Jack Be Quick

Einstein Bros. Bagels and the Sassy Door-Fixer

2010-07-31T14:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Einstein Bros. Management,

Whoever you hired to fix your door on July 30 was a major sasshole. Perhaps his name is Neil Headstrong, because he certainly was a sasstronaut. Did he get his door-fixing education from a door-fixing sassembly? Maybe he was angry because someone had chopped down his favorite sassafras tree. Or maybe he’s a baseball player who was recently caught using steroids and all of his statistics will be marked with a sassterisk. I don’t know the exact cause of his sass, but it drove me away from your place of business on Indiantown Road in Jupiter, Florida.

It was approximately 2:30 p.m. and I wanted a bagel for a late lunch. To be specific, I wanted your delicious new Mango Orange bagel. By the way, thank you for not laughing at me or questioning my manhood for ordering a Mango Orange bagel every time I go to your restaurants. They’re just so exotic.

My lunch began as usual: I got in my car, which had been outside baking in the sun all day. I started the car as quickly as possible and stuck my head out the window as I drove, in order to avoid a heat stroke. By the time I got to Eintein Bros., my air conditioning had kicked in and the car was cool, so when I got out of the car, my glasses fogged up and I was blinded. These are all regularly occurring obstacles though, so I wasn’t particularly frustrated. However, when I approached the building I realized I couldn’t get in.

There was a man doing something to the glass door. At first I thought the place was closed and he was breaking in, since he had one of those round things that sticks to glass that I’ve seen in the movies. You know, the thing they use so that when they cut through the glass, it doesn’t fall in and shatter everywhere. This guy looked like a criminal.

So I walked as slowly as possible without looking like there was something wrong with my legs. I did that casual walk where you swing your legs way out in front of you so it looks like you’re taking big steps even though you’re almost not even moving.

As I got closer to the door, the guy stepped away to pick up another door-fixing tool, and I said very politely, “Excuse me, could I get in there real quick?” Yeah, I said “real quick.” Maybe that’s what made him so hostile.

“Not right now you can’t,” he said loudly. “This door ain’t gonna open right now.”

This was perplexing, since I could easily tell that the door would open if I pulled on the handle. I had walked through the door many times before. It worked similarly to all the other doors in the world, and since this door-fixer wasn’t even working on the frame or the handle, but rather the glass, it was fairly obvious that the door had the ability to open. There were even customers inside, and I think it’s safe to say that they used the door to get in.

Because the door was functioning and the door-fixer said it “ain’t gonna open right now,” I took his statement to mean that he refused to grant me access to the door. I hate to sound vulgar, but that’s a dick move. Seriously, a real dick move. He could have opened the door, and if he really didn’t want to open it he could have at least avoided sounding like a total door-hoarder. This guy might as well have said, “Hey, I’m the door king and you’re not allowed to touch my door. I’m in charge of this door, with my fancy door-fixing tools and round thing that sticks to glass. Yeah, get away from this door.”

It was like being denied access to the gates of heaven. Judgment had come from the door-fixer, and I wasn’t allowed through. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for me to pass through the doors at Einstein Bros.

I had a great comeback though — really stuck it to him. I said, “Okay, I can wait.” Yeah...

So I started walking around the plaza, in limbo, waiting for the door-fixer to either fix the door or stop being so angry. I considered sacrificing my son to please him but I don’t have one yet.

The problem with walking around the plaza was that it was 95 degrees and humid, so after walking for about 60 seconds I decided to just get back in my car and go somewhere else. The problem with going back to my car was that it was parked directly behind the angry door-fixer, and I was a little bit afraid of him. So I waited until he wasn’t looking and ran back to my car. I think the customers inside saw me, but he didn’t, so I was safe.

You treated me badly, Einstein Bros., and now I’m seeing another breakfast food place. The next day I went to Dunkin’ Donuts, and I want you to know that their hash browns alone beat your entire selection of food, except your Mango Orange bagels.

The first rule of business is that the customer is always right. The second rule of business is to not blockade your doors with angry men so that your customers are driven away to Dunkin’ Donuts.

LeBron and Existentialism ... and Three's Company

2010-07-17T12:31:00.001-07:00

I was on vacation with my family in France when LeBron James held his news conference/reality show/documentary about how great he is and all that crap, so I didn’t hear as much about it as I would have liked. The French aren’t really into basketball. They are into soccer, but they’re kind of terrible at that, too, so sports talk wasn’t much of an option, especially since I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Because of the time difference, “The Decision” was on at 3 a.m. so I missed that, too. It was like living in a cave, except the cave is filled with famous paintings and cheese.

I’m angry that LeBron left Cleveland — almost as angry as I am that spell check says I’m spelling LeBron incorrectly. But after fuming about it for over a week, I’ve decided that writing terrible things about Bron Bron isn’t going to solve anything. I was also scared that NBA commissioner David Stern would fine me $100,000 for speaking my mind, like he did to Cleveland Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert after Gilbert called LeBron a coward and said he quit in the playoffs. (Gilbert, the owner of the Fathead series of sports posters, also dropped the price of LeBron James Fatheads to $17.41, the birth year of Benedict Arnold. Hey, if LeBron wanted his Fathead reputation to remain intact, he should have stayed.)

So in order to take the high road I’m only going offer a little bit of insight on James’ decision before I move on to what he might do next, and in honor of my family vacation I’m going to do it in a French way: through the words of the French existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre. Sartre said, “In creating the man that we want to be, there is not a single one of our acts which does not at the same time create an image of man as we think he ought to be.” In other words, everything we do creates an ideal that has an effect on humanity as a whole, so by leaving Cleveland for Miami, LeBron is popularizing the three H’s of South Beach: Hookers, Heroin and Humidity (Humidity is the worst.), and stomping all over the three H’s of Cleveland: Humility, Hard work and Hey, this economy is not doing very well, and by doing so, LeBron has encouraged everyone in the world to let down their friends and neighbors for a chance at stardom. Soon enough, Obama will leave the U.S. to become a politician on the bigger stage of China; The Roots will start collaborating with Lil’ Wayne and Justin Bieber so they can be more popular among young teens; and chairmakers will stop making chairs in order to produce more big, fancy couches. Then we won’t even have any chairs! This is like when Roseanne won the lottery and the Conners suddenly stopped being a relatable, working-class family. The ideals of society are falling apart.

After much thought, I’ve created an outline of what LeBron might do next, and how it will affect our culture.

Best-case scenario: LeBron becomes a religious leader. He gives up basketball, renounces all possessions, is persecuted for his beliefs and is executed before the age of 50. This will completely reverse his prima donna image and will encourage people to love one another. The good news for LeBron is that at some point after his death, he’ll become even more popular than he was in Cleveland. The bad news is that in order to do this, LeBron needs to lose a lot of weight. Look at any crucifix; does Jesus look like a 260-pound beast? Buddha didn’t reach enlightenment until he fasted for over a month, although the Chinese Buddha seems to have really let himself go after that. He’ll also have to practice carving things into rocks.

Worst-case scenario: LeBron wins the championship in his first year with Miami, and then asks himself, “Now that I’ve won, what next?” He then chooses to chase celebrity even further by turning the Miami Heat into a reality show-style re-make of Three’s Company. Dwyane Wade (Yeah, it’s spelled Dwyane.) gets to be Jack, since everyone in Miami already loves him, LeBron gets to be Chrissy, since he’s known for leaving town only to be followed by a mediocre replacement, and Chris Bosh gets to be that lady. You know, that lady. And team president Pat Riley can be Mr. Roper, since he’s old. The show will feature the three teammates through their daily lives as Riley acts all grumpy and questions everyone’s sexuality. The show will experience widespread success and eventually lead to the downfall of role models and quality TV shows.

Again, those are the best and worse-case scenarios, so LeBron will almost definitely take a more moderate course of action. Almost definitely. Almost. I hope. After “The Decision,” no one knows exactly what he’s going to do, but it couldn’t be much worse for his reputation.

As for the Cavs, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And if you can’t get them to join you, you’re screwed. And as the French say ... well, I never understand what the French say.

The World's Best National Anthems

2010-07-01T15:00:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about watching the World Cup is that we get to hear a lot of different national anthems. An even better thing about the World Cup is that, with high-definition close-ups, we get to see which players know the words and which players are just muttering, “Watermelon, watermelon, watermelon...” So in the spirit of international competition, I thought it would be fun to see what makes a great national anthem, to rank the world’s top three and to select possible replacements, should the current national anthems go out of style.

1. U.S. “The Star-Spangled Banner”

I’m not just saying this because I’m an American. Our national anthem is the most badass song ever. It’s about explosions, flags and winning a war against the British, three things that proudly scream, “AMERICA IS SO AWESOME!” while waving a flaming pitchfork high in the sky. But that’s not even the best thing; the trademark of our national anthem is the skill it requires from musicians. Trying to sing it either ends in complete victory or a long, drawn-out embarrassment, much like many of our wars. When Jimi Hendrix played the national anthem at Woodstock and when Whitney Houston sang it at Super Bowl XXV, it was amazing. Only the most talented drug addicts can pull off a great rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner.

Considering the song’s 196-year history, it may be time for a new anthem. Possible replacements include Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” in honor of the U.S.’s rising divorce rate, Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” so those damn terrorists will realize who they’re messing with (They’re so condescending and their gall is never-ending.), and Lil’ Wayne’s “Got Money” (featuring T-Pain), in the hopes that it will invoke confidence in our economy and also because I’ve heard Thomas Paine also used to go by T-Pain.

2. Turkey “Independence March”

This national anthem sounds like it belongs on an action movie soundtrack, to be played when the bad guys convene in their secret meetings. If I were Turkish, I would scream this song at the top of my lungs every time I got angry or excited. The first line translates to, “Fear not! For the crimson flag that proudly ripples in this glorious twilight, shall never fade.” Sometimes I like to picture myself rippling in a glorious twilight.

The best replacement is “The Imperial March,” the song they play in the Star Wars movies when Darth Vader shows up. The second best option would be “We Will Rock You” by Queen.

3. Canada “O Canada”

After such violent anthems, “O Canada” is a soothing song about hanging out, eating pancakes and watching hockey, or something like that. The only mention of a military is, “We stand on guard for thee.” So far, the only thing they’ve had to guard against is an abundance of Niagara Falls tourists. It has separate lyrics in English and French, and although the French lyrics are a little more aggressive, mentioning something about swords and bows and stuff, but I still consider it one of the most peaceful national anthems in the world. Canada deserves a gentle high five for this song.

Updated versions of O Canada include any song by Jack Johnson and the Wayne’s World theme song, since Mike Myers is from Canada.

Escaping Jury Duty

2010-06-19T12:35:00.000-07:00

As you may know, I had jury duty Thursday. While I strongly considered various ploys to forfeit my right to participate (racism, political bias, cock fighting, stealing the Mona Lisa, kidnapping foreign leaders, etc.), I actually showed up, but somehow still managed to get out of jury duty. Here’s how it happened.

I had to leave my house at 7 a.m., so early I didn’t even have time to make pancakes, which I never do, though I would have liked to have the option. I was wearing dress clothes, as I had been directed, and realized too late that all my dress clothes were wrinkly. Not wanting to iron them, I resorted to a time honored college student trick: I neatly hung my clothes in the bathroom as I took a hot shower, letting the steam get the wrinkles out. It didn’t work, and my clothes were moist as I dressed.

I arrived at West Palm Beach pancakeless and wrinkly at 7:30. I had to report for duty by 8:00. (Of all the situations in which I could be required to report for duty, this was by far the least exciting.) The people at the courthouse had said parking was free at their garage across the street, which was nice until I realized I had gotten lost and parked in a garage nearly a mile away. After roaming aimlessly for a while, I realized where I was and that I didn’t have time to look for the other parking garage, so I left my car where it was and hurried to the courthouse. Who knows what they would have done if I had been late ... I could have been arrested.

I checked in on time, sweaty and disheveled after power walking in the South Florida humidity, and was told that we weren’t actually starting until 8:30 since so many people would be arriving late. Great.

My summons letter said snacks would be provided. They were, but we had to pay for them. I got an orange juice and a banana, and the orange juice was $1.75. I paid with a 20 for revenge.

At 8:30 we watched a video about how to be a juror. No, the video was not titled How to be a Juror, How to Jur, or Juring: An Artform. I was a little disappointed. During the video, I realized that out of about 200 people there, I was the only one who adhered to the dress code in any way. Literally no one else was wearing a tie. I saw one guy wearing shorts and running shoes and one lady wearing a denim jacket with sequins.

After the video we were told that jurors were not allowed to be convicted felons or anyone on parole for a misdemeanor. Two people walked right up to the woman in the front of the room and said they shouldn’t have to do jury duty, right in front of everybody. One, a man who clearly hadn’t shaved in at least a week, said he was a felon, and the lady with the sequined jacket said she was on parole. Either they were lying or our judicial system is deeply flawed, because they weren’t allowed to leave.

Then we were told that everyone would watch movies while waiting to be assigned to a trial, and that anyone not assigned to a trial would not have to come back the next day. It seemed that the best-case scenario would be to watch movies until 4 p.m. As we watched Terminal, the Tom Hanks movie about a guy with a funny accent, people’s names were called and those who had to leave grumbled and moaned. The people whose names weren’t called became increasingly excited as the day went on. At 11:00 a long list of names was called and one by one, people angrily went to the front office. I held my breath as the names were announced, growing hopeful that I would once again be passed over, but after about 27 or 28 names I heard, “John Fitzpatrick.” I was almost the very last name.

I walked slowly to the front office with the other 30 people who would have to come back day after day, possibly for weeks. We gathered in the small room and waited for directions. Then a miracle occurred. The lady at the front desk told us a trial had been cancelled and that we were chosen as 30 randomly selected jurors who would be allowed to leave. People literally began cheering. “I was so pissed when we walked in here!” I heard one person say. The felon was there, grinning madly with his fists raised in triumph. We got to leave almost five hours early. I went to Dunkin’ Donuts to celebrate. It may have been the greatest day of my life.

It’s been a little depressing since then, coming down off such a high, but I’ll never forget the excitement that day. I think we should try to live every day as if we’ve just gotten out of jury duty.

Jury Duty

2010-06-13T22:38:00.000-07:00

I have jury duty Thursday. I would like to say it’s going to be exciting but I don’t want to lie. I can apply for a $15 to $30 per day compensation, which I guess would technically make me a professional juror. (I’m going pro after only one year in college. Watch out, John Wall.) The check-in form gives me the option of selecting “I am requesting compensation because I am not employed,” which seems counter-intuitive, but I appreciate it.

I’m excited to make big bucks, and I think I'll be good at this since I consider myself to be a pretty judgmental person (That's a good thing, right?), but I do have a few concerns about my career as a juror. Here are some questions I’ll have to ask the people at court:

I may not be able to pay attention for more than 15 minutes or so. How many breaks do we get?

The U.S. is playing Serbia in the World Cup Friday. Is there a television in the courtroom?

If I make racist comments, do I still have to be a juror?

If I’m a juror, am I expected to jur? How does one jur?

What do I do if I have to poop during the trial and I can tell it’s going to take a long time?

Are snacks provided? If so, do you mind if I pretend my Teddy Grahams are trying to escape while I eat them?

If the person sitting next to me smells bad, should I tell him or her?

Since according to the letter I got in the mail, my service as a juror helps uphold democracy, if I manage to hurt myself during the trial do I get a purple heart? If not, what other awards can I get?

Do you know Judge Judy?

I'm afraid I can't handle the truth. Someone shouted that at me once and I think they're right.

What exactly does the term "penal offense" mean?

I only have a few days left until jury duty. I’m not doing anything to prepare, other than judging people even more than usual. I’m blogging about it ahead of time in case I’m not allowed to blog about it afterward. If you’re wondering how it’s going and I can’t tell you, just watch the second half of a Law & Order episode but leave during the emotional confession. That’s probably what it will be like.

UPDATE: I've just been informed that the U.S. is actually playing Slovenia Friday. I am awaiting confirmation that Slovenia is a different place than Serbia.

A&E TV Show Ideas

2010-05-28T14:48:00.000-07:00

A&E is the greatest channel on television. It has crime, mental disorders and crime, which makes its viewers feel good about themselves. I’ve come up with a few ideas for new shows, which I’m sure the executives at A&E will appreciate.

“Biters”

A documentary-style hour-long show

Shelly Watson of Rupert, West Virginia, is an average 50-year-old soon-to-be grandmother — except she bites! Now everyday interactions can become dangerous, and the disorder is taking an emotional toll on Shelly. The problem started when she was 12.

“Ralphy, my puppy, passed away,” Shelly says, “and to cope with the stress and the grief, I started biting people. I remember he used to chase the mailman down the street, barking like crazy, so I started doing the same thing after he died. I guess it was sort of a tribute to Ralphy.”

But now Shelly will have to cope with her grief more effectively as her newly wed daughter Sheila prepares to bring her own child into the world.

“I’m trying to start a family and I want my mom to be a part of it,” Sheila says, “but I can’t let her near a baby until she gets control of herself and stops biting things. I used to have dolls in my old bedroom, from back when I was little, but then she went and chomped their heads off. I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Sheila’s husband Bo says his mother-in-law’s compulsion has led to tension between the families, but that he’s willing to work it out. Shelly seems less compliant.

“That Bo has such a gosh darn attitude with me. He better keep his distance or he’s gonna end up losing a finger.”

Watch the drama unfold on A&E. Don’t miss the Biters season premiere Tuesday at 8:00 p.m. ET.

“Signs of a Struggle”

A fictional weekly hour-long drama

The most outspoken homicide investigation unit in Miami isn’t so outspoken after all ... at least not literally. Follow the excitement of South Florida’s only all-deaf FBI squad, a colorful bunch of characters, from the stoic, silent captain Jack Steele to the kooky researcher Sabrina McIntosh, as they track down the area’s most dangerous and twisted criminals. When a case seems impossible to solve, investigators call up the Deaf Squad, or maybe they just tap them on the shoulder, and you won’t want to miss their no-holds-barred antics.

Signs of a Struggle, A&E’s first ever drama without a soundtrack, features compelling dialogue (in the captions) and complex characters. No words can describe the drama. Watch the premiere Tuesday at 8:00 p.m. ET.

“The Midget Files”

A non-fiction docu-drama featuring re-enactments of the world’s most famous midget criminals

The Midget Files brings to light the most compelling crime stories you’ve never heard: the infamous misdeeds of America’s most wanted midgets. Their bodies are small, but their crimes are colossal.

From eyewitness accounts — “He looked me dead in the kneecaps and told me he was going to kill me. I’m lucky to be alive,” — to stories of police heroism — “I thought we were safe when the we wrestled him to the ground, but we didn’t have any handcuffs small enough for him. That little rascal was tough to catch,” — The Midget Files will have you on the edge of your seat.

Don’t miss the season premiere Tuesday at 8:00 p.m. ET, when a victim recounts his run-in with the world’s most dangerous midget serial killer: “I was going for a walk in the park when I heard something rustling in the bushes. Then he jumped me. He took me by surprise, since I thought he was a raccoon at first.”

My Summer Plans: Destroy Ashton Kutcher with Twitter

2010-05-17T15:35:00.000-07:00

I came home from my first year of college Thursday. Before coming home I had pledged to do two things during my vacation: to read enough books to become a genius (So far I’m almost halfway through my first book of the summer), and to run enough to qualify for the 2012 Olympics. (It’s too hot. I’ll just try to get in better shape.)

It’s only my fourth full day home, but I’ve already made great progress in my summer goals ... by changing them. I only have one goal now. I’m going to be the ultimate tweeter.

Twitter is a magical place that allows anyone to publish anything they want, as long as it doesn’t take up more than 140 characters. On Twitter, I can have hundreds or even thousands of conversations that are all short enough to not strain my attention span.

My girlfriend Sara, a public relations journalism student, has used Twitter to connect with P.R. professionals and prospective employers across the country. I prefer to make semi-witty one-liners. Twitter can be used for anything, other than making real-life friends.

Twitter is more than a nerd machine; it’s an ongoing sociology experiment. The “trending topics” portion of Twitter shows the recent 10 most tweeted phrases among all Twitter users. The great psychologist Carl Jung is credited with coining the phrase, “collective unconscious,” which groups the experiences of an entire species into one shared experience, although today it’s probably just the name of an indie band. Twitter’s trending topics list shows us what millions of people are thinking. It’s our collective unconscious at work, which makes it much more depressing that Justin Bieber almost continuously dominates it.

My goal is to become Twitter’s greatest tweeter of all time. Ashton Kutcher currently has nearly 5 million followers, and Britney Spears is hot on his tail. I want to join the ranks of these great thinkers, Kutcher and Spears, but I have a long way to go. I have 146 followers right now, and since Twitter is growing so quickly I will probably need at least 10 million to dethrone Kutcher. Considering the fact that he has the ability to go back in time through his diaries, this could be a daunting task. He and his friends are probably hanging out in Eric Forman’s basement plotting against me right now.

Some great people are following me, like formerly obese golfer John Daly and some Asian lady who wants me to look at her “sexy pics.” You should follow me, too. It’s a simple four-step process: (1.) Go to http://twitter.com/Jack_Be_Quick, (2.) click the “Follow” button, (3.) tell your friends to do the same and (4.) laugh raucously at everything I say.

Hurry! I’m about to tweet about frogs!

Pulling a Sheriff Joe

2010-05-04T00:22:00.000-07:00

Joe Arpaio announced Monday that he will not be running for governor of Arizona. In response, Cinco de Mayo was moved two days earlier to coincide with the celebration of every Hispanic person in the state.

Only Arpaio could make such a big deal of announcing he’s not doing something. How does he do it? Well, it doesn’t hurt that he’s flirted with the idea of running since 1998. But don’t think that you have to be a famous attention hog — I mean a famous sheriff — to make a big fuss over not doing anything. Here are some of the ways you can pull a Sheriff Joe:

Wait until someone is using the bathroom. Then knock on the door furiously, repeatedly yelling, “I need to poop!” Insist that if they do not let you into the bathroom within five seconds, you will literally explode. Say the word “literally” multiple times. When they open the door angrily, say, “I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you that I will not be using the bathroom now.”

Go to your classroom, walk up to the teacher and announce that you will not be attending class today. Do this for 12 years. When your grade suffers from truancy, blame the media for only focusing on your faults.

Walk up to a homeless person. Pull out $20 and say, “Thanks for coming to the press conference. I’m here to announce that I will not give you any money.” Then demand to see the homeless person’s birth certificate.

Go to the box office at a movie theater and tell the ticket person, “Hello, I’d like to not see Avatar, please.”

During the ‘90s, lying was okay as long as you yelled, “Psych!” afterwards. As a small child, I enjoyed shouting the word but didn’t understand its meaning, so I just said it whenever I wanted. One time in church I waited until a moment of complete silence to shriek at the top of my lungs, “Psych!” No one got it.

So if you’re wondering whether Joe Arpaio feels bad about leading people on about the gubernatorial elections, just wait for him to say, “Psych!” And if you’re wondering whether you should pull a Sheriff Joe, just remember that you can do it, too.

The Notebook (No, Not That Notebook)

2010-04-22T02:43:00.000-07:00

Like most other elementary school teachers, my first grade teacher, Mrs. Smith, was a tyrant.

I moved to Mt. Laurel, New Jersey, on March 1, 1998, near the end of the school year. Upon hearing that my new teacher at Hillside Elementary School was named Smith, I expected a sassy, freewheeling black person who fought aliens. Men in Black influenced too much of my childhood.

Mrs. Smith disappointed me quickly. Even if my expectations hadn’t been based on my favorite action-comedy-science fiction movie, Mrs. Smith would have been a let down. She was boring, grumpy and evil. She reveled in her power over small children, like an evil supervillain who gets animals or midgets to do her bidding. She looked like the octopus lady from The Little Mermaid.

Mrs. Smith’s class was unofficially recognized as a branch of the U.S. military. She ran a tight ship. If we talked out of turn, blinked too many times, swallowed too much glue or farted too much we were scolded angrily.

After a short period of time I was sent to the “special” math class, due to my refusal (out of fear) to speak to Mrs. Smith and my inability to do math. The only way to escape the special math class and gain re-gain citizenship as a normal person is to realize that the special math class is in no way special. I had this revelation partially because we spent an entire week learning that 8+8=16, but mostly because my parents were really pissed that Mrs. Smith put me in the special math class.

I missed the bus home one of my first days at Hillside, so I had to spend 15 minutes alone with Mrs. Smith. Two other students had missed the bus, but they knew their phone numbers and were able to call home; as a new student, I could not remember my new phone number. I still have no idea how I contacted my mom. The only thing I remember is believing, still under the impression that the special math class was really special, that my inability to remember my own phone number would not go over well with the special math students. In retrospect, they probably didn’t know their phone numbers, either.

One day I was taking notes — well, the first grade version of notes — half-consciously. I was listening to what Mrs. Smith was saying and writing what I was supposed to write, but when Mrs. Smith sharply called my name to ask me a question, probably noticing that I had been in a catatonic state, I was so surprised that I jolted violently, my pencil flew out of my hand and my notebook slid off my desk. I don’t remember what Mrs. Smith’s question was, but I guarantee that it wasn’t as important as what came next.

The defining moment of my experiences with Mrs. Smith came directly after my note-taking surprise. It was a notebook review day. On notebook review days, Mrs. Smith looked through our notebooks to make sure we didn’t doodle or drool too much on our notes. Luckily, the New Jersey public education system had stifled my individualism enough so that I did not draw in my notes. My notebook review ended in disaster anyway. Mrs. Smith called me to her desk and took my notebook. To add drama, she had students stand and wait as she sat in her chair and rifled through the pages, so that if she found something condemnable she could slowly look up at the student and say, “What is this?” She looked through my notes and found no evidence, except for on the very last page. A thick pencil line, so dark it looked as if it had been stabbed onto the page rather than drawn, extended from the center of the page to the corner. Mrs. Smith stared at the page silently for five seconds, then slowly lifted her head and asked, “What is this?”

“I don’t know,” I responded. Who stabbed my notebook? What could have happened? Why was this ugly, angry mark on my page?

I felt the chill of doom swallowing me. There was no explanation or escape. I was bound to fail the first grade.

Then it occurred to me that when my pencil had flown from my hand five minutes earlier, it must have scraped against my notebook page. I hadn’t noticed because the notebook had fallen and shut, and I had no need to open it again since we were finished with our notes and were moving on to notebook reviews.

Mrs. Smith stared at me blankly for another five seconds, and then began an interrogation.

“Did you do this?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did this?”

“No.”

Mrs. Smith paused again before asking me a question that would save my life and destroy my integrity.

“Did your little sister do this?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied quickly. “It was her. It was my sister.”

I’m sorry, Cary. I turned you in to the authorities to save myself. I would do it again, too. Mrs. Smith’s glare made me do things I can’t fully explain.

“You should keep her away from your backpack,” Mrs. Smith said.

“I will,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

There could be a great sociology experiment behind this story, but I think it was already conducted on passive Nazi supporters. I betrayed my own younger sister just to save myself from whatever it is Mrs. Smith did to doodlers. I don’t feel guilty about lying but I do feel guilty about not standing up to my oppressor. I should have lied and told her that I had done it on purpose, just to spite her, as an expression of my intellectual freedom.

I went home that day and played hide and seek with a heavy heart. I felt I would always be hiding from Mrs. Smith’s seeking glare. The incident affected me deeply until a week later, when I forgot that it happened.

The Scariest Bus Ride Ever

2010-04-11T18:37:00.000-07:00

I had some scary bus rides when I was in school. In fact, when I was in first grade a girl bit me in the leg on my school bus. But the most terrifying bus ride of my life was on an airport shuttle bus, while I was on my way home for Spring Break this year.

It was 5:45 a.m. and pitch black outside. Sara and I were half asleep and on our way to Florida. We had woken up at 4:00 that morning, just in time to watch Kim Possible before we left.

We rode the light rail for 15 minutes to the bus stop, and surprisingly, the ride passed without incident. At the time, I thought it was too early for anything crazy to happen, but now I know that fate, destiny and The Twilight Zone were just biding their time and preparing to gang up on us.

Our boarding time was 6:20 so we got on the shuttle in a rush. A girl with a stain on her shirt sat down next to me, looking antsy. I figured she was also running late. Then she began furiously muttering expletives to herself; it was at this point that I realized there was something wrong with her, but I convinced myself it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. She was probably just a drug addict.

“Do you have any Advil?” the drug addict asked Sara, who quietly answered that she did not. It was officially weird.

It occurred to me that the drug addict was holding her stomach, keeping her hand over the stain on her shirt.

“Is this the bus to Van Buren?” she asked me. We had come from Van Buren Street and were currently heading in a completely different direction. The drug addict was probably about 40 minutes away from the closest part of Van Buren and was going in the opposite direction.

“No,” I replied.

“That’s not good, because I just stabbed myself,” she said.

The stain on the drug addict’s shirt was blood; she might not have even been a drug addict. I don’t have very much experience in stabbing myself, but I think she was acting antsy out of pure agony.

I will never know how she stabbed herself, what she stabbed herself with or why she was asking for directions to Van Buren and not a hospital. Maybe she was a drug addict after all.

A better person would have called 9-1-1, but I’m not a better person. I’m the kind of person who writes funny blogs about a lady who stabbed herself in the stomach. At least I told her how to get to Van Buren. And while I’m looking on the bright side of things, at least no one bit me and at least Kim Possible was on.

Create Your Own Wrestler Name

2010-03-28T14:34:00.000-07:00

Wrestlemania XXVI came to the Valley today. If you don’t think that’s important, you don’t know anything about roman numerals. I wrote my State Press opinion column on Wrestlemania and stated at the end that my wrestler name is The Giraffe. Many wrestlers choose their names based on some sort of gimmick, like World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) star Stephen Farrelly, whose red hair led him to taking the stage name Sheamus O’Shaunessy. (Thanks for doing Ireland proud, Steve.) After writing the article, I decided it was necessary to have an effective system for making WWE names, so anyone can do it. The instructions are simple:

Step 1: Flip a coin to decide which column (left or right) to decide your adjective name.

Step 2: Use your first initial to decide which adjective to use. (Adam becomes Absorbent or Abrasive and Bill become Brutal or Beastly.)

Step 3: Flip a coin again to decide whether to use an animal or profession.

Step 4: Use your last initial to decide which animal or profession to use as your second wrestler name. (Don’t think a hangnail is a profession? Try walking a mile in their shoes.)

Step 5: Add the word “The” in front of your name and feel free to use exclamation points. Enjoy your wrestler name!

Example: I flipped a tails and a heads, so my name is “The Juicy Flamingo!”

Adjectives

Heads / Tails

Absorbent / Abrasive

Brutal / Beastly

Creamy / Chunky

Dirty / Droopy

Epic / Egregious

Flatulent / Fidgety

Grisly / Glittery

Heinous / Hairy

Insane / Illiterate

Jagged / Juicy

Killer / Kinky

Larcenous / Luscious

Mighty / Maximum

Nasty / Naughty

Ominous / Obese

Psychotic / Precious

Quarrelsome / Quizzical

Ruthless / Rhetorical

Soggy / Shocking

Terrible / Threatening

Ugly / Unkempt

Vicious / Volatile

Wasteful / Wretched

Xtreme / Just use Xtreme, okay?

Yodeling / Yummy

Zesty / Zealous

Animals/ Professions

Heads/ Tails

Aardvark / Assistant

Badger / Bookkeeper

Cheetah / Caterer

Donkey / Dentist

Elephant / Electrician

Flamingo / Friar

Giraffe / Gangster

Hedgehog / Hangnail

Iguana / Intern

Jellyfish / Jackhammer

Kangaroo / Killer

Llama / Loan Officer

Manatee / Musician

Newt / Nurse

Octopus / Octomom

Platypus / Postal Worker

Quailman / Quill Maker

Reindeer / Receptionist

Starfish / Surgeon

Turkey / Teacher

Walrus / Webmaster

Yak / Yes Man

Zebra / Zookeeper

Now post your wrestler name under the comments section!

How to Go to the Dentist's Office

2010-03-12T07:59:00.001-08:00

I know how to go to the dentist’s office in style.

I went to the dentist’s office last week. Being the adventurer that I am, I did it in the most ridiculous way possible.

Phoenix hosted a dental convention Thursday, March 4, which nearly every dentist took the day off to attend. I cracked off part of my front left tooth at 4:30 p.m., Wednesday, March 3.

Since I didn’t know that almost no dentists would work on Thursday, or that dentists rarely work on Fridays and never on weekends, my first action after cracking my tooth was to run around showing all my friends.

The tooth originally cracked eight and a half years ago in a freak gym class accident, (I will never spot the heavy kid on the jungle gym again.) and I had a root canal, so I was in no pain when it cracked again this time. I did, however, look like I belonged at a NASCAR race.

The fake part of the tooth, about two thirds of it, lasted almost a decade without a problem, but popped off when I flossed Wednesday. No, this was not the first time I had flossed in over eight years.

I called about 10 dentists before finding one who wasn’t attending the dental convention, whose name is Shannon Obernueffeman. I’m not joking; I had to call and ask for “Dr. Oh-ber-noo-feh-man.”

The only time I could get an appointment was at 12, which forced me to miss two of my three classes that day.

I was afraid to touch my teeth after the incident, since part of the fake tooth was still attached, so I didn’t brush them for over 24 hours before my appointment. I actually prefer to neglect my teeth before dental visits, since it’s the best way to get the most out of my money, but this time I did it mostly out of fear.

Dr. Obernueffeman’s office was in the same building as some law and realty offices, so when I found the building I had to search for Suite 102. I was in disbelief when I discovered it. Its heavy wooden door, with a wrought iron handle, was different than all the other doors in the building; I struggled to open it and was awed when I entered. The waiting room had marble pillars and exotic plants and the chairs were fancy in a slightly uncomfortable way.

I now equate Dr. Obernueffeman’s office with Shangri-La and El Dorado, and was convinced I had actually died after chipping my tooth, and that this was heaven.

After signing in with the receptionist, I discovered that Shannon Obernueffeman is a man. It was surprising, but he was friendly so I didn’t mind. He fixed my tooth without even using Novocain, and even though he made it a little crooked on the bottom, I don’t look like Michael Strahan.

Job Application, Take 1

2010-02-27T23:04:00.000-08:00

I’m applying to be a “Peer Mentor” for next year’s freshmen on the Barrett floor of ASU’s downtown campus. I consider myself a bit of a Renaissance man, with varying strengths. Here is the application that sadly will never be turned in.

Strengths:

Barrett Kickball Team Captain (Team Record – 1-2 with a 17-0 loss)

I provided great leadership and inspirational messages, such as, “Shut up and play kickball!” and “I want to trade some of my players. Is that okay?”

Climbed A Mountain

Technically, A Mountain is not a real mountain. It is, however, a very large, rocky hill with a big A on it. I climbed to the very top after 30 grueling minutes on semi-paved trails. This demonstrates my dedication to all things ASU.

Figured Out the Ending of Shutter Island Before It Happened

SPOILER ALERT! I totally knew he was crazy.

Ruined the Ending of Shutter Island for You

I’m sorry about that.

Weaknesses:

I Am Too Awesome

I may look down on all the people I work with.

I Work Too Hard

I will probably make you feel lazy.

I Can’t Think of Enough Weaknesses

These are my only weaknesses. Give me the job, now.

Peer Mentor Events (Peer Mentors are required to bring their mentees on one event per month, taking part in community-related activities.)

Kickball Rematch

It will be different this time. We will defeat Cronkite Village, even if it means cheating.

Late Night Walk to Circle K

This gas station may be the most dangerous place in Phoenix, but the slushees are delicious!

Arizona Hall of Flame Museum

It’s a museum for fire.

Grow a Mustache, Barack

2010-02-16T09:10:00.000-08:00

Has anyone ever told you to grow facial hair, falsely leading you to believe it might actually look good? Don’t feel bad; it happens to everyone. The person who leads us astray is a little guy I like to call Excessive Selfconfidence. Unfortunately, Mr. Selfconfidence does that to a lot of people, but his brother, Reasonable Selfconfidence has carried many men — and a few women — to greatness. Here is the epic tale of facial hair:

From Abraham Lincoln to William Taft, 1861 to 1913, 10 of 12 presidents of the United States had facial hair. For over 50 years, it was almost as important as being a white Protestant male from the Eastern Time Zone. After Taft’s failed re-election campaign, Woodrow Wilson was elected and World War I broke out. In 1929, Herbert Hoover, another clean-shaven candidate, was sworn in as president, thus starting the Great Depression. In 1989, George H.W. Bush became president; two years later, Dr. Seuss died. To summarize, a president without facial hair will inevitably cause absolute devastation. Today, terrorists are plotting against us, dictators are importing uranium and the people on Fox News keep saying we’re socialists. Why? There’s not enough facial hair.

If Barack Obama doesn’t grow a mustache, beard or at least really big sideburns, my vote in the 2012 presidential election will be cast for Xavier McStallion III, an imaginary candidate based on the legacies of Abraham Lincoln, Steve Prefontaine, Frida Kahlo, Burt Reynolds, Adam Morrison and those guys from ZZ Top. Much like other presidents, McStallion will run on a platform of good economy, lots of jobs, patriotism, family values, open-mindedness (but not too much!) and a healthy balance of red and blue neck-ties, but what makes him different is his facial hair. He looks a lot like this guy: hyperlink!

Dr. McStallion has previously served as Chancellor of my imagination from 2007 to now, has written several books, including Are You There, Mustache? It’s Me, Xavier, Tuesdays with Mustache, Harry Potter and the Mustache of Fire and War and Peace and Mustaches, and received his PhD in filament economics from Harvard.

That’s my ultimatum, Barack. Grow it (the mustache) or throw it (the election). Do it for your country.

Dining Hall All-Star Team

2010-02-04T13:45:00.000-08:00

After nearly six months at Arizona State, I’ve become well acquainted with the Taylor Place dining hall staff. In fact, I have created the ultimate dining experience by assembling the official Taylor Place dining hall All-Star team. The team consists of five members and is named Your Ultimate Meal Experience At Taylor Place: Exciting, Exciting! (YUM EAT PEE!) This team is the best of the best. Here is the official roster:

Tiny Asian Lady

Strengths: Tiny Asian Lady is consistently cheerful. Standing at approximately 4-foot-10, her size makes me feel powerful and important.

Mustache Lady

Strengths: She has an impressive mustache and is also cheerful and welcoming. With her white hair, she looks like a smaller Morgan Freeman.

Grill One

Bearded Dreadlocks Guy (Not to be mistaken with Overly Cheerful Guy, who also has a beard, but longer dreads.)

Strengths: He is my dining hall MVP. He has offered me a double cheeseburger on at least three separate occasions, and often tells me to “have a great day.” He also once asked me how my weekend had been.

Grill Two

Tall White Guy

Strengths: He was the MVP until Bearded Dreadlocks Guy asked me about my weekend. He has world-class grilled cheese skills and says, “You’re welcome,” enthusiastically.

Specialties

Tasty Drinks Guy

Strengths: His Orange Juliuses are famous, and his rare strawberry milkshakes are even better. He is as big as three of me, so he could double as a bodyguard or bouncer if my All-Star team gets too famous.

YUM EAT PEE! will have a dining hall team to compete against, which consists of the less talented members of the dining hall. I call this team Not All-Stars Till You Properly Open Our Palettes (NASTY POOP). They’re sort of like that team that loses to the Harlem Globetrotters. Here is their short-handed roster:

Creepy Guy

Weaknesses: He refers to Sara and me as his favorite couple, in a creepy way. He has a Mandarin tattoo on his wrist, and I doubt he knows what it means.

Stands Around Doing Nothing

Overly Enthusiastic Guy

Weaknesses: Get out of my face and make me some food.

Grill

The Man Who Never Speaks

Weaknesses: I thank this guy for the food he makes every single time I see him, and he never says anything back. One time, I asked for the specialty that day, a bacon cheeseburger, and he said they were all out of bacon, but I think he was lying. It was only 5 p.m.

Things I Probably Shouldn't Say About Church

2010-01-26T16:11:00.000-08:00

I go to Catholic church. I like to think I'm a good Catholic, since I do my best to volunteer, to spare some change for the homeless and to be a generally nice person. Most people like me, so God probably does, too. I do have some un-saintly opinions, but I have a feeling that others can relate. Here they are:

I’m keeping track of the things I accidentally say instead of “Amen,” when I receive communion. It includes, “Yup,” “You, too,” and “Hey, thanks!” I refuse to drink the communion wine. If God wants me to drink out of the same cup as a hundred other people, he’ll send me a sign ... or a bad case of mono. Does this make me some sort of blasphemer? Maybe, but in the future, people will refuse communion wafers because of all the carbs. I seem holy in comparison.

I fear I may be allergic to incense.

I refuse to sing in church. It just doesn’t serve a purpose. If singing is so important in mass, why don’t the priests take voice lessons? Sing in church, and soon enough Lady Gaga will be running the show.

Where can I get one of those hats? They’re so big! Think they’re on eBay?

I don’t hold anybody’s hand unless they physically force me to do so. Handholding is one of the many similarities between church and Woodstock, and it needs to stop.

When did publishers start putting pictures in the Bible? I’m pretty sure they have the same illustrators as the airline safety pamphlets. The Bible takes place in troubled, violent times, but everyone in the pictures seems so calm. It seems unnatural.

Relax. God has a sense of humor. After all, he created panda bears.

What Happens in Tempe, Stays in Tempe

2010-01-25T23:26:00.000-08:00

I went to Tempe the day before classes started this semester. I fully expected to be astonished, angered and attacked at various points of the day. For those of you who don’t know Tempe, here’s an example of what goes on there: On the first day I spent in Tempe, in March 2009, I saw a woman lying on the ground, crying because she had been hit by a bus. A group of people gathered around her, pointed at her and laughed. Then I went to Hooter’s.

My recent experiences are equally violent, and slightly more bizarre. This time, while I was on my way to the ASU campus, I heard a shout from across the street. I looked and saw one man run towards another man and pretend to dramatically punch him in the face. Figuring they were old friends joking around, I continued towards campus. A few seconds later I heard another shout, looked across the street, and saw one man walking away and another tending to a bleeding nose. They were not old friends.

Later in the day, my friends and I went to a local Whataburger. It is impossible to say “Whataburger,” so we called it “Water Burger,” but that’s not the interesting part.

As we left Water Burger, a college-aged male stuck his head out of the passenger-side window of a moving car and shouted, “You look very intelligent, sir!” He probably had less than five seconds to think of something to tell me, and he decided to comment on my smart looks. I was flattered, yet afraid. Maybe it was just my glasses, but maybe we really had something.

As we boarded the light rail back to Phoenix, an obese man saw us looking for seats and, in order to keep us from sitting next to him, lay down across three seats. The man’s stomach popped out from under his shirt and was fully exposed. I was shocked that this man, who was completely spherical, did not involuntarily roll off the seats, but I managed to stay composed and walk away without staring for too long.

We found seats next to a young man who was talking loudly to himself about not having enough money. Halfway to Phoenix, the rotund man stood up from his numerous seats and began dancing, but only with his upper body. His legs barely moved, but his shoulders and arms shrugged and waved rhythmically. Soon afterwards, the young man stopped talking to himself and staggered away to another part of the light rail car.

I don’t know what to make of these events. God may have been trying to tell me something, but if that’s the case, God has a disturbing sense of humor.

The World's Burning Questions, as Designated by Google Search Suggestions

2010-01-15T12:58:00.000-08:00

Have you ever started to type something into the Google box at the top right corner of the Internet browser screen, and then marveled at the absurd search suggestions that appear? Almost every time I look something up, I’m more intrigued by the questions that Google suggests than by their answers. Keep in mind, these search suggestions are based off what users have searched for, so to some extent, these really are the burning questions of mankind. Here are the who, what, when, where, why and how of Google search suggestions (minus the boring ones).

Who is:

“Who is Lady Gaga?”

“Who is my congressman?”

“Who is the richest man in the world?”

“Who is Taylor Swift dating?”

Hey, at least we’re being politically active. I wonder how many of the people who looked up the richest man in the world came up with the result, “Not you, loser.” Probably not enough.

What:

“What time is it?”

“What not to wear”

“What is love?”

Seriously? How many people did it take to get “What time is it?” on the search suggestions? Not only did they not think of checking a clock, but they also didn’t realize that computers tell time. If I typed “What not to wear” into a PC, I’d expect it to say, “Eh, you look fine. Don’t worry about it.” A Mac might say something like, “Oh, you’re wearing that? Oh. Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be... okay.” As for the last question, you can’t get much nerdier than searching for a textbook definition of love on Google.

When:

“When will I die?”

“When will the world end?”

“When in Rome”

It’s like Ron Burgundy suddenly became overcome with terrible, morbid nightmares.

Where:

“Where’s Waldo?”

“Where is Santa right now?”

No one cares about Carmen San Diego? That’s a shame. We’re down to only two men of mystery: Waldo and Santa.

Why:

“Why do men have nipples?”

“Why is the sky blue?”

“Why is my poop green?”

“Why did I get married, too?”

“Why do dogs eat poop?”

“Why can’t I own a Canadian?”

Two of the questions are about poop, and one of them is particularly disturbing. The American people have spoken, and they want Canadians.

Being the New Kid

2010-01-06T22:22:00.000-08:00

This is sort of a mini-blog. It's about being the new kid, an area in which I have considerable experience. I've been the new kid so many times I have nightmares about school cafeterias, although I never looked anything like the new kids on the block. Swooshy hair is in no way related to being a new kid, at least not in real life.

I’ve lived eight different places and it’s only taught me one thing: the new kid attracts the weird kids. There’s something about a guy with no friends that makes everyone feel comfortable. Here's the typical weird kid - new kid conversation.

Some Kid: Hey, you’re new here, right?

Me: Yep.

SK: Cool, cool. Where are you from?

Me: Kentucky/New Jersey/Florida.

SK: Oh wow. So you have, like, horses/mafia connections/surf boards and stuff, right?

Me: No, I don’t have any horses/mafia connections/surf boards.

SK: Haha, tell me about it!

Me: Huh?

SK: Hey, you don’t have any friends, do you?

Me: No, I’ve lived here for about three days, so I don’t know too many people.

SK: Uh huh, well I don’t really have any friends, either.

Me: Oh, how long have you lived here?

SK: Since I was four.

Me: Oh.

SK: Hey we should hang out some time.

Me: Yeah, I have to go to the bathroom. Bye.

SK: I'll go with you! So, are you into World of Warcraft or anything like that?

My favorite quote from this kind of scenario is from first grade, when someone came up to me and said, “My mom said I should make some more friends. Want to play with me?” I appreciate the direct approach.

Even though I'm making fun of these weird kids right now, I'm proud that I was nice to them. Also, I enjoyed the fact that they thought I was really cool, since I was the only person they knew who had any self-esteem or athletic ability. We all have our roles to play; I was to the new kid what James Dean was to the rebel.

Meet the Parents Part 2

2010-01-05T20:42:00.000-08:00

This is a more appropriately named sequel to Meet the Parents than Meet the Fockers. I didn’t want to call anyone a Focker.

Some people go to Florida for vacation, some go to California and some even go to Europe. I go to Buffalo, New York.

My girlfriend, Sara, lives in Buffalo, so on December 30 I flew from mild-weathered Palm Beach County, Florida to frigid western New York. I must really love that girl.

As depressing as Buffalo sounds, it was an entertaining city. On my first day there, Sara and I saw the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, which is basically a 1980s metal band performing Christmas songs. There were flames, lasers and even a crazy lady dancing in the aisles. My head nearly exploded. The next day, I saw Niagara Falls. It was foggy, but I was still impressed. I had never been so close to Canada before, and convinced myself that I could smell syrup from across the river. Over the course of my stay, I also experienced the staple foods of Buffalo: chicken wings and beef on weck. The weather conditions there are similar to those that force bears into hibernation, so eating is essential to the Buffalo lifestyle.

Buffalo was fun, but my true purpose for being there was to ingrain myself into Sara’s family. Much like mold growing slowly on an old sandwich, I tried to become one with the Steffans, and I certainly got moldy all over their sandwich.

That was poorly worded. I wanted Sara’s family to like me, so I started with their most impressionable member: the dog. Otto is an eight-year-old dachshund with a penchant for humping things. I went to work straightaway, petting him and giving him attention, and by the time I left I was certain he would never forget me... or my leg.

I also found success in winning over Sara’s six-year-old niece and one-year-old nephew by sticking to a solid game plan. I put three fuzzy animal toys underneath little plastic teacups, then jumbled the cups, and Sara’s niece tried to guess which toy was under each cup. We played this game for two to three hours, and it propelled me to a good standing with her. After playing miniature basketball with Sara’s nephew, I earned a goodnight hug.

I expected getting on the good side of Sara’s sister and brother-in-law would be more challenging, and it was. I underwent grueling games of Taboo and Password, and lost all of them. What was I supposed to do with “Arthur Ashe” if I can’t say “tennis” “black” or “AIDS?” Despite my losses, I managed not to break anything, hurt anyone or fall on top of anything.

All in all, I enjoyed my trip. I got to see Sara, snow and Canada. I even got to play with Zoo Zoo Pets.

My trip to Buffalo was a success, and it ended well; as I got off the plane back to West Palm Beach, I got an e-mail from the Arizona State University State Press newspaper saying that I now have a spot as a weekly opinion columnist. That means that I will not be blogging as frequently, so if you need a weekly dose of me, go to http://www.statepress.com/opinions. My column will be published on Thursdays starting on January 21. Thanks to all of you who read this blog. It’s been fun, and I’ll try to keep up with it as much as possible.

The Five Worst Things That Will Contribute to This Decade's Legacy

2009-12-29T22:51:00.000-08:00

The ‘60s had bell-bottoms and hippies, the ‘80s had big hair and glam metal, and here are some things that in 20 years will cause us to shake our heads and ask ourselves, “Why were all we so stupid then?” These are the things that will make our children pity us.

5. Jon & Kate Plus Eight

You know what’s even better than a show about normal people? A show about normal people who are trying to be celebrities! Between the fourth and fifth seasons of the show, Jon and Kate decided that they were bigger than real people; they were important people. So they joined the ranks of Paris Hilton and all those people on The Hills, and started wearing Ed Hardy shirts and big sunglasses. Thanks, Gosselin family, for turning TLC into a circus. Oh wait, that was the midget show. The ratings for the once-popular show took a nosedive immediately. Remember when the family on Roseanne won the lottery? It was sort of like that.

4. This decade doesn’t even have a name.

No one says “aught” anymore, so unless we get creative really quickly, this decade is going to pass without a name. Quick, everybody start brainstorming. How about, “The Zeroes,” or, “The Double O’s?” No? Maybe we should just get started on the next ten years. I like, “The Awkward Teens.” Think about it.

3. The New England Patriots

My first complaint: their name is blatant propaganda. Even the Oakland Raiders, despite their swashbuckling ways, love America just as much as New England. But what really makes the Patriots an un-American team is the fact that they cheated. Their excuse for videotaping other teams’ signals was that everyone was doing it. Bill Belichick, if everyone jumped off a bridge, would you jump off a bridge, too? Yes, you would? Okay, everybody jump off a bridge.

2. George W. Bush

I hate to make a humor blog too political, but criticizing Bush is almost non-partisan at this point. I’m not even being original, so no one should be offended. Most of us will brag to our grandchildren, or any nearby young people, that we survived the Bush administration.

Me: “Yep, they tapped my phones and tortured me and told me Pluto wasn’t a planet. But I made it through those eight years.”

My descendents: “Grandpa, your ears are so big!”

1. Tight Pants

This isn’t unique to our decade; remember bell bottoms? My only complaint is that for a little while, we escaped effeminate pants, but then Fall Out Boy had to go and mess that up. In an effort to stop this cycle, I offer some advice to the youth of the world: If they cut off circulation, they’re a scourge upon the nation.

I Slept with Santa Claus

2009-12-22T22:11:00.000-08:00

In light of recent transgressions, I would like to publicly announce that I had sexual relations with Santa Claus from July 2008 to August 2009. I had just moved to Palm Beach County, Florida in June, near Santa’s summer home on Jupiter Island. This was more than just a physical relationship. I was truly in love with Santa, but after I went away to college he stopped returning my calls and our relationship ended. There was nothing left for me to do but tell the truth.

I was aware that Mr. Claus was married; he was keen to keep our relationship under wraps, and even left me a voicemail message one day, asking me to take my name off the answering machine greeting on my phone, so that his wife would not find out about our affair.

Hey, it's Kris,” he said nervously. “I need you to do me a huge favor. Can you please take your name off your phone? My wife went through my phone and may be calling you. So if you can, please take your name off that. Just have it as a number on the voicemail, just have it as your telephone number. You got to do this for me. Huge. Quickly. Bye.”

Christmas enthusiasts are understandably disappointed in his actions, as is Mr. Claus himself. He recently announced that he would take an indefinite leave of absence from his holiday duties, in order to sort out his personal life. Mrs. Claus is rumored to have filed for divorce. It is unclear who will get custody of the reindeer.

Claus’ absence from the Christmas circuit is bound to have a disastrous effect on the popularity of the holiday. The star power of Christmas is now depending on a few former lightweights, such as Buddy the Elf and Jesus. Neither is expected to have the appeal of Kris Kringle in his prime. But Claus’ absence from the tour is not the only reason for a sharp decline in Christmas spirit; his actions have had a detrimental effect on the reputation of the holiday. What was once seen as a family-oriented holiday is now gaining a reputation for promoting irresponsible prima donnas. The integrity of every Christmas participant is being called into question. Amid speculation of Christ’s mysterious relationship with Mary Magdalene, one thing is for sure: Santa is making this an X-rated Xmas.

Many fans that have turned away from Christmas are trying to find some sort of replacement, and have distracted themselves with things like Hanukah and the NBA, but these are just short-term solutions to the problem. Christmas will have to find a way to regain its wholesome image or it will die out completely. One possible solution that has been mentioned by the media is an appearance on Oprah, a show that would give Santa a chance to reach out to women, an audience that is deeply offended by his actions. But as his former lover, my advice to Kris is that he should stop worrying about his reputation and start rebuilding his character. He will inevitably lose millions of dollars in endorsements (His role in the Coca Cola commercials with the polar bears has already been replaced by Danny DeVito.) but there is nothing he can do to change that. Despite his recent behavior, Mr. Claus has done a lot of good for the world, so he needs to fix the problems in his personal life and then get back to spreading joy.

Santa, you’ll face a lot of criticism during this recovery period, and you’ll deserve all of it, but all you need to focus on is how you’re going to make up for your mistakes. What do we do when we fall off the reindeer?

This whole ordeal has been exhausting for everyone involved, but despite the negativity, I’ve managed to learn a few important lessons, like that even Santa screws up, so don’t let his mistakes ruin Christmas for you. Also, be careful about leaving voicemail messages, because as we all know, not everything that happens at the North Pole, stays at the North Pole.

Nickelback: (Worst) Band of the Decade

2009-12-15T22:49:00.000-08:00

Billboard recently named Nickelback the band of the decade. At least I now have a specific reason to never read Billboard. Nickelback, led by singer/songwriter/guitarist Chad Kroeger, has advertised itself as a top alternative band, and one of the last bands in the world with its roots in the grunge scene of the ‘90s. Do not let this fool you. Nickelback is loosely associated with true grunge bands because Kroeger has gross hair and the band sounds like a bad Pearl Jam tribute band; this should not earn them the title of “Band of the Decade.” The evidence is in their lyrics:

Gotta Be Somebody

Tonight, out on the street out in the moonlight 

And damn it this feels too right 

It’s just like Déjà Vu 

Me standin’ here with you 

So I’ll be holdin’ my own breath 

Could this be the end? 

Is it that moment when I find the one that I'll spend forever with?

What an original title—“Gotta Be Somebody.” It sounds like an inspirational song featured on the Disney Channel, but at least they misspelled “Got to,” so it’s cool and edgy. Nickelback may not be able to give their songs good titles, but at least they’re rebellious enough to defy grammar. Speaking of not knowing how to write, Kroeger needs to stick to singing (badly). These lyrics sound like the kind of thing Rod Stewart would sing if he were less manly. And since when is Nickelback trying to be romantic? “Me standin’ here with you?” Based on their other songs, like “Something in Your Mouth,” I don’t think they just want to stand with you.

If Today Was Your Last Day

If today was your last day

Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?

You know it’s never too late to shoot for the stars,

Regardless of who you are.

So do whatever it takes

‘Cause you can’t rewind a moment in this life.

Let nothing stand in your way,

‘Cause the hands of time are never on your side.

This is another attempt at being a deep, thoughtful band, and it is a complete failure. This is probably similar to what Dr. Seuss wrote when he had writer’s block. Kroeger offers the shallowest advice I have ever heard: Mend a broken heart, shoot for the stars and do whatever it takes. Wow, great job being specific. This song may be terrible, but at least Kroeger didn’t just make a bunch of generic flowery statements in order to make his songs seem profound. Oh wait—that’s exactly what he did. If Nickelback played at my birthday party, I wouldn’t show up.

Figured You Out

I like your pants around your feet.

I like the dirt that's on your knees.

And I like the way you still say please

While you're looking up at me.

You're like my favorite damn disease.

And I love the way you pass the check,

And I love the good times that you wreck,

And I love your lack of self-respect,

While you're passed out on the deck.

I love my hands around your neck.

I included this song in case anyone read those first two and thought, “Well, those aren’t good lyrics but at least they’re trying to be meaningful.” Nickelback is the most meaningless band in the world. Don’t be deceived by their trickery. Most of their songs lead me to believe that Chad Kroeger will eventually be featured on Dateline’s To Catch a Predator.

I don’t like being negative all the time. This blog shouldn’t just be about the things I don’t like, so here’s one more reason for us all to love Portugal:

WikiAnswers, Part Two

2009-12-14T22:03:00.000-08:00

If I were Luke Skywalker, WikiAnswers would be Darth Vader. Wait, no—there’s no way WikiAnswers is my father. If I were Jack Fitzpatrick, I would hate WikiAnswers. Yes, that’s a much better analogy.

I wrote a blog about the wickedness of WikiAnswers a few weeks ago, and about how they are the destruction of the First Amendment, but the story wasn’t over. A WikiAnswers product manager name Shaya commented on the blog, saying, “Hey Jack, I’m in stitches laughing... these are the same funny answers that keep smiles on our faces every day at Answers.com. That said... you'd be surprised how even the silliest questions can be meant seriously by a mixed-up kid (or speller, for that matter)! Try blending humor with wisdom for answers that stick - they'll help a poor soul, and keep us entertained, too.”

I responded, “Hey Shaya, Thanks for complimenting my blog before getting all preachy. Now it's my turn. Your website is fun and useful. That said... I usually don't take much advice from Answers.com employees. Go to the "Rape" section and try to guess how many rapists have been on your website to find out if it's okay that they had sex with a 12-year-old. By the way, thanks for deleting answers that refute racist questions, but not doing anything about the questions.”

After warning me multiple times about my tomfoolery, WikiAnswers suspended my account, and deleted every single answer I had posted, including ones that were completely serious. Here are the highlights of my newly deleted answers:

Why was a sword used during the Revolutionary War?

It was used mostly for stabbing people.

What should you spend your farmville cash on

Friends.

Your Goldfish Died what should you do about cleaning the tank?

You probably won’t have to do that as much anymore.

What are zoos abroad like?

You haven't specified what country you live in, so it's impossible to tell what you mean by "abroad." My guess is that the zoos have animals in them. In America there are a lot of Amish people in the zoos, too. They're not in cages, though.

What rhymes with countries?

Fun trees.

You are 13 what happens if you take diet pills

You would get sick. Don’t do it.

Yes, they deleted the answer that told a 13-year-old not to take diet pills. There is currently no answer to that question, so apparently there’s a 13-year-old out there who is probably getting his or her diet pill advice from MTV. Thanks, WikiAnswers. I hope you’re happy, after deleting my answers, suspending my account, and refusing to help an innocent adolescent with a bad body image. (The 13-year-old, not me.)

The Choir of Evil Lets Arpaio Off the Hook

2009-12-01T00:08:00.000-08:00

Sheriff Joe Arpaio came to the Cronkite School of Journalism on Monday. No, he didn’t arrest anyone and no, he didn’t make us wear pink, except the minorities. (Just kidding.) Arpaio took part in an interview in the First Amendment Forum with Steve Elliott, Susan Green and Rick Rodriguez, journalism professors at ASU with approximately 70 years of combined experience in journalism.

Much like they do at football games, frat parties and on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart, ASU students managed to look really, really dumb. Normally I would have no problem with students embarrassing themselves and their classmates, but this case is an exception because I am one of their classmates.

As the interview was heating up, Rodriguez asked Arpaio about accusations of racial profiling. Arpaio briefly questioned Rodriguez’s journalistic integrity, implying that Rodriguez was asking questions that could later be used in court against Arpaio, and avoided answering the question. Before Rodriguez could pin him down and get a real answer, Arpaio was let off the hook by anti-Arpaio protesters who had begun singing a parody of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” with politically charged lyrics. At first, some students laughed, but when the song continued into the second and third verses, many people in the crowd began shouting at the small group of about 10 singers to stop.

Eventually Arpaio left and Chris Callahan, the dean of the Cronkite School, pleaded with the group of students, who I will from now on refer to as The Choir of Evil, to let him speak. All the other students began cheering for Dean Callahan, and the Choir of Evil was defeated, but not before inflicting serious damage on the Cronkite School’s reputation. Dean Callahan then said he appreciated their sentiment, which was a lie because everyone hates the Choir of Evil and no one appreciates them, but that their passion was “misplaced.” He forgot to mention stupid, naive and malicious, which are the other three virtues of the Choir of Evil. One of the Evil Choristers shouted that they were “taking the power from the privileged elite.” I’m not sure who they meant by the “privileged elite,” since they only took the power from journalists, who are generally more derelict than privileged.

I don’t have much to say about the whole debacle, other than that I’m praying that none of the students were in the Cronkite School. The Choir of Evil stationed itself on the balcony between the second and third floors, directly above my seat, so I couldn’t see any of their faces until videos appeared on the news. I didn’t recognize any faces, so I’m somewhat confident that they were from Tempe.

Interrupting the Arpaio interview was more than illogical from the point of view of anti-Arpaio protesters; it was counter-productive. Arpaio didn’t have to answer tough questions about racial profiling, and now he gets to say that it was because he was unable to answer them. He also got to shake his head at the misled group, which makes all opponents of Arpaio look bad. A word for the wise: whether you’re liberal or conservative, when you argue against someone with a different viewpoint than your own, try not to look like an idiot.

After the botched interview, I left the Cronkite building and made my way through a group of about 150 activists, most of whom were protesting Arpaio. There was a pro-Arpaio group of about 30 people, surrounded by police for protection. I played photojournalist for a while and got some good pictures, which I posted on Facebook and Twitter. One of the pictures was re-tweeted several times but it was the only popular one. It seemed appropriate that my only picture of any importance was of an anti-Arpaio protester who made a fool of herself by misspelling the word “intimidate.” Apparently Sheriff Joe is having a hard time trying to “intimate” protesters.

As for the Choir of Evil, expulsion would be appropriate. They have the right to protest, which is why they weren’t arrested, but they don’t have the right to destroy their school’s reputation and get away with it. If I had been interviewing Arpaio and they had interrupted me, I would have gotten out of my chair and hurt somebody. Let’s just be happy neither Walter Cronkite nor Freddie Mercury were here to see this.

Here is the interview in its entirety. Please ignore the fools at the end. http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/2683457

The Top Five Reasons to Not Like Vampires

2009-11-28T02:08:00.000-08:00

Rapists

Theaters showing New Moon, the second Twilight movie, have been filled with more than its target audience of screaming 14-year-old girls. On November 20, a teenage girl called 911 after allegedly being bitten by a middle-aged man in a Michigan movie theater showing New Moon. No evangelical Christians were interviewed on news stories covering the attack, because everyone knew they would just say, “I told you all those witchcraft movies would be dangerous.” Fox News later reported that the story was a hoax, but Fox News says a lot of things, so I suggest not going anywhere near a theater showing a Twilight movie.

More Rapists

The werewolf rape scene in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, was so comically disturbing that I’m afraid I’ll laugh or vomit every time I watch a vampire movie. At least we know how werewolves react when someone walks in on them. For those who haven’t seen the rest of the movie, here’s a little bit of background information: Dracula turns into a werewolf and rapes Lucy, but Lucy’s friend Mina shows up and Dracula gets angry. (He’s just embarrassed.) It’s hard to understand what the creature says after spotting Mina, but I’m pretty sure it’s something like, “I could have sworn I locked the door!” Since the first time I saw Coppola’s version of Dracula, I’ve been afraid to watch vampire movies on the off chance that there might be another werewolf rapist lurking in the garden.

Pastiness

Vampires are pasty and gross. I know that sounds effeminate, but it’s true. Get out in the sun every once in a while.

Actors

Actors and vampires don’t mix, for various reasons. Aaliyah starred in Queen of the Damned and then died in a plane crash. Coincidence? Probably, but I have more evidence. Keanu Reeves starred in Bram Stoker’s Dracula; afterwards it has become increasingly apparent that he only has one facial expression. The acting in Twilight is terrible. And what about Interview with a Vampire? Tom Cruise became a scientologist, Brad Pitt looks like this and Kirsten Dunst’s teeth look strange.

Gross Stuff

I had to give blood once, and I will never do it again. I didn’t even donate the blood; I just had it tested to make sure I wasn’t a vampire or anything, and even though I had remained as calm as possible while the needle was in my arm, the nurse kindly informed me that I was hyperventilating. But blood isn’t the only nasty thing about vampires. Bats are also quite gross, so in case you aren’t afraid of blood, here’s another clip from Bram Stoker’s Dracula that might make you hate vampires.

Stop Deleting My WikiAnswers

2009-11-21T14:39:00.000-08:00

I signed up for a WikiAnswers account a few days ago. Since then, the website has been both a bastion of comedy and the destruction of my First Amendment rights. It’s a fun website because of how easy it is to find some bizarre questions, such as, “Can you be convicted of attempted murder for throwing a brick at someone?” or “Can bed bugs be fun?” Other questions set themselves up perfectly for sarcastic answers, which is why I love WikiAnswers. Unfortunately, the supervisors at WikiAnswers have no sense of humor, and have repeatedly warned me to stop posting nonsense answers. The first day I had my account, I got this message in my inbox:

Please note that continuing to place nonsense answers on the site can result in your account being suspended. Check out this guide for Answering Questions, located in the Help Center. Telling someone, "Challenge him to a fight," is not allowed on this site. If you have any questions, feel free to reply to this message and I'll do my best to help.  

-- Chrisnnebraska  WikiAnswers Supervisor

Gee thanks, Chris N. Nebraska, if that’s your real name, but if you look at the new supervisor-approved answer, you’ll see that it’s no better than mine. The question was what to do if your ex-girlfriend likes spending more time with your friend than with you, and the new answer was something like, “Talk to your friend about it and if he’s a good friend he won’t hang out with her, and then she’ll come back to you.” Right, you should just talk about it... not. Whoever asked that question, ignore the new answer and fight your best friend. I promise that will impress her.

This was not the only answer of mine that was deleted by the power-hungry bureaucrats at WikiAnswers. Here are some good ones that were rejected:

How long do loins live for?

They usually live as long as the rest of the body.

What compels human being to inflict suffering and evil upon one another?

Satan!

1981 Buick Regal

I think you have this website confused with eBay.

What are laws of homeless people?

The Homeless Code:

Thou shalt not steal from another hobo.

Thou shalt not kill another hobo.

Thou shalt steal a lot from everyone else.

Thou shalt shank everyone who is not a hobo.

What are the proper way of reading a book?

With your eyes.

Are there interesting details about gold?

Nah.

What are two angles with the sum of 90 degrees called?

Super Angles!

How many hours are there in England every year?

Probably the same as in every other country. Do you have a calculator?

How do you get a virgin ring?

Stop having sex.

Why did dinosaurs been wiped out?

They used the wrong verbs.

What are the symptoms after a bee sting?

Death. Start panicking.

I accidently dropped a baby frog about one and a half meters away can it find it's way back to the pond?

Well, considering the fact that you left for long enough to post this on WikiAnswers, it doesn't really matter anymore. Maybe you should have just put it back in the pond, you baby frog murderer.

Why does the US government continue to fund the existence of Indian reservations when those living on those reservations are racist and non contributing members of society

They contribute to their own society, not yours, which is appropriate since your society destroyed most of theirs. The fact that you say everyone living on reservations is a racist is a racist statement in itself.

Why is the user with the ID Jack be quick a racist against white people?

I am a white person.

Why are American indians and their supporters incapable of answering questions properly on this forum?

Probably because your questions are stupid.

If you read those last three, you might understand why I have a problem with Internet censorship. These racist questions were allowed to be posted and they’re still on the website today, but apparently no one is allowed to refute them because the WikiAnswers supervisors consider that a “nonsense answer.” When a website deletes comments, it better do a good job deleting them, and in this case they did not. Censors have outlawed humor, but it’s perfectly fine to make racist statements. I eventually got fed up with the tyrants at WikiAnswers and created a Yahoo Answers account. Yahoo Answers shows all the answers that have been posted and lets the question-asker pick the best one, which I’m quite excited about, but I won’t stop posting on WikiAnswers until I’m kicked off. Sorry Chris Nebraska.

A Letter to LeBron James

2009-11-12T20:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Bron Bron,

I can call you Bron Bron, right? I figured you’d be okay with that.

LeBron, please stay in Cleveland. I’ve been hearing a lot about how you might opt out of your current contract and end up in a bigger market like Miami or New York, and I completely understand where you’re coming from, at least in the case of Miami. Moving from Cleveland to South Beach seems like quite an improvement, especially since you’d have Dwayne Wade, another young superstar, who already has an NBA championship ring, as a sidekick. But don’t be fooled by the glamour of South Florida. As a former Ohio and Florida resident, I can tell you from experience that even though it seems tempting, going to Miami would be the worst mistake you ever made. Sure, it’s sunny and it has the beach, but once Christmas comes around and you notice there aren’t any snowmen in your back yard, you’ll realize that Cleveland is your true home. Do you even know what happens to famous people who live in Miami? Let’s just say it didn’t work out for Gianni Versace.

As for New York, just don’t do it. The Knicks were the second worst team in the conference last year, and unless Patrick Ewing magically becomes young again, they’re not going to the playoffs any time soon. The Big Apple is just as cold as Cleveland and it’s much more dangerous. Maybe I’ve been watching too much Law & Order lately, but it seems like every resident of New York City is a dead prostitute. You don’t want to live there.

Besides, King James, you grew up in Akron. Don’t you want to bring a championship to your hometown? In Miami or New York, you’d be a big fish in a big ocean, but in Cleveland you would be the greatest of all time. Jim Brown and Otto Graham would grovel at your feet. Also, while visiting Miami I noticed a conspicuous lack of a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Don’t you want a city with character? It might not be the most beautiful place in the world, but all the ugly people you see in Cleveland are really just modern day Abraham Lincolns. They have pride, and if you leave they’ll have to start being proud of the Browns, which is nearly impossible right now. If you stay, you’ll be the greatest part of a great city. Cleveland is the heart of America and Florida is the small, disfigured leg that twitches sometimes but doesn’t really do anything constructive. People say New Jersey is the armpit, so I guess that makes New York America’s bicep; it’s exciting and useful but not vital.

LBJ, Cleveland needs you and deserves you. Your endorsement deal with Nike means you’re already making millions off Asian sweatshops, so do something for the little guy for a change, and stay in Cleveland. If this letter hasn’t swayed your opinion, maybe Tina Fey will; watch this: http://www.hulu.com/watch/856/30-rock-cleveland-get-away

Meet the Parents

2009-11-07T20:59:00.000-08:00

I met my girlfriend’s parents the other day. Actually, it was a few weeks ago but I haven’t been able to blog much lately. Sorry about that.

Parents Weekend at Arizona State should have gone perfectly. There was such good food at the dining hall, in order to impress the parents, that I felt like nothing could go wrong. Basing assumptions of how much my girlfriend’s parents like me on how good my lunch tastes doesn’t make very much sense, but after eating really good French fries I got a little giddy. Unfortunately, even with all the delicious food around, something went terribly awry the day Sara’s parents came.

It was a Thursday. The dorm food began improving on Wednesday, so maybe I was overconfident in my ability to digest things, but I really couldn’t see this disaster coming. I was taking a shower at about 10:00 a.m., getting ready for an eventful day, when I accidentally swallowed shampoo, and I don’t mean a little shampoo, I mean a huge gulp of shampoo. I had been washing my hair and had used a little too much, so when I rinsed it out it completely enveloped my face. Panicking, I forgot not to inhale, and when I drew in a breath I sucked up a dangerous amount of shampoo, which I assume is not meant for the purposes of inhalation. What made things worse was that I had recently gotten new shampoo with a manlier scent, so instead of drinking my usual vanilla floral flavor, I swallowed a mysterious “Suave for Men” liquid. The bottle doesn’t even include a scent name, but it does say that it includes Ammonium Lauryl Sulfate, which, I assure you, does not taste good. So after the accident, I quickly washed off the rest of my disgusting shampoo, turned the water off and collapsed near the toilet. It’s my goal in life to never throw up, so naturally I kept it down, but for 45 minutes I sat naked, cold and wet next to the toilet on the linoleum floor of my bathroom, coughing and gagging, and sometimes shouting just because I was angry. My stomach hurt so badly I couldn’t move, and every time I swallowed—which I did a lot in order to keep from throwing up—my throat burned as if I had just swallowed even more shampoo. Eventually I was able to put clothes on and leave the bathroom, which was helpful because my roommate needed to shower eventually, but my throat was still on fire and my stomach was making mysterious noises.

I couldn’t eat or talk for most of the day, and although I was feeling hungry again by the time my final class ended, I spent a lot of time worrying about how the shampoo incident would affect my impression on Sara’s parents, since when I could manage to speak I sounded like a mix between Homer Simpson and Tom Waits.

So the beginning of the day was terrible, but then came a complete reversal of fortune. After I met Sara’s parents—who seemed nice, although I was more concerned with how nice I seemed to them—we headed to the Coyotes-Blues hockey game in Glendale. After ordering two student tickets and two regular tickets, we were given two student tickets and two teacher tickets, an extra discount, and those extra-cheap tickets happened to be in the second row, directly behind one of the goals. The Coyotes ended up winning a nail-biter in overtime.

The next day, I tagged along as Sara and her parents went shopping. Sara needed another pillow, which I carried for her in order to demonstrate how strong and manly I am. Then we went to Dave & Buster’s, which is basically a Chuck E. Cheese’s, except no one wears a giant rodent costume. Also, they don’t have those scary tubes that children play in until they get lost and their parents have to crawl around searching for them. Sorry about that, mom. On Saturday we went to Ted’s, a hotdog restaurant, because the Steffans are from Buffalo, and the Ted’s in Tempe is the only one outside Buffalo. (Ted retired and moved to Arizona, but had to take his hotdogs with him.) It was sort of like a Buffalo museum. All my previous knowledge of the area had come from Bruce Almighty and the Buffalo Bills, so I was surprised that God wasn’t there and no one was crying. I’m still worried I might have frightened Sara’s parents after finishing an entire foot-long hotdog in just a few minutes. They were good hotdogs; I couldn’t help it.

So overall, meeting the parents was great, although every time I use my manly shampoo I feel a little bit sick.

The Worst Job in the World

2009-10-26T18:07:00.000-07:00

Move over, Mike Rowe. I had the dirtiest job in the world last year. From October 2008, to January 2009, I was a birdcage cleaner at the Bush Wildlife Center in Jupiter, Florida. And I’m not talking about any normal birdcages; these ones were about eight-foot-tall, six-by-six birdcages that housed everything from bald eagles to turkey vultures. What made this the worst job in the world was the paycheck—it didn’t exist. I was building up volunteer hours to get a Florida Bright Futures scholarship that I wouldn’t use. So really, I was just doing this for fun.

On my first day at Bush, an employee, who was showing me how to clean up poop without getting my eyes gauged out by angry birds of prey, asked me if I liked animals. I responded that I did, and promptly learned that I did not. The first thing I learned at Bush is that unless you speak to them more than humans, you don’t actually like animals.

The second thing I learned at Bush was that birds are the creation of Satan. They are the most evil animals in the world, and they will eat your children if given the chance.

The work at Bush was grueling. I picked up poop, feathers and dead animals for four to six hours every Saturday. That doesn’t sound like a long time, but it is. I was crawling through the mud for most of that time, and being attacked for nearly all of it. When I got home and slept afterwards, I had nightmares about the smell of death and crap.

Most of my experiences at Bush are blocked from my memory and would take extensive therapy to remember, but one day is etched into my brain forever. It was terrible. It was my first day cleaning an entire section of cages (about 15 in total) by myself. Unfortunately, with this responsibility came disaster. Someone forgot to inform me that the female horned owl named Aristotle attacked men. I didn’t even know that owls could differentiate between human genders, but they can, and apparently Aristotle had watched too many Lifetime movies in her 24-year life, because she absolutely hated men. When I entered the cage she started clicking her beak and hissing at me but didn’t move, so, unsuspecting, I cleaned her cage and filled her water dish. (You’re welcome, you spiteful hatemonger.) Then I left the cage, and as I turned to close the door behind me I noticed that something was on my leg and oh my God Aristotle was biting me in the leg! Needless to say, I kept my cool, if keeping my cool involves screaming and jumping into the air. I made a karate kid-style movement and kicked her off my leg. The area outside the birdcages was also caged in so Aristotle couldn’t escape, but since she was between the door and me, I couldn’t either. Luckily, other employees saw the attack, and before Aristotle could recover from my crane kick, they had put on thick leather gloves and captured her. Aristotle died about two weeks after I stopped working at Bush. When I heard the news I laughed, and I wish I knew where she was buried so I could have danced on Aristotle’s grave.

The Top Five Things You Shouldn't Do While Talking

2009-10-23T01:45:00.000-07:00

This is sort of a mini-blog. It’s short and unimportant, but someone needed to say it. Follow these directions carefully and you will be the next Barack Obama, minus the intelligence and the basketball skills. And the wealth and the power. And the looks.

1. Chew Gum

Why not just spit at my face? It’s so much quicker and I don’t have to pretend to listen to you.

2. Staring Into the Depths of My Soul for a Prolonged Amount of Time

Eye contact is important, but it can also be terrifying. Unless you are writing a prescription for eyeglasses or you have psychic abilities, let’s keep a four-second limit on gazing into my brain. And please—for the sake of my sanity—blink every once in a while.

3. Right? You know?

I’m not as nice as you think, so stop asking me to be your yes man. Eventually, I will say, “No. That’s wrong,” even if it’s not true. It is not my job to constantly boost your confidence, so don’t expect me to agree with you.

4. The Three Worst Phrases in the World: Seriously, Literally and True, True

Oh, you’re serious? Now I’m going to agree with everything you say. Unless you’re dressed in a clown suit or somehow completely unable to form facial expressions, it’s unnecessary to remind me that you’re being serious. The same goes for “literally.” It’s literally so annoying that my head is going to explode. Oh wait, no it’s not. Don’t use the word literally unless you’re speaking in literal terms. As for “True, true,” I’m completely aware of whether I’m lying to you or not. You don’t need to tell me that my statement is true, and you definitely don’t need to say it twice, unless you’re trying for a promotion at the Redundancy Department of Redundancy. This phrase has a strong following on the east coast, which is my favorite part of living in Arizona.

5. The Double-Like

I may need to brush up on my knowledge of religious rules, but I’m pretty sure this counts as a cardinal sin. “Like” is overused, but I can put up with it; however, the Double-Like is inexcusable. It’s like... like ridiculous, you know? Decide what you’re going to say and then say it, and unless you’re making an analogy, leave out the word “like.”

Don't Comment On This Blog

2009-10-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

Online comments are the bomb. Wait, no—they’re THE BOMB!!!!!! Please excuse my excessive use of exclamation points and all caps, and listen to why online comments are so great.

John Diaz, the editorial page editor for the San Francisco Chronicle, visited my Journalism and Technology class a few days ago. Most of what he said was boring and none of it was on a test, so naturally I zoned out until I heard something I could turn into an argument. Towards the end of the class, Diaz was asked what he thought about comments on online articles, and he referred to comments as “a problem.” He said that the subject was recently brought up at a board meeting at the Chronicle after one set of comments on their website (http://sfgate.com/) had turned into a racist free-for-all. According to Diaz, the practice of allowing comments on online articles is being called into question by some of the Chronicle’s editors, including Diaz himself.

This leads me to wonder what the heck happened to the First Amendment. Are newspaper editors telling people to stop talking about their articles? No, but they don’t want it to be printed, and here’s why that is un-American:

Crazy comments can be deleted, but that won’t stop the crazy train. People are shouting these comments from rooftops, so deleting their online comments won’t change what people are saying. If the article comments are reflecting hateful views, the problem is that people are hateful, not the fact that they are allowed to voice their opinions. Racists with opinions don’t hurt people; racists with mustaches and guns hurt people.

In the case of online article comments, the editors govern the commentary. They decide what comments are appropriate and what comments get deleted. In America, the government is not meant to silence the people. Cases of slander and libel lead to private lawsuits, but the First Amendment protects the press from being shut down by the government. It’s a little disturbing when the newspaper industry begins to turn against the Freedom of the Press, and yes, the people who post comments on online articles do count as the press. What exactly is the press? The press is a medium for information, and now that people have the option of printing their information for free on the Internet, the Freedom of the Press covers a broader range than ever.

The opposition to my argument would say that a newspaper is a business, and that businesses don’t have to publish anything they don’t like. This is true; news sources aren’t legally responsible for publishing everyone’s opinions, but my point is that, from a moral standpoint, deleting some comments and not others is unfair, and deleting all comments is tyrannical. It comes down to whether news organizations are more concerned with their reputation or their ethics.

So is it any surprise that the Chronicle and other websites might stop allowing comments altogether? Forget morals; it’s just a smart business move, right? Wrong. Businesses that utilize the tools at their disposal are the ones that succeed. When one website allows article comments and another does not, which website is going to get more page views and ad-clicks? The answer is obvious. Reputations are nice and pretty, but that doesn’t pay the bills.

The only reason any news source would delete online comments is so they can give themselves a pat on the back. It’s easy to say that silencing hateful opinions is the right thing to do, even though it makes no difference whatsoever. If you see a group of people writing racist comments on a piece of paper, would taking their paper away make the world a better place? The Internet is a high-tech notepad, and yes, bad people are allowed to use it, too.

I realize this blog isn’t as comedic as usual, so I’ll give you two options. You can exercise your First Amendment rights and comment on this blog (I promise I’ll only delete it if you disagree with me.) or watch this funny video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBzKro5SbEo

The Top Five Reasons to Boycott Abercrombie and Fitch

2009-10-15T14:18:00.000-07:00

This could also be titled, “The Top Five Reasons Why I’m Practically a Senior Citizen.” I have never been inside a Hollister, which is basically the same thing as Abercrombie and Fitch and is owned by the same people, and I’m doing just fine. It will not kill you to stop wearing tight pink shirts. But don’t take my word for it; here’s why you should join me:

I Can Make Holes in My Own Jeans for Free

And I won’t even have to pay $40 for them. Thanks to recent archaeological discoveries, we now have concrete evidence that at one point in time, new jeans were made without holes in them. Apparently, the hole-making process happened naturally through wear and tear. At some point in time, however, this trend was reversed when a bunch of guys who wore their hats tilted to the side convinced people that it was cool to pay extra for jeans that already have holes in them. Kurt Cobain is probably spinning in his grave right now, and if there is intelligent life in space, they’re laughing at us. Please, if your knees really are that hot, just cut holes in your jeans with scissors.

Wearing a T-Shirt With a Pun Doesn’t Make You Clever

The long-lost 11^th commandment was to never wear a shirt with a pick up line on it. It was punishable by death in ancient times. Anyone who thinks that a pink shirt that says, “Bumper to bump her on the three-way,” will get them anywhere with the lady folk is seriously deranged, probably as a result of watching too many Axe deodorant commercials.

Turn the Damn Music Down and Get Off My Lawn

So how did Abercrombie and Fitch convince everyone to buy those expensive ripped jeans and shirts with semi-witty phrases? By distracting people from the atrocities they’re committing with excessively loud music. In short, it is impossible to think while inside an A&F, so no one realizes what they’re doing. This siren-like characteristic is dangerous, so if it’s absolutely necessary to enter one of these stores (If you’re partially surrounded by fire and the only escape route is into an A&F, or if you’re chasing a leprechaun and he runs into a Hollister, these are the only times when it’s okay to break the boycott.) then do so with a powerful pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

It Smells Like Cancer

The crafty businesspeople at Abercrombie and Fitch want to destroy all your cognitive abilities when you enter their stores, not just your sense of hearing. This is why every A&F smells like a swimming pool full of cologne. By the end of your shopping trip, your sense of smell should be completely destroyed, which will distract you from the fact that you somehow got inside an A&F without being prompted by some sort of fire or leprechaun related emergency.

Neither Abercrombie nor Fitch Actually Wore that Crap

Abercrombie and Fitch were manly. They were manly men who did manly things like chopping down trees and growing beards. That’s why A&F executives chose to name the stores after them; it offsets the pastel t-shirts and hair gel. Don’t be fooled by this ploy. Join me, and boycott Abercrombie and Fitch.

How to Be Folksy

2009-10-08T10:39:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of year again. Everywhere except Florida, which isn’t even really part of America, the weather is getting cold enough for things like hot chocolate and the phrase, “Oh, it’s nippy out there.” There are countless autumn traditions that I could list, but I’d like to focus on my favorite: folksiness. So bust out those Garrison Keillor cassette tapes and roast some marshmallows, because it’s time to count down the five steps to being folksy.

1. When saying the days of the week, say “dee” instead of “day.” The correct pronunciation of the days of the week are as follows: Sundee, Mundee, Tusedee, Wensdee, Thursdee, Frydee and Saturdee.

2. Wear flannel.

3. Have a porch, and sit on it every day. A stoop does not count; that will make you ghetto, not folksy. Sitting on your porch should take up about 40 percent of your life. 80 percent of the time you spend on your porch should be spent whittling. That means that almost one third of everything you do should involve carving wood, so having calloused hands is a must for anyone wishing to be truly folksy. The mailman should be your best friend. Yell at anyone else who walks past your cottage, and yes, I do mean cottage; houses are for city slickers.

4. Speak slowly. The sound of your voice should put people to sleep.

5. Play the harmonica. This should take up most of the remaining 20 percent of the time you spend on your porch, but make sure to leave a little room in your schedule for falling asleep in a rocking chair. Keep in mind that you should have whittled the rocking chair while sitting on your porch. While playing the harmonica, it is acceptable to use a harmonica holder in order to play the banjo simultaneously. This is only for experienced folks, though.

A Letter to My Second Grade Teacher

2009-10-05T13:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Mrs. Rosenburg,

You liar! I have not written in cursive since elementary school, and that was only because I was forced to do so. I don’t even remember how to make a cursive Q, and I’m doing just fine, thank you very much. Also, remember when you said adults used multiplication every day? I’m officially an adult and I haven’t multiplied crap today. In fact, I frequently use a calculator. Yeah, that’s right. I use a calculator and there’s nothing you can do about it. And remember when you told me I couldn’t make a living as a painter and a professional athlete at the same time? Well, you were right about that, but I still don’t use cursive.

All that aside, you’re probably wondering what has become of your favorite student, and yes, I use the word “favorite” quite loosely. I’m still the same lovable, fidgety student I was a decade ago, except now I’m tall and I usually don’t throw fits when I’m told to stop talking to my neighbors. Poop jokes are still my favorite. I’m in an honors college, which means I take harder classes so I can impress my second grade teacher by saying I’m in an honors college. When I was in your class I wanted to live in a jungle tree house. Although I haven’t ruled that option out entirely, I’m living in Phoenix for now.

The real reason I wrote this letter is that I have despised you for 11 years, and I don’t think all that unreleased anger is healthy. So I just wanted to check in, see how you are doing and tell you that you were the worst teacher ever. Every day at the beginning of class you gave every student a sticker to put in their notebook, and when a student misbehaved you took the sticker back. Why not just give stickers to the good students at the end of the day? Because you enjoy negative reinforcement. Your favorite part of being a teacher was ripping a student’s sticker out of their notebook and throwing it in the garbage. This is not a civilized teaching method, you barbaric monarch. I never got to keep my sticker, and I’m still angry about it.

Wow. Now I feel better. Have a nice life.

Sincerely,

Jack Fitzpatrick

P.S. Walking down the left side of the hallway is not against the law. That was such B.S.

Not So Famous Last Words

2009-10-01T20:26:00.000-07:00

The Texas Department of Criminal Justice has released the last words of every executed death row inmate in the state. Some of them would make you cringe and some would make you cry, but most importantly, a few would make you laugh. I cut out phrases like “I love you” and “Praise God” and all that boring stuff. I understand that this is probably the most insensitive thing I could write about, but it’s also the most insensitive thing I could laugh about, and I already did that, so here are the highlights:

Vincent Gomez

“Where's my stunt double when you need one?”

I don’t care if he was innocent or guilty. I want to be friends with this guy. It takes some serious wit to be a smartass right up until the end.

Joseph Ray Ries

“Jesus is coming back soon.”

There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned prophecy before you kick the bucket.

Reginald Perkins

“I already gave my statement.”

Uh oh. Someone at the Texas Department of Criminal Justice cleaned out their filing cabinet a little too early. So now Reginald Perkins’s official statement is that he already gave his statement. Quick, check the trash receptacles.

Denard Manns

“I would like to give thanks for the unjust way my trial attorneys John Donahue and Frank Hollbrook purposely denied me a fair trial... For those who kept agreeing with me, keep it real... I am ready for the transition.”

Note to self: Do not hire John Donahue or Frank Hollbrook. They are not keeping it real.

Tony Roach

“I cannot agree with this injustice. The Bible says that you shalt not kill, but it also says to obey the government.”

Ah, yes. My favorite commandment is the one that says you should obey the government. That’s what Jesus did, right?

Charles Nealy

“Tell the guys on Death Row that I'm not wearing a diaper.”

Hey everybody! Charlie didn’t wear a diaper when he died! Ewww...

Douglas Roberts

“Yes sir, Warden. Okay, I've been hanging around this Popsicle stand way too long. Before I leave, I want to tell you all, when I die, bury me deep, lay two speakers at my feet, put some headphones on my head and rock and roll me when I'm dead.”

It even has a rhyme scheme. Douglas Roberts has officially left the Popsicle stand.

James Clark (My personal favorite)

“Uh, I don't know, Um, I don't know what to say. I don't know. (pauses) I didn't know anybody was there. Howdy.”

This guy’s got a future in improv. Actually, never mind.

My Two Favorite Hobos

2009-09-24T01:38:00.000-07:00

This is more of a public service announcement than a blog. If you happen to live anywhere in the Phoenix metropolitan area and love homeless people as much as I do, keep an eye out for my two favorite hobos. My unofficial names for them are Drunken Grizzly and The Machinegun Clown Man, though I’m sure they have many aliases.

I met Drunken Grizzly in August. It was about 105 degrees outside, and I was standing on a sidewalk in Tempe with some friends when a man staggered up to us wearing a large, black trench coat and sunglasses. He said some unintelligible things like, “Hey... ugh... I’m mmmmuuuzzzzz...” and “The buses... aaaannnnn...” which I eventually realized meant he wanted money. I also realized that my friends were hiding behind me in order to avoid contact with this scary, smelly vagrant. I considered running away, but then I remembered that I have testicles, so for the sake of my manhood I tried to think of another plan. Meanwhile, Drunken Grizzly had managed to string a few coherent words together. He told me that most of his family had died and that he was trying to buy a bus pass to get home. Despite the fact that he was stoned out of his mind, the man was a pitiful sight, and I gave him some money. But that wasn’t all. Drunken Grizzly was so happy with my donation that he shook my hand for about two full minutes. About halfway through our epic handshake, a pedestrian walked by and shouted at Drunken Grizzly to leave us alone. Drunken Grizzly then said, “Ooohhhh, whatever man... He’s never been to Native America... He don’t know... I’ll stab him anytime.” Keep in mind that he was wearing a trench coat in August. Then Drunken Grizzly told me he wanted to show me his “Native American handshake,” which turned out to be the same kind of handshake rappers do, except afterwards he started dancing. So after he danced for a little bit he said goodbye and left us with some particularly vulgar life advice. Let’s just say it has to do with making babies.

I didn’t actually meet The Machinegun Clown Man, but he did give me the finger, so I feel like we formed a bond. I first saw him while waiting for the light rail near Wal-Mart. When the Phoenix light rail and Wal-Mart are combined, get out your camera. He was across the street flicking off random passers by with a shocking amount of enthusiasm. When I saw him from a distance I thought, “That guy better not get on the light rail,” and then he got on the light rail. It was about a 20-minute ride back to the dorms, but it felt longer. For the first ten minutes, The Machinegun Clown Man acted like a mime, silently making exaggerated gestures; on multiple occasions he used the entire length of his arm to wipe the sweat off his forehead. It was unusual but not malicious. For a little while I thought he might even be a Friendly Clown Man, but alas, he turned out to be a Machinegun Clown Man. After his initial friendliness, he made an obscene gesture to a little girl sitting near him. No, he did not give her the finger. It was worse. Then he began sticking his tongue out at an old man on the train. Then he started staring at me. I had another 10 minutes left on the train, but I wasn’t about to be stared down by a Clown Man. No one had said anything to him—talking to mimes doesn’t work—so I figured someone should take a stand. I stared back at him for what seemed like an eternity, gazing into his eyes, through his pupils into the abyss of his strange mind. It turned out to be a showdown that no one could win. Eventually he had to get off the light rail and our staring contest ended. But after he exited, he turned back towards the train and gave me the finger through the window, and then held both arms in front of him and shook violently, pretending to shoot the light rail with a machinegun. Some people were shocked by his behavior, but I had been in Phoenix for almost two weeks, so I just took out my camera. I took a picture as quickly as possible, but unfortunately caught him in a transition mode between flicking us off and shooting us with an imaginary weapon.

Feel free to add your own fun hobo adventures under the comments section.

What I've Learned in College

2009-09-19T15:35:00.000-07:00

College move-in day was exactly a month and a day ago, so yesterday would have been the perfect day to write a blog about my initial college experience. Unfortunately, yesterday was a Friday, so I was too busy watching scary movies to do anything meaningful. Such is the life of a college freshman. Here’s what I have learned in my first month-and-a-day at Arizona State:

Free food is a God given right. I have been handed more hamburgers since August than Joey Chestnut. If you ever need college students to do something, just offer them food and they will follow your orders. Today I did five hours of community service for a bowl of rice and I didn’t even get a spoon. The downside of all this free food is that there are no free weight scales. I don’t even want to know what all that pizza has done to me; the only thing I’m sure of is that I’m now heavier than my dad.

Laundry is evil. About two weeks after move-in day, every male on my floor reached their limit and had to wash their clothes. Memorable quotes include, “I expect to never be able to wear these clothes again,” and “I’m supposed to use this blue stuff, right?”

Recycling is important for the environment, but it’s even more important for my wallet. Plastic water bottles? No thanks. I have one from a few weeks ago that hasn’t disintegrated yet. I once heard that poverty-stricken Africans make clothing out of potato skins; those baked potatoes in the dining hall are looking pretty good.

One of the first things college freshman are told is that they need to manage their time wisely. That actually just means that about three days out of each week are non-stop work and the rest is leisure time. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I strongly consider dropping out and becoming a folk musician. I’m distracted by free food for most of the other days.

There’s a lunch lady at my dining hall who has a full mustache. It’s pretty cool.

I have developed an intense addiction to DiGiorno’s microwave pizzas. There’s a DiGiorno’s advertisement tacked to my wall for those tough times when the nearby convenience store is closed.

Every week or so, I walk into my room and find my sandals hooked together with a combination lock, or all my clothes turned inside-out. Once, a pocket-sized copy of the Tao Te Ching was stuck to my wall. This is called “Jackin’ with Jack.” It happens when my friends get bored and my roommate lets them into our room. It started with my alarm clock being flipped upside-down, and now it has become a form of art.

The Top Five Reasons to Boycott MTV

2009-09-14T17:20:00.000-07:00

In case you were reading a book, twiddling your thumbs or doing something else more valuable with your time rather than watching the MTV Video Music Awards, you missed some classic MTV drama. Everyone is talking about what happened, and I’m here to tell everyone why they should shut up and do something constructive. In fact, I’m calling for an all-out boycott of MTV. Join me.

The Top Five Reasons to Boycott MTV

5. It’s Not the ‘80s Anymore

Michael Jackson is cool again for now, but he probably won’t be making any new music videos; MTV’s intended audience sees Madonna as more of a Mother Goose type than a pop star; and MC Hammer is busy finding the local soup kitchen. All in all, the glory days of MTV are over. Cadillac commercials are now edgier than music videos.

4. KANYE WEST!!!

I’M WRITING THIS ONE IN ALL CAPS IN HONOR OF KANYE’S APOLOGY TO TAYLOR SWIFT!!!!! I ACTUALLY DON’T BLAME KANYE, SINCE HE’S REALLY JUST A PAWN IN MTV’S SCHEME TO GAIN MORE MEDIA ATTENTION. HIS OUTBURST AT THE VMAS WAS STAGED. IF IT HADN’T BEEN MTV’S IDEA, HE WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN ALLOWED BY SECURITY TO WALK UP TO TAYLOR SWIFT AND TAKE HER MICROPHONE!!!! AND HE WOULDN’T HAVE HAD AN APOLOGY POSTED TO HIS BLOG BEFORE THE VMAS WERE EVEN OVER!!!! JUST THINK ABOUT WHAT EVERYBODY DID AFTER THEY HEARD ABOUT THE WHOLE SHINDIG: THEY GOOGLED “KANYE WEST VMAS.” NO PUBLICITY IS BAD PUBLICITY, ESPECIALLY FOR KANYE WEST, WHO IS ON THE JAY LENO SHOW THE DAY AFTER THE PUBLICITY STUNT. I ONLY WISH HE WASN’T THE VOICE OF MY GENERATION!!!!

3. Where’s the Music?

This doesn’t require much of an explanation. Green Day asked for more music on MTV during their acceptance speech at the VMAs, and even though it was probably just a last-ditch effort to remain edgy and rebellious, I couldn’t help but agree. My suggestion is that, in order to avoid having to change their name, MTV change the “M” from “Music” to “Mind control,” because mind control is the only way people are convinced to watch their shows. MTV has worked for years to convince the public that celebrity drama is important to society. That whole Kanye West debacle? That’s Mind control Television. MTV can still be MTV, and I won’t have to sue them for false advertising, because it is definitely not Music Television anymore.

2. Censorship

Despite its popularity, MTV manages to piss off almost everyone. Shows like “16 and Pregnant” mean MTV is banned in conservative households, and censorship of musicians means it’s not so popular with the liberal half of the country, either. My personal favorite example of censorship is from 2005. Nine Inch Nails was set to perform at the MTV Movie Awards, but when executives found out that Trent Reznor was planning to use an image of George W. Bush as the backdrop, they reconsidered. A replacement band, the Foo Fighters, was eventually chosen. MTV manages to destroy family values and free speech at the same time.

1. Douche Bags

If everyone were an MTV reality show character, Abercrombie & Fitch would rule the world. MTV sells Ashton Kutcher look-alikes. They pop their collars and wear trucker hats. Somehow, even though no one relates to these people, shows like The Hills and Real World are convincing people that hair gel and fake tans are cool. Watch an MTV reality show; if you don’t see someone with a stupid tattoo, it is a miracle. MTV is everything you hate about fraternities. Don’t watch it.

No Steroids, Just Balls

2009-09-12T00:27:00.000-07:00

The International Association of Athletic Federations (IAAF) announced recently that it will continue testing South African runner Caster Semenya's gender and will not release the results until November. Chuck Norris could have done this in 10 minutes.

Semenya won the 2009 IAAF World Championship final in the 800 meter run with a time of 1:55.45. If you don't know how fast that is, yes, she's faster than you. There are three reasons to question her(?) gender: the fact that she's only 18 years old and is already the best in the world, the fact that she allegedly has testosterone in her system, and the fact that when compared to Jeremy Wariner, the 2007 IAAF World Champion 400 meter sprinter, Semenya looks like Mr. T. Also, when you jumble up the letters, "Caster Semenya" becomes "A Secret Man? Yes." No joke.

Semenya's coach, Michael Seme, told the South African Press Association this week that Semenya will not be participating in the national cross country championships, held this weekend, because she was "not feeling well." She had been preparing to compete in the 4,000 meter run at the championships. Although her pre-race meal for the race has not been divulged, my guess is that it would have been sausage.

You might think I'm taking the low road, questioning a teenage girl's gender just because she's better than me at sports and she has huge eyebrows, but I'd like to point out the conspicuous lack of penis jokes in this gender-based blog. I'm 18 years old going on 13; give me some credit.

Depending on the gender-test results, Semenya may not be allowed to compete with women. My official position on the issue is that she is innocent until proven guilty, but that's mostly just because she could kick my ass.