WFiiA? Round 2

Everybody's pointing fingers these days! Don't be left out in the cold! Warm up your index finger because it's time for another ripping round of WHOSE FAULT IS IT, ANYWAY?

Our winner from Round 1, Booze, is up against a whole new slew of ew!

Who's to blame? It's up to you to decide!

Whose fault is it?

Booze (Reigning Champ!)

???

Obama

???

Technology

???

Jazz

???

Joan Crawford

???

Rita

???

Bare Ankles

???

Whose fault is it??!!

Christmas comes early

"This is the happiest day of my life." -Me upon opening the front door and getting hit with a 65 degree breeze.

"Here at last.
Here at last.
Thank God Almighty
the cool front is here at last."
-Martin Luther King, Jr. (with changes by me)

"Cool fronts make babies happy." -Me

"The oppresively hot day makes the laborer weep, but the cool, crisp autumn day makes him snuggle up in a blanket and smile." Fourchette 4:13

"Cool fronts make baby Jesus happy." -Me

"Parousia takes precedence." -Some weirdo who has no appreciation for cold weather (and obviously uses a Word of the Day calendar to make us think he's edumacated)

I don't know what that means, but damn if it ain't the truth!

It's coming...

The first cold front of fall. It's scheduled to start blowing into Everycity, USA sometime this evening. I've just gotta say...when I heard that it was going to be here on Thursday it felt like someone just announced that Christmas was coming early. I can't wait. I really can't.

Pleasure Island

Everycity, USA – Houston’s Six Flags Astroworld was once one of the most popular tourist attractions in the state of Texas. Over the years, however, the park has fallen into a serious state of disrepair and quagmire of violence as inner-city gangs have moved their operations from the streets of the ghetto to Looney Tune Land.

“The gangs have turned this theme park into their own personal playland of terror,” said concerned resident Chatty O’Catty. “We were minding our own business by ‘Roadrunner’s Speedway’ when we heard gunshots. It was a drive-by. We had to leap for cover as those miniature race cars on rails sped by, guns blazing.”

In fact, Looney Tune Land is number one on the Houston Police Department’s Most Dangerous Zones in America list. The Astroworld violence has spawned a number of protests from local residents demanding the park close it's doors posthaste.

But all that may change, thanks to the recent purchase of Astroworld by a man who wishes to be known simply as “the Coachman.” A Dickensian-looking gentleman with a homey cockney accent, the Coachman is the brilliant mind behind the exclusive Pleasure Island resort, an amusement park tucked away on an uncharted island somewhere off the coast of Italy.

“I decided it was high-time to expand,” said the Coachman in a recent press conference. “When I heard that Astroworld was closing down, one quick look at the area told me that this was the place to build.”

It’s not all fun and games for this entrepreneur, however.

“I see this as an outreach,” the Coachman continued. “It’s my calling. When I was in Italy I noticed the staggering number of troubled young boys always getting into trouble, not listening to their elders, playing hooky from school. Most of them came from broken homes and probably wouldn't be missed if I was to turn them into--er--if anything awful were to happen to them. I thought and thought of a way to give these boys a place where they could be free to experience life without all the restrictions and expectations society puts on them. That’s how Pleasure Island was born.”

“I just want these boys to have a good time. I want them to know that, in my park, making a jackass of yourself isn’t just allowed, it’s encouraged.”

The Coachman, who has made a vast fortune selling an untold number of donkeys to coal mines and circuses around the world, is reportedly using his own laborers from Italy to revamp the now-closed Astroworld theme park. The laborers work only by night and, according to rumor, are huge, black, shadowy beasts.

“There’s something creepy going on in there,” said Vonquita Thibbedeaux, a Houston native who recently relocated because of Hurricane Ophelia. “But if this Pleasure Island will get my boys off the streets and away from drugs, I’m all for it. I’ve already bought them season passes.”

The Coachman plans to extend his outreach efforts to bring in young men from the impoverished inner-city sections of the city.

“When we officially open two summers from now, I plan to employ the same techniques I used while living in Europe. My associates and I won’t sit here in the park, waiting for them to come to us. Rather, we will come to them.”

The Coachman’s plan involves driving a coach pulled by a team of highly intelligent donkeys into the most destitute neighborhoods of the city where violent crime and unruly behavior are the order of the day. He plans to pick up these boys, many of whom are too poor to afford transportation, and personally escort them to the park like a latter-day Pied Piper. And it won’t cost them a dime.

“I don’t believe in charging the exorbitant fees most theme parks charge. As long as these boys are young, strong, strapping lads and are very, very naughty, they are welcome at the American Pleasure Island.”

But Italy isn't America and the Coachman and his crew may have to change their strategy if they wish to draw an American crowd.

“We’re currently looking for ways to make Pleasure Island as cool an experience as possible and to really appeal to today’s darker, edgier kids,” said Honest John, an anthropomorphic fox who works as the Coachman’s advertising manager. “We really want to make it an experience these boys will never forget.”

Honest John describes his vision of Pleasure Island: the Ghetto Adventure as a place “where every day’s a holiday.”

“Fortunately for us,” says John, “Six Flags has already introduced a jolly elderly gentleman as their mascot. Crowds have really responded well to him so we have every reason to believe the Coachman will have the same success. We’re thrilled to be leading these boys to their doom—er—to a land of fun.”

But some residents are suspicious of the Coachman’s intentions. Particularly Houston resident Nimber O’Werner who violently lashed out at our crack team of reporters.

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” she screamed. “This Coachman is going to make money off these boys making jackasses of themselves! It brings to mind the story about a talking donkey named Alexander that appeared in an Italian town dressed in human clothes.”

As the story goes, the donkey, also coincidentally of the same breed as those the Coachman sells, begged to see it’s “mama” and told of an evil man in red who took him to a place called Bleasure Island. Alexander, as the donkey called itself, was immediately sedated and carried off to a high-security lab where scientists could study the animal.

But the Coachman says naysayers like O’Werner are just “party poopers.” He also had an unusual request for his future visitors.

“Rebuilding this park is costing us a pretty penny,” he said. “So boys, when you do come to Pleasure Island, please, please, be as awful as you can. It will really help us out.”

Pleasure Island: The Ghetto Adventure is set to open in the summer of 2007.

The Coachman (above left) escorts several lucky Italian youngsters to Pleasure Island.

Untelligent Design

It's the hot thing in the news right now and once again, I'm kind of confused.

I've never understood the whole evolutionism vs. creationism battle. Maybe it's because I subscribe to the Anna Leonowens theory set forth so eloquently in 'the King and I': "It's the same miracle whether God made the world in seven days or many, many years."

So somebody tell me...why is it so important to have "intelligent design" taught in schools? What difference does it make anyhow?

Biology teacher: Kids, I have some news for you. Human beings are descended from monkeys. And that's the gospel truth.

Nooo! Not monkeys! Anything but monkeys! Quick! Somebody! A splint! My fragile faith just shattered!

Heaven forbid parents should have to sit down and have a meaningful discussion about these issues with their kids.

Besides, as long as there are manatees in this world, there will always be an argument for UNintelligent design. Now, I love manatees as much as the next guy, but come on. They're an endangered species for a darned good reason: they don't swim fast, they have no way of defending themselves, and they taste GREAT to killer whales.

And don't even get me started on scorpions, three-toed sloths, and Paris Hilton.

From the archives: 1/25/05

This happened quite some time ago but I wrote it down so I'd never forget it. I must've been feeling masochistic that day. It's all/mostly based on truth. I couldn't make this stuff up. Why would I want to?

My Instructions: I'm supposed to index all the documents in the legal library, then if there is a deal that doesn't have any documents in the legal library, I'm supposed to go into the file room and see if there are legal documents in the files. If there are no legal documents in the files I'm supposed to contact the analyst who is in charge of that deal and tell him that there are no files in the file and that there need to be legal files in the file so I can put them in the legal library. If there ARE legal files in the file, I'm to contact the analyst of that deal and ask him to go through it and tell me exactly what needs to be put into the legal library and what needs to stay in the files. Now try reading that really fast, stopping halfway through to answer a phone call, then reciting it from memory.

Me: So, Consuela (my supervisor), I need to clarify. I'm still a little uncertain as to what exactly I'm doing once I index all the legal documents in the legal library.

Consuela: Then get with the analyst, remember how I told you to do that? And have him go through it with you.

Me: No, it's not that. It's the whole thing.

Consuela: What part?

Me: The whole thing. So the goal here is to make sure there are legal files on all the deals in the legal library?

Consuela: Yes.

Me: So if there are legal files in the deal files they all need to be moved into the legal library, yes?

Consuela: Not necessarily.

Me: Okay... so what if the legal library doesn't have any of the files from the file room?

Consuela: Then yes.

Me: Yes what?

Consuela: You need to move them. That's why I said get with the analyst, remember? You need to go through them--

Me: But at what point do I--?

Consuela: This is really just to get the analysts to look at their files because they don't ever look at them.

(pause)

Me: Wait...so this is just a trick to get the analysts to--

Consuela: Remember how I said to get with the analyst?

Me: Yes, I know. Get with the analyst. I'm not asking about that.

Consuela: Because he'll tell you what documents he wants in the legal library, remember?

(beat)

Me: COULD YOU BE A LITTLE MORE UNCLEAR? Is that possible? Could do that for me? Oh, and while you're at it, make me feel a little more like an idiot by saying, "Remember? Remember?" all the time! How the hell am I supposed to remember something I've never even heard before?!

(pause)

Consuela: (blankly) I told you how to do this three weeks ago, remember?

(phone rings)

(and rings)

(and rings)

It's Nelson

Meet Hurricane Rita

"Who killed my sister? Who killed Katrina?? Was it you?"

Prissy Penguins

Everycity, USA - The impossible romance that shocked the world came to a grinding halt just days ago when Silo and Roy, New York City's famous "gay penguins", broke up after a news interview with FabTV, during which the two birds made a shocking discovery: they’re both male.

"Roy’s a dude?" Silo asked when reporters pressed him with questions about his penguin partner. He passed out in his iceberg home in the Central Park Zoo moments later.

"Apparently nobody ever told the two arctic birds that they were both male," said zoologist Fanny Shuffleboard. "This was their first-ever news interview. The reporters showed up, many of them wearing purple triangles on their shirts, and Silo asked, 'What's with all the gay shirts?'”

His query was answered by FabTV reporter, Paisley Korbel, who declared loudly, "Because you're the most fabulous gay penguins of all time!"

Silo and Roy have not spoken since.

"Everyone at the zoo is heartbroken," said pink flamingo-keeper Dannie Reilly. "Silo and Roy have been popular gay icons for years. They were special. Now they're just a couple of 'breeders'. It feels like someone died."

Gay activist groups, many of whom were Silo and Roy's closest friends during their unwitting romance, have turned hostile and formed picket lines in front of the zoo.

"They've been brainwashed by right-wing Christian groups," said activist Susan Parsnip, 42. "We know they're gay, despite what Roy, Silo and everyone else says."

But Silo insists that he "digs chicks" and that his romance with Roy was “a huge mistake.” In fact, he has already shacked up with a high society penguin from San Diego named Scrappy. According to insider reports, they're hard at work on their first egg.

Roy hasn’t had such luck.

He began keeping a daily blog shortly after discovering Silo’s gender, which averaged almost 700 hits per day. But all that changed last Tuesday when Roy posted that his zookeepers wanted to send him to a private camp in Tennessee—a camp for struggling homosexual penguins.

Since then, his blog has been updated only sporadically, with cryptic messages such as, “Leave me alone” and “I’m not gay” and “I don’t want to be your poster-boy.”

“We’re all worried about Roy,” said blogger Leroy Oppenheimer. “We suspect it isn’t even him writing in his blog anymore, that it’s the zookeepers writing for him. I don’t know him very well—I don’t know him at all, actually. But I know in my heart that Roy would never say those things.”

All this comes hot on the heels of the film, ‘Prance of the Penguins’, a critically acclaimed documentary narrated by Liza Minnelli, which was inspired by the Silo and Roy story. In it, scientists and theologians conjecture that gay penguins are evidence of “fabulous design” and that their mating habits are evidence that God exists. And is gay.

But with the breakup of Silo and Roy, box office revenues for ‘Prance’ have plummeted, resulting in what may be the biggest box-office bomb in Hollywood history.

Tensions all across the country have been high since this story broke. Our crack team of reporters was even violently attacked by fanatical college-grad, Nimber O'Werner.

"Why can't you leave those penguins alone and let them pursue their potential as heterosexuals?" O'Werner raved. "You're always telling people to be true to themselves but the second anybody deviates from the path that serves your own little agenda you raise holy hell! This is the most ridiculous story I've ever heard."

In San Francisco, many are described as being "at a loss."

“We’re at a loss,” said FabTV reporter, Korbel, who also heads up the San Francisco gay pride parade planning committee. “We were hoping to have Silo and Roy be the grand marshals in the parade. Imagine how cute they’d have been in their little tuxes, waddling down the street, flipper in flipper.”

“Now it looks like we’ll have to use Carol Channing. Again.”

Splash

Uh oh. Looks like the levees broke again...

One of those mornings...

So I wake up this morning after a fitful night's sleep (I went to the dermatologist yesterday and had a cyst removed from my back. Got stitches and everything! It was rather difficult to get comfortable...lots of tossing and turning). I brush my teeth, shave, do the whole hair-flattening thing, then walk into my living room to give Nelson his good-morning pat on the head.

Then I notice one of my pillows--one of the two pillows from my bed--is sitting in my living room armchair. And I have no earthly idea how it got there! A number of theories came to mind:

1. Aliens did it. This seems to be the most logical explanation as aliens are outfitted with mind-erasing technology. My bedsheets were also covered in blood! Well, a few drops anyway. Did the aliens re-open my wound and implant some sort of tracking device? If so, why would they move my pillow?

2. People did it. But if people broke into my apartment and moved my pillow, why didn't they also take my kidneys? Perhaps they saw the stitches on my back and thought someone else had beat them to the mother-lode? But kidney-harvesters are highly-educated medical students and would know that nobody has kidneys halfway up the middle of their back. They must've been harvesting human spinal cords. But why?

3. Ghosts did it. If I don't remember having moved my pillow then that must be because I didn't move my pillow. Ghosts did! But everyone knows that cats are sensitive to things of the netherworld...if ghosts came a-haunting last night, why didn't Nelson raise a ruckus?

Who did it???

A Poem

I Know Why the Caged Baby Yowls

The free baby plays
With toys galore
And gets everything
It wants and more.
It kicks its chubby legs
And arms and behaves
In a manner most foul.

But baby locked
Inside a cage
Quite often gets
A case of rage.
It has no toys
Nothing to do
So it opens its mouth and yowls.

The caged baby yowls
An awful blat
Because its diaper is wet
From where it sat
And the cry is heard
By the neighbor’s cat
For the caged baby yowls for CPS.

The free baby goes to a PG-13 rated flick.
It’s parents take their little chick
Because they’re too cheap to get a sitter.
So baby grows up mean and bitter

But the caged baby, no movies has it seen
And it grows frail and rather lean
And thinks, “I’m a baby, not veal!”
So he opens his throat to yowl.

The caged baby yowls
An awful blat
And sits ensconced
Just like a rat
But there’s no cheese
For this poor brat
And the caged baby yowls for CPS

Guffaw

'Arrested Development' doesn't have one of these. Season three starts tonight! Watch it! Info here!

Ask Nelson! 9/19/05

Dear Nelson,

You're a cat. How do you feel about the government spending millions of dollars rescuing animals from Katrina-ravaged New Orleans when it should be spending its money on saving caged babies? Should we save every stray dog and cat or just ones with collars? Where do you draw the line? They're acting like animals down there and making a bad situation worse. I think someone should do something.

-Cows R Yum, Columbia, SC


Dear Cows,

The callousness of your letter indicates to me that you have no idea what you're talking about. First, let me address that rather racist comment you made--just because an animal doesn't have a collar does not make it a stray. I suppose you think the elephants of the Serengeti are strays, don't you? For your information, just because an animal doesn't wear a diamond-studded collar, sleep all day in a cozy armchair and eat the finest of liverwurst out of a crystal goblet doesn't mean it's a stray. And as for their behavior during this moment of crisis, what do you expect? These cats and dogs have been driven to their most basic animal instincts; the instinct to eat, find comfortable places to sleep, and play with stuff like string and sticks. I know of several New Orleans cats who have been without air conditioning for days. I'm sure our dog cousins find themselves in a similar situation.

When Katrina struck, millions rushed to the aid of their fellow man--but who will save man's best friend?

It just goes to show that the government is set up to help cats and dogs (and the increasingly popular pot-bellied pigs and sugar gliders) as slowly as possible.

The government hates animals.

Nelson

Tragic. No cat should be this wet.

Special Report

Thousands Flee as Ophelia Meanders Off Carolina Coastline
by Fork E. Fourchette

Everycity, USA – Pandemonium has gripped Charleston, SC, as thousands of evacuees fled their homes in response to the Hurricane Evacuation and Location League of New Orleans’ (HELL-NO) recent announcement that Hurricane Ophelia is Hurricane Katrina’s kid sister.

“Before Katrina, I thought hurricanes were just a lot of wind and rain,” said Charleston native, Vonquita Thibbedeaux, 27. “But after I saw what happened to New Orleans on the TV, I realized that this Ophelia is nothing to sneeze at. Especially if she’s related to that [expletive] Katrina.”

Ophelia began as a light breeze off the war-ravaged coast of Africa, but, like her sister before her, she quickly became a force to be reckoned with.

“She has a real flair for the dramatic,” said HELL-NO supervisor Karl Weatherill, 33. “We’re guessing that’s why she’s named ‘Ophelia’, after Shakespeare’s greatest female character of all time.”

Weatherill suggests that Ophelia was originally content to live out her life as a tropical storm, performing to fishes, singing crabs, and mermaids in the mid-Atlantic.

“But once she saw Katrina do her stuff, she was determined to prove to the world who the real performer was.”

Ophelia's close friends describe the stage-struck hurricane as “dramatic,” “sexy,” and “redhead” but never thought she'd have the nerve to threaten even an island or archipelago, much less an entire continent like the United States. Reports indicate that Katrina and Ophelia have had a long-standing feud, arguing like over trivial matters such as which one is prettier and who has the cuter boyfriend.

“But like most girls their age,” Weatherill continues, “For every fight they have, there are just as many acts of love and affection. They’re sisters, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ophelia isn’t just helping Katrina finish the job.”

Citizens of Charleston, SC are not unfamiliar with upheaval. Their city was the birthplace of the popular dance craze of the 1920s and also the Civil War.

But few are prepared for a war against the devastating power of Ophelia. Despite that, many have chosen to brave the storm rather than flee its fury.

“I just wish she would make up her mind about whether or not she wants to hit us,” said Martha Marmalade, 67, a retired English teacher in the Charleston area. “She’s acting just like Hamlet. ‘Will I?’ ‘Won’t I?’ Make up your mind for goodness sake! Until then, I’m staying put. It’s like she has stage fright or something!”

Already, riots have broken out and dozens of antebellum Southern mansions have been destroyed, some unnecessarily so. Shop owner Andrew Schnauzer has lost thousands of dollars in Charleston-made hand-woven baskets, all of which were set ablaze by rioters.

“These people are crazy!” said Schnauzer. He was not available for further comment.

“These are good people who have been driven to their most basic of animal instincts,” said Donny Thornbrush, human rights activist. “Didn’t you see what happened in ‘The Day After Tomorrow’?”

But this isn’t the day after tomorrow. It’s today. And tomorrow may never come. After today.

FEMA critics have already assessed the government’s failure at responding to the Ophelia disaster and are chalking it up as the 23rd greatest natural disaster the country has faced.

“That the president isn’t down there right now waving a great big fan trying to blow Ophelia off course is, well, it’s unnerving is what it is,” said Spurs fan and FEMA critic Fifi LaGauche. “What if there’s a nuclear attack? Does the government have a plan to stop the flooding that will occur? That this administration can’t even stop Mother Nature from committing terrorist attacks on our soil should be a wake-up call to everyone. It's a tremendous failure. F plus, plus, plus.”

Billions of dollars have already been spent on Ophelia relief efforts, despite the fact that no one is sure when/if the hurricane/tropical storm will reach land. But emotions are still running high.

“The government hates black people,” said rapper Tawango Jones at a recent Ophelia relief concert.

"It's the curse! You're all cursed!" said Cockney Crone, 102.

Protestors have formed what they are calling a “human chain of love” in downtown Charleston, calling for an end to hurricane activity and the immediate truce with all hurricanes.

“We don’t even know why this hurricane is attacking us,” said mother of three, Cindy Lulabelle, 48, whose children have already been evacuated to Kansas. “If we could just have five minutes of Ophelia’s time, I’m sure we could work through our differences. And I want the president’s head on a platter.”

Tensions rose ever higher as our crack team of cameramen and reporters were attacked by disgruntled college grad, Nimber O'Werner.

“What’s your problem?” said fanatical O’Werner, 25. “Katrina happens and suddenly any little breeze off the Atlantic is newsworthy. Are the networks really that starved for a scoop? Chill out, people!”

But others, like Thibbadeaux, aren’t taking any chances.

“This some scary [expletive].”

It's Kind of Like a Zoo

I don't see why people are so upset about this. You can't just have them running all over the house, leaving droppings everywhere and nibbling on electric outlets. They're a danger to themselves and others! I say pooh-pooh to those bleeding hearts who call this 'abuse'. What do they expect? For each one to have its own little room and its own little bed? Last time I checked, the Constitution still protected an American's right to own and raise pets how they see fit!

SHEESH! Anyway. Here's the article. What do you think? Is it wrong?

Poems of the Weird

I call it Looking Out Upon the Sleeping Child-World


I stand on the tips of the blades of grass
The towers drop their golden berries
when the cars steal the shadow
of the innocent I am helpless
I am yet full of strength
the deleterious effects of the earth's axis
cause my head to swim when
Mama, papa, Lala enters my closed eye.
I stand
among
the blades of golden grass
my feet bleed
and scream
with
pain oh
Wrought iron wraps snakelike tendrils
dancing monkeys that sing Verdi for a glimpse of the blue fountain
pen
Where is Every body Everybody


Isn't that CRAZY SURREAL? Can't you see the floppy clocks? Now you try! Make sure to throw in a difficult word at some point in the poem to remind your audience that you are educated, even if you write like a kindy-gartener.

How to Read Surrealist/Dadaist Poetry Without Really Trying

Looking for a quick and easy way to make a couple of bucks? Have I got a gig for you!

1. Have someone who knows you fairly well contact your local art museum.

2. Have that someone suggest to the museum lady that you might be available to read surrealist/dadaist poetry for an upcoming exhibit.

3. (This one's important) Respond when the museum lady emails you. Say something along the lines of, "Oh yes. I love dada. Why, I studied it when I was at university." ("at university" will seal the deal)

4. The museum lady will send you a huge packet of poems to choose from. This will occur almost a month and a half before the actual reading. You'll be tempted to start looking through them but don't you dare! For this to be truly effective you must wait until the absolute last minute before you even open that bundle!

5. Enjoy your time off. There are many things you can do: play video games, watch bootleg DVDs, play with a virtual dog, be the first on your block to make a Katrina joke, pick apples, locate the street address for the Taj Mahal...there's a whole world of things to do out there!

6. It's the day before your reading! Now is the time to get to work! Pull the stack of poems out from under that pile of books. Go through them quickly. Remember, these poems hold no real interest for you so there's no sense in poring over them for hours on end. Besides, the clock is ticking!

7. (Most important) Choose your poems based on whether or not you can pronounce every word correctly. Those surrealists are notorious for writing like kindy-garteners, then suddenly dropping some abstruse, Ivy-league word like "anathema" in your lap. If you are unsure of a word here or there, don't worry! When it comes time for your reading, just read that word quickly, yet clearly. Your nonchalance will make everyone think you know the correct way to say the word and that they've been saying it wrong all this time. The ol' bait and switch!

8. Remember how the museum lady asked you to make sure you had a 30-45 minute reading prepared? Maybe now you're thinking you should time your reading? Poppycock! Timing is for sissies. Do you have 15 of these wacko writings in your binder? If so, you're good as gold. There's an easy way to get around the whole 'time' issue (see step #10).

9. It's time for the reading. Dress nicely and slick your hair back (click here for tips). Show up a little early. Introduce yourself with confidence and give firm handshakes. Whenever they aren't looking at you, that's your chance to actually read these puppies.

10. (The key to success) Read as SLOWLY as you think you can get away with. Hit those consonants and project (there will be some sort of surreal vacuum-cleaner "art" in the other room). If you keep it SUPER-SLOW and very crisp, people will think you've been reading this stuff all your life...even though you only looked at it five minutes before showtime!

11. When you finish, people will most likely tell you how brilliant you were (accept their compliments greedily. This may be the closest you'll ever get to fame, after all). If they should ask you questions about the poems, say things like, "I think it's about loneliness" or "It's about the concinnity of life." If they press you further, stick to vague responses like "I think it could go both ways" or "What do YOU think?"

12. Note the girl playing the theremin in the museum cafe on your way out the door.

Follow these simple steps and you'll be reading surrealist/dadaist poetry all the way to the bank!

It's the Blame Game!

Time for another swell survey! Today's question is:

Whose fault is it anyway?!

"Ya Gotta Blame Someone!"

~~~

Osama

?

Booze

?

Rock 'n' Roll

?

Katrina

?

Word-of-the-Day Calendar

?

Japanese Goth

?

Time to pick your favorite scapegoat!

What a coincidence

Whoa! Check out today's word from my little "Word of the Day" calendar!

Thursday, September 8, 2005

arduous \ar-je-wes\ adj 1a: hard to accomplish or achieve: difficult *b: marked by great labor or effort: strenuous 2: hard to climb: steep, lofty

*In the wake of the hurricane, residents faced the arduous task of rebuilding their section of town.

How strange is that? How could they have possibly known that Katrina was going to--waiiiit a minute! How could they know unless they planned it in advance?? Hey! Maybe this calendar is the one responsible for all the crap that's going on in the south!

Amazing

So Mr. Thomas has decided he DOES want to go to New York tomorrow after all. He wants to stay at the same hotel as Mr. Archibald, who has been in the City for two days for a business meeting. Problem is, the rate for Mr. Thomas would be almost $600. That's what happens when you do this stuff at the last minute.

So Mr. Thomas asked me to look up prices for the Plaza Hotel. Heck, if we're paying $600, may as well spend it at a really nice place, right?

Or maybe you could save money and just stay at someplace cheaper. I mean, you're only spending ONE night there. For realz.

So I took matters into my own hands and found a hotel really close to the one Mr. Archibald is currently staying in. Well, I THOUGHT it was really close. According to MapQuest.com, it's quite a trek.

Maybe it's time for MapQuest to get a new direction-finder.

I feel ya, sister

This waitress is a real trooper.

Survey

Who's the bigger diva?

LINDSAY LOHAN

or

HURRICANE KATRINA

The Verdict from our very special guest judge, D.J. "Noddoff" Pierce:

"Hurricane Katrina has left thousands dead, millions without power, and 80% of New Orleans, LA underwater -- all in a matter of hours.

But Lindsay Lohan went from brunette to blonde, and 148 lbs. to 97 lbs. in a matter of hours....

Lohan is the biggest diva, hands down!"

Thanksgiving Comes Early

You all know that this blog is meant to be a fun place, but in light of recent events, I thought I'd post something a bit more thoughtful this morning.


Yesterday...

I walked over to the mini-fridge we have in our office kitchen area and grabbed another bottled water, cracked it open, and enjoyed the cold water on my tongue.

I suddenly remembered that there are people just a few hundred miles from where I live who have have to boil their water before they can drink it. I finally got through to one of my friends in Louisiana this morning. He was excited because he had found someplace that was selling ice.

I became a little more thankful for that bottle of water.

Yesterday...

I used the fancy company washroom we have on our floor. It's stocked with scented soaps and hand lotions. Mouthwash, too. You dry your hands with a little white freshly-laundered hand towel. Someone comes in every couple of hours to make sure everything is clean and the facilities are working properly.

As I was washing my hands, I was suddenly transported to the New Orleans SuperDome, where the plumbing is no longer working and human waste litters the halls. The filthy floodwaters in New Orleans are mixing with raw sewage and seeping into the myriads of above-ground graves that populate the hills around the city. It's a good time to be a rat in the Big Easy.

I became a little more thankful for the plumbing in our office.

Yesterday...

I left my apartment at 8:30am and didn't get home until 11:00pm. On the way home from rehearsal at 10:45pm I got stuck in traffic. I was tired and irritable and my iPod's battery was running low. I knew Nelson was going to start that annoying yowling for his dinner the second he heard me coming up the steps to the apartment. I probably wouldn't fall asleep until after midnight and I'd have to be up at 7:30 the next morning to get to work on time.

Then it occurred to me that at least I have a home to go home to. Yesterday I received emails from two of my high school friends who fled New Orleans. They've lost everything.

I was suddenly thankful for my little overpriced apartment, Nelson's whining, and alarm clocks that go off at 7:30am.

Boring old Everycity, USA is in for another hot one. Today I'll get my bi-weekly paycheck. I'll probably go to dinner at a nice restaurant sometime this weekend. I'll go to the grocery store to pick up some more bananas and maybe some fresh strawberries. I'll turn both fans on in my apartment to hopefully save a little on the A/C bill this month. The biggest thing I'm worried about is getting off-book for this play I'm in.

Meanwhile, not too far away...

Well, you know.

Thanksgiving comes early this year, folks.