In middle school, a group of us boys were standing around talking about guy stuff. Someone would say something like "Yeah, don't you hate it when your balls itch?", or "Don't you hate it when your dick almost gets caught in your zipper?" and everyone would relate to it and laugh and fun was had by all (notice I didn't use the term "male bonding", which is just about the worst term ever. Guys hate it when you use that term, because it completely negates the very action of being a guy by adding some wimpy psychological element into things).

One guy speaks up and says "Yeah, it's kinda like those hairs that grow on the end of your dick."

We all turned and stared at him for a minute as he tried to look for a friendly face to laugh with, which he never got.

I was reminded of this after a similarly awkward event that occurred in my Black Literature and Aesthetics course, which is just as lame as it sounds. The teacher is dispassionate about any course material and nervous about her job. Even though she's black, she's afraid to use the word "nigger", replacing it with the words "racial epithet" when we read over it in class. She needs to be fired for her denial of reality.

Anyway, a white girl was asked to read the dialogue from some white guy at the first NAACP convention in like 1910, during a debate over whether black literature should make blacks look cool and smart, or whether they should use stereotypes to do some creative trickery. This was interesting, except the girl who was reading it got very, very nervous and even though the passage used the words "negro" and "nigger" she kept stumbling between the two at every instance, making a jumble of "niggero-I-mean-nig-I mean-negro", which no one else seemed to acknowledge but me. After she was done, I exchanged glances that I, too, felt her pain under the oppression from the black man and him keeping us down with his stupid guilt and quest for reparations. It's all about words, and we're losing the battle right now.

While we're talking about race-I-mean-nig-I-mean-racial epithets, I learned the other day that the word "jew", alone, offends some people. I used the word and a girl started speaking up for me to stop using "that word". I asked her what I'm supposed to say instead of jew so I don't hurt her feelings, and she said "I dunno, 'person of the jewish faith or race' or just 'jewish person'."

So let's just brush up a bit:

"Jew" has one syllable.

"Person of the Jewish Faith" has seven syllables.

I explained to her that she was a fucking moron if she thought I was going to linguistically detour around common terms so that she doesn't feel bad about her society or that she isn't more ethnic and can't share suffering with people. Likewise, I am fine being called a "mic" or even "Irish stallion", those terms don't affect me because I. am. strong.

the joke's on you

There's a guy on campus named James that delivers mail to everyone in their departments, labs, or wherever. He's not a very smart guy, which can be seen through his socal skills. Allow me to explain.

James learns a new joke every day that he tells to everyone that he delivers mail to. They are nice, clean little jokes such as:

Q: Why did the chicken cross the playground?
A: To get to the other slide!

This seems quaint and cute and a nice little detail of everyday life, but life simply isn't always a fucking Norman Rockwell cartoon. James chooses to complicate things a bit.

First of all, he will NOT leave your lab or office until he tells you the joke. Also, he won't tell you that he even has the joke to tell. So you have to sit there awkwardly, wondering why he doesn't leave. He just stands there watching you work, staring. Eventually you remember to ask him if he's heard any good jokes lately, at which point he tells you, absorbs your forced laughter and continues on with his deliveries.

However, if you are, let's say, new to the department and don't know this guy, you're in for some fun. James will stay there and stay there, and hopefully someone who knows the situation will walk by and glance in, asking James if he knows a good joke and relieving you from the awkwardness. Otherwise, he will stare and stare and stare while you try to look as busy and occupied as you can, or try to find an excuse to leave the room.

This, I feel, is a complex allegory that James places on the world. Like some kind of genius Batman villain, his pseudo-superpower (oh wait, Joker is already taken. shit.) is jokes that he dispenses on a regular basis, while playing a joke on everyone and punishing them for being scientists that actually do things for society, while he is stuck moving boxes all day. Rather than a roaming simpleton, James is a diabolical madman, bent on destroying scientific research as we know it! We have to plot something to stop this man, once we can figure out a way to make him leave the room so he doesn't hear us.

For those of you who are going to be watchmakers, here's something nice to make you smile.

holy shit

This is the coolest thing I've seen in a while. Graphic design, any digital art, gaming, you name it would/will be very different with this. I want one tomorrow.

Multi-Touch Screen

Hopefully I won't form a habit of just linking to shit instead of being original, but these negro mimes sure do love Jesus!

"Roller blade-ing & meeting new friends are the things to do in Eastern Europe." -Tatjana

Thanks for the inside scoop, Tatjana! I'll be sure to roller-blade and meet new friends with you and the rest of the gang at DownSyndromeDolls.com!

dammit dammit dammit

Ok, granted my death metal band rules 666 times harder than any other, this one has a pretty great website, one that will be difficult to 1-up. Mouse-over the skull to make it scream.

how to be a great parent

In high school, a buddy and I decided there were some things that we would definitely do once we had kids someday. Here are a few I can actually remember:

1.) Make their middle name "Fucking" (i.e. "My name is Josh Fucking Rankhorn), so that way they seem really serious and intense and no one will fuck with them, and your kid will turn out tough and cool.

2.) At breakfast, act like those parents from the cereal commercials who are all stupid and curious about the cereal in question. Say something like "But how DO they cram all that flavor into that little O?" or "So why do you kids EAT that stuff then?" and allow your kid to come up with some total wiseass response like "Get a CLUE, Dad! Pshht!" or "Because I'm a KID, that's why!" Then act like they totally zonked you with this response and that you're really confused by saying something like "Whaa?!" and doing a double take. This will boost their self confidence.

3.) On Christmas, stand outside their window dressed like Santa Claus and rev a chainsaw and just stare and laugh hysterically into their room. Keep standing there for a while, as a reminder that Christmas isn't about Santa, but is about Christian love and values.

idea i had in my sleep last night

Need some Valentine's Day flowers for your sweetie? Paint a shitty likeness of the Virgin Mary in some random obscure place around town. Then just sit back and wait for the Catholics to find it. When they start putting flowers (and necklaces and candles other dumb shit) under it, take your pick of their stuff, give it to your sugar-angel-biscuit-pop, and you're on a one-way trip to Romance City, my friend!

just a little FYI, you guys.

All of the Ricky Gervais shows can be downloaded here, via the annoying RapidShare thing that only millionaires use. Grumble.

Point is, you can get them and keep them and burn them and listen to them in the car and be really happy about yourself.

Today on ESPN there was a bowling matchup in West Virginia between two guys named Rash and Scroggins.

So, yes, there are some people worse off than you.

If you're in need of something new and pretty...

Maybe I'm shallow. Maybe I'm naive. But just maybe I'm in touch with what appeals to me and I'm just cool with that. No matter what it is, I love really creative and engaging advertising that uses art to kick ass all over the place. Graphic designers are doing very cool things that are worth attention simply for their value as an artistic medium.

One of the best places to find graphic design at its best is Communication Arts. They ought to have it at Barnes & Noble, but I know that good university libraries have it stacked away somewhere.

As for music, someone gets paid good money to find music for those ambient car commercials or entirely-too-cool Gap ads, or the quirky/supposed-to-be-funny ones. Often, they deserve this good money. You can search Limewire (or whatever it is you are using these days, you scamps!) for 'commercial' and turn up a few great ones, classics being. Otherwise, a good place to get started is 'boards, which tries to keep track of this sort of thing. For starters, the one with the sting-ray has a great tune. Check it.

Love and Hate on a Dinner Plate: The Evolution of the Food Network Celebrity Crush

Whoever stated that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach was slightly premature in his (or more likely her) statement. My logic in saying this can be demonstrated in watching Food Network and one of its bevy of hottie food chefs: You may look at the food and start drooling, but a bodacious TV ass will distract you from even the most delicate of frittatas. Clearly, the booty has superiority over the torte, the gazpacho, or even the GameDay Chip Dip.

How one sufficiently surveys all of the dames on Food Network is, in itself, a phenomenon of hormones and gastronomy combined. The food truly does contribute on some level (though sometimes only in a supporting role) to the personalities, presentations, and hotness of the lady chefs themselves.

When I first started watching Food Network, the woman that stood out was Rachael Ray. She's petite, cute, and got an ambitious and welcoming personality that, I believe, are meant to be the homing signal to the Food Network celebrity crush and to attract otherwise uninterested male audiences. See?



Sadly, Rachael is a mere stepping stone on our path because of one feature: her tremendous Italian mouth. She flails her arms, gabs about random shit, uses her stupid euphemisms, and eats. And eats. And eats. This is making her ass get noticeably bigger, which we know because the camera doesn't follow her ass around the kitchen at a dog's-eye view anymore.

There's a terrific Rachael Ray drinking game here, which I'd love to play some time.

Moving on from Rachael, we have the queen bee, Giada De Laurentiis.



She is my current favorite and has been holding strong in that position for quite a while now. She gives the camera an expression like she wants to take it out back for a tumble in the hay, right after she bends over to pick up some badass pasta out of the oven. She doesn't have catch phrases, she doesn't have lame ass hand expressions, just concise, focused, well-meditated hotness. She hosts parties with other young, fun people that are obviously supposed to be better than I am, and with food better than I am supposed to eat. But who cares, I didn't want to go to her stupid party anyway!

As smokin' as Giada is, other women fit other points in life better than she is, at least based on age anyway. After her we have the "trophy wife" of Food Network, Sandra Lee.



I call her the trophy wife because she hosts a show on shortcuts with food, and seems pretty static. You know what you're going to get with this one.

Interestingly enough, while doing "research" for this post, I stumbled upon a hostess who is from my hometown of Crossville, TN. Incidentally, Kelly Deadmon is way fine. I wish I could say more, but don't know enough about her and can only give her an Honorable Mention for my list.




When I am her age, I wouldn't mind being married to someone like Paula Deen.



She isn't my present object of desire, but one I could picture being so 30 years from now. Not to be confused with Ina Garten, Paula is charming and southern, reinforcing this reputation with mannerisms and slang from at least 40 years ago. She used a word the other day, something like loblolly (something at least that distinct), which made my eyebrows raise. Yes, she's actually that southern and they actually gave her a show. Anyway, she be cool and her burgers look pretty tasty, too. So she's on my list.

Ina Garten, however, is not.



Everything she cooks has about 6 pounds of butter and 14 gallons of whiskey in it, which she cooks in her house in Nantucket for her jewy little husband. Then they go walk on the shitty New England beaches and eat her food in a thermos. She hosts little parties that are only attended by other wives of rich men; women whose husbands are at work and they have to find some way to spend their time and money. Ina is starved for 1.) cholesterol and 2.) jewboy's paycheck.

She caters to the wealthy audience of the network, best demonstrated by her image. She often says things like, "Oh, so today I wound up with this three pound tuna steak" or "so here I am with all of this filet mignon and I feel like making something for a brunch that Brenda is hosting...It's going to be just wonderful for the get-together tomorrow morning." She is shown driving to her local market (not a grocery store, you white trash punks) in her brand new black Mercedes sedan. I will say her theme song is better than Giada's or Paula's, but in no way does she back it up with anything besides pride and pretentiousness.


Some foods on your plate are the ones you go right to. They get you excited and happy and hold your attention with their taste and personality. Food Network hostesses are no different. Food doesn't have boobies, though.

dumb

One day, I met a guy on top of Mt. Sherman in beautiful Colorado. While standing up there at over 14,000 feet, he handed me a card for his website, which he explained was really, really funny and terrific. This was a lie.

The lesson was that if life takes you to the top of a mountain, whether figuratively or for real, and some douche is at the top of that mountain ready to give you his web address, don't waste your time and just enjoy the view.

COLORADO GUY

it's about damn time

Finally, someone in the federal government is doing something, anything, to help us recover from the Katrina disaster.

Sing along with Hank with the FEMA For Kidz Rap!!!

Don't worry, the lyrics are included on the site so that you aren't once again stranded by FEMA for not having lyrics, too! Clearly, they've learned a lesson that they won't soon forget. Kudos.

Let's take a closer look, though. Notice how they mention that they've "got a few tips", though they never mention exactly what those tips are. Hmm.

Also, this song is secretly brilliant for revisiting rap's beginnings. I say this because it just raps about how cool FEMA is, nothing more, nothing less. This is a tribute to the days when rap was about how good the rapper was at his job, as well has how outstanding his shoes were. Clearly FEMA assumes the audience has a knowledge of rap's history, and in doing so builds respect in its listeners. Also, the ambiguous music in the background suggests that disasters are always looming, keeping the listener in perpetual fear and anxiety for disasters to strike at any moment. Excellent idea. Children should be constantly scared of hurricanes, tornadoes, and earthquakes, constantly in disaster position wherever they go.

Thanks, FEMA.

can't a fella catch a break?

Another child's death rattles NY agency

"Investigators believe 4-year-old Quachaun Brown died Sunday following a beating by Jose Calderon, who later claimed he was angry because he thought the child caused a television to fall over, police said."

Well shit, what choice did he have? The kid knocked over the damn TV, what was he gonna do, sit back and just take it? Kids these days, they know no bounds, you have to show them what they can and cannot do. You have to give them boundaries. Shame on you, NYPD.