Nothing doing

The title of this post is a phrase I absolutely despise. You don’t hear it often. In fact, the only time I’ve ever heard it uttered is during a football or basketball game. For example, a phrase might come out of an announcer like, “Handoff to Priest Holmes up the middle…and nothing doing on that carry.” It may be Dick Enberg, it may be someone else, but the fact remains, I hate the phrase.

That said, the phrase turns out to be remarkably sensible for this post: I got nothing. I’m doing nothing. Essentially this post is nothing doing. So in order to change this post’s status from nothing doing to something doing, I’m going to rip of Christiane once again:

Would you rather find a scab in your food at a restaurant or a pubic hair?
I think I would rather find a pubic hair. In fact, I’ve found hairs in my food before that could easily pass for pubic (not counting the 7-incher (yes, I measure it to be sure) I found in high school at Taco Hell). Scabs are different. There’s flesh and blood and maybe, if you’re very fortunate, mucus to be had, and that’s not working for me. I guess it would also depend on whether or not the scab was soft and pale vs. the crispy (throwback to my yesteryears, that one) brownish ones. The soft ones could conceivably go well with crackers or soft cheeses, while the crispy ones could work equally well in a Caesar salad…who knows?

Would you rather eat a tumor after being removed from surgery or chew and swallow someone's eyeball?
Tumor vs. eyeball in the realm of consumption. Wow. Well, I think I’m gonna have to go with the tumor on this one. Add some provolone, mozzarella, marinara sauce, oregano…you got yourself some Tumor Parmigiana. And you know the eyebal’ls got some blackish goo in there…ain’t no way that’s coming out good, regardless of how much oregano you use.

Would you rather your significant other leave you for someone of the same sex or someone of the opposite sex?
Since I’m a guy and I’m married to a woman, I sometimes often subscribe to the threesome fantasy…hey…every guy does. So, I think if my (loving, caring, wonderful, adorable) SockMama were to leave me for a woman, I could at least enjoy the fantasy as I do now. But if she left me for a dude, then I would have to fantasize about that, and frankly, that just ain’t doing it for me.

Bleeding material

Right now I’m reading Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs. It’s listed as a national bestseller, so it’s supposed to be great. But I’m having some serious trouble with it. As I’m writing this, I have a small knot in my stomach from some of the stuff I read this morning on the bus.

The book is the author’s memoir, basically recanting his childhood. But it does so in such a brash, flip way, it’s hard to believe. This is due to the enormity of his experiences, and often times how he writes about them. The first sentence in one of the chapters is: “I’m lying on Neil’s bed, the top of my head knocking against the headboard because his cock is inexplicably down my throat.” If I were against gays or terrified of homosexuality, this wood jar me to the core. I’m not, but it still did. See, the thing is that at this point in time, the author is 13 years old. The aforementioned Neil is in his 30s. That’s what bothers me – the guy is getting worked over by a pedophile, and he recants his memory in such a flip, nonchalant way, it upsets me. It’s as if this stuff is perfectly normal. Regardless of what gender is involved, 30 going on 13 is not right.

I don’t know. I guess that’s what people love about it, the way Burroughs casually refers to his strange childhood living at an off-kilter psychiatrist’s home and how he deals with his lifestyle. I don’t know if I believe it all, though; it seems forced, as if the author is making up or exaggerating (as most authors do anyway, to a certain extent) what happened as he was growing up. But maybe that’s how he needs to remember it in order to deal with it.

Some stuff is actually pretty funny, especially when the subject is so strange that Burroughs’ flippant style accentuates its absurdity perfectly. But these times are contrasted so steeply against more brutal occasions (like the “headboard” incident above), that I come away (no pun intended) feeling like I need to take an Oxycontin and lie down.

Revelations

This is enough to drive me absolutly insane. I know it's how ministries work, and it ties into their goals (being the whole "getting into heaven" thing), but seriously...can't you come up with soemthing a LITTLE creative on your own? Do HAVE to ride the coattails of popular culture to trick people into believing what you believe?

Come on.

Nothing much from me today

except for, oh...I don't know...this:



Just for the record, I didn't come up with that stupid little caption. Not that I have something against Texans, per se, (because I do, you know), but because it just isn't that funny.

Here's another one:


I particularly enjoy the finger on the lens - adds a certain something that I just can't quite put my...okay, I'll stop. But not before this:



Images are fun.

Something fishy is going on here...

There’s a scheme going on, and you may be a victim. Of course, that’s the brilliant part of a scheme, right? Subterfuge, misdirection, and all that other stuff. But this plot – while not directly involving the toppling of foreign governments or the unmasking of prominent celebrities’ sex tapes – is much more unnerving. Unless the prominent celebrity happens to be Michael Moore, in which case we should all just pray for quick and easy deaths. Come to think of it, that’s one in the same.

Two words: Jesus Fish.

Yep. That funny little mainstay of American conservatism, the little fish is involved in much, much more than just condemning abortions and bashing gays (oh, and loving Jesus and everyone…except for those people over there). See, they’ve found a new way to circumvent church as the way to express their beliefs: good ol’ American patriotism.

Now, before bolts of lightning come shimmering through the sky and blacken the earth around me, let me explain. The Jesus/Right Wing/Christian/Faith Fish, looks like this:

Yes, you’ve seen it before. Sometimes it will be plain, other times it may have a little cross for an eyeball, and still others may have the word “faith” inside of it. But the similarity that keeps them all going is the overall design of the fishy itself: an oval, whose axis is broken, so that two “ends” protrude, thus creating the fish’s fins. It’s important to note here that the ‘Darwin’ fish shares this same design, except that it adds two little feet to the fish. Something to do with evolution or something, I’m not sure.

But what I’m sure of is this: The same people that brought you the Fish, are bringing another fish to the table. But this one tastes worse and has uglier markings. I’m referring to the “Save Our Troops” ribbon magnets that are currently taking up space on the sides and bumpers of cars across America. Not sure what I’m referring to? Here you go.

I know what you’re thinking. I do. You’re sitting in front of your computer, looking at that image, saying to yourself, “No way. That thing looks NOTHING like the Jesus Fish. Andy probably just had too much Sapphire.” And while the latter part of that statement is very likely, the former isn’t. See, the Fish and the Ribbon have more in common than you think. In fact, the beauty of it is the simplicity in which the Ribbon can be transformed into a make-shift Jesus Fish. Watch.

Coincidence? Oh, I think not. Still think I'm paranoid, do ya? Well, check THIS out:

I think you see that cross in red just as clearly as I do, thank you very much.

The “face” on Mars is less startling than this revelation, let me tell you. And you know what’s even stranger? I’ll tell you. It’s that people are looking at ME funny when I point wildly at their vehicles, and scream “You’re being duped! DUPED I say!”

Actually...

That didn't turn out huge at all. But what's weird is that in the preview link to view your current post, the image was HUGE. Huh.
Still...I'll see you tomorrow.

Believe It or Not...

I actually have been working on a post over the past week. But the thing is, the post needs to have images to adequatlely defend my points. But alas, that post is at work, and I am at home. But I'm excited to say that I think I am getting closer to posting my images to my blog. In fact, I am going to post one right here. Hopefully.



For those unaware, that's San Francisco. I shot this from Coit Tower and it turned out really nicely. I just wish it wasn't so huge. But until I get the motivation to actually go into PhotoShop and fix the sizes and color manually, I think I'm going to have to deal with the gigantic-ness of my images.

Anyhow, I promise I've been writing...it's just waiting for me to figure out this stupid image thing...and it looks like I might have.

We'll see.

Please work

I don't think it will...

Grrrr....

Happy Scout

Contemplative Scout 

My buddy.

Hmmm...this isn't working the way I was hoping. See, I wanted to add pictures WITHIN a blog entry, not make it its own entry. Damn.
More work.

Patience, little one. Patience.

Last week was tough. But this week shouldn't be as bad, so expect some brilliance coming later on either today or tomorrow. That said, I had a great weekend - got out of town, got refreshed, got buzzed. All in all, a productive weekend, if I may say so myself.

I'll be back.

Here's a hint about the next entry:

"JPEG."

So. Busy.

You know that part in Aliens where the marines discover the alien layer and they find the one guy glued to a wall, begging to be killed.

That's me right now.

Which pretty much accounts for my lack of posts.

So. That said...

I have to work.

Gotta love mucus

This post is lame.

You have been warned.

I stayed home from work yesterday. Had to. Way to sick to deal with anything work related. But I was able to watch the first disc of my Seinfeld DVD collection, which was nice. Other than that though, I pretty much watched TV and played the occasional video game. Not the most exciting of tasks.

So....that said, I really don't have that much to say today.

Except for, I don't know, this.

The Plague

My head feels like a pressure cooker; there's crap in in here that keeps growing, pushing against the inside of my skull. My lips feel swollen, my face hot, my throat afire. Right behind the top of my head is a dull ache, waiting, biding its time before it pulls its trigger and splits apart my cranium, sending searing white hot pain dancing through my field of vision.

It's going to be a lovely day, I can tell already.