I'm a Podcast!

So, a friend of mine... FireVaney does these podcasts.
Here's the one he did of me.

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Christ on a Cracker...

Ok, I just saw a blurb about the new Simon Pegg, directed by David Schwimmer vehicle, "Run, Fatboy, Run" that said:
"It's Shaun of the Dead meets The Wedding Crashers".
Why?
Because it's got two of the leads from Shaun of the Dead and it's inspired by the current template of American films starring Owen Wilson...and Simon Pegg has Blonde hair?
Fuck you, movie critics.
And Fuck you too, David Schwimmer.

GODDAMNIT I hate Wicker Park. Also: Die, Red Eye.

I figure it's been a while since I really shared with you, dear blog readers, how very much I fucking hate hate HATE WICKER FUCKING PARK.

First, it's a goddamned disaster area. Everything is condemned, crime is rampant because the police force doesn't care about the retarded spoiled hipsters who think living like fallout victims is "cool", and there are people creating crap made out of old floppy discs and mint tins that look like old 8 bit Nintendo Controllers.

What has triggered my ire?
The fucking Red Eye. Which by all accounts at this point should be picked up as a whole and dropped in a goddamned volcano. (please see entry on September 13, 2007).

They did an article today that just made me want to rip my eyeballs out.
It was all about "Geek Chic" and how girls are just "all about being into things that boys like". And they featured this one chic (see the crap she makes above) and where is she from? SURPRISE! Wicker Park.

And THEN to top it all off, in the same article, the Red Eye once again referenced how people who enjoy football are uninteresting and boring:
"There's so much to talk about, like, 'What would the world look like if there were three genders instead of two?' That's a much more interesting conversation than, 'Who won the Superbowl'".

Yes, you're right, random interviewed "chick-geek"! That would be a much more interesting conversation, because anyone who watches TV or breathes, knows that fucking New York won the fucking Superbowl. A more interesting yet related conversation might also be, "How did New York get there?" or "Wasn't this the second brother in the Manning family to Quarterback a Superbowl Team and win? The second year in a row? Wow, that's pretty fucking amazing!"

Well, look, that isn't exactly fair of me. My point is, Football Fandom and Geekdom are not mutually exclusive. I am tired of this city's 'hipster culture' determining for me what's awesome and really taking a big dump all over what's not.

Anyhoo, this was the letter I sent:

Your Geek Article had few saving graces... least of all doing a fantastic job of turning individuality into kudos for Ugly Betty, more acclaim for crappy, "It's cool to live in squalor" Wicker Park, and even more annoying: the closing quote regarding the Super Bowl.

I rarely read your paper, simply because I find it, for the most part, polarizing, dumb, and any other synonym for insulting.

Imagine my distress then, when I deign to pick it up again and I read yet ANOTHER slam on football in reference to what women (geeks) enjoy.

The last was some vapid piece about women complaining about all the football in their men's lives. Boo f-ing hoo. Try watching a game once in a while. Or don't, but don't keep insulting people who actually enjoy sports.
Because actually, some men would argue that girls who like football are "nerds" in their own right because women don't traditionally enjoy the sport.

Please, find something else to reference when looking for comparison to things uninteresting and interesting.

Thank you for your time.

Back to laundry.

Is it me?

Or do the promotional ads for Gossip Girl suggest that every fucking episode has at least 1 character in a goddamned evening gown or tuxedo?

You Can Thank Rolling Rock

Why, oh why is it snowing buckets the day after the Equinox??
Because the Moon is pissed.
Why?
Because Rolling Rock wants to use her as a fucking billboard.
The day after an Equinox.
On a Full Moon.
Now, we all know that the science behind actually projecting something on the moon is near about impossible, and that this is all a joke. Ahahhhahahahhahahaahhahaaaa!!!
But the intent is there.

And now it's snowing.
You do the maths.

You are TOTALLY OFF My Friends List!

Ok, so, it seems that the adult world has literally plunged face-first into a magical fountain of youth that renders one a teen something retard and makes it ok to express one's discontent with another by removing that person from an elite list of 560 people on fucking myspace, facebook, or I have no life .com.
Make no mistake, I do, indeed, have a myspace page. And a Facebook page. (I have validation issues people. I write a BLOG for crying upstairs!).
But seriously.
If you are going to let someone know that you are mad at them, or no longer friends by demoting them from your top whatever number they let you have now or deleting them all together, without a follow-up message? You, my friend, have what people call "issues".

I mean, hell, I've removed people as a symbolic gesture AFTER having had a real life incident with them. It's akin to deleting someone's number from your cell phone.
But I never said
"This'll show 'em" and removed them without dealing with it on earth first.
You remember Earth right?
The place with real trees, art, sports and *GASP* people with VOICES?

You know who you are.

Tornadoes and a Moratorium on Fucking Harry Carray Impressions

Ok, first, dreaming about your entire family getting carried away by a tornado is neither fun, nor restful.
I'm exhausted this morning.

Second? And I know it may seem that I am skating the thin line between pet peeve and obsession, but what the fuck do ya know, there's a commercial right now that features someone doing a goddamned Harry Carray impression! And not even a real one. He's really sort of doing Will Farrell doing Harry Carray (who by the way is really the only person I can tolerate doing a Harry Carray impression...barely.) I mean, for fuck's sake. We got it. He's got an iconic and recongnizable voice and oops! was drunk most of the time which, of course, is the main ingredient in the alchemic formula for THE COMEDY.

Snakes.

Impressionists Are Not Funny.

I'm talking about those assholes whose whole schtick is standing there "rocking out characters" while onlookers fidget uncomfortably.

Case in point: the asshat on WGN this morning. I don't remember his name, all I know is that he opened with a (surprise) Johhny Fucking Carson impression, which was horrible by the way, followed by someone else no one cares about, and rounded it all off with a fucking Groucho Marks. Peppered in were George goddamned Burns, and Harry Carray.
I'm not kidding you when I say it made me so angry I didn't even know what to do with myself.

So, to recap:

Impressionists should be stuffed in bags filled with snakes and drowned.

It's Eggs...I Think

Alls I know is that I have to get to a doctor.  Because if I feel like I felt last night one more time, I may cut out my own stomach.

Laissez les Bons Temps Rouler!

Ok, I'm back. Good God.
Here's an abridged version of the weekend.