|Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before|
Sunday, August 31, 2003
Madonna is odd. Sometimes I've seen her and I think, No one is hotter than Madonna. Then there are times, like the Gap commercial, where I think, Madonna is pretty ugly. For me, she peaked during the Ray of Light era. She was never hotter than in that video, and she also sounded her best on that album.
I liked Puff Daddy's shirt that said "Remember Barry White." That was actually a reminder to himself, not to honor Barry, but so Diddy would remember him when making his next album. You couldn't see was just below that it said in really small print, "because he made some great songs that I should sample the shit out of."
I'm disappointed in what are considered the new punks of today. That band AFI looked pissed off the whole time and angry and they were all tatooed and Satanic looking, but when they got up there to accept their award, they were so polite and thankful to MTV. Shouldn't they have said something like, "MTV is what is wrong with this music business today" and then taken a piss on their moonman? Iggy Pop must have been rolling over in his heroin induced coma.
Justin Timberlake is a huge nerd. Nothing else really to say there. You can just tell the guy is a fucking dork. He probably thinks he's really funny and everyone in his posse just laughs at anything he says, and are like, "Good one JT. You tha man. Come here, let me jerk you off."
It's interesting how you are allowed to say "bitches" on MTV but not "hoes". Not sure if that is the proper plural spelling of the slang version of whores. I'll have to check my Big Pimpin' unabridged dictionary.
I went to the 1994 Video Awards. That was pretty cool. I met Coolio at an after party. I was drinking a Budweiser, he a Miller Lite. He then said to me, "Bro, Miller Lite is the shit." I bet Coolio is drinking a lot of Miller Lite now listening to Fantastic Voyage over and over again as he cries himself to sleep.
This lifetime achievement thing they gave to Duran Duran totally seemed like a backhanded compliment. Hey, here you are guys. We think you're great. And here to present this award to you is Ozzy Osbourne's talentless daughter. Apparently Puck was unavailable.
In conclusion, Beyonce is the hottest thing going right now. She makes me crazy right now.
Thursday, August 28, 2003
here to read all about your next possible governor. He tackles such important issues as the size of his cock, "the fag business" and he also offers nuggets like this: If she's a good fuck, she can weigh 150 pounds, I don't care.by mike 8/28/2003
Good bye, deficit!
Robin Williams is on Regis and Kelly Lee right now and he's doing a Marlon Brando impression. Zing! Take that Brando! Oh man, Robin Williams is great. A Marlon Brando impression! It's about time someone stuck it to him. No one has ever done one of those. What next? Maybe a Jack Nicholson impression? Robin Williams is a genius! And by genius, I mean annoying idiot hack who hasn't been funny in 15 years.by mike 8/28/2003
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
This is my answer to someone who asked if pilots should have guns in the cockpit:
I'm not down with pilots having guns. You might as well give pizza delivery guys guns, because they get attacked way more than these motherfuckers in the sky. And what if one has a bad day where he found out his wife is cheating on him and his dumbass son just got kicked out of college for dateraping? Then what? He's going to go and shoot a bunch of people on the plane and crash the plane. There is really no logic in what I just said, because the pilots have the power to commit suicide at any time and take a shitload of people with them, but whatever, I don't think I want Joe Pilot carrying a weapon. You are telling me this guy's going to be able to fly a plane and shoot some jihad fighting motherfuckers at the same time? Fuck that. Why put a weapon on the plane for someone else to possibly grab. The 9/11 guys did it with fucking box cutters. They would have slashed the dude's throat and taken his fucking gun. Lock the fucking doors to the cockpit and call it a day.
Here is a thought I had about a bird outside my window:
Yesterday a bird hopped up my fire escape, one step at a time. That's pretty fucking stupid for a bird. Why not fly? Stupid bird.
Here is a story I told someone about my sister. This was back when I was too lazy to use proper punctuation. I also used the word "neat":
i get up and get here way too early. i have my alarm set for 5, but i keep waking up earlier. the last three days i've been up by 4:30. maybe i'm turning into a morning person. that would be a shock to everyone involved. i woke up early yesterday, and then i hear my sister screaming. it's 4;30 in the am, why is my sister screaming? so i'm like, "oh no! someone is murdering my sister really bad!" then she goes, "i'm sorry... sorry." she was sorry for waking everyone up. there was a mouse that she freaked out about. the way she was yelling, you would think that this mouse was carrying a gun. she was waking up early to see the meteor shower. so i got up and went to look at that. it was pretty neat. the whole sky looked like it had tons of shooting stars going through it.
There was a homeless guy yesterday morning who asked me for a dollar. I didn't give him anything. He then said "Happy Holidays" and I felt bad because he seemed like a nice guy. Then he started singing, "Myyyy stomach hurts. My stomach hurts!" It was a good song. I felt like I should have gone back and given him some money based on that song.
This was soon after the Columbia blew up:
The worst part about shuttle disasters is that they are always such smiley people with wives/husbands and 3 very young kids. There's never one who was a sex offender that still lived with his mom that you'd look at and say, "Well, it's not like he's the greatest guy on Earth." They are always all-Americans. There was one guy in the last one who was once in the circus as an acrobat. That's kind of fucked.
This was from the day after Thanksgiving, a day on which I was working. I had told a friend about playing football with my cousins on Thanksgiving, to which she replied "I didn't know you were a big football player," hence the first line of this email:
i wouldn't call myself a big football player. i guess i'd play more if i had the chance. i needed a brother growing up. my sisters weren't that into sports. my older sister kind of was but my younger sister was the worst. we'd be playing kickball with the neighbors, and she'd quit in the middle of the game. she wouldn't even tell anyone. she'd be on base or getting ready to kick and just haul ass inside. the only time she'd ever run while we were playing was to leave.
i am so tired right now. i really need a nap. i'm drunk on dayquil. my allergies are terrible today. well, from the allergy viewpoint, i guess they are pretty good. they are getting the job done. i feel like shite. i hate allergies. have i mentioned that before? i'm sure i have. what was god thinking when he made allergies? way to go, big guy!
so you can throw a football? that is a very important skill to have. have you noticed that if you throw a football in front of a bunch of guys, and you throw it well, the reaction is what you'd expect of someone who just cured cancer? guys are always wowed by a girl that can throw a tight spiral. it's just one of those things.
This was just before my office moved from Jersey City to NY:
i'll be starting to work there in march. i cna't wait for taht. i also can't wait until i get typing lessons. did i tell you where my new office is going to be? 52nd and seventh, just across from the david letterman studio and about 5 blocks south of central park. it'll be great when it's warm out and i can go there and relax and buy drugs and feed the ducks. i love feeding ducks when i'm all messed up.
OK, I'm done for now. Was this enjoyable or a waste of time? Please let me know.
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
Ice Cream Social. I wasn't going to go, because I really don't eat a lot of ice cream, but hey, it was free. If they were stabbing people for free, I probably would have gone. So just like last year, not a lot of socializing. There was this old dude who was behind me in line and he was not very good in the Respecting My Personal Space Department. He got right on my back. Every time I looked to my left, I would see his face. I felt like a pirate and he was my parrot. He was my old man parrot. He tried to socialize about ice cream (he was also in it because it was free), but I wasn't having it. I was too tired to bullshit with an old parrot/man. And I just wanted some Phish Phood. Is that how Ben and Jerry spell it? I don't know, but it was fucking good. Stupid hippies.by mike 8/26/2003
Before I went down, I asked someone what kind of ice cream they got and I heard them say Fish. So I was thinking that has to be the worst Ice Cream Social ever. Fish flavored ice cream? That's fucking nasty. Do they have any alternatives to fish? Maybe roast beef chocolate chip?
Yesterday was my last company softball game of the season. I was running late, so I was hauling ass through Central Park to get there in time. I finally located my team and was sprinting towards the field. "I'm here! Quit your fretting! Mike is here to save the day!" is what I thought I should yell. But luckily for me I did not yell and alert people to my arrival. I was running down this walkway and I hear someone saying "Watch out! Watch out!" I was thinking, They can not be telling me to watch out, for there is nothing to watch for. I am Mike Toole. I am invincible. Hear me roar, motherfuckers. I soon realized this person was indeed telling me to watch out. There was a woman who was walking her dog and had one of those long ass retractable leashes. I did not see it. My leg hit it and I went fucking flying. Somehow I was not hurt. One small cut on my hand. I think my backpack played a part in me not getting killed. I also rolled into a fence, which stopped my forward progress. I got up expecting to hear everyone that I work with and play with to be laughing and pointing. Pointing and laughing. Pointing at themselves laughing. Laughing at their pointers.
But no. No one except the dog and the lady saw me. She was nice and asked me if I was ok. She apologized. Told her it was not her fault. I was laughing. I felt that someone should be laughing at me, so I started laughing. I did not point. And we won.
Monday, August 25, 2003
I am talking about this today because I saw a guy on the train wearing a hat that said "Ground Zero." Why the fuck would you want to wear a hat of a crime scene where 3,000 people got murdered? And why wasn't anyone wearing hats that said "Pentagon" or "Field in Western Pennsylvania." Maybe I'll get my friend's grandmother a hat that says "I survived Auschwitz."
I'm a little worried about what the 9/11 memorial will actually turn into. 9/11 itself is already a product. It's been used to sell everything from t-shirts and hats, all the way to a full scale war with a country that had nothing to do with it. It's the national tragedy that practically sells itself!
Sunday, August 24, 2003
cover this week.by mike 8/24/2003
I just love football. Sunday. All day. Nothing but football. I don't care what you say, it's a great way to spend an autumn Sunday. (Huh! I made a rhyme.) Football has definitely overtaken baseball as our National Pastime.
Now you add in this whole fantasy football thing and suddenly I give a shit about the Bengals. I won my fantasy football league last year and yesterday I was actually presented with a trophy. Totally foolish, right? The trophy kind of looks like the Heisman. A more accurate trophy would have been of a guy sitting at a computer reading ESPN.com and a fantasy football magazine with an empty six pack.
OK. I'm done with football. I now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.
Friday, August 22, 2003
I would love to be famous some day and have VH1 call me up and say, "Hey we are doing I Love the Aughts and we'd like you to come here and just bullshit about popular culture from the years 2000 - 2009." I would imagine one of the things we would talk about is the popularity of the I Love the 80s series. "People would just sit here, like I'm doing now, and talk about things like the Rubik's Cube. It was awesome."
Thursday, August 21, 2003
I look to my right to where the calls were coming from, and there is an SUV with four black guys in it yelling out and laughing. Then I hear the one guy and read his lips and I hear him say, "Yo! Jewish nigga! You a Jewish nigga!" Then I realize they weren't talking to me at all, but they were yelling at a Hasidic Jew who was walking behind me.
I didn't really get the joke, but these guys thought it was hilarious. The Jewish nigga really didn't find it too funny either. He was ignoring them altogether or perhaps he was a deaf Jewish nigga.
I'm curious to know if they were just going around yelling at everyone and adding "nigga" to the end of whatever they were calling people. Like if there was a guy in a suit, he was "Business Man Nigga." Or if there was a kid in a stroller, he would be "Baby Nigga." Or an Asian guy, he'd be "Chinese Nigga," even if he was Japanese or Korean or something, because the natural assumption is that Asian people are Chinese. These could all make great superheroes. I guess a black guy would have been "Black Nigga."
Sometimes I just don't get the joke, and this is one of those examples. Hey, yelling at people from your car is fun -- I've done it plenty of times, mainly while drunk. I'm assuming these guys were drunk and decided, "Hey, let's go ride around and yell at people, only we will take their most distinguishable characteristic and add 'nigga' to the end of it, OK? Let's ride!"
I'm glad I wasn't that Jewish guy, because I think I'd be wondering for the rest of the day, "Why in the world would those guys say to me, 'You a Jewish nigga.'" Who knows, perhaps he's used to it. I lived in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood for about three months, and I never was the victim of any, "Hey, look at the white guy" taunts. Maybe I was, it's just that my Spanish isn't good enough. There were moments where I thought maybe some guys were talking about me, but I was like, "Wait, did they just call me a guitar? No wait, maybe they called me a bird. Should I be offended?" It's times like this morning where I realize I'm pretty lucky to be a white guy, age 18-49.
Not much of a point here. I just don't like all the silly hate.
Remember after 9/11 when we thought all the people of the world would unite and come together to hate Muslims? Now, there was some hate that made a lot of sense.
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
"What's up? I am a brave man that likes when babies get killed on buses. I enjoy firing my gun into the sky. I like my beard. I like to talk about peace, but I really don't mean it. My dislikes are Israel and America. Do you like what you see? Contact me! I would like to find a Roadmap to Piece. A Piece of Ass, that is!"
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
What can I say about Mike? He was a son, a brother, a friend, occasionally an asshole, a cockblocker, pretty lazy, really boring to talk to on the phone, oftentimes he drank too much, monotone, and basically a slob.
For example, we had to clean out his room, you know, because he's dead and all, and it was a fucking mess. I mean, you'd think the smell would have gone away once we got his body out there, but his post-death stank was actually covering up what his room has always smelled like. It was fucking disgusting. We actually brought his body back in there just to block the true smell. I mean, there were dirty clothes piled about a foot high, sometimes two. The kicker is, they were right next to a half empty hamper. What the fuck? I mean, he was just putting it on the floor next to the hamper. I guess he tried to shoot in there like a basketball, but missed, then just left it there. And the socks. Holy crap. I don't think he ever actually washed any of his socks. He just kept buying new ones. They were everywhere.
He was fun to drink with though. He'd get to that point where you could tell him to do anything and he'd do it. After we drank around the world in Epcot, we convinced him it would be hilarious if he stole a parking tram. He actually got in it and tried to drive it. The thing shut down on him and he kind of got locked in there and freaked out, but man, was that funny. He also seemed to hit on every girl, which was pretty pathetic.
Hmm, what else can we talk about? Oh, his blog. His fucking blog. He was always like, "Did you read my blog? Huh? Didja? Was it funny? Did you like it?" Oh my God, shut the fuck up already! You are funny, get over it. He is so fucking insecure. How much reassurance can you give someone before you just want to push them out of a window?
He wasn't a religious man, so I guess it's a little inappropriate to have his funeral in a church. I mean, the sacrilegious things he would say were pretty bad. I'd usually take a couple of steps away from him, just in case he got struck by lightning. And he wrote this eulogy, knowing it was going to be read in a church, yet he insisted on my saying the word "fuck" multiple times.
Anyway, I guess that's about it. At his request, we will all be going to some really crappy dive bar after the funeral, because that's the way he would have wanted it. And kudos to Mike's friends from Disney World who, to no one's surprise, brought a keg filled with Natty Light.
Monday, August 18, 2003
One place that was vandalized was a McDonald's. What the hell reason is there to loot a McDonald's? "Hey guys! I've got half-frozen McNuggets, an apple pie and a Filet-O-Fish. Let's go fuck this town up!"
Yesterday morning I get to my subway and there are a bunch of fire trucks and police cars. So I go up to this cop to see how long it will be closed.
Me: Do you know how long this will be closed for?
Me (after long pause): OK, can you tell me for how long?
Cop: 'Bout an hour.
Although it was a short conversation, it could have been much shorter. Maybe he thought I was just taking a survey of cops on the scene to see if they were informed.
Later in the day I went to go get some food at a falafel place near my house. I frequent this place quite a bit. They make good falaf. The last line of this conversation is made up:
Girl: Can I help you?
Me: Yeah, can I get a jalapeno falafel?
Girl: OK, it's going to take a little while to make, is that OK?
Me: Well, how long?
Girl: Um, about 2 minutes.
Me: Oooh, I've got to be somewhere in about 28 seconds. Sorry. I was hoping you could just cram three dollars worth of food in to my mouth.
I guess 2 minutes technically is "a little while." A very little while. Are we getting that impatient as a society where two minutes is really an inconvenience? I imagine this girl had some complete asshole in the store earlier who must have made a fuss.
Guy: What the fuck are you doing back there? I've been waiting for a minute and a half. This is bullshit! You've just ruined my day.
Sunday, August 17, 2003
I believe that I am somewhat psychic. Let me explain. Please. Let me. Explain. Me. Let.
About a week or so before September 11th, I told a co-worker, "I feel like something big is going to happen." He asked what I meant. I told him that we were due for something on a Princess Diana level. Something that everyone talks about, and Aaliyah wasn't really cutting it as one of those things. Something else was about to happen. Now, of course I had no idea it was going to be that big, but I just had a feeling. On September 11th I was in New Orleans, so I was hoping my co-worker didn't remember what I told him, for fear that he might be like, "Mike said some cryptic shit to me, then took off for New Orleans. How convenient. (Dials phone.) Hello? FBI?"
Anyway, last Wednesday I was taking a shower (pretty hot, right?) and I thought to myself, You know what? I'm getting that feeling again, and it's not just because I'm washing my nether regions. Some big event is about to happen. One of those things that everyone talks about.
This time, I told myself to write it down. I figured I'd blog about it, with the disclaimer that I was only posting it just in case and as a historical reference. And if something big did happen, I could say, "A-HA! I'm psychic!"
So the lights go out. And I've got no proof this time. I didn't tell a soul and totally forgot to write it down. The other day when I couldn't think of anything to write about, I was thinking, I know I had something to write, but what was it? Ahh, fuck it, I'll write about the Ice Cream Social. Fuck. I'm pissed now. People would have been forwarding my site all over the place and be like, Look, this fucking guy knew something was going to happen. He's a regular old Sixth Sense Haley Joel Osment.
One other psychic event I'll reference is a dream I had the night before Game 7 of the 1994 Stanley Cup Finals where my beloved New York Rangers were about to erase their 54 years of not winning the Cup. In my dream, the Rangers won the game 3-2 and Mark Messier scored the winning goal. What happened in reality? The Rangers won 3-2 and Messier was credited with the winning goal (Brian Noonan actually scored, but the gods - in order to make my dream more accurate - convinced the officials to give the credit to Messier). Now, of course some things in the dream were different than reality. In my dream, for example, I scored the 2nd goal of the game. As far as I know, that didn't happen. It was Alexei Kovalev.
I'll be sure to give you all a heads up next time some shit's about to go down.
I got home at around 4:00, so I just made it home in time. I can play that up for dramatic effect. "Holy shit. I seriously just got home. Oh my god. Ten minutes earlier and I would have totally been in the train. Ohmigod." When I got home I noticed that the construction workers next to my apartment were listening to Jewel. I thought this was weird. I never really pictured any construction workers being like, "Hey guys, I got the new Jewel!" Then some other guy going, "Sweet! Put it in, you fuckin' dick!" (Insert Village People joke here.)
My roommate got home just after me and we were talking about something, then I brought up the fact that our construction workers were gay and listening to non-construction like music. Where's the Zeppelin? At this point, Jewel turned into Phil Collins. I forget which song, but it was a slow one. It was like my mom made the construction workers a mix tape. All of the sudden, the song just cut out. I assumed the foreman showed up and was like, "Hey homos! What the fuck are you listening to? Here is some Danzig." Then we noticed our power was out. So like everyone else who was in a building at the time, we thought it was just our building.
That part of almost everyone's story, "I just thought it was my building" is quickly becoming the 9/11 equivalent of "At first, I just thought it was some horrible accident."
So I went outside to talk to the construction workers, because I assumed through their teary Phil Collins eyes, they accidentally cut a wire or something. I go outside to talk shop with the fellas. I am terrible at handyman stuff so I'm always kind of intimidated by builders or mechanics. I know nothing. "So, hey. What's that, a hammer?"
I soon realize that there are plenty people out on the street looking towards Manhattan and there is a giant plume of black smoke coming from the city, so the natural assumption is, "Great, we just got bombed by Al Qaida." I then ran down the street naked yelling, "It's all over! It's all over!" Turns out it was the ConEd plant, which apparently pumps out black smoke if the turbines stop. I put my clothes back on and walked down the street to stand around someone's car who had the radio on where me and my neighborhood hipsters listened to 1010 WINS. (<---That is a terrible sentence. My English teachers are rolling over in their graves.) There I realized what was going on. Canada? Holy shit. That's crazy, I thought.
I then got a piece of pizza before it would all go bad, and then I was like, "Fuck this. I'm going to get drunk." I figured, what better way to enjoy a blackout than actually trying to black out? I go to a local watering hole and there were only about 6 other people there, and the bar still had some cool air left over from their AC. That was gone pretty soon. In about an hour, the bar was packed. Dark, hot and packed. And totally fun. Blackout fun.
There was a good mix of people. Lots of guys looking for some blackout sex. Unfortunately for them, not many ladies were looking for the same thing.
It was fun to walk around when it got dark, because you couldn't see shit. People were just bumping in to each other. Perhaps that was just me because I was wasted.
After the bar I went to this grocery store and people were buying water and batteries and canned goods. You know, survival goods. I got a six pack and a bag of cheese doodles. I didn't have any cash on me, so the guy actually let me take it. I heart NY.
I woke up the next day at around noon and my power came back on at 3:30. I go to watch TV, and I notice as I am flipping around, I have a few extra channels than normal. So I reprogram my channels to see what's going on. I don't know what the fuck happened, but all of the sudden I have cable.
Bottom line -- I was drunk and/or sleeping for most of the blackout, and when the power came back on, God gave me cable.
Best blackout ever!
For a much more exciting blackout story about me and Edward Burns, please read what Lisa thought of my fate, then Tricia.
Thursday, August 14, 2003
We had a big Ice Cream Social last year, and it basically consisted of a long line of khaki pants waiting for some ice cream. There wasn't much socializing. Here was what I remember being said:
-- Whoa - long fucking line, huh?
-- Damn. This is a long line. You'd think they were giving away money.
-- Holy shit, this line is long.
-- Yeah, but it's moving fast.
-- Did you get those numbers I sent to you? I need that by the end of the day. Get me some ice cream too. I don't care. Something with strawberry. I'm not waiting in this fucking line.
-- Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on here? Oh, the ice cream thing. Fuck that. I don't like ice cream that much.
So I concluded that most people like ice cream and will wait in a long line when it's free. They also curse a lot.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Miss Teen USA pageant! It really went down to the wire with Miss Oregon taking the crown. She just took it. She didn't win it. Bitch just went crazy and ran from behind the curtain and snatched it right off Miss Tennessee.by mike 8/13/2003
The entire show was a virtual "Who's who" of "Hey, who is that guy again?" Your hosts AC "Greg Louganis" 'The Latino Guy from The Other Half' "Mario Lopez" Slater and some blonde chick. Also in attendance was the mayor of Palm Springs. Holy shit! The mayor!
It was kind of weird because they updated some of the competitions to reflect the true ideals and attitudes of teenagers today. Some of the new competitions were:
-- Making fun of the fat girl in a swimsuit competiton.
-- Saying "Aawww, they are so cute" about the kids in the retard class.
-- Giving a blow job while on Ecstasy at a rave.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Herb "Miracle on Ice" Brooks just died in one, and I've been watching lots of Six Feet Under lately, so I've been seeing many ways to die. Plenty of people say they prefer the Dying in Your Sleep route, but I don't think I want that. I would like to know that my time here is almost over. But not like cancer where you get months or years to think about it. I just want a few moments. I definitely don't want to drown, because I came close to that when I was a kid, and it sucked. Fucking scary.by mike 8/12/2003
Maybe the Innocent Bystander route is the way to go. Some gang violence that I accidentally got caught up in. As I feel the bullet stopping the flow of blood and oxygen to my brain, I can whisper my last words to someone who is trying to help me. Hopefully his name is Paco. "I'm not going to make it, Paco. Please tell my family I love them and I am sorry. Also, because I am the victim of some senseless violence, please set up a scholarship in my name. You know, for some inner-city kids or some shit like that. Also, I'd love a statue. Maybe one in a park. Make me look taller than I am though. And name the park after me please. Thank you, Paco. Oh also, if for some reason I live, can you tape the MTV Video Awards for me tonight? The first airing is always the best because it's pretty much live and sometimes they don't bleep out all of the curses in time. You never know with Fred Durst. He's a loose cannon, that guy. Thank you, Paco. And one more thing. There are some bananas in my kitchen that are going bad. I'd hate for there to be fruit flies when people are cleaning out my apartment. That would get really annoying. Here are my keys. Go eat those bananas or throw them in the trash. There is a blank tape in the VCR for the video awards. Well, it's not really blank. It's got last night's Mets game on it, but you can tape over it. The VCR has to be on the channel you want to record, in order for it to work properly. Thank you, Paco, you courageous stranger."
A lot of things would have to fall into place for this to happen, of course (Video Awards, rotting bananas, Paco), but a man can dream about his ideal death, can't he?
I wouldn't want to get shot in the heart, because it would suck to have Bon Jovi's "Shot Through the Heart" stuck in my head just before I die, or while I'm in line in Heaven. Maybe "Livin' on a Prayer."
Monday, August 11, 2003
When my family first got an answering machine way back when, my dad recorded a message on there unbeknownst to the rest of us. It was your normal, "Hi, you've reached the Tooles, please leave a message." Except he had "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" playing in the background. The first message we received was from my cousin Mary who couldn't stop laughing while she left her message.
On the list of Gay Things My Dad Has Done, that one is very close to the top. What's at the top, you wonder? Let's just say bicycle shorts, an avocado, a mime, former Mayor Ed Koch, a donkey, a paper plate, New York Giants running back Tiki Barber, a mousetrap, Erasmus -- the patron saint of abdominal pains, and let's just leave it at that.
-- It kind of looks like you're having a seizure.
-- Someone call 911!
-- You're upsetting grandma.
-- Can't you wait until we get out of church?
-- Stop. Please stop. Seriously, stop it. Mike, come on. You should stop. People are looking. Please stop.
How can you not want to go?
I would also like to applaud the FAA for allowing people to carry box cutters onto planes. I can't possibly fathom that policy will ever backfire. You never know when you will be delivered a parcel on your trip across the country and you'll need a box cutter to get that open. Kudos to you, FAA!. Kudos to you.
Guy Who Is Two Years Behind Everyone Else
Sunday, August 10, 2003
Now, I know I don't have a catalogue as extensive as say, the Backstreet Boys, but I think what's on the left is the best stuff to come from me fingertips.
Spike TV! It took a little bit longer than it should have, because Spike Lee had nothing better to do last month.by mike 8/10/2003
Finally, the First Network for Men. Take that, you women! A place of our own on the television. I'm sick of Lifetime, the Food Network, the History Channel, ESPN, Comedy Central, the Spice Channel -- all those Chick Channels gaying up my television.
I would like to take a moment out and address the gay community. If I call something "gay", I don't really mean anything by it. I don't mean that it's actually gay. What I mean is that it's "queer", or "homosexual", or "faggy", or "likes to have sex with dudes." It's nothing personal.
The movie was called "Boys and Girls". I remember this one getting some horrible reviews when it first came out and rightly so. But it was one of those things where it was just so easy to watch and the leading lady was pretty hot, so hey, why not? Bad acting, horrible dialogue and Jason Biggs as the Wacky Buddy -- what more can I want? Well, lots more, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, the tag line for this movie when it was on posters and such was "Sex changes everything." That is so true. And no one ever really thought about that until this Freddy Prinze vehicle came along. Thank Christ. And when I say Christ, I mean Freddy Prinze Jr.
I do believe that this is the first movie in cinematic history that had glow in the dark stars as a major plot point. Well, "plot" might be too strong a word. But it was the stars on the girl's ceiling that made Freddy realize how much he loved her, and they formed a pattern that emulated their relationship. Spoiler alert!
Anyway, since my Saturday night was lamed up by this movie, I plan on making my Sunday night more of a party. I think I'm just going to go to my basement, take eleven sleeping pills, drink a bottle of whiskey and wait for the warmth of a coma to take over me. Just kidding. I don't have a basement.
Thursday, August 07, 2003by mike 8/07/2003
Arnold Schwarzenegger running for governor thing just seems too easy to make jokes about. First of all, during his announcement he said, "Do your job for the people or else you're out. It's hasta la vista, baby" and "I will pump Sacramento up. I will go to Sacramento, and I will clean house." If I was a California voter, that would have made my mind up right there. You know he probably has some campaign managers working feverishly to work "It's not a tumor" and "Vincent, I'm your twin brother" into a campaign speech. I would also like to see Arnold after every campaign stop, yell to his crew, "Run! Get to the chopper!" Predator fans of the world, unite. If he wins, that'll be two actors (Jesse "I ain't got time to bleed" Ventura) from Predator in public office. That'll be awesome. If we ever get attacked by an extra-terrestrial warrior, we will be ready. We just need to convince Carl Weathers to run for something. If he loses, you can bet your bottom dollar that he will utter the phrase, "I'll be back." This might be the most annoying campaign ever.by mike 8/07/2003
Gallagher, the comedian that smashed watermelons, is also running. All reporters in the first few rows of his press conferences will be covered in plastic.
Gary Coleman is running as well, and I'm sure somewhere he's already said, "Whatchoo talkin' about Governor Davis?" or more appropriately, "Whatchoo talkin' about Mr. D?"
If you would like to sort of understand what it's like to be a celebrity, pull your pants down on the sidewalk and just start taking a crap. Everyone will stare and point. Sure you won't get everyone saying, "You are my favorite actor/athlete/convicted rapist/murderer," but you'll get a similar amount of attention. Please let me know if anyone tries this. And if you already are a celebrity and you try this, please film it.
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
In all reality though, have you ever heard of the emergency row person coming through in an emergency? I've never seen a news story that said something like, "That plane surely would have been doomed and all 150 people on board would have perished, if not for the quick thinking fellow in the exit row."
There was a baby on the plane that cried for about an hour and a half yesterday, and at first I felt bad for the thing, because you never know if it was going through some inner ear pain or shit like that, but after ten minutes, I really wanted to punt that baby out the cockpit. Thank God for headphones and the rock and roll that came out of said headphones and into my noggin.
It's odd sometimes to fly back from vacation and look at New York, because there was this one time I went on vacation back in September of 2001 and there were two really big buildings that were missing when I got back. Considering the only newspaper I picked up this weekend was the Telluride Daily Planet, all I really knew about was that there was a bear that wandered into the local park and some team won the softball championship. So something big might have happened, but I wouldn't have known. It's pretty sad that when I look at the skyline now, I think to myself, "OK, Empire State Building -- check; Chrysler Building -- check."
Fucking terrorists. And that shoe bomber. Oh man, do I hate that guy. I had to take my shoes off at security for the first flight I got on, and if you've never smelled my feet, you are a lucky person. My feet smell like popcorn, but not in a good way. Normally if people smell popcorn, it's like, "Oooh, is that popcorn?" With my feet, it's like, "Oh my Lord, is that popcorn?! Oh, that is fucking terrible!" My feet could be considered weapons of mass destruction.
Telluride is such a great little town with a population of around 2,000. This morning on the subway, there were probably about 5,000 people in one car with me, which means 10,000 stinky ass sweaty armpits crapping up my olfactories. My friend Dave, who lives out there has a view of mountains from his house (you can sit on his crapper and watch the sunset over a mountain). I have a view of P.S. 17 in Brooklyn.
Another big difference between Telluride and New York is that out there, people put their garbage in these things called "trash cans." It's so weird, because here in NY, we dispose of trash on the street or on subway tracks or in our pillow cases or in Staten Island.
Anyway, I'm not happy to be home right now. Here are some things I've learned or items worth noting from my trip:
-- Blistex sets off metal detectors.
-- The staff at the Starbucks in the Houston airport are incredibly incompetent.
-- Southern accents can either be kind of cool, or the most fucking annoying sound on the face of the earth.
-- I hate flying. I'm not scared to fly, I just hate the process. I hate putting my bag in the overhead compartment. I hate flight attendants asking me if I want a drink. I hate how pilots can't just talk without going, "Uhhhh," before everything they say. I just hate it. I don't know why. It used to be fun as a kid. Me and my little sister used to play a game called "Who do you think is going to blow up the plane?" The game consisted of us looking at almost every guy on the plane and then saying, "Oh, he's gonna blow up the plane. No wait. That guy. It's him." We would probably be arrested if we did that now. There was also one time we were about to land in Florida, and we were both air sick at the same time and fought over the barf bag. I think I won, but I really can't remember.
-- If I had my own plane, I think I'd like flying. I just want to be left alone. People are at their most annoying on a plane. I think if I saw my family from when we were kids on a plane now, I'd hate us. I just remember my mother carrying about seven bags and my dad telling us to keep quiet or something. I bet we were a horrible family to sit near on planes. My flight back last night was great because I had my own row and there were some lightning storms going on while there was also an awesome sunset. If was like sky porn.
-- Two girls that worked security at Newark airport got into a shouting match at five in the morning the day I was leaving. Here is a portion of what they said during their argument (I'm not sure what happened that lead up to this point):
-- Lady 1: Whatever. Your mother.
-- Lady 2: Your kids.
-- Lady 1: Your mother.
-- Lady 2: Your kids.
Best argument I have ever heard. "Your kids." That's brilliant. I'm not sure what it means, but I'm going to start using it. I think I heard a similar argument on Hannity & Colmes the other day.
I know there was more I wanted to write about, but I can't recall. Oh well. Maybe I'll think of it later. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a job to hate.