Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before

Monday, March 24, 2003

Here are some less popular names for Operation Iraqi Freedom:

-- Operation Oil Go Get
-- Operation Jesus vs. Allah: The Beast in the Middle East
-- Operation Baby Killer
-- Operation Don't Mess With Texas!
-- Operation My Deity Can Beat Up Your Deity
-- Operation Gulf War II: The Search for Curly's Gold
-- Operation We Have A Guy in Our Army Named Optimus Prime
-- Operation Dang, We Can't Find Osama... Let's Go Get Hussein
-- Operation Iraq Go Boom Now
-- Operation You Done Tried to Kill My Pa !
-- Operation USA! USA! USA!
-- Operation Hey Guys, Please Don't Drop Bombs on Any Weddings This Time, OK? That Looked Really Bad When You Did That
-- Operation Let's Piss Off the Pope
-- Operation 900 Billion Dollar Military Budget vs. 48 Bucks and Seven Pounds of Falafel
-- Operation We Have a Missile That Can Knock the Mustache Right Off Your Face
-- Operation We Have No Real Proof That You're Linked to Al Qaeda, Some Very Limited Evidence That You Have Weapons of Mass Destruction and No Proof That You Had Anything to Do With 9/11, So We Are Going to Call This Operation Iraqi Freedom
-- Operation Oh Man This is Gonna Be Sweet

Some Oscar thoughts.

Steve Martin was pretty funny except for a couple of dumb jokes, like the France/Germany is against me, or whatever it was. Timely, kind of. Funny, no. And then there was that Afghanistan camel joke. What the hell was that? Do people still make Middle East camel jokes? I didn't realize that. Those two jokes smelled like Bruce Vilanch.

I'm glad Chris Cooper won. He was damn good in Adaptation. And his little call for peace was nice. It wasn't a "republicans are baddies!" statement and not ridiculously self-important. A good guy who likes peace. Fine by me.

Speaking of self-important, Michael Moore's speech was funny. Ridiculous, but it was funny. It will be remembered. He is still complaining about the 2000 election. Come on. Al Gore got over it, so should you. Unfortunately, his funniest line was drowned out by the music and boos, when he said, "When the Pope and the Dixie Chicks are against you, your days are numbered."

When Catherine Zeta-Jones won, I was completely hypnotized by her jiggly pregnant boobs. They were like two big Welsh lava lamps.

Renee Zellweger is freaky looking. She looks like a bobblehead doll. Her head is too big for her body. She needs more Bridget Jones, less Roxy Hart. They sat her really close to Calista Flockhart. It looked like they were having a bone contest.

I was hoping that the guy who won for the short animation film award, "The ChubbChubbs", would make the biggest anti-war statement of the night. Didn't happen. That would have been funny. For years people would talk about the guy they never heard of that made the movie about the fat chickens who ranted about the horrors of war.

I forget what the guy won for, but I felt bad for the guy with the stutter. I think he might have made that stutter up so he could talk for longer than the 30 second limit on acceptance speeches. You know that no one with a good conscience will cut off a guy with a stutter who's trying to thank his mom and his speech therapist.

When Roman Polanski won, the presenter should have said, "Roman couldn't be with us tonight because he had sex with a 13 year old back when he was 43 and he'll get arrested if he steps foot in this country. Roman Polanski ladies and gentleman! Good guy. He's a good man. Once had sex with a 13 year old girl, but he makes fine films. I will accept this award on his old, perverted behalf. By the way, he was 43 when it happened. He was 30 years older than the girl. But how about that movie he made, huh? With the guy and the piano and all that? Good stuff. Hey Martin Scorsese... on average, how many teenage girls do you sleep with? None, huh? Maybe you should start."

I am glad they pronounced "Pianist" the correct way (sounds like "penis"), rather than they did on the commercials for the movie, where they said "Pee-Yanist" so the public wouldn't giggle at the real pronunciation.

There are a lot of movies about pianos and those who play pianos. The Pianist. The Piano Teacher. The Piano. The Piano Bench. The Piano Key. Big. Piano Piano! I Know My First Name is Piano. Billy Joel: The E! True Hollywood Story. Don't Tell Mom, The Piano Teacher's Dead. Stop! Or My Piano Will Shoot. How Stella Got Her Piano Back. The Shawshank Piano. That Piano Player is so Good That People Want to Fuck Him a Lot. Has Anyone Seen My Piano? It's Black and Has Roughly 88 Keys. If You Find it, Could You Let Me Know? Thanks. The Piano of the Apes. Shine.

The most disturbing image of the night (war not included) had to be the commercial that had Sharon Stone apparently having sex with the little yellow AOL guy. What was that? AOL is "sexier" now? Why on earth would you want to have your advertising icon associated with banging Sharon Stone? Maybe if it was 10 years ago when she was someone that people actually gave a crap about, and your product was somehow related to sex.

Hopefully this won't start a trend of harmless, family-safe advertising icons having sex with celebrities. Can you imagine the Snuggle Bear in the sack with J.Lo? Or the M&M guys in an orgy with Courtney Cox and David Arquette? Maybe the Keebler Elf and Christina Aguilera. Actually, that one makes perfect sense.

It's weird watching something as meaningless as the Oscars or the NCAA tournament while the war is going on. Dan Rather seems pissed that CBS is showing basketball. He was doing the normal half hour update or halftime update or whatever it was, and at the end of it he said, "And just so you know, we will interrupt basketball as events warrant it." The way he said it was great. He was very sarcastic the way he said "basketball." And it was also kind of threatening. He wanted to say, "We will interrupt your little fantasy world of office pools and Cinderella stories with news of Americans dying, Americans by the way, who are the same age as these kids playing basketball right now."

I like Dan Rather. He's a good guy and he's a crazy old coot.

I'll say this one thing before I say the other thing: I am not a big fan of this war.

Now I'll say the other thing: People at anti-war rallies tend to be giant idiots and give anti-war people a bad name.

This past Wednesday I was walking from work and saw that there was an anti-war rally going on in Union Square. I decided to mosey over and see what was up. It was nothing like the size of most rallies that have been televised lately. There were maybe 200 people there and when I showed up, a man was talking about the military being sexist, racist, homophobic and everything else that's evil in the world, and he was basically saying we should get rid of the military. That's a good idea.

Then a Short Stubby Lady With Short Grey Hair got up there. The same Short Stubby Lady With Short Grey Hair that seems to be at every anti-war rally across the country. She talks to (shouts at) reporters in front of the White House. She's in San Francisco yelling through a megaphone. Then she shows up on C-Span 2 at a Town Hall meeting in TinyTown, Connecticut. And she always starts a chant. The chant she started at Union Square was hilarious. It was as follows:

Hey hey, ho ho, we won't fight for Texaco. Hey hey, ho ho, we won't fight for Texaco.

Let me write that again:

Hey hey, ho ho, we won't fight for Texaco.

Say it out loud right now so you can hear how silly it sounds. One more time:

Hey hey, ho ho, we won't fight for Texaco.

So I started laughing because it just sounded so funny, especially because only about four people were chanting it. The chant died out pretty quickly and then the next guy got up to speak. This was a guy who did nothing but yell. He just likes yelling. He yells everything to try and get people riled up. The truth is though, this guy would be anti-anything, as long as he got to get up there and yell.

Here he is at an anti-taco rally:

"Crispy shells, ground beef and lettuce have no business in our world!"

Here he is at an anti-sneaker rally:

"This country has been casual for too long! Bring back formal wear!" <-- that's Mandy's joke.

Here he is at an anti-freedom rally:

"We have too many opinions in this country! Everyone should believe what I yell!"

So I left because nothing interesting or original was being said. Worst anti-war rally ever.

Then I saw on tellyvizion the people in San Francisco and somewhere in Oregon who were doing such great anti-war stuff like sitting on trolley tracks and blocking traffic and throwing rocks. Nothing says "I don't like this war" more than sitting on a trolley track. I'm pretty sure the President said, "Oh wait a second. You're telling me people are sitting on train tracks and stopping traffic to say that war is bad? I didn't know they felt so strongly about it. Bring our boys home!"

These people give Wavy Gravy a bad name.

In fairness, though, I'm pretty sure both Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi threw rocks.

Announcing the first ever Mike Toole Essay Contest. The contest is open to all ages and you can enter as many times as you want. Topics for essays will be a question that is heavy on my mind and I can't think of the answer.

The first essay topic is, "Why is Vin Diesel famous?"

Please answer in 15 words or less. You must provide a reason and some proof to back it up. For example, if you say, "Because the movie-going American public is retarded," you must provide me with an example of that, like a picture of some retarded people going to see "The Fast and the Furious."

Please submit your answers to

Winners will win an all expenses paid trip to anywhere in the continental United States, courtesy of their imagination.

These two political figures remind me of muppets:

-- Michael Bloomberg looks kind of like Kermit the Frog. Look at his mouth. You'll see what I mean.

-- John McCain doesn't resemble any specific muppet, but he has that big flabby neck bag that makes him look muppet-esque.

I was at a bar during happy hour the other day and Jeopardy was on TV. There was a contestant during Double Jeopardy who was up by about $2,000. He got a Daily Double. He paused momentarily to decide on a wager. I thought I was the only one actually watching until I heard a guy yell out, "Make it a true Daily Double, you pussy!" I feel this outburst might have been a by-product of the fact that most New York area sports teams suck right now, so there's nothing else to root for. People were actually heckling Jeopardy contestants. The bartender changed the channel before Wheel of Fortune came on. I would have loved to hear this guy give advice to a housewife from Minnesota: "Buy a vowel, you slut cocksucker!"

Just for the record, they guy did make it a true Daily Double, got the question wrong and lost all of his money.

Here is some friendly advice:

People are so afraid to ask for directions in New York. It's funny. I can spot these people a mile away. They look around, try to find a street sign to see if it makes any sense, and when that doesn't work, they start scoping out people who might be approachable. I am often a person who they go to, or at least consider going to. There are reasons. I am very non-threatening, I often dress like an old man, and I wear a t-shirt that says, "Are you lost, you dumb fuck? Ask me for directions, you big out-of-towner piece of shit!"

The t-shirt thing is a lie, but the rest is true. But people are very scared to trust anyone in New York, so they are very hesitant about asking for directions. There's an idea among many people that anyone who lives in New York is either in a rush and don't want to be bothered, a crazy thief/murderer/rapist, or just some relatively harmless psycho that talks to themselves and eats cigarette butts. I am usually in a rush, as is everyone in this city, but we are very often really not trying to get anywhere in a certain amount of time, it's just the speed at which things move around here. If you slow down or stop to look around, you get bumped into by sidewalk tailgaters, or you get a good stabbing in the kidneys.

Most people will give you directions if you just ask. They may do it abruptly and it'll seem rude. It won't be the same kind of service you'd get in say, Tennesee or Maine or anywhere else in the country. Don't expect any follow-up questions, like, "So how long are y'all in town for? What do you plan on doing while y'all are here? Have fun!" The response will most likely be a quick point of the finger and a hurried "One block that way." That's what I've found out. People are almost always one block away from where they want to be. When I see lost people I watch them until they make eye contact with me, and depending on my mood, I'll either give them my friendly "Come to me with your queries" look, or my slightly more psychotic "Ask me where you need to be... I dare you" glare.

Ninety nine times out of a hundred, people will be helpful. There was only one time I saw someone who was incredibly rude to a direction seeker. There was a lost elderly Asian couple looking for a theater (a theater that of course, was one block away) and they asked a hot dog vendor. They asked in very broken English, but they got their point across. He gave them a really disgusted nod of his head in the general direction and added a "I can't be bothered with anything non-hot dog" kind of attitude. He also looked at me waiting as if he was expecting me to say, "Fuckin' foreigners. If you are going to be here for a week, be fluent or get out of the damn country, am I right?" Instead of doing that I crossed the street because the sign turned to "WALK" and I would have gotten stabbed if I didn't move.

So there are two lessons for you if you come to New York:

Lesson 1: Don't ask hot dog vendors for anything other than a hot dog.
Lesson 2: Try not to be so damn Asian.

I'm blogging. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I guess it's like a diary. Here goes.

Dear Diary, I think I might be pregnant. Billy Walker (captain of the football team!) told me I couldn't get pregnant if I smeared peanut butter all over my body after we did it (sex), but now I'm not so sure that worked. Maybe I shouldn't have used the chunky kind.

Boys Before Books!

Ok, the diary thing is a bad idea, especially because I've never had sex with the captain of any football teams, I'm a guy, I'm not in high school, and as far as I know, I'm not pregnant.

I guess I'll just talk about vomit.

The other day I saw pigeons eating vomit that was left on the sidewalk by someone. The ill person who couldn't make it to a bathroom in time* must have had some vegetable soup before they got sick because the pigeons were gnawing on some carrots. It was pretty nasty looking, but I think that despite the fact that it was encrusted in vomit, that carrot was probably the healthiest thing a pigeon could find on a New York City street.

*Ok, this person who threw up... they couldn't make it to a bathroom, which is fine, because it's almost impossible to find a place that will let you use their restroom in the city, but they didn't even have the courtesy to puke in the street or next to a wall. It was a nice big exhibition right in the middle of the sidewalk. Maybe it was some kind of performance art.

There is something really amusing about people who vomit in the subway. It really can knock your self confidence down a few pegs. Even the rats stop to look at you, like, "Dude, that's fucking nasty." The best part about Subway Vomiters is that they were usually out for a big night on the town looking for love, but now their night has culminated in expunging 40 dollars worth of liquor, a piece of 3:00 in the morning pizza, and bile over the platform onto the tracks, hoping the train doesn't come and knock their head off. Or in some cases, hoping the train gets there real fast and knocks their head off. So no matter how good they looked at 9:00 PM the night before standing in front of their mirror, thinking, "I look awesome! Tonight will be one of the best nights of my life because my ass looks great in these new jeans!", they are now just a puker at the end of the platform wearing some fancy clothes. The subway is quite possibly the worst place to vomit because you've got nothing working in your favor. It already smells like vomit, urine and one or more of the following:

-- that homeless stank
-- poo
-- bacon
-- garbage
-- homeless bacon wrapped in poo

My sister once vomited in a taxi. That's really sad and very funny on many levels. Well, not many intellectual levels, but levels nonetheless. It's funny for me, incredibly sad for the cab driver and funny and sad for my sister. So the next time you get a cab, you might be sitting on remnants of beer, some kind of girly liquor and my sister's DNA.

I guess I'm done with vomit for now.

So that was my first blog. I hope it was entertaining. In the future, I will try to discuss more than bodily functions.

Uh oh. I think I just felt a kick.

Peace oot.
All material © Mike Toole; 2003 - 2006