Went to go rent a movie tonight (the Marx Brothers "Monkey Business") and on my way back, I saw one of my old co-workers across the street at the Elbo Room. Let's just say I put my head straight ahead and walked pretty briskly back home. I'm kind of pissed about it, actually. My coworkers at the old company usually hang out in other neighborhoods, not my 'hood. This is my territory, damnit.

Anyways, so now I'm kind of trapped in my apartment, afraid of going out to like return the movie or take a walk because I'm afraid of running into an ex co-worker. Sadly, this is becoming a common problem these days. I just might have to move away from this city just because there's so many people now I don't want to run into.

Let's see here…..

More bombings in Iraq, more violence in the Middle East, Tony Blair is in serious trouble for making things up about Iraq (imagine that), and Arnie's in trouble for admitting to liking group sex, but all people want to talk about is, OH MY GOD MADONNA AND BRITNEY MADE OUT AT THE MTV VMA AWARDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course everyone's talking about and of course it's being shown endlessly. Because that was the friggin point of it. Nothing but the desperate maneuverings of a soon-to-be-over-the-hill major star with a bomb of a CD on her hands and a soon-to-be-fifteen-minutes-about-to-be-over pop "icon" with a bomb of a CD about to be released. What else can you do if you have no talent or no new ideas or no audience anymore? You go do something totally "shocking" and meaningless and have everyone lap it up like dogs. God forbid somebody would get any attention for like, maybe coming out with a great CD and finally saving rock n' roll or making it big in hip-hop without singing about bitches, ho's and bling-bling. Hell, Coldplay played and while I don't particularly like them, they do deserve some props, but nobody's talking about them because Chris Martin didn't make out with Gwynnie on the show (which, maybe he should have to garner any attention).

I guess, what I'm saying is the world I'd like to believe in would have given Johnny Cash every damn award at that show not only because his video is frickin' brilliant, but because he's Johnny Fucking Cash. Britney could pose spread eagle in Hustler to sell her new CD but Johnny Cash has more coolness in one of his toe-nail clippings than Britney will ever have. Shouldn't we celebrate the frickin brilliance of the fact that Johnny Fucking Cash did a brilliant video to a brilliant song while knocking on heaven's door instead of too lame publicity ho's kissing each other?

Guess the coffee hasn't kicked in yet…..

All week I'm home sitting around and waiting for recruiters to call me back about possible jobs. Nothing. Lie in bed this morning with my brains coming out of my ears due to a way nasty hangover and the phone's ringing off the hook. Which is good, I guess, but I'd much prefer talking to recruiters about jobs when my apartment isn't spinning and putting sentences together isn't a major ordeal.

Yes, I'm reading the new Harry Potter right now and you know what? It's gooood. Best one so far. In fact, it's so good it's keeping me from-

1- boning up for my Fantasy Football Draft
2- Looking for a job

just because all I want to do is read the damn thing.

I did one of those meet-and-greet, grab a cup of coffee type blind dates today, a set-up from a friend (bless his heart). It lasted half an hour, twenty minutes if you subtract the time it took in which the other person spent all of her time trying to figure out how to make an exit.

I've heard women can tell within a couple of minutes whether or not they're into the guy. Which may be true, but something you'd think they'd grow out of once they hit their thirties. I guess it's kind of cool that she didn't drag it out and waste my time by pretending to be interested, but still, if you've just turned 38 and you're dismissing someone within twenty minutes of a kind-of blind date, it's time to start getting some cats.

Just a word of advice for you job-seekers out there- if you can, do not eat a bowl of chili the night before a (sort of) job interview.

Bad things might happen. Bad, bad things.

So I guess now that the 10 Commandments has been removed from the Alabama courthouse, we're on the verge of finding out if there really is some truth in that whole wrath of God thing. If some judges, lawyers and construction workers suddenly get turned into salt or struck by lightning, then I guess we know that not only is there a God, but playing around with the Ten Commandments is bad. If nothing happens to any of them, guess it's not that big of a deal then.

One of the only few things I remember from Moby Dick, other than it being pretty darn boring, is a scene where a crewman goes man overboard and finds himself alone in the Ocean. While afloat in the water and with the Pequod nowhere to be seen, the sailor stares out into the endless ocean. As he stares out into the huge and endless void that is the ocean, he slowly goes insane.

If you want to know what unemployment is like, it's like that. Except instead of seeing nothing but water, water everywhere, you see nothing but time. Man, do I got too much time on my hands.

This is what it's like- one of the things I can do to occupy my time is do my yoga classes. For the most part, there are classes at 9 am, noon, 6 and 7:30. When I worked, it was easy to know which close to go to- the 7:30 one, right when I got home from work. If I missed going to class it was because I was either stuck at work or because I was too burnt out from work. Now, I find myself not going to class only because I can't decide which class to go to. I could go to the 9, but I've usually been waking up at 8-8:30 and can't get motivated enough to go. Besides, I got plenty of time to go that day. Noon class comes up and I decide not to go to that one because it'll mean not eating lunch and I'm hungry and besides, I still have plenty of time to go to classes that night. Also, I like taking the class at night because that means I technically have something to do that night. Six is too early because then I'll have the rest of the night with nothing to do, so 7:30 it is. But sometimes there is no 7:30 class and sometimes I have every intention of going but then I flip on the TV for a bit and F/X is airing Buffy episodes "Graduation Day I" and "Graduation Day II" back-to-back and I love those episodes. And you know, I could always go the next morning. So the next morning at 9 it is. But then 9 comes and it's a repeat of the day before.

Even small things become huge things. I finally got a haircut today after debating about it for a week. The debate wasn't on whether or not to get a haircut, but when to get a haircut. I could get one anytime I wanted to because I had plenty of time to get one, so why should I go now? I'll just go after I finish reading this Web site. Or reading the third book I've read in a week. Or maybe I'll get one tomorrow because I have nothing to do tomorrow but then when tomorrow comes, I realize I have nothing to do the next day so I decide to do it the next day.

Everyday I wake up and think to myself that since it's beautiful out there, it would be really fun to go hang out in an outdoor café and read and write. Get some sun, get out of the Fortress of Solitude, and go hang out. Just do something. But, of course, why should I go now when I can go in an hour? And if I do it today, then what'll I do tomorrow.

I used to be pretty good at this too- this whole being unemployed, wasting time thing. Hell, I've had plenty of time to practice it. Just, for some reason, I can't remember what I used to do.

I'm so frickin' bored.

Hey, cool-

It's my blog in French

Now who would be doing that (Melle Mel?)

I think I have achieved two new Personal Bests today

1)It took me until 3:30 this afternoon to get motivated enough to take a shower.

2)Since I've been back from Tahoe Sunday night, I have yet to put on shoes.

I would say I'm definately in the Sweatpants Phase of Unemployment except it's too hot to wear sweatpants. Maybe I should come up with a new term- the Sandals Phase.

I spent the weekend up in Tahoe. Friends of mine entered this 24-hour race thingy and I went up to help them out. Well, actually more like spend a lot of time reading by the pool while they did a lot of biking, but I did do a few things.

The gist of the race is that there's a bike race for 24 hours and teams of biker's race it. One team member goes and does a lap and when he/she is done, they hand off some card to the next team member and they go do a lap. This goes on for 24 hours which means that those who are doing it are quite liable to have to get out of their beds at 3 in the morning to go do a serious bike trek up and down a mountain. Crazier than that, there's a few people who do it solo. Instead of doing it as a team and getting the chance to take a few breaks, these people do the entire thing themselves. That's 24 hours on a bike. That's finishing your fifth lap at the end of the sixth hour of the race and knowing that you still have another eighteen hours to go.

This is supposed to be fun.

As I watch, I couldn't help but see a certain appeal to it. It is, after all, the whole pushing yourself to the limit thing. It's taking everything as far as possible, seeing how far you can go, and then pushing it a bit farther. Sometimes I watch and think to myself that maybe I should test myself like that. Get off my fat ass and physically challenge myself. Get in shape, get in gear and let's get physical.

And then I think to myself, "hey, you know, I still haven't seen 'I Love 1978' or 'I Love 1979' on VH-1 yet and I could miss the Bionic Man meets Bigfoot episode retrospective" and the next thing you know, I'm couch-bound.

Hell, my life is an extreme sport. Why would I want to go volunteer to do one?

So Warren Zevon, you know the "Werewolves in London" guy, has a new album out. The thing about the album is that a year ago, he got diagnosed with terminal cancer and wrote the album knowing that he was about to die. In fact, he actually lived much longer than he was supposed to and so was able to finish it.

Now the new album is out and it's getting great reviews. Now, I'm sure it's a great album and I'm kind of intrigued about it, but I'm just wondering, can you really trust all the great reviews for the album? I mean, he's writing this basically on his deathbed. Whose gonna give some guy with terminal cancer a bad review? Do you see anyone saying something like "geez, it's kind of tragic that the guy is dying, but I found the melodies wrote, the lyrics trite, and the album completely uninspiring." Or do you think somebody's gonna say that Zevon hasn't been good since the 70's.

Hell, if Fred Durst came down with something deadly, everyone would hail the next Limp Bizkit album as a work of genius despite the fact we all know it's gonna suck.

Go away for the weekend, find out upon coming back that Israel killed another Hamas leader, Bush is in big trouble in Iraq, Bustamante is now beating Arnie in the polls, and Bobby Bonds, but leave it to the fine folks at MSN to have as their headline the most crucial news event of the weekend- Hilary Duff leaves Lizzie

Due to current recent events involving my employment status, I am considering a career change. After two bad job experiences, I am thinking about a nice, mellow job. You know, like working in a bookstore or a video store. Something where all you do all day is hangout and where nothing stressful ever happens. After all, life is difficult enough without having to deal with megalomaniac head's of companies or emotionally unstable bosses. Who needs a stupid career anyways? Didn't someone once say "ambition bites the nails of success"?, whatever the hell that means.

But where or where to find that kind of a job?

Today, I found it. One of the neighborhood's "alternative" independent bookstores is hiring part-time counter people. Perfect. Of course, I have no actual experience working in bookstores, but how hard can that be? The way I see it that I've worn a polyesther jungle outfit and worked the counter at an Amusement Park one summer. If I can do that, I can handle a bookstore. Hell, I've done food service, damnit.

This being the Mission, however, means that there are a few quirky aspects to the job, aspects that might cause problems in getting hired. The first one actually makes sense- knowledge of books. They even say they're going to test applicants. Easy, right? I was an English Major after all. And I read lots and lots of books. The only problem there is that while I might know my classic literature and Romantic Poets, I'm not quite up on my literature of the Oppressed Third World Masses, Gender Studies Anthologies, or obscure comic books printed at Kinko's.

The other problem is that they're looking for someone who can speak Spanish. Which makes sense, I guess, since the Mission is a Hispanic neighborhood. And, as we all know, Hispanics love their alternative bookstores. Cause most non-English speaking people wanna read Fat Bull Dyke Monthly.

Oh yeah, there's another catch- I know too many frickin' people in this city and I know too many people who hang out in the Mission. Can't think of anything more humiliating than seeing an ex-coworker or some girl who shafted me walk into the store one night and wonder what the hell I'm doing beyond the counter of a book store.

For all three of you who aren't reading this hoping they'd find links for naked pictures of Kelly Ripa, I'm off to the mountains before I get all Travis Bickle-y.

Be back next week.....

Because I have a lot of free time on my hands, I've started getting into Craig's List Casual Encounters. As well, of course, as Missed Connections and Rants & Raves (did I mention I have a lot of free time on my hands?).

For those who haven't perused, it's a bunch of people sending out postings to a board basically looking for nookie. No messing around pretending it's about dating, no pretending it's about finding "the one," it's all about doing the nasty. Basically, someone is sitting there at working, thinking to themselves "hey, I'm horny" and so post something on Craig's List hoping that they're bootylicious dreams will come true (and yes, I'm gonna try and come up with as many euphimisms for sex as possible just because it's funnier than saying sex. And as you'd expect, most of them (or more like all of them) are by men.

The funniest one's are basically the one's that can be summed up like this- hey, I'm horny, fuck me. Some of them are only a sentence or two, as if just by saying "hey, I'm horny, fuck me" is enough for someone to go fuck them.

Anyways, those who do give descriptions always describe themselves as handsome, fit, and great in bed. Which makes sense, of course, because I don't think you'd get anywhere by saying you were a fat, balding premature ejaculator. So, either those fat, balding premature ejaculator's don't go on Casual Encounter's or there's gonna be a lot of ladies (and men) who are going to be awfully disappointed.

Some of those who are looking for a little try and show how great they are by writing erotica. They'll go on for paragraphs describing just what they'll do to the lucky responder of their e-mail. Some of them are a little on the crude side for those who are into crude come-on's, some of them are halfway decent attempts at Penthouse Letters-style literature. And again, it's all an attempt to describe themselves as great lovers. Again, not a lot of people out there saying that it'll be over in a few seconds and that they'll fall asleep right afterwards.

Then there's the whacky stuff. Like the guys who'll get you high if you blow me. One guy even thought that the offer of getting some high should be enough to get him a threesome. You know, you gotta think big. Or there's the married guys who are looking for a little hanky-panky. Or the straight guys who are looking for a little gay sex even though they say over and over and over again that they're not gay.

And if you're a swinger, that's the place to be. Wanna watch a married couple get it on? Casual Encounters is the place to be. A couple looking for a threesome? Again, Casual Encounters? Guys with a fetish for lactating pregnant women? Come on down.

Of course, the amazing thing about all of this is that anyone thinks any of this is going to work. I mean, it can't be that easy. You can't just write an e-mail on some board and get some? Can't you? It can't be that easy, right?

Right?

As the guy on Sportscenter said while showing the highlights of Barry's 2nd walk-off home-run in three days- "that's nuts"

Unbelievable.

And another extremely important headline on MSN.com, this time so important they give it the special "Spotlight" headline and even added a picture-

LOL! Does IM'ing make U dum?

Hey, have we found those WMD in Iraq yet? Just wondering....

With all that's going on in this world, it's good to see that MSN.com is keeping all of it's users up to date with the most vital information of utmost importance.

Let's see, there's….

Why Goofy & Grandiose Job Titles Are Hot

Or how about this fascinating story-

Are Americans idle? See how your region ranks in physical fitness

And then, of course, there's this-

Ashton ditches jury duty

Yes, I admit it. I wanted to be a Zoom kid…..

I'm unemployed. Again.

Due to a technicality in the Unemployment rules I might not be eligible for unemployment. And, if I am, I won't get my first check for another two weeks.

I'm broker than Britney Spear's public declarations of waiting til she's married

Today I accidentally put bleach into my colored wash and half my wardrobe is ruined

My printer is broken and tech support couldn't figure out what's wrong

I've been considering applying for a job at the Buffalo Wing place down the street from me

Making dinner I accidentally broke the only wineglass I hadn't broken yet

If I only had a truck and a dog, I'd be a country song. If I was a movie, I'd be "Gigli." If things get anymore down I'd be in China.

Haven't had a dream in a long time…

I am watching "Good Morning America." Charles Gibson, one of those reporters whose swallow eyes always betrays the selling of their souls is about to begin the first big story of the day. It is a follow-up story about two women, twins, who first appeared on the show several months to talk about the life-changing, radical surgery they were about to perform. They were going to use lasers to make their faces look younger. The "revolutionary" method they were using was a way of fighting off aging without having to go under the knife or shot oneself up with bacteria to kill off all the facial nerves.

At first, we see the twins before, the surgery in all their middle-aged frumpiness. As Gibson breathlessly recounts their saga, as if the two women had managed to somehow climb down Everest in order to stave off frostbite, Gibson recounts how the two women spent every other week flying from New York to Florida and back to have their surgery done over the past couple of months. And now, today, is the day we get to see the results.

The camera pulls back to reveal the studio. With a large American flag in the background, the younger looking, positively glowing women are shown, smiles all around. With them is there doctor and an author of a book on the surgical methods, one of those books titled something along the lines of "Your Life Sucks if You Don't Look Young" or "Stop Being a Loser by Changing Your Face."

As the interview commences, I watch the news scroll on the bottom of the screen. More terrorist fun in the Middle East, the U.N. building in Iraq having been blown up by a truck bomb. There's bombings in Morocco too and fighting in Afghanistan. Charles tells the women how wonderful they look just as the scroll starts reporting about the inevitability of more power-outages. Also, in Phoenix, a city built in the middle of a desert, the mayor is pleading with the citizen's of his fair city to try and conserve on gas for their SUV's as there's a serious shortage going on. The doctor meanwhile makes his pitch that every woman should try this method of surgery and the women whole-heartedly agree.

Later today, I read that there's another suicide bombing in Jerusalem and the U.N. Diplomat to Iraq has been killed in the bombing in Baghdad.

I am so proud of the fact that for some reason, I am #11 if you were to do a search on the phrase "underage kiddy porn." Not only that, I am number #4 for doing searches for "dogs in fucking pose."

I rule.

Remember that whole swing thing in the mid to late '90's?

What was up with that?

Yes, I am watching "I Love the '70's" on VH-1. Who isn't?

I have to say, though, that it's not as much fun to watch one of those VH-1 specials when you plan for watching it. You can't watch those VH-1 shows that way. The best, only way to watch them is to stumble upon them when you're completely totally bored. You're stoked when that happens. You're like "woo-hoo! something totally mindless to watch" and then three hours later, you're still watching it. When you plan to watch it, you get no "woo-hoo!"

By the way, is there anyone else whose fearing the inevitable "I Love the '90's" as much as I am?

Just for the hell of it-

"And even if we win, if we win, HAH! Even if we play so far above our heads that our noses bleed for a week to ten days; even if God in Heaven above points his hand at our side of the field; even if every man woman and child joined hands together and prayed for us to win, it just wouldn't matter because all the really good looking girls would still go out with the guys from Mohawk because they've got all the money! It just doesn't matter if we win or if we lose. IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER!"

Rest of group: IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER..."

It's Sunday and I'm at a BBQ for a friend's girlfriend's birthday. The sun is out, the Q is Q'ing, and some of my bestest friends are there. For the first time in a while, I am feeling good. Or at least not miserably freaked out about the current state of my life. The last thing I want to happen is to somehow be reminded of my recent unpleasantness.

About halfway through the party, I am hanging out on the deck, talking to some people I know and some people I don't know. One of the guys there suddenly looks up at me and tells me he knows me. "Hey," he says, "you work at (name of ex-company." He has me. He knows me. He has brought up what shall not be brought up.

Now what do I do? I could tell him the truth but I don't want to tell him the truth. I don't know him, I'll never see him again, I don't want him to know my business. I could maybe say the truth, kind of, and say that I did work there but don't anymore do to whatever reason that isn't the reason, but once again, that's too slippery of a slope to lie on. There's nowhere else to go, so I pull out the big one- yes, I work there. And with that, the inter-office banter begins. He tells me what a great guy my ex-boss boss is (something I'm not a big believer in, but that's not a big story). I make my exit as fast as I can.

Okay, I'll lie. But I'm not going to play it up. Just get in, get out and nobody gets hurt.

The party goes on and I avoid him like the plague. I know I've lied, I know I'll probably cause some sort of ripple effect on Monday when he goes to work, but that's okay if I can just make it out without any further damage. Just gotta make sure I don't run into him again.

Finally, much later, it's leaving time and so I say my goodbyes. The guy is up on the deck, by the doorway out talking to his sister and some random woman. As I make my way out, I just pass them, hoping to leave everything as is, not wanting to let them know that I'm on my way out so that I don't have to say any sort of goodbye. But as I pass them I hear the guy suddenly tell the random women that I work in the Department he's been telling her about and that she should talk to me about helping her find a job.

I am stuck.

Should have known this would have happened. I've seen enough "Seinfeld's to know that one small lie always grows into a big lie. Or at least it was with people like me (which is why "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" is the Gospel). But it's too late. Now I'm stuck in a conversation about a job I no longer have.

First I roll with it, play along with the lie. Then I try and change the subject onto her. That only works for a few minutes. Next thing I know she's asking me all about my job and how I like working there and if my job is crazy.

I think about telling something along the lines of the truth, but I freeze up. I say I have to go and get the hell out of there. God only knows what sort of random story is going to come out about me tomorrow.

Go meet up with a friend at a Happy Hour in North Beach. Two for one drink special, baby. Can't get any better than that. It's one of those old skool bars in North Beach that's trying to attract a younger, hipper crowd. As a result, it's kind of stuck in between. Fat middle aged guys with moustaches sit at the bar, surrounded by 23-year-old women in tank tops. The bar is full of people mainly under 27. When I enter, it's actually over 50% women. Most of them are kind of on the hot side.

I go back to meet my friend and he's playing pool. He's got a bunch of other friends of his there, about five guys and one woman. Only one of them is coupled in any way shape or form. The pool table is way in the back, completely away from the main part of the bar. The only people back there are my friend, his friends, and a few other guys who just want to play pool. All the women are in the main part of the bar. Nobody I'm with actually goes up and tries to mingle or meet anyone. Nobody I'm with actually even leaves the area we're in, except to get a drink. Instead, we all stand around, drinking our beer and checking things out. Occasionally, someone checks their cell phone, hoping there's a call from someone else.

After an hour or so, some of the guys want to leave. The bar's not happening enough. Doesn't have enough women. All the guys want to go out and meet women. So we decide to leave despite the fact there's still plenty of women there. I still have a free beer chip in my pocket. I kind of like it in the bar. It's just like the scene in "Swingers." You know, the one where they go to the totally hopping bar and decide it's not happening enough so go off to another bar.

We go off and get a slice of pizza, then head to a bar around the car. Once again, not happening enough. A debate rages about which bar to go to. Most want to head off to the Marina, playground of the young and beautiful. There are women there. There are happening bars there. We are all over 30. We are all probably be at least 10 years older than most of the people who hang out in those bars.

Some go and wait for a cab, others go into someone's car. In route, the plan changes and we head off to Polk Street- Marina Lite. We go to a bar that I haven't been to in years, at least almost ten years. It used to be a neighborhood dive bar, full of toothless, fat regulars. One night friends and I were hanging out there and witnessed an ugly, ugly racial incident involving the bar regulars and a black guy just wanting to play some pool with his white girlfriend on his birthday. I haven't been there since.

It, of course, isn't that bar anymore. It's a Yuppie bar. It's an oh-so-hip bar. As we walk in, there's a longhaired blonde guy on guitar playing "Wanted: Dead or Alive." After that, he plays "Jack and Diane." The crowd of mainly low to mid twenty-something' are digging the Bon Jovi. A flyer advertising a DJ whose playing there on Saturday night mentions that people who have a membership at the big gym next door get a discount. You know, just like at your typical bar with a DJ. There's not a noticeable difference between the people there and the other bar. In fact, it seems less happening, but maybe it's only because I can't really hear anything over the Bon Jovi cover. The bar does, however, have Gummy Bears in bowls.

We walk in and order drinks. Just like at the last bar, we all stand in a cluster, by ourselves, nobody making a move to meet anyone at the bar. Again, everyone occasionally checks their cell phone in case they're missing something. The only woman with us, who refused to wear her glasses for fear of looking dorky despite the fact it left her mainly blind, tells me she prefers skinny anorexoric Renee Zellwigger as opposed to curvy Bridget Jones Renee Zellwigger. She goes on to say she's not happy with her weight, that she needs to lose weight. She's perfectly fine to me. In fact, she's way cute to me. Most women would probably kill for her figure.

A table by the side opens up and we sit down at the table. After a few minutes, the couches by the back of the bar open up and I suggest we go move on over there. More comfortable. Gotta love couches. No, my friend says, it's too anti-social. It's too far from the action. I think it's kind of funny what he says.

Sometime during the night, in the bar, he looks at me and tells me I look completely lost. He has no idea.

If you watch all the big news channels covering the Big Blackout of '03, it's kind of funny to notice that while most of the East Coast is blacked out- including Detroit, Cleveland and Toronto- yet all the focus is on New York. Citizens of Detroit could have gone all Donner Party last night and seen half of the city eat the other half due to a lack of electricity, but nobody would have cared. You'd be watching MSFOXNN and hear some guy going "oh yeah, Bob, everyone here is calm and quiet in New York and everything seems to be going well everywhere. The airports shut down, the power's totally out, but everyone seems to be kind of peaceful and serene about everything. Makes you proud to be an American. Oh, and we're hearing reports of mass cannibalizing in Detroit, but, let's take it over to Anne Coulter who'll explain why Liberals are responsible for the blackouts. And later, how this will affect the Laci Peterson case."

And speaking of New Yorker's, I proudly predicted to a friend last night mass rioting, looting, and all sorts of other Lord of the Flies type activity. Nothing happened. What the hell? That's not the New York I know and love.

Man, where did my traffic go? Nobody's reading this thing these days. Am I going to have to increase traffic to this site by mentioning that I have naked pictures of a certain pre-pubescent Hogwart hottie?

So how 'bout that East Coast power cluster-fuck? Pretty crazy, n'est pas? Man, poor New Yorkers, they're getting everything this decade. They're getting it worse than LA did back in the '90's.

I was watching, yet again, the "I Love the 80's" thing on VH-1. And I was thinking, I know there's gonna be one on the '70's (which I'm all over despite myself) and I'm sure we'll soon be seeing the "I love the 90's'" (which scares me to death), but will we ever see an "I Love the 00's"? Can anyone say that it's been a good decade so far? Hell, can anyone say it's been a good millenium so far?

Jesus f'ing Christ, even the music's sucked. Name me one "oh my God, this CD is the greatest" album released in the past two or three years? Can't do it, can you? No "Nevermind," no "Achtung Baby," no "OK Computer." And I'm not even taking it to the "Pet Sounds" or "Sticky Fingers" level.

Just shite, shite, and more shite. And this decade so far has been pure shite.

So the big news here at Hooray for Anything is that, once again, I am unemployed. Long story which I won't get into here (although check last Friday's post).

When I was laid off almost exactly two years ago, getting laid off was almost kind of fun. Not just because I got a huge severance check (which I didn't get this time), but mainly because everyone was doing. It was smack dab in the middle of the dot.com downturn and everyone was getting laid off. Getting laid off was hip, it was cool, it was the thing to do.

Sadly, that's not true anymore. Most of the people who have gotten laid off have either gotten a new job or given up and moved away. Being unemployed is just not cool anymore. It's jumped the shark even.

And I'm not really happy about it.

"Predator" was on F/X tonight which is a pretty intersesting movie to watch these days considering it features former Gov. Jesse Ventura and maybe probably future Governor Schwarzenaggar. I wonder if Carl Weathers is now comtemplating a run for governor.

By the way, according to FCC rules, local broadcaster's can no longer show Arnie movie's due to equal-acess rules. Same with showing reruns of "Different Strokes" (I know, you're crushed that you won't be able to see those reruns anymore).

One more thing. Years ago, the eminately loathsome Pete Wilson was our Governor during a recession. Faced with massive debts and a crippled economy, the Governor, while up for reelection, decided that there was only one thing to blame for all of it- illegal (Mexican) immigrants. Basically, he boiled down a complex economic and governmental problem and blamed it all on the Wet backs. Whatever fault's Gray Davis has, and Lord knows he has a lot of them, Davis has yet to scapegoat anyone.

The lesson in all this, then, is when in doubt, blame the Mexicans. Beats the hell out blaming all the ill-read, apathetic voters for being such fucking lame-asses.

So I'm at yoga last night and I couldn't help but notice that the definately not gay guy posing behind me had toe-nails painted blue.

Somebody also left a Walkman in the men's changing room with a big, huge sticker that read "Hippies Smell." While funny, is that really the kind of sticker that you want to be leaving out in the open in a yoga class?

I am the Most Valuable Player on my ass softball team. And no, it's not because of my sterling play, it's because I opened up my mouth one day and confessed that I knew how to keep score. And yes, I do know how to keep score, something my dad taught me years ago, but haven't done in years mainly because it's a line to be crossed and I won't cross that line.

Since nobody else on the team can keep score, I am now more valuable as the scorekeeper than playing out in the field. Let me tell you to, it's not so easy to keep score in a softball league like ours. You try scoring a dropped ball by the third baseman, a run scoring an on overthrow at home, and then the runner being thrown out at third, all on the same play. Without me, nobody would know whose batting, whose on deck, and how many runs we're behind.

Even worse, I am also one of the few men who doesn't bitch about having to play catcher and I hate playing catcher. I have too creaky of a back and too achey of a knee to play catcher on a regular basis. I also hate the fact that there's way too much up and down exercise for too little actual importance in the outcome of the game. But as I'm not the type of guy to bitch about playing catcher, I play catcher. I know, I can bitch about it, but I won't only because I've been captain before, even captain on a softball team, I know what a pain in the ass it is to have teammates constantly bitch at you.

But here's the dilemna when I actually go play catcher. To writ, shall I give it my best and be the best damn catcher I can be but risk getting myself stuck in the catcher position, or do I start sucking at catcher so I won't be asked to play there? If I chase after every ball, catch everything thrown at me, and show off my general sense of baseball je ne sais quois by, say, catching pitches with my bare-hand, I will help the team. But I will also come off looking as the best guy to play catcher. I do not want to play catcher. I want to play outfield. On the other hand, do I let balls go by me, overthrow my throwbacks to the pitcher and just generally look totally inept back there?

I don't know what to do? Kind of the existential crisis in a nutshell, n'est pas? After all, having to play catcher on a lousy-ass softball team is kind of up there with the Myth of Sisyphus. I know that Camus would say that I'm supposed to give my total commitment to everything and so I should give my total commitment to playing catcher.

On the other hand, Camus never had to have spend half of his afternoon squatting while wearing some god-awful mask that hasn't been cleaned in years.

I think I have finally figured out one of the great dilemnas that has faced me for nigh on the past few years- what would my Going Up to Bat Theme Song be.

The question, of course, is based on the fact that every major league batter gets to pick a few seconds of a song before they bat. This song- usually either salsa, a hard rocker, or rap song- is not just a song to psyche up the batter and the crowd, but is a symbol, a theme, for the player. It sums up everything that player wants to be. Barry, for instance, picks a P. Diddy song that plays up both his regalness, but a bit of his attitude (the song sounds a bit like the "Imperial Marching" song from Star Wars). And Richie Aurillia picks "No Sleep til Brooklyn" 'cause he's a Brooklyn boy. You get how it works.

This question, of what my theme song would be, has haunted me for years. Do I go with the standard rocking AC/DC song or maybe a little GnR? How about a rocking riff from my hey days like the Pumpkins "I am One" or Soundgarden's "Outshine" to show how cool I am(was)? Do I go classy and sophisticated like maybe "Jumpin' Jack Flash" or "Won't Get Fooled Again?" (like J.T. Snow does). Or do I show off my iconoclastic side and maybe pick out Neil Young's "Hey Hey, My, My" or the Sex Pistols "Pretty Vacant"?

Then, last night at the Giants game, it came to me- my song. Picture this- I come up to bat, the crowd roars, the tension builds and out from the thundering Pac Bell PA system comes…..

Some people call me the space cowboy
Some call me the gangster of love
Some people call me Maurice
Cause I speak of the pompitous of love

....and the crowd goes wild.....

I am going through yet another period in my life that can euphemistically be called "a learning experience." Again. All of which is a much better way of putting it, then, say, calling it another suck-ass experience, but I digress. Once again I am being told by certain people who, in light of not having anything positive to say, tell me about the value of all the things I'm learning from this experience. Like how I'm learning about things like how to deal with adversity. Or how to deal with stress. All of this is a great thing for me to learn.

Which is all well and good, but, I don't want to learn all this stuff. Especially right now and in this way. In fact, I'm kind of tired of having to learn these things again. Why are "learning experience," especially in my life, about learning about things like handling stress or dealing with uncertainty? Why can't I learn about some other things for a change. Like learning about what it's like to have threesomes with super-models. Now that would be a valuable learning experience. So would winning the lottery. I'd like to learn what that's like too. How about sailing on the South of France? Wouldn't that be a cool thing to learn?

And if I do have to learn it, could it to be a little bit more like college? Like, if I wanted to, I could take it pass/fail, not count as part of my General Ed., or just not take the class in general because it's too early in the morning? What's wrong with learning things that way? It worked for me in college. And I had a 3.0 average. Sure, I probably could have had a better grade if I dedicated myself some more, but 3.0 isn't too shabby. Especially when you consider how much partying I did.

Am I asking for too much out of life here?

In Smirkboy's comments about Arnie running for Governor, the President joked that he wasn't planning on arm wrestling with the Terminator. This got me thinking- there might be more to that than just the comment's of the Doofus in Chief. No, what he may have stumbled upon is the Great Political Theory of Our Time: every major election can be determined by who appears to be able to beat who in an arm wrestling contest.

Think about it.

Gore might have been able to take W., but from all appearances W. would beat Gore. W, of course, won.

Clinton, obviously, beats Dole in an arm wrestling match (although if they ever got in a fight, I got my money on Dole). While Bush Sr. probably could have physically beaten Bill in an arm-wrestling contest, Bill came off as winning anyways because he either would have studied every theory on arm-wrestling to outsmart Bush Sr. or, failing that, charmed the pants off every judge in order to cheat.

Dukakis, for all we know, might have been able to beat Bush in an arm wrestling contest, but that picture of him in the tank ruined any chance of anyone thinking it.

And yeah, Ronnie kicks both Mondale's butt and Carter's too. And Carter looked like he could beat Ford, which he probably couldn't have, only because Ford had that problem where he kept on tripping over things.

Nixon vs. McGovern and Humphrey? McGovern and Humphrey probably would have taken Nixon down if it weren't for the fact that Nixon looked like he would have won simply because Nixon looked like the kind of guy who'd sell his children to win. Johnson vs. Goldwater? Johnson was once photographed showing off his appendicitis scars to the press- 'nough said. Same with Kennedy vs. Nixon, a fight in which Nixon actually probably would have won due to Kennedy's health issues, but, come on, just look at JFK- he'd win without breaking a sweat, give an incredible victory speech, then nail half the women who were watching the contest.

Eisenhower vs. Stevenson (twice)? Eisenhower won WWII, that's so not fair. And since Dewey was once described as the groom on a wedding cake, Truman, who came off like he actually could go a few rounds, wins that one easily.

Of course, the obvious flaw in the theory arises with FDR who was in a wheel chair and crippled with polio. Of course, nobody knew he was in a wheel chair so that doesn't count.. And just the fact that the guy did all of what he did while in a wheel chair, going to the point of suffering through huge amounts of pain just to show that he wasn't in a wheel chair, proves that deep down, he could have kicked anyone's ass all over the place.

All of which is a long winded way of saying that Arnie is a shoo-in to be our next Governor. Not to mention that Joe "Shecky" Lieberman has no chance in hell and why Howard Dean, with that look on his face that constantly suggests he's about to shove something down somebody's throat, is making every Democrat fall in love with him.

What a whacky world we live in.....

Was watching one of those yap-dog Conservative pundit shows on MSFOXNN last night as I was trying to get some sleep. After a long and serious discussion about Arnie's chances as a Gubernatorial candidate, they later had a discussion that served no other purpose but to bash Hollywood liberal activists like Martin Sheen.

And nobody noticed the irony.

Appropos of nothing- well actually appropos of a lot of things- fuck you Jenna.

(See, the beauty of this here blogging thing is that the aforementioned person will never see this and you all will have no idea who I'm talking about. Yet despite all this, I still get to tell someone to go fuck off and post it on the wonderful world of the World Wide Web where it will exist until this site is no more. Or the lawyers come after me again. Either way, as Khan told Kirk, revenge is a dish best served cold.)

Well, well, well- looks like the guy whose responsible for this whole California mess, Darrell Issa, is whimping out once again for running for Governor. After thinking he could become governor through the back-door and spending over a million of his own bucks to do it, he bails out the first sign it looks like he doesn't have a chance in hell.

Man, wouldn't it be great to be rich chuckle-head who could throw away over a million bucks just like that.

By the way, why do people think that if you're in a serious Governmental mess, the best thing to do is to elect somebody with no experience in Government? Does that really make any sense? If you were about to have heart surgery, would you have an actor do it? If you needed a plumber, would you call an actor? So, why if you have an incredibly high deficit, an awful economy, and major expenses to pay for, why call an actor? And not just an actor, but the son of a Nazi, steroid taking, overmuscled doofus who hasn't had a hit movie in over a decade?

I'm following some blonde girl in a summer dress down 16th street the other day as she went through a gauntlet of first Hispanic males and then Black males. For an entire half-block, she got nothing but catcalls, come-ons, and other assorted comments thrown her way. While she handled it all with aplomb, I couldn't but help feel bad for her. All she's just trying to do is go the BART station but can't do it without getting harassed the entire way.

I have to admit it, though, that sometimes it's kind of entertaining to watch it happen. It's kind of fun to follow some hot girl as she walks by and just watch the havoc wreaked by sthem as they make their way down the street. Years and years ago, I always walked home with a coworker, a coworker with blonde hair, ruby red lips, and full-on Jessica Rabbit body. It was kind of fun, walking back just a bit behind her, watching all that she left in her wake. Every guy she passed turned to gawk. Every single one. And all the construction guys who we passed all stopped what they were doing to watch her walk by, some even whistling at her. It was automatic- some guy passed her, he stared. And the best part was because I was not the guy who was turning to gawk, but was walking with her. She was with me. Of course, later on she wound up and tore out my poor heart and tore it into millions of itty-bitty pieces (beeyatch), but that's a story for another time.

Dear God in heaven, NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Schwarzenegger announces California governor bid

You know, you think this country just can't suck anymore than it already does at this particular moment in history and then- blammo- it gets worse. And he'll probably win too because too many lame-ass stupid-heads will be thinking "Hey, I loved the Terminator, how could he not be a great Governor?"

And in case I'm not making myself clear about how I feel about this, let me just reiterate- NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The logos are up, the theme music's been written, the endless replay of a couple of seconds of footage is now being played endlessly, and all the Cable Stations are only broadcasting one thing. Yep, it's Media Circus time, Kobe Bryant style. And Thank God too, it's been awhile since we've had an honest to God Media Circus with all the attendant craziness, breathless speculation, and the soon-to-be-coming stories about the dangers of media overkill.

What the hell are we going to do til Oct 9? That’s a lot of time to talk about the Kobe trial before it even starts. Doesn't everyone involved know that we want our Media Circus and we want it now?

By the why, just how is that whole Iraq thing going these days?

I hate it when you go see a movie and half-way through the movie you have to pee. The movie's kind of ruined from thereon out. Part of you is watching the movie while the other part of you is trying to calculate just how long it'll take to run to the bathroom and back versus just how long you can hold on for. If you decide to go, you have to sit there using all of your cinematic experiences to determine just when the appropriate moment will be to go (like, say, a romantic interlude) and hope that in that few minutes that you're gone, you don't miss the coolest scene in the world. But if you decide to hold it in, you have to spend the rest of the movie fighting off the urge to piss and constantly thinking to yourself "well, damnit, maybe I should go…." but too afraid to risk it. By the time the movie's ending, all you can think is how much you want the damn movie to be over because all you want to do is take a piss, nevermind if like Darth Vader is telling Luke that he's his father or some dude is about to give this long exposition to Neo about that's gonna make everything make even less sense than it already does.

PS- Pirates of the Caribbean is totally better than Seabiscuit. The entire movie's worth it just to watch Johnny Depp chew more scenery than the shark in Jaws. Playing the Pirate Captain as Keith Richards was frickin' brilliant.

Here's something that mystifies me- why does a rapper where a specific Jersey/Retro outfit/baseball hat? Are they fans of the teams? Do certain teams have more street-cred than others? Or do they just like the look?

Like I'm watching a 50 Cent video and at one point and he and his homies rock a retro Orange and Orange Tampa Bay Bucs, a 70's style SF Giants Jersey, and a Cincinnatti Bengals jersey. Now that's a fairly motley group of jersey's if every there was- one of the worst uniforms ever, one of the worst franchises ever, and a non-descript mediocre baseball team.

Then I think a bit about it and realize that I guess 50 Cent is just a big fan of orange- all three jersey's have orange in it. But then, why would he also be wearing a yellow Yankee's hat at the same time? Besides the fact the Yankee's don't wear yellow (hullo?), yellow orange and black don't quite mesh. Not to mention the fact that, and this is a huge pet peeve of mine, he's wearing stuff from two separate teams at once. I mean, make up your mind, here. Are you a Bengals fan or a Yankee's fan?

But while I figured that one out, why was Snoop Dog wearing a black Pittsburg Steelers hat? Is he a big fan of the Steelers or is it just that the black and yellow on the hat matched 50 Cent's orange, black and yellow ensemble. And if so, does that mean rappers call each other before video shoots and coordinate their gear?

Can someone please look into this?

That there, that's not me
I go where I please
I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here

In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah, it's gone

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here....

I think, after all these years, I finally know what I want to do with myself. I want to be one of those people who constantly appear on one of those Entertainment type shows (like "Entertainment Tonight" or "Access Hollywood!" or anything on the E! Channel) and with all the authority and confidence of say, Henry Kissinger discussing foreign policy, informs people about every single detail of Jen and Ben's life or Jen and Brad's life. As if they not only know every little detail but have spent countless amounts of hours investigating and researching such things.

Yesiree, that's what I want to do. Because it's the important things in life that count.

I just went to the new French café across the street from my apartment and was shocked to find that the kind of cute hipster chick working behind the counter did NOT have a tattoo on her lower back. In fact, unless I'm mistaken, I did not see one single tattoo on her!

Standards, people standards! What is happening to this City by the Bay if the hipster women in café's no longer have tattoos on them? What are we becoming? Omaha?

Okay, here's a total Only in San Francisco type thingie.

In the softball game before mine, one of the teams had a Transexual playing third base. Since he/she had an Adam's Apple, I'm guessing that Gina was once a Gene and on her way to becoming Gina, but that's only a guess. I didn't ask. The thing is that it's one of those softball league's that has very defined rules for how to handle each sex. Different balls are used, different rules are used, and each team has to not only field a certain amount of women, but each batting order has to go boy/girl or girl/boy. These rules are made under the supposition that women are the weaker sex and so there has to be rules to make it equal between the men and the women and each team has rules to make it equal between each team's men and each team's women.

But, of course, what about a Transexual?

Would Gina be considered a man or a woman? Since he/she is being called Gina, I'm guessing that he/she sees themselves as a woman. The long hair, makeup and breasts could also lead one to that conclusion. On the other hand, Gina still has the body of a man so that the idea that Gina is the weaker sex doesn't necessarily apply.

Luckily, Gina also happened to suck, so I guess the point is moot anyways.

Oh yeah, my suck-ass team lost 13-0. The woman playing right field asked me whether she should use a glove on her right-hand or her left-hand as she ran out onto the field to take her place.