i'm going to let it speak for itself

   

i told you to kill your tv

my buddy snake was telling me about this wager that recently took place between some friends of ours. the bet was that this guy, nate, could not remain awake for 8 hours of really bad tv and then answer a series of questions about the episodes. the guy coordinating the effort, nick, setup the following lineup for nate to watch (note: shows had to be readily available for taping which explains their somewhat pedestrian nature).

1/2 hour friends
1/2 hour frazier
1 hour sabrina the teenage witch
2 hours family matters
1 hour boy meets world
3 hours full house

if i may commentate for a moment. i like the early technique of starting with the respectable shows as to make the ones down the line seem more abhorrent. that was strong. the hour of sabrina is a neutral selection though. i?ve only seen snippets of the show and know there?s some talking animal that?s pretty surreal but if i recall there?s some youngish, cutish girls in there. rookie move given the male contestant. the two hours of family matters serves as a sound recovery though but any ground gained here was lost in the boy meets world selection in that the topenga character has a haunting, yet compelling, physical presence and would stir mental endurance if even only to ponder her peculiarity. but, again, nick returns as strong as one could with the epic atrocity that is full house. no one can question this move and certainly many would have been tempted to lead, assault and even end with this show alone but i like the staggered and diversified approach. that's the definite sign of an artisan who treats his craft seriously.

as it turns out nate fell asleep during the boy meets world leg of the challenge. this obviously surprised me. and with three hours of full house ahead of him, that poor bastard didn?t stand a chance. but, given he didn't have to watch the full house block and nick did to tape it, it's hard to say who really walked away the victor here. i'd be lackluster on it.

save yourself

  

that dang ruthie is so doggone cute.

you don?t know pain until you know an addiction to the WB?s Seventh Heaven.

i'm back, missed or not.

the flight from portland to saint louis is over four hours long. my particular flight left at 6:29 am and i was the last one to check in therefore getting stuck in a middle seat. being exhausted i knew i was going to be snoozing before we even got off the ground. i asked the people on either side of me to wake me up if i started doing any weird stuff in my sleep. they asked what i meant by weird. ?oh i don?t know, reciting lines from pretty in pink or groping myself, i reckon you?ll know it if you see it.?

i was right, they knew it. halfway through the flight i was roused from my slumber and told that if i was going to keep doing ?that?, they?d prefer i stay awake.

he's not here right now.

i?m headed to portland for a little work and a whole lot of boondoggling. you can be certain that you will be hearing and seeing the humor before long. more than anything, i just wanted to forewarn you that updates will be a little spotty at best for the next several days. had i planned better i would have turned the update duties over to one of my esteemed readers. ok, so we all know that i absolutely would have turned over the reigns had i two esteemed readers to rub together. will you look at that, another potential entry is born.

and for any wondering if i?ve packed yet, know that i?ve packed my recently delivered issue of Large and in Charge and i?m quite honestly thinking anything else i may remember to bring would be gravy.

things obviously not meant for me:

1. team sports
2. any and all bruce willis films, and yes including die hard
3. the fraternity lifestyle
4. the french fry you just ate
5. the employee handbook
6. signs that read ?please leave underwear on when trying on swimwear?
7. chest hair removal systems

it's protected by doctor-patient confidentiality

i?m told that when my doctor asks why i?ve been going to the gym more i should not say ?so i can have a stomach like brittney?s?.

working through the night, so you don't have to

 

i need a body-sized kotex, with wings

recently while filling up the car at this archaic gas station i ran inside to pay in that they had not yet discovered credit card readers at the pump. it would seem the smoke-free environment had also eluded this establishment in that a white cloud billowed out the front door like i was on the set of ron howard's backdraft. after returning to the car, marty asked me if i had partaken in a carton of cigarettes or just hung out in the mouth of someone who had.

it was at this precise moment that a synapse in my brain registered a connection between carrying that memento out of the gas station and the special-heinous bathroom situation at my office building i spoke of earlier in the week (post super bowl vapors). the question is, am i transporting, on my person, the flatulatory swill of half the guys on my floor? i mean are these colonesque particles forever fused into my apparel and epidermis, because i can assure you they are forever etched into my mind.

and, before you belittle my neurosis please understand that these aren?t your typical pencil-necks. these are men who move towards the bathroom with a confident conviction, proudly cradling a folded newspaper under their arm and loudly cracking it straight while in the stall.

but the funk. for the sake of debate, let?s agree i am wearing it and it goes where i go and i?m unaware because my sensitive nasal receptors have been obliterated by the nefarious atoms which are almost visible to the naked eye given their extra volatile payload. do you think someone is going to alert me to this obvious problem? how do you tell someone that it doesn?t necessarily smell like they stepped in something but that instead something pretty damn wicked stepped on them, twice, and squished and slid their feces-painted foot all over their person and that a conventional shower will not even begin to eradicate the foulness that has been imprinted on their soul and that even if you were to get into outbreak-like measures you?d be getting closer to a fix but still not in the ballpark and that you would most likely require some government issue exfoliater hidden in the vaults beneath the pentagon to begin correcting the irreparable damage certainly caused by whatever tattooed its aroma on you because at this very moment you not only have the stench of the ten people you came in direct contact with but you also are the proud possessor of rectal mites from the ten people each of those ten people had prior contact with and did i mention that you currently have about nine minutes to live.

i would not be comfortable telling a stranger this. bookguy sure, a stranger, no.

what happened in there?

the best thing about living in the city of the super bowl's losing team is the parade scheduled for downtown on the next day during the afternoon rush hour is canceled.

the worst thing about living in the city of the super bowl's losing team is the work restrooms seem to be extra cantankerous from the culinary offerings at all the super bowl parties. although i imagine this could be the case all over the country, the digestive tracts of many a rams fan seemed to be hating life a little more than usual on this particular day.