A quick catch-up before you start watching the best show on television.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Game On
Though my beloved St. Louis Blues suck, as usual, I can still enjoy the Stanley Cup Finals.
For years I labored under the delusion that my favorite sports were:
1a. NFL
1b. NHL
I've come to notice something very telling, however. When I'm watching football, I find myself doing other things, as well. Hockey, on the other hand, tends to hold my complete attention.
I can only conclude that hockey has ascended to the top of my particular sports hierarchy.
And what a game it is! Speed, skill, violence, the great sound of skates slicing into ice, the zamboni... What more can you ask for?
And the best part is the pace of the game. If you have a mere 2 hours to spare, you can watch an entire hockey game. Each team gets a grand total of one timeout for the entire game. Let me reiterate that for any NBA fans reading this post: one timeout for the entire game!
I single out basketball because, in effect, hockey killed basketball for me. I was a huge hoops fan growing up. Couldn't get enough of it. After watching some hockey, however, and seeing the great pace at which the game is played, I quickly realized what an inferior product the NBA was trying to pedal. Never again would I dedicate 45 minutes to see the last 90 seconds of an "exciting" NBA game.
See, I'm very American when it comes to sports. I don't have time to spend on nonsense. Give me the game, entertain me for a couple of hours, and then go the hell away. I don't give a rat's behind if the players are shooting 'roids directly into their scrotum on the bench; just give me a few minutes of release from my miserable life, you magnificent bastards!
And while I'm bearing my ugly American soul, the world can keep their precious soccer... er, excuse me, futball. What the hell is that? Don't get it. Don't want to get it. And yeah, I've actually watched games before.
People in my home town are absolutely nuts for soccer. They pack 50000 people into the stadium for each frickin' game! As a courtesy to these people, many of whom I work alongside, I took in a couple of games...
Dear god in heaven, I've never been so bored in my entire life! It's no wonder the crowds are always chanting or dropping urine bombs on each other; they have to do something to entertain themselves!
And stop it with the whole, "They are the best athletes because they spend the whole game running." No they don't! They spend about 3/4 of the game strolling down the field, and then actually running the other 1/4 of the time. You know it's true, soccer fan. Don't even front.
Anyway, this wasn't meant to be an anti-soccer screed. This post is meant to celebrate the championship series of the greatest game in the world.
Hockey rules!
For years I labored under the delusion that my favorite sports were:
1a. NFL
1b. NHL
I've come to notice something very telling, however. When I'm watching football, I find myself doing other things, as well. Hockey, on the other hand, tends to hold my complete attention.
I can only conclude that hockey has ascended to the top of my particular sports hierarchy.
And what a game it is! Speed, skill, violence, the great sound of skates slicing into ice, the zamboni... What more can you ask for?
And the best part is the pace of the game. If you have a mere 2 hours to spare, you can watch an entire hockey game. Each team gets a grand total of one timeout for the entire game. Let me reiterate that for any NBA fans reading this post: one timeout for the entire game!
I single out basketball because, in effect, hockey killed basketball for me. I was a huge hoops fan growing up. Couldn't get enough of it. After watching some hockey, however, and seeing the great pace at which the game is played, I quickly realized what an inferior product the NBA was trying to pedal. Never again would I dedicate 45 minutes to see the last 90 seconds of an "exciting" NBA game.
See, I'm very American when it comes to sports. I don't have time to spend on nonsense. Give me the game, entertain me for a couple of hours, and then go the hell away. I don't give a rat's behind if the players are shooting 'roids directly into their scrotum on the bench; just give me a few minutes of release from my miserable life, you magnificent bastards!
And while I'm bearing my ugly American soul, the world can keep their precious soccer... er, excuse me, futball. What the hell is that? Don't get it. Don't want to get it. And yeah, I've actually watched games before.
People in my home town are absolutely nuts for soccer. They pack 50000 people into the stadium for each frickin' game! As a courtesy to these people, many of whom I work alongside, I took in a couple of games...
Dear god in heaven, I've never been so bored in my entire life! It's no wonder the crowds are always chanting or dropping urine bombs on each other; they have to do something to entertain themselves!
And stop it with the whole, "They are the best athletes because they spend the whole game running." No they don't! They spend about 3/4 of the game strolling down the field, and then actually running the other 1/4 of the time. You know it's true, soccer fan. Don't even front.
Anyway, this wasn't meant to be an anti-soccer screed. This post is meant to celebrate the championship series of the greatest game in the world.
Hockey rules!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Black Death Invades Household... Film At 11
Man, I hate being sick. I mean, like, really REALLY hate being sick!
It pisses me off when my chest gets all tight and I have no lung capacity. Walking up the stairs of my townhouse this morning nearly induced a coma (no disrespect to Gary Coleman... RIP). I coughed so hard I nearly had a brain aneurysm (again, no disrespect to GC).
Mainly, I just hate drinking water. That's what everyone always tells you to do when you have a cold--drink freaking water.
"Don't get dehydrated!"
"The doctor says you need to drink water!"
"Gary Coleman didn't drink enough water and look what happened to him!"
It's like a never-ending litany.
Well guess what... I'm not going to do it. I refuse to drink water EVER AGAIN!
From this day forward, I shall drink only refreshing caffeinated beverages.
Oh, yeah, this is gonna be big.
It's like the time I went on that all red meat and cigarette diet back in college. Sure, I would occasionally cough up blood, but when you live on the edge of oblivion, you're sometimes obliged to peek into the abyss.
Boy, I'm really not feeling well. Maybe I should take my temperature. Maybe I have malaria or one of those Mexican intestinal parasites or something. Jesus!
I can't hear out of my right ear. No matter how many times I yawn or do that jaw clicking thing they always tell you to do when the airplane is landing, I can't make my ear pop. I think I'm slowly coming unhinged!
How much snot can one man produce? I mean, seriously. My wastebasket looks like a semi-liquid sea of tissues and magic nose goblins.
Luckily, my throat is still okay. It seems like every time I have the sniffles, it makes a fast break straight to my throat. No joke, I can get strep throat just from hearing Keith Richards talk!
My odds of avoiding strep have greatly increased since I discovered Halls Plus cough drops with the 'soothing' "syrup" center. I stick with the cherry flavor because, quite frankly, the other flavors make me puke. Actually, the cherry ain't so hot either, but what the hell--it works.
I think I need to take a hot shower. Maybe the steam will open my bronchial passages. Does that really work? I remember using a humidifier when I was a kid. It never did anything to help my asthmatic ass, but I found the sound soothing. If they made a humidifier that sounded like the warp core on Star Trek: The Next Generation I would never get out of bed!
Wow, I think I'm about to enter the phase where I start seeing visions. I swear to god, I think I just saw the Virgin Mary in a pile of empty cough drop wrappers! She had an angelic face, with a soft and heavenly aura surrounding it. Her voice was gentle and reassuring. She said...
"Whatta you stupid? Drink some water, you dumb ass!"
It pisses me off when my chest gets all tight and I have no lung capacity. Walking up the stairs of my townhouse this morning nearly induced a coma (no disrespect to Gary Coleman... RIP). I coughed so hard I nearly had a brain aneurysm (again, no disrespect to GC).
Mainly, I just hate drinking water. That's what everyone always tells you to do when you have a cold--drink freaking water.
"Don't get dehydrated!"
"The doctor says you need to drink water!"
"Gary Coleman didn't drink enough water and look what happened to him!"
It's like a never-ending litany.
Well guess what... I'm not going to do it. I refuse to drink water EVER AGAIN!
From this day forward, I shall drink only refreshing caffeinated beverages.
Oh, yeah, this is gonna be big.
It's like the time I went on that all red meat and cigarette diet back in college. Sure, I would occasionally cough up blood, but when you live on the edge of oblivion, you're sometimes obliged to peek into the abyss.
Boy, I'm really not feeling well. Maybe I should take my temperature. Maybe I have malaria or one of those Mexican intestinal parasites or something. Jesus!
I can't hear out of my right ear. No matter how many times I yawn or do that jaw clicking thing they always tell you to do when the airplane is landing, I can't make my ear pop. I think I'm slowly coming unhinged!
How much snot can one man produce? I mean, seriously. My wastebasket looks like a semi-liquid sea of tissues and magic nose goblins.
Luckily, my throat is still okay. It seems like every time I have the sniffles, it makes a fast break straight to my throat. No joke, I can get strep throat just from hearing Keith Richards talk!
My odds of avoiding strep have greatly increased since I discovered Halls Plus cough drops with the 'soothing' "syrup" center. I stick with the cherry flavor because, quite frankly, the other flavors make me puke. Actually, the cherry ain't so hot either, but what the hell--it works.
I think I need to take a hot shower. Maybe the steam will open my bronchial passages. Does that really work? I remember using a humidifier when I was a kid. It never did anything to help my asthmatic ass, but I found the sound soothing. If they made a humidifier that sounded like the warp core on Star Trek: The Next Generation I would never get out of bed!
Wow, I think I'm about to enter the phase where I start seeing visions. I swear to god, I think I just saw the Virgin Mary in a pile of empty cough drop wrappers! She had an angelic face, with a soft and heavenly aura surrounding it. Her voice was gentle and reassuring. She said...
"Whatta you stupid? Drink some water, you dumb ass!"
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Where you been, dude?
I hear you out there... you're wondering what I've been doing these past couple of years.
Besides sucking dick for crack money, not a helluva lot. I suppose I shouldn't joke about that sort of thing; fellatio is serious business!
Mainly, I've been working. The nature of this work, and the identity of my employer, must remain confidential. We'll just call it "government work." What this work entailed, and where exactly I buried all the bodies, shall remain my little secret. Let's just say I've received enough training in the military and martial arts to make Steven Seagal choke with envy upon his foot-long meatball sub.
Yeah, I'm dynamite, jack!
One major drawback to having such a choice job is the disastrous impact on my creative drive. See, I once fancied myself quite the writer (a fact easily discerned from my adroit prose).
Historically, working full-time at any job has rendered me artistically retarded. Even schlepping pies at Pizza Hut ruined my creative groove. The reason for this inevitable stagnation is no mystery; I'm not the most well-adjusted chap in the world.
I know this comes as a complete shock, but trust me when I say I have issues. It takes a huge amount of concentration and energy just to complete the most "normal" of tasks. Interacting with people is so tiring, I'm basically non-communicative after quitting time.
I'm not kidding. Anyone who speaks to me after 5 PM is risking bodily harm. The bag-boy at Fred Meyer asked me "Paper or plastic?" and I landed a right cross that had him spitting chicklets like a demonic pez dispenser!
I'm sure some do-gooder psychiatrist would diagnose me with a social anxiety disorder and throw me on the latest psychotropic substance. My question to them would be, "Whatever happened to shy?" We live in a society where introverts are made to feel like outcasts.
Where physical abnormalities are corrected with plastic surgery.
Where personality quirks are met with physical reprisals so extreme as to push the very boundaries of civilized society.
A planet where apes evolved from man?!?
Wait... where was I?
Oh, yeah, the shy thing.
I'm not hung up on the "Pharmaceutical as God" model our culture has adopted. Yeah, I'm fucked up, but it's a good kind of fucked up!
Still, these issues cause me to mentally shut down when confronted by major life changes, such as... a new job, for instance. All of my energies are channeled into surviving the daily stresses of the job, leaving scant resources for such silly enterprise as creativity or fun.
Well, this post ceases to amuse me. I've yammered long enough.
All you need know is that I'm striking back against this artistic paralysis! I will no longer be a slave to this mental malaise. I will no longer feel bad about my personality quirks and physical imperfections!
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to have my teeth polished to a blinding shade of white.
Besides sucking dick for crack money, not a helluva lot. I suppose I shouldn't joke about that sort of thing; fellatio is serious business!
Mainly, I've been working. The nature of this work, and the identity of my employer, must remain confidential. We'll just call it "government work." What this work entailed, and where exactly I buried all the bodies, shall remain my little secret. Let's just say I've received enough training in the military and martial arts to make Steven Seagal choke with envy upon his foot-long meatball sub.
Yeah, I'm dynamite, jack!
One major drawback to having such a choice job is the disastrous impact on my creative drive. See, I once fancied myself quite the writer (a fact easily discerned from my adroit prose).
Historically, working full-time at any job has rendered me artistically retarded. Even schlepping pies at Pizza Hut ruined my creative groove. The reason for this inevitable stagnation is no mystery; I'm not the most well-adjusted chap in the world.
I know this comes as a complete shock, but trust me when I say I have issues. It takes a huge amount of concentration and energy just to complete the most "normal" of tasks. Interacting with people is so tiring, I'm basically non-communicative after quitting time.
I'm not kidding. Anyone who speaks to me after 5 PM is risking bodily harm. The bag-boy at Fred Meyer asked me "Paper or plastic?" and I landed a right cross that had him spitting chicklets like a demonic pez dispenser!
I'm sure some do-gooder psychiatrist would diagnose me with a social anxiety disorder and throw me on the latest psychotropic substance. My question to them would be, "Whatever happened to shy?" We live in a society where introverts are made to feel like outcasts.
Where physical abnormalities are corrected with plastic surgery.
Where personality quirks are met with physical reprisals so extreme as to push the very boundaries of civilized society.
A planet where apes evolved from man?!?
Wait... where was I?
Oh, yeah, the shy thing.
I'm not hung up on the "Pharmaceutical as God" model our culture has adopted. Yeah, I'm fucked up, but it's a good kind of fucked up!
Still, these issues cause me to mentally shut down when confronted by major life changes, such as... a new job, for instance. All of my energies are channeled into surviving the daily stresses of the job, leaving scant resources for such silly enterprise as creativity or fun.
Well, this post ceases to amuse me. I've yammered long enough.
All you need know is that I'm striking back against this artistic paralysis! I will no longer be a slave to this mental malaise. I will no longer feel bad about my personality quirks and physical imperfections!
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to have my teeth polished to a blinding shade of white.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Breaking News!
Former President, and former living guy, Gerald Ford, comments on my triumphant return to the blogosphere!
C.O.S. -- A Mission Statement
This blog, this mighty tome of knowledge, shall be my gift to you!
Together, we will explore every realm of human endeavor. No subject is too lofty to escape my grasp, and no depth is low enough to contain my sink-age.
You will gasp with inspired wonder at my exploits, revelations, and all-around grooviness.
I will relentlessly chronicle the wonders and woes of this terminal condition we call "Humanity."
I will shock and amaze you...
Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?!? This is my writing blog.
What that entails, I'm not really sure, at this point. Basically, I'll write some essays, musings, and observations in an effort to rekindle my long-extinguished creative spark.
You are invited to follow along on this journey. Be advised, however, it's liable to be a dark ride. I'm nothing if not an honest chap, and that makes for frequent awkwardness, occasional discomfort, and in extremely rare instances, genital chaffing.
So proceed at your own risk into the...
Constellation of Suck!
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