Ingredients:
- 1 Bad work week
- 0 Meals since breakfast
- 2 Fights with significant other
- 1 Weeknight, with work the next morning
- 1 High school/college pal in town, preferably having just broken up with/divorced their significant other
- 3 Transfers on public transportation
- 3 Hours until last call
- 1 Utter disdain for the rule of "liquor before beer, never fear; beer before liquor, never sicker"
- 10 or more alcoholic beverages
- 3 Massive bong hits
- 1 Call time earlier than 8 am
- 0 Aspirin in the house
Preparation:
Using as little foresight as possible, prepare the Bad work week, Weeknight, Fights, Transfers on public transportation and nonexistent Meals in a bowl. Stir until blended thoroughly. Simmer over low heat in a large stock pot.
Add the High school/college pal and turn heat to high. Pour in the Utter disdain for rule and 10 or more alcoholic beverages. Cook uncovered for the 3 hours until last call.
Turn heat to simmer and top with 3 Massive bong hits. Remove from heat.
Sprinkle with the Earlier than 8 am call time and 0 Aspirin.
Serve on a porcelain altar. Bon appetit!
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
A Star is Born
Sitting in this week for Lee Lee the Musical Bee is Judah on his 3-month old birthday. Thanks Judah!
;lp l;//' q ''''''''''njknmkkk za/ggggggggggysssaaa1111 rrrtwesa,,,zlfeegtttttttwessszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzel;e3w; 544fffffffffekok,,.,...... 564uu334iinbk,m 4lll.4,5 ;llll3n4
nnfreeef2333334er20dddsqqq hj uuuuuuuuuiammmmkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkmmmmmmmm< z l,..;... EFFFFEWDSSSS ;.';/../.D2W a ,,,,,,,,, ,.
;lp l;//' q ''''''''''njknmkkk za/ggggggggggysssaaa1111 rrrtwesa,,,zlfeegtttttttwessszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzel;e3w; 544fffffffffekok,,.,...... 564uu334iinbk,m 4lll.4,5 ;llll3n4
nnfreeef2333334er20dddsqqq hj uuuuuuuuuiammmmkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkmmmmmmmm< z l,..;... EFFFFEWDSSSS ;.';/../.D2W a ,,,,,,,,, ,.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
therein-lies
I went to a dinner party not too long ago, and one of the readers of Lee Lee the Musical Bee asked someone if they'd read it. She said no. The reader then said something to the effect of "It's great, but IT'S ALL LIES." She asked me "Like the one where you're riding your bike and you spank the homeless guy on the ass?" I informed her that that was the truth.
In some installments of Lee Lee the Musical Bee, I have fabricated stories. In writing, this is referred to as "fiction". It is not called lying. Can you imagine? "We went to see the Matrix and that shit was dope! But it was all a LIE!" No. We all agree that that story is far too fantastical to be reality, and we don't treat it as such.
I realize that some of the writings in this space seem so similar to the truth that they could be fact, in fact. Several readers routinely contact me to inquire whether the story they'd read really happened. So I've made the decision to never again tell lies in LLMB. Everything you (the reader) read here will forever be the truth:
The other day I woke up refreshed and well-rested. I went upstairs and pressed the power button on our Dell Dimension as I walked by on my way to make a pot of decaf. I sat down and began reading the headlines on the Fox News website. Suddenly a hummingbird burst through our screen door and hovered 2 feet away from my coffee mug.
"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope" the hummingbird pleaded in a female voice. I gagged and accidentally spit my coffee on the hummingbird from laughing so hard. "You've gotta be shitting me" I said. The hummingbird said it again "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope". I took another swig of decaf and turned back to the monitor to read.
"Musical Bee, you are the only one who can save the earth" the hummingbird said.
I almost spit my coffee out again. "You gotta be shitting me." I replied.
The hummingbird continued, "You must fly to galaxy G12 and stop your evil twin - the mastermind Rondel - from sending a massive asteroid which will destroy the earth. Take this pill."
The hummingbird gagged up a worm that landed on my desk.
"I'm not eating that." I told the bird.
The hummingbird pleaded "You must in order to save our earth. Please?"
"That's not a pill, it's a worm."
"It is a pill."
"Um. No, pills don't writhe and squirm like that."
"This one does."
I thought about it for a second and said "Okay." I downed the worm pill, and it tasted like tequila. "You fucker" I said to the hummingbird as it flew away.
I went outside to our deck and - still in my pajamas and slippers - I pointed my right arm to the sky a la Superman and suddenly monkeys flew out of my butt and propelled me into the air. I barely missed an AirFrance commercial jet as I surged into the atmosphere.
Soon I found myself at galaxy G12. I landed and took in my surroundings. Exactly the same as earth except all the people were characters from movies and television.
Hummingbirds surrounded me, picked me up by my pajamas and flew me toward a huge mansion that looked eerily similar to the one on the TV show "Joe Millionaire".
A guy who looked exactly like me walked out of an upper balcony in his pajamas. Except the pajama colors were the inverse of mine. He was sipping from a coffee mug that had the Final Cut Pro icon on the side of it. I realized this must be the evil mastermind Rondel. He turned his gaze from the distance and onto me.
"What the hell are you doing? Where's my breakfast?"
I looked down at my clothing and it had changed into a chef's uniform.
"Yes sir, breakfast comin' right up!" I hustled into the mansion's kitchen and started making a meal. I made what I knew he'd like because I hated it: Eggplant Parmigiana with cilantro and dill. I served it to the evil mastermind Rondel and he gobbled it right up. He started choking and tore his fork through his food. I had hidden a chunk of my favorite desert (key lime pie) in the middle. His head exploded all over the dining room.
I pointed my right arm toward the sky again and monkeys flew out of my butt again, propelling me into the blah blah blah. I landed at home at precisely one minute after I had left. I grabbed all the cash growing on my money tree and went down to BALCO labs to try to buy some "clear" to stop any more monkeys from flying out.
And that's the truth.
In some installments of Lee Lee the Musical Bee, I have fabricated stories. In writing, this is referred to as "fiction". It is not called lying. Can you imagine? "We went to see the Matrix and that shit was dope! But it was all a LIE!" No. We all agree that that story is far too fantastical to be reality, and we don't treat it as such.
I realize that some of the writings in this space seem so similar to the truth that they could be fact, in fact. Several readers routinely contact me to inquire whether the story they'd read really happened. So I've made the decision to never again tell lies in LLMB. Everything you (the reader) read here will forever be the truth:
The other day I woke up refreshed and well-rested. I went upstairs and pressed the power button on our Dell Dimension as I walked by on my way to make a pot of decaf. I sat down and began reading the headlines on the Fox News website. Suddenly a hummingbird burst through our screen door and hovered 2 feet away from my coffee mug.
"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope" the hummingbird pleaded in a female voice. I gagged and accidentally spit my coffee on the hummingbird from laughing so hard. "You've gotta be shitting me" I said. The hummingbird said it again "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope". I took another swig of decaf and turned back to the monitor to read.
"Musical Bee, you are the only one who can save the earth" the hummingbird said.
I almost spit my coffee out again. "You gotta be shitting me." I replied.
The hummingbird continued, "You must fly to galaxy G12 and stop your evil twin - the mastermind Rondel - from sending a massive asteroid which will destroy the earth. Take this pill."
The hummingbird gagged up a worm that landed on my desk.
"I'm not eating that." I told the bird.
The hummingbird pleaded "You must in order to save our earth. Please?"
"That's not a pill, it's a worm."
"It is a pill."
"Um. No, pills don't writhe and squirm like that."
"This one does."
I thought about it for a second and said "Okay." I downed the worm pill, and it tasted like tequila. "You fucker" I said to the hummingbird as it flew away.
I went outside to our deck and - still in my pajamas and slippers - I pointed my right arm to the sky a la Superman and suddenly monkeys flew out of my butt and propelled me into the air. I barely missed an AirFrance commercial jet as I surged into the atmosphere.
Soon I found myself at galaxy G12. I landed and took in my surroundings. Exactly the same as earth except all the people were characters from movies and television.
Hummingbirds surrounded me, picked me up by my pajamas and flew me toward a huge mansion that looked eerily similar to the one on the TV show "Joe Millionaire".
A guy who looked exactly like me walked out of an upper balcony in his pajamas. Except the pajama colors were the inverse of mine. He was sipping from a coffee mug that had the Final Cut Pro icon on the side of it. I realized this must be the evil mastermind Rondel. He turned his gaze from the distance and onto me.
"What the hell are you doing? Where's my breakfast?"
I looked down at my clothing and it had changed into a chef's uniform.
"Yes sir, breakfast comin' right up!" I hustled into the mansion's kitchen and started making a meal. I made what I knew he'd like because I hated it: Eggplant Parmigiana with cilantro and dill. I served it to the evil mastermind Rondel and he gobbled it right up. He started choking and tore his fork through his food. I had hidden a chunk of my favorite desert (key lime pie) in the middle. His head exploded all over the dining room.
I pointed my right arm toward the sky again and monkeys flew out of my butt again, propelling me into the blah blah blah. I landed at home at precisely one minute after I had left. I grabbed all the cash growing on my money tree and went down to BALCO labs to try to buy some "clear" to stop any more monkeys from flying out.
And that's the truth.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Under Six Feet
We've been watching the hit HBO series "Six Feet Under" via Netflix. I know, we're way behind the times, but we don't have HBO.
Lily thinks I look like Federico. I say no way.
What do you think?
Federico
Me
Lily thinks I look like Federico. I say no way.
What do you think?
Federico
Me
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Go!
I use the timer on the microwave for almost everything at home. Can't possibly leave it up to looking at the clock. I'll miss the mark every single time. I time my french press coffee brew. I time the rice cooking. I time the warmer for Judah's bottles. I even used the timer to see how long it takes for him to down 2 oz.: 10 minutes last time I checked.
Lately I've been using timer widgets on the computer. I still haven't found a nice interface yet. But I like the one called "Simple Timer". It has a little cartoon clock face that comes up with the words of whatever I typed in for it to say when the timer goes off. Like "eat!". Or "call!" Or "go!"
No freakin idea why the time is so important to be right on the dot. Lily does things without the timer and they turn out fine, if not better than my timer'd method. I guess it has to do with my need for efficiency: So I can figure out exactly how long it will take any given event to happen, so I can factor that into the day's master plan.
Good thing I don't wear a watch. Especially one with a second hand or a timer on it. Because then I could take my obsession with timing everywhere. I hope at least one of you out in LLMB readership land will time how long it took to read this week's entry. I'll be timing how long it takes for somebody to get back to me with the result.
Lately I've been using timer widgets on the computer. I still haven't found a nice interface yet. But I like the one called "Simple Timer". It has a little cartoon clock face that comes up with the words of whatever I typed in for it to say when the timer goes off. Like "eat!". Or "call!" Or "go!"
No freakin idea why the time is so important to be right on the dot. Lily does things without the timer and they turn out fine, if not better than my timer'd method. I guess it has to do with my need for efficiency: So I can figure out exactly how long it will take any given event to happen, so I can factor that into the day's master plan.
Good thing I don't wear a watch. Especially one with a second hand or a timer on it. Because then I could take my obsession with timing everywhere. I hope at least one of you out in LLMB readership land will time how long it took to read this week's entry. I'll be timing how long it takes for somebody to get back to me with the result.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Chutes Too Narrow
We have a spiral staircase in our house. Black iron. It's the second straight house I've lived in that has had a spiral staircase. But this one is much more narrow than the last one. So much so that it can be a truly treacherous experience if you're carrying anything. Or if you have a J.Lo size booty.
Well, now that we have another body in the house, I find myself regularly carrying Judah up and down the spiral staircase. Seriously dangerous. Squirming baby in both arms while ascending or descending. Unable to hold the handrail. The changing table is downstairs, so every time the diaper needs to be changed we need to go downstairs.
For whatever reason: clumsiness or fatigue or whatever, I've banged my right shin on the bottom step of the spiral staircase almost every time since December. It's resulted in my right shin becoming bruised in about a 4 inch by 4 inch area on the lower part of my leg. I guess it's holding a baby and trying to ensure that I don't miss the bottom step as I go up, I inadvertently feel my way for that step and end up slamming my shin against it.
The first couple of times it hurt so bad that I wanted to yell "MOTHERFUCKER", but I also didn't want to stress Judah out or wake him up if he was asleep. So I wound up mouthing "MOTHERFUCKER" and biting my lip. It didn't take long for the right shin to become sort of numb to the injury. Later I'd hear the clang of my shin hitting the iron step and wonder what it was. Then the tingle of what I suppose was pain would remind me that my shin hit the step.
And then I noticed something. One day I had to clean up some used coffee grounds that I'd spilled on the rug while trying to make decaf for Lily, so I went for the dustbuster which is behind the bottom step of the spiral staircase. The step had a dent in it. I felt the dent with my hand and it was about 4 inches wide in a angled shape. I knew what it was so I put my right shin against the curve. Perfect fit. I reached down for my shin and it felt as hard as the iron step. And the bruise was now just as black.
I was horrified. Should I go to the doctor? Should I call the landlord? I decided I'd better go to the medicine aisle at Safeway and look at my immediate options. As I hurried down 14th street, I wondered how much a new iron step for a spiral staircase would cost. Would I have to buy a whole new staircase? My landlord would probably think so.
The light at Church and 14th seemed like it took forever. The J Church pulled up to the intersection and let a few people off, then moseyed through Market street. The crosswalk finally said walk. I neglected to notice the SUV behind the train trying to run the red light. It came to a screeching halt, but I was already hastily stepping off the curb. My shin hit the Porsche Cayenne with a loud thud.
The man driving the Porsche quickly flung his door open. "Oh Jesus. Hang on... wait, no, I'm gonna have to call you back. Bye." He flipped his cell phone closed. I looked down at the point where the car hit my shin and there was a small but noticeable dent. "Oh my god. Are you ok?" he asked as he came toward me. He wasn't really looking me in the eye, but scanning the Porsche. I wondered if he was talking to me or the car. I was stunned, but not in shock. "Yeah. I'm fine. Look I gotta go..." The man spotted the dent and immediately became outraged. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR YOU FUCKING FREAK?!?!?!!!!" He became exasperated and flipped open his phone and said "LAWYER", I suppose to voice dial. I looked at the dent and then my shin and started laughing. I ran off to Safeway and I could hear the Porsche man yelling "HEY!! GET BACK HERE YOU FREAK!!!!" People behind him were honking. I know what my superpower is now: IronShin.
Well, now that we have another body in the house, I find myself regularly carrying Judah up and down the spiral staircase. Seriously dangerous. Squirming baby in both arms while ascending or descending. Unable to hold the handrail. The changing table is downstairs, so every time the diaper needs to be changed we need to go downstairs.
For whatever reason: clumsiness or fatigue or whatever, I've banged my right shin on the bottom step of the spiral staircase almost every time since December. It's resulted in my right shin becoming bruised in about a 4 inch by 4 inch area on the lower part of my leg. I guess it's holding a baby and trying to ensure that I don't miss the bottom step as I go up, I inadvertently feel my way for that step and end up slamming my shin against it.
The first couple of times it hurt so bad that I wanted to yell "MOTHERFUCKER", but I also didn't want to stress Judah out or wake him up if he was asleep. So I wound up mouthing "MOTHERFUCKER" and biting my lip. It didn't take long for the right shin to become sort of numb to the injury. Later I'd hear the clang of my shin hitting the iron step and wonder what it was. Then the tingle of what I suppose was pain would remind me that my shin hit the step.
And then I noticed something. One day I had to clean up some used coffee grounds that I'd spilled on the rug while trying to make decaf for Lily, so I went for the dustbuster which is behind the bottom step of the spiral staircase. The step had a dent in it. I felt the dent with my hand and it was about 4 inches wide in a angled shape. I knew what it was so I put my right shin against the curve. Perfect fit. I reached down for my shin and it felt as hard as the iron step. And the bruise was now just as black.
I was horrified. Should I go to the doctor? Should I call the landlord? I decided I'd better go to the medicine aisle at Safeway and look at my immediate options. As I hurried down 14th street, I wondered how much a new iron step for a spiral staircase would cost. Would I have to buy a whole new staircase? My landlord would probably think so.
The light at Church and 14th seemed like it took forever. The J Church pulled up to the intersection and let a few people off, then moseyed through Market street. The crosswalk finally said walk. I neglected to notice the SUV behind the train trying to run the red light. It came to a screeching halt, but I was already hastily stepping off the curb. My shin hit the Porsche Cayenne with a loud thud.
The man driving the Porsche quickly flung his door open. "Oh Jesus. Hang on... wait, no, I'm gonna have to call you back. Bye." He flipped his cell phone closed. I looked down at the point where the car hit my shin and there was a small but noticeable dent. "Oh my god. Are you ok?" he asked as he came toward me. He wasn't really looking me in the eye, but scanning the Porsche. I wondered if he was talking to me or the car. I was stunned, but not in shock. "Yeah. I'm fine. Look I gotta go..." The man spotted the dent and immediately became outraged. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR YOU FUCKING FREAK?!?!?!!!!" He became exasperated and flipped open his phone and said "LAWYER", I suppose to voice dial. I looked at the dent and then my shin and started laughing. I ran off to Safeway and I could hear the Porsche man yelling "HEY!! GET BACK HERE YOU FREAK!!!!" People behind him were honking. I know what my superpower is now: IronShin.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
One for the thumb
If you don't want to hear any more whining about the SuperBowl, stop reading now.
I've read too many articles this week about how the referees in SuperBowl XL affected the course of the game. If you saw the game, you know they did. I won't go over the specific plays (It would make me vomit for the 10th time this week if I did), but again, if you saw the game you know what they were.
There are enough journalists on ESPN and Fox Sports who are speaking out to the effect of "THE REFS COMPLETELY FUCKED UP AND SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING BUT WIPE THE ASSES OF MIKE HOLMGREN AND EVERY OTHER SEAHAWK ON THE SQUAD AT SUPERBOWL XL UNTIL THEY DIE." Well, the sports writers didn't exactly say anything resembling that, but they did cop to the fact that the refs played a deciding factor in the game. And that shouldn't happen.
Basically, if as many bad calls went against the Steelers, then the Seahawks win. Simple as that. I'm really tired of hearing "The Steelers won the game. That's it!" Well no shit. Seems that the media (and everybody else who doesn't see how the wrong team won the game) now believes that the definition of a champion is not only one who overcomes the foe, but that also overcomes whatever other adversity is there too (i.e. the referees). So why don't we just start the next championship game with one team down 20 points? If the down team were able to overcome that, then they'd truly be a champion.
Even the writers who previously thought the Seahawks didn't belong in the same room with the Steelers now agree that Seattle was robbed.
The Steelers fans probably wish the refs didn't play such a big role either. They probably want to know that they won fair and square. Or maybe not. They have the trophy.
Whining stops here.
Go [Whoever The Refs Fuck Over the Least]!
I've read too many articles this week about how the referees in SuperBowl XL affected the course of the game. If you saw the game, you know they did. I won't go over the specific plays (It would make me vomit for the 10th time this week if I did), but again, if you saw the game you know what they were.
There are enough journalists on ESPN and Fox Sports who are speaking out to the effect of "THE REFS COMPLETELY FUCKED UP AND SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING BUT WIPE THE ASSES OF MIKE HOLMGREN AND EVERY OTHER SEAHAWK ON THE SQUAD AT SUPERBOWL XL UNTIL THEY DIE." Well, the sports writers didn't exactly say anything resembling that, but they did cop to the fact that the refs played a deciding factor in the game. And that shouldn't happen.
Basically, if as many bad calls went against the Steelers, then the Seahawks win. Simple as that. I'm really tired of hearing "The Steelers won the game. That's it!" Well no shit. Seems that the media (and everybody else who doesn't see how the wrong team won the game) now believes that the definition of a champion is not only one who overcomes the foe, but that also overcomes whatever other adversity is there too (i.e. the referees). So why don't we just start the next championship game with one team down 20 points? If the down team were able to overcome that, then they'd truly be a champion.
Even the writers who previously thought the Seahawks didn't belong in the same room with the Steelers now agree that Seattle was robbed.
The Steelers fans probably wish the refs didn't play such a big role either. They probably want to know that they won fair and square. Or maybe not. They have the trophy.
Whining stops here.
Go [Whoever The Refs Fuck Over the Least]!
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Chilean Toilet About Celia
Look at your domain details
Irena, on Tracy disturbance
and bring so distinguish trefoil
He do of unroll lecherous peek
Sexy baby and bad erection?
We'll like our apartment better if we get this started.
Rollick in the hay like when you were young. seedling
Make your wife remember the good old days. capitoline
Shock resistance Lap Timer
it Hailee, it's suck
the Dolf, see perpendicular
You fit no packer
Aldous, the destruct mollie
or Vale, Ole the transference
her fly no imagination
his wait no alphabetical ministry
Atlanta, may sorrel guam
Pogrom, and grandstand
are make muscle finery
as shut as tourist rockbound renaissance
Eliminate all weakness and become the king!
Motorola is alginate with Domingo
Try Jamie a barbituate
anti de-pressants
Canadian Pharmaciy
Unique offers on the top health goods, huge discounts!
More telephone numbers than you can shake a stick at
Oyster yellow gold
it's Aubery but gabon
am proud of you, my dear. So far, so good. Now, Trot and Agnes,
on finish of antler
Cease being green-eyed and sport a new gift set.
It's all yours -- Beautify your wrist with a chic style.
The preceding was composed entirely of some of the subject lines of the more than 200 spam e-mails I received in the last week.
Irena, on Tracy disturbance
and bring so distinguish trefoil
He do of unroll lecherous peek
Sexy baby and bad erection?
We'll like our apartment better if we get this started.
Rollick in the hay like when you were young. seedling
Make your wife remember the good old days. capitoline
Shock resistance Lap Timer
it Hailee, it's suck
the Dolf, see perpendicular
You fit no packer
Aldous, the destruct mollie
or Vale, Ole the transference
her fly no imagination
his wait no alphabetical ministry
Atlanta, may sorrel guam
Pogrom, and grandstand
are make muscle finery
as shut as tourist rockbound renaissance
Eliminate all weakness and become the king!
Motorola is alginate with Domingo
Try Jamie a barbituate
anti de-pressants
Canadian Pharmaciy
Unique offers on the top health goods, huge discounts!
More telephone numbers than you can shake a stick at
Oyster yellow gold
it's Aubery but gabon
am proud of you, my dear. So far, so good. Now, Trot and Agnes,
on finish of antler
Cease being green-eyed and sport a new gift set.
It's all yours -- Beautify your wrist with a chic style.
The preceding was composed entirely of some of the subject lines of the more than 200 spam e-mails I received in the last week.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
wherein-lies
My son Judah was born on a Thursday. He asked me a funny question about TNSC the other day:
Judah: "Old man? Where do I find the venue announcement for Thursday Night Social Club?"
Lee: "Aren't you on the e-mail list?"
Judah: "I'm too little for e-mail. And you haven't signed me up for an e-mail account yet."
Lee: "Oh. It's: therein-lies.com"
Judah: "Got it. I went to tnsc.com and got some 'site under construction' thing. Then I went to tnsc.org and got some 'site is currently being revised' thing.
Then I went to tnsc.net and found 'The Network Support Company'. I knew that couldn't be it because there wasn't any talk about drinking or anything."
Lee: "Right. It's therein-lies.com"
Judah: "Got it."
Lee: "Great. Where is it tonight?"
Judah: "Hang on. Why do I have to click through a couple o' sites that have nothing but another link to the real site? I don't even understand what those dancers mean."
Lee: "Um... Go ask your mother."
Judah: "Old man? Where do I find the venue announcement for Thursday Night Social Club?"
Lee: "Aren't you on the e-mail list?"
Judah: "I'm too little for e-mail. And you haven't signed me up for an e-mail account yet."
Lee: "Oh. It's: therein-lies.com"
Judah: "Got it. I went to tnsc.com and got some 'site under construction' thing. Then I went to tnsc.org and got some 'site is currently being revised' thing.
Then I went to tnsc.net and found 'The Network Support Company'. I knew that couldn't be it because there wasn't any talk about drinking or anything."
Lee: "Right. It's therein-lies.com"
Judah: "Got it."
Lee: "Great. Where is it tonight?"
Judah: "Hang on. Why do I have to click through a couple o' sites that have nothing but another link to the real site? I don't even understand what those dancers mean."
Lee: "Um... Go ask your mother."
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Cut the crap
Apparently we in San Francisco are the 11th meanest to the homeless in the nation. This has nothing to do with the general public's meanness, but instead the meanness of the policies that work against the homeless. We were 8th in 2004. Now we're 11th. Sarasota, Florida is number 1. I'm sure that a lot of San Franciscans don't like the thought of even being #11.
Just the other day in my neighborhood I walked past a bunch of somebody's crap in a shopping cart (pretty standard), then walked by a pile of somebody's crap. Definitely not dog crap. I know what that stuff looks like, I live right near Duboce Park - the Paris of San Francisco in terms of dogshit per square foot on the sidewalk.
Back to the human shit on the sidewalk. I'm sure we've all seen it in one place or another in our fair City. Probably next to some plastic bag or whatever they used to wipe their asses afterwards (another clue that it's not a huge dogshit). Seems like whichever person without a home and thus a bathroom to crap in doesn't really take his neighbors into consideration when squatting. It might even be seen as being mean to subject the surrounding neighborhood to his or her feces. Probably doesn't have happy thoughts about The City in general while taking a dump on the street.
San Francisco is #11 in the "mean to homeless" category. On its face, that sounds like we really ought to be nicer to them. And invite more of them here. And more of their shit.
Just the other day in my neighborhood I walked past a bunch of somebody's crap in a shopping cart (pretty standard), then walked by a pile of somebody's crap. Definitely not dog crap. I know what that stuff looks like, I live right near Duboce Park - the Paris of San Francisco in terms of dogshit per square foot on the sidewalk.
Back to the human shit on the sidewalk. I'm sure we've all seen it in one place or another in our fair City. Probably next to some plastic bag or whatever they used to wipe their asses afterwards (another clue that it's not a huge dogshit). Seems like whichever person without a home and thus a bathroom to crap in doesn't really take his neighbors into consideration when squatting. It might even be seen as being mean to subject the surrounding neighborhood to his or her feces. Probably doesn't have happy thoughts about The City in general while taking a dump on the street.
San Francisco is #11 in the "mean to homeless" category. On its face, that sounds like we really ought to be nicer to them. And invite more of them here. And more of their shit.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Should I stay or should I go?
Ever get a nosebleed in the shower? It's the most odd place to get a nosebleed (not that getting a nosebleed in any other place is common) because there's always this sense of "should I get out of the shower now or should I just stand here and plug my nose until it goes away?"
Getting a nosebleed in the shower always reminds me of the shower scene in Psycho. But in color. And without the scary knife coming through the shower curtain. But the blood thing all over the place, that reminds me of Psycho. And then I usually wonder if Hitchcock got a nosebleed in the shower and that's where he came up with the idea for one of the most famous and memorable scenes in all of cinema.
Once the nosebleed starts, it's kind of too late to stop it from getting more than a few drops all over the place. Can't really get tissue paper to plug the nostril because it will get all wet and fall out anyway. Don't really want to get blood all over the towels. So invariably I press my finger on the outside of the bleeding nostril and press it against the septum.
Standing there in the shower wondering when it's safe to get out.
Ah, what a conundrum.
Getting a nosebleed in the shower always reminds me of the shower scene in Psycho. But in color. And without the scary knife coming through the shower curtain. But the blood thing all over the place, that reminds me of Psycho. And then I usually wonder if Hitchcock got a nosebleed in the shower and that's where he came up with the idea for one of the most famous and memorable scenes in all of cinema.
Once the nosebleed starts, it's kind of too late to stop it from getting more than a few drops all over the place. Can't really get tissue paper to plug the nostril because it will get all wet and fall out anyway. Don't really want to get blood all over the towels. So invariably I press my finger on the outside of the bleeding nostril and press it against the septum.
Standing there in the shower wondering when it's safe to get out.
Ah, what a conundrum.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Apple store adventures - part 4
(This is really Apple store adventures - part 5, but I didn't report part 4 when it happened, so this is part 4. Not the actual part 4, but this one is part 5 which will be called part 4.)
I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let Lee Lee the Musical Bee turn into a parent column, now that I've added "parent" to the list of roles I fill. So I'll keep the references to consistency of baby poop to a minimum.
On top of learning to deal with life as a sleep-deprived zombie, last week my desktop computer monitor went on the fritz, my cell phone died, and I found a new infestation of ants in my home. All on the same day. Perfect.
On Wednesday, we noticed a blue line on the left third of our monitor. Phoned AppleCare and went through the standard "turn it off, unplug peripherals, turn it on, zap PRAM" rigamarole with the Apple customer service rep on the phone. (Are they called Geniuses too?) Finally after exhausting the myriad of possibilities that always includes starting up from the OS install disk (which I already did), she finally tells me to bring it into the Apple Store. Brilliant! That's what I could have done an hour earlier if they gave their customers the benefit of the doubt and believed that I really need my monitor repaired, even though I sit on the wrong side of the Genius bar.
I decided to go down to the Stonestown Mall Apple Store instead of the downtown Apple Store simply because there's no place to park downtown and I didn't want to carry a huge 30" display box down Stockton street. I made my "appointment" for the Genius Bar online, and drove down to Stonestown. God forbid I should be able to make a real appointment with my AppleCare purchase, Steve Jobs wants me to buy Apple PRO now for another fistful of dollars.
After driving around the Stonestown Mall 3 times to look for the big white Apple logo, I decide that the only way I'm gonna find the store is to go inside. I park, grab the huge box and find the nearest mall directory. Then I realize I couldn't have parked further away from the Apple Store than I did.
I don't know if you've ever carried a 30" display box, but it's a great way to throw out your back. There's a little plastic handle on the top that makes you think that you're gonna carry it that way. After about 29 steps, I realized that just heaving the thing up into my arms and carrying it like a bundle of lumber was the way to go. I picked up the pace as my arms began to burn. "What an interesting way to dump this monitor" I thought, "on the way to getting the damn thing looked at". I picked up the pace more. The looks I got were interesting: Mall-goers glared at my armful with a mix of wanting it and then realizing that it would be fucked to have to carry that monitor anywhere including back to the Apple Store for repair.
I ran into people. People ran into me. I finally made it into the Apple Store and some geek smiled widely and beamed "nice monitor!" as I trudged in. I set the huge box down next to the Genius Bar. I was next in line on the screen, followed by a person named "Lee B". The people behind the Genius Bar wear black shirts that say "Genius" in white type in the middle of the chest. I want a similar shirt that says "Idiot" for my next trip in, which at my current rate will be in another 4 months.
People with iPods waited at the counter. I realized I left my car door unlocked. The nearest Genius was doing something on his PowerBook and I was convinced he was only checking his e-mail and surfing the web. They called my name. I cut through the regular crap of explaining and gave the guy my case number. He went over to his PowerBook and probably looked through the latest iMixes to appear in iTunes, then got to the tedium of entering my case number. He took my monitor out of the box and set it up on the counter. He gave me a sheet of paper with my repair order and sent me on my way with the empty display box. Much lighter.
I'd get into the whole ordeal of getting my cell phone fixed, but you don't want to know. You do not want to know. But know this: that repair insurance stuff where you pay 5 bucks a month so you can break your phone and get a new one is a scam. It doesn't take a Genius to figure that out.
I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let Lee Lee the Musical Bee turn into a parent column, now that I've added "parent" to the list of roles I fill. So I'll keep the references to consistency of baby poop to a minimum.
On top of learning to deal with life as a sleep-deprived zombie, last week my desktop computer monitor went on the fritz, my cell phone died, and I found a new infestation of ants in my home. All on the same day. Perfect.
On Wednesday, we noticed a blue line on the left third of our monitor. Phoned AppleCare and went through the standard "turn it off, unplug peripherals, turn it on, zap PRAM" rigamarole with the Apple customer service rep on the phone. (Are they called Geniuses too?) Finally after exhausting the myriad of possibilities that always includes starting up from the OS install disk (which I already did), she finally tells me to bring it into the Apple Store. Brilliant! That's what I could have done an hour earlier if they gave their customers the benefit of the doubt and believed that I really need my monitor repaired, even though I sit on the wrong side of the Genius bar.
I decided to go down to the Stonestown Mall Apple Store instead of the downtown Apple Store simply because there's no place to park downtown and I didn't want to carry a huge 30" display box down Stockton street. I made my "appointment" for the Genius Bar online, and drove down to Stonestown. God forbid I should be able to make a real appointment with my AppleCare purchase, Steve Jobs wants me to buy Apple PRO now for another fistful of dollars.
After driving around the Stonestown Mall 3 times to look for the big white Apple logo, I decide that the only way I'm gonna find the store is to go inside. I park, grab the huge box and find the nearest mall directory. Then I realize I couldn't have parked further away from the Apple Store than I did.
I don't know if you've ever carried a 30" display box, but it's a great way to throw out your back. There's a little plastic handle on the top that makes you think that you're gonna carry it that way. After about 29 steps, I realized that just heaving the thing up into my arms and carrying it like a bundle of lumber was the way to go. I picked up the pace as my arms began to burn. "What an interesting way to dump this monitor" I thought, "on the way to getting the damn thing looked at". I picked up the pace more. The looks I got were interesting: Mall-goers glared at my armful with a mix of wanting it and then realizing that it would be fucked to have to carry that monitor anywhere including back to the Apple Store for repair.
I ran into people. People ran into me. I finally made it into the Apple Store and some geek smiled widely and beamed "nice monitor!" as I trudged in. I set the huge box down next to the Genius Bar. I was next in line on the screen, followed by a person named "Lee B". The people behind the Genius Bar wear black shirts that say "Genius" in white type in the middle of the chest. I want a similar shirt that says "Idiot" for my next trip in, which at my current rate will be in another 4 months.
People with iPods waited at the counter. I realized I left my car door unlocked. The nearest Genius was doing something on his PowerBook and I was convinced he was only checking his e-mail and surfing the web. They called my name. I cut through the regular crap of explaining and gave the guy my case number. He went over to his PowerBook and probably looked through the latest iMixes to appear in iTunes, then got to the tedium of entering my case number. He took my monitor out of the box and set it up on the counter. He gave me a sheet of paper with my repair order and sent me on my way with the empty display box. Much lighter.
I'd get into the whole ordeal of getting my cell phone fixed, but you don't want to know. You do not want to know. But know this: that repair insurance stuff where you pay 5 bucks a month so you can break your phone and get a new one is a scam. It doesn't take a Genius to figure that out.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Know your rights
The following entry was intended for last week, but an early trip to the hospital delivery room pre-empted posting. So the holiday relevance may be irrelevant, but I'm too busy learning how to change diapers to make a new one this week. Thanks for reading!
This holiday shopping season I've been trying to vote with my wallet. Easier said than done. Buyblue.org takes care of the checking on the store you're planning on throwing money at. The rest is up to you.
Do you wanna support the Red (i.e. EVIL) companies? Go to Wal-Mart. Duh. But who else? None of those tree-hugging, parka sporting companies in the Northwest, right? WRONG. Every time you click the purchase button on Amazon, you're giving more money to the Red party than the Blue.
Instead, go to the co-op of all co-ops, REI and buy some gear. 100% Blue. Not that everybody on your holiday shopping list is gonna want lanterns and snowshoes, but everybody appreciates a nicely pitched tent.
Need some toys for some nieces and nephews? Mattel gives 81% of their money to the Blue party. If you buy "it" on eBay you're giving 56% Blue. But if you walk into KB Toys and slide that credit card, it's now 100% Red.
And when you go home and order a pizza at the end of your shopping day, picking up the phone and calling Domino's will give 100% of your money to Republicans. Surprisingly enough, so does California Pizza Kitchen. You know you're funding corporate America when you go to the big burger chains like McDonald's
and Burger King, but what about In-n-Out Burger? In-n-Out actually gives a larger percentage of their donations to the Red party than the other two.
Well that's all for this week's installment of LLMB. Gotta get a Blue coffee. Where? Surprise surprise!
This holiday shopping season I've been trying to vote with my wallet. Easier said than done. Buyblue.org takes care of the checking on the store you're planning on throwing money at. The rest is up to you.
Do you wanna support the Red (i.e. EVIL) companies? Go to Wal-Mart. Duh. But who else? None of those tree-hugging, parka sporting companies in the Northwest, right? WRONG. Every time you click the purchase button on Amazon, you're giving more money to the Red party than the Blue.
Instead, go to the co-op of all co-ops, REI and buy some gear. 100% Blue. Not that everybody on your holiday shopping list is gonna want lanterns and snowshoes, but everybody appreciates a nicely pitched tent.
Need some toys for some nieces and nephews? Mattel gives 81% of their money to the Blue party. If you buy "it" on eBay you're giving 56% Blue. But if you walk into KB Toys and slide that credit card, it's now 100% Red.
And when you go home and order a pizza at the end of your shopping day, picking up the phone and calling Domino's will give 100% of your money to Republicans. Surprisingly enough, so does California Pizza Kitchen. You know you're funding corporate America when you go to the big burger chains like McDonald's
and Burger King, but what about In-n-Out Burger? In-n-Out actually gives a larger percentage of their donations to the Red party than the other two.
Well that's all for this week's installment of LLMB. Gotta get a Blue coffee. Where? Surprise surprise!
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Lost in the supermarket
Lately I've been receiving a lot of inadvertent e-mails to one of my bazillion e-mail accounts. Specifically my Gmail account. I never use that one because they scan each and every one of your e-mails for marketing clues. It's true. Says so right on the user agreement.
I always love getting random e-mails to my accounts that have pictures attached. I received one e-mail that had this one attached. The sender said "You look so cute in these. Here you go."
I wish I knew which one of these cute guys he or she thought was me. Striped shirts and dark belts, coronas, clean shaven and neatly trimmed eyebrows. I just wanna party with these guys.
I got signed up for an account to Wegmans, which is a supermarket chain. I don't see any of these dudes signing up for supermarket online offers, so it must be some other person who thinks they got my Gmail account.
Now I'm on this e-mail list for moms of Brownies. I get regular e-mails telling me when to be at Investiture and Rededication, Ice Cream parties and such. Apparently I'm supposed to bring an ice cream scoop and a can of whipped cream to the next meeting. And there is a super secret trip to the Jelly Belly factory on the 27 of January. I so badly want to show up dressed as a Brownie so I can go along. Doesn't this place look like a blast?
I can't wait to see where our little Brownie group will go next. Speaking of which, we have a meeting next Wednesday which requires "holiday cookie cutters." No bigger than 3-4 inches please. Kisses!
I always love getting random e-mails to my accounts that have pictures attached. I received one e-mail that had this one attached. The sender said "You look so cute in these. Here you go."
I wish I knew which one of these cute guys he or she thought was me. Striped shirts and dark belts, coronas, clean shaven and neatly trimmed eyebrows. I just wanna party with these guys.
I got signed up for an account to Wegmans, which is a supermarket chain. I don't see any of these dudes signing up for supermarket online offers, so it must be some other person who thinks they got my Gmail account.
Now I'm on this e-mail list for moms of Brownies. I get regular e-mails telling me when to be at Investiture and Rededication, Ice Cream parties and such. Apparently I'm supposed to bring an ice cream scoop and a can of whipped cream to the next meeting. And there is a super secret trip to the Jelly Belly factory on the 27 of January. I so badly want to show up dressed as a Brownie so I can go along. Doesn't this place look like a blast?
I can't wait to see where our little Brownie group will go next. Speaking of which, we have a meeting next Wednesday which requires "holiday cookie cutters." No bigger than 3-4 inches please. Kisses!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
What's my name?
A tribute to Andy Rooney:
You ever wonder why some bands are called "The" something-or-other? Why bands aren't called "The" something-or-other? Why is that?
With rock bands in the 60's, it was pretty easy. Bands were more likely to put "The" in their names. You knew it was THE Beatles, THE Who. Not Beatles, or Who. Then in the 70's it got a little tougher because the preference wasn't to use "The". Yeah, we know it's not THE Foreigner. Not THE AC/DC. Just Rush. Styx. Queen. But is it THE Sex Pistols? or Sex Pistols? Right about now, you thinking "Well their album is called Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's THE Sex Pistols." Right, but the title of the band on the cover of Flogging a Dead Horse just says "Sex Pistols". Damn punk rockers. So angry they wanted to confuse us all.
In the 80s, there was no preference for "The" in your name or not. Great. It's THE B-52s, but is it THE Stray Cats? (It's not, it's just Stray Cats. But try saying it that way the next time they come up in conversation - which will be like, never.) You think it's THE Go-Gos, but it clearly says just "Go-Go's" on Vacation. It gets easier with hard rock bands, because they don't want to think about whether it's THE or not, they just want big hair and beer. Motley Crue. Guns n' Roses. Not THE Poison. And not THE Twisted Sister.
And when grunge killed glam in the early 90s, it also axed THE from its vocabulary. Easy to remember: Soundgarden, Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam. (Some Seattlite is going to write me and tell me that those bands are from the late 80s, I just know it.) Hip-hop made it easy too by bustin' a cap in THE's ass: Gangstarr, NWA, Mobb Deep, Wu-Tang.
Then around the new millenium, THE came back in vogue. So many THE's it was The THE empire strikes back! The Strokes, The White Stripes, The Vines, The Hives! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
I heard The The was touring again, but it's probably just as interesting to see whether the THE is popping up in band names again. -LL THE MB
You ever wonder why some bands are called "The" something-or-other? Why bands aren't called "The" something-or-other? Why is that?
With rock bands in the 60's, it was pretty easy. Bands were more likely to put "The" in their names. You knew it was THE Beatles, THE Who. Not Beatles, or Who. Then in the 70's it got a little tougher because the preference wasn't to use "The". Yeah, we know it's not THE Foreigner. Not THE AC/DC. Just Rush. Styx. Queen. But is it THE Sex Pistols? or Sex Pistols? Right about now, you thinking "Well their album is called Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's THE Sex Pistols." Right, but the title of the band on the cover of Flogging a Dead Horse just says "Sex Pistols". Damn punk rockers. So angry they wanted to confuse us all.
In the 80s, there was no preference for "The" in your name or not. Great. It's THE B-52s, but is it THE Stray Cats? (It's not, it's just Stray Cats. But try saying it that way the next time they come up in conversation - which will be like, never.) You think it's THE Go-Gos, but it clearly says just "Go-Go's" on Vacation. It gets easier with hard rock bands, because they don't want to think about whether it's THE or not, they just want big hair and beer. Motley Crue. Guns n' Roses. Not THE Poison. And not THE Twisted Sister.
And when grunge killed glam in the early 90s, it also axed THE from its vocabulary. Easy to remember: Soundgarden, Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam. (Some Seattlite is going to write me and tell me that those bands are from the late 80s, I just know it.) Hip-hop made it easy too by bustin' a cap in THE's ass: Gangstarr, NWA, Mobb Deep, Wu-Tang.
Then around the new millenium, THE came back in vogue. So many THE's it was The THE empire strikes back! The Strokes, The White Stripes, The Vines, The Hives! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
I heard The The was touring again, but it's probably just as interesting to see whether the THE is popping up in band names again. -LL THE MB
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Car Jamming
I recently bought a certified pre-owned vehicle. The last time I bought a car was in 1995. Before that, 1988. My first car was a BMW 2002 - you know, those little ones that make a Mini look big. It wasn't certified pre-owned. Private owner, a guy who worked at some fashion store in the Tacoma Mall that makes Gap look like haute couture. He was a slick dude. And the 2002 was a fine looking vehicle on the outside, but under the hood it was the biggest piece of shit I've ever heard of. I bet the guy who sold it to me is a used car salesman now.
What is it with car salesmen (and women) that makes them so slimy? Do they go to some car sales school where they're taught the slimy tricks of the trade? Slimyness 101? Seems like they could just point out the features of the car and go along for the test ride and talk a few special deals up and their job would be done. I don't need the "I really want to make this work for you" treatment. They don't give a shit what works for me, as long as it means a sale for them.
Well this salesman, we'll call him Sammy, gave me the requisite treatment. Coffee, more coffee, more coffee. I love coffee, but what else ya got? He talked about his cousin who lives near me, but couldn't remember his name. He told me to go in and say hi to his cousin. Uh huh. He attempted to recount the details of our phone conversation and got every one of them slightly wrong. Wife's not coming, don't live in San Hose, don't have a trade-in.
The slimy stuff was generally harmless until we were finalizing the details of the purchase. I told him I noticed that the fog lights weren't working, the light that turns on when you open the drivers side vanity mirror didn't, and the windshield wipers made a horrible rubbing and skipping noise when turned on. Not major stuff, but stuff that shouldn't be happening on a certified pre-owned vehicle. Sammy said they were taking the car to the back to get it ready to go.
I sign the next 3 years of my life away with some other guy who does nothing but complain about "the man" and ask me if I would edit a video of his 2 year old son. I go back out to the waiting area where Sammy asks me if I want more coffee. Then he tells me that the shop is closed on weekends and they're not gonna be able to fix that stuff today. To sweeten that deal, Sammy says that I have to take it back to Sunnyvale VW to get that stuff fixed. Wow, that was a fast one! I thought I'd covered my bases.
My head turned into a big flat lollipop like the ones you see in Bugs Bunny cartoons that said "SUCKER". Actually all that stuff wasn't a major deal, but it made me wonder what else didn't meet the certified pre-owned criteria. Well, a few days later I drove the car down to Sunnyvale to get the stuff fixed, they gave me a Hyundai loaner that drove like a souped up golf cart, and I drove back down again to pick it up the same night. You gotta love that 101 rush-hour traffic. I drove into the lot to find Sammy combing his greasy hair back in the reflection of my certified pre-owned car window. He greeted me with a big open hand waiting for a shake. "Well I guess the next time I see you is when you're bringing me another customer!" Yeah.
What is it with car salesmen (and women) that makes them so slimy? Do they go to some car sales school where they're taught the slimy tricks of the trade? Slimyness 101? Seems like they could just point out the features of the car and go along for the test ride and talk a few special deals up and their job would be done. I don't need the "I really want to make this work for you" treatment. They don't give a shit what works for me, as long as it means a sale for them.
Well this salesman, we'll call him Sammy, gave me the requisite treatment. Coffee, more coffee, more coffee. I love coffee, but what else ya got? He talked about his cousin who lives near me, but couldn't remember his name. He told me to go in and say hi to his cousin. Uh huh. He attempted to recount the details of our phone conversation and got every one of them slightly wrong. Wife's not coming, don't live in San Hose, don't have a trade-in.
The slimy stuff was generally harmless until we were finalizing the details of the purchase. I told him I noticed that the fog lights weren't working, the light that turns on when you open the drivers side vanity mirror didn't, and the windshield wipers made a horrible rubbing and skipping noise when turned on. Not major stuff, but stuff that shouldn't be happening on a certified pre-owned vehicle. Sammy said they were taking the car to the back to get it ready to go.
I sign the next 3 years of my life away with some other guy who does nothing but complain about "the man" and ask me if I would edit a video of his 2 year old son. I go back out to the waiting area where Sammy asks me if I want more coffee. Then he tells me that the shop is closed on weekends and they're not gonna be able to fix that stuff today. To sweeten that deal, Sammy says that I have to take it back to Sunnyvale VW to get that stuff fixed. Wow, that was a fast one! I thought I'd covered my bases.
My head turned into a big flat lollipop like the ones you see in Bugs Bunny cartoons that said "SUCKER". Actually all that stuff wasn't a major deal, but it made me wonder what else didn't meet the certified pre-owned criteria. Well, a few days later I drove the car down to Sunnyvale to get the stuff fixed, they gave me a Hyundai loaner that drove like a souped up golf cart, and I drove back down again to pick it up the same night. You gotta love that 101 rush-hour traffic. I drove into the lot to find Sammy combing his greasy hair back in the reflection of my certified pre-owned car window. He greeted me with a big open hand waiting for a shake. "Well I guess the next time I see you is when you're bringing me another customer!" Yeah.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
How to Stop Breathing
Let's talk about the restroom for a minute. When you work in a workplace and share the restroom with a bunch of people, there are random smells in there that you just don't want to be inhaling. I.E. Someone's Ass Air. Yep, microscopic particles from somebody's behind going into your nose and producing a not-so-pleasant fragrance. Stopping breathing while you're in the restroom can prevent unwanted Ass Air from getting into your nasal passageways.
Here's how:
1. Take a deep breath of air, filling the lungs BEFORE entering the restroom.
2. As you are urinating, release the air from your lungs as slowly as possible. If you try to hold the air in with full lungs for as long as possible, it will trigger a panic sensation that will quicken the heart rate and cause you to begin breathing again. (Please do not attempt stopping breathing while creating your own Ass Air. Going #2 takes longer than #1 and therefore will nix this procedure.)
3. Upon reaching the last of your air supply (I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you), hold your breath. It is much easier to hold your breath with empty lungs than full lungs.
4. Wash up.
5. Exit the restroom and breathe freely again.
Now that wasn't so bad, was it? Best of all, you avoided inhaling that nasty unwanted Ass Air for a pleasant, non-stinky trip to the potty.
Be like our last great president, Bill Clinton, who said many times: "I didn't inhale."
These statements not approved by the AMA. Any passing out in the restroom is not the responsibility of LLMB, LLC. Please consult a doctor before attempting to stop breathing. The views and opinions expressed by LLMB have not been reviewed or approved by TNSC and its affiliates.
Here's how:
1. Take a deep breath of air, filling the lungs BEFORE entering the restroom.
2. As you are urinating, release the air from your lungs as slowly as possible. If you try to hold the air in with full lungs for as long as possible, it will trigger a panic sensation that will quicken the heart rate and cause you to begin breathing again. (Please do not attempt stopping breathing while creating your own Ass Air. Going #2 takes longer than #1 and therefore will nix this procedure.)
3. Upon reaching the last of your air supply (I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you), hold your breath. It is much easier to hold your breath with empty lungs than full lungs.
4. Wash up.
5. Exit the restroom and breathe freely again.
Now that wasn't so bad, was it? Best of all, you avoided inhaling that nasty unwanted Ass Air for a pleasant, non-stinky trip to the potty.
Be like our last great president, Bill Clinton, who said many times: "I didn't inhale."
These statements not approved by the AMA. Any passing out in the restroom is not the responsibility of LLMB, LLC. Please consult a doctor before attempting to stop breathing. The views and opinions expressed by LLMB have not been reviewed or approved by TNSC and its affiliates.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Looky over here!
Every week I try to come up with something interesting to read. There are a bunch of folks who appear to try to do the same on a daily basis. There are also a whole bunch of narcissists who want you to believe their lives are so important that you MUST read their daily spew and somehow feel enriched by it.
Codebymatt.com wants you to: "Subscribe to my RSS feed to keep up to date with my life. " Apparently the coding he's doing will validate your existence, so best to keep him in your feedbag so you can read about... uh, code.
Later in his blog he says, "I'm SO tired of the amount of crap on the Internet these days." Well do us all a favor and save your typing for the code, crapmaker.
A Fallen Angel. This has to be some sophomore in high school with nothing but a Playstation and a PC. His entry on Monday Nov. 7th is titled: "boring dayz....."
Oh boy! Here's the boring entry:
"woke up at 1 pm 2day. i already knew that 2day wud be 1 of those days where u did something realy fun yesterday.i whent on9 2 chat wiff ppl.but then my internet was giving problems.i cud not go on9 4 de whole day.my sis and cousin and friends went 2 see chicken little while my dad and mom went 2 see anak mami.i stayed at home and watched tv de whole day.at 11.45 pm the internet went on.so i just post this and went 2 sleep.(a very slow day)"
Wow. Thanks for sharing. I can't wait for A Fallen Angel's podcast, so I can subscribe and actually hear the excitement emanate from his voice.
Kim's Blog is chock full of unique and interesting muses, none of which have ever been seen in print. Here's an example:
"I was in the car and listening to the radio and heard that a certain station is a mix of the 80's and 90's. I started pondering what we'd call this decade when it's over with. The "zeros"? LOL! Anybody got better ideas?"
I've got a better idea, how's about pondering what the next decade will be called, since this one is half over with. People have been wondering since the 90s what this decade will be called. LOL!
There's this other moron who just writes about random stuff. There's no theme, and no telling what's next. Like that's going to keep 'em coming back for more. His latest entry was about other people's blogs. Oh, that's mine.
Tune in next week for another exciting episode of LEE LEE THE MUSICAL BEE!
Codebymatt.com wants you to: "Subscribe to my RSS feed to keep up to date with my life. " Apparently the coding he's doing will validate your existence, so best to keep him in your feedbag so you can read about... uh, code.
Later in his blog he says, "I'm SO tired of the amount of crap on the Internet these days." Well do us all a favor and save your typing for the code, crapmaker.
A Fallen Angel. This has to be some sophomore in high school with nothing but a Playstation and a PC. His entry on Monday Nov. 7th is titled: "boring dayz....."
Oh boy! Here's the boring entry:
"woke up at 1 pm 2day. i already knew that 2day wud be 1 of those days where u did something realy fun yesterday.i whent on9 2 chat wiff ppl.but then my internet was giving problems.i cud not go on9 4 de whole day.my sis and cousin and friends went 2 see chicken little while my dad and mom went 2 see anak mami.i stayed at home and watched tv de whole day.at 11.45 pm the internet went on.so i just post this and went 2 sleep.(a very slow day)"
Wow. Thanks for sharing. I can't wait for A Fallen Angel's podcast, so I can subscribe and actually hear the excitement emanate from his voice.
Kim's Blog is chock full of unique and interesting muses, none of which have ever been seen in print. Here's an example:
"I was in the car and listening to the radio and heard that a certain station is a mix of the 80's and 90's. I started pondering what we'd call this decade when it's over with. The "zeros"? LOL! Anybody got better ideas?"
I've got a better idea, how's about pondering what the next decade will be called, since this one is half over with. People have been wondering since the 90s what this decade will be called. LOL!
There's this other moron who just writes about random stuff. There's no theme, and no telling what's next. Like that's going to keep 'em coming back for more. His latest entry was about other people's blogs. Oh, that's mine.
Tune in next week for another exciting episode of LEE LEE THE MUSICAL BEE!
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Don't quit your day job
Have you read the book Kitchen Confidential? It's written by Anthony Bourdain. He's the executive chef of Les Halles in New York City. He uses a lot of italics in his writing, and I find myself reading a sentence over and over again to get the gist of how he intended it to be read.
For example, he writes:
"I love the restaurant business..."
"I'd still like to be a chef, too..."
"Food had power. It could inspire, astonish, shock, excite, delight and impress."
Did you catch yourself reading that last sentence a couple times? I have no idea how to read that last word without it sounding in my head like I'm forcing it to sound italicized. Seems to me like the italics should have been on "and" and not "impress". Who the hell am I to judge? I'm not even an executive chef, much less a writer.
When I read that many italics in print, the intended effect starts to lose its power. Like when I write italics, they don't have the same effect as when I bold them. Or when I bold them. Or when I bold them. Or when I bold them.
You can lose the emphasis of bolding when you bold an entire sentence.
BUT THEN IF YOU CAPITALIZE IT, IT GETS MORE EMPHASIS BACK.
Back to the point about italics. Don't use your italics too generously. Or you might find yourself the subject of a blog that any moron with a keyboard and an internet connection could produce.
For example, he writes:
"I love the restaurant business..."
"I'd still like to be a chef, too..."
"Food had power. It could inspire, astonish, shock, excite, delight and impress."
Did you catch yourself reading that last sentence a couple times? I have no idea how to read that last word without it sounding in my head like I'm forcing it to sound italicized. Seems to me like the italics should have been on "and" and not "impress". Who the hell am I to judge? I'm not even an executive chef, much less a writer.
When I read that many italics in print, the intended effect starts to lose its power. Like when I write italics, they don't have the same effect as when I bold them. Or when I bold them. Or when I bold them. Or when I bold them.
You can lose the emphasis of bolding when you bold an entire sentence.
BUT THEN IF YOU CAPITALIZE IT, IT GETS MORE EMPHASIS BACK.
Back to the point about italics. Don't use your italics too generously. Or you might find yourself the subject of a blog that any moron with a keyboard and an internet connection could produce.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)