An Unpleasant Post

A few days ago I watched a documentary about the culture of donkey F***ing that exists in Columbia. Yes it was a documentary, not porn. Today I was in the bathroom with my pants around my ankles, you know, like one does when one is in the bathroom. As i reached for some toilet paper, I looked down and saw a tag that said "Made in Columbia." All I could think about today was "Donkey F****ers made my pants."

Back for Halloween

Well, I haven't written anything in a while. But I guess you knew that already. Folks, I'll be honest, it has been a shitty couple of months. I thought I would spare you my somber ramblings about the suckage of work, money, and a soulless existence in general, because like a shrieking baby in the night you would just want to put a pillow over my face.

But enough with the sadness. It is time to laugh again.

Well its Halloween (no shit) and that means my favorite holiday. Halloween has ruled and sucked thus far. Here's the rundown.

Ruled -- Halloween crafts. Just craftastic. Some were better than others but crafting is still awesome (pictures coming soon). I will become your craft god and you shall kneel to me (eventually).

Sucked - Halloween Film Festival. The films were carefully selected. The invites amusing. The planned treats delicious. Lesson learned - you ain't in college and grown people don't want to do stuff on Thursday nights. Which just made me sad. This isn't a comment on my friends (who rule), but on the situation we find ourselves in where work becomes the overarching force in our lives. I refuse to grow up.

Ruled - Halloween nights at Greenfield Village. Pumpkins galore, adult trick or treating (meaning adults could get treats, get your mind out of the gutter), the smell of bonfires, the headless horseman, the Grim Reaper (aka Jim Greenberg), the cool air and a full moon, spending time with my friend Stylish. Simply rapturous.

Sucked - Mulled cider at Greenfield Village. Normally I wouldn't focus on one small, tiny, wee, detail of such a wonderful event but this apple cider was, umm..explosively bad (if you get my drift). This was the worst cider ever. I think they ran out of mulling spices and decided to use cough syrup instead. Is it my fault I didn't stop drinking it? No, it was cold and mulled apple cider is just horribly appropriate and atmospheric. Despite its badness it added to the general tone of the evening. Two days later and I am still paying for it. A haiku in honor.

Mulled Apple Cider
Your odd taste morphed into
Green Apple Splatter.

Ruled - My decorations. This was the first year the Halloween decorations went up in the new house and I love 'em.

Sucked - Your Halloween decorations. There are barely even any jack o' lanterns out. Halloween is now the second largest commercial holiday in the US. You wouldn't know it by looking around here. Where are the front yard cemeteries? The witches crashed into trees? Even those weird blow up parachute-like decorations that look like used condoms when deflated?

Part 2 - One of my favorite activities this time of year is visiting the retail establishments looking for new additions to my collections. The only additions are the ones I made myself. The offerings were poor. Target you were better than last year's (culturally misguided) suck fest, but still earn a general rating of assy.

Ruled - Halloweekends at Cedar Point. Not particularly scary (I'm a tough scare), but fun.
Ruled - Cable programming. I haven't watched a single show since September that has not been about Halloween, ghosts, Dracula, Witches etc. since September. I am in a complete haze of disemboweling and blood drinking. Thank you DVR for making it all possible.

Ruled - (Parenthetical comments).

Well there is still a few days of festivities left (I don't stop this party till Dias del Muerto).

Today I Feel....

Subjugated

Male Marketing

The past couple days I've witnessed several Under Armour logos plastered on the back of guys cars. I also witnessed several of these guys getting in or out of their cars and feel fairly comfortable pegging them as straight guys. I don't get the appeal of bumper stickers to begin with. I especially don't get the appeal of slapping your brand of athletic undergarment on the back of your car. I've never seen a bumper sticker for "Bike Jockstraps, they keep my balls in check!"

Under Armour is sort of unique in the field. First the spelling. Like the British colour or theatre, spelling armor with an "ou" just makes its classy. Because when I think of clothes designed to wick away sweat, I think class. Second the design. Tight yet manly. Anyone willing to publicly advertise their allegiance to this brand seems more likely to do it in the gay gear-fetish community than on the back of a car. Third, the concept of armor, sorry armour. Comparing to sport to warfare is commonplace. Suggested slogan - Fight jock itch and sweaty balls the way the Crusaders fought the Turks!

Duck Rape

Recently a friend (who shall remain nameless for the sake of dignity) confided to me that she was home watching an episode of Blind Date (don't scoff, you've watched it too). The date featured a lovely picnic and stroll by an idyllic lake with ducks swimming on its glass like surface. At this point, the guy sees it completely appropriate to mention that the only animals that engage in rape are humans, ducks, and dolphins. Whoa! Date Over! I'll admit that I am a repository of random facts, most completely inappropriate outside of a German sheisse fest. However, I try to restrain these "Can you here the lambs screaming Clarice" factoids to well lighted areas where multiple people are gathered as to not completely freak them out.

Despite the social ineptitude of this man, who I suspect will be alone forever, I had to know. I turned to my trusty friend, the Internet. I recommend not typing the phrase "Duck Rape" into Google. Duck rape is a fact of duck life, though scientists refer to it as "rape flight."

For the intensely curious and those not putt off by the phrases "maze-like vagina" and "corkscrew shaped penis", click this link. Oh yeah, there's also pictures of duck genitals, which are both revolting and fascinating and will leave you wondering how the hell ducks are not extinct. And just try to ignore the fact that there are pins tacking the duck wang to the picture's background (take that, rapist!).

I should note that not all ducks are rapists, mostly drakes and mallards who make up part of the 3% of the bird population who have penises. Most birds, male and female, have similar genitals consisting of a small opening which they rub together in what is called a "cloacal kiss." Well isn't that just sweet. Some how this reminds me of South Park's Mr. Garrison's concept of "scissoring."

About the dolphins....I just didn't have the heart to look it up. Nature is disgusting.

Textual Analysis Corner

So does any one else happen to think that this song is a bout a woman who gets raped and has her first orgasm during the rape, but feels guilty about it, so she goes into the world of illicit sex work to explore her sexuality and help track down the rapist --- or is it just me?

Essential Truths

I don't have religion, but these things I truly believe:

Scenes From a Work Day

The office copy machine is located perilously close to my cube. I say perilously close because the machine is close enough that I can eavesdrop with hardly any effort.

The bathrooms are close too. Actually, they're closer than the copy machines, but most people don't talk going in and out of the bathroom. The men keep their heads down for fear that eye contact may insinuate a session of homosexual, lavatory, afternoon delight. The women smile and great each other, but the slight squint in their eyes screams "Bitch, I'll cut you if you take the good stall." There is little conversation, so little distraction. All I hear are the daily flushings, as if my cube is perched on a fluorescently lit meadow of industrial carpet next to a babbling brook.

Most copier talk consists of daily pleasantries -- talk of weather, the weekend, and the nearness of 5 o'clock. I don't pay any mind to this useless type of conversation. It blends in with the clacking of keystrokes. More frequently than not, the copier is broken. And I delight in it. Hearing the struggle between man and machine as the office worker cries "Oh, its broken AGAIN!." The grunting of someone trying to remove a paper jam. There is one worker bee who is so irritated by the copy machine - functioning or not - that she curses and behaves as if the machine has a personal vendetta against her. While these are her worst days, these are my best. I chortle quietly in my cube listening to her rant and rave. Giving thanks that the quality of my day does not rest on the performance of the copy machine. I know, its wrong, but it makes me glow like the brightest coal in the fires of hell.

The copy machine provides more than just mere schadenfreude, it also provides incredulity. Today I heard the following conversation:

Copy Monkey 1: Oh it must be nice having the kids out of school

Copy Monkey 2: I dread going home. Something's always broke and its always either "not me" or "ida know" who's done it. Nobody takes personal responsibility.

Copy Monkey 1: We'll, that's kids for you

Let's ignore the 1950's tone of this conversation. Let's ignore the fact that miss "nobody takes personal responsibility" is probably the one who leaves the paper jams in the copier. Focus on the fact that this woman just quoted Bill Keane's "The Family Circle". Who does that? The apple cheeked, earnest humor of this comic has long since past its prime. I would be less surprised to get stabbed at work than to hear someone quoting "The Family Circus." If the only reading material I could find in a post-apocalyptic world was a compilation of "The Family Circus" my first reaction would be "Oh good, I have toilet paper." I just couldn't believe that someone actually quoted this comic. I jumped out of my chair to see who it was so that I could make a mental note to no longer say hello to this person in the hall.

This So Makes Me Want to Go To Work Tommorrow

U of M has a position for a kitchen cleaner that pays the same as what I make!

Also, there is a position for a lockeroom attendant. The pay is slightly less than what I make, but the perks......priceless.

Wistful

Remember when Fabio got hit in the face by a bird while riding that roller coaster?
good times...good times.

Only 122 Days Until Halloween

Its time to get crafting! This is the first peice of embroidery I ever did. Its not freehand, I used a pattern. Now I just need to figure out what to do with it.

People is Sneaky

Recently, I've been drinking from the community watering hole, also known as the office coffee pot. Creamer is 100% necessary as this coffee tastes like feet. But treachery abounds. Below is the situation as shared via email with my office partner in crime (here after known as Lady Portia).

Mike: I brought in my own coffee creamer because I hate that powdered stuff. It has my name on it so that the cleaners don't toss it on the weekend. I think some one else is using it. I'm setting up a sting.

Lady Portia: Haha...if you put a fabulous coffee creamer in the communal kitchen, people will surely use it. They think, "My that Mike's a nice guy. This creamer is delish!" Now is your chance to revoke their creamer usage by taking it back and housing it in your cube for personal coffee tastiness.

M: I am not a nice guy. I am not the creamer provider for the known free world. Let them suffer without creamer, if they don't have the initiative they should be buried in their own brew with a packet of Sweet & Low through their heart.

It needs to be refrigerated, otherwise I would. All for michael! All for michael!

LP:"My that Mike's a nice guy. This creamer is delish!"

M: This sounds very Lemmony Snicket

LP: Otherwise, you'll have to get used to the idea that seven people are using your creamer...and that it will shortly be going, going, gone. ; )

M: In my best evil German accent "Zer must be a vay to take car of zis zituation"

LP: P.S. If your co-op coffee creamer was organic and lovely...I'd run upstairs and steal it, too. Haha.

M: My coffee creamer is a lovely gingerbread spice. However I anticipated your plan to steal it and loaded it with sorbates, phosphates and petro chemicals. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA! You have once again been thwarted.

Coffee Break

A trio of Haiku about the office coffee pot.

brown stained pot of glass
are you ever cleaned and scrubbed -
haunting aftertaste

the red light is on
and your contents still hot
but when were you made?

so burned and foul
creamer will not disguise taste
will I get cancer?

I Walked With a Zombie

Tonight I had an encounter with the living dead. I was out for my evening walk about. It was about 10:00 and I was passing between a small neigborhood into the back area of a not quite finished condo complex. The weeds grow tall on this undeveloped land. The only light was provided by the dim moon, shrouded behind a cover of clouds. I was blissfully unaware as my ipod blasted an upbeat dance tune. I think I smelled it first. A brief passing of the unmistakable, reaking fetid odor of death. I had worn the same shirt out walking for 4 nights in a row, but i was sure this smell was coming from the zombie I was about to come across. From the corner of my eye, a flurry of motion caught my attention and that's when I saw it. The zombie looked as if it was beckoning something out of the weeds. Perhaps a zombie dog or a hoard of brain eaters. I couldn't be sure. As she stood in the crossroads, she lifted her hands high above her head. It was here that i noticed her torn pants and her boob hanging out of her tank top. What is it about the naked living dead that is more disturbing then the regular living dead? The breast was pale, slightly ashen. I tried to ignore both the zombie and the breast that was confronting me. I skulked around the corner, just trying to pass her as hurridly and unnoticed as possible. She brought her hands down and grunted. Fearing for my life and my big delicious brain, i decided that now would be a good time for a nice heart-rate rising sprint. Though I heard the shuffle and dragging of footsteps behind me, I either outran her or she found another poor soul to devour and initiate into the world of the damned.

The moral of this story: Don't do tai chi in the road, in the middle of nowhere, at night. And wear a bra.

In Praise of the Perfect Film

Its been a year, yet still I miss the hoopla surrounding the film classic "Snakes on a Plane." I saw this movie in the theater, on opening night. My friends questioned my judgement, if not my sanity. "Yes, but its snakes and they're on a plane" was the only response i could give. OK, I had one other response; "Yes, but its snakes and they're on a plane with Samuel L Jackson, muthafucka." Despite my solid reasoning and outward faith, I feared disappointment. My faith persevered and I testified in the form of shouting out "You Go Julianna Margulies" halfway through the movie after she deftly dispatches a snake with a fire axe . I left the theater proclaiming "That was the best film....ever." I put off buying the film on DVD thinking that my enjoyment of the movie may have had a lot to do with the excitement of the crowd. A Blockbuster 4 for $20 deal and two hours later, the film still delivers some good scares and my proclamation holds true. A review of some of the finer points

--Truth in advertising, there are indeed snakes on the plane. Movies with names
like "Remains of The Day," who knows what your getting
--No BS, 10 minutes of back story, then its on to the snakes
--The perfect ridiculous premise to quell fears of flying post 9/11
--Awesome character stereotypes: the chauvinistic pilot, flight attendant on her last flight, honeymooners where husband is afraid of flying, beautiful rich girl with pocketbook sized dog, woman with baby, two children of divorce flying solo to meet their mom, germ phobic rappers, incredulous snake expert, fey flight attendant
--Snakevision, get the action from the snake's point of view
--Any movie is better with Bobby Cannavale...mmmm, Bobby Cannavale
--A delightfully cheesy music video performed by the band Cobra Starship. The awesomeness of this video deserves its own post.

I need something new and awesome to anticipate. Sure Harry Potter is coming, but that comes with a sadness for the end and lacks a certain Joie de vivre. Yes the golden compass is coming, and while there will be a golden compass in the movie, it lacks the bombastic proclamation that there will in fact be snakes on a plane. Oh well, the void will continue.

This Charming Man

A bright spot, in "le jour de la merde", was meeting author Markus Zusak. Markus paid a visit to work today to talk about his book "The Book Thief." The link has full details, which does the book more justice than I could. Once I read it, I'll post a review. I'll admit that I was drawn in by the swoon worthy picture of the author (c'mon, you could live in those dimples). Oh and the positively dreamy Australian accent. So once I mopped up the puddle of drool, he was really an amazing story teller and a personable down to earth guy. He started out by telling this funny story about getting in trouble as a little kid and turned it on a dime into a story about one of his mother's holocaust reveries. It was really amazing how casually he was able to do this. I probably could have listened to him tell stories all day. His passion for the book was so clear and he was able to talk about the craft of writing without sounding like a pompous ass, which I greatly appreciated. He also took the time to personalize and put a message in each book he signed, with amazingly neat and careful penmanship. Pretty rare for an author these days. I was really impressed overall and have high hopes for the book.

I'll end my gushing love letter, by saying that he wrote the book when he was thirty and I don't hate him for that. Given the impending 3-0 that I'm facing, my campaign of aggravation with successful people around my age (F*** Off John Mayer)is at an all time high. The fact that he overcame this speaks volumes.

le jour de la merde

In honor of le shitty day I had, which produced a le sigh from my friend MC, here are two le beauties.

Brief Jerky Disapointment

So I am cruising along over at Etsy as I am want to do and came across someone selling an item called Brief Jerky.Yes, its just as it sounds, underwear made out of beef jerky. A very interesting idea,but the last paragraph of the product description came with a ring of dissaopintment.

"Please keep in mind the Brief Jerky are made out of real untreated jerky! They are way more for “show” than “go”. Brief Jerky is NOT for consumption. If you wear them, please be gentle."

So the brief jerky is neither edible and hardly wearable. A case of form failing function. I suppose I expect too much from my meat pants.

Gay Sex in the 70s

I watched the documentary, "Gay Sex in the 70's", last night and it made me depressed as hell. The film features interviews with different gay men living in New York from 1969 to 1981. The sheer amount of sex available to these guys during this time period is unbelievable, The phrase "lets go to an orgy" seemed as common as "lets go to a movie" and said with about the same causal attitude. It was this attitude which really depressed me --"Hey let's kick up our heels and fuck!" Ok maybe depression tempered with a bit of jealously. Being a youngin' in the 80s, I don't ever remember a time when I was aware of sex, where I wasn't also aware of AIDS, and the potential that sex could kill you. And given the sudden and devastating impact of AIDS, the sex = death equation was a powerful weapon in raising awareness. While effective, it also seems really traumatizing. The idea of completely recreational sex, without the idea that sex might be something you need to be "careful" about, seems so completely foreign to me. After watching this documentary, I realize that today's/mine concept of casual sex is so weak in comparison to gay men's of the 70's. The revolutionary power of fucking at the time and the sheer care free-ness of it all.......I'll need to keep thinking this one over....and over....and over....

And Still He Haunts Me.....

Lately George Washington has been visiting my dreams. Elegantly attired in his generals uniform of blue coat and golden vest, he stands slightly behind me in all situations. He never utters a word, just nods his head in approval or glares in what can only be described as a "Whatchu talkin' 'bout Willis?" fashion. Two nights ago, I was sitting at my desk at work, formatting a spreadsheet. George loomed behind me as I switched the column headings from red fill to blue. A nod of approval. A week ago, we went to the local gay bar. While I was happy to see that George had no immediate feelings on the bar in general, my choice of drink, a mellonball, was scoffed at. (C'mon people they're delicious. And if a fag can't order a fruity neon green drink in a fag bar, then what hope is left in the world). Last night, I was being chased by an unknown pursuer. George followed shortly behind me on his horse at a moderate canter. As I turned to look at my pursuer, George, glared as I tripped over the tree branch in front of me. A nod followed as I got up and continued my flight away from the unseen homicidal maniac that was behind me. His assistance beyond mere head bobs would have been nice. He was on a horse after all.

Lest you think that I am wishing for George to sweep me away on his gallant steed, the dream me is completely unaware of George. I do as I please despite his nods or Gary Coleman-esque mugging. I'm not yet sure if the founding father is judging me or offering advice. George refuses to play second banana in these dreams. Unlike a Saturday Night Live skit that you sit and wonder "where the hell is this going?" until your favorite character walks in, George is front and center, present from the first part of the dream until the end.

Perhaps the next step is to try and become an oracle. Have people funnel their yes/no questions for George through me. If you have any questions for George Washington, leave them in comment section and I'll see If I can communicate with him. To unlock the universe's mysteries with a yes or "Whatchu talkin bout Willis?" head nod.

Crafty as Shit

After recently complaining about my job to my sister, she recommended I make 50 greeting cards and try to convince a card company to hire me. As encouragement she sent me this beauty I made for her a couple years ago. Many consider it my finest work, my Sistine Chapel. By the way, "beetha" is a word my grandmother used for butt. Not sure if this is an Italian thing or unique to her.

Melvin Purvis

When heroicizing FBI agents, Elliot Ness is the obvious choice. I tend to prefer people who almost achieve greatness or fall from grace, so my FBI hero vote would go to Melvin Purvis. The name alone is worth it. Purvis is credited with the defeat (death) of gangster John Dillinger. Unfortunately, he accomplished this goal after several botched attempts, one of which left two civilians dead. Throughout it all he incurred the ire of J Edgar Hoover and after killing Dillinger, Hoover assigned Purvis to bad cases and foiled Purvis' attempt to find other work. He died in 1960 either by suicide or accidental gunshot wound.

More on Melvin Purvis here.

Purvis was heavily promoted on boxes of the cereal Post Toasties (formerly Elijah's Mana) in the mid thirties. Two box tops would enroll you in his Junior G-man Corps or his Junior G-man Corp, Girls Division. Makes one wonder how in demand the Girl's Division badges were. Was there such a clamor by young girls to hop on the Melvin Purvis brand name that this division needed to be created?

In the Spirit of 1954.....

Found an awesome book called Airstream Living. The original Airstreams have got to be one of the damned sexiest pieces of transportation ever designed. Sleek and stylish without a hint of pretension. The website is awesome, offering not only product information, but also a quarterly magazine and a way to tap into a whole Airstream culture. This years caravan club trip is to New Zealand!

http://www.airstream.com/

Sadly True

You Belong in 1954

You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

What Year Do You Belong In?

Welcome lads and lasses!

Here is the obligatory why I am doing this post.

-Trying to get into the habit of writing more
-Keeping in better touch with friends
-Build a better community of folks centered around me
-Indulge egomaniacal tendencies
-Friends told me I should.

Well there it is.