Adventures in Dog Walking

While I was walking a dog, a stranger walked towards me and bellowed, "Hey, buddy! How’s it going?"

I whispered to Samson, the dog, "Start growling" as I sized him up. His shirt was tucked into his pants, so I put him on for only 5% homeless. Low probability also for asking for directions: 15%. When most people ask for directions, they put the greeting and request in the same sentence. If they’re lost, they’re also late and don’t have time for chit-chat.

Although he may have been a crazy person as he looked like he was wearing mascara, my gut told me he was selling something. But what? Religion? Magazines? Political cause? The overly-friendly greeting was plausible for all three possibilities, but I needed more information to determine whether he was scary happy (religion), desperate happy (magazines), or fake happy (political cause).

He said something, but I didn’t hear him because I was trying to figure out what type of weirdo he was. Samson, who I trained to have a healthy suspicion of people not carrying treats, began barking. He halted his approach and laughed.

"I like dogs, but he doesn’t look too friendly today."

"That’s right," I said, as I stared him down. I thought about asking if he had a napkin to wipe the upcoming foam from Samson’s mouth, but felt I didn’t need to go there yet.

"We finally got a break from this heat, huh?" he said.

I reviewed my response for possible openings to other avenues of conversation before uttering it: "Yup." I felt a twang of guilt for being unfriendly, but if potential crazy man thought I was going to show any weakness, he could remove the “potential” from his name.

We had a minute of uncomfortable chit-chat when I had was passes for an epiphany nowadays: "Hey, this guy is the bare-bones friendly!" I let my guard down and thought of ways to engage him in conversation. "Do you live around here? Do you have any pets? Do you..."

"Well, see ya later buddy!"

What? Talk about being hasty. He only gave me a minute to figure out it was safe to interact with. Perhaps that’s an eternity in a place like Alabama, but in the crime-ridden streets of Northern Virginia, that’s barely enough time to take your hand off your pistol.

If you’re waiting for a pithy conclusion that sums up a revelation about life or myself that this experience taught me, you’ll have to go somewhere else. And that somewhere else is right after this sentence. What I learned from my interaction from fake crazy man is...

I’m not serious, of course. I haven’t learned anything from life yet, and I’m not going to ruin the streak now.

Craigslist Ad Update

I got 10 responses so far, all of them of the type "I'm not a psychiatrist/obsessive-compulsive, but I am a clean person who is very interested in renting the place." Evidentally, the rent was too low for outrage.

The only mildly humorous response was this one:

"I don't quite suffer from obsessive complusive order but that is a plus for you. As a land lord if anything goes wrong obsessive complusives will call you all the time, trust me I lived with one."

Update 2:
I took the ad down. I was feeling guilty from the deluge of serious responses. I need more experience writing fake housing ads--I must have underpriced the rent by several hundred dollars. I have an idea for another fake ad, which I'll post in a few days, that will much more obviously be a joke.

Craigslist: Room for Rent

(original link here; loosely inspired by my Mom's experiences with renting.)

I have a one-story brick rambler with a large yard in Rockville, MD that is renting for $1,250, a great price for the area. The problem is, the past three tenants have been extremely messy and have not taken good care of the house, causing me thousands of dollars in repairs.

Are there any psychiatrists out there that have an obsessive-compulsive patient that is looking to rent in Rockville? The house has two baths, four bedrooms, W/D, AC, cable-ready, and is a five-minute walk to the Rockville Metro station. Your client can live in comfort and privacy and satisfy his need to clean at the same time. I am happy to provide cleaning supplies, as well as replace any doorknobs or hinges worn from excessive use.

I will give any licensed professional who makes a successful recommendation a $250 finder fee. I request that you only recommend clients who won't fully recover for at least 12 months. If you think your client will recover sooner, 9 months for example, maybe we can talk about ways to get the same results without pushing too hard on the gas pedal.

If you could mention this offer at your next visit with your client, I will greatly appreciate it. In a time where celebrities are attacking psychiatry (e.g. Tom Cruise), I think it’s important for psychiatrists to show that they are willing to go the extra mile for others.

--Sandy

Watch Out, Iran

A few days ago, Iran announced that it will never again suspend its uranium conversion projects at its nuclear power plants. Uranium conversion is the step before enrichment, the process that produces material that can be used for both reactor fuel or an atomic bomb.

President Bush responded that, if diplomacy fails, "all options are on the table." He then said: "The use of force is the last option for any president. You know, we've used force in the recent past to secure our country."

Screw realism, neo-conservatism, isolationism, idealism, or any other of the various foreign policy philosophies that have fallen in and out of favor over the course of America’s history. Apparently, our entire foreign policy is based on the notion that we are a bunch of crazy mother-fuckers. Or as the textbooks call it, crazy mother-fuckerism.

Iraqi Constitution

Iraq's constitution is due in two days. The country's political factions are rushing to finish it in by the deadline. I don't know what's going to be in the constitution, but I'm pretty sure it's going to have two-inch margins and be double spaced.

Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo 2

The reviews are in!

After hovering at 3% on the Rotten Tomatoes' "Tomato Meter", Deuce Bigalow 2 has shot up to a whopping 11%. Go Deuce! The Duke Boys better be looking in their rear-view mirror, because Deuce Bigalow is coming up strong.

Let’s see what the reviewers say:

"It would be best appreciated by (a) children of blind, castrated, hearing-impaired Hollywood executives suffering from Tourette's syndrome and arrested development, (b) comic actor-writers who look like Richard Simmons."
-- Jan Stuart, NEWSDAY

"Deuce Bigalow" is aggressively bad, as if it wants to cause suffering to the audience. The best thing about it is that it runs for only 75 minutes.”
-- Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun-Times

"Vile and laughless."
-- Lou Lumenick, NEW YORK POST

"Deuce Bigalow should Bigadie."
-- Me!

"There is something to be said for the uncompromising idiocy of the film, but that something is unprintable."
-- Lisa Rose, NEWARK STAR-LEDGER

"Least imaginative of all -- the TV-commercial director they hired to film it. Yeah, his name is Bigelow, Mike Bigelow. That must have been a real knee-slapper of a meeting."
-- Roger Moore, ORLANDO SENTINEL

"Why are you reading this review? Seriously, do you think this is the movie where Rob Schneider shows the world he's the next Tom Hanks or Jack Nicholson?"
-- Willie Waffle, WAFFLEMOVIES.COM

"Rob Schneider, stop hurting America."
-- Jon Stewart (okay, I made that one up)

Man Dies After 49 Hours of Computer Games

The title of this news article should have been "Wimp Dies After 49 Hours of Computer Games". Two straight days of playing computer games is nothing. Before I busted my hemorrhoid dough nut, I could play for a week straight. Napping is for load screens.

Welcome

Sixty-two percent of dog owners have a "Wipe Your Paws" welcome mat. Sixty-two percent! Where's the originality? If I owned a dog, two things would be certain.

One, I would get a toy dog, name it Precious, and carry it around on a velvet pillow just to piss people off.

Two, my welcome mat would read, "Wipe Your Damn Paws Already, You Stupid Mutt. I Wash You, Feed You, Pick Up Your Shit, and Give You a Treats Even When You Don't Do Anything Special, Which Is Like All the Time. The Least You Could Do Is Wipe Your Stinky, Muddy Feet, For Christ's Sake."

It would probably be two welcome mats, depending on how small the printer could make the font. But that's a minor detail.

Them Duke Boys

You know you made a bad movie when even the photo caption writer is taking a dig at you.

See, Cats ARE Useful

Stuff on My Cat (Thanks, Amy)

A Rare Victory for Reality

Sony pays $1.5 million to settle a class-action lawsuit accusing the company of quoting a fake movie critic in its ads.

A good quote: "The lawsuit, originally filed by two California moviegoers, claimed the ads fooled the plaintiffs into seeing 'A Knight's Tale.' "

JUDGE: "Prosecution, you may begin your opening statement."
LAWYER: "Thank you, your honor. Ladies and gentelmen of the jury, my clients saw 'A Knight's Tale'. The prosecution rests."

Several members of the jury gasp and faint.

JURY FOREMAN: "Get the noose!"

Will Sony continue to cite fake critics, or use the marginally-less deceptive practice of putting their own marketing copy in quotes to make it appear it came from the pen of a critic ("You gotta see this movie!")? Only Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo II, will tell.

NASA TV

Every now and then, I marvel at what technology has brought us. Like being able to watch, live, an astronaut prepare for a spacewalk (NASA TV).

I Scream When I Melt

There’s often a “Frosty’s Heating and Cooling” van driving around my neighborhood. It’s the adult version of an ice-cream truck. If I owned the company, I’d change the name to “Frosty and Sunny’s Heating and Cooling” because there’s no way I’m taking heating advice from a guy named Frosty. Cooling, yes—Frosty knows his stuff about cooling. But heating? Ridiculous.

SHIVERING MOM: “Is it fixed?”
FROSTY: “All done.”
SHIVERING MOM: “But it’s still freezing in here.”
FROSTY: “Are you kidding? My carrot nose almost fell off, and I just left a clump of my ass in the kitchen. “

Craigslist Fun

I saw an ad in the part-time job section of craigslist for NON-SEXUAL EXCORT SERVICE!!!

Pancake City Career Tip: If your profession requires the qualifier “non-sexual” for its want ads, it’s probably a good time to go on a date with a career counselor.

I was also browsing the housing listings because I may be moving soon. I have a weakness for reading the “Christian-only” ads, like this one:

“We are a household of secure, grounded Christian women who love the Lord and have iron-shapening-iron friendships, who are walking in obedience to the word of God. Most of us go to McLean Bible Church/Frontline. “

Now that’s some good iron. Iron so tough that not only can it form the basis of friendship, but that same iron can be used to clobber weaker, friendless iron into the shape of one’s choosing. Like an iron collar that you could use on an third, even weaker iron to make it your bitch. Or maybe an iron knife for Iron Chef. Or an iron iron, although it would be heavy and difficult to lift, unless you’re Iron Man (comic book character in the Silver Age of comics) or just want to display it on a pedestal as a piece of conceptual art.

Your hip friends will laugh at the irony.

Friday DAT Blogging

Ridiculous Moments in Censorship

Evidentially, the President has a potty mouth.

A few newspapers are pulling this Doonesbury strip for using the word "turd blossom." Which is the President's own nickname for his top adviser, Karl Rove.

A few other newspapers are editing the strip. Editing it to what, "poop lily"? If I were Gary Trudeau, I would have started with "shit bouquet" and offer turd blossom as a compromise.

(link to the news article)

The Nationals

I went to my first Nationals baseball game last Thursday. Baseball moves much faster in person, mainly because you don’t have to watch it. You can eat, drink, talk to friends, and there’s a game on to fill in the lulls in conversation.

Baseball is a happy game. It’s laid-back and demands little from fans. Cheering is more joy than obligation. If the team doesn’t come through, it’s just one out of 162 games. And in the middle of the sixth inning, everyone gets up and sings together.

There’s one major exception to ballpark joy. The pitchers. The pitchers look like they are in prison. They are trapped in the bullpen at the outer field wall, their forlorn faces pressed against a mesh fence, their fingers curled around the metal weave. They know each other too well to talk and live in hope that a fly ball will pop up near them and they ask the outfielder how his kids are doing before the smell of his sweat leaves the air.

Tickets for National games are very affordable. The price of a beer is almost as much as a ticket in a cheap seat. I tried holding off buying anything, but I broke down after being enchanted with a sign for “Mom’s Old Fashioned Fresh-Squeezed Lemonade”.

Here’s the secret to making $5.50 “Mom’s Fresh-Squeezed Lemonade”:

1. Fill cup to rim with ice.

2. Drop half of lemon on top.

3. Fill with sugar water.

Mmm, mmm–just like Mom used to make it. If my Mom were a crack whore.

After the game I had the opportunity to partake in one of my favorite activites: being part of a mob. It was free umbrella night at the ballpark, and they waited until after the game to hand them out so rabid D.C. fans, notorious for keeping it real Detroit style, wouldn’t stab each other in the hearts with the rounded metal tips in a Miller Lite-fueled drunken rage.

The solution, for the safety of the fans, was to put eight umbrellas in each rope-tied box, put the hundreds of boxes on three tables, and surrounded the boxes with a metal gate while mobs of people shoved each other and reached out their arms over the gate like it was Free Cabbage Day in the former Soviet Union. Once someone got an umbrella, he or she, harkening back to the nobility of the Knights of the Round table, would lower it like a lance and ram through the crowd. I shook my head in sadness, and then darted through the wake.

My progress was hated until one enterprising fan had a clever idea: reach over the gate and pass out the umbrellas himself. The boxes flew open and people grabbed handfuls of umbrellas, usually at the same time, ensuring a tugging contest with an unseen opponent. It was disgusting. I got two. Some old lady took my third one.

Even without Free Umbrella Night, I might go back to a Nationals game. The crowd is enthusiastic and it’s a relaxing way to spend an evening. Although if the Nationals wanted to seal the deal, Free Numchuck Night would do it.

Friday Matt Blogging

GTA: God, Titties, and Asses

There's a wonderful episode of South Park where the kids are playing ninjas and Kenny throws a shrunken into Butter's eye. Not wanting their parents to find out what they did, they dress Butters up as a dog so they can drop him of at an animal hospital. Butters wanders off in a haze, and near the end of the episode, Cartman uses his "ninja power of invisibility" and walks naked across a public stage in an attempt to get Butters.

Butters is near death, and the town is outraged...that their children saw another boy's naked penis.

The story reminds me of the current controversy with Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. In the game, you play a gang banger who can run over people, beat them up with almost every conceivable weapon, shoot cops, and...well, that’s all I know so far. I’m only on mission 4.

Recently, someone wrote a program that allowed players to unlock a special sex mission in the game. A few media watchdog groups and politicians, including Sen. Clinton, successfully pressured to have the game’s rating changed from Mature to Adult. Target, Best Buy, WalMart, and other retailers are taking it off the shelves.

GTA: San Andreas is an awesome game. But I wouldn’t want my kid to play it. It’s incredibly violent, crude, and could make younger teens less sensitive to the idea of inflicting pain upon others. Isn’t that worse than dirty, filthy sex? Sometimes this country seems absolutely loony.

Where the Hell Have I Been?

The problem with being absent is that the longer I didn't post, the better excuse I felt I needed. One week...just felt like taking a break. Two weeks...I went on vacation. To Botswana. Three weeks...I was, uh, working on a television pilot. For NBC. Called "Suck it, ABC." If you play the audio for the pilot backwards, you can hear "You too, CBS" repeated.

And there's my stand-by excuse for the past month: working on a freelance project.
MOM: "Jason, are you coming over for dinner this dinner?"
ME: "Can't. Freelance project."

ROOMMATE: "Hey, do you think you could clean the bathroom? Mushrooms are growing out of the tile."
ME: "Wish I could. Freelance project."

STORE MANAGER: "Are you going to pay for that?"
ME: [running] "Freelance project. See you later."

There is some truth to the claim. I am working on a freelance writing project. The problem is, I have little motivation for finishing it because it allows me to rationalize every possible pleasant or unpleasant behavior.

Bowl of ice-cream? Need a break from my freelance project. Read a book? Gotta keep motivated for the freelance project. Cook dinner? Don't have time--freelance project. Better eat out.

What got me to write a blog entry is that writing finally worked its way in my long list of excuses, barely muscling out "Watch an episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force" and "Contribute to Tower of Laundry".

I'm going to try getting back to semi-regular blog entries. The orgy of pleasure and self-indulgence I've been on the past few weeks has been fun, but it also made my life feel a little empty.

So the blog entries will resume! Right after I finish my freelance project.

Loyalty

I took off last Friday. A sub walked my dogs. I was dismayed to enter my client's house yesterday and read this note that the sub left: "Mickey is such a wonderful dog! He ran up to see me when I walked in and licked my face!"

What? I walk that stinking pooch every day for six months, take one measly day off, and already he moves on to another walker? Man's best friend, my ass.

Another one of my dogs, a old beagle named Noel, knew how to keep it real. Her owner emailed me saying that she tried to bite the sub when he tried to pet her. As Martin Lawrence said in every single one of his movies, 73% episodes of "Martin", and his gripping Broadway show where he played a Tourette's patient: "That's what I'm talking about".

If my dogs don't take a finger off a stranger who walks them, then they don't really love me. And if Mickey thinks he's getting any more treats while "Kristi" can still grasp a coffee cup with ease, he's crazy as a monkey. And not party crazy, like a monkey on roller skates rolling in and out of the room. Real crazy, like putting a candle in its poo and calling it Ethel.

Friday Mat Blogging

Dear Media

I know the war in Iraq, Social Security, and the national debt are important and all that. But let's talk about the real today: WHERE ARE THE SHARK ATTACKS?

We started off with two wonderful ones, right after each other. I ran out and bought a can of Wite-Out for my "Summer of the Shark 2001" shirt.

Then...nothing. It's been almost a whole week without a shark attack. What gives? I don't care if there haven't been any real shark attacks. Can't Wolf Blitzer strap on a dorsal fin and bite someone? And what is Tom Brokaw doing nowadays? I'll tell you what he should be doing: biting people in the ocean. Throw your former comrades a bone, Brokie.

Media, this is the people speaking: WE WANT MORE SHARK ATTACKS!

Bush's Iraq Speech

Hey, when you're down, go to the well. I can't count the times I was struggling to write a joke and I had to go back to the monkey. Pancake City would have died a long time ago without the monkey.

For Bush's next speech, he should skip mentioning 9/11 and just bring out the 9/11 conga dancers. "Nine e-lev-en! Nine e-lev-en! Da da da da da, da da, DA da."

Outdoor Cat

As a dog walker, the concept of an outdoor cat amuses me.

CAT OWNER1: "Friskers is an indoor cat. He loves sitting on his post and staring out the window."
CAT OWNER1: "Not Mittens. Mittens is an outdoor cat. She'll roam around outside all day, but she always comes home for dinner."

Ha! In the dog world, there are no outdoor dogs. There are indoor dogs, and dogs that escaped. A dog is like a lifer in the state penitentiary who has shown exemplary behavior for the past 20 years until the guard leaves the gate open a crack. See ya. Thanks for the kibble! I'll come home right after I tire of freedom.

And people wonder: "But he was such a good dog. Why would he run away?"

I don't know--adventure, peeing wherever he wants, eating pizza scraps on the ground, staying outside until his heart is content...

It's the same thing with relationships. "But he was such a good boyfriend. Why would he leave me?" I don't know--adventure, peeing wherever he wants, eating pizza scraps on the ground...

Shark Attack Update

Keep em coming, media! BOW DOWN TO THE POWER OF THE SHARK!!!

Friday Hat Blogging

YEEEESSS!

Summer of the Shark is back!

Quote

Mark Twain is the king of quotes. I'm glad he's not alive today because if we met, I'd be disappointed when he said hi. This one made me smile:

"When angry, count four; when very angry, swear."

~ Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson

You're Kidding Me

You're fucking kidding me.

Bring on the four horsemen!

Bush Twins Unemployment Index

Heh heh.

Jacko

I understand Michael getting off on the four counts of child molestation. And the count of false imprisonment. I wasn't in the courtroom, and it's plausible that there was enough doubt to find him not guilty.

But the Jesus Juice too? You can't make that stuff up. Comedy gold like that has to be mined. If I were the lead prosecutor for that case, I would have stood up on the first day and said: "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I have two words for you: Jesus. Juice. The prosecution rests."

Friday Rat Blogging

An Opportunity Unclaimed

A few weeks ago, after my sister Tina's professor posted a comment on the site, I had a few reactions.

1. Take that, New York Review of Blogs. Someone with higher education DOES read my site.
2. It was sweet of Tina to tell her professor about the blog. I certainly wouldn't have told any of my professors about it.
3. How can I use this contact with Tina's professional life to embarrass her?

I went for the classic: a public offer to share embarrassing stories about Tina with him. I was going to do something special, like borrow her baby album and make posters of some of the pictures, but the daily routines of life has a way of dulling the energy we invest in our dreams.

A few days later, he responded: "I'd LOVE to hear some embarrassing stories about Tina." I called her up.

ME: "Guess who I got an email from?"
TINA: "Who?"
ME: "Barry Mar-gill..mar-gul...um, mar--?"
TINA: "My professor!"
ME: "Yup. He took me up on my offer to hear embarrassing stories about you."
TINA: "Yeah..."
ME: "Remember that time when you went to the bathroom, and you pooped so much that you clogged the toilet and had to get a plunger to fix it?"
TINA: "That wasn't me, that was [REDACTED]."
ME: "Not any more."

I never did tell any stories about her though. Not out of lack of motivation. I couldn't remember anything embarrassing that she did. All my childhood memories are of locking me in the basement and punching me.

Huh. I guessed the punching worked.

Friday Cat Blogging

I've long envied cat owners for their ability to take part in Friday Cat Blogging (where, as the name says, you post a photo of your cat on your blog on Friday).

Then I realized: "Hey, I can just sneak into my neighbor's house in the middle of the night, steal his cat, and a beer or two, no more than three, take a few photos, and then when my neighbor storms into my house demanding I return his pet, as he did last night, I can pretend to be deranged and claim the cat is infused with the spirit of the sun devil and must be cleansed through his soul entering the all-seeing eye.

The plan worked perfectly. And the beers were delicious.

Sophie and Noel

Sophie and Noel won Pets of the Month for June. They beat out some rat-faced dog, another loser dog, and get this--somebody actually nominated a pair of cats. ??? Like cats could ever be Pet of the Month.

Anyway, you can see a few photos of them here.

Conan O'Brien Predicts the Future

Very funny.

Today's Words of Wisdom

You're never truly bald until you throw away your comb. Or you have no hair on your head. That and the comb thing--those are the two criteria for baldness. And living in an alternate universe where everyone except you has folds of thick, wavy hair and you're bald relative to them. Kind of like how we're bald relative to monkeys (that's why they laugh at us).

My Court Experience

My most recent venture into supplication was at traffic court today. You see, a few months ago, a mysterious, evil force seized my leg and pressed it down on the accelerator as the light was turning red. At that same time, a mother was pushing a baby carriage along the crosswalk. Which I didn't care about. But then I saw that she had an adorable Golden Retriever with her, so I jerked the wheel right, jumped the curb and flipped over right before I crashed into a produce stand that came out of nowhere, presumably put there by the same evil force, or his less creative, Hollywood brother.

The police officer was unperturbed by the destroyed produce stand or the flying chickens that burst out of it, but she was furious when, as my car was flying upside down in the air, she saw that I hadn't washed the grease-smeared undercarriage in several years. She gave me a ticket for dirty driving and a summons for a court date, today.

I was nervous about appearing before the judge. In the preamble, she said we could plead one of three ways: not guilty, guilty, and guilty with an explanation. I did not hear "I didn't do it". This threw me off my game plan. I evaluated the options at hand:

"not guilty" : Close to "I didn't do it." Will consider.
"guilty" : "I did it." ??? What's the point of going to court if you're going to fold before the game?
"guilty with an explanation"--Whine your way to success.

I went with whining. Normally, I don't like whining, but I was wearing a suit, and you can do anything in a suit. It's true. Before the court opened, I stood outside and timed people on how long they would hold the door for me. When they were about to give up and enter the courthouse, I would clear my throat and say, "Excuse me. I'm still wearing a suit." Which was funny, because it's true. I WAS wearing a suit.

The whining didn't go well at first. I started complaining about how I don't like my job, my life is going nowhere, my passive-aggressive roommate puts my glasses on the top shelf where they are difficult to reach... But once I focused my whining on the ticket, my layers of excuses stacked upon each other like a tower of butter-topped pancakes, until they eventually toppled and crushed her in a metaphorical avalanche of deliciousness.

I ended up just having to pay the court fee, which is $350, so it was a pyrrhic victory, especially considering that I was so enraged with the high court costs that later that night, I poured gasoline along the court perimeter and burned the court down. Where you gonna prosecute me NOW? This is why Tom DeLay rocks. I called him up beforehand and he gave me the suggestion. That guy is awesome at destroying stuff, like courts and codes of ethics. When I grow up, I want to be like Tom DeLay, except with two testicles (Washington secret. Keep it on the hush hush. If Lloyd Grove gets wind of this, I'm toast.)

Shaaaaaaaaa...zam!

Old Magazines

Is there anything useful to do with old magazines besides recycle them? Should I put on a white beard, stuff them in a red sack, and visit crowded doctor's offices around Virginia? "Ho ho ho, everybody! It's Magazine Claus. Here, have an Utne Reader."

Darth Kate

My friend, Kate, sensing a power vacuum in the dark side of the Force, decided to appoint herself Lord of the Sith. Hey, the position is free, so why not take it? You can read about her journey to become an all-consuming force of evil while still wearing makeup on her blog.

Vote Sophie and Noel

I work for a dog walking company that has a "Pet of the Month" contest. Until recently, it was more rigged than an election in a banana republic.

But to what will soon be the owner's utter dismay, she started letting dog walkers explain why people should vote for his or her nominee. Here's my entry:

***
I would like to nominate Sophie and Noel for Pets of the Month.

Sophie is a golden retriever and the cutest dog ever. This is not an exaggeration. She entered the 2005 National Cute Dog Competition and completely crushed Pickles and Muffin.

Sophie reminds me of a human more than any of my dogs. By that I mean she's neurotic. When I enter the house, she acts like she has been on a deserted island for the past six months and will absolutely die if I don't pet her right now. She also has a Kong that she carries with her everywhere. It's like a baby to her. Well, not exactly. Sometimes she wants me to throw the baby across the field. And it's made of rubber, and babies are made of something else (feathers?). But in all other aspects, it is like a baby.

Sophie is wonderful with children. Once, we met a little boy who wanted to pet her but was very scared. She sat down and waited for him to feel comfortable. Another time, she met a kid who started teasing her and poking her with a stick. She looked very anxious, but didn't bark or growl at all. The kid's parents weren't around, so I stepped in and, like any responsible adult would do, picked the kid up and put him in a well. That'll teach him.

Speaking of wells, I have a well of affection for Noel, Sophie's sister. Noel is a 14-year-old beagle mix. She is very shy around strangers. It took her several weeks to feel comfortable with me, but once she did, we became extremely close. One of my favorite moments as a dog walker is the first time she rolled over and wanted a belly rub.

Noel's hobbies include pooping and peeing on the carpet. She's a cosmopolitan dog.

To be serious for a moment, she hasn't been doing well lately. Her heart arrhythmia has worsened and she has been coughing a lot the past few weeks. I'm not sure how much longer she'll be around. It would make her very happy to win Pet of the Month before she passes away.

I know. Guilt trip. But it's true. So please vote for Sophie and Noel. They're two special dogs who just want to be loved. Unlike that prima donna Pickles.

Shazam.

New New Pancake City Policy

I was honestly planning on putting all my posts in the comments section for the next month, but self-amusement quickly gave way to inconvenience and readability. Stupid inconvenience. So the new new Pancake City policy is just like the old one, except I will now be ending all of my posts with "Shazam!"

Shazam!

Star Wars: Episode III Review

In the comments, in case you don't want to read it.

No, It's Not a Joke

Lift Your Spirits, But Bend

(Pancake City Posting Policy Addendum: All responses to comments will be made in the area formerly known as the "post".)

Hi,

Tina mentioned that one of her professors liked the blog. I thought she was making you up. Once, when one of my friends was over, Tina tried to bring out some embarrassing pictures of me as a child. If you ever want to hear some embarrassing stories about her, just let me know.

New Pancake City Policy

I'm sick and tired of posting entries on the main page. From now on, all new posts will be in the comments.

We Regret The Error

- A picture caption on Page 1 Wednesday incorrectly identified a man on a bicycle as the reputed mob boss Joey "the Clown" Lombardo. In fact, the man's name is Stanley Swieton and he has no ties to organized crime. A story explaining the mistake is on Page 1 of today's Metro section.

(from the Chicago Tribune)

Stanley's name has the connotation of a man who would be very agitated about the mistake.

Mollycoddle

Do you know what the existence of the word mollycoddle means? That there was someone named Molly who coddled people so much that a word was named after her.

I feel sorry for Molly. She was just trying to please people, and coddling was the only way she knew how to show love. Perhaps the daily birthday parties for her children were overzealous. And the fluffy hair bows. And the personal ponies for the children. But was it really so bad that the townspeople felt it necessary to differentiate between regular coddling and Molly coddling? After she first heard the word, I wonder if she toned down the coddling out of shame, or if the habit was too ingrained in her character.

Appropriating someone's name is a great way to get revenge. For example:

"You look content."
"Yeah. I just took a massive Frank in the john."

Read a Good Book Lately?

It's been a few months since I've read anything beyond magazine articles or essay collections. Does anyone have a recommendation on a good book to read? Fiction or non-fiction, although preferably something I could find at a library.

You don't need to be a member of Blogger to leave a comment. Just click on "Anonymous" or "Other" (allows you to enter personal info).

Ancient Chinese Proverb

"Better to be without food for three days, than tea for one. - Ancient Chinese Proverb."

That nugget of wisdom is on the back of one of my tea boxes. Methinks the marketing guru who came up with that one was never without food for three days.

And is the "Ancient" really necessary? Are people quoting modern Chinese proverbs? "What happens in China, stays in China. Now get off the Internet."

If you want to annoy some people, randomly insert "Ancient Chinese Proverb" into your conversations.

FRIEND: "Check out the pecs on that guy."
YOU: "I'd like to squeeze one of those. Ancient Chinese Proverb."

MOM: "Are you coming over this weekend? I haven't seen you in a while."
YOU: "I wish I could, but I have to work. Ancient Chinese Proverb."
MOM: "What's this about the Chinese?"
YOU: "This is why I have to work on the weekends."

YOU: "Ancient Chinese Proverb. Hello? Anyone there? Boy, I could really use a two-dimensional character to interact with for a line or two. Oh, well. Ancient Chinese Proverb."

The Wiz!

I'm very happy to have been wrong about the Washington Wizards. After being down 0-2, they came back to win four games straight and take their first playoff series in 23 years.

Commentators are already prognosticating about the Wizards chances against Shaq and the Miami Heat. Every time is a second round match-up between a team that has several extra days of rest between its opponent, like the Heat have over the Wizards, a sports analyst is guaranteed to make a version of this comment: "You know, the Heat haven't played in several days and that can make you rusty. All that time off may be an advantage to the Wizards."

Yeah, maybe if Shaq's flight back from the Bahamas is delayed. Or if Dwyane Wade has one too many banana daiquiris before the game. Otherwise, the rest helps. Basketball isn't like a typical 9-5 job, where after you come back for a week vacation, all you want to do is web browse for the first half of the day.

No one, not even diehard Wizards fans, are giving the Wiz a chance to win the series. With good reason. When Shaq gets mad, he will literally pick up an opposing player and eat him. Sometimes the refs will catch him with a sneaker in his mouth and call a foul, but he is a very good eater and can swallow without chewing. That's why when Shaq is playing defense, and a forward is backing up into him, trying to get position, Shaq will slowly back up until the other player is near his courtside brick oven.

The Wizards' coach, Eddie Jordan, will likely send skinny Steve Blake out to Shaq as an appetizer and hope his bones get caught in Shaq's throat. Juan is safe because he's a good perimeter player, and he greases his body with oil before the game so Shaq can't grab him. That's the difference between an intelligent player and a dumb one (e.g. Chris "Cotton Candy Pockets" Duhon).

Hodgepodge

* There are certain oft-quoted phrases that have a lyrical quality to them but are bereft of wisdom once you focus on the literal meaning of the phrase. Like "No rest for the weary." Well, yeah. That's why they're weary. Isn't that like saying "No work for the unemployed?" or "No sex for the guy in the Vulcan ears?"

* The stature of a basketball player is so great that it eclipses whatever humor people would find in an odd name under normal circumstances. Harry Dick could join the NBA, and nobody would laugh at his name as long as he got 20 and 10 during the regular season.

And Magic Johnson? He's literally saying his penis is magic. That's a lifetime of ridicule, even among adults, but have you ever heard someone poke fun of his name? Everyone loves Magic Johnson. The WNBA will finally hit the big time when one of their stars is called Special Vagina. "Special Vagina from downtown...IT'S GOOD!"

* "Closed captioning for Malcolm in the Middle is sponsored by..." Is closed captioning so unworthy a task that programs need to be paid to do it? "Closed captioning for Scrubs is sponsored by…no one. Sorry, deaf people."

* A job can influence how one looks at the world. For example, I'm a dog walker. A lot of people are calling for Paula Abdul to leave American Idol because she allegedly slept with a former contestant. I don’t care if she slept with him. But I think she should be kicked off the show for this:

"He says Abdul advised him on his clothes, haircut and song selection for "American Idol," and slept with him in the guest bedroom of her Los Angeles home, where he shared space with her dogs Thumbelina, Tulip and Tinker Bell.

What kind of sick person names their dogs Thumbelina, Tulip and Tinker Bell? I've walked over a hundred dogs, and still, those are the Three Musketeers of stupid dog names. What's worse is that I'll bet at least two of those dogs are males. I hope Tinker Bell pisses all over her sheets.

SM Looking for SN. No smokers, please.

A Ninja Pays Half My Rent (thanks Chad). A short, funny, work-friendly movie.

You know, the appellation work-friendly is misused. I've seen web log entries like: "This 35-minute movie is hilarious! Best of all, it's work friendly."

Actually, a 35-minute movie is very work unfriendly. In fact, it is the antithesis to work, unless your computer is powered by a treadmill or needs to play videos to run Excel. The movie may be inoffensive, except that there are probably a few people in your office who get offended watching your lazy ass indulge in net videos and other time wasters, while they're stuck at their computers, work piled up around their monitors, and forced to play Solitaire.

A Special Day

While the march for gay equality takes a few steps back periodically, things are significantly better than they were 20 years ago, or even ten. But there is still a lot of homophobia when it comes to male sexuality. Even in D.C.'s Dupont Circle, a supposed hub of gay life, most gay men don't feel comfortable holding hands with their boyfriends.

For most of us, it's not because we don't enjoying showing affection in that way. It's because the stares and more negative responses turn the act from an unconscious expression of love to a calculated decision to violate social mores. Not very romantic, is it?

That's why I think we should have a National Hand Holding Day…for Gays! It will be sponsored by the Just for Men line of hair coloring products. On that day, gay men across the country, from states like Texas, Virginia, Georgia, Alabama...

Okay, gay men in D.C. and San Francisco will hold hands in public with their boyfriends. Gay men without boyfriends will grab the hand of a stranger and confuse him for a while. National Hand Holding Day...for Gays! will do much to reduce the latent homophobia that exists even in the nations' most gay-friendly communities. It will be a rousing success.

Especially because it's going to come after National Ass Grabbing Day…for Gays! Everything is relative. If we go straight to the hand holding, people will comment, "Eww, two men are holding hands! And neither of them is an oil sheik."

But if we start off walking with our hands in each other's back pockets, and then follow it up with holding hands, people will say: "Thank God they went back to the hand holding. The ass grabbing made me feel uncomfortable and confused."

So there it is. National Ass Grabbing and Hand Holding days. I know gay women have their own unique issues with the public's perception of their sexuality, so we will hold separate days for them. They will be identical to the days for the men, except during Ass Grabbing Day we'll beat up anyone who whips out a video camera.

I Hope the Apocalypse Has a Good Soundtrack

One of the hallmarks of movies and television is compressed time, telling a story in a few hours that would take months or years to unfold in life. Compress time is intrinsically exciting, but I wonder if it has a detrimental effect on our ability to observe change in our own lives.

Movies has been described as "life with all the boring parts cut out". The implication is that only certain moments matter in our life, and the rest is inconsequential.

To apply this to a character-based movie, it means that all it takes for the character to change is a powerful moment or series of moments. A dramatic argument, an epiphany, a chance meeting, a death. The difference between a cheesy movie and a great one is how many of these moments are in the movie, one or 12.

This notion, that a particular moment can spur great change in our lives, has been romanticized and reinforced by our culture. Have you heard of Jim Carrey writing a $5 million check to himself when he was a struggling comic? A few days ago, Juan Dixon of the Washington Wizards pleaded with his coach to have faith in him after struggling for three straight games. He scored a career-high the next night! And what is a memoir except a collection of these moments, their importance perhaps heightened?

Moments like these make great stories and allow us a simple way to be inspired by and understand the lives of ourselves and others. Dramatic moments are why people watch sports. But the idea of the "big moment" masks the reality for most people, that change in ourselves occurs through hundreds of interactions on the time scale of months and years, not single events or interactions.

Stories like these are symbols of change and the hard work it took to achieve it, but I think this point can be forgotten in the hunger to believe that one's life can instantly change. That writing the check was what made Jim Carrey successful, not the years of work before and after it.

And the detrimental effect a "big moment" orientation may have is that it may make it harder to spot not only the improvements in our own lives and character, but the decay as well.

It is the idea of gradual decay that has preoccupied me for the past few months. I have noticed it in my life, particularly in the sophistication of entertainment I choose. The decay has been going on for the past few years, a little every month, but it has just been recently that the situation has reached a point to push itself into my conscious.

I'll write about it in a few days. Assuming there aren't any good movies on.

The Family Guy

The opening joke of the Family Guy's return to network television was awesome. The show was good too. Clips that came off as so-so in the promos worked well in the context of the show. It was so close to the style of episodes three years ago that I wonder if the script was written back then.

As for American Dad: somebody tell me when it becomes good.

Just two...

Pope makes first appearance at window
Yes! Silly Pope headlines are back!

William Bell, creator of TV soaps, dies
Rumor has it his death was faked and he's coming back next season.

The State of Reporting Today

1.The news: Doomsayers Say Benedict Fits World End Prophecy

2. The research:" 'His reign will only last a few years at most. This signals that we are living in what may be the end of days as we know it,' said one Web Site entry by someone calling himself SmartBob."

3. The intellectually rigorous analysis: "The prophecy -- widely dismissed by scholars as a hoax -- is attributed to..." Yeah, that makes it all better.

I have a suggestion for Reuters. How about you change the headline to, "First Article Ever Written Without Speaking to a Single Person"?

If I knew all it took to write a wire service article was cobble together a bunch of quotes from people posting with fake names on different web sites, I would have become a reporter long ago. Heck, I am a reporter. I'm putting it on my resume. Have you ever posted a comment on Pancake City? You're a source! I hope you don't mind if I use you in my next article, "People on Web Page Comment on Shit".

And as for the doomsday people: how about this. We'll make a deal with you. Gather together and agree on one day, any day you want, for the doomsday to occur. Heck, pick a week. It's cool. But if that time passes and the four horsemen are still in the stable, then you have to shut the f--- up forever. Forever ever? Yes. I thought that was the deal in 2000, but here we are again.

The Wiz

The silver lining in the Bulls-Wizards series is that it will motivate them to work on their defense next year like no regular season loss could. Have you ever had a bad habit that you told yourself you could change anytime you wanted to, and then when circumstances spurned you to change you found it was much harder than you thought?

It's the same with defense in sports. Quick improvement is impossible. In the playoffs, it's not something that can be boosted solely through effort. It takes months of practice, and I think losing their first playoff series in eight years is probably the only thing powerful enough to inspire them to work on it next year.

They shouldn't be faulted for playing mediocre defense this year. You can only fix so much at a time, and for the past two years the focus has rightfully been on the offense. And while I hope I'm proven wrong and they somehow come back from a 0-2 deficit in the series, I'm happy enough to see them in the playoffs after all this time and win a game or two at home.

On the telly with the Mom

I was chatting on the phone with my Mom, who was at work, when I heard some commotion in the background.

ME: "It sounds like there's a fight going on."
MOM: "I know. I want to join in." [click]

What? My Mom just hanged up on me so she could go brawling? I didn't even know moms could do that.

It is said that a boy only becomes a man when he acknowledges the possibility of his own death. For me, it's going to be when I have to bail my Mom out of jail.

Immature Tuesday: Part 2 of 2

Peru is behind the times. A 15-year-old girl offered to sell her virginity and it spurned a national debate. It's so 1998-Ebay.

The titillating headline, drawn from a minor detail buried several paragraphs later, did its job though and got me to read the article: Peruvian virgin turns down $1.5m.

Allegedly, in the process of soliciting bids, a man offered her $1.5 million. She said she decided to reject the bid and all others and not go ahead with the plan.

I say allegedly because of this hypothetical question, for both men and women:

• Would you, with the guarantee that there would be no pictures or recordings, have sex with a ho rse for $1.5 million?*
  

Seriously. I know it's a horse, but you'd never have to work another day in your life. You might think it's disgusting now, but wait until your alarm goes off Monday morning.

Okay, you wouldn't, but we all have a friend that probably would, and he or she already has a car. And she turned down $1.5 mil. for a person?

But let's say her story checks out. Do you know what this means? The first person to have sex with her is screwed. There's no way he's going to be able to give her a $1.5 million lay. He's going to be traumatized. She's going to have sex with him and ask for change.

Well, that ends Immature Tuesday. Methinks this won't be a regular feature.


* Nothing engenders affection like implying your readers would have sex with a horse for money.

Immature Tuesday: Part 1 of 2

My friend, Amy, forwarded me this video with the comment "Cat unlikely to be adopted." The video is of an animal shelter worker holding and describing a cat, Pinky, the Pet of the Week.

After ten seconds, I knew what would happen. The guy's getting it in the balls. People don't send video clips of cats and men that end up snuggling together, unless the snuggling is the precursor for some claw-on-ball action. I still watched it, of course.

The video is like a microcosm of a summer action blockbuster. You know the good guys are going to win, and you can usually predict the whole movie after the first five minutes, but it's still fun to watch the debacle unfold.

Go ahead. Try not to watch the video. Stay at home for Episode III. Tell yourself you're going to accomplish something by 40. Many an empire were built on a foundation of lies.

Test Babies

One of my favorite features in The Washington Post is Unconventional Wisdom, a summary of the more interesting findings from the social sciences. It appears biweekly in the Outlook section, except for that time when the University of Michigan was studying the relation between routine and stress and got the Outlook editor to print it at irregular times for a few months.

This week's findings included a study that examined the effects of noise on infants language development. They studied 100 babies and found that noisy environments can interfere with language development in infants younger than 13 months.

Which brings me to a question I have every time I read about a study like this: where are they getting the babies from? I thought childbirth creates a powerful, unbreakable bond between mother and child. Yet I've been reading Unconventional Wisdom for many years, and every now and then there's a study like, "Jackhammers Make Babies Cry" or "Shake n Bake: Both Bad for Babies."

What are these mothers thinking? Scientists aren't loading up into a Humvee and doing drive-by baby snatchings. The mothers had to sign at least a few forms. Any parent who sees the words "detrimental," "baby", and "?" in the same sentence should drop the clipboard, remove the baby from the locker, and walk away.

Although I am being presumptuous in assuming these studies are being fueled by mothers' desire for free baby sitting. Maybe it's a lackadaisical father, well-intentioned to give his spouse a day off and then he gets a call from a friend, "Hey, do you want to go golfing?"

At Delinquent Fathers Headquarters, a bulb on the national map lights up, a retrieval unit is dispatched, and five minutes later a Humvee pops up on the curb and a team of scientists jumps out with a clipboard and a six-pack of Corona. Problem solved, even as he can hear his wife's squeaky voice nagging him in the back of his head that their child is not a problem why aren't you listening to me wah wah wah...golf.

Oops, I Did It Again

Louis Armstrong: truly ahead of his time.

Okay, One More Post...

Evan, my sister's beau, got linked on BoingBoing again.

Be Back in a Week

I wish I could say I'm off on an exciting trip, but the truth is more mundane. My creative energies are being sucked up by a script I'm working on for a local cable access show. The result is that I've been feeling guilty about neglecting the blog, but not guilty enough to post more than a few times a week. So I'm taking a break. I'll get back to posting next Monday.

Just Another Wholphin

Do you know what's wrong about our society today?

Whale-Dolphin Hybrid Has Baby Wholphin

That's a recent news headline. Or it's something I just made up. What's wrong is that there's no way to tell just by reading the headline.

There's a GEICO commercial about a fake reality show called "Tiny House" where a couple has to live in a house where the ceilings are four feet from the floor. A network executive saw the commercial and bought the rights to the idea from them. It's coming out as a four-episode special this fall.

Or am I making that up?

What can humanity do in the face of the wholphin?

We live in a society where absurdity has permeated every aspect of our culture. Where our action heroes are our governors, today's joke is tomorrow's product, and yesterday's news is today's entertainment. Life and art are no longer imitating each other, they're humping.

How did we get to a point where knowledge is called bias? When did entertainment get powerful enough to rival soma?

My memory is poor. I have no anchor to hold onto. I find myself choosing Netflix over reflection. Some days, when my mind breaks through the static, I wish I could find the road less traveled--another choice between confused and sedated.

Jesus Juice

I know it's been a couple weeks, but I can't get over Michael Jackson's name for wine that he served a kid. (Allegedly. Can't forget the allegedly). Right after the wording came out, at least one child molester slapped his head and said: "Jesus Juice! Why didn't I think of that? It makes Happy Sauce look like Homework Helper." Allegedly. The hypothetical child molester may have been too busy taking notes from the trial to be slapping his head. "Ms. Jones. Parent. Not bright. Trusting of people with Ferris wheels."

(The Ferris wheel was invented by George W. Ferris and unveiled in the 1893 World Fair. George Ferris invented the ride to give children of all economic groups a cheap way to soar high above the ground and hover above the city landscape, where he could then molest them).

I almost never pay attention to celebrity trials, but I'm having trouble resisting this one. Every time I think the spectacle can't get any more bizarre, something loonier happens. It's like the witnesses are having a contest where they are trying to out-loon each other. From the AP today:

SANTA MARIA, Calif., April 14 -- The mother of Michael Jackson's accuser told jurors Thursday a bizarre story of weeks during which she was shuttled around by Jackson's associates, made a virtual prisoner and warned that "killers" were after her.

The woman said that, during the entire period, she never tried to call police because "who could possibly believe this?"

Yes, indeed. Who could?

DC Cherry Blossom Parade

I put my photos from the DC Cherry Blossom parade on Flickr. I got to help carry one of the parade balloons, Arthur. The next button is under the thumbnail on the righthand side.

Jared

I awoke this morning to a radio interview with Subway Jared. "I used to wear XXXXXX-large shirts. That's six Xs. I was a big boy."

I felt sad hearing that. Not out of sympathy for his former plight, but that a shirt maker had three inches of tag to work with and all he could think of to do was add more Xs.

Six Xs is two-porno-movie large. It's "I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you You just want to be friends NOOOO!" large. It's "Machine wash cold--if you can fit in the washer! Hi-o!" Shecky-large.

Or forget the tag. If you have to wear a shirt that large, the tag should be a scratch-off ticket. Everyone deserves some magic in his or her life, and the Subway job is already taken.

Pilgrims to be told 'Nope' when asking to see the Pope

Over a million people have waited in line to see the body of Pope John Paul II. The current wait is 24 hours. Italian officials are going to stop new people from entering the line tonight. A few questions.

1. Who's going to be the last person in line? The last ordinary person ever to see his body lying in repose.

1a. Does she get a T-shirt?

2. Who's going to be the first person to be cut off from seeing the Pope? The person who's going to have the velvet rope strung in front of him by a burly security guard. "Sorry, no Pope for you."

2a. Is that person going to convert to Judiasm?

3. How many hell points do you get if you cut in line?

Gold Toe

I may explain the genesis for this post at a later date, but for now, the important part is that this is an excerpt of an Austin Powers parody made with sock puppets.

Austin Powers 4: Gold Toe

SON: Dad! Austin Powers has discovered the compound. He's heading this way.
GOLD TOE: Don't worry. He vill never get pass our security system. Vatch the monitor. Security on!

Suspenseful music plays as we see the menacing, dark enclave that guards the entrance to Gold Toe's lair. The music crescendos, and a single laser turns on.

SON: That's it? One laser?
GOLD TOE: That is just the beginning. Ven Powers trips the laser, a grate holding 100 tons of molten lava vill--
SON: If Powers trips the laser. What if he doesn't trip it?
GOLD TOE: Vell, how vould he do that? It is right by his knees.
SON: I don't know. He trips and stumbles over it? He's in a good mood and decides to gallop the way here?
GOLD TOE: Please. Nobody gallops anymore.
SON: That's not the point. The point is you spent 10 million dollars on a security system with one laser.
GOLD TOE: Don't be absurd. The system has over four dozen lasers.
SON: Then why aren't you turning them on?
GOLD TOE: [sarcastic] Oh, yes. Vhat a good idea. I vill turn on all the lasers. Next, I vill open all the vindows with the air conditioning on. Oh, I am thirsty. I vill get a soda from the fridge. No, no reason to close the door. Father Gold Toe vill pay the bill.
SON: Dad, that's not fair.
GOLD TOE: Do you know how much it costs to run a laser? Do I vork for the electric company?
SON: Well, actually, yes, you do. You took them over an hour ago.
GOLD TOE: Oh. I...well...okay, you got me there. Turn on the rest of lasers!

Good April Fool's Jokes

"H-h-h-hi. D-d-d-d-do you have any t-t-t-t-t-t-t-two bedroom apartments a-a-a-a-a-a-a-available?"
"Is this a joke?"
"Y-yes, it is. April Fool's!"
"I knew it! I knew you didn't really stutter."
"No, I do. The A-A-April Fool's is that I don't really care about y-y-y-y-your crappy apartment."

Bad April Fool's Jokes

"Hi Mom."
"Bret! You haven't called in a while. How are you?"
"Good. Hey, Mom. I just want you to know: I love you."
"That's so sweet--"
"April Fool's!"

"Doctor, what's the news?"
"I have some good news. All the tests came back negative. You're good to go."
"YES! I was so worried. Last night, I couldn't--"
"April Fool's! You have cancer."
"--sleep last night, and I've been crying all the time. My kids keep asking me, 'What's wrong?' and I've been brushing them off, and--"
"Didn't you hear me? I said you have cancer."
"But you said I was fine."
"I know. But after that, I said "April Fool's."
"I...I...me? But, I thought...oh, no."
"Well, this is awkward."

FOX NEWS: "We repeat, there is a plane headed towards the Empire State Building..."

Damn it

My roommate got me sick. I'm going to piss in his bed. I'll blame it on the dog. We don't have a dog, but I'll tell him that I brought one of my clients' dogs over and he pissed on the bed. And so he doesn't get mad at the dog, I'll get a picture of the cat hanging from the tree branch ("Hang in there!"), replace the face with the head of a really cute dog, and place it in the middle of the wet bed.

And if my roommate gets me sick again, I'm going to repeat the whole process, but this time I'm going to tell him the dog didn't leave his photo as an apology. Oh, no. It's his calling card. The psychological blow will be devastating.

Dali-Influenced Flash Animation

ZoomQuilt. Very cool.

Better Living Through Trickery

While eating brunch at IHOP last Sunday, my sister and I entered negotiations for what game we would play that afternoon.

TINA: What do you want to play?
JASON: Why don't you pick a game?
TINA: No, you pick it.
JASON: Fine. Scrabble.
TINA: If I didn't want to play Scrabble yesterday, why would I want to play it today?
JASON: See? This is why I want you to pick the game. You don't want to play any of the games I do.
TINA: Okay. Monopoly.
JASON: No. It's stupid.
TINA: Fun City.
JASON: You mean Fight City? Do you remember what happened the last time we played it?
TINA: Trivia Pursuit.
JASON: Nnn--wait. I like Trivia Pursuit. Okay.

When we brought the game out, Tina and my Mom showed why they would make master negotiators. Their strategy, which continues to work in spite of the fact I am aware they are using it, is to toss out a series of ludicrous demands, knowing full well I will be overwhelmed and unable to protest each one.

TINA: Here are the rules. Mom and I get to play against you.
JASON: What?
MOM: And we can look up all of the answers on Google.
JASON: No, you're not looking the answers up on Google.
TINA: Fine. We'll only look up the really important ones.
JASON: No! Google is out of the question.

So half an hour later, I'm down 3 pie pieces to 1 and proud of myself that the computer isn't connected to the Internet.

If I were in a normal family and my sister and Mom asked to play together, I would be flattered. It would be an implied compliment to my intelligence, or at least my ability to retain trivia. Not with these two. My Mom and sister must snort lines of Gingko Biloba before I come over because my arrival somehow triggers the recollection of long-ago faded memories, all of which feature me doing something stupid.

My family doesn't even provide segues anymore or attempt to relate the stories to the current conversation. At lunch, Tina was telling us about her research project with turtles when in mid-sentence she burst out laughing.

MOM: What is it?
TINA: Do…you…remember [she pauses to grasp her aching sides and wipe the tears from her eyes] Japanese steakhouse. Jason.
MOM: HA HA HA HA! Yes! When he--

At this point, they both doubled over with laughter, unable to speak. I stirred my corn, having no idea what they are talking about but certain that, one, it was a tale transforming a small mistake I made into an epic story highlighting the buffoonery inherent in the human condition, and two, I would soon have an chance to have my own Corn Flakes moment and relieve the embarrassment again like it was the first time.

Thus, the Trivia Pursuit tag-team is no reflection of they having a high opinion of me. It is a reflection of the family life force that originated decades ago through a macabre fusion of genetics and psychology. We live through chicanery.

As a kid, Michele would stash Monopoly money in the bathroom before we played and then "need a bathroom break" every time she wanted to buy a hotel or another railroad. Tina, who disliked milk, would wait until I was distracted and swap her full glass with my half-empty one at the dinner table. Mom acted maturely until we were all sent off to college, where at that point she would wait until strangers walked by her car and then turn the car alarm on. I, the connoisseur, preferred more subtle methods of trickery, like telling my sister she got a Trivia Pursuit question wrong when in fact she got it right.

Asking aloud to search for answers on Google was a half-hearted attempt at best. If they were in the mood, Tina would have hid a laptop in the pantry and one of them would have gotten up to fetch a bowl of chips or can of soda every time they encountered a difficult question. They would have filled their game piece with pie slices while I would still be trying to figure out why my Mom wanted a can of kidney beans so badly.

The game might have ended differently if they played alone, but I doubt it. I knew it was a long night when this was the first question.

ME: What is removed with a hysterectomy?
MOM: I had one of those!
TINA: Go Mom!
MOM: A uterus.
ME: That's right.
MOM: Oh, no.
TINA: What?
MOM: It would have been funny if I had said penis.

Happy Birthday, Tina!

My sister Tina's birthday is today. She is a quarter of a century old. Random memory of her:

Tina likes to give me fashion advice. Her volume is based on how urgent the advice is. During a visit home, she looked at my pants and yelled, "JASON, STOP WEARING PLEATED PANTS! THEY MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE AN OOMPA-LOOMPA."

Random Assortment

* I'm so glad Inside Edition is coming back. They were kicking culture in the kneecaps back when it was still standing and the other news magazine shows were gossiping about it in the corner.

* I saw an ad for Miss Congeniality 2. It quoted a reviewer who wrote, "Better than the first one!" Excuse me? How can anything be better than perfection?

* There are diploma mills that churn out thousands of phony degrees. There are puppy mills that churn out thousands of popular-breed puppies. They should form a partnership. The diploma mills can provide paper for the puppies' potty training, and the puppy mills can provide guard dogs to protect from investigate news programs like...well, there are none anymore. So screw that.

* My sister Tina has been lobbying for a "birthday week", where I would post something about her on Pancake City every day for a week.

ME: "What would I write about for a week?"
TINA: "All the good things about me."
ME: "Do you want a birthday week or a birthday minute?"

Do you know what I like about my family? We take turns providing the set-up.

* My other sister, Michele, finally got rid of the grey cat. It didn't even make it to Naming Day. The grey cat violated the "Three Strikes and You're Out" rule, except replace "three" with "10" and "strikes" with "peeing on her and Evan's stuff".

* My Mom is turning 60 in September. I think she is worrying about being put in a nursing home. We were watching the news when a story on Terry Schiavo came on TV. They were talking about pulling out her feeding tube and Mom said, "No! They can't do that! She spent her entire life raising those three, ungrateful kids!"

Fake Romance Novel Covers

Many of these are hilarious (thanks Amy).

How Bad Is "The Rock"?

My sister, Michele, recently joined Netflix, which allows you to see movie ratings from your friends and family.

She saw that I had rated "The Rock", an action movie starring Sean Connery and Nicholas Cage in the same way that my balls are starring in my nutsack. Many years ago, we had watched the movie along with my other sister, Tina. Our mom's boyfriend at the time, who loved the movie, brought it over on tape. After suffering through an hour and a half of the movie and threatening to turn it off several times, the tape runs out five minutes before the end. We screamed. It remains one of our most searing examples in our lives of the psychological necessity for closure.

Lest you think I am exaggerating about the horror this movie inflicted upon our psyches, after Michele found out I had rated the movie (two stars), she called and left a worried message. She was worried, without irony, that in a fit of forgetfulness I had rented the movie again.

"The Rock" generated the same reaction from my sister as if I were a former alcoholic and she found out I had gone drinking over the weekend. Now that's a bad movie.

Superman Is a Dick

Writing for "Superman's Pal, Jimmy Olsen" in the 60s must have been the best job in the world (link from LYD).

Why It's Bad To Think and Drive

I was lost in thought yesterday and ran a red light. Dumb. And that was before the police, which I will henceforth in my life refer to as the "PO-lice," pulled me over.

$156 fine. $100 for the fine, $51 for a processing fee, $5 for a local processing fee, or "Processing Fee Jr."

To those of you who don't live in Virginia, $56 for processing fees may seem exorbitant. What you don't know is that while Virginia's ticketing system is electronic and you can pay online or by phone, the driving records of the state's citizens are kept on stone slabs and can only be modified by a professional stone cutter. His name is Larry. This is also why points stay on your license for so long down here.

In that light, $56 for the services of a master stonemason is actually a bargain. I am going to include an extra $20 for his work and ask if I can come by to watch and make a paper rubbing afterwards.

The Story of Zero

I've been watching a lot of Washington Wizards games this season, and one of the stories Steve Buckhantz enjoys trotting out is how in college Gilbert Arenas chose 0 as his jersey number because that's the number of minutes his detractors said he would get.

Evidentially, detractors have become more sophisticated with time. Back when I was in college, we would just tell people that they sucked and, if feeling particularly creative, that their suckiness would continue well into the future. The taunt, "Not only do you suck, but the degree of your lack of skill entails one to come to only one conclusion: the cumulative number of minutes marking your playing time will not rise above 0," never occurred to us.

It's an inspiring story, but what about all the players who hear this anecdote and decide to pick 0 for their jersey number without realizing that they suck? So not only are they getting no minutes, they also have a giant 0 on their back, like part of a costume for a super loser.

ANNOUNCER1: "There's Steve Zenkowich, the only player in Eagles history never to be put in a game."

ANNOUNCER2: "And with the Eagles only up by 34, that likely won't change in this game."

ANNOUNCER1: "That's right, Bill. Zenkowich's suckiness is legendary. Although in theory adding him to the game with a minute left would be safe, that's a risk the coach just can't take."

ANNOUNCER2: "Interesting story behind Zenkowich's jersey. When he joined the team as a walk-on four years ago, Steve decided to pick 0 for his jersey number to show up his detractors who thought he would get 0 playing minutes. Unfortunately, the 0 has served as a popular target for the more unruly fans to pelt with empty cups and popcorn."

ANNOUNCER1: "Hold on there. It looks like Zenkowich is finally getting to play in a game. Steve has gotten up and…ooh, it looks like he was just getting rid of a wedgie."

ANNOUNCER2: "One of the hazards of staying on the bench too long."

ANNOUNCER1: "Indeed. In fact, Zenkowich had to miss three games this season from a blood clot in his left leg."

ANNOUNCER2: "Sitting on a bench for the whole game isn't as easy as it looks."

ANNOUNCER1: "No, it isn't."

The Pancake City Guide to the Bible: Part 1 of ???

On a whim, I borrowed the King James version of the Bible from a library. I've been meaning to read it for years, both because of its lyrical language and the creative fuel I suspect it will provide.

I'm reading it non-lineraly and am only a few dozen pages into the book. So this may be the first and last entry related to the Bible. Or it could be one in a very long series. Who knows? Besides God. And Revelation 3:12 ("And there will be a blog called Pancake City, and it will be mildly amusing and infrequently updated...")

If that joke isn't sacrilegious, what is?

***
Leviticus, Chapters 1-5

Summary: You sin, you lose a goat.

Expanded: And don't even try that "I don't have a goat" crap. Don't have a goat, bring a ram, No ram, get a lamb. No lamb, two turtledoves. No turtledoves, two pigeons. No pigeons, then the tenth part of an ephah of fine flour. We could go on, but you get the picture. Don't try to pull one on us. We thought of everything. And if the animal is old or unhealthy, don't bother. This isn't the Monty Python Parrot sketch.

And that which is left of the meat offering shall be Aaron's and his sons, the priests, so we would appreciate it if you could bring your sacrifices before dinner.

Oh, Yahoo

A real-life conversation:

"Harold! What are you doing in there?"
"Nothing, hon."
"You locked the door."
"Hold on. I'll be out in a minute."
"You're look at porn again, aren't you? Answer me."
"No, of course not."
"You lying bastard! You told me you stopped. You..." [breaks down and sobs]
"Trust me. I'm not looking at porn."
"Oh, really? Then what are you looking at, Harold?"
"Uhhhhh...puppies."
"Puppies?"
"Yeah. Lots of cute puppies."
"You think I'm that stupid? You do, don't you? Well, that's it. I'm leaving, Harold. Goodbye." [door slams]
"Honey, wait! You don't understand. I'm using Yahoo Image Search. Yahoo Image Search! Oh, no. Curse ye, you hoards of delightfully cute puppies! What havoc have you wrought upon my soul?"

So...

What channel is the NIT on?

I watched the last 10 minutes of the Maryland-Clemson game. They were completely lost without Gilchrist. I'm bummed Maryland is going to miss the tournament, but maybe it will serve as motivation for next year.

Duke still sucks!

Dan Rather's Farewell Speech

"You can kiss my cheek or you can kiss my ass, but either way, you're kissing something."