Thursday, February 27, 2003

Home sick. And not just because of Buffy's demise, but because I'm sick. You know what the worst part of calling in sick is? The lying in bed in the morning trying to make the call on whether to pull the trigger or not. You always think "well, I'm not that sick and I do have this and that to do" while on the other hand, you're head's pounding away and you feel like you haven't had anything to drink for months.

And you know what the best part of calling in sick is? When you pull the trigger, make the call and turn over to the other side of bed and go back to sleep, all the while knowing that you don't have to get up again until you really want to.

I did, however get a panicky phone call from work that woke me up in the middle of a nap. Which, yes, kind of sucks that people are calling you at home while you're on your death bed. But, on the other hand, it's good to know that, yes, things are falling apart without you.

Goodbye, Mr. Rogers. We'll miss you.

It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

It's a neighborly day in this beautywood,
A neighborly day for a beauty,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you,
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.

So let's make the most of this beautiful day,
Since we're together, we might as well say,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won't you be my neighbor?

Won't you please,
Won't you please,
Please won't you be my neighbor?

Spoken: Hi television neighbor, I'm glad we're together again....
We here at Hooray For Anything are in mourning tonight- Smidge is leaving the building. My beloved Buffy will be no more come the end of May. Even worse, after rumors of a possible Faith spin-off buzzed through the internet, something so natural and perfect that it's like David Lee Roth rejoining Van Halen, the actress pullled the worst career decision since David Caruso left NYPD Blue and bailed on the show for some lame-ass WB show. Tonight, there's no joy in Buffyville.

Okay, I know, the show isn't nearly what it used to be. It's definitely in it's late-70's Stones phase, when each album would contain a few great songs but mainly filler. And while the show hasn't achieved X-Files like end-of-run atrociousness, it's still not nearly what it used to be. At it's best, Buffy was the perfect show- TV as both art and pop-culture. It was edgy, scary, poignant, heartbreaking, and hilarious, often within minutes of each other. And now, it's no more.

And yeah, I'm firmly aware that it's a TV show. But now what the hell am I gonna do on Tuesday nights? I've watched the show since the first season (I, Robot in case anyone cares) and was quickly hooked. Somewhere around the time Angelus murdered Jenny Calendar and then left her in Giles' bed for him to discover upon his return, I realized I was madly and passionately addicted. I have gone on Buffy message boards, I have bought magazines about the show, I had a shrine on my apartment fridge, I partied with my roomates in it's honor, and…well…I won't go into the depths of my Buffy addiction because it's even more embarassing than what I've let on. Hell, I even have the CD of the musical (merely the greatest thing ever put on TV. Ever).

And with this being the final season of the Sopranos too, I'm left to wonder this…. Now what the hell am I gonna do with my life?

Damnit, I need a new TV show. Stat.

PS- the Donnas rock.

Monday, February 24, 2003

I've said it before and I'll say it again....

I miss Beavis & Butthead
Okay, there are many things that baffle me in this universe. Probably way too many things. And most of you know a whole heaping mouthful of them. I'd like to add another thing to my list of things that baffle me- the Grammy's. Why does anyone care about the Grammy's? Like, does anyone remember who won a Grammy and when or for what?

Why do people care? Why is there buzz and hype and breathless promotion, so much so that MTV even let's Kurt Loder crawl out from whatever rock he's been hiding under (come out, Kurt, come out! Who else is around to break it to the world about Britney's impending meltdown/drug binge? Sway?) It just goes to my belief that if somebody decides to throw an award show and gets a TV contract, people will attend. If you give it, they will come. Hell, if I threw a Hooray for Anything Award Show, I'll bet I'd get Mellisa and Joan Rivers out in front of my studio apartment recapping people's outfits. And somebody would care. I betcha I could get Ja Rule to attend at least.

My biggest issue is this, have the Grammy's ever gotten anything right? Other than when the album or song was totally obvious and non-offensive (like "The Joshua Tree"), whatever album really is a big deal never wins. Just look at all the big, revoluntionary albums of the past ten years (or 30). How many of them won a damn thing? Yeah, you can say that about the Oscars too (hello, Forrest Gump over Pulp Fiction? The English Patient over Fargo? Does anyone even remember The English Patient?), but at least the Oscar's have some cred to it. The Grammy's, none. I guess it's supposed to have cred because it's held by the RIAA, otherwise known as the cats who run Music Biz, but so what? These people's opinions matter why? These are the people who've given us CD's for $18.99, the shutdown of Napster, and the both Aaron and Nick Carter fer crissakes.

Let's look at this year for example. Everyone knows that the first half of the year was all about Bruuuuuce and the second half of the year was all about Eminem. Hell, let's face it, right now it's All About Eminem. He's so big now that even people who hate him like him now. But yet who got all the big awards? Norah Jones.

Okay, her song is pretty. It's nice. Which pretty much describes it- it's a nice song. It's got all the edge of a nerf ball. It's nothing but sonic wallpaper. Does anyone think the people who've heard the song were so inspired by it that they just picked up a guitar and decided to dedicate their lives to rock n' roll for it? Does anyone think that some burn-out, angst-ridden teen is writing the lyrics to the song all over their notebook as if just writing it over and over again would make the world alright? Does anyone think people are putting Norah Jones posters all over their bedrooms? No. The only thing I see the song inspiring, other than a bunch of "Where Are They Now" shows in the future, is songs played at weddings. Which is just….nice.

I've read too that at the end of the show, there was a tribute to Joe Strummer. Bruce, Elvis Costello, and Dave Grohl, among others, all came out and sang "London's Calling" in honor the mighty singer of the Clash. Which pretty much sums it all up in a weird sort of way. The Clash never won a Grammy. They were never nominated and I don't think they even attended or were invited. You know who won the "Best New Artist" Award that year? Debby "You Light Up My Life" Boone. Yet there they were, celebrating an artist they never had the balls to give an award too, never have the balls to nominate, and never had the balls to invite. And nobody thought it off to be paying paying tribute to a punk rock pioneer, at probably the most un-punk rock thing in rock n' roll. And at an event in which any mention of the impending war was banned.

I'm sure Joe was thrilled.

Sunday, February 23, 2003

Holy cow, after doing this thing for a year I've gotten pretty much nowhere. Then I stumble home drunk one night, post something when I get home because I hadn't posted anything in a couple of days and it gets picked up on some major site. Next thing I know, I've gotten more hits than Sadaharu Oh .

Months and months of heart-bleeding angst, incisive political commentary, and endless musings on Christina vs. Britney and nobody cared. Then I make one post in an Ouzo induced-stupor about how drunk I was and that's what gets picked up.

From now on in, I'm not posting anything until I'm three-sheets to the wind.

Hell, it worked for Hunter Thompson……
You know it's a good time of the year when you read the paper and you find your own little news nirvana- baseball stories. What you thought I was gonna say Saddam and George's will/they won't they tete-a-tete? (and speaking of, this war better be good. We've had hours and hours of foreplay and this country is on the verge of some serious blue balls. It's turning into the biggest buildup to a bang since Sam & Diane way back on Cheers. Which makes you wonder if there's something going on between those crazy kids- George and Saddam. A little hooyay, maybe. There is a fine line between love and hate, after all. Can't you see them arguing and arguing with each other and then one turning to the other and saying "is this turning you on?" and the next thing you know, Saddam's got a new boyfriend. Speaking of TV shows, since pretty much the entire world agrees that we don't want to fight a war but that Saddam is a really bad guy, maybe we should just let George and Saddam go at it, mano a mano- fifteen rounds. It'll be like the old Frankie Goes to Hollywood video for "Two Tribes." And maybe we could get FOX to broadcast it. It's not like they have anything else now that Joe Millionaire isn't on anymore. It'll be called "Political Boxing" and we could have the undercard be Rummy vs Chirac and Bill vs Hillary. Wouldn't that be great? Oh wait, where the hell was I?)

Anyways, we're starting off the year with a humdinger- King George Steinbrenner has accused the Golden Boy, Derek Jeter- aka Mr. Four Championship Rings, aka The Man who Single-Handily Beat the A's two years ago, aka the man who dated Mariah Carey before she went nuts, aka the Once and Future Yankee King- for partying too much. After missing out on winning the World Series two years in a row, George has decided that the reason is because Mr. Jeter stays out too late.

Of course, this is ridiculous. You just don't know someone who was has four World Series rings for being a party animal. It's just George being George, pushing buttons in hopes of getting some sort of reaction, hoping that he so pisses someone off that they'll be even more motivated to kick some baseball butt. Just like he always does.

The thing is, of course, that everyone knows that's what Steinbrenner is doing. He's trying to push Jeter's buttons but unfortunately, this puts Jeter in a box. There's no way he can get out of this situation without having it play badly.

The first thing that could happen is that he could get more motivated as a result of it and have an even better season than he has in the past. Problem with this, though, is that it feeds into George's plans. It'll mean that George is right, that insulting his players is actually a good idea.

He could also pretend it doesn't mean anything and deny that it'll affect him one way or the other. Problem with this is that nobody will believe him. If he has a bad year, they'll say it's because of what George said. If he has a kick-ass year, they'll say it's because George pushed him into it. The only way to get out of this is to have exactly the same year as he had before. Things just don't happen like that.

Which leaves option three. He could just give one big huge "fuck you" to George and go party. Go out clubbing every night and nail every chick in New York (which, if he hasn't done, he could do as easy as easily I could post something stupid that'll get me in trouble). He should go out and find if ecstacy could be considered a performance enhancing drug. He should do crack on the On-Deck circle. Why not? If he is Mr. Yankee, he's gotta uphold the tradition of the Babe, the Mick, Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson.

To me, it's obvious which option he should take- Option Three. Which is, of course, the reason why I'm not a professional baseball player or much of anything at all come to think of it.

Friday, February 21, 2003

Looks like Evan and Zora are on the rocks. Quelle suprise. Even more shocking is pristine, virginal, "when I first got the pendant I thought about selling it to help feed the starving children of Afghanistan" Zora is nothing but a big huge gold-digging media 'ho too.

Poor Evan. Picked the wrong one. If you're gonna go out with a gold-digging media 'ho, you might as well go out with the one whose honest about it. Especially when they put out. And do bondage flicks.

I'm shocked! Shocked!

Thursday, February 20, 2003

No posting tonigh5t....too drunk......


damn ouzo. bad ouzo.

Wednesday, February 19, 2003

Just in case somebody is wondering, I DO NOT NEED AN ESCORT. Please stop sending me e-mails asking me if I do.

Anyways….

Maybe it's because I'm getting older, but people at concerts are really starting to piss me off. Last week, I went to see the mighty Blue Oyster Cult. It was going okay, but then, it came- the chords, the riff, the mighty roar of the crowd. It's Godzilla, baby! Oh no, there goes Tokyo, Go, go, Godzilla! It's one of the greatest riffs in the history of Universe. It's one of the greatest protest songs every recorded. It's fucking Godzilla!

But I'm getting jostled. Bumped around. All these girls keep on brushing beside me on their way to their speed-freak boyfriends. And I can't concentrate on the music because I'm spending most of my time trying not to be knocked over.

Stop moving. Stop bumping mee. Stop bugging me. Don't you know what song it is? Don't you know who we're seeing? We're seeing BOC, the band that helped put the Tap in Spinal Tap. The band who still sees nothing wrong with 15 minute drum solos. Not to mention a bass solo. This is a band that lets everyone know that Cities are on flame with rock n' roll.

Will you have a little respect, please?

What can I say?

"History shows again and again
How nature points up the folly of men. "

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

And here's today's Zen Koan- saw this headline at a magazine at my yoga place:

"Real is the New Fake."

Is it?
Oh, what a night of TV it was. And no, I'm not talking about Joe Millionaire, I'm talking about Britney being the co-presenter of the First Annual TRL Live Awards (whatever that is) and having to give the "Evolution" award to Christina. The "Evolution" Award, I guess, goes for the artist who has "most evolved" through the TRL Era and Christina won it. Yep, Dylan goes electric, the Beatles go from loveable mop-tops to Sgt. Pepper's, and Madonna goes from super-Catholic to mystic Jew and somehow, in these creatively ripe times, Christina gets props for going from the innocent skanky ho look to the skanky skanky ho look and that's worth an award.

Oh, and as for about Joe Millionaire, what-ever. That and how long do you think it'll be before Sarah appears in Maxim?

Monday, February 17, 2003

And yes, I am SO gonna watch the finale of Joe Millionaire even if I haven't really watched it so far. And yes, I'm rooting for the bondage queen if only cause she's cuter than the other one. Plus, her film was kind of fun to watch. Plus, it looks like there's gonna be some major-ass twist at the end if it all. God only knows what, although I really hope it's not something like he really is rich or one of the woman is rich or he wins a million dollars for participating. Wouldn't it be great if it ended like this: "it's a man, baby, a man."

And no, I'm not gonna watch either the two-hour documentary on the making of Michael Jackson's face. Nor am I gonna watch the totally out of control Michael Jackson rebuttal, the one Fox is showing in which he tries to prove that the bitch set him up and that he's not really a bad parent or a total loony freak.

I don't know about you, but this whole Michael Jackson thing is getting out of control. A rebuttal? It's like he's the Democratic Party getting equal time after the State of the Union address. And there's just no way he can't come out looking like a total freak. I don't care what the interviewer supposedly said and edited out- if you almost strangle your year-old baby while pulling off his mask to feed him, you ain't no Dr. Spock.
Allright, even though I told you not to, you went out and did it. What can I say, I did my best.

Despite all my warnings, despite all my hopes of rallying people to rise up and Just Say No to Ben Afleck, you went out and saw the movie. $43 million bucks in a couple of days. Of course, that doesn't mean that the movie's gonna make more than a buck by next weekend, but these days in Hollywood, the entire fate of a movie is based on two measly days at the box office.

Look, I know the only other movie that's really out there is Kangaroo Jack, but please, people. It's time to take a stand, damnit.

You got nobody to blame but yourselves.

Sunday, February 16, 2003

Friday Night….

Friend's cousin puts on a show at a club downtown. He can't make it so I help out. $80 bucks for five hours of work and free drinks. Doesn't get much better than that.

I stamp people's hands. "Call me stampy and I'll be stamping you tonight." I check people when they come down to see if they've been stamped. I have a good memory so I pretty much know whose come in and who hasn't. I wave people past or hold them up. I play around with the people as they come back and forth. I am the gate-keeper. I am important. I am loved. I am having a good time.

Everyone's in a good mood. Guy keeps on high-fiving me everytime he sees me. Women flirt with me. Sammy, the other guy I'm working with gets a couple of women to show us their red underwear. Somebody buys me a drink when I let him and his girlfriend come in for free due to the cash register jamming up. Two drunk women kiss me on the cheek as they leave. I watch people stumble in and stumble out. I watch people come in solo and leave with someone else. I get asked by a black woman where the brother's are. As if I know. She leaves with some guy whiter than white.

We head out afterwards, chasing down three woman and late night eats at a 24-hour diner. They weren't as drunk as we thought and not much fun. Oh well. We order. Gotta love late-night drunken munchies- greesy food with lots of eggs, cheese and potatoes at 2:30 in the morning.

Sammy has a friend meet up with us. He looks like the Edge in a black-wool cap and a goatee, except much cooler. He brings with him a very drunk and very coy black woman who wouldn't explain to anyone what she was doing at the Maxim party and why there were badges hanging down from her neck. Everyone at the diner is drunk. Everyone's goofing on each other, talking to each other, reveling in the drunken wave that we're all riding. Some guy tells us that he's become the number DJ at Persian weddings in the East Bay. He's definately not Perisan. When we leave and as my cab pulls up, a game of frisbee catch starts up in the middle of the street.

I get driven back home. It's close to 4. The radio in the cab is playing The End. Icing on the cake.

I love nights like that night. I needed a night like that. Cleanses the soul as it were.

The west is the best
The west is the best
Get here, and we'll do the rest

The blue bus is callin' us
The blue bus is callin' us
Driver, where you taken' us?

With protests raging around the world and today being the day of the super-huge protest in the City by the Bay (which meant me waking up to drums and chants and the local bagel place being out of bagels- and no, I'm not bitter), I once again take to computer to contemplate the inevitable War with Iraq and the State of the World.

But, don't worry. This won't suck. I promise it'll be funny. Or an attempt to be funny.

As I watch things transpire around the world, I consider Bush's position. Part of me understands his frustration. Basically, what he's trying to do is organize the entire world to make a stand against Iraq, whether or not this is the right thing or whether or not he's really trying to organize everyone or merely playing lip-service to the idea and buying everyone off is another matter entirely. But still, he's out there, going to the U.N. and trying to get a large, large group of people to make a big, huge decision about something. This can't be easy.

Look at it this way. You know how aggravating it can be to organize a big get-together of some kind? Like going out to dinner? This is that whole dilemma, writ large. "Well, Turkey can make it on this date, but can't on this date. And Spain can make it on this date, but definitely can't that night, and Australia can do these nights, but not those nights. England's definitely able to do it whenever, but France can't commit, and Germany has to check with France to see what France is doing and the Arabs can make it, but might have to be leave early."

Or, take this example- many is the time I've stood at street corners, especially in North Beach, with a large group of friends and stood there, trying to figure out which bar to go to. This is the kind of conversation that would go on:

"Wanna go the Savoy?"
"Uhhh, I don't know."
"No, I hate that place, it's too yuppie, let's go somewhere else, how about Tosca's?"
"No, we always go there, I'm bored of it."
"Yeah, it's too Eurotrash. How about the Grant & Green?"
"Umm, I dunno."
"Whatever's fine by me."
"No, I hate that place, let's go the Savoy. We always have a good time there…."

And on and on and on.

Which is what's kind of going on now. As we all now, in situations like that, the decision is usually driven by the person most willing to be adamant about going to someplace. It's the only way to push things along in a world full of ambivalence. Somebody's gotta make the decision. And Bush has taken it upon himself to be that person to push people into going to the Savoy.

On the other hand, as we all know from being in situations like that, there are plenty of ways of getting people to make group descriptions and bullying them is not the way to go about doing it. Neither is insulting, making demands, or calling them pussies. Which is what Bush is doing. If you really want people to go to the Savoy on a Saturday night, you don't do it by telling the people who aren't sure that they want to go there that they're boring, old, or lacking in moral fortitude. Doing that makes people pissed off at you. That's how people don't go to the Savoy just because. And that's how you find yourself having less and less of a social life as everyone slowly stops calling you because you're being an asshole. Which is why Europe seems completely united in their unwillingness to go to war. And which is why a lot of Americans (including myself) are thinking about manning the barricades only because Bush and Rummy really piss them off.

The funny thing, though, is that Bush's specialty, the thing that got him where he is today (besides having the family name and connections, not to mention a brother who runs Florida, dumb luck, and a conservative Supreme Court) is his people skills. If he truly had people skills, he'd realize that to get people to go along with his war of his the way everyone gets people to go along with something- passive aggressiveness, back-biting, gossiping, and sucking up. It's only natural to assume that what works in the real world works in the diplomatic world too.

So, what I'm thinking, is that if he really wants to war (and remember, I don't necessarily think the war is that bad of an idea) and he really doesn't want to piss of the entire world (which he's doing a damn fine job of), do it like we do it in the real world. Call up England and bitch about France. Suck up to France while dissing Germany and vice versa. Compliment Saudi Arabia about what a swell place it is. Tell the Chinese how important they are. And most importantly, don't bully people. Don't tell them "my way or the highway." Tell them things like "no, if you want inspectors to come in and waste more time, fine by me. Whatever. I don't care." Or "hey, it's alright if you don't war, I don't really want war, either, I'm just saying."

See, wouldn't that make for a much better world right now? And I'm only bringing this up because I really don't like the fact that the entire world seems to hate us right now.

Thursday, February 13, 2003

Tomorrow's Valentine's Day and I got nothing to do this weekend, let alone Valentine's Day. Work's sucking in ways that redefine the word sucking. It's cold and rainy, my back's killing me, my shoulder's are soar, and my insomnia is back with a vengeance. I'm also so getting blown off on a date and I haven't been able to pick up my laundry all week because I've been working too late.

Yet, there's one thing out there, one thing in the midst of the dreariness, one thing out there that lights up the world and gives it some meaning…..

Pitchers and catchers report tomorrow.
Is it a bad sign that I'm now drinking a glass or two of wine when I get back from work? Is it a bad sign that the Real World's Teck is now getting acting gigs on Friends? Do we really need a two-hour special on Michael Jackson's face? Belgium? Is bagging on Ben Afleck gonna affect my Karma Point total? Is anyone else kind of hoping that the "Human Shields" who just arrived in Iraq get their butts blown to smithereens? Does anyone think Rummy's purposely gonna target them? Does anybody remember the laughter? Is there anyway I can cash in on LeBron James too? Is anyone still reading this blog? Are there people who do nothing but sit around the house waiting for VH-1 to call them to be on one of their specials? Designer Belly Buttons? Is Matt Stone the Andrew Ridgeley of South ParkDuct-Tape? Are they fucking serious? Does anyone really believe we're on the verge of another terrorist attack? Dennis Erickson? Is it a long way to the top if you wanna rock n' roll? Why do I keep on fucking up?

Wednesday, February 12, 2003

Faith!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I've been thinking more about this whole idea of cashing in on Karma and about how life would be much better if it was like Vegas. I have a whole new idea based on that thought.

Wouldn't it be cool if we had like a Karma Savings Account that allows us to see where we stand on the karma meter? And with that, we'd have like this catalogue to see what our points would get us. Like with Skee Ball.

On the high end would be, say, the Mother Theresa items ('cause God knows that woman had a lot of karma). That would allow you to like, win the lottery, become a rock star, and sleep with famous people who are both beautiful and rich. From there on, it would be on various scales below that. So, like having 100 Karma Points could get you free tix to a concert. And 500 would get you, say, dating a hip-hop dancing writer and 1000 would get you a raise. 10,000 would get you huge promotion and a raise, a deal on a house, or a home theater system given to you by a relative.

Or, you could cash in a large amount for smaller things, all Wheel of Fortune style. "Okay, God, I'd take Giants tickets for 100, the S3 Buffy DVD for 50, and a new job for 1000."

And, of course, you'd also see if you were in Karma debit. You'd also get to see what kind of trouble you'd get into if you didn't stay up on your karma points. This way, you'd have to do good deeds or get in good Karma credit. Why do you think Bill Gates has suddenly become Mr. Charity?Like Don Rumsfield could check his account and notice that his karma is in such debit that his dick is about to fall off (I know, cheap dick joke- sorry, work has been total "weird scenes inside the gold-mine lately"). Or Fred Durst can look at his Karma points and see that he's about to become a has-been (oh, hey, that's about to happen). Wouldn't this be better for the world anyways?
I don't know about you, but I'm so psyched for Friday's big opening of the Ben Afleck flick, DareDevil. Why, you might be asking, considering my lack of love for People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive and the movie's obvious God-awfulness?

Because there's nothing I want more (well, there's a lot more that I want, but I gotta exagerate for effect here) than DareDevil to go down in a Glitter-like disaster, taking Mr. J-Lo's career with him. Because only then- then, will people realize he's a talentless hack and that nobody really cares about him, and that he just plain sucks.

And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't throw $12 million bucks at him per movie, or whatever crazy amount of money he's gonna make, and decide there's better uses for it. Like helping to fight AIDS in Africa. Or trying to end world hunger. Or giving it to a not-quite-starving but wishes he could be doing a lot better blogger.

A boy has to have his dreams, n'est pas?

Tuesday, February 11, 2003

From today's Salon:

Intolerance on the left-Michael Lerner, liberal rabbi and harsh critic of Ariel Sharon, finds himself blacklisted by ANSWER, the group co-sponsoring Sunday's big antiwar rally in San Francisco.

Otherwise known as Why I'll Never March with the Anti-war Protestors. Aka, ANSWER can go choke on it.....

"Even as other members of the democratic left have denounced the hardcore Maoists and Stalinists behind much recent antiwar organizing, Michael Lerner, the dovish San Francisco rabbi and editor of the liberal Jewish magazine Tikkun, has defended the role of sectarians in the movement...So Lerner was understandably outraged to learn that he'd been banned from speaking at the San Francisco rally ANSWER is co-sponsoring on Sunday...

Some say that's because Lerner, while urging people to work with ANSWER on peace movement issues, also has denounced the group's rabidly anti-Israel, pro-Saddam politics. But Lerner says that the agreement giving ANSWER veto power over its critics was merely a pretext used by the group as an excuse to keep him off stage. The real reason for his exclusion, Lerner believes, is that, while he is unrelenting in his opposition to Ariel Sharon's government and his call for Palestinian statehood, he supports Israel's right to exist and condemns Palestinian terrorism. An ANSWER spokesman seemed to confirm Lerner's theory when he told WNYC radio host Brian Lehrer that the group wouldn't allow a "pro-Israel" speaker at its demonstrations.

Bite Me.
Why do I do this?

I went to a cafe to meet friends tonight. When I got there and went to get something to eat, I saw that they served a bunch of yummy food that's not particularly healthy and lots of salads. One of their meals is a macaroni and cheese plate featuring three types of cheese. They also offered Caesar's Salad. I decided I was gonna go healthy so as soon as I got in line, I kept on saying to myself "Caesar's salad, Caesar's salad, Caesar's salad..." Naturally, the moment I got up to order, I said "macaroni and cheese."

Oh, like you wouldn't have?
Now there's sneaky and there's sneaky. This is sneaky: sending out spam mail entitled "The Playoffs are Here."

Any guy knows right now that there's no playoffs going on right now. In fact, it's the dreaded Dead Zone of sports when it takes about five minutes to read through the entire sports section and Sportscenter actually shows five minutes of WNBA highlights. Still, any guy sees that headline in an e-mail and thinks "hey, it's sports related...it's gotta be interesting!"

Of course, it's for a Home Mortgage Loan and we know that it's probably for something like that, but just the hint, just the whiff of sports makes us interested.

Damn you, damn you all to hell

Sunday, February 09, 2003

Man, I had this brilliant, witty and poignantly clever thing to post this weeked, but I completely forgot what it was.

Sorry.
I was thinking over the weekend how much cooler life would be if it were like Vegas. No, not in that trashy, tacky and Sin City way (although, come to think of it, that wouldn't be so bad), but more in that you go play, accrue whatever you have and then cash in your chips. Except instead of money, it's with karma.

What I'm getting at is that if there is such a thing as karma, and that what eventually goes around comes around, wouldn't it be great if you could cash in a few karma chips when you really need it? You know, like you're thinking, okay, I've gone through a fair amount of shit recently and I'd like to cash in those Going Through Shit Chips and I'm a Good Guy chips right now. And no, I'm not talking about something like winning the lottery or Game 6 of the Series ending differently for the Giants or suddenly have Salma Hayek show up your door naked, but just something a little bit more normal. Something just a little cool, something to add a merriment to a world that's grown to dark.

Is cashing in some karma chips that big of a deal? And if so, can I cash some in right now?

Does anyone know how it's done?

Thursday, February 06, 2003

I really am a misunderstood genius ahead of his time- this week's The Onion has a story about something I wrote earlier, about the Great Lord of the Rings/Star Wars Geek Civil War.

Nation's Love Affair With Lord Of The Rings Threatening Its Relationship With Star Wars
For those of you scoring at home, I had earlier talked about how much fun it is to be finally wielding some fee-fi-fo-fum power and throwing people above me "under the bus."

Well, it's not quite as much fun when you start realizing that one of them knows their fate. And you know because they start asking you random, weird questions which makes you think they know what's coming. And, even worse, that they suspect you might have something to do with it. In fact, you find out that they've figured out that you've been totally circumenventing them running their department for the past month. Ooopsie.

Oy, the guilt. Especially when you feel both a feeling of ickiness because the guy really is a genuinely nice person and you've been kind of nasty in a high-school way towards them as well as the excitement of the possibility that there's an outside chance you could be given the responsibility of taking over for him.

Out, out, damn spot.
With a choice between going out with a friend I haven't seen in awhile to a place pretty much around the corner from me and watching the two-hour Michael Jackson documentary, I made the only choice possible- the Michael Jackson documentary.

Duh. Talk about a no-brainer.

Freak scene just can't believe us .

Wednesday, February 05, 2003

I'm beginning to think that this yoga thing is getting too trendy. Not only are the classes I'm going to pretty jam-packed, but the percentage of women to men is starting to get 50-50. That's not what it's supposed to be like.

Not only that, normal (ie not particularly attractive people) are making up most of the classes. So now I have classes like last week's- where behind me was a tattooed Bull-dyke and in front of me a skinny, pasty-faced, ex-Dungeons & Dragons Dungeon Master with a kind of mix between a mullet and an 80's rocker hair. With thick-horn rimmed glasses and a Springsteen-like head band too.

Definitely not as much fun.

Not nearly as much fun as the time I was lying next to some woman who was probably enjoying the floor stretches a bit too much. Particularly these stretches where you put your hands underneath your chest, towards your "lower" regions and stretch your legs, using the area where your hands are as the place you put your weight. Let's just say that she probably had a smoke after class. When I closed my eyes to focus on my breathing, it was like I was back at home, watching a Skinemax flick, watching a Skinemax flick in a really fucking hot room.

Tuesday, February 04, 2003

When it comes down to it, the main reason I don't like dance music is because, well, it sucks. Actually, it's more than that. As the old adage goes, people will dance to anything if they put a good beat to it. People can be stupid that way. Most dance music that I hear is nothing but a huge, repetitive beat played over and over again until it stays stuck in your head like a head cold.

For proof, I give you this: I was at the corner store over the weekend. It's the same corner store where the people who work there pretend to be Hispanic yet are really Arab-American (I heard the guy on the phone today speaking Arabic). Anyways, as I was at the counter, I heard coming from the radio a song I knew pretty well, but couldn't place it. Occasionally, when not playing salsa music, the store plays the San Francisco dance music station- the Party or what have you. Somehow, over the tss-tikca-tss-ticka of the beat, the whailing female voice rang a bell. Somewhere from the deep recess of my brain- the recesses where I put things I don't want to ever think about again- I knew I had heard the song before. And then it hit me. I knew what it was. Somebody actually made with a dance remake of Journey's "Whose Crying Now."

Dear God.

Journey! A Journey song, fer crissakes! Does anyone out there think that that's a good idea? Is somebody out there tapping their toes at the moment and thinking that this song makes them want to do shake their booty? And if so, how burnt out on E are they? Are people stoked when the song gets played at a club? Am I the only one who remembers just how God-awful that song was?

Let's put it another way- a dance version of "Whose Crying Now?" Not danceable. The Humpty Dance. Now, that's danceable.
Went to Virgin records to buy the new Zwan CD (yee-awn). I was lucky in that I got it on sale so it was only (only) $14.99. That's almost four bucks off of the regular cost of CD's, which is now $18.99, and what I paid for the Sigar Ros CD I also bought (pretty interesting). It's also the cost of Zep II, which I wanted to buy but couldn't pull the trigger on due to the fact it's $18.99

All of which makes me glad I also spent an additional $9.99 on blank CD's. If they're gonna charge $18.99 for a CD, I sure as hell don't feel no guilt for burning 7 CD's in one afternoon for a total of a buck a disc.

Monday, February 03, 2003

Yesterday I was reading the news reports about the Columbia explosion. In a story about the President's day and what he did to deal with the disaster, I read this:

Bush's immediate response was to express "deep concern for those on board and especially for their families," said deputy White House spokesman Scott McClellan.

Now, not that I don't believe that Bush reacted that way because he probably did. And I know the press has to write what his reaction was because it's all part of the story, but sheesh. Talk about a self-serving question.

What does anyone expect the Spokesman to say? That Bush's first reaction upon hearing the news was to say "bummer?" That he expressed amazement that we have ships that go into outer space? That he said that was sad but he'll deal with it as soon as Spongebob Squarepants was over?

Saw Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, the movie directed by George Clooney about Chuck Barris. Good movie, but if I had once criticism it would be this- not enough Gene Gene the Dancing Machine.

Speaking of which, Reason #531 of Why I Love the Web- Because I could actually find video to download of Gene Gene the Dancing Machine.

Sunday, February 02, 2003


As I was flipping through the channels the other night, I saw highlights of the big Diane Sawyer interview with Jason Priestley. Jason, of course, has just recovered from his near-death racing accident.

Apparently, one of the highlights is an interview with Luke Perry. Luke emotionally talks about visiting Jason in the hospital. He tells Diane a story about how when Jason was in a coma, he was told that Jason might be able to come out of unconsciousness if he was to hear friendly voices trying to reach out to him. And so Luke, who is almost on the verge of tears as he tells Diane this, hopped on top of the bed and started screaming at Jason to wake up. And as Luke screamed Jason's name, Jason did indeed wake up.

And as Luke tears up, so do I. I can see it in my head- we all can. We all know how it went down. Jim and Cindy are distraught in the emergency room, Brenda is sulking, worrying about how it affects her and being comforted by Kelly. Steve's doing something stupid because he doesn't know what else to do. And here comes Dylan to save the day, the only one who can save the day. Because Brandon's been there so many times for Dylan and Dylan's just returning the favor. Because they're bro's- Brando and Dylan. Because they'll always be there for each other, even when Kelly gets in between them. Who helped Dylan during all of his drug/alcohol binges? And who helped nurse Dylan back to health after he got into a car crash? And there's Dylan, with the cheesy guitar in the background, returning the favor, doing what he knows Brandon would do for him.

Oh wait, we're talking about the real people here, not the characters they play. Oh, who cares. Why can't I live in a world in which all of the BH 9'er gang exists in some alternative universe and that it's not the totally, completely lame post-Brandon version. And not just going on, but Brenda's back from Europe and Val's there too. So are Jim and Cindy and even Andrea. And there's no Noah or any all the other lame-o characters they introduced towards the end.

Ahh, good times, good times…..
And yeah, yesterday was one of the big, gut-wrenchingly sad news days in which the news channels go into overdrive and we get bombarded with lots of headlines and tags with things like "A Nation Mourns." No snarkiness will be coming from this end as it is indeed a pretty sad and tragic thing.

On days like those, I always get weirded out about those moments when I don't know anything, when I'm blissfully unaware that anything is going on. All of the major channels are covering the story, millions are watching the coverage, the President flies back from Camp David to deliver a speech to the nation and despite it all, I had no clue. I was safely tucked in bed, watching Fletch (under-rated classic) and a bit of HBO: Inside the NFL (you can never heap enough scorn at the Raiders), totally oblivious what was going on mere ten or twenty clicks away on the remote.

I only found out hours later, after I had showered, had lunch and turned on the computer to check e-mail. By then, the story was hours old, but I had no clue whatsoever. I was lying in bed, being lazy and watching Fletch.

The story also brought me back- as I'm sure it did with everyone else- to the Challenger crash in '86. One of the reasons for my '80's hate is that pretty much nothing happened the entire decade. There was the Reagan and Lennon assasination's in the early 80's and then bupkus until the fall of the East Bloc (which, admittedly, was pretty fucking huge) in '89. Other than that, nothing. And here I was, some angst-ridden, ennui infused teenager living in some upper-middle class WASP enclave bored out of my skulll and desperately wishing for something exciting to happen. Anything. Keep in mind too, that this was when the Baby Boomer's were getting all Big Chill and misty-eyed about the past couple of decades and force-feeding those who weren't members of that generation to live their nostalgia. All through the '80's, you'd constantly hear about how groovy it was back in the '60's. About the Civil Rights marches and the Kennedy's and the Vietnam Protests and Woodstock and the Beatles. Is that Freedom Rock? Well, turn it up!

And then the Challenger blew up. It was news. It was big. It was different. Which is why when I was told by a friend what happened while walking down the hallways of my high-school, my reaction was one of excitement. I thought it was cool. Something was actually happening. Here we are now, entertain us.

These days, of course, it's pretty much the opposite. As the ole Chinese curse says "may you live in interesting times" and right now things are probably a little too interesting.

Saturday, February 01, 2003

I'm there at the BART, latish Friday night, on my way to a Club to hang out with some friends. Notice a kind of cute woman walking my way and think nothing of it, other than the usual thought that hey, she's kind of cute and why can't I meet women like that?

Then she sits down at one of the benches and pulls out a Buffy book. Not a magazine with Sarah Michelle Gellar on the cover, not a Buffy comic, not even The Watcher's Guide, but an actual Buffy book. Which is a level of fan-dom way beyond normal levels of fan-dom. We're talking serious geek-dom here. We're talking buying a book based on a TV show because you can't get enough of the TV show and want more. We're talking reading a book based on a TV show instead of, say, reading War and Peace. And all of this is way, way, beyond my level of fan-dom (and that's saying a lot). I think the only level of geek-dom beyond that are all the people who write fan-fic and post it online (the guy whose writing the blog page of the First Evil, however, doesn't count because it's really frickin' funny). In other words, a girl right after my own heart.

BART comes. Looks like it's not her ride as she doesn't make a move to get in. I hop on.

Chicken out again.