Adopt a Pet Today!

My sister sent me a link to the North Shore Animal League website, which is where we got our dogs.  They have a section where you can look at the different animals they have available for adoption, you know, a picture, their name and general age (puppy, young adult, old piece of crap) and their size and whatnot.  I came across this little guy (pictured to the right), and I couldn't help but laugh.  His name is Star Gaze, and after reading that, and then seeing his enormous, wide eyes, I lost it.  Then, I thought "well... he's probably blind."  That was kind of depressing.  But then I thought "well, maybe he's not blind, he's just retarded."  That made me feel a little bit better, but not completely.  Then I thought, "this is probably from like, ten years ago... he's probably just dead now."  Ahh, that's the stuff.  

Drive like a butterfly, slap like a bee

It’s not too often I think something I’ve done is cool. But today I did something so amazing that even a few hours afterwards I still felt like the baddest man on the planet.

Oh, apparently when I feel really good about myself I turn into a white, less kickass Muhammad Ali.

Alright, onto the greatness.

I’m driving all by myself. I’m behind a very slow car, I mean, it’s just going so slow it’s possible the driver was either dead or in the trunk of the car. Or old. Or a woman. Or Asian. Or a mixture of any of the aforementioned stereotypes, possibly mixed in with death or the trunk, or both.

Finally, the car is about to turn. It’s making a right turn. I know this because the driver signaled a good 30 seconds before making the turn, and then slowed down even more for the ensuing half a minute before making the turn.

Eventually, the car turns and I have a clear road in front of me. As I start to speed up I notice a line of about 6 cars going in the opposite lane. It’s a two-way street with only one lane going each direction. Also, because cars can park on this street, you kind of drive closer to the line in the middle of the road.

Anyway, I notice the driver of the last car in the opposite lane has his hand hanging out of his window. Except it’s not just lying on the window. It’s not like his elbow is just hanging there getting some air.

His arm is completely extended. I don’t know why, but I do live in a fairly Jewish area and he might’ve been taunting us with some sort of drive-by heil Hitler sign.

I remember not even thinking, but rolling down my window as well. And by roll down the window I mean press the button. Ours cars are moving towards each other, but I’m not sure if 1) he’ll keep his arm raised and 2) I can reach him. I stick my left arm out of the window, close my eyes and hope for the best.

I ended up veering off the road into a bench, hitting and killing an old man.

No, actually I didn’t. I kept my eyes open, for I wanted to see the awesomeness that was about the take place.

Our cars close in, his arm still raised, and my arm shooting out of the car while I attempted to get as close to the line as possible without accidentally killing my soon-to-be new friend.

We pass. Contact.

Yes, I high-fived him. And it was a perfect high-five. The kind that would’ve elicted a loud thwack! if we were stationary and high-fiving over him making some type of sexually implicit joke. But we weren’t.

We were driving by each other. And we high-fived. I once attempted this a few years back when I saw a friend of my driving, but he didn’t realize.

I’m not sure this guy did either. Maybe he though he hit a bird or flying piece of garbage. Or maybe he was just waiting for someone to high-five him, and after it happened he and his buddies in the car burst into laughter, wondering who this mystery high-fiver was. Why did he do it? Is it someone we know? Was he trying to do the same, or did he notice us? Will we ever know it was?

Hi, my name is Adam and we together we just completed the coolest moment in my life. I'd shake your hand, but I think we both know that's not necessary.

DROP EVERYTHING

Verne Troyer has a sex tape!

Imagine my amazement when loading voice tracks today, when I heard the DJ mention Verne Troyer's sex tape in passing.  This was during perhaps the second hour of my six hour shift at work; everything else is a blur.  I don't really know what else happened to me today, because all I could think about was whether Mini-Me's peenie is in proportion.  Does he squeal like in the movies when he achieves orgasm? (Eeeeeeeeeeee!)  You know, that sort of thing.  I may be fired when I come in tomorrow, but, for all I know, I could be president of the company; I really wasn't paying attention.  VERNE TROYER'S PEEPEE!

But the asshole, according to Yahoo, is trying to keep people from seeing it.  His claim is that "he will suffer irreparable harm to his reputation" if the tape is put to distribution.  Did I read that right?  Isn't this the guy who rode a scooter around the Surreal Life house in the nude, and then peed in the corner while Da Brat watched?  Wasn't he the guy who, when they were all eating sushi off Adrienne Curry's naked body, went in for a California roll, but stayed a bit longer for some... tweaking?  Isn't he in that new Mike Meyers movie about an Indian boner expert?  A sex tape sounds like it fits in perfectly with his reputation.  In fact, people seeing this tape can only boost his reputation!  I've seen a bit of it, and the girl is normal sized.  That's right, a dwarf has stolen riches from the halls of men!

He's hoarding his treasure, just like the greedy dwarves always do.  We can't allow this!  As perhaps the most important story of our generation, this tape must be brought to light; it must see commercial distribution. Write your local congressman and demand the court drop its injunction against the release of this important part of our history!  Only then will I have the opportunity to pirate it off of YouPorn.

Wa na na

Just call me Smash Adams.

Last week I went undercover. Kind of.

Alright, not at all.

For and internship with a local paper I had to go cover a ceremony celebrating the merging of two Jewish schools, or yeshivas if you will. As someone who is Jewish, this isn’t going undercover at all, although these people are practicing Jews who are very strict whereas my Judaism is merely a title. I keep it because I like matzo ball soup and one day I plan on using it to get ahead career wise.

I also use it because it separates me from people when I say I don’t really like Woody Allen, because I think that’s in the handbook or something. Well, I don’t really like his movies. I love his dating methods.

So anyway, my goal for this particular event was to go in, get enough to write a story and get out without telling anyone my last name or that I’m Jewish.

So I guess that makes me a sort of undercover double agent.

When I arrive at the campus I notice a long line of cars, and a two guys in yarmulkes directing me across the street. Well, I thought, this is good. They’ve already determined I’m not a Jew and are making me park across the street. This shan’t be hard, because I usually think like a douchebag.

So I park my car and cross the street only to realize I’m a long driveway and an entire street away from the school. I guess I should’ve expected this. These people make sure to go to temple during an interval of their week when they’re not allowed to drive. What the hell? If I’m going to do anything during a period when I can’t use a car it’s going to be something like stay home and watch TV. Not go out and walk.

So I walked it. Luckily it started to rain, so that was pretty cool.

I walk into the school and am greeted by a very stereotypical old Orthodox Jewish guy: wrinkly, long, white beard, wearing all black, Jew-y.

“Excuse, can I help you?

“Yes, I’m with the paper. I’m here for the ceremony.”

“Ah, right this way. Potato latkes.”

After finding the room where the ceremony will take place I find the photo lady sent to cover the story with me. “They seem real nice. And very relaxed too. They told me I can sit on the men’s side of the room if I want!”

She didn’t.

One of them must’ve put her in her place. No woman is good enough to sit on the same side of a room as a man. That’s just crazy. They’re lucky we let them cross the Red Sea.

The ceremony goes on, I sit up front trying to take notes on what is going on. It’s difficult because every fifth word is in Hebrew, and every second and fourth words are said with heavy accents so I can’t understand them. They might’ve actually been in Hebrew too. I don’t know.

Sample note!- “It means a lot ________ congregation __________. Thank God _______.”

As shitty as my writing may be, I think that might be a new low. And I had a good page of that. And not much else. A few observations. I should also mention I barely read up on the event before going and still really had no clue to what was going on. Whoops.

About halfway through the ceremony I realize I’m naked; I have on no yarmulke. Certainly a good way to make people think I’m not Jewish, though. All the people sitting behind, basically everyone in the room but about 15 people, could see the back half of my skull. It was probably like seeing testicles for a few of the younger ones. I made sure not to shock them by later showing them my actual testicles, you know, to take away the surprise of seeing my yarmulke-less head. This also seems like a good time to mention the man sitting next to me had incredibly strong body odor. But after about 5 minutes he smelt like a taco. It was the grossest, most delicious thing I had ever smelt.

After the event I’m waiting to leave the room when a guy approaches me. “With the paper?” Yes. “Cool. So, understand anything that was said?” Not really, but a little. “What’s your name?” Adaham Lincman. “Oh, so you’re Jewish.” Not that Jewish. “Haha, right. I grew up reform too. I didn’t get really into Judaism until I was older. I couldn’t read Hebrew until I was 35.” Wow, very nice.

Cover blown.

So I ask him a few questions and he gives me some bullshit responses. “So, are you interested in learning more about the Jewish way?” Um, not really. No. “Really. It’s great.” I’ve heard good things, but I’m not looking to do so at this point. “Are you sure? The school has a lot of great programs, just once or twice a week just to get started.” No thank you. “Well alright. Here’s my card just in case you change your mind. I think you should consider it.”

I did. And it’s still no. This guy brought me two of his buddies later in the day. I don’t get why people always seem to do this when I’m out trying to cover something. I interview one person, and they then feel the need to go out and get all of their friends and introduce them to me and say “Here, interview him!” I mean, it’s a nice gesture, but truthfully, I don’t want to talk to you, so why would I want to talk to your shitty friend?

I continue outside into the hallway. The rabbi told me he’d talk to me in about 15 minutes, so I go outside to watch them lay the first brick of the new building. Or I was about to when I ran into the rabbi’s wife, who was working the refreshment table.

“Excuse me sir. Sir? Sir?”

I now realize she’s talking to me.

“Here, take something to eat.” No thank you. “Oh no. We have so much delicious kosher food. You have to take some.” Really, I’m fine thank you. “Oh come on. We won’t tell anyone.” Thanks, but I’m not hungry. “Oh just do it.”

I didn’t. But I will say something I would’ve liked to do. I’m about to be crude, so excuse me. But how about some of those Orthodox girls? It’s like the Catholic school girl, only completely covered up, with a slight hint of facial hair and head garb. I like. Nothing tops the skirt that goes down to the shin, the socks to go up to, presumably, the knees and a girl who probably hasn’t been around a male without body odor. I wouldn’t mind taking the torah out of the ark for a few of them.

While I’m crudely thinking about Orthodox women a few more people stop me. Ask if I’m with the paper, then ask my name. They all immediately know I’m Jewish. It’s at this point in the battle, if I were in battle, I think I would’ve committed seppuku.

I talk to the rabbi for a while then, finally, get to leave. As I’m walking out, repeat, out of the building another Jew stops me. “Can I help you?” No, I’m just leaving. “Oh, where were you?” I was here for the ceremony. I’m with the paper. “Oh, let me walk you out.” Ok.

He’s a fairly young looking guy, probably no older than 25. We go through the introductions. He finds out I’m Jewish. He finds out I don’t go to temple. I find out I’m fairly honest with people I’m terrified of.

“So why don’t you practice your religion?” I don’t know. “Busy?” Not really. “You really should practice. It’s a great thing to have, you know to meet people of if you, God forbid, have some type of medical emergency. It’s a really strong community, and everyone will pray for you.” Doctors are pretty good at that type of thing too. “Of course, and there are many great Jewish doctors.”

He got me there, I guess. “So we have programs a few times a week for beginners who can’t commit a lot of time. We have about 10 guys in there now, and they all really love it.” I bet. I just don’t think it’s for me. Or at least not at this point in time. “Well I can’t force you too, but take my number just in case you change your mind. I think you’d really like it.”

I’d also like to cut a hole in a sheet and go to town on your women, but hey, it’s nice just to be wanted.

Highlights of the Internship So Far

I've been interning at Sirius for the past three weeks, and so far it's been pretty cool.  I'm working in music programming, and they have roughly a thousand million different stations, so I've gotten to work with several different genres of terrible music to which I would never want to listen.  I've seen celebrities like Jake Fogelnest and Big Pussy from the Sopranos, and I've worked on audio of Marky Ramone and Chris Martin, so it's been pretty star-studded too.  Here are the highlights:

• Watching Jake Fogelnest accidently break a mailbin.  He knocked one of the legs off, and then, fumbling to put it back together, basically ripped it to pieces.  He was almost on the verge of tears.  Not really, but he was more upset than a VH1 talking head should be over accidentally tipping over a piece of plastic.
• Listening to one of the Format Managers (who are basically, as far as I can tell, totally in charge of their station) trying to get someone to listen to his idea for a promo spot over the phone.  He dialed them up, and here's how it went: "[in his best 'SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY' promo voice] Listen to Station X this weekend for our Fourth of July something or other!  The fireworks go off here on Sirius whatever!  Are you listening?  Okay, listen to Station X this weekend for our Fourth of July something or other! The fireworks go off here on Sirius whatever!  What about ignite?  The fireworks ignite here?  We ignite the fireworks here?  How about 'set the fireworks off here?' ... Alright, let me know when you're ready to listen to me."  Cue five minutes of him waiting in silence.  Oh man, it was awesome seeing how much respect this guy didn't get.
• Segueing the Bluegrass channel.  It was only cool for about two seconds, and afterwards it got incredibly painful and boring, but for one short moment, it was hilarious.  Just picture it: me, sitting at a desk with big radio-man headphones on, listening to a dull, monotone Disc Jockey talking for a few minutes about some guy playing the guitar with a bottle, and then BANG!  BANJO SOLO!  It's one of those things that's awesome if you hear it once every three months, so you've had enough time to forget it exists, and any sooner and you wish everyone was dead.  So, it was cool before that point.  Afterwards, it sucked.
• Some girl working for the Cosmo channel ambushing me for an interview.  I was doing music library work, which, by the way, is the most boring and terrible thing in the world, when she goes "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"  I immediately thought "shit, it's a cop!"  But then I turned to look at her, and it was obviously either a really well disguised undercover agent, or just an intern for the Cosmo channel.  I was still a bit worried about incriminating myself, but I figured anything was better than labeling interview CD's and entering them into the database, so I said, "Uh... okay."  I didn't really think about what the topic would be, so I wasn't expecting anything really, but then she started asking me all about sex.  If she wasn't jamming a tape recorder in my face, I would've thought she was coming on to me.
• Listening to some music coordinator complaining about the night before to another music coordinator.  "Oh yeah, dude, thanks, now everyone thinks I'm gay."  "Well, you shouldn't have been singing along to all those Indigo Girls songs."  "Dude, you were singing along to them, I was just doing it to make fun of you." "Heheheh, yeah."  I love seeing an uptight guy get totally shafted.

So, as you can see, it has been incredibly exciting.  Stay tuned next week when I talk about filing CD's into the library, making copies of playlists, and ordering food for everyone!  And if we're lucky, maybe I'll meet another celebrity?

Seacrest out.

I Love You Dave Coulier, maybe

Recently scientists in Europe announced they discovered 45 new exoplanets, including three “super-Earths” that orbit around a single Sun-like star.

When I found out I was pretty excited. It’s not that I want the human race to become completely extinct, but I wouldn’t mind a major drop in the number of us just as long as it comes from some type of alien invasion.

Come on, an alien invasion. That would be awesome. And not awesome in a “Hey, look at me! I’m gonna save the planet from aliens” type of way, because I couldn’t. In all honesty, if aliens invaded I think this would be my course of action:

-shit my pants

-cry

-change my pant

-find a hiding spot

-try not to cry while hiding and hope the aliens never find me

If that would work I’d then go around telling people that I just hid and was never found, or that I didn’t even notice. “Oh, an alien invasion? Really. That sounds crazy,” I would say. “I was listening music with my headphones on, so I guess I didn’t really notice. Funny, huh?”

And that’s only because I’m a giant coward.

When I read this I starting thinking, mostly because the only thing that really gets me thinking anymore is the possibility of meeting aliens, but also partly because, well no, I just want to meet aliens.

What if somewhere on one of these “super-Earths” the aliens are just discovering Earth, except it wouldn’t be a “super-Earth.” It would be a “less adequate-Hoth,” because all alien planets are named Hoth until I hear otherwise. They probably wouldn’t be in English though, so it would look like this: Hey, way to translate! Have some spare time? Me too! Let’s hang out!.

They’re probably just hanging out on Hoth waiting for the aliens to come visit, like we are. Except to them, we’re the aliens. Did I just blow your mind? A little? What if this thing we call the universe is just a locker. Did I blow your mind again? Did I steal that from Men In Black 2?

Well, I think it’s time to go meet out alien counterparts. Or if we’re the aliens, it’s time to go meet the inhabitants of the three Hoths.

This brings up the question “What would you hope for in a super-Earth?” Well, Adam, thanks for asking. So here’s my recount of what happened when I went to one of these “super-Earths” in the future. I translated all of it so you don’t have to. And I also changed all names to Adam to protect the people I met on Hoth.

Or were their names all Adam, insinuating that a planet made up of only people named Adam is considered to be super?

Yeah, super gay! Oh! Take that me. Yeah, you were thinking it weren’t you jackass. But you’re wrong. A plant of all Adams would be fucking incredible. Well, no. I’ve met some other Adams, and I didn’t really like them. Maybe because I feel I set the bar so high for the awesomeness that goes with being an Adam or maybe because those guys were douchebags. But a planet made up of people like me? Watch out galaxy, you’re about to have your ass kicked.

So the wheels have fallen off quite a bit here.

Anyway, here’s what happened on my future trip to Hoth, where I met with a bunch of people possibly named Adam. We might someday take over the entire galaxy. It’d be like the rape of Nanjing, just with the entire galaxy. But probably without the rape, but only because I doubt any female could resist the chance to go to their space pod with Adam.

…

My spaceship has crash landed on a strange planet. It looks like Earth. But super.

…

And scene.

You’re welcome.

No, so I don’t know what a “super-Earth” would be like. Would it just be larger? Would there be more natural resources? We it be a Daily Planet reporter by day, and crime fighter by night, unless of course the crime happened in the day so then the planet would leave its job as a reporter early to save itself?

Well I don’t know. I refuse to read anymore about them because science is going to make “super-Earths” something really not awesome. So I’m not gonna let you do it science. No, fuck you. So here’s my super-Earth. I could’ve easily just done this after I originally said, but it’s such a great planet I didn’t think you’d be able to handle it if I started earlier. I’m hoping to weed out the weaker ones by putting off my super planet for as long as I could.

But I can’t do it any longer. Nope. Just can’t. The creation of perfection is just surging through me right now. Right now it’s making its way from my brain down through the neck and into the fingers. Get ready folks. My super Earth!

Well no, I guess since I don’t know nor want to know what exactly a super-Earth is, I can’t fully say this is my super-Earth. It’s just more like my utopia I suppose. But if you want to call it a super-Earth, please do by all means.

Chances are my utopia is better than any super-Earth science can come up with. Theirs would probably be all, you know, “Waahh, we’re science. We know stuff. Jesus wasn’t real. You know, blah blah blah electrons circle around the nucleus. AH! Global warming is gonna kill us all! Let’s learn about it!”

Well no. This isn’t going to be anything like it. This super-Earth is going to kick so much ass the human race might evolve to a point where we’re born without asses in a few thousand years because I will have kicked them all so hard they’ll be unnecessary.

So here we go. My utopia, by Adaham Lincoln.

Oh, I should mention that all the same rules apply as they did before. Like I translated it and everybody’s name is Adam.

My spaceship has crash landed on a strange planet. It looks like Earth. But super.

There’s a dude over there who looks like me. But super. I walk over, but once I start walking, it’s like I’m walking super fast, but not even trying do. It’s amazing.

“Hello friend,” I say.
“Hello. My name is Adam,” he replies.
“Cool. So is mine.”
“Really, that’s superbly great. I haven’t seen you on Hoth before? Where do you live?”
“I’m from Earth, actually.”
“No! Oh my Adam! It’s an alien! And not just any alien, but you! The greatest alien to ever live!”
“Well that’s hard to argue. How do you know me?”
“You’re a legend on Hoth.”
“For what?”
“Well for starters you’re a musical genius.”
“Oh I wouldn’t say genius. Visionary works, though.”
“Yes, of course. But that song of yours. It’s the greatest thing anybody’s ears have ever come into contact with.”
“What song are you talking about? I have so many gems.”
“Well you really should know. Haha, that’s funny. Get it?”
“No.”
“The song! ‘You Oughta Know.’ I guess I should’ve said that for my last answer. You probably would’ve figured that out much easier then.”
“Yeah I guess so.”
“Anyway. You sir are a legend for writing and singing that song. Really, we on Hoth love you.”

And that my readers is my super-Earth.

Crapped to Mummification

I walked into my doctor's office and greeted the man.  He sighed.  I guess I have a tendency towards hypochondria, so we see a lot of each other... he kind of sees it as a waste of time, but my insurance always pays his bills, so I don't know why he's complaining.  He usually just writes me a prescription for 350 mg of "fuck off," for "being a jackass," but luckily for the both of us, my insurance covers that condition.  I've got a great plan.

Anyway, sometimes, I'm not sure if I've got anything, because of my condition.  You know, the jackass thing.

"Doc," I said, "tell me if this sounds like anything to you."

"No," he said, with another sigh.  Whatta comedian!

"Ha ha," I said.  "You're such a joker."  I loved when he did that.  "But seriously, Doc, I was hoping you could set my mind at ease."

"Let me get my prescription pad.  I'll write you some more of those pills.  You know, the usual."

"Wait a sec, Doc.  I don't know if those will work this time.  I mean, don't get me wrong; they're great, I'll take some more if you've got them, but I think this particular problem isn't due to my condition."

"Whatever," he said.

"Didn't you take some kind of oath?" I asked.

"Goddamn it.  What's your problem?" he asked.  I now think he meant it in the pejorative sense, but I took it as more of a diagnostic question.

"I think I'm turning into a mummy," I proposed.

"That's stupid," he replied.  "You're being stupid."

"Seriously, Doc, hear me out.  My skin keeps falling off, and Egyptian people have been following me everywhere, hoping I'll drop some vast riches.  Plus, now, whenever I curse someone, it actually works!  I told my landlord to go fuck himself, and the next day, he was found dead with his cock in his own ass!"

"That does sound like a mummy.  Kind of."

I swatted away some Egyptian people, who were trying to reach into my pockets.  "And what about all this toilet paper I'm covered in?  How do you explain that?"

"Yeah, I was wondering about that too."

"So what do I do, Doc?  What's the treatment?"

"I don't know, I'm a pediatrician."

"Really?" I was surprised to hear this.  I mean, I'd been going to this guy for years!  "Why haven't you recommended I see another doctor?  A general practitioner!"

"I do tell you to do that, every time you show up.  'Go waste some other doctor's time,' I say."

"I thought that was another one of your jokes."

"No.  No joke."  We both kind of just sat there for a few minutes, while I took this in.  Then I forgot what we were doing, and started to pick my nose.  Then I started picking at my scabs, and eating it.  Doc seemed a bit grossed out by that.  I mean, who wouldn't?  Yuck!  I guessed he figured the quickest way to get me out of there was to try and fix my problem.

"When did this start?" he asked.

"Well, I think it all began when I went to the bathroom and all my organs came out."

"So you crapped yourself to mummification?" he sneered.

"Yeah.  It was really bad diarrhea too.  On the toilet for days.  I put my organs in some jars.  I have them, if you wanna see."  He made a face.

"No, I don't want to see your shit covered organs in a jar.  I don't think that will be necessary."  He closed his eyes for a few seconds, exasperatedly.  "Can you think of anything that would've caused this... episode?"

"Well, I ate some water chestnuts the night before."

"I don't think that's it.  Anything else?"

"No, I think it was the water chestnuts."

"No, you're being a jackass again."

"Let's agree to disagree," I said.

"No," he said.  "What else happened the day before?  Did you encounter any ancient Egyptian spirits?  Piss off any shamans?  Tell me what you did."  I thought about it.

"Well, I was on a tour of the inside of one of those Great Pyramids in Egypt.  I kind of wandered off, and got lost.  I was looking for a bathroom, you see.  Anyway, I couldn't find one -- can you believe it?  Not one!  It's all snakes and sand in those things.  Who thinks that's a good design? -- so I just started peeing right there in the Pharaoh's tomb.  His ghost didn't seem to happy about it, flying around, screaming curses at me, but that only made it worse." Doc frowned.  "He scared me so bad, I almost drowned us both.  Anyway, he followed me home that night, I guess since the tomb was pretty much unlivable now, with so much of my pee everywhere.  That night, we had dinner together.  He had raw scarab beetles.  I had a salad.  With water chestnuts."  I winked at the Doc for several minutes.

"Keep going," he said, impatiently.

"Oh, and then he put the mummy's curse on me.  So, should I stop eating water chestnuts?  Do you think I'm allergic, Doc?"

"Stop talking about water chestnuts!  It seems like I have to tell you that every time you come here."

"But don't you think that means something?  Maybe I really am allergic, and that's why I keep coming back!  Do you think that's it?"  Doc looked pissed.

"... Yes."

I Like It Too

I’m not one to listen to radio for music that much. If I have on the radio it’s more often than not some type of talk radio instead of music.

But today I was in the car with my mom and my brother, who happened to be sitting in the front and thus controlled the radio. I don’t know what station we were listening to, nor do I care all that much.

What I do know, however, is that while in the car I heard one song that I’m not even sure how to categorize. It might be my new favorite pop song ever. Well, just favorite song ever because I don’t think I have a favorite song ever, much less different favorite songs in different genres.

The song is “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry.

I thought I’d breakdown the song for you fine people and together we can decide whether or not we’re ready to declare Ms. Perry the singer of my favorite song ever.

So it starts off with some head-noddingly-approved drums, making me think the song about to play would be some type of loud, rowdy song that drunken English people yell out together while at a pub when watching soccer futbol.

But it doesn’t turn into that, yet.

A few seconds into the song a deep female voice starts to sing, and off we go:

“This was never the way I planned/ Not my intention/ I got so brave, drink in hand/ Lost my discretion”

Alright, so far so good. She got drunk and is about make a bad decision, probably involving some sort of sexual activity. Nice. I hear these special drinks are a way to make ladies mistakenly wake up in your bed tomorrow. Well, those and roofies.

“It's not what, I'm used to/ Just wanna try you on/ I'm curious for you/ Caught my attention”

Pretty much where I thought we were heading. Some drunken experimentation. Is he married? Gay? Black? I’m excited to find out. I get the feeling daddy will be mad, and who doesn’t like a rebellious female? And onto the chorus.

“I kissed a girl and I liked it/ The taste of her cherry chapstick/ I kissed a girl just to try it/ I hope my boyfriend don't mind it/ It felt so wrong/ It felt so right/ Don't mean I'm in love tonight/ I kissed a girl and I liked it/ I liked it”

Well, didn’t see that one coming. But I too, like it. Well actually, I don’t like cherry chapstick, but I’ve never kissed anyone who was wearing any. But the few times I’ve worn some, for chapped lips, I didn’t enjoy it at all. It’s like the taste of cherry on your lips, but it’s chapstick. Every few minutes I’d be like “Nice! Cherry!” Lick my lips, wait a second…disgust. That’s my experience with cherry chapstick, but maybe it’s better when you’re trying to figure out if you’re bisexual.

“No, I don't even know your name/ It doesn't matter/ Your my experimental game/ Just human nature”

She’s totally just using that other girl just to have a battle of the tongues. It just keeps getting better. Well at least for us straight males it does. The way I see this breaking down: Asexuals won’t like this, mainly because they don’t seem to like anything; straight males will enjoy the song if only for the prospect of seeing girls make out, but will only admit liking it for that reason; gay males will like this song because it’s catchy and they can sing along without having to change any of the words; straight females will like it because it will give them an excuse to make out with each other- when will they realize no excuse is necessary though?; and lesbians won’t like it because of the boom in straight girls making out that will follow, sending them mixed signals, only to go home disappointed and alone, probably the same way they felt when they were in that I-know-I’m-gay-but-can’t-come-out-stage. Sorry, that was mean.

But kind of true, come on, you know it is. I’m an ass.

Anyway, the song continues on talking about how awesome it is for girls to kiss each other. Hard to disagree. We get the last verse:

“Us girls we are so magical/ Soft skin, red lips, so kissable/ Hard to resist so touchable/ Too good to deny it/ Ain't no big deal, it's innocent”

Well she’s sold me at this point. But here’s the conundrum: is it innocent? First, think of the lesbians. If girls are just making out all willy nilly where ever they are it’s giving false hope to lesbians everywhere. That’s not nice. I’d say girls kissing for the sake of kissing might also throw off males hoping to hit on them, but I don’t see too many guys who would see two girls make out and his first, second and possibly third reactions would be anything other than “woo,” high five, “woo.”

I’m thinking I’m late to this song, though. Like I said, I heard it on the radio today. My brother seemed to know the song, as she he sang along with the chorus.

“I kiss a girl, and I like it,” he said.
“You better have, or else mom and dad will kick you out of the house,” I replied.
“Shut up. We’d love you no matter who you liked kissing,” my mom said to my brother.
“I like girls.”

I did some research on Ms. Katy Perry to see who was responsible for such a high/low point in pop history. According to two sites that can be edited by anybody, she is a pastor’s daughter. Well that explains a lot, doesn’t it folks? No, I guess not. So then I thought, the only way to fully figure out if I like this song or not is to see the singer, of course. What kind of male music fan would I be if I didn’t decide if I like a female artist’s music based at least partially on her looks? A shitty one.

So I searched for a music video, and found one. But what was in the video was a bit unsettling.

1) An attractive female singer? Sure.

2) Other attractive females in the video? Yep

3) Girls kissing? …? Really? None at all?

I watched the video a good 5 times, which is probably the most I’ve watched any video where I was told girls would be kissing and didn’t kiss. Not a peck, a blown kiss or anything.

I was really starting to warm up to the song too. I should re-phrase, but I’m so angry I refuse to use the backspace key right now. See how good a typer I am?

But really, is this what pop music has resorted to? Faux lesbianism.

Then again, maybe it’s time pop music has welcomed in an era of love songs from woman to woman, whether or not the singer has truly taken part in any lesbianic activity, or if it’s more on the fantasy side.

Alright lady pop stars, it’s up to you now. Either start making out with each other or just singing about making out with each other. Faux lesbianism is the next great step for pop music. Someday I see this ranking second on the greatest thing to ever happen to pop music behind lip-synching so the performer can focus completely on dancing while performing.

We'll be like Lilith Fair, just you know, without all that real kissing.

So, Anyways

Every once in a while, I come across little scraps of things I've written in the past, and abandoned.  Here's one of them.  I started writing it after seeing Episode III, when R2-D2 shoots motor oil all over some guy and lights it on fire.

It was going to be a love poem.

I specialize in protocol,
Six million forms of communication.
You fired burning diarrhea
All over droids of the Federation.

It got heavy pretty quickly after this... I'm embarrassed.  I don't really want to go into too much detail, but R2 makes C-3P0 "cum."  Hard.

Uh...

This is Awesome

Well, Bo Diddley died this past week, I'm not looking up when, because I don't really care that much; I'm not really a fan of the guy.  I mean, I don't dislike him, but I'm just not really into him.  But this video is fucking incredible.  Donny Osmond?  DONNY OSMOND? Yes.  Donny Osmond.

Now, I know Bo Diddley is really influential, or whatever, but that's not the point.  Donny Osmond is the point.

The forehead!

I mean, look at that guy!  He's beautiful.  I didn't even realize I was obsessed with him until I started blogging just now, but think about it; is there anything he can do wrong?  No!  You've seen his INCREDIBLE keytaring, now check out his dance moves.

I don't really think I need to say anymore, but I will; just a bit.  Here's why he's really the king.  Nobody even notices.  Think about it; when was the last time you actually even THOUGHT the name "Donny Osmond?"  Only when he's staring you in the face.  Nobody anywhere ever thinks about Donny Osmond unless he's in the room, or he's on TV right in front of them.  And that's why he's magical.  You don't miss him, and you probably don't even frequently notice him when he is there, but trust me: he's doing something amazing, whether you notice him or not.  He's kind of like God, in that aspect.

Anyway, I told hot.pork I'd cover for his Friday blog which he missed, because he was flying to Korea, so I'll count this as that one.  I guess that means I have to write another one, eh?

Adamtha Christie's "Four Little Mysteries"

Are you sick of my incorporating my name into more famous names yet? Me either. It’s so witty and fun. Well no. Truthfully, I don’t know exactly know why I do it, and do it so often. It’s alright I guess. It makes me think, kind of, which I can’t really say for anything else I write. So there’s that.

Anyway, this week is all about mystery. So if you can, imagine a shadow of my full my body profile, and then my body walking into that shadow…

Mystery 1: What went first, my testicles or my dignity?

I started writing this a bit later then when I initially intended on writing it. And I don’t really mean by a few days late. I opened Word, was about to type and then stopped for a good 5 minutes. Want to know why?

I was too busy looking on Youtube for some type of video for that Coldplay song in the iTunes commercial. That’s right. Coldplay. I guess I don’t have anything against Coldplay, besides the fact that as I listen to them I feel like a douche. Well, more of a douche than I normally feel like. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s all the times I’ve heard people call them the “greatest band in the world,” or maybe it’s the fact that the lead singer feels the need to wear a bunch of colorful accessories on his arms when he performs.

I can’t really pinpoint why I exactly feel embarrassed while listening to Coldplay. I even put on headphones to listen to it, although at this point, my mom and brother are asleep and my dad is in another room doing work and wouldn’t hear my music playing anyway. And if they did hear it would they even know it was Coldplay? Maybe my brother. But would they care or make fun of me?

Probably not. I mean, who makes fun of someone for listening to Coldplay every now and then (Inside joke alert you outside of the “know” losers!)? I guess what I dislike most about listening to Coldplay is that I feel the need to act something out when listening to them, like mock piano playing, or with this new song, I feel the need to raise my arm with my palm facing out (like the dude does in the commercial I guess) and close my eyes and just feel the power of Coldplay shooting out of my hand onto the world, possibly ending the evils of world hunger and the Blue Collar Comedy guys in the process. If that doesn’t help, just picture a blind person trying to read a Braille street sign, but while sitting on the floor in headphones in the middle of his own bedroom.

Eh, I hate that I just wrote about 4 paragraphs about possibly feeling like a tool for listening to one Coldplay song. But I hate it less than you would’ve hated my other post, which would’ve been another shitty one about aliens, so don’t complain.

Listen, all I’m saying is that because of their music I wish I could fly. Yeah, fly. Listening to Coldplay. On headphones, of course. I don’t want all you ground-travelling assholes to know just how much of a douche I truly am, as I soar about you,

Mystery 2: Did my younger brother make an attempt at shaving his pubic hair over the toilet in the bathroom that we share?

This is one that I think I’ll never exactly find an answer to. Mostly because I would never bring up such a topic with him. But if I had to guess, I’d say yes. And that’s gross.

The other day I went to the bathroom and noticed a bunch of tiny hairs on the seat and sprinkled on the floor surrounding the toilet. Now, he can’t really grow facial hair just yet, as he is only 15, but he has a little bit. So I thought maybe it was hair from his face, because they were quite tiny hairs. But his facial hair isn’t really to a point that it’s long enough for him to shave it yet, though.

Plus, if he were to shave his face, wouldn’t you do that at a sink, with a mirror, so you could see? I know I often shave my face at a sink. Or at least somewhere with a mirror. Even when I shave while driving, I use the rearview mirror to assist me. Shaving without a mirror is dangerous.

So back to the story, I’m at the toilet and looking at a lot of tiny hairs. They didn’t fall off his legs either. One, that would be odd. Two, his leg hair is longer than these hairs. I know because sometimes at night, while he sleeps, I shave his leg hair and glue it to the bottom of his feet.

You people(s?) didn’t really need to know this story, but I had to share it with someone(s?), but my parents aren’t really ones to talk about such things with. So if you(s?) have any theories, I’d love to hear them, because the thought of my brother shaving his pubic hair is more gross to me than to you.

I’m not opposed to shaving of one’s pubic region, if that’s your thing. Go right ahead (pun?). But if you do, do it in a shower, or at least clean it up. Personally, I don’t plan on shaving any part of my body, including my face, ever again because I desperately want to become Cousin It.

Mystery 3: Seriously, is it you or me?

If I want to make one thing clear to all the people in the world, it’s that I hate myself. I truly do. I constantly wonder why anybody would ever want to hold a conversation with me. And when it comes to hanging out, if it’s just hanging out, I don’t think I bring anything to table. If we’re watching something or listening to something or playing something, I fucking rock. But sit me in a room with other people with nothing to do but talk, put me in a corner and tell me when it’s fine for me to leave.

So I can see why somebody wouldn’t like me. But I also happen to be very quiet, so unless someone hates quiet people, I doubt they even have an opinion of me because chances are I haven’t said anything to or around them.

Yet I have opinions on people almost instantly, and about 94 percent of the time, they’re negative. Within the first paragraph someone says that I can hear, I can form a negative opinion on them. So what I want to know is, is it all of the world that sucks or is it me that’s an anti-social, judgmental asshole?

Probably the latter. Today’s episode of such an occurrence:

I started an internship with a newspaper. At point they brought the interns into a conference room and sat us a giant table with editors from each section of the paper. The editors go over all this stuff and introduce themselves. Then, it was our turn!

I hate talking. I hate ice-breakers. Anyway, we were told to say our name, the school we attend and why we wanted an internship with a paper.

Seems simple enough. So as people are going around the table it started mostly on target, then on guy’s reason for wanting the internship was because he was an editor at his school’s newspaper and he wanted to continue into the journalism field. So then everyone else after him felt it was necessary to rattle of their own resumes. Everyone either wrote for their school paper’s or was an editor.

And it pissed me off. They couldn’t just say they were interested in journalism or something. No, I swear it got to a point where I was waiting for some of them to read their clips to us right there. And for some reason everyone said the school paper’s name, which nobody else fucking knows cause it’s a college newspaper and while it’s cool you write for them, nobody gives a shit about the Daily Tiger or Hoya Review. Sorry, just say school paper if you were going to say anything at all.

So what did I say, you must be thinking. “Hi, I’m Adam. I go to the University of [school in western Pennsylvania that rhymes with Fittsburgh]. I wanted the internship because I’m interested in journalism and wanted to learn more about newspapers and such.”

Was it the best answer? Not at all. Did I make a point that I want to talk as little as possible? To me I did. I’m not here for chit-chat. Did the people that talked after me follow my lead? Of course not. It was back to writing and editing the Albany Chronicle and all that garbage.

Although one girl did say she doesn’t have any experience in journalism and wanted to see if it was something she might enjoy. My initial thought was “Wow, this certainly puts a damper on getting this internship. I almost felt a speckle of self-pride for getting accepted to be here, but this bitch has no experience and got it? I’m guessing not many people were turned away then. Fuck my life.”

Then I realized that was the most kickass answer any of us gave. It was brilliant. So our eyes met, I winked and nodded in approval. The two us, rebelling against the working world and their look-at-me attitudes.

She reported me and I was promptly fired for sexual harassment.

Mystery 4: Seriously, did he shave his pubes?

And I Got What It Takes To Roc The Mic Right, Yeah!

This past Thursday, I spent the day in the city, and now I'm basically a media superstar. I saw Duran Duran do an intimate live acoustic set, hit MTV personality Matt Pinfield walked past me without taking any notice of my existence whatsoever (ouch, by the way; Matt Pinfield is above me), and I was interviewed for Fox's morning show, "The Morning Show with Mike and Juliet."

Imagine my excitement when a two-man camera crew (wow!) picked me out on the street to ask me some questions!  They complimented my shirt (The Beets, Killer Tofu Tour '96, thank you), and explained to me that I should repeat back the question in my answer, and to look at the interviewer, not the camera.  Please, I thought, I'm a documentarian, you don't need to tell me that.

Anyway, the interviewer asked me to tell him what foods I thought were healthy, and why, and what foods I thought were not healthy, and why.  I pondered the first part for a bit, and then let go with some of my UMass-major-in-philosophy wisdom.

"Well, I think vegetables are healthy, because they're green, and that's what they always tell you in grade school: green things are good for you."  This wasn't enough, though.

"Anything else?" he pushed.

"Well, I believe fruits are also healthy, because they're full of natural nutrients and things... and because they aren't artificial."

"Say, 'If it grows in the ground, it's good to eat and smoke.'"

"Uh... if it grows in the ground, it's good to eat and smoke."

He was very happy with this.  he then asked me to answer the second bit, about what isn't healthy to eat.

"Fast food!"  I ejaculated.  "Fast food is not healthy, because it's full of fat and other artificials," I continued, after wiping off the ejaculate.

And then we went our seperate ways; the camera crew off to interview more idiots, and I continued home, to digest the day's events.

I stayed up until four in the morning, too excited about my network television debut to sleep.  Wow, I thought, this is going out across the nation!  The whole nation will get to know the fake real me! "What a jackass," they'll say!  How exciting!  I'll get to be the nation's new jackass!

Now, nevermind the fact that I don't think anybody in the world watches "The Morning Show with Mike and Juliet."  In fact, I hadn't heard of it until the camera guy told me about it as he rushed off to interview someone else.  Actually, he only told me it would be on Fox at 9 AM, so I didn't hear about it until I got home and looked up the name of the show that comes on at 9 AM, weekdays on Fox.  Nevermind that, that's not important.  I was too excited to mind that!

Anyway, I finally went to sleep, and woke up around 8:50, to check out the size and brightness of my star.  Pretty big and bright, I expected.  I was in for a surprise.  I turned on the TV, and what did I find?  Not me.  Not me by a longshot.

It was a breaking news report.  Pun intended, perhaps?  Apparently, something had fallen down.  A crane, they said, had collapsed and destroyed part of a building.  I was devastated!  This meant, of course, that I would not be on television.  At least not in my part of the country.  Soon, however, I got to thinking.  A crane? I thought.  Wait a minute... something doesn't fit here...  

And then, I figured it out.  I hopped in the car, and took off, headed towards the local construction site.  That's where I found him, the one behind it all, my arch nemesis...

"Craney!" I yelled.

"What do you want?" replied the enormous crane, Craney Sigel.

Younger brother of rapper Beanie Sigel, Craney Sigel grew up with a mean streak.  Always living in his brothers shadow, he went insane, feeling a need to prove to the world that he was superior to his successful older sibling.  Superior... at being evil!

"You bastard, I know it was you!  You caused that crane to fall down with your super power - the ability to control any crane on the planet at any time!"  I had figured it out.

"Why, yes, Murray-san, you have ah-figured it out." Also, I forgot to say, he was Japanese. "I was-ah tired of arways riving in my brothow's shadow.  I enter sperring bee, he win it.  I try rappingu, he become best rappa in za world!  Finary, I have-ah bictoly!  He never made breaking news report! Aha ha ha!  Get it?"

"You monster!  A couple people got hurt in that accident, and someone died!  You've gone too far!  And now, I know; you'll be finished!"

"Yes, you know, but-ah who is-ah going to berieve you?"

Shit, I thought, he's right...

To be continued...

Yikes!

So, for those of you not in the know, or those of you that ignore them, there are these little ads that show up on the left side of Facebook.  They usually seem to have nothing to do with anything, but sometimes, I think, they try and place ads there that have something to do with what's going on on the page you're looking at.  When you look at my roommate's page, for example, it's always "Men Seeking Men" ads, with a picture of a hot dude thrown up there, I guess for effect.  For me, up until very recently, it had usually been ads for SEXY BABES and things about selling musical instruments, or something.  Lots of "Big Beautiful Women!" ads too (which kind of confused me).  But, today, I noticed something unsettling.

"Hot Christian Girls."  What the hell is going on?  I blame the people I know from that church I played bass and drums for this year.  They keep asking me to read things by C.S. Lewis, like Mere Christianity and some other book I think he wrote called The Bible.  That was bad enough, but now this?  How am I supposed to find girls compatible with me when all my Facebook ads are for hot Christian girls?  I'm an atheist!  My options are already pretty slim (especially when you take away all those BBW's, BANG!).