Wednesday, April 02, 2008

The Unwitting Time Machine



I was in the middle of a teensy bit of cleaning tonight when I stumbled across an old wallet that I had replaced ages ago. So old was it, in fact, that it contained a "HRC Member" card for the year 1999. Why this wallet has remained on my shelf for this long, I don't know. I chucked it (the wallet, and the HRC membership card).



Also found in the wallet: My old Social Security Card. I had thought I lost it years ago, and thus had it replaced already. Guess what's heading straight for the shredder. Back then I thought it was a good idea to carry the good ol' Social Security card around. Since then I've learned that it's not a great idea.



Also: A tip guide. (That is, how much is 10%? 15%? 20%? How much do you tip a hairdresser? etc.) Not that I need it anymore.



And: Several ATM receipts from Riggs Bank ATMs. This was back when I used to actually reconcile my bank statements with my withdrawal receipts and checks. And when I actually banked at Riggs. (I closed out my account when they were implicated in that big Middle East money laundering scheme. Then they got bought out by Provident or some such.)




And: An old fake ID from my college days. It's tucked away in a compartment that's not meant to hold anything -- it's behind the credit card slots (nice hiding place, don't you know). When I was 19, it reported that I was 25. It was a really really bad ID. Literally, it was taken with me standing right in front of a very large poster board made to resemble a Michigan license. If you look really closely you can see my shoulder extends past the photo area onto the other fields of the card.


(I decline to post a photo of the actual Michigan ID in all its horrificness.)


Funny story about the fake ID, involving my Asshole Uncle (whom I will refer to as "AU"). One summer on my way home from college, my AU insisted that I spend a few days with him in California. I don't know why he insisted, seeing as I had always hated him growing up anyway. But my mom thought it would be a good idea, so I caved and figured I'd endure it for a few days. Besides, I shuttled between him and his wife (on one hand) and another aunt-and-uncle pair whom I liked better.

So on the third morning I'm sitting there at breakfast and AU says to me, "When were you in Michigan?" (He attended the University of Michigan, so I suppose he had some degree of affinity for the state.) "Wha?" I say. He then tells me that he's seen my Michigan driver's license, and when was I in Michigan? Remember now, that license was not only in my wallet, but in a "secret" compartment in my wallet. The SOB was freaking nosing around my wallet!

I tried to call him on nosing around my stuff, but he kept brushing it all off as if he just "happened" to see it. I knew damn well that it wasn't possible to "accidentally" see my fake ID, but I couldn't very well call him on it since he didn't seem to notice that it listed me as being 25 years old. So I also hemmed and hawed about having taken a road trip to Michigan (where I got a driver's license? My uncle isn't the brightest bulb) and just let it go. But I fumed about it for weeks after.

The worst part about that story is that I couldn't then go complain to my parents about AU clearly and thoroughly invading my privacy, since that would involve admitting to the 'rents that I had a fake ID to begin with. So I got to experience the wonderful frustration of stewing in my anger with no outlet at all. And I swore never to talk to AU again.

Anyway, that was a huge digression.

Also in my old wallet: a 3x5 index card, with a locker combination stuck to it. I have no idea what lock that combination opens anymore.




On the other half of the 3x5 are taped 2 quarters and 2 old-school Metrobus tokens. It scares me to think that 2 quarters was part of my "emergency" money. I think they were meant for use on a pay phone in the event of an emergency. (I acquired my first cell phone in 1999.) The bus tokens were, of course, a way for me to get home if I needed to ... on public transport.

And finally: two twenty dollar bills. Score! One of them is a 1996 vintage. Do they even still accept that bill anymore? Damn, it's old. But it's forty more dollars than I had a day ago, so go me!



I'm using them to buy lottery tickets.

Friday, March 28, 2008

Another Swift Kick in the Back.

A while back, I blogged about the single life. In a nutshell, I talked about how I had come to accept my status as a single guy, and that actually finding someone to date and settle down with had actually become low on my priority list. I enjoy my life, with or without someone "special" to share it with.

Later on, I blogged again about the topic, occasioned by a good friend's wedding. In that post, I scoffed at the notion that I -- or really anyone, for that matter -- needed a second person to complement us, to pick us up when we fall, to prop us up when we lack the strength to stand.

I recently had occasion to re-examine my thoughts on these.

And I've reached a slightly modified conclusion.

First, don't get me wrong: I am still single, I still enjoy being single, and I am by no means desperate to find someone to relieve me of my singledom. I still cling fast to the "if it happens, it happens" mantra and refuse to approach life as a one-track minded quest for personal partnership.

Nonetheless, my recent trip home, and my mother's exhortations (spoken truly from the heart) have managed to really pierce me hard-headed mindset.

I went back home for a week recently to be with my family because my mother had been experiencing significant pain in her back for the better part of a year. Finally, she went in for surgery to help her relieve the pain. Back surgery for a woman of my mother's age can be a big deal, and recovery an even bigger deal, so I returned home to spend some time with her. Not that I could really help much (I wasn't lifting her out of bed or anything), but I think my just being there made her happier and thus helped just a little bit in her recovery.

She was in the hospital for a few days after I arrived, first with a morphine drip, then with heavy doses of oxycontin and percoset. (I was tempted to steal a pill or two, but thought better of it.) Walking around was quite difficult for her, even with a walker. Her physical therapy treatments involved ensuring that she walked whenever she could, including the part about getting in and out of bed by herself. If you had to watch her do this, I assure you, it was no easy feat for her.

By the time she got home, she had markedly improved, but she still experienced some pain when moving around, and it's clear that she won't be running marathons anytime soon. But another part about my visit home was just to be at home during the day for those first few days in case she needed me.

One afternoon, as I was preparing some lunch for her while she sat on a stiff-backed chair in the living room, she said to me with all seriousness: "You really still don't have a girlfriend? Really, you need to find someone and settle down. If you should ever wind up like me, who's going to help you? You need to have someone around to help you in times like these."

(In case you're late to this blog, be advised that I have not come out to my parents, who still hold out the hope that one day I will meet a nice girl, get married, and have children. My poor, poor parents....)

Normally I pay little heed to what my mother says. But having seen her all week, struggling through such simple tasks as getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom, I realized she wasn't 100% wrong. What would happen to me if I were to suffer some kind of misfortune?

Spouses or other significant others kind of, by default, are expected to take care of you when you're sick, or when you're recovering from a major surgery. What happens when you don't have one? I'm not the kind of guy who feels comfortable burdening his friends. In fact, the last time I had any surgery at all, I felt bad begging friends to come over and just help me. An excerpt from a 2004 entry:

But the panic attack really started to hit me when I realized that I would be completely unable to feed myself if I got hungry and Tracy wasn't around. How would I be able to find something in the fridge? How would I prepare it? Suddenly, even something as mundane as a peanut butter sandwich, or a frozen pizza, or even a friggin' frozen tv dinner, would become a tremendous effort, involving lots of navigation that I would have taken for granted on any other occasion.

I think not being able to care for myself has quickly become my greatest phobia in life.


So what's a single guy to do? I have no answers, only generalized anxieties.

PS: Leave it to me to take a life event like my mother's back surgery and turn it into a "me" moment. In case you're interested, my mom was doing fine by the time I left; her pain had started to subside and she was able to scale back on her pain meds. She still needs a walker to move around, and probably will still need it for a few months, but she seems okay. And my sister-in-law took her to her follow-up appointment and reported that all seems decent.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Outta Here.

I am taking an unscheduled break from my Washington life.

I'll be heading home this morning for about a week.

Nothing more need be said about the matter.

Back soon!

Monday, March 17, 2008

Family Programming

One recent morning as I got ready for work I turned on the television and found it in the middle of the movie 300. Not having enough time to sit down and watch it, I hit the "record" button on my DVR and went about my way, anxious to watch it later. I certain didn't want to pass up what I'd heard was a movie laced with barely dressed men sporting six-pack abs in various homoerotic fight scenes.



This evening I finally got around to watching the film. So I fired up the DVR menu, scrolled over the "300" and asked it to "Play from beginning."

As sometimes happened, the machine caught the tail end of the show before.

As the closing credits of the movie before ran, my ears were accosted by the sound of "Somewhere Out There."

Yes, 300 -- rated "R" and carrying warnings of "graphic violence, nudity, adult content, and adult language" -- was being run immediately after An American Tail, starring this little guy:



Fivel's a good segue into blood and homoerotic violence, is he not? I note that 300 contained a scene wherein a good number of people were violently tossed into a deep chasm within 10 minutes of the beginning of the movie; an almost-naked woman dances around within 15 minutes from the start; and a rather steamy sex scene (with prominently featured female breasts) takes place within 25 minutes. (All times approximate; after all, my DVR recorded started early.)

Friday, March 14, 2008

Stalking

I can't help thinking that CBS is going to have a major lawsuit on its hands stemming from this season's Big Brother.

Seriously, Natalie is a complete psycho-chick stalker, and eventually, she will hunt down and kill Matt, whether it's in the Big Brother house or not. Or at least she'll try to.

Matt's a total player -- hello, he even made out with one of the other chicks (I forget if it was Chelsia or Sharon) just to get a tactical advantage -- but usually that can be written off as part of the game. You can never be sure that anyone in that house is being genuine, whether it's emotions, or alliances or whatnot.




But Natalie, however, has convinced herself that Matty loves her. When he's not near her, she goes looking for him. He tries his hardest to push her away, and she keeps coming back like some puppy dog. He's rude to her and her best response is, "No, I know he still loves me and wants to be with me and wants to sleep in the bed with me."


"Matty why won't you get in the bath with me? Come o-o-o-o-on..."

The kicker for me: when she found out that Matt made out with another girl, it did not immediately shatter her "he loves me" image. It upset her, sure, but in the end, she was "torn." Seriously, she was "torn" the same way a new bride would be if she found out her husband had cheated on her during their three-year engagement. And Natalie's only known Matt for under two months.

I would think that a reasonable person would, after less than two months together and in the face of clear signs that he doesn't want to be with you, take the making out with someone else as firm evidence that he's not as infatuated with you as you thought.

Natalie is not a reasonable person.



Oh, and I cannot be the only one who thinks that, at any moment, she's going to break the tension in the house by calling out "You know what this room needs? THE PERFECT CHEER!" I mean, seriously. She's a spitting image. But then at least Cheri Oteri was funny.

Pushmi-Pullyu

Dear Lady Who Just Left My Office Building As I Was Walking In:

I know you saw me through the glass door. That's not a huge challenge.

I know you could tell I was coming into the building. That's not a huge challenge either.

Perhaps you don't realize that I saw you, too. One of the principles of glass doors is that usually, if you can see me, I can see you.

So I saw you walking up to the door -- yes, the same door I was approaching, from the opposite side -- and I saw that your arm was half way up, getting ready to push the door open.

Then I saw you actually put your arm down when you saw me on the other side of the door.

Uh, hello?

Are you little miss primadonna princess that you can't push the freaking door open yourself? Just because I'm approaching the same door doesn't mean you can't also push the door open too.

If you ever do that to me again, I'm going to open the door, all right... and then I'm just going to walk on through it and let it close behind me.

Just giving you a heads-up.

Smooches,
Dennis!

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

No Longer Subtle

I used to be really good at subtlety when it came to checking out random hot guys. I have mastered taking cell phone shots with the intended target wholly unawares. I have stared down fetching young fellows as they walk by me on the street, in the Metro, at bars. Usually they don't notice because, well, they probably don't want to, but hey, I have fun.

I seem to have lost that subtlety in recent days.

Never mind that, a few days ago, I was at a (straight) bar with some friends of mine and thought I could be all slick by taking photos of guys (with a freaking flash camera -- with red-eye reduction) without them knowing. (Shocker: they figured it out. I'm going to blame the Smithwick's.)

I offered to give away some items from my home recently and some internet stranger offered to come get it some of them. Great, I thought, I get to de-clutter.

The guy showed up at my office building as I asked and called me from downstairs, where I was to go meet him with a bag of my stuff. When I got to the front of my building, I saw him.

He was on a bicycle. Wearing a unitard bike outfit. You know the kind I'm talking about.



Okay, this guys was fully covered up, none of this spaghetti-strap stuff (though it might have been nice...). But when one thinks of bike shorts, really, one's mind can tend to drift toward other things, like wrestling singlets




and spandex




and even superheroes



but in the end, it all really just boils down to one thing: those outfits can leave very little to the imagination. One time I was sitting at a Starbucks, in the window seat, minding my business when a guy wearing a blue bike outfit walked down the street (where was his bike? I have no clue) and I swear not only I could I tell his religion, but I could get an appreciation for his manscape.

So back to this guy picking up some free stuff from me... try as I might, I was having a hard time struggling not to check out this guy's junk. I mean, really, it was just there, begging to be scrutinized. Not too shabby. I know it was horribly rude, but really now, when you wear that, you're kinda just asking for that kind of attention, aren't you? Especially if you're thin and fit, as this guy was.

Words cannot express how extremely happy I was that this guy was able to pick the stuff up from me during the work day, because if I had to arrange for him to come by my home to get it, there's no telling what I'd be tempted to do.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Meow.

My avatar notwithstanding, I'm not a huge fan of cats. A woman in my office absolutely loves hers; whenever she mentions him, I provide a Maynard-G.-Krebs-like response* of "evil." I mean, they can be cute and all, but in terms of personality, I'm truly a dog guy.

But just to butter up you cat lovers who may happen to be reading this, I bring you this video just for you before I get to the meat of this post:



Okay, there.

Aight, so a trailer park community in Chantilly has decided that they're going to round up some 200 (feral, I gather) cats and euthanize them because, well, they're being general pests. Obviously at least one cat-hugger is "sick, sick" over the idea, but I don't care either way, really (which doesn't stop me from mocking the cat-hugger -- I mean, really, those things are evil and ungrateful and you feed them? Geez Louise).

Here's the WaPo article about this situation.

And here's the funny/stupid thing about the article:

By law, the trapped cats must be taken to the Fairfax County Animal Shelter, animal control officers said.

***

[Fairfax County Animal Shelter spokeswoman Michelle] Hankins said today that the shelter had not been notified of the management company's plans to begin trapping the cats. The shelter was already running near capacity and not equipped to handle 200 animals, she said.

"Our hope is that the cats aren't brought to us," she said.


I read those two propositions together and my first thought was, "Where else can they go, if by law they have to go to your shelter?" I was thinking just how retarded she was, and did she even know the law which the Post just referenced?

Then I realized what she probably meant was that she hopes the roundup efforts won't take place at all. (I would still call it a combination of unfortunate phrasing and poor juxtaposition of the two propositions, though.)

Then I couldn't help thinking, "How hard could it be to just throw the things into a chamber as you get them?" But that probably sounds even more nasty than necessary, and while I retract that question, I've decided not to actually back up and delete it.

Yeah, just not a cat guy.


* If you know what I'm talking about, two snaps, I'm impressed. If you don't, Maynard was played by Bob Denver (yes, Gilligan) who had a knee-jerk, autonomic reaction every time someone said the word "work" around him. He didn't like the idea.





Wow, Gilligan was kinda cute. In a Shaggy (sans Scooby Doo) sorta way.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Idiocracy, Continued

Remember this post? Well apparently she's back for more.

She emailed me again today to ask me to please change her email address in the system. Never mind that you can do that yourself once you've logged in.

So rather than give a woman a fish, I decided to teach her how to fish, and told her to just log in herself and change the email herself. Guess what? No dice.

She asked me to send her her password again. Never mind that just a few days ago, she had asked me to retrieve it previously.

Now, to give just a tiny bit of credit, she was probably have a wee bit of trouble because the only way to retrieve your password is if you let the system email it to you, and she was changing her email address because it had been disconnected. But still: don't you write things down?

Eventually I gave up and changed her frigging email address for her. But I did tell her that if she was changing her address because she lost her freaking job, she should change the rest of the information in there accordingly.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Badass Moron

There's usually no shortage of "interesting" people on the Metro. True, in DC, we have far more than our fair share of stuffed-shirt bureaucratic professional types, but we've also got a pretty persistent undercurrent of countercultural types. Kinda like Greenwich Village wannabe types. Not many, of course, but almost by definition those people don't give a damn what others think, so they can stand out.

Tonight a young man boarded the Metro with what appeared to be a wallet or business card type case dangling from his mouth. It's hard to describe. It looked kind of like this, but the kind with a key ring attached to it too:



Now as I said, this thing was dangling from his mouth. Upon first glance, I thought he had placed a key on the key ring portion of the wallet and simply put the key in his mouth. (Why would one do that? I have no idea... but then I suppose that's what made him him and not me.)

Watching him as we made our way along the tracks, though, I realized my initial conclusion was incorrect. He was not sucking on a key, or on anything that was attached to the end of that wallet thingee.

The wallet thingee was attached to his face as a eyebrow ring would be: he had pierced the lower part of his mouth and placed something through it; through that ring he hung a wallet.

Keep in mind, I'm not talking about a pierced lip. I'm talking about a portion of the skin just beneath the lip. Someplace where beards usually form.

And I thought how comically stupid he looked.

First, as I said, this thing was dangling on the edge of his face. Did he really think this looked cool?

Second, it was attached to his face. Attached. What the hell purpose does that serve? Is there an ID in there? Money? Business cards? He has to reach up to his face to retrieve any of those items. How bizarre is that?

Third, I presume the look is meant to project a badass attitude. "Yeah, I'm not, I've got a facial piercing that's not my ear and there's a big-ass thing hanging from it. I'm noncomformist and that makes me all badass." Thing is, I'm pretty certain that area of the skin isn't that tough. So if Mr. Badass with a Wallet Swinging From His Face were to actually get into anyone's face, I imagine it wouldn't be all that difficult to yank the damn wallet off. Then while he's howling in pain from a huge missing chunk of skin, you could do all kinds of things like kick him in the stomach and/or balls and/or shin, or maybe just run.

There's making a statement, and ... there's idiocy.

Lexicography

I've decided to work some new phrases into semi-regular rotation during my many conversations with random people. Feel free to join the fun.


1. "I drink your milkshake! I drink it up!"



I'm not exactly sure in what context I'd actually use this phrase, but I intend to use it nonetheless. Apparently all kinds of other people are already doing it, which puts me behind the curve.

Also, in gay circles, it invites a segue into bringing the boys to the yard, which can into a wonderful pick-up line.

Or not.


2. "What the French, toast?" and "Who are you calling a Cootie Queen, you Lint Licker?" (accent required).

(Bonus two-fer!)



That's some funny stuff right there, yo.

The first one is ready-for-prime-time with immediate usage irrespective of precise context. I suppose someone would have to use the phrase "Cootie Queen" before pulling out the second phrase... or not. I think maybe it would be even more fun to just pull it out of nowhere.


3. Scully-rific.

I'm making this one up myself. To the extent that it's even possible, I used to have a mad crush on Scully from The X-Files, whom I found hot and sexy and smart all at the same time.



(Unfortunately, House of Mirth did not leave me with the same love for Gillian Anderson.)

4. Craptastic.



I don't know where I read this first, but it's the funniest word ever (for now) and I'm going to put it into heavy rotation. Kinda like "ghetto fabulous," it's inherently contradictory and yet everyone who hears it knows precisely what it describes.

And it doesn't even necessarily have to do with bowel movements, contrary to what the photo above would suggest.


5. Anything from Heathers.



I mean, really, the lines were just classic. (Though the cutesy language of Juno will likely provide a run for the money. But they talked a little too fast in that movie so the cool jargon gets kinda lost.)

Examples of my favorites:
- "Fuck me gently with a chain saw!"
- "Grow up Heather. Bulimia is sooo '87."
- "Corn Nuts!"
- "What's your damage, Heather?"
- "Lick it up, baby! Lick. It. Up."
- "Veronica, why are you pulling my dick?"
- "I don't patronize bunny rabbits."
- "I love my dead gay son!"
- "Save the speeches for Malcolm X... I just wanna get laid!"

There's plenty more, but you get my drift.

---

There's definitely more phrases I'm working into heavy rotation, but these are the fun ones I want to start getting other people to use too. Go to it, people!

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Lawsuits and Death

I may be getting old and crotchety, but this rubs me the wrong way. Apparently, the families of the District girls who died under their mother's care are planning on suing the District.

I will admit that I don't know many of the facts of this case other than what I've seen in the paper. The facts so far seem to indicate that the mother, Banita Jacks, had custody of four girls (fathered by, it appears, at least two different men), and that she, well, wasn't all that fit to raise them. From what I've seen, she withdrew all four of the girls from the schools they were attending, going so far as to tell school officials that she was home-schooling them. She then promptly locked the girls in the house, such that no one ever saw them again.

And then they turned up dead.

Look, I don't doubt that the District could have done a better job in policing this family. They purported to conduct home visits of the house, but never actually saw the kids. And then they appear to have accepted without question someone's assertion that the family had moved.

But what's notably missing from all the news accounts about this case -- including this most recent one -- is what contact the girls had with any of the following people: Mamie Jacks (the girls' grandmother and Benita Jacks' mother); Jessie Fogle (grandmother of the two younger girls); Kevin Stoddard (father of second oldest girl); and the father of oldest girl.

Both of the grandmothers appear to have served notice upon the Mayor that they are planning a lawsuit over the deaths of these children. The father of the second oldest girl (reported to be Mr. Stoddard) also commented, through his attorney, that he plans to sue. But on what basis?

From all that is apparent, none of these people had or attempted to make any contact with Ms. Jacks or the children during the troubling period of time. None of them went by the house demanding to spend some quality time with their kin. Did any of them offer to babysit or take the kids away from Ms. Jacks for any period of time? Had any one of them stopped by or otherwise questioned the strange circumstances brewing in Ms. Jacks's house, perhaps someone could have done something sooner.

Now, apparently not having given much of a second thought to their kin for some period of time, are they seriously suggesting that they should somehow be compensated for their deaths? Just how much pain and suffering could they have experienced from their deaths if they weren't seeking to experience joy and love from them when they were alive?

But apparently, headline-grabbing deaths must, as a matter of necessity, result in a lawsuit. There's gold in them thar deaths.

Idiocracy

In my spare time I serve as a web guru for a professional association I belong to. It's not a huge deal, because mostly all it means is I get behind-the-scenes access to a website that makes publishing content, etc. a matter of typing and clicking rather that coding and posting.

Most of my duties on the site involve troubleshooting for people who are having problems, and that usually focuses almost exclusively on people who are confused about our website structure (and it is a little retarded), and on login issues.

Today I received an email from a member, telling me that it had been a while since she logged in to the password-protected site, and could I please remind her of her password? Or was there someone else she should be contacting for this info?

Answer: Lady, do you see that link labeled "Forgot your password?" RIGHT NEXT TO the password field of the login screen? What do you think it's there for, decoration? It's not terribly cryptic, is it? How is that you managed to root around to find my contact information to ask me this question, but weren't able to see a blindingly obvious link that would answer your question?

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Norm!

I returned to my usual poker night last night after a five-week hiatus punctuated by illness, work restraints, and bad weather. I had actually missed my time there; the guys there are fun to play with and they're generally cool. I pretty much suck, and they're okay with that and we all laugh at me together.

I got there just before the game started and didn't even look around to find my friends. Instead, I retrieved my chips and, upon turning around, found a table with a good number of empty seats. "Sit down," one of the guys on the table said. "Sure, why not," I said, a tad disoriented and excited to be back in the game.

Across the room, at a different table closer to the door, I heard my name called out rather loudly, and repeatedly. I truly felt like Norm from Cheers. Turns out there were empty seats at the table where my regular group of friends sat, so I went off and joined them instead. It was too bad, because I wouldn't have minded playing with some new people, but hey, there's comfort in familiarity. Besides, several of the guys on my regular table were kinda hot.

Story of the night:

So I get pocket aces (diamonds and clubs), and the guy before me raises. Because he did my job for me, I just called. One other player called after me.

The flop contained a queen, the 10 of diamonds, and the 4 of diamonds. One player limped in, but the second better put in a humongous raise. It hurt just watching it, because I didn't want to have to lay down my pocket aces. In the end, however, his actions screamed that he had flopped trips, so I tearfully let them go.

I was right, he had a pair of queens in his hand.

But that's not the end of the story.

The second player called his huge raise, and the turn was produced: King of diamonds. That's three diamonds on the board, for those of you keeping track.

Bets ensued. Keep in mind, I'm relatively certain one guy had trips at the time that I folded. We got to the river.

I hadn't even finished saying "If it's a diamond I'm going to cream," when the 8 of diamonds showed up on the river. I had folded the nut flush.

I give myself props for finally having the strength to let go of pocket aces. I only wish that it happened on a hand that I wouldn't have eventually won.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

CNN/AP Loses Its Sense of Humor.

Okay, check it.

I was on CNN.com and saw this headline: "Huckabee overstays welcome on SNL."*

Part of the text of the article:

Even though Mike Huckabee is still battling for the Republican presidential nomination despite long odds, he said Saturday he won't "overstay his welcome."

Then he did precisely that, lingering on the "Weekend Update" set of "Saturday Night Live" despite repeated cues to leave the stage.

* * *

However, he said: "Mike Huckabee does not overstay his welcome. When it's time for me to go, I'll know. And I'll exit out with class and grace."

Then he remained seated at the "Update" desk even though Meyers made it clear it was time for him to leave.


I found this fascinating, just because I thought it would be funny to see how Seth Green handled a big-time politician accidentally missing his "we're done with you now" cues. Maybe they'd just pan away from him. Or do a close-up of Amy and Seth, deliberately pulling him out of camera range.

So naturally I found the clip on youtube. Here it is:



Aight people, who really believes that Huckabee accidentally missed his cues like a moron? I, for one, think it's pretty damn clear that the entire "oops? Am I supposed to leave?" thing was totally planned. I mean, come on, he had just been to try to explain why he wasn't conceding an election he is certain to lose now -- "overstaying his welcome," as it were.

CNN and AP, you are doofs.

PS: Was it just me, or was Amy Poehler unusually far away from Gov. Huckabee? I think she thinks he has cooties.

* I know what you're thinking. You've clicked on the link and found that the headline is not what I say it is. I swear, this is what the link said. It's what the headline said when I got there. Within the past few minutes, they've changed it.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Live!

One of the things about being stuck at home for as long as I have been is that I get to watch television which I normally never would. One morning (I forget which one), I woke up and turned on the television, which happened to catch Live with Regis and Kelly.

Normally I would not watch this show. I think both Regis and Kelly are rather lame and their banter boring and nothing I couldn't do. But today was a bit different. Regis wasn't there.

In his place was a hot sexy Latin man who goes by Mark Consuelos.

Mark is apparently Kelly's real life husband (the fact that he's married disappoints me; that he's married to Kelly Ripa even more so) because they spent the first 10 minutes of the show bickering about whether she was given adequate warning about some fancy dinner that Mark had planned. Blah blah blah, the man was whipped.

But he was sooooo gorgeous. He has that smile that radiates and is infectious and heart-melting. And he was wearing a very nice shirt (I couldn't tell the fabric) but let's just say it hugged his very nice chest very very nicely.

Mark previously was in All My Children, where he met Kelly, which appears to be the pinnacle of his career, since he later went on to host that god-awful reality dating show Age of Love.

Some random photos I dug upon the internets (sorry, some just had to come with Kelly):





Honest to Blog!

I finally saw Juno last weekend (before I got sick). It's a cute film despite its rather serious underlying subject matter. Do kids nowadays really talk like that as a general matter of day to day speech? It was cute and off the cuff, but still.

Oh, and I still think Jason Bateman is incredibly cute. And that Jennifer Garner has a smokin' bod, but her mouth is like fifty times larger than Julia Roberts's.

Of course, I was enchanted, as always, by Michael Cera, who pulls off the adorkable thing so well. I love how movies nowadays are willing to put characters who aren't traditionally "cool" in protagonist roles. Cera's character is one of those people who would usually get beaten up without a second thought in some of the movies I grew up with. But here, we're actually expected to like him and cheer for him despite his social ineptitude.

And finally:



I had seen this video on Logo like a million times before. I had never bothered to read the credits to it (if there were any) so I had no idea that the singers Michael Cera and Ellen Page. And I always wondered what the hell was up with those runners at the end. It made just a bit more sense after having seen the movie.

Friday, February 22, 2008

My Latest Food Network Crush

A while ago I blogged about my crush on Alton Brown of Food Network's Iron Chef and Good Eats.

I've since developed a new food geek crush.



That's Geof Manthorne, the executive sous chef of Charm City Cakes as featured on Food Network's Ace of Cakes. I love his singing in this clip -- so mellow and soft -- but I really truly admire his immense talent and handiwork in creating those damn cakes he makes on the show. They're huge and look fantastic. I can't imagine actually eating any of it, though, but I think he's totally cute. And he's in Baltimore, which is less than an hour from here. I sense a stalking run is in order.

Of course, while I am now crushing hard for Geof, and now a little less so for Alton, my biggest Food Network crush will always be Dave Leiberman. I mean, come on. He's just too adorable for words.

Being Sick Sucks.

I hate being sick.

This week has been pretty awful in so many ways. After having such a good time with Lorelai on Friday night, I thought I was in for a good week.

I was kinda wrong.

My friends and I went out on Saturday night to BeBar, which was surprisingly straight. After my straight Friday night, it kinda wasn't what I was looking for, but oh well. I didn't drink much but I did hang with my boys for most of the night before we all bailed at around 1:00.

Monday was President's Day. Usually we don't get most federal holidays off, so in the absence of being told anything, I went in to work on Monday. It turns out we did in fact have Monday off -- which I found at around 11:30 a.m. -- so I bailed by 1:00.

I showed up for work again on Tuesday and put in my full day, but I noticed that I had a cough thrown in there that I hadn't had before. I had taken a sick day already in early February, so getting sick again would absolutely suck. But it's gone worse since. I've now taken two days off this week. I've coughed so hard in the few days I've seen stars. My chest is tight. I'm sucking down orange juice and chicken noodle soup like there is no tomorrow.

I'm going to try to get back to the office tomorrow, but my colleagues are kinda paranoid about catching things when one of us isn't feeling well, so I think they'd be just as happy if I didn't show up again.

I don't enjoy taking sick days. I actually get bored at home all day.

I have, however, seen a gazillion movies, some more memorable than others.

Taxi Driver: DeNiro as a young man was hot.
Reefer Madness: The Musical: Christian Campbell is hot. And it's a fun show.
Because I Said So: Except for the fact that almost all the credited men are quite easy on the eyes, the movie has no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
My Super Ex-Girlfriend: Cute premise, but horribly executed. I just felt nothing for Uma's character or for Luke Wilson's.

Meanwhile, I am also working on a work of short fiction which I plan to submit for publication in a gay magazine this summer. Wish me luck!

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Weekend Escapades

I was supposed to go to the Black Cat on Friday for some 80s party. Some of my friends were going to be there and I wanted to check it out because I'm an 80s dork. Then again, though, because it was the Black Cat, I figured we wouldn't be hearing Debbie Gibson and Roxette.

But in the end, of course, the best laid plans often fail. I had invited my friend Lorelai to go, but she had to stay late at work and didn't feel like making the trek out to the Cat. So I abandoned those plans completely in favor of just meeting up with her at a bar in Cleveland Park.

The place was the straightest bar I've been to in a long time. That really just speaks to me, not so much the bar, which I'm sure was standard hetero-fare. There was a time when I eschewed gay bars in general because all my friends seemed to be straight girlfriends so I ended up just hanging out with them at the straight bars. Then recently I made a new crop of gay friends so I found myself back at the gay bars surrounded by The Boys a lot.

But even when I was hanging with my straight girlfriends at straight bars, I don't think I've ever felt as out of place as I did at this bar. The male-female ratio was pretty even, but it felt ... different. I can't place it, but it did. But I was fine with it, 'cause I'm cool like that.

Lorelai and I met a cute guy at the bar. I don't think he's gay, but he seemed cool enough. We swapped business cards. I've emailed him, but he has yet to respond.



There are sooooo many reasons I want Alek to email me back at some point. I need the contact. (I'll leave that vague.)

Now that I have longer hair... I gotta let it down more often.