intelligent dance music. somehow, i'm often disappointed by the thoughts that "adults" think. the term "adult" is defined as anybody older than me by four years. i have trouble communicating with "adults". the beauty of the blog is that you can read about everyone in the world and not have to actually interact with them. so it leads you to draw broad conclusions on entire demographics of people, based on narrow two dimensional profiles. i'm actually very comfortable with that. it's a bit like watching lots of sitcoms and mtv but with more channels and varied programming.



i've read a few teenagers' blogs, which tend to be rather stupid on the whole but still semi-relatable, and sometimes downright outstanding. as for adult blogs, i sometimes will go to some highly recommended blog, read a few lines about kids, vans, husbands, and my interest level drops precipitously. nothing they have to say could possibly interest me. i don't relate to them at all, and the things they talk about just seem to me to be terribly, horrifically, boring. i'm sure they would say the same things about me.



and then you'll read blogs by adults who are writing as if they were kids. talking about hair and shaking their bon bon and how much they pine away for their boyfriends and you have to wonder "is this what i have to look forward to?" will my life as portrayed by blog be the same in ten years as it is today? will i get gradually less and less interesting, having to resort to talking about cats as my posts of the day? what to do what to do. my answer to all of this is this: boring kids turn into boring adults. armed with this broad misconception, i no longer have to worry that i'm the reason and the problem behind why i don't connect with the adults i read online. they were always boring! it's not because i can't relate! and so, i placate myself.



the most shocking thing i've realized, as i get up there in age, is that you remain forever young. as you slowly flip the calendar, the perception of an immense maturity gap between the teenage and adult worlds fade away. of course, the gap is huge when you look backwards -- at the seventeen year old idiots loitering at the local mall. but when you think about your life and thoughts at seventeen, it was most likely pretty similar to your life and thoughts now. is this not depressing? when the hell do people grow up? and start thinking about real things? what are the real things to be thought about? what's a proper adult thought? am i doomed to ponder and wonder about the same things over and over for eternity? kill me now.



in middle school the biggest decision i had, and the thing that i was most concerned about, was what i was having for lunch on a particular day. same thing now as a working twenty five year old. are the similarities eerie? what is going on here? can you really call it regression if you've never even taken a step forward?

sugar pie honey bunch... when you describe someone that has/had dating potential, certain words give you big clues as to how they came off. "nice" and "cool" seem to be generic and overused and don't really say much. however, if you call someone a "sweetheart", it's over. kiss of death. good bye, see you never. it's the same as saying "he was decent, polite, nice and kind but not anything particularly exciting." kiss. of. death. guys, you never want to hear that you were a sweetheart, because that just seems too grandmotherly or something. romance novels do not spawn from sweethearts. sweet maybe, but add that -heart and you're done.



i'm trying to think of similar words that might apply to girls. i can't come up with any. "she's got a nice personality" might come close but it can also be true, maybe she actually does have a nice personality and that's enough to spark interest. it would be better if she had an "awesome personality" but "nice personality" isn't all bad. so short of saying "she's a bitch" i can't think of anything that would signify the kiss of death for girls. help me out.

champagne supernova. this is how change should be: fast fast fast. the slow gradual changes that you are often a part of are too gradual to be termed "change", it's more "growing" or "evolution." change should be dramatic and easily noticed at a quick glance. i like changes that are like *bam* and make you go "whoa."



things that qualify on this list are crazy haircuts, sudden changes in life location, reborn christians, certain drunk people. i'm missing most of the list, but you get the idea.



of course, there is nothing inherently special about a speedy change. you hear people go "wow, two weeks ago i was working a dead end job and now i'm working at seven eleven, isn't it incredible?" as you can see, sudden change isn't always that impressive. but when you can go "last week i lived in manhattan and now i'm in los angeles looking for an apartment", that's a change.



over the past few months, there's been a few occupational changes among my friends. a few cross country moves, a few lay offs, a few quittings. when's it my turn burn baby burn? apparently my turn is now. my boss told me today that she was leaving next week. *bam* without a boss my job is not really necessary. actually, even with a boss my job wasn't that necessary. i quibble. point being that i was planning to leave my job in a few weeks anyway but now everything is different. i can leave whenever i want and have a good reason for doing it. all the guilt that i might have felt before, about leaving my company without their number one copy boy, was washed away with her announcement. they have to hire one new person, why not two?



as exuberant thoughts of work freedom washed over me, i pictured myself relaxing on the beach as early as next week. but then it dawned on me that with no boss and no direction, i could effectively sit at my desk and get paid to do nothing for a few weeks. how is this different? i'm not sure. but suddenly i was rationalizing how long i should stick around for the extra paychecks. two weeks? four weeks? six weeks? what was my exit strategy?



what is your exit strategy?

[scene: monica and rachel's apartment, rachel has just found out about chloe and is screaming at ross.]

rachel: how was she?

ross: what?

rachel: was she good? come on ross! you said you wanted to talk about it, let’s talk about it!! how was she?

ross: she was...she, she was different.

rachel: good different?

ross: nobody likes change.

(rachel picks up a newspaper and starts beating him with it.)

-friends, the one with the invitation-

and i saw my reflection. i've pinpointed the problem i have with small talk and meeting new acquaintances – the people that you have no vested interest in. the problem is that any interesting conversation that you could potentially be having is short circuited due to a lack of even trying. this happens when both parties realize they need to be in a conversation but are committed to dishing out rote answers. “talking just to talk.” so, in an effort to sustain some sort of audio volume, you might end up agreeing and nodding along to statements that you totally disagree with.



"kobe bryant is the best player on earth." i might reply "yeah, he's pretty solid" while inside i'm thinking "i hate kobe." but why bother going in this direction with the conversation? far better to just agree and let the conversation continue on, no need to say anything interesting. now imagine if both parties are avoiding interesting or offensive comments. it's like watching a political debate with an overly sensitive crowd. yes, it's boring.



someone might say, "didn't you just love austin powers? i thought it should of been nominated for an oscar." i might be shocked and awed by the audacity (stupidity) of this statement but regardless of how much i dislike austin powers, i’ll bite my tongue. instead of launching into a diatribe i will nod my head and say things like "yeah, that mike myers guy is pretty damn funny, hardy har har." i can't even roll my eyes because i'm concentrating on looking at them so attentively.



the worst is when you first meet someone and you are pretty much just slinging around looking for any subjects to "relate" to. if they went to europe you ask them about museums, language, food, people, clubs, anything in an attempt to talk about nothing. sometimes it's terrible because you are just trying your damnest to find something to latch onto but nothing holds up. "how was the food?" "oh, i was fasting the whole time, i didn't eat." "how was the trip?" "i don't remember." "when did you go?" "why do you care?"



the best thing i've found to do, in these aforementioned situations, is to feign ignorance on all things. just ask lots of questions, even stupid ones that have obvious answers and are low in interest content. "how did you get to europe? oh, by plane eh? that's nice, how long did that take? they show movies on planes?!? how wonderous......" i like to compare this method to a pitcher floating fat fastballs over the middle of the plate. the person at the other end swings and hits on every question and you both feel good about yourselves -- he hits home runs, you get to kill time without engaging in anything requiring actual interaction. it works out great for everyone.

should pay really be doled out on a time limit basis? how much more effective could i (we) be if we were paid by the project. i would never take email breaks, pee or go smoke if i were paid say, ten cents per copy. and if by getting all my work done early i could go home by noon, that would be the greatest. whoever made up this 9-to-5 system is retarded. unless the work you do is somehow time sensitive. nobody does anything for eight hours a day, much less work. then again, i can see how this salary thing is wonderful because you get paid a set amount regardless of how much work you do or don't do. but then you might have to stay late and not be paid overtime for it. work, it's a no win situation.



i've never learned the value of money.

the finest structure can house the worst evil. that's what my fortune cookie said. are fortune cookies not the greatest? enough with the cookies, it's time to apply sociological terms to my life, here we go. "the central tenet of groupthink is, as groups seek conformity and unity they sacrifice everything in order to maintain peace within the group, causing poor decision-making."



symptoms of groupthink are divided into three types which can manifest themselves as (1) overestimation of the group's power and morality, (2) closed-mindedness and (3) pressure toward uniformity. applying this to my people and my group, i'd say that we fulfill...all three of the rules. we are groupthink! to clarify.



don't all groups of friends think that they're the best? that they represent the cream of the human crop? anything we can do other people can't. or something like that. it's another sociological phenomenon i'm sure. even the most genetically deficient field mouse must feel invulnerable when grouped with like minded field mice. then they start all pumping each other up and telling each other that they are the best. around and around we go until there is an "unquestioned belief in the group's inherent morality". it sounds more impressive than it really is. i take the phrase to mean something like "we think jewel is god, everyone who doesn't should be shot." thus when people who dislike jewel are shot, it's okay by group standards. this is obviously an extreme, since nobody would actually shoot jewel haters, just maim them.



groupthinkers are also characterized by self-censorship, shared illusion of unianimity and stereotyped views of the opposition. this means that there are rules among groupsthinkers. rules about what can be said/done and what cannot. there is also this idea that everything is "all for one and one for all". which is clearly not the case since anybody who is all for one and one for all is either a martyr, a tool, or an idiot (i have no evidence to back up this last statement, but i'm working on the proof of it). so groupthinkers suffer from thinking that they are the best and they that are loyal to each other, when in truth they are no better than a group of selfish individuals who use it each other to further their own ends. how came i to this conclusion? i don't know, i'm a plagiarist, not a mathematician.



nobody likes to be the victim of groupthink. nobody likes to hang out with people who groupthink. how best to prevent your group from groupthinking? some solutions. "the leader of a policy-forming group should assign the role of critical evaluator to each member, encouraging the group to give high priority to airing objections and doubts. this practice needs to be reinforced by the leader's acceptance of criticism of his or her own judgment in order to discourage the members from soft-pedaling their disagreements." clearly this means that there should be (at least) one appointed critic per group. one whose job it is to evaluate and criticize. not even constructively, just the act of criticism is enough, hold nothing back. the person best suited to this role might be somebody who tends to not smile much and can come off as capricious and mean with a simple "hello". the leader then has to be open to receiving this criticism in a positive manner. ignoring the critic, calling them "stupid", and looking past them is, to me, useful but not necessarily positive. try other methods first.



"leaders should be impartial." your designated team leader should not be too charismatic or too selfish. it is best if they are well liked by everyone but not too well liked, since you don't need to have sheep following the shepard. it gets messy, trust me. one sign that the group is headed toward a cliff, when the leader says "trust me" and everybody does. nobody should trust nobody, did you not watch the x-files? it is best to have many designated devils' advocates, oh wait, we covered this. anyway, the key to preventing groupthink is to suspect everyone else of stupidity, selfishness and stupidity. only then can we be a healthy social clump.



so really, amid all this rambling, what is groupthink you ask? groupthink is assholes hanging out with other assholes, who dislike any other type of asshole. there you have it, my sociology for the common man -- look for the introductory pamphlet in grocery stores near you.

the disney dialectic (or) are you part of this world? what can we learn about romantic love from the disney movies? many guys i know blame disney for creating images of "happily ever after" and relationship/marital bliss just because everyone says that. but these guys never stop to really think about what they are saying. they don't stop to examine whether or not this "saying" is actually factually grounded and not just heresay. is it right to blame disney? are we ourselves to blame for not living up to the cartoons that undoubtedly are solely responsible for our female counterparts' ridiculous ideas and expectations for true love? let us see shall we? off to never never land. or under the sea. or whatever.



in the beginning, there were three disney movies that set every little girl's heart a flutter: snow white and the seven dwarfs, cinderella, and sleeping beauty. i tend to think of these three as the "kiss me, kiss me now" trilogy. in each story, the beautiful heroine suffers through a devastating fate (always at the hands of an older woman) and can only be saved by "true love's first kiss." the men in these stories are faceless and anonymous. they just ride pretty horses and come crashing in at the end to save the girl. do you even remember the faces or names of any of the princes? i doubt it. but yet the princes fight and search and hack and slash and do everything in their power to kiss a girl they hardly even know. does this even sound reasonable? actually, guys try to do this at clubs all the time, i've seen them (no names, no names) but i'm guessing these guys aren't quite in the saving business. moving on...



the main emotional support the pretty little female thing receives is from the little critters (i'm calling mice, dwarves, and faeries "critters" for sake of convenience) that surround her and encourage her. based on all of this, little girls everywhere expected to suffer through some adversity, buoyed along by chatty friends and family, and then get swept off their feet by a prince charming. thus began the fall of romantic man, because it made little girls think that men should be doing the sweeping, while conveniently forgetting the notion that it's women who should always be doing the cleaning. yeah, there’s more to these stories than just love alright? there’s lots of dirt too. "hi cinderella, nice stain on your smock." somehow girls lost sight of that.



note that in this trilogy, none of the critters doubt, even once, if the prince is the right one for their cherished prize. in fact, the critters are just dying to send her happily on her way, with no idea what the prince is really like. they think that as long as he looks right on paper, off you go to be a princess! this sort of mentality is not healthy, as you girls now know in our modern day world of frogs posing as princes. use your friends' judgements, don't think of your friends as annoying squeaky critters, even when they are just that.



after those three movies, there is, for some reason, a serious gap in-between disney's creation of animated love stories. the time spanning the end of sleeping beauty and the beginning of little mermaid was a dozen movies and thirty years. check the list, i ain't lying. what was disney doing all this time? they were sitting back watching their "there is a prince charming for each one of you lassies" ideal screw men over. continually, for like thirty decades. then they said, "we are low on cash, why not make some more movies and showcase more ways to screw guys over, then we will be rich again." and so that's what they did. with now nineties twists.



little mermaid follows the same basic formula as the "kiss me trilogy": girl with problems, prince serves as solution, evil older woman stands between her and happiness, helpful critters. but the biggest change here is that ariel is not in danger of dying or sleeping -- indeed, she is quite lively and spunky throughout the movie. she is also, clearly, not a helpless girl just waiting for her prince charming to rescue her. she actually turns the tables on tradition and rescues him. stunning. and furthermore, even after the rescue mission, she is very proactive in her pursuit of her prince. little girls of the soon to be spiced up nineties learn from the little mermaid that it's okay to go chase after the guy you want. attribute this progress to the feminist movement that flowered during disney's downtime. go go feminism.



it is also important to note that ariel's barrier to true love is the loss of her voice. none of the other heroines from the prevoius films had anything taken away from them, they were just battling an evil queen-stepmother-aunt. evil ursula takes away only one thing from ariel, and gives her a chance to win -- once again, empowering the damsel in distress. but ursula is sneaky, she does not take away ariel's bodacious body (because that would just be asking too much) but her voice, daring ariel to seduce a man with everything but her ability to speak and thus, her brain. little girls learn here that despite their abilty to remain awake (unlike ms white, ms beauty), the more they keep silent, the more chances that he'll think i'm mysterious and that he'll like me. so now they dress in ugly ass tube tops and show off their bodies and try to hooch a guy while sounding vapid and empty. that ursula, she did you girls wrong. but yet you continue to attire yourselves according to her fashion sense? why why?



the other dramatic shift in the little mermaid was the way it finally allows us to see the male character. he has a decent personality, a cute dog, a romantic side, an aural rendition of his true love. we are finally given the male's perspective on this where is my love scenario. we know that the guy is longing for the girl just as much as she is longing for him. this sounds pretty good right? girls like to see that right? but then what happens? eric chooses the wrong girl! the prince is stupid enough to choose the wrong girl based on her voice, and he doesn't even follow his feelings through for ariel because he's convinced that the one with the voice is the one he must marry. he does not follow his heart, but his brain. this reinforces the new disney paradigm, "boys are dumb". even the dog knows ariel is the one true love. dogs may be man's best friend but it's a toss up as to which one is smarter. this is what disney is telling the new generation of little girls. this is why girls like dogs, because in lieu of a smart man, they'll take a smart dog. am i right?



with the outstanding success of the the little mermaid, disney decides to produce seven straight movies about love. a sort of golden age for disney love animation if you will. but as you will soon see, it is not a golden age but rather, the indestructible nail in the coffin for man and his potential relationship with woman.



after establishing that men are dumb asses with the little mermaid, what does disney do next? they tell girls that not only are guys stupid, but they're ugly too -- not to mention objects of ridicule. evidence: animated movies thirty (beauty and the beast) and thirty four (hunchback of notre dame). in a way, this is a good thing. it gives ugly guys a chance everywhere, disney is subtly saying that the girls who can fall in love with the ugly guys are really better than the rest of the superficial bitches out there. go disney! it is no coincidence that michael eisner and jeffrey katzenberg, not exactly handsome men, were in charge of disney at this time. i could even argue that the physical statures of eisner and katzenberg were comparable to the shape and dimensions of the beast and the hunchback respectively, but i won't go there. if anything, i applaud their ingenuity. if i made movies for an impressionable female audience, i would for damn sure make films that contained messages promoting myself as a superior object of affection. still, no matter how you swing it, the message of these two films is that men are ugly.



the message doesn't get any better with disney's other movies. some sample messages promoted by the other golden age disney films. aladdin, men are poor and beneath your station in life, you deserve better. pocahontas, men are ignorant, bigoted and have ethnic fetish. mulan, girls, you can do anything a guy can do and you can do it better. tarzan, men are essentially uncultured animals. the lion king, um, i dunno. the point here is, disney is not only presenting girls with a fantastic, impossible to duplicate, love story (the kiss me trilogy), but then they say, "the only way you can be happy is to dumb down your expectations and accept a man with flaws". hum, wait, why is this bad again? i don't know. it just is okay? i think i've just contradicted myself. but i object to "love equals accepting flaws" and this is exactly the thing disney is promoting with its later movies. boo.



another important thing that disney has pounded into the heads of our potential female loves is that guys better come good and heavy with that first kiss or they probably aren't worth it. everything in most of these disney movie true loves is centered around the magic of that first kiss. and we all know how importantly women weigh first kisses now, it's no coincidence. fellas, if you're a bad kisser, go brush up your technique and your mouth and maybe then you'll have a chance. otherwise, see you later, not even direct to video type of later.



so, what choices are we left with here? guys can either choose to be the faceless anonymous prince that has to fight to rescue the girl (totally unrealistic), or we can be stupid, ugly, ignorant, poor and have to grovel for the love of one (un)lucky lass. which will it be? either way, it seems like a lot of effort on the guys part doesn't it? i certainly don't have the stamina for sword swinging or groveling, do you? i say relax, kick back, watch something wholesome for your romantic life, like striptease. don't let disney get you down. guys, lock up access to these disney movies, keep them away from females under the age of eighty. then the world will be a better place for men. don't you agree?



let us end on this aesopian note. take another classic disney love story, lady and the tramp. everyone loves this movie, it's pure romance pared down to its humble roots. what lesson can we learn from this timeless tale? men and women are both dogs. deal with it. the end. and happily ever after.

screech. speaking of addictive substances, the couch banshee is my newest blog obsession. kept under wraps during pre-production, lelaina is finally ready to let her rants and raves go live. go support and read her because it's good for you and you'll probably live longer. remember, it takes a village and i am but one singular peasant.



the lil'ho is deserving of your love too. and you don't even have to pay. the first time.

moment of clarity. everyone kept saying "happy 420" to me today. and i saw it on a few blogs and websites. i thought maybe i was missing out on some commemorative holiday. i left it alone, i don't need to know everything right? then ameer gives me a "happy 420" as he leaves work and now i have ask gene, "gene, what the hell is this happy 420 shit?" he told me that my naivete was cute, patted me on the head (via aim no less), and then he proceeded to enlighten me.



420 is get high time! incredible. how would i, a clean cut law abiding citizen, know what 420 was? everything makes so much more sense now that the switches are turned on. people who would say "duuuuude, it's four twenty dude" when looking at the clock? i just dismissed them as know-it-all's who liked to show off their ability to tell time. michigan's hash bash? just a group of friendly mid-westerners gathering to sell tie dye t-shirts. how's a guy supposed to know? now, i know there are some of you out there who were as lost as me, so i am here to drop some second-hand knowledge.



copied from the parenting to adolescents website -- the bible for me as far as moral values are concerned. "simply put, 420 is a symbol of cannabis and its culture. today, april 20th events are international, and 4:20 pm has become sort of a world wide "burn time". it certainly doesn't matter too much where the term came from because for us parents, it's a flag, a warning sign that our teenagers may be into something that could harm their future. when you see the symbol 420, be aware of what it represents."



the message here is clearly: be aware. always, be aware. you never know what kind of stuff your friends and children might be talking about in front of your face but behind your back. and if by not smoking weed your child can avoid "harm to their future" and turn into a shining example of a drug free america just like me? well then parents (hi mom), you better go buy some weed for your kids because you don't want them to turn out to be anything like me.



mary jaaaane.....

some myths about the origins of 420.

police dispatch code for smoking pot is 420.

the number 420 is not police radio code for anything, anywhere. checks of criminal codes suggest that the origin is neither californian nor federal. for instance, california penal code 420 defines as a misdemeanor the hindrance of use of public lands.

there are approximately 420 active chemicals in marijuana.

actually, there are approximately 315 active chemicals in marijuana. this number goes up and down depending on which plant is used.

april 20th is national pot smokers day.

well, it is now; but that wasn't the origin.

april 20th is hitler's birthday.

yes, it is his birthday. but, as 420 started out as a time, not a date, his birthday had nothing to do with it.

the date of the columbine school shootings.

this happened after the term was already in use.

4:20 is tea time for pot-smokers in holland.

tea time in holland is at 5:30 pm, or is it 2:30 pm? seems no one is quite sure when the wonderful people of holland drink their tea.

i got your flair right here. this will be the one of my three submissions for a part time restaurant review job i hope to fool my way into. the ad asks for people who "must have a flair for creative, vivid writing." tell me if it works. tell me if this has anything to do with food. tell me if i should clearly hang on to my day job.



an employee of mcdonald's greeted me as soon as i opened the glass doors. "sir, the floor is wet, be careful, try not to slip." what a handy tip i thought to myself, isn't it nice of them to have "caution: wet floor" signs stationed at every entrance? and the furious yellow color of the signs went very well with the restaurant's decor. yellow trim on splashes of red reminded me tastefully of my cantankerous hunger and my need for french fries. stepping up to the head of the queue, i asked the maitre’d slash head waitress slash floor mopper, "i've heard you've got the best fries in town, which size would you recommend?"



with an engaging smile and flashing eyes, she immediately responded with, "the ratio of saturated fat to potato in our super size fries is the lowest, plus you get the most value for your money. the total savings amounts to nearly three cents. you could, of course, try the large size but for a man of your stature, i would definitely recommend the super. in addition, by ordering the house special, you would get both a large drink and a hamburger along with those fries. that sir, is our undisputed best value, aside from filet-o-fish fridays; but that's only available on friday's, and today is clearly a wednesday."



confused by the barrage of information but impressed with her excellent enunciation and overall helpfulness, i decided to rely on her superior taste and obvious experience. "i'll take one of those super sized fries but i'm not really a meat eater. would it be possible to get the fries as an entree item as opposed to an appetizer? is there an extra charge or a larger plate with that option?" as it turns out, all of mcdonald's menu items were presented with unsurpassed versatility, capable of doubling as an appetizer or as an entree. my winsome server informed me that some people even chose to eat french fries as dessert. despite being shocked by the audacity of our modern day youth, i silently promised to put aside a few fries, to be later consumed as "dessert." when in rome...



the pricing structure at mcdonald's seems to be very competitive. my fries came out to a grand total of two ninety five, my water was free, and my fifteen percent tip was not only rejected by my charming lolita but put into a contribution box towards a children's charity -- with my approval of course. i felt like i was not only feeding myself by choosing to eat at mcdonald's but also doing my part to fill the coffers of hungry children everywhere.



my fries arrived in nanoseconds, an individual batch expertly scooped and separated from a heaping haystack with just a flick of the wrist. as lilly -- her name was on her name tag-- handed me my bag of gold, she smiled once again and said "have a nice day!" have a nice day. okay, now i will! not wanting to leave this happy place quite yet, i slid into a booth near the door and watched as lilly served the two customers who were behind me. my heart sank a little at the sight of her beaming smile, clearly not reserved for just me, but i couldn't help but be impressed with her consistency. look up, smile, take an order, smile, ring the register, smile.



my fries were a study in contrasts. the delicate interior of the fry combined with the harsh crispness of the outer layer made it feel like a menagerie had escaped into my mouth. much like snowflakes, no fry was identical. some were short, some were long, some were extra crispy, some were entirely mushy. once in awhile the excess oil dripped onto my table but most of the time it dripped onto my chin. dipped in the tangy tomato sauce, the fries proved to be even better than sex. the head chef must have searched long and hard for the sauce recipe that so perfectly complemented these fries. when no fries were left wilting in the designer box, i felt exhausted, as if my fry eating experience had just been an epic adventure. big, little, crispy, mushy, oily, not oily, it was too much to handle. bravo mcdonald's, bravo.



you can find a mcdonald's around every block, sometimes even two located right across from each other on the same block. keep in mind however, that each mcdonald's location has a distinct personality of its own and after sampling the atmosphere of quite a few, my favorite has to be the mcdonald's located on the corner of balboa and park. something about that particular mcdonald's just really makes it stand out. it might be the playpen, it might be the ronald mcdonald statue, either way, the ten to fifteen minute wait in line was always well worth it.



mcdonald's: the service, the selection, the friendly smiles, what kind of dining nirvana had i wandered into? remember that each time you frequent your favorite mcdonald's you can take comfort in their unofficial slogan, "over one billion served," making your own experience, "over one billion served, plus me, because i'm special."

club fight (or) how to not get your dance on (or) if we go down, at least we're going down dancing. at the request of the multitudes of people who need to hear this story, for the one or two of you out there really really bored, i will document the events of friday night as clearly and as concisely (yeah right) as i can. i will try to keep all embellishments and extraneous observations out of the following post. and then for my next act i will sprout wings and fly and pigeon shit on all the villains featured in the following story.



on friday night we headed out with joy in our hearts and a hip hop step to our feet. with immaculate coordination and organization, we people-moved to a favorite san diego jaunt, bar dynamite. everything was running as smooth as could be and after paying our five dollar cover we entered the den of dance. bar dynamite used to be a thursday night favorite -- they spin some of the better hip hop around -- but it's a tiny spot, so really, too crowded to be an ideal weekend place. this once however, we were willing to brave the onslaught of strangers and the tall yet seemingly mild mannered and friendly crowd. flash forward fifteen minutes in, one half a beer for me in. susan, who had run off to the bathroom, comes back and screams/tells me "that guy just pulled my hair, twice!" i looked to where she was pointing.



oh look, a huge mammoth man, a hairless bald yeti who was taller than both of us combined, with his girth creating his own personal "dance circle". this was the guy who pulled her hair? i mean, i'm all for defending a female friend's honor but c'mon now, i'm too young to die. "i'm sure it was an accident! your hair looks beautiful, you look beautiful. what is hair but a superficial thing used by magazines to promote shampoos and other expensive products? hats are all the rage anyway. and if he did happen to grab a few strands here or there, i'll personally buy you some weaves, let it go...."



"jon, he PULLED my hair."



with a desperate sigh and a prayer to every god i'd ever read about, i rolled up my sleeves, flexed (i mean, stretched), and prepared to start some shit. and then i wondered how much life insurance i had and who would be the beneficiary.



as i turned to face goliath, i saw that the he had "bouncer" written across his chest and he was otherwise engaged in holding back a much smaller ratty looking weasel of a man. relief flooded my nervous system, perhaps puddling onto my pants. it wasn't the big guy, it was the little guy susan was pointing at! oh thank god. i mean, sure the little guy looks like he's carrying a shank but who cares, stab wounds heal faster than outright bludgeoning right? besides, i have neosporin in my manpurse. and hello kitty band-aids stored in my wallet. it'll be okay.



"i kicked him. twice." what? really? good job susan, there's my feisty friend for you. oh wait, why are you escorting us outside mr security man, wait wait, i'm just a pawn in this political game, let my people go free. push push, shove shove, fresh air. so we get outside and susan is still heated (rightfully) and the security guys are keeping *him* away (i love big huge security guys, so strong). weasel boy is yelling stuff at us like "if you want to get into it, let your man handle it." her man? oh, you mean me? well actually, i'm not her man sir, i mean, we're just friends. i really do think boys and girls can just be platonic friends, don't you scary weasel guy? not all opposite sex friends are romantically interested or interwined right? before he can respond to my philosophical query susan goes, "fuck you! i don't need a man! i'll kick your ass myself!" yeah! she can kick your ass herself, without me! take that! as a catchy song came on, i prepared to go inside and let susan handle her biz.



the flood of our friends exiting dynamite prevented me from following through on that plan however, and we summarily engaged in a spirited talk with the security men about why they were kicking out both the hair puller and the crotch kicker (susan got him twice). "what kind of establishment is this? girls need to protect themselves? what are you security doing in there then?" may was telling the bouncer "it was self defense! there's nothing wrong with what she did! she's a lawyer (motioning to lilly), she's a lawyer!" lilly smiled meekly and thought to herself "oh no no, i'm a lawyer sure but i'm really more of a book agent now..." after some discussion, we came to terms with the boot in our asses and went in search of a better place to plant our dancing shoes.



"let's go to pirate's den, it's right down the street and it's free." "i heard it's gay night." "well, um, okay, whatever, let's just go." pirate's den (identifiable only by the red neon "x" hanging outside) turned out to be empty. if it was gay night, it wasn't a particularly festive one. now we might never know just how attractive hong really is. after a few minutes of examining susan's bruise -- she was pushed down to the floor by the guy on kick attempt one and hurt her elbow -- we decided to go elsewhere. from here our heroes split up, one car back home and the other downtown in search of a safer dancing venue. susan had risked her life and the least we could do was get her some more alchohol and dancing right? right.



so on to rock bottom brewery, the scene of many a fabulous san diego night. the last few times we've been to rock bottom have been very successful and i felt like it was a safe bet. so in we went and right towards another round of drinks. i set my beer down on the side in order to capitalize on our waning dancing time. we got comfy. james was tearing up the wooden dance floor, i tried to avoid the two freaky girls prostituting themselves next to us, we laughed as a genie in a bottle imitator tried to seduce some guy -- very poorly i might add. we were finally getting into the grooving mode. whoosh. five minutes in, a mass of bodies go flying past the bar and another fight breaks out. at first it looked to be under control but then it got rowdier. me and james immediately closed ranks to form a protective picket fence, shielding our ladies from potential harm. if you want to get to them, you'll have to go through us, and our one hundred fifty pound bodies -- he's one sixty, i'm one forty, give or take twenty pounds.



oh my, is that blood i spy with my little eye? indeed it was. case closed, club closed, everybody out. as we walk outside, small puddles and big trails of blood direct us to the exit. outside, a guy is holding a bloody rag to his head and his girlfriend is yelling at the bouncer. bouncers must get yelled at a lot, which seems foolhardy since they are so big, but i'm sure they have much restraint, thus the bouncing. we cross the street in undramatic fashion and take stock of our night. three clubs, no more than seven minutes of dancing at each stop, two unfinished drinks left behind by me. yeah, i'm a dead beat drinker okay? i was under some duress, cut me some slack. i'll send drink support money later. sheesh.



we couldn't end the night like this. there had to be some dancing that lasted over seven minutes. so we walked up the street to red circle and greased the doorman to get in. a note on greasing. i don't know how to grease. my specialties lie elsewhere. don't ask where. the doorman had to pretty much take my hand, shake it with his hand before i got the "oh, this is an under the table thing?" message. i just thought he wanted to touch my hands because he had heard they were super soft. again, i plead temporary duress.



we got to dance at red circle for thirty minutes, celebrating at the record setting eight minute mark, watching out at all times for signs of other possible fights. it was one of those nights. one of those nights where even the sight of scantily clad and gyrating dancers up on stage couldn't make up for the craziness that was a friday in san diego. and you people say san diego is boring. please. it may be unsatisfactory but it's certainly not boring.



anyway, the moral of the story? jon needs to go work out and bulk up so he can defend the honor of his female companions. actually, jon needs to just work out period. but that might lead to the forty five pound bench press bar falling on my head and thus, premature death. so i'll take a rain check on the gym. and invest in more dance classes so i can get the hell out of group three -- the worst group to belong to, in the intermediate hip hop class we take.



postscript: the next night, saturday, lilly cunningly used the events of friday to embarass the rock bottom bouncer into getting in for free. "we couldn't even finish our drinks last night before we got kicked out, are you gonna make us pay to get in again? really?" ah lawyers, always working the angles. next time she can defend susan.

shorts, of all kinds, are very, very wrong. they are unfortunate with hairy, knobbily legs shooting out of them, boring when covering the tiny bum of a skaterboader or indie rocker, and disturbing when pressed against a wide, flat ass. most of all, of course, they are tragic when revealing -- from a lawnchair, a bicycle, a rollercoaster -- the soft, distressingly vulnerable curve of a gentleman's apparatus rotundatus.



in a word: shorts are pants, emasculated. emasculating.

-jessica pressler, springtime for shithead: what women wish you'd wear-



squawk. this revelation is kind of a big problem for me. shorts are bad? but i love shorts! my favorite "what happened when you moved to michigan" story is the one involving little jon never having owned jeans or casual pants. "well, what did you wear before then?" shorts! but now i find out that girls hate shorts. not that what girls' think should matter but they do know a little something about clothes don't they? and for sure, while shorts are mainly about breezy comfort, it's also about wearing the right kind of shorts. actually i'm somewhat of a shorts snob since just yesterday i pointed out to gene, somewhat disdainfully, that "hey, you're wearing corduroy shorts?" i'm not a big supporter of corduroy, as you should know.



the only shorts i can support, and that can consequently support me, are khaki shorts. or maybe gray. i'm beginning to discover the world of gray shorts. and with shorts, the more holes, buttons, zips, pockets, and potential gadgets the better. the shorts material must be either light and cool to the touch or a nice synthetic blend that won't fuzz over. if you are confused, ask to touch mine. "ask" being the operative word in that sentence.



i've tried many colors of shorts in my time: green, blue, jean, tan, red, striped, black, brown. i think i even had snow white shorts once. let's just gloss over that. most of these colors don't come close to working. in particular i'm really against jean shorts. actually no, i'm against striped shorts even more but nobody in this day and age would be that dumb. right? right. so with jean shorts, the problem i have with them is more of a personal bias, since jean shorts just don't appeal to me very much. too heavy and it tends to not breathe well, defeating the whole purpose of shorts in the first place. but in general, jean shorts are the hardest type of shorts to pull off. some people i know can do it well, but don't try it unless you are ready. just a hint, light colored jean shorts are the worst by far. many a jean short has killed an otherwise fine outfit. remember, when in doubt, stay home.



despite my passion and defensiveness for them, after reading the various ladies talk about the nastiness associated with shorts, i do begin to see their point. shorts do expose terrible hairy legs. and shorts lead directly to mandals and flip flops. both auto fails in my book. maybe not flip flops. well actually, yeah. auto fail, sorry. also, if the shorts are too short, an awful amount of untanned leg (heavens no, is that a thigh i spy?) could be revealed. heck, an entire white leg is probably revealed anyway. ugh. some people are just not born to wear shorts. i'm sure god gave you a better immune system or something to compensate for your loss.



a side note on socks. if you are going to wear shorts, you must wear low low ankle socks. nothing else will cut it. unless you are trying to wear knee highs, then it's okay.



you ask, "what about those shorts that are so long they are cargo-ish in length? are those okay? once again, individual preference. rock what you can, return what you can't. it's simple. the return policy is not a gimmick, use it and abuse it. one major point that the stylish ladies made was about the state of athletic shorts used as everyday attire. it's despicable. absolutely despicable. it never looks good unless paired with a ball-like item in hand. it just doesn't. i know many many people who do this. walk around during the summer with their basketball shorts, pretending like this is suitable attire. it's not. in miami, during a fateful week four years ago, louis wore his michigan basketball shorts all over the place. i wanted to tell him, i needed to tell him, to invest in some real shorts. but i didn't have the heart. i mean we were on spring break, i wanted him to have a good time, it seemed like he was having a good time, i didn't want to shatter his precious little heart. in louis' defense, we were near a beachy area and playing lots of basketball, so maybe it was mildly acceptable. but put away the nikes and adidas gentlemen, pull on some real shorts.



it's funny, as i look at the male friends around me, i can't help but notice that hong seems to break every one of these "springtime for shithead" rules. his normal spring/summer style? tanktops, basketball shorts and sandals (not mandals thank god). this fact amuses me to no end. and while we're on the topic of bottom wear, can you believe that up until sophomore year of college babbs wore tapered pants? this i cannot bewieve. and i'm sure, neither can you. but he revealed this tidbit to us last weekend and he assures me that it's true. some friend of his had to take him into a karl kani store and say "no more brian, you got to get these *pulling a baggy jean off the rack*." and so began the transformation into the four of five that he is today. the end.

le roi est mort. as we sat watching basquiat -- a movie about, strangely enough, basquiat -- i noticed that physical attraction in movies have the faintest tale of fiction about them. revelationary i know. please, hold the applause. but really, do two people just see each other, exchange three sentences, and then hop into a cab to make out and then to bed? i've never heard of such a thing. in the movie, basquiat (a fair looking guy with defensible features) meets claire forlani (a beautiful girl with slightly intoxicating features) in a coffee shop. he waits outside for her, walks her home, and then asks if he can call her. later in the week, she goes to a club to check out his dubious dj-ing skills. they see each other from across the room, he goes over to her, barely says hi, they leave the club. he tries unsuccessfully to hail a cab -- perhaps due to his effeminate hand gestures. she successfully hails a cab. they jump in, exchange gazes, make out.



what?



does this ever happen in real life? or is this the figment of some dorky underpaid screen writer's imagination? just once before i die i will try this move, the "let's not talk but proceed directly to snogging" move. open the hatches, ahoy matey. then again, if i tried this move even once, it just might be the death of me. hum. dilemma. maybe some of you have seen this happen outside of the movie realm, maybe even from the first person perspective. enlighten me.

spangled. last night we went to a padres game, courtesy of mr pan. no, not that mr pan. the real original mr pan, hong's dad. so far hong's dad has been our major source of ultimate hookups for events in san diego. the "fake" cirque dreams, riverdance, the comedy show, and now the padres. and my what excellent seats we got. slightly above field level, first base line, in a luxury box. yes, there, i said it. luxury box. a man could get used to this.



now i have less than a passing interest in baseball. as far as i'm concerned it's just the fluff they put in-between other highlights on sportscenter. that's not to say that my baseball knowledge is shoddy, but i have no interest in the game. baseball is america's infatuation as far as i'm concerned. but man, the way they mow the grass on those fields, looks amazing doesn't it? a few comments on baseball game related things that i really care about.



first off, the fashion. baseball uniforms are so classic. what other sport or vocation still thinks wearing ultra-tapered pants is cool? i mean, football players wear tights but that's for housing pads and cutting down on underhanded grabbing of clothes. most other sports have turned to "baggier is better." not baseball. so classic in its streamlined profiles, plus or minus a big butt here or there. anyone who wears an oversized baseball uniform just looks like an idiot. keep it clingy fellas, way to go.



and note how baseball might be the only sport where earrings and jewelry is acceptable. barry bonds wears a dangly cross earring on his left ear, the side uncovered by his batting helmet. i can't help but stare (admire?) at the big diamonds that gleam from other player's ear lobes. it's just like, so out there. i think football players might wear earrings underneath their helmets but really, you can't see that stuff and to me, wearing thousand dollar accessories while engaged in a contact sport is just idiotic. plus, a twist of a wrong tackle and off goes your ear and your earring. boo. in the race to accessorize, the nba still has the coolest gear (finger cuffs, arm bands, sweat bands, rubber bands, leg sleeves, afros, knee braces) but baseball gets the jewelry. mr t could've played baseball if he wasn't busy getting his lunch handed to him by rocky.



and now for a tale of woe. a tragedy shakespearean in scope. the padres, along with getting a new stadium, got new uniforms. hideous bland generic navy-sand beige uniforms that are boring as all get out. navy!?! who wants to support a team rocking navy? navy is for conservative ill matched blazers. plus, every other sports team has navy as part of its color scheme. what was wrong with the retro now-tro look of the old jerseys? the distinctive brown and yellow set the padres apart. the only reason i might've mildly supported the padres was because they had cool team colors. take that away and what have you got? nothing. why pick boring navy when your nemesai, the dodgers, sport similar colors? a lady at the pizza stand asked whether or not we were dodger fans. while we were wearing our padre hats. if you can't tell your team apart from all the other teams, why bother? stupid stupid stupid. nobody wins championships looking like a cheap knock off.



and the new wave inspired logo by the padres is just plain retarded. san diego is by the ocean, let's put a wave in the logo like ocean spray. it goes so well with our new navy look don't you think? what was wrong with the swinging friar logo? he not cool enough for you? not abstract enough? do you have something against the founders of our lovely missions? go junipero serra. down with the wave.



the new ballpark is very nice though. lots of flat screen tvs conveniently set up everywhere. it was particularly useful for scouting potential boyfriends for people. you just can't get the full measure of a man when he's just a uniformed blob a hundred feet away. but with television zoom you could get full unobstructed views of the all the player's faces. right lilly?



the white steel used in the construction of petco park is just beautiful to look at. i was a bit turned off by the dirt and dust that had already accumulated in the "new" ballpark but i guess when you have tens of thousands of people going to a week's worth of games you can't really get nit picky. we did our best to keep our peanut droppings in a cup though. so conscientious we were. and of course we had all the classic baseball game foods. peanuts, cracker jacks, nachos, pizza, hot dogs, diet coke, cotton candy, beer. we might have been supporting a small nation of starved children if you didn't know it was just four of us. and having box seats in a suite meant we had a private bathroom. that amenity cannot be overlooked. no troughs, no foul smelling riff raff hoarding the stalls, just a nice big bathroom with tile and lockable doors. gene took advantage of the private bathroom at least ten times during the course of the evening. that boy has a small bladder. but man, what baseball knowledge he possesses. he kind of scares me with how much he knows about each player. he must stalk baseball players when he's not hanging out with me.



and for my last baseball comment, since you care so much. we got hats. matching navy san diego padres hats. courtesy of the man, dave's son himself. never have we looked cooler. pictures will follow but for now just rest assured that matching hats is the way to go to show solidarity and togetherness. great shame about that brown and yellow though.



oh yeah, the padres won. eight to three. highlighted by an awesome six run fourth inning. it was a great game.

puff puff pass. do i look like a druggie to you? do i? seriously? i mean do i look like i know where to get some of "the good stuff?" i can hardly find shit in my room, much less buy illegal substances in a covert and efficient manner. i freak out when other people are carrying drugs. what if they get caught, what if they get caught? will i go down too? just kidding, i wouldn't freak out. i would just run, or play dumb, whichever seems less taxing at the moment of red-handedness. playing dumb is tiring, i don't know how some of you people do it. props props, golf clap golf clap.



isn't it interesting what certain people look like they might do? actually, isn't it interesting how many times it's actually not interesting when people write "isn't it interesting..." you would think that such a bold statement prefacing your real statement would build drama and anticipation but in most cases it just makes for unfulfilled expectations. "isn't it interesting how it seems like i always get the jackasses and assholes?" um, actually no. every girl i know gets the jackasses and the assholes, it's not all that interesting. now if you said "isn't it interesting how i always get the greatest guys, the ones who treat me so well and love me unconditionally?" that would be interesting to me.



anyway, sorry. i must be extra bitter today for some reason. i apologize. this is not the real me. the kitchen must have run out of garnish.



original point. isn't it interesting what certain people look like they might (or might not) do? oh you must be such a good student, those glasses fit you so well. you look like a smoker, you must be a smoker. you look like a slut, really, you are a slut right? you play the part so perfectly. hey, you have the body of a wrestler, do you wrestle? oh my gosh, you look like such a musician! what do you play? are you dumb? i mean, really, are you dumb? you look like you might enjoy a good roll in the hay, how bout it? you don't look like you know how to read, can you read? i never would of thought that you were a thrift shop shopper, you look so now-tro to me. you look pretty boring, is that true? you look like you're engaged in criminal activity. so, are you engaged? oooh, you look like a cheater. tell me you're a cheater. from the looks of you, it seems to me that you might be a big drinker. bottoms up?



i had a girl once who liked me -- alternately, once a girl liked me -- and her friend told her that i looked "too nice" after meeting me. i wasn't sure how to take that. i look too nice? this is a bad thing? should i look meaner? we, the girl and i, never got into anything. maybe i just looked too darn nice.

i've been cowed. last friday night, after yet another sterling dave's son concert, we sat around taking entertainment weekly's 2004 great american pop culture quiz. one hundred questions of the greatest stuff you should know. and guess how many i got right? probably like ten, at most. i, whose identity and self worth is wrapped up into that of a pop culture whore, got less than ten percent of the questions correct.. with that kind of math, i am apparently more a philosophy scholar (fifty to seventy percent, depending on the class, eighty if i studied) than a pop culture scholar. which is just so wrong if you think about the amount of time i've spent watching tv versus actually reading my textbooks.



christina, fellow pop culture whore, did maybe a bit better than me. but both us were blown to bits by ryan "forrest gump" tolentino. for someone who has never made reference to anything pop cultural before, he really handed us our televisions. i bet he's never even subscribed to ew! he seriously kicked some major ass on the quiz, pulling crap out of his his...well....ass. i dare anyone to take this test and not come out feeling insecure about their pop knowledge. who makes up these questions? people with no lives? this coming from a guy who just spent a friday night taking an insanely long magazine test and enjoying it. there ain't no party like a west coast party because a west coast party don't exist.



oh and the greatest mystery from the quiz. there are apparently way more than three rules to fight club? what the hell were/are they? someone tell me. eternal gratitude awaits.

what the dilly yo? isn't it disconcerting when people talk in complete sentences? in my normal day, rarely do i ever talk in complete sentences. it's just a random mumble mash of grunts and chirps that luckily get translated by a few select people. eloquence is not an accessory i've had the luck to wear. but i have gotten into some conversations with people who speak clearly and distinctly. without any "ums" or "likes". i am astounded. even more so when the person in question is around my own age. i'm kind of staring at them thinking, "wow, where did you learn to make the (wo)man talk? english must be your first language!"



maybe i just don't get to see enough people in speaking environments. i have friends who get up in front of other people and conduct meetings and plan strategy sessions. friends who must address tens to hundreds of people at a time. some friends of mine are like, giving speeches and speaking publicly. whoa. it's really a struggle for me to even resist saying "ok, cool" when i get affirmation from a business contact. i wonder how people keep it all together when speaking. i guess i'm less impressed if public speaking is a part of their job, as opposed to when someone speaks in complete sentences colloquially. when that happens i'm just sitting there counting the nouns and verbs and noting their proper placements.



remember dawson's creek? don't lie, you watched it too. remember how great it was because here were all these kids talking so far above our heads? or at least, my head? me and greg used to watch dawson's creek and marvel at kevin williamson's dialogue. the kids were smarter than the parents! what a great show! why can't everybody speak like that? sadly enough, most people speak like the "stars" of our reality shows -- thus the reality part. if only just once i could give an on-the-fly speech half as well conceived as the ones dawson and pacey spit out. then i could be angsty. and then joey would love me.

missive from the mother-ship. it should be so easy to be responsible. a few minutes here and there, a neat file folder stored in a corner of your room. isn't it easy? on my resume i write that i'm "extremely organized" and "on top of things." but really, i'm not. sure, i may give off the impression that i'm a professional administrative assistant by day -- one with the ability to file and organize forever -- but by night i turn into a wild thing, with no organizational abilities whatsoever. call me crazy.



my bills are a mess, my fiscal life is in disorder, my existence to the united states governement an endless mass of yellow and red cards earned for slide tackling. i'm surprised that i haven't been kicked out of the game yet. actually, i might be close. i've been told that in america, you are what your credit is. we are a nation of haves and have nots. if you don't have good credit, you're screwed. who would've ever thought that i would have bad credit? i'm from a good family, i went to college, i'm a good person. really!



this is the first year i'll be paying real live taxes. before i think i was just a dependent. or maybe invisible. i'm not sure how this works. but regardless, three days before the april fifteenth deadline, i am scrambling to do my taxes. you would think that it wouldn't be this hard. with the amount of money i've made in the last calender year, my taxes should take about five minutes. with the advent of online tax submission, i should of taken care of all this three months ago, when responsible people did it. but no. i'm sitting here digging through my file box (a not so neatly stacked corner of my room) trying to find my w2s and 1040s or whatever. when did it all go wrong?



if part of being an adult is paying your bills on time, i have failed miserably. i don't even actually have any bills nowadays. no credit card, no bank statement, no utilities, no world perks account, nothing save a cellular phone bill. when did it get so difficult? my mom asks me all the time, "it takes three minutes to do these things, why don't you just do them?" the answer is, the answer is, i dunno. why not just do them and save myself the trouble? why not just take out one hour of each month and pay the bills when they're due? the whole system is designed to penalize (and eventually kill) you when you pay late, so why fall into the most unoriginal of fiscal traps? why why why?



i dunno. i'm too busy to have to think about this. i have to go pay my taxes.

what kind of car do you drive? in the animal kingdom, it's mostly the males that have the decorations to attract the females. females are very selective about who they mate with so males need to display signs of virility and dominance. "often, there is some element of the animal's body which is adapted to be sexually attractive to the opposite sex: the bright plumage and crests of some species of birds, for example. in many species, there are behaviors which appear to be adapted for sexual display. some of these attributes seem to be adapted to demonstrate fitness and health, for example by demonstrating the ability to sustain an "expensive" feature with no other apparent survival function."



this somehow correlates directly into the human male status symbols like money money and money. flashy cars attract attention, flashy jewelry attracts attention, flashy anything attracts attention. it all makes sense. we males need to buy plumage, it's not necessary for survival, it's just flashy and we need that for attraction. so pray then, why do females need to get all decked out and bejeweled? it's probably because males and females both are competing for the "best" of each other. but in the animal kingdom, the females just sit there, bland colored and fertile, picking up whichever male most impresses them. is this a good system? should girls not have to dress up, get uncomfortable in high heels, to compete with others? this might be the answer to everything. this might also lead to some truth behind the laughable idea that girls really do dress up "just for me." but we are not birds now are we? sexual attraction for humans is a two way street.



"variation in the physical appearance of humans is believed by anthropologists to be an important factor in the development of personality and social relations. there is a relatively low sexual dimorphism between human males and females in comparison with other mammals. however humans are acutely sensitive to variations in physical appearance for reasons of evolution."



and nowhere in the animal kingdom does the "little guy" ever win out. females don't pick out the little squirty male lion just because he's "nice and has personality." they want a kick ass mane and an effective, yet freshly minty, roar. i wonder what happens to all the loser male lions, do they just go off and become solitary bitter old lions or do they just try to scam some loving when the alpha lion isn't looking? apparently there are only so many lessons you can take from observing the functionings of the animal kingdom. learning to scam when the alpha lion isn't looking just might be one of them.



also, why in the insect and fish world are the females generally dominant and bigger? yet in the mammal, bird, reptile world, the males are dominant and bigger? i must find out.



and since we're still up the street from attraction's block, wikipedia says that "much of human sexual attractiveness is governed by first appearances. this involves the senses, in the beginning especially: visual perception (how the other looks), audition (how the other sounds, mainly the voice), and olfaction (how the other smells, naturally or artificially; the wrong smell may be repulsive).



you know what is so underrated? women's voices. some girls just have the coolest damn voices in the world. i'm partial to raspy smokers' voices. none of this grating cute high pitched crap. piercing voices are such a turn off. possible auto fail? very possible. and you know who has a cool voice that totally doesn't seem to come from her body? tara reid. she looks like she should have the ditziest high voice of all time. but yet her voice comes out more like a hoarse-y growl. best female voice of the moment, scarlett johansson. heck, she's the best everything of the moment. top five? not quite, just very very high and very very special. excuse me while i go make some money so i can invest in plumage.

keep your flowers out of my attic. "the westermarck effect. when two people live in close domestic proximity during the first few years in the life of either one, both are desensitized to later close sexual attraction and bonding. this phenomenon, known as the westermarck effect, was discovered by anthropologist edward westermarck. the westermarck effect has since been observed in many places and cultures, including in the israeli kibbutz system, and the shim-pua marriage customs of taiwan, as well as in biological-related families. when this does not occur, for example where a brother and sister are brought up not knowing about one another, they may find one another highly sexually attractive when they meet as adults: a phenomenon known as genetic sexual attraction. this observation is consistent with the theory that the westermarck effect evolved to suppress inbreeding."



this type of reverse sexual imprinting eliminates the need for socially induced incest taboos. wow. this answers so many questions. haven't you ever encountered this situation: you know a super hot person, say angelina jolie. you meet her brother. what's a question you naturally want to ask? "hey, do you think your sister is hot?" that might not be the question you actually ask but it's the question you are dying to ask. right? i remember thinking this exact same thing in high school. there was this pair of opposite sex twins at our school, the female was kinda hot (if i remember correctly). i knew her brother and i'm sure at some point somebody must of asked him, "so do you think your sister is hot?" the correct response, of course, is to cringe and scream bloody murder if you are the brother in question. trust me, i might know a little something about this one. but say your sister was angelina jolie, how can you not say "yeah, my sister is hot." but i guess you'd have to add in quickly, "but dude, she's so not attractive to me."



i think this westermarck thing works not just in the first few years of life. anybody you've grown up with for many years is immediately off limits. don't you think? if you've known each other since kindergarten, seen them through the traumatic fashion years of middle school, kicked it with them through acne high school, can there be any attraction between you guys? i have people ask me sometimes, "hey, don't you think so-and-so is cute? why don't you go for her?" they are referring to a so-and-so that is part of my chinese school "i've known you for at least ten years and up" club. i look at the people who ask this question as if they were dumb. i've seen so-and-so in powder puff girly dresses and arm floaties, how can she possibly still be attractive? c'mon now!



this is not a negative statement about my female friends whom i've known since childhood. they are beautiful, attractive, intelligent people. i just don't think they should be attractive to me. it's a westermarck thing.

a list of words and phrases that should be banished. i will strive to use them all together, in one giant monologue. maybe later.

a blessing in the-skies. sometimes when you introduce friends to each other, or have two groups of people mix, the most interesting results emerge. some people will obviously get along. you know for a fact that so-and-so will love so-and-so. but then sometimes you are totally surprised because two people you thought would never get along, get along. this has happened with me a few times. it makes me question how well i know both parties. i mean, if i can't predict who might get along with whom, why even bother intermixing? if i can't play friendship god when can i play god period?



i have some friends whom i assume will like almost none of my friends. not because my other friends are unlikeable, but just because people are different. on the rare instances when i mix potentially incompatible people, i'm usually pleasantly surprised. heck, even the friend that i'm mixing is sometimes surprised. i like to ask my friends what they thought of everyone else, even based on initial impressions, quick observations, and general vibes. some of the answers i get back are stunning. some of the things that people can point out after a five minute conversation dig right into the root of who the other person is. "she seems to be very comfortable with who she is. i like her." and then i'll think, "why yes, she is very comfortable and accepting of herself. i've never heard anyone locate that fact so quickl



and then there are the times when you think people will get along but they clearly don't. no matter how much you try to explain "this person is really cool, really," they just don't see it. and something you thought was a sure thing becomes a no thing. back to the drawing board. i'm also highly sensitive to when people are in their elements. i mean, i'll try to make it so people meet other people in an element that is conducive to them getting along the best. like drunk people? i will take you out when people are drinking. afraid of big crowds of strangers? you will not be coming with me when i hang out with a group of ten. is this much forethought usually going through your heads when trying to figure out the recipe for mixing friends?



or is it just egotistical to think that you can control and influence these things? shouldn't people just mix and match as it naturally happens?

are you for real? it all began so innocently, a handful of friends, a newspaper, a few rules gleaned from a handbook. and now, ten years later, still a die hard fantasy player. outside of basketball or football, my favorite sport might just be fantasy sports. yes i know, it's not the same as a real sport. but for anyone who's ever sweated over some obscure player on a saturday night, hoping for one more catch, you know what i'm talking about. playing fantasy sports can get more competitive than the real thing. playing it focuses your attention onto all facets of the game. you know who is backing up whom, what the matchups are, the schedules, the injury statuses of all the offensive players, you know all. plus you get into some weird situations where you're rooting simultaneously for two opposing teams to both do well. you might even be in a situation like i was last night.



here i was watching a toronto raptors - cleveland cavaliers game, cheering for specific players and hoping desperately for a lebron james injury. i also prayed for overtime so that my guys could get a few more minutes in, and thus the chance at a few more statistics. i screamed loudly for the cavaliers to make a comeback, but only if lebron didn't lead the charge. i wanted carlos boozer (my guy) to do all the scoring and rebounding. "pass it to boozer pass it to boozer!" and when lebron missed a late free throw, all i could think about was, "heehee, he missed a free throw, there goes eric's (my opponent) percentages." when jalen rose (another of my guys) hit a late three to win the game, i cheered like a madman, raising my arms in a championship salute. i could've cared less that the raptors won the game, the only thing important to me was that my guy got three points plus a bonus for a long distance bomb. how sweet it is to be loved by you.



my very first fantasy experience was with football. i was never into football until the eighth grade or so. i was too puny and weak to have any sort of bond with the behemoths on television. i was just a cross country and tennis kind of guy. i never played flag football, i wasn't big into tackling, i couldn't throw run or catch worth a lick, i didn't understand the rules of football, none of the "three yards and a cloud of dust" was very exciting to me. but somewhere along the way, my friend frank taught me how to catch a football. and then i discovered a hidden skill at chucking nerfs around. so i wanted to learn more about this game of american football.



in any learning situation, i did what i usually do, i went to the bookstore and bought magazines -- if only school texts came in glossy magazine formats, i would of been a stellar student. i spent hours poring over the articles and the team analyses, looking over rosters, trying to figure out who was who and what was what. i read archived fantasy magazines in order to see which publications proved to be the most accurate at predicting performances. i went back to my madden video game and used the instant replay to figure out which positions lined up where. i learned bit by bit. literally.



monday lunches in high school were spent in the library, totalling up the scores from the sunday games, creating newsletters for my league about who won and who lost. this was all pre-spreadsheets and pre-internet. i did all the scoring by hand baby. the distribution was real ass paper too, stapled together, none of this email junk. the first season of fantasy basketball i played, i didn't have enough friends interested so i had to coerce my dad and my sister into playing with me. since my dad was my dad, i gave him michael jordan just to pique his interest. i basically ran his team for him since he was a bit too busy to be playing fantasy games with teenagers. i got into an argument with my sister and her crush (they were co-owners) about whether or not alonzo mourning was eligible at the center position. "but look, alonzo's basketball card says he's a forward-center, why can't he be both?" "no, alonzo's a forward, give it up." thinking back on george's little notebook filled with stats and players makes me love her all the more.



i've made friends through fantasy sports. i play with these group of guys from stanford and ucla that i've never ever met in real life before. but i feel like i know them. i take this game seriously. sometimes in job interviews, i'm tempted to expound on my fantasy exploits as examples of my "organization" and "detail-orientedness." i resist. i've used fantasy sports as ice breakers when meeting new males. "so, who you got on your team?" i've heard about a girl from michigan who was an espn fantasy winner. i envy her knowledge and skill.



to date i've won one football championship. i might have won one back in the pre-internet days but that didn't count. it wasn't serious enough. now we pay to play in leagues so each victory is that much more permanent; statistics and records are tracked through the years. i play in "keeper" leagues which allow us to hold players from year to year. i have had huge email and aim conversations about fantasy rules and minutiae.



the team owner in me laughs when a guy takes dikembe mutombo (circa 2001) in the first round. the commissioner in me cringes, knowing this terrible draft pick will unbalance the league. i drafted shaq when he was just a rookie (1993), paving the way for my nostradamus-like track record. some big hits, some big misses. i also made the biggest bonehead trade ever in 2003. michael vick, ahman green, marvin harrison for drew bledose, ricky williams, joe horn. i went from defending champion to second to last in an eye blink. i am now in full rebuilding mode, with my football team and by association, with my life. my fans are still with me though. we set record highs for attendance this past year. and they still believe in my midas touch. thank you my people. free beer and peanuts all around.



during my no cable television days, 2001-2003, the thing i missed most was sportscenter and especially, nfl primetime with chris berman and crew. when i went to england and china and i was unsure of my internet accessibility, i turned my basketball team over to my longtime fantasy compatriot, evan, to run my team. i won eight games in a row, thank you very much. i feel like i've been judged by total strangers (i played in a michigan league last year) based purely upon my fantasy team's performance. i tanked that season and it kills me that i had such a poor showing amongst a new fantasy crew. they didn't ask me back this year. coincidence? not very likely.



i at one point was playing in three football leagues and two basketball leagues, all running simultaneously. i forgot who i was rooting for because i had so many players. the months of november and december -- beginning of the nba season, which coincides with the end of the nfl season -- are my yearly nirvana. i've gotten up way early in the morning and stayed up late into the night in order to conduct fantasy drafts. i've pushed aside social obligations, come home early from nights out on the town, all to fantasy draft. you know my story morning glory. i've written literary gems that are solely focused on my fantasy leagues. i combine insider knowledge, fake quotes and the events of the day to make entertaining vignettes for the league website. i might have photoshopped images for these articles and for league/team logos. maybe. i've gotten text messages from people saying "did you see moss just score 3 TDs? you're gonna lose!" my blood boils.



what does this all mean? is this too much dedication and time wasted on a hobby that will never bring me anything more than personal pride and the occassional replica jersey (a winner's trophy we recently implemented)? i don't think so. this past football season, i convinced all of my san diego friends -- many of whom are not that into football, to put it mildly -- to participate in a league together. we are now closer for the experience, i'm convinced of that. next year will be even more rabid. with more trash talking. i've heard of the fantasy world mingling with the real world, with real dinners and other favors exchanged for fantasy players. we police that kind of stuff like baseball should be policing steroids. harshly.



admission: i even contemplated playing fantasy baseball this year, a sport i detest, just to have something fantasy related to do between the months of may and august. but then i figured i could maybe find a life or outdoor things to do during these summer months. plus, i hate baseball. maybe i can use this fantasy downtime to learn how to dribble properly, for you know, use on the real courts.



in short, i am a fantasy geek. but with your help and your prayers, i will be the slamnation fantasy champion of 2004. my basketball team, the funk coalition (17-5-1), won the regular season and the embryonic crusadahs division in dominant fashion. now an upstart, the flaming shrapnel (14-9-0) of the optimistic lyricists division, is challenging me in hopes of an upset victory. this will not happen. even though things look dire for me this week, since by some miracle my players are regressing in skill each time they step onto the court, i will prevail. i have the heart of a fantasy champion, no matter the odds.



should i win, i will be the only owner to have both a basketball and football championship. i will be king. i will be on my way towards establishing a dynasty, like the celtics of the 50s and 60s. so on sunday, if you hear a late night screech of pure elation, you will know that i have won. and if on sunday, you hear nothing save the chirping of crickets, you will know that i have died and gone to that safe haven known as "next year, next year."



top five technological advances as pertaining to fantasy sports

(1) internet - up to the minute news, scores, injury updates, trade rumors, analysis. unbelievable.

(2) dedicated fantasy websites - before there were dedicated fantasy sites, you had no way to host a league. now you can host it, make your own scoring system and keep it running for years and years.

(3) email - this has changed our lives. i have a dedicated fantasy folder into which i store all my fantasy related email.

(4) aim - super conducive to working out trades. incredibly helpful for conducting live drafts. no more trying to get everyone in the same physical location. through the use of aim, fantasy leagues can have owners from every time zone and corner of the globe. we have some owners in the west coast, east coast, midwest and asia. we're worldwide, it's true.

(5) sports ticker - that little ticker at the bottom of cnn or espn is infinitely helpful for gathering up to date scores and player performances. notice that the influence of fantasy sports has caused stats for all players to be shown on-screen, instead of just the stars. we are making a difference on your sports consumption. go fantasy fanatics.



this post is hella long. i'm sorry. but it was a post spawned from passion. you understand.

after noon. in before sunrise, a movie i can't remember at all, julie delphy and ethan hawke walk the streets of vienna after randomly meeting on the euro-rail. they have one night to soak up each other's energies and they quickly form a friendship (or a love?) that seems quite magical. but then in the morning -- at or before or just after sunrise -- they part ways, ethan home to america, julie to the sorbonne in paris. wham bam thank you ma'am. can i have another?

ever have moments like this? i'm sure we all have. i've had my fair share of mine, you've most likely had your fair share of yours -- so i need to hear about them, all of them. having just watched lost in translation, i'm forced to think about some themes in the movie. sofia coppola observes in an interview that lost in translation is "about moments in life that are great but don't last. they don't go on, but you always have the memory and they have an effect on you." i just quoted the same line twice in one day's post. this must be a blogger faux pas, along with horrific grammar and boring entries. i have blogger fouled, shoot me.

scarlett johansson's character says to bill murray (played by bill murray), "let's never come here (japan) again because it will never be as much fun (without you)." and that line was so damn true it scared me. sometimes you associate a place so much with a person and a particular experience that it can never be the same again. these moments only have a very limited lifespan and after they're gone, they're gone. poof.

so my criteria for a "before sunrise / lost in translation moment" goes as follows. you meet a stranger, maybe a friend of a friend, a complete stranger, whatever, somebody you didn't know as more than an acquaintance until that moment. the two of you (maybe more) share time together. no more than a week, no less than five hours (this is negotiable). there was no hooking up. none. do not confuse a "what happens in vegas stays in vegas moment" with a "before sunrise / lost in translation moment." one was sponsored by trojan, the other by kodak. do not confuse. further requirements for this experience is as ms coppola said, "you always have the memory and they have an effect on you."

i think for most of my peers, a moment like this involves an all nighter. it just happens that way. conversation that lasts far into the night and spills over into the next morning. and then you sit down and you realize that you've made a new friend. you are just juiced on finding out about another person, excited by how much you just clicked and shared. moments like these are amazing to me. it's astounding how close you can feel to someone after having spent only a limited time with them. it just happens suddenly, a binding closeness where before there was only empty air.

and then you're forced to part. and it's just an intense emptiness, lasting probably much longer than the actual interaction. the fumes from this moment can carry a friendship for years but i've found that if something doesn't come along to stoke the flames, it just becomes a memory of a moment that really cannot last or be lived up to in the present. and you end up missing something that is metaphysically impossible to recreate and is thus, gone forever.

i think my inability to stay up past the witching hour seriously curtails the opportunity for these (or roughly these) moments to happen. it used to be semi-frequent but it's hard to have a six hour conversation when every four hours, a nap beckons. i should go work out and build stamina in the pursuit of "before sunrise / lost in translation moments." but then i would be too tired from training to actually stay awake. quite the quandary. i guess i'll just have to make do with what i have.

are you awake? sofia coppola observes in an interview that lost in translation is "about moments in life that are great but don't last. they don't go on, but you always have the memory and they have an effect on you." the hardest thing i've had to learn since college and post-college is that it isn't just the moments that pass you by, it's pretty much everything that ends up passing you by. axioms like "change is inevitable" or "the only constant in life is change" are evidentially true if you've had any experience with reality. so how do you deal with that?

i personally have adopted a "go with the flow" philosophy about change. live in the moment. carpe diem. seize the day. the day is for seizing. the present is the present because it's a present. blah blah cheesy cheesy whizzy whatever. but finding the joy in the moment is a different lesson than learning about how to deal with change. i, for one, get very attached to people and things. not because i'm attached to them being at my side or even attached to anyone specific, but maybe attached to being attached. alternately this could just be fear of being alone, but that's another idea for another time.

i used to hate the idea that great times with people would end, and i used to avoid it if at all possible. stretching out every beautiful moment as long as possible, thinking that each minute could never be duplicated or replaced. but i've learned that although moments might not ever be duplicated, it's also not a do or die situation. sometimes you just have to let things go.

but the thing is, i think i'm sentimental. i most certainly am. i keep (or used to keep) mementos of everything. little snippets of the past always made her way into a drawer or a box somewhere. of late i've had to give up the habit, because once you start moving a lot you start to think of sentimental possessions as another fifty pound box to transport, so you start tossing stuff for sheer spacial reasons. but you keep that sentimental attachment in your mind, and that is harder to clear out. especially when it comes to people.

watching people go is always about wondering "when will i see them again?" goodbyes used to be synonymous with sadness, but as i slowly grew to realize that i'd probably see most people again, sooner rather than later, i dealt with goodbyes much easier. airplanes, cellphones, email and aim have saved my life, thank you. but along with this comfortability in the transience of life, a new emotion surfaced: apathy. people come and go so rapidly that you hardly have time to think about things long enough to realize that you miss a particular person or group of people. once you are used to being unattached, is it exponentially harder to get re-attached? sometimes. definitely. for sure.

missing starts to become a passive activity, where it once was an active one. missing starts to rise and fall with the moments when you actually are about to see someone, or directly after they're gone. now you see them, now you don't. out of sight, out of mind. but we have to do it this way, our individual lives are too busy to hold onto everything at once, even if holding nothing is the only other option. i've had some friends say that they don't "miss people" and they share this fact in a tone of voice that suggests that it's a "bad" thing. but really, i think it's the way that most of us have to operate. no, that's too general. it's probably just the way that i and a few others like me operate. the rest of the world misses.