Got beat up in a small town
I want to write an action film where the villain is John Cougar Mellencamp. In the final scene, our hero finds himself battling with Mr. Cougar Mellencamp. The Coug is lying on the ground bleeding everywhere and as he’s about to be vanquished, he spits out something mean like, “You can’t defeat me, Lee [I’ve named the hero after myself]. Mellen C always prevails!”
In response, I raise an acoustic guitar over my head and just as I’m about to slam it over Campy C’s head, I go, “Here’s a little ditty about Jack and Diane, you piece of shit.”
After I’ve defeated him, I’ll perform in his place at Farm Aid to the roar of an appreciative crowd.
Lay off, Amazon.
I bought a yoga mat this morning on Amazon. I should’ve just bought it in the real world because now Amazon has started recommending a ton of “related products” I am completely not interested in. Things like:
- extra-large tampons (for your extra-large vagina)
- the Director’s cut of How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days
- the new Luna bar flavor “Chocolate Strong Enough For a Man, But Made For a Woman Crunch”
- Yankees season tickets
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
This is my new ringtone. I only had to pay Josh $49.95 for it! (Can you believe that’s his voice?) Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
A penny saved is worth like a billion dollars.
Earlier this morning, I watched as an old lady shuffled up to the counter and purchased a croissant. When the cashier asked her if she wanted her change, consisting of a single penny, the little old lady said yes. She did want that penny.
At first I laughed at how ridiculous it was for her to say yes, but she grew up in a different time. Back then, one penny alone could buy you a house with a servant, three square meals and a warm cup of joe. It could send your kid to college, get you a ‘54 Chevy Townsman station wagon and three acres of land in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia. Or the Brooklyn Dodgers, a top-notch phonograph and a wig made of human hair.
Back then a penny was worth something, as I’ve made abundantly clear.
soupsoup:
(via @RachelSterne)
IMAGINE WHAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE WITH THAT IMPORTANT NEWS ABOUT BALLOON BOY IN THOSE 17 MINUTES.
Seriously, when the world ends, I’m going to be a little ok with it. Of course, I might not know the world is ending until 17 minutes after the rest of you hepcats.
I finished this over the weekend and can confidently say it was one of my favorite books of the year, despite mainly being reprints of a column Chabon wrote for a magazine. This was especially surprising since I’m not a huge fan of Chabon’s fiction and I don’t particularly enjoy reading about what it’s like to raise children in the modern world. As I found out pretty quickly, it’s way more than just about that.
It was the type of book where you re-read sentences because you want to make sure the weight of what he’s trying to convey sinks in. Can’t recommend this enough. Snap up a copy from your local library or independent bookstore like Barnes & Noble, Borders or Walmart.
The chosen salt
At lunch today
“Hey Lee, does kosher salt have iodine in it?”
“No, it has foreskin.”
(actually, it has neither)
Pork chops with a side of eavesdropping
This weekend I met my new next-door neighbor, a very nice young lady. I also met her boyfriend. The walls in my complex do an amazing job of keeping the sound out… except that our kitchens are connected. If they’re cooking something, I can hear what they’re saying.
I like the idea that I’ll have an intimate knowledge of their relationship, but only as it relates to food.
For example, if I hear her say, “Pasta fagioli soup, coming right up!” I’ll know that she’s made him pasta fagioli soup and that it’s ready. Or if she says, “I’m still mad at you for not apologizing. I’m making pork chops,” I’ll know that she’s probably mad at him for not apologizing and that she’s going to make him pork chops. And if she says, “I think that jew who lives next door to us can hear things we say to each other in the kitchen,” I’ll know that I’ve been caught.
How I spent my Halloween
7:00 PM: Bought fourteen bags of candy. Not one trick-or-treater showed up, so tried to feed all fourteen bags of candy to my collection of NASCAR driver figurines. They were not appreciative. Not everything can be SKOAL flavored, Jimmie Johnson.
7:01 PM: Ate fourteen bags of candy.
7:20 PM: Go to the hospital for my annual stomach pumping due to over-consumption of tiny candies. Nurses nickname me Jewy McTwixalot. Fourteen-year-old kid in bed next to mine thinks he’s soooooo much cooler than me because he’s there for drinking too much Jäger. Grow upset when I realize he is.
7:30 PM: Go home, create costume by writing words on a poster board and taping it to my shirt. This takes 47 minutes because I am unskilled an artiste.
8:17 PM: Drive to party in rented Saturn from 1996. When party-goers see the Saturn pull up to the front of the house, they think it’s part of my costume. It is not. I regularly drive a rented Saturn from 1996.
8:18 PM: Drink first beer of the evening.
8:19 PM: Cute girl dressed as Minnie Mouse makes fun of my costume.
8:20 PM: Drink beers 2-13.
8:30 PM: Give Minnie Mouse a piece of my mind.
8:31 PM: Minnie Mouse makes fun of my costume (again), my face, the way I speak and calls me a racist. Then she gives me her number. Women are confusing.
8:32 PM: Having spoken to one girl and consumed 13 beers, I declare the evening a success and walk home in a zig-zag pattern as if I’m trying to avoid enemy fire.
7:59 AM: Arrive home and pass out on the bathroom floor.
There’s something about the combination of Iron Man making a fist and his hair sticking out of the mask that makes me laugh/want to adopt this kid. Even though you can’t see his eyes, you can tell he’s determined to sell the fact that he’s Iron Man and not some kid in a mask. The genuine article. I’m sold.
I love this photo.
(photo by Paul Aiken)
3.
