Sugar-free Pain

My mother is diabetic. Therefor, the only sweet treats she is able to consume are those sans sugar. The sugar-free spree has been a large national craze lately, not only for diabetics but for weight-loss fanatics alike. Strangely enough, many of said candies taste strangely "normal", if I'm allowed the term. However, because of the sugar substitutes in these candies, the effects of the treats cannot be completely predictable in all people. For example, one of my favorite all-time candies are dark chocolate-covered almond clusters. Simply delicious. My mom was given a box of See's sugar-free dark-chocolate covered almond clusters as a present. I put one in my mouth and was awakened with a childish joy, so profoundly intoxicating that my senses overwhelmed themselves in the light of such joy. So I had another.

Maybe I am experiencing the highly controversial phenomenon of Male-pattern PMS, but after those almond clusters, I searched the cupboards and found a small container filled with sugar-free gummy bears. I ate a handful and was thoroughly satisfied.

Two hours later I found myself glued to the toilet with diarrhea commitments. My bowels were terrorized by a joy unspeakable. Sugar substitutes do not agree with me. I know that now. Please believe me, people. If you enjoy candy, please exercise extreme restraint with those of the sugar-free varieties.

The Myspace Effect: Part 2

Top eight.

What is the adoration with the dreaded "top" list of friends? I understand it was originally designed to show the people with whom one is to come into the most contact with. Cool. But now the top 8, 12, 16, mother-fucking-20? I haven't done the necessary studies, but I would confidently assert that those who had a larger top list also had more "friends" on Myspace. I would further assert that the vast majority of said persons would in fact be female (sans penis). With the given data, I feel it safe to make certain assumptions.

First, I think that these Myspace girls should be considered Myspace sluts. Yes, I said it. Not in the sexual arena from which most slut-based connotations are derived, but in an alternate variance of the term slut. In modern vernacular, the term slut suggests one (be it man or woman) who does something compulsively and without moderate decency. I think this to be befitting to the 'Myspace slut' I am speaking of. These people spend hours upon hours a day, not only showing scandalous, often intoxicated pictures of themselves and comment religiously to only a small percentage of their said friends. Who in their right mind needs to have 250+ people? I would give any girl a dollar per name for telling me where they met friends 75+ and on. That's some bullshit. It's like a high school popularity contest. And back to the top 8.

What's the big fucking deal? If you don't talk to somebody in 7 or 8 months, and they replace you with somebody they talk to more frequently, then piss off! Nobody wants to hear your ranting and raving about how your feelings are hurt. In reality, you are the asshole. And I hate the excuse, "Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been super busy". That's why instant messaging and subsequent Myspace were invented, to keep in touch with those who you lost touch with. Now, one surely can't call, and it has gone as far as being too busy to type in, "Hi. been busy lately, but just thinking about you." You don't have to hear despair in somebody else's voice, no need to be on the phone for hours, and still we have lost the ability to do that such thing. It is kind of sickening.

Myspace sluts. Not nearly as cool as they sound.

A List of My Dislikes: Part 2

once again, in no particular order...

1. This one is two-fold. It has to deal with animals. I love animals, don't get me wrong. What I dislike is: a) When people think it is funny to use people's voices to express an animal's supposed opinion in commercials for animal products. For example, the IAMS commercials. Dogs don't talk. We all know that. It's not funny or cute when you place a voice with an animal. Really; get a life. b) When people dress up their animals, take pictures of them, then place those photos online with stupid little captions. For example, check this website out Stupid Cats Or like when the people submit the videos of their squirrels water skiing with stupid little helmets.

2. I dislike it when, in local company commercials, the children are featured speakers. Here's a newsflash: children don't possess the proper vocalics - voice intonation, assertive voice, timing or any other effective delivery approach. What that means to me: It annoys the living crap out of me. Your child(ren) are not cute. They are not entertaining. Their shrill voices hammer and drone with great stiletto force into the nether-regions of my cranial cavity. Half the time you can't even understand what the kids are saying because they are either laughing or two blinks shy of being completely retarded. Kids, I can deal with. But don't put them in your commercials. If you do, and I find out where you live, I will dedicate every night for the rest of my life to urinating inside your mailbox.

3. If you really want to ruffle my feathers, then use the term "Livin' the dream" when asked how they are doing. Example:

-Hey, Joe. How's it going?
-Just livin' the dream, Gary. Just another day in paradise.

NOBODY in their right mind is that happy with their job. Even Mary Poppins wasn't that happy. Just a spoonful of sugar my ass. A spoonful of sugar to chase the fifth of whiskey she had to drink each night in order to sleep. Plus, livin the dream just sounds so absurdly gay. Not gay in a homosexual sense, but more so the social adaptation of it meaning stupid, pathetic, lame or any other derogatory connotation. Some guy said it to me the other day. He worked at the burger stand. If his dreams equate to no more than plugging his facial pores with airborne particles of grease and unsanitary minutia so his one zit can soon have many, many friends, then he may as well join the military.

For today, these are things I dislike.

The Myspace Effect: Part 1

Myspace has gained unfathomable popularity. From its humble beginnings in 2003, it seems that no conversation is complete without the mention of this phenomenon. It truly says something about human nature. Once a place to connect with one's friends, has now become a breeding ground for vain adoration and superficial personification.

There is the common question of whether artistic and literary eras influenced the works that were being produced, or whether the works being done influenced the movements that defined the era. I find something similar with Myspace. Were girls desperate to be seen as sluts before Myspace, or has the accessibility, popularity and faux security of Myspace made girls want to be seen as morally deficient ho-bags, waiting for the next person to comment on their airbrushed pictures? I wonder... I wonder how many of these young girls' mothers and fathers see the scandalous pictures many of them post on their pages.

And it's not just young girls receiving the criticism. How many accounts have made headlines in recent media for school teachers posting pictures of themselves in a bikini on a beach, and being publicly humiliated for it? Dating websites in the past ten years have made much headway. However, with the exponential popularity of Myspace, those online dating services had to evolve to stay a part of the game. I posit that a majority of the people who post pictures of them with obvious expectations of praise and lustful admiration do so in an attempt to appeal to somebody equally as vain, and most likely as shallow.

Yeah, you can feel good about yourself. That's fine. But do you really need to dwell on yourself that much? If you are at the beach in a bikini and people are looking, that's fine. But I would hope you don't stand in front of a mirror all day at the beach and admire yourself. I would hope that you don't pass out flyers telling people how attractive you are. I would hope you don't have a booth with questionnaires addressing how fuckable you are. I don't know many people that would do that. So why would you post pictures, implying the same notions but over a global market? I guess it's a cheap form of exhibition. It has to be kind of a rush; putting yourself out there, at the grace or disposal of Joe Anybody, and hoping for the best.

I usually assume people who post such pictures usually have nice bodies, and usually are attractive. I notice this and I ask myself, If they are already pretty and have nice bodies, why would they need more recognition? Following the logic, I naturally assume these girls have ever-increasing egos. Understanding that life is all about balance, and being the great social equilibrium that I am, I take time out of my busy day to make rude comments about their superficiality or flawed outfit. I do this not for pleasure, but to let them know that they aren't that great. And if they were, they wouldn't have to sell themselves on a free website. Just in case they don't believe me, I typically provide 3-5 links of girls who are equally attractive, with equally nice bodies, and who have the same predictable hobbies and taste in music.

My point: Myspace isn't bad. I like it. I have a Myspace account. I like girls. I like girls and I like Myspace. But I can't stand superficial wannabe slutty girls. If they really wanted people to see what they wear in those pictures, they would wear that shit all day long, in the mall and grocery store. We all have to grow up, ladies; no matter how your are rebelling against your father or how many times you have been divorced. Get a life.

California Universal Healthcare

It's about time. Though it is not here yet, and though it hasn't been decided on entirely, there is a possibility for Californians to one day have universal health care coverage. Being one who has never really given a flying rat carcass about true political happenings, this makes me happy. Check out the article in the NY Times by clicking on the link to this blog post. Although, what does disappoint me is this: the fact that some politicians agree with the concept of everybody having health insurance made available to them, but some argue that the plan would be a monetary disaster. I mean, for the love of Pete, this would cost a lot of money. Please review this website The Cost of War and tell me if you find those statistics ridiculous. The plan discussed in the NY Times is pertinent only to Californians (some other states have already adopted such policies). But here is an interesting stat; for what is costs us to be at war in Iraq for 9 months, the ENTIRE COUNTRY of the grand 'ol USA could be insured. 9 months. We have been there, oh, I don't know, almost six years-ish. 6 years times 12 months in a year equals 72 months. That means, with the amount of money we have spent, the US population could have been covered eight times over. Granted, I realize we are at war for one reason or another, bla bla bla. War isn't my issue at this point in time. But for years the notion of blanket health insurance has been a large concern. But for years politicians have found easy escapes from it, threatening to raise taxes beyond recognition to compensate for such things. Somehow, though, we have found a way to spend $275 million per day, that's $4,100 per household, per day. Correct me if I'm wrong; we originally went to war to show that USA is not to be messed with. We are still there to implement a new government and help THOSE people. What is so wrong with helping our own?

A List of My Dislikes: Part 1

in no particular order...

1. Wal Mart. Let me explain; I don't necessarily dislike saving money. I like money. I want to have more. But I hate the fact that in my town, at 10:30 on Saturday night, Wal Mart is the liveliest place around. All of the bars and clubs combined couldn't hold a candle to the chaos that is late-night Wal Mart. Also, I loathe the scent upon arrival. They always place a stupid little McDonald's right in the very front of the store. That way, after the unnecessarily friendly shopping cart man breathes all over you and says all-too-joyously, Welcome to Wal Mart, one is immediately bombarded with the putrid stench of the culinary abortions more commonly referred to as 'french fries'. The stale aroma of plastic meat and day-old pickles is enough to dissuade one from considering fast food a better choice than good old-fashioned regurgitation.

2. Jamiroquai. That guy straight sucks. I wish there was a more elegant or elaborate explanation, but no such thing exists. He doesn't make music. His voice turns the healthy, sick; nuns to witches.

3. Global warming. Let me paint a picture. You have a girlfriend. She is loving, sweet, smart and all things attractive to you. One day you are walking in, let's say, the mall. Suddenly you see a girl you went to high school with and proceed with the courtesy five-minute catch-up, then leave. One of your girlfriend's friends happens to witness you talking to, OMG, another girl! So she tells your girlfriend that you are cheating with some mall skank, and your girlfriend blows it completely out of proportion, and never trusts you again. That's how I feel about Global Warming. Kids are doing poorly in school? Must be global warming. We go to war with Osama? Hell, blame that on global warming. The tomatoes in your garden are either bigger and jucier or smaller and fewer than ever before? You can attribute either to global warming. If you have trouble becoming completely or even partially aroused, I'm sure some quack scientist somewhere will show a correlation between melting ice caps and impotence. The thing is, politicians are always looking for a scapegoat. For a while it was 9/11. That shit got people riled. Patriotism had never been higher. Guys would go home on their lunch breaks and masturbate to the concept of liberty, focusing of course on the physical manifestation. But that all started to wear away. The politicians needed something new, something fresh. Enter: Global warming. Here's my thoughts: global warming; schmobile snoring.

4. Text or instant messaging shortcuts including, but certainly not limited to: lol, rotfl, l8r, ur, u r, c u l8r and most importantly, OMG. It is bad when i see these things on a screen, but when I hear people use them in their vocabulary, I become infused with such an insatiable rage I could do something..very, very bad, maybe even to a very, very good person.

The That's-News-to-Me Newspaper

So, in an attempt for my family to become more well-read on the happenings of today and also in an effort to support the local economy, my family subscribes subscribed to the local newspaper. Let me explain.

Just the other morning I woke from a deep sleep fresh as the morning dew. The sun was briliant; the air, cool and crisp. I began as I do most other mornings by starting a pot of coffee and doing some morning stretches and exercises. It felt good to be alive. I went out into the living room to have a cup of coffee while i partook in my morning read of The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana by Umberto Eco. Some minutes later my sister went outside and brought the newspaper in. I was excited. I felt enthusiastic, accomplished and all-around ready for what the day was to bring to me.

The newspaper sat on the counter until I finished two chapters in my book. I walked into the kitchen for a coffee refill just as my sister was unwrapping the paper. Something fell out. I brushed it off as nothing. Then a piece of paper fell out, and I assumed it to be one of many advertisements. I picked it up and saw there was something written on it. "DON'T FUCK WITH ME AGAIN", this note read. But who? I asked. I thought people liked me. Who had I wronged so badly? Images of me running a yellow light, and not holding the door open for somebody at the grocery store and other instances of little worth boggled my mind. A temporary overload of supposed bad deeds struck me just as I saw it.

Dripping. The newspaper was dripping. But why? It certainly hadn't rained. The sprinklers were not on. Then I realized what it was that had first dropped from the paper; a condom. I don't know what exactly was in it, I hope it was mayonnaise, but something had leaked from the dong-sock and married itself with the paper. My sister realized what was happening at the same exact moment and she threw the paper towards the sink. I couldn't believe it. Who puts a condom (may or may not have been used) into somebody's newspaper with a terrible, mean note? I called the newspaper to request another copy and to complain about what had happened, and the service girl (let's call her Jane) giggled. I wanted so badly to say, "How would you like it if some random person came over to your house and put a used condom on your kitchen sink?" I didn't ask, though. In all honesty, I wouldn't have stopped at a giggle if I was in her position. Even now I am laughing as I write this. I guess in life there are certain things you need to create, and there are certain things you need to take note of.

What's Up With Santa Claus?

Santa Claus. What an icon. A global symbol of jolliness and good deeds. The mere thought of this tradition connotes a cup full of Christmas cheer and acts as an inspiration for children to behave appropriately. Speaking of which, Santa Claus is kind of a doody-head. I mean, the guy already has like 3/1000 of a second to park his sleigh (which has to be going like 5000 miles per hour), hop his lard ass down the chimney (or break into those houses that don't have chimneys through the back door), eat some unneeded cookies, drop some random presents off, hop back on the roof and peace out to the next house. That's cool. I can dig the thought of that.

What really begins to boggle my brain is Santa's overt attempt to exploit perceived bad children. He could very easily ignore those children, and increase the amount of time he could spend at each house; as we all know there are a great number of devilish children running a muck in our society. But no. He doesn't. He deliberately takes the time to stop at those children's homes - the ones he has never met and has no idea if they truly are bad people, or if maybe they just made a bad decision - and deliver COAL in their stockings! That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. What an a-hole. I bet when Santa was young, his mommy never gave him hugs. Who else has that much pent-up frustration that they make the conscious effort, when their time is already beyond strict, to go out of their way to deliver the most degrading present one could imagine? And what would be the psychological reverberations of such deeds? Let's create an example:

Let's say Jimmy Little was a pretty good child. He listened to his mom most of the time and helped her out around the house. Maybe one day he lied to her about breaking her vase on the front porch. But he feels great regret for his actions and his subsequent lying to his mother. [Enter: Santa's 'Bad List']. Little Jimmy Little is thus placed on the bad list even though he felt sorry and apologized for his wrongdoings. That year he receives coal in his stocking. Do you think that he will ever get better? No. Every year following that, he will see no point in owning up to his mistakes. He will consciously wrong others while eventually convincing himself there will be no benefit in doing the supposed 'right' thing, for he tried that as a child and was spat upon by the glory of Christmas' icon.

What did we grow up believing?

What's the Deal With Birthdays?

So today was my birthday (and yes, I recognize the tense confusion, but at this point in the day the concept of my day of birth is no longer unenthusiastically recognized by any my loved ones). My family continues to ask me what presents I would like. In years past, I would have asked for some cool new shoes or a TV. Now, if there is something I want, I go out and get it myself.

I used to think of people who didn't want their birthday celebrated or acknowledged were subscribers to some form a hidden desire to have grand attention envelope them. I no longer feel that way. I believe I am one such subscriber. I woke up and it literally was just another day. After bouts of phone calls from friends and relatives I got to thinking: why is it that we celebrate one's day of birth? Is it because we celebrate having made it in this world another year? If so, that's kind of depressing. Otherwise, it just seems that we make an unnecessarily large deal about the act of being born. As if to say: "Hey, you were born once. I was too. Let's throw a party, eat cake and buy you stuff because you did what we all have done." Does anybody know the answer to my question?

An Recognizition of Dissatisfaction: Apple Ipod Commercials Blow

I can't freaking take it anymore! That Mary J Blige song is ri-god-dam-diculous. Yeah, Apple, we get it. Your cool commercials with silhouetted people and the visible Ipod are greeeeeeeat. You really need to keep playing commercials. I bet there are innumerable citizens out there who have no idea what an Ipod is. I bet. How come in these ever-present commercials you don't mention your sheer negligence on behalf of your inferior products? How your warranty lasts for 12 months, but when 12.5 months roll around, your only answer is to purchase another $400 one of your pieces of rubbish? Yeah, that's what I thought, Apple. Bitches.

And let's be real. If you are promoting a product AND a new song, why in obscenity's name would you choose one by Mary J. Blige? Yeah, 10 years ago she might have been popular with retarded 12 year-old illegal aliens, but for the love of Pete; we are in 2007, here. Get with the times. "Work What I Got?" Those are the lyrics you are promoting? Such deep, sincere words sculpted from passion and ingenuity, breathed on by the lyrical divinity known as Lyricopoles. Get the hell out. Might as well have the latest rap from Birdman or the next teenybopper single. If your aim is to annoy and utterly dissatisfy anybody with more than two firing neurons, then bravo. You have outdone yourselves. Keep up the good work.

Faux Anonymity: Reverberations of Curb Your Enthusiasm

I have a theory. If the world was divided into two groups, they would be those who do things for the good of doing them, and there would be those who do things for the recognition they would receive. The latter would most certainly have a larger following. I believe that people who make monetary donations and beneficial work with the facade of being anonymous, do it so they can tell people how little they want attention.

As an example, I overheard a gentleman talking today. This was a man I immediately became disinterested in as he was an absurdly loud talker. People that talk loud are insecure. It's science. So this obnoxious man was talking to another man, whom he had just met, and only on the premise that they both enjoyed hiking, and was telling him how he loved to support outdoor groups. For 15 minutes I had to listen to him regurgitate heroic tales of his many, large donations he has made over the years. I only interjected with cynical bursts of "You are truly a saint" and "By George, heaven must be knocking on your door". He seemed increasingly more annoyed with each interjection, but he was an idiot so I don't care.

My point is this. How many other people must he have told? That completely defeats the purpose of anonymity. This brought back memories of a recent episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm when the show's protagonist, Larry David, confronts Ted Danson about the same concept. Larry cited it as being "faux anonymity". Larry David, how wise you are.

Goal:Weight Loss. Mission:Triathlon

Soooo, I have been thinking. I need a goal, otherwise the work I do usually isn't worth more than keeping me from being bored for an extended period of time. Originally, my goal was to lose some belly jelly while honing in on my muscle (you have probably never heard that before, I know). The problem has been, though, that in moving back home, i don't eat when I want and I don't eat what I want. And for about seven (7) months or so, I didn't have any friends in town, and never went out. That said, I am now a whale.

Anyhoo, my goal was to lose this dreaded weight, but not necessarily for any conventionally good reason. I want to be a gladiator next year for Halloween. And I want to be able to take my shirt off and not scare 1/2 to 3/4 of my surrounding population with an over-sized hairy stomach. That said, I was all gravy with this plan until recently, after 5 weeks of gym going and some noticeable physical results, I hadn't lost but a few pounds. I'm not going to stop going or get all depressed or any of that crap, but I think I have found a new motivation.

I think I want to compete in a triathlon. If I do, I have many, many months of available training before it takes place. Plus, when I run I lose weight. Proven track record. I think the swimming will be the hardest part for me (I would imagine it is for most people) so I will work on that the hardest. I'm kind of excited talking about this.

The Onion BJ [CLICK HERE]

This article is pretty freaking funny. It hones in on some past personal experiences. I suggest giving it a read. Let me know what you think.

Sneaking Into Heaven

There have been numerous times in my adult life that I have been kicked out of a bar, or local Wal Mart. Either way, it is because I do something stupid and am asked not to come back. That's fine. The fun part about bars, though, is you can always find a way to get creative. For example, if I haven't shaved in a few days and I get kicked out, I have been known to walk to the nearest drug store, purchase a razor and baseball cap, and reenter the bar with a new guise; clean-shaven and hatted. Even in some other drunken stupors, I have been cognizant enough to realize that the person who usually asks you to leave is not the man checking IDs at the door. So, after having been thrown out for about 15 minutes, I return. Getting in doesn't seem to be the problem. Staying inside is a job all in itself. Instead of being able to enjoy yourself in your company, you are constantly on the watch for the big muscle-laden guy who answers to Bro, or T-Bone or something gay like that.

Anyhow, I was sitting the other day just thinking about some things and the thought occurred to me. I hope it is as easy to sneak into Heaven as it is to sneak into a bar. Knowing my luck, I would be admitted to Heaven by some mistake, and upon recognition of my less-than-holy self, soon be cast into the deep pits of Hell. But maybe, just maybe, I could use all my earthly knowledge to shimmy my way back into those pearly gates. I sure hope so, because I don't like to be hot. And the whole eternal fire thing kinda dissuades me from wanting to go there. Let's devise a plan to sneak into Heaven. Who's with me!?