Archive for February, 2005

Nuts. Day Three.

Friday, February 25th, 2005

So if you’ve been keeping track, it has been three days since I last spoke of my pistachio bag.
I am still eating these damn nuts.
It’s crazy. I can’t do anything else with my time.
I just keep eating from this bottomless bag of pistachios.

I’m not even sure if I actually like pistachios, or if I just like them because they are hard to get. You have to deliberately de-shell each one, and you wind up putting all of your focus into the process.
I think I need someone to come over and shuck them all for me. I am sure that if I just had a big pile of shucked nuts sitting in front of me, I could properly attack them and be done with it.
But this process of eating then shucking then eating then shucking… It’s never gonna end and I’m just about apoplectic. These nuts are making me crazy.

Did we just witness an Anti-Miracle?

Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005

I am certainly not going to presume to know the will of God. But I do hear things. Like news reports. About a plane containing both the Nelson brothers (of “After The Rain” and having-famous-parents fame) and Billy Ray Cyrus (unfortunately, we are unable to forget why he is famous) nearly crashing this past Monday.
Then, for no good reason, the plane did not crash.

So maybe you don’t believe in God. Maybe you don’t even believe in Lost, Wednesdays on ABC. But this whole near-felt-swoop thing is a little suspicious. I have to believe that it was God, firing a warning shot.

First, let me clarify: I am not comparing Rachel to a stripper. Also, I would hook up with Rachel in a second, so I don’t wanna ruin my chances.

Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005

So the other night I was talking to a cocktail waitress named Rachel. She was wearing a very smart-looking pair of eyeglasses.
I was intending to only comment on her glasses and not her actual intelligence, but then she pointed out that she also was very smart.
This segued into a conversation about the overall intelligence of the cocktail waitress industry.
Of course, she says that there are a lot of brilliant waitresses. Which may or may not be entirely accurate.

Either way, it reminded me of a conversation that I find myself having over and over with strippers everywhere.
(At least, I recall having this conversation more than once. Or maybe I only had the conversation once and then retold it several more times. But whatever. That’s not the point.)
We always (see note above) end up engaging in the “who’s the real idiot” conversation.
If you have never had this conversation with a stripper, it goes something like this:

Me - “blah blah blah” (whatever I just said makes Stripper think that I think she is dumb. Then Stripper starts with the standard industry spin.)

Stripper - “people think that strippers are dumb because all we do for a career is remove our clothes. But, guys pay us hundreds of dollars just to do a stupid little dance for them, so who’s the real idiot?”

Me - “you’re totally right… blah blah blah” (whatever I say next is intended to make Stripper think that I believe that she is super-intelligent and is actually duping less intelligent men into giving Stripper all of their money. But, of course I don’t really agree with what I am saying, I am just saying that because I am talking to a Stripper. And I want a freebie. And I know that if I get a freebie, I will have conned Stripper out of more than just her profit. She will have been literally “stripped” of her intelligence…)

Little known stripper fact here: Did you realize that those guys who always date the strippers actually think that they are sporting a good look? You know what those guys look like. They all look the same- like extras from Growing Up Gotti.
So anyway, I always thought that they must be embarrassed to look the way that they do. I just found out that they actually think it’s a good look and are quite proud of themselves. That realization made me a little sad…


Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005

I don’t know what to do about my pistachio nut addiction.
It’s wrecking my entire day. Yesterday, I scored a big bag of said nuts and then I began eating them this morning.
So now I can’t do anything else. I just want to keep eating those pistachios all day long.
And pistachios aren’t like peanuts. You cannot multi-task while eating pistachios.
You cannot read, type, or talk on a telephone effectively.
All of your time (and both of your hands) is completely occupied by the shucking and then consuming of these delicious nuts.
I would explain this in more detail, but I have to go. I’m craving another pistachio like you would not believe.

A Word About Our Sponsors (and a warm welcome to

Thursday, February 17th, 2005
You might notice that things are a little different on this page today.
Specifically, there is no Google sponsored advertising on the right side of this page.
Now, of course, there is nothing wrong with a little whoring-out in the name of advertising (I’d like to say hello to my new friends at ), but one must look at the bottom line.
I was making six cents per day through my previous ad program. Which would have been sweet, eventually.
But I’ve got bills to pay, and t-shirts to buy (what’s up to my peeps at
And how do I know that website advertising is the best way to go, after all?
Does it really work? Do people actually respond to those banners? Do they even need whatever I might have been selling, up and down the right side of this page? I don’t know…
But I do know this: people need shirts. I don’t think we focus on that enough. People always needs shirts. They need them, plain and simple. Or super-clever (can I get a “word up” from the folks at
In a ‘78 Datsun, shirts keep our backs from sticking to the seat. After a regrettable shear, shirts hide that weird patch of chest hair we should’ve never tried to remove.
And they teach us important lessons along the way. Lessons that we will remember forever.
What’s Vagina for? That’s right Lovers…
Who’s with Stupid? Damn straight, you are…

Valentine’s Day

Tuesday, February 1st, 2005

Even though most of us are taking a two week break from dating (to avoid the Valentine’s Day mandatory gift exchange), it doesn’t mean that we can’t rock out to some great Valentine’s Day Music. That’s what BadLoveSongs is all about…

Alice Cooper “Poison”

Elvis Presley “She’s Not You”

Beach Boys “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”

Ugly Casanova “Things I Don’t Remember”

The Jets “Make It Real”

Champaign “Try Again”

Sly Fox “Let’s Go All The Way”

Adam Ant “Strip”

Nick Cave “Still In Love”

Rolling Stones “She’s A Rainbow”

Billy Squier “My Kinda Lover”

The White Stripes “You’re Pretty Good Looking (For A Girl)”

The Servant “Brand New Lover”

The Coral “In The Forest”

RJD2 “Through the Walls”

Travis “Love Will Come Through”

Kinky “Airport Feelings”

Split Enz “I Got You”

Louis Armstrong “The Dummy Song”

Gavin DeGraw “Just Friends”

Jeffrey Gaines “Love Disappears”

Suzanne Vega “Caramel”

Patsy Cline “Someday (You’ll Want Me to Want You)”

Ray Charles “You Don’t Know Me”

Neil Diamond “Say Maybe”

The Verve “The Drugs Don’t Work”

Cat Stevens “Another Saturday Night”

Keane “Bedshaped”

Frankie Valli “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”

Citizen Cope “If There’s Love”

The Who “Love Ain’t For Keeping”

Starsailor “Poor Misguided Fool”

Pulp “Something Changed”

Foreigner “Urgent”

The Smiths “Money Changes Everything”

I should mention, some of these songs are actually about not being in love.

So don’t call up some radio station and dedicate one of these songs to your “other” without listening to it first. You might end up single on the 15th.

Set Adrift by the Re-gifter

Tuesday, February 1st, 2005

So you might remember Spandau Ballet’s song called “True”.

Or maybe not.

But you definitely remember “Set Adrift on Memory Bliss” by PM Dawn.

Unless you are still wearing diapers…

Anyway, Nelly must think we are retarded. Or deaf.

On his album Suit, he tries to scam our ears with “N Dey Say”.

He is either re-gifting us with a Sample of a Sample, or he hasn’t heard that PM Dawn did this 14 years ago. (And they did it better.)

If his Sampling was not Sampling, but rather Procreation, the spawned child would have 8 heads and 37 fingers. Which I’m sure would all be bobbing and snapping to Spandau Ballet…