Night Eight

Last night. I could say finally, but I don't really care. It's probably a relief for anyone reading the blog, though. No more of these horrible, horrible updates. I think I'll stop posting for a little bit unless something awesome happens to me, meaning I'll stop posting for a little bit.

Final tally- no menorah displayed, three family members seen, a book, a gift card, three CD's, no gelt, roughly six bowls of matzoh ball soup, an unknown number of latkes and four movies seen.

Put that into a song assholes. Sorry. Well, like I said, tonight was the last night of Chanukah. I guess it's time to finally let you gentiles in on the big secret. First, you've gotta promise not to tell anyone, okay? Good. Let's go.

Chanukah/ Hanukkah is bullshit. Like I said on Night One/Two, it was created to fuck with Christians and get attention away from Christmas.

Actually, I pretty much let you all know that on Night One/Two. In fact, my whole big post that I just thought about making is pretty much unnecessary now because I said more than enough on Night One/Two. Shit.

What else should I talk about then? I must have a big finish for this shitty project, if only to show myself I can finish something even when I know it's horrible. So fuck it, I'm continuing!

I believe we've established that Jews are insecure people, as a whole. And going back to a stereotype, we run the entertainment business. Well, around this time everything is about Christmas: TV shows, movies, books, songs, everything. Well screw that!

Thus spawned Chanukah. It's still not even close to being Christmas, but we've made a little dent. We made stores and commercials wish us a "Happy Holidays," opposed to "Merry Christmas," which I also touched on in Night One/Two. We can't let the Christians get all the attention, so we celebrate Chanukah.

It was Jewish insecurities and fear of being completely forgotten that led to the creation of Chanukah. If you don't think we're serious about this shit, check out what Israel just did to get some attention diverted from Christmas. We don't play around.

Now for tonight's stereotype; all Jews are huge liars. It's true. Anything that a Jewish person tells you should be disregarded as it is certainly a lie. We don't like you, your ass does look fat and we weren't joking when we said we hope your business venture fails miserably leaving your family with a huge amount of debt that leads them to living out on the streets where they end up murdering and eating each other within 30 hours. That's right. Jews are horrible, awful people that I personally would like not to have any association with, but alas, I cannot control what family I was born into. If I could, I'd be on "Run's House."

A Jew will say anything to help himself/herself further himself/herself. We're all about getting ahead, and do pretty much everything for money and status. That's all Judaism is- a competition between people with whiny voices to see who can top who in terms of salary or expensive items. That's why Jews want their children to become doctors. Nevermind it's a very stressful profession where you have to accept death as a regular occurrence. No, you're helping people, but even more importantly, making a very nice salary.

So there you have it, Judaism summed up in two paragraphs. Tonight's example isn't from entertainment, but I went with myself, because I'm so vain I thought this post was about me. Sorry for that.

Night Seven

The second to last night of the greatest Jewish holiday spanning eight nights that's held in December was pretty uneventful. Like, it sucked. We've completely stopped even mentioning it's a holiday at this point, which is about right on track with how it goes every year. Have I mentioned my family is barley Jewish? Because we are.

For tonight let's combine two Jewish stereotypes into one post because I'm out of things to say, yet still keep talking. Aren't you lucky?

We love Chinese food. We do. It's true. If only because you need something to break up eating deli food every night. Back in the 1890's, when Moses was just finishing up leading the Jews through a 36-year trek through the desert (they rounded that number up to guilt the rest of the world into sympathizing with them), they arrived in New York.

It was a strange place, with lots of buildings and all different colors of people. All they had eaten for the past 36 years was a cycle of camel meat, dead Jew meat and sand. It got old quickly, but what could they do? They wandered around New York looking for something to eat, but there weren't any camels, dead Jews or sand around. They eventually found a Chinese restaurant, the only thing open. To commemorate finally escaping the pharaoh, Jews agreed to start meeting weekly for Chinese food.

So it's not so much that we actually enjoy eating Chinese food a lot as much as it's tradition. If we could, and some of us have, we'd just combine synagogues and Chinese restaurants into one giant building and knock out both of those things in one afternoon.

The second stereotype is that we love to marry our children. This one is also true. How can you honestly be sure that the person you're marrying is Jewish? Those gentiles lie about practically everything. I wouldn't put it past one to lie about being Jewish to marry a Jew, since we're all successful, wonderful people. So then you marry you're child. You raised them, you know they're really Jewish.

Plus, you can raise them to have traits you'd look for in a mate. Being a parent is really the perfect way to match-make. Of course, it's gross. But in swoops a genius of a man, who is like "Hold on ye Jews. Let's adopt kids and marry them!"

Adoption? Sounds good to us. But where to adopt from? "Well, since we love Chinese food so much, how about China?" Brilliant!

And that is why all Jews love Woody Allen. Not only is he the finest filmmaker of all time, but he's a visionary. Example in entertainment, none other than Woody Allen, of course.

Night Six

Argh, this shit is still going on? Yep. So Night Six. No different than Nights 2,3,4 or 5. Well, I shouldn't say that. My parents seemed to feel a bit bad because they have yet to give anything to my younger brother. His birthday is also on the 30th, so they probably felt doubly as bad, perhaps, because they've given him nothing and didn't really have anything in mind to get for him. Because of this, they bought him Guitar Hero tonight.

I was no aware, but the game comes with not only a guitar, but drums and a microphone. I thought that was Rock Band, but apparently they both do now. I don't know. All I know is, by the end of the night, I got to sing Korn's "Freak on a Leash" into a working microphone and it was the greatest moment of my life. I can't really say any other songs interested me too much, but then again, it's not my game so fuck me, right?

I guess this evens things out a bit in terms of gifts. My brother and I now stand at one apiece- he got Guitar Hero, I got a book. But to be fair, it was a book I asked for and have enjoyed reading quite a bit. Plus, my parents did once again feel bad while we were out and asked if I would like to get something as well. I said "thank you, but I'm fine." I did. I know. I suck. A lot. I don't want to lie, though. I did check to see if Best Buy had the third season of SNL on DVD, but it appeared they didn't. Had they, though, I imagined I would've asked for that.

So yeah. That was Night Six. Onto tonight's stereotype: Jewish mothers! They're loud, annoying, overprotective and love to brag about their children. All true. One hundred percent true. What sucks for my mom, unfortunately, is that between my brother and me there really isn't much to brag about.

I imagine conversations with fellow Jewish mothers go, "Oh your son is a little upset about going abroad next semester because he's going to have to leave behind his Jewish girlfriend of a year and a half, whose family has a summer home in the Hamptons? Well I'm sure he'll be just fine. It will go by quick. Oh, how's Adaham? Well, he still hasn't been arrested, knock on wood."

It's true. I have yet to be arrested, and I'm pretty happy about that. Although if I want to release this rap album, that will change, of course. I'm going to need all the street cred I can get.

Back to mothers being overprotective. Did you know my mom tries to contact me practically everyday while I'm at school? She does. We don't speak everyday, though. But we do speak more days than we don't. That's fine, though. I'm not that big of a dick. I'm not going to complain about that. What I am going to complain about is if she calls (or now texts, which sucks) and I don't pick up or call her back right away she keeps calling or texting. I mean, I do have class. I take showers. I accidentally leave my phone turned off for extended periods of time.

And every second between her contacting me and my not answering or calling her back, horrible thoughts are going through her head. It's fucked up, but true. She worries, about everything. So say she calls me at one, and I don't pick up or text her back because I'm in class. At about 1:10 I'll get another call or a text: "Where r you?" Then if that's not answered, it'll probably be another 20 minutes before the next call or the same exact text. I don't even want to think what she's thinking about at that point, but it probably involves me being mugged or tied up or falling down a well where nobody can hear me scream. She's insane.

Maybe I'll get another text or call a little bit later, and I'm aware this makes me seem like a horrible son. I know. Just shoot her a quick text saying your in class or something. I get it. But I want to learn. And since I was raised by this neurotic, insane woman, I too share some of her insanity. So you get about four calls or texts in the middle of the day from your mother, who should realize you're a student and in class. Now I'm thinking something terrible has happened.

Then I'll call her as soon as I get out of class and it's usually one of two things. One being, she forgot what she wanted to tell me. The second being something really non-important. If that's so, it goes like this...

Me: Hey, sorry I was in class. Everything okay?
Her: Yeah, I was just calling to tell you Tina Fey is on Conan tonight in case you didn't already know.
Me: I did not know that, thanks for the heads up.

You see, for all their craziness, Jewish mothers are quite caring. I can't deny that. They're nuts, but loving. They mean well. Yeah, this paragraph is Adaham's mother typing. He's a sweet boy, please be his friend.

It's this caring that leads to the nagging, and they nag about everything. I like to think I do alright in school, and always have without my parents feeling the need to push me. And I think this still works. So my mom doesn't nag about my schoolwork, because she knows that will get done. I get nagged most often because I'm incredibly anti-social. I get the "make friends," "go somewhere this weekend" and her most popular, "why can't you get a girlfriend. You don't have to get married, just go out with a nice, sweet girl. Any girl would be lucky to go out with you." Yeah, that's pretty much what I've been hearing for years. It's been quite sometime since my mom has been a girl and she's a bit biased when it comes to me, though, so I doubt she's aware that any girl would not be lucky to go out with me. No, it wouldn't be luck. It'd be desperation, a mistake or maybe even pity. But certainly not luck.

I will give her this. When she's telling me to get a girlfriend, she's not pushing me towards a Jewish girl. I'd like to think this is because we're not religious folk, and it would be ridiculous to want me to only date people of the same religion, a religion we do not celebrate at all. But if I'm being honest, I think she's at the "just date anyone, please!" phase. So I've got that going for me, which is nice.

And while she doesn't seem to care what religion my future potential girlfriend is, her dream girlfriend for me is Jewish. And she's Natalie Portman. I mean, it's a nice thought. But in all the things Natalie Portman is looking for in a boyfriend, I probably possess zero percent of those character traits. Yet whenever she's on TV, my mom will say "Oh, there's your girlfriend," or "She seems sweet. Why can't you find a girl like her to date?" My mom has pretty much ruined the Star Wars prequels for me.

That came out a bit longer than I expected. I guess I have a good deal to say about Jewish mothers, and thought real life experiences would be better than just making everything up, not that I've made up anything I've written in the previous Chanukah entries. Anywhere, tonight's example in entertainment:

Helen Seinfled (sorry for the second Seinfeld reference, but that show was just sooooo Jewish)



And a bonus example in entertainment:

Sheila Broflovski

Night Five

Hello there blog fans, and a merry Christmas to all those celebrating, and of course if you're reading this, it's a pretty safe assumption your celebrating is all done and you're really bored.

As the first paragraph mentioned, today was the first day of Christmas, which overlapped with the fifth night of Chanukah. Jews like to party a good deal on Christmas. It's been well documented that Jewish Christmas' comprise of eating Chinese food and going to the movies. We own those places on Christmas. It's insane.

If you're in a Chinese restaurant on Christmas, and service is a bit slow because it's so packed, speak up. You just have to shrug and raise your arms a little bit and say, "Eh, what does it take to get a little service around here?" in the same accent you'd use to say you were from old country. And every single person in the restaurant will agree with you, because Jews love to complain and help their own. Jews just spend Christmas out and about and complaining about everything out loud. There's no non-Jews around to judge them. It's a Christmas miracle.

My brother took part in Jewish Christmas today by going to three movies with his friend. And to make it even more Jewish, they only paid for one money. "Eh, with movie prices these days, seeing three movies for the price of one is still highway robbery."

I too went to the movies, granting Dmur Temporary Jew Status, whether he likes it or not. We saw "The Spirit." As Dmur put it, "Eh, could've used a little less talking and a little more Eva Mendes tuchas." He's a quick learner that one.

For tonight's stereotype let's go over the one about Jewish people not ever wearing socks. It's one of, if not the most hateful stereotypes thought of the Jews. I swear, one time a kid on the bus to school asked me if I was wearing socks, or if I was a "good little Jew boy and left my house with naked feet," and I murdered him. I just placed my hands around his neck and squeezed until his body became limp. Then I kept squeezing him, and shook him and then bashed his skull against the window, splattering blood all over the place. Kids cheered. I live in a very Jewish area.

Anyway, no socks. It's true. We don't often wear socks. This is because Jews are really hairy creatures, and this includes our feet. And socks, even the "thin" ones, are heavy. And when you have feet that look like Cousin Itt, wearing anything unnecessary (like socks) just brings on the sweat. It's terrible. Your socks get all wet, then your shoes get all squishy and it makes humorous noises when you walk. And if there's one thing Jews hate, it's humor. Find me one Jewish comedian or humorist.

So there you have it. Jews are hairy and don't want to sweat. Thus we don't wear socks. Perhaps this contributes to another stereotype of ours-- that we smell-- and that seems like a pretty safe assumption. We do smell. We don't wear socks. You can make the connection. And really hairy objects smell. That's a thing, right? Hairy stuff smells bad? I think so. There you have it. Jews are smelly. Why am I still talking? I don't know. Anyway, example in entertainment: obviously, Cousin Itt (he is Jewish).



Come back tomorrow when I have clearly run out of ideas and will talk about Jewish mothers. Expect lots of examples, or just more than one.

Night Four

Good evening fellow humans. Good evening non-humans who may be reading as well, just in case. It's Night Four. This seems like a good time to mention that no, my family does not have a menorah on display anywhere in the house. Most Jews place them in the window so everyone can see. Or at least that's what most people think.

In reality, in heavily Jewish-populated ares (like the one I live in) have been planning a reverse Holocaust for some time now. And yes, it's a reverse Holocaust because us Jews aren't the creative type, and that's all we came up with. That took us eight years too. We're still finalizing some details to make it official, so non-Jews need not worry just yet. We just can't seem to fully agree on everything just yet.

Anyway, the RH will occur during Chanukah, and the way we'll tell who is Jewish is by menorahs displayed in windows. Think of it like putting lamb blood on the front door of your house so God wouldn't kill your firstborn child, thus passing him over and creating what we now know as Passover. Yeah, I used a Passover reference. So if the angry mob sees a menorah in the window, that family won't be taken from their home and put in a death camp.

Um, since it's not time for the RH just yet, my family hasn't put out a menorah this year. My did make some matzo ball soup, which was awesome. We had some Chinese food tonight, which is pretty Jewish.

I guess in Night Three's entry I said tonight I'd go over a few Jewish stereotypes and tell you why they're true. I'm only going to do one, since I'm lazy. Plus, I'm going to start making these shorter because they suck. Better yet, just stop reading. At this point it's more for me than you anyway. And on top of that, I really want to get to sleep, because my family is waking up at six in the morning to open our Christmas presents together, and I'm really excited about that.

So tonight's stereotype is that we're all cheap. Correct!

Sufficient enough? Alright, we'll keep going. All Jews are cheap. It's very true. You see, us Jews need to save up as much money as we can early in life so we can move to Florida later in life. Once there, though, we don't stay. We own a house or apartment in Florida, but spend all of our time cruising or traveling the world. Plus, we need money to get our grandkids gifts.

But being cheap didn't begin for this reason. No, when the Jews were first released from JewZoos, it was of course hard for Jews to find work. And they certainly weren't treated as equals, so they would make women-like wages. Some were able to successfully pretend to not be Jewish, but for most, nasally voices and huge noses did them in. Money was tight, and not exactly flowing in, so Jews learned how to live without spending it. This carried over, until things worked out that Jews started getting higher paying jobs, but living exactly as they had been living all along. This ended in Jews having a lot of money saved up late in life, thus allowing them to travel. This is now seen as the standard way of living for Jews, and if any Jewish person you know isn't cheap it's most likely because they hate themself or have been exposed to a lot of non-Jews. Example in entertainment: George Costanza.



Come back tomorrow night when I'll go over Jewish Christmas and another stereotype, maybe. Or do something else. Who knows.

Night Three

So tonight was the third night of Chanukah. Hope you're all enjoying the most wonderful time of the year. So, I couldn't even make it to night three with something in mind to write. And that's only because the first two nights were combined into one entry because I'm a terrible Jew and didn't know when Chanukah started.

Let's see, we exchanged gifts last night. Or at least I think we're done. I don't ever remember getting a gift a night for eight nights. When I was younger it would definitely be a gift a night for a few nights, but not eight. Now, it's usually just "here's what we got you," and we're done. Or it's just one gift. It seems this year it's pretty much one gift. I won't say what yet, as I'll leave it for another night.

How did I celebrate the third night of Chanukah? I know you're just really dying to know, so sit down a minute and let's chat. I went to go see my, and I hate to really make such a bold statement here but I have to, I went to go see my absolute favorite Hoboken-based band with a Spanish name that features a married couple of which the husband plays guitar and is Jewish, Yo La Tengo. I know, I know, but sometimes we just have to make bold statements. So there.

They played in Hoboken, which was okay I guess. I'm pretty sure I've never been there, or never stopped there. On the way to Hoboken, and way back from, we passed Edgewater, and subsequently Mitsuwa, which Dmur and hot.pork should know as the location of the second half of the greatest yearly field trip taken by our former Japanese class. Apparently they had really good soda there, but I never tried it. Perhaps Dmur or hot.pork could describe what was so great about it (other than it came with a marble, of course) if either of them were so lucky to try it.

The show started with a saxaphone player and guitarist, then two comedians and then Yo La Tengo. I enjoyed them all, but what I enjoyed even more was that they all rocked the stage with a menorah positioned high above everyone. It was conflicting, though. If you read the Night One/Two, and you better have fucking read it you piece of shit, then you'll know what the menorah really stands for. And that's not something you want to say to people that are watching you perform.

A man standing in front of me took part in the Chanukah tradition of getting high. He used marijuana. He sat down while the band was playing, put his jacket over his head and went to it. Every so often he'd move the jacket and a large ball of smoke would waft upwards and past me. It smelled.

The guy, who was well into his 40s, then seemed to loosen up a bit. Earlier he complained that the comedians weren't funny at al, when in reality, they were sort of funny at times and really funny at other times. But once the pot kicked in he started dancing. Well, his body remained stiff, but he shifted back and forth, like a Weeble. It was great.

There was a kid who positioned himself in front of, and eventually next to, me. He was wearing a Santa hat, which was a dick move on his part. I don't care if he was only about 10.

So yeah, that was night three. Saw some good, partially Jewish, live music complete with a menorah on stage. I disliked the people standing near me, and was worried for my safety walking the streets of Hoboken because they were really icy and slipper. If that's not Jewish, well then just start sewing back on my foreskin.

Come back tomorrow for Night Four, when if I have nothing else to write, I'll go over a few Jewish stereotypes and tell you why they're all true and where and when they started. Or I won't. Either way, L'Chaim.

Night One/Two

So whoops. Thought tonight was the first night of Chanukah. It was the second. Good to know. That should just show you how horribly Jewish my family and I are. Anyway, I was planning (actually, the idea just came to me minutes ago) that as the token Jewish SD writer (are we writers if we don't really write anything? probably not, right?), I should celebrate Chanukah on the blog by posting each of the eight (eight!) nights of the festival of lights. I'm sure I won't make it to five, and it will be interesting and funny for exactly zero nights, but I'm home and have absolutely nothing better to do.

Since I already fucked this up, I'll just try to make this a bit longer than whatever length every night will be. Let's just start out with some brief information about the holiday, mixed in with some history. I know, I know. That's boring. If I wanted that I would've gone to Hebrew school, except I didn't want to get molested. Wait, that's not Jews. Take that churches! Go Jewish people, we don't molest (and get caught).

So, uh, Chanukah. Did you know some people spell it Hanukkah? And plenty others just spell it completely wrong. How about that? Interesting, huh? It's eight nights, because eight nights is actually how long a Jewish week is, and Chanukah is a Jewish-week-long celebration of all things Jewish. Reports have it starting in 1968, while Jews were still in JewZoos. Imprisoned by Christians for entertainment and population control purposes, Jews were split up and spread throughout the country, often times confined to tiny spaces where non-Jews could pay to gawk at them. For a small additional fee, the non-Jews could purchase pork and feed the Jews (if you're wondering why we don't eat pork now, that's why. Bad memories. It must similar to what a black person feels when he/she shackles himself/herself to a boat traveling from Africa to America. Or when us whites whip them).

Well, Jews started banding together. They would sing lovely hymns about pet cemeteries, not sleeping til Brooklyn and wanting to be sedated. These were later incorporated into songs by Jewish musicians. During December, all the JewZoo owners would celebrate Christmas, and the Jews were left unattended to, unfed and uncleaned for long periods of time while everyone took off for the holiday. Jews were upset over their treatment, especially at this time, so in protest they created a holiday that lasted eight days, and said they couldn't work during any of those days. The first year, they overlapped it with Christmas, so it didn't work out, as the JewZoos were already closed. Jews then started holding Chanuakah different dates every year, but always in December, so the JewZoos would have to close down most of the entire month. The starting date for Chanukah each year is picked out of a hat.

The first Chanukahs weren't much celebrations. Jews just got together and laughed at how the JewZoo had to close down over such a bullshit holiday. This was later reversed on Jews when schools only closed down for Chanukah if it overlaps with Christmas. The real partying didn't start until 1974, when Jews were freed from JewZoos. They were freed just as November was ending, and that year's Chanukah was starting the first week of December. As the Torah describes it, it was "complete and utter madness. Not a Jew went sober, a penis went outside of a vagina and a vagina went unfilled by a penis for eight nights. It was awesome."

And thus, Chanukah became a very popular, underground holiday. Non-Jews started converting just to celebrate the madness. In 1978, The Ramones, an all-Jewish band, released "I Wanna Be Sedated," the first JewZoo hymn heard outside of JewZoos. It embodied the frustration Jews felt on Christmas, with such lyrics as "Nothing to do/ Nowhere to go/ I wanna be sedated." Jews noticed that pretty much everywhere was closed for Christmas, leaving them with nothing to do. Many Jews took the getting sedated part of the song to be a command that they get drunk and/or high every night of Chanukah. So they did.

Because of its underground status, and it being a fairly new holiday, during it's first couple of decades Chanukah was only celebrated by the Jewish and hip, which if you're wondering, never overlap. It gained a mainstream following once Adam Sandler performed the first "Chanukah Song" on Dmur's favorite show, "Saturday Night Live" in 1994. The song was largely a hit because it was mostly Sandler naming famous Jewish people, and all Jewish people love other Jews, especially successful ones. The hip people slowly stopped celebrating Chanukah because the holiday was now very popular. Ads went from wishing us a "Merry Christmas" to "Happy Holidays." It's now illegal for ads for anything other than Bibles, churches, Santa outfits and Kenny Chesney albums to wish viewers a "Merry Christmas." It has been illegal since 1995, when the now famous court case of Schwarztenbaumbergmansteinowitz v. United States ruled that it was discriminatory for ads to wish only "Merry Christmas." The Schwarztenbaumbergmansteinowitz's were represented by every non-black lawyer in the country, and together they used what's now known as the "Sandler Defense," where they collectively went through every Jew Sandler named in the "Chanukah Song" and all the great things they've done in their careers, guilting the jury into feeling as though by wishing us only a "Merry Christmas" companies were directly insulting the nation's greatest entertainers... and David Lee Roth.

That's widely regarded as the instant Chanuakh became a "legit" holiday, but many of the original celebraters of the holiday now saw it as lame. Many tried to recreate the Chanukah magic with other holidays, but none panned out. Stores now had an aisle of blue and white decorations, the dreidel was invent to combat sleigh riding and this odd nine-branched birthday candle looking item started popping up in windows all over the country. This structure, or a menorah, comes from Chanukah's early beginnings, when it was a much more punk holiday. The middle candle stays lit every night, as a "fuck you" to non-celebrators. Then, for each night another candle is lit so we can remember what night we're on, since during Chanukah all the Jews are intoxicated or high. The Torah doesn't specify what we are supposed to get drunk or high on, and many Jews switch it up nightly. For me, tonight is a lovely mixture of white out and heroin, with a dab of caffeine injected into my body. The structure was named a menorah because it rhymes with Torah. Jews like when things rhyme- yarmulke and Chanukah, for another example.

Every night, we are to receive presents. This is, of course, another swipe at Christmas, where presents are exchanged the morning of the first day. The presents thing didn't start up until after our time in the JewZoos, since there we had nothing. Once the Jews were free, the presents in those early years were mostly in the form of drugs or sexual acts that one partner wouldn't be willing to do any other night of the year... unless they run out of gift ideas by night 6 or so. But since joining the mainstream, Chanukah's nightly gift giving has become much more tame. Maybe one big gift and yo-yo's, dreidels and socks every other night.

Although it is quite corporate today, it's important to remember where Chanukah came from, and to understand why we do all that we do during these eight nights. The minute we forget why Chanukah was started, to piss off Christians, the minute we go back to JewZoos. So I urge my fellow Jews, celebrate your freedom, give gifts, drink, light up, snort, inject, do what you must to make this holiday exciting (and bearable). This is our time, treat it as such.

Make sure to come back tomorrow to see what else I could possibly write about this holiday.

Jimmy Fallon is Gay!

And I hate SNL!

In other news, winter break is a terrible idea, and I can't spend much more time alone in this house, or I'll go BUCK WILD. Literally.

My Parents Are A Woman And A Broadway Star

So in the past two days I've been called very very different things by two different people. It really confused me, because I always thought I was somewhere between the two options based purely on looks, but apparently not.

A few days ago in a bookstore, a man said, "You look like Matthew Broderik. You must hear that a lot, though."

Me: "Uh, no. Never actually."

Him: "Oh, well can you sing?"

Me: "No."

Him: "That's okay, he can't either."

Then we laughed and I walked away, only now realized this old bookstore worker in his 60's probably wanted to take me home and act out the Producers with him, except the version where the Nathan Lane character brutally rapes the Matthew Broderick one. Wait, that was the Broadway one? Oh, whoops.

Then, just tonight, someone called me ma'am. She might have said "man," but I'm thinking she said "ma'am" if only because she was working at a counter in a store I was in, and I think she was going for very formal (ma'am) instead of very casual (man). "Thank you ma'am," or "Thank you man." I'm going with the former.

Now, I'm not the manliest of men by any means, but I do think I tend to look male. Now, it was late, maybe she was tired. I had on a hat that covered up all of my hair, so perhaps that factored into her called me "ma'am" somehow. Now, I also have a beard, and the only reason I have a beard is so people will stop calling me "ma'am," but apparently that doesn't even work. So not only am I a woman, but I'm a circus freak. It's bad enough to be called a female when you're a male, but to be called a female when you're a bearded male sucks because it's like that person is telling you "Hey, you don't look like a dude, so you must be an ugly chick. I bet you couldn't get a prom date." And then I cried, because I couldn't get a date to prom, and I ended up sitting home prom night wearing my prom dress while watching "America's Funniest Home Videos." Luckily for me, it was their special with only hilarious clips from various weddings and dances. I saw a lot of people fall in cake. It wasn't funny.

The Greatest News Story In The World

Here's the greatest, most hilarious news story to ever come from someplace other than The Onion.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081217/ap_on_fe_st/odd_hitler_cake

Majoring in English...? with Intern Tom

Here's another Facebook note. I hope you all enjoy it; I know I ... didn't even read it all the way through. This guy came on my radio show a few times. That's why I call him an intern. I don't know if he's actually interning anywhere.

So hi everyone.

I'm sure many of you have dealt with a wishy-washy uncertainty in regards to my future as an English major at UMass, seeing as I've confided in several of my friends on this topic. I've hemmed and hawwed (sp?) about my major since I entered college. When I was at RWU I majored in Communications, then found my observant and empathetic side during the summer of 2007 and decided I wanted to be a research Psychologist, so I transferred to UMass and switched my major to Psychology. Towards the end of the summer, my thought process changed and I switched to Journalism, in order to apply my strengths to serve the public.[Note from Dmur: So humanitarian!]

Once at UMass I switched out of Journalism [Note from Dmur: oops], declared myself an Anthropology major for...oh...a week or so...then got fed up with myself, charted my strengths and weaknesses, and decided, once and for all, that English would be my best bet. Why? Because it's applicable to many many many different jobs and I'm a good writer [Note from Dmur: Right.].

Now I have, yet again, stumbled upon the issue of, "Do I want to stick with this major?" This time, however, my thoughts have turned to the issue of job satisfaction vs. $$$ [Note from Dmur: I think that means money. Or he wants to be a rapper].

If you know anything about the BA in English, the general consensus is that the field does not pay particularly well. However, seeing as writing is something I genuinely enjoy and I am capable of applying to many different scenarios, I've forced myself to think long and hard in regards to this issue[Note from Dmur: I've got something long and hard you can think about].

My conclusion is: Do what you love and you'll find a way to make bank. Whether it be through solid investments or relying on a back-up plan, I will find a way to reel in the dough. Plus, if my only goal is to chase a buck I'll be pretty miserable. The upside is that I'm good at writing, I enjoy it, and am good at selling myself. So, with the right mindset and the necessary tools at my disposal, I plan to have a long and fruitful career one way or another.

The bottom line is that I don't plan on switching, and will axe my inner kvetch for my sanity and yours.

That is all.

Yeah, you write diaries like an English major.

By the way, does this guy think he's Jewish or something? He's definitely French or some shit. So I don't know where he gets off pretending to be a 'brew.

Four More Years

So I'm well aware that this Obama fellow was elected, and lots of people seem to like him and are really excited he's elected. That's cool. I like how people were able to put behind him his past as a model for t-shirt designs, and take him seriously as a politician.

Anyway, I guess I haven't blogged in a bit. That's why I think there's no better way to come back than by pleading for four more years of President Bush. The guy is just awesome.

I'm not ready to lose the man who has been president for all of my teenage years and the earliest part of my 20's. Look at how cheap is gas is right now. That's all him! He did that! Plus, can't you go past eight years in wartime? Is that still a thing? Hopefully, cause it's wartime, and who better to remain president during wartime than the current president?

Well, if you're not totally convinced, watch this and tell me you seriously think Obama could do this...



No fucking way. And not only one shoe, but two! Have you seen Obama play basketball? He gets by on blackness, not skill, and does that barely. He would've been clobbered by two shoes if he were faced in a situation like this one. Not Bush. He Matrix-ed his way out of it. Also, could a movie about Obama's life be nearly as interesting as "W?" Ha, not even close. What's Obama even done? Did he own a baseball team or have issues with his dad, who was the fucking president? Yeah, exactly.

So join in with me now internet friends- Four more years! Four more years! See, that was fun. Now it's up to you to help out this country in the only way possible- by getting us four more years of President Bush!

From a Friend's Away Message:

I don't care what your beliefs, if the words "Republican Senator caught trolling for cock" doesn't bring a smile to your face, you need to get the fuck out of America.

It's 4 a.m., I'm up, meaning, paper due today!

Okay, much less nervous about this paper than Friday's paper, mostly because this is for history class. I could go into class, fart on the teacher and tell him history is gay and I'd rather learn about the future... and still pull an A.

So I'm just kind of cruising along here. It's only a 5-8 page paper, which only lessens my need to actually work on it right now. Basically, we got three prompts- one really long involved one, and two first person ones. Most people in the class went with the first one, but anytime I get a chance to use "I" repeatedly while writing, I'm going to take it because I just love doing it. I really do. And because those seem to be easier, plus more fun to write I suppose.

Anyway, I went with a prompt that says you're a soldier and you get a letter from you mother saying your brother has died in war (the Civil War). She asks "What did he die for?" and you have to answer it, while mentioning what side you're fighting with, and a whole bunch of other stuff. I'm writing from the side of the Confederacy. By the way, ever write about defending slavery only six and a half feet away from your black roommate? Strange feeling, and I keep checking over my shoulder just in case.

I'm flipping through my textbook, and i see a picture of a dude beating another with a cane, so I stop, of course. It's one of those inserts on a page that isn't part of the main text of the chapter, meaning nobody reads it because the teacher will never ask about it. But guy hitting another with a can will get me to read anything.

And here's why I think school sucks. This is a U.S. history course. Do you know how long I've been learning U.S. history? How many different courses go over U.S. history, and teach you pretty much the same exact thing? A lot.

Yet I've never heard of the issue between Senator Charles Sumner of Massachusetts and Congressman Preston Brooks of South Carolina. During a meeting of the Senate in 1856, Sumner "suffered permanent injury in a vicious attack by Brooks. Trapped at his desk, Sumner was helpless as Brooks beat him so hard with his cane that it broke."

Yes! And why did he do it? A few days earlier Sumner made an antislavery speech. So Brooks kicked the living shit out of him. Why haven't I heard about this? If there was a course about cane-beatings at Senate meetings, I'd be all over that like a cane on antislavery supporter. So, people, did we ever learn about this and I just forgot, or have they been holding out on all the awesome history stuff?

Check This Out

So this poster is in my dorm right next to the elevator. It clearly has an uplifting message about persistence and never giving up and making the impossible possible. Pretty much what you'd expect from one of these type of posters.

But wait, what's that girl in the bottom left corner of the poster doing? She's giving a message of her own, and I believe Dmur knows exactly what I'm talking about.

Late Night Music Ramblings by Brian Bidnick

I haven't actually made my way through all of this, because JESUS CHRIST is it long, but look at how much time he spent doing this! It's a fucking novel!

I'm considering featuring more people's Facebook notes in the future, as long as they are really long, and around the same level of pointless. Let me know if you find any other great ones.

- Dmur

Someone asked me the other day when I was online what some of my favorite vocalists were – note, that doesn’t say singers. To be exact, they said, “So B, I saw you had a bunch of quotes from metal bands on your away messages, Facebook, everywhere. Bands are one thing, but what about the guys themselves? You can tell a band sounds good, sure, but what about the guys who sit there and sing their hearts out and don’t have three guys behind them?”

This friend of mine is very long distance (in fact an ocean and a half away), and no one on here really knows him at all, but he and I have been talking for almost seven years now. He’s very into music, but much more classical than the stuff I listen to. He’s big into opera, as is his fiancé, which is actually how they met and will hopefully be married in September of next year. Music and performance are big in his life, so we tend to have these conversations anyway.

Well, long story short, I listed to him my favorite vocalists right before he had to head out for the night with his better half. Earlier today he emailed me asking what I meant by some of the names I gave him, because he couldn’t understand what I meant. See, he asked about solo vocalists, and I gave him names like Corey Taylor, Lacey Mosley, Serj Tankian, and Till Lindermann. In the list, of course, were Brian Johnson, Robert Plant, and the incendiary Jello Biafra, as well as numerous other throwbacks to great artists.

I just finished talking to my friend while he was at work, and he explained to me his trouble with my answer. Considering it is a valid concern, I figured I would share it here and see what your thoughts are, to anyone who reads this. My friend’s concern was that true vocal geniuses are buried by the people playing the instruments behind them to the point where you cannot really tell how great they are.

I’ll give you an example. Corey Taylor was on the list. Corey is the lead singer of Stone Sour, as most people know. He’s got a great voice that really comes through in popular songs such as “Bother” or “Through the Glass.” Yeah, that’s the guy I mean. Great vocals right? Right. I think we can all agree Corey is one of the most pleasing voices in the music world today. However, what some people don’t realize is that Corey is all the head-banging, mosh-pitting, screaming and yelling lead singer of SlipKnoT, where he goes under the title of “#8.” When I shared that with a much more local friend about a month ago, she was in a bit of shock. Someone who sings “Through the Glass,” a very soft song, also sings “Duality” and “Psychosocial”? Yes, that’s the same guy, and that’s why I love his voice and his performances. I won’t beat a dead horse when it comes to Corey, but if you want a good study go YouTube “Vermillion (Part 2)” by SlipknoT, and you’ll see what I mean when it comes to his voice.

My friend brought up Till Lindermann as a prime example of what he meant by a singer, not a vocalist. Lindermann is the long-time lead singer for Rammstein, the infamous German metal band. They also, like SlipKnoT (9 members), keep a large set of band mates – six. One would think with five or eight members standing behind you, it would be a bit difficult to extract the nuances that make a good singer great, or pick out exactly what makes him/her bad. (I slip in “her” by the way because I put Lacey from Flyleaf on the list up there. More on chick singers later.) But look, it all depends on what you focus on, and this is what I told my friend – what makes a good singer great is the ability to listen to a song, and hear only their voice. If all you need to do is listen to it once and you dial in on them, that means they can hold your attention and you don’t worry about the few guys behind them. If they can hold onto you for four minutes (or eight if your name is Robert Plant), and you can distinctly recall how they sounded, then they are a great singer. That’s what guys like Corey and Till do for me, and I think they would do for anyone who sat down and gave them a chance.

Now, before I continue know that this isn’t at all a flame of musicians. Those of you who knew me in my formative years know that I was once one, and some argue you never quite loose the touch. Heck when I’m home I love to pull out my old acoustic and fiddle around a bit, even if I never go pro with it. Musicians are the strength behind their vocalist, and no song or band would be complete without them. A good drummer, guitarist, sampler, DJ, percussionist, or bassist knows just how to sound good while highlighting those around them more.

That being said, I owe a special honorable mention to Lacey. Like I mentioned, she’s the lead singer of the alt rock band Flyleaf, a band I got addicted to my sophomore year up here thanks to a friend of mine burning me their CD. Now, I own pretty much anything they’ve ever put out, and are eagerly awaiting their new CD, which word is they’ll be recording in January. Anyway, Lacey is an oddity when it comes to female singers and I’ll show you why – go listen to “I’m So Sick” by them and listen to her voice especially. I’m warning you now, she’s a screaming singer, at least for that song. Then, after you’re done with that, go check out “All Around Me” by the same band. Once you compare those two, you’ll see why I love singers like that.

She, like Corey, has a versatility that is very rare among singers in general, and especially young singers. Last I remember, Lacey was only twenty-five or so, making her on the very young side of a very male-dominated genre. I like to think that I know a bit about metal bands, but I struggle to think of many more female singers in a male band, besides maybe Cristina from Lacuna Coil and Angela from Arch Enemy. (Side note, those two you should definitely check out if you like a good vocals with a VERY heavy band. ) Oh and no, I do not at all count Amy Lee as a hardcore singer. Sorry. A beautiful vocalist, yes. A rock singer, definitely. But sorry, there’s a whole other level that women like Lacey and Cristina and Angela go to that Amy Lee will never, EVER reach. Although look up “Freak on a Leash (feat. Amy Lee)” by KoRn on YouTube. I always enjoyed that version.

But hey, I digress. This was meant a bit more of an explanation of what I tried to explain to my friend, and turned into a bit more about bands I like and things I think you should check out. Such is life when you blog at six AM after staying all night working on Race, Racism and Law homework while listening ONLY to SlipKnoT for six hours. I know, it’s almost as bad as driving from Buffalo to Albany with Mike listing to ONLY Rush the whole way.

I don’t know guys. If I had to answer, “where to go from here?” after this little shindig, I would say go over to YouTube and go exploring. I found Flyleaf through a friend, SlipKnoT cause I used to be scare of them as a kid, and Rammstein cause of a movie. It’s all chance to find a band you really like. If you want any info on any of these guys, or recommendations on what else you can look up, feel free to pull and Lindsay and ask. If you like a band (i.e. Nine Inch Nails) and want a song like that, there are bands that can easily do that. You’d be surprised what doesn’t make it onto a record or EP, but they play live or do limited releases of. I own every song SlipKnoT has put out since ’95, and the same is true of Rammstein (since 94 or so), and Flyleaf, as well as dozens of others.

Just ask =) [Dmur's Note: The smiley "=)" should be pronounced "melt in my ass, please!"]

P.S. Tags are done cause I mentioned Lindsay, and Russ is big on music. Oh and Tina cause I'm trying to get her to go to her first SlipKnoT concert in February =)

P.P.S. [Dmur's Note: Haha, pee pee! =)] Please note, this is only a SMALL fraction of the great singers and bands out there, especially the ones I like. The list is very long, and most of you have to hear me speak all the time anyway. Just so it's out there, this is only a very small sample of the musicians and singers that I find noteworthy, so don't flame just yet. Eventually I'll pay tribute to all of them, but for now this will work just fine for a start.

And I thought the way I talk about music was gay! See ya later!

Update- Got It In

So I got my paper in. Ten pages in a day or so.

I feel like this should be the event that makes me change my ways. The procrastination has gotten out of control. Of course, if I get a decent-good grade on this, that won't sway me. I have no idea what I wrote because I didn't really get a chance to read it over after I finished. I kept reading it over while I was writing, but I didn't get one good read over.

The paper was due at five. I finished about 4:40, and I live 15 minutes from the building I had to drop it off in. I also had to print it out because my printer is broken. The computer labs can be pretty crowded, but I figured it was a Friday afternoon so I shouldn't have an issue there. I didn't.

I will say this, I got out of my dorm and hauled ass. Dead on sprint. Yeah. With a bookbag and a winter coat on. Nobody saw me, I think, but I was hustling. Then I got to a bunch of steps and just flew down those fuckers, and power walked to the building, getting there a little after 5:50. Got the computer lab, sat down, printer my thing out and staple it up, and then head to the stair case to go up to the sixth floor. Sprint up the steps, almost plowing over this one old guy. He was walking to the staircase as I was just getting off it, and we had to go through the same door, and I didn't see him on the other side, so I swung it open and took a step in, noticed him and he let me go. I think I said thanks, but can't be completely sure. I get to her office, and see the box we're supposed to drop it off in right outside her office and toss my paper in there. Her office door was closed and it looked the lights were off, which makes me think she wasn't there and was either coming back to pick them up later or maybe even tomorrow. I don't know. I think I got the paper in before 5. Then I slowly walked to the bus stop and my leg was all shaky- I'm not sure about that one, though. It's since stopped.

But yeah, that sucked. A lot. I really would like to say, "Hey, no more procrastinating for old Adaham!" But I have yet to say that, and who knows, maybe I never will. I decide on that later I guess. I don't know. I came back to my room and ate a microwavable panini. I don't know if I've ever really enjoyed a panin, especially one that you're supposed to cook in a micorwave, but I'll be damned if you can find me a food with a more amusing name than that.

And now I'm off the shower, because I didn't exactly do that this morning in my "OH SHIT I HAVE A 10-PAGE PAPER DUE IN [insert amount of time to go here] HOURS!" Enjoy your weekend. I would, but I've got some work that needs to get done.

Fuck school

I can do much better for myself as a cop. In an effort to put off doing work, still, I bring you this video, which I've watched no less than five times since first seeing it 20 minutes ago.

What's the worst you've ever procrastinated?

I think I'm going to take to asking you peoples questions now, since that last post got my largest response in terms of comments of any post in the history of my time with the blog.

So yeah, what's the worst, well better yet, best you've ever procrastinated?

I procrastinate with about everything. I just this week applied for an internship online two minutes before the deadline (that should go over well, no?), I had two papers due for a class Tuesday, and waited until Tuesday morning to do both. Technically one was just a shot-by-shot analysis of a scene from a movie I watched the day before, but I really only took note of the number of shot and how they were shot. So I just had to recall some choice dialogue by memory and hoped I was right. Then I had to do a five-page analysis of what that scene meant to the movie overall, or something along those lines. So yeah, did both of those that morning. Plus, I accidentally broke my printer a few weeks ago and haven't been able to fix it, so I've been printing everything out in one of the computer labs.

Tuesday I wrote up my paper, realized class started in about 40 minutes and that I still had to shower. Luckily for me, the shower for some reason had no hot water, so I didn't stay in very long. Quickly got dressed, walked the 15 minutes to the building, waited about two minutes for a computer, logged on and printed out my papers, waited about three minutes for them to print and walked to class. I sat down just as they were collecting the papers. Procrastination complete!

Oh, I have a 10-15 page paper due tomorrow by 5. I have about 0 pages written as of now. Actually, I only write this post to procrastinate more. I don't know why can't manage my time in a productive fashion, or why I'm not pulling out my hair right now and stocking up on sugar and coffee for the night. But I'm not. I'm just chilling, watching some basketball and posting on a blog. I should probably start the paper. I will. It'll get done. It always does, just not with time to spare usually. I'm actually going to put some laundry in the machine, and then start my paper, hopefully. Who knows. If I know me like I think I do, I'll get maybe 6 pages tonight, set my alarm for like 9 tomorrow, get out of bed at 10:30, shower and eat something and start my paper up again around noon.

I'll dilly-dally as they say, or dick around on the Internet, for a while and it'll take me about three hours to finish it. I'll print it out and drop it off, and feel like a huge burden has been lifted off my shoulders, until I realize I have to finish filming a movie for another class so I can edit it all together by Monday, see a play this weekend so I can write a review of it by Wednesday, write a history paper by Tuesday and attempt to study for a final exam on Thursday. But after that, winter break! Am I nervous? No. Do I wish I was in "Invasion of the Bodysnatchers," and some emotionless-Adaham (could there even be a more emotionless version of Adaham? tough to say) would replace me tonight and finish out this last week of the semester for me, and then for some reason I'd re-take over being me and just go on break? Yes, yes I do. In fact, I'm about to daydream about that for the next 40 minutes.

So how 'bout you fine people? Let's hear some procrastination stories, if only to give me something to do while while I'll put off this paper, and while you put off whatever it is you should be doing. We'll procrastinate together!


UDPATE!

I know you crave it. Here's an update. I'm up to about five pages, which puts me at a nice spot with the five hour mark closing in. I stayed up until about 5 in the morning, and got two pages written last night. Yeah, you read that right. I'm that pathetic.

My roommate stayed up the entire time, also doing work. I don't know what he was doing, but it was something that involved bar graphs. I have no idea when he went to sleep, but it was after me. Just as I was shutting down my computer and getting ready to go to sleep we had a brief conversation about how much doing work sucks. I then followed with: "Man, it's already five. That's awful."

"Yeah, I don't remember the last time I stayed up this later. This is crazy."

"Yeah. I mean, I don't know if you're down for it, but you know what would be cool?"

"What?"

"If we stayed up a little longer and watched the sunrise together."

"What?"

"Um, nothing. Good luck finishing up your work."

I mean, why stay up until five if you're not going to watch the sunrise, right? Oh well. I didn't. I went to sleep and woke up at nine. He was asleep. I've gotten some work done, but I'm still waiting for a sudden burst of energy and bullshit to come to me, so I can finish this fucking thing already. On a side note, fuck Virginia Woolf, while I'm at it.

Anyway, my roommate is still asleep. I'm pretty sure he's got classes today, and that he's missed them. Wouldn't it be something if he stayed up until like 6:30 doing work and slept through his class where he had to hand that in? That would suck so much. I would not wish that on him. Although whenever I look over at him sleeping I get this sudden urge to smother him with a pillow. Well, no I don't. But seriously, he set his really annoying alarm for like 9:30. Now, I was already awake, so it didn't really bother me too much I guess. But it's really annoying. He just turned it off and went back to sleep. It's been about two hours now. So you can see the clock is working just fine.

Alright, back to work. Ha. Yeah right. I'm horrible at this. On the bright side, only a year and a half left go, hopefully. This is no fun. At all. Okay, enough. If I had any idea what I wanted to say, this paper would be so much easier, obviously. But I don't. So now I'm here. Blogging. God, this really sucks.

YES!

I've been waiting for this my whole life, and it finally happened today, about twenty minutes ago. I was walking down the street back to my dorm, thinking about how well my day had been going, and what a great mood I was in, when the passenger of a passing car yelled out "FAGGOT!" as they drove by.

I've heard about this exact thing happening to so many other people, but it never happened to me. That's, I think, the perfect end to a perfect day. Finally, I feel like a real boy!

I'm Getting Old

I just realized my time has passed. I'm getting old. Like, old people old.

It was pretty cold today. Cold enough I almost wore a scarf. And it's always really windy around here. Maybe living in a city where you can look at a point where three rivers meet isn't the most wind-unfriendly. Who would've thought?

So yeah, cold. I'm walking on a sidewalk. I pass a burger place. I'm just about to walk by the door, when it swings open, not nearly hitting me but that would make the story better, so nearly hitting me, and out walk about six teenagers. I assume they all go to the same high school, and that that school is a Catholic school. I assume this because they didn't even seem fazed when I smacked them with a ruler. And the uniforms.

There were two girls, in skirts. They couldn't have been older than 16. And the skirts were really short. Alright, right? Nope. One girl had on some pants under her skirt, but the other girl didn't. And my thought process went like this when I saw them.

Oh, look, she's wearing pants under her skirt. That's good. It's really cold. Oh wait, her friend isn't. Wait, what? Her friend isn't? It snowed earlier today. Did her mother see her leaving the house with a skirt that didn't even go down to her thighs on? Should I say something, like she should really dress warmer in this weather? Nah, but it's really cold. I hope she's not walking somewhere far.

And that was it. I know. Normally, Adaham loves to pretend to be a pedophile. But this wasn't the Internet; this was the real world! It was so cold, so so cold. I mean, I guess I was never a big mini-skirt fan, but that's because I fantasize about marrying a woman that's either Amish or an Orthodox Jew. With them, my sex dreams involve watching them put on a pair of shoes and sneaking a peak at an ankle. This was just absurd.

A few minutes later it hit me. I'm old. It was windy. Girl in mini-skirt. I should've been all, Hey, I hope the wind blows her skirt up so I can see her undergarments and what not. But I wasn't. I wanted to tie my jacket around her waist. Because I'm old. And a loser.


Had she been a middle school, though...

I Spring A Question on You, The SD Reader

It's true. Adaham isn't a happy child all the time. There are plenty of times he, meaning I, feel pretty down on myself. But I'm perfect. I know concerned reader. But that just might not be true, as hard to believe as it is.

Today, pretty much this entire week so far, Adaham has been feeling pretty down on myself. I'm feeling so shitty I'm switching from first to third person mid-sentence now. Should Adaham have done it last sentence to emphasize it, or would that have been overkill. I think overkill.

Anyway, I won't go into the details about my three-day state of misery, because you shouldn't, and most likely don't, care. And rightly so. There's no reason for me to feel down, other than a certainty of life-long failure. But enough on that. I've already said more in this one post than I ever intended to about real Adaham in this entire blog.

Anyway, when you, fine readers, are feeling a bit down on yourselves, what do you listen to? I ask, because I want to listen to some music, but I'm not sure what. When you are feeling a bit upset, do you listen to something that will bring your mood up? Some Tenacious D or Flight of the Conchords perhaps? Or do you pile on with the misery and listen to something depressing. I'm not the only miserable fuck who does this right? I mean, just put on something depressing, and sit and stare out my window and just go with it. I don't know what I'm going to listen to. I'll find something, probably that just doesn't make me feel happy or depressed. Or I could listen to Lil' Wayne, who does both at once.

It's up to you readers: Should I toss on "Ok Computer," and bask in my patheticness, maybe even break my multiple-year-spanning no cry record. Or should I play some Jonas Brothers and bring my mood up (along with something else! Ha! The Jonas Brothers give me an erection, especially the one with the hair who always rolls up his sleeves).

Best Mashup Ever

I'm sure I'm not going to be the first blogger to post this, and I definitely won't be the last, but that's alright, because this is the greatest thing you'll ever hear. Yeah, that's right, this tops the Ghostbusters/DMX mashup Adaham posted earlier. Don't believe me? Check it. Get back to me when you're done.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Girl Internet

I was looking at a girl's facebook page, and one of her friends posted this video to her wall. It got me thinking... this blog would be much better if we just started posting funny cat videos to it... exclusively. What do you guys think? Only funny cat videos? I think a lot of good will come from this. I like this direction.

Alright, it's settled, then.

Huge Cock

So over the weekend I woke up only to see a gigantic penis. I could go a few routes here- I could make a joke about looking down at my own penis, I could make a joke involving my black roommate or I could just let these pictures speak for themselves.





Perhaps this one will give it a little more perspective. That building next to it is our basketball arena.

Try to upstage Me? Ha

So tonight after my last class I stopped by the newspaper office. It was a little after 9 when I got there, and there a few editors there and the editor-in-chief. They were all in what I guess they call the "production lab." To me it's a room with a bunch of computers.

Anyway, I had to stop by because my editors want me to cover two basketball games while I'm home for Thanksgiving break because the team is playing close to where my family resides. I agreed, and went to see if they had passes for me to get into the game.

So I go in there and start talking to one of my editors. I know a few of the other people in there, but not really enough to say anything but "hi." My editor tells me he doesn't have my pass, yet, but will let me know tomorrow about it. Fine. We continue talking and joking around. He says, "Have a good break, in case I don't see you before you leave. Well, I guess I won't see you before you leave, actually." I reply, "Well, I guess not. But I plan on stopping by your place a little later tonight to watch you sleep through the window." We laugh.

The arts and entertainment editor is sitting across the table. I spoke to him for the first time last week, and that's been our only interaction. He's listening, and says, "Hey Lincoln, can you stop by my place and watch me sleep too? I'd feel really safe if that happened." Of course. "It's on the third floor, though. Is that a problem." Not at all, I've got a ladder for exactly this type of situation. Some more laughter.

Eventually my editor and I stop talking, say our goodbyes and I start to walk out of the door. As I pass him, the music editor says, "So I guess you'll see me later, when you stop by to watch me sleep." Now the other people, we'll say about eight of them, look at us. They missed our earlier joshing around.

"Well, no. You won't see me, I'll see you. You see, that's how it works when you watch someone sleep." He goes, "Oh yeah, of course." And I hear some of the other people go, "Awwww" or "Eewwwww." Indeed. So take that music editor. You tried to be cute as I left, and I totally destroyed you, as well as any chances of eight people thinking I might be normal. Oh well.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I used to live with this guy!

What a terrific editing style! I love his use of jump cuts! MTV Generation!

My Trip to Cincinnati

Ugh. I did this for you SD fans. And for my school paper, but mostly for you.

I went to Cincinnati Saturday-Sunday. All I have to say is, I'm back in Pittsburgh, thankfully. Never thought you'd hear someone say that did you? Well, I'm going to assume you've never been to Cincinnati. It blows.

I went to cover a football game. I should've known this trip would suck when I was told we were going to leave at 8:45 a.m. The game started at 7:15 p.m. But, one of the guys I was going with is from Cincinnati and wanted to see his family. Fine.

So I get the office around a quarter to nine, the third guy gets there a little later with the car. He tells me the Cincinnati kid is going to be late. Of course. He shows up about 20 minutes late, and we leave.

We get to Cincinnati in about five hours. The drive wasn't too bad. We passed this huge billboard that said, "When you die what are you going to do for eternity?" And then about 600 feet later another huge billboard with the same white font on the all black billboard that said, "Hell is real." On the back of each was five of the Ten Commandments. I'm not sure if any overlapped, although I doubt it. We then talked about what we'd put on billboards if we owned land and wanted to make billboards. Cincinnati guy said he'd put up some hardcore porn. I said I'd purchase the land leading up to that guy's and make one billboard that said, "When you die, what are you going to do for eternity?" And then another one a few hundred feet later that said, "Rot in the ground. And the don't read the next two billboards because that guy is a douche."

We check into the hotel, only for the other reporter (James) tell us we're in room 169. He then laughed. We get into the hotel and he starts reading some information about amenities the hotel offers, one of which is mail packages. "Haha, mail packages. Male packages," he said.

Eventually, Cincinnati guy (Brett) leaves with his dad, who comes to the hotel to pick him up. Now we only have about 5 hours before the game starts. James decides he's going to try to do some work. I watch TV.

Eventually we decide to go eat. We ask the concierge where this pizza place that the hotel brochure told us to eat in is. She says she doesn't know, but that there's an Applebees close by. She tells us to walk, and that it's across the street around behind the building and past some trees. Alright, we walk that way. It's a bit farther than she let on, but we go around a building, walk along train tracks, through some trees and see the Applebees. We walk in, and this about 60 year old women starts hugging us.

"Oh my babies," she said, neglecting to seat us at a table. Well, we're pretty sure she worked there. "My babies are here. How are you children?" Good, thanks. "Good my babies. You just look so good. Come here." She hugs us both. I get an erection.

We sit, eat and pay. On our way out she hugs us again. "Thanks for stopping by my babies. Come back soon. I love you." Thanks, love you too? At one point during the meal, we heard her tell someone she was going to go home after her shift and drink some moonshine. She didn't. She came back to our room, and well, we'll leave it at that.

We leave to go to the game, which is about a 20 minute drive from the hotel. We hit some traffic, then realize we don't know what parking lot our parking pass is for. We drive around for about 15 minutes, pull over and ask a cop who very nicely tells us exactly where to go.

We get to the lot, park and walk to the stadium. We don't see a media entrance, so go to a regular one and ask. The guy working there tells us to just go in there and walk across the stadium to the press box. Okay, that was nice of him. But why wasn't there a separate entrance for media? Or why didn't he just tell us where to go? Either way, that sucked. It's not that I think I'm better than the fans going to the game, I just feel I deserve preferential treatment.

We get the press box, get situated and have about a half hour until the game starts. There's some food in the press box for us media types, but we got there too late and it was mostly gone. All that was left was some pork. As a Jew, no go for me. And I just don't like pork. Oh well, no big deal. Except James had the pork, and it was cold! We blamed that on stupid Cincinnati traffic, stupid Cincinnati not being clear on where to park and stupid Cincinnati not treating us special because we're media members.

The game is played, Pitt loses, we're not happy and it's time to go to the press conference. Except, where is it? We know the room number, but not where the room is. Most of the other writers left with a minutes to go in the game, so we couldn't ask one of them. We ask a cop, after our very successful run-in with a cop earlier in the day. He tells us exactly where to go. It's all the way on the other side of the stadium. Really? That doesn't make sense, but fine. He was sure.

All the common folk (fans) where also heading that way. So it takes us 20 minutes to walk across the stadium, we're late. Except, where is it? We ask more cops and stadium employees. Nobody knows. A cop phones it in, but gets no help. She says she thinks it that a way, pointing the side of the stadium we started on. She tells us to cut across the field. We walk to the other side of the stadium and start asking more people, who all don't know. We see the Pitt players on the team bus. We're fucked.

We finally find it, except nobody is there. We go into the Cincinnati press conference for the last five minutes of it. It ends, everyone leaves and we sit there in silence for two minutes. Defeated.

Sigh.

Now, James was writing the game story, whereas I was writing a column about the game. This means he needs quotes. I could've sent my story in with no quotes and it wouldn't have mattered. But I'm still pretty pissed at this point, but not as pissed as him. He calls our editor, who gives him the cell number for the head of Pitt's media relations. He calls and asks if he can give us any quotes. He can't, because they didn't record any. Damn. We technically have until tomorrow to send our stories in, so I tell him let's just go back to the hotel. We'll watch the news and find some quotes online. The Cincinnati page will put some up. I pulled that out of my ass, but they did, luckily.

We're on our way out of the parking lot when we hit more traffic. Then he remembers he was supposed to file something immediately after the game for them to put up online. He didn't do that. I ask if he wants to park and find a restaurant or something with wi-fi. He does. We pull into a parking lot, he checks and can connect to the Internet from some parking lot. We sit there for a half hour while he files the story. Some guy walks up and asks if we have jumper cables. We say no, although we have no basis for making that claim other than we were in full on fuck Cincinnati mode. I then notice a bus parked in the same parking lot, not moving, and out loud hope it's the bus that is stuck. I don't know if it was.

We go back to the hotel, and start working on our respective stories. I don't know how his is going. He doesn't say much, and then just goes to sleep. Mine is going alright, but I'm tired so I go to sleep. He finishes his in the morning, I don't. Brett meets us at the hotel and we leave. James falls asleep almost as soon as we get in the car. I neglect working on my story. We find a station on the radio playing music from the 90's, and it was amazing. We see a car with a large, black box attached to it. It looks too small to be carrying a horse. He asks what I think it is. I say dead bodies. He says dead babies. I say dead babies stuffed inside dead bodies, as to his the dead babies when he sneaks across the border. We agree it's probably that.

Then we see two deer tied to the back of a truck. That was awesome. James walks up, and we collectively relive the evening. The two of us royally fucked up. Brett took no pictures he liked. We agree it'll be a while before any of us are assigned an away game again. "It was just a complete failure of a trip for all three of us," we say.

I get back to my room, finish my story and send it in. I'm not so sure how it turned out. Within a half hour I get a text from one of my editors.

"We love you."

Well, it was a failure of a trip for two out of three of us. Suckers. And I'm great, unlike Cincinnati, which really only sucks for reasons that we had control over and just fucked up on our own. I'm sure it's a lovely town. But until I go back, fuck that place, and in the words of Drew Carey, "Cleveland rocks!"




I've never been there, but it can't be any worse.

The Holidays Are Coming Up

Here at SD Beings we have a little tradition right around the holidays. Of course, I'm a bit early, as we haven't even passed Thanksgiving, but hey, I saw this and want to post it before I just forget about it.

Anyway, the tradition is hot.pork and Dmur get together and buy my a present, because I'm awesome and it's a time for giving. We usually decided that my contribution to the blog is better than any gift I could get for either of them. Also, they buy me a gift together so I get one really expensive thing instead of two shitty gifts. That's just how we roll. It's like a Secret Santa, except not.

Anyway, like I said, it's a bit early for thinking about what to get for me. I know guys. I hate to scare you like this, but seriously, once you see what you're going to get me, you'll practically start emptying our your bank accounts right then and there.

Here it is guys. It's about $750, but have you read my blog posts this past year? I mean, that's a bargain! Remember the long, rambling one where I got angry at a classmate? How about the "I made a joke that didn't go over well?" Oh man, I'm laughing just thinking about all the different kinds of hilarious, unique posts I keep making. Oh no, just thought about the time I got angry at a classmate, but didn't say anything out loud. Genius!

So fellas, without anymore stalling I give you my future favorite gift of all time. This snow globe!

I Just Don't Get It

Monday mornings, my roommate and I wake up at the same time. He usually goes to shower first, and I, being a bit slower to lose my morning boner, get out of bed after he leaves, and then go take my shower in the stall next to his. I usually pee as soon as I turn the water on, and use that time to let it warm up. Today, I had this strange urge to pee in the stall my roommate was using. Nothing gay, I just thought it would be really funny to just pee in the little space in between the shower curtain and the wall.

Now, I felt a little hesitant about this, for some reason, and the next thing I thought was, "Is this really a funny thing to do?" Okay, the answer is obviously yes. I still wasn't sure about this. So then I thought, "Wait, if it happened to me, would I think it was funny?" Still yes. "Hmm..." I thought, "I must be asking myself the wrong questions."

I asked my roommate what he thought about this, and he didn't think the whole situation was as funny as I did.

You know that scene in Curb Your Enthusiasm where Jeff is beating off, and then Larry's wife Cheryl accidentally pops in his head? And then he goes to tell Larry because he thinks it would just be this funny, weird thing? Like "hey, guess who I ran into the other day (while I was masturbating)! Your wife! Weird, huh?" Well, Larry gets really mad about it, obviously, and Jeff is just sort of confused about the whole thing, because, to him, its just one of those myriad funny coincidences that make up this crazy thing we call life. That's how I felt. That's how I still feel. I'm confused. Why doesn't my roommate think it would be really funny for me to possibly pee on him, twenty minutes after he's woken up? That's so weird.

More Ovaltine, Please!

I'm terrified I'm forgetting something... I haven't had any real school work for weeks... I think I've just been keeping really ahead of it, but I just know that any second it's all going to come crashing down on me. I'm FREAKING OUT. It doesn't help that someone needs to change the goddamned battery on the smoke detector out in the hall. Honestly, it's like every ten seconds it beeps. How can that not be infuriating the entire building?

I've read so many graphic novels in the past couple of weeks... I think around 14 or so. I guess a graphic novel a day. I might be amazing. I can't tell if I should call up the Guinness Book, or Tracy Morgan from this video:

I mean, obviously, I'm a loser. But is it in such a way that it has suddenly become -- obviously not cool, but... perhaps acceptable?

Stay tuned. At some point in the very near future, I'm going to have two ten-page papers, a five-page paper, three three-pagers... I imagine this is all going to happen on one day. I just know it. I can't shake the nerves. I need to start taking more qualudes.

Sigh

I hate to keep updating like this, especially when I really don't have anything to say. I feel as though I'm hogging the internet. Oh well, too bad.

I fucking hate my roommate's cousin. I feel like I've been hinting at it increasingly over the past few weeks. After tonight I'm pretty sure I can say it's hatred. I hate him and all others like him. I could be talking about black people, but I'm not (yet). I'm talking about stupid people. I just can't stand them, and he's a fucking moron.

And it's not just that he's dumb, but he's just really loud and obnoxious. It's one thing to be stupid, but it's another to let everyone within a 30 ft radius know how stupid you are. I swear, I know when he's in my room within walking three steps out of the elevator. He's that loud, and he's always talking. It's like Name That Tune; I can tell if he's in my room in two steps.

Sorry about that. Anyway, I can't stand him. Tonight he was in my room, and he spent an hour looking up wives of NBA players. An hour. One entire hour. Just looking up pictures of wives of NBA players. I mean, I'm sure they're all very attractive.

But as he was looking them up he was constantly, and loudly of course, wondering how these average looking to flat out ugly dudes were "pulling." Hmm, I don't know. Could it be because they're fucking NBA players who make millions upon millions of dollars? Not to mention as professional athletes it's safe to assume they all have fairly decent bodies. I just, I can't. Like, how? I don't get it. An hour.

And since it was Saturday, I was watching "Saturday Night Live," because I'm a loser who enjoys that show. Tonight's musical guest was Beyonce. Perhaps you've heard of her. Hell, here's a reminder of what she looks like.



Yeah, not too bad. She can sing, "Adaham Lincoln is a douchebag who should fall off a cliff and die" over and over, and it'd be the highlight of my life at this point. So she's performing, wearing a bit less than what you see above. So that was distracting. I don't even remember what the songs were about!

So he sees her, and of course starts wondering why she's with Jay-Z. "Jay-Z man, what's she doing with him? I mean, I know he's got money and all..." I guess this one's a little harder to understand than why some girl with a cute face marries an ugly millionaire NBA player. But then again, Jay-Z has a lot of money. But so does Beyonce. I'm going to say that maybe she just likes his personality. I don't know him, but I'm sure he's charming. And really rich.

He keeps going on. I'm not paying attention to him at this point. I'm thinking about Beyonce running me over with her car, and how that might be the best way to go out I can think of. Then I hear him calling my name. I look back and sure enough, he's talking about me and eventually to me.

"Yo, I bet even Lincoln thinks she's hot." Huh, I look back. "Yo Lincoln, you think Beyonce is hot?" Who? "Beyonce." Oh, um, yeah. She's quite pretty. "Yoooo man! See, even white boys think she's nice."

Oh, I now speak for all white people. So that's cool.

He then smiled at me. Like we bonded or I just told him this huge secret. We didn't and I didn't. I could've mentioned I used to think those other two ladies in Destiny's Child were pretty too, although I don't remember their names and haven't seen either one since they were singing about surviving while on an island in vibrantly colored rags.

But Beyonce? If you're going to ask white people if they think a black woman is attractive, why use Beyonce? I mean, it's Beyonce. She's like really pretty. And not dark. Come on now. She's definitely acceptable for us white folk to fawn over. I've only had one friend (that I know of) ever say out loud he didn't think she was that pretty, but that dude's fairly racist.

So, what's the ruling? Is this really someone that non-blacks can say they find attractive without feeling icky and like traitors to their own race?



Before SNL started I was watching "Sportscenter," because I'm also really manly. He noticed one of the kickers on a college football team was black, and made a 26-yard field goal. "Psh, I could've made a 26-yard field goal," he scoffed at the TV. But you didn't. You sat watching a TV, only commenting on things you can do, like make a 26-yard field goal or score 19 points in a Division I college basketball game. You also made note of when you thought an athlete on the screen had a nice haircut.

You can't go 30 seconds without saying something that makes me want to take a shovel to your face. You find the dumbest thing hilarious, like when my roommate told you the story of how his "Big Pimpin'" mp3 wasn't of the highest quality, so when it came on his iPod he'd have to turn up the volume and forget to turn it down before the next song come on. Yeah, that was a winner. Oh, remember the part where he said he just started skipping the song until he just deleted it all together? Yeah, I didn't find that amusing, but you laughed so hard you were bent over holding your stomach cause you were laughing so hard.

God, if you're up there, why? That's all I want to know. I'm not the best person, I know. I don't pray or take part in any type of religion. But does that make me a bad person? I sit around silently judging everyone around me, fine. I usually find the worst qualities in people and assume I won't like them, so I don't really bother with taking a chance to get to know them. I get it.

But why? I've never stolen anything or murdered anyway. I haven't raped anything. Some people even find me amusing. I occasionally make people laugh. Isn't that something to help me get on your good side? I hold doors open for people, too.

So why? What do I end up in close quarters with incredibly stupid people seemingly all he time? What do I need to do differently to get a roommate who doesn't talk or isn't an idiot? Or to get one without a close relative or friend who's a fucking moron? I don't want a roommate to be my best friend. I don't need that. Just one who doesn't make me want to break a Beyonce CD in half and slit my wrists. Please.

It Happened Again

I don't know what I can do anymore. It seems anytime it comes out I have an interest in something remotely black, my roommate's cousin is going to find it odd. I told the Biggie story maybe last week. Fine.

Just earlier today they were both in the room. My roommate says to his cousin, "Oh man, I've got to show you this thing thing Lincoln showed me last night. It's crazy. LeBron dunked it from basically the free throw line, in a game!"

It's true. LeBron did do that. I also did tell him and show him about it, since our conversations pretty much revolve around how much work we have to do on a given night or basketball. I thought he'd enjoy seeing it. He did. It was a nice moment in our relationship, I thought.

So he tells his cousin about it. The cousin doesn't want to see LeBron do something quite spectacular. No. He says, "Wait, what? Lincoln showed that to you? Lincoln?" He then looks over at me with a really confused face.

I mean, white people like basketball. In fact, we even like the black players! Mostly because there aren't really any good white ones. The best white ones are European for the most part, and fuck those guys.

The cousin has walked in on me watching basketball. He's talked to me about basketball, somewhat. He's seen me at school basketball games. There's just no winning him over apparently. Although I guess I'm not so sure why I want to. I find him to be very stupid.

I just want inquisitive looks from him everytime he learns something about me. I'm an extremely white person. There's no way around it. I listened to a song by Spoon earlier today, and enjoyed it. I'm not going to deny my whiteness, which also gives me the right to like basketball and certain rap music. He just doesn't get that, yet. I'll work on him, though.

I don't know if he just hasn't been around enough white people in his life, or just doesn't pay attention to us, but he seems to have a pretty awful view of things we can like. Give me one more semester, though, and he'll realize white people can like entire genres of music and sports while actively hating the race of most of those sports and genres participants. This now extends to presidents, as well. It's a natural born talent for us.

So hopefully he stops by a bit more. We can teach each other a few things. I just need to make sure he doesn't touch any of my stuff, and keep close tabs on my wallet.