The New Most Interesting Man In The World

You know what? F Dos Equis. Their so called "most interesting man in the world" is no more than a really lame animal in sheep's clothing. (Is that a phrase?). Jonathan Goldsmith is the guy in the commercial. You may know him from a couple of episodes of Murder She Wrote. He also played Jack in an episode of MacGyver. At the end of the day, though, this guy knows nothing about spelunking, nor does he play jai alai as the commercials may lead you to believe.

B.J. Novak, on the other hand, is truly remarkable. For starters, he plays a relatively minor role on The Office every Thursday night. One night of work a week isn't enough to keep this guy satisfied, though. B.J. has taken on the pen name of Aaron Rodgers. On most Sundays, and every once in a while on a Monday, he leads the Green Bay Packers to battle. I'm watching him play right now, actually. He's really good. As if that wasn't enough, the guy gets on a plain and flies to France to finish up the week as that pesky French President, Nicolas Sarkozy.

Alright, I know they're not the same person, but seriously, they're freaking identical!

Yeah, actually, now that I look at it, they don't look alike at all. Sorry for wasting your time.

Thanksgiving is in the Air. . . Or Maybe the Dog Just Has Gas

So, I'm not exactly sure why I'm so worried this year, but I am taking a proactive approach to Thanksgiving. I'm actually practicing recipes. Thing is, I never really keep track of what I do each time I make something, so the whole practice element is sort of lost in the process. I end up just eating Thanksgiving sides for several weeks leading up to the big day.

Well anyway...today I made jalapeno cheddar cornbread cupcakes with avocado garlic frosting. I tried this last year for my birthday and they were miserable. This time, though, they're frickin' adorable and tasty as a June snow cone.

Next up, Spanakopita.

Also, if you really want to get into the autumn spirit, check out this McSweeney post.

Part V: The Massive Let Down

Received:
Tom hello again ,I am here after my visit to the consulate and to the agency I am so happy to say we will meet in few days!!!! I am really lucky girl to meet you. Honey the thing is that everything is ready and I have to leave moscow on Saturday but I have a little problem and I really hope you will be able to help me. You see I never expected I will ask you for such help but I have nothing else to do. You know my mum promised to send me money for tickets by western union as soon as I will find out prices but she was told on her work that because of economic crisis she will receive all the money she saved from every months salary only in a few months. So that is why she can`t send me all the sum for tickets now and she was able to send only 200$ I have got it today.I can`t delay my flight because all my documents are arranged on exact dates..

Tom I wanted to ask you to help me to pay for my tickets directly but I was told in travel agency I can't use your help or ask you about sending me tickets or ordering electronic ones because I have a permission to use the help of the travel agency only. Your see its business of travel agency to arrange all travel things for my trip, such is the law.If I will but ticket by myself, I won`t be able to use my work visa. so you can`t send me tickets. I`m sure my mom will help me but she needs more time and I can`t wait so long because I need to buy tickets till my flight date. I was in the bank to try to ask them a loan but they said I need to have registration in Moscow to get a loan from their bank and I don't have it! I know I`m asking you for very big but maybe it will be possible for you to help me. You are my last hope and I have nothing else to do. If I will not buy tickets my visa will be canceled and it will be forbidden for me to apply for visa again for next 8 months. I have only about 150 dollars that I expected to take with me for the first time and plus 200$ mom sent so if you will help me with 950$ I will have enough to buy tickets and have some extra money for travel needs. I know its a big sum of money ,but please try to help me and I promise I will return you money back after my first salary or as soon as my mom will send it , as she promised. I will cross my fingers hoping for your help because I want to meet you so much!!!!! I will be waiting for your answer!!!

I will be here in late evening and please don't worry if I can't answer immideatelly I have too much to do. Tom make a transfer by western union, I have got transfer from mom and have all the info for it and it was so easy to get.Only show my passport. You should know my rent address here is 21/56 Azina street, Moscow, Russia.128544 Remember my full name is Anastasiya- (first name). Ranneva -(last name, its the right writing in transliteration from russian, I was told it by manager in travel agency). and you should put it on western union list and you can choose any bank in moscow,so I can pick up the money at any bank of moscow. and nearest bank with western union office here is - name of the bank - SOFRINO,streetOZERKOVSKAYA NABEREZHNAYA, 12; city-Moscow, postal code -113184; phone number --- +7-495-9537712 it will be safe to use western union transfer because I need to have passport to receive it!And please after you complete transfer write me the number of the transfer, P.S. I`m so sorry I asked you for such help, but you see you are my last hope and now my only wish is to meet you. I want to start a new life and I`m sure we can spend so many happy days and probably nights together!
Please try to help me with the sum and in one month I will return you money back!!

P.S.Tom dear I am not sure I should tell this but I want to let you know if you don't like me when I come I will not bother you and it is only your choice to spend time with me or not. I know you may be too busy or just meet different woman but in any case I will return the money back. I will have a room for rent if I want, a job and I want to say please don't worry I don't want to use you just to reach my goal. I am sure when we meet we will have no regrets about it, Tom I promise. I dream about our first meeting, our first night .............I think everything depends on you! please, honey, don't leave me alone I've done so much to start this trip and I don't want to give up.and as always forger about important thing,please tell me your full name I mean right writing because when I was getting mom's transfer they asked about full name of the sender,not only my name!it is the law!

Sent:
Hey Anastasia!

I'm so sorry to hear about your mom and how her work is refusing to pay for her and how this all left you in a jam. I'm a software engineer (make lot of money) so sending you what you need is no problem at all...especially considering how much I want for you to come live with me. I made the transfer through western union to the bank you told me to (Sofrino bank i think it is called). the transfer number is 0255472289.

I hope this works! Let me know if you run into any more problems!

See you soon!

Jimmy (really, call me Jimmy, only my grandmother calls me tom).

[[fyi - that is a completely made up transfer number. It has the right number of digits, bit I totally made it up]]

Received:
Jimmy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you sooooooooo much you are helping me!!!! You made me very excited and I am very thankful to you!!!

Jimmy I was in western union office but manager told me it was no transfer from you so pls send me a copy of receipt ok?? I can't wait to meet you! My heart beats so fast now! Today I will go to see some more sightseeings, I'm having very good time here but I'm sure when I come to you we will have simply great time together!!!! I can't wait to get to know you better!!! Do you like massage? I can make very good massage!!!! I will make it for you if you want, let me know!!!! You are the best man I've ever met (or almost met) and there are no such great man in Russia. You are so far away and so close to me...You are in another country and right in my heart.... Oh... I became a little sad because you are not with me now... I will try to smile for you!!! I know soon the day of our meeting will come and I will be able to hug you!!!!!!!!!! Isn't it great? I think so! I have a good feeling we will like each other. I think it's just a voice of women's intuition inside me!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please trust my voice!!!!!

I'm sending you a kiss by the wind and I hope you will receive it!

[[At this point, I sort of planned on strining her/him along for a while, sending fake transfer numbers to banks further and further outside of Moscow. I started getting a bit worried about my future as it might cease to exist if I ever did decide to travel to Russia and happen upon the wrong street. With this in mind, I came up with the perfect ending.]]

Sent:
Hi Anastasiya,

This is Emily. I am Jimmy's wife, and I check his e-mail. I don't know who the fuck you are, but my husband was about to send you $950! I saw the receipt from Western Union in the car and I canceled the transfer, so no there is no fucking money for you today. And no, you are not stealing my man from me!

Stay the FUCK away from my husband!

Received:
Hello ! Honey, I`m so sorry I asked you to help me with tickets. I really didn`t expect I will ask you for such help. I thought my mum will send me money to moscow so I would have enough. But the last minute she told she is enable to help, she has problems on her work. you see I can`t delay my flight because all my documents are arranged on exact dates and if my flight will be canceled I won`t be able to apply for visa for next 4 years.. Oh I just can`t stop crying.. Pls help me and I promise I will return you money back in 1 or 2 month, my mum will send it to us! And also I will start to work as soon as I will arrive. I never lied to you and always told you truth. I promise I will never hurt you. If you will help me, I will fly to you on Saturday and we will spend really great time together!!!

I can`t change it on another day, so I have a little time to buy tickets. I'm not going to solicit the money from you... I thought it will be possible for me to come to you and be yours... You have captivated my poor heart and I just don't know how you've done it. I'm still desperately want to see you!

Honey if it was possible to send me tickets I would have asked you to do that. I checked all ways and that's not possible. you see if I won`t buy ticket my flight will be canceled and I won`t be able to apply for visa for next 4 years.. I'm so sad now, so sad that I don't want to live. I want to fall asleep and don't get up one more month! Please don't think Oh, why I met that Russian girl in Internet, she promised a lot and never done it. I really wanted to come to you but you know I've never travelled so far away and I was not smart enough to set up all things for my trip. I still feel I need you in my life so much. I pray it will be possible for you to help me somehow. No one here can help me, I feel myself so alone.. I asked all my friends and realtived but no one can give me money even for a few days. My mum will send me more money just in 1 month and I need to buy tickets till Saturday or my flight will be canceled.. I so hope it will be possible for you to help me somehow. Pls make a transfer on my name and I promise I will fly to you on Saturday and finally kiss you!! I`m waiting for your answer!

Your girlfriend
Anastasiya

Sent:
Anastasiya,

It's me again, Emily, Jimmy's wife. I'm not entirely sure what the fuck you didn't understand in my last email, but i'm going to ask you one last time to stay the fuck away from my husband. DO YOU HEAR ME?!?!?!?!?! i don't care whether or not you come to america. if you do, great, congratulations, but you sure as fuck aren't staying with my husband. you're not giving him massages, you certainly aren't his girlfriend. We have a three year old son for christ's sake. he's not leaving me. Find another way into the country!

DON'T FUCKING REPLY!!!
Emily.

[[Moral of the story: If you see fire, go ahead and play with it a bit, but make sure you don't get your hair too close because you'll just end up with a stinky mess. Thanks for reading.]]

Part IV: Just Beg Me For Money Already!!

I have to say, this scammer has some persistence. Sending me the same messages over and over about massages and living together and what not. Despite my hardest attempts to appear completely baited and completely willing to send ridiculous amounts of money over the Pacific to a complete stranger, Anastasiya finds it necessary to woo me some more.

Received:
Hello Tom! as always I am glad to see your letter and do hope that you have the same feelings when you see mine!!!!!to be fair I think I'm a lucky girl to meet such good man as you in Internet world! I hope I will be lucky enough to meet you in the real life soon!

Yesterday I told my mom about you. She said that now she doesn`t worry about me as before she sees that I have met right man!I want you to know that it is our with mom decision to leave russia,my mom spent a lot of years here and she was so beautiful (now too) and she has nothing now,and she tells me that I have to leave here as soon as possible I am not too young and 27 is enough old for women here and i do hope I will be able to meet my dreams there and I am not afraid to work I am afraid to be lose here and spend all my life without any result of my hard work I worked in some clubs and everything was all right but now nobody here has money and they can't pay for my work and I have not money to keep my body and face,you know everything costs money and I have to buy a lot of cosmetic to keep my skin and hair because it is all I have (of course I have kind soul but to be fair nobody here has interest to my soul) they all want to use my body,sorry if it sounds rude but it is the truth!

I told my friends about you and everybody said they will cross one's fingers for us and they hope you are a good man and we will like each other! to be fair I feel myself so sad... I will miss my work ... I almost cry now... anyway I don't want to make any steps back and I want to continue my arrangements. Tom please forgive me but today I have not time to write long letter again, Tom you should know that after sending this email I will go home, take my packed bags and fly to Moscow! I`m really afraid to fly on a plane! I hope my plane will not fall down! It is several hours from here to Moscow. Tom I have been to Moscow before but it was a few years ago and I only remember that it is very huge and voice city with a lot of people with crazy eyes!and I'm so nervous now...Tom You know... I had such great desire to start my trip already.. and now I feel myself like a newborn kitten who has even didn't open it's eyes... I just want to hug my mom and don't want to go anywhere...but I know that's my dream to start a new life and I will try to turn in to reality! Soon you will hear some news from me from Moscow!!!!!!!I do hope you are really kind man and will not make me sad!??!!?!?!right!??!?I think I look enough pretty to make your friends envy,how do you think????I`m so exited we will meet soon! I will be able to find a work so I will not have money problems. I took all my diplomas and dresses but don't worry it is only one suitcase. You know I sent documents for visa to moscow about 2 months ago, so when I will arrive to moscow my visa will be already ready!!well,I have to run,I think I will be able to send letter from moscow tomorrow but if not please don't worry I m not sure how long I will need time to find rent room and cyber cafe.Please wait for me and don't look at different girls,you know I am the best!!!(joke).and please forgive me that every time I have not time to answer on your questions but when we meet we will have a lot of time to talk and you will know all about me then!
Kiss-Kiss from Anastasiya.

Sent:

Hi Anastasiya!

I'm getting so excited! I'm sorry you have to leave home and say bye to your mom. I'm sure that's hard for you. But you both know that you are walking (or flying in, i guess) to something better. I'm glad to hear that you've brought your dresses, you're lovely, you don't have to worry about looking pretty here, from what I see, you are much more beautiful than all american women. It's good to know that your mom and friends approve of me, even though they hardly know anything about me!

Safe travels to Moscow, and I hope to chat with you soon. Let me know if you need anything or if I can help you out with any of the stuff you're dealing with no about your travels.

See you soon!
Jimmy (really, call me Jimmy, it's what everyone calls me).

Received:
Hey my dear Tom , can you believe I am here in moscow,what is the great city it is!!! You can't imagine how happy I am because I am on the way!I still cannot believe I've done it! WoW! As I wrote you I was scared to fly on the plane but everything was OK and I'm still alive !!!!the people from agency did help me to found a place to stay, I rent a room from an old woman.The hotels here are very expensive and I think I am not princess to spend money to live in hotel where the room costs about 150-200$ a day! Very expensive city,people here tell me that it is the first city in the world to pay for everything! the lady where I rent room is about 70 years old. She said I have to be very careful. By the way, one more thing about my trip.

Agency will help me to rent a room to stay near my future work in your area. And I have a question,is it O.K. if we will like each other may be it is possible to live together?I think it could be more funny than to live alone in rent room!?!??!??!of course if you don't mind and of course if we like each other from first time!!!As you know I will stay there for several months and if I want I will be able to prolong my stay there.now I miss my family... but I'm getting better with every hour . Tom, please write me as soon as possible!

See you soon!Big kiss from moscow!!I will write again soon!I think that today I will send all the info about my flight schedule and all travel things!people from agency have told that everything is ready and I will get all the info today and I am waiting for the letter from my mom,she promised to send as soon as she can!well,I will close this letter, I have so strange feeling that I know you for many years and I have never met you before but I am so sure that everything will be all right between us and I even have hope that maybe we will have more than just meeting and spend time ,maybe something waits for us in future,you know I am very romantic and as any woman I want to meet the man from my child dreams!O.k .Let,s meet before!!!!! and some funny pictures for you I have found in cyber world,and I have a few pictures of me from my family album but I can't send it from here because different rules here and manager promised to help me to send them today!
See you soon,
Anastasiya.

Part V is coming soon. It's the last chapter. Savor it while you can.

Part III: Persistent Perestroika

So...I'm obviously being recruited by some creepy dude. He's trying to get me to fall in love with a fictitious Russian woman with miserable English and really nothing to offer me that I really want. If she were, for example, to mention that she was bringing her X-Box, or maybe a bundt pan in some cool shape, or a bread machine, or an ice cream maker, then I'd probably be in. I'd be willing to fall for this. Well, she/he didn't offer any of these, but I was bored, so I kept it going. HOLD TIGHT!!!

Received:
Tom Hi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Please forgive that my letter is so short today but I don't have enough time to write a long email today I'm in a hurry.... Please write me the name of the closest Airport to you (possibly International) and the code (if you know ,For example the closest inter Airport to me is Irkutsk and it's code is (IIA). I already started to pack my things and I want to start my trip ,so I will go to Moscow from Irkutsk. I have so many worries and I'm so afraid to start everything but if I don't start it now I will never do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I will go to airlines office now and will buy a tickets to Moscow, its very expensive, but I have some savings so I have money to pay for plane ticket to moscow and to pay for renting room in moscow. As soon as I will arrive to Moscow, I will finish my documents to travel, as work permission, medical insurance etc.Tom when I am in Moscow I will buy ticket to your airport. I know it will not be cheap, but my mother will receive a salary for last 6 months (her work detained wages) and will send me money to Moscow .and about one important thing,do you agree that good sex is quite important for successful relationship? I like sex but at first I have to be sure that I have feelings because just sex without feelings is not so hot and tender,I thihk so.please how you see this thing? Tom I think that if we will be together we will have a lot of fun because we both are enoug old to understad that all the things ending in the bed!!!!and we will have hot feelings I am sure!do you have big bed for us,some kind of the joke!but like they tell here there is some truth in every joke!Sorry I am a little fantasy today!Tom now I know you little more and I think we should tell about all the things and be sure that we want the same things!!!

Talk to you later!
Anastasiya,kiss you in virtual space if you don't mind! !!!!

Sent:
Hi Anastasiya!

This is all happening so fast. I'm really excited! I live about 20 minutes from San Francisco International Airport (SFO). I have some extra time off from work, so I can take the day off when you arrive and I can show you around the city and get you accustomed to the American way of life!

Sorry, I'm really busy at work today, so I can't write much more. But I am really really excited! Let me know if you need any help with anything between Moscow and San Francisco. I talked to my friends that own a disco down the street. They say they need to hire some cute girls to serve drinks. They're keeping a position for you, so hurry up!

See you soon!
Jimmy
(my friends actually call me jimmy, it's sort of a long story, but it is what it is).

[[I was also getting a bit nervous about this scam artist knowing my email address and what not, so I began trying to ween him off my name...I assumed a new identity Jimmy Soliss]]

Part IV is coming soon...tomorrow actually...probably.

Part 2: From Russia, With Love

I should start with some commentary. I ran into this girl on match.com. She looked completely normal. She had normal things in her profile. She liked racquetball. She had just finished a book that, while I had never heard of the title or the author, sounded reasonably interesting/normal. She was holding a cat in her profile picture. I don't like cats, but this increasingly seems to be a trait I have to change in order to convince a woman to enjoy my presence. I'm not saying that I started making wedding plans or anything, but I was certainly filled with a bit of joy that she (it could've been anyone really) sent me a message.

Anyway, without further ado (is that really a word? is it a do? uhdoo? oh well) I bring you the next segment.

Received:
Hello !!!!
my name is Anastasiya! I have seen your profile on Match.com and I liked it.I'm not sure what write for the first time, I think that at first you should see my photos and I'm sending my photos...I have some photos, to be fair I have many photos I like to take photos and I wanted to work as model and I can and like to dance a lot.I studied dance from 6 years old.you should know I'm looking forward to visiting your beautiful country and I would like to meet a man over there who will be interested in meeting me!I will work in any bar or restaraunt because it is my proffesion now and I am good waitress.My mom was abroad a few years ago,and she has told that I have to leave russia and try to live in civilazation country,she thinks that I am enough pretty to live here, I don't feel that I am beautiful like Hoolywood girls but not the worst variant,I think so. [[I still laugh when I think about that last sentence...hoolywood...HAHAHAHA!]]

I've never been abroad before and I would like to visit there so much! I'm looking for a friend, lover or maybe even something serious...I'm a free bird now, I don't have a boyfriend and I'm open to anything!!! Please if you have time and the wish to meet young lady please write me about yourself too!!!! I am looking just for a good man who can show me over there,I`m 27 years old, I hope my age is ok for you??I live in Russia.In small town in deep of Syberia. There is big enough city Irkutsk and many people work there ,there is not well paid job here.

I hope that you will write me back? I will wait for your answer. When I hear back from you I will write more things about myself and send more pics! and please some pictures from you ! and please forgive my broken english! Anastasiya.

PS: This is my personal e-mail address so please send a word to let me know if you want to continue correspondence, I will wait for your answer!!!

[[At this point, I realize that this is pretty obviously some sort of scam that I probably shouldn’t get involved in and hence, do not reply.]]

Received a Couple Days Later:
Hi its me again! I was waiting for a message from you, but you wrote nothing to me.. What is your name??? I really thought we can talk for a while and I want to know you better, maybe we have something in common! Pls send me a note, I hope to hear from you soon!!!!
Kisses, Anastasiya

[[At this point, I realize that this is most surely a scam that I cannot help but get involved in]]

Sent:
well anastasiya. i'm a bit confused. your original message said your name was shawna and that you were from cheshire, or. did i miss something?

Stay tuned for Part 3: Persistent Perestroika

Part I: The Courtship

Received:
Hi,Im Shawna, found your profile interrssting and wwould like to get to know you better.


Sent:
Honestly, I was about to write you a message, but you beat me to it. I totally don't remember what's on my profile, so, for the sake of not repeating myself, how about I tell you what I did with my day. I went to work (it was excellent, I just finished up a project, so now I get to go through old e-mails which is surprisingly fun). I came home, went for a run, stopped by the store to buy some butter and a couple heath bars. Watered the garden. I baked a couple dozen heath bar chocolate chip cookies for the couple down the street that found my temporarily lost dog the other day, and had a couple of pints of IPA out of a growler I got in Hood River this past weekend. Now I'll probably try to finish up a book I'm reading. It's not very good, I got it at the airport a couple of weeks ago. Impulse book buys can really go either way.
Anyway, on to you. What did you do with your day? Where's Cheshire? Are you from there? Is that your cat? I'm assuming it's your cat. It certainly can't be a stranger's cat. I guess it could be. I've learned my lesson too many times in putting unknown cats that close to my eyes.

cheers,
tom

p.s. the fact that you spelled racquetball properly in your profile is tremendous....


Received:
tsouhlas, i dont visit this site often these days. why dont you email me at dpdpoollivid@gmail.com . we can chat there and i will reply you with my private pics. cya


Sent:
Hey,
For some reason, I have a feeling that you may be trying to steal my identity. Regardless, here's the message I sent yesterday:
[[see previous sent item]]


Stay Tuned for Part II: From Russia With Love

The End of a Match.com Era

Well, friends, I'd like to say that my long departure from this blog was due to a series of unfathomably whimsical trysts full of seduction and rapture. Unfortunately, that would be a complete lie. I've spent most of my time watching prime time programming, vacuuming, and doing laundry.

Other than the one date I had with the canine-missing woman, I have had only one match.com experience. I will tell the story of this experience in a series of relatively short blog entries that will hopefully simulate a bear hug of enjoyment.

20s are the new 30s

Let's see. It's Friday again. I'm baking cookies again. I'm drinking from a growler (this is new). And I've rented another freakin' romcom from Blockbuster. Did I, like, turn into a 30 year-old woman sometime in the past few weeks?

1 More Thing I Would Probably Never Attempt

I know, I'm totally late on this. I've been listening to this Matt and Kim album a lot the past couple of weeks, but have just now taken the time to watch this video I've heard so much about. If you haven't seen it, HA, I'm unbelievably hipper than you. If you have seen it, well, I would have too, but my internet wasn't working, and I was really busy with work, and I had to do my laundry, and, well, whatever, stay on your high horse, it'll buck you off sooner or later.

The F-L Shimmy

Have you ever defecated in your pants? Right, me neither, but there are surely countless other, less messy, situations we've all been in that are completely embarrassing. I mean, I guess pooping yourself alone is slightly less embarrassing than pooping yourself in public, but it's still embarrassing. A tree that falls in a forest with no one around to hear it still makes a bit of noise, right? Anyway, most embarrassing situations are embarrassing because they happen in front of other people.

Some of you won't think this is embarrassing, but if you know anything about my insistence on correctness, then you'll bear with me a bit. When communicating with someone you are trying to impress, someone you do not want thinking you are a dumbass, it's typical to pay attention to every word they say. I tend to attempt soul crushing eye contact. I've developed an amazing ability to nod in a agreement, shake in disgust, and hmmmm in contemplation in just the right moments to make the speaker believe I am 157% aware and knowledgeable of everything going on. These subtle tools to success, however, shatter once confronted with what I will call the F-L Shimmy.

Most people don't encounter this feat of eloquent totalitarianism very often. I went decades without paying any attention to it. In fact, it wasn't til a couple of years ago that I finally developed a mnemonic device with which to remember it. Well, maybe it's not really a mnemonic device. Now that I think of it, I don't really need to do this trick to understand the F-L Shimmy. Regardless, now that I have you on the edge of your seat: the F-L Shimmy is what I call the act of a speaker describing two extremely complex things in tremendous detail, moving on to a slightly related topic, then backtracking to refer to those previously mentioned complex things as former and latter.

This most certainly happened to me this week. I was having a conversation with a person I certainly wanted to, needed to impress with my intellectual prowess. First off, I struggled through the swampy marsh created in the complex discussion of the two things my conversational partner was talking about. These two things appeared to share relatively little in common other than the fact that one was verbally expressed before the other. Clueless as to what these two things were, I was then forced to try to remember which one was said first and which was said second. Not only that, but I was supposed to respond to a question about why the first thing said (the former, that's my trick, former is the first and latter is the last) makes so much more sense than the second thing said, and why, despite this seemingly obvious fact, I chose to approach a problem with the second thing as my tool rather than the first.

I nodded, shook, hmmmmmmed. . . Several quiet seconds went by. I gave up trying to figure out what was actually going on. I reenacted that play in the 1989 playoffs when Jordan hit the shot over Craig Ehlo in my mind about three times before I finally gave in to the stone cold stare of previously mentioned conversational partner. I opened my mouth and responded in a way that required neither the former nor the latter (at least I don't think it did). I introduced a new thing! A third thing! There can be no F-L Shimmy with a list of three! Well, I guess there can, but the middle one will certainly be neglected due to not having a properly pretentious form of representation.

Whatever. This is what my week has come to. It's Friday night. 11:30 p.m. on the dawn of Labor Day weekend 2K9 and I'm freaking blogging about a verbal misunderstanding. Someone, come share an expensive dessert with me.

Robots Make People Happy

Maybe I’ve completely lost touch with the universe, but I’m nearly certain that Usain Bolt is a machine created by the universal panel for peace.

First, the machine part. This is pretty easy to prove. I, for example, run 4 or 5 times a week. I don’t over-exert myself (I’m probably out there for 30 minutes or so, and that includes a calisthenics routine akin to what an 80 year-old retiree in Arizona would do in the park). My diet consists of sale items at the grocery store. I probably drink too much, and my lack of commitment to difficult tasks is probably limiting my progress. All things considered (I gave NPR a $2 donation out of guilt for writing that), I reckon I’m in relatively good shape. Despite my attempts at staying above the curve (I even bought a yoga mat a few weeks ago to, uh, do yoga I guess) I will never be able to run anywhere near as quickly as Bolt.

He’s officially the fastest man ever to live on Earth, right? Sure nobody kept track of these things back in the day, but they also didn’t have trainers, pumas, frictionless bodysuits, or performance enhancing drugs back then. I don’t quite understand how, as time goes buy, these records keep on getting beat. Does this mean that eventually, a man will be able to run 100 meters in an infinitesimal amount of time? (I should say that I’ve been economizing way too much this week, so maybe my worries are completely pointless, but it’s fun to think about).

So, ok, he has to be a machine. Now, point 2, I think he was made by a group of well wishers in a constant struggle to keep all of the world’s ills at bay (bay? is that really how you spell that type of bay? is it literal? like, I’ve hopped in my boat and am going off to the distance and they are being held at the edge of the bay?). Here’s why I think this. Over the past decade, after the tremendous fun of the 1990s has shattered to pieces, everyone in the world hates each other and themselves. How better to cheer everyone up than to create an athletic phenom?

His last name is Bolt. What the hell are the odds that someone from the Bolt family (how many can there be?) would become the fastest man in the world? Pair that with a name that has been associated with evil totalitarianism as well as unprecedented democracy (I know it’s not spelled the same, but most people can’t spell well, so phonetically, it’s the same). Usain Bolt was obviously created to make the world happy….to make the world get along again. Everyone in the world can like this guy.

The thing is, I think it worked. Maybe it’s my complete isolation in the uncomfortably semi-urban Pacific Northwest, but everyone seems to be getting along much better than they were a year ago. Granted, a year ago I was in London, where everyone hates everything. Either way, I’m sort of glad Bolt was created. In fact, I sort of can’t wait till we all start hating each other again. Who knows what kind of sports start we’re in store for next? Homer Kim? Muqtada Hatrick?

This was really lame, I’m sorry, but I like to think the world is capable of producing robots…robots that make everyone feel better about everything.

My Departure into the Abyss of Online Dating

So, I think enough time has past now for me to describe my sole experience with match.com. I joined this ridiculous service several weeks ago for the reasons I described in a previous post. My hopes were to find someone with relatively similar interest that had a similarly difficult time finding someone with said same similar interests. As luck would have it, there isn't a single person within 45 miles of Eugene that subscribes to this service with said like and dislikes, turn ons and turn offs, specified eyecolors, heights, negligible religious preferences, and drinking habits. I am apparently the only single person that likes the things I like.

Despite e-mailing 12 different women that sort of fit into the category of "my matches" I have had only 1 response. That one response was from a Costa Rican divorcee that likes her pug a bit too much and salsa dancing even more (I'm skeptical of people that like their pets a lot, and I find salsa dancing to be a chore...if we're going to sleep with each other lets just do it, no need to simulate the experience on a sweaty dance floor with miserable music in front of several other awkwardly "open to the experience" couples....too many pleated khaki pants on salsa dance floors if you ask me).

Anyway, the day i signed up, a seemingly darling minx holding a blowtorch "winked" at me. I decided to cut the virtual suggestions and sent her an email. We wrote back and forth a couple times, even had a 30 minute phone conversation before deciding to meet up for a drink.

She got there before me despite my being 5 minutes early. She sat at the bar. It was a pizza place. Much more of a restaurant than a bar (there were 7 stools, 5 facing the bar and 2 off to the side at an obtuse angle from where we ended up sitting). Upon my arrival, she seemed disappointed, the sort of look I imagine people give when they go to Hardees or Carl Jr.'s after seeing their commercials only to be given just another fast food burger that will inevitably give them heart burn, diarrhea, and low self esteem.

I tried all I could to engage, ENGAGE, her in conversation. It was one-sided to say the least. She gave me nothing but one-word answers to some of the most compelling questions uttered in the last decade. I gave her ridiculously fertile fodder to inquire about (while not seeming over-confident in the lest). I mean, come on! I save the world from environmental peril for a living. I just moved here from London, LONDON! My parents are Greek immigrants. I was in a mother effing band. I wear glasses. I tend to not eat meat. I paint portraits of historical thinkers. Give me a break. Seriously. Nothing? She says she's 29, but I speculate that she's much older. Either that or the threat of skin cancer never persuaded her to wear sun screen. She lives with her parents in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Her car doesn't have AC (like, it's not broken, it was just built without it).

After 2 beers and a rather lovely conversation with the old couple sitting in the adjacent bit of the bar about the quality of McDonald's sundaes I decided it was time to ask for the bill. Did I mention she was missing a tooth? Yeah, a canine. Top left. One would think that she would strategically position herself so that I wouldn't notice it, but now, it was in my face (like, I could see it all night, it wasn't literally in my face, I would never get close to that thing...it could have been a bacterial infection or something....I don't need that).

When the bill came, I counted to 10 in my head. 1.....2......3.....4.....5.....6.....7.....8.....9.....10. Nothing. NOTHING! Not a hint of fiscal responsibility. She had to have known I was having a miserable time. By making no proactive gesture toward conversation I can't assume she was having a miserable time. I can just assume that she, in general, doesn't care about conversation (maybe she was just hoping to shack up with me.....I doubt it....not with that missing tooth....). Anyway, she was obviously not intending to pay for the wine she drank or the dessert she insisted on ordering (it was ice cream, not soft serve, the hard stuff, and I have sensitive teeth, I only had like a bite, maybe two).

All in all, I paid $40 to have an excuse to go home and get drunk as all hell from my own fridge. I would have rather spent $40 paying someone to make fun of my most vulnerable uncertainties than redo the experience. It was awful and I am furious at match.com for charging me to be able to participate in the event.

To top it off, the woman that is my "top match" has a profile picture with a gun. A handgun. This isn't, like, an ironic handgun. It isn't cute, like how Zooey Deschanel would look if she were holding a gun with her hip clothes and mother effing adorable eyes and aloof smirk. It's for real, like she's about to shoot her ex-husband for being short $5 on the alimony he left in mail box area of the trailer park.

I mean, after reading this, wouldn't you want to date me?

I'm So Sorry

It's been several weeks, I know, I know. There is quite a delightful amount of news to catch up on, yet now is not a good time to do so. By next Friday, I promise you will be completely up to date on all of the things that have happened to me and by me in the month of July. They include: a missing tooth (not mine), a missing car window and ipod (both mine...well not anymore I guess, but they used to be), an office joke that is so far above my head I'm having trouble keeping troublesome fact from absurd fiction, a heat wave, a fiscally negligent date, a pumpkin plant, the continued diminishing of my dignity, a handful of trysts (although the women involved have been highly unaware of said one-sided mental relationship), an obese marathon training Mormon waiting for her boyfriend to come back from his preposterous mission in South America, cookies, scones, breakfast bars, upside down cakes, and a hilarious comment regarding a blueberry that was completely lost in translation.

To keep your attention while I pour my soul into words, I'll leave you with a tremendous video:


You hear that? T.O. thinks that the tiny 4 game suspension tagged onto Michael Vick's return is excessive. In fact, it's like "kicking a dead horse into the ground" he says. AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! I doubt he appreciated the hilarity of his poignant comment

Ultimate Humiliation Will Ultimately Lead to Ultimate Hilarity

This is more of a notice than an official post.

A 26 year-old in a mysterious place, thousands of miles away from whatever roots he may have dropped around the world ought to feel unbearably liberated. Moving out of the sister's condo, away from the mother's homemade meals to a place where belligerence need not be hidden and crass comments need not be suppressed. I should be rising like a freakin' phoenix out of a bundle of social obligation and familial restraints, right? I should be the last one at the bar, dancing on the table, to the ABBA song that's supposed to be dissuading me from staying at said bar let alone dancing on the table. I should be skipping showers, sleeping in till mid afternoon (if I get out of bed at all), riding motorcycles, drinking martinis, eating steaks, throwing rocks at cars and cyclists that get in my way because I'm out on a mission of unprecedented fun via self destruction.

Unfortunately, I do things like stay in on Friday to watch Sleepless in Seattle on the Oxygen channel (which has an annoying number of tampon commercials even considering its highly female demographic). I buy vegetables and perennials for my garden. I install gravity irrigation systems. I bake cakes, scones, bundts, biscotti. I eat salad. I drink with meals. I read myself to sleep and rise shortly after the summer sun which rises, like a communist laborer, unbelievably early.

The fact that this has turned out to not be the "summer of tom" and has had nothing close to a Tom-a-palooza-like event has left me searching for ways to burst out of my increasingly domestic pursuits. This search has taken me to a new world which involves my consideration of habitation in the community of online dating. Is that what they call it? The eharmonies, and matchdotcoms. My sister has been unsettlingly supportive of this potential venture. Her friends have had a lot of fun meeting people in Chicago, New York, Miami, Los Angeles. Surely her little brother, me, would have some fun in Eugene, right?

Despite having ruined any street cred I may have accumulated by writing this pathetic post, I'm going to sleep on it for a couple days. If I decide not to pursue this relatively humiliating attempt at social liberation, please disregard this post. If I do, however, try my hand at this, I'll let you know about all of my failed attempts at fulfilling my young adult obligations. I hope you laugh at me along the way because I know that servers and bartenders all across Eugvegas will most certainly be ROTFGLing.

Wish me luck?

I've Attacked Your Ring, And Now I'm Going After Your Purse

At some point, I'm convinced that my social generalizations regarding women's accessories will end. At the very least, I will exhaust the list of potentially generalizable accessories available wherever the hell it is you buy these useless things. Until then, though, I will keep on informing you female readers what I (and by "I" I mean all men) think of your bodily ornaments. And for you male readers, I'm reassuring you that, no, you're not crazy, you're just thoughtful and concerned about your ability to perceive that which lures you and how to best act upon that probably ill-discovered perception.

As Jason Stackhouse (yeah, the guy from True Blood) said when he became enraged at his girlfriend for convincing him to kidnap a vampire to keep in their basement and slowly bleed for personal pleasure, "I should've known that something wasn't right the second you walked into my life carrying that big bag of crazy."

The myth of Pandora and her box is centuries old, yet it still holds a bit of truth in these days of Coach, Prada, Patagonia. Rather than sealed ceramic jars, the women of today carry with them purses, satchels if you will, full of their potions, elixirs, trinkets, and general mischief. In general, the bigger the purse, the bigger the crazy. These women carry over their shoulders or hold tight under their arms pharmacies worth of medical and hygienic equipment; entire Victorian wings of libraries; shelves of mystical Latin American hot sauces. These walking Y2K disaster kits are prepared for any situation they or their companion may run into.

Being prepared like this is useful......if you're a mother of 18 hyperallergic kids with ADHD, diabetes, hemophilia, swine flu, and shingles. If, however, you are not said mother, I just don't get it. I like to think that I encounter just as many hairy situations as a woman with equal amounts of good and bad luck. Why is it that I am somehow able to deal with these daily events of peril with my wallet, cellphone, Vicks Nasal Inhalant, keys, and occasional wadded up receipt while you need David the Gnome's infinitely deep hip-pack to get through the day?

The bag is slowing you down. It's ruining your posture. It's begging you to become reliant on it, leaving you completely vulnerable when it isn't at your side to deal with the most basic of confrontations. My experience with these massive purse wielders (other than my mother of course) have been solidly in line with Stackhouse's observation. Within the abyss of your massive purses brood the evils, ills, diseases, burdensome labor, and general chaos passed down through generations of similar bag handlers from Pandora herself.

Every time you spend 25 minutes looking for your bus pass, every time you waste 10 minutes of my time in the grocery store looking for coupons, every time you pull out the "S" portion of the Encyclopedia Britannica, every time you discover a moldy $5 footlong, every time you surprise me by pulling out a 200 gig Ipod rather than a nano, mini, or shuffle, when you reach into your bag for a cigarette and pull out a middle aged Cuban man who proceeds to role you an illegally procured Cuban Cigar you are reigniting the memory of Pandora, and you are freaking me out.

Tiny purse owners aren't out of the woods either. I'm sick of carrying your keys, lipsticks, lotions, candies, etc. My pockets have my things in them, and whatever you give me to hold for you is going to be forced in my back left pocket. Most of what you want me to hold you do not want in my back left pocket as I will inevitably sit on it. Your things will melt or irritate me during their journey in my pants. Get a bigger purse.

Now, does this mean when a woman with a ginormous purse, or a woman with a tiny bag and a handful of pocket-bound items shows interest in me I run for hills of Olympus to ask the gods for mercy? No, I don't think I'm in a position to hold such strict rules, but rest assured, I'll be much better prepared for what you've got in store for me once I've sized up that bag.

Je veux du jus aux raisins

I would also like to learn French, like really really badly.

My goal, I think, for the summer is to figure out the words to this song. I'm nearly certain I will be unable to experience an emotional status below 5 (on a 10 point scale where 10 is equal to the elation experienced when eating a bread pudding made with unicorn milk and dragon eggs while staring at a newly cleaned kitchen and a 1 is akin to the misery of barefooting a dog turd after watching My Girl) thanks solely to the torrential cheerfulness of this tune. Be prepared to have your internal noise machine play on repeat for days and days and days, or should I say, jours et jours et jours et jours.

Baking and Calculus

I like to think I enjoy cooking. It started with sandwiches a few years ago when a friend introduced me to some amazing possibilities. Pear? Brie? Avocado? Hummus? All of these things were alien to me at the time, but planted inside me a seed which rather than springing from my stomach and attacking all of those around, grew into a curiosity of the basic foods I grew up with. I have ventured into loafs, cupcakes, jell-oes (is that the plural? maybe jell-i). Today I tackled the bundt cake.

Baking, I should say, is as simple as assembling IKEA furniture. Follow the instructions exactly as represented by the androgynous characters in the wordless manual and you're set. Stray from these, though, and you are doomed to failure. Your bed will fall apart from under you, your cornbread will look like white pizza vomit, your room will catch on fire.

The recipe was simple enough. A peach ginger bundt. It has peaches, ginger, and a bunch of other things that typically go into desserts: flour, sugar, baking powder, blah blah blah. I preheated the oven, I made my badder, and I greased my pan. Thing is, the recipe called for a 10 inch bundt pan, I had a tray with 6 mini-bundts. I thought I could do a bit of relatively simple calculus to get my proportions about right. Turns out, I suck at calculus. I like to think that this problem was beyond calculus. Newton himself would have given up math to pursue his passion for balsa wood jewelry box making had he been posed with a similar task. In the end, I simply had too much badder, not enough bundt pan. Within minutes of being sent off into the oven for baking, my mini-bundts exploded past the rims of their tiny containers like love handles over a pair of tight jeans.

They taste fine, but they look ridiculous. Like muffins with intricately decorated round bottoms leaving them vulnerable to tipping over onto their sides where the sticky frosting will inevitably pick up whatever debris is on the surface below. Or like buoys, rocking back and forth like an opossum trying to eat my trash, blinded by the afternoon sun.

Is there a lesson in here somewhere? Probably, but I now have 4 bundts left in the kitchen, 2 jogging through my digestive tract, and a sugar rush that probably won't let me sleep till after the ShamWow commercials come on in full force.

Mac and cheese, you're next!

Ohhhh, The Hilarity of Advertising Mistakes.

During the same hour of television watching, I'm about 95% sure I saw the same commercial actress pretend to have ADHD for an ADHD medicine commercial only to be followed by an amazing performance demonstrating her appreciation of the pill that hid her Herpes.

One has to wonder if she had only addressed her ADHD earlier, would she still have needed to address her herpes flare up? Curiosity may have killed the cat, but an inability to concentrate on tasks and a tendency toward boredome gave that kitty an unfortunate life full of giving bad news.

Ponderous Bonderous

So, thanks to the USA network and an otherwise uneventful evening (I say uneventful despite the fact that I just painted some sick-ass yellow stripes on my wall and cleaned up the dog poop from the yard) I have had the opportunity to experience my first James Bond movie. In other words, I have just wasted 3 hours of my life that I could have spent smoking my own ribs, baking cupcakes, or making 30 soft boiled eggs (one at a time, of course).

Despite the miserably heinous plot, I still don't really get what the point of Casino Royale was. It seems as though this Bond character had the delicate duty of killing everyone around him

(OH SHIT!!!!!! THE FUNDS WERE TRANSFERRED TO THE VENICE BRANCH!!!!!).

You caught me, I'm in the process of watching the last few minutes of this still terrible film.

Despite this burst of surprise during what I thought was an elongated denouement, I hold firm to my belief that these movies are absolutely terrible. They force the exact same cliches (I'm assuming as, again, this is the first one I've nearly watched all the way through) of all spy/assassin movies. The realist in me - which is all of me - doesn't appreciate Bond's apparent inability to be killed.

If I got in a car crash like that, I'd be shredded. One strike to the balls with that rope thing and I would've hurt to death. I mean, I can barely survive a vodka martini let alone drink several and still maneuver like a Romanian gymnast. Add to that the stifling dialogue and you have one of the most poorly conceived excuses for a cinematic series ever created. Furthermore, I can't bring myself to believe this guy's luck with women. She says she feels like there's still blood on her hands, so he awkwardly puts them in his mouth and says, "that's better, yeah"? WHAT?! If I thought I had blood on my hands from a traumatic experience, the last thing I'd need is for them to be put in the mouth of the person that just killed the people whose blood I thought was on them in the first place (run on?).

Regardless, I've obviously just finished my last beer of the night, and an archaic nail gun has been added to the plot. Goodnight and good luck.

On a side note, upon initiating spellcheck, the only misspelled word was Royale. EAT THAT!

Thumb Rings Are SOOOOOO In

All the cool kids, I've decided, are wearing thumb rings, foot thumbs (big toe) included.

This isn't at all actually true. What I'm trying to do here is convince women that wearing finger jewelry on anything other than their thumbs is extremely confusing. I realize that the likely fact of the matter is that the only thing to worry about is an engagement ring on the left ring finger and/or a wedding ring on same said finger. However, I've come to understand that in some Eastern European factions of the universe, engaged women have taken to the practice of wearing their engagement rings on their right ring fingers. They then move that ring along with the wedding band onto their left ring finger......or something like that.

That slight twist to the norm has cast a wave of doubt over my already shaky ability to understand the intricacies of interacting with women. If some cultures put engagement rings on the right ring finger, and we put them on the left ring finger, then it's not at all out of the question for some other group of people (likely one of those whimsical Pacific Islanders) to put "taken" rings on their pinkie fingers (pinkie toes included). Stern didactic Germans probably put theirs on their index fingers. Canadians wear inconspicuous promise rings all over the place (even on necklaces, WTF!). The Irish, no doubt, put them on their middle fingers so the married Celtic minxes can add a 'fuck you' to an otherwise confrontationless social observation.

Thumbs are the only finger that does not make sense for this emblem of commitment. There is no culture in the world that has both the frivolous tendencies and abundant financing to be able to afford thumb rings made of gold or silver or platinum (even copper is pretty expensive these days). Furthermore, a traditionally acceptable precious stone would be dwarfed by the mammoth digit. My thumb is about 50% bigger than my ring finger meaning that the traditional 2-months salary commitment must be stretched to three. Three is 25% of 12 which is the number of months in a year. So, obviously, no one is crazy enough to spend 25% of their annual salary on a "taken" ring unless of course they are unemployed, in which case 25% of zero is still zero, but you can't buy a ring without any money, so in that case it would likely be stolen and the potential marriage is doomed from the get go.

Bottom line: I've been told to look for engagement rings due to a history of hitting on engaged women (without realizing it at the time). I'll look for the frickin ring, but give me a break and make it at least slightly obvious.

* I apologize now to all archers. The massive popularity of thumb rings that will likely ensue due to this post may initially fool you into thinking all the ladies share your Midevil hobby. In any event, sorry, they probably don't.

Controversy Flows After Same Sex Couple Adopts Local Highway

Have you ever driven past an Adopt a Highway sign and wondered what it would be like to lay claim to your own baby piece of national real estate? Well, a couple of young lovers have done just that. While driving through a barren stretch of Idaho highway, the two men decided to make an addition to their civil union by adopting a 1-mile stretch of desolate road, 50 miles outside of Boise on I-84. They named it Steve. The couple had stayed in Boise the night before and were taken by its charm. Since adopting the road, they have decorated it with little kid baseball clothes.

The critics, however, were quick to strike against this unorthodox family structure. Gay marriage doesn't have a chance of legality in Idaho. The same goes for adoption. These two men have a long road ahead of them as they struggle to gain acceptance in the Idaho landscape. Other participants in the Adopt a Highway program have already petitioned the Department of Transportation to build a new road, bypassing Steve, so that their adopted stretches of I-84 don't have to interact it. The couple has stated that they will take the issue to the Supreme Court if necessary with some sort of Brown vs. Board of Education defense to try to stop the other adopters from isolating their new son.

Hi Eugene

Sorry to my loyal followers (I think there are 2 of you and that you check the site every other day or so), I just arrived in Eugene, OR, my new home, and have thus not written in quite a while. Don't pack your bags yet, I though up a ton of funny shit on the drive out. I'm not sure if it will actually be funny, but it will most definitely be a sincere effort.

Bread Bowl Pasta? More Like Bread Bowl FUN!

Can't fit into that wedding dress? Need help filling out that new polo? Look no further. Domino's has created a monster that goes contrary to all recently conceived diet recommendations. "Screw you," says the pasta-filled bread bowl says to the protein-dominant diets of the early 2000's. "Go ahead and eat that cereal for breakfast in your half-hearted attempt to lose weight or in your passive aggressive attempt to get your breakfast partner to lose weight," says Domino's, "come to us on the way home from work, when you feel vulnerable, and let our colossal carbohydrate cake corrode your carotid."

I've recently thought about pasta in a new way. It's just bread formed into interesting shapes. I find it difficult to feel like I'm getting a deal when I pay more than a couple bucks for a pasta dish at a restaurant. By serving me a pasta dish in a nest of bread, Domino's is trying to fool me again. I guess we know we are in a recession when the carbohydrate/other stuff ratio increases, but don't try to fool me into thinking that I want to do this, or into thinking that it's a good idea. Domino's is serving bread in a bread bowl with a bit of sauce.
Gross.


I want one.

Wow, Somalia Is Now REALLY Freaking Me Out

All in all, this is actually kind of funny. Somalia has been going through a bit of a joke of a time. From what I remember, the Somali government had to leave the country and govern from abroad to avoid being murdered. Now, back in the country it sort of oversees, the government is trying to hold on to whatever power it may still have.

As if this chaos isn't news enough, a bunch of Somali pirate jerks have managed to steal the headlines in newspapers around the world. A French yacht was seized with a 3 year-old taken hostage. An American ship carrying FOOD AID was temporarily seized. A Dutch ship, a Belgian ship, and I think a Turkish ship have also been attacked in the past couple of days alone. Countries from all over have sent massive destroyers to the region in attempt to fight off a bunch of guys in tiny speed boats who apparently like wearing tank tops while they brandish their terrifying Soviet weapons. The inclusion of American vessels into the mix, I think, will likely guarantee an influx of money into the region. The money will help the government buy the power it needs to confront these pirates on land and to assist economic development efforts in the region.

In the face of this global epidemic, the Somali government has decided to NOT address the absurd piracy. Rather, it has voted (unanimously, nonetheless) to impose Sharia law in all of its lands. "What?" Somalia says, "some of our citizens are hijacking massive ships carrying millions of dollars worth of cargo from some extremely powerful nations? Whatever." Rather than create a reasonable climate in which to receive international funds to fight piracy, to regain control of the country, and to walk down the road of development, the country has decided to take little girls out of school, drape them in clothing, and throw rocks at them for doing anything that seems fun. Women aren't the only ones to suffer. Men have to grow disgusting beards, and will likely have to give up their televisions and radios. Essentially, the government has taken away everything fun and has ended all potential for normal socializing. What do people do when they're not allowed to have fun? Well, they pick up guns, put on tank-tops, and start hijacking ships in the Gulf of Aden. Somalia's solution, then, to the pirate problem: let's create a climate in which piracy becomes the coolest and most reasonable outlet for fun and the most stable form of income with which to have said illegal fun.

I don't mean to be an over-confident jerk, but sometimes it really does seem like I could potentially be more capable of running a country than a lot of people that currently run countries. Then again, I have a history of Monday morning Presidenting.

Torpedoes For Everyone!

I've been sweating Subway's $5 foot-long for the past few months, rarely venturing to any of their rivals (I went to Potbelly's the other day only because I felt that I deserved a milkshake for a hard week's work). My heart, however, is beginning to fall for another. I have become enamored with the idea of a thinner, crunchier, potentially longer, and certainly cheaper alternative. Quiznos, now offering a $4 Torpedo, has brought some steam to my lunch-time love life. While I have yet to try one of these militant sandwiches, the commercials continue pumping their $4 message. Advertisers have realized that the only reason I've been going to Subway is because I know I can eat there for $5. They have also realized the best way of beating that deal, to allow me to eat for $4.

And Its Snowing Again

:(

Vulnerability

As if waking up in a hotel room, alone, and in a distant unfamiliar suburb after a tremendous wedding celebration wasn't enough to make me uncomfortable, nauseated, and vulnerable, Mother Nature decided to play her hand, further impacting my climate-based sentimental state. What was at first a lovely early spring day turned quickly into the backdrop for a battle scene on a coastal Japanese mountain range in a WWII movie I haven't seen but whose existence I will assume.

The sun gave way to militant clouds which unleashed biblical winds, hail, rain, snow, sleet, what some meteorologist like calling "a wintery mix". When I hear, wintery mix, I think hot chocolate with schnapps, warm apple cider with brandy and cloves. The wintery mix of yesterday, heralding the coming of a miserable April, froze my insides and left me feeling unbelievably vulnerable to the forces of nature and organ theives. I was even scared in my dreams, but this was probably because of watching Law and Order SVU too late in the night.

Looking at the forecast, I'm used to seeing an image of the sun, maybe it has a couple of clouds blocking its path, maybe its just one big cloud, maybe there are rain drops coming from the cloud. Yesterday, though, weathermakers chose the above image to serve as a quick snapshot of what to expect. How the hell do I prepare for a day in which ice is going to grow on the undersides of branches? Do I wear a scarf? Do I need boots? Skates? A hard hat?

As an environmentalist, and a lover of pleasant weather, I feel as though I should begin the somewhat untruthful hype. Yesterday was because of climate change, and if we keep on going down our deleterious path of atmospheric destruction, everyday will be a wintery mix. Everyday will have ice hanging from branches. Global Warming is dead, the new plan is to avoid Global Wintery Mixing.

I'm So Jell-ous!

My fascination with Jell-o and Jell-o based products began from a young age. I was confronted with the stuff on a daily basis as my dad's restaurant was the sort of place where one could order a small cube of canned fruit filled Jell-o rather than the more conventional side salad or cup of soup to serve as the opening act in what would end up being an extremely filling but highly forgettable meal. I went on to buy several Jell-o shape cutters during my elementary years. If I was going to continue to eat Jell-o, I thought, I was going to eat it in the form of a star, or a man, or a brontosaurus.

My passion for this mass of impossibly solid liquid continued through the holidays where, on Thanksgiving, I indulged in my mother's translucent cranberry orange Jell-o, and on Christmas, I took on her opaque pistachio Jell-o. Both of these feats of late twentieth century culinary taboo were spectacular, serving as both a centerpiece to the table and a reasonable side-dish to an otherwise overly savory meal. As I went to college, my Jell-o consumption surprisingly increased even further, but this mostly in the form of completely disgusting Jell-o shots that may or may not have contained vodka, thus making my inebriated states either real, or completely psychological.

I reminisce like so because I am reminded today of yet another failed business plan. I've been wanting to get into the Jell-o business for a few year. Jell-o business? Exactly, no one is really in the business of making massive complex Jell-os with flavors you would have never thought to put in a Jell-o, molded into shapes you never thought possible given Jell-o's physical properties. This is how I introduce Sam and Harry, the 25 year old British boys that have successfully started their own Jell-o business. They've made some pretty bizarre things including a replica of St. Paul's Cathedral and a food-safe quinine (it glows in the dark).

To clarify, Jell-o, in the UK, is called jelly. I'm not sure why this is. It certainly caused me endless confusion as the string of word substitutions is amazingly complex. Jell-o becoming jelly, means that jelly needs to become jam, and that jam needs to be called preserve (maybe?) and that preserve is just not eaten or mixed with eel to be called jellied eel, which leads to vacuums being called hoovers, and me being called a tosser.

Anyway, these boys stole my dream. I hope they are having fun with it. One thing the three of us certainly agree on is that it's all about the wobble.

Stop Trying to Hire Everyone

A note to Greenpeace and Green Corps:

Will you please stop flooding every single job search site I encounter with your amazingly irritating job advertisements. What makes it worse than a simply a dull pain in my neck, scrolling through endless banal job openings you are apparently offering, is that I have applied to both of your organizations before and was somehow deemed unfit despite this seemingly bottomless well of employment you offer. All you are doing by running through staff at this alarming rate is informing the general public of your inability to satisfy your employees, further decreasing the chances of me, or anyone else for that matter, applying for one of your positions.

Got it? Thanks. And good luck with this week's soon-to-be-not-so-eager recruits.

Bobby Jindal? More Like Bobby JindSUCKS

This one is going to be really boring, but if elected officials are going to act like children with poop in their pants, then so will I.

I hate Bobby Jindal.

Not only is he a complete moron for several reasons, but he is also a disrespectful, unpatriotic (I said it, jackass, unpatriotic) megalomaniac. Here's why:

1) He refused nearly $100 million from the federal government for unemployment benefits. This is the governor of a relatively poor state, Louisiana, which is still reeling from post Katrina destruction. There are thousands of people and families struggling to survive in Louisiana who would surely love some help....say...$100 million given to Louisiana by Obama. Jindal looked a gift horse in the mouth, saw its teeth were fine, and sent it back to the White House.

2) His middle name is Bin. Bobby Bin Jindal. Like, Osama bin Laden. I smell terrorism all over this "Bobby" character.

3) He has openly declared that he hopes federal economic plans fail. Jindal has said that he wants America's economy to spiral into a nearly apocalyptic state. It takes a real jackass to wish for our country to flounder, for the entire world to flounder, for 4 years. He doesn't want me to get a job, he wants the personal investments my retired parents have made to evaporate, he wants unemployment to rise to, oh, 100%, he wants our federal deficit to grow into a behemoth uncontrollable even by the omnipotent hands of Dwight Howard. He wants to do this so he can run for president on a campaign of failed democratic rule. He wants to inherit a political economy even worse than that Obama has had to deal with. He is an incompetent fool who, if our economy doesn't get better in the next 4 years, would ensure the demise of our country, our world.

4) He like Applebees. He really does. The neighborhood grill, spinach artichoke dip, maroon and green chatchkies.

The conservative party has fallen to a despicable low equal to that of the preschooler who wets himself during story time. We're all getting cozy, ready to hear about the amazing story of a caterpillar's metamorphosis into a magnificent butterfly, and this jerk has the audacity to piss his pants. It wreaks of urine. He is uncomfortable and sticky. We are becoming nauseated from the retched odor. Jindal is ruining our story time, he's ruining our attempts, our hopes for better times in the near future. Why does he do this? Because he likes the smell of his own urine. When we go to recess, I'm gonna throw sand in his eyes and spread rumors that he has herpes, what any honest pre-schooler would do.

How Easily We Become Dissatisfied

I had a handful of errands to run for my sister yesterday.  A suit to the dry cleaner, an oil change, some painting, toilet paper restocking, you know, the usual.  I decided that I would take this opportunity to expense a lunch break at Chipotle on the funds she gave me to complete these tasks.  I recounted this burrito experience to a friend of mine over a coffee in an extremely awkward cafe attached to the Chicago History Museum (a museum featuring uninspiring displays of Chicago's past).  I told a story of unparalleled fulfillment.  

For just $1 more than a $5 footlong from subway, I was able to buy an object that not only tasted infinitely better but got me much more full.  Bang for my buck.  Upon completing the burrito, I recounted, I approached the world outside the metallic shop with newly hazy eyes, and decreased agility.  In my post-burrito state, I wouldn't have felt a bullet rip through my shoulder.  I wouldn't have realized that two cars collided, pinning me at my knees, if it hadn't been for the nurse at the hospital informing me of the financial ruin I was about to face due to my lack of insurance.  With this new mental state, I took on the remainder of my errands, unbelievably lucky to have not fatally injured myself in the process.

My friend, however, told me a story of lunches past, when Chipotle burritos were even bigger than they are now, when the post-comida coma was even more intense and socially hazardous.  At first, I looked at her in awe, wishing that I could remember these burritos of mythical size, big enough to carry a small squad of Greek soldiers into the gates of Troy where they would unleash a military thrashing the tale of which would survive millennia.  The I realized, I had eaten that gargantuan burrito as well, it was the first Chipotle burrito I had ever eaten.  We have all, in fact, eaten a burrito from Chipotle, "when they were, like, so much bigger than the are now".  

Here's how I see it.  The first time an individual goes to Chipotle, they are stunned and overwhelmed by the magnificence of the burrito in front of them.  Their stomach is confronted with a task that ordinarily happens only on Thanksgiving or at an E. coli laden buffet.  Upon devouring that first Chipotle burrito, the individual has imprinted a permanent message on his or her stomach.  From that point on, when their eyes see a Chipotle sign, their stomach grows and grumbles in preparation for the challenge.  This is why Chipotle burritos have gotten "smaller", this is also why Subway just doesn't match up to the challenge.  You see, I have to pass by Chipotle when I go to Subway, so while I would ordinarily be totally satisfied with a foot long of anything lining my arteries with sludge, Chipotle had gotten my stomach's hopes up.  I was ready for a 2-hour episode of 24, and was left with a normal 1-hour episode, leaving me hungry for much much more.

The Luck of the Irish

Introduction and Background
I've never been sure, really, about the origins of this phrase, "the luck of the Irish." I've heard stories of Irish perseverance and survival during times of catastrophic potato-based tragedies and enviable wealth from otherwise haphazard mining. There's also the possibility of facetious roots stemming from the centuries old battles between Protestants and Catholics, and the Irish Republic south and Queen owned north. Regardless, one thing is for sure, the luck of the Irish does not extend its hand of marshmallow fortune trinkets to men of Mediterranean decent while celebrating commercialized Irish holidays. I was not lucky yesterday, my friends. In fact, I was statistically quite possibly the most unlucky man in the whole of the Chicagoland area, and here is my story.

Pregame Play by Play
St. Patrick's Day weekend (despite not actually containing within it the Day of St. Patrick) is a magnificent time of celebration in Chicago. I did my part in contributing to the day's debauchery. I started out with a big breakfast of American cheese on eggs with hash browns, and toast, and my friend's hash browns, and most of her toast (she ate the crusts). I then began my Lord of the Rings-esque journey through the city's west side with green apparel on my back, green accessories ornamenting my dome, and satchel of hardtack for sustenance as I fight the legion of Orcs. I drank countless cheap beers and genuinely enjoyed the company of a handful of friends for several hours. Went to the park, went to a couple bars, you know, the usual. Then, like a gem falling from the emerald sky, I met a lass that I hoped would bring out the luck in my Irish spirit.

Let Failure Ring
My friend's girlfriend's sister came and met up with us at a bar and brought her hair stylist. This hair stylist, let's call her Chloe (the most common female Irish name in 1999, not that she's even Irish, but whatever). I asked to buy her a drink. Rather than getting a PBR for $2 like the rest of us, she wanted a whisky and ginger ale. I made the mistake of asking her what kind of whiskey, and of course she wanted Jameson (this cost me $7). After attempting to flirt with her for a couple of hours, she asked me if I wanted to go across town to see the Black Lips with her. I was hesitant at first. This would require quite a bit of money and quite a bit of time for questionable results. Consultation with the friends I was with convinced me to go along for the ride.

Half way to the bus, Chloe's friend calls and informs her that the show is sold out, thus ruining our plans, but saving me $15 or so. Chloe then tells me that all is well, and that she has a bottle of whisky at home and we can just hang out. I've never been asked to hang out over a bottle of whisky by a slight minx in my life. By my mental social math, I deduced that I was on the right track. Right?

So we go to her apartment. She lives alone. I make us some drinks. I drink my whisky with 7-up, she has hers with ice which is both intimidating but also quite likely the most attractive thing a small unassuming woman can do to win my heart (pretty much the exact opposite of what my mother would like to hear, but she doesn't know how to use computers, so I'm not very worried about this tendency getting back to her). An hour goes by. She laughs at my jokes, casually runs into me a couple times as we walk around the small apartment. Insists on sitting on that spot on the couch which forces the other person (me in this case) to sit right next to her. My torn jeans right up next to her green spandex (she was wearing orange spandex, but changed into the green ones right in front of me for festive purposes).

Things sound ok, right? She gets a phone call and proceeds to flirt in a way that puts any game I may drunkenly think I have to shame. When the conversation was over, I mention how well the phone call seemed to have gone. She informs me that the GIRL on the other end is SO CUTE, and goes on to say how she totally thinks she has a chance with her. My testicles then gathered their things and proceeded to ascend back into my body. I waited about 5 minutes before I asked her if she was a lesbian, so as to not raise suspicion. She claimed to, in fact, be totally into women, not men, not boys, not anything that I am, but women, girls, people with mammary glands, people with ovaries, people with bangs. I continued flirting with her for a few more minutes before asking if there was any point in flirting with her at all, at which point she unambiguously went to the other side of the room and told me I had absolutely no chance of accomplishing anything close to the teenage fantasy my mind had knotted together over the previous several hours.

Statistical Analysis of Leprechaun Trickery and Lesbian Audacity
Rather than leave right away, I hung around for a bit, then excused myself claiming to be exhausted due to the hours of drinking I had endured during the day. They say 10% of the human population is gay. I'll go ahead and say that 10% of women are extremely attractive. I'll further assume, for the sake of statistics, that about half the time, I can tell if a woman is gay after talking to her for a few minutes. I will further assume that about 2% of the women in this country are willing to invite me to their apartments to consume whisky upon first meeting me. With all of this in mind, what happened list night was a 1 in 500 sort of thing.

There were 499 ways for last night to have ended a different way, but of course, with the luck of the Irish, I managed to secure for my resume the experiencing of the most awkward uncomfortable form of going home alone and insecure possible.

I was bamboozled by a lesbian leprechaun last night, and for this I will never trust the trickery of the Irish or the miserably adorable winks of hair stylists.

Conclusion
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, can't blame a guy for trying.