Sis: there was a body found in a field here. the big country is falling apart
me: ...whoa
wow
murder?
suicide?
Sis: i have no idea
just a body
me: wow
"just a body"
were any fingers missing or anything?
Sis: haha, i don't know
[...]
brb
Sis: back
me: did you go out to see the body?
Sis: haha, no
i moved my car
me: ah
did avoid seeing the body because you're actually the killer?
it's ok. you can tell me
Sis: ...
me: ...crap, sarah
not again
not the murders AGAIN
Sis: :-/
me: way to let down mom and dad
and the state of texas correctional system
Sis: sorry
me: ah well
just don't do it again
now go out and play, you rascal
Sis: ok!

Odds that a beautiful woman will be on your flight = (amount of money you spent on ticket) x (destination) - (luck)

Odds that she will be sitting next to you = (previous sum) / 999

Odds that there will be a hot single bridesmaid that wants to hook up with you = (Just don't even try)

Odds that your bridesmaid friend will hook up with the groomsman that's been cruising her all night = (his high tolerance for alcohol) x (his even higher tolerance for repeated rejection) / (her moral fortitude) / (the fact that this dick's girlfriend is actually with him at the reception) + (your willingness to make a kamikaze run at this guy) + (again, her fortitude) ... x (no way)

Odds of dying in the God-forsaken blasted tundra of Colorado = (susceptibility to pain) x (lack of all the layers apparently needed to survive on the icy plains) + (it's cold and I want to lie down now)

Odds that you will see a black person in Colorado = N/A

Odds that you will actually dance at the reception = (amount of alcohol consumed before the cash bar kicks in) + (willingness to look like an ass in front of way too many strangers) + (somebody found some extra Shiners) x (hey, it's vacation)

january 2007 playboy¹
wes anderson font²
ben affleck bald
does briana banks still act?³
balding men+girlfriend⁴
gilmore girls
friends quote- first a layer of lady fingers then a layer of jam then beef sautéed
praise the lord and pass the ammunition country song
archie ball & the drells⁵
stars going bald
how do I know if I’m going bald?⁶
castle Being There Hannibal Richie Rich⁷
slowly going bald
going bald
going bald in my teens
really weird stick man movies
am I going bald
mcn Bambi sunlight⁸
battlestar galactica making of space channel
bald piven
sufjan stevens balding
don’t burn the day away

<sup>1. I don't know what to say, except that Googling the latest Playmate and getting me must be a profound disappointment. This search occurred more than once.
2. This also occurred more than once.
3. Did she ever? And what's with the porn searches leading people here?
4. Holy depressing. This search also occurred multiple times, which is extremely sad. You don't need hair, fellas, just money and the ability to ignore her. Then you're golden.
5. Misspelled, but it still brought them here.
6. Ask people. Or, you know, look in a mirror.
7. I don't know what this means, but it's pretty creepy.
8. This one also seems to be pursuing teh boobies. Seriously, what does it say that these searches wind up at this site? Is Google's search algorithm that screwy? Or is something happening here that I don't know about?</sup>

• The highways cutting east through the San Gabriel Valley become congested even earlier in the day than normal on a Friday afternoon, as if the commuters who work in L.A. but lay their heads in the 'burbs can't wait to get out of Dodge. A sense of exodus permeates even the most casual drive in this direction at this time of day on this day of the week, but it's compounded something like nineteenfold when the destination is that dirtiest of holy grails, that most joyfully desecrated of all America's cities, that dull black rock in the center of Lady Liberty's battered crown: Las Vegas.

• Vegas, it should be pointed out, is America's own personal whore.

• It seems like everyone just calls it Vegas, and that it's been that way forever. The casualness of the address belies the dangerous intimacies on tap in Sin City herself, which works (as everything always does) in the house's favor.

• People usually use "tragic flaw" to mean "unfortunate personality trait," as in "Randy's a raging cokehead. Drag." Or "It's a total bummer that Jennifer has to make small cuts on her thigh to achieve physical pleasure." This quaint, aw-shucks dismissal of anything that could be amiss with someone as nothing more than a minor setback is at best shortsighted, and at worst a horrible, horrible mistake. Because a genuine tragic flaw is that darkest, purest, most ruinous desire that not only ensures the hero's undoing but also defines who he/she is. Las Vegas birthed itself from the desert based on the concept that the hero is nothing without the flaw that will lead to his/her eventual destruction, and the city is determined to offer anything and everything a man or woman could want, not merely as recreational activities, but as a brutal means to a quick, messy end.

• Seriously, avoid blackjack.

• About that whole "America's personal whore" thing: There's a reason Vegas thrives in the desert. The city wouldn't be able to exist in a place that received a lot of natural traffic or attention. Its being out in the desert (a) furthers the sense of otherworldliness, of isolation from any and all responsibilities that will come screaming back into your life at 8 a.m. Monday, (b) tests the resolve of those who travel there, making you crawl through boring stretches of desert along the 15 just to see those bright and deadly lights, and (c) creates an extreme geographical and emotional distance from the rest of the world allows us to do whatever we want there and to basically leave the money on the not-always-metaphorical nightstand. And Vegas accepts this, her wide grin displaying a row of stained, cracked teeth, as she takes our money. We don't go there to bury our sins, or wash them away in some mystic river; we go there to celebrate them, to breathe the dusty air of the desert into their bones and awaken them to all kinds of potential reckless adventures.

• You can yell anything you want on Fremont Street — and I mean anything — and no one will care.

• Drunk cowboys who've been gambling and losing all day are pretty pissy dudes, but their not-incidental level of danger is balanced by the unintentional humor they create. An angry fortysomething guy with a buzz cut and blue polo, topped off by sharply creased Wranglers, is an endlessly entertaining poker companion.

• You need to accept the fact that you will not "be up five hundy by midnight." And cocktail waitresses there do not look at all like Deena Martin. Again, the sooner you accept this, the happier you will be.

• If early evening is the best time to make that drive — the dying sun and looming darkness a reminder of the eternal Friday night you're heading for — then dawn is the best time to make that languorous trip back home. The moonlit fields of Primm actually qualify as moonlit, no poetic license needed, and the pale sun on the bleached sand manages to put the guilt and everything in perspective. Most of that drive doesn't feel like California or Nevada; it doesn't feel like anywhere.

























• It's about doing stupid things precisely because they are stupid. And about accepting that.

Despite your direst hopes to the contrary, girls that use True.com do not look in any way like the models used to advertise the site. There's a slutty cowgirl in one of the ads that looks too hot for me to even fantasize about.



The mentally challenged like a good sandwich as much as the next guy.

RMS: saw one flew over the cuckoo's nest last night
RMS: for the first time
me: classic
RMS: yup
me: if i had to, i would smother you
me: for your freedom
RMS: hahaha
RMS: good
RMS: if I had to, I would push you into a room with a hooker
me: *hugs ryan*
me: thank you
me: well now i know what you're getting me for christmas

me: oh man
i'm editing a review for a reality show called My Bare Lady
about porn stars taking an acting class
and it turns out that imdb has these women in their system
AND titles
ew
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0799887/
...
Sis: man, these titles are out of control
me: Fine Ass Bitches 5
that's amazing
hehehehehehe
Invasian 2
brilliant
Sis: Grand Theft Anal 9
me: hahahaha
Sis: Party at Butts Place
hahaha
oh man
most of these titles are from this year. she's had a busy year
me: apparently so
jeez
these are amazing
Absolutely Adorable
that one's kinda cute
The Maintenance Girls
that one just sounds like a drama
Sis: how deceiving
me: yeah
like maybe you rent it b/c you like maintenance
then BAM
boobies
so confusing
Sis: haha
that's how they get ya
me: "what the ...? that's not how you fix a coolant leak. OH GOOD LORD"
Sis: hahahaha
me: they should totally make educational porn
like car repair
home building
etc.
Sis: wasn't that what they made in "The Girl Next Door"?
me: no
the lesson there was "dating a porn star is probably a bad idea"
i want the lesson to be "here's how to install drywall"
Sis: no, i thought that the porn they made at school was like that
me: oh
but that was a sex ed video
everybody already knows that
wear a condom, don't sleep with girls named after cities, etc.
i want basics of modern living
painting the dining room, roofing, auto maintenance, etc.
Sis: haha
nice
me: i think porn sales would get even bigger
"hey, i love this girl! and now i can do my own grouting and tile work!"

The Cloak of Reluctant Virginity

The Bow of Solitary Weekends (can be paired with the Arrows of Day-Old Take-Out for extra damage)

The Gloves of Masturbatory Furor

The Staff of Going Nowhere Fast With Your 20s

The Helmet of Crap I Wish This Was Real

The Hatchet of Stagnant Career Moves

The Breastplate of Staying Inside A Lot

The Chain-Mail of People Look At Me Funny When I Say "Teh"

The Boots of Dying Alone

The Satchel of Frightening Obsessions

The Wrist-Guards of Chronic Carpal Tunnel (can be counteracted by Gloves)

Sis: mmm, cold pizza
me: nice
my roommate thinks i'm an animal for eating cold pizza
Sis: haha
it's good
wolfman and i are eating it
me: awesome
i also will eat brisket right out of the fridge and call it "beef candy"
if my roommate sees me eat cold leftovers, he hangs his head in shame
Sis: haha
that's like dad
he loves beef candy
me: i know
i remember loooooving beef candy when i was teething my wisdom teeth
i would toss a hunk of meat back there and grind away
it felt so good
... and THAT could be the gayest thing i've ever written
and i've written columns about Buffy
Sis: hahahahahahaha

Possible Stage Names For My Burgeoning Career In Hip-Hop

Sir Sweatsalot

ComplaCent

Sandwich Killa

A Representative Of The Man Who's Been Oppressing You For Centuries

This Shirt's An XL, Yo



Possible Strip Club Theme Nights That, Upon Reflection, Would Probably Not Be As Enticing As Originally Intended

Hos and Dobros: Exotic dancing set to the mournful strains of alt-country.

We've Got the Beat: The dancers' songs are all replaced with spoken-word recordings of classic poems. Inevitably, one girl uses Ginsberg's "Howl" and collapses from exhaustion halfway through.

Let's All Talk About Our Emotional Problems: Between sets, the strippers present brief monologues that chart the heartbreaking downward spiral of their lives thus far.

Bring a Mormon and Get In Free as a Reward for Your Effort

Emotional Honesty Night: For the price of a lap dance, the dancer will let you stare into a mirror and silently judge yourself.



Horrible Candle Scents

diaper

burnt rubber

chode

wet dog

old people

Him: I know this isn't the first time we've talked about this. Your methods are becoming a little unorthodox.
Me: Well, excuse me. I guess I'd mistaken you for somebody else.
Him: Pardon?
Me: Somebody who gave a damn. Somebody more like myself.
Him: Again, I don't know what you're talking about, and I find these little cryptic hints you're dropping to be really —
Me: And THEEEEEEESE foolish GAAAAAAAAAAAMES —
Him: Oh, knock it off with the Jewel.
Me: ...
Him: ...
Me: You knew what I was doing?
Him: Yeah, and I knew last time, too, with the Lisa Loeb. Hadn't heard that song in a while. What's she even up to now?
Me: Wait, wait. I'm supposed to sing, and it's supposed to be awkward, so then people will read about it and ask me later if it really happened, or maybe they'll just compliment me on my quirky uniqueness that isn't even that quirky and certainly not unique.
Him: So this is all some elaborate set-up?
Me: Yeah.
Him: Well, then, why do you do it?
Me: It's a confidence booster. I'm the eldest child. It's a long story.
Him: Well, knock it off.
Me: Your thoughtless words are breaking my heart. ... You're breaking my heart.
Him: ...
Me: ...
Him: Are you quoting now, or was that for real?
Me: I don't know. [Stares off into distance.] I just don't know.

Sis: i'm pushing for a biz centerpiece on a business that cleans out skulls
hehe
some of the pictures are seriously just rows of human skulls
me: awesome
AWESOME
Sis: yes
they have some freaky pictures on the exhange
like gross. we don't want people throwing up on the paper
me: haha
Sis: man, what if that was your job?
the company takes human and animal skulls, strips them of tissue, sanitizes and sells them
me: i'd hire a big guy and make him wear a zippered mask like the gimp in Pulp Fiction. i'd point to him and say "percy brings in more skulls than any other employee"
and it would freak people right the crap out
Sis: hahahahaha
percy?
me: i don't know
it's a creepy name
Sis: haha
me: especially for a GIANT IN A ZIPPER MASK
Sis: i laughed out loud and then my boss walked up
love it
now i can't stop giggling
me: haha
awesome

I've seen Top Gun a few too many times, but it wasn't until a recent viewing on cable that I realized a powerful truth:

Iceman killed Goose.

It was Iceman's jetwash that played hell with Maverick's plane, causing it to spin out to sea. Yes, we could debate all day about the freak nature of the accident, including the F-14's physics-defying canopy that stayed around long enough to crack Goose's neck but somehow spared Mav's life. But Iceman was the one flying selfishly enough to cut off Maverick and go for the kill shot instead of letting Maverick snag the easy victory, and it was Iceman's sudden maneuvering that led to the accident. It was his selfishness that killed Goose, and instead of owning up to it or at least just letting it go, he kept rubbing it in Maverick's face. Iceman was a douche, and he was the one who should ultimately be held responsible for Goose's tragic, untimely death.

Seriously.

Him: See, this lede is a little too cluttered. You need to trim it, simplify it.
Me: But I thought what I felt was simple.
Him: Well, I understand that, but you need to keep an eye out for things like this. You've been here long enough.
Me: Then I thought that I don't belong.
Him: It's not that you don't belong, you just —
Me: And now that I am leaving, now I know that I did something wrong, because I missed you.
Him: ...
Me: ...
Him: What are you talking about —
Me: YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHH, I missed you.

Today's gonna be like a dream come true for most, if not all, of you oddly loyal readers. Follow this link and go crazy:

Click here and follow the instructions.

I'll post results later, or as soon as my self-image craters, whatever comes first.

From time to time, I've used this space to express my displeasure with certain people or things.

But my list just might have to take a back seat to this one, which is a pretty entertaining list of annoyances from one of the many law students I seem to know. Enjoy.

P.S. My fantasy team is doing pretty well. I feel all manly and important.

• Cruel Intentions definitely loses something when edited down for cable. Definitely.

• Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me that lonelygirl15 is one giant hoax? Man. Talk about losing my innocence. The interwebs lied to me. Nihilo sanctum estne?

• Oh holy crap, October can't get here fast enough.

• I mean, seriously, I can understand cutting to commercial as Sarah Michelle Gellar starts to grind on Ryan Phillippe (and I mean really grind). But they totally killed The Kiss between Gellar and Selma Blair, which is (a) weird, since FX isn't one to shy away from gay moments in programming, and (b) more than a little disappointing, since that was a pivotal high school moment for me and pretty much every guy my age. Shame on you, FX.

• Man, Memphis Belle was a lot better before I knew what separated good movies from the not so good. And a drunk D.B. Sweeney screaming "I don't wanna die!" seems, well, a bit over the top, even for a WWII movie, which are admittedly a pretty overheated genre.

• Another great video that's well worth 4 minutes of your day.

• Because five years is a longer time than you'd think; because young men in their prime do weird and impossible and life-changing things; and because you never shake the memory of unity sit-ups at dawn; this is for the all old guys out there, and for all the new ones who are spending tonight staring at the O in "not":

shoes or flip-flops: flip-flops

Tony or Ridley Scott: Ridley

"Mad TV" or "SNL": jam pencil in eye

Coppola or Scorsese: Scorsese

Fox News or CNN: turn TV off

the book or the movie: the book

paper or plastic: whatever kills the planet faster

Stewart or Colbert: Sophie's choice, man

Old 97's or Whiskeytown: cyclical

chunky or smooth: smooth

fold or wad: fold

regular stall or handicap: handicap

Two quick hits:

• LibraryThing is a pretty fun little toy. All the conspicuous consumerism of MySpace or Facebook, now with links to Amazon. Check out random books from my library on the left-hand side of this page. Start your own account. It's free, and let's face it, you know you're gonna do it. So just go do it.

(If you're wondering, I picked up "Intended for Pleasure" when my college's library had a clearance sale. For the whopping price of $0.25, I got my very own 1970s-era guide to how Christians are supposed to get their swerve on. [It seems like the authors were being almost willfully ignorant by not including chapters like Repressing Guilt: Why Hating Yourself Is Good For You, or Sublimating Sexual Desire: The Latent Homoeroticism Of Sports In The Modern Male Mind, or even Don't Look Right At It: Seriously, You'll Go Blind And Maybe Go To Hell.] There are even little drawings, done with dashed lines like they're schematics or something, as if the authors weren't sure if they'd managed to completely suck all possible fun out of the subject and, just to be sure, they inserted some genuinely unsettling hand-on how-to sketches. Really, it's probably the best 25 cents I spent in college.)

• In case I haven't mentioned it, you should all listen to Watusi Rodeo on Sunday mornings. If you're not out here in L.A., listen online. It's worth it. Trust me on this one.

I'm sure whoever thought this up means well, but still, this is frightening. Plus, what if you get them dirty and have to wash them and sleep one night in regular pajamas? Or what happens if you lose the shield or something?

Man, I'm glad I left the South.

A friend of mine was having a barbecue at his old apartment complex one day, and was in the process of grilling up some meat by the pool when he noticed a man and woman emerge from a nearby unit and walk over and grab seats by the pool. The man? Some random guy. The woman? His wife, porn star Briana Banks.

My friend described her as "gross; 6-foot-5; orange skin; a voice like metal." I trust his assessment.

He further relayed a story of how he was working out one morning in the apartment's gym when Briana and her husband came in to exercise. At one point, she excused herself to go the bathroom, and upon her return, she said, "I just threw up."

I have no idea what to say here, so I'll just get out of your way and let you reflect on those stories.

Movie premieres and red-carpet events are one of the costs you pay to live in Los Angeles. They're best avoided, since they tie up traffic and bring crowds of photographers and crappy local news outlets and occasionally some unhinged fans. A buddy of mine really goes in for that kind of thing — seeing a movie at the Chinese and getting all sweaty when the director rolls up — but it's just not my idea of a good time.

But accidentally coming across one at the ArcLight for Pulse, which (a) gave me a chance to stand and gape like a teenager at Kristen Bell, and subsequently (b) to realize that she's just about the cutest thing you could hope to see on a Thursday night in Hollywood, with (c) a body that could cut glass, and even (d) to serendipitously get a couple photos of same; well, that's just a sign from God that all is right in his universe.

Seth Rogen:
b. 4-15-82
glasses
beard
surly
sidekick
profane
tall
etc.

If the universe were kinder, this would have been my life. I was just a few months off.

I went to college at a private religious university in the middle of the Texas desert, an experience that prepared me for a lifetime of group therapy and guilt complexes, and which turned out to be ultimately worth the social/political/religious/cinematic alienation (though just barely). Anyway, as a freshman, forced to deal with (a) being underage in (b) a town that stopped selling alcohol at 10 p.m. and (c) having to deal with a campus-imposed curfew, which was just full-on retarded — all these things added up to have a profound and dangerous effect on myself and my new friends. To wit: We kidnapped wild animals from the park.



P.S. Geese really do crap just an unbelievable amount. And quickly.