Here's one more useful MUNI tip from your friendly folks at Hooray For Anything-

If someone says "excuse me" over and over again, that means "move out of the way of the person who is saying it so they can get out the door."

It does not mean "strike a pose." Nor does it mean "do your best impression of a punk-ass teenager and think it beneath you to move."

And to the old guy whose knee I slammed my bags of groceries on, I apologize. See above.

I'm not sure how good of a thing this is in a relative sense, but once again, I find myself unemployed at the start of the World Cup. I know, I was kind of hoping to be unemployed now, which again, might not of been the best thing to wish for, but oh well. Doesn't make that much of a difference anyways cause I forgot about the whole time thing.

Last time there was a World Cup, most of the games were in the morning. The early games were at 8, mid games at 10 and the late games at 12. For the unemployed, this is perfect timing. For all the big games, I'd hop out of bed, throw on a sweatshirt and head down to the Mad Dog in the Fog for some pints and some football. Three to four hours later, I'd come stumbling out drunk, into the bright sunshine with the happy realization I just got drunk and watched some great games when I could have been at work. Can't say it was that awful of a thing.

This time around, it's different. The game's are in the middle of the night. Yeah, I can stay up to watch them, hell my insomnia is usually keeping me up at that hour anyways, but I don't really feel like schlepping to a bar to watch those games at 4:30 in the morning. And yeah, I could go watch them when they played them on tape, or I could even tape them myself, but it's just not the same. To get into soccer, to enjoy it to it's utmost, you have to watch it with others. And watch it with people who really, really, fucking care.

Because as the always excellent Brian Murphy pointed out in today's Chron, with soccer, it's all about the singing.

I learned the real meaning of soccer while travelling through Europe in '92. My first taste of it came while taking the train from Brindisi to Rome. Trying to get some sleep after three continuous nights of partying all night, I was woken up in the middle of the night by singing . The town's team was on it's way to Rome that night and what sounded like half the town had turned out to see them off. This was at like 2 in the morning. As the team bordered, some of their fans boogied down the aisles beginning what was going to be an all-night party. Those who weren't going along for the ride stood outside the train, singing what one of the British girls I was spending the night in the cabin with, told me was every soccer song known to man.

But I really got to understand it, to really know what it's like, when we went to Oktoberfest. Whenever the Oompah band would take a break, some group from like England would stand up and sing an English fight song. As soon as they started, someone from another country would counter the English cheer and stand up on their table and sing their country's soccer song. It was this big huge singing fight, with each country trying to prove they were the better country by trying to outsing another country. This would go on for a couple of minutes until someone, in the name of peace, love and understanding, would start singing "Ole"- the international soccer song and probably one of the greatest songs ever created- and the entire tent would start clanging their steins together and singing along. There is nothing that gives you that warm fuzzy feeling of brotherhood and peace on earth like singing "Ole" with several thousand other drunks in a beer tent, let me tell you.

So when the '98 World Cup came along and I had found myself recently laid-off, there was nothing much more than I wanted to do then go spend all my time at the Mad Dog watching me some World Cup.

Watched a game featuring the Netherlands with a bunch of guys all dressed in Orange. Went to a Brazilian club to watch Brazil win a big match, then later got caught in the middle of the impromptu street celebration involving climbing on MUNI busses when Brazil made it to the semi's. And there were all the games involving England, stuck in a jam-packed pub full of drunk British ex-pats at 10 in the morning.

And then there was the England/Argentina game. Now, I've seen a lot of sporting events and seen a lot of great games. I've been to a Phillies game in the'70's right after the Phillies fans psyched out the Dodger's pitching staff and blood was in the air. I was at Pac Bell when the Giants clinched in '00 and at the 'Stick when Kurt Reuter shut down the Dodgers 2-1 in the first of that super-huge two game series against the Dodgers (the one before the Brian Johnson home-run). And I've slept out for seats to see my Gaucho's beat then #1 UNLV and sat in the dorm's tv room surrounded by howling Broncos' fans cheering on John Elway during the Drive against my beloved Browns. Watching the England/Argentina game just might have topped them all. It was so much fun.

To understand what England vs. Argentina means in the scheme of things, think of Yankees/Red Sox but then imagine would it be like if New York had fought a war with Boston a couple of decades ago. Throw in Diego Maradona's "Hand of God" goal in '86 in which he won the game for Argentina by basically punching the ball into the net for the game-winner, and you got a lot of rowdy, excitable Brits.

Got to the bar at 10 for a noon-time game. Which came in real handy because by 10:30, the bar was so jam packed that I never got the lunch I ordered because the waitress couldn't make it through the crowd to get to me. The bar got the British TV feed from the satellite so we got the full English treatment. Before each Cup game, the British TV would show the official England World Cup '98 Video, which consisted, of some guy walking down the streets of London singing what I think was only two words "Engerland" and "Vanderloo" and being joined by hundreds of others singing the words with him. When the video started, the crowd cheered and sang along.

Throughout the game, the Brits sang every English soccer song (which, strangely enough, all were based on mainly American songs, but that's another story) and chanted the names of each of the players. When Michael Owen, the 18 year old pin-up English soccer wunderkind went down after a dicey tackle, some woman behind me, in a thick British accent screamed at the tv "don’t you hurt my baby!"

Which is the why the singing and the chanting is so cool. Because we don't do that in America. We don't have songs for our favorite teams. We don't chant out players names. Instead, we have big huge screens telling us when to clap. We have the PA playing fake claps to get the audience riled up. We have "We Will Rock You" and that God-awful Gary Glitter song. We don't stand up, in complete spontaneity, and sing. Our even chant. Most fans at Pac Bell can't even put down their cell phones long enough to cheer for Barry Bonds. But not with soccer fans. They kick American's sport fans butts.

Oh yeah, and then there was the actual game itself. England and Argentina both scored two goals in the first half, which, yes is pretty remarkable in and of itself. Not only that, one England's goals was scored in one of the most amazing athletic displays I've ever seen. Michael Owens basically took a pass from mid-field, dribbled past what seemed like the entire Argentine side, then nailed a shot past the goalie. It was the equivalent of watching, say, Jordan dribble down the court, juke and jive his way past the entire opposing team, then lay down a monster dunk. Except Owens did it all with his feet. And in a game where one goal is a huge deal, not in a game where the average point total for a team is somewhere in the 90's.

Then, at the start of the second half, David Beckham, aka Mr. Posh Spice, got Red Carded for a kicking someone. Which was totally lame because what basically happened is the Argentine guy kicked him while the ref wasn't watching, and when Beckham retaliated, the ref saw that and only kicked Beckham out. Which meant that England had to play the entire second half, and then two overtimes, down a player. Time and time again, Argentina would penetrate into England's defensive area only to be foiled by an English defender, emerging out of nowhere to save the day. Or England's shaggy haired, droopily moustached goalie would make an incredible save. England even almost scored in the first overtime, but got it disallowed due a ticky-tack call by the ref. England eventually lost by penalty kicks at the end of the second overtime, but it was probably the guttiest, grittiest, leaving it all out there performances by any team I have ever seen. The kind of game where you kind of win by losing. Except they lost and had to go home. It was tremendous. It rocked. It was so much fun.

And that's why it totally sucks that the games are in the middle of the night. Because I SO want to go through that again. England is even playing Argentina in a week in the first rematch since that game.

Just might have to pull an all-nighter for that one.

Just when you think you've seen it all, spam-wise, this just came to me:

Raping Animal Lovers Go the Extreme.

It's not just rape porn, it's not just bestiality, it's rape-bestiality!

Woo-hoo!

Forgot to ask in my interview yesterday with the "premier provider of online direct marketing solutions for enterprises" whether that was gonna be the kind of stuff I'd be sending out. Darnit.

There's a homeless guy whose always in my neighborhood. Actually, he's very often right outside my front door. He's not a crazy homeless guy- in fact he looks pretty together and pretty bright, the kind of guy who you think really needs money because something obviously fucked him up enough that he's stuck doing what he's doing. Instead of asking for spare change, he's always trying to sell Street Sheet, which everyone knows is just really a front for asking for spare change, but whatever.

Because he's always in my neighborhood, I see him almost once a day and every day he always gives me a "hey, how bout this time?" Then he gives me the international signal for "gimme some money."

I hate seeing him. I wish he wouldn't always be right outside my door.

You see, when I first moved into my apartment, I bought a cabinet for my place. I lugged it all the way from a store around the corner, got it to my apartment, but realized that it was way, way to big for me to carry up to my third-floor apartment. That guy, the homeless guy, was there, saw my problem, and offered to help. Since I was pretty stuck, I said sure, and for ten bucks, had him help me carry the cabinet up into my apartment. Which means that not only has he helped me out of a jam, he's been in my apartment. Inside. I have friends, really good friends who haven't been inside my place yet, but this homeless guy has.

All of which makes the whole thing really weird. I have no idea if he remembers helping me out. I also have no idea if he also recognizes me on the streets, but I do- I recognize him. So the whole interaction- your basic homeless guy asking anonymous, random person for money- that whole dynamic, has changed. I'm no longer an anonymous, random person being asked for money anymore. I am someone he knows. Someone he's helped out. Someone who has given him probably more money in a day than he usually makes.

Dealing with as many homeless people as you do here in the city, you get pretty used to blowing them off. I don't even acknowledge them anymore, just make sure I don't look in their direction and go on my way. I know, pretty mean-spirited of me, not a very "C'mon people now, Smile on your brother, Ev'rybody get together, Try and love one another right now" kind of way, but when you get solicited on the average of three times per city-block, for eleven years, it happens. But I can't do that with this guy. It's personal now. So everytime I tell him no, I feel really guilty about it.

And I have to go through this almost every day.

Since man has crawled out of the primordial ooze, the male has been told that it's not size that matters, it's what you do with it. Knowing how insecure the male is towards all things big and small, every male is taught since an early age that dick-size means nothing. That you may think you have a small dick, and other people might think you have a small dick, but that it doesn't really matter. Women don't care. So don't worry about it. Don't measure yourself with your friends, don't feel inadequate when showering with black guys in the gym, don't overcompensate by buying European convertible sports cars. It just doesn't matter.

But wait, everything we were told is wrong. Size does matter. It is a big deal.

Why do I know this? Because I keep on getting e-mails telling me that it is.

Every day, I get about four to five e-mails from people telling me it does matter and that I'm just not satisfying enough to women because I have a small penis. Somehow I've gotten on the "small penis" mailing list so somebody out there must know something about me that I didn't realize before. And just how did I get on this list? Did I click on a Web site that's known for being frequented by people with small penises? Is someone who would know trying to tell me something and if so, haven't they heard of shrinkage?

And it's not just via e-mail. I'm seeing more and more ads in the paper telling me the exact same thing, that if I wanted to be more manly, I have to get my penis enlarged. And last night, as I was flipping through the channels at about 1:30 in the morning, I even saw an informercial about it. Yep, the whole penis enlargement industry is going big time. Hosted by Ron Jeremy himself, as well as some female porn star who I don't know because I, of course, never watch porn and wouldn't know one female porn star from another, telling men about this and that and about how if I ordered now, I'd be able to get some FDA approved supplement that'll make me the sex stud that I've always wanted to be. I could be like Ron.

Isn't it great that some people out there managed to get the money out there to totally prey on male insecurities and make them feel like they had to get something that they never really needed in the first place? What with going bald and beer bellies, don’t' we have enough to worry about? Fuckers. I mean, it doesn't matter, right?

Right?

This week's big cover article in the Bay Guardian is about a group of women who occasionally meet, dress up in funny outfits, and roller skate around San Francisco. It's a scene, man. According to the article, the group is going world-wide and has at least sixty members to it. Sixty. And this is the article that merits the cover.

This is actually a pretty typical cover story for the Bay Guardian. They all folllow the same pattern:

1)Said writer considers themselves really, really cool.
2)Said writer joins a group of people who are even more really, really cool than said writer and do really, really cool things. (It, of course, goes without saying that the group of really, really cool people are usually neither straight, white, nor male. Because you can never ever really be cool if you are straight, white and male)
3)Said writer is so convinced that they and their new, really, really cool friends are so cool, that they write a big story about them and their friends in the Bay Guardian to let everyone in the world know how cool they are.

And there you have it.

Actually, I have no problem with the people in the story or the idea behind it. I think the idea of a bunch of people dressing funny and roller skating around the city is a great idea. Go nuts. It actually sounds like a hell of a lot of fun. If I wasn't over thirty, wracked with a bad back, out of shape- not to mention a straight white male- I'd be into it.

But, of course, because this is San Francisco, the whole roller skating thing isn't really about just dressing up all crazy and roller skating around the city. It’s more than that. It's also a political thing. Not to mention art.

According to the writer, the group's mission is "a desire to come out in numbers, to be a visible part of the landscape so they can have a say in what the city looks like." It's inspiration it is something called "Reclaim the Streets, a direct-action network bent on social and ecological change through strikes and street parties and other fun non-state-sponsored activities." So roller skating, then, is an attempt to bring social and ecological change. Somehow.

"We share the same vision," (a member of the group says) . "That revolution can be beautiful and sparkly and furry and striped."


But wait, it's also art, performance art that makes a stand. It's a way of "enriching the community." Their roller-skating around decorates "the city the way the most generous, high-spirited kind of art does – like murals and the wheat-paste chronicles of midnight marauders, like bands playing on top of buildings and site-specific performances that use the walls of the city as their set design." Wheat-paste chronicles of midnight marauders?

In a dramatic conclusion, the author sums up the entire theme behind the skaters and the reason why she joined, because they "have found ways to deliver their revolutionary messages through outbursts of performance and unauthorized street parties."

Whatever.

Why oh why can't people just call something for what it is- something really fun. Why does everything people do have to be "revolutionary" or "artistic."

I swear, somewhere out there, there's probably a group of people who make shitting into a political action. Like a group out there that purposely shits on the streets to protest the arresting of homeless people for similar crimes. Or, maybe, there's an artist out there who just wanders through SF shitting everywhere as part of some performance art.

There's also probably someone out there who only uses environmentally, economically correct toilet paper because the toilet paper industry is an evil, globalizing, corporation. That they destroy the environment and is made by 5 year old Bolivian children fed only gruel as sustenance (which could be entirely true- I'm just not an expert on the politics of toilet paper). Maybe they protest the toilet paper companies and picket outside Charmin? Who knows, maybe the toilet paper industry is really behind Mumia's imprisonment? Or, there's probably someone out there who does something different when they shit, like women going into men's room, or not squatting or what have you just because it's empowering.

Hmmmm…..maybe I've just stumbled onto a whole new political movement.

Cell phones are a funny thing. When somebody gets one and gives the number out, it's considered almost tacit acknowledgement that they want to be reached anytime, anyplace, anywhere. And that they will always have one around and turned on, or at least turned off during certain things but will checked immediately upon leaving the thing that they needed to turn it off for. That's what cell phones are for, aren't they? So people can communicate with people anywhere at anytime?

Which is why it's becoming one of those things that when a person with a cell phone either doesn't carry their cell phone, doesn't answer their cell phone, or check their cell phone message, people get annoyed with them. They have a cell phone, damnit, so why aren't they using them? How is anyone supposed to get in touch with them if they never bring their cell phone anywhere?

Even those of us who are still cell-phone free-the luddites who hate the principal of always being able to be reached, the impoverished who can't afford them, or those who realize that their lives aren't exciting enough to warrant one- still get annoyed when someone with a cell phone doesn't actually use them. How dare the cellphoned not use their cellphones when the uncellphoned try to reach them.

So we've now added a whole other strata of social mores. Now, it's an issue of manners and politeness when somebody who has a cell phone doesn't actually use them. This is a cause of annoyance, a source of frustration, a sign of impoliteness. It's doubly worse than not returning a call because not only are they not returning the call, but they're breaking the agreement by not making it possible for them to reached at all times when they've let it be known that they can be reached at all times.

And how is anybody able to communicate with each other when people do things like that?

Caught this juicy little nugget burried deep in an article about the recent Putin/Bush summit meeting.....

"After the meeting, NTV, the once-independent Russian television station now controlled by a state-dominated firm, kept replaying footage of Bush entering his meeting with Putin while chewing gum and then spitting it into his hand. "

Classy

I wonder if Bush used that very same hand to shake hands with Putin?

From once again, Craig's List Missed Connections. One of the bestest parts of the city-

Socio-math problems for San Francisco students
----------------------------------------------

1). Zelda and Jane were given a Rottweiler at their commitment ceremony

If their dog needs to be walked two miles a day and they walk at a rate of ¾ mile per hour, how much time will they spend discussing their relationship in public?

2). Michael has two abusive stepfathers and an alcoholic mother. If his self-esteem is reduced by 20% per dysfunctional parent, but Michael feels 3% better for every person he denigrates, how long will it take before
he’s ready to go home if 1 person walks by the cafe every 2 minutes?

3). Sanjeev has 7 piercings. If the likelihood of getting cellulitis on a given day is 10% per piercing, what is the likelihood Sanjeev will need to renew his erythromycin prescription during the next week?

4). Chad wants to take half a pound of pot to Orinda and sell it at a 20% profit. If it originally cost him $1,500 in food stamps, how much should Nicole write the check for?

5). The City and County of San Francisco decide to destroy 50 rats infesting downtown. If 9,800 animal rights activists hold a candlelight vigil, how many people did each dead rat empower?

6). A red sock, a yellow sock, a blue sock, and a white sock are tossed randomly in a drawer. What is the likelihood that the first two socks drawn will be socks of color?

7). George weighs 245 pounds and drinks two triple lattes every morning. If each shot of espresso contains 490mg of caffeine, what is George’s average caffeine density in mg/pound?

8). There are 4500 homes in Mill Valley and all of them recycle plastic. If each household recycles 10 soda bottles a day and buys one polar fleece pullover per month, does Mill Valley have a monthly plastic surplus or deficit? Bonus question: Assuming all the plastic bottles are 1 liter size, how much Evian are they drinking?

9). If the average person can eat one pork pot sticker in 30 seconds, and the waitress brings a platter of 12 pot stickers, how long will it take five vegans to not eat them?

10). Todd begins walking down Market Strt with twelve $1 bills in his wallet. If he always gives panhandlers a single buck, how many legs did he have to step over if he has $3 left when he reaches the other end and met
only one double-amputee?

Advanced Placement Students Only:

11) Katie, Trip, Ling, John-John, and Effie share a three-bedroom apartment on Guerrero for $2400 a month. Effie and Trip can share one bedroom, but the other three need their own rooms with separate ISDN lines to run their
web servers. None of them wants to use the futon in the living room as a bed, and they each want to save $650 in three months to attend Burning Man.

What is their best option:

a) All five roommates accept a $12/hour job-share as handgun monitors at Mission High.
b) Ask Miles, the bisexual auto mechanic, to share Effie and Trip’s bedroom for $500/month.
c) Petition the Board of Supervisors to advance Ling her annual digital-artists-of-color stipend.
d) Rent strike

First of all, for all of you who stumbled upon my page while doing a search trying to figure out what Sarah McLachlan song was used in the season finale of Buffy, it was ""The Prayer of Saint Francis" on the bonus disc of
Surfacing. And yes, the finale rocked the house.

And now back to our regularly scheduled blogcast-

A friend of mine from my writing group spent last Saturday seeing a "Futurist." I'm not sure what the what was with the Futurist, as I didn't understand a lot of it, but it had something to do with psychology tests as well as the usual assortment of chi measurings, and mitochondrias testings. While I guess the Futurist told her some valuable, personal type things, she was also told this- that now's a good time to buy Oracle stock. Yes, the Futurist apparently also gives out stock tips. Apparently, he claims to have a 90% success rate.

I, of course, find all of this incredibly hilarious. I mean, stock tips from a Futurist?

I mean, if he was such a good predictor of the stock market, why is he travelling around the country reading people's auras instead of doing what most of us would do if we were 90% accurate in stocks- live somewhere in Bermuda and sleep with twenty-year, surgically enhanced bimbos. And just think about the power you could have if you were that good of a Futurist. If I could do that, not only would I be betting serious money on every football game, I'd be in Vegas like every other week. Screw helping people with their futures.

On the other hand, why not get stock tips from a Futurist? Does he really know anything more than anybody else does? Back in the dot.com craziness, the TV was full of financial shows dedicated to predicting what stocks to buy and what stocks would do what. It was like watching a football pre-game show except without the telestrator or Terry Bradshaw. Some guy purporting to be an expert would get up there and say things like "we really think lameassidea.com's IPO is going to explode this week and that the market is really ripe for ordering kumquat's online, so that's our Stock Tip of the Week." And they were often wrong. They didn't really know anything and were just pulling stuff out of their asses. Still are. Nobody can predict what's going on with the stock market. Well, except for maybe the guys in the Brokerage firms who were hyping a stock that they knew was total shite only because they had some sort of deal with that company.

It all reminds me of all those experts on the football shows predicting football games. You'd get some guy up there saying things like "well, the Redskins have a great rushing defense so they should be able to contain Corey Dillon and the Bengals, who are 5-15 when Dillon gets less than 100 yards in games played north of the Mason Dixon line." And they're usually, at best, 50% accurate. As a joke, a lot of newspapers or tv shows would sometimes have an animal or somebody who didn't know a thing about football pick the games. And not only did they do as well as the supposed experts, they usually did better. ESPN.com , for instance, did a great bit all football season where they had one of their columnists, the Sports Guy, compete against Bailey the Wonder Dog to see who was more accurate. The Sports Guy pulled ahead to win the competition only with a couple of last minute wins in the final weeks of the season. It's why the people who don't know a damn thing about football usually win the football pools.

So, in other words, why not take advice from a Futurist. Besides, Oracle stock has to come up eventually.

So you know how every TV channel, every show transmits its shows at different volumes? Which means that, for instance, you were channel surfing and the volume on each station would be different, all depending on whatever volume the station's transmitted at (and no, I don't know how it works at all).

Why is it that all the movie stations show porn at a much higher volume than other stations?

There I was last night, flipping through the channels, checking up on the latest episode of Skinemax's Last Call when I realized after a few seconds that not only was I not wearing the headphones I usually do at night, but that it was pretty loud. And so was blasting the cheesy music and the moans and groans for all my neighbors to hear.

And all I could think about was how my next-door neighbor and downstairs neighbor were lying there in bed, thinking "oh God, the unemployed guy is staying up late watching porn again. What a fucking loser."

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know this awful, but the one good thing about the finding of Chandra Levy's body and subsequent saturation news coverage is that it'll keep the press from doing other things than printing every supposed terrorist threat the administration keeps on pulling out of their asses. Christ almighty. The administration is starting to sound like local newscasters that try and scare people into watching their news shows by trotting out overly excited geologists. You know, the one's who say things like "we're 50% sure that there'll be a major earthquake in California in the next 50 years." Well, fucking duh.

And saw this story about Abercrombie & Fitch being at it again. They were the company that got in trouble a couple of months ago for having t-shirts that were completely offensive towards Asians.

This time, they're in trouble for trying to sell thongs to 10 year old girls.

From the story:
For the second time in two months, retailer Abercrombie & Fitch Inc. finds itself in trouble, this time for hawking sexually suggestive thong underwear to young girls.

The thongs are adorned with the images of cherries and candy hearts and also include the words "kiss me" and "wink, wink." They are appropriate for girls as young as 10 years old, according to a company spokesman.

"It's not appropriate for a 7-year-old, but it is appropriate for a 10-year- old," said spokesman Hampton Carney. "Once you get about 10, you start to care about your underwear, and you start to care about your clothes."

What the fuck are they drinking during their business meetings? Who comes up with that? Maybe the FBI should be monitoring all of Abercrombie & Fitchs executives e-mails to see whether they're the one's tricking 13-year old girls into having sex with them.

Why is thong underwear okay for ten year olds, but not seven year olds. And ick on the whole idea of ten year old's wearing thongs. Especially with the words "kiss me" written on the thong's crotch. Then again, I'm not a Catholic Priest.

I do, however, find it kind of amusing that my 63 year old, way way out of pop-culture, dad is about to have to deal with all of these issues with my baby-sis. But still.

Ick.

Because being unemployed means you have abusive relationships with almost every potential employer, I e-mailed the Lucy Publishing Company to find out what's up. The LPC, for those who don't remember, was the publishing company from way back that I interviewed with last August and is still jerking me around. After not hearing from them in months, I got an e-mail out of the blue saying they were finally gonna hire someone, wanted me to come in, yadda yadda yadda. I call them the Lucy Publishing Company because they're Lucy with the football to Charlie Brown me.

While part of me wanted the job, part me of also wished I could of been in a position to basically tell them to go fuck themselves. Which, unfortunately, I am not in the position of doing right now. Or at least, I don't have the balls to do.

So, after waiting over a month to finally get a response from them, I e-mailed them to see what was up.

No response back.

As much as I hate quoting Limp Bizkit.....

Like a chump
Like a chump
Like a chump, hey

Doing it all for the paycheck. (?)


Umm, sorry. It's late.

Saw this in the paper today, the latest on the never-ending struggle to do something about the homeless in the city. It is, of course, impossible for someone to do something about the homeless in this city despite the fact that it's one of the biggest problems in the city. It's a pretty, loud, smelly problem in this city. But any proposal to do something meets very loud, vocal resistance from Homeless Advocates. Homeless advocates seem to have two main reasons why the oppose any sort of measure to do something about them.

1) That it's a Constitutionally mandated right to be able to be homeless, get drunk shout things at people, and take craps in some persons door. Free country and all that. Hell, it's not just a Constitutional right, it's a Human Right. And to do something like, oh, making it so that homeless people have to go to a shelter would be oppressing them. That would be bad. Oppression is bad.

2) The other reason is that homelessness is a systematic problem inherant to capitalism. Therefore, if you really want to do something about the homeless problem, you have to first destroy our capitalistic system. And to do anything without first destroying capitalism would be wrong. So, homelessness can only be morally dealt with once we've established a socialist state.

So, as result of that thinking, nothing's done against the homeless. We just have a hodgepodge of programs and policies. Nothing consistent, nothing great, just a bunch of band aids.

But wait, our supervisors have figured out a way to solve the problem. According to the Chron:

Supervisors Chris Daly and Mark Leno proposed a November measure of their own that would run all future homeless policies through a 22-member advisory committee before the supervisors vote on them.


Which is a brilliant idea. Absolutely fucking brilliant. Because it's so easy to make a policy decision if it first has to be debated by twenty-two people.

I'm in a writing group. There's six people in the group and we have enough problems trying to figure out when to meet. Have you ever been in a group of people and tried to figure out what bar to go to? Now, magnify that by 22 people. Making policy decisions.

Yeah, that'll work. Twenty-two people? Jesus fucking Christ.

Sometimes, this city just sucks.

Just got back from Safeway. As I was saddling up with my bags, I couldn't help notice that the lady in line behind me- a slender, elderly lady in her 50's- was buying about thirty cans of cat food and about twenty things of frozen food.

Can you say cat lady?

Got nothing today. Too many things going on inside my warped little head that I don't even know where to begin.

Except this-

Bought new sneakers a few weeks ago. The shoelaces on the sneakers are top of the line, top flight, cutting edge shoe laces. And just think about that for a few minutes (like about the poor person whose role in life is to design shoe laces). Anyways, these shoelaces are so cutting edge that they're tough, weather proof, unable to become torn and frayed like so many shoelaces eventually do.

One problem, though. They're so tough, so durable, so cutting edge that it's almost impossible for me to tie them. It's because the super-tough, super weather absorbant shoelaces are so strong and so silky smooth that the shoelaces never take.

Which means that me, a grown-up, over thirty year old male finds himself having to tie his shoes every five minutes because the shoelaces don't stay tied.

Life's so hard some times.

And then comes the sweatpants phase……

Couldn't get out of bed this morning. Didn't see the point. Couldn't think of a reason to, so I lied there. Too tired to get out of bed. Knew coffee would help, but too lazy to even get out of bed to go outside and get coffee.

Spent half an hour in bed debating on whether or not I should shave. Haven't shaved since Friday. Beard's all scruffy and itchy. But if I don't have the energy to even get out of bed, how am I gonna have the energy to shave?
Besides, do I really need to? Who am I gonna see today? What point is there in shaving? I shave anyways.

Thought about seeing a movie. That'll get me out of the house. It'll cheer me up. And I want to see About a Boy because I love Nick Hornby, but if I go today, then what'll I do tomorrow? Or Thursday? And there's a three-day weekend coming up, which'll mean I'll have some friends around and if I see all the movies by myself, what'll I do with them? Besides, it's too late for an early show so I could go at 2'ish, but then I'd have to miss Pardon the Interruption on ESPN at 2:30. Could go later, but then I'd miss the start of the ball game tonight. Dbacks/Giants, first meeting of the season. Could go food shopping. Almost out of food. Could go tomorrow, I'm not that out of food. Have the time, though. Have the time tomorrow too. So I do neither.

Besides, the only point of today is to kill time until the season finale of Buffy, not to mention a new episode of The Real World.

That's half of unemployment, just killing time until something happens.

And some friends are jealous that I'm unemployed.

My favorite radio station is gone. Or, at least, it kind of is. I'm not very happy.

Not that I was that huge of a die-hard, never switch away listener, but KSJO is my favorite station. Basically, any station that plays Rush's "Working Man" on a regular basis is okay in my book. Yeah, they had a tendency to kill certain songs by overplaying them and most of their DJ's are complete, total unfunny morons, but they were still a good station. Unlike most stations, they didn't have that set of a niche. They basically played anything that rawked and I liked the fact they wouldn't be afraid to follow up a Zepp tune with a Korn tune. Not that I'm that down with Korn, but I just kind of appreciate that the station would play some old skool hard-rock along with the new kids. Not many stations have the guts to actually try and mix it up like that. They helped me get in touch with my inner headbanger and for that, I give it my props.

But now it's kinda gone. See, they're a San Jose station and their signal originates from there. For awhile, they had a signal up here, at 92.7, which made it easy to listen to, but no longer. I went for a walk last Saturday, put my walkman on, tuned into KSJO and got……

…..techno.

Yep. Instead of getting some Van Halen or some Judas Priest I got the oh so familiar boom-ts-boom-ts-boom of techno. Which, if you're expecting Van Halen or something rockin', is probably the last, worst thing you'd want to hear. It's like opening up your Hanukah presents, hoping to get a video game only to discover the only thing you got is underwear. And not just underwear, but like colored grundel's or underoo's or something totally lame and annoying and something that definitely doesn't rawk.

For whatever reason (I'm not sure of what went down), KSJO had to give up their 92.7 beam and give it to another station. All some sort of federal regulation or something like that, which surprises me because I thought all the radio people had long ago bought off every politician. Or, they just decided that they wanted to start a techno station at 92.7 and tone down KSJO. They, of course, being the one of two companies that owns every radio station in the country. I never understand why they change formats all the time considering they own all the stations. It's like having a Rotissierrie League all by yourself and trading players between one team and the other. But that's besides the point.

Now, I can barely, barely get KSJO. Sometimes it comes in clearly, sometimes not at all. Even more annoying, sometimes it comes in, but the signal gets all combined with the techno station so I'll be listening to a few seconds of like "War Pigs" and all of a sudden, I'd hear the techno beats overlayed on top of it. Can you say ick?

So now what do I do? What can I listen to while taking my walks or doing data entry eight hours a day? What am I stuck with?

Here in SF I have to now choose between-

1)The Bone "classic rock that rocks"- The Bone occasionally plays some great stuff and even throws down an occasional song that I haven't heard in a long, long time and kind of enjoy. On the other hand, any station that still thinks a triple-shot of Styx is still the coolest thing in the world has problems. Besides, I don't fit into it's main target audience- people who are currently wearing, or at some point in their lives worn, a mullet.

2)Live 105, the Modern Rock Station- Live 105's much better than it was a year ago in that it's song list has gone from ten songs to fifteen, but most of the stuff they play mainly consists of bands that everyone in the entire world, including probably the band themselves, knows are destined for either VH1's "Best of One Hit Wonders" or "Where Are they Now?" shows. And, yes, Nickleback, Hoobastank, Puddle of Mudd, the Calling I'm looking at you.

3)KFOG, World Class Rock n'Roll (whatever that is)- I want to like KFOG. They do have the widest selection of songs they play and the most eclectic. Plus, I'm over 30 and I'm supposed to have mellowed out and started to listening to them instead of listening to music geared for 18 year olds. The station, however, puts me to sleep within a few minutes. Memo to KFOG Radio Programmers- white boy blues, never good. Bluesy rockers haven't been interesting since Clapton sobered up.

4)Alice, the Women's Station- Like a hipper KFOG, but as I'm not someone who cranks Alanis Morrissette tunes and sings out loud to them, getting down with the ya-ya sisterhood of it all, the station's not realy for me. Besides, is Jewel really all that or is it just because she's got huge breasts?

5)KUSF, the College Radio Station- I should also listen to them. You can't get anymore eclectic than College Radio. Plus, they're not owned by evil corporate entity. Unfortunately, the songs they play are either way cool or way bad and it's a total crapshoot as to whether or not it'll one or the other. I've long since passed the point in my life where people's record collections really impress me.

Which means, of course, that the obvious answer, is to download more tunes off the net, get a job and buy an iPod.

A trial? A trial? That's all they could come up with the for the finale of The X-Files? And repeating a scene from the first episode? I'm suprised Mulder didn't start telling Scully about the conspiracy behind the top button of a shirt. It was pretty much the exact same thing as the Seinfeld finale except with explosions.

And the episode pretty much reminded me of why I stopped watching the show in the first place. It was exactly like all of the "mythology" episodes. Which goes something like this:

Scully: Mulder, what's wrong?
Mulder: I think I know what the truth is.
Scully: What is it?
Mulder: I can't tell you.
Scully: Why not?
Mulder: Because.
Scully: I don't believe you, even though you're always right.
Mulder: I know because it's the truth.
Scully: And what is the truth?
Mulder: It's....

commercial break

Scully: Where are we going?
Mulder: To see a man about the truth.
Scully: Who is this man?
Mulder: A man who knows the truth. The truth is out there and I have to find out.
Scully: How do you know he knows what he knows?
Mulder: Because some mysterious guy appeared out of nowhere and told me.
Scully: Okay.

Scully & Mulder come upon a strange man in a darkly lit room
Mulder: What is it? What is the truth?
Man: I can't tell you.
Mulder: But a mysterious man told me to visit you.
Man: Don't trust what he tells you, he's lying.
Mulder: But he said you know the truth.
Man: I do know the truth.
Mulder: Then what is it? If you don't tell me I'm gonna leave and go hang out with my hot wife, try to launch a movie career that goes nowhere and leave poor Gillian because she'll never really get another gig.
Man: It's.....

he's shot and dies

Mulder: Damnit, he didn't tell me what the truth is.
Scully: I'm sorry Mulder, some day we'll find out what the truth is. Some day Chris Carter will actually figure it out.
Mulder: The truth is out there Scully. I know it is. By the way, Is it sweeps week?
Scully: Yes, why?
Mulder: Because then maybe we should snuggle with each other and look like we're making out so Fox can leak it to the press that we finally kiss and they can hype it to death.....

End of show

Bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes
They got them hoppy legs and twitchy little noses
And what's with all the carrots?
What do they need such good eyesight for anyway?
Bunnies, bunnies
It must be bunnies

Or maybe midgets?

One 'mo thing about Clones.

Check out this Web site I found (from Slate). It's pretty funny. It's kind of like Kevin Smith's great riff about the Rebel Alliance, the Empire, and the people who worked on the Death Star. Basically, the point is that the Emipre was actually kind of benevolent and not so bad and that the Rebel Alliance was basically just a bunch of punk-ass terrorists:

The Case for the Empire-
Everything you think you know about Star Wars is wrong.


The article refers to something that makes total sense now, about Grand Moff Tarkin's line in Star Wars that the Emperor was dissolved the Senate, and that "the last remnants of the Old Republic have been swept away." Which is kind of cool cause it shows how whatever comes and what's being played out in Clones is even more tied into the original one.

Attack of the Clones

Where to begin.

Yes, it's kind of slow in the middle. And some of the dialogue is God-awful, especially anything having to do with the romance between Anakin and Princess Amidala. And some of the acting SO flat- poor Natalie Portman, she's way too good of an actress and way too cute for some of the stuff she has to do.

But…….

There just might not be any greater moment in film than the moment when the "Lucasfilm" logo disappears , the words "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…." appears, and the screen turns black. Ever. And then, it comes. The Star Wars logo appears, the music perfectly in synch. And all you want to do is go "who-hoo!". You can feel the entire audience totally wired in anticipation too, like when you're doing some unbelievable, triple-loop-de-loop roller coaster and you've just hit the top hill. Then the logo and music hits and coaster starts rushing downhill. I admit it, when I saw Phantom Menace for the first time, that was the moment I wanted to see the most, the thing I was the most psyched for. And when it came, yeah, I was a little misty. The audience was too. And I think that's part of the reason why Phantom Menaceis hated so, because nothing in that movie came close to that moment, when for the first time in 20 years, we got to feel that rush again. Nothing could of compared to that moment.

The second best moment in film might just be the moment after the scroll passes- the pan up into outer space just as some cool-ass ship zooms by. When I was a kid and saw Star Wars for the first time, it was that moment, the shot of the Rebel ship zooming overhead, chased by the Imperial Cruiser, that I knew I was hooked. It's still probably my favorite scene in the original one. And once again, we got the pan-up with a shot of a cool-ass space ship zooming by. And then the cool-ass ship flys into a planet and we get this incredible city-scene as the ship comes in for a landing. Just like that, I was into it.

That's the stuff, the shit. That's the stuff that has us hooked. Even scenes with no point, scenes that are kind of boring- like most of the middle section- still has enough cool-ass stuff going on in the background that you're locked in. After the movie, I was exhausted cause the movie's total sensory overload. Hours later, I'm still worn out from it.

In the middle section, the part where the movie bogs down, Obi Wan goes to a planet to play private dick and chase after Jango Fett. It's a planet made up pretty much entirely by water, but with these buildings coming out of it. It's storming so there's huge waves crashing by and as the scene is established, some huge, bird-like creature comes zooming out of one of the waves and flys over one of the buildings. What's the point of the bird-thing? Who knows? Who cares? Either way, it was fucking cool.

In that part too, Obi Wan meets these aliens, aliens that haven't been shown in the commercials or any of the publicity, so they were a complete surprise to me. I won't describe them because I don't want to spoil it, but they're pretty much unlike anything I've ever sene. Nothing like them whatever. Add all of that plus the incredible design and scenes of clones upon clones, and there was no way I was gonna miss a shot. I had to piss then, but I wasn't gonna get up. I had no idea what was coming next, but all I knew was that I had to see it (as soon Anakin and Amidala started getting all googly with each other, I went).

The other cool thing about that whole sequence is that the aliens aren't played as a big payoff. There not the alien money shot, the scene where the director and everyone's going "here, look at these things we dreamed up for you and spent a couple million bucks doing." There's so many aliens in the movie, so many creatures that these aliens are almost lost. Seeing freaky looking, tripped out aliens happens so frequently that it's not really a big deal to see them. Yeah, these were pretty fucking cool, but as the movie rolls on, seeing any sort of creature is no big deal.

Which is why the movie is what it is. Because Lucas has done it. He's created such a complete universe with such complete vision, a vision right down to the nitty-gritty, that you're there. You're totally there. The movie is like nothing anyone's ever filmed before. Years from now, it'll still be unlike anything anyone's done. Yeah, some people have tried and still will, but not to the extent of Clones. It's so thorough and the detail so masterfully done that it's as good as anything you could imagine.

And that's why Star Wars is so popular and why I thought the movie rocked. Because Lucas has done it, tapped into the well-spring. He's hard-wired our minds. Every kid who sat in his room and dreamed up outer space adventures, every kid who watched science fiction and wished they could see things like that- the inner geek in most of us- he's tapped into. He's put what we've all dreamed of in this movie. But it's even better than we could have imagined. You could tell Lucas spent most of his time agonizing over every ship, every creature, every set, trying to get it just like he pictured it. And yeah, it explains why parts of the movie aren't so good, but whatever. There's a ship that opens up into sails. There's another ship where part of it dislodges whenever a character flies near a planet. There's a huge battle between the clones and robot troops. Yeah, Amidala just said the stupidest thing, but that space cruiser is so fucking cool.

So yeah, I loved it. Because it was better than anything I dreamt up while I sat in my room, alone, as a kid, dreaming up outer space universes.

Oh yeah, I loved the ending too. It's probably the only part of the movie that had any real emotion to it, but I totally suckered into it. The tone is done so right, so well that, well, I can't fucking wait til the next flick. It's gonna fucking rock.

Was gonna bitch about this, rant about that, and come up with another witty and clever observation about life, but not now.

Leaving in half-an-hour to get in line for Attack of the Clones.

And really, is there anything more important than that?

Oh-my-Gawd, Oh-my-Gawd, Oh-my-Gawd!

Could the ending of Friends BE any lamer? Stupid season finale's.

Sadly, I've had enough friends being pregnant and having babies to sit there the entire episode and say things like "Jesus, there is no way Rachel would be that skinny if she were pregnant." Or "she just went through labor for like forty hours, how can she look half-way decent? Most of my friends looked exhausted afterwards."

Why does anyone still care about that show?

And I know you do cause we all do.

Found this job-posting on Monster.com. If anyone can explain to me what this position is about, please feel free to e-mail me....

Bowne & Co., Inc., established 1775, is the global market leader in the field of empowering information by combining superior customer service with appropriate new technologies to manage, repurpose and distribute a client's information to any audience, through any medium, in any language, anywhere in the world. We are also the world's largest financial printer.

(I'm pretty sure that when Bowne was created, way back in 1775, that's what their mission statement was- to be the global market leader in the field of empowering information....blah...blah....blah. I can see Jedidiah Bowne giving this exact speech to his investors when he started the company. Can anyone tell me what Bowne does? And I love the last line. It's kind of done like "oh yeah, we're also this.")

ACCOUNTABILITIES (isn't this the same thing as, Responsibilities?)
Sales: Aligns Customer Service output with customer needs. (what?)

Customer Service Interface:(again what? Do they mean Customer Service here?)

Job Management: Coordinates jobs internally from typesetting through EDGAR filing to manufacturing and monitors progress at each phase. (EDGAR?)

Management: Supervises and coaches customer service team. (Does this mean giving pep talks during breaks and breaking down things on chalkboards?)

MANAGERIAL
Adapts and Develops Self: The ability to handle day-to-day work challenges confidently; able to adjust to multiple and changing work demands; learn from experience....(Wow, this job sounds better than a job, it's an internal journey. It's not just a job, it's zen.)

Bowne Balanced Planning Support: The ability to support the implementation of the initiatives, programs, and measurements in the Balanced Plan. Implies capitalizing on opportunities to explain the need for the Plan and demonstrating by action support of the Plan.(Oh yeah, the famous Bowne Balanced Plann. Just a question, how do you get experience in this without actually working there. Unless of course, I missed courses in Bowne Balanced Plans while I was busy reading Camus and Chaucer in college. Stupid me)

Bowne Quality Journey Support: The ability to support Bowne’s Quality Journey and the need for continuous improvement. Implies attention to internal and external customer requirements and focuses behavior toward improvement. Not only "talks the talk" but "walks the talk."(Again, it's just not a job, it's journey. It's like when you're done with the job, you'll be a Bowne Jedi Knight or something like that.)

Problem Solving/Judgement: The ability to relate and compare data from different sources, identify and analyze problems to explore issues, secure relevant information, correctly identify relationships and make the best decision. The ability to use the Bowne Problem Solving Process. This skill implies decisiveness, a willingness to commit to action once alternative solutions have been weighted.(Bowne Problem Solving Process? Is it more of Cartesian or Socractic problem solving method?)

Results Oriented: The ability to drive for results and success; convey a sense of urgency and persist despite obstacles and opposition.(What do they mean by obstacles and opposition? Are we talking Indiana Jones type obstacles? Are they looking for someone who'll stand up against the mob or something? Is a job well done something like the last scene of "On the Waterfront"?)

You know how earlier I lost that job because I might have not had enough HR experience? Is that what they mean, that I don't have the ability to fucking write shit like this?

Anyways.....

Oh-my-Gawd, Oh-my-Gawd, Oh-my-Gawd!

It's the Friends baby! Tonight!

Oh-my-Gawd, Oh-my-Gawd, Oh-my-Gawd!

And I got tix to see the 3:15 showing of Attack of the Clones.

Unemployment does have it's privileges, you know.

So there's this whole flap about photos that Bush is shilling at a fundraiser, a picture taken on 9/11. In the photo, he's shown acting commanding and decisive, when in fact we all know he was pretty much doing whatever Dick was telling him to do. Whatever. Doesn't matter.

The thing I don't get is why people would actually want to plunk down $150 bucks for photos of W. No, not because it's W., but it's not exactly like were talking about photos of Anna Kournikovia or Bobba Fett. If it was Anna Kournikovia, I'd understand, but of W.?

I'd like to personally apologize to whatever Shark's fans are out there for their loss as it's all my fault. I'm pretty sure that if I wouldn't of said "Go Sharks!" they probably would of won. I have that effect on things.

Anyways, in that vein, go Yankees and D-Backs! I'd like to say go Lakers, but I have Shaq on my Fantasy Basketball Team and so I know find myself rooting for them.

Just saw this on the NY Times:

Bush Was Warned bin Laden Wanted to Hijack Planes

"The White House said tonight that President Bush had been warned by intelligence agencies last August that Osama bin Laden was seeking to hijack aircraft but that the reports did not include the possibility that the hijackers would turn the planes into guided missiles for a terrorist attack."

Ruh-oh

So a little job interviewing advice from the friendly folks here at Hooray For Anything- if you have a big interview, one that you've been preparing for in a way for a couple of days, do whatever it takes to make sure you sleep that night. Whether it by drinking a bottle of wine, taking sleeping pills, or hitting yourself over the head repeatedly, just make sure you get some sleep. Interviewing on three hours of sleep the night before is not a good thing. It's bad. Bad. Very bad.

Yeah sure, after two cups of coffee you might be awake and plucky enough to do it, but it's the second hour where things get tricky. You might find yourself like Ultraman after being out in the sun a little too long, little red-light on his chest blinking away, knowing that you have to get out of their soon or it could be a disaster but feeling your power quickly ebb away. And yeah, you might be able to handle that nasty split-finger curve that's thrown your way just as you think it's over (sneakily snuck in at the end, in one of those "oh, by the way" type manners as your almost out the door), but how many can you foul off before striking out?

Not that any of this happened to me, I'm just saying......

Those damn spam-mailers are getting smarter. Either they've got some great software going or they've just gotten really lucky, but someone's using the exact same e-mail name as a friend of mine. So, when I get an e-mail from them, I'm not sure whether it's my friend or spam.

I really don't think these e-mails are from my friend as it's nothing but Britney Spears hardcore porn, but if she is sending them to me, thanks :)

Cool...earthquake......

Saw this piece of graffitti in a bar tonight (before the quake)-"The Roman Empire was a Shatner."

Okay, that's pretty cool in a hip, pop-cultural Dadaesque kind of way, but, still, huh?

Then I looked at it some more. The original scrawl was: "The Roman Empire was a sham."

First of all, totally historically inaccurate. Second of all, what does somebody have against the Roman Empire and what compelled them to scrawl some drunken protest on a paper towel dispenser in a dive bar?

Because, as we all know.....(wait for it).....

...apart from the sanitation, the medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, a fresh water system, and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?

So this whole Poetry of the Palestinian Resistance thing is getting to me. And not just because I'm not exactly down with it's politics. Or that it's just a pretty fucking ridiculous subject for an English class. It's just that, well, considering what the title is and the warning about it, then what the hell is the class for? Isn't class supposed to be about learning, discussion and debate? Basically, this class is gonna be just a bunch of people sitting around all agreeing with each other, getting into arguments only when there's a debate about whose more pure about the cause.

But isn't the point of higher education to get you to think for yourself?

Anyways, found this thing I wrote way back when. It was like the first thing I put on blogger, but for some reason, it's no longer there. I think this kind of sums what I'm trying to say about the whole thing….

"So me and the writing group (excuse me, my writing group and I) went to go see Sherman Alexie last night. Sherman is a Native American author with whom I knew nothing about but went to go see on the promise of drinks before and after. He was pretty cool (especially when we wound up having dinner with him and he bought our drinks for us) and his stuff was pretty funny and interesting. There was one thing that bugged me about the evening, however…..

At some point, during the Q & A session, Sherman went on a rant about the lack of a minorities and minority views in the entertainment industry. As his rant reached it's inevitable crescendo, some in the audience began to applaud in agreement. Not that there was anything wrong with what he said, because he is right, but by applauding, what's the point?

The session was held in this alternative bookstore in the Mission, the name of which escapes me in my hungover state of mind, but it was one of those alternative type book stores specializing in Third World Literature, anarchist manifestos, "I'm a member of an oppressed minority" memoirs, and various other politically correct subjects. The audience was made up mainly of the crunchy granola types, the type with whom I can almost smell the patchouli even though I wasn't aware if anyone was even wearing any. In other words, it's the kind of crowd with whom not a single person would disagree with Sherman's rant.

And that's my problem with it. It would be one thing for Sherman to say something like that in, say, Mississippi or, hell, San Jose, and there's nothing wrong with him saying what he said where he said it, but it is a serious case of preaching to the converted. And yet the audience felt like responding to it as if by making this brave statement- this earth shattering revelation- and applauding to it, their applause would resonate all the way to Hollywood and make Jerry Bruckheimer burst into cold sweat and renounce his billion dollar mansion and credit account at the Heidi Fleiss Whorehouse.

Which is so not gonna happen. So why applaud?"

Make sense?

And yes, it is basically an attempt to get something up there that used to be, but isn't, but should be cause it's got a couple of funny lines in it.

So I know I'm originally from Philly and I grew up watching the Flyers and I know this is blasphemy, but......

Go Sharks.

And now I've just doomed them.....

With so much strife and turmoil going on in the world, with everyone on the edge, scared of what might come next and with the world seemingly poised from being one step away from some serious bad craziness, one wish echoes forth through the darkness. A prayer of hope and to ease the anxiety we all feel…

"Please, oh please, let Attack of the Clones be good….."

As a wise man once said, "I got a bad feeling about this."

Playing catcher. Fluky, lightly hit foul floats to my right, far enough to be a problem, but slow-moving enough to make me think I have a chance. We are behind but poised to rally. I give chase.

I so want to win. The team we're playing is made up of some punk-ass. white-trash rocker kids, all looking like they've just done MTV's Becoming doing a Blink-182 video. All except for the Rob Zombie wanna-be in left, the rocker dude with the gelled-up Tommy Lee hair too cool to put on a hat and play, and the geeky first-baseman allowed to play with the cool kids because he looks like he's the only one who knows how to play. The team's manager, a fat swishy kid who is more of the team mascot, is a dead ringer for the character in Boogie Nights with the huge crush on Dirk Diggler. They're the type of team that puts skull and crossbones with on their jersey's, half of whom write numbers like "666" and "420" on their back. Strangely, nobody has "69" on theirs. I guess they couldn't make it. I so want to beat them. I am having such a generation gap issue (and for the record, I have never done anything like that or played on a team like that- neither with fake funny numbers on the back or rocker dudes on the team and I'll deny to my death any photos taken of me with a 0 on my team t-shirt or with a shortstop with dyed black hair).

As I chase after it, realizing perhaps that I'm just a foot or two behind it, a voice calls out to me: "dive for it and it will come." I see it happen in my mind- the dive, the catch, the cheers. And then the rally that comes from my incredible, rally-inspiring play. I see myself never having to play catcher again and given an infield position. This is my big moment, my moment of truth.

And just as the vision of me divining and catching the ball comes to me, so does the vision of me in a similar situation, tearing my knee. And a vision of me in the doctor's office being shown an MRI of my herniated disc.

The ball falls in front of me, a harmless little foul. I pick up the ball, throw it back to the pitcher and go back behind the plate.

I hate getting older.

PS- We went on to get clobbered. Turns out we were the first team the other team had ever beaten. Oy.

Blogger added this cool thing were you get to track the traffic to your site. Which is totally cool and which I've just finally gotten around to playing around with.

I'm learning all sorts of interesting things. Like someone in my family actually reads this occasionally. That some friends have too much time on their hands and that some people are actually reading this who I don't know (some guy at SFSU spent like 15 minutes on this page). And, even cooler, if you do a search for "marina chick" on Google, I come up first.

Still, for some reason, I'm getting a lot of people who seem to click on the site once and only for less than a second. Some of them come from Google, which is fine, but some come from elsewhere, including from Blogger.com.

So, for those of you who've just logged on, kick back and read a bit. Hopefully you'll like it and want to read some more. For those of you with no interest, I once again repeat something I said before- that if you look deep enough through this blog, you will find links to Free Naked Pictures of Britney Spears

Need I say more?

Back…back…back…..

Got laid off from the temp job last week.

Laid off. From a temp job. Does it get any worse than that?

I'm not sure what happened, I'm not sure what the reason was, what the what was, but all I know is I'm back to the wonderful world of unemployment. Total Lucy and the football. Actually, it was even worse than that. It was more total Ned Beatty bending over and squealing like a pig.

Somehow knew it would happen too. It was just all too easy. Just too darn easy. Because nothing in life is that easy. The moment you sit back, put your feet up on the table, and light up a stogie is usually the exact moment that it's all gonna come crashing down.

And that's what happened to me.

I was so close, so there. I was Steve McQueen, on a motorcycle, just the fence standing in the way between captivity and freedom. That's how close I was.

It all went down on Tuesday. Last Tuesday, the day I was supposedly gonna stop being yo-yo'ed around and actually taught how to do my job. The boss was no longer off-site, the person I was taking over for was back from vacation, and all the forms were finally getting dealt with.

How close was I? I spent all morning training, met my staff, played phone tag with the Photo ID guy, and even heard Arlene write on all my forms that I'll be there til Oct. 31st. All that just in the morning. I was so there.

Which is when it all fell apart.

Went to make a quick run to the Temp Agency to pick up some time sheets (because PG&E used different time sheets, I had actually thrown away all of my Act-1 time sheets- stupid me). Just as I was leaving, they told me. Told me my assignment was over.

And just like that, a six month assignment had turned into a week long assignment.

This is what life as a Temp is like. First off, I lucked out to find out when I did. Usually they call the person that night. I found out just because I was at the right place at the right time. A friend of mine, her husband had the same thing happen to him, but because he got the phone call at night, it was too late for him to pick up his personal items, stuff like Palm Pilot and other semi-important things. Second of all, the Temp Agency just told me straight out and was surprised I was kind of shocked when they told me. Then, when I told Janice, the Outsourced Outsourcer that I thought the whole thing was "fucked" she was taken-aback and surprised. Why would anybody think I'd be kind of slightly pissed off that a six-month assignment only lasted a week?

The nerve of me for actually thinking it was a big deal. It's not like a blew off a possible interview, sent a huge check to my credit card companies, or turned down a few temp assignments during that time. No, didn't fuck up my life a bit. All Janice could do was to give me the "them's the temping brakes" speech and help me not have to deal with having my soon-to-be ex bosses sign my time-sheets.

The whole thing was just fucked. Plain, straight, fucked. You know how sometimes you get fucked, but it's all so quick and painless that it's not that big of a deal? This one wasn't like that at all. It was a slow uncomfortable screw against the wall.

What happened? I don't know. The Temp Agnecy said they decided to hire someone with more HR experience. Janice told me they were too busy to retrain somebody and so decided to do it themselves. Either way is just as equally depressing.

They could have decided to hire someone with more HR experience. I had been lucky to get what I got, after all. Really lucky. I had heard that they interviewed about five or six Temps before deciding on one, but when he disappeared, they called the agency in a panic. Enter me. No interview, no nothing. Just right guy at the right time. I always thought I had gotten too lucky. Had that little voice warning me about it. The only time I had met the boss, after all, was for a "getting to know you" type thing which, at the time, seemed suspiciously like more of a job interview than a "getting to know you type thing". Guess I didn't do that well in the interview.

But what the fuck did they mean by wanting someone with more HR experience? I was supposed to be a Senior Administrative Assistant fer crisssakes, not Senior VP of the HR Department. And how hard could HR be? The only thing I knew about people in HR is that they fill out a lot of forms, never return phone calls and gossip all the time. I could do that. I'm pretty good at that. And besides, it's not like they gave me a shot. I had worked an actual total of about two hours on my actual job, the one they had hired me for. All I had done before was filing and photocopying, something I did a pretty damn good job at, if you ask me.

Then there's the second possibility, that they were just too busy to train me. Which meant that I got caught in a total Catch-22. The catch being, of course, that I get a job because someone else bailed and so the company panicked, stressed out and brought me in at the last second to replace someone. But then they panicked and stressed out so much because of the guy leaving, they didn't have time to train me. So I get laid off. Thanks for coming.

And of course, there's a couple ironies to the whole thing. Because there's always ironies to things.

The reality was that I was a little unsure about the whole six-month commitment thing. I had, after all, seen how much trouble was created when the first person quit, so what would happen if I quit? They'd have to do it all over again. And here they were, giving me a really good, high-paying temp job. The thought of bailing on them because I was bored or wanted to take a vacation or got another job was starting to give me a guilty conscious. And while I was worrying about that, they just let me go, just like that. Stupid me for feeling like I was willing to commit to them.

The other irony is that I had a feeling that day. One of those something's quite not right feelings. It was the way Maggie rushed through training me. And the off-the-cuff remark she made about not knowing how much she needed to train me because I wasn't going to get all the tasks I was supposed to have. And then there was this, that my phone line was also connected to my bosses. Whenever his phone rang, my phone rang too. Once, by accident, I picked up his phone and noticed on the caller ID that he was talking to Janice. Hmm, I thought, I wonder what's up with that? And of course, there was that little voice telling me that it was all too easy and that I had gotten way too lucky. Things like that just don't fall into my lap. Never, ever, ever.

So now what? Saw Spiderman this week and spent Thursday muching on magic brownies. And two weeks til "Star Wars" comes out and I'm starting to get psyched. Plus the World Cup is starting at the end of the month and I've already talked a just-laid off friend to meet me there for pints.

All I can say is that I hope that whatever happens, fuck PG&E. I hope they get put through the ringer. The last election where there was a big referendum to get rid of them and put in public power instead? All for it now. Chapter 11 proceedings? Sick 'em. Stories about plant workers intentionally sabotaging the system? Go reporters go. And like I'm gonna be paying my bills on time.

Fuckers.

And yes, the world is going to hell in a handbasket....

It's the news. All from today's Chron:

Cramped speech at UC Berkeley- Teacher warns 'conservative thinkers'

"At UC Berkeley, birthplace of the Free Speech Movement, a graduate teaching instructor who is a leader in the pro-Palestinian movement on campus has incited a nationwide controversy by trying to control the tenor of discussion in his class.

Snehal Shingavi, 26, a fifth-year graduate student in English, who will be teaching an undergraduate English class on "The Politics and Poetics of Palestinian Resistance," in the fall included in his class description a "warning" that "conservative thinkers are encouraged to seek other sections." Students who are required to take the reading and composition course can choose from a menu of classes covering different "

"The Politics and Poetics of Palestinian Resistance"?

I must of missed all that when I was an English Major. Too busy reading Shakespeare, Chaucer and Fitzgerald.

I know Berkeley's a state school, but somebody's paying for that crap. If it's not a parent, it's tax-paying me.


But, wait, it gets bettter, way better. I hope your not drinking something while you read this because your computer is about to get sprayed on:

Quayle's role models-Osbournes 'dysfunctional' but better than Murphy Brown

Although you have to read the full story to appreciate the sheer level of....of....absurdity, here's a few snippets:

" Ten years after he came to San Francisco to vilify single mom Murphy Brown as an agent of moral decay, Dan Quayle has found a TV character he can applaud -- Ozzy Osbourne.

The former vice president vigorously defended his decade-old condemnation of single parenthood Thursday and its glorification on television. He added "Friends" and "Sex and the City" to his list of offending shows and boasted that many politicians -- including Democrats -- had joined his moral crusade.

Yet when he was asked about MTV's hit series "The Osbournes," which documents in "real TV" format the bizarre daily life of the former Black Sabbath lead singer and his family, Quayle was eager to display his hipness.

"You have to get beyond this sort of dysfunctional aspect," he said of the Osbournes, whose expletives are bleeped out but whose frank discussions of alcohol, sexuality and body odors are not.

"You have a mother and a father involved with their children. And from the one episode I saw, they were loving parents," Quayle said.

Too many jokes to make. Too funny for too many reasons.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. Is it that Ozzie is now being praised by Dan Quayle? Has Quayle ever heard Black Sabbath? And if so, God, I would so of loved to have seen that. Or is it just that somebody's actually still paying attention to Quayle?

Oh fer fucks sake. It's just too much to. Too fucking much....

And on a sad note, there's this:

North Beach to miss deli, Panelli twins

North Beach, one of the city's most zesty and colorful neighborhoods, is about to lose a little of its flavor.

This sad news comes by way of the Panelli brothers, Richard and Robert, who recently decided to close their family's dynamic delicatessen after 82 years. And to say that people are unhappy about it would be an understatement. There's been enough salty tears shed in the neighborhood to boil a generous portion of pasta.

When I lived in North Beach, I went to that deli a lot. Usually on Sunday's cause Molinari's was closed. Although their sandwhiches were never as epic as Molinari's, they were still pretty darn yummy. I loved going to place, though, because of what it was- a family run business. When I went there, all three generations of Panelli's would often be found behind the counter, the 9'ers game on the tv. As they made their sandwhiches and took customer's orders, all they'd do was just completely bust on each other, giving each other shit for whatever was going on that they felt like giving each other shit about. Sometimes they'd even include the customer in on the joke, explaining as you'd sit there why it is that their son was so stupid or why the father was such a dork. It was all done with such love and affection that I'd just sit back and listen, not caring how long it would take for them to make my sandwhich. Half the fun of going there was just that, to sit back and listen to the daily comedy routine that began everytime an order was made.

Oh well. Sorry to see another great SF place close down. There seems to be too many stories like that these days.

Somewhere there is a line. It is a very thin line, but still a line between fan-dom and geek-dom. It is a line I don't ever want to cross and something I have always been proud about never crossing.

Until last Friday I crossed that line. I went straight into darkness, out over the line.

Last Friday, I went to go see an actress at one of those stupid-ass meet and greet appearances at the Metreon. It was an actress who was on Buffy. I even waited in line to get her autograph and shake her hand. Even worse, I brought something. But wait, it gets worse….. I went with two people I had never met, but hooked up with over the Buffy boards.

I am now a pathetic geek.

Of course, the move makes a bit more sense if you knew any of your Buffy. The actress I went to go see Eliza Dushku, aka Faith, the bad-girl gone bad Slayer. All push-up bra, bad-ass attitude, too many cigarettes voice, and ruby-red lips. She was a recurring cast figure in S3, the Moby Dick of Buffy seasons, and appeared in probably the greatest ten minutes of tv. Ever. That being the season ending cat-fight between Buffy and Faith- ten minutes of fight to the death kung-fu action, leather pants, and handcuffs. Not to mention a kiss.

In my life, I've flirted with the Star Trek and the Dead, but never went all the way. Which is probably good because God only knows what would have happened. I could be fluent in Klingon. I could have five brain cells left and have the first five chords of "Sugar Magnolia" cause a pavlovian reaction to light some patchouli. But I never went that far. Cause I don't like to go that far. I'm not a go that far kind of guy. It's the same reason I don't like to join anything, because all of a sudden, you're in something. I don't like being in something. I like to be on the sidelines, watching and observing, above it all,. Of course, also desperately wanting to be on in the inside, but maybe finding it way too easy to make fun of them. Or something like that.

Besides, just from seeing people who were really, really into these things, I knew what it was like. I knew that the infamous skit from SNL with William Shatner was pretty much dead on (the one where Shatner finally explodes at all the Trekkies asking if anyone of them had ever kissed a girl after being asked about what combination he used to unlock a lock in a scene). I knew too how obsessed people can be really, really boring. Because three hour long conversations about people's favorite China Cat/I Know You Rider is really, really not that exciting.

Once, a friend and I went to a Star Trek thing. It was a book signing for Nichelle Nicholas (Lt. Uhuru- duh). We went partly because we were both kind of into Trek but also out of curiousity. We wanted to see how bad it could be. So we went and found ourselves waiting in line for half-an-hour while Trekkies plunked down the thirty bucks to buy her autobiography and have her sign it. Most of the people, including the three people behind us, looked like this had been the first time they've stepped outside in years. While in the section about the Yugoslavian Civil War, I made a joke (don't ask, you had to be there and yes, I'm ashamed for making a joke about such a tragic event). The three next to us had obviously heard and in an effort to bond, Trek-style,one of them actually said "yeah, that's just like the episode where Kirk....." And with that, my friend and I looked at each other and quickly got the hell out of there.

My original plan was just to go by the Metreon and check it out. See the scene, check her out, check out what other pathetic losers would go see her, and then get out quickly so as to not be seen as one of those pathetic losers. You know, stay above it all. I even entertained dreams of going there for a few minutes, then hopping over to the Y. Doing something productive. Something good.

Didn't happen. What did happen was that I saw that a couple of other people were planning on meeting before checking out Faith, er Eliza, and found myself in conflict. See, as much as I have an incredible desire to stay above things, I also have a incredible desire not to be left out of anything. With the two sides now in conflict, the battle was waged, the war was fought, and the desire not to be left out of anything won. So I sent someone an e-mail, got the 411, and made plans to meet a couple of people at the Starbucks across the street from the Metreon. What the hell? Could be fun, could be interesting and it's not like I have anything else to do these days. Besides, the reality is my life couldn't get more pathetic at this particular moment anyways.

And so I went. And you know what? It was kind of fun. It helps that the two people I met were cool. One of them was a Swedish, 43 year old engineer who used to do Rubik's Cube competitions and was at one time the 4th fastest Rubik's Cuber in Sweden (did it in fifteen seconds, which makes me wonder what he was doing wrong to only keep him in 4th). The other was an adorable 19 year old Chinese lesbian who I felt really sorry for because by that time, I knew pretty well that her favorite character and tv girlfriend, Tara, was not much longer for the Buffy Universe (turns out she knew, but was in denial). And yeah, I waited in line for over an hour and a half and I went up there, with the other two Buffy geeks and met the mighty Faith, er Eliza. I introduced myself, shook her hand (OH MY GAWD!), and then got my mint condition issue of Entertainment Weekly's: Viewers Guide To Buffy signed. The other two took a bunch of photos and just like that we were done.

Afterwards, the three of us walked back to Starbucks and hung out for an hour or so. And yes, we talked some Buffy. And some other things too.

Straight over the line…..

I love ESPN.com. It's one of my favorite sites on the Web, maybe my favorite. The problem is that they got so many bells and whistles on their site that it just messes everything up. Sometime's it doesn't download completely, sometimes it crashes Explorer, and sometimes it just plain crashes my computer. When it does load, it usually takes frickin' forever to do so (frickin, by the way, is my word for the month.)

Poking around the site one day, I found on the FAQ some helpful advice on how to fix whatever problems I'm having with the site. Apparently, it's all my fault. See, in order to properly view the site, I need to have to download the latest version of Flash. I have an old version of it and haven't kept myself up to date. If I'd only get with it, I wouldn't have so many problems with the site.

Well, excuse me. I don't want to download Flash 5.0. I have dial-up and I don't have the time to wait for a huge program to be downloaded. Plus I've downloaded enough programs in my time to know that they usually cause unforseen problems. Like extension conflicts or something like that. Then I'd have to download another program to fix that conflict which causes another conflict and then next thing you know, nothing ever quite works the same way again.

You know what? I don't want to frickin' download the latest version of Flash. I like what I have. It works for me. Yes, I wish I had DSL or cable, but I don't right now. And you know something else? I bet most people out there, most people who surf the Web, don’t have all that stuff either. I bet you they don't have Flash 5.0 and DSL lines and those who do are at work and should probably get back to work. RIGHT NOW (that means you, buddy).

Not only that, my computer is only a year old. Which means that it was all up-to-date a year ago. Now it's not. Now I'm being penalized because my computer is SO 2001 and ESPN.com is SO 2002. Whatever. Bite me.

How 'bout this? How bout the genius Web programmers and engineers, the producers and designers stop throwing so much fucking stuff up on the site. Stop with all the flashing signs and the moving items. Stop using that stupid tab's thing which is the only way to get to Page 2. Stop with the moving bobble-head pictures. How 'bout that?

And I can't get a job in the internet biz…..

Why are stupid fucking hippies nothing but a bunch of stupid fucking hippies?

From Wednesday's Chron:

Environmentalist sings for judge: Activist suing cops over car bomb

Earth First activist Darryl Cherney literally performed for a federal jury Tuesday, playing guitar and singing a protest song -- after describing how his arrest for a car bombing disrupted the Redwood Summer campaign 12 years ago.

That's almost better than the Chewbecca defense.

And Spiderman was......

....a little better than your average dumb, summer movie. It make me wonder though.

Like most movies know, all the special effects are all done on computers now. Most of the action in this movie is all CGI stuff. Unlike a lot of these big movies, the effects sometimes weren't that good. In a bunch of scenes, Spiderman looked like a clumsily moving cartoon character.

What I wonder is if all this computer stuff is making film people lazy. Like years ago, they'd have to be really creative to show Spidey swinging around New York, now they just hire a couple hundred computer geeks, give them a bunch of Red Bull and some techno, and let them go at it. But remember Superman? That was all pre-computer stuff and some of the effects were kind of cheesy, but at least he looked real. In fact, in some ways, the effects in that movie were better than in Spiderman.

The biggest example was a fight scene in the movie. Yeah, Spidey did a couple of cool, killer Spider moves, but it looked kind of cheesy when he did it. There was nothing he didn't do, however, that I haven't seen in almost every Jackie Chan movie I've seen. And there's no effects when Jackie does it, it's just him, the stunt guys, and the director. And almost every Jackie Chan fight was way better than the fight in this movie.

Damn bastards.

There was only a few minutes left on Buffy and everything was all sunny and light; everything looked like everything was right in Sunnydale. And for a few seconds, I was thinking that the producers had just pulled one of the greatest tv psyche-outs in the history of tv, what with leaking rumours and accidently sending out early feeds of the show and setting up the blatant foreshadows, but no.......

Warren comes in with a gun, fires off a couple of shots, and Buffy goes down. And Willow is splattered in blood. And then you see that it comes from Tara. Poor Tara. Bye bye Tara. Whose gonna take care of Miss Kitty Fantastico now?

Guess they didn't pull a psych-job on us at all.

Unemployed life.....

Four guys come out of a bargain matinee of Spiderman, out into the bright sunshine of Yerba Buena park. Everyone sits around, nobody really talking, nobody knowing what to do. As they sit there, trying to figure it all out, someone finally says the obvious:

"I know what you're thinking, but we should try to fight the urge to go running back to our computers to check our e-mail.''

And with that, the four guys decided to go and get a drink. An hour later, they all ran back home to their computer's to check their e-mail.

Spent Saturday night at a going away party. Goodbye Stoltzy and Aunt Sophie. I'll miss you.

They were friends two and three to have moved away just this month. The first one to go was Beth D., aka Beth #2- off to Washington D.C. and Grad School. And now it looks like Mel might be heading off to LA due to her being laid off. That would be number four for the month. I would say would the last person who leaves SF please turn off the lights, but it's looking like that person is gonna be me.

I've lived in San Francisco for a long time. A very long time. See, one of the dirty little secrets of San Francisco, this wonderful, beautiful city by the bay, is that for all of it’s charms and all of it’s appeal, people often just pass through each others lives. People come and go in your life on an almost regular basis. Hell, I’ve lived in this city for so long that I’ve had friends move away and then move back. As a result, there are an awful lot of people who leave your life. Some move away, some weren’t really that good of friends to begin with, some disappear into coupledom and never come out, and then there’s whole groups of people who you just lost touch with. One day you’re best of friends, one of your favorite people to hang out with, and then, somehow, the next day, or the next month, or the next year, you find yourself becoming one of those people with whom you tell each other that "you’ll do lunch." And just like that, this person with whom you at one point consider one of favorite people is gone, out of your life, taking the whole world that you shared together with it.

Live here long enough and you have to say goodbye to a lot of people. A lot of people who you really liked and spent a considerable part of your time hanging out with, laughing with, living with. One by one, they go, heading off to somewhere else. Mikey got married and moved to LA. Darling KT went home to Atlanta and is now somewhere in Africa doing volunteer work. Pal 1's in San Diego and Pal 2 is back home in London. And Gigi Shag is in the South of France, somehow. Now Mike & Jen. All gone. All no longer around for me to play with.

Sometimes, in times like this, I feel like the ole lifer in an army unit (except, of course for the whole fighting war and possibly dying thing), the soul survivor after a long campaign, surrounded by new guys and constantly thinking of Rocko, Whitey, and Little Joe. Or I'm like the old crusty, slightly crazy old guy who becomes the town historian. I'm the old coot, sitting out on my front doorstep, pipe in hand, telling them that they shouldn't go to House of Naking but should go to Chef Gia instead because it's much better and you don't have to wait in line. Or telling them which bar is a real dive bar and which one is a poseur bar.

On my way home from the Going Away Party, I started talking to the cab driver. Turns out he's a writer and handed me his book about his experiences driving a cab in SF. As I flipped through the book and looked at the photos, I realized I recognized one of the crazy guy's he wrote a chapter about, the Streamer Guy. He's the one who always walks around with an Uncle Sam hat and streamers hanging off of his glasses. The thought hit me that I've lived here long enough that I knew all of the famous cooks in the city.

The cab driver had lived in this city since '89, a few years more than me. We talked about living here, in the city by the bay, and about how tough living here can be. People come here for three to five years, the cab driver told me, go through loves and jobs, then move away. It takes a tough person to stick around. Tough and a little sick and twisted too, he said.

That's me. And no matter what I may think, this crazy little place is my home.