Friggin' Hotmail's down again. Good thing I have a lot of Halloween related plans I need to sort through for tonight and need to communicate with people.

Oh, and I have some freelance work I need to do, but can't get the stuff I need to tweak because it's on an e-mail. I could have printed it out to avoid such problems, but my printer broke months and months ago and I can't print diddly. And, of course, I could have bought a new printer but I don't have a job and can't afford a new printer.

Oh Fortuna, when will you finally smile on me?

Here's a story From CNN (courtesty of Ishbadiddle) that pretty much sums everything up:

Passenger's trunk sets off bomb scare- Wanted to look like 'Ghostbusters' characters

LeBron, LeBron, LeBron- am I the only who isn't already completely sick of LeBron? Dude hasn't done anything against anybody other than a bunch of pimply-faced white boys in High School and he's already entered First Name status. Hell, he's already making more money than I will ever see in my lifetime, and if reincarnation is true, he's making more than I will in all of my lifetimes. And yet he hasn't done a damn thing yet. Oh, he's had one (one!) good game, but he's already being treated as if he's won several Championships, multiple MVP's, sold several million CD's of his inevitable rap album, and won the Novel Peace Prize for solving the Middle East Crisis. In his way, he symbolizes everything wrong with our culture, the triumph of hype over substance, flash over truth, the shoe commercials versus actual accomplishment (as a side note, how long until the inevitable rape charge/drug arrest/illegal gun citation/torn ACL?).

I probably wouldn't be as annoyed if it weren't for the fact that- and yes, this is a big thing to admit for a sports loving guy like me- I do not like basketball. Not that I don't occasionally watch a big playoff game, follow the goings on in the NBA, or keep up on the daily miseries of the Warriors, I just don't particularly care that much. In fact, I really don't get it- the hype, the appeal, the endless speculation on about it on sports shows. In a way, it's not really even a sport anymore, it's more entertainment than sport. It's a soap opera, shoe commercial, and an episode of MTV Cribs all wrapped in one.

The main reason I don't like it is the whole "all you need to watch is the last two minutes of a game" thing. It's true. Who really remembers what happens during the first quarter? Or second or third quarter? Or hell, much of the fourth quarter? "Oh look, somebody made a jump shot and scored! That's only one score out of 40-50!" None of it really matters, it's all just a huge setup for the last couple of minutes. Maybe it's because I just don't get it, but where's all the stuff that makes sports interesting- the strategies and the subplots, the in's and out's and the backdrops, the chess match part of it? As far as I can tell, the main thing a NBA coach does is decide whom guards whom, who gets the ball when, and how many days a player should be suspended after his drug bust. And don't even get me started on the regular season, 80 meaningless games to set up a playoff season which basically just eliminates all the teams too crappy to be deserving anything.

Yeah, okay, the sport in it's purest form can be kind of fun to watch and kind of fun to play. And yeah, the basketball stars can do some amazing things, but who couldn't if you were 6'7"? Most basketball players are as much genetic freaks as athletes, or do you really think a 7'2" 330 pound player is a naturally occuring thing? And yeah, the NBA has the best plot-lines going (can Shaq & Kobe get along? Can KG finally make it to the 2nd round? Who on the Blazers won't get busted this season?) but it's mainly all about the individual. It's not about the team or the sport, it's all, as I said, a soap-opera.

In fact, just as the popularity of football is due as much to office pools, I think part of the popularity of basketball has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual sport. Watch enough sports shows, read enough sports columns, and watch enough playground basketball played and you start to get a feeling that the reason the NBA is so popular is because it lets doughy white Frat boys do their best to get down with the homies. They high-five each other, they say names like "Carmelo" and "Antwan" and "T-Mac" as if it's something they run into a lot, and they get to say things like "baller" or "dishing it" without sounding like a complete idiot. It let's them, for a brief second, pretend that they're really fishnizzle in the nizzle. For proof, just check out any anchor on ESPN or Jim Rome. Even the Sports Guy on ESPN.com.

All I can say is this: four more months 'til pitchers and catchers report.

To make matters worse, when I send in my health-care check, I have to make it out to my ex-employers, not to the insurance company. So, in affect, it's like I'm writing a check to the company that screwed me. Lovely.

I wonder if they'd accept the check if in the memo section I wrote a note like "bite me" or "you suck" or maybe even "Jenna is evil."

So this is my theory about all those big, nasty fires in SoCal-

If Arnie being elected Governor is one of the Signs of the Apocalypse, then the fires are a warning shot across the bow. Like God's sitting up there getting all pissed that He gave us Free Will and once again we completely abused it so He got those fires going as kind of little bitch-slap to Californians for being such complete idgits.

Oh yeah, I once again have to give it up to the Daily Show for not only talking about the whole Bush "Mission Accompolished" banner brouhaha, but for being the only ones to point out the obvious- that the full explanation is utterly absurd, that the administration seems to have an amazing ability to blame everyone but themselves, and the obviousness of the fact that even they are realizing that they're fucking up all over the place. I'm sure if Clinton pulled something like this, there'd already be an Investigation into it.

To add to the further unpleasantness of my recent unpleasantness, unlike other bouts of unemployment, my health-insurance is being handled through my ex-company as opposed to the health-insurance company. Now, it's one thing to deal with a faceless insurance company (especially as I've gotten pretty good at BS'ing my way through insurance companies and know how long I can go without paying my bills before they get really snippy) it's another thing to deal with the people who put you in this mess to begin with.

So now I get mailings every month bearing the logo of my ex-company. And if a problem arises I have to get in touch with people at my ex-company, even to the point of having to maintain low-level contact with them. This despite the fact that there's a whole lot of other types of contact I'd like to do to some of them other than low-level communications (editor's note- the Legal Department has advised me to let everyone know that this is a figure of speech, a comic jape, a use of poetic license. I do not mean in any way shape or form that I want to physically hurt anyone at the company nor want any physical harm on anyone. Wish them all to die of slow, painful and torturous deaths after living a life of miserable existence, maybe). This also means that, like this month where I'm probably going to have to pay for my health insurance with a credit card, I have to give hints to those who messed up my life just how messed up my life is. Even worse, after messing up my life, since they are the one's who I have to go through to deal with my health insurance, they still, in a way, hold some degree of control over me.

No, the people who I have to deal with are not with my ex-boss nor any people I worked with directly, it's mainly with people in HR. That wouldn't be such a bad thing except for the fact I'm not particularly fond of the company's HR department. While I may have written (endlessly) about my inability to understand just what HR does considering how long they usually dawdle over dealing with anything relating to hiring people, I do know one thing about HR. When there's problems in a Department and the relationship between a boss and his/her underling is breaking apart as quickly and as viciously as that of Yugoslavia, HR is supposed to do something. They call people in for meetings, they ask what's up, they mediate. In other words, they're supposed to do something about it- it's supposedly in their job description. I know because I've been there. I've been in trouble at work, I've had problems with bosses, I've had the big meetings with HR. I even had to get all weepy in a meeting with the Senior VP of HR about how a fuck-up was caused due to having to deal with family B.S. involving a trip back home (yet another lesson in my new theory that I should never, ever go on vacation while holding a job because only bad things happen when I do). It may not have gotten me out of trouble but at least some of the "he's incompetant" feelings were replaced with "wow, that's pretty fucked up" feelings and it's always nice to hear a sympathetic "wow, that's pretty fucked up" every once in awhile.

In this case, I got nothing. While my boss suddenly turned into Dr. Jekyll and decided to take God knows what amount of job related and/or personal issues out on me and as I started to struggle under the weight of being yelled at several times a day, they did nothing. Not one meeting, not one mediation, not one asking of me what's up. And these are the people with whom I have to deal with everytime my healthcare bill is due.

This doesn't make me happy.

God damnit, I missed the episode in which Donna & David first started dating….

In other news, Hotmail, while better, is still kind of screwing around, usually in the form of crashing on me while right in the middle of sending out an e-mail. As you can quite imagine, this is not such a hot thing when looking for a job. Luckily, this hasn't been too big of a problem because, of course, there are no jobs out there. It did, however, became a problem in another way. After finally reaching the "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore" point, I sent off a nasty e-mail to one of those people who deserved a nasty e-mail. I don't particularly like sending off nasty e-mails to people, especially to those who I may or may not be related to, so it was kind of a big deal. Naturally, Hotmail crashed in the middle of sending it off. Now, I have no idea whether the silence on the other end is the careful considering of my wish to get the fuck off my back or the not receiving any e-mail whatsoever. All of which meant that one little e-mail has now turned into a bigger hassle than I wanted it to be.

So much for trying to make a stand.

Sadly, I've gotten to the point now in my life where I have a lot of Ofoto Friends. These are friends who I've pretty much either lost contact with are in the process of losing contact with the exception of the occasional Ofoto e-mail package consisting mainly of photo after photo of their new baby. These are friends who are too busy to actually send an e-mail or even send a response to an e-mail, yet, occasionally, out of the blue, will send everyone photos of their baby.

Cause, you know, I gotta see the baby. We all gotta see the baby.

And I'll shut up here before I get in anymore trouble than this thing has already gotten me into.

Ummm…okay….here's what I think happened….

I remember dancing. Twice, in two different places. I don't remember what to, but it doesn't really matter as it seems every Yuppie club these days play nothing but ten-year old hip-hop. I do remember at one point being told how much fun it looked like my group was having. I also remember being taught how to do that sweet little circa 1988 C&C Music Factory dance move that looks like you're running in place and only makes sense if you're wearing baggy t-shirts and lycra bike pants. There might also have been some bumping and grinding, but I honestly don't remember for sure.

I know we crashed one private party and wanted to sneak onto one of those Party Trolleys but the Party Trolley didn't show up and left us all somewhere in Polk Gulch. Then there was another party I wanted to crash but got scared off by the gauntlet of Aryan Youth Marina Dwellers on the outdoor patio of Delaney's blocking the way in. I think I was kind of bummed because I was covered head-to-toe in mud and was proud of the impression I was making while lost in the Marina.

I do remember the dive that made me that way. It was a head-first dive for a ball right in the middle of a puddle of mud. I also remember another one-handed dive for the ball, one-handed due to the fact I was right in the middle of eating a hand-full of Dorito's. I'm pretty sure my backwards tip-pass to the teammate following me from behind didn't work out. I'm also pretty sure I got caught twice on the base path. Once because I slipped, the other because I was too busy taunting the thrower that I didn't realize that I completely over-ran home plate and that there was somebody right behind me to get the overthrown ball. It was also about 90 degrees outside and we played something like three hours of kickball so all of it is kind of blended into one.

Then there was the Jager shots. And the Miller Lights. Then the pitchers of free beer and margaritas. Somewhere, somehow a 13 year old bottle of Glen Fiddich Scotch was involved, but I don't think I had any of it. I also think a crumpled up Miller Light can was turned into a pipe and there was a discussion of what the penalty for smoking on a Naval Base was.

Everything else is a bit hazy. Everything except that I left my apartment around 10:30 in the morning and got home somewhere around 1:30, sleeping off and on til football came on.

Man, that was a long day….

Ladies and Gentleman, the President of the United States of America:

"The ambassador and the general were briefing me on the—the vast majority of Iraqis want to live in a peaceful, free world. And we will find these people and we will bring them to justice."
—Washington, D.C., Oct. 27, 2003

Our hero has dreamed of this moment, has envisioned it in his head for years. He pictured it when he threw a tennis ball against the stairs at the apartment complex that he lived at, he pictured it when he was playing Little League or softball, he pictured it whenever work got way too boring and it was too easy to dream of such things. He saw it- the last chance, the last ups. Of being behind and being the hero. Of coming up when all the chips are down and making the big play.

He's watched it happen over the years, felt the drama. He can still remember Kirk Gibson's miracle home-run in the '88 World Series or Dave Henderson for the Sox in '86. He dreamed of himself in similar situations and wanted to feel what it was like. He wanted to be up against the wall, he wanted to play hero, he wanted to show Grace Under Pressure. He was sure he was up to the task. He knew he had it in him.

On a beautiful Saturday afternoon, with all of San Francisco and the Bay as his backdrop, he found himself there. One down, one on, two runs behind. Somehow he knew it was going to end like this, somehow he knew he would play a roll in it. He had dreamed of this moment, wanted this moment, and now it had come.

"Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in kickball-land: our hero flied out to left-field."

On a pitch that was already called a ball by the ump before he took a kick at it.

I've said this before and I'll say it again- it's Sunday morning, it's fall and it's another hungover morning. This should mean only thing- wall to wall football. There should be as much football on the TV as possible, no exceptions. There should be no excuse for waking up and finding out, much to your horror, that instead of, say, St. Louis vs. Pittsburgh, you get Brit Hume and the smirking marionettes on the Fox News Hour. There should be no excuses to be forced into watching the Ravens/Broncos snooze-fest because some bozo deems that as the game that most people in the Bay Area would want to watch. There is nobody who wants to watch that game. Even worse, this afternoon it's looking like we're stuck with the 49'ers/Cardinals game. I don't even think most 49er fans want to watch that game.

Heads should roll, people. Heads should roll.

And just like that....

I'm over Friendster.

After some prodding and despite all my fears, I finally gave it up to Friendster. Now how the hell am I supposed to look for work?

This thing is totally addicting. You just go from list to list to list, stumbling upon people you know or think you know or want to know and then go to from their list to another list to another list. It's one of those things that you start checking out and then four hours later start to think it's about time you have some lunch and maybe take a shower.

Not that I want to get too into it, or even put up a profile or do anything whacky like that despite it's nickname as "Fuckster", I mainly one want to do it because it's like Google Stalking, except better. Punch in a name et viola-there they are (maybe) in all of their profile glory. Find out if they're single. Find out where they live. Find out who they know who you know or what they're up to. The only problem is that the people who created Friendster made it impossible for you to click on their profile once you find them. So say if you finally find someone you've been Google Stalking for years or someone who you got mildly shafted by and still hold a candle for, you can't find out what's up with them unless you ask them to be your "Friendster Friend." Now, if you want to Google Stalk them (Friendster Stalk?), how are you supposed to go and do that without letting them know you're stalking them?

All of which means I now have to spend hours upon hours trying to track these people. I've already stumbled onto the fact an ex-coworker/boss is broken up with her longtime boyfriend, another ex-coworker is married, and that this city is once again way too small for my own good.

All of which proves what I already knew before- I really need to get out of my apartment more.

I was going to use this to plug my Web site and the movie preview I did, but it looks like there's another bill I forgot to pay.

Anyways, since some of these were mildly funny, here's two of my favorite one's-

Last week's #1 movie was the remake of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre so for those of you who didn't read it, here's what I said about it:

Plot- Remake of the original, as if the original needed a remake.
Comment- You know what's been wrong with all the latest horror flicks? Not enough nudity. This has been all the more tragic when considering that all three of the "Scream" movies as well as "I Know What You did Last Summer" featured the greatest collection of boobs since the last Bush family function. Even worse, this one stars Jessica Biel and I'm pretty darn sure we ain't gonna be seeing no Jessica Biel nudity. Why is this a big deal? Because half the reason most of us saw all the old horror flicks when we were kids was because whenever they came on cable, we were sure that there'd be some nudity in it. I know my friends and I would scour the cable guide looking for horror flicks, then call over our friends for "sleepovers" just so we can watch us some naked starlets. Why else would anybody watch them? Why would anybody watch this remake without it?


And also this week, the opening movie is Radio. I can't wait to not see it:

Radio
Plot: High-school coach befriends retarded kid and puts him on his football team. I'm already guessing that everyone objects, that there's a big game, and with music swelling up to eleven on the soundtrack, the retarded kid wins the day.
Comment: Thanks, but no thanks.

I love that moment when you go to the ATM and take money out only to discover that instead of having enough money to give you that peaceful, easy feeling, there ain't nearly as much as you thought. Goodbye peaceful, easy feeling's of "hey, I can actually afford to go out every once in awhile," hello tight- panicky feelings of "uh oh" followed by the quick calculations of how far I can go before doing the ole cash advance on the credit-card again.

On the good side, I appear to be suddenly getting into "Charmed."

Good times, good times.

Man, it's been the Murderer's Row of Beverly Hills 90210 reruns this week. We started off with the infamous Halloween episode and Kelly's almost date-rape, followed by the David Silver's friend shooting himself episode, the Emily Valentine spiking Brandon's drink with Euphoria (love high Brandon), and then the super-amazing Emily goes "Fatal Attraction" on Brandon and almost burns down the West Beverly High Homecoming Float (!) episode. The climatic moment of that episode was a brilliantly done scene showing Emily trashing the float and throwing gas all over it while intercutting it a Paginini concerto solo that Brenda and Dylan were attending. It's was just so BH 9'er- over-the-top soap opera with just enough earnest and occasional arty pretensions to take it to a whole new level, failing miserably the whole time.

I can watch all these Beverly Hills repeats, of course, because despite what those pencil pushers at all those Think Tanks and Government Agencies say, things on the job-market suck. They might even suck more than last year, when even the pencil-pushing employed geeks said that things suck. Note to all you economists out there- just because a bunch of rich white millionaires are making 2 million dollars more than they did last year doesn't mean jack for the rest of us who aren't rich white millionaires.

At this point, I'm pretty sure I'll never work again. I haven't gotten a call over my resume postings in several weeks, haven't gotten a call-back from a resume sent in over two months, and my recruiters keep on telling me that "we're working on something right now" while never calling me about anything and spending most of the time on the phone trying to remember who I am. I talked to one yesterday and found out that they got into snag in that they tried to get me in for an interview while another one of my recruiters was doing the exact same thing, all this for a job posting that I had also sent my resume in for. So that's three people sending in my resume and nothing- nada. Even worse, it only confirmed what I thought- that recruiter's are basically fighting over table scraps too.

Of course, I might have actually have heard something if MSN wasn't fucking around with Hotmail and causing just enough havoc that I'm getting e-mails that people sent to me on Monday today. If all this working on Hotmail is just another excuse to bombard us with more stories about whether Mariah Carey carries all of her money around in a purse or that Clay what's-his-fuck from "American Idol" has a #1 album (thus confirming, of course, that our country is fucked in more ways than can be measured right now), I'm going to be really pissed.

Not that I'm already there.

Last week I had a temp gig that a friend got me. It was in a small, three-person office, all women. Hopefully, I'll get into what the company did, but this little blog post has nothing to do with that. Instead, what it's about is being the only guy in an office with unisex bathrooms.

See, us guys stand when we pee and occasionally, we miss. It happens, what can I say. This means that sometimes there'll be, for lack of a better word, a puddle near the toilet. Or, at least a few squirts.

Now, usually in a guy's restroom, it is assumed that every guy is occasionally missing so that the little puddles here or there is no big deal. Well, it is if you stand in it or pull your pants into it, but it's still generally assumed that since it happens, and since everyone does it, nobody talks about it. It's one of the great "unsaids" that occurs in the men's room. The problem with being the only guy in an office with three other women and unisex bathrooms, of course, is that if there is a "puddle," there isn't really anyone else to blame it on.

This was a problem.

Yeah, I know "I Love the 80's Strikes Back" is totally scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of 80's nostalgia, but I have to give them some props for representing the greatest movie of all time. I am, of course, talking about the one and only "Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan." And not only did they represent, they give it the all important coveted last spot, meaning they deemed it the most important aspect of '82 (well, at least the parts that weren't good enough to make it the first time).

As the guy from Ed said: "Shatner vs. Montalban. If they charged me 20 bucks, I'd still pony up to go see it."

KKKKKKKKKHANNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ps- what the hell is Boy George wearing?

Thanks Fox for breaking right into the middle of the 2nd inning of a World Series game for an interview with noted baseball expert Simon Cowell. That sure was insightful stuff there.

God, Fox sucks.

Actual conversation from this previous weekend:

Me: So what did you do last night?

Women Friend: Sat around with my roommates watching a bunch of old 80's flicks. You know, "Sixteen Candles," "Say Anything." Mmm….John Cusack holding that radio up and playing that song. I love that scene.

Me: Oh, come on, admit it. If some guy did the same thing to you and held up a boom box and played it by your window for a couple of hours, you'd think it was really cute and sweet but, you'd never go out with him because, besides being a little creepy, you'd think the guy's way too nice.

Woman Friend: Yeah, you're right. I'd probably go after somebody who'd be more of a challenge

Me: Yes! Finally got someone to admit it…..

Of course I'm watching "I Love the 80's Strike Back." It's so nice to see the whole gang back- the guy from "Ed," the guy from "Queer as Folk," the guy from White Zombie, one of the guys from ESPN (where's Stu Scott?), a bunch of random people from the Daily Show, the guy from "The Tao of Steve" and the usual requisite amount of people from lame-ass bands that nobody will ever hear of in a couple of years.

Good times. Good times.

Still, don't you think they're really scraping the barrel if "Too Close for Comfort" and "Plastic Man" are deemed worthy of discussion.

Interestingly enough, today someone came to this very-same blog page who works at Bank of America. It's interesting because if you look down at the right-hand side of the page, you'll notice that I say something not very nice about BofA, a thing I just put up there last night. Turns out, however, that the person who came to my Web site came to it through a search for "shower softball" (God only knows what that is) and not because I dissed them on my Web site for screwing me over my credit card bills.

This morning I called BofA to find out what was up with my credit card. The problem is that instead of having to pay my usual monthly fee of $50, I owe those lovely people over $250. This despite having them call me every morning for a month last month to square up my bill, which I finally did. I was told, in pretty plain terms, that my credit card is now okay and that everything is now fine. A month later, I'm not. Once again, I'm over my limit despite the fact I cleared it up last month and haven't used it in ages. Turns out the reason I'm once again over the limit is because I got hit with a bunch of "annual" fees, not to mention "processing" fees and the always troublesome "double secret probation" fees. All of these fees added up to once again, put me over the credit card limit. Because of all this, I was, of course, now hit with the "over the limit" fee.

In other words, I was free and clear of any excessive penalties on my credit card up until BofA hit me up with all sorts of whacky fees, and got me in trouble again.

So, if Mr. (or Mrs.) Bank of America happens to come upon my site once again to get their fill of softball porn, I have one little thing to say to you and your wonderful little company- bite me.

Dear Signature Gathering Petition Guy- I am at a big, busy intersection. Both of my arms are full of tons and tons of groceries. And, I am wearing a CD Walkman that is blasting.

Where, in any of this, does this make you think that not only do I want to sign a petition but that I'd also want to hear your schpiel?

"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love, but then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love, to be happy then is to suffer but suffering makes one unhappy, therefore to be unhappy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down..."

I know I'm not the only guy out there whose watched those Old Navy ads and for the first few seconds, thought to themselves "hey, that girl in the commercial is kind of hot" only to feel completely repulsed seconds later when they realize that the hot girl in the commercial is Fran Drescher.

I'm not as dogmatically opposed to lip-synching as some people are, but still, if you're going to go on live TV and lip synch, you might as well try and make it look like you're not lip synching. I just finished watching Britney on SNL and there were several times I kept on looking at the background singers to see if they were the ones singing 'cause there was several times a voice was heard but there sure wasn't any lips moving.

I've seen better lip synching in a kung-fu flick.

And on this day, October 18th, at exactly 9:36 AM, I saw my first Christmas Commercial.

Man, so many people be hatin' on the Jews this week that you wonder if we were the one's who left Pedro in for too long.

It came as quite a shock that a columnist, Gregg Easterbrook, got in trouble this week for anti-semitic remarks. I won't repeat them here, but they were pretty bad- one of the worst things someone could say about Jews. He's since apologized for such remarks, an apology that seems completely sincere and honest, but the thing that shocks me is not what he said but that Easterbrook is one of my favorite columnist's. I've been reading his Tuesday Morning Quarterback on ESPN.com since he started it on Slate two years ago. Lately, he's put up a non-football related blog-page which I have bookmarked and read daily. While I sometimes don't agree with his views, he is always thoughtful and intelligent and so independent in his views that I'm still not quite sure what party he supports (I think he's a Democrat, but I'm not quite sure). He also is one of the few football commentators to point out the hideous trends in NFL uniforms (Bills & Seahawks, I'm looking at you) or give previews in Haiku format. All that and a huge Buffy fan too (side note- this week's column features gratitious Jennifer Connelly pictures- always good in my opinion). As someone who loves his work and has quoted him in certain pieces, the whole thing is all kinds of weird. I even read the offending item and didn't notice what he said mainly because I was too busy being offended of his trashing of "Kill Bill" (it's good, people, it's good!)

Oh yeah, and there's that whacky Malysian Prime Minister who says us Jews run everything, which always pisses me off because if we do, why can't somebody get me into the action? I swear, who do you gottta know….

PS- turns out the guy whose in charge of fetching Saddam & Osama (and good job of it too) is some whacky Christian Evangelist who thinks Bush was elected by God and that the U.S will prevail because our God is bigger than anyone else's God. Maybe if he wasn't too busy looking for Satan, he'd actually find one of those guys.

I got an under-the-table contract gig from a friend this week, bless her heart. She works for a market-research company and basically, I'm cold-calling every major fashion company trying to get the name and title of someone so they can send them junk-mail.

I picture what's going on on the other side of the phone as I talk to them. I picture the hot little secretary, dressed to the nine's in the most fashionable, trendy outfit, in an office full of pouty little models. I see Kristal flowing everywhere and either hip-hop music or techno music is constantly playing in the background. The people who walk by the front desk are all probably wearing outfits that cost more than the amount of money I made last year. Maybe P. Diddy is walking by, or at least Beyonce or Jay-Z. Everything on the other end of the line is Fabulous. And there's schlubby little me on the other end, somehow, for just the few seconds I'm on the line with the receptionist, part of the scene.

Like the end of Game 7 wasn't expected. Was there anybody who was not suprised about what happened? The Sox blew it, the Cubs blew it, and all is right with the world.

Kept on yelling "take Pedro out, take Pedro out" at the TV in the bar too, but guess the Sox manager didn't hear me. I have a feeling I wasn't the only one. Some guy at the bar was bemoaning the fact he's spending the weekend in an incredibly depressed Boston. We were joking about how much it'll suck having to fly in. The pilot will be calling into Logan Airport for landing directions and all he'll hear back is "eh, who cares, the Sox lost...."

Well, the Cubs lost. The end is no longer nigh. Good thing too, I guess- my dad was about to book tickets for Jerusalem to wait for the Messiah.

6-5 Fish. Man, that's one hell of a team. Man, is Chicago going to be hurting tomorrow if they lose it. Man, why the hell is Dusty leaving Woods in. TAKE HIM OUT.

Man, can this game be anymore epic?

So, of course there's going to be a Game 7 tomorrow between the Sox and the Yanks. There HAS to be a Game 7. How else can this thing end? Especially with it going to be Pedro vs. the Rocket tomorrow. Anything else would have been a huge, huge anti-climax.

Question- will the entire Eastern sea board be closed tomorrow?

Will there be anyone from the toppah most of Maine to the borders of Jersey not be watching this game? Is there anyone left who still doesn't get baseball?

I love sports. For the most case, I like them all. But nothing, nothing, has more epic potential for the big game tomorrow. Not one game in not one other sport match the sheer epic potential of tomorrow's game. The history and the subplots, the duel between two of the best the sport has ever had to offer, the ancient rivalry heated up to a fever pitch.

Naturally, I have to miss the game.

Oh yeah, right now the Cubs are up 5-3. I hate to say it, but I've been rooting for the Fish this series. Besides the fact it's just too Alice Through the Looking Glass to have the Cubs win, seeing Dusty make it to the World Series is like watching your ex-girlfriend and love of your life get married to someone else.

I've been unemployed for so long and for so often that I'm running out of jobs to interview. It's like I've been in this big, huge circle of friends and I've been either rejected or screwed over by all the women in the group that I've run out of women to date. I'm seeing jobs posted at place I interviewed with over a year or two ago. I've been called by recruiters for contract positions that I've interviewed for. And I've even been turned down for a job in which the person who turned me down for the job was someone who got a job I sent in a resume for.

A month ago a recruiter called me about a temporary position. After writing down the details of the job it occurred to me that the company name and the person I was supposed to meet rang a bell. Then it hit me- I've already interviewed with them for the exact same position. It was the place where I thought I had a great shot at because I had all these random connections to, but wound up not getting due to spending too much time the night before having panic attacks about not drafting any running backs for my Fantasy Football draft. I called the person and explained the situation, that I had already interviewed there, but they still wanted to talk to me. So I went in for the interview.

The interview was kind of weird. It basically consisted of me telling them what I've been doing for a year, why I'm once again looking for a job, and then a lot of shoulder shrugging when asked if I had any questions. What was there to say? We already did that routine. Naturally, I didn't get the job. They shot me down twice. What's the old saying "fool me once, shame on you, shame me twice, bite me?"

And then a couple of days ago, I saw another job posting, one perfect for me, one that I'd be great at. One problem, I had also interviewed there too. And man, that was a lot of fun. They were the one's who screwed me around for almost a year, playing Lucy and the football to my Charlie Brown. Of course, I couldn't send in my resume. I kind of hate them. They kind of fucked me.

But what the hell, I need a job. Maybe they won't screw me this time.

Man, I bet ya there's somebody in Chicago feeling really, really bad right now.

I met a friend at Starbucks today and was happy to see that both people behind the counter are either my age or older than me. I'm happy because when it gets to the point where I have to go suck it up and work at Starbucks, I know I won't be the only over-30 year pathetic loser working there.

Over the weekend it occurred to me- what happened to all the great rock songs? No, not "rock" songs as in that being in the musical genre of rock (although, actually, whatever happened to great rock songs? Has any been released in the past couple of years?), but "rock" songs as songs about "rocking." You know, songs like "I Wanna Rock" or "I Wanna Rock n' Roll all Night" or "There's Only One Way to Rock." Hell, AC/DC had an entire ouevre of rock songs- "Let There Be Rock," "Rock n' Roll Ain't Noise Pollution," and, last but certainly not least, "For Those About to Rock, We Salute You."

There were even some bands that somehow managed to be both about rock and D&D style fantasy. Does it get anymore epic than Manowar's "The Gods Made Heavy Metal"? Check out these lyricss:
The Gods Made Heavy Metal And They Saw That It Was Good
They Said To Play It Louder Than Hell
We Promised That We Would
When Losers Say It's Over With You Know That It's A Lie
The Gods Made Heavy Metal And It's Never Gonna Die"

Or who can forget Dio's immortal "We Rock" and these lyrics?
So many voices
All giving choices
If we listen they will say
Oh, we can find the way
But we'll sail on, sing a song, carry on
Cause We Rock, We Rock, We Rock, We Rock
We Rock, We Rock, We Rock, We Rock/We Rock!"

Even great rock bands had their big rock anthem. The Who had "Long Live Rock," Zeppelin had "Rock n' Roll," the Stones had "It's Only Rock n' Roll," Neil Young had "Hey Hey/My My (Rock n' Roll Will Never Die) and Justin Timberlake had "Rock Your Body."

Where are those songs today? Where are the artists to call us out to rock? Does anyone want to rock anymore? No, it's all songs about "boo hoo ho, mommy didn't love me" or "poor me, I was a dork in High School" or "boo hoo hoo, technological and computerized society is making me increasingly paranoid about my humanity."

Is there anyone out there to Salute Us for rocking?

And here's another subject that no longer is sung about- the life on the road song. You know, the "God, it really sucks being in a rock band and having to tour constantly and play to millions of people, then party all night long while doing lines of coke off crazed groupies while having threesomes." You know, the songs that usually came with a video of lots and lots of black and white, slow motion shots of the band sweating on stage. Or looking mournfully through the tour bus at another sold-out stadium. Every hair band had to write at least one of those songs per album. It was in their record contract.

Eh, come to think of it, those songs sucked.

In the middle of a huge traffic jam on Treasure Island, just after watching the Blue Angels, we pass a huge, black Ford Excursion. The thingy around the license plate (just whatever is it called anyways?) had this slogan around it: "Sucks Natural Resources Like It's Fine Scotch." Naturally, they also had an American flag on their car.

We so suck.

Whenever you play a sport in which jersey's are assigned and numbers given, it is almost automatic that some guy picks the number "69." It never fails. And while you'd think that people would be over the whole my-jersey-number-is-69 once they got out of High School and the whole "You said 69" thing isn't quite as giggle-worthy as it used to be, somebody always picks that number in adult leagues too.

In fact, it's almost mandatory. Like you can't really have a team unless you have some guy with "69" on his jersey so until somebody step's up, takes one for the team, and picks the number "69," you're not really a team yet. Usually it's the guy who can you almost see still thinking it's giggle-worthy, but like on my softball team, the guy who stepped up was so beyond thinking 69 was funny that it was funny that he was the guy who was 69. On the other hand, he was the Captain and probably thought that since nobody else chose it, it was up to him to do it.

My body is falling so apart on me that I pulled something in my back while whiping my ass.

I'm serious.

Okay, so I finally put something new on the ole Web site. It's the "Hooray for Anything Fall Movie Preview" for anyone who doesn't know what movies to see. Yes, it was supposed to be the newsletter, but strangely not that many people signed up for it. Well, not strange considering everyone who visits this site does so looking for naked pictures of "Real World" chicks, but that those who did I don't actually know. Which just proves that none of my friends actually read this. We'll see what happens when I get rich and famous and start having parties at the "Playboy Mansion"...

Anyways, click here for it:

And those who did get the actual newsletter thingy got kind of the extra-bonus track version. But then again, they signed up for it.

I know that as a baseball fan, I'm supposed to be rooting for a Cubs/Sox series, but believe it or not, I'm not. It's just too much, too perfect. It's like having a cheese steak with cheese fries and a pie ala mode for desert. It's like it being 1973 and seeing a Stones/Who double-bill. It's like what would have happened if the first two movies of the Star Wars prequel would have been really, really good.
A Sox/Cubs series would be like that.

Besides, it's a part of baseball that the Cubs and the Sox always lose. It's part of the fabric, the mythos of the sport. The Cubs are the loveable losers and the Sox are the heartbreaking tragedy. If both of them get in, that means one of them has to win and then all of a sudden, the very nature of baseball changes. Would Charlie Brown be Charlie Brown if he won a few times? Would Keith Richards be Keith Richards if he sobered up? Would "The Real World" be "The Real World" if they actually brought in a bunch of normal, non-fame whore types? Nope. And that's what it would be like if the Sox or Cubs win it all. Besides, it's much more enjoyable watching the Sox come incredibly close only to lose in tragically heart-breaking fashion. Nobody's more entertaining than angst-filled Sox fans.

PS- if David Stern were the Commissioner of baseball, we all know it would be a Cubs/Sox series. Just a crucially timed foul-call here or there and viola.

So now that the whole recall thingy is over, maybe the news can go back to reporting the important stuff- like all the various ways the Bush Administration is screwing up right now.

Oh wait, nevermind....Roy of Siegfried & Roy got mauled by a tiger. I forgot about how important that story is.

Anyone else on the tiger's side on this one?

I have an interview tomorrow with some company for a type of job I used to do, but haven't done in over, oh five or six years. And it's not that easy of a thing to do- it's doing graphics and image manipulation and stuff like that, which I used to do, but stopped doing because I didn't like it. And I sucked at it.

Actually, that's not true. I liked doing it, I just sucked at large parts of it. I mean really sucked.

Somehow, they found my resume online, which specifically points out the fact that I used to do it but haven't done it in a long time, and called me for a contract position. Now, how they chose my resume is beyond me. How they weren't smart enough to simply pick up the phone and call a Graphics Temp Agency when there's literally thousands of people in this area who can do the same kind of stuff but have actually been doing it over the past five years is beyond me. And why they still want to see me after I specifically mentioned it's not something I've done in years and that it's not what my resume emphasizes is even beyond me too. It's hard to sound enthusiastic and like a real go-getter about a job when the whole time you're on the phone with them you're thinking "why the hell did you call me?"

And strangely, I'm going to go in for the interview. If it's not too difficult, I can do it. Trying to relearn a skill-set that you weren't that good at anyways and haven't done in years is like getting back on a bike again, right?

What can I say, I need the money. But still, why the hell did they call me?

To My fellow California voters,

Nice fucking job.

Wow, that's pretty amazing- it seems like the second the polls closed, the networks already declared a winner in the race. It's pretty amazing that they could count all those votes so fast that they'd know the second the polls closed who won.

Oh, that's right, it's done through polling, not by actual vote counting. And it's pretty accurate too. I mean, it's not like the news organizations have ever called an election one way only to find out that it's gone another way.

And yep, I just voted. It was actually relatively easy to do as there's only three things to vote on, but it takes awhile to figure out where everything is what with their being 135 names on there.

Since the polling place wasn't too crowded, I had to take a peak at what people listed themselves as: Larry Flynt called himself a publisher, although didn't say of what; Gary Coleman listed himself as an actor; Gallagher as a Comedian; and Mary Carey the porn star uses both her real name and her porn name as well as actually calling herself an "adult film actress." I noticed too that one of the 135 listed his occupation as "Used Car Salesman," which is a pretty brave thing to admit to since they don't have the highest reputation. On the other hand, there really isn't that much difference between a used car salesman, a porn star, or a politician now is there?

Double post, nothing to see here....

Okay, I admit it. I'm going to vote for Arnie today. I know, I know, it's shocking, but the choice is pretty obvious if you think about it. Only Arnie has the leadership to lead the Golden State out of it's mess.

Here's why I think he'll make the bestest Governor in the world:

1) He thinks the future lies with our children and that education should be our most important priority. What other politician has the guts to make such a bold statement?

2) He promises to keep our taxes low, not cut any services, and do it all by getting rid of all of the state's fraud and waste! Who knew running a budget was that easy?

3) I just can't get enough of references to his movies. God, that never gets old.

4) He's rich so he doesn't need money from all those special interests. Well, except for all the big corporations that gave him tons of money at all those fund raisers, but at least it's not money from those damn injuns.

5) He's clearly knowledgeable about the inner workings of the state, which was made pretty obvious by his appearance on "Oprah" and "Larry King Live!" And it was a pretty bold move of him not to take viewer calls on "Larry King Live!" because, gosh, you know, Larry asks such tough questions that the viewers could never compete.

Oh forget it. I can't do it anymore. It's just not funny. I wanted to avoid a big, huge rant about today's election, but it's looking like rant-time. How can it not be? Is there any way this state can do something more idiotic, more embarrassing, more dumber than voting in somebody whose main claim to fame is having huge muscles and starring in action flicks? It's like somehow the worlds of politics and entertainment have become so intertwined now that it's all one in the same. I've even seen ads in the paper for the DVD's of the previous Terminator flicks that make reference to Arnie's running for Governor. Hell, Arnie's done more interviews with "Access Hollywood" than he has with the real press. Is this really a tribute to the "Democratic Process?" Will it come to the point where the White House will be just another big-budget action figure and every four years we'll have to vote between Tom Cruise, Tom Hanks, Cameron Diaz, and George W. to see who want to star in the role of President? Isn't that pretty much what we do anyways?

I mean, how many people who signed the recall petition actually voted in the previous election? Do people get that his so-called leadership abilities that people mention so frequently come because he's an actor who stars in action movies? And that saying pat phrases forcefully is not really the sign of a leader?

Dear God, people, haven't you figured out the irony that somebody who people like because he's not a politician is running an election by sounding like a parody of a politician? That all he's doing is saying stuff like "education is really important" or "we must eliminate waste and fraud" which is what every dumb-ass politician says when they have nothing to say? And that his "I love Cal-eee-fornia" routine is nothing but "San Dimas High Rules!"

And do all those people who are suddenly interested in the election really know what's behind all of the problems in the state? Do they even realize that ever since Prop 13, we haven't been able to take in enough money to run the services that we used to run? That the jewel of the state, the state school system, has never recovered since then? Do they realize that those stupid ballot initiatives do nothing but spend money we don't have and lock the legislature into spending rules that they can't get out of? And do people even realize that the last time we threw this kind of temper tantrum we voted in term limits and the result is an ineffective legislature run by amateur politicians who don't know what they're doing and special interests who do?

This whole thing is like, well, like Limp Bizkit. See, people who are into them are all those bored, angry white kids who don't quite understand why they're so bored and angry. They think society sucks, have a feeling that it does, yet can't put down their Playstation long enough to figure out just what it is about society that sucks. So, instead of say, reading the papers and understanding why things are going wrong and ways to fix it, they just crank up the tunes, bang their head, and want to "Break Stuff." That's what this recall is, the political equivalent of Woodstock III. Just a bunch of dumb-ass kids angry at things they're too lazy and stupid to understand so go smash everything in sight. And once everything's smashed, they feel better, feel like they've made their statement, yet don’t realize that they've just fucked it all up for the rest of us. Not to mention not done a single thing to help solve anything.

Please, please, please don't let Arnie be Governor. Think California, think.

My Phone held Hostage Day II- got a message from Martin Sheen today. This means I've gotten a call from Al, one from Bill, a letter from Bill, and one from Martin. So far no Babs.

I wonder whose calling Republican voters for Arnie? Stallone? Bruce Willis? The creature from "Predator"?

And just to add to the fun, I'm supposed to hear about two jobs today- one via e-mail, the other by phone. Naturally, of course, Hotmail is down again, probably so Microsoft can figure out ways to put up more interesting stories like "Is Demi a Distraction?" or "Jen Wears Engagement Ring Again" (I wonder why there's no stories on there like "Ashton & Demi: We Care Because?" or "America: Are We a Country of Dumb-asses or What?). And I can't answer the phone all day because everytime I do, it's either Al Gore, Bill Clinton or- of all things most unholy- Barbara Streisand reminding me to vote tomorrow. I'm going to vote tomorrow, so leave me the fuck alone.

Yes, it's Yom Kippur today. I guess one of the benefits of being unemployed during the High Holy Days is that I don't have to have the big go-to-work/not-go-to-work debate. I am, however, not going to services. To go to all of the big, normal Temples is a bity pricey, $100 bucks or so. You can find cheaper services to attend, but most of them are of the "we not only have to attone for our sins, but for all the sins we have propagated on the oppressed people of the third world" variety. Besides, for those who have never done it, spending all day in Temple while fasting is not the easiest thing in the world to do. The rabbi may be saying "and Adonai said to Jacob, thou must fasten the robes like so" but after awhile, all you hear is "and Adonai said to Jacob, thou must eat bacon-double-cheeseburgers with chili cheese fries."

And no, I am not fasting. I know, I should be to atone for my sins and blah, blah, blah, blah, but I don't really want to hear it. I'm unemployed for the third time in five years, except this time I had a job, only to lose it due to the freaking out of a psychotic bitch of a boss. I also just paid all my bills via credit card, the Giants won 100 games during the year only to fall apart in the playoffs, my Fantasy Football team is 1-4, and I'm about a day away from having Arnie as my governor. I am not only not fasting, but if I was able to get out of bed fast enough I was going to make a statement by marching down to MickeyD's and having myself a yummy bacon, egg and cheese bagel. Unfortunately, I couldn't get out of bed fast enough so I didn't. It's the start of the first Summer Season repeats of BH 9'er on F/X and as it was the episode in which Brenda and Dylan got back together, I just had to watch it. I am, however, looking forward to my yummy ham & cheese sandwhich instead.

I know, I know, I know, kind of wrong. Kind of bad. Not to mention having this whole Wrath of God thing that I might be incurring by forsaking His will. Eh, screw it. Really, so what if I incur Wrath of God? What could happen? It's not like anything worse can happen right now.

It's been awhile, but it looks like my funky little stress twitch is back. There I am doing something and all of a sudden my right eye-lid starts twittering. Oh funky eye-twitch, I missed you so.

I was walking around Oakland the other day on the way to a job interview and I saw a little encampment that a homeless guy made. Unlike most homeless encampments, this one was fairly neat and organized. Stuff wasn't strewn over the place. It was almost fort-like, with shopping carts and milk crates used to give the illusion that he almost had created himself a home.

The homeless guy was sitting on some milk crates, a towel strewn over it, staring at what appeared to be a TV, also on top of some milk crates and covered over with blankets. As I approached him, he was intently staring at it, like it was his living room and he was just sitting there, watching TV, like we all do in our living room. As it was late last week and the Giants game was on, I thought to myself, "ahh baseball, the equalizer of us all."

Turns out he wasn't watching the baseball game. Nope, turns out instead of watching the game, the homeless guy had himself a Playstation and was busy playing video games.

Once again.

AAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I pulled something in my back this morning getting out of bed, flipping off the remote, and picking up the telephone. How, I don't know. All I can say is I hate getting old.

Oh yeah, I'm not watching the Giants game today. Total Dead Man Walking Game - no team can come back after a debacle like Game 3. Someday, grandparents are going to put their grandkids on their knees and tell them horror stories about Jose Cruz and the Fly Ball. I can summarize the story in one word- Buckner.

All you had to do was catch the ball. It's that easy. Just catch the ball.

Why didn't you catch the ball? Why, oh why, oh why........

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

God damnit, I hate baseball. I hate it in all of it's stomach-churning, nail-biting, hair-pulling, what-the-hell-is-Yorvit-Torreabla-doing-in-the-game-glory. That part of the game where every moment, every second, every pitch makes you so filled with tension that it's hard to breathe.

AAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oopsie, looks like I got in trouble elsewhere for posting too snide and snarky of a comment. That's what I get for doing some Web surfing after stumbling home from a bar.

Damn you Jagermeister, damn you!

PS- Anne Coulter really does suck.

One more thing about the interview, I thought I'd be really clever and schedule my interview for tomorrow afternoon, thinking that I'd be too hungover in the morning to do it. Turns out I scheduled it right in the middle of Game 3.

D'oh!

So I have a big interview tomorrow. And how did I prepare for it? Jager shots and drinking games. While I haven't played drinking games in a long time and completely dated myself by asking anyone if they played "Fingers and Bunnies," I still got it. It's good to get in touch with your inner 25 year old, even if that means wracking your back while doing a shake-shake-shimmy to "Let's Get it On."

Ouch.

All I can say is kickball is a whole lot more fun this season than last season. You gotta love a league in which people bring BBQ's and jello shots to the game.

I stole two Q-tips from a friend's house last night.

Is that wrong?

God damnit, here I was reading all these Fantasy Football books written by so-called football experts about how Donovan McNabb is such a great quarterback, so I picked him as my first round pick. He's totally been sucking lately and now, thanks to Rush Limbaugh, I know why. Where was Rush when I was doing my Fantasy Football draft?

By the way, I love how Rush is going around saying that he must be right because there's all this controversy about what he said. Using that logic, if I were a fat, ignorant, gas-bag of a talk-show host and I went on the air saying something, like Bush likes to dress like a woman, and then all these people start slamming me, then that would be proof that I'm onto something.

Actually, I do have proof that the President likes to dress up like a woman. Check this out

PS- one of those photos is actually that of the body of a MTV Real World vixen, one who posed in a certain men's magazine (I know because I found them online and I'm not going to tell anyone where). For those who are searching for photos of her, her name is "Trishelle" and not "Trashelle." Trashelle is only her nickname given to her for being the drunken, white-trash ho that she is. Here's a little helpful hint about searching for nude photos of celebrities- if you're going to search for nthem, you should at least make sure you spell the name of the celebrity right.

How do you know when you're a Yuppie? When you come late to a playoff game, instantly whip out your Appointment Book and start coordinating schedules with the guy you came to the game with, and then take quick glances at "SaabMonthly" during the slow parts of the game.

I guess I should award him points in his favor for not once whipping out the cell phone.

I just got a call for a temp job. The all-exciting, super fun temp job that I got a call for is to sell cell phones at a retail store. I'm not exactly sure how well the not quite so obvious tone of disappointment sounded to the "Personnel Agent" over the phone, but I don't quite think I endeared myself to her.

"Can you hear me now, can you hear me now?"

Oh, dear God, let this end soon....