web tracker

Wednesday, March 31, 2004
”Man, I Feel Like a . . . Hey, Why Are We Stopping? Is There Something Wrong? Why is Julien Getting Out? Wait, Let Go of Me! What are You Doing? Is That a Gun? No, Cory, Don’t . . .” BLAM!
I’ve spouted off about the travesties being foisted on us by marketing execs on Madison Avenue. Usually I just shake my head at the awful commercials I see, but the latest crime against humanity . . . well, it makes Mazda’s “zoom-zoom” kid more appealing than any greasy, three-way, all-night-for-you fuck-a-thon fantasy you could come up with.

The new King of “Sweet-Gentle-Lord-I-Will-Never-Buy-Anything-Produced-by-Them” Marketing is Chevy. Their “Like a Rock” advertisements were bad enough, but typical for truck commercials. But, now, there’s the five metrosexual guys in the club-cab pickup, cruising through the desert wastelands of Colorado. It has the appropriate American population cross-section represented, but what kind of juxtaposition is this? Where are these guys going? Rock climbing? Yeah, maybe if The Rock is a sixth guy they’re going to see. More like they’re on a quest for some ecstasy and amyl-nitrate tabs. Or a rave. In the desert.

The cherry on top, of course, is where the most hetero-looking guy of the bunch is crooning, without a hint of irony, Shania Twain’s “I Feel like a Woman.” If ever, in the history of mass marketing, there has a been a more obvious “that-guy-should-be-shot-in-the-face” moment*, I’d like someone to tell me. I mean, the guy’s not even aware that his friends are surprised and embarrassed by this display.

The question is: Who is this commercial aimed at? Homo/metrosexuals? People who drive in the desert to find a party? Or real, blue-blood men-among-men? Because to really reach that last group, I think we’re gonna need the guys to stop the truck, pull out Sha-mana, and shoot him in the head. If that happened, Chevy sales would go through the roof.

* Shot-in-the-face moment. It could be bukkake in advertising.


In other (less offensive) news, I’m shooting to have a quiz ready for next Monday . . . even though the CDs are still coming together. There will be more details as they become available.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Maybe He Can Buy Some More Cars with That
I found this slightly disturbing. Who finds Jay Leno to be funny (and funnier than David Letterman)? And what does that say about you . . . er, those people?

I’ll go ahead and let you know that I don’t like Jay Leno. At all. I don’t find him (or his writers) funny. If I regularly stayed awake that late on weeknights, and I was going to watch some “late night” entertainment (of the comedy/variety series variety, pervs), it wouldn’t be Leno. I really should be watching the Daily Show, but that’s another story.

Monday, March 29, 2004
The Former Pig Sty
If you have even briefly passed through our house in the past few years, you probably know that we’re either pack rats or slobs (and usually both). We have more stuff than we have places to neatly put it, and we usually don’t put too much effort into finding where the “place” for a particular item might be.

Until now.

Michelle and her bandmates had a “girls’ night” this past Friday. I was cast out of the house, left to the mercy of Mr. ADD for a night that included beer, take-out bar food, basketball (viewing), and select Ultimate Fighting Championship fights on DVD. (Might have been better off drinking champagne and watching Duran Duran videos and VH-1 with the girls.)

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Michelle made sure the house was clean. I did (very) little to help, and I was blown away by how much better things look. So blown away, in fact, that I’ve been going out of my way to not mess it up. And, as surprising as it sounds, not only does the house look almost as clean as it did Friday at 6:30 p.m., but we’re also making plans to do more cleaning and improvements. In fact, this weekend, Michelle has plans to paint the hallway (for the third time since purchasing the house in 2000) and hang curtains in our kitchen eat-in area (which currently has two sliding glass doors that open to our back porch . . . and which we oftentimes walk past in various stages of undress).

We've done top-to-bottom cleanings before, but it never sticks. First it's one magazine left on the coffee table, then a few candy wrappers, then a empty can of soda, a plate, a week's worth of mail, and then we're moving aside piles of things to put other things down. So, wish us luck in keeping things tidy. Hope there will be other (dirtier) developments later this week. Keep your eyes open.

Friday, March 26, 2004
Take Me Out
Things that make me feel good:
-- puppies
-- my daughter's smile
-- the fact that I'm leaving work in five minutes (or so)

Things that disappoint:
-- the fact that it's my dad's birthday this weekend and I have to go visit and help him do some manual labor (the part where he not-so-secretly thinks he's dying will make this more enjoyable)
-- the fact that the revelation made about 40 pages from the end of The Da Vinci Code kind-of (further) ruined the book for me

Things that make me want to shiv (period):
-- the pop-ups that are now taking over my work computer
-- the fact that I'm on an eight-game losing streak in chess . . . maybe I should try checkers

Thursday, March 25, 2004
Go Army?
The new Army recruiting commercials are touching. Like the one where the girl tells her dad that she went out and did something for herself . . . she joined the Army. Shouldn’t he slap her on the forehead and yell, “Haven’t you been watching the news, Beth-Ann? You’re gonna die!”

Seriously, haven’t the two-a-day soldier deaths for the past several months been pretty much one long anti-recruiting commercial? Sure, there are several guys in the Service itchin’ for a fight, but are there any itchin’ to get randomly shot in the head in a Baghdad market, or blown up by a roadside bomb?

I hate that the morale of our Armed Forces is being eroded away, and that they have to be over there.

Being over 25 has never felt so good.

Wednesday, March 24, 2004
You are What You Eat
As I continue to spiral into my vague feeling of unhealthiness, I think more and more about what I eat. What we eat . . . at the Casa de Kamikaze. Let’s play a game of “What Do You Serve in Your Restaurant,” shall we?

Starters and Sides
-- Doritos with Tostitos con Queso Dip
-- A Fistful of Combos
-- A Fistful of Chex Mix
-- Thai Kitchen noodles (five flavors to choose from)
-- Frozen mini eggrolls (pork or chicken; heated and served with sweet and sour sauce)
-- Lipton Cup-o-Soup (Chicken Noodle)
-- Campbell’s Soup (Cream of Potato)

Entrees (fresh from our Microwave)
-- Lean Cuisine Swedish Meatballs
-- Lean Cuisine Linguini with Lemon Sauce
-- Lean Cuisine Cheese Ravioli in Tomato Sauce
-- Boston Market Turkey with Stuffing
-- Uncle Ben’s Noodle Bowl (Spicy Thai Chicken, Ginger Honey Chicken, or Teriyaki)
-- Orange Chicken (with an eggroll)
-- General Tsao’s Chicken (with an eggroll)
-- Hot Pockets (BBQ Pork)

Entrees (prepared lovingly in our kitchen)
-- Peanut Butter and Honey Sandwich (served with your choice of Wise Onion-Flavored Rings or Lipton Cup-o-Soup)
-- Tri-Color Rotini with your choice of sauce (Parma Rosa or Creamy Pesto . . . from a mix)
-- French Toast
-- Black Beans and Rice
-- Pierogies (Cheddar or Onion; sautéed and served with green beans)

-- Lean Cuisine Four-Cheese
-- Celeste (Plain Cheese or Zesty Four-Cheese)
-- California Pizza Kitchen (BBQ, Thai, or Jerk Chicken)

-- Oreos
-- Homemade peanut butter cookies (from a mix)
-- Microwaved soft pretzel (no salt; served with Tostitos con Queso)

-- Diet Coke
-- Sprite
-- La Croix
-- Fresca
-- Apple Juice
-- Minute Maid Limeade
-- AmberBock

So, if you ever come over to our house, nine times out of ten, this is what will be available. Don't ask for anything else. Or you'll get tofu tacos. Greedy fuckers.

Monday, March 22, 2004
I’ll be Running Up that Hill
It’s funny how we, as Americans (or human beings, even), can shrug off our failings in the areas of regimented betterment / self-improvement. This is evidenced by how seldom we reflect back in, say, March to our “resolutions” made two months earlier. There’s all this hype surrounding those early days of a New Year™ and how we have to make a fresh start and kick the bad habits. So, we resolve to take control and make changes for the better . . . and then forget that we’ve made these promises to ourselves. We block it all out.

Well, because my life is nothing without self-indulgent reflection, I’ll let you know how I’m doing on my resolutions.

Not good.

I’m reminded of this every time I run up the stairs (two at a time) at work, which I do several times a day. It’s usually just one floor at a time, and I’m still winded. This pizza-every-other-day “diet” is taking its toll. And I’ve done nothing in my increased activity / workout resolution.

I have, however, been working on my movie-watching and book-reading. I made very modest resolutions to watch a movie a week and read a book a month. So far, after 12 weeks, I’ve watched four movies (plus a re-watching of Silverado) and read five books (ahem . . . one book and four graphic novels, one of which I’d read before). I seem to be on pace with the latter resolution; I have a pile of books in my nightstand / shelf to read, and I’m currently working on The Da Vinci Code (clumsy writing, but engrossing nonetheless). As for the movies . . . well, I’m obviously behind pace. We’ve borrowed 28 Days Later from Michelle’s sister, and I have Bend It like Beckham from mom’s Netflix account. And the Amelie DVD, which we haven’t made time to watch.

So, here’s where I make my stand. And honey . . . you’re either with me, or against me.

Friday, March 19, 2004
The Out-of-Towners
We’re off to Atlanta for the weekend. No, we won’t be seeing this guy, as he has family in town (apparently, we have a knack for planning our trips to coincide with his family visits). And we won’t be seeing this guy, either, unless he’s standing in the middle of the I-475 bypass around 10 p.m.

Oh, the review went okay. Got a tasteful raise . . . nothing too extravagant.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

Thursday, March 18, 2004
It Came Through the Glory Hole
It looks like Michelle will not be posting here, as there are reports that she will be starting her own ‘blog (again, to be accurate). If that indeed happens, several of you will receive instructions where you can go to find her.


As I know you’re all dying to know, it’s gonna be Kentucky, Oklahoma State, North Carolina, and Stanford . . . with Oklahoma State beating Stanford in the Championship game. Sorry I didn’t let you know this before your brackets were due.


I thought I had more to report, but alas, I do not. The title of this post refers to a mix CD I did for the Glory Holes’ party last month. I’m going to make the CD available in a couple weeks as a bonus disc for another quiz-tastic giveaway. That's right, friends . . . the main-attraction mix is looking to be pretty special. You’re not gonna want to miss this!


Oh, tomorrow I have my annual review.

-- Odds of me getting outright fired: 30-1
-- Odds of me getting a better raise than last year: 50-1
-- Odds of me getting told I’m doing a decent job, but I could be working a little bit harder . . . and oh, by the way, stop swearing so much around the office: even money, baby!

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

welcome to what is likely to be my first and only post to this site. i've actually thought about starting a blog for a long time and the easiest way for me to do that would be to post here. mostly because i'm not sure i'm ready for the responsibility of blog ownership and everything that comes with it. but, if i really cared about doing this, i'd put forth the effort and do it right. right? perhaps. also, by posting here, i would risk alienating some (or all) of the readers who come here for what it is now...not mine.

a bigger reason for not posting here (or anywhere) is the fact that there are those people who know me (or think they do) in real life that i wouldn't feel comfortable about knowing it exists, much less reading it. not that my blog would be about bashing everyone i know, but sometimes things need to be said. and what's the point in having a blog if you have to worry about hurting people's feelings. at least the feelings in the non-blog world.

any suggestions?

and you guys who would read me anyway (thanks amy & estella), if i do decide to start something somewhere else, you'll be the first to know.

the owner of this blog knows where i live.

Rules of the Road
We here at Kamikaze Lunchbreak have a deep, dark hatred for most other drivers on the road. And I’m pretty sure we weren’t born that way.

I used to mentally keep track of aggressive drivers and the types of cars in which they hurdle through traffic. This is how I came to loathe people who drive Ford Mustangs. In a brief and completely unscientific study, set up to prove that the Mustang drivers were indeed the most aggressive assholes on the road, I found that drivers of small pickup trucks were even more apt to cut you off and/or speed through rush-hour traffic. I mean, the Mustang drivers placed pretty high on the list, but they were a distant second to small-truck rednecks.

Now, the question is not whether Michelle and I are aggressive drivers (she is and I’m not most of the time), the question is: If I saw you in traffic, would I be muttering “Motherfucker” under my breath and shaking my head at you, or would I smile and wave?

Tuesday, March 16, 2004
She Comes
I haven't got time for chit-chat, kids. (Or Ids, I suppose.) I've been working hard at making PDFs of huge Prospective Groundwater Studies, getting Michelle set up to post here, and otherwise trying to stay busy.

Wait, what was that second part?


Monday, March 15, 2004
She Likes to Drink with Broken Men
This weekend, I might have:
-- accidentally Super Glued my fingers together.
-- asked Mia, “Can I have that? Can I have mommy’s thong?”
-- chastised Michelle for not drinking her beers fast enough.
-- drank enough to live up to my Irish ancestry name. (Oh, wait, that was AmberBock and American cider. Feckin’ shite, I’m a bloody Yank!)
-- referred to sex as “a party.”

I’m pretty certain that I did not:
-- break my guitar (again) during our show Friday night.
-- write or call the Minute Maid people to tell them that their new limeade is the perfect home for my displaced ghetto friend, Mr. Smirnoff.
-- make any new friends.
-- do anything worthwhile and/or creative.
-- watch all of the NCAA selection special (one hour) on CBS and the three-hour “Bracketology” special on ESPN. (It was more like entertaining Mia during that first hour and then bathing her and getting her ready for bed during commercial breaks. After she was in bed, I half-watched about two and a half hours of ESPN in between magazine articles and games of Tetris on the ol' GameBoy.)

Friday, March 12, 2004
Gonna Get Wolfpack’d!
You’re sick of hearing (or reading, even) about politics and sports, I know, but now’s not the time to be whining. “Not. Even. Close. Bud!” Can you guess where I’m going to be at 7 p.m. (Eastern)? That’s right! I’m going to be on my couch watching ESPN2. It’s the ACC Tournament, and my Semen-holes are in a must-win situation against the powerful Wolfpack of N.C. State.

Am I ready for the game? Well, a lunchtime inventory revealed five beers and three California Pizza Kitchen pizzas (thai, bbq chicken, jerk chicken). I’m figuring that’s enough pizza for tonight’s game and the NCAA selection show Sunday. But the beer . . . hmmm. If Michelle watches any of the game with me this evening, there’s gonna be a rocky transition into the vodka. Hopefully, my landing will be soft. (Yours too, honey. Yours too.)

In related news, when I’m working or watching a game on T.V. alone, I’ll hum the theme from Star Wars. But somehow, I phase into humming the theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark or, even stranger, Superman. How does that happen?

Thursday, March 11, 2004
Remember a couple days ago, when I was longing to be a professional cribbage player? Well, that was before I went on a six-game losing streak (which I broke at lunch today in an comeback that was nothing short of amazing . . . probably made the other guy feel somewhat ripped off; when I offered my “gg” afterwards, he replied with, “yeah”).

I moved on to backgammon today, too, and I got trounced in my Internet debut. Ouch. Still, it hurts less than my chess-incompetence.

In other news, Mia makes everything better.

. . . except when she picks up something she's not supposed to have and you try to take it away from her, and she goes, "Neh!" She's more than willing to share her toys and her food, but she's not so willing to give us back the birth-control pills or the disposable razor.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004
Life is Just a Fantasy
If you read what I write here, or know me in real life, you know how I feel about baseball (yeah, boring). But now I’ve joined a fantasy baseball league, which is okay because fantasy baseball has to be more exciting than the real thing. It’s a custom league and the “commissioner” is here. If you’re into that sort of thing, you can e-mail for the league ID number and password (It's at Yahoo!).

I know a certain Yankees fan and a certain Braves fan who are very much encouraged to participate. (Yeah, Kat, in a move that will surely keep me from winning “the pennant,” I will not have any Yankee players on my roster. You can have ‘em. And The Rocket, too. That mercenary motherfucker.)

Let Freedom Ring
I took Mia with me to do my civic duty yesterday. I know, voting in the primaries might seem pointless now, but I want to keep up the voting habit. Plus, there was a local referendum on the ballot.

Without getting too political, I just want to make sure my vote counts. Living in Florida, and having voted for Nader in 2000, I bear a heavy burden of guilt. Now, I’m all about making sure I cast my vote responsibly . . . and seeing that my vote is counted. I, like most Americans, believe in Freedom and want to take advantage of my Right as a Citizen™ to participate in the election of our Government™ officials. It’s important to support democracy and not make a mockery of the sacred process of casting ballots. So, that’s why I voted . . . for Howard Dean.

Monday, March 08, 2004
Portents of Evil
Recent signs that, as in Watership Down, “There’s a bad danger coming . . . and it’s not good”:

-- Our Krispy Kreme purchase yesterday (Sunday!) rang up to be $6.66.

-- FSU lost its fourth game in a row, which is doing nothing to improve their chances of making it to the NCAA Tournament. (Or, too rip off a Sports Center segment I saw five or six years ago, “If Florida State continues to lose at this rate, which is currently once per game, they will almost certainly not make the tournament.”)*

-- A helicopter has been circling the area outside my window at work for the past few hours. It turns out that there was a stabbing less than a mile away, and the stab-er is still on the loose. (The stab-ee is dead.)

Everyone Can Be a Professional at Something
I haven’t had a lot of informative stuff to tell you. And although I’ve been slacking off quite a bit here at work, I’ve been spending that valuable time reading and not writing. I used to write and post a lot during lunch, but now I’m once again addicted to Yahoo! Games. My chess abilities must be improving, because I’m losing every other game instead of losing two out of every three. And you’ll be happy to know that my cribbage dominance continues; I’ve won three out of my past four, and my player rating is still climbing.

I wonder if there’s a cribbage tour. Man, that’d be invigorating to watch, wouldn’t it? Seriously, I think about things like that sometimes, ever since reading Stefan Fatsis’ Word Freak, which is about the ultra-competitive world of professional Scrabble. (You should read it . . . you too, honey; after all, it’s your book.) I mean, if we’re televising the World Series of Poker, we should definitely have these guys on. Scrabble has all the highs and lows of any competition . . . and it’s educational. Personally, I’d feel more engaged watching that than 40 guys driving around an oval for three or four hours.

Thursday, March 04, 2004
And so it Begins . . .
First of all, I just want to let you know that, while it’s been fun and I’ve met a lot of great people doing this, well . . . I’m not going to stop ‘blogging. I’m sorry. I know many of you wish it weren’t so but, alas, I feel this is something I need to do. You understand, right? Really, I’m doing this for your happiness*.

Okay, after that sad attempt at humor, I have this to say: Now that the Election Season™ has officially begun, I will try and restrain myself from boring you all with my left-wing-ish ranting . . . at least until the conventions. We’ll just let the candidates beat each other up, okay? Until the wheels completely come off the Administration’s wagon, or until Bin Laden is “found,” or until there are 2.6 million new jobs, or until Kerry’s caught having sex with Laura Bush in front of her daughters . . . I’ll just keep doing what seems to come naturally which is sad because it’s so fucking mediocre I do so well.


* You knew that was a blatant lie because everyone knows I'm doing this for my enjoyment. I want to thank everyone for the comments recently. Maybe it’s because I’ve been coming by to see you all more regularly, but I’ll just tell myself it’s because you enjoy being here that much more.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004
It's a Good Thing
That's her defense?!! Because she and her broker did a bad job of covering their tracks, so they must be innocent?!! A smart (and more dynamic) duo would have had their facts straight before they started lying. So, basically, if Martha Stewart can't beat the charges, not only is she mean and proven guilty, but she's also a dolt. Man, the world is an awesome, awesome place.

Of course, she'll be acquitted and I'll be forced to continue my pointless internal ranting about how those with money will always get off . . . er, avoid jail time. Or both, I suppose.

Tuesday, March 02, 2004
Are you one of those people who sets the bedside clock ahead 20 minutes to get yourself going in the morning? Neither am I, but my mom is.

She tried to instill in me her wacky motivational device, but I've always been one of those people who just get up the first time the alarm goes off. Back in high school, I could wake up right before my alarm, so I stopped using it. Now I wake up 20 to 30 minutes before my alarm and go back to sleep, only to be startled awake 20 or 30 minutes later.

I will add that it helps to have your alarm clock across the room so you have to physically get out of bed to turn it off.

But that’s not what this post is about. No, it’s about all the clocks / watches / timepieces that we use to get through our days . . . and how out-of-sync they are. For instance, I’ve noticed that the clock in our bedroom is the same as the clock on our range, and those clocks are two minutes ahead of the clock around the corner in the living room (which I know is about right, because when I turn on CNN Headline News at 7 a.m.—according to that clock—it’s always 7 a.m. in Atlanta, where Ted Turner controls the World). Let’s not even talk about the clock in Mia’s room or, God forbid, the clock on our computer. My watch is set to clock in the living room, and is the same as the clock in my car. Now, the clock in my car is about seven minutes faster than my computer clock at work. So, basically, when I wake up in the morning, I’m about eight or nine minutes ahead of my office. I actually gain time as I move through my morning routine. But leaving work . . .

Anyone else have this problem?

Monday, March 01, 2004
A Weekend of Dichotomies
Feeling young: when I was driving around town by myself on a bright, sunny day . . . guiltlessly blasting Third Eye Blind
Feeling old: when I was playing disc golf at the park with my friend and a local sorority was having a huge-ass “social,” complete with DJ-spun booty music, and I was thinking, “Damn kids . . . parking wherever the Hell they want. How am I gonna play through?”*

Feeling carefree: when we were out for drinks Friday night, and I dropped $25 for a kamikaze, a cosmopolitan, and two ciders**
Feeling clinical: when I was thinking about how cool I was to have my vodka in the freezer so I wouldn’t need to water down my Cape Cods with ice

Feeling love for this city: when we were in the park with Mia, enjoying the beautiful weather
Feeling the hate: when I realized that it's just the end of February and that, very soon, it’ll be too fucking hot to go outside at all . . . and it’ll stay like that for about four months***

Feeling pride: when I stayed home from the Starflyer 59 show to watch FSU play Duke in basketball
Feeling shame: when FSU lost****


* I was getting ready to throw from the 11th tee, and there was a line of parked cars stretching into the fairway. “I’m totally throwing at those cars.” Of course, I pussed out and threw to the right to avoid them, but my disc landed near the end of the row. As we walked down to our discs, and the cars continued to show up, how about a SUV of sorority chicks drove right over it and stopped? What. The. FUCK?

** My friend (and my band’s singer) is the bartender, so I’m not sure if that’s based on a “friend” rate or not.

*** Just like the driving around to Third Eye Blind, it reminded me of living in Albany, New York. Like the summer of 1997 (?), listening to “Semi-Charmed Life” with a nice breeze, windows open, temperatures in the low 80s. Not like here, when you wake up and it’s 92.

**** Yeah, the Cape Cods helped me enjoy the game.