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Archive for July, 2009

I heart kiddie parties

Tomorrow is my stepdaughter’s seventh birthday party. I was praying she’d want to go to a water park or an equally overly-expensive place that has nothing to do with bad video games, worse pizza, and stupid cartoon characters, all set to a cacophony of screaming humans that, after an hour, makes me want to eat 35 Tylenol and jam knitting needles in my ears.

Nope. We’re going to the Jungle. Again.

I love this place. I have fond memories of my daughter’s fifth birthday party, when some guy came after me an hour after his wife said I almost stepped on their kid and I apologized to him. He suddenly found a large intimidating friend just before we left and they decided I needed an ass-kicking. Thankfully I was able to pull off the ol’ crazy eyes and pretend that I could handle both of them with my incredible Kung Fu skill set.

Yep – can’t wait.

At least I get to go get my own 7-year-old tomorrow morning, after not seeing her for two weeks. I’m taking next week off to hang with the kiddies and go to Santa Cruz, where I can spend even more money I don’t have. But it’ll be worth it. As long as I don’t have to pull out the crazy eyes.

Posted on Friday, July 31st, 2009
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Beer will save the world

XKCD.coms Understocked

XKCD.com's "Understocked"

I’m really happy to see we have a president who has finally publicly come out and exposed history’s great uniter: having a beer.

Today President Obama will sit down for a frosty one with Harvard Professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Sgt. James Crowley of the Cambridge Police Department.

Seems that the good professor was having some trouble recently getting into his home. A passer-by mistook him for a burglar, the police were called, Gates, who’s black, said something about racism; the white cop arrested him, and President Obama said the police acted stupidly.

People called out people, police unions yelled at Obama, activists defended Gates, and Obama backed off, saying everybody needed to sit down with a cold one and sort this out.

Exactly.

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted on Thursday, July 30th, 2009
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Hippie yoga farmer freak

My colleague Karim found this today, and we both agreed it’s maybe the creepiest thing we’ve ever seen. Anyone who would send their kid to this show – even for a nice paycheck and/or shot at being on TV – should be led away by Child Protective Service in shackles. But, on the bright side, at least it solves the mystery of what ever happened to Doug McClure.

Posted on Wednesday, July 29th, 2009
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My arm needs to be cut off

So I finally went to an orthopedist yesterday, after a year of escalating pain in my left shoulder that likely came about from carrying, picking up, holding, hitting, etc. my new daughter the past year. At least that’s my theory. Even if it’s not true, I’m going to tell her that for the rest of her life. It will likely have to be amputated (that’s what I’m saying now, to get sympathy from the chicks).


 

I can’t work out, I can’t hardly move my shoulder, and I certainly can’t train for my upcoming Ultimate Fighting Championship cage match with Murderous Mongo the Monkee Man with my shoulder like this. So after much scrutiny (the doctor moved it around and watched when I yelled the loudest) my doctor says I have a shoulder impingement syndrome.

He then jammed a giant needle into my shoulder full of Cortisone. Well, mostly Cortisone – there’s also some sort of local painkiller that goes in first, because these F#@$&% Cortisone shots feel like someone tried jamming a Polish sausage into your shoulder vein. I could almost feel my sadist, relatively elderly doctor’s smile behind me as he asked “Burns, huh?”.

No, I wanted to say. I’m just clenching up because I find you attractive and just now noticed your wedding ring.

Anyway, the Cortisone worked wonders … for about two hours. Then the pain came back. The doctor said it might be three days, or it might be two months. I got two hours. Ultimately, I go back in two months and may then be on a regulation of shots and exercises. After a while if that doesn’t work, they may have to shave the bone so it doesn’t grind against another bone when I move, causing all this pain.

So, if you don’t see me on cable in that cage match, now you know why. If it’s not better next year, I’ll just rip off my own arm and use it as a club.

Posted on Wednesday, July 22nd, 2009
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Disco clothes

I need disco clothes. I’ve heard of a few good places to get ‘em, but I need testimonials. And I need ‘em fast. Preferably I’d like to look as much like early Dirk Diggler (with his clothes on) as possible.

 

Actually, I wouldn’t mind looking like Dirk Diggler with or without clothes. I know my wife wouldn’t.

Posted on Wednesday, July 22nd, 2009
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Swearing

There’s a web site out there that monitors Twitter accounts for curse words, called Cursebird.

Apparently, I swear like a mute. Not one damn curse word out of me. Which doesn’t reflect my everyday speech patterns at all.

I’m not saying I’m going to start throwing around curse words like a coal miner. Or, even worse, Chuck Barney. I’m just saying it’s kind of interesting how people who genuinely enjoy swearing can so easily stay away from it when writing. I believe that good writing should reflect the styles we use when speaking.

So what the $%#@ is my problem?

Posted on Tuesday, July 21st, 2009
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Thanks for wasting my time

I had to go get X-rays on my shoulder today – at least in theory.

My doctor gave me a referral a couple weeks back to an orthopedist. I called said orthopedist earlier this week to make my appointment. He told me – this was the first time I’d ever had a doctor answer his own phone and it completely rattled me – that I first had to have a X-ray before he’d see me. Meaning I had to call my real doctor (as opposed to my robot doctor) and get him to set it up.

I called my non-robot doctor’s office (thankfully he didn’t answer the phone, or I would’ve needed a heart doctor), and they referred me to the place to get X-rays. They said not to call the place for at least a couple hours to make sure they got the referral. I waited three days, just in case.

Actually I waited three days to go – I called that same day. The X-ray place said to come in whenever. Apparently “whenever” isn’t after 4:30 or, in my case, when they have no idea you’re supposed to be there. But I digress. So I found some time and went today (Friday).

First, after extensive time on MapQuest, I accidentally went to the orthopedist’s office, because I read the wrong piece of paper. I then found the right piece of paper, but couldn’t find the office. When I found it, it was the wrong X-ray place (don’t ask how I found another X-ray place on a completely different street, because I haven’t even figured that one out and if I do, my head will surely explode). So my strategy, at that point, was to just drive around looking for the right place. Or go home and start over. Or use the last logical option I had: Call my wife and ask her where I’m supposed to be.

That was the right move; Wives are just like that. They know stuff. So she told me were to go, I turned the car around and went. I found the right building, but the wrong office. This X-ray place has two offices in the same building, it turns out. That first office is were they send everyone to look stupid. Then I climbed the stairs to go to the second office and got a cramp in my calf. Honest. I was wondering if I could get some calf X-rays too, since I was there and all.

I entered the second office 15 minutes before closing time. Evidently the girl behind the counter and a guy looking suspiciously like someone wearing a blue medical-type outfit were just talking about how wonderful it would be if no idiot with a bad shoulder and a cramp in his calf would come in so close to closing time. They looked at me; she giggled and he shook his head. It reminded me a lot of meeting girl’s parents when I was in high school.

So I told the giggler my name and the nature of my mission. She takes out a stack of papers and starts professionally throwing them around. Then she starts typing on the computer, also in a professional fashion. Then she looks up at me and says “Sorry, your doctor’s office never called and we can’t X-ray you.”

I then suggested she call my doctor, which she did. One wrong number later, she hung up the phone and announced that my doctor’s patients must not get sick after noon on Fridays, because his office closed at noon on Fridays. I reasoned that must mean the cramp in my calf wasn’t very serious.

So now I have a very serious sounding orthopedist thinking I’m going to have X-rays with me on Tuesday when I see him, when I’m not. He’s VERY serious, by the way. I tried to change my appointment to later in the day Tuesday, and he simply said “No.” Oh, OK then, I said, stunned and a bit frightened. “I’ll guess I’ll just do my best to get there.”

Silence. Then he said, very firmly, “You ARE coming, aren’t you?”

Sure. I’m positive I’ll have all this squared away by … November. At the earliest.

Posted on Friday, July 17th, 2009
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King Tut and Six Feet Under

Technically, I’m not supposed to write about King Tut. The boss heard I was going yesterday and laid down the law: We’d had too much Tut in the paper. Which is too bad, as I wanted to write all about the Tut paper dolls, colorforms, furniture, wine racks (a replica coffin with the middle cut out as a wine rack – for only $450!) jewelry ($2,200 necklaces), and all the other silly ways they thought up to whore this thing out.

But since I can’t write about even the Tut gift shop (I almost bought the $35 headdress if I could’ve assured myself I’d use it for more than one laugh), nor can I write about the exhibit itself (good, more informative than the last one, a little shy in the way of the major swag), I’ll instead tell you I saw Peter Krause, who played Nate Fisher in “Six Feet Under” in the gift shop (which I won’t tell you sold King Tut kaleidoscopes because I’m not supposed to). I also found a kid who was able to sing King Tut and told me Steve Martin was the funniest man alive..

That’s it – I saw Peter Krause. He was wearing some kind of hat. There. That’s all I got.

Posted on Friday, July 17th, 2009
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The Jackson 3?

I know we should never officially wish death on anyone and all – at least that’s what my grandma used to say. Then again, she didn’t know Joe Jackson.

Simply put: Joe Jackson needs to be dealt with. Quickly, quietly, and with a minimum of fuss.

Reports surfaced Tuesday that Jackson is making plans to take Michael Jackson’s three children on tour in 2010 as the Jackson 3. Celebrity biographer Ian Halperin told the Sun newspaper in London that Joe wants to take 12-year-old Prince Michael I (the one who looked terrified at Michael’s memorial), 11-year-old Paris Michael Katherine (the one who looked terrified at Michael’s memorial), and 7-year old Blanket (the one who looked terrified at Michael’s memorial), on tour, with a world-class backing band. Supposedly he gave two of them recording contracts with his label already (you remember, the label he was pushing to a reporter before his son’s body was even cold).

What the hell would the kids do… stand on stage, clutching action figures of their father, looking terrified, while music played behind them?

Suddenly Debbie Rowe taking the kids doesn’t look so bad. Suddenly Dick Cheney taking the kids doesn’t look so bad.

Supposedly, at least one family member is livid, saying old Joe seems intent on doing this. Because screwing up his own nine kids wasn’t enough. Joe’s pushing 80 – can’t someone just kick his ass and be done with it? Why is this guy so scary to them? Tito’s got to want a piece of him by now. You can do it, Tito. We’re all behind you.

Posted on Tuesday, July 14th, 2009
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Ozzy breaks up with Zakk

Rolling Stone says Ozzy Osbourne has decided to part ways with longtime guitarist/giant scary Viking Zakk Wylde.

 

Two words Zakk: Join me.

Seriously. Me and my band – which is really only a band once every couple months if people’s wives don’t mind and their kids don’t have whopping cough – could use a guitarist who drinks beer by the case (I’ve heard insider’s stories and its true – Zakk Wylde drinks beer like you breathe air). Having Zakk around would be great, as guys would be afraid of not showing up for rehearsal.

 

Plus he’s an incredible guitarist: one of the few around anymore whose sound is immediately identifiable: thick, nasty, and frightening. But we’ve heard this out of Ozzy before – he’s tried replacing him a couple times, but it just hasn’t worked. I have a feeling guitarists are afraid to work with Ozzy for fear Zakk will come back, feel like he’s being cheated on, and kick their ass.

Posted on Monday, July 13th, 2009
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