Hey Joe

blah

Every so often I experience an extended moment of blah; be it depression, boredom or indifference. During these times I lack much interest in…well much of anything. Every song on the radio sucks balls, I hit every freaking red light, and there's nothing good on TV. The days begin to blend together and I grow bored with everything, including blogging. Yes I'm still taking my medication.

So what's the answer? Just the other day I was encouraging you all to appreciate your lives. What's the deal? Is it the old "those who can't do, teach" scenario, come to life?

I'm tired of writing….

Update – October 1, 2007

No update. No change. Still bored.

Would you like your weave dry or wet?

For the most part, I'm pretty secure with my masculinity. I don't mean to come off as a braggart, all I mean is that while I wouldn't really consider myself a "man's man", neither am I much intimidated by society's definition of a "real man" – the guys who know the scores and stats of every sporting event currently taking place at any given time on this or any other planet; the ones that spend their Saturday adding a second floor to their home, and in their off hours do a lot of huntin' and fishin' and general killin'. The men with lots of "toys" – motorcycles, boats, jet skis, (laugh at my scooter and I'll hit you with my clutch) and who you'll never see driving anything but a truck, and we're not talking about one of those little pussy trucks (remember the Chevy Luv?), no we're talking about the BIG trucks; the Dodge RAM, the Chevy SLIP-IT-TO-HER, the Chevy AVALANCHE OF MANHOOD, the Ford MONSTERCOCK, or the Toyota HEADBOARD SLAMMER all with your standard 5,663 cc 5.7 liters, V 8 front engine with more mm's of bore than you can shake a stick at, not to mention a MINIMUM of 102.1 mm stroke with a 10.2 compression ratio, DOUBLE overhead cam, variable valve timing/camshaft and four MOTHERF-ING valves per cylinder. Word.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

However, I found myself feeling like a bit of an ass the other day whilst (he said "whilst." What a fag) perusing (ditto perusing) the various types of panty liners offered at our local Safeway. I've bought this crap before, so don't think I'm not man enough for the job – I'll grab those rags and toss 'em in my cart to jostle about with the brie and the quiche all day long, then slap them up onto that grocery conveyer belt plain as day, providing… I know which ones to grab.

This is where I often experience a little hiccup in the confidence department. As many times as I've bought one of these items, I'm never 100% comfortable that I'm getting the right ones unless I read the package, consult my list, re-read the package and maybe even make a quick call home.

"Hey, it's me. Um, yea so am I getting the regular size with the butterfly wings or the average size with the chewy, absorbent center?"

And even when I know what I'm looking for, I still stand there comparing the boxes, reading each description to make sure. The worst part of the ordeal is when some woman comes rolling down the aisle while I'm conducting my research. I know that she's inwardly laughing at this emasculated shmoe with the puzzled look on his face; rotating box of pads in his hands. I always half expect her to ask if I need any help, but I think women are smart enough to know that the only thing worse than trying to figure out what to buy would be to accept assistance from some strange broad with a big grin on her face.

"I'm good thanks. Nothing to see here. Let's keep it moving. We need to keep this aisle clear."

So there you go. Do with that information what you will. If you need me I'll be here cross-stitching.

No fair hitting there

Ever since The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Lisa's been a big fan of Viggo Mortensen; with his steely eyes, flowing locks and a romantic streak as big as all outdoors, there is little doubt that if Aragorn came a-knockin' I'd be a-walkin'.

So I'm sure it is with great enthusiasm that she is looking forward to Eastern Promises, which promises to show us more Viggo than we may be able to handle.

According to reports, and a slew of recent articles, Viggo has a big scene of naked fighting. Apparently two thugs ambush him in a glory hole locker room or something and our hero doth do battle with yon surly knaves whilst wicked Willie swingest to and fro.

Sounds jolly exciting, doesn't it? Certainly not the point in the film to slip out for popcorn and Goobers. I'll send Lisa.

Get busy living or get busy dying

I tend to be a bit of a sarcastic jackass most of the time, but every so often it dawns on me just how tenuous life really is, and it makes me want to go out and really live life instead of spending so much time thinking about living or planning on living or preparing for the day when I will begin to live it.

I admit that most of the time I'm a "glass is half empty" kind of person, but when I read a story like this, it reminds me that even under the best of circumstances, life is brief; that even if we're lucky enough to live a "long" life, or at least what statistics tell us is a long life, it's still only a drop in the bucket of time.

So read the story and think about your life. Think about how you spend your time, and maybe what you'd like to be doing differently. We only get to take the ride once, and one of my biggest fears is that I'll look back on my life in 10 or 20 or 50 years and feel like I wasted so much of it; almost better to die young than to grow old with regrets.

I know it's hard to think about this stuff when you're bogged down in the day-to- day bullshit of life. I know that I'll forget soon enough and post something frivolous about taking a dump or some toy I want but can't justify (2008 Honda Ruckus) But right now, right this minute, I'm thinking about how much I do have, of family and friends and the hundreds of things I take for granted every day. I suggest you do the same.

. . .

1923-2007

.....................................

R.I.P.

Alice Ghostley

1926-2007

OoooooWWwoo - Alice is REAL ghostly now!!

Actress, Alice Ghostley, best known for her roles on Bewitched (Esmeralda) and Designing Women (Bernice) hitched a ride for the spirit world on Friday. She was 81.

Ghostley also appeared in the films, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Graduate, Gator and Grease.

The root of all evil

Faithful reader, Pambasilea, cued me in to yet another example of dicks with too much money, skewed priorities, and all around ass munching behavior.

Fashion designer, Marc Ecko, has purchased Barry Bond's record breaking 756^th home run ball and plans to let the public decide what to do with it. As "the public", our choices include:

• Sending it to Cooperstown, home of the Baseball Hall of Fame
• Sending it to Cooperstown marked with an asterisk to signify the controversy over the legitimacy of the record
• Blasting it into outer space

According to MTV.News (when did they become a legitimate news source?) Ecko said,

"I was at a dinner and everyone was worked up; someone to the right of me was like, 'It's real, it's legitimate,' on the left of me someone was saying, 'No way, it's tainted, it needs a footnote'. And someone across from me just rolled their eyes. Maybe I had too much wine that night, but I put my hand down and I was like, 'I'm going to get that ball.' "

And arrogant rich fuck that he is, Ecko got that ball for $752,467 in the Sotheby's online auction. Personally I can't think of a better way to spend more than ¾ of a million dollars, but I'm sure there are a few soup kitchens or homeless shelters or under-funded youth programs or hard working strippers that might have an idea or two.

Update: September 26, 2007

The votes are in. The record breaking 756th home run ball will be sent to Cooperstown marked with an asterisk, marking the controversy over Bond's alleged drug use. Now Marc can go back to doing the really important work of designing clothes.

Suckling at the teat of human kindness

I like boobs. You like boobs. I think it's safe to say we all like boobs. If you don't like boobs, than you are obviously a boob.

Liking boobs as you do, I know you'd like the opportunity to give boobs and their owners a helping hand. Click here to get to The Breast Cancer site. Then click on the pink "Click Here to Give – it's FREE" button.

Somehow or other the more clicks they get the more free mammograms they give away. The page sponsors pay for said mammograms. Boobs get the care they need, owners hopefully get to keep their boobs, the sponsors might make a few extra sales and you get a warm fuzzy feeling for having helped our collective friend, the boob. It's a win-win all around.

Get ‘em while they’re hot

In another example of "Adoption Fever", Mary Louise Parker has become the latest celebrity to jump on the latest celebrity fad-wagon; adopting babies from poor nations. Parker has adopted a baby girl from Africa, confirmed her spokeswoman, Tamar Salup.

"A third-world child is the latest in celebrity accessories and I'll be damned if my client is going to be without," an obviously triumphant Salup could have said.

The Weeds star joins the ranks of other fashion conscious celebrities, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie as well as Madonna and Guy "I'm riding my wife's coattails" Ritchie in using their wealth and fame to bypass governmental procedure in order to get their mitts on a bush baby prior to any upcoming Oscar photo ops.

Other celebrities who have recently visited black markets overseas adoptions centers include Meg Ryan (picked a Daisy in China), Ewan McGregor and wife Eve who adopted a four-year old mongoloid child – what's that? Sorry, Mongolian child, and Rosie O'Donnell, who, it's important to note, is a lesbian. And I'm not really sure if Rosie adopted children from overseas but she is, for the record, a lesbian.

So far (and don't quote me here as my research is shoddy at best) Mia Farrow appears to be in the lead, having adopted ten children from all over the world, one of them for the purposes of an arranged marriage to Farrow's then but soon to become ex-significant other, Woody Allen.

So forget about tribal tattoos, Pilates and Kabbaalah; third-world adoption is what all the cool kids are into. So where's your non-white bundle of joy? You don't want to be a loser, do you? And, since I have my finger on the pulse of Perez Hilton, I'll let you in on the next big celebrity fad; rubber, yellow bracelets. That or vintage Pet Rocks. One of them is going to be huge.

Arguments for Capital Punishment

I'm normally not one to bitch unnecessarily, (what?) but I've got to say that there are certain people that just piss me off. I'm not talking about specific individuals, but more a type of person, namely the type that still uses a check to pay for their groceries, particularly when they're standing in front of me and I'm on my lunch hour and I'm already late in getting back to the office and I still have to go home to unload all the freakin' groceries. If they're using coupons on top of writing a check then by God drag them into the parking lot for immediate execution; stuff the corpse into a shopping cart and push the whole mess into one of those creek/canals that always seem to run behind grocery stores that are near walking trails. Not that I've thought much about this.