Flavour flav!

I must admit that television is a horrible wasteland of vile and filthy denizens. At times, however, there is something so repulsive and sickening that one must watch it at all costs. I am referring to the Flavour Flav character on VH1. If you haven't seen what I'm talking about, then you will just have to count yourself as lucky and proceed onward. Do not peer into the murky depths provided here. It will not benefit yourself or anyone you know.

I watched two episodes of this disgusting mess and I admit it was "flavourful". The show is repulsive and offensive. The man himself is a vile beast worse than some golem creature from Lord of the Rings. The ho's and bitches are ugly, purile, juvenile, and borderline nut cases. But the show commands your attention like no other bewitching drug. I actually fear that I may purposefully turn to this show and watch it to the season climax. I fear that I may actually start to have withdrawal pains when the season ends.

I am seriously considering turning to heroin or methamphetamines to distract me. I think that these substitutes will be less harmful to me in the long run. That is, if I am hooked on some drugs I might become a life-long addict and die in a gutter somewhere. However, that would be preferable to being hooked on this TV show because when it ends, I will still be alive and wandering the channels in the middle of the cold, long nights in search of the next fix, muttering "I'm sick... you got any hits? No, it's only Friends. *click* Hey man, you got any score... no that's the news. *click* Help me out, bro, I'm scroungin' here. No, that's only Access Hollywood."

Oh, the humanity.

Change is constant

I wrote recently about my fight against the evil empire.

To be sure, we defeated them. The conference call then was the kind where you go into battle with all your armour and weapons, bristling for action. You present your case and then you just hear the chirp of proverbial crickets as the enemy acquiesces. But they don't fully acquiesce, do they? They never do. The enemy was feigning defeat, which necessarily implies strength.

The best enemies are surprisingly intelligent and crafty. If you gird yourself for battle, they will not stand against you. If you guard to the left, they will disappear and reform on the right. If you form lines during the day then surely, they will sprang into action after you have let down your armour and weapons, and will instead ambush you in the night.

They fought back craftily and in deadly secret. They turned allies against us and undermined our foundations. They whispered defeat into the loyal soldiers, who shuffled their feet uneasily and decided to defect.

Time to get a new fucking job. Goddamn, this shit is hard. I've got to get on Dice and Monster again. Wish me luck.

Michelle Kwunt

I heard that Michelle Kwan got a spot on the US Olympic skating team. That is bullshit of the highest, stinkiest order. She got a widdle boo-boo on her leggy and she wants the judges to kiss it and make it better. "Pweeese wet me gwo to olimpic. I wanna gwo to olimpic. Waaaaaah." Shut your ass and retire, you old hag.

Wizard of Computer Oz

Saw a funny bumper sticker when I was down in San Diego over the weekend. Warning, this is highly technical humour. I will provide a translation at the end.

Bumper sticker:

There's no place like 127.0.0.1

Translation:

There's no place like localhost

Adam Carrola sucks

I've been listening to Adam Carolla on the radio on and off for about two weeks now. I would say I've listened to 45 minutes or an hour cumulatively. Basically, he's boring and unfunny 85% of the time. His guests are horrible interviews. I don't like the "sports guy"; I don't even know his name.

I can listen to the Adam Carolla show without having a stroke or driving myself off a bridge. But that's about the best comment I can make. Unfortunately, there are few alternatives. I could buy a Sirius radio (but I prefer XM) for Howard Stern or I could try to find some music. I could switch to AM for some of the other talk, but it's basically a wasteland in the mornings.

The summary is that I can sort-of tolerate Adam Carolla (as opposed to, say, Kevin and Bean, or Mark and Brian), and I don't have any choices that excite me (for example, AM radio's Bill Handel or classical music). I don't want to buy into Sirius, and so after 15 years of laughing my ass off to Howard Stern, I now just sit in silence and wonder about what to type on my blog everyday.

Movie rant #46

I watched part of Clerks on Comedy Central (of all places) and I didn't particularly like it any more. Sure, I was shocked that Comedy Central was broadcasting FUCK and SHIT and COCKSUCKER and DICK, but I was more shocked by how stilted and talky the script was. It's like Pulp Fiction -- way too long and incredibly talky. I could easily chop out at least 45 minutes from each movie without altering either substantially.

Sure, there are one or two laugh-out-loud funny parts from Clerks, including the Olaf Berzerker scene I keep forgetting about:

My love for you is like a rental truck -- BERZERKER!
Would you like some making fuck -- BERZERKER!!

Girl thinks sexy. Did he just say "making fuck"?

But that's about the end of the laughs. Most movies just don't stand the test of time.

Completely unrelated, I also had a surreal experience at a local fancy restaurant. As I was sitting at our table, a fellow who looked exactly like Rob Reiner showed up and sat in the table perpendicular to ours. He was eating dinner with another guy I vaguely recall as some minor independant actor, like from an episode of Greg the Bunny or something. Rob had his back facing me, literraly about two feet away. I swear this guy was Rob Reiner. It looked exactly like him with the bald head, puffy side hairs, huge, fat ass. Basically, your Santa-in-summer prototype.

But it was obvious when he talked and the way nobody reacted to him that it wasn't him. I firmly believe that my facial pattern recognition software is completely defective.

Olympic skating

I don't personally watch any fancy-schmancy, yawn-inducing skating. If you were to ask me, I would say that a triple-axle lutz shit my pants isn't exciting. It might have been exciting ten years ago when Nancy Kerrigan had her stupid boyfriend's idiotic thugs bash her competition's leg. That was fun for a while. But there are only so many times you can revel in delight to the poor girl sitting on the ice, whining, "Why me? My leg.... Why me?"

I don't find it interesting any more now that I'm twenty years older, than I was when I used to think there was something to it. Now, I flip past it and immediately block it out as if I had accidentally looked out the car window and saw a dog hunched over trying to take a piss or a shit on the grass. I did see part of the American competition on NBC in high definition, and I really like to watch actual high definition shows on high definition channels (they are very few and very far between).

So it brought back some of the early wonder and joy when I saw these anorexic, overworked teenaged girls lining up a jump, twirling, and -BOOM!- falling on their skinny asses. I actually whoop-whooped and clapped when I saw that. Unfortunately, they don't fall often enough. I'm definitely NOT going to enjoy any winter olympic events this year.

The Larry David Show Season Two

Started watching the second season of Larry David Show, I mean, Curb Your Enthusiasm on DVD. That is the funniest shit that man or beast has ever produced. The episode "Trick or Treat" involving Halloween is absolutely howlingly funny. Here's the scene:

Two teenage girls say, "Trick or Treat" and press the doorbell. Larry David comes out and says, "You don't have a costume, you can't have any candy. And aren't you guys a little old to be trick or treating?"

I have personally been in this situation. I have personally felt the same rage and anger that people will not even make the merest effort to earn their Halloween candy. If two year old can get dressed up in a costume, you can get off your fucking ass and do it too.

Larry refuses to give them candy and the teenage girls go away, shouting "Fuck you. Asshole." The next day, Larry's house is toilet papered and vandalised. He calls the police. They act suspicious of his claim about two girls.

"What were they wearing?" the police quiz.

"I dunno, she looked kind of like El Vira," Larry answers.

"So she did in fact have a costume?" the police ask suspiciously.

"No, it's just a short cut. It's a description. They had no costumes. There were not costumes. She wasn't dressed like El Vira," Larry flusters.

"Are you sure?" the cop asks. "Sometimes the costumes are subtle."

"Yes, I'm sure. There was no subtlety, it was not a costume," Larry stammers.

"Did they threaten you?" the cop quizzes.

"Well, yes. There was the 'Trick' threat," Larry answers.

"What trick threat?" the cop asks.

"Well, 'Trick or Treat'. It's like 'No treat? Aha, Trick!'"

"When a citizen says, 'Trick or Treat' and you open your door, you have a kind of social contract to give them the candy. Next time, I suggest you give them the candy," says the cop.

"Well, look at my house. I didn't know it was going to be 'Felony or Treat'. I thought it was 'Trick or Treat'. And what is the cutoff? Can I go around at 40 and ask for candy? I'm 40, give me some candy! I want free candy. I want free candy! That shouldn't be allowed," Larry rants.

The police are taking notes, looking at him, concerned, curious, but also very very suspicious at the same time.

"Look at my door," Larry continues, "It says 'BALD ASSHOLE'." And sure, enough, the door is spray painted bright yellow with the words, "BALD ASSHOLE" in all-caps. "That's offensive to me, and my people. We're bald people. We're a set. We're a group. It says 'Fuck you asshole bald people.' That's a hate crime."

The black, shaven head cop speaks up, "It doesn't say 'fuck you'. It just says 'Bald Asshole'. I'm bald, and I'm personally not offended." The cop waves at his head with a hand motion.

"No offense," says Larry, "You're not bald. You CHOOSE to shave your head. That's completely different. We don't accept you into our group. It's very exclusive. With all due respect, officer."

------

You must see it many times in your life. Thank god for this funny-ass shit.

The Fall of the Evil Empire

I just got out of the meeting with the Russians. Nine months (or more) of Cold War ended in a few seconds. Nothing was heard but the hushed silence of mist disappearing.

It started with us saying, "We have a project plan. What do you think?"

They said, "We do not like the plan. We will shoot you with a bullet if you continue with this plan."

We said, "We have improved the plan, and we have a missile that can destroy you."

They said, "We have three missiles and we can destroy you and your sister at will."

We said, "The plan has been reorganised and analysed. We also have eight missiles that we are pointing at you."

They said, "We have twenty four missiles we are pointing at you, and we will launch them premptively if we must."

We said, "We have made a lot of changes to the plan. We have considered every angle you have brought up. We have spent four months retooling all our efforts to adjust. We also have eighty missiles we have assembled and tested. They are ready to fire."

They said, "Always cowboy American, running around saying 'Whooo hooo Yiippeee Gid Dee Up Mother Fawker.' We are not impressed. We will destroy you. We can fire 1000 missiles at a moment's notice. You will die."

We said, "We have now spent one year desiging and spec'ing the plan. We have tested it twenty times. We have one million missiles built and deployed at decentralised locations. We can destroy you one million times over. Here is four samples of our missiles. Please test them and see if they meet or exceed your specifications for your missiles."

They said, "Yah, you have missiles. We have no missiles. Just kidding. We do have some cardboard tubes and an aluminum cone, stuffed with pillows and ripped newspapers. We soaked it in Vodka in order to set it on fire. Your plan look good to us. All our base are belong to you."

That's it.

Cold War and Oooops, I Broke It

I have been in a cold war with the Russian outsource firm we use for the last year. At some point, we will be able to win this war. I feel like Ronald Reagan recently. That is, I feel old, senile, and avuncular. I will go ahead and describe the Russians, but please note that I am not racist or anything bad like that. I like anyone who will approach me personally or professionally, who will treat me in a friendly and cooperative manner. If you act like my enemy, at some point I will treat you like my enemy.

The first clash with Russians is their diabolical, maniacal technical fastidiousness. Now, I will admit that I (and we Americans) can be somewhat prone to "shortcut-itis". We try things, they fail. We try again, they work a little. We try again, and the results are sufficient but not perfect. We tend to move on at that point. The Russians cannot tolerate this. They will research each and every possibility of all outcomes before deciding on a particularly torturous and tedious path. The will demand that it be done this way and this way only, and no other way that results in similar or exact endpoints will be tolerated.

The only problem with the Russian approach is that they can often be wrong. Research in texts and manuals or on paper does not yield workable results in the lab. I (and we Americans) like to work in the lab. We like to experiment. "Oooops, I broke it" is a wonderful phrase to our ears. I can send out an email that says, "Ooops, I broke it" and I will have ten engineers in my office eagerly peering over my shoulder to watch. However, as long as we experiment enough, we come to a workable solution. In the real world I inhabit, a workable solution is the "right" solution. A theoretical dissertation on how a procedure "should" be accomplished is not guarenteed to give you a good workable, "right" solution. In my experience, almost all theories and plans are flawed and the execution of said plans are usually different if not drastically different than the original theoretical discussions.

Another issue I have with the Russians is that they over-engineer. I don't mean that they work too hard. I mean that if one-sixteenth inch of aluminum will exceed twenty times the engineering specs, the Russians will demand we use four inches of stainless steel and two inches of copper jacket. The whole thing is to be dipped in titanium before being certified. This is untenable. While the solution might work in some cases, the cost, complexity and sheer weight will make it unusable. As if over-engineering in terms of materials weren't enough, they would make unusual demands on the order of "The steel must be mined from Hamster, Pennsylvania, shipped to Konshyu, Japan to be smelted, and pressed into shape in Honzhchou, China and assembled in Jackson Hole, WY. You will move your headquarters to Iowa to finish the product." Are they nuts? We can pound the aluminum into shape in five minutes, and even polish it too. We don't actually build any physical items as I am describing. I am trying to give you a description that the lay person can understand. I hope the idea is beginning to make it through.

The biggest fallacy of all this is that the Russians are all stone cold drunken alcoholic manic depressive unethical slothenly lying schlubs. They lie, cheat, steal, rob, con, twist, murder, rape, pillage, defecate and smile. And then they present these drunken ramblings and designs to us mostly-sober, cheerful, mostly-honest, hard working, experimental, entrepenuerial Americans and we're flabbergasted at the waste, and absurdity and sheer gall of these idiots who tell us how things should be done. We pay them for this honour.

I am old and senile by this point. But Reagan won the cold war, and so will we.

I hope.

World Hunger

I was struck just now that I am feeling hungry. In the normal course of a day, I do not feel this sensation that I have now. Usually, I am eating lunch because that is what the clock tells me to do. I am not hungry, but I do eat until I am somewhat full. I would not say, for example, that I eat until I am stuffed.

So, the oridinary course of a day involves going from very mildly interested in food (not necessarily hungry) to very mildly disinterested in food (not necessarily full). I also keep my calories low by only eating two meals per day with virtually no snacking. I may eat a couple M&M™s if someone has them on their desk. I may eat a half (radially) of a half (obliquely) of a bagel, very rarely. Occasionally I eat a power bar or similar for breakfast. Usually not, because I'm not hungry for breakfast.

Dinner is my main course, but again, I am not considerably hungry when I get home. I do not particularly eat huge platters of food.

I have read that a low-calorie diet might increase your life expectancy. Low-calorie-fed mice live a lot longer than their normal-fed or gluttonous brethren. On the other hand, based on how I feel today before lunch -- I ain't gonna go the low-calorie route. I'm going to eat if I get hungry.

Screw you and your longevity studies. I'm here to die, motherfuckers. Bring it on.

So is everyone else, but I don't know if everyone knows that.

Ungodly hours for God's creatures

I drove home from work around 3:20 am last night. I am constantly amazed at the sheer volume of people up and about at this outrageous hour. There is no time period these days where you can go out and not see someone, somewhere, doing something. And I'm not talking about Vegas or Manhatten. I'm talking about sleepy, go-to-bed-early Los Angeles (pronounced "loss ang-hell-eez").

Another observation about ungodly hours and God's creatures involves Señor Boosh, Jr. The quote for today's Bushisms is a classic that can be passed down through the generations:

"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we."

Washington D.C.; August 5, 2004, as quoted by "Bushisms"


Um, Señor Boosh? Are you talking about the suiciders?

"That's right. They want to bomb us? I'll bomb us first! For every American they kill, I'll kill 10!"

Disclaimer: The above quote is not factual and has no basis in reality.

And some more thoughts on the poker quote from my previous post:

Some people commented that as a Zennist, there should be detachment, removal from a "game" so that the feeling of "death" or suffering would not be present. That is not precisely what I meant, although I do not say that I stated it clearly. Allow me to elabourate:

When playing poker, there are decisions that must be made with imperfect knowledge. To some, the decisions are fluff; mere puffs of smoke that disappear. If I am hungry, I eat, if I decide to cut grass with my sword, I cut grass with my sword. Any passing fancy or action is meaningless and slides by without thought. Poker decisions, while fleeting and fluff, cause you to leave the table at some point. When I am done playing poker, I get up and leave. When I sit down, I play. When you get up again, do you carry a bunch of chips with you or not?

Sitting under the lights pondering the correct poker decision is pure, raw existentialism combined with Zen no-mind. You can sit for an hour or a second. You must rely on your own decisions. There is no crying to mommy or daddy, or honey, or bro. You must stand on your own square foot of space with no crutches or support and make a decision.

Standing on that square foot of space (borrowed from Dostoyevsky) is not better or worse than death in my experience. It is death to me. When that bus or train comes rushing at me and takes me from this place, I will feel like I am standing on that square foot of space as I flinch, bracing for the impact. I hope that in the moment of death I won't panic or cry like a baby. I should like to go in a calm, graceful manner. Who am I kidding?

Poker, Death, and T.V.

Some stupid shit I saw on TV: CSI New York. A man is found sitting at a park bench, with a ring of blood around his neck. As the rookie photographs the scene, the grizzled veteran says, "Now don't quote me on this, but... Not everything's connected." He then dramatically lifts the head off the shoulders.

Now, is that a violation of procedures? I thought only the ME could touch the body? And the rookie isn't done photographing the scene? Oh yeah, by the way, how could someone cut off a head and then pose the body and balance the head back on the neck?

Also, I got out of a meeting (aka yelling match) at work. I had screwed some minor shit up but others had jacked themselves worse. A coworker commented to me that I acted pretty cool in the meeting during the yelling. I was able to talk calmly and easily.

"I play poker," I said. "When you play poker, you feel like you're going to die. This? This is playing with fake chips."

In Which the Author Discusses Real Estate

What do we think this real estate market is doing? I have personally benefitted from the boom, having purchased a house several years ago and cashing out by selling. I was motivated by job-change so I did not do this purely out of financial gain. But to give you an example, I sold my two-story on-the-golf-course house for $420,000 (double my purchase price) and about 8 months later, I drove by and saw a for-sale sign on it for $495,000. That's nearly $10,000 per month. Why even bother to work at a boring old "job" at this pace?

Now I rent, with the intention of taking the cash and run, run, running away. Was this wise, and is it favourable for others? I think so. If you are living in a home currently, then the wise thing is not to sell and move. If you need stability for your family and kids, then continue to own. But if you are on the cusp of moving or looking for a new job, for example, then you should definitely sell and consider renting if property values are way out of whack.

There are some benefits to owning. Mortgage interest is one of the few remaining deductions against income (as long as you aren't hit by the Alerternative Minimum Government Handgrab Tax). However, unless you own the proverbial "new home in new development on the golf course", you are probably suffering from a creaking and leaking roof, no central air/heat, old fixtures, small kitchen, single bath, bad foundation and other assorted horrific human living conditions. On the down side, renting has no deduction, thus costing about 33% more (by using post-tax dollars), and also not producing any capital growth.

I personally prefer only to own financial instruments that grow through reinvestment of generated earnings. Real Estate is a depreciation-full, capital intensive investment. You can create earnings by managing real estate (say, by being a landlord), or as a REIT, but for this slothenly author, having someone else do my earnings is always preferable. So I am buying stocks with my Real Estate windfall and I am loving every minute of it.

On a slightly different subject, I also got notice that our landlord is raising our rent by $110 per month. So woe unto renters who follow the scourge of my advice. But I have a simple answer. This is a market economy. If I don't like the rent, I can move. And I will. I have been renting apartments and homes for over 20 years, and I have never, ever, once, accepted a rent increase. I may have moved into a bigger apartment or nicer area and paid more rent. But I will not accept a landlord's increased rent on an existing property.

If you were to, say, knock out a wall and extend my living room or bedroom, then I will pay more rent. If you move your house into a nicer neighborhood, then I will pay more rent. If you build a new extra bathroom for me, then I will pay more rent. Otherwise, if you hand me a rent increase notice, I treat it as an eviction. It makes no sense to me to raise rent when you haven't offered any benefit or increase in value.

Consider this: Landlord calculates that she can gain $1320 per year by raising rent $110 per month. Rent is currently (let's say) $1600 per month. If the tenant moves out instead of paying increased rent, and the apartment sits idle for 3 weeks (which it almost certainly will - one week to clean, one week to show, one week to move in), then the benefit of the $1320 per year is gone. If the apartment is idle for longer than that, you're screwed. Not including management overhead and other fees, this is not wise for a landlord. What a stupid, bone headed, moronic move that is.

To all you landlords and real estate barons I say as I have always said, "Bye bye, bitches." You lost a lot of income.

Happy New Year!

I could barely watch Dick Clark and his pathetic cripple show on New Year's eve. I don't know which is worse, though: Ryan Seacrest, Mariah Carey, or Dick "Dead or Dying" Clark. I only saw about 95 seconds worth. It was pretty awful. I've been to Times Square in person and I always wonder how they fit that many people in there. When I was there, it was fairly crowded on a weekend, and it couldn't have been more than 10 or 20 thousand people there. How do they fit hundred(s) of thousands in there? I suppose they stand in the street. I wouldn't do that in a million years.

Speaking of million years, some people just hang around too long. Dick should be dead and gone. My philosophy is, if I'm looking like fuck or sounding like shit on a stick, then just bury me. Put me out of my misery. Don't put me on TV and slur and stutter through the whole thing. "Aw woer reary rawk ta tank awl ta piple who ssssow up ta sellerabwate ta nyu yuh..." Shut the hell up, dead donkey. And take Ryan Seacrest with you to hell.

Speaking of years, the crystal set with the year in lights looked really funky bad to me. I swear it looked like "2004". The "6" did not look like a six at all. Everyone was annoyed at me saying, "Shut the fuck up. It's a six!" "It's not a six! It's a four! They fucked up big time." "It's not a four. It looks like a four. It's actually a six." "You're wrong. It's a four!!!"

It looked like a four to me.