Oh Man, This is Gonna Suck

Ok. I have to say that I have MAJOR apprehensions about posting this so-called "story" that I wrote 20+ years ago. I don't know how to even get the thing started. It doesn't even have a title let alone a good flow. Jeezus, what am I doing? Mira, please understand that I am absolutely not hunting for a compliment or phishing for sympathy by sharing this thing. I'm am simply holding myself to my own philosophy of "Full Disclosure" which is the idea of airing out the dumb/embarrassing/ridiculous things that a lot of people shove into a closet in their subconscious until it chews up their brains. I also know that None of This Shit Matters (N.O.T.S.M.) so what's the real harm here? There is no risk actually so let's get into it in its full, unedited glory shall we? I'm even going to resist the urge to comment in the middle of the text.

Oh man. Ok... here it is:

Unnamed Short Story, Part I

It was one of those amazingly cold days in February when Arthur Williamson's life collapsed like a beehive hairdo in a rain storm. Arthur, a thin, little man with a propensity towards blue shirts, never took shock well. He once had to be sedated and hauled off in restraints at a surprise birthday party his mother had thrown for him. So it wasn't unusual that Arthur lost his already weakened grip on reality that frigid winter morn when Lorraine, his wife of twelve years, informed him of her plans to leave him.

He met her, Lorraine that is, during his senior year at college. She worked in the campus store that Arthur frequented to purchase odds and ends. Often he would go in just to see her and buy something he didn't need just to feel her hand as they exchanged moneys. One day while buying a disposable douche, he found the nerve to ask her out in his slightly moist voice. She, much to his amazement and joy, accepted. Three months later they were engaged.

They were wedded on September 14th, 1979. Lorraine, a less than attractive woman with an incredible lack of style, wore a frightfully hideous green gown with lavender ruffles. Arthur was decked out in his best suit, a wide-lapeled skyblue number and sporting shiny white shoes. The preacher was struck blind by the tackiness and had to be replaced at the last minute by a tugboat captain with bad gums.

Their honeymoon was not a great success. Their cabin in northern Vermont, which was recommended by Arthur's cousin Sol, turned out to be a 10 x 20 foot room with no heat. Running water consisted of a river two miles north of the cabin through the woods. The bathroom was, of course, the nearest grove of trees. They did not enjoy themselves which is both unfortunate and understandable.

They bought a house in Malden, Massachusetts, a sad, sorry, little place (their house that is, not Malden. Malden is rather dull but it is irrelevant to this tale). A pathetic example of American architecture was the Williamson's abode. It did not so much assault the visual pallet as it left sort of an odd taste in the mouths of those unfortunate enough to view it. Lorraine and Arthur loved their home however and, apart from a little water damage and the occasional evil possession of their cats, the house loved them too.

Arthur, who at the time of their marriage was working part time as a assistant donut filler at the Red Jelly Flavor Cafe, finally landed a decent job in 1980. That illustrious position was none other than assistant to the assistant of the assistant of the head accountant at the firm of Dull, Dull, and Humdrum. Lorraine, who was quite proud of Arthur's accomplishment, only gained 10 pounds that year in appreciation.

For years they lived in uninhibited boredom, enjoying T.V. and the lack of any real communication. Arthur, who had had only one other lover apart from Lorraine (and she had threatened to kill him, his family, and then herself if anyone found out about it), was not very skilled in this area. Lorraine had by 1984 given up on sex with him completely and discovered cats as an alternative (not as lovers mind you but as a distraction from her unsatisfied needs). This was probably for the best anyway considering the possible outcome of their lovemaking. It makes one shudder.

She had a string of cats from 1984 - 1991 numbering near ten. The ones that didn't commit suicide either ran away or were taken by the house. The house killed a total of five cats over the years, usually luring them to the garbage disposal.  One would hear a humming, a startled "Meow!" and a sound like GGGGRRRRRUUUUNNNCCHHHH!! All was quiet after that, excepting the satisfied rumblings audible from the disposal. Another popular way with the house was a sudden, deadly blast of heat from a vent as the cat strolled over. This was less frequent as the house was leery of leaving tangible evidence. Lorraine wasn't particular about life span of the cats anyway. As long as they were cute for a while she was satisfied.

Lorraine started to get the "seven-year itch" around their fourth year of marriage, but didn't let on about it. She was content with being discontented and glad to have something to complain about to the women at the Big n' Hippy (a full-figured women's clothing outlet store just a mere waddle from her house). She spent many hours fantasizing about how she would tell Arthur she was leaving him. She planned to tell him at the breakfast table just as he was shoving a pop tart into his mouth. She originally thought of telling him as he dunked his pop tart into his coffee but thought better of it because often when Arthur was performing such a task, it would go awry. The most common mishap associated with the pastry baptism was when the pressure that Arthur exerted on the tart was far too much for it to take along with the weight of the liquid it was busy acquiring and therefore it would break apart leaving a goodly amount of itself in his coffee. This never failed to completely baffle Arthur and he would spend the next 10 to 15 minutes attempting to rescue the coffee-logged pop tart from drowning in his beverage. Usually, but not always, he would not succeed and end up just drinking the pop tart ladened coffee anyway.

Lorraine believed that if she told him before he could get to this point of his breakfast ritual she could save herself a lot of time. She would grin as she thought of Arthur's expression, with a soggy pop tart in his mouth as she told him. He would probably stare at her and maybe cry or something. The breakfast table was also a good choice to break the news she thought because of the lack of any sharp utensils within easy reach. She didn't believe that he would become violent, it wasn't like him, and even if he did, she outweighed him by a good hundred pounds. Surely there would be butter knives about but death by spreading seemed far-fetched at best. She wondered how he would deal with no more "Lorraine-bottom", as he sometimes called her, and if his mind would be able to grasp the sheer magnitude of it all. Usually she dismiss these thoughts at this point and head into the kitchen to eat with the refrigerator door open. This was a good time for Lorraine and her bottom too.

When the day finally came for her to tell him, he was not even eating a pop tart but had elected to have a waffle instead. He was munching the waffle and taking huge gulps of coffee at the same time (a habit that grosses many folks out but one which Arthur enjoyed as much a s a cheesy paperback science fiction novel. He usually carried one around in his hip pocket). Lorraine thought that this deviation from his normal routine might be a sign of some sort but, not being particularly bright, she ignored her instincts and went ahead as planned.

"Arthur," she began. He only grunted and took another gulp of coffee to get the waffle as soft and soupy as possible, the way he liked it. "Arthur, I want a divorce." she finished.

------------------
Fuuuuuuuuck...wow. I have to end Part I here because I just can't take any more at this time. Ok, I'm going to post the next installment next week and I will continue until the original text just ends super abruptly. Jebus christmas that was ... well, y'know...just... it.. fuck me. OKTHXBYE.

I Will Bring The HEAT

I always liked to write stories. I actually used to like to draw too. I'd doodle on all my notebooks in school which was a better use of the paper than note taking since I never developed the ability to take notes very effectively. To this day my notes from meetings usually have a bunch of broken sentences with IMPORTANT!! and maybe a couple of arrows pointing to some disjointed sentence fragment or barely legible phrase. If only when referring back to these notes I could then put those words into some kind of context perhaps I'd be more successful or at the very least less easily distracted. It would also help if I remembered to check the notes at all. It is clearly a skill set I do not possess.

The drawing thing kind of fell by the wayside over the years. I do still have a tendency to make rather elaborate scribbles using my favorite rapidograph pens occasionally. It's not as satisfying as writing for me though. In college - you know what, I really can't say "in college" in the same way that people who actually attended classes and, y'know, learned stuff can. I kinda fucked that experience up if I'm honest and if "kinda" means "totally".  I was super immature and neglected the opportunity completely. Anyway... In college I took a creative writing course and while I eventually blew off that class as well, the teacher (professor? I forget) encouraged me to keep on writing in order to work on expressing whatever the hell was going on in my giant noggin. I thanked her by bailing on her class and college in general. I'm the worst.

one of my lil' doodles

In 1991 I was a two-time college dropout living in Jamaica Plain, working at Copy Cop as a customer service representative and making $7.50/hr (what's up ladies?). I had an idea for a short story and so I wrote what I thought at the time was a hilarious and super interesting story about a man who, having given up on his dreams and aspirations, has allowed himself to become a shell of the person he had once hoped to become. Even that description gives this story more weight than it really deserves. I wrote this thing without an outline or an understanding on how to completely tell a story. There was a complete lack of any thought on where the story was going or what I was trying to say. I also ran out of steam halfway through and failed to write an ending. That's not entirely true now that I think about it. I seem to remember cobbling together an ending that was so wholly unsatisfying that I must have just torn up the sheets of paper. Oh, did I forget to mention that I wrote this thing out long hand? Yep. No computer or even a typewriter involved. Just straight up handwriting on what looks to be very expensive resume paper (thanks Copy Cop). I also found some lyrics that I wrote too. Jury is out on whether those get posted.

At some point I stuffed all these handwritten pages into an expandable folder and forgot about them. Recently, while cleaning out the attic at ye olde homestead, I came across that very same folder and those pages. At first I was all super nostalgic and happy to see them. Then I read the story itself. Oof. Oh my. Look, I'm not saying that I'm a good writer at all now but man oh man I'm certainly better than I used to be. At the very least I have an improved perspective.

Handwritten nonsense story + general disaster area = my desk space

My first instinct was to stuff the pages back into that folder and abandon it in the attic for another couple decades. My second thought was to throw them all out. My final and, I hope you'll concur, best idea was to share this stinker with you all. Yep. Just post this mess and let you drink in the cray-cray. I have a policy of "full disclosure" that I have upheld for many years now and therefore I have zero choice in this matter. What I plan to do is to post the entirety of what I have why resisting the DEEP TEMPTATION to edit what I was scrawled on those 24# ivory linen pages (remember when printing your resume on fancy pants stationary was a thing?). The first installment will be posted early next week and I will put up several posts over the next few weeks until the story abruptly ends (as the original does). Keep in mind not only does this tale have zero point, it's also clunky and, well, shitty. I also discovered while re-reading it that it is mean-spirited and border-line misogynistic. So, uh...sorry about that. I wasn't in the best place relationship-wise back then. So look forward to that? Ok, thanks.

Not So Great Expectations

Have you ever had a moment where you didn't feel like you had anything to add to the conversation, so you just sat there and listened to everyone else talking? Have you ever had that feeling last for months? Yea, me too. As it turns out, I came very close to giving up this blog (wow, that word is still around huh? We still haven't come up with a better way to describe whatever the hell this type of website is? That, my friends, is a failure of our society and I weep for us). I have already neglected Seriously Awesome Monsters to the point of embarrassment (the last post was December of last year), so I'm already on the slippery slope that will launch me into the abyss of zero creativity. Why not just give in and let this thing shrivel up and blow away on the hot, dusty, vaguely poop-smelling wind of the interwebs? Why not indeed. I mean if I'm only coming up with terrible paragraphs like this stinkbag then what, exactly, is the point?

Wow, that sounds like I'm super depressed or something and that is NOT the case. I'm only mildly depressed. Like, a hug and a nice cup of herbal tea will snap me out of it, kind of depression. I'm in a funk I guess. Although, "being in a funk" makes me think of George Clinton and he always makes me smile so maybe that's not the best description. Look, all I know is I fucking haven't posted in a while and I'm not entirely sure why. I just.....didn't. But I am now right? So that's something isn't it? Yes? Question marks?

Uh, so what's up? How've you been? Good, good. Glad to hear it. Oh? I didn't realize that she...she said WHAT? Oh, that bitch. Look, you gotta get away from that toxic relationship then. She's trying to bring you down to her level. What about that guy? The one from the place? Yea, him. Cool! So you hooked up? And? You're still kinda seeing him but you don't want to put labels on it in case he doesn't feel the same way about whatever it is you're doing together. Ok, that's a bit confusing but whatevs. I've been with the same person since 1992 so I don't have a lot of experience in the dating scene as it is currently structured. My only insight was Crazy, Stupid, Love and can we all agree that Ryan Gosling is a dreamboat? We can? Awesometown.

Me? Oh, uh, not much really. I mean, yeah shit has happened in the last 3 months but it wasn't anything that I think is really interesting. At least not interesting enough for this super exciting state of the art cutting edge fucking award winning bloggy blog blog blog y'know? I mean, isn't this the very same bloggy blog where I talked about urinals? Yea, it is. This is also the exact same place where, not too long ago in fact, I discussed my inability to keep myself from crashing into things. I've even gone so far as to take up an anti-formal shorts position. So, yeah, I can't just let ANYTHING that pops into my head get posted here. I have fucking standards. Seriously, would you really want to hear about me going to a class at the Massachusetts Firearms School? Or how our crazy neighbor is trying to get us to take down our brand new deck? Or, what if I posted, in installments, a short story that I wrote in 1991? Nah, that shit is played out son. Let's just relax and enjoy the fact that I'm posting again and holy shit, isn't that enough? Of course it is.

Religious Bigotry

Religion to me has been a conundrum for some time now. I was raised Catholic and as a little kid I was a true believer. I bought into the mythology completely and without wavering. I knew there was a heaven and hell and just as surely as I knew my own name (it's Mark by the way...see? I still remember!). There were rules about what behavior was good and there were specific things you absolutely could never EVER do. Not only did I never doubt their authority, it never even dawned on me as a child to question it. I went to church every Sunday as well as CCD (a.k.a. "Sunday School" although it was never actually on Sunday. It was usually during the week and at night). The ritual of the sermons and the repetition of the odd little play that we put on every week at church with the priest – here's where he will stand up there in that shiny dress thing and he will say these words and then we will all respond in a monotone with this phrase. Then someone will ring a bell thing or play one sharp chord on the organ and then we will stand up or kneel or something en masse. Wash, rinse, repeat – it was comforting. I liked the structure of the mass and how the building was so physically intense. It must be the truth if they went through all this trouble right? I even liked confession and would sometimes make up stuff just to see if I could get more Hail Mary's assigned to me. I think you will agree that I may have misunderstood the concept a little.

As I got a little older, maybe 12 or 13, I started to have some serious doubts. The cracks in the stories became too large to ignore and the very same ritualistic nature of the Sunday mass that I used to look forward to began to irritate me with its repetitiveness. I couldn't understand the point of saying the same things over and over again, week in and week out. It seemed absurd. About this time I had convinced my parents that it was perfectly ok to let me go to church on my own. I would get up early on Sunday so that I could go to the early mass (which was like 9am or something like that). But instead of actually going to church, I would ride my bike downtown and just goof off for 45 minutes. After the service was over, I'd ride by the church to see which priest had been giving mass so that if my parents asked who did the sermon, I could rattle off the name. Not a terrible lie in the grand scheme of things but I do still feel bad about the cowardly deception all these years later.

Why didn't I just tell them that I didn't want to go to church anymore? After all, my dad had kinda fudged on going regularly by this time so the precedent had been set. But my mother was still a firm believer (and remained so right up to the end) and I'm pretty sure she would have said "No way, kid. You're going to church. End of story." Things were not "discussed" at our house. Things were decided and you had to play along. I don't mean to make that sound like such an ominous thing because it really wasn't. It just ... was. And I would still go to church occasionally. Maybe I was experimenting (as I now understand it) to see if my waning faith could be reclaimed, that maybe it was only a temporary lapse and by going to one more inspiring mass I'd be re-calibrated or whatever. But nope. It didn't take. I couldn't get past the idea that the priest was just some guy. He couldn't POSSIBLY know 100% for sure that all of this wasn't just complete nonsense. Why then was he so adamant in trying to convince others that he was right?

By the time I entered high school I was no longer going to church and had entered the lapse Catholic phase. I didn't know what I thought about religion or god or spirituality or anything really. If someone asked me about religion, I still identified myself as Catholic but all the strength behind that word was gone. I just wanted to live my dumb life and not address the subject of faith and honestly it was really easy to avoid. I guess I was an agnostic at this point because while I didn't think organized religion (of any kind) had the answers, I still had doubts as to whether or not there was/is a higher power/god. I simply didn't think about it that much, if at all. I was too wrapped up in my own day-to-day drama and narcissistic to think beyond myself in any capacity. In other words: A teenager.

After I moved out of my parents house I would have some discussions with friends about the subject of religion and while I don't think we really thought we were solving all the world's problems with our meandering drunken blather, I did find that these conversations moved me further away from what my parents and the church had steadfastly taught as the absolute truths. I liked talking to people who had had different backgrounds and interesting perspectives on what it meant to be religious. It helped me work out the confused thoughts and nagging doubts I had been ignoring for years. I didn't want to think that all of the stuff I had been taught was wrong, but it was looking more and more like this was the case.

It took me a few more years to ramp up the courage to admit to myself and others that I don't believe in god, the afterlife, miracles and all of rest. I became an atheist. And it wasn't a bad thing either. It was liberating. I grew up believing that doubting god's will or daring to flat out deny his very existence was not only unfathomable but downright impossible. You could insult god by not believing and in turn incur his wrath. Why would you doom yourself to hell by thinking these thoughts? Ok, the stories are a little dated and maybe there was some creative license with a few details but why not play it safe and hedge your bets with the ol' agnostic route? You can always reverse yourself at the last minute before you die and wind up in heaven with a quick "forgive me Father" prayer. Right? Isn't that basically what the guy who was crucified next to Jesus did? But no, I can't. I won't. I don't know how to fake it.

The problem that I have had with all of this is as a born-again atheist (is that possible?), was that I have been struggling with really strong opinions about people who identified as religious. I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with them. I was condescending towards their beliefs and while I've never actually said anything to right to their faces, I certainly was judgmental and probably somewhat arrogant towards them (I'm a terrible actor). I was wrong to do that and basically I was being a religion bigot. If that's not a thing, it is now. I had to reconcile my own belief system (for lack of a better term) and how it shapes my world view as a newly formed atheist, now that I was "out of the closet" (so to speak). Should I "turn the other cheek" about religion or would I be a zealot and bang the drum loudly for the atheistic view? Well I certainly can't be a dick about this...so I've taken the "live and let live" approach. Because if I think that the priest is just some guy who doesn't really know if what he's talking about is really true, then who's to say that I'm not exactly like him? As I have shown time and time again, I'm a huge dummy.

Where am I going with all of this? I guess I'm not entirely sure. I've been thinking a lot about this subject lately and with religion AGAIN coming into play this election season, it's really been bothering me that there doesn't seem to be a voice of reason. I do not want religious beliefs to be a deciding factor in policy issues. I'm tired of hearing from wingnuts on both sides of most political debates that our country is doomed and the only way to regain our former glory is to fight over issues like gay marriage and a woman's right to choose. I'm simplifying here of course but for fuck's sake I thought we were all equal in this country. How is it that some groups are more equal than others? I hope that most people who are religious don't think the way that the politicians and pundits on TV seem to believe, but this is making me nervous. Please tell me that social conservatism isn't as widespread and prolific as it appears to be. I can't get my head around that concept. Who the fuck do you think you are if you think you can impose your beliefs on others? Is that what your god would have wanted? I thought it was all about loving each other for who we are? Or was that just a bunch of hippy bullshit?

If you do think that way, then I'm pretty sure by oppressing your fellow human beings by imposing your archaic religious dogma on them is a one-way ticket to hell. Luckily for you though, it's all made up. But for reals, get religion out of politics and let's fix some goddamn potholes.

Consuming The Content

I had atopic I wanted to talk about (religion) but I'm not sure how to approach the subject at the moment. I'm gonna have to toss that one around a little bit more in me lil' noggin. I don't want to come off as flippant on the subject (as I am aware I have been in the past). Just...well, whatever. I have to think about it some more and then I'll put those dumb thoughts up here and stuff like that there. Wow. A new vocabulary low point.

I know I've talked about the other site that I contribute to (called Seriously Awesome Monsters) but I'm sad to say that it seems to have run its course. That's not to say it is dead, it's just slow at the moment (the last post was before Christmas and features a funfunsuperwaycool drawing by the lovely Crispin Wood). We used to post several times a week but people got busy and other things became more important (you know, like doing actual work that pays money). I'd like to have more stuff to put up there but I'm not sure what that will be at the moment. By the by, if you want to contribute a drawing (for free...sorry, we have no money) for the website, please email me and I'll get it up on the interwebs. You'll be totally famous and feel like you do when you discover some cash in an old jacket that was in your closet. No pressure though. BUT GO MAKE A DRAWING NOW!!

I think I'm going to dump Netflix. We got rid of the DVD part awhile ago and had just the streaming plan using the PS3 as the source device. But honestly I can't think of the last time I used the service. The streaming options kinda stink and now that the company is losing contracts with major distributors, I'm not very optimistic that the future for Netflix looks to improve. Plus, I'm a cheapskate and I'd rather not pay $8 per month for something I'm not actually enjoying. Sounds like I just decided to cancel my account. Yes. Yes it does. OooooOOooh! Maybe I'll get Apple TV or Roku! Time to do some RESEARCH (love love love me some research)! 

Let's talk about things I like shall we? Sure, why not? Podcasts. I listen to a plethora (oh shit!) of them and it seems they are all mainly comedy-related. What do I listen to? WELLHOLYSHITHEREISALIST!! EXPLOSIONS!!

• WTF with Marc Maron
• Mike and Tom Eat Snacks
• Superego
• The Pod F. Tompkast
• The Dana Gould Hour
• The Monday Morning Podcast
• The Thrilling Adventure Hour
• Girl on Guy (with my girlfriend Aisha Tyler)
• Doug Loves Movies
• Who Charted?
• You Made It Weird
• Comedy Bang Bang

There are others that I occasionally check out (like the NPR Planet Money and All Songs Considered) but these are the ones that I actually listen to on a regular basis. 

I also am having difficulty getting this song out of my head. Not sure why it sticks in there but I think it has something to do with her haunting voice. I need to do another hunt for new music soon cuz I'm currently skipping most of the songs that come up on my iPod. That means I have to go to sites like The Noise, AllMusic, Ryan's Smashing Life, HipHopDX, AllHipHop, and Pitchfork. Ugh. Seems like a lot of work. So lazy...I think I need a nap. Wanna snuggle?

Lazy Blogging = Must Be Christmas Week

Christmas time is here much like a big truck barreling out of control down the street, its driver passed out at the wheel from meth, right into the side of my face. Of course I only notice it coming at the very last moment and then it is upon me faster than I'd have thought possible. I am helpless to stop its relentless forward momentum as it plows over me, leaving in its wake disappointment and emotional carnage. Yup, it's just like that only with tinsel. Suffice it to say, I'm too goddamn busy to write an entry and so I'm delegating this task to everyone's favorite guest author, Oliver the Cat. He's got a lot to say about the changes the house undergoes during this holiday season and offers many insights into why plastic bags are awesome.


Hey there everybody! Looks like I'm going to get another shot at this! Let's get into it! Exclamation points are fun!

I've been around for a while now. Like easily more than ... ok, I don't know numbers very well. All I know is that I have noticed that this house goes through weird changes. Right now we're in what appears to be the Tease Oliver Season. I'm not normally a complainer (unless I'm super starving or tired) but I don't think the humans understand us cats very well at all. Let me break it down for you all. See, we're creatures of habit. We like things to be just so. I, for one, check the condition of the pile of sneakers in the upstairs bedroom at least twice a day. If even one of them has moved, I will notice it and I then have to reinspect the entire collection. I then have to rub my face on all the remaining pairs of sneakers just to make sure that they smell like me. I don't want to, I HAVE to.

The Christmas Tree: They put up this big plastic tree-looking thingie that has all these flashy lights on it and then they dangled all kinds of toys from it. These toys look fantastic and I want to play with them immediately! But as soon as I even start towards this big distraction, the humans yell at me! Why? I should be yelling at them for not allowing the toys to be free! They seem to want to just have them all on display and not let us play with them. Where's the fun in that? Wouldn't it be more interesting to see how that shiny glass ball looks as it shoots across the room? They can't possibly be vigilant forever. As soon as they let their guard down, I'm jumping up and grabbing some of these toys for my secret stash (that's where I store stray socks, wine corks, and bits of plastic for future use). I will have that ornament. It will be mine.

Presents: As you probably already know, us cats frickin' love boxes. We love to sleep in them, hide in them, jump in and out of them, y'know, the usual stuff. But oh man, when a box has some crinkly wrapping paper on it? It's just this side of heaven. I could spend my entire day walking on those boxes that are sitting under that sorry, plastic excuse for a tree. The sounds of the paper combined with the angular rigidity of the box are intoxicating. I think I'll go rub my face on the corner of the boxes again and again until the wrapping paper either tears or gets all greasy from my scent. Ew, I just skeeved myself out.


Christmas Cards: One of the humans insists on putting these little bits of paper on the doorway from the big room with the fire to the big room with the food in it. She uses these little pieces of plastic that don't taste quite as good as a bag does but in a pinch they'll do for a quick fix. What is annoying about these pieces of paper is that she hangs them quite high up initially and it makes it rather difficult to get at them. It's like she doesn't want me to bat at them at all. I have noticed that sometimes the cards fall off the door frame and that's when I pounce! First, after sniffing the card to make sure it isn't going to murder me, I'll sit on it for a while. Then, when that gets boring, I'll eat the little piece of plastic tape. Fantastic.


Plastic Bags: This time of year the humans seem to bring a lot more plastic bags into the house than usual. Seriously I cannot say enough good things about these things. They are delicious. They make wonderful sounds. They're cool to the touch and oh, the texture. That amazing texture. I really don't think I can do it justice by trying to explain it here on this stupid fat man's blog. Go find a plastic bag and put it on the floor (if you have to jump on a table and knock it onto the floor, that's perfectly acceptable in my opinion. I take this approach when it comes to jumping up on things: "If the humans didn't see it, I didn't do it"). Now walk around on the plastic bag for a while. Sniff it. Sniff it a lot. Like waaaay too much really. Taste it. First start with some small licks that gradually increase in intensity and frequency until you have whipped yourself into a glorious, blissful frenzy. Then, just when you feel like you simply cannot handle it anymore, take some little nibbles out of the bag and let the full plasticky goodness take over your mouth. You should get some faint notes of animal renderings on the back end of the finish. Oh, it's in there somewhere. Then, flop down on your side and take a nap on the bag. If the moment grabs you, maybe cough up a bothersome hairball on the handle part so that the bag cannot be used as intended by the humans. That'll teach those show-offs. "OooOOooh, lookit me! I have thumbs!" Whatever freakshow, go clean my litter box.

Sir Oliver the Stupidhead

Egregious Abuse of B-Boys

Back when MTV showed videos (no, don't worry, I'm not going to go on and on about that. Because honestly, most of the videos they played sucked anyway), a lot of the videos had awkward dance sequences. Usually this scene was not only unnecessary but sometimes was so contrived and forced that it made the viewer feel uneasy (i.e. Pat Benatar in "Love is a Battlefield". Skip to 3:21 and thank me later).

In the mid-80s someone thought not only would be a great idea to shoehorn a dance number into their video, but it might be superawesomesauce to have hip hop dancers (B-Boys, people...B-Boys) embarrass themselves as well. Mira, if you're going to have people dancing to your shitty song it might as well be a bunch of guys who actually know how to move (rather than the weirdo chorus line of people doing the same hackneyed "dance" all together). I get that. But what I don't get is why oh why are they being forced to dance to these songs?  Check it:

I like this song. Actually I like this song a lot (I'm a sucker for Robert Plant), but skip ahead to 3:58 for a hyper-embarrassing moment in 80s video history. WTF? Who ok'd this? Plus, you can't even do the "White Guy Dance" (a.k.a. Whatever the hell Springsteen is doing in the "Dancing in the Dark" video. Stop that Bruce. Stop it this INSTANT! Don't you bring Courtney up on that fake stage with you! FOR SHAME! BAD BRUCE! BAD!) to this tune let alone break-dance.

The abuse continues:

No one likes this song. Not even Billy. Give me anything off of Glass Houses rather than this horror show. But more importantly, why would ANYONE think it would be a good idea to have someone popping and locking to fucking Uptown Girl? El Diablo himself wouldn't even attempt it. Skip to 2:18 to see what I mean. And yes, I recommend having the sound on just so you can get the full effect of this bad decision.

Were the 80s finally done humiliating the hip hop community? Oh no sir, they were not done.

Wow. First off, please spend a couple of minutes bathing in smug entitlement of 16-year-old Tiffany (you should probably turn the sound down though...it's pretty terrible). In nearly every shot she is giving the camera the same "come hither" look. Or what she probably thought was her sexy bedroom eyes look at any rate. It really just looks like she has to take a dump real bad. But for this example I think it's the worst offender because here she clearly just inserts herself in what was probably just some dudes practicing or even doing a street (beach? boardwalk?) performance for some cash. Go to 2:24 and try not to be mesmerized by her shuffling feet dance move. I'll tell ya, that girl is going places.

The abuse of the B-Boys was not limited to these 3 videos of course. But I have another example here that while the dancers are not popping and locking or whatever, they are still totally fucking tossed into the middle of a video for no reason and the song is simply NOT a song anyone would want to dance to. Plus, they can't even seem to get their moves synchronized and that's just sloppy. Go to 2:01 in this vid. For realsies:

What. The. Fuck. God, I so want to punch that guy with the curly mullet in the face over and over again. I would say that the taller dancer dude is better but I think what's actually happening here is the shorter guy realized that no one actually gives a fat fuck about how this looks so he just phoned it in. That's how I chose to view it anyway.

And now, just cuz I loves you all sooooooo much, I present to you Cowboy Hip Hop. You're welcome.

Say it with me now: "That's Jammin'!!"

Not Gonna Mention the 'betes.

We are in my favorite season right now and it has me in a delightful mood. At the house the wood is stacked next to the fireplace ready at a moments notice to take any chill out of the air. The cats have made it known that we can be used as a heat source and I am again reminded that our windows are shitty. We don't have a vent in the bathroom and so we have to leave the window up there slightly open and I enjoy feeling that chilly air when I'm brushing my teeth. Of course once it gets stupidly cold we close it and the shower steam just billows into the hallway where it peels the paint on the ceiling. It's a tradition.

I'm changing gigs at work too did I mention that? I don't remember. Yea, I've been doing the current job for a little over 2 years and it was time for a change. Luckily for me an opportunity presented itself and I was able to make the switch. Should be interesting as I get up to speed with the new responsibilities. Plus, I'll have to help the new person transition into my old job so that'll take a little time. I know the person they hired though and she's good peeps so I'm not stressing about that.

What else what else what else? Hmm...oh! I'm currently obsessed and I mean OBSESSED with Breaking Bad. I know, I know..the show's been on for a few years and how come I never watched it? I dunno. I plead that I am easily distracted and I didn't know a damn thing about the show. I hadn't even read any reviews. But I happened across an interview with Bryan Cranston and I decided I'd give it a try since I can stream it off Netflix. Holy shit people. If you haven't watched this show, do so now so we can talk about it. If you have watched it, call me immediately so we can talk about it, only don't tell me anything about Season 4 as I'm only in Season 3 right now.

I'm also working on another site with some other contributors. It's called Seriously Awesome Monsters and the idea is to create a monster that does whatever you want it to do. Just tap into your superego and let the ideas flow. There's even a Twitter feed if you want to read what SAMs have to say about god knows what. The site is in its infancy at the moment but we hope to have more and more people draw a monster for us. You want in? You totally can if'n you want. Don't worry if you can't draw, we can't either. So yea, if you want to draw something to put up on Seriously Awesome Monsters, just email me and I'll put it up there. How 'bout it? C'mon...it'll be fun. All the cool kids are doing it.

Junk From My Brain

NOTE: Blogger had a meltdown last week and my post "Junk From My Brain" was lost in the shuffle. I'm re-posting it since it doesn't look like they will be recovering it themselves.

The Pony Tail.  I think that the Pony Tail might be one of the happiest hair-do's ever. Whenever I see a woman jogging or even just walking quickly with her hair in a pony tail, I always imagine that the pony tail is singing a little song in a high-pitched-happy-happy-sing-song voice as it swishes back and forth. "Pony-tail! Pony-tail! Pony-tail! Pony-tail!" I had thought about making a video with me doing the voice of the pony tail but the creep factor of me filming several women jogging or walking seemed too high. "No officer, I'm not some pervert. I'm just making a video of pony-tails for my blog. See, I'm going sing the voice of the pony-tail! ...Because it's funny? No! This is NOT a fetish. No wait!...please don't arrest me...I'll leave. I'm sorry." I just realized that the Pig Tail as a hair style is as happy if not happier than the Pony Tail. Hmmm...I betcha that filming someone with pig tails does involve a fetish of some sort though.

The Shirt Taco.  You know when you're  wearing a button-down shirt and you're a fat guy? No? Ok, so what about if you are wearing a button-down shirt and when you sit down a space opens up between two of the buttons? That's a Shirt Taco. Shirt tacos can happen from a shirt not fitting well causing it to bunch up when you sit or, in my case, you have exceeded the shirt's documented capacity limits. This is sometimes preceded by consuming a meal. Such as: "Ah crap...I shouldn't have had that big lunch. Now I have shirt tacos." The worst type of shirt tacos are usually seen on men where there is no undershirt behind the taco. This allows hairy flesh to poke out. That's nasty and no one wants to bear witness to such an exhibition. On the other side of the shirt taco spectrum is when a woman's ill-fitting shirt gives one a brief glimpse at the booby area. These particular shirt tacos can be fun. Yes, I know I'm ma dirty old man but don't even act like you haven't glanced inside a shirt taco, seen some lady's bra and giggled to yourself. You have and you know it. These are more dangerous though because one does run the risk of getting caught looking. What I have observed is that no matter where the shirt taco appears (man or woman), it is unwise to acknowledge its existence. Just give it a quick glance when you think the coast is clear and then chuckle to yourself later.

Apostrophes and Computer Forms.  As an Apostrophized American (apostrophied? apostrophed?), I am flabbergasted that in 2011 there are still computer forms out there that refuse to recognize the apostrophe as a legitimate character. What the frick computers? My name is "O'Malley" and your dumb form has forced me to revoke my own apostrophe in order to satisfy your out-dated and, dare I say, discriminatory computer code. I will now and forever be labeled as "Omalley" in your stupid database. Every time I have to deal with your company I will have to say "No, the name is O'Malley not Omalley. Yes, I know that's what you have in front of you but I'm telling you that's not how it is spelled. There's an apostrophe in the last name but your site wouldn't let me put it in. It just kept rejecting my application/order/whatever. Yes, I'm positive. I've had this name for as long as I can remember. Yes, I'll hold." It does help me sort the junk mail that comes to the house. If the last name is misspelled, chances are that particular piece of mail came from a company that I don't want to work with anymore. Here's the kicker: My own email address here at work does not include the apostrophe. Mother fuck.

Open Letters

Dear Security Guard,
Good morning. Hello. Yes, hi ... yes, good morning. We have established that the morning is good and in doing so, this has ceased to be an acceptable form of greeting. Can you stop that now? Ok. Here's the deal: I'm not what you'd call an overly friendly guy. I'm not technically a misanthrope but if I were you I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for me to strike up a conversation on say, an elevator for instance. You probably will be disappointed if this is what you are expecting. Now when I come into the office building in the morning and you are seated there at the security desk, I understand that there is probably a security reason for the you to acknowledge that I exist. It may even be part of your job. But see, I'm usually in a post-commute funk and just starting to coming down off of my coffee high so I say pish posh to this social construct. Let's just allow this morning's awkward exchange be our coup de grâce. You don't want to be sitting there greeting every douche who walks through the door with some variation on "Good morning!" anymore than I want to come up with a Pavlovian response and/or a comment on whatever the weather conditions may be on that particular morn. Please understand that it is not a reflection on you as a person nor is it a sign of arrogance on my part (at least I hope it isn't). I just don't want to talk to anyone at 7:55 a.m.
kisses,
-Mark

Dear Guy Who Creates a Toilet Paper Privacy Screen, 
Hi, no, I'm not entirely sure who you are yet (although I have a couple of suspects), but I'd like to address your behavior if I may. You know how you create that privacy screen of toilet paper where you configure it to bridge the gap between the wall and the metal toilet stall wall? Yea, to close up that 1 inch gap there? Um, I don't know how to break this to you but I think you might be insane. You're certainly profoundly paranoid. First of all, really? I don't think we have many voyeurs here at the office but if we do, I'd be willing to bet that they don't want to watch you taking a dump. Ok, let's say that perhaps there is a remote chance, albeit small, that there could be a pervert lurking somewhere in the company who's particular fetish is watching people pinch a loaf but that bathroom is particularly busy and even if they were able to situate themselves so that a) you were not aware they were watching, and b) that they were on some bizarro angle so that they could actually see the toilet area, someone else would walk in on them. Oh, that's part of the thrill they get you say. I see. It heightens the experience for them. Gotcha. Don't you think that you might be a bit conceited to think that you were the one they want to view? At any rate, here's a step ladder that you can use to get over yourself. Please stop wasting TP like that. It's silly.
Boo! I see you!
-Mark

Dear Bon Scott (of AC/DC fame),
I think I may know why you were "Shot Down In Flames" as you put it. I listened to the words as you sang this song and I have to say, it sounds like it was your own fault. Now, we don't know each other and there may also have been some extenuating circumstances at play here but, well, let me just quote this to you and see if you can figure out where the conversation may have gone off the tracks. Now keep in mind, these are your own words here so it's not like I'm getting this through a third-party source. Ok, here goes:

She was standin' alone over by the jukebox, 
Like she's got something to sell
I said, Baby what's the goin' price –
She told me to go to hell

Ok, I think the first problem was that you made a pretty bold assumption right off the bat that this woman was a prostitute of some sort. I think that's going to stand out as mistake #1. Just... well, just don't do that. It's in poor taste (to say the least) and if I may, I'm quite surprised you thought this tactic would work in the first place. Then, we go right into mistake #2 where you acted on that assumption and said, in no uncertain terms, that you do indeed think she is a prostitute. And like, right to her face too. This is mistake #3 and the most glaring mistake of them all. There's really no way this scenario was going to end well for you. Personally I can't believe that all she did was tell you to go to hell. You could have easily endangered one if not both of your testicles by this action. I hope that this exercise in breaking down why you were shot down in flames was helpful to you. I'd like to think that I'm helping people use communication to further their relationships and build on the skills needed to be a better person. What's that? You died in 1980? Oh, then fuck it. Carry on sir.
-Mark

I Think I Can, Maybe

As the whirlwind of the holiday season descends upon us like a glittery dragon that smells vaguely of pine needles and sadness, I have accepted a challenge. I will participate in the 5-Boro Bike Tour next year. Last year I attempted the ride without even once taking it seriously and proceeded to fail miserably. Hey, did you know you can't not exercise for years and then just jump on a bike and go 42 miles in the rain? Technically I can say that I knew that as well but I didn't remember. I was reminded when I realized I couldn't continue somewhere in Queens. I have learned my lesson.

I have a little over 5 months (the ride is on the first Sunday in May) to train and get into some semblance of physical fitness. I have been...let's say "dormant" for some time now. The attempt at the bike tour the last time actually made my lack of enthusiasm for exertion even worse. I regressed and the dreaded belly took over. My job is also not helping as most of it can be done while seated. It's not like I'm crawling around in people's attics anymore so I have to actually make an effort to get some activity going. I have no plans on turning this blog (still hate hate hate that word. Can we please come up with a better name?) into a log of my progress but I thought it was worth mentioning. Your humble author will be endeavoring to become less of a lazy shit. Further updates as events warrant.

Meanwhile at work I have been moved into the "Thunderdome" (a.k.a. the cube farm). I think I've mentioned that I used to share an office space and while it wasn't ideal (meaning, I'd rather have my own space and not have to share at all), it was pretty sweet compared to cube dwelling. In the office scenario, we had what is commonly know as a "door". This "door" allowed us to block most of the sounds coming from the rest of the people in the office. There was also a "thermostat". This device allowed us to actually control the temperature of our space in order to make it more comfortable. The main office space is, in my opinion, always too damn hot. Like now for instance. It's gotta be 76°F out here. What the fuck people? Are you all lizards? How about a nice comfortable 68°? Heck, I'll even bend and agree to 70°. No? You all like it super dry and roasting? Great.

I have nothing against sitting in a cube per se, it's just that when you are a cube resident, invariably they place other people around you. It's with these other people I tend to have issues. For one, they all talk. They really shouldn't be allowed to do this. Talking is noisy and goddammit they should be quiet. They also type on their keyboards too loudly and shuffle around in their 7 x 7 foot spaces. Of course there's always the coughing, sneezing, and other noises that people make on a daily basis. Hey there person who sits a couple rows over from me. You know how you keep sniffing every 3 seconds? Yea, if you actually blow your nose, it might get rid of some of that snot all in one semi-efficient action. What's that? You'd rather just sniffle constantly? Oh, ok. Carry on.

There is another person who sits nearby who is not only loud and makes every sentence sound like a question (this is a fairly common phenomenon by the by. It totally drives me crazy? When people do it? I find it frustrating? to listen to?), but she also sounds almost exactly like Rosie Perez in Do the Right Thing (minus all the swearing). Now while Rosie is super cute and charming I challenge you to sit within earshot of her all day every day. It's not easy. Use your inside voice lady who sounds like Tina, you're making me stabby.

Random Shit That I Have to Get Out of My Head Before it Fills Up

When I find something that I like (like a fun website, blog, TV show, etc) I become voracious. I consume all the content. I'll go to a site I like and spend all my time reading everything that is posted there. You have a kick ass webcomic thing? I'm-a-gonna read all them motherfuckers in one sitting. Your blog is super awesome and funny? Hey, look at me reading every goddamn post you have. You have a way-cool TV show? I'll Netflix the shit out of it. This is all well and good but ultimately what happens is I catch up to whatever the latest post/episode is and then there's no more. I have to wait in REAL TIME for stuff to happen. It's bullshit. I need more of  your funny/interesting/thoughtful/whatever content and I need that shit now. Don't make me navigate away from your page. I'll do it. I may totally forget that I love your page too. I'm flighty and I have short-term memory issues. Of course I will then obsessively check and re-check to see if there are any updates. It's not healthy. Hurry up with my entertainment stuff already.

Misty rainy bullshit rain today. I was driving in to work and the rain was like "Weee! I'm annoyingly hard to wipe away cuz I'm not quite rainy enough to warrant a full swipe of the windshield wipers. And I'll make the wipers stutter across the window. What setting will you choose for the intermittent wipers? No setting will suffice! Ha! Ha! And you forgot to replace the crappy blades again cuz you only remember when you're in the car!"

Fuck you rain. Why don't you stop being so misty and commit to real rain drops? What kind of a storm constists only of tiny, tiny rain spittle? If I was a storm I'd be totally like "Awwww, yeah! Here comes them BIG drops bitches! I'm gonna be all up in your face with the rain. Holla!" That'd be awesome.

And then my windshield wipers were all "Weee, I've got a notch in me that makes a big ol' streak right in your line of sight forever ok?" Goddamn it. Note to self: buy wiper blades TONIGHT. Or forget again, whichever's easier.

I'm getting a new laptop at work. My old one is ok but kinda slow so it has been decided that I should get a newer, faster model. This is fine by me. The problem is that the IT guy who is backing up my data stinks. This isn't me being mean because this is a fact. He smells of bad breath, poopy and other terrible things. Also, there is a thing on his neck and I think it's trying to talk to me. I think it started out as a mole but it has become evil I don't want to talk to it. I feel it staring at me when he's talking his death breath all over me. When he was using my computer to do whatever, he kept touching his face and hair and then my keyboard and mouse. Duuuuuude, now I have to dump some industrial strength purell over everything in my space. I think I have to throw them all away. Again, this cannot be mean because it has the power of the truth to back it up.

That is all. Carry on.

Timid Woodland Creature

Halloween is this Sunday and I am totally unprepared. We get a shit-ton of kids coming to the house (well over 100) and good lord if they don't all want something for free. The cats hate this night almost as much as they hate the 4th of July. No, the cats don't hate America and your freedoms, they hate fireworks and our doorbell. Luckily, the Trick or Treaters ringing the doorbell doesn't happen every night for an entire month like the fireworks do. Fuck you ineffective Chapter 148, Sec 9, General Laws Board of Fire Prevention Regulations, Massachusetts Fire Safety Code, 527 CMR 2.00. You are a joke law with zero teeth.

What was I talking about? Oh yea, Halloween and all the crazy spooky shit that goes along with it. I may have mentioned a few times that I don't do scary movies. I do not care for them. They can scare me and I find this unpleasant. I do not enjoy seeing gore or zombies or what have you. I am not good at keeping my girly shrieks at bay and I have found that using my hands to shield my eyes does not prevent the horrible sounds from getting to my brain. And this is where the sounds will put images that may very well be worse than anything the movie is presenting.

I remember scaring myself into thinking that I saw a ghost in my bedroom (after my grandmother on my mom's side died. She was the first dead person I had ever seen). I had pulled the covers up and jammed myself up against the wall next to my bed so that if the ghost bumped into the bed (?), it wouldn't brush up against me. So there I was all wrapped up and protected when the thought occurred to me that, "Wait, I can still hear things." Ghosts make that spooky sound right? I would still be able to hear that and I'd have a heart attack and die at 10 years old. That thought messed me up and I proceeded to jam a pillow onto my head to block out sound. Luckily I did not pass out from lack of oxygen or overheat and explode (I normally require lots of ventilation).

With Halloween so close, everywhere I look and every news or entertainment outfit has something that could potentially freak me out. "Top 10 Horror Movie Scenes!" shouts one article with a large picture of that fucking Exorcist kid front and center. "No fucking thanks," I say and click over to another site. "50 Scariest Movies!" proclaims the caption under yet another shot of Linda Fucking Blair snarling at me. Jesus fuck. I just want to read about the economy or something totally not scary like that (wink! it's sarcasm folks! zoinks!).

I can trace my aversion to the horror and/or scary movie genre back to 1975 when at the far too fucking young age of 5, my parents took me to see a little film called Jaws. Are you kidding me? That's messed up. When that severed head in the sunken boat clonked into frame, I'm pretty sure I had a stroke. From that day on their movie viewing choices were suspect. I remember my mom announcing one Saturday morning that "We're all going to the Granada Theater to see a movie today." Lovely, and what movie would that be, dear mother of mine? "We're going to go see Young Frankenstein." I balked because although she promised me that it was a comedy and I'd like it, this was the same woman who said I should watch Psycho with her one night when I couldn't sleep. Wow. And yes, I would watch the Creature Double Feature on Channel 56 nearly every Saturday. But that was mainly movies with dudes in cheap rubber suits. However there was one that stuck with me. The Brain That Wouldn't Die scared the bejeezus outta me.

If you'd like a quick gauge of my level of jumpiness I can provide it. As a kid I was frightened by an episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show. Yep. And not just by little Richie's horrible acting either (I can remember even as a little kid thinking "Wow, that kid is a really shitty actor. Why does he yell all his lines? Couldn't they just fire the little fuck and get someone who's good at this?"). I was freaked out by how freaked out Dick Van Dyke was. When he came home at the end of the show and they started coming after him from the other rooms? I lost my little mind. Morey Amsterdam's bugged out eyes coming out of the bedroom was terrifying. Seriously. Even when Laura comes cascading out of the closet on a wave of walnuts I was scared (at the 19:20 mark on this video).

So this past weekend I went on to Netflix and searched for that episode to see if it would elicit the same reaction now that I'm all grown up and (presumably) less skittish. I found it and streamed it off my PS3 (so cool being able to do that. I love technology). It is basically a spoof of a Twilight Zone episode and I was totally enjoying watching it. Then, that scene came up...yep, still spooked me. Maybe I'm just afraid of Morey Amsterdam? Lesson learned. No scary movies or even pseudo scary 49-year-old family television shows. Yea, I'm a real man alright.

Existence Precedes Essence

Similar to what she did last year, The Wiff has been in Florida for the last several days hanging out with her friends by the pool at Universal Something or Other. You can see by my inability to recall the actual name of the theme park/resort that I am not a fan. Good thing too since I wasn't invited. Which is fine. I didn't wanna go to your stinky movie-themed getaway with a cool pool and hang out all day anyway. I wanted to stay in Boston where it was cold and kinda rainy. I prefer it. So there. No, actually I do. For realsies.

Day 1: The Wiff had to leave at stupid o'clock because her flight to Orlando was leaving out of T.F. Green in Providence. Have I mentioned that we live about 10 miles from Logan Airport? No? Well, we do. She wasn't thrilled about the choice of airport but this is what happens when you let other people book your trip for you. All I knew was I was going to have the house to myself for a few days and I had planned on using this time to do some serious slacking. I'm talking about bringing laziness to a whole new level. By the time I got up for work that morning she had already been gone for an hour. She had made coffee for us (awesome) which I gladly drank and then headed off to work. That night was pretty uneventful so let's just ignore Day 1 and move on shall we? We shall.

Day 2: Friday morning came and since I'm like wicked smahhhht I had made arrangements to work from home. It was a touch chilly in the house when I woke up so after my morning routine I decided to make a nice fire. Oh man, I love having that fireplace insert. It may be a pain in the balls stacking the wood and then bringing it into the house only to restack it in the corner in shape of a small pyramid, but when you get a nice hot fire rolling along and that fan kicks on and heats the house, you forget all about the bullshit. The cats took turns passing out in front of the fireplace glass and I set about my day. I have a rule when I work from home: I have to be dressed as if I am actually going into the office. Luckily where I work that does not mean a suit and tie but it also doesn't mean that I can get away with sitting in my PJs either. But at least I can sit in a super comfy chair with my feet up.

While I was sitting there I noticed a rather large and evil-looking spider making its way across the rug and headed in my general direction. "Stupid firewood's all full of creepy crawlies I bet," I thought to myself and looked around for something to squash said spider if it came within striking distance (I may not like spiders and their ilk but I'm also quite lazy). Luckily for me, Oliver also spotted the spider and swooped in like a gallant furry knight and gobbled the little bastard up. Huzzah, Sir Oliver! Well played! He sat there on the rug looking pleased with himself while scanning for other little moving snacks. Cut to a half hour later and Good Sir Oliver is barfing up a hairball in the dining room that had a not-so-subtle spider theme. Nasty. Is there a worse sound than a cat horking up a hairball? I'm sure there is but I can't think of one right now. I revoke your knighthood Oliver. You are just a gross cat now.

Day 3: Saturday. Glorious, glorious Saturday. This was a day where I had nothing to do. The calendar was completely open and the possibilities seemingly endless (within reason of course). What to do then? How about sleeping in until 9:30 or so and then pad downstairs to play some video games while drinking really strong coffee? Awesome. Let's go do that right now. I even made myself some breakfast. I made some hash and a couple eggs (sunny-side up thank you very much). Plus, the chill was still in the air so I got to make another satisfying fire. Perfecto. Then, at around 2pm, I got bored. Like, super bored. I didn't want to watch anymore TV or play any games. The interwebs was boring me too. So I took a nap in my chair. With a cat in my lap. I am officially an old woman.

Day 4: Ok, this is getting ridiculous. I have to make the coffee AGAIN? Fuck me. And I have to feed the cats and the fish as well as make sure the snake (yes, the snake. We have a ball python named Charlie. It's ridiculous) has enough water or whatever (cuz I sure as hell am not feeding him his favorite food. I'm far too squeamish for that shit). I bet this means I'm going to have to make breakfast for myself too. Sheesh. I know that sounds like I'm a sexist pig but honestly it's just that I'm a terrible cook. My hash and sunny-side up eggs that I had the day before weren't very good and took a lot more talent than I had anticipated. There is a skill set here that I simply do not possess. I am the cleaner. I clean things. I cannot cook things. Well, not very well anyway. Look out dry cereal in a bowl, here I come (I don't really like milk y'see). The rest of this day was spent avoiding doing laundry. I did use the dishwasher though. That was an event. This is literally the first time in my life that I have ever used one. Sure, I've helped load and unload them in the past but I've never put in the soap and turned the fucker on before. I broke my dishwasher cherry. And at the tender age of 40 too. Hope no one calls me a Cascade whore.

Day 5: Monday. Back to work. The Wiff texted me that her flight was going to be delayed and that she figured she'd be home by 9:45 or so. I had planned on going to bed early and finish my book but I realized that I'd probably just pass out and I'd miss her grand arrival. And most likely she'd just wake my sorry ass up anyway so I just watched Top Gear and waited up for her. Aren't I swell? Of course I am. We've established this already.

And so that was the end of my alone time at ye olde homestead. I have never lived alone so getting a couple days to putter around and think my own thoughts while staring at nothing in particular was nice. I even had a bit of an existential crisis which I may or may not explain in a later post. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. Not to make that a teaser or anything, I just tend to over share sometimes and I have to remind myself that there can be certain boundaries. Fuck, I dunno. I'm just really glad Amy is back home. I missed my lady. I don't even mind that she hogs the covers.

This Is Not Real

When I'm watching a movie or a TV show I get annoyed when an actor will take me out of the little universe I'm supposed to be buying into for the duration of the show by doing something I find distracting. "Well Mark, what do you mean by that long, border-line run-on sentence", you ask? Lemme 'splain cuz there are several examples (quick aside: when I say "several" I feel like I should have at least 4 examples to warrant the use of the word. If I had 7 examples, then that to me is the perfect use of the word "several". If I had 3, then I would say "a few" obviously. And everyone knows 2 examples is "a couple". This be the rules, people. I feel the terms "many" and "a bunch" are more loosey-goosey and therefore do not warrant further examination).

1. Darting Eyes
  This drives me batty. When an actor is talking to another person and the camera is on their face as they deliver their lines, the actor will make his/her eyes dart back and forth from the other actor's eyes: left, right, left, right, all super fast. The frequency of the eye movement increases with the dramatic weight of the scene. The more intense the actor thinks this performance is, the more those goddamn eyes are gonna be whizzing like a metronome on steroids in their sockets. Cut it out actor-types. We can see you doing that. It makes me think to myself, no matter how engrossed I might be in the story, that "oh yea, this is just a dumb movie and that's the chick from that episode of The Wire." This is where a better blog would have a bunch of examples from YouTube or whatever but I don't. And I don't know how to put one together either.

2. Not Looking at the Road While Driving
  Oh man, this is guaranteed to take me out of the plot and put me right back in my reality (which I'm trying to escape for the love of Pete and you actors are fucking that up for me). Two actors will be sitting in the front of a vehicle and they'll be having a conversation. The one who is driving will deliver their lines while looking directly at the person in the passenger seat. Sometimes they'll even stare at the person while waiting for the dramatic reaction to the lines just spoken. This makes me in the audience say, "Look at the fucking road you asshole!" It basically points out that this whole thing is fake and they are actually on one of those elaborate vehicle rigs where they are just towed around and they actually have zero control over the car. I've noticed that if the scene calls for more than 2 people in the car or someone to be in the backseat, then someone will eventually say "Hey! Watch the road!". Yes, please do. It's distracting.  I think I must commute on the same roads as a lot of aspiring actors or something.

3. Not Locking a Vehicle
  Another one that is rampant but seems to be more so in TV shows than movies. Not sure why. This is when a character will drive up to wherever, get out of the car and walk away without locking it up. Sometimes they'll go so far as to leave the frickin' windows open too. I've even seen where they'll leave a convertible top down. Who does this? No one in the real world (unless you live in some fairy tale land where no one ever does anything illegal to anyone else's property. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that's rare). I live and work in a city and I lock my shit up. I wouldn't even leave my car unlocked in my own driveway or the garage here at work. The times I notice it in TV shows is invariably when the character parks the car, pays no mind to the fact that their in a shitty neighborhood and just leaves the thing wide open. Which brings me to my final example.

4. Finding a Parking Space No Matter What
  I understand that it isn't interesting to have a character circle a block for 20 minutes trying to find a parking space but I get distracted when they're in a big, busy city and not only is there a spot right in front of the building they need to go to but there are usually SEVERAL spaces available. C'mon, that is just super fake. The only time I can remember a character having trouble finding a space to park is when there's valet parking and the character is the "put-upon-loser-type". It's funnier if they can't park their jalopy in front of the hip club with all the kids and their hairdos. Otherwise it appears that it is super easy to find a place to park in downtown New York.

Ok, so that last one doesn't really bother me as much as the others do but I needed to satisfy my definition of "several". I can't seem to think of 3 more examples to get me to the purest form of "several". Any thoughts internet peeps?

Here's my current favorite pop song. I'm sure I'll be totally sick of it by the end of November, but right now I can't stop singing it. And for that, I apologize.

What's for Dessert?

I just made a really bad decision. Lately I've been a bad boy and have not been bringing my lunch in to work. I've just been super lazy about it. The guilt that I feel over the truly unnecessary expenditure of $7+ a day when I should be bringing in food from home is palpable. I have to suppress it and blend it up with the ball of regret and shame that I keep just in the center of my chest. That's the one skill set that I can trace back to my Catholic upbringing: the ability to see exactly what the problem is and yet ignore the issue and hope that it will somehow solve itself. It's how I self-diagnosed myself as being lactose intolerant for awhile as my gall bladder not-so-silently got closer and closer to killing me. I didn't say it was a good skillset.

Yea, so anyway. There is a cafeteria on the top floor of the building where I work. And although it is cheap, it is not a good cafeteria by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it's pretty shitty. The food is marginal to bad and the people who work there are surly and/or disinterested. Also, they continually fuck up the french fries. This is unforgivable. The goddamn french fries are always slightly under done and too greasy. How do you fuck up fries? When I pick up a fry, it shouldn't sag over sadly onto one side and then start to sweat oil. That's nasty. The good news on this front is that the company that currently runs this cafe has been told to hit the bricks by the company I work for. See ya Sodexo. Go eat a bowl of dicks.

Here's why I can't go upstairs to the cafeteria: Sodexo knows that they have lost this contract and are slated to be out of there by Oct. 15 so they have seriously slacked on stocking things to eat and drink. Plus, I can't help thinking that if they were so apathetic and shoddy when they thought they were in like Flynn then what level of quality can one expect from them now that they know the jig is up? I don't want to find out. So I decided to go grab a couple of slices of pizza with the guy I share this office with (pardon me while I dangle that preposition). On the walk over I announce that "I'm gonna get 3 slices!" to which Seth warned "Don't do it man. I did that yesterday and holy shit did I pay the price. I was useless the rest of the day." I chose to ignore this advice. "Feh, what does he know anyway?," I thought to myself. "Nothin', that's what. Plus, lookit the guy, he's all slight and shit. I'm strong like bull and almost as big. This'll be fine." Can you see where this is headed? Of course you can. We all can. All except "in-the-past" Mark. He's forgotten that he is a 40-year-old man who has no exercise regimen to speak of (unless you count getting in and out of a Jetta). Let's see what happens!

I sat down at the tiny table with my 3 glorious slices of pizza and started in. This place makes really good pizza so the first 2 pieces went down easy. By the time I had finished my second piece, Seth was done with his sub. He said "Are you sure you want to eat that one too?", which I of course took as a challenge to my manhood. "Hell yea, I'm gonna eat that one." I said confidently. "No problem." But by this time I was already full and in need of a nap when I took the first bite of that last slice. I have watched quite a few episodes of that show Man Vs. Food and I always put myself in his place when he takes on those crazy-ass food challenges. The conclusion is always the same: No fucking way would I eat all that shit he has in front of him. Not even if I could be sitting directly on a toilet at the time. It just won't happen. I charged through 3/4 of it and then I hit the wall.

I put down the rest of the slice and sat there regretting being dumb. Seth looked at my plate and said, "What, you're not going to eat the crust?" I said that no, I can't. He replied that if I don't eat the entire piece, then I lose. Lose what you ask? If you have to ask then you are not a competitive douche like me. I knew that I cannot lose no matter what. I must win the non-existent prize. This challenge will not go unmet. I stared at the crust of the pizza slice and lemme tell you it looked huge. I sighed, gathered myself and jammed that mofo into my mouth in two bites (my parents would be so proud. Oh wait, I think I have the wrong word there...whatsitcalled? Mortified? Too harsh. Disappointed? Yes! That's the one).

We then immediately walked back to the office and I'll tell ya, that was the worst thing I could have done. I should have just sat there at the table for another 10 minutes or so and let what I just did to myself settle down. By the time we got back to the office I was a wreck. The pizza was just sitting in my gut like a bowling ball. Thank Christ I didn't have any meetings or anything like that to go to because for the next hour I was barely able to function (my boss doesn't read this does he?). I just had to do stuff with folks on the phone so they couldn't see how I was all greasy with pizza sweats. Sorry ladies, I'm spoken for. Ah the Wiff is a lucky lady.

It's been over 4 hours since I ingested that meal and I am just now starting to feel relatively normal again. Lunch shouldn't do that to a person. I hope this new contractor/catering company is better. I will be making more of an effort to bring in lunch but I also know that I'm inherently lazy and will slip from time to time. As long as the new people know how to make a decent batch of french fries I will be happy.

Spamalot

Lately I have been spending way too much time telling the Yahoo Mail spam filter that yes, these 25 emails that have landed in my inbox are in fact spam. I know that there are people out there who's sole purpose in this life is to make my online experience as miserable as possible but I have lead a mostly spam-free life these last few years. Until recently. Since Gmail came out I have used that as my main point of contact for all things official; from the main blog contact to incidental work-related correspondence. My Yahoo account, which I have had since I think 1997 or so has been relegated to the "Oh, this place needs an email address to complete my order" email. Vendors from Zappos to Amazon to Northern Tool know to contact me at the Yahoo address. And I do still use it for those rare occasions when I think to open my ancient Yahoo IM app. (although now that they have copied Google and integrated IM into the mailbox area of Yahoo, I seriously doubt I'll ever download and open the actual IM application ever again).

Somewhere along the line some nefarious online merchant has sold my address to some rather seedy organizations. At first the spam filter was on top of its game. It scooped up the bulk of the over-the-top and the blatantly obvious ones and ushered them into the spam folder with very little fanfare. I never saw them. Of course some slipped by but I didn't mind checking the little box and then marking them as spam. I would get a little note from SpamGuard saying thanks for helping it perform better. What was implied was that SpamGuard was so sorry and, frankly embarrassed that it had let me down by allowing this terrible blight stink up my email inbox with its potentially offensive content. I would smile graciously and say to no one in particular, "Hey SpamGuard, don't sweat it. I'm a laid-back kinda guy and I'm just happy knowing that you are trying your hardest to not let this happen again. It won't happen again correct? Do we understand each other here? I think we do. I expect more from my free services." But it did happen again. And again. Lately, it's been happening several times a day in fact.

Let's take a quick peek at what the filter has been letting through lately shall we? Here are a few gems in no particular order (these are quoted directly from the subject line in my Yahoo email account):

• Plump Breasty Best Lucky Mad Belly Mama So (I kinda like that one...it's sorta sing-songy and fun)
• Nailed Stuffing Small Hunks Haily Foot Bent Puffy Skinny Covered ("small hunks"? ewww)
• Finger Sits Stuffed Alluring Orgy Amazing Rod Stunning Twinks Wants Dark-Haired (yea, I didn't know what "twinks" meant. I don't suggest googling it...trust me. I have seen things that I cannot un-see)

And now for my favorite:

•  Mark Omalley thighs enjoying four jem jeweled swallowing juice stuffed taste banana tanned plugged look seduced classic showing

Wait....what? You know what annoyed me the most from that last one? The fact that they misspelled my last name. I hate it when computers don't allow apostrophes as a recognized character because what happens is the M in my last name doesn't get capitalized and the whole pronunciation becomes garbled. It's actually a quick way to scan the junk mail I get at home. If my name is spelled "Omalley" then I know I don't have to open it (usually The Wiff filters the junk mail before I even see it by the way. I'm totally spoiled).

I have no idea why this sudden influx of spam messages has been able to route its way around whatever algorithm Yahoo uses but goddammit those mother-truckin' Russian and/or Chinese spam robots are relentless. I'm getting on average 6-8 messages per day that make it to my inbox past the filter (even more on the weekends for some reason). This is in addition to the (holy shit) 463 messages that the filter caught and prevented. Who sold me out to the crazies? Was it you Timbuk2? How about you Best Buy? Somebody did it and I want revenge. I also want to know what a "stuffed taste banana" is.

Gonna Need a Lot of Ice

We need to bring back the ice floe. The sheer amount of stupid people who have been allowed to poison our gene pool and clog up our roads with their dumbness has made our society very unstable. I propose rounding up a large group of dumb-dumbs and placing them on a nice, semi-stable sheet of ice way the fuck up north somewheres and then gently nudge it out into the Gulf stream. And then what happens, happens. But Mark, who do you propose we relegate to this fate? Do you have some sort of list perhaps? Why yes, yes I do.

• People who whistle. You are not enhancing any song that may be on at the moment nor are you uplifting anyone's spirits with your monotonous rendition of "Rocky Mountain High". Off to the floe with you.
• The blond, frizzy-haired woman who works in my office. We seem to be on the same schedule for everything lately and I'm tired of seeing her. Walking into work, there she is across the street. On my way to grab some lunch, she's at the salad bar. Time for a wee? She's in the damn hallway. Go away lady. Get on that floe. (postscript: Hey lady, it's called conditioner...look that shit up. Oh no he di'int!)
• The cashier lady in the cafeteria at my work. I get the same thing and price changes every time. I know you hate your job and me for whatever reason but see, I don't care. I will solve both our problems by dooming you to stand on a rapidly melting chunk of ice somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Enjoy.
• People who say "How's it goin'?" How is what going exactly? Be more specific. Y'know what? Nevermind that. Just get on the floe.
• People who say "It's goin'!" in response to people who ask them "How's it goin'"?
• The guy who nodded off during the training I was giving the other day. I understand that trainings are dull but it's not like there was a hundred people in the room. As you may or may not recall, there was only 3 of us in there. So yea, I noticed when your head kept bobbing onto your chest. Hope you can tread water for several days.
• The woman who sits in the cube outside my office. Her laugh is super nasal and I can no longer abide it. She must go.

Wow, that last one seemed kinda harsh. Ah well. I have a bit of a problem. I tend to let things bother me. I notice patterns of behavior and idiosyncrasies in my fellow humans and once I notice something, I cannot UN-notice it, y'know? Frankly, I'm amazed when others do NOT notice the quirks of those around them. "See, he does that thing with his lips every 15 minutes. You mean you've NEVER noticed that? God, it's maddening. I HATE that guy!" I'm even more shocked when these things don't bother people even after I've pointed out how obvious they are. I once broke up with a girl cuz she tapped her leg whenever she was sitting. We'd be at a movie and I'd miss the entire thing because I was just obsessing on the fact that her leg was bouncing up and down the entire time. What the fuck? Stop fucking doing that before I stab you. And when say I "broke up with her" I mean that she dumped me after cheating on me. Whatever, she's on the floe now.

The Wiff and I were watching a film about the White Stripes tour through Canada back in 2007. They wanted to play all the Providences and out-of-the-way places where bands don't usually perform. It's a nice story and if you like the White Stripes, a must-watch. While we were watching the movie, the Wiff mentioned how she liked how they not only toured the remote areas but went out of their way to get to know the area and show respect to the local customs. I barely heard this comment as I was harping on the weird thing that Meg White does with her left arm when she drums. I may need medication.

Oh, Come ON!

I watched a terrible movie this past weekend. I did not watch the entire thing but I watched enough of it to know that it was a shitty one. The film in question was 2012 which came out last year and I distinctly remember saying to myself "Well, there's another movie I'll never ever watch." I spoke too soon apparently. The Wiff had recorded it off of HBO and it had been sitting on the DVR like a turd for a couple of weeks. Yesterday after she got back from running errands and doing some work she announced that she was "going to watch a movie". I understood that as "I want to be alone now. Go upstairs and let me watch this dumb movie in peace." See, it's not that I mean to ruin her viewing of horribly stupid candy-movies/TV shows, it's just that I can't help myself. I have to make comments and poke fun at the plot, characters, special effects, what-have-you in said movie/TV show. I don't WANT to, I HAVE to. I am compelled. It's a sickness.

So I went upstairs and let her be. But I got bored upstairs. When you don't have anything you really want to do, the internets can get dull super fast. I poked around on Hulu looking for a show I wanted to watch but got distracted by a game of Snood instead. After a couple of games I went on to YouTube to watch people falling off of things. That got old faster than anticipated. I made my way back downstairs and ignored the look that the Wiff gave me. I noticed it, I just ignored it. She was camped out on the couch and 2012 was stinking up the TV. I sat down and tried to keep my comments to myself. I didn't last very long. "Oh, come on man...they're on a huge, cavernous cargo plane and it's quiet enough to have a whispered conversation? So they're saying our car is louder than that plane?" Eye rolls from the Wiff. There was one scene later on with John Cusak doing his best Shelley Winters impersonation except he must have the lung capacity of an orca because he is under water for waaaaaay longer than humanly possible and when he finally comes up, he's not even tired. This is the same guy who needed a tiny French chick to help him rebuild a Camaro. Amazing.

The movie also suffers from the problem of computers not behaving like computers. Computers in movies make all kinds of extraneous bleeps, bloops, and whizzing noises. The graphics are always too flashy (especially for government computers) and although the operators have access to amazing amounts of information, they can never accurately predict anything. They can't even do a countdown properly. I know I'm supposed to suspend reality for the sake of entertainment but shouldn't the concept of time passing be the same? The movie did blow shit up nicely I must admit. The shiny-shiny-ness was palatable but the scale of some of the disasters seemed awkward, like a cut scene from a crappy video game. Plus, the whole planet is blowing the fuck up right? How come John Cusak gets to keep his entire family together throughout this shit storm? He even gets to hook up with his ex-wife after her boyfriend bites it in a rather nasty fashion. Can I just say that I don't like Amanda Peet? She always looks angry. Lighten up lady, you're in a movie.

There is so much dumb shit going on in this movie that it stopped being worth wasting my witty remarks on it, much to the Wiff's chagrin I'm sure. After John Cusak gives the Mayan's the middle finger and survives what I estimate to be a hundred different attempts to kill him and his family (did you know you could out-run an explosion? or drive through a building that's collapsing, popping out the other side unscathed? or you can sit in the bed of a pick-up truck as it drives through the goddamn Himalayas in WINTER and be perfectly cozy in just a suit jacket?), they are on the deck of one of the arks that were built in China (sure, they all survive the floods but they end up with lead poisoning) months after the disaster when his semi-retarded daughter says "Daddy? When can we go home?" Hey kid, did you not pay attention to when everything ON THE PLANET got fucked over? Hmmm? Did you miss all that? D'ya think that your McMansion on the fucking cul-de-sac survived? *Smack!* At least that's what he should have done. The need to put a pretty little bow on the end of this movie really just didn't make any sense. If the writers had made the ending dark and brooding (a la Battlestar Galactica for instance) I'd have a smidgen of respect for them.

I have a benchmark for shitty movies like this one. That standard is the movie "Volcano" starring Tommy Lee Jones at his robotic best and Anne Heche (before she went crazy). Volcano did what any movie that is this poorly written, acted, directed and filmed should do. It ramped up the crazy and unbelievable scenarios and became, in my opinion, a comedy. If you have never seen Volcano, rent it and enjoy (geologists straddling a super-hot fissure? Sure, why not. A guy melting in lava? Of course. A lava floe stopped by cramming a bunch of jersey barriers into a horseshoe shape? You betcha). I suggest that you watch it while drinking. As a matter of fact, you can do the Volcano Drinking Game. Every time someone dies while just standing still and screaming, take a shot. Every time someone does NOT die even though lava is pretty goddamn hot, take a shot. You could take a shot every time the laws of physics are ignored but you'd be shitfaced by the end of the first 30 minutes.

Since Volcano is so bad that it's good I have devised a rating system based on it. If you have a movie that is rated as 1 Volcano, it's a bad movie but you could watch it all the way through without saying "Oh, come ON!" more than twice. A movie that is rated 5 Volcanos is, well, Volcano. It's a pretty high standard of awful. This movie, 2012, I will give 3.5 Volcanos. I was going to just go with a rating of 3 Volcanos but since 2012 runs 2 and a half hours long, that makes it extra tough to take. A while back the Wiff and I tried having a "Bad Movie Night" and have some friends over to watch dumb movies and make fun of them. It kind of fizzled out after a couple attempts but I think we have to bring this back. Ooooh, maybe the first movie for BMN can be Taken. That stinker rates a solid 3 Volcanos easily.