Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before

Thursday, December 30, 2004

Here are three questions from another Texan named Justin.

1) Have you been practicing your basketball?

I assume Justin is referring to my basketball playing days way back in March of this year. And no, I have not. I had the opportunity to play, but I chose not to. I haven't been doing much of anything. You see, Justin, I am what doctors term, "A Lazy Sack of Crap." I have occasional fits of trying to get myself into shape, but they never last very long.

2) Any plans for New Years? And don't say heavy drinking, because from what I've read, that's a given. Be more creative. Please the readers. Make something up if you have to.

Man, I guess I come across as quite the alcoholic on this blog. I am going to a friend's party very close by. It is a fifteen minute walk, a twenty minute stumble. They have parties almost once a month, so this probably won't be very different. We even usually have countdowns and kiss each other at midnight at their regular parties.

I did just go out and buy a bottle of tequila for the party. What's a party without some asshole bringing tequila? My goal is for someone to say the following day, "Hey, who was that asshole that brought tequila? What an asshole."

3) What's your opinion on capital punishment?

A serious question?! What the fuck, dude?

Generally, I say no, but there are times where I think maybe. I tend to think that people are worse off living their lives in jail (which most people on death row end up doing anyway). Death seems like an easy way out. The whole thing is very bizarre when you think about it. A bunch of citizens decide whether or not another person should die.

Here are what I think of some people that may or may not be currently facing death penalties:

Scott Peterson: I say no. He is a guy that will suffer in jail. Prisoners will make life for him more of a hell than the hell he will face in death. I think. I don't know much about the real hell, should there be one.

Osama bin Laden: No, at least for right now. Put him in a public access jail, one where people could go and look at him. Maybe there could be a dunk tank. And he could land in a tank full of thumb tacks or something.

The Lady Who Strangled the Other Lady and Stole Her Fetus: (I have to stop real quick before I forget this... Doug's ring on his phone is the theme song from Dallas. Fucking awesome. Doug's from Texas. Dallas, to be exact. Funny.)

Anyway, this crazy lady. I don't know. It's such a twisted and unique crime. I guess if anyone deserves not to live anymore, it's her.

And finally, people that kill kids. I've got a special hatred for those. I think I said it best when those Chechen terrorists killed those kids.

So bravo! to you, terrorists. Not only did you take away people's children, but you just took away any and all hope for your cause. But you're dead now. You got off easy. Not that there is any punishment that could fit this crime. But whatever it would have been, the lot of you got away from it. Hopefully, those in charge of the afterlife have devised something special for you, something new. And I hope it hurts like hell. Not only the physical kind of hurt, but something equivalent to those of a parent who watched their child get shot. Physical pain is too simple. Your thoughts should hurt. Everything you look at should make you want to cry. Your brain should do nothing but wail.

What a downer! Great questions, Justin. Thanks for bringing down the blog. I'll have to write something a little more awesome tomorrow. I can't end the year talking about this.

Oh, and to answer your question, I guess I'm against capital punishment. Not sure how that will go over in Texas.

I'm not much of a comment leaver on other blogs, and I nearly left a comment to this post, but then I realized it would be too long. So go read the post and then come back.

Don't hate her because she's beautiful. The biggest problem here is the headline. "Tsunamis shatter celebrity holidays". It's a horrible headline, but the fact that celebrities were there is news. It's human interest. It may not seem like much to we here in America that an Australian rules football player was there, but if a New York Yankee was there, we'd be hearing about that. I'm sure many are interested in a Swedish skiing great that is probably dead. The headline makes it seem like a bunch of celebrities were there and said, "Oh, this tsunami has fouled my holiday! Get me on the first jet to the West!"

What is unfair about this post is that it shows a picture of Petra Nemcova, pre-tsunami, where yes, she is gorgeous and pretty and smiling. The woman spent eight hours clinging to a tree while she had a broken hip. Her boyfriend is probably dead. Are there worse stories? Plenty. Is she luckier than most? Indeed. She gets to eventually go home where she has family and money and better doctors. And the people in the other pictures are probably much worse off than she is. But still, it is news. We can't possibly hear about every story about every family that is suffering.

Yesterday I pointed out the headline on ESPN, "Swimsuit model survives tsunami; toll at 60,000" because it is a ridiculous headline, especially when you see the headlines that were above it, like "Trade talks for Big Unit back on".

This line, "Is our culture so sick that we'll fixate on a pretty European model and a few athletes?" is also inaccurate. Are we fixating on them? It's one headline in a sea of thousands. A story that has gotten more coverage is the Swedish boy who was reunited with his father. Let's face it. If that kid wasn't cute and white, we wouldn't know about it. There are probably hundreds that are orphaned. Journalists have a responsibility to report the big news, and then find every different possible angle of that news. Celebrities are one tiny part of a gigantic story.

There are plenty of things to criticize the media about. Yesterday on Fox News, between reports about the tsunami, they interviewed Motley Crue.

They interviewed Motley Crue.

Between reports about the tsunami.

They interviewed Motley Crue.

With all the 24 hour news agencies, there are going to be things that are idiotic. But I don't think reporting on people that are in the public eye who happened to be part of a tragedy, is one of those things.

That's my comment.

Three questions from Sara, whose blog you should read.

1. Which Ghostbuster is your favorite: Egon, Ray, Peter, or Winston? P.S., you can't pick Peter.

I'd have to go with Egon. I have not much of a reason why. I suppose because he directed Groundhog Day. Ghostbusters was the first movie I watched when my family first got a VCR. I was home sick from school for a couple of days and must have watched it twenty times. I would even wait for the credits to end, so it would rewind itself. I was fascinated by our new SRMSN (Self-Rewinding Movie Showing Machine).

2. Which is the better horrifying name for Erin Byrne's impending baby I made up while waiting for my mom in the car while she was at the bank today: Kankley Bryson or Marchley Kython?

Kankley Bryson without a doubt. Because if the kid grows up to have cankles, that would be horrifying. Is everyone familiar with cankles? Where the calf blends into the ankle? I know plenty of people that have them. Not me though. My ankles are clearly defined. But Marchley Kython is also a pretty scary name. I suggested to her a while ago she name the baby Mike Toole. A new co-worker of mine apparently thought people called me "Toole" as a joke. When she found out it was my real name, she did a lot of laughing. That hurt. So I would now like to recant that recommendation.

3. What nickname(s) did/do your family call you? Tell the story. Show your work.

We weren't really a nickname kind of family. The only one that kind of stuck was (and I'm not sure how to spell this) Baboo. Boboo? Prounounced bah-boo. But say it fast. Bahboo. My sister, when she was learning to talk, she talked all retarded, and she couldn't say my name. When she tried, it came out like that. Bahboo. My dad was the one who used it most as a nickname after that. Once that nickname died out, he started calling me, "I'm going to start charging you rent." I don't know the origin of that one.

Here are two amusing searches that people have used to get to this ol' blog o' mine.

"stuck a broomstick in my ass"

Yikes! Good luck to you, young man (I'm assuming).

And another search:

"where's a good place to touch myself vagina"

Well, it seems you've answered your own question. I'd say you're off to a good start. The vagina is a great place to touch yourself. Not that I have one. But I know a guy.

Remember when I told people to email me three questions? Well that's turning out to be a lot more work than I thought. If you are sitting there at your computer hitting refresh over and over again, yelling, "WHY WON'T HE ANSWER MY QUESTIONS, DAMMIT!" I suggest you take a break and come back once a day. I will get to them at some point. I am just so fucking busy and so fucking popular that it might take a while. And I might never answer them at all. Especially this guy's.

At the bottom of ESPN's top headlines this morning was this one: Swimsuit model survives tsunami; toll at 60,000.

I'm not even sure where to start talking about that one, but I don't think I have to.

Here are three questions from Big Stupid Tommy.

1. I've got a guy who I believe is hosing me on an Ebay Auction, giving me that "it's lost in the mail" action. Should I:

A.) Believe him, and wait patiently for my auction crap?

B.) Start sending him disturbing things (i.e. roadkill, or all my hair) in the mail to let him know I mean business?


C.) Just go to his house in Nebraska and forcefully take the Bob Newhart record album I won for $2?

I think you should combine B & C. Show up at his house with all of your hair shaved off, glue it to the head of some roadkill like a toupee (an animal that's not so hairy, so it's even funnier), and demand you get your Bob Newhart record. I think it's worth the troubles.

My friend Greg is a big Ebay guy so I will defer this question to him, assuming he reads this post. So Greg, if you do read this, please let me know what Tommy should do.

2.) What trend among America's youth disturbs you the most?

Young girls that look up to and aspire to be skanks like Paris Hilton or Britney Spears. And their taste in music. It's pretty fucking awful.

3.) Do you think Denver Pyle would appreciate the movie remake of Dukes of Hazzard? And as a follow up, can you think of a funnier actor name than Denver Pyle?

I think if he was able to get some royalties, he would like the movie. I'm sure he'd like the inspired casting of Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke. And yes, I can think of a funnier actor name. That would be Rider Strong from Boy Meets World.

Here are three more questions from a fella named Mike, who blogs over here.

(1) What is your favorite Simpsons episode?

This is like trying to pick my favorite child. The one that always pops into my head first is the monorail episode. It is a great episode, a classic, but is it truly my favorite? I don't know. One that I think is a perfect episode is the one where Bart sells his soul. It is funny, smart and it tugs at the heartstrings a bit (at the end where Lisa buys Bart's soul back for him). It deals with a pretty heavy subject, but doesn't get preachy one way or the other. I think it might be my favorite. But that could change as I work my way through every DVD. I am also probably in the minority of Simpsons fans when I say that I love episodes about Lisa. Lisa Goes to Washington, the one where she becomes a vegetarian and Lisa Lionheart (Lionheart Lisa?) are three of my favorites. Oh, and don't forget where she becomes Little Miss Springfield.

Here is my favorite exchange from the soul episode, after Bart doesn't laugh at Itchy and Scratchy.

Bart: I know that's funny, but I'm just not laughing.

Lisa: Pablo Neruda said "Laughter is the language of the soul."

Bart: I am familiar with the works of Pablo Neruda.

(2) The Scott Peterson interview was genius. What celebs do you have lined up for interviews in the new year?

Thank you. Although genius is a strong word. Maybe brilliant or mind-bogglingly incredible would have been a better description.

Since he was the last celebrity I interviewed, I'd have to say none. Maybe I'll do a follow-up with Mr. Peterson. I would like to really call him and use the voice that Cameron uses in Ferris Bueller's Day Off and say, "Peterson? Pardon my French, but you're an asshole!"

Speaking of assholes...

(3) Why is Doug such an asshole?

Because he is from Texas, he likes the Cowboys and he supports Bush. Ha! (And the Christmas tree is dying.)

The reason this is funny, folks, is because Mike, the guy who emailed me, is all of those things (except I know not of his Christmas tree's fate).

So keep emailing me questions, everyone. Maybe I'll call you an asshole!

This morning on CNN, the anchor lady was talking to the weatherman, and for some reason she showed him the cover of the New York Times, which has a picture of a mother weeping over the bodies of her dead children. The weatherman said, "Hmm, oh my. They probably couldn't swim very well."

No shit.

I think we can all agree that the bulk of this disaster could have been avoided, not if a warning system was in place, but if the kids had swimming lessons. Thank you, CNN weatherman.

In his defense, I don't think he was expecting her to bring that up. He was probably all ready to be like, "It is chilly in the northeast." And not, "My God, this tragedy makes me realize my life is worthless."

I had to leave for work before she could talk to the entertainment reporter. "Before we get to What's Hot in 2005, I wanted to show you this picture of the Holocaust. Isn't that something? So many children. Look at how sad their faces are."

"Um, yeah, look at that. I guess they weren't, um, good workers. Can I talk about crazy celebrity baby names now?"

Anyway, here are some more three questions from a lady named Trinity.

1. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?

I'm very boring when it comes to ice cream. I like the classics. Strawberry is tops. Yeah, that's right, I like pink ice cream. This, of course, adds to my dad's theory that I'm gay.

2. Why did you pick three random questions and not 1, 2, or 5?

Because I've seen other people do it on their blogs. OK, so I'm unoriginal, I accept it. Damn, Trinity, was the point of your email to make me feel like shit, unoriginal and gay? Mission accomplished.

3. What was your favorite age and if you didn't have it yet, what do you think your favorite age will be?

For some reason, 23 stands out. I don't know why. I think I just like the number. Nineteen was pretty great. I'm sure two was a lot of fun, but I don't recall much. Probably lots of crapping and sleeping and giggling.

My first three questions are from my co-worker, Gena, who does not work on Mondays and is emailing from the comfort of her apartment.

1 - How did your sister like the Jessica Simpson perfume after all that torture?

My sister was pleased that she got the perfume, but my story of how I was humiliated by numerous perfume retailers seemed to be more enjoyable to her than any other gift she received.

2 - Can you think of a worse way to die than being sucked into a giant tidal wave? (perhaps burning, but that is up for debate)

I do think that burning would be worse. We can debate this tomorrow at work. Actually, there are many worse ways than drowning in a tidal wave, but when it happens to more than 20,000 people at once, well that's just fucked. But I can still imagine worse ways, like being strangled and then having your baby cut from your womb. Imagine that happened to 20,000 people at once. That would probably the worst tragedy of all time.

3 - How hot is the office today?

Surprisingly not very. It's kind of chilly. You know how normally I take my pants off around noon? Not today.

Speaking of not wearing pants, Bill, who is also a co-worker not working today, decided to email me questions. See, this is what we do at my job. We love each other so much that even when we aren't working next to each other, we still email and check on everyone's well-being.

(1) What is your favorite movie directed by Savage Steve Holland? How I Got Into College (1989) , One Crazy Summer (1986) or Better Off Dead (1985)

I've never seen the College one, so between the other two, Better Off Dead is the clear winner. With lines like,

"Now that's a real shame when folks be throwin' away a perfectly good white boy like that" and the whole Howard Cosell thing. Hands down. The only thing One Crazy Summer had going for it was Bobcat Goldthwait and the always underappreciated Tom Villard. Shit! I just checked his imdb profile and found out he died in 1994. Damn. No wonder he hasn't been in much lately. He was a funny guy. Remember that show "We Got It Made"? Awesome.

(2) How did the Jessica Simpson perfume go over as a gift?

See above. I did forget to mention in the original story about the one guy in Macy's who laughed at me and then pointed and said, "It's over in front of that sign." I went over to where he pointed and saw Paris Hilton's perfume. This guy sure doesn't know his dumb blonde celebrities. That's when another guy told me they didn't have it and pointed me across the street to Sephora, which was where I finally found it. I asked the girl there, "Is there some sort of Jessica Simpson perfume?" And she replied back, very unenthusiastically, "Oh, there most certainly is."

(3) Does it anger you that I am at home sitting around in my boxers playing xbox while you are at work?

It doesn't anger me so much, but it kind of creeps me out. I'm doing the same thing here, just sans Xbox.

I'm bored. Perhaps you, the reader, can do one or more of the following:

-- email me some Netflix recommendations.

-- email me three random questions and I might answer them on the blog.

I'm tired. That's all I can think of.

Last night on SportsCenter, they opened the show with the Reggie White story and said, "The NFL and the world suffered a great loss today..."

The world? This is on the same day where over 20,000 people died from a tsunami. Sure, the guy was a minister and I'm sure did a lot of nice things for people. But the world? I bet there are many countries where not one person knew of Reggie White.

"Did you see that wave yesterday? Something else, huh?"

"Yes, I lost my family and my entire village. But at least we still have Reggie White, the great defensive lineman."

"Oh my, have you not heard? He passed away yesterday."


It's nothing new for ESPN to overblow stories. If your only news source was ESPN, you would think that only one soldier has died in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Pat Tillman. That's it. He's the only one. Of course, if your only news source was ESPN, well then, we should have a chat.

Also in the intro, the guy said something like, "Reggie White was called home early this morning." Called home. Meaning God called him up to heaven.

After that, Stuart Scott, the worst thing ever to happen to sports broadcasting, said something like, "When ya hit your knees tonight, think about Reggie White..."

Ya see, Stuart Scott is so fucking cool, he couldn't say, "When you say your prayers tonight." No. When ya hit your knees tonight. Hey kids, don't forget to hit your knees tonight.

Anyway, I just want to watch some football highlights, and all of the sudden I am watching ChurchCenter. So I popped in The Simpsons Season 5 DVD, a gift I bought for myself the other day.

What's my point? I forget. Somtimes I hate sports. Reggie White dying is sad. But I think we'll get on. Football fans and I'm pretty sure the world will be able to get through this terrible time of tragedy.

If you'd like to donate to the Red Cross, you can go here. I think they are accepting donations for the tsunamis and Reggie White. You can also buy this sweet vintage T at the Red Cross Store! Check it out. You'll be all fucking hip and kind of Asian!

Merry Christmas to all! Word. I got some pretty nice gifts from my fine family. A pretty sweet scarf from my big sis. A nice sweater/jacket from my li'l sis. A lift ticket to Hunter Mountain from both sisses. But it's hard to argue with these as the best gift of all time.

Best. Slippers. Ever.

Thanks to me mum.

I feel like I had more to talk about. Hmmm. I can't recall. Oh well.

Here is a sunrise over Manhattan.

This is early.

A little bit later.

And later.

And now I'm late for work.

Here's me: "Um, do you have that, um, Jessica Simpson perfume?"

Here's them: (chuckle) "Uuuuh, no."

My older sister recently added the Jessica Simpson perfume to her Christmas list. I figured that'd be an easy thing to get, once I got past the awkwardness of asking for it. So I was in a mall and I checked a few places, none of which carried it, but they all thought I was a douche for asking for it. So since I couldn't find it, I just got her the Ashlee Simpson deodorant.

I went up to the Macy's at 34th Street, which was a mistake. The whole area was nuts. I'm not good at math, but I'm sure this equation is correct:

Rush Hour + Christmas Shoppers + Tourists = Me Considering a Gun Purchase.

Fortunately, they don't sell those at Macy's. I got frustrated with shopping amongst crowds and pissed at myself for not shopping earlier, so I decided to go into the least crowded store and purchase gift certificates for everyone. I don't want to say what I got, because my sisters read the blog, but I'll give you a hint. I wrote a song for this Christmas called, "It's Gonna be a Payless ShoeSource Kinda Christmas!"

I also considered buying my mom and my sisters some stuff from Victoria's Secret. I realized that Christmas hasn't been all that interesting the last few years, so I might as well make this one the most awkward Christmas ever. Next year, my dad could get drunk, knock the tree over, set me on fire and then fuck a reindeer, but it still wouldn't compare to when Michael bought mom crotchless panties.

That last paragraph contains two of the worst visuals I could imagine. Luckily, I am not imagining them, and I put that up there just to upset my sisters.

I don't listen to the radio or watch anything on MTV, except for the Real World, yet somehow I've had that Snoop Dogg song where he says, "Drop it like it's hawwwt" stuck in my head for two weeks.

OK, so. This lady who stole the baby. How would you like to be the public defender that got her case? Is there a "This Is Totally Fucked Up" defense?

It was odd how in the beginning they issued an Amber Alert for the fetus. I would think that would have been unnecessary, because it seems most people would call 911 if they spotted a fetus. If Doug brought a fetus home, I think I'd notice.

"Hey Doug. Thanks for taking out the trash yesterday. There was something else I wanted to ask you, but I can't remember what it was. Oh! That fetus that's in the kitchen? Has that always been there? I noticed some amniotic fluid in the sink, so I'm assuming you know about it."

I normally don't get into these bizarre crimes that sweep the nation, but I can't stop reading about this one. I hope Yahoo never stops posting headlines about it. Even when there is nothing to report, they should just have a headline that says, "Hey, remember that time when the lady killed the other lady and stole her fetus? Fucked up, right?"

I hope there is some sort of follow up story years from now so we can see how the kid is doing. Like, how does her father tell her about what happened? He probably won't even get a chance to do it. The kid will probably Google herself and freak out. Damn.

Damn. And she was found by her mother! Holy God. Every element of this is horrible. I always thought that if I ever died before my time, the last person I'd want finding me dead is my mother. She would obviously freak out and be scarred for the rest of her life. Just standing there in her crotchless panties over my dead body.

Am I making everyone else uncomfortable now?

Why is it that the pretty ones are always the craziest?

On Sunday I went to the Giants vs. Steelers game at Giants Stadium in lovely East Rutherford, NJ. I was accompanied by Bill, who you might remember from such blogs as, Bill Stuffs a Hot Dog in His Face at a Yankees Game.

It was a fine game, won by the Steelers. There were many great plays, fine catches, hard hits, and most importantly, a photographer got run over by a mobile camera unit.

You know those cameras where the TV cameraman is on a podium of sorts, and the thing moves up and down the sidelines? Here is a photo. Well, they are driven by a guy below. It seems sort of like an ATV. I suppose the driver wasn't paying much attention, because he plowed into a cameraman, and I think may have broken his leg. You can see the guy here laying on the ground. At first I felt bad about taking a picture, but then I realized if something awful happened to me, this guy would be snapping away at my unfortunate injury.

And you know what I just noticed? Check out that picture again. There is another photographer taking a picture of the injured photographer! That is awesome. He was probably laughing his ass off. "Oh, dude, I am totally putting this on the wall! You should see your face. If you were an injured soldier, I'd get a Pulitzer!"

I am neither a Giants nor Steelers fan. I do pull for the Giants because my dad is a fan, and I also pull for the Steelers because I have a lot of friends who are Steeler fans. The game was such a good game though, that at one point I wanted to cheer for something. It was at a point where if I was a Giants fan, I would have said, "Come on now, guys! Let's go!" Or something to that effect. I actually wanted to yell out, "I am really enjoying this game! I am appreciative of the efforts of both teams! It is a shame that someone has to lose! I am going to leave happy, regardless of the outcome!"

I'm not sure how other fans would have reacted to that. There is a "You're with us or against us" attitude at live sporting events. Someone might have yelled back, "Your indifference sickens me!"

My pictures of the actual game play didn't come out so well. There was a touchdown on this play. Little blurry. Number 34 has the ball. Here is a fine picture of a guy who likes to root for the Giants and dress up like an idiot.

Bill is a Steelers fan. Here he is waving his Terrible Towel. Look at how terrible that towel is making Bill! He's getting more terrible as we speak! Oh, phew. He's better now. He must have shook all of the terrible from the towel.

I think that's all for now. Here is a picture where you can kind of see up my nose.

Today was one of those days where I really wish I was someone the news shows called when they need to interview someone. Here was Wolf Blitzer's question to some douchebag regarding the tape of Osama bin Laden, that other douchebag:

Wolf Blitzer: What does this mean for the War on Terror?

Then here is what I would have said:

Me: What does it mean? It means that we still haven't caught him and he has a tape recorder. Thank you.

I stayed home form work today and slept until 12:30. That felt nice. A little added bonus is that it was the coldest morning of the winter, so far. I think I might call in sick any time the thermometer drops below freezing. I felt like Homer Simpson in the episode where he stays home and everyone else goes to church. He's all curled up in his bed beneath the covers while everyone else is in the church, whose heating system is broken.

Eventually I made my way outside and became somewhat productive. I got to see my landlord's father who was cleaning the hallway, who for an old man was wearing his pants at a surprisingly normal level. There has been a step outside my apartment that has been broken for about a month now. It was supposed to have been fixed a long time ago. This doesn't sit well with the landlord's father. He said to me with his Greek accent, "This fuckin guy. He keep say 'Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.' But he no come, this fuckin guy. This people no fuckin good."

I like when old people curse. Especially old Greek people. The Greek mother is another fun one. She is really nice, not so good with the language, and so far has not cursed. But when I first moved here, I saw her everywhere. I'd be walking in the supermarket, and there she'd be. I'd be blocks away coming off the subway, and there she'd be. It was getting kind of sad that I had been in the neighborhood for a month and the only person I knew was a 70-year-old lady.

Every time I see her now, she has a different health ailment. First it was her back, then she was sick but didn't know what was wrong, and the most recent time I saw her she was wearing a neck brace. And it's been established that those things are hilarious. So I laughed uproariously and kicked her feet out from under her.

Old people are so fragile these days.

On Saturday I went to my friend Gina's surprise 30th birthday party. I'm not sure how surprised she actually was. Nor was anyone else at the party surprised when Gina did a cartwheel after we sang Happy Birthday to her. Gina likes gymnastics. Nor would anyone be surprised when Gina busted out and did The Worm. Go ahead. Click on the link. I was going to re-size the photo and make it a little smaller, but that wouldn't be fair to you. Look at the extension in the legs. When was the last time you saw that kind of commitment on The Worm? Nineteen eighty what?

You can see on the left that someone else was trying to match Gina. No chance. Gina was the main event here. Her Party. Her Worm. We last met Gina in this post from September of 2003. At a recent wedding that Gina attended, she challenged a little kid to a dance-off. She woke up the following day with a bruise on her chin. She asked her boyfriend if she did The Worm. He said, "Gina, you battled an eight-year-old kid."

All those who wish you were friends with Gina, raise your hands. Thought so.

Friday was the office holiday party, where my nuts remained where they should have. I was pretty well behaved. Nothing could top one co-worker who said to one of the company VPs, "I want to talk to the richest motherfucker in this place." Then he knocked down a vase and fell down the stairs. Keep in mind, I did not see this happen, but I heard about it and that is good enough for me, despite the fact that it might be exaggerated a bit. This is the same co-worker who once brought a homeless man to a bar, not because he felt sorry for him, but because "I thought he was a pretty cool guy."

So the first week of Jersey is over and it wasn't as bad as I planned. My commute isn't the worst. I'm getting up a little earlier, but nothing ridiculous. My only complaint was all of the rain, but it was doing that in New York as well. In fact, yesterday I saw a man with one leg on crutches crossing the street in the rain.

So I said to myself, "Hey, my life ain't so bad after all. I mean, I've got both my legs, and I don't have to worry about being on crutches, which allows both of my arms to be free and allows me to hold an umbrella above my head to keep it dry. I love having four working appendages!"

Unfortunately, I said this out loud just as I was walking by that guy, so I felt kind of bad. But I don't think it bothered him too much. In fact, just seconds later he got hit by a bus, because he didn't cross the street fast enough, so he had bigger problems to worry about.

Enough about him. This is about me, and me feeling better about myself.

And in other news, Doug came home today with a Christmas tree. I am very excited about this. I will now no longer refer to Doug as an asshole. In fact, I will start a new blog for Doug.

God bless us everyone.

Today I had my first experience with Fatburger. You folks on the left coast are probably more familiar with it. I learned that from the placemat I was reading, as it became covered in mustard, mayo and relish.

It was a good burger. Not as fat as I hoped. It made me want to take a fatshit. There were lots of fatpeople in the restaurant. They were eating there and working there. My only other complaint is the location of the garbage cans. I got up with my finished tray, looked around and saw one that was way inconvenient to get to, so I peaked around a corner and didn't see another one. Now I'm just a guy by myself standing in a restaurant with a tray that I can't get rid of.

So I went back to my table to put my jacket on and I realized I would have to use the only one I saw, which was back near the entrance. That's when a Fatburger manager came over (he was quite thin) and he was eager to throw away the remnants on my tray for me. That was downright nice of him. So I said, "Thank you." He then said, "Thank you guys."

I was by myself. It was like he was rubbing it in that I was a loser and a loner. What a jerk.

Luckily for me, though, my fucking soul mate emailed me today via Friendster. We've not yet met, but I think it may be true. The last girl who claimed to be my soul mate was basing it on the fact that we both threw scissors during a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. For a moment I believed her, but then I found out she had a seven year old daughter. I don't think that will be on my soul mate's resume.

Tomorrow is my office Holiday Party. I've been reading all those articles where they are like, "Don't drink too much." I want to make sure I do everything right. So far, I'm yet to find an article that reads, "Don't whip out your nuts."

I'm not saying I'm going to do that, but you never know. I'm not making any promises. Especially when it's about my nuts.

One of these days, I'll stop talking about my commute, but today is not one of those days.

The oddest part about it is the return trip on the PATH. It rides like a normal old subway (only smellier... God damn, that PATH stinks... the trains, the stations, the people... every thing about it smells... it's not like subway urine... it's unique to the PATH... don't know what it is, but it's distinctly "PATH"... I imagine that one day I might be somewhere else in a far away place, get an odd whiff of something and say, "That smells like the PATH!")

Anyway, all of the sudden as you approach the stop at the World Trade Center, you are suddenly outside and you do a little semi-circle around Ground Zero. You remember when they would find a body and carry it up that ramp they built and it would get impossibly quiet and the local news would show them carrying the coffins up the ramp? Well, the train now goes beneath that ramp. It's weird. Not necessarily eerie, but just weird.

It reminds me of this. You know that ride in the Magic Kingdom called the People Mover? If you aren't familiar with it, the People Mover is a ride that moves people. Seriously, that's it. You get in this little car and sit, and this thing just moves around the park at a leisurely pace. There are no seatbelts, no restraints whether they be shoulder or lap. You just sit. Anyway, there is one part where all of the sudden you are riding through Space Mountain and you can see the little roller coaster cars go flying by in the dark. The moment the People Mover brought you into Space Mountain, it was one of those things where as a kid seeing it for the first time, you go, "Wow!" Well, that's kind of like the PATH train riding by, and basically through, Ground Zero.

I didn't say "Wow!" but I did think, "Holy shit. What the fuck?" I curse more now. The whole thing is bizarre because it used to be enclosed and there used to be a mall down there and now it's all gone and I remember thinking that they would find hundreds of people alive in the Duane Reade when they dug through all the rubble. That never happened.

Anyway, let's talk about something more uplifting. Yesterday, I was talking to a gal named Sarah and the subject of miscarriages at amusement parks came up. You know, every day stuff. It reminded me of this one time when I was working at the Disney-MGM Studios and I noticed a crowd, or a gathering, outside of a ladies' room. I found out from one of my co-workers that there was a woman inside who had just suffered a miscarriage. Not from going on a ride or anything. It just happened.

So that kind of bummed me out. Happy people on a vacation and then that happens. Then I saw her husband outside of the bathroom and he was crying. Ugh. Major bummer. Not only did this woman just suffer a miscarriage, but her husband is a total pussy. I kid!

I was curious as to why he wasn't in the bathroom with his wife. I think the "only ladies in the ladies' room" rule could be lifted, just this once. Then I hear this supervisor get on his walkie-talkie and he says, "OK, we are going to need a wheel chair. And also bring some comp tickets."

Comp tickets?! I thought I misheard him.

"I know you just lost your unborn child, and that is sad. But please feel free to come back. And you know what? This one's on us." Then he pulls out the comp tickets, and streamers and balloons come flying down and there's a strobe light. "That's right! You can come back to the scene of the worst tragedy of your life at any time! For FREE!!!! There is no expiration date, so in the future, when maybe you'll be able to have one or two of those kids, you can bring 'em in for free. Have a great day. Oh, and also as a special surprise, Mickey Mouse is going to ride in the ambulance with you to the hospital! Your husband will have to take a cab, though. You know, there won't be much room in there what with the paramedics and Mickey Mouse with his big head and all. But we'll pay for the cab, so don't sweat that."

Oh well. I'm sure his intentions were good, although completely retarded.

A few months back, when my company announced they were shipping me back over to Jersey City, I was involved in a discussion with a few other co-workers, and we all were speaking of how we were going to find new jobs and live the good life. Towards the end of the conversation, I said, "Whatever. We're all going to be sitting over there in January talking about our shitty commutes."

Well, here it was December 6 and many were talking about our shitty commutes, myself included. It took me about an hour and twenty minutes. I got to listen to an entire mix CD that I burned for my Missouri trip. I think I can make the trip shorter. Just got to get the timing of my train transfers down. And burn more CDs.

I was sitting on the train this morning, and I was thinking about when I should transfer, and it hit me that the voice in my head sounded like a voice over in a movie about a guy that has a boring life. For about twenty minutes, I contemplated where I would transfer.

"Well, I could get off at Lexington, but that station is always so crowded. I guess I could just switch at 57th street. That used to be my stop. I'll probably get nostalgic and start crying there. I'll just take it all the way down to 14th street."

Ugh. Boring. Too much train thinking.

One of the most uplifting things about my new commute is that I get to walk by Ground Zero twice a day. Yay!

Can it get more depressing? Today's weather was also as gloomy as you can get, and it was insanely busy at work.

I shouldn't complain that much. I suppose it could be much more depressing. I've got a job that pays me money and I just saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to Geico. For real. I can now drive my car with reckless abandon.

Hmm. I thought I had more interesting things to say today.

I think I need to get a Christmas tree. It's been a while.

The other day I was at a diner. A guy on his Nextel walkie-talkie called up his son (I'm assuming) and said, "You awake?" The son confirmed that he was. The father said, "Then get your ass down here and join me for breakfast."

When I left for Missouri, I left on a day when it was quite foggy. The busiest travel day of the year, they said. I got checked in and through security quite easily. No problems. Before I left, though, I was talking to my mother the night before and I mentioned the possibility of heavy rains. She actually said to me, "Well, if you feel that it's not safe to fly, just wait for another flight."


"Now boarding flight 555 for Dallas/Ft. Worth at Gate 19."

"Boarding?! Now, I know y'all went to airport school and whatnot, but it is foggy out there! If you don't mind, I'll wait for the next one while everyone else boards this death trap."

On my connecting flight, I was in the best seat in the house. 1A. I was damn near in the cockpit. The flight attendant, though, began to get on my nerves by hitting on the girl behind me. He was sitting in his little flight attendant seat in front of me, so he was practically shouting through me to the girl. I was caught in the middle.

Anyway, he seemed destined to make sure everyone knew he wasn't a gay flight attendant. He kept talking about his ex-girlfriend and "the girl I'm seeing now."

They started talking about school and I soon found out she was going to go to law school. Surprisingly enough, his ex-girlfriend went to law school. He asked her what kind of law she was going to study and she said, "I'm not sure yet. Nothing boring like tax law." I think she wanted to be a Court TV lawyer.

I blocked them out for a while until I heard him say, "Well, that was more of a, um, hinde-- a uh, hinderance. Is that a word? HIN-DER-ANCE?"

"Yes," she replied.

"So yeah, it was a hinderance."

It's great how in the south, people will just start talking to you about nothing. When I was getting off the flight in Dallas, this guy just blurted out to no one in particular, "I sure hope my wife didn't come to pick me up." A flight attendant was nice enough to find out why this guy didn't want to see his wife. "Well, she just had foot surgery, so it ain't so easy for her to drive. I tole 'er not to, but who knows?"

"Well, how will you get home?"

"I'll just take a shuttle."

"Oh, they have shuttles around here?"

So they got into a giant conversation about shuttles in Dallas.

Anyway, let's talk about the borough of Queens. For this story, the borough is appropriately named.

Not long ago, I was going to visit a friend who lives close by. I left kind of early, so I went to a bar for a drink to kill 20 minutes. It was during the baseball playoffs, so I went to watch a bit of the game. As I sat there, I noticed this guy walk in who was drunker than drunk. He had a case of the stumbles. He started talking to this other guy in front of me. He awkwardly shook the guy's hand. He asked him what he was drinking. The not so drunk guy said something, but was obviously not interested in making a new friend.

But the new friend went and bought him a beer anyway. The guy told the drunk guy, "I said I didn't want a beer." But the drunk guy didn't get this and he continued to try and talk to him. I now am pretty sure he's just hitting on him. So the not so drunk guy gets up and leaves. I try my hardest to ignore the guy now, because I can see he has set his sights on me.

I stare at the TV.

He stares at me.

He walks near me.

I stare at the TV.

He mumbles something incoherent.

I stare at the TV.

He mumbles again.

I stare.

He says something again, this time I understand it.

He slurs to me, "You're way too handsome."

I stare at the TV.

Now, I know that I am not a bad lookin' fella. But I know for a fact that I am not "way too handsome." I'm not even sure it's possible to be "too" handsome. Jude Law is handsome, right? I've never heard anyone say he is too handsome. Plus, I just saw this guy get rejected by another dude, so I know I'm his second choice.

Men these days!

Anyway, I ignore him and he leaves the bar. Drunk as he was, he got the hint that I was not a gay fella.

So the other night at around 11:00 I am walking home from the subway after my trek back from the airport. I'm lugging my bags along beneath a steady drizzle a few blocks away from home. I go to pass a guy who is walking a little slower than me. He turns to look at me, and I notice that it is the guy who at one time thought I was way too handsome. I pass by him, and judging from the sound of his steps, he seems to walk a little faster.

I then hear him ask, with a very creepy elf like voice, "Is it raining?" I believe that was his pick-up line. Terrible line. I prefer, "You're way too handsome." Anyway, I ignore him, because it's pretty fucking obvious that it's raining and this guy wants to have some gay drizzle sex. Then I realize I am about a block from my apartment, and now I assume this guy is going to follow me to my apartment and rape me. But then I realize he is quite short and doesn't appear to be a very strong man, so I'd be able to fight him off and I'd rape him right back.

I almost turned around and said, "Don't even try it! I could totally rape you!"

Anyway, none of that was necessary, because when I turned down my block, he kept going straight (so to speak), presumably to a nearby bar to find some men that were way too handsome and could confirm the current weather.

Hello. It's been a while. I am back from Branson and still quite uninspired to blog.

Remember how I told you last year about Branson and how the people there love their Jesus? Well, they still do.

I was at this amusement park called Silver Dollar City. Sort of like Disney World's Frontier Land, but it's the entire park. You know, the old west. They had this Christmas parade, what with the lights and the snowmen and what have you. Well, you know how at the end of Christmas parades you usually see Santa rolling along? This parade was different. Tailing the end of this little parade was baby Jesus himself. With Mary and Joseph looking over him. It was a little weird.

As for me, I currently feel overwhelmed by a crippling depression because my last day working in the Grande Apple is tomorrow.

Good bye, New York City, hello Craptown USA!
All material © Mike Toole; 2003 - 2006