Ugh!

EDIT: Well, part of it has to do with Mozilla Firefox formatting the page slightly differently. But there's still a regular margin over there that I'd like to utilize.

See all that dead area over there on the left?

I'm downright sick of it.

And to do something about it, I need your help. I have tried to find a way to fix it, and all the tips I've found haven't done the trick. Help me out, folks. I want to be able to plug stuff in over there, because I hate unused space. I can condense things, put more gadgets up, whatever. SOMETHING.

In the Interests of Equal and Fair Time:

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we have a very special interview. This time with Annie the Cat. Once again, I'll shall be providing translation for you all who don't speak Feliniean.

Bart: Thanks for being here, Annie.

Annie: Make this quick. I have napping to do.

Bart: I've been known to refer to you and Elmo as Garfield and Odie. What do you think about that?

Annie: That's ludicrous. I'm not orange. I do not eat lasagna. I actually kind of like Mondays. Elmo, on the other hand, makes an excellent Odie.

Bart: Why do you swipe at him all the time?

Annie: I can't yell at him, like you do. Not that he listens to you. Or remembers I have claws.

Bart: Why do you like to lay on our magazines and books so much, when we lay them down on the couch, or bed?

Annie: Your books and magazines?

Bart: Yeah, we bought them.

Annie: Of course you bought them. For me.

Bart: I don't really think...

Annie: Of course you don't. Silly man. Everything you do is for my benefit. *sniff*

Bart: Interesting concept. Next time you get antsy for food, maybe I won't fill your bowl up to your liking. How's that sound?

Annie: That's dirty pool. It's bad enough you let that slobbering thing eat my food...

Bart: Simply trying to point out an obvious fact of life.

Annie: You bore me. Excuse me, I see a fleck of light on the ground.

This is where the interview sadly ended, as Annie found the fleck of light highly addictive.

Sticks and Stones

Note: This post is inspired by Deborah's post today over at Uncommon Notions.

I'm not going to lie to you good people. I cuss like a f'n sailor. I'm sure that disappoints my mother, but I really don't care. I could justify it by saying I'm blue collar, or that I like the raw emotion that these words bring to a sentence, but that'd be hollow justification to me. In the sense that this is not how I feel about the issue.

I simply believe that curse words are arbitrary. Utterly and completely.

Think about this...what makes a curse word a curse word? Simple: we say they are. That is it. That's the beginning, middle, and end of the process. We have put the stigma of "badness" on those words. We've built them up to be some incredibly taboo thing, something you should never say in polite company. Things you get million dollar FCC fines levied upon your TV or radio station if one of them slips by. Things that change a films rating from PG to R (for a better dissemation of how screwed up that is, see South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut). But here's the thing:

They are only words.

Back when I was a boy, and teased mercilessly (you try having a name that rhymes with fart), I was taught my first linguistics lesson. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt you. But Bart, you say, that's something mothers tell their kids when they come home crying from being teased all day. Maybe. But it's also a very pertinent linguistics lesson. Words can never hurt you. Words are dispassionate, unbiased. In the hands of a talented person, they can be melded many different ways, but in the end, they are still words.

The only difference is that somewhere, some time ago, people with enough clout deemed curse words to be vulgar.

Which brings me to my next point...do any of you know what the origin of the word "vulgar" happens to be? It's derived from Middle English. It's the word for the common people. Vulgarity came from the aristocracy looking down their nose at the commoner. This is even more prevalent in the language, since the nobility, since the Norman Invasion, had French roots, language wise. Which is why, in the English language, a French word is the "classy" word to use in a situation. Think about that for awhile when you're talking about someone being vulgar, or using vulgarity. The entire concept was borne of class distinction. Not the most glorious of births, huh?

I'm not saying everyone should curse like I do. Or like my one boss, who probably couldn't string together a sentence if he was deprived of the f-bomb (I teased him one day after he got through a sentence by saying "8." That's how many he used in one sentence.). But I do think we should realize that we're being completely arbitary when we say that these are "bad" words. Irregardless. THAT'S a bad word. The other ones are words that people, long before any of us, or even our parents, were born, deemed to be "common."

Words can never hurt you, my friends.

Exclusive Interview with Elmo:

Good evening ladies and gentleman, I'm your host, Bart. Today, we've got an exclusive interview with Elmo the Dog. We're so happy to have him here tonight, and we hope you are, too. Since most of you don't speak Dogese, let alone Russelarian, I'll translate for you.

Bart: Welcome Elmo.

Elmo: Where's the food? I was promised food.

Bart: It's in your bowl. Where it always is.

Elmo: The one on the left, or the one on the right? I like the one on the left. But that one goes away a lot. Put it back.

Bart: That's the cat's food. Yours is the one on the right. But let's move on. What makes you tick, Elmo?

Elmo: Food. Where's the food, again?

Bart: Besides food.

Elmo: Sleep. Walks. Hey, are we going for a walk?? Are we?

Bart: No, not right now. How do you get along with the cat?

Elmo: There's a cat here??

Bart: Yes...you eat her food all the time. She swipes at you on a regular basis. You root around in her litter box! How do you not recognize we have a cat??

Elmo: I'm hungry.

Bart: Ugh. Okay, changing topics...why do you mess with us when we try to sleep?

Elmo: Because you need to be feeding me. Or walking me. Preferably both. Hey, are we going for a walk?

Bart: No. And put your lipstick away.

Elmo: I can't help it.

Bart: Yes you can! You can stop licking yourself!

Elmo: ...why would I do that? Wait, if I stop doing this will there be food?

Bart: Okay, I'm done. Here, have a treat. Your breath stinks.

Elmo: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD GIVE ME THE FOOD GIVE ME THE FOOD!!

I'm sorry, ladies and gentleman. He promised us that he'd show up fed and walked. This is the danger you enter when interviewing such a capricious animal. Til next time.

An Excess of Excess

Saw a documentary recently about being overweight in America. Which could honestly be for any "westernized" country, though especially so for the good ol' US of A.

Essentially, it analyzed what's become a culture of over eating. It traces back to the Great Depression, and the reactions of an entire country after being on rations. Basically, they say that once the country righted itself, we had Scarlett O'Hara syndrome. As God as our witnesses, we will never go hungry again. Now, restaurants and grocery stores are very much about supplying the most food for the least buck. Couple that with increasingly processed food products and incredibly increasing sedentary lifestyle, and BAM! We're fat, we're fat.

I have to admit, I totally was influenced by it all. Especially since I was raised in a family that really stressed getting the value out of a dollar. I would see any uneaten food as wasted money. I still do, unfortunately. Of course, now, I know what I was doing and work against it. I'm not afraid of food going to waste now. Those starving folks in Africa be damned. No, wait, I didn't mean it like that...great, now I'm gonna get hate mail. I simply mean that the guilt trips don't work anymore, I won't be guilted in to over eating.

I've lost 32.6 pounds since Jan. 31. I'm just above 180 lbs now, and I am shooting for 167. The Queen marvels at how she can now completely put her arms around me and then some. A belt is pretty much a necessary accessory, as I've lost about 4 inches off the waist.

And if I can do it, all fat asses can. Though, this documentary also mentioned that once you have weight, the body will go to great lengths to retain it. So the heavier you are the harder you have to work. But I'm seriously one of the laziest, most unmotivated person around, and I eat very quickly, which lends to obesity (you don't realize your full until you've already eaten too much). What's your excuse then?

Also, small tip. You ever been eating, and midway or so through the meal you've sighed? Stop eating. That's your body saying "I'm cool." You should always listen to your body.

Side note...I barely broke 135 at best in high school. Sopping wet. I don't think I'll ever see that weight again, because my body changed around 19 or so (shoulders widened significantly, for one), but it's tough to even remember being that thin anymore. And that worries and motivates me the most.

Haiku Action

Exxon kills 4Q?
Gee, I can't believe that at all
How much is gas now?

How dare you CHEER at a ballgame!?

Not all of the ushers at Camden Yards are a joke.

But some of them are. And it's absurd. Every year, with the O's down and the Yankees and Red Sox up, and relatively close, Camden Yards gets "invaded." And for some reason, the ushers seem to have been told to favor the out of town fan. Even if the out of town fan is over the top vulgar, making the scene, etc etc. I relay this story posted on the Orioles Hangout forums, by poster S'GOS. I wish this story was an isolated incident. Unfortunately, I can't tell you that. In actuality, I've heard hundreds of similar tales.

I'm a long time reader, but first time poster. Last night's game inspired me to finally get on here and put in my two cents. I'm a young guy, 2 years removed from college, work for a baseball scouting and college placement organization, and live and breath Baltimore sports. I try to hit up about 40 or so games a year. My friends and I always occupy the bleachers just right of the foul pole next to the flag court. We cheer our lungs out, start chants, drink a few beers, and get a little rowdy. But we have always took pride in our abilities to keep profanity and disrespect to a minimum. We bring nothing but positive vibes and try to get other O's fans "into" the game. Basically, to steal a quote from Raven's games, "Don't be a jerk!!"

Well, last night was one of the most dissapointing moments of my life. We ventured to our usual spot to find it littered with Red Sox fans. Big Deal, its something I have come to expect, but it didn't mean I was going to shy away from cheering for my team. Lowen started off really well and we were getting up on 2 strike counts. The Orioles scored early so we were up for that as well. There were a few Red Sox fans behind us that didn't take to kindly to that and the New England smut that followed made me sick to my stomach. I tried to stay oblivous to it, making a few exceptions to spin around and throw my hands up as if to give them high fives, but it was all in good fun.

Around the 5th inning or so, we were cheering durring a two strike count for Lowen and the bombs started dropping again, and the ushers came over and started pointing at us oriole fans to sit down. I ran down to the usher to see what he thought was suitable behavior for a home team fan. I kept my cool and even after the usher refused to make eye contact with me, I returned to my seat.

It is the 7th inning now, and BRob is up with a 1st and 3rd opportunity. We start cheering again and trying to get the O's fans into it. Yet again, the Sox fans start dropping bombs faster the F15 fighters over Baghdad. This time the ushers meant business. 3 Ushers came up and singled me out and and told me I had to leave. I laughed it off at first like it had to be a joke or something. Next thing I know there are 5 cops waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Well, at this moment, my heart broke. I couldn't believe what was about to happen. The jerk Sox fans behind me started a "hey hey hey goodbye" chant as I was ushered out. The best part was this; a handful of Red Sox fans came to my defense. They ran down and attemped to stop this tragedy saying, "he wasn't doing anything wrong at all" and "he was cheering for his own team, let him stay." But to no avail. That one butch looking usher ran over like a troll and asked for my ticket, she took it and wished me a smug "good night." I was tossed through the front gates "Jazz from Fresh Prince of BelAir" style. It was embarassing and heart breaking. I turned to the cop who threw me out and asked him where he was from. He said Baltimore, and I asked if he knew what he did was wrong. I told him I understood he was doing the "man's" work and that I have nothing against him, I just wanted to hear him say what just happened was wrong. I told him to shake my hand if he agreed, and shook it.

Luckily for me, I had 2 tickets that night. My buddy from work had given me 2 free tickets, and I couldnt find a taker on the other. So I ran around the warehouse and entered again on the other side. I watched the rest of the game from the bullpen area, and watched Pena's bomb land right in front of me. That was a dagger!! The stadium exploded and I was sulking. I told a few O's fans in the area my story from the night and they couldn't believe it. I made my way back over to meet up with my friends on Eutaw Street around the beginning of the 9th. They got a good laugh out of the whole experience but we all agreed that we needed to reevaluate our outlook on this organization. The game ended and we exited through the same gate I got tossed through and I actually made eye contact with a few of the ushers that threw me out. I shot them a smile as they bickered to one another and stared me down.

The moral of the story:

You can't take back what was never yours.

I cheered
I stood
I believed

But why?

Why do I put so much into something that obviously doesn't want a part of me?


I will continue to support the team, and attend as many games as I can, but this isn't my team, its the "man's"

The usher's at Camden Yards need to be reminded why they're there. Not all of them, but some of them. You're not the No Fun Police. Kicking people out for cheering for their team is absurd, especially when people are throwing out obscenities in the same section. Like I said, I wish this was an isolated incident, but it's far too common.

Straighten your ushers up, Orioles. This is yet another reason why your attendance is falling fast.

For those about to rock...

I salute you.

I used to be a rock star. Okay, not a star. GOLDEN GOD. Okay, okay, I was in a dinky outfit that made it's way up and down the Baltimore-Annapolis corridor. We did play with Good Charlotte, though. Back when they weren't caking themselves with fake tears and when they played good music. You know, before they cut a major label album. But that's a whole 'other story.

I miss it sometimes. Then I remember humping gear in and out of shitty little bars. The good camaraderie gets blacked out by the pissing matches. The fact that I can barely play. Okay, that was an underestimation, but I'm not that good in all honesty. Definitely overstepped my bounds by trying to solo, I'm strictly a rhythm kind of player. But even with all the negative crap, I miss strapping that axe on my shoulders, turning it up to 11 and having a good time.

I've thought a hundred times about getting together another band, a group simply for kicks. Maybe a punk cover band a la Me First and The Gimmie Gimmie's, sans the 'all-star' line up.

But then I remember that most days, when I'm not working, I'd rather be doing nothing. I got lazy in my not quite middle age. Heh. Got. Like I suddenly became lazy. That's a scam if I ever heard one...though why I'm busting my own balls I have no idea...

This picture is totally me, though. No lie, that's me rocking out with my...guitar out. This is my favorite picture of me from that time, because it really looks like I'm a shiny golden rock god. When in actuality there were about thirty people at that show, maybe a bit more, and we weren't even the headliners.

I write, therefore I am.

Except I'm not all that much a writer.

I write awesome stories.

Unfortunately, I've never found a great way to get to those pesky sections. Like the end. And the middle.

It's actually quite annoying. I've had great ideas, but because I can't get past the beginning of pretty much every one, I know have about 50 great story idea beginnings. Worst part is, a lot of times I'll find my idea has been used in the time after I start.

For instance, God, Inc. It's funny. I wish I had thought of it first...oh wait, I did. But that's what I get. I got about ten pages in, and hit the wall. Pretty much like I always do.

It's actually pretty frustrating. Because a pretty huge part of me knows I'm a writer. But a small part of me is a rational person and knows that I have to actually write to be a writer. I know what you're thinking. "But Bart, what do you think you're doing right now?" I'm talking doing it for a living. Or at least as a lucrative side job. Not trying to explain to people how I got my current job with an English degree. Heh.

But I think the most frustrating part is that I'm having problems even starting anything even if I get one of my awesome ideas, because I think, "oh why bother, you're gonna hit that wall." Pretty self defeating, but hey, the whole kit and kaboodle here is a self defeation problem. I think I made up a word right there.

CSI: Cooperstown

So, last night during the Red Sox/Orioles game (I didn't see it, thankfully since the O's predictably blew it), O's announcer Gary Thorne cavalierly mentioned to color man Jim Palmer that he had a conversation with Sox catcher Doug Mirabelli a few years back. The topic? The infamous bloody sock of Curt Schilling. The meat? That Mirabelli told him that the blood was painted on as a PR stunt.

Mirabelli, of course, follows the first rule: Deny, deny, deny.

But you know what? I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if it were true. Schilling is a great character, but he's not exactly the most credible person around. What do they call him? Red Light? Something like that, to indicate that he goes running for the camera when he sees that red light come on.

Not to mention that Gary Thorne is a very well respected member of the media. He's not prone to hyperbole or making something up just to get a rise out of people.

So, the question is...was Thorne joking? Was Mirabelli joking with Thorne? If that's the case, why did he not say so, instead of denying that they even talked about it? If Thorne believed the story, why was he so cavalier about it? Does he think everybody thinks it was faked? And why did I say the question and then ask multiple questions?

People are already weighing on the subject. ESPNRadio's Mike and Mike say go test the sock, since it's at Cooperstown. People have chimed in and said that the sock on display still shows red, instead of brown, which dried blood usually turns after over 2 years.

The world may never know. Or perhaps not even care.

I know this. The Red Sox players are really laying in to Thorne over this, so if turns out to be either a massive misunderstanding, or that Thorne wasn't lying in the slightest, I hope they have the cajones to apologize. Because you know Thorne will if he's in the wrong.

SOCKGATE. DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUN.

Tag? Isn't that a Body Spray?

So, I was tagged by David McMahon as a blog that makes him think. Awesome. Of course, now he's gonna make ME think as a result. That I'm not so much a fan of. But, I'm also in a "I need to be a publicity whore right now" mood, so off I go. Thanks for the tag-a-roonie, David, and away we go with my list. Of course, I may do some repeating. I reserve that right.

1) Deb at Making Peace with Toilet Paper. There's a reason why David ranks her so high all the time, even though it fills me with the red boiling jealous rage.
2) Flimsy Sanity. I'm a pretty radical dude. In both senses of the word.
3) The Women on the Verge's Did We Say That Out Loud. What more can you ask for from Lucy and Ethel?
4) A Darker Shade of Black. Ak-Man is an impressive writer.
5) Dawn's Thoughts from Along the Broken Road. She makes me want to start a side blog about the Orioles, but it'd really be a waste, and lost in the cacophony.

Honorable mention go to The Queen, but she really doesn't update that much, and of course, David McMahon himself, who I like to go all puntacular on whenever possible. Oh, and of course, the immensely talented, incredibly sexy Bart at Crazywhack Shiznit for Your Brizzle. That guy makes me think about tons of stuff on a second by second basis.

Apparently, we got some rules. The rules are: a) If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to five blogs that make you think, and b) link to this post so that people can easily find the origin of this award.

Rock Concert Movement #237

Taking the audience on a Jungian journey into the collective unconscious by using the shadow as a metaphor for the primal self that gets repressed by the modern persona and also by using an underground setting and labyrinth office design to represent both the depths of the psyche and the dungeon-like isolation of our increasingly mechanistic society which prevents people from finding satisfying work or meaningful connections with others.

READY GO.

So, Blue Man Group "How to Be a Megastar 2.0" on Saturday night. I'm not going to lie, I was already stoked for this because I loved their Vegas show. And even though most of the show was just a rehash of their previous rock tour, which I have the DVD, I was still mightily entertained. Mainly because I like the music, and I dig the message (which is pretty much spelled out there...though when they put that on the screens, that it goes by REALLY quick and is easy to go "what, huh?"

The opener was Mike Relm, who I hadn't even heard of, but he was pretty funny. He's apparently a DVDJ. He mixes and scratches audio and visual imagery. Here's a sample from one of his sets pre BMG:



Show was fantastic. I personally got a huge chuckle out of the "true" origins of a certain ubiquitous hand gesture (You may have to turn up your volume a bit, it's softer than the other vids):



And here, as an extra treat, from the Complex Live DVD, Tracy Bonham performing "Up to the Roof." Part of the Jungian journey:

I Steal...drink up me hearties, yo ho.

I am a mighty pirate, after all.

Stole this from Dawn. Not generally my cup of tea, except when I'm bored on MySpace, but something about this one I like. It's supposed to be for Monday's, but I LAUGH IN THE FACE OF CONVENTION and therefore I do it on Tuesday with my nose in the air. Take that.

1. Name a song you know most (or all) of the words to.
I know all the words to many a ditty. But I will go with the song currently playing from my iTunes library shuffle cavalcade of personal hits: Axel F...AXEL F? That's a freaking instrumental. Hang on, I've gotta hit forward. Rush's 2112, are you kidding me? Forward again. Ah, okay: Zak and Sara by Ben Folds.
2. Name a movie that you have watched more than once and would watch again.
Pretty much all of them? It's true, ask anyone. But let's see, in my life, I've probably watched The Empire Strikes Back more than any other movie.
3. Have you ever read a book more than once? Please share.
Habitually. Re-reading is extremely pleasurable to me, because I pick up things all the time that I didn't before. I once read a beloved series backwards to see what that would be like. But to give an answer I'll go with George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones. The rousing kickoff to the best "fantasy" series I've ever gotten engrossed with.
4. Share an inspirational quote with us.
I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be. - Douglas Adams.
5. What day of the week does (or did) your birthday fall on this year?
Wednesday.
6. Have you ever bought a book or cd or movie more than once because you forgot you bought it already?
Yeah, actually. David Edding's Pawn of Prophecy. Though, to be fair, it was more because I thought I had lost it.

Quick Shot News and Notes and Misc Minutae

-I've lost 30lbs in 13 weeks. Go me. 16 away from my goal of 167, though if I'm still going strong, and I still see some flab, I'll see how far I can take it.

-Going to see The Blue Man Group tonight at First Mariner Arena, B-More. They not only gave me that creepy eyes banner up there, but it's where "Crazywhack Shiznit for your Brizzle" comes from. Even though in their show it's "crazywhack shiznit that happens inside your brizzle."

-Ever since opening the season 0-3 the O's have gone 9-4, only losing one series to the reigning AL Champs, the Tigers. And all that despite not having two of their starting lineup, and with Sam "How can I possibly screwup today?" Perlozzo at the helm. I'm not ready to go buying playoff tickets yet, but it's as good as they've been since that hot start in 05.

-I've been listening a lot to Mitch Hedberg lately. Such a shame. Doing a sound check last Friday at work I found myself enunciating like Hedberg for no apparent reason. I figured, why fight it? So I started doing jokes from his routine. I'm weird like that. I haven't slept for ten days...'cause that would be too long.

-So, much to my surprise, the Red Sox and the Yankees are playing a series this weekend. I had heard absolutely nothing about that from national sports news outlets. Not a word. I wonder why they don't tell us about those things. (for those of us not in the US...that was about as sarcastic as I can get and still be human. You can't escape it when those two teams play each other. Over promotion is an understatement)

-In the "I love seeing actors we recognize now in older movies" department: Ever notice that a bit player in Major League is Neil "The Janitor" Flynn (from Scrubs)? He's one of the construction workers whenever they do the bit where they go across Cleveland to "take the pulse" of the team, the guys in the diner, the construction workers, and the Asian grounds crew. He's the one that talks ("Hey these guys ain't so f'n bad.") Also, in the climatic game vs NY, he's in the bar, and when they win him and a punk rocker are hugging each other, look at each other funny, then keep hugging each other. Good stuff.

Haiku, 1K edition

Almost to 1K
You like me, you really do
1k doesn't lie

Hypocrite Alert!

Is this same Avril Lavigne that sings "Complicated?"

(Pardon the extra stuff. Took these off Perez Hilton and we all know how Perez likes to screw with his photos.)


You should really pay attention to your own lyrics, honey.


P.S. U R NOT PUNK. OMGWTFBBQ!!!!1111

LOL.

Mourning

Words can not express
sorrow of this magnitude
but they're all we have.

I will now move on. I leave with you this plea. I implore you to remember the benefit of hindsight. I implore you to not seek blame with the living, but with the dead killer who, with our benefit of hindsight, we know had elaborate plans. I implore you to not embrace the knee-jerk reactionary mob mentality which tends to grip our society when tragedies like these occur.

But above all, I implore you to think for yourself, even if that leads you to conclusions that disagree with me.

To steal a farewell line: Good night, and good luck.

Appropos:

We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451.

Let us remember this bon mot of wisdom as we try to delve in to the psyche of Cho Seung-Hui these following weeks.

There will be many calling for harsh decisions to be made regarding two things: gun control and crime profiling.

Gun control I'm all aboard with. Especially in VA, where it's insanely easy to arm yourself.

Crime profiling, not so much. Based off what is coming out as of today, I knew at least 50 of that type of personality as I was growing up. This is once again a result of rampant blame throwing. Who do we blame for allowing this to happen? Stop looking at the people who you think should have stopped him prior to action, and start looking at the psycho who decided to unleash terror for perceived slights. Perhaps the first shooting incident of Monday morning could have been prevented. I highly doubt the second one could.

Allow me to continue being serious.

Please stop blaming the VT authorities for the massacre yesterday. It's knee-jerk mob mentality. And it's incredibly unfair.

Why is it unfair? We have the benefit of HINDSIGHT. They didn't.

Not to mention that canceling classes wouldn't have done anything. Something tells me he'd have found another target, either another dorm or a dining hall. You can't lock down a campus that large effectively, and even if you could, you just locked in the kids with a gunman.

Also, with the benefit of hindsight, we knew he'd go all the way across campus two hours later. But yesterday morning? At a university that has never had anybody killed on campus, in a town that is relatively peaceful? No way they saw this coming, not in a million years. They thought it was a domestic shooting, a crime of passion at the dorm.

Until things are sorted out by the experts, here is all we should be doing:
1) Blame the shooter.
2) Mourn the dead.
3) Well wish the family of the deceased, and the survivors.

Also, it surprises me very little that within hours of this, Jack Thompson was on news outlets blaming video games.

Allow me to be serious...*edited*

Caution: coarse language. *not as bad anymore...I edited*

Don't say I didn't warn you. I'm pissed.

SCREW YOU MEDIA.

You people are self-serving dickheads. It's never about the story, it's about how you can convince people that you give the most up to date breaking news reports on a given event.

How dare you splash huge pictures of injured students being carried out of the VT academic building today before authorities even had an accurate count, let alone notified parents! Parents who were probably checking these stories over and over again just for that info maybe saw their kid being pulled out of the building.

THIS IS IRRESPONSIBLE JOURNALISM. PERIOD. END OF STORY.

Stop trying to make the stories, assheads. Report them. That's all.

Just because we have the ability to instantly see images from a tragedy like the Virginia Tech shootings DOESN'T MEAN WE SHOULD.

Stop thinking about your damn ratings, and start thinking about your morals and ethics. You scumbags.

And while you're at it, stop pontificating and posturing for ratings. One of you douchebags was going on about how these kids were heroes. This is was before reports of some of the students trying to barricade doors with their legs. Yeah, that's pretty heroic. But you didn't know that then. You were just trying to make the story again, instead of reporting it. Most of those kids aren't heroes. Unfortunately. They were tragically in the wrong place at the really wrong time.

This was one of the biggest tragedies that doesn't have 9 or 11 in it for this country. It's a god damn shame the media has to try and sensationalize the story. Look, dickweeds, the story speaks for itself. You do the reporting. Let the editorializing come tomorrow.

I'M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE.

You damn right, Howard Beale. You damn right.

Haiku, Fast Food edition

Since Dave Thomas died
Wendy's has gotten sloppy
wouldn't you agree?

I wanna see the fedora and whip again, sue me.

So, I was listening to music from Raiders of the Lost Ark and IJ and the Temple of Doom, and I realized that I don't really care how bad it'll probably end up being, I want to see the fourth Indiana Jones movie. Pretty badly. But it also made me think of a basic premise that would be awesome.

Now, to start, this is basically a Star Trek II treatment. Not the whole thing, but the "get your butt back on the horse" mentality of the first 30 minutes. First off...no Nazis. Set this puppy in the 70s, and embrace the fact that Harrison Ford is no longer a spring chicken. Take this picture from one of the Young Indiana Jones chronicles. Run with it for a near 70 (if not 70) Indy. Now a professor emeritus. Specializes in giving guest lectures about the Nazi involvement in arcane archaeological discoveries. Find out that his experiences in the Canyon of the Crescent Moon led him to give up the "swashbuckling" life. He even got married, and had a kid. The wife died, though (not unlike what happened to his own father) and he raised the child. He didn't name him Henry. Oh, that's the other thing. He goes by Henry, and chuckles when people try to call him Indiana. His son is a hotshot. Not as smart as Indy, but definitely has the adventurous streak. He gets himself in trouble with the Russians (hey, Cold War era, why not?) over some artifact (that's for someone smarter than me), and Indy is basically forced to come out of retirement. And then the pay off scene. Indy opens up a closet, and the "bum...bu bum...bum...bubumbum" of the Raiders March starts. He pulls out a leather jacket and puts it on. Opens up a box which has a bullwhip in it, puts it on his belt. Picks his fedora up and puts it back. Turns to the camera, and he might be older, but that's Indy. Raiders March kicks in full.

Would it be cheesy? Hell yeah. Would it also be awesome. You damn straight.

Haiku: ludicrous crap edition!

Duke Lacrosse scandal?
knew the D.A. was fishing
kiss that year goodbye

I'll be waiting forever...

Note: This is satire. The sad fact that I need to disclaimer that before you read it almost makes it farce.

Since Al Sharpton has gotten on the Don Imus debacle, I've decided I want in to. I don't want Imus to apologize to me, though. Nothing he said offended me. But if Sharpton can be offended by something directed at a women's basketball team, I feel that I can now express my offense at things directed at people who I sympathize with for whatever reason.

So, that being said, I want an apology to anybody who has ever referred to anybody of the Caucasian Persuasion "Honkey," "Cracker/cracka" or the like. I'll be waiting forever, I know, but you know what, I did nothing, so to deride my entire heritage like that is simply wrong, and I'm outraged. Hell, my family didn't even show up on this continent until the early 1900s (note: that's actually true).

However, I will still allow usage of "the Man." Because as we all know...I am The Man.


In other news, so not proud of myself. Actually got in to a verbal spat (I love that word...SPAT) with two 12 year olds yesterday. But, in my defense, they were little dillholes. Little unsupervised dipshits riding skateboards and bikes around tennis courts. Doubly offensive since a few years ago this park took away about 3 or 4 courts and built a SKATE PARK! They were obviously looking for trouble and that automatically annoyed the piss out of me. Unfortunately that also played right in to their hands. I miss the days when kids respected and feared all adults.

WE MUST PROTECT THIS HOUSE!

Video of Kevin Millar doing Ray Lewis' dance. Since I mentioned it, and some of us don't have access to sports highlight shows which apparently fell in love with the clip last night. Enjoy.

They're not smaller, you got bigger?

OUTRAGE!

RIOT IN THE STREETS MY CHILDREN!

B.J. Novak, acerbic genius, has brought to light the most heinous of conspiracies. Masterminded by the Bush Administration? No. Not even FEMA (since I'm on a X-Files movie kick) could have done something this dastardly. No, brethren, this despicable crime was brought unto us by Cadbury. CADBURY! The devil who fattened us is now secretly trying to THIN US! Spread the brave word of Novak and O'Brien, friends, before that bawking rabbit puts a .22 between their eyes:

I'm so very sorry.

Still not a zombie. Don't come at me with a shotgun to the head.

Sorry I didn't post after the last post. I got hit in the gut the next night. Tip: Don't ever let your team give up a game winning grand slam to one of the most hated franchises in professional sports. Just don't. I'm over it...sort of.

In other news, as much as he can be a statistical nightmare, I gotta thank the Red Sox for Kevin Millar. I post at a forum that likes to refer to Derek Jeter as Captain Intangibles, but Kevin Millar could really earn that name. I mean...only Kevin Millar could do the "Ray Lewis" dance at today's home opener and have everyone in stitches. Didn't hurt that he roped the first pitch he saw right over (and by right I mean squidged it) the LF wall. I wanted to find a picture of Millar doing the dance, but couldn't find one. Drat.

In other news, every digging I've done in to the X-Files movie conundrum seems to suggest it was a huge oversight by the movie makers that they even made fun of once in a later season. So sorry to say, it'll forever be a mystery. Shame.











Other than that, I really have no material I'm hitting the bottom of the barrel. Maybe tomorrow will bring inspiration.

I have a question:

For those of you who saw the X-Files movie, the one that came out around 1998 or so.

How the HELL did Mulder and Scully get back from the Antarctic? Mulder arrives for the rescue in that snowtractor thing, which runs out of gas. All of the people at the facility scramble away as the ship activates. Mulder and Scully barely get away from the collapsing ice shelf, and then BAM, with no explanation, they're back in DC.

It's been almost ten years and that still annoys the heck out of me.

In other news, thank god the O's opening losing streak is over. I had fears of 88 and 0-21 happening again. All that much sweeter since it was vs the Spanks, and we knocked around Moo$e at that.

I've got nothing to say...

I didn't kill your baby today...

Sorry, old song reference.

Didn't want you guys to think I was dead, or worse, a zombie. So I figured I'd give a shout out.

Thoughts I think I thought tonight:
I HATE YOU JOE WEST! CALL A CONSISTENT GAME YOU MUNCH!

Gee, Paul Bako, that was a heckuva hit you took from Morneau...it was enough to make a so called "all defense" catcher look like a little leaguer later in the game.

I HATE THE SUCKTRODOME! WHY IS THERE SO MUCH FOUL TERRITORY! DAMN YOU ALL THE HELL!!!

Nick "Honeybear" Markakis is the new Nick Markakis...

Now, a haiku for this night of angst.

Even with Johan "off"
The O's can't capitalize
oh so typical.