Plastic Plants and Worms

Spam-a-Lot

2007-11-06T08:04:00.000-08:00

For most of my interweb-connected life I have been lucky with spam. I get the occasional letters from pitiable Nigerian princes with fathers dead in flaming Jaguars on the road to Accra, but rarely the deluge of advertisements for pharmaceuticals made for people older and *cough* less virile than me. Rarely, that is, until recently.

You see, like a college junior whose mom gave him a Brita pitcher for Christmas, my employer has failed to change the filter. Now, despite having the fancy-pants pitcher, our e-mail is full of scum. It’s the coolest thing that has ever happened to me.

The second best thing about getting spam is seeing how the spammers contrive to get around screening software that picks up words like ‘penis’. I get all these e-mails that start as news reports about Heath Ledger or civil unrest in East Timor. The articles are getting longer and longer, so even the people that get the spam and open it aren’t really seeing the “Cialis Cheep!” graphic before they realize it’s spam anyway. Recently, I got this:

Monday update.
Symb: T A D F (Tactical Air Defense Services)
Tactical Air
Defense Services (TADS), a leading provider of tactical aviation training and services to the United States and Allied Nations, has quietly positioned itself to utilize a fleet of the most advanced fighter jets and aerial refueling tankers in the world for military aviation training needs. Those who get in now are likely to see profits soar through the stratosphere. Headquartered at the Grayson County Airport in Denison, Texas – formerly the Perrin Air Force Base – Tactical Air Defense has the capability to provide clients with the most comprehensive logistical, repair, and aircraft training support available. TADS IS AS CLOSE AS IT COMES TO A SUREFIRE MONEY-MAKER.

That’s the entire message. I don’t even think there’s an advertisement in there. The spammers are now simply sending out informative articles as a public service.

The best thing about spam is the writing in the penis enlargement ads. The subject lines are hilarious enough:

Beat her womb with your new big rod, let her knew when pants are off

I decided I want the job writing those subject lines. If any spammers are out there reading this, here is my audition...

“Plumb her depths with big man submarine so she moan when you home”

“Leave extra in her bun with a big wiener”

“Hit her in the ovaries ... but with your dick this time”

The sales pitches are even better. I know, I know, you’re saying to yourself ‘they simply cannot be any more absurd than the suggestion that you beat your woman’s womb with your member’. They can:

are you sick of being laughed at in the men’s room? Get a bigger prick.

Why yes, MegaDik*, I am quite sick of it. I will order five bottles of your product immediately.

As an aside, how did your marketing staff know that I prance around naked in the men’s restroom?

when was the last time you took off your pants and your disappointed partner ran
from the room yelling ‘it’s too small’?

Okay, no. Never. That has never happened. And I’m not saying just to me, I mean ever. In the history of sexual relations that scenario has never, ever happened. Does MegaDik really presume that there are hundreds of small-dicked Cassanovas out there; wooing women into bed night after night only to have them flee at the sight of their teenie-weenie.

The list of things that can cause a woman you have gotten naked and into your bedroom to leave without first engaging in “activities” is relatively short (no pun intended):

1) you pull out the gimp mask (before you know if she’s into that stuff);
2) you reveal that you have AIDs. Or probably the clap;
3) you mention that condoms made of sheep's intestine “feel more natural”;
4) you share a bedroom with your mother; or,
5) she finds the severed head in your freezer.

The marketing plan boggles me. I understand that you prey upon the insecurities of the modern male, but should it really be so absurd? Spam is cheap, but is there a single person that clicks on these ads? I hope so, otherwise my supply of little day-brighters will dry right up.

*can you imagine that someone actually sat around trying to author a clever, eye catching name for the product and came up with that?

UPDATE!!

I could not make this shit up:

At last you've found a lass that's hot
You wanna hump her tasteful twat.
She's cute and taking, she's so nice!
But would your penile size suffice?
Not sure she will wish for more?
You need a dic'k she would adore!
But how to get it long and thick?
Your only chance is MegaDik!
You'll get so wanted super-size
And see wild craving in her eyes!
Your schlong will stuff her pink so deep,
Tonight you'll hardly fall asleep!

Trick or Treat: A Belated Halloween Entry (bumped for the holiday)

2007-10-19T10:05:00.000-07:00

I’m never quite sure what to make of the slutty cop costume. You know the type:

Or the slutty nurse:

Or the slutty firefighter, bunny, kitty, axe murderer, axe murder victim or… whatever:

I mean, what are you even supposed to be?

Desperately seeking attention?

How is that any different than yesterday?

The problem with these costumes is that they reject the premise that makes Halloween great: that you can be something different for a day. Instead, we have the same thing all over: girls in tight clothing feeling both offended and flattered (a sort of female nirvana) that the guys would dare stare at the tits they have exposed to the 45 degree evening and guys ogling chicks they’ll never get. The only difference is that some of us men are dressed as wolves and Neanderthals, a sort of ironic take on Halloween in which we appear as we really are.

If you are a man, you may find yourself asking “Dude, are you suggesting girls shouldn’t dress like that on Halloween?”

Yes I am. Sort of. What I’m actually suggesting is that one night per year, men deserve not to be tortured by scantily clad females who won’t sleep with us. The problem is, we have neither the strength nor fortitude to quit looking, which is what tortures us and pleases them. So I need to appeal to the general sense of humanity in women to step up to the plate, reject the gender paradigm that enslaves men, and dress like something interesting.* Or, if it’s easier, just sleep with the guy who ogles you the most.

*In a way other than boobs are interesting.

On Pabst and Prada

2007-10-04T09:39:00.000-07:00

My roommate and I left for work at the same time today, and since he takes the bus and I drive right past his office on the way to mine, I offered him a ride. On the way, we discussed a certain section of road (First Avenue, from just north of the Hennepin Avenue bridge to Washington Avenue) where we tend to see more attractive women than elsewhere on the commute. I, in my class and subtlety, had taken to referring to it as ‘Hot Chick Alley’.

My roommate guessed, correctly, I think, that Hot Chick Alley is where it is because a growth of expensive condo buildings had sprung up there recently. He remarked that the area, known when we first moved to the city as an off-beat but hip working class neighborhood full of Polish and German themed dive bars, had changed into a mirror image of Uptown, an area of Minneapolis full of expensive restaurants, boutique shops and, more recently, condominiums.

I feel a little bit sorry for the blue collar folks in Nordeast who were once able to bowl at Elsie’s in peace. It happens all over the city; where there once were smoky taverns with deer antler chandeliers, now there are tapas bars that offer Thursday Flamenco classes. French bakeries moved next to ‘drinking clubs’ that served canned beer.

I found it hard to believe that condo-dwelling yuppies would be infringing on the space of the working class families, the punks and the freaks alike. There are bunches of neighborhoods in Minneapolis with local dive bars; why these places and why now? It hit me like a ton of bricks:

Hipsters!

Those chambray and women’s jeans wearing nerds, with their ironic life view, were unaware of the real irony. They are nothing but condo-seeds. Wherever they go, the trendy is replaced by the faux-trendy, the authentic with the gauche. These indy-rock-listening eaters of worlds are like worms in reverse, consuming the soil of good culture and shitting ... well, shit.

But worm poop really isn’t shit, it’s dirt. Or fertilizer.

Fuck.

I know what you’re thinking. How can you blame the hipsters? It’s not like they ask lawyers and accountants whose cool faded with their acid wash jeans (which I can only assume are actually popular again, on account of how ironic it is to wear stuff so ugly) to follow them from neighborhood to neighborhood

I can blame them mostly because they are prettier than me and more likely to have a trust fund. I have no scruples that way. I can also blame them because of their irony. Hipsters don’t seem to do anything they actually like and that includes living somewhere. When hipsters claim that something is cool, they mean it in the same way you used to mean it when you rolled your eyes and said ‘yeah, Mom, real cool’. So when they move somewhere, they aren’t simply saying ‘this place is ironically cool in such a fashion that mainstream people should move here to imitate us’, they are also saying ‘these people are so tragically unhip it’s okay to shit on them’.

But never fear! I have the solution. All we need to do is convince hipsters that condos and fusion restaurants are ironically cool. The hipster-followers will go into a frenzy knocking down condos to put up more condos; the eclectic neighborhood will no longer get besieged by people looking to cash in on their lifestyle, and the construction / demolition business will get just the boost it needs to fight the housing slump.

Getting Out of Work for a Work Out

2007-09-21T07:47:00.001-07:00

I like to wok out during my lunch hour. It’s one of the very few fool-proof ways to be regularly and excusably absent from your job during normal work hours. What’s the boss going to say? “Be healthy on your own time!”

Anyway, it seems like a lot of people agree with me, because my gym is really busy during the noon hour. It’s fun to watch people circle the parking lot; trying to find the closest spot before going in to run on the treadmill. Like the extra three calories you burn will kill you, fatty.

I actually work out at a suburban YMCA, which is basically a game preserve for old man flab.

That’s a terrible analogy, actually, because in my experience, old man flab doesn’t need preservation; it’s an abundant resource. I imagine someone could win the Nobel Prize for making cars that run on old man flab. If I invented the car, I’d give the design away for free and demand as payment only old-man-flab mining rights to all the YMCA locker rooms in America.

I work out and the YMCA rather than one of those tomb-like commercial gyms for a couple of reasons. First, the Y doesn’t make you sign some two year contract, presumably because they don’t expect half their members to live two years. Also, it’s a family environment, which is nice. You get some variety, which not only livens things up, it helps you feel good in the locker room. I’ve already mentioned the old man flab, which makes my young man flab look stately by comparison. Plus, if there’s kids, you can always think to yourself ‘on average, I’m pretty well hung!’

Of Mice and Mice Made More Better by Steriods

2007-08-01T14:26:00.001-07:00

Esquire magazine recommends the following summer cocktail:

The Bay Bomber

3 oz. orange juice
2 oz. grenadine
1 oz.
stanozolol

garnish with asterisk

I’d suggest it get served in a size eight fitted ball cap, but who am I to mess with success?

It would take to long to gather all the funny, interesting or outrageous arguments surrounding Barry Bonds. Suffice to say that his row with Bob Costas tells us enough: steroid use in baseball is in the public eye. The recent marring of the Tour de France with 34,875 allegations of doping has done little to quell public debate about athletes, drugs and the purpose and joy of sport.

With these issues firmly in the back of my mind, I recently ran across the following video of a five-year old American who has been deported to a tennis camp in France:

Watching the video of this talented youngster, I began to wonder if such complete training at such an early age implicates the same ethical issues that cause fans (outside of San Francisco, at least) to uniformly boo Barry Bonds home runs. The blurring of the line between practice and dedication, and turning people into sports machines is, to my mind, almost complete. This realization has caused me to embrace a rather radical and unpopular solution to the ethical boondoggle presented by steroids: two leagues. One allows use of all types of drugs, the other bans them.

Just to be clear, it seems quite obvious that, following a short period of adjustment, everyone in the world will start watching the juiced athletes. One of the obvious criticisms of this idea is that two leagues for every sport is commercially unsound. I know. I also know the league that features the 95-pound striplings will be the one going bankrupt. But, for reasons I will shortly illuminate, simply dropping the drug ban doesn’t solve our psychic issues with doping.

First, we need to cast aside the idea that banning steroids in professional sports helps keep young athletes off drugs. Estimates of steroid use among high school students varies widely, but it clearly happens.

It’s easy to see why, steroids offer major advantages to juiced athletes. Enough advantage, apparently, to offsets the risk of a shriveled twig, smaller berries, acne, big head syndrome and, I dunno, spending so much time in the weight room huge-ing that you forget to go attend practice and never get good enough to hit the bigs even if you can rep 1500 lbs. four hundred seventy-five times.

The other major complaint is that sport is about celebrating human physical ability, and steroids unrealistically inflate those abilities. When proponents of this argument wax nostalgic for a time when ‘real’ athletes strode the field, they mention Hank Aaron, Ted Williams and Mickey Mantle. But today’s athletes are different from those guys in a lot of ways. 24-hour nutritionists. Intensive weight room coaching. Training from obscenely early ages. Training for the Olympics (an amateur competition) is essentially a full–time.

The fact is that athletes, even amateurs, lost any connection to normal humans when sending your five-year-old to live at tennis camp across the pond became acceptable. The idea that a person can be molded from a single digit age by trainers and nutritionists stretches the credibility of sport as measure of human potential to the breaking point.

But I can understand not wanting to compare Tiger Woods and his titanium clubs to the Golden Bear, or a juiced Bonds to Hank Aaron. They are, after all, playing different games. That realization obviates the need for putting an asterisk next to Bonds’ record. And that’s the beauty of having a different league. We get to keep all the old heroes from the days when pro sportsmen were the car salesmen and factory workers who could swing the stick best, and we get to watch what we really want: monster home-runs, big hits and goals from thirty yards.

2006-08-24T17:06:00.000-07:00

This was just an odd experience. I went to Target to get a day planner. They have an aisle for calendars and planners and journals, and what I really want is basically a notebook with half a page for each day. A check most of the planners on the rack, but they all start in January. Now, I presume that most people who go to the store to get a day planner would just as rather get organized today rather than four months from now, but whatever. It’s not as though I expect Target to always carry 2006 planners and have some guy go through and rip out all the old pages or anything, and it is a bit late in the year to expect someone to purchase a full 2006 planner (though I would have), but it is back-to-school time; not only a pivotal time of year for people to start getting organized, but also the time when planners provided by your school run out. Like mine had.

So, having been a student for the last twenty-odd years, I head over to the ‘back-to-school’ section to see if they carry planners than start nowabouts. Now, I gotta say that I feel a bit uncomfortable in the back-to-school area, like I’m a poser of some kind. Little did I know… This guy who looks about my age walks by me, gives a little start, and turns back around.

Guy: Hey, do you go to school around here?

Fuck. I’m caught. Wait. Caught doing what? Being a non-student in the back to school section?

Me: No, I’m actually done with school.

Guy: Oh, you look familiar.

I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.

Me: Yeah, you too.

Guy: You go to high school around here?

Me: Yeah, down in [internet freaks who steal your identity].

Guy: Oh. I went to [redacted for you’ll see why in a second].

Pause.

Me: Ah. In college I dated a girl from there for a lot of years. Maybe you were friends and I met you through her. Her name’s [she hates me but I don’t hate her].

Guy: You’re a college grad?

Huh?

Me: Yeah.

Guy: You just finished college?

Me: No, I just finished law school.

Guy: Oh, very cool. What do you do for work now?

Have we met? Are you going to buy me a drink? Should I just e-mail you my resume?

Me: I’m a clerk at a law firm up the road. In downtown [don’t you pederasts wish].

Guy: Oh. I see. Say, I gotta question. Are you ever looking for extra money?

Now, there’s one more weird part, but I need to stop here. Without looking back, do you remember what line this guy opened with? Give up? “You look familiar.” Now, it didn’t occur to me until about five minutes later, but this guy never thought I looked familiar. That’s actually his opening line to offer people a job with some pyramid scheme sales company or something. Anyway, for whatever dumbass reason, I say that I am looking for money, and yadda yadda, trying to be polite, and then:

Me: I’m pretty busy.

Guy: That’s perfect! We love busy people!

Yeah, well I don’t love being busy. I like reading and playing video games. I hate work, jackass.

Me: So what exactly would I be doing? Do you have a website or a brochure or something?

Guy: We have a website, but I don’t want to get there just yet. How about we set a time for coffee?

I hate to admit it, dear reader, but I gave the guy my phone number. He's too embarrassed to let me see what the job is without him there to give me hard sell, and I didn't bow out gracefully. Now I’m going to have to break up with him over the phone.

Left Behind

2006-08-08T11:56:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, the majority of my law school classmates finished their bar exams. I went out to party with them, but having not taken the bar myself, I felt a little out of place; a little lonely. So, to commemorate the achievement of my friends and wallow in my own late development, I thought I would put together a list of other people who feel awkward, silly and little left behind.

A color-blind painter.

The only gay Eskimo in the tribe.*

A kitten in a room full of bears.

The left-handed kid in an art class with only right handed scissors.

Kevin Federline.

The inventor of the 8-track.

Winner of the Second-Most Improved Award.

A guy who orders french onion soup without knowing he’s at one of those shit restaurants where the french onion soup comes without cheese.

The only guy at the table that can’t use chopsticks.

Anyone got any others?

* I know, but it was too perfect to pass up.

If Your Erection Lasts for More than Four Hours, Please Consult Your Doctor

2006-07-31T23:25:00.000-07:00

and tell him you have a raging case of awesome.

Gainful Employment

2006-06-28T09:34:00.000-07:00

I spent this last weekend in Chicago, and as I was walking past a downtown fire station, a paddy-wagon shaped vehicle pulled out of the driveway. The panel of the truck read:

Chicago Fire Department SCUBA Team.

Now, if you have a keen and incisive intellect like myself, you have probably already called two facts to mind:

1) the Fire Department uses water to put out fires, and;
2) anything requiring the assistance of a SCUBA team is likely already completely submerged by water.

These two facts might also lead one to two probable, but not certain, conclusions:

1) the Chicago Fire Department SCUBA team is not very busy, and:
2) any situation that actually calls for their help is likely to cause some confusion... observe:

*the following dialogue should be read while vibrating your lips with your finger to indicate that it happens underwater*

SCUBA Fireman 1: Whoa. We’re underwater, and the fire is still
burning.

SCUBA Fireman 2: I’ll get the hose.

SCUBA
Fireman 1: I can’t see that being very effective.

(the Firemen
leave to get some little mermaid’s catfish out of a tree)

Later that night, our hot waitress asked what I did for a living. What I didn’t want to say was “law clerk.” What I did want to say was Chicago Fire Department SCUBA diver. I started to wonder if there were other, equally implausible chick-magnet jobs.

Bomb Squad Alligator Handler: just in case some bomb ends up in an alligator’s mouth, the Bomb Squad Alligator Handler can coax the creature and quickly de-fuse the bomb. The hook for the ladies? He protects people and innocent reptiles.

Surf Lawyer: Represents clients for injuries received from poorly manufactured boards and inattentive fellow surfers. Catches the ladies with that perfect mix of tanned six-pack and settled ability to provide.

Kidnapped Kitten Bounty Hunter: No holds barred tough-guy exterior covers a heart of gold and a love of snuggling.

CIA Agent Whose Cover is Professional Athlete or Rock and Roll Icon: Undercover intrigue AND fame! It’s a lot like James Bond. You get to be smooth and capable like a spy, despite the fact that everyone in your host country knows your name, face and secret agent ID number.

Collector of Fragile Porcelain Objects: Nothing drives the honeys wild like a back-lit curio full of collectables.

FBI Stunt-pilot: Distracts criminals with shows of aeronautical prowess, also, provides perfect cover for investigating allegations that the key grip in King Kong is perpetuating mail fraud.

Elitist, Jet-Setting Son of a Rich Man: Okay, nothing about this is an odd combination of two jobs, but if you just tell the chicks you’re unemployed and living off dad (instead of some type of consultant or producer that never meets with any clients) you score points for money and honesty. Bonus!

Cup Fever

2006-06-26T08:12:00.000-07:00

It’s the biggest game on earth, and it’s hard not to get into the action. Unless you’re an American, and all the games start at 8 am on Tuesday.

As with every World Cup, the 2006 field has some amazing human interest stories. The diversity of nations participating in the World Cup make it easy to get swept away by a favorite team’s culture or history. But no story is grabbing more highlights and talk time this year than the Ivory Coast, a small West African nation that made its first World Cup appearance despite being home to a host of world class players, including Chelsea striker Didier Drogba.

What makes Ivory Coast’s appearance so spectacular is not the impressive side they have this Cup, nor the heartache of having been seeded with soccer giants like Holland and Argentina. All the attention given the Ivory Coast because this World Cup appearance has led to the first truce ever called in the nation’s bloody, three year civil war (making it all the more ironic that the fierce competition in their round robin seeding earned it the nickname “The Group of Death").

Sportscasters and pundits alike are quick to credit the spirit of The Beautiful Game with granting reprieve to a war–torn nation. But the truce begs a question that belies such a high order of absurdity that it’s hard to ask: if soccer can inspire a feeling of common aspiration strong enough to cease the war temporarily, why can’t the future or your nation and its children inspire you seek a peaceful solution to your problems? (I know, I know. “Fuck you hippy, it doesn’t work that way.”)

Even if football does lead to a temporary realization of our aspirations to harmony, it does well for us to remember that, as always, peaceful ambitions are secondary. In the real world, it’s still dog-eat-dog, and the complexity of problems leave us feeling apathetic. After all, neither Argentina, Holland, nor their fans had any difficulty celebrating wins that would surely lead to an earlier re-start of Ivory Coast hostilities. The Ivory Coast was sent home early, proving, at the very least, that the fact that a few million Africans can’t get it together isn’t enough to cause anyone involved to throw the game and ruin their own World Cup aspirations. Not that anyone living a nation as tough as the Ivory Coast wants our pity points, I suppose.

Bitch-lorette Party

2006-05-28T14:23:00.000-07:00

Thursday I went to a local drinking and eating establishment to wish yet another of my former classmates off. While there, our group was accosted by a bachelorette party.

You know the kind; the bride to be and her friends wander through a series of bars together. The bachelorette wears a veil and some type of T-shirt with a nearly clever slogan...

The differences between bachelorette parties and bachelor parties are, I think, somewhat telling as to the differences between the genders themselves. The goal of a bachelor party is generally to spend as much money as humanly possible getting the groom-to-be as close as possible to cheating and liver failure. By contrast, the women, while drunk, attempt to charge fellow bar patrons to engage in only mildly sexual activities, such as biting rings off the bachelorette's candy necklace.

The bachelorette from Thursday night was no different, it seemed. When she approached our party, I obliged and spent a hard earned one dollar bill for a piece of Pez-on-a-rope and a little bit of immortality in the pages of her pre-wedding scrapbook. Only later did I realize that I had been had.

At some point, one of my friends finally thought to point out that niether our grubby bar nor Thursday nights play host to a lot of bachelorette activity. He also noticed that the bachelorette only had one friend. It occurred to us that the two could hit a different bar every Thursday and pay for thier drinks with candy necklace earnings. I was irritated, but not enough to get my dollar back.

Well played, ladies.

Some Things Solve Themselves

2006-05-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

The immigration debate has always been tense, but recent demonstrations by illegal immigrants and the casting of the National Anthem in Spanish have increased the stakes. The Senate recently passed a bill paving the way to erect a wall on along a 2,000 mile portion of the US/Mexico border, a project so costly it’s really only feasible if we use illegal Mexican labor. Maybe we could offer those Mexicans guest worker

Thankfully, Mexico has solved the problem by recently legalizing the possession of small amounts of marijuana, cocaine and heroin. The controversial move is fuelling speculation that this year, every single college sophomore will head south of the border for Spring Break, and that some will decide to stay.

I think this presents us with a perfect solution to our illegal immigration problem. We get rid of our drug addled ne’er-do-wells and free up space for hard-working Mexicans. Think of it as an exchange program. We send everyone interested in lying on white sand beaches high all day down to Mexico; for each American that leaves, we offer amnesty to one hard-working illegal Mexican (no Chinese or Guatemalans until they enact a policy to attract some of our dead weight).

An Alternate Address

2006-05-14T16:28:00.000-07:00

After significant number of requests at various graduation parties, I have decided to make available the comedy routine portion of my graduation speech audition. I will not post the more serious portion of the audition because: 1) I deleted the file and can’t be bothered re-writing it and 2) this was really the only part that would have set my speech apart from anyone else’s. Here goes.

Hi!

Well. Here we are. Law school is over. I hope I don’t come across as pushy about religion when I say “Thank Christ.” Now we can all go out into the real world and try to recapture those personalities this institution spent the last three years trying to kill. Can’t wait to start that grace period ticking.

It’s a great privilege to address this graduating class. There are so many people out there with talent, vision and unique perspective. I want to take this moment to thank the vast majority of you for not auditioning against me.

Seriously, though, you guys dodged a bullet. It’s really difficult to come up with a theme to speak on when addressing such a diverse group. As Dean Johnson noted both now and at the beginning of our time here, we come from a lot of different places, and where we’re going is no less varied. Sure, the parents and friends in the audience think we shake the Dean’s hand and magically transform into lawyer-drones, but we recognize that there is a big difference between practicing corporate law and family. Some of us will become public defenders, others in house counsel for large corporations. Plenty of us won’t even practice, we’ll enter business or politics. Some may even join the prestigious ranks of law professors, some may even (gesture to Dean Johnson) become… ummm….ummm…. ninjas. Or pirates. Susan Gainen keeps telling me I can do anything with a law degree. I think I’ll be an astronaut. Maybe study the effect of zero gravity on the Erie Doctrine.

Wherever we go, one thing is certain. Loans. I got to Northrup early to run through the speech, chase away the butterflies. I saw this Sally Mae rep come in with 240 individually labeled stopwatches. She's ready. Soon as you shake the Dean’s hand: Click!

With a name like Sally Mae, you think she’d be all helpful, you know, “y’all just bring that money back whenever ya can, y’hear!” No. She’s a stone cold bitch. Did you know that they are charging is interest on these loans. I know!

Anyway, from there I tried to make some tired points about how getting admitted to law school is a privilege, despite whatever we have overcome, our society has given us an incredible opportunity and we shouldn’t go about repaying our fellow citizens by creating a more complex legal system that benefits the pocketbooks of lawyers rather than the citizens it, and we, are meant to serve. But we’ve heard that a thousand times and repeatedly prove that we aren’t listening.

Congratulations to my classmates, thanks for making three horrible years more bearable.

The Oddessy, Reduex

2006-05-06T10:22:00.000-07:00

Since nothing else interesting is really happening, and I get called on never updating all the time, I thought I would take you, dear reader, on a photographic tour of some of the highlights of my now not so recent trip...

Chichicastenango, Guatemala

This kid had a basket of live turkeys. I’m not sure what I would do with a live turkey. Does that make me a gringo?

Antigua, Guatemala

I never go anywhere without my camera strap, so I got a picture of it next to this food cart in Antigua. Thanks for all the memories, man

Lago de Ometepe, Nicaragua

Yeah, I loved the movie, too, but enough to name a boat after it?

Lago de Ometepe, Nicaragua

The boat drivers called this the “Arbol del Huevos” or “Tree of the Testicles.”

Lago de Omotepe, Nicaragua

True Story:

There is an island in Omotepe called Isle of the Monkeys (“Isla de los Monos”) where tour guides always bring groups to take pictures. After trolling around this tiny island for awhile, one girl in our boat asks the guide how all these monkeys survive on so little land. The guide tells her that the guy who owns the house on the adjacent island feeds them. “Wait,” we say, “so how did the monkeys get here?” The guide tells us that the guy from the other house just likes monkeys and brought some to the island. The monkeys aren’t native, and we never would have known. The guides just bring tourists to the island to take monkey pictures and never tell them that the monkeys are essentially fake.

Antigua, Guatemala

Shhhh!

Time and Relativity

2006-04-15T00:27:00.000-07:00

You know you're getting on in your years when you feel as proud to come home from the bar with a good business contact as you do with hot chick.

PSA

2006-04-12T12:34:00.000-07:00

I'm not usually one to mix my humor and my politics, but an Amnesty International presentation I attended a few days ago prompted me to add a link to the sidebar. Genocide Intervention is a fundraising group donating money to African Union troops assigned to gaurd refugee camps in Darfur. The troops are supposedly underfunded (to the point of not having boots or guns... not that that stopped the Russians), leading to ineffective protection of the camps.

The effort is important to me for two reasons:

1) The genocide in Darfur is recieving no attention and I'm sick of hearing "never again" about genocide; and,

2) this represents the first time that an entity completely unaffiliated with any government has donated money in hopes of affecting the mandate of a recognized state sponsored military.

I don't know if this is the right answer, but it is a fascinating case study for anyone interested in humanitarianism or world politics.

The Odyssey (except replace boats with chicken busses)

2006-03-29T13:48:00.000-08:00

I apologize for the lack of updates. Those who know me (why else would you read this tripe) are aware that was traveling in Central America a few weeks ago. As developing nations, civil war, diarrhea and ridiculously disparate income levels are a comedy gold mine, I figure I can kill two birds with one stone.

I took a surfing lesson while in Costa Rica. I’m not generally one to brag, but I was awesome. Surfing (or, as they say in Ess-pang-yol, “hacer surf”) is not terribly easy, but when I say “awesome,” I don’t mean “competent” so much as I mean “relatively certain to revolutionize the sport.”

Allow me to elaborate. Surfers wax philosophical about one the sport’s hardest tricks, “hanging ten.” For those without my surfing acumen, hanging ten involves moving to the front of your board and dangling your toes over the edge. I decided that sounded a bit pussy, so I created my own trick, which I call “flailing twenty.” Unlike hanging ten, flailing twenty requires that your entire body leave the board and enter the ocean. I not only mastered the trick, but was able to perform it while swearing loudly and swallowing large amounts of sea water.

My travel mate Jake, not to be outdone, managed to complete the flail twenty and, with amazing consistency, whack his head on the board upon resurfacing. We lovingly named this trick the “daño en mi cabesa.” We could tell by our instructor’s yelling and screaming from the shore that our new style put his livelihood in serious jeopardy.

But the vacation wasn’t all fun and games. We learned a lot about cultural differences between gringos (Spanish for “American that needs a shoe shine”) and ladinos (literally, “one for whom ‘now’ means ‘in forty-five minutes or when the bus is full, whichever is later’”).

Here in the Minnesota, much political debate focuses upon the recent decision to issue pistol conceal and carry permits. In El Salvador, the question is how many locks to put on the gun cabinet in front of the dance club. They don’t bother concealing them; they give them to a concierge the same way we would a jacket to the coat check clerk. In some ways, this gun culture is nice, particularly when the assault rifle toting guards use their, ummm, influence to persuade some native giving you the ‘sieg hiel’ to move along.

All in all, the trip was a success. No one mugged us, our Spanish improved and we saw a lot of mountains and chickens and Central American people.

Great Expectations?

2006-03-15T18:21:00.000-08:00

Since I am a twenty-something male, it should come as no surprise that I visit websites designed for twenty-something males. Online dating services, understandably, advertise heavily on these sites:

Today’s twenty-something, is, after all, a busy professional, etc., etc. But the advertising proffered by the services

lack in two main ways.

First, I am well aware that the women featured in the above two advertisements are not, in all likelihood, actual members of the services advertised. Single women who look (and dress) like those above are either:

1) between professional hockey player boyfriends, or;

2) charge a thousand dollars a night.

Second, and more importantly, as a straight male I would far rather see advertisements featuring attractive men.

Allow me to explain. Online dating is perhaps the one industry in which showing the product you hope to sell decreases the likelihood that you have it to sell in the first place. After all, the advertisements above appeal to whom?

Men.

So when a man sees the ad and joins the service, what does he find inside?

A bunch of other men interesting in ogling internet boobies.

Joy. If I wanted to chill with a bunch of hyper-masculine, lonely straight males I’d hit up Brother’s every Thursday. But think of the reverse. A woman who sees a (tasteful) advertisement featuring an attractive male thinks: ‘there must be some attractive males there. Finally, a dating service for me!’

Promoting this thinking is advantageous in two ways. First, there are more women period. Second, the fact that they expect tasteful attractive men makes it easier to fool them into thinking you are one.

So dudes, resist the urge to prove the advertisers right about their classification of you and only sign up for the dating services whose ads feature the studliest of studs.

An Open Letter to 89.3 The Current

2006-03-09T13:46:00.000-08:00

Minneapolis has a new, brilliantly diverse public radio station. I listen to the station for its variety, and some day, when I am no longer struggling through school, I will even become a member.

But diversity always comes with problems. Today, I was assailed by such problems one time too many, and I feel the need to air my grievances.

Allow me to begin at the beginning. This afternoon was sunny and unseasonably warm for Minnesota, so as I drove past one of our many urban lakes, I rolled down the windows of my car. As I rounded the north side of the lake, the DJ announced the start of the next set, which featured Omega Watts, an up and coming hip hop group I enjoy. I turn up the radio and sing through the song. The sun hits my face as the next song starts, blaring out my open windows. Your Love is Better Than Chocolate by Sarah McLaughlin.

Now, I don’t have a particular problem with Sarah McLaughlin, but seriously, you cannot play a crank-up-the-volume-R&B single followed by a sensitive girl piano song about love and chocolate. Not only does Sarah kind of kill the upbeat mood, it makes those of us you enticed to turn up the radio look like pansies.

A Super Bet

2006-02-07T10:43:00.000-08:00

I won money on the Super Bowl!

How, you may ask, could one who didn't even know which teams were playing until after the game started rake in a cold, hard one dollar bill? Easy. I took the over on the number of monkeys to appear in the ads.

Intelligent Divine

2006-01-25T19:00:00.000-08:00

The official Vatican newspaper published an article this week labeling as "correct" the recent decision by a judge in Pennsylvania that intelligent design should not be taught as a scientific alternative to evolution. While the article did not specifically embrace the teachings of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, its author certainly gets the point:

"If the model proposed by Darwin is not considered sufficient, one should search for another," Fiorenzo Facchini, a professor of evolutionary biology at the University of Bologna, "But it is not correct from a methodological point of view to stray from the field of science while pretending to do science. It only creates confusion between the scientific plane and those that are philosophical or religious."

The article emphasizes that there is no inherent inconsistency between Catholic dogma and the teaching of Darwinian evolution or a close derivative, a view that strongly suggests Catholic biology professors are not generally taught the Book of Genesis in CCD class (“And God created great whales and every living creature that moveth…” Gen. 1:21; why the great whales get special mention and the lemurs nothing is beyong me).

Still, the reconciliation of a text that traces world creation back six thousand years and a science that traces it back 4.5 billion is impressive not only for statistical reasons but also because of its tendency to allow people of science to retain faith without having their heads explode.

The Vatican stresses that the article does count as official Church doctrine, but sources inside the pope’s enclave say that His Holiness viewed a copy of the text sent to him by Pope Fax (the Holy office supplies are all covered in bullet-proof plexi-glass) and he nodded verily.

Source

Politically Incorrect

2006-01-25T18:55:00.000-08:00

Ever since I stuck the ‘FIN’ Euro decal on the back of my car, I have started paying more attention to other cars with similar decals. They make these stickers for countries, states, and even some popular phrases and symbols, but they all tend to evoke a grungy, backpacker type feel. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I saw a Euro oval supporting the President.

Far be it from me to engage in any political dialogue on a journal meant to harpoon everyone, but I’m pretty used to W and his supporters spinning his policies into something they aren’t, so it isn’t the dissonance between what Bush is and what he claims to be that surprises me; it’s that any Bush supporter would want to align themselves backpacking Jetta owners.

Blood Sucking Politicians

2006-01-16T17:38:00.000-08:00

'Impaler' sinks his teeth into governor's race

Dane Smith, Star Tribune

Looking for something really, really different in a political candidate this year?

Take a gander at Jonathon (The Impaler) Sharkey, who will launch his gubernatorial campaign in Princeton, Minn., on Friday the 13th as a "satanic dark priest" and the leader of the "Vampyres, Witches and Pagans Party."

I’ll bet that was a tough primary. I can just imagine some of the candidates.

Since there's nothing but a $300 filing fee to stop anyone from running for statewide office, campaigns in Minnesota typically attract colorful and eccentric characters looking for attention. And of course, former Gov. Jesse Ventura broke the mold and got elected. But Minnesota may never have seen a more outside-the-box politician than the Impaler, also a former pro wrestler.

For starters, he describes himself as a "sanguinary vampyre ... just like you see in the movies and TV, I sink my fangs into the neck of my donor (at this time in my life, it is my wife, Julie), and drink their blood," he said in an e-mail.

Riiiiiiiiiiight…

The 13-point platform on his extensive website offers a number of conventional policy initiatives, including emphasis on education, tax breaks for farmers and better benefits for veterans.

Oooone platform point…twooooo plantform points… AH AH AH!!

Quite some distance from the mainstream, however, is his pledge to execute -- by impalement in front of the State Capitol -- terrorists, rapists, drug dealers, child abusers, repeat drunken drivers and anybody who preys on the elderly.

That should make for more interesting elementary school field trips to the Hill.

"I'm going to be totally open and honest," he said. "Unlike other candidates, I'm not going to hide my evil side."

Sharkey's religious convictions also might be described as well removed from the middle of the road. Call it compassionate Satanism. "On a whole, those who worship Lucifer are no more evil than those who worship other gods," he says on his website.

Although he calls the "Christian God the Father" his "mortal enemy," Sharkey said he has nothing against Jesus Christ or his followers. But he thinks God the Father was a poor parent for allowing his son to be crucified.

Wait. Wasn’t that WHY… oh never mind.

Sharkey, 41, is receiving veterans' disability benefits because of a severe injury in the Army in 1982. On a high-altitude jump while training as a paratrooper, he says, his main parachute failed and the reserve chute opened just before he hit the ground "like a ton of bricks."

That explains a lot.

He has registered as a 2008 presidential candidate with the Federal Election Commission and says he soon will register with state campaign officials as a gubernatorial candidate.

Selling Out

2006-01-14T13:15:00.000-08:00

Well, it finally happened. I flipped on Comedy Central only to see an advertisement for a collection of alt rock hits marketed for my generation. Buzz Ballads. This is worse than the ‘Monster Ballads’ commercial I used to laugh at when I was nineteen, in which lead singers with more hair than most entire households sell out and sing about love instead of screwing groupies (see: REO Speedwagon).

I can barely imagine what would happen if I stumbled across some nineteen year –old punk-ass mocking “Santeria.” Please, feel free to berate Lifehouse’s “Hangin’ By a Moment,” just don’t try and define my youth existence by it.

Seeing the music that defined your younger experience, even the music you didn’t like but can’t help but remember, collected sold for the presumable purpose of recreating that experience has an odd (but altogether unsurprising) way of making you feel on the shelf and irrelevant; that which defines our generation has been identified, boxed and is now available for $26.99.

Right now a younger, hipper crowd that gets laid more often is pushing outside that box, defying marketing firms and their parents to categorize them. Good luck, guys. Like me, you will eventually find your beloved (or not so beloved) songs on at the dentist’s office.

This isn’t, of course, to suggest that Toad the Wet Sprocket and Third Eye Blind were making all the “important” music five to ten years ago, the same way that “I Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore” wasn’t really an anthem for the eighties at the time. But it IS the only REO Speedwagon song still in karaoke book. Maybe the what chafes the most about box sets isn’t so much that we are being sold nostalgia as if there’s nothing left to live for, but rather that the nostalgia we are sold is middle of the road tripe. We’re marginalized into celebrating songs not because they deserve it, but because they were our prom themes and senior video background music.

Happy New Year

2006-01-01T00:18:00.000-08:00

5....
4....
3....
2....
1....

Excuse to party!!

My New Online Life

2005-12-31T13:18:00.000-08:00

I recently received my fortieth e-mail from some long-lost acquaintance asking me to join MySpace. Thanks for the love guys, but a phone call, a letter, an e-mail not advertising a website, any actual, personal connection will suffice.

After a bit of thinking (and a few more e-mails…I get the point McKinzie, you want me to join MySpace, but can’t be bothered to call) I decided, hell, I was the last one on the block to get a blog, why not be the last in the country to join MySpace.

I spent a bit of time setting up my profile, then I decided to browse a bit, see who was in my area, and then, since I’m a curious guy, see who is from way out in the middle of nowhere.

This is what I found.

Now, I’m not saying I know much about much, but my first reaction was ‘what are the chances?’ After a second thought, I realized that the chances of finding a genuine supermodel on MySpace are exactly the same as finding anyone on MySpace. Probably greater, considering she has a publicist to take care of correspondence with all the little people.

I examined the profile a bit more closely and uncovered three points of interest. First, Tyra Banks has an album. I love is when celebrities cross genres; like when Tony Danza directed an episode of Touched by an Angel (and if that didn’t happen, it should).

Second, Ms. Büchden seem a trifle upset that no one believes this is really her:

Hello.

0k, i know some people [haters] will be like "Y0U'RE N0T REAL Y0U'RE JUST AN0THER FAKE!" but im not i do not care what anyone says! And there are alot of people trying to be me on here, and it gets really fusterating! But this is me and i will try & respond to all of you as soon as i can.

Anyway, I promise you from the bottom of my heart this is me. And if you dont believe me or is a hater then dont message me please Becasue it hurts me to think that my fans dont believe me.I also know who is the real Tyra and all the other VS models. So as soon as they add me i will ler you know ok?

Thank you for your time. And i really hope you believe me becuase i am telling the truth! I am new @ this so please spread the word that i am real and that i need new friends, picture comments & you know the rest.

Love you!

-Gisele-

The purple highlighting is present in the original.

Most importantly, everyone in Ms. Büchden’s friends list is another Victoria’s Secret model. This means either:

a) there are a bunch of Vicky’s models cavorting about the internet, available for anyone (sort of);

b) there is an organized group of fake Vicky’s models cavorting about the internet; or, hopefully,

c) some of them are fakers and others are not.

In any event, methinks this deserves a little digging.

Reality in a Box

2005-12-18T23:49:00.000-08:00

Last week, racked out hottie Danni Boatwright outlasted, -witted, and –played a group of jungle bound Americans in Guatemala to end another grueling season of CBS’s no longer so runaway hit franchise, “Survivor.” Her fortitude has earned her 1 million dollars and a new car.

Contestants spend 39 days in the sweltering jungle of El Peten, a forbidding environment known both for the beauty of the jungle and age and complexity of Mayan tradition in which the land is steeped. Contestants were required to run mazes, climb trees and balance on rounded platforms.

"Survivor: Guatemala" is part of a now well-known entertainment genre known as “reality TV.” As the name of the genre implies, the environment in which the game is played, the challenges faced within it, and the perfectness of the teeth and abs of the contestants are carefully crafted to closely mirror the lives of

actual Guatemalans, who, if they are lucky, will leave the sweltering jungle for 39 days, and who outwit competitors during challenges such as civil war, poverty, health care shortages, and the ghosts of long dead Maya chieftains who still roam the jungles at night in the hopes of winning 66 cents per day for the duration of the contest.

Heartfelt congratulations to Ms. Boatwright on her hotness and newly acquired millionaire status, to CBS for the conclusion of another successful season, and to the members of the "Survivor" consuming public for thier unbelievable ability to keep a straight face while calling this show "Reality."

I Think Chinese People Are Jesus

2005-12-16T11:36:00.000-08:00

I fed six people out of a carton the size of a cracker box last night. I'm starting to think that "loaves and fishes" has been mis-translated from the original Arameic words for "Crispy Fish with Discarded Needle and Wontons."

So You're Saying There's a Chance!

2005-11-30T17:59:00.000-08:00

Doctors in

France

Perform First Partial Face Transplant

From the New York Times

LYON, France (AP) -- Doctors in France said they had performed the world's first partial face transplant, forging the way into a risky medical frontier by operating on a woman disfigured by a dogg bite. The 38-year-old woman, who wants to remain anonymous, had a nose, lips and chin grafted onto her face from a brain-dead donor whose family gave consent. The operation, performed Sunday, was led by a surgeon already famous for a transplant breakthrough, Dr. Jean-Michel Dubernard.

''The patient's general condition is excellent and the transplant looks normal,'' said a statement issued Wednesday from the hospital in the northern city of Amiens where the operation took place. Dubernard would not discuss the surgery, but confirmed that it involved the nose, lips and chin.
''We still don't know when the patient will get out,'' he said. A news conference is planned for Friday.
Scientists in China have performed scalp and ear transplants, but experts say the mouth and nose are the most difficult parts of the face to transplant. In 2000, Dubernard did the world's first double forearm transplant.

That operation finally allowed Wimpy to lay the smack down.

The surgery drew both praise and sobering warnings over its potential risks and ethical and psychological ramifications.

Don’t forget misuse by super-villains!

If successful -- something that may not be known for months or even years -- the procedure offers hope to people horribly disfigured by burns, accidents or other tragedies.

The woman was ''severely disfigured'' by a dog bite in May that made it difficult for her to speak and chew, according to a joint statement from the hospital in Amiens and another in the southern city of Lyon, whose doctors collaborated in the surgery.

Such injuries are ''extremely difficult, if not impossible'' to repair using normal surgical techniques, the statement said.

''For pushing the bounds of science, they are to be applauded, as long as they have got full informed consent from the patient and the donor's family,'' added Dr. Iain Hutchison, chief executive of the London-based Facial Surgery Research Foundation.

Scientists around the world are working to perfect techniques involved in transplanting faces. Today's best treatments leave many people with facial disfigurement and scar tissue that doesn't look or move like natural skin.

Question: Who do you look more like when you’re done?

A complete face transplant, which involves applying a sheet of skin in one operation, has never been done before. The procedure is complex, but uses standard surgical techniques.
Critics say the surgery is too risky for something that is not a matter of life or death, as regular organ transplants are.

The main worry for both a full face transplant and a partial effort is organ rejection, causing the skin to slough off.

Leaving you looking only slightly worse than you did before you decided you were so heinous that you should subject yourself to a face transplant.

Complications also include infections that turn the new face black and require a second transplant or reconstruction with skin grafts, perhaps even one or two years later. Drugs to prevent rejection are needed for life and raise the risk of kidney damage and cancer.
Such concerns have delayed British plans to attempt the operation. In France, ethics authorities rejected an application to try a full face transplant last year, but left the door open for a partial procedure involving the mouth and nose.

Yeah, because it would be so much more traumatic to have someone else’s forehead.

In the United States, the Cleveland Clinic is among those planning to attempt a face transplant.

The French surgery ''doesn't change our plans,'' said Cleveland surgeon Dr. Maria Siemionow. ''We are really looking for the right candidate,'' which she described as ''severely disfigured patients which have already had the conventional treatment'' and for whom a transplant is the last chance.

I volunteer. This is likely my last chance of scoring Reese Witherspoon.

Dubernard, who is also a lawmaker in France's lower house of parliament, collaborated in the operation with the Amiens hospital's Dr. Bernard Devauchelle. Weekly news magazine Le Point reported that the recipient lives in Valenciennes, in northeast France, and that the donor's facial organs were removed in a hospital in Lille, about 60 miles from where the transplant was performed.
Dubernard also led teams that performed a hand transplant in September 1998 and the world's first double forearm transplant in January 2000.
The hand transplant recipient, New Zealander Clint Hallam, later had it amputated. Doctors said he failed to take the required drugs and his body rejected the limb.
The double-forearm recipient, Denis Chatelier from France, said in 2003 that he had regained ''normal usage'' of his hands and was even able to shave himself. His forearms were severed in a model rocket accident.
Doctors from Jinling Hospital in Nanjing, China, reported that in September 2003, they transplanted two ears, part of the scalp and other facial skin from a brain-dead young man to a 72-year-old woman with advanced skin cancer.

Four months later, there were no signs of rejection or tumor recurrence, but it is not known how the patient fared after that.

Although her smooth, unwrinkled skin and manly goatee also attracted the attention of many of the village girls…

Doctors around the world have performed partial face transplants using the patients' own skin, but these don't require anti-rejection drugs.

And neither will the ladies after my surgery! If only they could do an ab and bicep transplant.

To begin...

2005-11-17T23:32:00.000-08:00

I guess every online journal needs some sort of introduction. Seems like a waste to me; on my current settings this will disappear in seven posts, leaving people to make up their own mind (as they will after one post, anyway). Maybe the intro is simply a catharsis for the author, a sort of slow wade into the cold water of narcissism. At some point, the water hits your swim trunks, and then your crotch gets wet before you’re really ready and then, hell, you may as well jump in anyway, right?

Well, if you haven’t already clicked the “Next Blog” button, (after all, who wants to read about cold testicles?) you may be asking some of the usual questions. Shoot.

Constant Reader: Okay. What’s up with the name?

Porten: Yeah. I guess I’ll need a catchier title if I ever want people to read this thing. Which I do and don’t. Anyway, when I was three or four, this is what I told the shopping mall Santa Claus I wanted for Christmas. I also told him my name was Sirius. Or so my parents claim. I chose this as the title for the journal because I hope some part of me is still like that kid.

CR: So does this blog have a theme?

P: This isn’t a blog. It’s an-

CR: -online journal. Whatever.

P: Not really, no.

CR: Then why did you start it?

P: Well, I keep getting these ideas that don’t really belong anywhere. They seem too abstract and impersonal for my real journal.

CR: Does your “real journal” have a heart shaped lock on it?

P: Shut up.

CR: Sorry. Go ahead.

P: For you information, it’s a blue notebook I spilt Jack & Coke on some years ago.

CR: Sorry, really.

P: Yeah. Anyway. The point is that I feel like feedback on these ideas might be helpful. I’d like to see if they are going somewhere.

CR: So this IS all narcissistic. Next blog!

P: Wait a tick! If this is just vanity, what are you? Fucking voyeur.

CR: Okay, fine. But didn’t you write for that other blog that’s just getting popular?

P: Done As A Society. Yeah. But my ideas didn’t fit there. It’s a clearinghouse, a sort of “best of the internet.” I did current events humor there, I used to lampoon news article from the Times or Post. The stuff I wanted to write doesn’t fit there so much. I plan to write more news columns and publish them both places.

CR: You aren’t going to censor comments, are you? Pussy?

P: No. Not yet.

CR: Not yet?

P: Well, if I start getting those spam comments like “Hey, Jon, you’re really funy lol, cum check out my nude pics at xxxmelissa.com!”

CR: That website rocks.

P: Yeah.