Regular readers may be aware of my bouts of laziness that have inhibited me from sharing my seemingly infinite vocabulary from the Internet. During such periods of “un-wordiness,” I take the opportunity to unload cool pics that I took with my iPhone and are just sitting there…un-admired.  See here and here, for evidence.

Anyway, I feel like shit. I think I’ve got stomach bug or something. And I’m filling in for a couple people in the office who are skipping work today via bullshit excuses (“It’s my honeymoon.” Pshaw!!). That being said, I give you Photolog: the third edition.kidI was at a wedding recently. Some of the bride and groom’s family members brought their kids. This was one of them at the end of the reception. It was open bar, so he was a proper representation of how I felt at the time.

orangeI was passing through Bangor International Airport in Maine last month and snapped this. I think it speaks for the whole color coded terror warning system.

grammarYes, this is a public bathroom stall. Yes, someone corrected the grammar of something a previous “tenant” had written. No, it wasn’t me.

tagThis is one of the few tags I’ve seen in New York that I really like. Though the lettering and style are plain and nothing to get excited about it, the name itself is great. And when you think about it, the execution is in the same vein of what the words mean. Sign and signifier are united in approach…it blows my mind.

transformerI saw this while walking around with my girlfriend, Kate, the other day. At first, it annoyed me. “Really?” I shouted. “This guy’s got to put this on his car. What a freaking nerd!” And then it hit me. “Are you a real Autobot?” I whispered to the car. “It’s okay. You can trust me. I’m not a douche like Shia LaBeouf.”   Kate was thoroughly embarrassed.


retail-worker-gI recently discovered the web site Not Always Right—it’s basically a place where people who work in retail post their encounters with horrible customers and I’ve gotten hooked on trolling through each recounted conversation.  It’s probably why I haven’t written a blog post in a while…that and fact that I’m really lazy.  The format of each entry is pretty standard: the customer says something stupid, asinine, or crazy and the working stiff tries to politely help them and then it quickly devolves into the customer screaming and storming out.

The whole thing reminds of all those years I worked in retail (I’ve survived two tours of duty at two different Barnes and Noble branches) and my own horror stories from dealing awful customers (I used to quote that line from Clerks: “This job would be great if it wasn’t for the customers.”) I think my experiences have shaped my own behavior when dealing with people in customer service and I’m proud to say that I’m never one of those people who go off on retail workers—even if the service is lousy. There’s an old adage that you can learn lot about a person by how they treat people they don’t have to treat well.  And what’s a better example of a person that you don’t have to treat well then someone making minimum wage and who you’ll probably never interact with again?  It’s a modern morality litmus test.  Scream at some kid working at Best Buy about how they’re stupid and incompetent because they can’t find the printer ink cartridge you need fast enough and more than likely you’re an egotistical asshole who I can guarantee has never worked a low paying retail sales or service job.

But I’m stuck wondering if I’m really a nice guy or if the reason I don’t act like a complete ass is because I know what it’s like to be on the other side.  If I hadn’t worked retail, would I still act respectful to these people?  I’m sure there are perfectly pleasant and cheery people who have excellent manners and been blessed never to have worn a nametag and punch a time clock (somewhere out there).  I’m also sure that there people who have worked under those same conditions and are still rude customers.

Maybe the whole point isn’t that someone has to have worked at the very bottom of the totem pole—we’ve all been in situations in life where we were the people that don’t have to be treated well.  Maybe it’s that you’re able to step back, imagine what it’s like in the other person’s position, and treat them how you’d like to be treated.

[Pic via VirginMedia.com]

I’m exhausted.  I went and saw a midnight showing of Harry Potter last night, because I’m a huge nerd.  The highlight of the evening was when the grown man (in costume) two seats down from me wept at the end and had to be comforted by his girlfriend (who was dressed in a slutty Harry Potter costume). Anyway, I don’t feel wordy today.  So here’s another photolog post.  Deal with it.


I like it when my graffiti tells me to read more…as an annual reminder.

Jingle BenzI feel like whoever decorated this Mercedes Benz station wagon in a Christmas theme did so for a demolition derby.  I’m not sure if they suspected at the time that they’d be driving it around town, in July.


When you think about it, a guy taking a pickaxe on the subway isn’t that odd.  Especially when you imagine  all the insane things people have carried on the train in New York.  Still, it throws you for a loop when you see one on your morning commute.


I’m often puzzled by the amount of broken bicycles left chained up around the city.  Even if it was run over and knotted together with another bike, like so, I think I would still untangle/unlock my bicycle and take it home,  not just walk away.  But that’s me.

ruinsA building in my neighborhood randomly collapsed one day.

And finally:

obamaI’m tempted to buy a stack and send them to random southern addresses.

So apparently Morgan Freeman has been hooking up with his 27-year-old step-granddaughter (her mother is his stepdaughter from a previous marriage) since she was 17.  Seriously.  Oh, and  remember that car crash he was in a few months back? Yeah, that was his mistress in the car with him–which is why is wife if currently divorcing him and all this shit is coming out.  Oh, and the mistress is pissed at him about the step-granddaughter thing to0.

What the hell Morgan Freeman?! I gues you took that line from Shawshank as: “Get busy dying, or get BUSY [in porno voice] living.  That’s goddamn right!”  Qausi-insestous relationship asside.  The man is an amazing narrator, even when being parodied.  Enjoy:

Part of my day job requires me to keep up on what’s going on in the world of advertising. To do so, I trawl though the vastness of blogs and websites dedicated to the industry. That’s where I found this Public Service Announcement starring Casper Van Dien.

When I first watched this gem, my exact thoughts were: “Wow, Casper Van Dean’s still around. Who knew?” followed immediately by “Wait…why is he in character from Starship Troopers?” If you’re unfamiliar with the 1997 film—it’s a rather infamous adaptation of the classic Robert Henlien novel of the same name. Directed by Paul Verhoeven (a filmmaker whose credits include RoboCop, Basic Instinct, and Showgirls), the movie is best known for its visual effects and the depiction of a co-ed group shower scene (with limited nudity but definite boobage)–not anything important like plot or acting.

As great a “found artifact” of pop-culture schadenfreude that this is, it begs the question: “What the hell?” Yes, why the hell is an actor doing a PSA referencing a role he portrayed almost twelve years ago? With a little research I found that not only had the video been uploaded to YouTube just a couple weeks ago, but there was a second PSA as well.

Did you catch that? Now he’s the star of Starship Troopers: Marauder, a “sequel” in which Van Dien reprises the role of Rico that was released straight to DVD this summer. If you watch the trailer, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the fact that he’s starring in it. I can’t blame Van Dien for making the movie. The recession forced me to make movies that I’m not exactly proud of either.

The whole concept of Public Service Announcements seems bizarre to me. Why do we need celebrities telling us our morality? Is there honestly someone out there who sees these PSA’s with the cathartic realization “Wait, my neighbor beats his kids…Johnny Rico, from Starship Troopers, is right. I’ve should say something.” Starring in a TV show or a movie doesn’t give someone the authority to tell us which causes and charities to support. I get the concept of using their fame to bring attention to a cause, but it’s the same logic that says that the photo of Michael Phelps makes me want to smoke pot…okay it does, but that’s true with seeing anyone smoke a bong. It also puts people who we know so often embrace the facets of ego and hedonism into the position of being holier than thou hypocrites. Just look at Corry Feldman (not exactly a bastion of sobriety) doing an anti-drug commercial in the 1980’s…come on YouTube, I know the video is out there somewhere can you please find it and upload it already?

It’s pretty hard not to catch the duel message of “help kids being abused” and “See the Starship Trooper movies, staring Casper Van Dien.”  He could of easily just sat in a chair, wearing a collared shirt, maybe even a tie, and said something like “Hi, I’m Casper Van Dien. In my various movie roles, I’ve fought everything from vampires [twice] to space bugs, but I need your help in fighting child abuse [insert the rest of the spiel].” But he didn’t. No, instead he reminded people of his most successful movie, as well as his most recent while “speaking out” against child abuse. So while the videos are hysterical, which was probably not intended, they pretty much prove that Casper Van Dien is a douche.

octupletsLast week, when it first broke that a woman in California had given birth to Octuplets, I didn’t give it much attention. Such matters are the hard-hitting news to be reported by major network morning shows (in between segments in which the “newscasters” gossip about last night’s episode of the latest reality show). But then certain facts about the mother began to leak out to the press and I couldn’t help but take an interest. Within just a few days after the January 26th birth, reports were coming out that not only was she an unemployed single mother living with her parents who had gotten pregnant through in vitro fertilization, but that she had previously given birth to six other children, who were all also conceived via in vitro fertilization. Her own mother described the woman to the Associated Press as being “obsessed with kids” and said that “instead of becoming a kindergarten teacher or something, she started having them.”

My own personal theory: she wants to break her kids into two basketball teams, including one on each side to be designated a coach, and play one another in a yearly best of seven match up. They can also be a baseball team with three pitchers and a designated hitter. Now, we know the real reason for all this madness—it’s the same reason that most people seem to do anything in this country—fame.

I don’t blame her. It’s pretty well known that if you cross that point of sanity in regards to the number children you have, for a non-Mormon at least, the reward is your own TV show on TLC (Exhibit A and Exhibit B) or at least a lifetime supply of free diapers from Huggies. Usually, I don’t like to judge people on how the raise their kids, just like I wouldn’t want to be judged on how I raise mine. But I have to say, even though she’s in the process of getting her masters degree, this woman is an idiot. Which brings up my most recent observation: stupid people are breeding too much.

You ever notice how the people who argue that professional wrestling is entertaining, i.e. morons, are more likely have a whole troop of children and the smartest person you’ve ever met, e.g. a Nobel winning physicist, will generally only have two at the most? I’m not saying that everyone is as smart as their parents. My mother’s a genius who graduated from an Ivy League and is a Jeopardy champion, whereas I think the new live action G.I. Joe movie looks like it’ll be awesome (Did you see my man Snake-Eyes in the commercial?!). It’s just that if you’re raised by people who have no intellectual curiosity and vote on the presidential candidate they’d most like to have a beer with, well then you’re more likely to have the same standards both for your self-education and electoral decisions.

My big fear is that Mike Judge’s movie Idiocracy was right about us having reached this point in our society where survival of the fittest no longer prevents morons from out numbering everyone else and thus gaining control. It’s all evolution (which if you refer to as a “theory,” guess what you are?). And with intelligent people having fewer children and dumb-asses having more and more, it’s only a matter of time before the entire country is filled the sort of people who not only think they hear Muslim proselytizing in a video game’s baby mumbling, but take it away from their children because of it (I remember when I was 12 and converted to Sufism because I thought I heard “Sufism is the way” in Super Mario 64—but it then it turned out to be “It’s a me, Mario!”).

Luckily I have a two part solution: Step 1) Massive orgies of unprotected (though thoroughly screened for STD’s) sex amongst nerds and geeks. NASA, I’m looking your way. Step 2) The introduction of natural predators into the moronic underbelly of America. Tigers let loose at NASCAR events. Chimpanzees, armed with knives, released in theatres showing Vin Diesel movies. Or, you know, people could start reading more…or something.

KissingI’m a simple guy.  I like simple pleasures: a cold bottle of beer on a hot summer evening, coffee first thing in the morning, sleeping-in on the weekends, accidentally getting free cable, etc. This is a story of how I experienced one such simple pleasure.  Today, with no intention of seeking it out, I was able to enjoy some girl-on-girl action.

It all began easy enough.  I was at work and I went to take a shit in the bathroom (I’m not going to mince words about it).  Due to various office politics and behind the scenes manipulations, I no longer use the men’s room on my floor.  So I had to choose to go up to the ninth floor or down to seven. Oh faithful reader, my body quakes just thinking about if I’d chosen to go downstairs—how things would never be the same.

As soon as I walked into the completely empty men’s room, I could tell something was different, a kind of electricity was in the air, but I brushed it off and went about my business.  The slam of the metal bathroom stall door, the clang of the toilet seat, the rustling of the newspaper, and then silence…wait, there was something.  It was muffled.  It sounded like… “Is that a woman crying?” I thought, and then realized it was coming from the women’s room that was right next door.  My mind immediately flashed to the cliché of an emotion distraught young lady weeping in the bathroom stall, her purse by her feet and a Kleenex in her hand (to wipe away the running mascara).  The sound grew louder, the voice more passionate.  It was a sound that every man knows, either from first hand experience or Kim Cattral’s impressions—it was the sound of a woman in the midst of a full blown orgasm.

Immediately I began texting a coworker: “I’m in the bathroom on 9 and someone is getting it on in the women’s room.”

“No way!” He shot back.

I then realized that in between the female voice’s passionate moans, there was no gruff male voice.  “He must be the silent type,” I thought to myself. And that’s when I heard a distinctly different woman’s voice saying what sounded like “Do you like that?”

“I think its two women,” I texted to my coworker.

“SHUT UP! Two women????” He responded.

I listened to the orgasmic cries for a minute or two longer, until the woman making them yelled what I, whoever was doing whatever to her, and probably most of the ninth floor of 149 Madison Avenue already knew: “You’re making me come so hard!”  After which there was some more murmuring, confirming that it was two women, and then the sound of much pumping of the paper towel dispenser.

As I flushed I heard the door of the women’s room open and close and again as I was washing my hands.  They were leaving separately so as not to seem “together.” Smart. I caught a glimpse of one of them I was leaving the men’s room. She was tall, thin, with blonde curly hair.  Yeah, she was good looking—that made it even hotter.
When I got back to the office, my coworker demanded details. At each aspect of the story, he ohhed and awwed.  At the part where I quoted her climatic line about coming so hard, he punched the air.  I told another coworker via instant messenger.  “Wait…” He typed.  “Right now?!”  I then saw him run past my open office door.   “This is a dream,” a friend said when I gave him an early draft of this post.  “I’m holding a dream in my hands right!”

Why are we men so obsessed with lesbianism?   What would I do if I’d gone in there? There are two women getting each other off without even thinking of a man. And I’m a pretty sure that if I tried to join in—they wouldn’t let me.  I honestly don’t know what the attraction is. I just know it’s hot! And this was the best Friday (at work anyway) ever.

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