10/15/04: Call Me Plissken 

I am going to California Friday around 11am, getting in at around 2pm or something.  The wife's parents retired out there, and believe me it's a much more attractive place to spend your Christmases than Chicago*, where they used to live.  I know it's not Christmastime, but I'm just sayin'.

So we get in around 2 or 3 and then it's off to watch the Yankees and get some food and drink with cW and Sita and their hacky sack-playing entourage. Should be a blast. I like drinking in different cities to see how my position on the planet affects my performance.  Some climb mountains; I sit and rest my elbows on the solid wooden bar absorbing the wisdom of others and spewing some of my own.  Speaking of the basic bar structure -- after AJR's wedding, many of the guests congregated at a bar on the East side of Manhattan.  It was there that we discovered the purpose for that small wooden lip that often adorns the front (customer side) of the bar.  AJR's pal Mark had a weak moment in which he began to stumble drunkenly backwards.  Balance was lost; face on floor was looking like a strong possibility.  Then he reached out and grabbed that little lip like Wile E. Coyote and saved himself. Or, rather, the lip saved him. God Bless The Lip.

While I am in California, there is a possibility that I may take a break to reconstruct this site.  I may strip it down to nothing.  I may just post pictures of poodles wearing varsity sweaters.  I may take the whole bastard down. But most likely, it'll be more of the same old crapola.

Can we say it together? U2 is the most overrated, overstated band of all time. I've liked a few songs through the years, but what's so great about these fuckers? Have they left some legacy that other bands are following? Nah. They're hosers.   

I am enjoying the O'Reilly nonsense.  What a tool.  Doesn't he know that only attractive young men are allowed to regale sexy female co-workers with promises of wine, nipple-rubbing, and loofas? Amazing how these sexual harassers overestimate their own attractiveness to the opposite sex. Their egos are so huge, they assume attractive young females MUST be into them. That is a key element of harassment, right? Unwanted. As long as your perverted ramblings are welcome, you're in the clear. In other words, Brad Pitt could get away with a lot more than Clarence Thomas or Bill O'Reilly.  Not fair, but not a hard formula to figure out. If you ain't Brad Pitt, and you don't want to risk losing your job, keep the comeons to yourself. As for ol' blotchy-face O'Reilly, I will not give him the benefit of the doubt.  I won't wait for all the facts to come out. I say he's a hostile asshole who gets off on making people feel uncomfortable. I say he's guilty of the harassment (although there seem to be some questions the woman may need to answer as well). I think there are tapes. My only hope is that we get to hear them. Oh, and I also hope this fucks up his career. But I have a feeling his fans will worship him even more after this.  Because they too are hostile assholes.

Madame Monkeyweb sends in a serious boycott list that not only trumps mine but also seems to have a practical purpose.  That's the thing about having a bullshit website; whenever you do something, it's only a matter of hours before somebody sends in a link to someone who did it first and did it better.

By the way, terrorists out there: my vow from last April to bust you up if you fuck with my plane still stands:

Once again I issue this courtesy warning to potential terrorist types on my flight who might have some ideas about pulling some shit. Don't fuck with me or the crew.  I will take you out.  You can stab me and shoot me but you won't get to that cockpit.  I'll just keep coming like a slow, fat Terminator. I'll bust your nose open on an armrest, and I'll keep bashing it and busting it up even more.  Then I'll turn my attention to your friends.  I'll kick them each square in the nuts in rapid succession, and while they're doubled over in pain I'll slam their heads together like coconuts.  Long after your entire squad has lost consciousness, I will still be performing disturbingly violent acts upon your persons. It will get to the point where other passengers will be so freaked out by my unending capacity for righteous violence that they will all be utilizing their air sickness bags in one mass vomit session.  My eyes, glowing red with psychotic rage, will finally begin to calm down as I survey the scene.  Once I'm sure you and your buddies are out for the duration of the trip, I will return to my seat, high-fiving the still-reeling passengers as I walk down the aisle, grinning the same stupid grin that Wade Boggs grinned as he took that cop's horse for a victory spin after the '96 World Series. Once I am seated again, I will hit my little "attendant call" button, and when the grateful stewardess arrives at my row, I will calmly order a round of drinks for everyone on the plane (except the first class passengers), and two Bud Tall Boys for myself.  I will probably be asleep before I finish the second can.

There was a little more BoSox baiting at work today.  I try to be nice, but I can't help myself. I have to throw a dig in there every now and then.  Picking up from yesterday:

I know next to nothing about how music is played. But I do know I like the drum sounds the Flaming Lips seem to get on a lot of their songs.  It's such a nice big round sound. It makes me feel like I'm at a carnival.

* But Chicago is quite fun.  They take it to 4am without making a big deal about it.  And then they eat Gyros.