashion. And we all know from Michael Jackson that the two are somehow linked.

Fortunately, in case we can’t read, they’ve also included a photograph, which is helpful. I hate reading. As the Zen saying goes, “A painting of rice cakes does not satisfy hunger.” Hell, real rice cakes don't satisfy hunger.

All of this underscores the point I’ve been enumerating all along. Somehow. Actually, I think I forgot the point I was making.

March Madness

I’ve recently filled out my NAACP basketball bracket sheet. I think that stands for National Athletic Americans and College People. That’s right, come April 2nd, we’ll have the Final Four! and on April 4th we’ll be so knee deep in March Madness, it won’t even be March. Who will win? If you go here, you’ll see that there is a blank spot playing again #1 ranked North Carolina. I have them defeating everyone.

Ok, so I know as much about college basketball as I do about let’s say, the birds and the bees. Fine, fine. So I may know a little more about the birds and the bees, (and soccer?) but it still left me clueless on how to fill out this sheet. Luckily each team has a number next to them, telling me how they rank, and telling me how to think. Unluckily however, I know some lower ranked teams will win despite my foolproof method. Regardless I follow this mathematical formula to determine who will win every individual game: if x (being a whole number between 1 and 16) > y (also a whole number between 1 and 16) then x wins. This works until the Final Four when all four teams will be ranks number one, except for the 16-ranked blank slot. They’ll win it all. Just wait.

By the way, if you type in “Birds and Bees” into Google images, you won’t get anything good. However, type in “Sex” and whoa. Bingo.

More Sandra Bullock!

If you hadn’t heard the news, Miss Congeniality 2, will be released on March 24. There’s been a lot of buzz on the net surrounding the premiere and exactly what has been a tightly guarded script. If you recall the first installment of the trilogy, MC1 did not conclude unresolved, and therefore a sequel was unpredictable; not the script itself, just the mere existence of one. In fact, in MC1, the suspenseful moments resulted in a successful denouement that left everyone glad (for you home-schoolers, denouement is French and rhymes with Mon! mon! mon! which is also French for Mine! Mine! Mine!).

We can expect this movie to be loaded with Sandra Bullock scenes, just like the last. Whether or not footage for another sequel was shot at once is still unknown, but Sandra is reportedly* in Tunisia shooting the sequel to While You Were Sleeping 2.

Also, if you want to watch the movie and don’t have $10 or two hours, you can watch the two and a half minute version of it here, as well as download all sorts of othre embarrassing stuff. Or just re-watch the first one. Then again, write to your local Congressman/woman.

*as reported here

Addendum to Spam

Today I received an email from, I swear, a certain Cheese U. Obsessive, with the subject line: Re: Shy Petrervs Fucekd in Ass on farm. What I love about this, in addition to the farm theme that is developing, is the "Re:", as if I had written to Mr. Obsessive about the topic and he was simply replying.

All this spam inspires me. Just like having a blog helps me to vent my anger, I also want to pen some spam. How great would it to receive Viagra ads written by a friend instead of those face-less beings. I doubt Cheese U. Obsessive is really his maiden name anyway. So, next time you see a subject line with "Teen Farmrz like it ruff" from me don't delete it. Instead, reply, like Cheese did. Or at least RSVP.

Leave the Farmers Alone.

I’ve been receiving a lot of spam recently and noticed that spelling errors have grown tremendously. It’s become a game to decipher what is actually being said. Most recently I’ve received one with the subject line, “Real Farmrs gttng fckd by natur.” Now, I can see the porn-buying public demanding real virgins and real teens, but real farmers? Come on. On the otherhand, I know that when I am browsing for porn here at work, I too have a hard time weeding the real farmers from the fake.

Who cares anyway. The internet isn’t “real” so why should anything on it be? It’s not like someone is really having sex with these farmers. And, if by an outside chance, and I mean outside chance, you were screwing a farmer you met online, if you found out they weren’t really a farmer, what would you do? This is all hypothetical, of course. I swear.

Throne of Grace

A True Throne of Grace

My coworker came across this toilet while searching for fixtures for a client. Although it may seem like a joke, you can actually buy it off the Designer Plumbing website here.

Notice how it’s discreetly placed in the most private of all locations, the bottom of the staircase. Either that, or the architect has installed a second floor in the bathroom, which I think would also be great. The angled position of the toilet is not orientated to any wall of the room, thus erupting the deceptively 18th century toilet into the 21st century.

In case you have trouble lifting the lid after a night of heavy boozing, they’ve also installed a ceramic doorknob on the seat. If I had to throw-up in any toilet, I’d consider this one. Heck, I wouldn’t even have to make it upstairs.

The pull-chain flush has a bell “which informs you that the operation has ended.” This is handy because I’ve mistakenly stayed in the bathroom for hours upon hours. Luckily they have a bell for that now to tell me it’s over. There is also a mounted candle “ready to help you in case of electricity breakage” and an ashtray in the armrest. Just the fact that a toilet has armrests makes this a necessary component to any bathroom.

Or even a hallway.

Like a Broken Record

So I’ve started buying Vinyl… not that I own a record player or anything, but I possibly think I could eventually. Some may think it’s foolish to buy records with nothing to play them on, but it’s equally as dumb, I’ve decided, to buy a turntable and have no records. I’d rather be adrift in the ocean with cans of food but with nothing to open them with, than have nothing but a can opener. That’s what we would call irony.

So Vinyl it was; only by pure accident though. I ordered the U.S.E. album online and when it came in the mail in a much larger package than expected, I thought “Holy shit this is a big CD”. I opened it and I quickly realized my mistake. Was I disappointed that I couldn’t listen to it? Hell no. I was just excited that it was green! And although I still haven’t listened to it, I imagine it rocks, and it’s now my favorite album of all time. I also have a few records back home, with such classics as “Bert and Ernie” and two Carebear albums. I especially love the Bert and Ernie album because the last song is about closing your eyes and imagining, while simultaneously they play sleepy music. At the very end, a sarcastic Ernie inaudibly whispers, “Ok kids, you can open your eyes now.”

Records are also fun because when you play one and lay down to read or something, right when you get comfortable it requires you to get up repeatedly and flip it. And if you’re lucky enough to have a scratch, then you can get up even more.

Unless, of course you fall asleep listening to Ernie. Then you let it skip until your roommate comes in and turns it off, at which point you wake up and ask, “Why’d you turn that off?”

Color Blind.

Someone asked me the other day my opinion regarding color schemes for a building he is making Upstate. “I was looking at this Cognac color next to an Apricot carpet, but I didn’t know if that’d clash with the Auburn in the bathroom. What do you think?” Woah woah woah. Wait a minute. I stick with colors like Red. Red I know. And Blue. I know that too. In fact, anything inside a Crayola 8-pack I got. Beyond that, I get lost, and this includes CMYK, which stands for Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Vitamin K. (Cyan and Magenta are just fancy terms for Blue and Hot Pink). Hell, I had no clue what Saffron was until it invaded my favorite park. It rhymes with Teflon though, so I’m thinking Christo and his wife Whats-Her-Name must have trademarked the word. To mine eyes, I thought they looked just like Orange Gates. That’s probably why people pretended to like them, because they learned a new word. It’s like the time when I learned the word paradigm and used it everywhere, even when it made no sense at all. Everyone was impressed. Nowadays I say saffron only to avoid dispute. I still don’t know the difference and deep down inside I know there is none; the Emperor wears no clothes, let alone colorful ones.

By the way, you owe $900.

My Dad called me last night about a very Dad topic: taxes. Now, I love my dad and all, but there is something excruciatingly painful about talking for 20 minutes about forms, state tax law, city tax law. At one point, however, the conversation turned from the mundane “Do you have the 104s-W2ez form” to this: “According to my calculations, you owe the state $900.”

“What?!” I replied. I panicked and thought of all the presents I had been planning to buy all my friends and family and poor children throughout the war-torn regions of the globe. There, in an instant, went my dreams of philanthropy.

“But,” my father continued, “You already paid that and a bit more, so you should get the rest back.”

Ohhhhh. You see, my father has trouble conjugating verbs, so when he says the present tense “You owe” he really means to say “If you hadn’t paid a dime, you would owe…” He also has a habit of calling every meal “Supper”, as in: “Jerry, wake up. It’s time for supper.”

Tickets Please.

In order to subsidize my concert-going, I've taken to ticket-speculating. Unlike the land-speculators in the 1840s who wore top hats and canes, I wear flannel and face paint. My very first attempt at this was for Wilco in October, and it failed when I was screwed by UPS and my tickets never arrived, forcing me to get will-call tickets (Will-call rhymes with Wilco). I ended up losing $25 on the deal, but a friend got to accompany me for free. And friends are worth more than gold, as I am often told through emails my mom sends me. Or maybe it was in an e-card. Anyway, I learned my lesson, and wont buy at Radio City Music Hall again. In fact, I saw Interpol there for $12.50 on Tuesday because I never others would fail too.

Well, actually I paid $25… until Ang pays me back. (C’mon, you know that friends are really a dime a dozen.) Hey, I should start my own Friendshp Chain letter: “Real friends pass on chain letters. So pass this on to 8 people telling them they are expendable or else bad things will happen.” “Friends are the people who visit you in the hospital to make you feel more invalid.” “Friends are the people who borrow your stuff and never return it.” Oh wait… maybe these are the things about me that make me so awful.

So, I’ve return to the market. No, not the meat market, the ticket market. I financed my Rusted Root show by selling spare tickets for the same fee that Ticketmaster would have charged. Therefore, I am only as evil as Ticketmaster, which is a corporation, and by default good-willed. I am doing a favor to the lazy people who forgot to get tickets. Except, and here’s the rub, a lot of the lazy people who forget tickets are also the poor people that can only afford pay face value.

I know because I am one of them, and although I forget to get tickets sometimes, I still won’t pay a dime over face value. Unless, of course, a friend is worth 1/12th of a dime… then I’d trade a dozen for a show.

The Staples Paradox

You know what I hate even more than life itself? Having my stapler run out of staples. There is nothing so disappointing in life other than pounding one’s fist down and removing a group of papers only to find them not attached to each other. It really catches me off-guard because I expect them to be bound inexorably together by a shard of folded metal. As it turns out, my office buys all our supplies at Staples, except, of course, for staples themselves. So, every time I go to the supply cabinet thinking “Staples. Staples. Staples.” I end up spending half the time lost and confused staring at boxes marked Staples without containing them. No matter what I try to do, I can’t help but repeatedly grab the paperclip box (another one of my favorite shards of metal), or the pen box, all clearly marked “Staples”. It’s an instinctual reaction.

From now on, I am sending my coworker to the cabinet. I have more important things to do than think about the existentialism of a staple.

Transmitting to Outer Space

Has anyone else noticed that now when you post to craigslist, it asks you if it’s “ok to transmit this posting into outer space.” Yes, that outer space. As seen in such PBS documentaries as Nova and The Outer Limits. It appears that they are going to launch some sort of satellite into the Universe, and instead of carrying a message of scientific or peaceful nature, which has been proven useless, it will carry a much more dignified one. I guess they are hoping this will increase the probability of craigslist users finding others who will give those sensual massages. I certainly have had no luck. In fact, of the people I talked to on craigslist, several have actually been to outer space via an alien abduction, and a couple of them are building their own rocket/time machine. Or maybe that was just their fancy name for a vibrator. Either way, it definitely didn’t sound safe.

For those of my readers who do not speak English, you can read the alternate translation on my website here.

The Law of the Pack

We received an application in our office over the weekend with the following statement under the heading Objective: “To give the best of my ability to do the task given to me in order to achieve the company’s goal.” Can you be just a liiiiitle more specific, please? I also noticed that this statement is pretty damn close to the Cub Scout Promise: “to do my best, to do my duty to God and my country, to help other people, and to obey the Law of the Pack.” Now, if the above applicant said he would have obeyed the Law of the Pack, holy shit, that would be awesome. For those of you who are forgetful, or like me who never memorized the thing (and therefore dropped out of Scouts), the Law of the Pack is the one that begins: The Cub Scout follows Akela. The Cub Scout helps the pack go... I like this for a few reasons: First, its pretty enigmatic as to who this Akela is. If you google Akela under “I’m feeling Lucky,” you discover he’s a flesh-eating wolf that devours children. I know because it’s in Italian and I speak it and you’ll have to trust me. The second reason I love the Law (we can call it just “the Law” because there really is no other), is that it also leave the mystery of exactly where the pack is going. It just goes. And goes. But Where, Jerry? According to I’m feeling Lucky, “The pack is going” abroad! To England we suppose, where the the Cub Scout promises to do their duty to God and to the Queen, in lieu of the Country. (in English we say lieu to sound fancy, which rhymes with France-y, which would be correct. Lieu in fact is French meaning place, and rhymes with Loo which is British meaning potty.)

By the way, the Law of the Pack reached its peak-popularity in 1995 with a fleeting comment by Silvestor Stalone in the runaway smash-hit Judge Dredd when he said "I am the Law!" Rent it tonight!