Friday, April 28, 2006

I did a benefit for Parkinson's Disease last night, and one of the door prizes was a bobble-head doll.

That is all.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Here are ten words never heard:

Welcome to the Apple Store. How can I help you?

You see, the letters on my iBook's keyboard are starting to wear off. It started with the "s," then went the "e," then the "l." The "a" is in mid-fade like Marty McFly's brother just before his dad-to-be finally completes the slowest fist-clench in screen history. I've been meaning to stop in to an Apple store to see if you can get replacement keys. I figure since it's unlikely that mine is the only iBook with this particular strain of keyboard alopecia (Christ, this is quite the metaphorical jambalaya I've got going here, isn't it? Shit. There's another one), Apple may have a solution. Maybe they've got a supply of replacement keys you can get. Hell, I'd pay a buck a key.

Unfortunately, every time I go to an Apple store, I feel like a gate crasher. Is there some sort of procedure I'm supposed to be following? Am I supposed to sign in someplace? Is there one of those bakery number dispensers, and I keep missing it? Is this somehow related to the fact that I don't have iLife or a .mac account? Are those two things even related? I'll never know, because no matter how folorn and/or needy I look when I stand at the genius bar, they steadfastly refuse to acknowledge my presence.

Good God, you may be thinking, just approach one of the employees, and they'll tell you what you need to do. Hey, you're right. I should do that. Unfortunately, there is something about the place that makes me feel as though that would somehow violate the gloriously austere environment they have worked so hard to achieve. Direct action has no place there and might somehow cause a rift in the space-time continuum of the Appleverse, and my iBook will revert to one of those Apple IIEs we used in high school, and me without any floppies.

Fortunately, for me anyway, I know how to type by touch. They haven't reinvented that wheel yet. They will though. Mark my words. Five years from now, Apple will have found a way to reduce the keyboard to five keys. How would you use such a thing?

Hey, just ask one of the geniuses. Then tell me, would you? I'll be the one standing behind you wondering how to get their attention.

Friday, April 14, 2006

I think we are now at the point where if you have a job that's never had its own reality show, chances are it's never going to happen. Sorry. Your line of work just isn't sexy or interesting enough. I'm pretty sure there will never be a reality show about car salesmen, for example, because nobody wants to spend any more time with those people than absolutely necessary.


Once after a show, a car salesman decided to glom on to me. His group had been a big ol' patch of rudeness, but he was buying drinks, so I figured I'd humor him for a while. In-between crowing how much money he made, and self-congratulation about how he'd "got me" with his heckle (he hadn't), he insisted I spread the word about a shot he invented. The shot was Southern Comfort, shaken in ice. It was called the "Angry Irishman," because it was named after a buddy of his. He was completely nonplussed when I pointed out that not only was nothing Irish about the drink, but since Southern Comfort is the wimpiest of all whiskeys, there wasn't really anything angry about it either.

You know, I said, if you really want a drink that you could call an Angry Irishman, let's do the same thing with the shaker, but make it a shot of Jamison. That would be both angry and Irish. I had the bartender make up a batch of them. He did the shot, but screwed up his face afterwards. He'd suddenly been confronted by the reality that not all whiskeys have been sweetened for his pleasure, and he didn't like it. Pussy.

So now, I suggest that the next time you're out having a few cocktails you get a shot of Jamison shaken in ice and call it the Angry Irishman. I'm going to steal that guy's dream.

Monday, April 10, 2006

I knew it. There is evidence that drug companies are inventing medical conditions to market their cures. (found via Fark)

Usually, this takes the form of them "medicalizing" what were previously considered simple facts of life. Are your children hyperactive? Do you sometiomes feel sort of sad? And, my favorite, do your your legs sometimes feel sort of...restless?

Restless Legs Syndrome. The constant feeling that your legs want to move. Well God forbid they do that.

Friday, April 07, 2006

And the winner for most ham-fisted attempt to tag on "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp," goes to: this Star Tribune story, which features the following subhead:
It's hard out here for a newcomer in country music. Just ask Kenny Chesney's warmup acts.


Monday, April 03, 2006

My wife enjoys watching HGTV, or as I like to call it, House Porn. Yes, she can justify it because she gets ideas for us, but let's face it, I can make the same argument for watching regular porn.