Do you have a compulsion?

What is that? I don't know what that is, exactly...

That's a typical exchange from NBC's To Catch a Predator. God, these guys are DUMB.

I'm amazed that there are so many of these guys. What I want to know is, did this start off as a one-time thing where they just decided to try to catch a couple and the whole thing just snowballed from there, or did an executive realize that the sheer volume of predators meant that this was was a potential cottage industry right out of the gate?

Also, have they caught any female predators? They must be out there, right? I mean, I'm reasonably sure they are a small portion of the whole, but they've got to be out there. On the other hand, female predators probably don't need to get on the Internet.

They just get teaching jobs.

I'm watching Charlie Rose interview Steve Martin. I never really appreciated just how much time he spent working in obscurity before he broke. He's been huge for so damn long, that it's easy to forget that he didn't emerge onto the scene, fully formed.

I am so damned impressed that he has chosen to explore his standup years for his memoir. One could argue that most people no longer think of Steve Martin as a standup comedian. However, he has chosen to focus on that. Further proof that Standup Comedy is the highest aspiration a performer can have.

It's not really proof of that. I know this. Still, it's pretty cool.

I've got a new column up at Effect Magazine. Just scroll down to "Effective Perspective," or you might be able to get the pdf directly by clicking here. It's called "A Chip in the Old Block," and it's all about how we're all going to be cyborgs some day.

I'm pretty sure I've decided on which one of these will be the "official" head shot, but feel free to weigh in on your preference (these are thumbnails, click them if you want a closer look):

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Anyone can do any amount of work provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at the moment.
Robert Benchley
US actor, author, & humorist (1889 - 1945)

The fact that I have now spent an hour and a half verifying this quote is empirical proof that this sentiment is absolutely true.

Hey! I'm the featured clip today on Rooftop Comedy. Go there NOW and check it out:

Pot and Housework Don't Mix:




Phillippines Fear Factor:

100-Word Story About Autumn

“Take the long way home,” she said, and I didn’t know what she meant.

Was it because it was a sunny autumn day? Did she want to witness first-hand that perfect ratio of the leaves that remained in the trees to those that danced in the breeze along the parkways that outlined and followed the bodies of water that lead, not directly, but certainly eventually, to our destination?

Or was she simply a big fan of Supertramp?

The fact that I didn’t know was proof that we either would need a second date, or should never see each other again.

So, it's Halloween night. Neenie is out with the Peanut and a new neighborhood friend we met one day at the park. The original plan was for Neenie to take both girls out while I stayed home and manned the candy dispensary. However, the Bug was on the cranky side, so I figured I'd at least walk them to the new friend's house. A couple of houses in, it became tragically clear that trick-or-treating was beyond the Bug's ability to cope, so I volunteered to bring her home and keep her with me while I waited for the doorbell to ring.

We live across the street from a cemetary, so we don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters. I imagine I'll spend most of my time right here on the couch, the Bug next to me, watching Bride of the Monster. Gosh, I hope it doesn't scare her too much. I'd hate for her to develop a rubber octopus phobia.

You may not know this about me, but I've been a longstanding (and yes, on occasion longsuffering) Paul McCartney fan since I was a child. Here's his latest video:



Most of the time when Paul is being "cute" it just smacks of trying too hard and I feel bad for him. This time, I had a goofy smile on my face the whole time. This might be the most adorable thing Paul has ever done. And yes, I am aware that that might be the queerest thing I've ever typed.

Whatever -- All I can say is good on ya, Paul.

Found this on Cynical-C. It's a beauty pageant contestant doing the theme from Star Wars on the trumpet, complete with interpretive dance. Watch it all the way through.

I don't care how much it hurts. Watch it all the way through.

Don't be a baby. Watch it all the way through.

Here's a little something to get you in the spirit of the season:

Vlad the E-Mailer

TO: service@HarkerRest.com
FROM: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: Wrong casket

I recently purchased the oak-finish RestfulPeace Deluxe from your Web site. But what received was not what I ordered. It is a similar model, but has a large etched design on the lid that was not in the picture on your site. How quickly can it be exchanged?


FROM: mina@HarkerRest.com
TO: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: RE: Wrong casket

Dear Sir,
We regret the error. Our Web site showed the Spring 2006 RestfulPeace Deluxe model. The 2007 model has been updated to include the etched cross on the lid. We regret that our Web site was not updated prior to your order. Please complete the Exchange Request form and fax or mail it to us at the address below. You will find the form, along with your receipt and several valuable coupons, packed inside the casket. Again, we are very sorry for any inconvenience.


TO: mina@HarkerRest.com
FROM: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: RE: RE: Wrong casket

Inside the casket? I can’t quite get to it at the moment. Isn’t there some other way we could handle it?


FROM: mina@HarkerRest.com
TO: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: RE: RE: RE: Wrong casket

I am sorry you're having trouble. This may be better if handled by phone. Please call our customer service line at the number listed below and we would be happy to help you.


TO: mina@HarkerRest.com
FROM: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: RE: RE RE: RE: Wrong casket

I tried your customer service line last night and got a recording indicating your office hours to be between 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. I work overnights. Is there any way we could settle this via e-mail?


FROM: mina@HarkerRest.com
TO: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Wrong casket

We regret you are having problems with our system. Due to the danger of fraud we are only able to process exchanges either by telephone or via the paperwork included with the order.


TO: mina@HarkerRest.com
FROM: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: YOUR WILL IS MINE

MINA…YOU WILL SEND SOMEBODY TO PICK UP THE CASKET AND REPLACE IT WITH A DIFFERENT MODEL.

YOU WILL

YOU WILL


FROM: mina@HarkerRest.com
TO: vlad@t-vanianet.com
RE: RE: YOUR WILL IS MINE

I will send somebody to pick up the casket immediately.

I will.

I will.


FROM: MinaH, CSR
TO: DRenfield, Shipping Mgr
RE: CUSTOMER TICKET #1031

Please arrange courier delivery and pickup at address attached. Exchange ’07 RPDeluxe w/cross etching for Fall06 model.

As a matter of fact, check to see if we have any left with the optional EternaClear Crystal lid window. This customer has had a hard time and I'd like to upgrade his purchase as a courtesy.

Dateline: Madison

Okay, so I saw this sign today:



It took me a few hours before I realized that the sign probably meant that you were not supposed to go out and further plug the meter (in Minnesota we use the phrase "time limit" a little more directly). At least I hope that's what it really meant. The alternative is that it is genuinely stating the blindingly obvious.

Also, is the placement of the sticker random, or is it meant to transform the phrase from Vehicles may not remain in these stalls longer than the time limit of the meter into Vehicles may not remain in these stalls longer than the time limit of the me?

What is the time limit of the me, after all?

So I saw an ad for ExtenZe, the natural male enhancement pill. I've seen these ads for a while. They all imply, in the most exaggerated stage whisper in history, that they can make men larger in the jock.

Obviously, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably isn't. Still, it's all promoted with such a straight face that I just had to know, so I googled the product name, along with the word "fraud," and this was the only link. It's a site that debunks all the other male enhancement scams.

And then it offers its own solution to male enhancement.

Okay, so the Ziddio video (did they anticipate the cadence of that phrase when they named the site?) is a little wider than is comfortable on this page. It appears to be covering the side menu a little. Apologies. So, I'll just write something now to nudge it further down the page, shall I?

I am at Crackers in Indianapolis this week. If last night's show is any indicator, it should be a fun week.

Did another marathon drive to get here yesterday. Left the house at 4:00 a.m. and made the drive in eleven hours, door to door. I stop a lot. These old bones need to stretch from time to time, and I have the bladder capacity of a nervous german shepard. Fortunately, I don't piddle when showing submission.

I took a leap of faith and took a different route to get here. You see, when I'm planning my route, I am in a constant search of ways to avoid Chicago. Unfortunately, the worst thing about living in Minneapolis is that if you want to head to any point east of Lake Michigan, but north of Dixie, Yahoo! maps will send you through Chicago, which means a) tolls, b) unpredictable traffic and c) tolls. I hate all three of those things (so much that they create cognitive dissonance, apparently).

What I've been doing is driving through Iowa, through Cedar Rapids, Davenport and then across Illinois via Peoria and points East. It adds about 50 miles, but a) there are no tolls, b) it's a delay I can count on, rather than the kind of suprises Chicago traffic offers, and c) there are no tolls.

The other night, Neenie saw me doing my Yahoo! map for this trip and asked why didn't I go through Wisconsin, down to Rockford, IL and then keep going down to Bloomington and then head East? I said, "There's a toll road by Rockford." It sounded less reasonable coming out of my mouth than it had in my head, so I did the Yahoo! map for that route and lo and behold, it was only 30 miles longer than going through Chicago.

And the toll, it turns out, is a dollar.

New video up on the Media page.

If you wanted, you could even go to Ziddio and give the video a rating and/or comments. Hell, you can share it to Facebook, get a URL to share it with friends, embed it on your own site. The sky is the limit! You get free content and I get free promotion. Everybody wins.

Well, I win a bit more.

There's a magazine for everything. To look at the cover, it almost appears as though the magazine is written as though it is being published contemporaneously with the actual events of the Civil War, like the film They've Killed President Lincoln. Turns out, no.

Of course, in the South the magazine is known as War Between the States Times.

Bread in a can.

Judging from the image on the label, it's even got the impression of the can's shape, like cranberry sauce.

I made friends with the owner's cheery, happy 3-month old grandson tonight. Why was there a baby at a comedy club? It was the comedy club in Bettendorf, that's why. She needed somebody to hold him and I got to hang with a baby for a bit. That's the beauty of a family business.

Never be afraid to hold a baby. Nobody's going to hand you a baby that you can't handle. If there was a chance that you could do anything wrong, nobody's going to hand it over.

Comedy writer sues over 'Hannah Montana'


A comedy writer named Buddy Sheffield is suing The Walt Disney Co., alleging he came up with the idea for the teen television show "Hannah Montana" but was never compensated.

Sheffield, who has written for "The Smothers Brothers Show," "The Dolly Parton Show" and "In Living Color," says he pitched an idea for a television series called "Rock and Roland" to the Disney Channel in 2001. The story was about a junior high school student who lived a secret double life as a rock star, according to the lawsuit.

Disney Channel officials at first liked the idea, but ultimately passed on it, the lawsuit alleges.

The Disney Channel's "Hannah Montana" is about high school student Miley Stewart, who lives a secret double life as a famous pop star.

"Hannah Montana," starring Miley Cyrus and her father, country singer Billy Ray Cyrus, has generated two hit music CDs and helped sell a great deal of merchandise. Sheffield says he deserves a share of the revenue.

Buddy Sheffield filed the lawsuit in Los Angeles Superior Court on Thursday alleging breach of contract, breach of confidence, unfair competition and unjust enrichment.

Having seen "Hannah Montana," not to mention several other Disney Channel teen-sitcoms, I've been wanting to sue Disney for unjust enrichment, simply on general principle.

I've done a variation of this joke on my Myspace blog before, but here's a quick impression of every director of every sitcom on the Disney Channel: That's great, Carter...terrific stuff, Jawan...Rosalita, terrific work...Rondell, great as always. Now let's take it again everyone, but this time with more mugging. A LOT more mugging."

My Cub Foods had this model of Pepsi machine a few years back. It's long gone from my Cub, but there rests this example in the vending area of the Super 8 in Burlington, IA. Hell, it might be the same one.



It's difficult to see, but yes, that is a spurt, er, spray of soda erupting from the tip of the bottle he holds at his waist. There's a fine line between blatant and inadvertent sexuality in advertising. I wonder which this is.

Went to a Reds game today. So THAT'S what Major League Baseball is like. I've just been to Twins games, so I didn't know.


Gorgeous stadium.


Inside and out.


That's MISTER Mr. Red, punk!

Just saw a commercial for Kellogg's Frosted Mini-Wheats that had the message, "keeps 'em full and keeps 'em focused," meaning kids.

Hey, it could happen. I certainly prefer that to certain other products and advertisements I could mention.

This isn't a Cincy-related pic. We took it on the way home from a cabin up north in Minnesota.

Yes, I know they're talking about furniture, but it still tickled me.

Got to Cincy a couple of hours ago, following a 12-hour drive through Iowa, Illinois and Indiana (screw Chicago and its traffic-n-tolls). Shortly into Indiana, I noticed a billboard for Hardee's that read:

MADE FROM SCRATCH BISCUITS
100% ANGUS BEEF THICKBURGERS

Maybe I was punchy from the road, or just too much of a stickler for punctuation*, but for a moment I thought that Indiana had some sort of truth-in-advertising law, and the sign meant that Hardee's Thickburgers were made out of a parts of Angus cows called "scratch biscuits."

[RADIO VOICE] Why pay up to eight dollars in a casual dining restaurant for the same burger you can get from Hardee's for less than four?

BECAUSE THEY'RE MADE OUT OF SCRATCH BISCUITS, THAT'S WHY!



*The sign should have read "MADE-FROM-SCRATCH BISCUITS" or "BISCUITS MADE FROM SCRATCH"

I leave very early Thursday morning for my maiden voyage to Cincinnati. I'll be featuring for Jimmy Pardo at Go Bananas. I've heard great things about the club, and judging from the names on their calendar, I think it's going to be a great fit (a perfect venue for my re-entry into standup after a month or so off).

I've never been to Cincy, much less Ohio, but I'm looking forward to it. As a matter of fact, I'm going to order 5-way chili here.

Hold the onions, extra cheese.

I'm not talking about anyone in particular, but it seems like every Gen-X or Gen-Y hipster has to take a moment to pontificate about how terrified they were of clowns as children. Please. You weren't anywhere near that scared of clowns and you know it. I'll grant that clowns have a small component of fear to them; I'll even grant that there is a small minority of children that are genuinely terrified by them, but don't pretend that you were one of them. You know damn well that when you were a kid, you were probably clamoring for one of Bingo's balloon animals, just like 99% of all children anywhere.

Childhood clown fear is to our generation what Woodstock is to the baby boomers. If all the people who claim to have been at Woodstock really were, it would have been ten million mud-caked hippies, instead of 600,000. If all people who claim to have been terrified by clowns as children really were, clowning would have been made illegal by 1978.

MY 15-month old is in Full Babble Mode. Her words are minimal, but the stream of sound and facial expressions are in full sentences. At day care, she will sit and talk with another toddler, both of them babbling. Do they share an instinctive secret language that all humans know at 15 months and then forget? What are they talking about?

TODDLER 1: I just can't seem to get my mom to pay attention to me...

TODDLER 2: (brief pause) Have you tried biting?

Graffiti on door of a convenience store bathroom:


If I'd had a pen on me, I would have added ...for Lent.

I finally figured out how to e-mail phone camera pics to myself. Now, I just need to learn how to take good ones. Bear with me.

And now, some pictures:


This is a giant statue that stands in Riverside Park in my hometown of La Crosse, WI. I believe he is Hiawatha, but I always knew him as The Big Indian. There used to be a pushbutton recording of his voice explaining, among other things, the "indian legend" that states the area is tornado-proof because it is located where three rivers meet (The La Crosse River, The Black River, and the Mississippi). I believe it's even odds that the local tribes were merely screwing with the traders and settlers.


This is the site of the late, lamented Knuckleheads Comedy Club in the Mall of America. The whole wing is a ghost town, with the exception of Hooters, which continues to thrive in it's own little softcore Red-Light District.

And now, a quick impression of every director of every Disney Channel sitcom:

That's great, but let's try it again, and this time, could you play it a little broader?

You know, I've been cracking wise about Minnesota fireworks for years, ever since they did the partial legalization, some time around ought-two. It comes in in the Omaha fireworks story:

Now, bear in mind, I live in Minnesota. We just legalized SPARKLERS and we're feeling all dangerous. HEY JIM, I'VE GOT SOME SNAKES!

Turns out, what you can buy here is a shade better than that. I'd never purchased fireworks here and they're really not lame. It's freaking AMAZING for a three year-old. One last-minute trip to Cub, one purchase of a $9.97 Patriot Bag, and I'm Hero of the Beach.

On a completely different tack, KARE 11? Are you out there KARE 11? Good, now listen closely...

[ahem]

FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU IN THE EAR FOR TELLING THE HORRIFIC POOL ACCIDENT STORY WITHOUT ADEQUATE WARNING FOR VIEWERS.

Thank you for your attention.

As you may know, I did a weird little record called Snaildartha (it should be available as a ZIP download here).

A blogger in Portugal, wrote about it, first looking for a copy -- first checking Amazon, I think, which is flattering. I have used google's translator, which has resulted in what you get when you use a robot to do a human's job. Artificial Intelligence, my ass.

Here's the post where he/she asks about the recording. (Portuguese)

Success! (Portugeuse)

Here's the google translation (some scrolling).

Robots. Feh.

Come on dude, give me the reins...you're in no condition to ride.

Drunken man parks horse in bank foyer



Is it my imagination, or does the horse have the mildly disgusted, but ultimately tolerant, look of the long-suffering friend of a chronic alcoholic?

A large group of indignant folks just did this guy a huge favor. I'd never heard of him before, but now, thanks to their petulant walkout, and one member of the group's act of boneheaded vandalism, I have. Now you have as well. He's Mike Daisey. Watch the video and show him some love.

Found at Cynical-C Blog

Star Tribune asks: Is the Party Over in La Crosse?

LA CROSSE, WIS. -- It was early yet, a little past 9 p.m. Saturday, and nobody seemed too worried about the cops on bar patrol, armed with the city's new anti-intoxication ordinance, or the dark, mist-shrouded river just three sloping blocks away.
Not Troy Boylen, 22.

"Honestly, nobody walks down to the river," he said with loud and earnest authority.

He pulled himself up and continued in a voice only slightly slurred:

"In La Crosse, experienced drinkers walk uphill."...

Apparently, there's been a rash of college guys disappearing after a night of drinking, presumably wandering into the Mississippi River and drowning, though folks haven't ruled out a serial killer. By a rash, I mean eight in the past ten years. That's .8 guys a year (which is a multiple of .08, the legal limit for blood alcohol content while driving -- coincidence or cosmic joke?).

In response, the city has settled on an increased police presence and stronger public intoxication ordinances. I prefer this idea to their original idea, which was to construct a large drunk-proof fence down by the river. Personally, I think they'd be better off with Troy Boylen's solution: walk uphill.

The only problem there though is that if they're really drunk, they may continue walking uphill so long that they wind up falling off the back side of Grandad's Bluff.

Nobody's bought the house, so we've decided to take a few "sell this house" steps (i.e., small, relatively inexpensive, but apparently vital changes that will make what is essentially the exact same house suddenly irresistable to buyers). The first "sell this house" step for us -- update the bathroom, and the first step of that is to replace the vanity/sink. Guess who got on-the-job self-training?

All the way through the process, I felt wildly out of my depth, but I got it all installed by lunchtime on Tuesday. Swelling with the kind of pride that can only go before a fall, I took one last look at the installation. I noticed there was still a small drip where I'd hooked up the hose that runs from the water supply out of the wall to the faucet. I got out my trusty vise grip and gave it one more turn.

And that's when the valve broke off and water started spraying everywhere.

You know, I've seen things like this happen on television and in movies. I wish I'd paid better attention to the solution, but I guess I was always too busy laughing. I tried to get the valve back on to the small bit of pipe to which it was attached (it has a name, but I'm saving that for later), but it just wouldn't get on there. Water was starting to pool in the bathroom and I could hear it dripping through the floor into the basement. I realized that I had to get downstairs and shut off the supply, so it was time to take a leap of faith. I caught one lucky break there, because once I just let it go, the jet of water shot over the floor and into the bathtub, which is conveniently located (in this case anyway) directly across from the vanity.

I sprinted downstairs and went to the hot water heater (thank God/Zeus/Cthulu it was the hot water supply, because I doubt I'd have remembered where the main water shutoff was) and took a shot that the Big Red Handle on one of the pipes coming out of it would shut off the water supply. It did. There is no sweeter sound than the sound of an unplanned spray of water coming to an end.

Once I got the bathroom and basement mopped up, I took stock of the situation. The pipe coming out of the wall (again, it has a name that I am still saving for later) appeared to be heavily corroded. The entire lower half of the threaded area had simply disintegrated. Hey, water's a solvent, right?

I had no idea where to begin. Here is this, at this point unnamed, length of pipe that is attached to another pipe that is inside the wall, and it's crumbling away. Pipes coming out of the wall have their own mystique, their own sense of permanence. I can figure out a lot of things, but once stuff starts being inside walls, they might as well be in Narnia.

About thirty minutes later, I phoned Neenie and gave her the news, dripping (heh) with I-TOLD-YOU-I'M-OUT-OF-MY-DEPTH-WITH-THIS-SHIT innuendo. She called her dad, who said it was fixable and that I should call him.

So I called my father-in-law to see what he had to say about the situation. I told him that the threads were basically gone from the pipe that had held the valve, and that I wasn't sure I could get the pipe out from the wall. Was it possible to shear off the corroded part and re-cut new threads onto the pipe? Yes it was, he said. I just had to go and get a pipe die, whatever that was.

Okay, so off to the neighborhood hardware store I went. Now, I'm not an exclusive "think globally, shop locally" guy. I can't afford to be. Most times when I know what I need, I heed the siren song of high volume and low prices and head on down to Menard's or Home Depot. But, when I need merchandise and information, you better believe I'm heading down to Parkway Hardware. Sometimes I feel a little guilty, since most times the information I need is "what kind of screw do I use for this?", and the small business owner winds up making about a buck and a half.

They directed me to the plumbing area, and I noticed that they actually had replacements for the length of pipe that was damaged. Said length of pipe, by the way, is called a "nipple." -- further proof that performing plumbing work forces you to silence your inner middle-schooler (Hell, the last bit of plumbing repair I did involved a ballcock for Christ's sake). I wondered for a bit why it was called a "nipple," until I realized that it must be because there are always two of them positioned next to each other, one for hot water and the other for cold.

You'd think the cold water nipples would be a little bit larger, but no.

They even had a tool called a nipple wrench. Seventh-grade Matt giggled mercilessly in the back of my head as I put that in my basket. I also grabbed a replacement for the valve that had snapped off, a small pipe wrench, and a replacement nipple (stop that laughing you little shit!). I brought my purchases to the counter and, describing my situation, asked the guy if this looked like everything I needed. He told me that I shouldn't need the nipple wrench (awwwww said seventh-grade Matt), since the pipe wrench was designed to grab hold of the nipple just fine (heeheehee). He cautioned me, though, that I might not be able to get it out of the wall, since sometimes in older houses, fittings could be such that pieces were effectively welded together.

Back at the house, I tried to use the pipe wrench to free the piece. I cranked and cranked at it, but it wouldn't budge. Naturally, I was a little gun-shy, since my last show of strength had caused all this trouble in the first place, but I became convinced that what hardware store guy warned me about had come true. The nipple was there forever and ever, aw man.

I went back to Parkway hardware, nipple in hand (snicker), and asked if they sold a tool to cut new thread onto a pipe. He looked throughout the store. Yes, they did sell tools that could cut thread, but they didn't sell them for plumbing. He told me to go to Park Supply, a plumbing wholesaler over by the West Bank, and that they might have them available.

I got in the car and thought to myself, do I really want to go be a novice in a roomful of people who do this stuff for a living?. I briefly considered checking Home Depot. It's a bigger store right? Presumably, they have a wider selection, but then I figured that while Home Depot might have one, a plumbing supply store was sure to have one. I might as well go for the sure thing.

Turns out, Park Supply doesn't sell pipe dies either. The guy behind the counter suggested I head to Minneapolis Hardware on 2nd St. N and check with them. I got to Minneapolis Hardware (by this time it was about 3:30) and was informed that they didn't sell dies for plumbing either and that I should check at, wait for it, Home Depot.

I was beginning to think that somewhere in Minneapolis, there was a plumber that was about to be very happy.

I got back into the car and called Neenie. She told me her dad was going to stop off on his way home from work to see if he could help, so I figured I might as well wait until he could eyeball the situation. Maybe there was a solution I hadn't considered.

Dad-in-law was waiting for me when I arrived and we went in to take a look. He suggested we take the vanity away from the wall so that we could give the nipple a good crank (ahehahehaheh...please, stop. I can't take it...). Turns out, more torque was all it needed. A couple of good yanks on the pipe wrench from my father-in-law and the nipple was free. He handed it to me and I stared at it for a good half-minute, the way you stare at a hangnail or a sliver after you give it that last tug and it comes out. Not so tough now are you?

You might think I had lost face with my father-in-law through this whole thing. Not at all. He knows I didn't grow up around tools and hardware and other manly pursuits. Personally, I think he was impressed that I hadn't called a plumber when the damn thing broke off in the first place. Besides, once the nipple was out, I knew exactly what to do from there on, and he went home. Neenie told me later that when her mother spoke to her dad and asked him why he didn't stay until it was all done, and he said he was confident I could handle it from there. I think that might be my diploma.



So yeah, nipples.

The stomach flu is making its way through the house. It's gotten the Bug, the Peanut and Neenie. I can only assume I'm next. If for some reason I don't make it, I think it appropriate for my last message to be a bunch of trained monkeys chimps pretending to be a psychedelic band.



By the way, doesn't it seem like they must have somehow bound the Ed Sullivan monkey's chimp's hands in that position? Creepy, I know. On the other hand, he's probably dead by now, so watching the video is like wearing vintage fur -- guilt free.

I'm amused that the Wallpaper Now! video clip is played nearly four times as often as Time/Fireflies on my Myspace page. It's not even that people are playing one, thinking it sucks and then choosing to not play the other. If that were the case, you'd think Time/Fireflies would be the one with more plays, since that's the first one on the list.

Nope, it's probably because the word "Nazi" is in the description for Wallpaper Now! People love Nazis.

Oh, by the way, I'm at ACME tonight (Tuesday). One night only this week -- a fill-in show. Kjell Bjorgen is headlining. If you work in hospitality, bring a pay stub and you can get in free. Cold comfort for the hell that is working in hospitality, but at least it's something.

Also, it's Mardi Gras tonight. I'll bring the beads.

Fat Tuesday is ostensibly a chance to indulge in all your vices the night before Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. However, I think one could argue that the people who will be out partying tonight are the least likely to go in for the smudge-fest tomorrow. Oh sure, they might have dirt on their forehead, but it won't have gotten it at church.

Don't you think that if you participate in Mardi Gras, you should be required to also go to church the next day? Of course, you couldn't prove you were going to go this year, but you could provide proof that you went last year. Then you can get as drunk and/or naked as you want without fear of arrest, provided you can show a receipt.

It's a banner day.

My dad forwarded an email to me, and I actually agreed with everything about it. Usually, our political differences wind up with me posting something snarky like this.

Click here to see what my dad sent me today. It's a stitch (warning: sound).

The great thing is, it's by the ACLU. I wonder if my dad realizes that!

I'm about to join the dark side and sell a T-shirt. Here's the final mock-up of the shirt (opens in new window).

Theoretically, the shirt should appeal to the smart set because it references the firefly joke, and to the "Git R Dun" crowd because it has the word "ass" on it.

Everybody wins!

Watching the State of the Union Address, I'm struck by the generally creepy nature of the Bush administration. From the synchronized water-drinking of Bush and Cheney, to Condi Rice's Jack-Nicholson-in-The-Shining stare, to Michael Chertoff's, well, Michael Chertoff-ness, the whole cabal just gives me the willies.

And not the Slick Willies like we had in the nineties.