Max, What A Perv

The whole "The Max" situation is definitely mysterious. Your point about having a magician/waiter running the place, who is abnormally attached too much to high school kids, echo my thoughts exactly. Wouldn't their parents wonder why this guy spends all of his time with high school kids? I can just see him using magic as an excuse to lure kids into his van. "You know, Kelly, the equipment needed to saw you in half is in the back of my van. Why don't you hop in and take a look at it?" Max, what a perv. By the way, I always thought his magic tricks sucked.

--Paul, supporting my views on "Saved By The Bell"

I Beg, I Beg And Plead

This was taken back in November as I karaoked "Clocks".




I dare you to find a more accurate Chris Martin impersonation.

Or a more accurate Han-Solo-frozen-in-carbonite impression.

Wincing The Night Away

I had a terrible night's sleep last night. I had a cold, and was unsuccessfully coughing a lot, but the worst part was the slightly-out-of-consciousness dreamworld inspired by my bedtime reading.

Take it from this guy: you don't want to half-dream about the horrors of Sudan all night. It's pretty bogus. Last night didn't crack my all-time top five Worst Nights of Sleep, but it could be in the top ten.

Coming Soon: My all-time top five Worst Nights of Sleep.

Digitized Life

I've spent a good part of 2007's weekends ripping my CDs to mp3. The most irritating part of this process involves the few rap and R&B albums I own -- deleting the skits found at the end of songs.

I can't imagine why rap artists decided that their albums should be half music and half radioplay. For example, Lauryn Hill's debut album, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, was strong enough to earn her a Grammy award for Best New Artist. All Grammy jokes aside, everyone involved with making that album had to know that it was outstanding. So why did she (or her producer, or her record label) decide that its was necessary to supplement those songs? And my god, why did they choose to supplement them with an extensive, philosophy-meets-Kids-Say-The-Darndest-Things conversation about love between Wyclef Jean and schoolchildren?

Other notes:

*If you're saving your files at any bit rate less than 192 kpbs, I hate you.

*People don't love iPods, they love having all of their music in one place.

*Now that I've ripped those 6 Dave Matthews Band songs I still enjoy, I can sell back their first two albums. It's been a long time coming.

*Should I ever own and iPod or other digital audio player, I can't wait for the moment when someone drills down on my Sheryl Crow, and sees that I have selections from nearly all of her albums. I will be very popular.

*Michael Showalter made references to both of these artists during his standup appearance last fall. Sheryl Crow was the funnier bit:

I hide Sheryl Crow songs under "Cat Power" in my iPod. People see it and go, "Oh my God! You like Cat Power?"

"Yeah, totally, she's the best!"

"What's your favorite song?"

"I know, right?!"

Magnified Life

In the 8th grade, I tried on a classmate's glasses. Stacey, widely considered the second-most attractive of the class' six females, said they looked good on me, and that I should get a pair for myself.

Stacey went on to marry a cousin of mine and have his babies. And, as we all now know, I went on to develop hyperopia.

MONDAY: I pick up my Columbia-framed lenses.

TUESDAY: My boss describes my new look as "distinguished".

WEDNESDAY: A co-worker compares me to Clark Kent, a pathetic nerd whose life is worthwhile only when he removes his glasses.

The dream is dead.


* * *

Good reading on the internet today.

Dan Kennedy is my favorite regular contributor to the McSweeney's website. His latest effort is typically fantastic:

As we discussed last year at the beginning of our business relationship, investment is risk. That is to say, markets are constantly fluctuating; the economy is often volatile in times of war; I tend to drink; stocks and commodities are not fixed-value assets; larger firms are constantly affecting the market share and value of an independent fund like ours; a sex worker is involved in my benders; because of an understood inherent risk, investments are not underwritten or insured by the FDIC; a recessive economy has affected certain markets that we both agreed to invest aggressively in; I have a cocaine habit; and, overall, now more than ever, there are no "secrets" to generating wealth, just cold, hard truths.

Pop Candy has an excerpt from a new book that was nice:

At midnight, I gave her the poems.

"What’s going on?" she asked.

"Well, the last word in the first line is a trochee, and it rhymes with the end of the next line. So 'catachresis' rhymes with 'fleece.'"

"No, what’s going on?'"

"In a catachresis?"

Finally, lawrence.com has an article that is all about Spangles advertising, which is hilarious only because of its depth, and of absolutely no interest to anyone outside of the eastern half of Kansas.

Visual Aids

Way back in 2005, I wrote about some Oklahoma City hijinks. The exciting story concluded when I managed to break in to Brian's apartment.

When I visited that apartment again in October '06, I took a few pictures to document the amazing feat.









First, Family-Circus-style, is the route I took to reach Brian's patio door.
















Second, in a view from the balcony, an amazed Jack Serpentine beholds the bricks that held my feet.

Unbarleyvable

If you ever think to yourself, "The weather is terrible, so I'll just stay inside and cook some lamb and barley stew," don't double the receipe. Lamb and barley stew is a very hearty meal; a high volume of lamb and barley stew is not consumed as easily as, say, an equal volume of vegetable beef stew. You will have a ton of lamb and barley stew left over, and you will think to yourself, "I am already tired of eating this lamb and barley stew." And you will pray tomorrow will be different.

But it won't. The weatherman is relentless with his forecast, and the refrigerator didn't get this far by losing precious cargo. You're on the line for a doubled stew receipe. This is your Vietnam.

You think about mistakes you've made in the past, culinary and otherwise. The speeding ticket in Osage County. This is worse. The beef brisket that was 10 minutes overdone. This is worse. The oatmeal that spilled over while being microwaved. This is worse. Ordering the twice-cooked pork instead of the seasame chicken. This is worse. The double-dribble penalty against Andale's 8th grade team. This is worse.

This is the worst mistake you've ever made. You think about mistakes others have made, culinary and otherwise. The bacon Floyd burned. This is not as bad. Earnest Byner's fumble. This is not as bad. Your father's failed brownies. This is not as bad. Vietnam. This is not as bad.

You get to thinking you're pretty hot shit, and you've got solid data to back it up. You're invincible. You've got to spread the news. You're going to look up your old girlfriends, and let them know what they're missing -- the most brilliant mind since Lex Luthor. You'll have to explain who that is, and how his plans were always foiled by The Man of Steel, and how you're actually better than the fictional villan. Your plans are executed without fail (sans the lamb and barley stew). You have a complete head of hair. You are not a character in a comic book. You are real.

She'll try to call bullshit -- some existential tangent, "Is it really better to be real? What is real? What is reality? What is is?" You'll be reminded of why you broke up with her in the first place, unless it's your high school girlfriend, who broke up with you. Or your college girlfriend. Or your last girlfriend.

You are perfect but alone, and you are stuck with a lot of lamb and barley stew.