Saturday, July 30, 2011

Some Folks Just Give Chiroptera A Bad Name.

The other day, we got into a fairly extensive conversation about why Michele Bachmann might be classified as "Batshit Crazy".  Well frankly, I kinda took that as a given without any need for further investigation.  And so, apparently, do a lot of other people who do Google Searches.  She features rather prominently in Google's suggestions when you begin by typing "batshit".
But here's the thing.  While it's true that batshit certainly isn't very good for you and under certain conditions it can give you diseases -- even fatal ones -- I can't find anything that ties batshit in with crazyness.  Or any other type of mental defect.  Bats can be cute!
Fairly or not, they take the blame for a lot of stuff.  But I really think we're stretching things a bit when we blame Ms. Bachmann's lunacy on them.

Give the bats a break!

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Oops, I Did It Again.

Remember how I told you I might have been a wee bit of a dick when Anon GF and I bought our SodaStream doohickey?  Well today, I went in to refill the CO2 cartridge.  And I turned into a dick again.

And I swear it's all their fault!

I walk into the store and I see a woman monkeying around with stuff on the shelves and since she's the only one in there, I naturally assume she's running things.  So I say, "Hi, I'd like to refill this gas canister." And she looks at me and says, "She's outside."

This seems a tad unresponsive, but I choose to believe that she just has an odd way of telling me that the person who can help me will be back in a moment.  So I stand there patiently waiting.

And shelf-monkeying girl looks at me with a mildly annoyed expression on her face and repeats, "She's. Out. Side!"

I'm now feeling a bit like someone who has been given the response "Blue", to the question, "Do you have the time?"  So I say, "Yes, I heard you.  Did you mean I should go outside and get her?"

No response whatsoever.

So I continue, "'Cause if you meant I'm supposed to go out and get her, how should I know who she is?  There are ten people immediately outside your window."

Luckily, this bit of productivity was cut short when the owner came inside.  So I repeated my request to have the canister refilled.  Since I've decided to have two canisters so that there's always a full spare in the house, I decided to keep the box it came in.  She says, "You don't need the box, you know."  And I say, "But I like having the box if that's not a problem."

She snorted.  She actually fucking snorted at me!

I un-box the empty and hand it to her in exchange for a full one.

She asks if I'm in her frequent purchasers club (or whatever they call it).  I give her Anon GF's name, which is the name in her system.

She asks what my relationship is to Anon GF.  I tell her.  She says, "Well, I'll need your name to put you in our system."  I say, "No, you won't.  I want to give you money in exchange for a product and you already have enough of a record of who we are."

She snorts.  Again.

I hand her a Hundred Dollar bill to pay for my 20-dollars and change purchase.  She asks if I have anything smaller.  I offer her the seven singles remaining in my wallet. She gives me a look which I interpret to mean, "We run a crappy little store that sells ecologically sound products that mostly, nobody wants or can figure out what to do with.  Why on Earth do you think we'd have change for a hundred in the till?"

I put the Hundred back in my wallet and hand her my debit card.  She slides it through her doohickey and hands me the thingamajig and asks me to key in my PIN.

As I'm turning to leave, she says, "Thank you Mr. Gendzier (pronounced as if it's French - GanZeeAaay). I'll just put you in the system here with Anon GF for future reference."

I believe that is what's known as Carte Blanche for being a dick every time I ever walk into the place again. Even if I'm walking in for the sole purpose of being a dick.

Oooh, Goody.  A new hobby!

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Darrin Stephens, Dudley Do-Right, and Camel Riding Through America.

There wasn't anything nefarious going on when Dick Sargent replaced Dick York on Bewitched. Dick, (the first one), had such severe back problems he couldn't work. The important thing is that nobody seemed to notice anything had happened.

Aside:  I renew my invitation to the writers of The Simpsons to pen an episode in which Homer will be replaced by another "actor" and nobody will notice except Lisa.  It'll work best as a secondary plot line. I hereby release them from any and all obligation to me for use of the idea. A teensy-weensy credit would be cool but not absolutely necessary. I just think it would be funny and I want to watch that episode.

Anyway, I think one of my neighbors may have twitched her nose and replaced her husband while I wasn't looking.  I can't remember the last time I heard a certain annoyingly low, know-it-all voice coming across the backyard fences.  I can't remember the last time I saw a certain extremely tall patrician personage flaunting his patrician-ness all over the neighborhood.  The wifely half of the duo is certainly still in evidence, but the man of the house seems to have shrunk by nearly a foot.  And let his hair go black. And modulated his voice by such a magnitude that eavesdropping on him when he's in his(?) backyard has become opposed to impossible to avoid.

And I may not pay much attention to their kids, but even if I might not recognize one of them after a few years of unobserved maturation, I doubt any of them grew younger.  There seems to be an added, smaller kid there now.

I'm not accusing anyone of anything villainous; more likely I'm acknowledging my own obliviousness.  How could I have missed such a thing?  In my defense, I mentioned this to Anonymous GF last night and she's observed even less on the mystery than I have.

Moving on from Brooklyn skullduggery to Canadian cunning.  Once upon a time in the not-so-distant past, a fair amount of movies and TV shows were shot in Canada, but pretended they were set in New York or L.A. or other American locales.  This was, of course, to take advantage of cheaper crews, tax credits, and favorable exchange rates.  Those shows, at least made an effort to appear to be in the place they were set.  The police cars looked like NYPD cars.  The uniforms were right.  The streets were realistically dirtied!

Now, those bastards are foisting off shows on us that are not only shot in Canada, but set in Canada!  Rookie Blue and Flashpoint are set in Toronto. The Border deals with Canadian immigration and...uh...border security.  I haven't seen that one, but can someone tell me if Canadians are really losing a lot of sleep over the prospect of mad bombers sneaking into Saskatchewan from North Dakota.  I call FOUL!  It's like they're not even trying anymore.

Last, but not least, let's, for a moment, contemplate the scourge of Sharia Law making inroads to our cherished American way of life.  A bunch of states have been taking this seriously enough to make attempts at outlawing Sharia law in their jurisdictions.  Tennessee, if I'm not mistaken, wants to make it a felony to follow Sharia law in their fine state.

First of all, this is pretty unnecessary. It's not like Sharia can supplant local laws.  Let's suppose (for whatever insane, paranoid reason), that a thief is caught and he gets sent to Sharia court instead of a State criminal court. Yes, I know, but we're supposing here...just like the guys who think Sharia is such a threat to them.  Suppose the Sharia Court finds the thief guilty.  Well guess what.  It's already illegal to cut someone's hands off anywhere in the U.S.  Furthermore, there's no jurisdiction in America where you can blithely stone someone to death for adultery.  I'm pretty sure no court in America will accept "She shamed our family" as a defense for killing your sister or daughter.

Now, since the fear mongers favoring these legislative initiatives aren't likely to back off of their paranoia, let's give self-interest a try.  The use of Sharia in the U.S. is pretty similar to the use of Ecclesiastical courts and Rabbinical Courts.  They're all used to decide religious issues and, at least in Judaism, religious divorces.  An Ecclesiastical court can dismiss a clergyman if he's in conflict with tenets of the church.  A Beit Din validates a Jewish divorce and settle questions of Kashrut, among other things. (Note: In some Orthodox communities, only the man can grant the divorce.  To supersede that issue, NY civil courts require that a divorced couple separate so that the woman can't be a "chained woman".  She may still have problems in a religious sense, but the civil authorities consider her a single woman and force the issue.)

The most common use of religious law in Civil Courts is when a conflict in a religious setting ventures into the Civil Justice System.  Let's say a Synagogue or a Church or...gasp...a Mosque develops a problem amongst its congregation.  Let's say half the members want to split off and form their own institution.  They're all founding members.  They've all got a financial stake since all were paying dues and supporting the institution since its founding.  The court will take religious law into account because it is the de facto applicable contract in the case.

Now let's say Tennessee (or someone else), finally comes up with a law that withstands questions of constitutionality.  By virtue, it seems to me that such a law would have to be neutral with regard to which religious law it was outlawing.  Then, let's say the East Jesus Church of You're Going To Hell finds out that Pastor Billy-Joe BattyBelfry has been buggering men at the I-40 on-ramp of delight.  The church wants to fire him because buggering men is definitely against the tenets of the church.  Pastor Billy-Joe decides to fight his ousting in Civil Court. Things may get complicated.

The church may bring in their copy of the Pastor's Terms of Employment and show the judge where it specifies that the Pastor must live a "clean and holy life in accordance to the ideals cherished" by the Church.  The Judge then asks them to be more specific.  They respond, "He must live according to the Holy Bible".  The Judge asks, "Which one?"  The Church plunks down their version on the bench.  The Judge points out that there are approximately Twenty-Bazillion denominations using the same text and they all have their own interpretations. The judge continues, "Show me the part of his written contract that says he can't have ButtSeks with boys." 

In short, if you manage, somehow, to outlaw Sharia, you'd better come up with a really, really, really detailed contract for any situation your church enters into. If your Pastor can be fired for use of "intemperate language", there had better be a comprehensive list of every "shit, piss, fuck..." he's not allowed to utter.  Do you have a problem with him committing "adultery in his heart"?  Leering had better be on the list of no-no's.

Be careful what you wish for.  You may just get a little more than you imagined.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Stuff On My Blog!

I found the cable for my camera!  So, here's some stuff I would have posted on Saturday and some more stuff I shot since then.  They've all been rescued from media-storage-limbo!

Let's begin with two examples of RIDICULOUS I didn't get to post.  First, we have LuLu.  If she'd remained "in-situ" while I ran for the camera, you'd see that she was sleeping with her head in the entrance to her litter box.  Instead, she's just wondering what the fuck I'm up to.

Then, we have Big Flats premium brew lager.  This is the beer that's brewed exclusively for Walgreens! I'm going to tell you a little about Big Flats.  You're free to decide if they are pluses or minuses.  It tastes like the first beer you ever tasted after sneaking it out of dad's fridge.  "Mmm, beer.  Uh, yeah, beer."  It costs $3.00 for a six-pack.

This is an example of GOLD; NOT JEWELRY I would have posted.  It's Puck!  From The Puck Building!

This wasn't meant as part of the Photo Challenge, but I thought you might like to see that the new World Trade Center is actually starting to show up as part of the skyline.  I think this building is a little more than half of it's eventual height.

This is a shot from the wilds of Brooklyn while I was working Saturday night.

And last, but not least, because of the way the day was scheduled, we had about 3 hours of downtime on Saturday waiting for it to get dark so we could get the rest of the shots we needed.  We just happened to find a place to camp out next door to the place where the World Naked Bike Ride was going to end with a party.  There's some socially conscious reason that World Naked Bike Ride is held, but I'm not going to bother looking it up.  It's the World Naked Bike Ride!  They were Naked (some of them)...on bikes...riding.  Of course I documented the event.

This first guy is one of only two men who rode really truly naked.  My photo shows his softer side.  He was a bit more aroused upon arrival.  The event didn't fall flat for him.  I'm out of obnoxious ways to tell you he preceded his own arrival.

And regardless of his obvious opinion, I found the whole thing somewhat anticlimactic.  The arrival of the Naked Bike Ride was decidedly lacking in naked. (As with Big Flats beer, I'll let you decide whether that's a plus or a minus).  Here are some of the braver(?) souls.

I could have put up a lot more pictures, but how many squirrel pouches can you look at?  And the guy with the tree coming out of his ass was actually something I'd have given a miss.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Thursday Photo Challenge Has Trouble.

We got trouble
Right here in River City
We got trouble; that starts with T
and that stands for Teufel!

Like most of you, I've got too many cables.  A cable to charge my phone. A cable to charge my bluetooth headset. A cable to charge my Nook.  A cable to charge my camera's battery.  Another cable to transfer pictures from my camera to my computer.

And none of them are interchangeable.

Teufel likes cables.

He likes to grab them in his evil little mouth and go running around with the other end of the cable chasing him.  This is fun!  Until it gets boring.  And then he just leaves the cable wherever he happened to be when he saw some other shiny object.  Of collapsed into Insta-Coma.

I can't find my camera's transfer cable this morning.

This is an immediate problem because some of the pics I wanted to put up for the Thursday photo challenge are stuck on my camera.  It's a less immediate problem (but one that will be infinitely more life-alteringly important) because, soon (hopefully, rather than later), I'll need to take some scouting photos to support my habit of paying for stuff and it would be really nice if I had the wherewithal to actually...ya' them to the people who hired me to scout.  Luckily, the job I'm on right now is done with it's scouting stage.  Brief reprieve. (And yes, I know I can go buy a replacement cable before the problem hits critical mass, but I tend to eschew easy solutions.  Complaining is lots more fun.)

Anyway...without further ado, here are the pics that made it onto my computer before Teufel sabotaged the project.

Summer Sunlight:

Something that sparkles (combined with) Something Gold (not Jewelry):
 I have no idea why I thought this little cat-purse thingy just had to be 
posed in front of the photo assignment on my desktop, but I did.  It seemed
a lot more important at the time.

 Chinatown.  Fish Market. 106º.  

  Foley Square is Curvey!

Something Ridiculous:
 I know it's not really ridiculous, but stacking cars like this has always struck me as a bit amusing.

 This is the place where a lot of movies, TV shows and commercials rent their vehicles.  Nobody ever wants the back seat in their 15-passenger van.  They want room for a little camera gear or luggage or whatever.  This is MAYBE one-third of the back seats they have piled up around the place.


None of my "laughter" shots can be rescued from my camera at the moment.  Luckily, I was able to find some shots online that, while not my shots, have the exact same subjects.  Really!  It's like a miracle or something.  Who'da thunk somebody else would have already shot pictures of the exact same people laughing that I did?  I'm even more upset by this because it was really hard chasing these folks down and getting them to pose for me.  I'm gonna kick little Teufel's ass!

Friday, July 22, 2011

Bad Blogger.

I am delinquent.  I owe Thursday's photo challenge results.  And I have a couple of things that have been bugging me that I just haven't had time to talk about.

Oh well.

I'd swear I'd get stuff posted tonight or tomorrow...and I might...but I can't promise.  Working all weekend and I have no idea what kind of schedule we'll actually be on.  It could be stupid busy or ridiculous easy.  I guess they'll let me know.

Anyway feel free to chat amongst yourselves.

Suggested topic:  "Amongst" sounds all British and shit.  What are some of your favourite Britishisms? (See what I did there?)

P.S.  "Hideous Arse-Candle" has been taken already elsewhere.  Surprise me, please!

"Look over there, Philip!  I've spotted Dick!"

Sunday, July 17, 2011

I Can Haz Sum Prestige?

The NY Times Book Review
Kirkus Reviews
Publishers Weekly
The New Yorker

What do these things have in common?  Apparently publishers are just dying to know what we all think of their latest books.  And they want us to tell other people about them.  And they want to send them to us (gratis) before they're published so we can accomplish those feats!

I've certainly never set out to find a niche for this blog, but since I read a lot, I mention books a lot.  And without any particular plan, I've apparently reviewed 30 or more of them here. This may have been Janiece's fault, since, early on, she asked me to review Jeffery Deaver's  Location Scout Mysteries from a real-life Location Manager's point of view.  I didn't think much of them and I choose to think Mr. Deaver is intimately familiar with my opinion and that's the reason we aren't on speaking terms.

Anyway, since starting this blog, I've babbled about books fairly often.  And recently, I did a sorta, kinda  review of Lev Grossman's The Magician. (Here, and here.)  I liked it and I said so, but you can't exactly call my review in-depth or incisive. I don't even think there's a particularly good blurb in there - not that authors are falling all over themselves to get a Polybloggimous blurb on the dust cover. (I may have to start using the phrase cracking good yarn more often.)

So, you can imagine my delight (and surprise) when I got an email last week saying: 
I see that you reviewed Lev Grossman’s THE MAGICIANS in the past and am checking in to see if you’d like a copy of the second book in the series, THE MAGICIAN KING (Viking; On-sale: August 9).

I responded immediately with a sternly worded missive:
How dare you try to foist off new works of fiction on me before anyone else gets a chance to read them!  Your unmitigated gall at trying to get me to mention your author's book by providing it to me in such a timely fashion and FOR FREE is the height of mercenariness.  I am insulted and offended beyond the ability of mere words to convey at this transparent and avaricious attempt to curry favor with this unsullied publication.  Kindly cease and desist with any such offers in the future!

OK, maybe I squeed a little and disobeyed a few laws of nature by responding so quickly in the affirmative that they may have received my address to send the book to before actually asking for it. And then, on Friday evening, this show up.

Why yes; I have begun reading it.  And yes; I'll tell you all about it when I've finished. And I swear I won't go easy on it just because they gave it to me...but if the first chapter is any indication, I'm going to enjoy this one as much as I did the first one.

In the meantime, I'll be basking in the glow of being me. And since I know you're all suffering from a case of not being me, I won't rub any salt into you gaping wounds.  Oh, damn; I can't help myself:
I feel pretty
Oh so pretty
I feel pretty and witty and gay
And I pity
Any boy who isn't me today
I feel charming
Oh so charming
It's alarming how charming I feel
And so pretty
That I hardly can believe I'm real
 Why yes...this is exactly how the reviewers at the NY Times react when books show up for them.  I have it on the best authority that there's an entire floor there devoted to gamboling and prancing!

Saturday, July 16, 2011

It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City.

I was the king of the alley, Mama, I could talk some trash

Earlier this week we had a little painting project. So I went down to the cellar where we dutifully keep everything that isn't needed more than once a year.  Or ever again.  And I start checking paint cans and, sure enough, there's on of those 5 gallon buckets of the right color enamel.  Score.

Only I open it and discover that it's somewhat fossilized.  No problem, there's another one just like it, only still good.

And then, I'm left with a conundrum.  How does one get rid of a 5 gallon bucket, three-quarters full of nasty, discolored latex paint?  The city says you can "absorb the excess paint" with kitty littler or old newspaper and put it out with your regular trash.  Methinks they're envisioning a bit less excess paint.

They also cheerfully inform me that there's a recycling center I can take it to (which is open to the public 4 times a month).  And it's in the deepest furthest reaches of Brooklyn from me.  To get there, I need to carry the bucket 12 blocks to the subway, ride the subway to it's bitter end, and then walk another 5 blocks with the bucket.

I am not that heroic.  Or motivated.  That and I'm sure I'd be arrested on the train for having a suspicious package.

The rancid paint is back down in the cellar with the top off.  It should only take about a year for it to dry up into a solid mass I can put out with the regular trash.  Benign neglect can be a useful tool.

While we're waiting for science to work its magic, enjoy some Bruce.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Thursday Photo Challenge Takes Liberties.

Hey! It's that time of week again.  Thursday is when those of us who choose to accept them receive our marching orders for what type of photos we should go out and get.  And then I post mine...on Thursday or on Friday or on Saturday!  Or I miss the week altogether.  You can practically set your Julian Calendar by it!

And this week, especially, I kinda played fast and loose with the themes.  And if there's anything Patriotic about my shots, I'll be damned if I could tell you what it is.  (Oooh, oooh, oooh!...I know; it's the fact that I took liberties with the themes.  Liberties am Patriotic!)
Also, I couldn't tell if the list had officially expanded to 7 themes from 6 (since Jeri counted wrong last week), or if that last theme on the list, "Respect", was the bonus you'd get for getting a Red Form of Transportation, a Blue Flower, and a White Dwelling all together in one shot.  I didn't, so I don't get a bonus, and I didn't shoot any damned Respect!  'Cause I didn't earn it(?)


A Symbol (Not a Flag): I think these count more as logos, but...

The first is a place where you can buy stuff for your dog.

And then there's a place where you can buy fish.

Here's a place to buy children.

Tradition  (New York Style)

"If you can't find your car later, it's your own damned fault!"

"The Government shut me down, but it wasn't my fault!"

Red Form of Transportation:
 This may look like an ordinary red door, but it's not!  It's a portal!  I've seen people go through that door and then I've never seen them again. I'd go through it myself, but there's no telling where I'd end up! (Well, that and I don't have a key.)

This truck is being driven by Commie Bastards.  Nuf Sed.

Blue Flower:

You have no idea how friggin hard is was finding a damned blue flower yesterday.  It was starting to piss me off. And don't you dare try telling me it's a little more purple-ish than blue.  Don't make me pull this blog over to the side of the road!  You won't be happy with the results.  And just you wait 'til your father gets home!

White Dwelling:

This place is really more of a cream color.  Thank Gawd my computer could fix that defect.

No matter what time you go into this Deli (this is the one we call that Al Jezeera Deli), you'll find the same guy behind the counter.  Since he seems to live there, this counts as a dwelling!

As previously mentioned, I don't get no Respect.  I can live with that, so you should too.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Finally! Freedom From The Tyranny Of Big Seltzer! *

*Totally stolen line from my friend Graham.
I've been meaning to mention this for a while now, but we got a SodaStream seltzer maker.  I'll admit that I was hesitant the day we were in the store looking at it.  And during the purchasing process, I became a complete asshole, but that was because I wasn't permitted to ask any questions.  Ya'see, we bought it at this place that specializes in "green" products -- most of which I think don't serve any useful purpose other than being recycled from shit someone threw away.  Well, as soon as Anon GF expressed an interest in this thing, the two women who own the place started extolling its virtues and another woman who was in the store joined the chorus and the three of them would have sung 35 verses of Kumbayah to prevent me from asking any questions.

Ultimately, I waited outside (sulking quite well, thank you very much), while Anon GF completed the purchase.

Aside from the unpleasant purchasing experience, I/We absolutely love this thing. (Note: the only thing unpleasant about the purchasing experience for Anon GF was me being a dick.)

No, really, this thing is terrific.  I haven't actually counted how many (1 liter) bottles you can carbonate with one CO2 canister, but they seem to be lasting us about a month before needing a refill. The canister costs $36 to buy and then they refill them for you for $18. 

You can buy "flavors" like cola, root beer, citrus and some other things.  We've tried each of the flavors once.  Sorry, SodaStream people...the flavors all taste like ass.  I've found that it isn't really any hassle to just squeeze a lime or a lemon (or 1/2 of each) into a bottle and that tastes great.  I'll also admit that sometimes I add a teaspoon or two of sugar to the bottle.  It's still a hell of a lot less sugary than most sodas you might buy. And when I'm being terminally lazy about it, unflavored is pretty damned refreshing too!

And the only thing I'd like them to change about the system would be if they'd come out with a version that has 1.5 or 2 liter bottles.  Making the soda isn't a big deal, but I wouldn't complain about having a bottle last a little bit longer. guys should all get one of these.  You'll get to feel all environmentally correct while you get really good seltzer for cheap! (The good and cheap is the part that appeals to me most; shoot me if you must.)

A Question For My Big Brother...

This seems like it might be useful; do you guys ever do this?

I can think of times I'd want to try it just to calm the little beast down for ten minutes!

Monday, July 11, 2011

...Because Sour Grapes Are Just Tacky!

A friend told me I couldn't blog about being all pissy and stuff because I just lost out on a job to some other guy.  That would be beneath me.

Even if the guy is getting the gig because he's the producer's son.

And even if the DGA is supposed to have jurisdiction over Location Managers in New York--but this guy can come from L.A. and work here because the Guild left in an exemption for Teamsters Local 399 members.  (Hey, does that mean I can go to L.A. and drive the Honeywagon?)  But I won't whine about any of that because it would be poor form.

And I probably shouldn't mention that the guy hasn't worked in NY since before the turn of the fucking century. No, that wouldn't be nice of me.  Why should I care that the rules for shooting in NY change and morph so often that I often find myself up a creek when I haven't done a job in the city for more than 3 months.  Nah, he'll get along fine with his 12-years out-of-date experience.

Wait, he was never actually a manager here in New York?  He was a scout and an assistant?  Oh well, I'm sure he'll do just fine. 

If I said anything else, that'd just be sour grapes.  And that wouldn't be at all sporting, would it?

Friday, July 8, 2011

I’m On The Wrong Track, Baby. I Was Born This Way.

 Warning: This post contains a shameful confession.

It's accepted wisdom that, in many ways, the person you’re going to be is hard-wired into you at birth. Nature has prevailed over nurture.  As such, it’s also considered bad form to profess that one can, or should even desire to be  “cured” of most predilections.

I know – in a perfect world, I’d be able to accept myself for who I am – but we don’t live in a perfect world, do we?  Increasingly, because of my affliction, I’m unable to compete or even to be acknowledged in the marketplace of ideas.  I'm at a huge disadvantage, due solely to an accident of birth.  I'm marginalized, disregarded and maligned because of my "otherness". And whether genetics or some other factor is actually to blame, I don't care!  I want to be cured!

And today, I’m coming out of the closet to plead for the help I so richly need and deserve..  Yes, I'll admit it.  I’m a part of the sad and pathetic Reality Based Community. (Kindly refrain from using the “R” word – Realist.  It’s a pejorative and it’s considered quite insensitive.)

I’ve tried to embrace my horrid aberration, but I just don’t have the strength anymore.  I want to have it easy like everyone else.  The torture of being held hostage to verifiable events is killing me!

I want to prove my arguments by pointing out that Noah saved two Americans from each of the Fifty States on the Mayflower.  I should be able to demonstrate that George Washington and Millard Filmore carried on a decades long love affair and that they petitioned repeatedly for the right to marry.    Oil should be 38¢ a barrel because I’ve had the same bottle of raspberry-infused olive oil in my cabinet for six years.  That stuff is endless. It should practically be free!

I know that the Earth was colonized by a sentient race of cattle 328 billion years, 46 days and 53 minutes ago.  They’re coming back sooner or later and we’re gonna be in deep shit.

I want to be acknowledged as the creator of Velcro.

I own the Gulf of Mexico and BP owes me a cubic buttload of money!

I was born in Kenya and I have a document in a safe deposit box (signed and notarized by Her Royal Highness, Eunice, Queen of Kenya) stating that I get a 15% royalty from each and every one of those email scammers. (It was my idea, but it’s not my fault.)

I should be getting residuals for all of those episodes of MASH, Lost, 24, I Love Lucy, Three’s Company and South Park that I wrote.

I, too, deserve unfettered access to correct every Wikipedia entry that doesn’t confirm my wishes beliefs wisdom. (Actually, I’m not sure how to be a Wiki contributor and I have no wish to invest any time in learning, so I should have a cadre of loyal minions eager to it for me.)

In the interest of a fair and level playing field, I demand a cure!

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

I Deserve Some Branding Like The Other Big Shots. (With Stuff That Was Added After Jeri Sent Me Stuff To Add. So I Added It.)

"Well, well, well, look what we have here. It's Nathan. He's all bright, and shiny, and new again, just in time for the Dark Lord." 

 "In Brooklyn, no one can hear you scream."

"Nathan and Donkey; together again!"

 "Go ahead.  Ask me anything!"

 "I'm gonna make him an offer he won't understand."
As promised in the comments, Jeri sent me a few more options.  The taglines aren't as obvious, so I'm gonna try, but you're all invited to chip in as well.  I'll give each of these a number so we'll know which ones you're talking about...(he said, making some optimistic assumptions about your eagerness to play along.)

Nathan, Nathan quite contrary; how does your garden grow?

Just when you thought it was safe to type again.

Jeri suggested that this one is sorta "teacher-like".  I'm thinking it's a shoe salesman. With an undiscovered super power!

I'm not a bad witch.  I'm a good witch.  (Sorry, that type makes me think of Bewitched.)

Col. Potter. Report to Post Op, STAT.

Something, something, something, something. (There should be a Vlad the Impaler reference, though.)

This one is just Jeri having difficulty deciding who she should have a crush on. We'll give her time to reconsider.