The House of Swain

Hello, house of swain!

2007-10-23T11:08:00.001-07:00

(Happily) Lost in The Twilight Zone

Written by Big Ross, CC2K Staff Writer

An ordinary-looking door set in a frame free-standing of any wall appears in front of a backdrop of stars and blackness. “You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension. A dimension of sound. A dimension of sight. A dimension of the mind.” The door opens and you appear to travel through it. A series of images appears at each description of this new dimension: a shattering window, a disembodied eyeball, Einstein’s famous equation. “You’re moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You’ve just crossed over into The Twilight Zone.”

Man, they just don’t make openings to television shows like that anymore. And really, they don’t make shows like The Twilight Zone anymore. It’s not for lack of trying. Whether intended or not (and despite structural differences), there are shows on air today that capture the same feel and tone of The Twilight Zone. Shows like Heroes and especially Lost have the same air of mystery and touch of the fantastic and the same altering of perceptions with twists and surprises that was such a staple of Zone. One thing that Zone’s spiritual contemporaries lack (through no fault of their own) is the key element that has lent to Zone’s iconic status: its place in history. Zone premiered in the late 1950s, the time of the Second Red Scare, McCarthyism, humanity’s first attempts at space exploration, the burgeoning of the Cold War and nuclear expansion, as well as the early years of the Civil Rights movement. This was the calm before the storm of the 60s, and Freedom of Speech was not so readily enjoyed by those with dissenting views. Rod Serling and his fellow writers created the fictional world of the Twilight Zone not only to entertain, but also to share their social and moral commentary with the American people in a way that would be ignored and written off as harmless fantasy by those in power. I think it is this more than anything else that has seen the attempted resurgence of Zone, first in the late 80s and more recently in 2002, fail. This mixture created a kind of magic that simply can’t be recaptured, but it can still be enjoyed today.

I’d like to share my top 5 personal favorite episodes from The Twilight Zone, in no particular order:

Blogged with Flock

More on Dreams

2006-01-31T08:25:00.000-08:00

I know this might seem an odd title, especially since I haven't written here at all in a while. (Whatever. Fuck off.) However, I know that I HAVE written about dreams on this site in the past, and in one memorable case, that entry led (and is leading) to a screenplay written with some asshole whose name I can't remember.

But the fact is, I'm fascinating by dreams. But NOT in the way you think.

There's an interesting paradox that exists within all of us that we all consider our dreams utterly fascinating, while inexorably, everyone else finds them boring as shit. This is almost always true (and it makes sense: dreams come from your subconscious, reformatting your own thoughts, observations and relationships into an utterly personal Michael Bay movie. A dream is your own personal Armageddon. However, because of everything I've just stated, those images and connections are a choppy blur, hopelessly lost on everyone in the world who is not you. Therefore, your dreams as a narrated story are just like...well, Armageddon.)

Now, having said this...if you know the person WELL enough, you can learn an awful lot about them by how and what they dream.

Bob, as stated before, has a fascinating dream quirk: there are moments of crystal clarity, which make perfect sense in the world of his dream (though not in the real world, naturally), and feel as though they were written by a team of Hollywood fixers.

The best example, to my memory, was when a Little Person turned to him in a dream, and said "Curse Billy Barty, the rubric by which all midget actors must be measured!" (Bob can correct me if the detail is wrong here). This is just such an interesting moment. One has NO idea what had past through Bob's mind to make that moment come up, and the use of the word Rubric (I don't even know if I've SPELLED it correctly) shows an uber-literate mind at the helm. Well done!

My wife surprises me from time to time. Now, by and large, she just dreams vaguely menacing scenarios that TERRIFY her during the night, but reveal themselves to be trifles when she wakes up (okay, by 3pm or so). Thus, she will sometime wake up moaning or sobbing, and when I wake her to find what was wrong, she might say "I dreamed I had to kiss this other man. It was AWFUL!" or some other such thing.

The other night however, she apparently dreamed that armagedon was nigh (the real one this time), and we all had to flee oru homes for our lives. She found herself in the bedroom with a suitcase, trying to decide what to pack. She described her thought process in detail, right down to how much of each type of clothing, how much and what jewelry, what medicines to take (except for Robitussin, which she had heard on the news a few days ago doesn't really work), and lastly, what pictures of whom. It was, in all truthfulness, a fascinating exercise on thinking rationally in an utterly irrational situation. I immediately saw the potential for writing a scene like this in a movie one day.

Now we come to me.

I too fall into the trap of becoming fascinated with my dreams, but I think I take it a step further. I will say that I tend to dream in large, sweeping plotlines, and I sometimes wake up truly interested in the story that my subconscious was weaving. I FEEL that what I've created is worthy of re-telling, even as sleep gives way to wakefulness and the plot holes become clear. So, I tend to keep thinking on the dream after I've woken up, to see if those discrepencies can be ironed out, or if it should be ultimately discarded. Quite literally, I day dream.

As an example, take this dream from last week:

My father invents a machine that can reach into the future and take things back (I easily got this from Philip K. Dick's short story Paycheck). He takes a newspaper and brings it back to find an article discussing my accidental death. We are very sad, and though we entertain the thought of trying to fight it, we conclude based on scientific (and science fiction) thought that there is no way to reverse an event like that, once you know about it in advance.

So, my father finishes up another invention that allows people to travel to other dimensions (in this case, meaning alternate universes). Our plan is to find ANOTHER me to take my place, and NOT tell him about the accident, so maybe he can be nudged into reversing the effect. We dig through the other universes, and using both technologies, we find another me, from another universe, who is also slated to die, though we don't know why (I guess we stumble on a funeral announcement, or something). We decide that he's the perfect me, since that me doesn't know how this me is going to die, and vice versa. Thus, we might be able to save both mes. We also notice, by comparing the newspapers from multiple dimensions, that the comic strips in all of them are all exactly the same, without exception.

So we go on this mission, find the other me, and convince him to do what we ask. He and my father disappear back to MY world, where hopefully that me can be saved. I am left on this world, knowing that something awful might befall me at any moment. Luckily, I survive. However, I guess my father isn't alive in this new universe, so I am essentially cast out alone (let's say that the me from this universe was a loner, or something.) So while I attempt to re-immerse myself in an entirely new life as me, I start to write a comic strip, and I guess my father, in his universe, does the same thing. In this way, I am able to communicate with my father, even from across universes.

End of dream.

Let me also state, for the record, that the comic strip in question was "Funky Winkerbean." I woke up thinking that this might be a real strip, and when I looked it up, indeed it was. the odd thing is that I have never in my life, even once, read that strip.

The other thing to note is that, while I dreamed that dream a week ago, it is still evolving in my mind. Even as I typed it, I tweaked it to make it a better STORY.

What does this say about me?

C

More Simpson

2005-12-04T21:07:00.000-08:00

Top Gun...a film that will for better or worse remain iconic of the 80s. How did the producer of it sculpt such a seminal creation? Here's on reminiscence...

"It was clear to [co-writer] Proser that Simpson's involvement with cocaine had already reached severe levels. During his first three-week writing assignment, he said, Simpson never once came to the Paramount offices in Hollywood. He refused to take meetings. He refused, in fact, to leave his house. According to Proser and several other sources, Simpson believed the mafia had ordered a hit on him. He was barricaded inside his Cherokee Avenue house and would not come out. One afternoon Proser demanded a visit. He found a surveillance camera posted over the wall separating the driveway from the street, a second surveillance camera over the driveway and parking area, and a third surveillance camera over the front door of the house. Inside were monitors where Simpson could watch anyone approaching the house. Also inside was an "armory" of weapons, and evidence of considerable drug use. Proser found Simpson, dressed all in black, in his study, surrounded by walls of audio equipment, also covered all in black. "He was coked out of his mind," Prose said. "His eyes were like fucking BBs--little pinpoints. Simpson wasn't making much sense. At one point he ran excitedly from the room and returned with a piece of paper. "Check this out," he told Proser. The piece of paper was an uncahsed check for $2 million, for his services on "Flashdance." Later that day, Simpson showed Proser his "pack of cards," as Proser put it. It was a stack of Polaroid photographs, each depicting a naked woman, each taken in Simpson's Paramount office. "He didn't say much about them," Proser remembered. "It was just like, 'Do you think I can get these girls to take their clothes off if they think they can get a part in my movie?' And of course he could."

Don "Gatsby" Simpson, Part III

2005-11-30T13:24:00.000-08:00

More on Simpson. You know the fantasy life everyone has in their head where they gain unlimited power and lose all their social graces? This guy lived that life. An American hero.

"Simpson would subsequently exact a peculiar revenge upon the high school classmates who did not take him seriously as a teenager. For his twentieth high school reunion, Simpson flew to Anchorage , hired a helicopter and landed on the football field where the event was being held. He stepped off the chopper, resplendent in a white linen suit and escorted by two Penthouse "Pets" he had hired to accompany him. He walked through the spellbound crowd, just once, greeting old friends, giving everyone eyeful of what he had become, and then walked back to the helicopter and flew away."

More On Our Leader

2005-11-29T12:40:00.000-08:00

Part 2 of the wildly popular exceprting of "High Concept: don Simpson and the Hollywood Culture of Excess." Even I was taken aback by the volume of responses in the feedback comments. This excerpt details the first meeting a reporter from the Hollywood Reporter had with Simpson in 1981:

Simpson emerged presently from a back room. He asked the reporter, "What time is it?" The reporter told him it was four'o'clock.

"Four o'clock," Simpson repeated. "You know what I like to do at four'o'clock? I like to pour myself a big drink, lay out a few lines and abuse a screenwriter. Take a seat."

The reporter watched as Simpson poured four fingers of Macallan Scoth from a glass-cut decanter, cut six lines of cocaine onto a glass-covered side table and serially snorted them into his nose. He took a deep glug of Scotch and dialed the telephone. For the next twenty minutes the reporter listened as Simpson harangued the unfortunate, unidentified screenwriter. "You're the stupidest son of a bitch in Hollywood, you asshole," Simpson shouted between gulps of Scotch. "You're a talentless piece of shit. No one respects you. Everyone knows you're an idiot. You have no fucking future in this business." When he had exhausted his wrath, Simpson hung up the phone and said to the reporter, "So, let's talk about my slate of movies."

Book Report

2005-11-23T09:14:00.000-08:00

I am now reading "High Concept: Don Simpson and the Culture of Hollywood Excess," a how-to manual I hope to use someday. Simpson was Jerry Bruckheimer's producing partner until he dropped dead of drug use right before The Rock came out. This is gonna be good. Here are some choice excerpts from the beginning of the book:

"As autopsy reports and pharmaceutical records would later reveal, Simpson through the summer of 1995, the summer before his death, was on a regimen that included multiple daily injections of Toradol, for pain; Librium, to control his mood swings; Atvian, every six hours, for agitation; Valium, every six hours, for anxiety; Depakote, every six hours, to counter "acute mania"; Thorazine, every four hours, for anxiety; Cogentin, for agitation; Vistaril, every six hours, for anxiety; and Iorzaepam, every six hours, also for anxiety. He was also taking, in pill and tablet form, additional doses of Valium, plus the pain relievers Vicodin, diphenoxylate, diphenhydramine and Colanadine, plus the medications lithium carbonate, nystatin, Harcan, haloperidol, Promethazine, Benztropine, Unisom, Atarax, Compazine, Xanax, Desyrel, Tigan and pehobarbital (Simpson's pharmaceutical records for July 1995 show billings of $12,902--from one pharmacy, through on psychiatrist, at a time when Simpson was using at least eight pharmacies and several doctors, teceiving medications using the aliases Dan Gordon, Dan Wilson, Don Wilson, and Dawn Wilson, in addition to his own name. A law enforcement source who investigated Simpson's pharmaceutical records estimated his monthly prescription medication expenses at more than $60,000. One ten-day period in August 1995 shows Simpson's pharmacy expenses at $38,600.) Police and coroners' documents also show that Simpson was experimenting with prescription doses of morphine, Seconal and gamma hydroxybutyrate, or GHB. These medications were being ingested, autopsy reports would show, in addition to large quantities of alcohol and cocaine....

More ominously, Simpson was using heroin."

Awesome.

A couple of observations:

1. I don't know if I necessarily agree that using heroin is more ominous than the rest of that.

2. I bet LA autopsy doctors were all angling with each other to do the Simpson autopsy, which they had to know would make their autopsy careers.

3. With his $60,000-a-month pharmaceutical drug habit, clearly Don, Dan, and Dawn Simpson all died of a broken heart that he didn't live in a country with universal health care.

Best. Thing . Ever.

2005-11-16T23:23:00.000-08:00

This is an article about a company offering celebrity voices for GPS machines in cars. Normally, this would lead to a healthy debate about what the best/funniest celebrity voice would be, with the assumption that never in a million years would a company use that voice. But unfortunately, this company actually IS using the best/funniest voice possible:

Dennis Hopper

This is quite possibly the most exciting news I've ever heard. And if you get sick of Hopper (fat chance, obviously), they've also booked the second-best celebrity voice.

Our leader, Burt Reynolds.

Hang a Louie here, chief.

you sick fuck

2005-11-15T17:03:00.000-08:00

Corey-
Truly sorry to hear about your sickness. Have you thought about anabolic steroids? I know Washington is a very dog-eat-dog, unforgiving town, and if people get wind that you're weak....they could literally be fighting over scraps of your meat on K Street by tomorrow morning. Anabolic steroids would not onlymake you stronger and more attractive to women, but your huge-ness might hide your vulnerable state.

I recently went to a steroid convention here in LA, and though I havent' started my regimen yet, I plan to! I got a picture with a salesman/spokesmodel from one of the most trusted brands in human growth hormones, Hitlertech:

Attention, Corey! Say you're a DC jackal, looking a sign of weakness you can pounce on and benefit from, when suddenly you see THIS a-walkin' your way...

Are you gonna mess? I DON'T FUCKIN' THINK SO, JACK!

Eavesdropping Amazingness

2005-11-11T12:56:00.000-08:00

Swains,

Since my voice has left me at a severe disadvantage with regard to speaking, I've been doing a lot of listening. Recently, this has led to amazing results. Observe:

1. I stepped on the Metro the other day, and sat down on a kitty corner from a woman (late-30s-ish) on her cell phone. This is what I heard of her conversation:

-No, I don't think you're terrible, I just think you lack direction and responsibility.

-Because you're better than you used to be...

-It's not just me; it's everyone you know who wants you to take more responsibility for your actions.

-Then be glad you lost your job.

She then got disconnected, and went back to her crossword. What an amazingly powerful conversation, and how amazing callous to have it in front of complete strangers.

2. Walking into the building where I work yesterday, I heard one of the carpenters say: "No...he didn't shoot at me, he shot above my head." Shit.

3. Today, on the Metro, my friend and I were going to work. He was telling me about his theories on parenthood, and how they've evolved since he's had children. Meanwhile, behind us, this crazy old man lurked. He kept making raspberry noises, standing up and waving his paper violently in front of him (in a "AAAHHH, the moths!" kind of way, rather than a "AHHH! I just farted!" kind of way.), and making loud, declarative comments on my friends conversation. To wit:

Friend: When I read a book that discusses a new parenting style, initially I'm all for it, saying "Yeah!"

Crazy old Man behind us: "YES!"

Friend: But after a while, you learn that you have to pick and choose which parts of which styles are right for you.

Crazy old Man behind us: "Right!"

My friend did not notice this, but I could barely keep my shit together.

I hope this power remains, once speaking resumes.

C

Radio Silence

2005-11-02T09:27:00.000-08:00

So why has Corey been so hard to reach these days?

Several reasons:

1. A weekend spent in Gloversville, where I helped bring a Holocaust play to the town, complete with the woman on whose true story the play is based as a special guest. (As ancillary results, doing this also led to afternoon drives searching in vain for antique shops, attending Sunday morning church services, and maybe even finding the next Oscar-Winning documentary subject.)

2. The ailment that hits me every October, which normally merely makes me cough for 3-5 months, has taken on a new form. Now, in addition to the irritating (though not painful, nor productive) cough, it has taken my voice. Entirely.

That's right. Even as I type, I am unable to speak at all.

(Pause for necessary "Hey, that's great! Your wife must LOVE that!" jokes.)

Okay? Then let's move on.

Now I might be exaggerating a TAD here. I mean, I CAN get words out, provided people are standing within a few feet of me, and I don't mind each sentence hurting my throat, making me cough, and in general winding me as though I've just run a sprint. In fact, while Sunday I was more or less reduced to silence and hand gestures (a real pity, since I was unable to cheer, nor gloat, when my Giants CRUSHED my current hometown team), I improved so much so that by Tuesday, I sounded just like the guy from Curb Your Enthusiasm whose daughter (Blossom) was a lesbian. Today, I sound like a cross between that guy, and a braying seal. So we're making progress.

Now, here's what's frustrating about this whole thing: since speech is such a rare commodity these days, I am forced to give up on nearly ALL of the wiseass comments I see fit to make throughout the day! This is a DISASTER!

Sunday, for instance, I sat on a plane with a baby who did not cease crying for one single fucking second of the flight. As we deplaned, I saw the same child, still crying on her daddy's shoulder. All MANNER of jokes came to me, from "Well, at least she's consistent." to other, more incident-specific rude statements about the girl, her family, and her prospective future sex life. Yet, I could SAY none of them. FUCK!!!!!!!

Last night, I went to a rehearsal that I am supposed to be leading every week, with another guy. This week, I let him lead it, since I had no chance of making myself heard. He attempted to do so, but someone else bullied him out of the way, and he could do nothing to stop it. If I was in full voice, we could have wrested control back to us, but all I could do was sit there and STEW. This had later ramifications as well, in that I got home, found that my wife had not yet returned from HER rehearsal, and since I had a full head of frustrated steam going anyway, I proceeded to convince myself that this meant she was going to return home in a bad mood, and subsequently shadowbox with her for a full thirty minutes before she actually DID return (in perfectly amicable spirits, I might add.)

Sorry to ramble. It's the first communication I've been able to pull off in a solid week.

C

Call Me Bruce Willis

2005-10-17T23:32:00.000-07:00

Me and you sound uncannily like Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson in "Unbreakable", Corey. For while you cannot seem to get while (or are made of glass), I cannot get sick. I literally cannot remember being sick since I got out of college. I got food sickness one night a year ago---and that was bad---and I've thrown up from drinking on several occasions. But good old, natural bacteria or virus: no.

Now it may sound like I'm bragging, but I'm actually complaining. You see, I am a lazy man. There is nothing I like more than an excuse not to do something: not to go to work, not to write, not to go out, not to get off the couch, etc. Being sick is, of course, the world's all-time greatest excuse for not doing stuff. They even give you special days off from it from work: sick days. During my four year tenure at the Press, I burned through a lot of sick days---but I always felt guilty doing it, because I was NEVER sick. Calling in sick when you're actually not takes some amount of nerve -- you're baldly lying to your friend and employer -- but I had nerve enough to do it. But I never felt right about it.

I remember when I was a kid, whenever I had the SLIGHTEST tickle in my throat, I would recheck it constantly, ever-hopeful that it would blossom into full-on strep throat. I was never happier than the week I missed school because of pneumonia in the seventh grade. Absolute bliss was being infectious enough that you had to stay home from school, but healthy enough where you weren't nauseous or headache-y. Man, I miss those sicknesses.

Corey, send you cough-germs over to me. I'll gladly get sick for you a time or two.

Call Me Kaz...

2005-10-17T11:40:00.000-07:00

For most all of the month of September, and thus far the entirety of October, I have had my annual cough. This means that, dating back to at least 1998 (when I remember having it while a camp counselor), at one point every single year I have gotten a cold that has lasted three days, and left me with a cough that has lasted 5-7 months. During my college days, and then my subsequent early shitty jobs with bad HMO coverage days, I would inevitably find myself in front of a different doctor each time, who would inevitably prescribe the same pills as the last guy, which would inevitably not work. It's been a fun process, and I can assure you it's NEVER been in any way frustrating! :)

Last year, I went to my primary care physician, who had been "my" guy for a while now. I had a chronic cough, natch. He started to diagnose it when he flipped through my file, and saw that I had been there exactly one year ago, complaining of the same symptoms, and that the drugs he wanted to give me were back then utterly ineffective. So he sent me to a pulmonary specialist, who for the first time in memory, got the job done.

So this year, I said fuck the middle man, and went right to the pulmonary doc. And back. And back again. By early last week, I was on Allegra, a prescription nasal spray, an OTC cough pill, a prescription asthma inhaler, an oral steroid, and codeine! I had also, for the first time since fourth grade, missed work (or school) because of a cough.

Monday night, I took the prescribed dose of codeine. I spent the next four hours spinning, and having barely lucid phone conversations. I remember having a milkshake, and there being some baseball on TV. At the end of four hours, I took another prescribed dose (as directed) to prepare for bed that night. By the time my head hit the pillow, I could not stop the room from spinning. I was exhausted, but I could not sleep. I wanted to get up, but I could not move. I wanted to throw up, but I could not even muster that. I was sweating, dizzy, nauseous, and itchy. I went to work that day in the same state, and eventually had to go home. I had now missed work due to a cough, and loss of sleep due to medicine.

On Friday, I finally felt good again, and was back to normal. I went to work, and was sitting at my desk, when I slightly banged my elbow on my chair, on my funny bone. It hurt. By the end of the day, my elbow was intermittently sending shooting, blinding bolts of pain up my arm. Early Saturday morning, I was woken up by these same bolts of pain, now moved over to my fingers and hand. For an ENTIRE DAY, I had to sit with my left arm lying PERFECTLY STILL (I'm left-handed, naturally), or else the shooting pain in my arm would act up, strong enough for a pointed reaction each and every time.

By the end of last week, I had been taken out of action for a cough, some medicine, and my funny bone. What a fucking loser, right?

Clearly, I had become the Kaz Matsui of my own household. For those of you who don't know, Kaz Matsui is a baseball player who plays second base (on occasion) for the New York Mets. Hailed as one of the best players in Japan, and called "The Iron Man" for playing in over 1,000 consecutive games over there, the Mets lured him away from Japan and onto their roster with a three-year contract at the beginning of the 2004 season. In the two seasons that he has played in the states, he has shown that not only were his skills incredibly over-rated, but his reputation for having resilience and sturdiness is nothing more than a joke. Matsui has lost a lot of playing time during his Mets tenure, for such ailments as a stiff neck due to a bad night's sleep, and a scratched cornea caused by a faulty contact lens.

So when I missed work for these stupid problems, I was just like Kaz...except that, by my calculations, he gets paid 175 times more than I do, for each day he sits out. Or, to put it another way: he makes, in one day, about half of my yearly income.

Happiness.

C

My Monica

2005-10-16T00:37:00.000-07:00

Guys,

I got hit up with one of those Nigerian Bank scams. Here follows the exchange ...

The Pitch

ATTENTION CONGRATULATIONS!!!
MEGA LOTTO
PRIZE AWARD DEPARTMENT,
REF: NBM44125677 AND BATCH NO: 31/107/AY.
RE: PRIZE NOTICE
We are pleased to inform you of the announcement of winners of the
MEGA LOTTO INTERNATIONAL PROGRAMS held on friday 16TH, of september 2005
as part of our mid-year bonanza. You or your company,
attached to ticket number 05-16-41-46-50 01 , with serial number 3187-17
drew the lucky numbers 05-16-41-46-50 01 , and consequently won the lottery
in the "A" category.
You have therefore been approved for a lump sum pay out of
USD250,000.00 in cash credited to file REF NO. REF: NBM44125677.
This is from the total prize money of USD290,000,000.00 For the power ball section of our lotery game which a ticket cost about $2.95. All participants were
selected through a computer Balloting system drawn form 250,000 names
from Middle East, Asia, Africa, Canada, Europe and USA,as part of our
International Promotions Program, which is conducted annually.
Do accept our Congratulations.Your fund is now deposited with a
security House. Due to the mix up of some numbers and names, we ask
that you keep this award strictly from public notice until your claim has
been processed and your money remitted to you.
This is part of our security protocol to avoid double claiming or
unscrupulous acts by participants of this program. We hope that with a
part of your prize, you will participate in our end of year high stakes
US$1.1 billion International Lottery.
To begin your claim, please contact the person below:
Dr Jones fred
Email: jonesfred2020@yahoo.com
click the link above to view winning numbers
http://www.thebigbiglotto.com/online-lottery-mega-millions-lottery-results.php
For due processing and remittance of your prize money to a designated
account of your choice. Remember, you must contact your claim agent
not later than 20th of October, 2005. After this date, all funds will be
returned as unclaimed.
NOTE: In order to avoid unnecessary delays and complications, please
remember to quote your reference and batch numbers in every one of
your correspondences with your agent. Furthermore,
should there be any change of your address, do inform your claims
agent as soon as possible.
Congratulations again from all our staff.
Sincerely,
Mr Jones fred

My first response

YES!!!!!!!!

Holy fucking fuck fuckers!!!! I won!!!!!

Here are all my numbers and stuff:

I copy-and-pasted the e-mail he had sent me with my "winning" numbers.

HOLY FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love you Fred!!! If I were fag, I would blow you!!!!
ROCK ROCK ROCK FRED FRED FRED!!!!!!

WHAT DO I DO NOW?

Fred's response

Hello

All the documents will be sent to you by Email, I also do prefer it that way for more security reasons.
Send to me urgently the followings to enable me register / deposit the funds to a reliable security company on your behalf and for all the documentation which backs you up 100% legally the actual winner of the founds including the certificate of winning. “NOTE” And the total amount is 250,000 USD.
click the above link to view the lucky winning numbers
http://www.thebigbiglotto.com/online-lottery-directory/online-lottery-official-sites.php
Your Full name and address,
Your copy of I.D, either your information page of your international passport or drivers license.
Your fax number/Phone number
Your company’s name and address.
I await your prompt mail with the above details and also we need to be talking on daily basses,
because with the above information we should be concluding this deal within the next 3 working days.
We congratulate you for being one of our most luckiest winners for the draw...

I urgently await your prompt response.
Best Regards
Jones fred

Me ...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!
YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FRED FRED JONES JONES!!!!!!

Your Full name and address,
JOHN JOHNSON

Your copy of I.D, either your information page of your
international passport or drivers license.
FORGETTING I AM OF NUMBERS SO EXCITED:

PASSPORT ID CODE: 111 1111 1113
DRIVER LISENZE: 234876555XX
BUSINESS: TRABAJO MANUFACCURE 22

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOUR NESS!

Your fax number/Phone number
Your company’s name and address.

Fred ...

Hello John Johnson,

Got your information and i will now like to have your full account information which includes your bank account number, routing number, bank address, and phone number........ for me to make the transfer of your winnings from our bank in (CITI BANK) Doblin UK into yours as one of lucky winners of our lottery game...
Your information is needed ASAP to enable me process the necessary documents for your transfer

Jones Fred

John Johnson ...

CUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!FUCKERSAND CUNTZZ!!!

YES!!!!!!!!

ARE YOU A JESUS FRED! I SUCK ON YOUR JESUSITTY!!

NUMBERS:

BANKING:222 222 67222
ROUTING: 6798654546481316846546578641564864
CUNTING: 1
TITSING: 666-666-666-666-666-666-666
FISTNSG-JORBOPS: SLATHERING CUM ON TITS
!!!!

The Telephone NumBer oF My bAnK!!! :-)
123-456-987-222

you are to the calling of the cunts any time.

I love you,

jj

PS tits!!!! I have them!

JOnes FRed ...

Hey what sort of joke is this are you a normal human being???

Mr. Johnson ...

At least I don't try to scam complete strangers out of
their money.

Don't e-mail me again.

You cunt.

My Glamorous Life

2005-10-15T11:56:00.000-07:00

Well, it was only a matter of time before I became a regular on the sycophantic celebrity-worshipping party circuit. The only question has been: who will I be Kato Kaelin to? Well, I now have the answer:

Martha Plimpton!

As many of you know, I've been friends with Martha Plimpton since our days back in New York. She's out on the left coast for a bit and since it conicides with her 35th birthday, I've decided to throw a party for her! Most of you haven't met her but here's your chance. She's great and I'm sure she'll love all of you. Just no Goonies quotes please. Some booze will be provided but it will run out quickly...so at least bring a six pack. Feel free to invite a few friends. It's going to be a fantastic night. I hope to see all of you there.

EAST COAST Swain Summit Meeting!

2005-10-14T10:59:00.000-07:00

All right,

I'm getting somewhat sick (with jealousy) of hearing about all the Swain-reunions going on now that yet ANOTHER one of us has been swept out to the state of Schwartzenegger. Most recently (just below), there is an excerpt from a meeting between Karl and Bob. No, this is NOT the time they went to see a movie together, or the time they spent six hours spooning at Bob's place after getting high on hookah. This is a Swain Summit meeting. On the West Coast. Well guys, you have officially gone too far, and the East Coast Swains have had it. So, to combat you and your Left Coast bias, we have just recently concluded a Swain Summit on the East Coast. Here are some excerpts.

Corey: "Hey everyone. Thanks for coming."
(Silence)
Corey: "Who wants to start?"
Corey's Wife: "Corey, why are you facing the wall? Who are you talking to?"
Corey: SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Corey: "So, let's put it to an official vote. Whoever thinks that Corey is the most kickass Swain, say 'Aye.'"
(Silence)
Corey: "Fine. FUCK you guys."

Corey: (Masturbates while crying.)

So, as you can see, things are happening on BOTH sides of the country.

(Sigh).

C

A brief excerpt from Tuesday night's Swain Summit

2005-10-13T11:44:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night saw a Swain Summit at the Psychobabble coffee house in the Los Angeles burrough of Los Feliz. Swains Karl and Bob discussed the CC2k Web site and Karl's idea for a nonfiction book, which sounds great.

Here follows one exchange:

BOB: What do you think Giff is doing right now?

KARL: Pull-ups.

Someone Out There is Watching Over Me

2005-10-10T12:12:00.000-07:00

Whoever created/runs this Universe, be it God, a bunch of gods, or some sort of super-powerful corporation, I'd like to thank you for making The Upside of Anger the in-flight film on all east-bound domestic flights on Continental.

Joan Allen in her contractually-obligated one-smile-per-movie.

For those of you who haven't had the good fortune to watch this movie with the sound turned off, it stars my favorite actress, classic beauty Joan Allen, as some sort of frigid, bitter housewife castrating the shit out of her husband, Kevin Costner. In case you're not familiar with the story, first, the opening credits appear. Then, Joan mopes around a beautiful upper middle class house in a series of scenes that seem to tell some sort of depressing, mournful narrative event in the life of her character. Then, the end credits come up.

Joan Allen proves herself once again to be the best actor of this (or any other) generation by making Kevin Costner look like a charismatic, loosey-goosey, fun-loving guy.

Thank you, higher being!

Good Mier-ning, Swains!

2005-10-06T07:28:00.000-07:00

Well, seeing as how there's a Miers thing going on here, let me add this:

I really can't believe that the morons on the right are actually worried about this lady's track record. I mean, who gives a fuck if she donated to a few democratic campaigns in the past -- she's friends, close friends with George W. Bush, which means she's just as much as a bigoted, fundy asshole as he is. Will she become that new, ultra-conservative swing vote? You bet your ass, though I suspect that Bush nominated a close friend less to overturn Roe than to protect this own ass later down the road. Jeez, I wonder if Bush is actually wondering if he's going to be held accountable for any of his actions later in life?

But I do love how the right wing is a-tizzy about this one. She's just a nobody. Hell, I shudder at the thought of John Roberts as chief justice (does Breyer still have to open the door, I wonder?), but at least the guy was a legal superstar.

Incidentally, I've read dozens of articles about Supreme Court cases, and I've never read or heard Clarence Thomas quoted ONCE. Does the man ever fucking SPEAK? Shouldn't he need to ask a question or two before deciding a case in the highest court in the land? On the list of conservative wackos who I concede are brilliant minds in Antonin Scalia -- that guy can't shut up.

Bush made a stupid choice. The fundies like her because of her kooky fundy background, but the George F. Wills of the party hate her. To wit, here's a quote from Will himself:

In addition, the president has forfeited his right to be trusted as a custodian of the Constitution. The forfeiture occurred March 27, 2002, when, in a private act betokening an uneasy conscience, he signed the McCain-Feingold law expanding government regulation of the timing, quantity and content of political speech. The day before the 2000 Iowa caucuses he was asked -- to ensure a considered response from him, he had been told in advance that he would be asked -- whether McCain-Feingold's core purposes are unconstitutional. He unhesitatingly said, "I agree." Asked if he thought presidents have a duty, pursuant to their oath to defend the Constitution, to make an independent judgment about the constitutionality of bills and to veto those he thinks unconstitutional, he briskly said, "I do."

Don't be an asshole, Karl

2005-10-05T13:39:00.000-07:00

It is utterly unfair to rate a prospective Supreme Court justice based solely on her faith. It is much more important to look at her qualifications for the post, and the decisions she has made throughout her judicial career.

So, instead of slinging barbs, why don't you look at this chart I have created, listing the important and noteworthy rulings that Harriet Miers has made while serving as a judge at all levels of the system:

CASE RULING

1.

2.

3.

4.

There. Judge THAT.

C

Fuckin' Sweet!

2005-10-05T09:56:00.000-07:00

This NYT article should be enough to cause the Senate to skip the confirmation process and unanimously confirm Harriett Miers to the highest bench in the land!

But she still felt something was missing in her life, and it was after a series of long discussions - rambling conversations about family and religion and other matters that typically stretched from early evening into the night - with Nathan L. Hecht, a junior colleague at the law firm, that she made a decision that many of the people around her say changed her life.

"She decided that she wanted faith to be a bigger part of her life," Justice Hecht, who now serves on the Texas Supreme Court, said in an interview. "One evening she called me to her office and said she was ready to make a commitment" to accept Jesus Christ as her savior and be born again, he said. He walked down the hallway from his office to hers, and there amid the legal briefs and court papers, Ms. Miers and Justice Hecht "prayed and talked," he said.

She was baptized not long after that, at the Valley View Christian Church.

It was a pivotal personal transformation for the woman now named for a seat on the United States Supreme Court, not entirely unlike that experienced by President Bush and others in the Texas political and business establishment of that time.

That sounds like the kind of stable personality we want interpreting our Constitution for life!

I'm here, Karl...

2005-10-03T11:24:00.000-07:00

Karl,

As something of a veteran of living with "the wimminz," I can certainly understand your concern, and I wish to shed some light on your unfortunate predicament. Allow me to respond one point at a time.

1. She has NOT quit school in order to stay at home full-time, decorating, getting pregnant, etc. - Karl, this notion is as antiquated as the hills! I am fully aware that the concept of the woman staying at home to be a full-time caretaker of house and kids has been glorified in such pop culture stalwarts as the Donna Reed Show, Leave it to Beaver, and Nanny 911, but please take it from me: this is NOT the life that you want. Sure, if she stayed at home, you'd have all your meals prepared hot and fresh, and she'd finally get off her ass and IRON, for once in her goddamn life, but consider these points:
*She is now, or will soon, be bringing home money. I can not stress this enough. With money, you can buy stuff. And, since everything she earns legally belongs exclusively to you, it's like a second income, for nothing!
*If she's home all the time, it's harder to fuck around. Can you even IMAGINE how much harder it would be to cheat on said girlfried with skanky whores (paid for by money that SHE earned, no less!) if she was actually at home?

I hope that settles the first point.

2. I have had to cook not one but THREE DINNERS, as well as all of my lunches! This one, quite frankly, is intolerable. I can't even conceive of a situation where I would allow a woman into my life who made me lift even one finger in the kitchen. I think this has to be considered your fault however. The fact that you even allowed this travesty of the natural order to occur once means that you have either no spine, or no balls. Women are like sharks; they smell weakness. They will take control as yours clearly did here, but realize this: ALL women secretly HATE control. My advice here, if it's not too late, is to wait patiently until the next time dinner is not prepared when you come home. Then raise holy hell until your point is made. She will thank you for righting the ship, and by extension her understanding of the universe.

3. She doesn't wear lingerie whenever I'm at the apartment! - This one baffles me, Karl. She wears it every single time I'M there.

Anyway, if you or anyone else has some relationship questions, I'm here to help!

Peace. I'm outta here.

C

Help!

2005-09-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

Swains, I need some advice...DOUBLE QUICK.

As many of you know, my girlfriend and I have recently moved into an apartment together. That's where the problems started!

In the two weeks we've lived together:

1. She has NOT quit school in order to stay at home full-time, decorating, getting pregnant, etc.

2. I have had to cook not one but THREE DINNERS, as well as all of my lunches!

3. She doesn't wear lingerie whenever I'm at the apartment!

What the hell do I do? Obviously things can't continue in this manner indefinitely... Is it time to break-up?

Hollywood Exclusive!!!!

2005-09-28T17:51:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure who they are or what they were discussing, but I saw these two men "taking a meeting" at a cafe on Santa Monica Boulevard today. If you'll look closely, you can see that the man on the left (with the laptop) is all edge, 'tude..."Mr. Now", if you will. The guy on the right...The Suit, the Moneyman, the Guy Who Makes Things Happen. I just KNOW they're working on something that's going to be outta sight...

STAY TUNED, AMERICA!!!! HOLLYWOOD WON'T LET YOU DOWN!!!!!

I'm available...

2005-09-28T09:17:00.000-07:00

...every night for the rest of my life, Bob. Not sure when the party is, but I THINK I can squeeze it in. I'm sure Jackie Treehorn won't mind an extra body.

Fluffers, etc.

2005-09-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

Corey,

Well, I'm trying to get some buds into the party, but because it's an open bar it's more difficult.

And I'm afraid it won't be anything like a night in the grotto at the Playboy mansion. Yes, there will be plenty of pornstar babes around, but it's more of a networking night for industry types and affiliates. My plan is to not get drunk and keep a low profile. If I can scare up some design work, that would rock.

INDUSTRY PARTY!!!

2005-09-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

Bob,

Holy SHIT!!

...

Wait...

Did you mean...the Graphic design industry?

Or...

the OTHER industry with which you are associated?

Oh GOD!

Can you get friends on that list? Can you bring cameras? Will girls fuck you as a party favor or something? Do they need any other penises at that party?

LET ME KNOW!

C

First industry party

2005-09-27T11:07:00.000-07:00

Guys, I'm pleased to report that I am actually literally on the invite for my first industry party!

IMPORTANT UPDATE!!!

2005-09-22T11:23:00.000-07:00

Swains,

Corey, glad to hear the good news, BUT more important, is everyone aware that Tennessee's third-string QB is named JIM BOB COOTER?

Some Workaday Revelations

2005-09-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

I have learned some extremely valuable lessons since my last posting.

First of all, I learned that I am not as big a fuckup as I once assumed.

Before you rush to disagree, allow me to elaborate:

Last week, when I was fully descended into my work-induced malaise, I was discussing the situation with my wife. She suggested that I apply for other jobs. I told her that this was a fucking ridiculous idea, and that if it weren't so late I would have kicked her ass. This is not true. But, I DID say that my resume is still way too skinny to expect anyone else to give me a chance. Despite the years working in a television company, I have precious little tangible experience actually getting my hands dirty making TV. That, and the lack of a demo reel, make me virtually unhireable, at least in my opinion.

However, to keep her happy, I agreed to look around, and send out my digits if something looked appealing. The next day, I found two listings on Craig's List. I sent in a resume and cover letter to both.

By the end of the next day, I had heard from one of them! This led to a phone call, and an interview last week. I sincerely doubt that this will go further, and even if it did, I don't imagine that they would lure me away from my job (things have been MUCH, and consistently, better, with more to come, it seems). However, it still felt good to act. That night, my wife asked me if I was convinced that I had more options if I needed them. I said "probably," since one phone call/interview doesn't constitute options, but it still was a good sign.

Then, last night, I got a call from the OTHER feeler I sent out! This led to a phone call today, with what sounds like a job offer soon after, if I wanted it. This one is VERY tempting, (much more money, seems like a great company), yet also almost certainly one that I will pass on (Four month contract rather than a staff position, no benefits, etc.) However, I can officially say that I am convinced. The guy I talked to said that my resume was impressive due to how many different things I have already done. The more experience I get here...the more dangerous I'll be. Watch your back, Coppola!!

The second thing I learned was that other people are as big a fuckup as I am.

This realization came yesterday, when I had to go to the bathroom.

In my office, the only way to get there is to walk a long and circuituous path that passes by several other people's desks.

When I decided to go, I was at the time sitting in my office, listening to my office mate attempt to cancel his membership at a gym, and sign up at another one. (Two more business days left of his presence at work, and in my life forever!!)

During my journey to the bathroom, I first passed a woman playing solitaire on her computer, and then walked by a girl who was chatting with a friend on IM.

On my way back, the IM girl was now searching through Craig's List, the solitaire woman was still going strong, and Gym boy was now trying to get a doctor's appointment.

Lesson learned: LOTS of people deal with idle time at work. I had a concentrated dose of it this summer, but I am not that unusual.

It's a minor lesson...but I'll TAKE IT!

Yours,
The Slightly More In Demand Slightly Less of a Loser.

Second Hollywood Celebrity Sighting!

2005-09-17T09:06:00.000-07:00

I swear to god, this is true. Although it's NOWHERE NEAR as impressive as my first celebrity sighting (Jade star David Caruso), I still think it counts.

(PS: The above was not taken by me on my camera phone, because I didn't want to look like some blithering idiot. Just for the record, I saw him in the lobby of the Four Seasons at Beverly Hills, and he was wearing this shirt:):

Best of Craig's List Update

2005-09-16T13:57:00.000-07:00

It seems that neither the piece I wrote, nor the one that I inspired, made it to Craig's List's "Best Of..." for September.

Obviously, this is because I failed to bring Craig's wife to orgasm when I fucked her.

THIS is because she's a frigid bitch. And yet NATURALLY, I am blamed for this.

Ah well.

C

I'm back too! (Metaphorically, in my case)

2005-09-16T13:48:00.000-07:00

I feel the swagger returning, Swains.

Some might say that the seeds of my triumphant resurrection were sown last Sunday, when an old woman offered to tell me how to find her G spot. (True)

Others might say it was Tuesday, when dog started humping my leg on the Metro. (Not true)

But they would be wrong.

My rebirth is due to things getting better at work, while the world at large simultaneously shows me that there is life for me outside of this job.

Consider these items:

* I'm busy on an honest-to-God project right now (that will have me working ALL NEXT WEEK!).

* Yesterday, the woman who is my new supervisor said that "she considered me an asset to be used," and that "she intends to have me booked out full time."

* Later that night, I checked my messages at home and found that a guy to whom I had sent my resume earlier that week had called me PERSONALLY to discuss an open position at his company.

* My self-aggrandizing office-mate is officially out of my hair in only seven working days. (Not that I "know" this officially. When I asked him when his last day was, he told me again that he was "not allowed to say." When I then asked him why this was such a secret, he said that "What I call a secret is actually not my business, until the company decides to make it so." Dick.

* Karl is back, and apparently saw Alyssa Milano or something.

Ahhh. It feels good to emerge.

C

I'm Back!!

2005-09-15T16:41:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone! I'm back...on the internet!

I'll begin the several month-long process of digging back out e-wise very soon.

In the mean-time, a contest:

For $10,000, guess who my first official LA celebrity sighting was?

From Reuters

2005-09-15T12:41:00.000-07:00

U.S. President George W. Bush writes a note to Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice during a Security Council meeting at the 2005 World Summit and 60th General Assembly of the United Nations in New York September 14, 2005. World leaders are exploring ways to revitalize the United Nations at a summit on Wednesday but their blueprint falls short of Secretary-General Kofi Annan's vision of freedom from want, persecution and war. REUTERS/Rick Wilking

A new low ...

2005-09-15T07:55:00.000-07:00

I love mass transit

2005-09-15T07:33:00.000-07:00

You get to gawk at the most fucked up people!

Today, I was sitting down when we got to Farragut West, otherwise known as the mass-exodus stop. Some guy, as he shuffled to get out, stepped on my foot. Rather than shuffling, apologizing, or in any way altering his forward momentum, he continued to walk forward, putting his FULL WEIGHT on my foot (this was NOT a small man) and lifting himself the height of my foot into the air as he walked past, and on, me. He never looked back to acknowledge in any way what happened. I was too stunned to speak for a second, and then he was gone.

This reminded me of an amazingly bizarre Metro ride I had to work about a year ago. In the course of my 25 minute commute, the following things occurred:

*A belligerent middle-aged woman was getting arrested at my origin stop. As the Metro cops touched her, she began shouting "OW! YOU'RE HURTING ME. OW!!!" so loudly that the entire platform could hear every word.

* I sat next to a poorly disguised transvestite, reading a book with a picture of Jesus on the cover.

* On the way out, a man tried to convert me to Mormonism.

So today was weird, but that day was my gold standard for bizarre Metro happenings.

C

Two Weeks Notice!

2005-09-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

With my apologies to Ira Gershwin:

"Things are Looking Up.

I have travelled the whole world over,

And it's covered with four-leaf clover.

Yes, things are looking up,

Since the fact that my evangelical Christian, extremely loud and irritating office mate turned in his two weeks notice looked up at me."

Yep. Still don't have jack shit to do at work. Still in perhaps the biggest creative slump I can ever remember. Still feeling less than worthless in all aspects of life. But at least the days of listening to that douche smacking on his Big League Chew are numbered.

Things are looking up.

C

I have to go poddy

2005-09-13T12:20:00.000-07:00

So the question is this: if a person is destined not to have the success that they dream for themselves, is it better that they tried every day of their lives to make it happen and failed, or would it be preferable that, at some point mid-life, they were to simply give up and move on to something more attainable?

I'll answer the first question: I don't believe in destiny or fate. Nothing's predetermined. That idea just depresses the shit out of me. What I will say is that it's better to have tried, hands-down.

In other words, is it better to fail on your terms, or the world's?

Better to fail on your own. In the words of a random Klingon in Star Trek 6: "Better to die on our feet than to live on our knees!"

But in the meantime, why can't we just fucking succeed?

We're all working on it. All of us. More than ever before. I for one hadn't been holding up my end of the "working on it" deal for more than a year, but now I'm back to it. We're doing fine.

Pod (Future) Person

2005-09-13T11:05:00.000-07:00

Bob,

Your thoughts are good, and explain pretty much exactly what I fear for myself.

Like most young, passionate, creative types, I can almost literally "feel" my potential to do something great in life. And, as I described yesterday, when I am inevitably foiled in my latest attempt to get something going, I seethe with the injustice of it all, yet eventually pick myself back up and start again.

The fear is that, one day, life will just win, and that need to get up and start a new round will be replaced with a desire just to lay on the mat and make the pain go away.

So the question is this: if a person is destined not to have the success that they dream for themselves, is it better that they tried every day of their lives to make it happen and failed, or would it be preferable that, at some point mid-life, they were to simply give up and move on to something more attainable? In other words, is it better to fail on your terms, or the world's?

But in the meantime, why can't we just fucking succeed?

C

Pod people

2005-09-12T12:49:00.000-07:00

You have a good heart and you probably fear that you might turn into this guy -- and I hazard to guess that the prospect of turning into the resigned, non-angry old fart scares you more than the prospect of turning into the angry old man, because at least as the angry old man you'd have fun raising hell at the old folks home.

Seeing an old, non-angry guy like that makes me think of pod people. Walk with me:

I see Corey one day. He's fine.

That night, an alien pod latches onto his back and takes control of him.

The next day, he's not Corey anymore, but a dead-eyed, droning automaton, bent on world domination. No matter how hard I try, I can't get Corey to remember me.

I've had weird day-nightmares about meeting the pod person version of me. Sometimes it's a failed me 30 years from now. Sometimes it's a born-again Christian version of me. Sometimes it's a fat version of me who slowly moved away from health-nuttery and slowly and surely went to seed. I can't talk to pod-Bob any more than I can pod-Corey.

But here's why reality is scarier than pods:

The pod transformation is instantaneous and reversible. It has a clear symptom and remedy (kill the pod). The before and after states are clear and easy to distinguish.

But gradually turning into a pod person is much scarier, because it's cumulative and irreversible -- and even if you turn into pod-Corey over years of failure and disappointment, you would still be Corey. You'd still know all the stuff Corey knows. Example:

QUESTION: Corey, what's your favorite movie?

NORMAL, OLD, NON-ANGRY FAILURE COREY: "Cool as Ice."

POD COREY: "MUST KILL ALL EARTHLINGS!"

Further thoughts on Writing...

2005-09-12T11:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I performed at a private improv show for a large group celebrating a couple's 50th wedding anniversary.

We arrived at the theater, each of us tired from the previous night's exertion of performing for 175 teenagers. This detail is not needed for this story, but I wanted to let you see the incredible range of audiences we had for the weekend.

Whenever you do a private improv show, you will hopefully have had someone in the party fill out a form, telling you about the group as a whole, and the people in it as individuals. This way, you know how to tailor the show so that the audience can feel as though we "really know them."

The first piece of information we had was a list of four names of people to get up on stage to perform with us throughout the show. No problem.

We then had pages and pages of info about dozens of people who would be there that day. A lot of it was dry ("Enjoys playing bridge." "A whiz at bridge." "Loves tennis. And bridge." etc.) but one really stood out. One man was described in our paperwork as having had written several books on humor. This seemed like the perfect person to include! The worst case scenario is that he mugs for his friends for a few minutes and gets them to laugh, and the best case scenario involves contacts, agents, jobs, and hookers. We vow to get this guy on stage no matter what.

Then they all arrived...eventually. You see, you reading this might have read the clues I have peppered in here, but those of there yesterday did not, and still assumed that we were going to have a relatively normal audience. Alas. When everyone was seated, we had about 75 people in the audience. This was also the average age of the collective crowd, but this is only because there were some grandchildren present. You've all heard the showbiz axiom "there's nothing easier than doing comedy for cronies," right? Hmmm...wonder why not?

We get out there to the sounds of pained silence, and introduce the show to the sounds of pained silence. But that's okay...we are only biding time until we can call up the comedy writer.

When the big moment arrives, I sell it big time. "We had a list of people to include, but when we read something in our information sheet, we found someone we just had to get up here to join us on stage. A man among you who has, literally, written the book on comedy. Is Bernie in the house?"

Sure enough, Bernie answers. I recognize him immediately as the guy who, when I was earlier asking for audience volunteers for suggestions, kept bailing me out. Oh, and he was also the guy with the walker.

I asked if he would join us, and he said no. So, getting out of this the only way I knew how, I brought the scene to him. It went well, and he even had a few good lines.

After the show, as this old man stooped over by a degenerative condition (and a life hopefully well lived) walked by, I thanked him for his help, and asked if it was true that he had, indeed, written more than one book on comedy. Indeed, he told me, it was. I started to make a mental note to remember his full name, when he then told me that, while he had WRITTEN several books, he had PUBLISHED none of them. He described how he was frustrated by the old catch-22 that you can't publish without prior publishing experience, yet you can't get publishing experience until you publish. I nodded my head in deep understanding, and he left.

Two things occurred to me, one very soon after the other.

The first was that the reality of this man - old, hunched over, enfeebled, and a failed writer, was EXTREMELY depressing. How many of us put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) every day for the practice, in the hopes that someone with power will "discover" us and let us do what we love. How many of us slog through our day-to-day lives doing something we can barely tolerate, while holding on to the near certain belief that we will achieve what we want, at some point in the future? Now imagine that this man, this Bernie, did the same thing. One lifetime later, and all that remains of his dream is a mention in a comedy show, performed by people about your age when that dream formed. Sixty years later, he is still spouting the same cliches about writing and success that we do today, in our (relative) youths. Will that be me (or you, or us) in fifty years? As he proves, there is truly no way to know.

The second thought I had on this really knocked me for a loop: Of Bernie and me, I was the only one of us who seemed legitimately saddened by his story. I believe that I am pretty good at looking people in the eye and reading what's behind them, and I have to say that I couldn't see any anger, or despair, or anything of the sort in them. He was just telling me a story of his youth.

What could be the reason for this?

If you're a pessimist, you will immediately conclude that he was forced to give up his dream so long ago that it simply fails to register anymore. His fire of righteous indignation was snuffed out by a long lifetime of the daily minutae that makes up an existence.

If you're an optimist, you will no doubt decide that his lack of despair had more to do with what ELSE his life contained, aside from this dream. Your imagination will fill in a life with a wife, children, grandchildren, friends, hobbies, and so many other worthwhile things that this piddling hobby of writing will have simply and willingly faded away.

I don't believe either of those things. Or at least, that's not what I choose to believe.

In my mind, it was both. Here's what I see:

I see a man who burned with passion and desire for comedy, and writing (Gee, I wonder why my mind brings me there?). I see a guy who, spurred on by family, friends, and the belief that he truly did have something to say, and a mark to be made, set pen to paper. When the ultimate book was rejected, he became depressed, and then re-dedicated himself to the same goal. He wrote another book. And another. Each time, he was convinced that this latest portion of his library would be the thing that put him over the top. And yet, it was never to be for this man. No one (outside of the aforementioned family and friends) wanted to read his work. Years of his life were essentially thrown away by the public at large. Rejection got harder and harder for him. And yet, just when things hit bottom, something occurred to him: It was not the book that he loved, so much as the act of writing it. Completing a never-to-be-published book is more than what 99% of people can ever do in this world. He enjoyed the work he put in, and while he may not have a contract with a publisher, he does have the respect and admiration of those who are closest to him. Isn't that enough? Isn't the writing itself, enough?

If so, I have to say that this is a lesson that I hope I can learn for myself one day.

Right when I started to truly feel bad for Bernie, his eyes told me that, no matter how sad I found the story, he was not upset, and so I shoudn't be either.

So can someone please tell me why I do anyway?

C

The More that Needs to be Said

2005-09-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

Okay,

I've changed my mind. There IS more that needs to be said, and I think I'll let Maureen Dowd say it for me, from her two brilliantly written Op Ed pieces in the New York Times. These are just snippets, but they are fantastic from beginning to end. Seriously all, look them up. Now.

W. drove his budget-cutting Chevy to the levee, and it wasn't dry. Bye, bye, American lives. "I don't think anyone anticipated the breach of the levees," he told Diane Sawyer.

Why does this self-styled "can do" president always lapse into such lame "who could have known?" excuses.

Michael Brown, the blithering idiot in charge of FEMA - a job he trained for by running something called the International Arabian Horse Association - admitted he didn't know until Thursday that there were 15,000 desperate, dehydrated, hungry, angry, dying victims of Katrina in the New Orleans Convention Center.

Was he sacked instantly? No, our tone-deaf president hailed him in Mobile, Ala., yesterday: "Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job."

It took a while, but the president finally figured out a response to the destruction of New Orleans.

Later this week (no point rushing things) W. is dispatching Dick Cheney to the rancid lake that was a romantic city. The vice president has at long last lumbered back from a Wyoming vacation, and, reportedly, from shopping for a $2.9 million waterfront estate in St. Michael's, a retreat in the Chesapeake Bay where Rummy has a weekend home, where "Wedding Crashers" was filmed and where rich lobbyists hunt.

The administration's foreign policy is entirely constructed around American self-love - the idea that the U.S. is superior, that we are the model everyone looks up to, that everyone in the world wants what we have.

But when people around the world look at Iraq, they don't see freedom. They see chaos and sectarian hatred. And when they look at New Orleans, they see glaring incompetence and racial injustice, where the rich white people were saved and the poor black people were left to die hideous deaths. They see some conservatives blaming the poor for not saving themselves. So much for W.'s "culture of life."

His campaigns presented the arc of his life story as that of a man who stumbled around until he was 40, then found himself and developed a laserlike focus.

But now that the people of New Orleans need an ark, we have to question the president's arc. He's stumbling in Iraq and he's stumbling on Katrina.

Let's play the blame game: the man who benefited more than anyone in history from safety nets set up by family did not bother to provide one for those who lost their families.

C

Some pictures speak for themselves

2005-09-08T08:37:00.000-07:00

What more needs to be said?

C

Entertaining people Coast to Coast

2005-09-07T12:07:00.000-07:00

I had my first taste of true National Exposure as a writer today.

Here's what happened.

Firstly, for the hell of it, I took the open letter below, and posted it on Craig's List's DC Rants and Raves section. I do this on occasion, for the dual purpose of stirring the muck every once in a while to see what rises to the surface, and to one day stumble onto CL immortality with a slot on the Best Of... section.

I had four responses to it. One was bad:

let me get this straight . . . she was trying to entertain her kids w/ a card game? wow, the nerve of some parents!!!

next time maybe she will provide them a soccer ball and let them run up and down the aisle w/ it.

YOU, my friend, will NEVER be happy.

get over it. kids exist.

One was VERY bad:

I hope you die from testicular cancer and the offspring you sire are deformed.

One was sent to me privately, and should be considered good:

As a flight attendent I can tell you, next time please mention this to one of us. We too are unable to do anything about children (and parents) such as this until someone complains. We simply explain that we have a complaint about their (usually we say..."Your voices are carrying over the plane and we would appreciate if you could please be a bit more quiet)

We make a point of making sure that the passengers we are quieting don't know WHO made the complaint, especially in the situation you describe.

That said, often times we are busy, but believe me, they bother us too and if I can do anything within my power, just let me know they are bothering all of you and I will do my best to quiet them.

I know this doesn't help your situation now, but it was interferring with the peace of several passengers then that is unacceptable.

I don't fly with the airline you mentioned, but you may wish to write them a letter, stating what you experienced. As I said, we cannot interfere until a complaint has been made. AND if we are unable to do anything in the air, something will be said when they deplane....

Take care and good luck.

And the last one, published just after the first one, quite simply made my day:

that was THE best post that has hit this sight in weeks. true or not, i laughed my ass off whole heartedly. and to the person that responded "kids exist," yes, they do. and so do asshole parents with out of control bastard children. accept it.

MEANWHILE...

On the other coast, I had a bone to pick with Seattle. Needing an answer, I busted on over to Seattle's Craig's List, and posted this query:

Hey all,

I'm hoping you could help me with something.

I am from D.C., and I just got back from spending the week in Seattle.

You guys have a fucking amazing city, and I am extremely jealous.

Having said that, I have a question.

At some point, I was driving on 5 North out of Seattle. Since I was the passenger, I began lazily looking at the street signs. RIGHT as a certain sign passed me by, I am almost positive I saw that the first two words, right at the top, said "Apple Maggots."

Now, for the LIFE of me, I can not figure out:

A: What would cause the words "Apple Maggots" to appear, together, on a sign.

B: WHY such a sign would appear on a HIGHWAY.

Now, I am fully prepared to be wrong here. Maybe I misread completely. If so, please respond to this ad, or me directly, and let me know what sign exists just north of Seattle that has some words that LOOK LIKE "Apple Maggots". AND, if I DID read it correctly, PLEASE let me know what that sign is all about. I'm dying of curiousity.

Sincerely,
Your D.C. Friend

Let me tell you, this caused something of a sensation. I received no less than five emails PERSONALLY, explaining that these signs are meant to warn people that apples grown in their backyards, or otherwise grown without government oversight, might contain a parasite that will destroy entire crops if spread.

In addition, someone went out and took a picture of the sign in question:

And another person wrote out the words and guitar chords to the SONG:

It's a little known fact that the Apple Maggot can be sung as a round. Below are the lyrics, complete with guitar tabs:

Apple Maggot Quarantine Area (Do Not Transport Home Grown Fruit)

verse:
C........F
Apple maggot
C..............G
Quarantine area
C
Do not transport
C..................G
Home grown fruit

chorus:
Apple maggot
Quarantine area
Do not transport
Home grown fruit

verse 2:
Apple maggot
Quarantine area
Do not transport
Home grown fruit

(chrous)

bridge:
(guitar solo)

(chorus x2, fade)

This song was taught in certain Seattle-area elementary schools because, as far as I can tell, elementary school music teachers hate all living things.

THIS post caused others to write in with their favorite memories of the song, including strategic hand claps and whatnot, and at least one person flagged it for "Best Of"

So all said and done, a very successful day for yours truly. Now if you'll excuse me, I somehow have formed a lump on my testicle that must be tended to.

C

Starting from the bottom

2005-09-05T14:33:00.000-07:00

Swains,

I have just returned from vacation. I see that there has been much activity in my absence, most notably the glorious Phoenix-like resurrection of CC2K. This is fantastic news that must be celebrated. And I will...in a moment.

For you see, MUCH has happened to me over the past week. Things that I was forced to write down, for fear that I myself would cease to believe them over the years. I will share them on these pages, serially.

Now, Karl has perfected the art of heightened satire whilst describing trips, so I will dispense with that, and proceed pretty much straight-ahead truthfully.

I begin with an open letter to someone dear to me, with whom I shared the very final leg of my journey last night.

TO: The Mother of Steven and Sarah, seated in Row 8 on Sunday, September 4th's ATA flight from Chicago's Midway to Washington's National airports, leaving 7:20pm (CDT) and arriving at 9:30 (EDT)

FROM: Me, seated in Row 6.

RE: Your reprehensible rugrats, and your bullshit parenting style.

Dear Sarah and Steven's mom,

Fuck you.

Oh, and SHUT YOUR GODDAMN KIDS THE FUCK UP!!!!

There. I finally got it out.

Lady, I am appalled at you. For over two hours of my life yesterday, I (as well as my wife, and at least 30 other people from the five rows in front and behind you) was forced to listen to your horrible little kids whine, cry, and yell their way from the Midwest to the East Coast. There were not five consecutive minutes the entire time when we all did not have to listen to a running play-by-play of the card game the three of you were playing, peppered with complaints from Sarah that she didn't understand what was happening, and shouted ejaculations of competitive euphoria from Steven as he played another good card. If you don't remember me, I was one of the no less than fifteen pairs of eyes that looked over at you, silently beseeching you to do something to quell the riot, or in a perfect world, strangle your kids with a dry cleaning bag.

But those of us who listened to the game by force, waited the entire duration of the flight in vain for the one thing we WANTED to hear: you disciplining your kids IN ANY WAY. You MUST have known how irritating they were being; you can't have become so numb to the actions and sounds of your hellions that you can't tell when their bullshit is threatening to create mob-induced violence. And yet NOT ONCE did you think to ask your children to be quiet. NOT ONCE did you remind them that they were not at home, driving daddy to drink more bourbon and mommy to pop another Valium, but rather on a plane full of living, breathing other people who should not have to become active participants in your daily hell, if only for the simple fact that we did not create their worthless little lives. In fact, NOT ONCE did you seem to show even the slightest awareness that there were ANY other people aboard. You are the worst mother in the world. And yes, I'm counting the one who drowned her kids in the bathtub.

But all this is NOT to say that you did not raise your voice at all toward them. Oh no, that would be unfair. Because when they went too far, you DID yell, loud enough for all of us (now attuned to your accursed row) to hear, "Hey! What did I tell you? DON'T knock over my cell phone!" Nice work.

In the interest in SOMEONE in their lives doing a little cursory observation and parenting, I would like to offer you some insight into Steven and Sarah (How do I know their names, you might ask? Simple. YOU try listening to two names repeated approximately 150 times in two hours, and then try NOT to know them afterwards. Asshole.):

-Sarah is TOO YOUNG TO KNOW HOW TO PLAY FUCKING CRAZY EIGHTS! I know, I know, she's a fucking future neuro-physicist. That's super. And I'm sure she's just a whiz with her Baby Einstein flashcards too. But if you are constantly explaining the same rules of a very simple game to her, and if she's not grasping it whatsoever, and if she repeatedly starts to cry when she's not allowed to do the thing she just did, then perhaps, JUST PERHAPS, you might want to stop the game, turn your self-centered head over to where she's sitting, and do some fucking parenting. Read her a goddamn book. Engage her in conversation. Or slip her a roofie, so we can all sit in peace.

-Steven is the least pleasant, most disgustingly competitive child I have ever witnessed. As the flight went on, and with each successive time I heard your eldest child shout that he was going to win, how much he loved winning, how he was sure that he was going to win every single time, and how amazing he was at the game to play the card he just played...the more I wanted to transform him from a normal child into a slow-bleeder from knife wound to the cock. The more the screamed out his evil (and fake) laugh when he actually DID play a card, or win a game, the more I wanted to punch him so hard in the throat that he would need a tracheotomy in the back of his neck. Lady, if you don't do something about this, and soon, he will either become the least popular kid in school (if in fact he isn't already), or balls and pucks will forever find their way into his solar plexus. God DAMN, what a shit he is.

Other than that, I had a wonderful flight.

Love,
Me.

P.S. Why oh why can't I say this, or even "Excuse me. Could you quiet your kids down? They're shouting across the plane" to people like you. Even after I made eye contact with my fellow passengers, confirming that they hated you and your family as much as I did, I STILL was unable to summon up enough rage and/or courage to actually do anything about it. I am ashamed at myself. I suffered, and what's worse, my silence tacitly permitted you to believe that your kids were fine. Therefore, I must also apologize for anyone who will ever be forced to spend even one minute in the presence of your horrid spawn. At least until someone braver than me gets up the nerve to speak up.

2005-09-03T22:24:00.000-07:00

Swains ...

2005-08-29T00:25:00.000-07:00

CC2K IS BACK.

CC2K

Check it, and keep writing!!!!

Message from the Tiger

2005-08-27T23:03:00.000-07:00

Humans:

Prepare the way for Sean Astin's directing career! How much longer must we tigers wait until we can watch his directorial debut in our cages in your zoos?

-Tiger

2005-08-27T16:29:00.000-07:00

The KOSs

2005-08-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

While cleaning out my old car, I found them. Two of them.

I found two, TWO of the KOSs.

That's right.

Two of them.

KOSs.

Keys Of Swain.

Off the Grid

2005-08-26T14:15:00.000-07:00

Fellas,

I will be in Seattle starting at ass o'clock tomorrow morning, and returning from said "vacation" on Sunday, September 4th; just in time to celebrate my ONE YEAR wedding anniversary.

Please take good care of the blog in my absence. Water it, feed it, and remember to talk to it once in a while. It really really helps.

If it dies, I will kill you. Seriously. Do not fuck with me.

C

I think he's doing fine.

2005-08-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

Thanks guys, for corroborating my advice to my friend. I was quite certain that my instincts were correct, but he is a very persuasive cat, and he had me questioning my heretofore unmatched mastery of all things titted.

However, I think you'll be happy to know that, after the requisite minute of mourning, my friend is right back on his feet. I had my people tail him for a while, to make sure he didn't do anything stupid (like call her, or fuck Angelina Jolie), and they came back with this snapshot of his first day post-advice:

As you can see, I think he's going to be OKAY.

C

Whoa...whoa...whoa

2005-08-25T13:21:00.000-07:00

Bob, quick, insert irony into my remark about Marcus Elliott and then go back and read my post!

Sorry, damn this prose, it's sometimes so hard to convey irony.

In my experience, guys who spend all their energy trying to convey themselves as Don Juans who can have any woman they want only achieve this because they are hooking up with Fatties. Or Uglies. Thawtz?

For Two Glorious Days...

2005-08-25T12:44:00.000-07:00

I was busy this week.

Before I bitch, let me count my blessings:

1. The job I want does appear to be on the horizon.

2. It couldn't be coming at a better time: my current situation is going to shit. The natives are restless, and there are many people trying to find other jobs as I type. Confidence in our leader is at an all-time low, and the projects that ARE coming in are attractive to no one. (My nemesis actually talked to me about the possibility of him joining me at MY new job "to help me out." My, how things change!)

So these things are good, and my upcoming vacation to Seattle is only two days away.

But now, to bizness.

On Monday, I again spent the day sitting around waiting to feel productive. It has been the most frustrating summer of my professional working life, to that end. At one point, I was asked to do a project that would be a part of the new job, and I happily accepted. It was for one day. Good. Then, I was told that I would be given a very important, very urgent project. I would have to begin preparing for it Monday night, work on it on Tuesday even as I was doing the first thing, and then spend Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday whipping it together. When this was presented to me, I responed thusly: "You think I'm going to freak out about this, but in reality, I want to hug you." What a great hour that was, thinking I was going to have a full week of usefulness. At the end of the day, I got the email, telling me that due to the short timeframe, the project was now off my plate. Great.

Tuesday, I was downstairs. I had a project to do, and by God, I was going to kick its ass. And I did. There were problems and setbacks, and dozens of decisions to be made. I was forced to stay 90 minutes after I was supposed to go home to see it through. And it was my best day at work all summer long. MAN it was fun.

Then, the next day, I got to remain downstairs for most of the day, finishing it up and getting it out the door. Another fast day, to be sure.

And today...is Thursday.

...

Sigh.

C

The broads

2005-08-25T12:40:00.000-07:00

Corey,

I think Karl's right. "I'm not ready to date you right now" is a standard "let 'em down easy" line, and should be treated as such. You gave the proper advice -- unless you think I should go after Marisa again? (See what I mean? And this friend of yours hadn't even had a crush on this girl for eight years like me.)

I'm sure in the history of the planet there have been cases where a girl or guy will eventually come to their senses and get together with the right person (like in the movies!), but I strongly doubt is happens very often, and when it does happen, I would have to think that it's someone settling for someone else, not actually choosing them.

What do I mean? In the movies, when the hot girl realizes she should be with the dorky guy, she sees something in him she hadn't before; he suddenly becomes an actual prospect in her eyes that she can be proud to have on her arm. And I'm not talking about cases where the nerd gets hot or rich -- I'm talking about the fairy-tale notion seen in movies that the nerdy guy will not appreciably change; the girl will simply look deeper.

I certainly have never done it. I haven't had girls breaking down my door, but I have in a few rare instances been the "hot" guy, and I certainly saw what was attractive about the un-chosen girl pursuing me -- but I didn't settle, no sir.

When the hot whoever winds up with the nerdy whoever, it's usually because someone settled, not chose.

Further, Karl: a good analysis, though I must add Joel Feinman to your list of guys who can fuck any girl they want at any time.

The only other part of your advice I thought might be suspect, Corey, was this:

"The notion of transferring feelings from one girl to another is doomed to failure."

Now, if someone is actually transferring feelings from one girl to another, then you're right.

But maybe he has a type he likes, and he is often attracted to girls in general for the same reasons. If I were to stop pursuing short, busty, sturdy, brassy brunettes just because Jennifer H. fit that bill, I'd be out of business.

Maybe that was the case with your friend.

But in any event, he should move on. That he felt really jealous upon hearing that this girl had a boyfriend sets off all kinds of alarms in my head. That sounds like something obsessive and fuckbrained that I would do. (Again, one time when I heard Marisa had a boyfriend, it really fucked me up -- get a life!)

Your friend should move on from this particular girl.

Your Friend is a Fucking Loser

2005-08-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

And both of those women are bitches.

If this situation were really about you, Corey, and the two women were Bob's mom and sister, then this wouldn't be a dilemma: both women would have fucked you on the first date. And probably before the first date if you were played by Michael Gross. In fact, I can't foresee any situation meriting romantic advice involving those cum-hungry cockfunnels. (<---I added that phrase in to increase traffic to this site!) So let's assume these hypothetical nymphomaniacs aren't semen-thirsty she-demons and proceed from there. As every guy past the age of 20 knows, or should know, any phrase involving the words "not interested in dating anyone right now" is a metaphor. It is a metaphor for "I don't to fuck you. Ever." "I don't want to screw up our friendship right now" also functions metaphorically in the same manner. These words are never what the guy wants to hear: If he's grown the balls to make it clear he wants to initiate events so that he can stick his penis in her vagina at some point, he will be very pained to learn that he has no chance to ever enact this plan. He obviously thinks she's a swell girl, and that her swell swollen sexual glands merit his immediate attention. Therefore, instead of correctly deciphering this metaphor, he will cling to the infintesimal chance that she actually means she isn't ready to date anyone right now. (quick entymological lecture: the word "infintesimal," meaning "infinitely small," was invented to differentiate itself from "infinite" ("without boundaries or limits, immeasurably large") by mathemeticians NOT to deal with the incredibly small numbers involved in quantum physics, but by their chances of ever getting laid by their female graduate assistants) Everybody is ready for great, hot, life-altering sex (unless there are extenuating circumstances, i.e. she was brutally gang-raped a week ago by a pack of feral Clydesdales). She's politely saying it will never be with you.

Bitch.

This is a lesson that every single guy on earth learns, usually sooner rather than later. There isn't a man alive, save Marcus Elliott, who can sleep with any woman he wants at any time. The problem is that you can't learn this lesson by reading about it on a blog, no matter how brilliantly it is argued nor how remarkably learned the entymological lessons contained therein are.

This girl showed up to this party alone because she hadn't found anyone she found worthy of her vagina. End of story. She's not waiting to be ready to date this great guy. If she wanted him, she'd be ready. If at all possible, your friend should cut off contact with this girl so his heartache can heal and he can find another Vaginan-American.

(There is a chance that this girl has wildly overblown expectations for the kind of guy she deems worthy. Perhaps her standards are incredibly high and that's why she both rejected your friend and every other cocksman that's come along in the interim. There is the infintesimal chance (there's that word again! See above, entymology lovers!) that if he hangs around long enough, her fear of dying alone will finally drive her to "settle" for him. Question: Is this what you want to base your relationship on? Answer: Of course it is, if she's hot enough. But the chances of this happening are greater than the chances of a girl ever rejecting Marcus Elliott's irresistible advances.)

Next question!

Romance Advice

2005-08-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

Fellas,

A friend of mine asked me for some feedback on a potential romantic situation he was going through. At the risk of this guy actually stumbling on this website and getting angry, I am afraid that I might have steered him wrong, and so I decided to seek out some other thoughts.

To be very brief, this guy had a thing for this chick over a year ago. He casually pursued her, until, and I quote, "a mutual friend told me that she wasn't interested in dating anyone right now." He dropped it.

This year, two things happened:

1. He attempted to pursue a different girl, who essentially made it plain that it wasn't going anywhere.

2. Soon after this, he went to a party, where he found that this first girl was going to show up with a date.

He told me that, though in the past year he had been able to downshift that first situation into just being friends, he was consumed with jealousy when he heard this. It was only assuaged when she showed up alone, and said that there was no boyfriend.

He said that he was very surprised to find that he was so consumed with jealousy, and upon thinking about it further, he realized that all of the reasons he came up with for liking that different girl (from number 1 above) were present in this first girl. Therefore, he was made to wonder if he simply never got over this first girl, and was asking if he should gear up to go for her again.

Make sense?

Anyway, I told him that I didn't like the sound of this. My reasons were twofold:

1. The notion of transferring feelings from one girl to another is doomed to failure. I myself tried this in high school, when I was dating Jen, a girl one year younger than me, and then found that I was being pursued by Nancy, a girl one year OLDER than me, with a car, and huge tits. I broke up with Jen, started "dating" Nancy, and felt like shit about it every second afterwards. Why? Because you can't transfer your feelings from one girl to another. No matter which direction the transfer was going in, in my friend's case above, I felt it was doomed to failure. Proceed with extreme caution.

2. The line "She's not interested in dating anyone right now." struck me as a possible "let him down easy" line. It was a mutual friend who said it, remember. What I saw was this guy getting a crush on this girl, it being obvious enough that the girl noticed, and she then wanted to find a way to get him to cease his pursuit without ruining the friendship. Because of this, I did not want to see my friend rush into the minefield for a second time.

But now I'm beginning to wonder if I was being overly cynical. It seems that this girl, after saying she didn't want to date anyone, really didn't date anyone, hence his extreme reaction a year later when he found out that she now was. And maybe he WAS getting a crush on the second girl because she reminded him of the first.

So was I giving good advice, or was I preventing a friend from getting some play?

Thoughts?

C

P.S. I confess. My "friend" is me. The first girl is Bob's mom Wanda. The second girl is Bob's sister Jen. The guy that the first girl was purportedly dating was Bob. And the part of "me" was played by Michael Gross.

Wonderful Book!

2005-08-24T14:32:00.000-07:00

So I stole this book from my brother's room while I was home this past weekend. It is a typical "high-octane thriller" sort of book; it's goal is to make you keep turning the pages, and become impressed with yourself for how fast you're reading it.

This book is no different, and yet it is the single greatest book that has ever been written.

Because there is a character named Charlaine. Last name? SWAIN. This in itself was so cool, that I did not think twice when it was mentioned that this character's husband's name was Mike.

I had a thought, but dismissed it. Couldn't be. She must have kept her maiden name. I mean, if my last name were Swain...I'd do whatever it took to keep it.

But at a later point, another character took the time to write out some names on a piece of paper. And there it was: MIKE SWAIN.

Greatest. Book. Ever.

C

Don't Forget...

2005-08-24T14:25:00.000-07:00

The Fatties.

Karl, excellent post on your reunion, and Donny. And let me tell you that going to a reunion to see how the high school elite have fallen is a worthy and entertaining reason to attend.

But, in addition to finding out who's gay, there is a comparable if somewhat lesser satisfaction in seeing who has become all fat and pasty.

At my reunion, a guy named Rick showed up. Rick was your typical dickhead. He was a stupid meathead, and yet he was somehow able to flaunt it to become popular and get girls. At a party I had in high school, I invited him, and he showed up only long enough to steal a pizza from my basement, and run away giggling. My mother found out, and made me tell him that he was forbidden from attending another party "Unless he paid her for the pizza, or apologized for taking it." However, before I could say the part in quotes, he answered, "Yeah. I figured. (Laugh)" I hated him so much, that I let go of my need for clever wit in dissing someone, and called him "Prick."

Well he was there. He was fat, and his wife was a tenth as attractive as mine. So TAKE THAT, FUCKER!!!

HA!

So yeah, by all means, attend that fucker.

C

Non-Reunion

2005-08-22T20:02:00.000-07:00

Although I probably won't be at my 10-year high school reunion next year, I have already learned what will undoubtedly be the talk of the party (which--I'm just guessing here--will be held at the American Legion, Post 329).

I was talking with my parents on the phone the other night when I heard one of the most exciting questions that you can ever hear: "So guess which one of your classmates is gay?" I took a few guesses, but didn't swing anywhere near the truth. Finally, I gave up. "Who is it?"

"Donny W."

Now of course I think it's great that Donny has had the courage to admit both to himself and to the world that he's gay. (Okay, I don't know if he's openly gay, this is all just rumor, but as Abraham Lincoln once said, behind all rumors is 100% truth. So I believe it.) I, like all the Swains, come from a small town. Like all small towns (with the possible exception of Aspen, which happens to be the hometown of one of our very own Swains), my home town is very conservative on a lot of social issues, one of those issues being sexual orientation. Kids taught that being homosexual is shameful, sinful, and unmanly. Now of course there's a more enlightened "aristocracy" in Wells that believes differently--the "professional" class of teachers, pharmacists, and...teachers, which my parents belong to. But Wells is 80% working class and farmers. Plus there's only 2,300 people there, so everyone knows what everyone else is getting up in.

But back to Donny: From grades K through about 9th grade, Donny was the most gifted natural athlete I had ever seen. This of course made him EXTREMELY unpopular. Wait...no, it made ME extremely unpopular. Donny was one of the kings of school, and as such he was one of the ruling elite who set the tone for all the fagbashing humor so popular amongst adolescent kids. Donny continued to run in this crowd all through high school. Though he stayed a good athlete, he never peaked the way we all thought he would, mostly because I think he started smoking at about age 9.

Some classes--my younger by two years sister Kim, for instance--had classes whose popular leaders ruled in a democracy-type situation: they were always responsible to their subjects, and if they made enough unpopular moves, they were removed. The ruling elite in my class (96!) were particularly brutal despots. They ran a fascist terror-state where the leaders kept the lumpen in line through brute force and scare tactics, arbitrarily meting out brutal "justice" to anyone uncool and in their way. I'm going to be an elitist snob and offer a class-based explanation for this: the most athletic, best-looking kids in my sister's class happened to come from the "professional" class in Wells. Their familes raised them in an emotionally-supportive environment that put an emphasis on education. Hence when they came to power, they were enlightened rulers. The best athletes in my class came from the lower classes: Donny's parents were factory workers. Kevin K's ("The Stalin of the class of 96") parents came from unsuccessful rentier farmers. Let's put it this way: These were the parents who spent their weekends at the bar, letting the kids raise themselves. These weren't the kind of leaders you'd want leading you.

So that's Point A, and today, August 22, 2005, is Point B. How Donny got from where he was at at Point A --a merciless persecutor of all that was uncool at Wells High in 1996--to Point B, a homosexual, who's theoretical existence was the very uncoolesst of all uncool at Point A-- a veritable Absolute Zero of cool, as it were--is a journey I can't even begin to imagine. I hope I run into Donny again someday and can ask him about this. I bet he's got a pretty amazing personal journey to narrate.

No Rest

2005-08-22T15:35:00.000-07:00

I personally have no desire to go to my high school reunion next year. A lot of this, when it comes down to it, is shame over where I've ended up in life. Sooner or later (most likely sooner), the conversation always turns around to "So, what are you doing now?" What am I supposed to say? "I have sex with supermodels for $1 million an hour." I can't lie about it, but I'd prefer not to have to face my classmates when that's all I've accomplished with my life.

Sorry I didn't get a chance to write about my experiences on distant Planet Swain this weekend. Things have been a little crazy here. I quit my job at the Supermodel Coupling Institute (although it's sort of an industry that's hard to leave permanently: I'm sure I'll get to LA and fall back into it if I can't find a better job somewhere else, say at a Carl's Jr. or In-n-Out) at the beginning of this summer to try and get a little peace and quiet up at the Lake. I must have the worst luck in the world: directly across the lake from my cabin is a camp for Nymphomaniac 16 to 18-year old girls. They must have spotted me from their cabins through binoculars one morning, because that afternoon I happened to look across the lake, and I saw 15 teenage girls spread-eagle on the beach with high-powered binoculars up to their eyes, masturbating.

They were, of course, severely punished by the camp counselors, but that hasn't stopped them from attempting to escape from the camp at night and swim over to my cabin. Thankfully, the guards in the machine gun nests are equipped with night-vision equipment and are well-trained. So far, none of the girls has made it over here. But it's getting harder and harder to sleep at night knowing that at any second a group of sex-starved teenage girls will break through my window and rape me.

Is there no rest in this world?

I'll try to write more later.

Karl

Reunion

2005-08-22T12:37:00.000-07:00

Swains,

Corey: Ah, fundies just keep getting funnier and funnier.

Good news: I scored a great deal on a 2003 Hyundai Accent with less than 10,000 miles for about 7 grand. The payments are solid. Whew!

Reunion: OK, so my 10-year reunion is coming up in October, I think. I got a letter recently. Here are the pros and cons of me going to this reunion:

CONS: Expensive. Bunch of assholes. Not sure if any of my actual friends would make it, even though most of them live there. Do not presently have a hot girlfriend/wife to show off.

PROS: I will undoubtedly be in the best shape of anyone there. I am much better looking and aggressive. I would have a great time seeing my old teachers again.

Anyway.

Overheard in my Office

2005-08-22T12:34:00.000-07:00

The following was spoken into a cell phone earlier today by a guy I work with:

"What? You're kidding? You didn't hit her that hard."

WTF?

C

Goodbye for another ten years.

2005-08-22T08:54:00.000-07:00

Man, reunions are weird. At least, they can be.

Sometimes, they are wonderful. For example, if and when a group of good friends like the Swains reunite, it is a non-stop party. Why? Because the collective group known as the Swains gathered together originally out of CHOICE - that is to say we willingly allowed ourselves to become part of that group. Therefore, getting back together is a no-brainer; we did it once, after all.

Family reunions are a touch stranger. Unless if by marriage, people don't wilingly become part of a family unit, we are literally born into it. And yet, no matter how by chance it may be, in the vast majority of cases there is a terrifically strong bond amongst family members; you love them simply BECAUSE they're family. Yeah, there's always the bitchy cousin Judy, or the crazy aunt Louise, but family reunions by and large are as fulfilling as the ones described above.

The third category of reunions is the one that fucks you up. Class reunions (or non-combat military unit reunions, or vacation tour group reunions, etc.) are a gathering of people who are bonded purely by chance. Sure, you might have a friend in that group, or maybe several, but the fact is that everyone's inclusion was forced upon them at one time or another. This is the problem. People go to these things, but no one is ever truly excited about it. (I know I was hesitating about this weekend right up until I entered.) It is filled with people that you don't really want to see, except for the odd pang of curiosity, derision, or lust, and almost NEVER do you walk away with anything more than a feeling of "Eh."

Or at least, that's what I observed this weekend.

35 members of the GHS class of 1995 showed up on Saturday, which represents about 20%. Interestingly, while there were 120 people at Jon's and my wife's reunion, that number represents only about 16.7% of their class. Go figure.

There was the usual idle chatter and "Catching Up" (Meaning making small talk with people who, if you gave even the slightest shit about in the first place, you'd have known all this information anyway). The interesting tidbits are as follows:

1. Amanda - The aforementioned prom date. She was there, of course, and seemed genuinely happy to see me. And, I don't know if it was the years, the fact that I was now married, or the reality that she was now married for six years with a son and a new short-and-spiky haircut, but I think I might be able to let that one go. Maybe.

2. Roger - I wonder if it's true for every class, but ours featured a kid who always seemed just a step unhinged. This kid, back when the internet was only for the military and Star Trek geeks, downloaded a recipe for napalm and made it in school. Later in the year, he was arrested on school property for having multiple guns in his car. It must be stressed that it never seemed as though he meant any harm to anyone, which explains why his derangement was only slight. To the surprise of no one, it seems that he has spent most of his time in the military since graduation. I spoke to him at some length on Saturday, and I found that every word that came out of his mouth was fascinating! He said that he was going back to Iraq to take a contracting job for a year, and that he would be taking over for a guy who was shot nine times by a shepherd with a machine gun while he was acting as a recon sniper. I, on the other hand, make TV.

3. Jen - From the "too much, too soon" camp, comes Jen, a girl that I can't say I thought about once since I left. Jen was still living in the old home town, though said more than once that she was looking to find a way to get out. That was pretty much it, until I was leaving. There was discussion about continuing the gathering at a bar that night, and she was asked if she wanted to go. She said, "No. I have to go home to my other half." We checked; no ring. She continued, saying something LIKE this: "Yeah. He makes me come home to be with him EVERY SECOND. He throws a fit if I go anywhere." We now shuffle our feet a bit. Someone jokes that he sounds great. She says "Well, I'm pretty sure he's not going to be around for much longer, but until then, I better go see him." We all glance at each other, and laugh nervously at this. Seriously, this is the equivalent of meeting someone for the first time, saying "How are you?" and having them tell you their marital difficulties. Awkward.

4. Eva/Tom - Our health teacher, as a spurious means of motivation to be sure, used to say ALL THE TIME: "For every class they graduate from Gloversville, they put two more benches on Main Street." He meant, of course, that in a town filled with deadbeats, kids often turn into some themselves. Anyone who knows me knows that I have my fair share of stories that feature deadbeats. I hadn't heard any in a while, though, and until this point in the reunion, we all seemed to be doing pretty well. However, we started talking about those of us who weren't there, and if anyone had heard anything about them. Tom spoke up and told us about Eva. Eva started out in my homeroom in highschool, but ended up in another when she married. When she graduated, she had two children, with a third in the belly. That, obviously, was the last we had heard. Tom started telling us about the apartment he owns and leases in town, and how (long story short) his tenant asked if a single girl with no pets and no boyfriend could move in to help her with the rent, and Tom said okay. (His rules: No pets, no parties.) Instead, Eva moved in. With her boyfriend. And her brother. And her three kids. And her cat. Her boyfriend abused her, and suddenly Tom had the cops coming over to the apartment every weekend. Then they stopped paying the rent. Then Eva, the boyfriend, and other tenant disappeared, LEAVING THE CAT AND THE KIDS ALONE. Tom was forced to act. The kids were sent away, the cat was taken to the ASPCA. And Eva was never heard from again. Until she was arrested. For Prostitution. And ossession of crack. Oh yeah...THAT'S why I left!

Believe it or not, these are the highlights. Everyone else was fine. It was nice to see them, and I'm pretty much fine until maybe, MAYBE, ten years from now, when I'll want to visit with them again for ten minutes apiece.

C

Update!!!!

2005-08-22T07:40:00.000-07:00

Swains,

It's not every day you get a call from the White House.

"Please hold for the president," said the sounds-like-he-just-got-kicked-in-the-nards secret service agent.

Copacabana came on the Muzak hold music, and I listened and waited.

Then, a click, and the music stopped. But no voice came.

"Hello?" I asked.

Here's what I heard: "Hoo. Hoo-ooh. Goo. Goo. Foo. Buh."

Then another series of clicks and fritzy cuts to Muzak.

Then: "Mister Swain Bob?"

"Yes?"

"This is George Bush."

What followed was the usual routine appeals from Bush to throw House of Swain support behind his flagging presidency in exchange for unlimited Saudi oil wealth and unlimited access to nubile Kuwaiti coeds.

Have no fear Swains -- I laughed him off with the usual House of Swain policy of absolute White House stonewalling.

"How could you tempt us with an Islamic heaven on earth when Karl has sex with supermodels for a million dollars an hour and offers us the sloppy seconds?"

The thick plottened, as it were, the following night, when I arrived at my Hollywood estate to find a brawny, bald man in a black suit huddled on my doorstep. All he needed was a sttyrofoam cup dangling from his gnarled fingers. Under a light misty rain, he assumed his full height before me, and if he weren't such an imposing, Jason Statham-in-Transporter-2 figure ... I might have taken his wet face for the face of a man who had wept all the way from Washington.

"Mister Swain," he said. "The man you spoke with at first yesterday was the president. I was the one who fucked it up and put him on the phone instead of his double."

"His double?" I asked.

"Yes. The actual W has been clinically brain dead since birth, having been born with half a brain of mushed-up bananas, hence his identification with Terri Schiavo and the current administration's baffling posture on that case."

"Mister Swain," he continued, "I admonish you, in the name of the United States, do not tell anyone that when the president called you, he only made googly noises and hung up. Instead of saying that he 'made googly noises and hung up,' say that he 'offered to pray with you,' or 'said something American-y and inspiring. I implore you."

sorry

2005-08-19T11:27:00.000-07:00

sorry guys, there's clearly much need for me to make a post to reply to all the legalese thrown at me ... but I was busy earlier, am sick now, and will be out of town this weekend. back soonest.

j

Much coming during my lunch hour, Swains ...

2005-08-19T08:06:00.000-07:00

Including a response to Ler's trip to planet Swain, thoughts on reunions ... and more news from the President.

Planet Swain Part 3

2005-08-18T16:10:00.000-07:00

The people have spoken and they want to hear more about distant Planet Swain. That's right! This blog and my travelogue have become the no.s 4 and 8 most-searched words on Google.com. The list:

1. dirty latina housekeepers
2. booby vision
3. ass ass ass ass
4. House of Swain
5. homeless teenage hookers
6. Terry Pendleton, 3rd baseman St. Louis Cardinals (1984-1990)
7. hot cocks
8. Karl's Fantastic Voyage Beyond the Stars to Distant Planet Swain
9. ass lice
10. booby vision (II)

This is what the symbol on bathroom doors should be from now on,
because that's what the Internet has become: A toilet.

A beautiful toilet.

Of cousre I am very grateful to all our readers and am quite excited by our popularity, but I know we can do better than that! Come on, everybody: let's kick those dirty latina housekeeper's asses! Google rankings mean big money in terms of ad revenue. Although there are no ads on this site, I'm hoping we can cut a deal with "Grandma Swenson's Ass Lice Balm."

Here is a photo by Dave Gandy. Although some embrace his caricatures of provincial Americans as
good-natured ribbing of the lumpen-proletariat, I find the humor in his pieces to be easy, self-congratulatory,
simplistic, trite, insincere, masturbatory, and most damningly, tensionless.

Back to my travels. Where, when I left off yesterday, I was sitting in our spacecraft on the runway of distant Planet Swain Airport. We spent over three hours there. This is because we had to get used to the atmosphere. The atmosphere of Planet Swain is 99% B.O. (that's where the smell came from). After a while, no one minded the smell.

Life on Planet Swain as a visual metaphor: stinky but fuckable.

Well, I bet you're all wondering what sort of life there is on Planet Swain, and whether this newly-discovered planet will give mankind new clues to its place in the Universe. But before I tell you that, let me tell about this GREAT meal I had! I was STARVING after that long flight, and I asked the cabdriver to take me to the nearest restaurant. It was called "Lieutenant Burger's Burger Genocide", and it certainly was that! The sign outside said that over 10,000 burgers are eaten PER SECOND inside LBBG, and I for one believe it.

Mary, my waitress at LBBG. The heels were my idea.

There's only one problem with LBBG's: no mustard. This wouldn't have been a problem if we had some forewarning and could have brought some from earth. But we didn't, and we had to settle on using Dijon mustard, which okay technically may be a mustard, but I think belongs more in the diarrhea family of food. Ick! For-GET it!

Shoot, that's all the time I have for today. Until next time time, look for me IN THE STARS!

Please Hire Me, Bob

2005-08-18T14:58:00.000-07:00

If I must fuck on my own time in order to
be qualified for this job, then so be it.

Bob-
Before you fall into a career both in front of and behind the camera in porn, I would like to apply for the job of your Reed Rothchild. My resume:

-I was the first to recognize the imminence or your move from graphic designer to actor. Your raging libido, your shorter height which accentuates your massive cock, your almost freakish muscularity, and, of course, your trademark: Your Voice, that booming bassato through which you express instructions, encouragement, gratitude, and condescending celebratory exclamations to the starlets servicing you.

-After an appropriately successul run in front of the cameras, I will be the pal who encourages you to step behind it, first by telling all interviewers that you block your own scenes, then loaning you my 1985 Sony VHS Camcorder, which you'll record your first gonzo on.

-I would be a wonderful teaching assistant at your annual Porn Directors' Symposium. I will be useful both in the classroom and lab settings, leading fruitful explorations of the writings of Jon L. during discussion sections, and helping budding young directors understand the desirability of avoiding perinium (or "taint") shots, cutaways to the men's faces while viewers are undoubtedly climaxing, and setting your entire story in an indeterminate white space.

-I've already proven myself a raging success making sequels to musicals based on movies about the porn industry. I can do this for your porns, as well.

-I am ready and willing to faithfully follow you on the backside of your career, when your drug use and resultant marginalization from the mainstream porn industry forces you to turn to ever more extreme genres: gonzo, "scat" films, bukake, "travelogues" exploiting the underage brothelworkers of Southeast Asia, rape simulations, actual rape, and finally the inevitable snuff.

-Knowledge of Microsoft Word, Excel, and Internet Explorer.

Please consider me for this post!

Reunion!

2005-08-18T13:02:00.000-07:00

This weekend, 40% of the Swains' high schools are having their tenth reunion parties. I know this because *I* represent half of that 40%, and my wife went to high school with another Swain, whose reunion has prevented that same wife from accompanying me to this event, WHICH SHE INSISTED OVER AND OVER AGAIN THAT I ATTEND, SO I COULD SHOW HER OFF!!!

I can't answer for Jon, but somehow I have agreed to attend this event.

WHY?

High school was not that great of an experience for me. I dealt with a wide variety of prejudices during those years: as a Jew, a theater person, and someone not gifted athletically. I DID leave the town and the school with a handful of friends, but precious few of them were from my grade. And, of all those who I WAS still friends with, I keep in touch with her.

(A quick aside here to say that I did have one best friend in high school, named Matt. Matt and I diverged wildly in college, as he worked intensely toward becoming a scientist, and I was goofy theater funny guy. However, a friend is a friend, and I would have done anything for him. And yet, at some point, it became clear that he had no interest in ever knowing a single thing about anyone he grew up with, or at least me. I was not invited to his wedding, and it was his wife who took the time to respond negatively to my invitation. Douche.)

So why am I going?

I can't tell you for sure, but I have some theories:

1. Morbid Curiousity - Alright, I admit it. Like everyone else in these situations, I have fallen prey to the "let's see who got fat" trap. It really felt like everyone saw themselves as above me in school. Well, payback's a bitch, and I want to see how these fuckers turned out ten years later.

2. Self-Satisfaction - Here's the thing: I recently got promoted. My title is now "Writer/Producer". That's pretty kick ass. I am also trying to start a writing career with a college roommate, and we've written some scripts that have gotten the notice of some people in LA and NYC. I am also a professional comedian, and I perform with the D.C. Comedysportz. And, I'm married to a damn hot chick. All I'm trying to say here is that my life these days kicks just enough ass for me to be able to attend this party with confidence.

3. Amanda - This girl fell for me one week after I started dating someone else, and one month after I tried to win her heart during Junior year. We went to prom together, and though nothing happened between us, we did sleep alone in the same room together that night. After dropping her off the next day, I called her that night to ask how she felt our night had gone. Her response has been burned into my brain indelibly every day since: "I didn't sleep that well. To be honest, I spent the first hour just wishing that you would get into bed with me." AAAHHHH! I will always have a soft spot for Amanda. I hear she's married to a cop now. I wonder what she looks like these days. Only one way to find out..

4. Dan - Man oh MAN was this guy an asshole. And here's the thing, I could be referring to one of TWO such guys. Both were "bad" guys, both treated me like shit, and both at different points in my childhood went out of their way to give me a hard time. There were constant rumors of these guys being in jail for various reasons, and when I saw that one of them was coming to the reunion, I was at least mildly surprised that he hadn't been killed. What can he POSSIBLY look like now? What does he DO? Only one way to find out...

5. Finding out about who's gay. That's always a nice revelatory kind of thing.

6. Even if it sucks, I can still spend Sunday on the lake. Every cloud, people...

C

P.S. As an added layer of surreality, my mother called me the other day, and asked what my plans were for this weekend. I said I didn't know. She then said that, "If I wanted to invite some friends over to her house on Saturday night, she would stock the fridge with snacks and sodas." What the FUCK!?!? I was so sixteen in that moment that I got a zit, and regained my virginity. It was CRAZY!

Quick poll, Swains ...

2005-08-18T12:46:00.000-07:00

On average growing up, how many times a week would you guys walk in on your mothers in the bathroom and find them sitting on the toilet, hands in their faces, crying their eyes out because they couldn't stop shitting cum?

Thrice daily was my average.

Just a question from a "curious cat"!

IF

2005-08-18T11:52:00.000-07:00

Given that the debate has been discussed on these pages before, it seems only appropriate to print this link. Visit it.

http://www.theonion.com/news/index.php?issue=4133&n=2

C

John Irving was on the Daily Show...

2005-08-17T20:31:00.000-07:00

Hawking his new book.

Have we heard anything about this book? Bob...have you read it? Is it worth the cost (and the time to get through 820 pages?)

Thoughts, please.

C

My Voyage to Planet Swain

2005-08-17T20:15:00.000-07:00

"All aboard! Next stop: OUTER SPACE!!!!"

Karl here, making good on my promise to narrate my travels to the newly-discovered 10th planet of our solar system, distant Planet Swain!

As you all may remember, I was nominated as ambassador to Planet Swain by our Valiant President. After a grueling confirmation process in which Karl Rove had to plant so many dead hookers on Democratic Senators that the DC trickin' game may take decades to recover, I finally set off on my VOYAGE TO THE STARS!!!!!

First off, of course, we had to GET to Planet Swain. No easy task! It's a thirty-seven month journey to Planet Swain. If I spent two weeks there (any longer and I get homesick), that means that I would be almost 35 by the time I got back. Luckily, our Valiant President's court wizard had just perfected a way to FREEZE TIME!! That's right! During most of this journey, all of you were frozen COMPLETELY STILL! (I asked the wizard if he could freeze time an extra year so I could go around and look at everyone's pubes.)

Zanzer "Tiny" Ziz'zz the Enchanter,
Our Nation's Court Wizard (he's gay)

Boy, sitting in coach for thirty-seven months can give you some serious LEG CRAMPS! Luckily, we had some great in-flight entertainment. First, a heavily-censored episode of "Friends." Then, look out: Kevin Spacey, Helen Hunt, and Haley Joel Osment Pay(ed) It Forward...all the way to Planet Swain! Pay It Forward was SO GOOD the first time, I asked "Captain Z" if he could run it on an endless loop for the next THREE YEARS! I've almost got it memorized now...

Haley Joel: Kevin Spacey, before I die of child cancer, can you do one thing for me?
Kevin Spacey: What?
Haley Joel: Please...Pay it...to someone else down the line, and then have them pay it to another person, and so on, ad infinitum.

We must pay this boy in Oscars for all the joy he's brought us.

Pretty good, huh? Hey, who wants to see "Captain Z"? He was super-cool...although he was a little bit moody...

Captain "Z" (also gay, I think)

And folks, who could forget that foxy stewardess? (Anecdote: I fucked her)

I don't know about you, but this picture
makes me want to masturbate!

(I have no idea why all my handwriting is now underlined...but I like it!)

Planet Swain airport was a complete dump, though. The actual airstrip is made from the latex in used condoms harvested from the genital warts ward at the Bronx Memorial Hospital, and it reeked like B.O. I'd recommend taking the train if I were y'all, travellers!

Well, that's all the time I have for now! I have to go figure out how to turn this underline function off. Next time, I'll tell you all about the wonderful (and scary!) world of Planet Swain!

My Lawyer is a Genius...

2005-08-17T07:26:00.000-07:00

Before I begin, a personal message to my opposing lawyer:

Damn, Bob. That IS a cool shirt. It's almost as good as the Soddy Daisy T-shirts that Wanda Sue bought for us during our monumental road trip back in the summer of '99! i think I want one too.

In fact, I was so excited about that shirt, that I decided to do a similar web search, and find some cool Gloversville merchandise to hock here. Unfortunately, other than discovering that my little brother's former fifth grade teacher is now the mayor, my search yielded no results.

Now, on to business:

As I suspected, my lawyer stated our case far more eloquently than I ever could have, and I must say that he put forth our demands in such a way that I don't feel that any reasonable person could or should refuse them. I promise to be a relatively kind and benevolent overlord to New Swain (nee New England), and Jon and his beloved's first born will be used in a way that befits either science, or comedy; whichever comes first.

HOWEVER:

My lawyer, I believe, has ALSO advised me that, though our case is a veritable slam dunk, it might drag on in court for WEEKS before I win, and am able to demand that Jon procreate so as to fulfill the settlement. This, frankly speaking is way too long for me, as I have plans.

THEREFORE, we have decided to attempt an amicable settlement, to keep this case out of court. Here it is; Jon and Bob, please pay attention:

We are willing to drop this case, as well as all of the OTHER demands, provided that Jon follow through on conquering, and handing over, New England PLUS Pennsylvania. (I have to pay off my lawyer, after all). This is non-negotiable.

AND YET, if you are willing to accept this settlement, my lawyer and I will assist you in this effort, EVEN if you decide to conquer more than just the aforementioned territories (which I highly suggest, since you will at least have to pay off your attorney, Jon).

Before you scoff at this offer, please note that between my attorney and myself, we have the following assets at our disposal:

* We all know that the entire town of Gloversville will do anything I say, at the drop of a hat, without question. That, as of the 2000 census, means that you will be able to add 15,413 bloodthirsty motherfuckers. In fact, here are some revealing stats about the town, that I think will let you see just how beneficial we could be:

Black race population percentage significantly below state average.

Hispanic race population percentage significantly below state average.

Foreign-born population percentage below state average.

House age significantly above state average.

Percentage of population with a bachelor's degree or higher below state average.

Has the only high school in the country with TWO sports mascots!

* The people of Wells, Minnesota have seen Karl on the front page of their newspaper so much since he began supermodel-fucking for a million dollars an hour, that all 2,343 residents (as of 2003) with their 73.1% high school graduation rate will be more than willing to jump into the fray, provided we tell them that Daunte Culpepper will sign their hat, or that some former wrestler suggested that they do so.

Well...do we have a deal?

C

THE SODDY-DAISY FACTOR

2005-08-16T22:06:00.000-07:00

Gentlemen,

At the behest of the executive branch of the Soddy-Daisy City Government, I have been directed to assist the defendant in his quest to conquer New England by any means necessary in the event of his loss in this case, either by plea bargain or outright verdict.

Soddy-Daisy, with a population of approximately 12,000 is located in Hamilton County about 15 miles from downtown Chattanooga.

Soddy-Daisy has 70 acres of land dedicated to public use. Soddy Lake offers boating, swimming, water skiing and fishing. Boat launching ramps are available free of charge. There are campgrounds and picnic area throughout the area. The newly opened park and boat ramp at Holly Circle offers picnic tables, a new boat ramp, parking for both cars and vehicles with boat trailers. The planned development will include a dedicated swimming area and a fishing dock with dock space for loading and unloading boats. Soddy-Daisys Community Centers provide tennis and basketball courts, ball fields, playgrounds and a multi-purpose community building and senior citizens center.

Soddy-Daisy residents enjoy a mild climate, with cool winters and warm summers. Summer temperatures generally range in the 80s and 90s, and spring and fall are near-perfect with pleasant temperatures and adequate rainfall. In January, the average low is 32 degrees and the average high is 49 degrees. July temperatures range from 68 to 95 degrees.

Gentlemen, I can think of nothing so magnificent and unstoppable than a joint army of zombies and deranged, beery rednecks bent on "settlin up" with their Yankee neighbors.

I recommend this army wear this baseball tee adorned with the logo of the SDFD:

(Damn. That's actually a pretty cool shirt. I might-a-get-a-me-a-one-a!)

These Are Our Demands

2005-08-16T21:34:00.000-07:00

1. Your firstborn. To be used however my client wants. If my client wishes to raise it in complete isolation from the rest of humanity as a feral savant, feeding it only fresh baby blood and Tang and nurturing a hatred in it for other humans so deep and black that upon its eighteenth birthday, when it is finally allowed to see itself in a mirror and, being feral and never having seen it's own reflection, it goes into a beserker rage and attempts self-mutilation of the most savage nature, you can do nothing about this. If my client wishes to keep it locked in a room where it is allowed to watch nothing but reality television twenty-four hours a day before sending it off to Harvard and letting it fend for itself, so be it. If my client arranges a marriage between it and former New York Giant Lawrence "L.T." Taylor, you will smile and clamor for wedding photos.

"I do."

2. Brownies.

3. Many and sundry hats.

4. Unquestionied, totalitarian control of New England. Although we realize that the defendant does not govern, rule, or own New England, we feel it is of vital importance that our client can make whatever changes he sees fit there in order to put to rest the question of whether Nashua is in fact "the best place to live in America" or not once and for all. Therefore, we ask that the defendant take control of New England by any means necessary: winning the states over starting at the municipal level, banding together, and seceding from the union, then declaring null and void the rulings of the judicial, legislative, and executive branches of the U.S. government in regards to this secession, and finally handing the "keys", as it were, over to my client; raising an unholy army of the undead to take over the land by conquest; or leading a putsch in our very nation's capital itself, assuming totalitarian control over the entire (former) United States territory, and carving out a region in the Northwest where my client can be your viceroy, much like General Zod's granting of Australia to Lex Luthor.

My client.

You.

LAWSUIT!!

2005-08-16T07:20:00.000-07:00

Swains,

As you all know, I am an extremely litigious person; I have never backed down from any opportunity to ruin someone else's life through our legal system. I get a rush from being a jagoff, and I profit nicely from others' misfortune.

The time has come again.

Jon...prepare yourself for the ass-rape of JUSTICE!

I have retained Karl as my lawyer for this matter, and he agrees that our case is a slam dunk. (Or, to use his words, "Jon'll be fucking his mama through a straw when we're done with him.")

My case is as follows:

On Sunday, August 14th (My lawyer's birthday, by the way), Jon posted a brief notice, stating that, according to Wikipedia, his hometown of Nashua, NH had been named the best place in America to live twice in our lifetimes. After stating this as a quote, his comment on this fact was reduced to two words: "Damn straight."

On Monday, August 15th, I read this post, and found it funny for two reasons. First, due to the fact that my wife grew up and went to high school with the same Jon, I have spent a great deal of time in Nashua, NH. I had heard this aforementioned 'fact' many times, and I myself had never seen anything that would justify such lofty prestige. Second, as badly as I have ever mocked Nashua for its faults, my good friend Jon - who had lived there, mind you - was always ten times harsher. And so, I posted, and while I did state my case against Nashua, I closed it in such a way that made it clear that I still find that town at least a hundred times better than MY hometown of Gloversville, NY. (Town motto: "Last in satsfaction [sic], first in apathy induced violence.)

Later that day, Jon committed the offense for which I have brought my lawsuit. At the end of an unrelated post, he wrote:

"And for the record, Corey, regarding my post about Nashua, it's called sarcasm, you asshole."

Now, on the advice of my lawyer Karl, I looked up the definition of the word "Sarcasm". According to dictionary.com, it reads as follows:

1. A cutting, often ironic remark intended to wound.

2. A form of wit that is marked by the use of sarcastic language and is intended to make its victim the butt of contempt or ridicule.

Now, let's look back at Jon's first post, shall we? It contains a title that merely points out the source of the information, a quotation that contains that same information, and a comment that is all of TWO WORDS long: "Damn" and "Straight."

Let's examine this phrase, using the two definitions of sarcasm listed above. I'll use the second one first.

"Marked by the use of sarcastic language" - this is the phrase that matters here. Does the two word sentence "damn straight" constitute sarcastic language? It's hard to say. My lawyer (Karl) and I spent a solid six and a half hours repeating it over and over again, trying to find a way to pronounce it that would be considered sarcastic, and I will say that there were one or two recitations that were unanimously agreed upon as sarcastic. However, the fact that most samples came out sounding relatively straightforward (damn straightforward, har har) makes our point for us.

Now on to the first definition:

"A cutting, often ironic remark." - Now if Jon was being sarcastic, then using this two word phrase does indeed serve as an example as irony. But according to this definition, sarcasm is often ironic, but always cutting. There's the rub (a SHAKESPEARE reference!!). Compare these two versions of the same phrase:

"Damn Straight."

"Damn Straight."

Now they may be typed the same, but I used completely different tones in my head as I wrote them. And yet...you can't tell, can you? THAT'S RIGHT! YOU CAN'T!

The fact is that, while sarcasm is something uniquely difficult to communicate through writing, it is nearly impossible to do so with a phrase such as "damn straight." A blogger who decides to do both of these things MUST accept the possibility that his meaning will become muddled in the translation.

And then he called me an asshole! An ASSHOLE!

My lawyer (I hired Karl. Did I mention that?) has instructed me to inform you all that, as a direct result of this personal, vicious, and unwarranted attack, I have become severely agoraphobic. I cower at the thought of conversation with anyone, and I can only barely manage to have sex with my wife anymore, and only twice a night at that. I have begun cutting myself, and in the past few hours, I have begun forcing myself to vomit stomach acid, so I can then fling it at the walls to spell out words such as "anti-semite" and "clock." I am a wreck, and only 80% of every dollar that Jon has ever earned, or will ever earn, will put me back to normal.

So, in short: Jon, get ready to feel the hurricane, you asshole.

C

Confession, Swains ...

2005-08-15T22:10:00.000-07:00

I've been jonesing to do a Shakespeare play again, and Ler's questions have only stoked that fire. I'd love to do:

Measure for Measure

King Lear

Who is the third murderer?

2005-08-15T21:59:00.000-07:00

Karl,

As for a film version of Macbeth, I'm of two minds.

1. Black glass. All sheen and clean, suits and upper-class glory splashed with blood. Imagine the creepy-antiseptic world of the first movement of Artificial Intelligence, but with a photo-negative color scheme. I like my Shakespeare nudged out of reality, but in this case, not as crazy, anything goes as Taymor's Titus (or as my production of Titus). I'd keep this movie in a vaguely sci-fi setting, but in a largely subterranean world. Think of what the upper crust would look like in the world of Streets of Fire -- that's my first take on Macbeth, with the Weird Sisters as pierced-punk street trash. (This would undoubtedly require some ultra-Kubrick clout to pull off such a high-concept and expensive vision.)

2. Tope Hooper snuff realism. Shoot it Dogme 95 style, all on video, and with as slimy and dirty an aesthetic as Polanski's film, but keep the violence as bloodless and unsettling as the kills in Texas Chainsaw. Shit, I might even shoot Tope Hooper up with some smack and make him direct it.

Damn, I'm kinda digging the Dogme 95 idea. Incidentally, Karl, have you seen The King is Alive? It's a Dogme film, and hands-down my fave adaptation of King Lear ever.

The Night Belongs to Michelob

2005-08-15T17:49:00.000-07:00

I have been baffled by beer preferences as of late.

When I came to live at my parent's cabin this summer, my parents, true to their selfless form, had stocked the fridge well. Milk, veggies, eggs, condiments, soda. And beer. Yay! Who doesn't enjoy a nice frosty cold one at the end of a long day relaxing at the lake?

However, I found it a little odd that my dad's beer of choice now happens to be Michelob Light. Growing up, I remember our downstairs fridge was most often stocked--when it was stocked--with Coors Light. Now, for those of you who aren't beer afficionados, both Michelob and Coors Light taste approximately light carbonated water. The alcohol content of a full can is roughly equivalent to a mouthful of Scope.

Now, to get nearer my point, let me make me and my dad's relative economic situations a little clearer. Firstly, as you might have noticed, my dad owns a cabin. A quite nice one. He also has a new car, as does his wife (my mother). He owns a house, which he built. Also, he has snowmobiles. And a pharmacy. He's doing a-ight.

I own a car. Which he helped me buy. I assume I won't be able to buy even a condo for another ten years or so. I don't own any snowmobiles. I do have an Ipod. I own no stocks or mutual funds. My financial situation is very simple.

Yet despite my incredible poverty, the only time I would actually buy Michelob Light would be if I was going to a party being thrown by someone I didn't like very much which I HAD to bring beer to for the sake of form. The stuff tastes like ass. I'll ALWAYS spend a few extra bucks to buy something at least decent, i.e. flavorful and containing actual alcohol. I'm talking Corona, or Leinenkugel's, or whatever.

I spent some time with my girlfriend's dad this summer. I noticed that he, too, stocks his fridge with shitty beer (I think it was Michelob as well). This man is a neurologist. He can afford good beer. That's my point here.

It's a question that's been bugging the shit out of me all summer. Why do people buy shitty beer when they can afford not to? Being a blue state latte sipper, I assumed that at least my liking for a good beer was something that tied me to the rest of the country. But no: it's just another floppy-wristed affectation or unbelievably sophisticated trait of conniesseurship, take your pick.

Think about it: Beer companies advertise more than almost any other companies in the world, with the possible exception of car companies. Yet do you see a lot of Harp's commercials on TV? What about Bass? You DO see a few Guinness...but compared to Coors, Budweiser, Miller, Michelob--there's no comparison. Based on who can afford to advertise twenty million times a day on television and who can't, which beer companies do you think are making the money? There's an economy of scale at work here, folks.

Just as it's always driven me crazy that people choose to see shitty movies instead of good ones--when all they have to do is check the newspaper once a week to see what the critics are recommending---now it drives me crazy that Americans are buying shitty, watery beer when they have hundreds of affordable alternatives. This isn't like the difference between a Chevrolet and a Lexus. We're talking about maybe two extra dollars when you buy a case.

Philistines!

Corona, a few Microbrews, something imported from Canada...
This lady's got the right idea!

Great question!

2005-08-15T16:38:00.000-07:00

My fave is hands-down the Polanski:

There's also a solid version with Ian McKellen and Judi Dench.

The Welles version blows.

I'll reveal my production concept later tonight!

Bob: Question

2005-08-15T16:22:00.000-07:00

A curious mind wants to know:

What's the best film adaptation available of MacBeth.

And, if you feel like adding a bit more...

How would you film it if given Kubrickian total creative control?

green spleen

2005-08-15T13:00:00.000-07:00

Jon,

Thanks for the condolences, and thanks for reminding me about that blizzardy trip. How could I forgot?

And let's not forget how Marlena lost the entire caravan by jacking that green baby up to 100 mph for 30 miles.

It's Finest Hour

2005-08-15T12:51:00.000-07:00

Bob -- my condolences on being fucked.

As one last gentle happy thought, I'll remind you of the Green Turd's finest hour -- as a member of the proud caravan that managed the Great New Year's Crossing of 1999.

That being our disastrous, epic, near-fatal, Jack London drive from New Hampshire to Evanston, Ill. during one of the worst blizzards in a decade, one that paralyzed the whole country east of the Missippi and north of the Mason-Dixon.

And the Green Turd, along with the Redneck Small Penis mobile and my Underpowered City Escape Vehicle, carried nine fragile souls across the desolate tundra of Canada -- Canada! -- on a three-day odyssey which forever joined us in a bond of fellowship and warm bodily fluids.

Now that is a memory.

And for the record, Corey, regarding my post about Nashua, it's called sarcasm, you asshole.

The Green Machine

2005-08-15T12:41:00.000-07:00

OK, I never, ever liked that car, but now that it's dead I kinda miss it. So, in honor of the green car that never got a nickname, here's a list of some of its accomplishments:

Road trip from Soddy-Daisy to Telluride, Colorado.
Road trip from Telluride to Soddy-Daisy.
Road trip from Chicago to San Francisco.
Road trip from San Fran to Las Vegas to Chattanooga.
Road trip from Chicago to Gloversville to Soddy-Crazy to Chicago.
Road trip from Chicago to Los Angeles.

Many trips between Chicago and Soddy-of-Daisia for holidays.

Two trips to Vegas from LA.
One random trip to San Diego to shoot a short.

Four Chicago winters.

Five-ish years of LA traffic, including three years of 20-mile commutes down the treacherous 110 freeway to the south bay -- the last of which, to get my last paycheck from Joey Ikemoto Photography, did my car in.

Eight years, approx. 140,000 miles.

Not a bad run.

Now I'm fucked. Well, not totally fucked, but most of this extra dough I'm going to be making is going to go straight into a car payment and extra insurance. Fuck.

YEEE-HAAAAWWW!!!

On another note, Karl, thanks for the reminder about the upcoming Lynch movie. Yay!

Damn Straight?

2005-08-15T07:32:00.000-07:00

Jon,

Forgive me, but your last post seems like the biggest case of misplaced pride I have ever seen!

First of all, unless I'm misinformed, you sir fled the town of Nashua, NH right after high school, and I'm pretty sure I've spent more time there than you have since then.

Second of all...have you seen that place recently? I know I know, I was married there, and so I should have more loyalty to a place than this. But in my mind, Nashua NH is the city that has the distinction of containing one of every single chain store in the country. Applebee's, Chile's, DSW shoes...if its corporate mission statement contains a manifest destiny, it's there. This always makes me sad.

And Lastly...I'm nearly positive that, for all the Nashua bashing I have done in the six years since I've started visiting...you have been more copious AND more vocal in your bashing of the same place!

And now we get a post in which you verbally puff out your chest with pride? I must say I'm confused.

It would be like ME writing, and gushing about how Gloversville had suddenly risen to the rank of SECOND-to-last in pollution, unemployment, and teenagers committing murder. If I ever do that...

C

Green Jeep Memories

2005-08-15T07:26:00.000-07:00

Bob,

Sorry to hear about the passing of the car. Shit like that can really ruin a weekend, to be sure.

But let us always remember the good times that we all had in that car:

-Traveling in that car to Soddy Daisy, Tennessee...AND Gloversville, New York. In the same week.

-(On that same trip) driving on the highway somewhere South of 2AM, both occupants desperately trying to stay awake long enough to find a place to crash for the night, before we crashed for the night.

-Driving on down to the Apple Holler restaurant, somewhere north Chicago and South of Milwaukee, WI.

-Laundry runs that were stupid far away from Swain.

-The classic (and ill-advised) movie trip into Chicago, where we parked that machine in a reserved spot deep in the inner-city, only to find that it had been towed away at 3AM! (And Bob's decision to try to call for help on a pay phone in a VERY rowdy bar still open at 3AM in inner-city Chicago.)

-The Omega Diner. Nuff Said.

-The blow jobs. Oh, dear lord, the blow jobs.

Who's got more?

C

From Wikipedia, my home town...

2005-08-14T18:40:00.000-07:00

"Nashua was twice named "Best Place To Live In America" in annual surveys by Money (magazine). It is the only city to get the No. 1 ranking two times - in 1987 and 1997"

Damn straight.

Maybe this will cheer you up, Bob

2005-08-14T12:04:00.000-07:00

Although I'm sure you've already heard about this.

http://www.variety.com/index.asp?layout=cannes2005&content=story&articleid=VR1117922566

RIP

2005-08-14T01:35:00.000-07:00

My car died.

It served me well.

Fortunately, I just started this new job. My friend Alan can give me a lift to work until I pull a new car out of my ass. All other essentials are within walking/running distance.

I've had a miserable weekend, Swains. Wish me well.

Trolling the Internet...

2005-08-12T08:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, in order to clear your head, you need to go out and search this amazing amalgam of people and resources called the World Wide Web, and sneak a peek at the best that humanity has to offer.

Yesterday, we enriched ourselves through the reading of Johnny Damon's memoir. Today, let's see what we can find online...

Oh, here's something:

According to a news story that I am apparently the last person to know about, a man was recently killed while trying to have sex with a horse. Now how did this happen, you might wonder? Was he kicked while trying to penetrate? Was he thrown off and stomped? Did the horse rear up when rear-ended? Nope. According to sources, most notably SAVAGE LOVE, the man died of a perforated rectum. Let's use our imaginations to draw conclusions here, shall we?

Of course, if this were the whole story, it would only be horribly disturbing. But what makes this even worse than that is that: A. the man taped this act. B. the police who found it, leaked it onto the internet. Whoo boy.

Enjoy the imagery, folks!

Let's see what else we can find...

AH!

While reading THIS article about how the Da Vinci Code movie is considering removing all religious references (!) so as to pander better to the Christians, you may find that there is a section for reader comments at the bottom of the page. These comments run the basic Da Vinci Code gamut of "It's real!", "No it isn't.", "You're an ignorant zealot!", and "You're going to Hell!" but at the very bottom, a commenter who calls himself "Realperson", has this to say:

The 'Da Vinci Fraud' is a double-bluff. It really *is* fiction. However, a substantial number of credulous dopes and hopeless romantics out there have believed for the longest time in the Myth of The Merovingians. Therefore it is fiction which pretends to be real history pretending to be a novel. A lot of people read it as fact.

The true nature of 'Christianity' needs to be discussed here. It is a Jewish invention (by 'Peter', the second-in-command of the supposed High Priest of The MASONIC (!!!) Order of Melchizedek the NON-JEWISH King of pre-invasion Canaan) and re-invention (by Saul/Paul). Christianity is a 'jealous god' and is directly responsible for the Dark Ages and for setting back the progress of humanity by 2000 years. Christians murdered the Alexandrian philosophers and mathematicians and burned their academies and their books.

Christians are no more than Jews in sheeps' clothing. Now that they are in decline they trying to put up the illusion that Christians are nice people who love their neighbours and follow the precepts of Christ. Tell that to the 'witches' burned at the stake by these fanatically religious paranoid schizophrenics and psychopaths. Tell that to Giordano Bruno!

Fellas, I think we might have solved religion here!

Moving on...

Here's a favorite feature of mine, that I call Movie Critique Corner!! This is where we go to movie websites, and find some insights from people like you and me.

Today we find ourselves on the Dukes of Hazzard page of the Internet Movie Database. a person named "Seannfan" has posted a comment at the bottom asking if they were the only one who really liked the movie, and provided a link to their "SWS" fansite. There, you can access the discussion forum, where people can defend their beloved movie without fear of flaming from assholes like you and me. Here, we have the forum moderator Seannaholic defending the movie from its critics:

It isn't just the critics. It is people that are saying it wasn't that good. Or it is offensive. I didn't see it that way. I don't want to spoil it for anybody...but I know which parts they were showing and I didn't see it as homophobic or racist...Bo and Luke weren't homophobic or racist. They were just faced with situation when they were in the "big city" where they were faced with stuff. Especially with the flag on top of the General Lee. When they were in line, they didn't know why people were flipping them off and being mad at them. Then they looked on the hood and they saw the flag. They didn't make a comment on it. So maybe I spoiled it a little bit...but it isn't like I gave any major plot spoilers

Now y'all go rush out and see it now!

Finally, we have an photograph which people belive to be dragons flying over Tibet. Enjoy!

C

Greetings from Planet Swain

2005-08-11T16:54:00.000-07:00

I apologize from the bottom of my engorged heart (the doctors tell me that space travel can inflate your heart so much that you can actually see it beating through a heavy sweater) that I haven't been able to contribute to the recent flood of highly refined, $66-on-the-barrel writing. I have been unavoidably detained in super- hush hush business for the government....not that that's any excuse.

A few weeks ago, as everyone who reads this site faithfully knows, it was announced in the media that scientists had discovered a "tenth planet." Very little else has been revealed about this as-yet-unnamed planet. That does not mean nothing is known.

One month ago today, I was sitting by a secluded lake, contemplating the relative silence of the House of Swain blog in relation to the rise and falls of great empires, when a microchip planted directly on my spinal cord started bleeping and blurting. Within minutes, I was flying in an SR-71 Blackbird from my remote cabin in darkest Minnesota to a secret room three miles directly below the White House.

A humorless, possibly homosexual robot aide briefed me on the discovery of this 10th planet, stressing that because of the explosive nature of the situation, information would be leaked to the public only slowly and with careful presentation of the facts, which even the most over-optimistic analysts characterized as "grim." Soon, our Valiant President himself sat in front of me, wearing a large, threadbare bathrobe despite it being 3 in the afternoon. He leaned forward on his elbows and continually wiped his sweating brow with a handkerchief. "Karl," he said, "because of the explosive nature of the situation, information will be leaked to the public only slowly and with careful presentation of what is known. But here's the facts: It's located beyond Pluto, it's called Planet Swain, it's populated almost entirely by illegitimate children, and I'm appointing you Ambassador of Earth. You leave in fifteen minutes." I believe he may have been masturbating beneath the robe.

Only now, after spending over two weeks on the surface of Planet Swain, living amongst the bastard children who make up almost the entire population, can I relax and contribute to this blog again. What scares me is the prescience of what's been written on this site. Creationism vs. evolution, Peter Jennings, the military and peace-keeping uses of anthropoidal robots made up of smaller, dog-shaped robots: all burning issues on Planet Swain. Keep the debate alive, Swainians of Earth. Although I can't tell ou everything yet, the fate of much of eastern Delaware lies in the balance.

I'm too exhausted by my rocket-lag to write any more. I'll try and write more about my travels, adventures, and sexual conquests later. And if anybody has any questions about Planet Swain that they'd like me to answer in my stories, please, feel free to ask. I'll also include a few of the pictures I took on the trip!

sometimes I just can't believe what fucking scumbags neocons are

2005-08-11T12:59:00.000-07:00

Today's scumbaggery update

Important, SWAIN-related questions!!!

2005-08-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

First:

Corey, great analysis of that moron's book. Seeing as how I revile baseballplayers, especially pro ones, more than any other form of jock, I especially enjoyed it.

I also loved seeing some Swain analysis that sprang directly from the Swain #3 perspective!!!!

QUESTIONS:

1. What were the flavors of the Swain apartments? (Answer this as a primer for new readers.)

2. What are the flavors of the CURRENT Swain offices? (I'll answer for SwainWest, but Karl, if you're out there, please chime in, too.)

3. Thoughts and predictions on SwainWest's new combination? Specifically: OK, we all know about the havoc wrought in the media and blogosphere over the mixing of Swain #2 member Bob with Swain #3 member Jordan. Everyone thought it was a harbinger of the end times, but it turned out to be righteous.

With the addition of Karl to the SwainWest offices, should we prepare for the end of existence as we know it? Will this end be as awesome as the last merging of the Swains?

Examples of GREAT writing...

2005-08-11T12:02:00.000-07:00

The other day, I left my bag at work, and thus did not have my book at home to read. (For the record, it was "Despair" by Nabakov) IN despair at not having any pre-sleep prose, my wife suggested that I whip through Johnny Damon's "Idiot." My wife has become a big baseball fan, with her loyalties lying with the Red Sox. Damon was her favorite, and so when this book came out, I got it for her. There are strong indications that he is one of the stupidest players out there, but hey, anyone who writes a book MUST be smart. I mean, so what if he had a co-author to tell his own story; the man is obviously a genius, and his memoir will surely be a gem. Right?

Well I just finished it today. It is a treat.

It's great to get a window into his soul, like when he tells us that he always buys lots of toys; like cars, motorcycles, jet skis, boats, etc. It really connects us to him. Also, when he discusses how everyone came to offer him ways to invest his millions of dollars, and how he did indeed get into the cell phone business, I think it really made him one of us.

But folks, this book is all about the writing.. Here is an example of the expert mixture of whimsical anecdote and hard-nosed journalism that exemplify this master work.

He is discussing the world series of 2004, and how the Cardinals' slugger Jim Edmonds struggled in game one.

Note: The man's name, again, is Jim Edmonds.

"With the score still 9-9, [there were] runners on base with two outs and Jim Edmunds up. Jim Edmunds is a clutch hitter who doesn't look lost too often, but against Foulke, he was completely lost. Foulke struck him out three times in the series. In this case, Foulke threw a change up in the strike zone that Edwards took looking, ending the threat."

Two paragraphs later, he describes how this "9-9" game ended:

"Mark Bellhorn batted against reliever Julian Tavares, a hard thrower who didn't allow many home runs. He got two strikes on Mark, but then threw him a pitch that Mark crushed high and deep off the Pesky foul pole in right field for two runs and a 9-7 victory."

Ah, there are so many gems here, but I'll only share one more; this time a real insight into the mind of the man. He is describing the signs he read at the post-World Series victory parade:

"One girl held up a sign, "Johnny, marry me. I'm easy." There were a lot of signs that said, "Mrs. Johnny Damon." Another read, "Johnny, take me to the prom." I thought, Oh man, sixteen will get you twenty.

So in conclusion, if you ever get frustrated that you're writing doesn't get seen by the right people, or getting published becomes too daunting, just know that the books that ARE getting published are of the highest possible quality.

Douche.

C

Marketing Darwin

2005-08-11T09:15:00.000-07:00

Corey,

To be sure, "debating" evolution is like "debating" fucking plate tectonics or heliocentrism ... or the Holocaust.

I'm not talking about debate. I'm talking about MARKETING.

I'm constantly torn between the sensible scientific thing to do -- which is to make like Richard Dawkins and ignore the idiots in Kansas -- or to simply get in there and fight on this one.

Corey, the difference between your lead-in example and this "debate" is that most of America, it seems, doubts evolution. That crackpot at NU is part of a tiny minority of assholes and neo-Nazis who doubt the veracity of the Holocaust.

My superego wants to ignore these morons.

My id knows that they have the upper hand, and we need to slam-dunk them.

Can we really argue Evolution?

2005-08-11T08:47:00.000-07:00

There was a professor at Northwestern. He was an engineering professor, and no one I know ever had him. He was, however, one of the most infamous figures on campus, and it had nothing to do with his course. No, he was a Holocaust revisionist, and had a prominent book and website that touted his theories that the Jews were not exterminated in Germany, but rather just died of illness, or some such bullshit. (I am no expert on revisionism, because to check out a book, visit a website, or anything similar is to count as one more check mark on their tally sheet of hate.) This professor's beliefs would come to the forefront every so often, and when I was on campus, his name became a common swear word as we put on a Holocaust memorial play in my senior year.

When this happened, several things always happened. One was that some progresssive student would want to invite this guy to speak at a dorm or something, reasoning that he wanted to hear how this guy could possibly make such an audacious claim; the better, in other words, to refute it. This was always knocked down, for reasons I'll state later. The second, and more brazen, thing that would happen is that someone would suggest that a debate be set up between this douche bag, and a professor of either Judaic studies or Holocaust Studies. One famous story stated that a renowned NU professor, who was also A HOLOCAUST SURVIVOR, was asked to debate this issue with this guy. His response was that he would be glad to debate on any issue whatsoever about which there was a debate. In this case, there was no way he could do so.

Another famous story states that Alan Dershowitz, when asked to debate on similar terms, heartily agreed, as soon as the debate on whether or not the world was round was finished. Same point.

Basically, the issue here is that a "debate" pre-supposes that both sides have merit. You probably have an opinion about abortion, for example, but no matter how strongly you feel on one side or the other, you simply must, even if it only happens in your deepest and most personal moments, at least see that the other side has a reason for feeling the way they do.

You don't invite a Holocaust revisionist to speak at a dorm, and you don't debate his views over yours, for the simple reason that his claims are simply too disrespectful and horrid even to hear once. Giving him a forum to spread poison only spreads poison. If even one person walks away "understanding" this guy, then the entire thing is a failure. End of story.

Not to make such a strong lead-in analogy here, but I feel the same way about evolution.

How the fuck can I really debate whether or not evolution explains the history of life? OF COURSE IT FUCKING DOES!!! To me, looking at the mountains of evidence and facts that support evolution and still denying that it has merit is the intellectual equivalent of a baby refusing to eat food even though it's hungry. It's hundreds of years of observation, experimentation, and common sense, versus a storybook. These people, if pressed, can't even prove anything about this book, except that it exists. How can that possibly make this debate even, IN ANY WAY?

When I used to think about the march to modern civilization, I always saw it as a constant and steady march from ignorance to intelligence. Right from the invention of fire and the wheel to the twenty-first century, it always seemed to me that, even when people fucked up, they eventually saw the light. Various examples of slavery are always a blight on history's record, but I'd like to think that everyone learned that it was wrong eventually. Archaic and outdated beliefs have throughout history been left behind as we've become more and more enlightened over the years.

So what the FUCK is happening these days?

Can I possibly live in a country - supposedly the most advanced country in the world - where only 35% of people believe in evolution? Can that be possible? Can I really live in a time where people want a president to be no smarter, or more qualified, than they are, simply because he prays the same way they do? I'm fucking FLABBERGASTED! Do I really live in a time where an election was decided based on the issue of GAY MARRIAGE?? Have we really regressed that much? Facts...versus a storybook. That's what this debate. Damn it, I love the book Anna Karenina, but I don't fucking pray to it, you know?

I would rather debate whether or not my first name is Corey, before I debate evolution. Or, to put it another way, I will gladly participate, right after we figure out that whole "world is round" thing.

C

Evolution, science, excitement

2005-08-11T07:35:00.000-07:00

Guys, there's a great article in Slate today about evolution:

Darwin vs. God

The thesis of the article is this: Evolutionists should stop trying to pretend that Darwinian theory presents no threat to religious belief. Yes, it can be compatible with it, but to act like it presents no threat is asinine.

Fair enough. I've definitely argued before that good science is compatible with religion. In doing this, I've touted two people as grand examples of this: my sister, and my 11th grade biology teacher. Both consider themselves full-on Christians, especially my biology teacher, who attended church regularly and wore a cross around his neck. I remember when the time came in his class for him to teach Darwinian theory, and he dove into it with the same geeky joy he did with the rest of his syllabus.

Having already dumped religion, I was certainly relieved and surprised. I still remembered my seventh grade science teacher, who gave us the same bullshit spiel about how dumping a box full of millions of cut-out letters out a window and having it spell into the Encyclopedia Brittanica was as likely as evolution being true. (I of course didn't know at the time how reverse-engineering probabilities is bullshit.)

Back to 11th grade bio. Someone asked our teacher how he could be a Christian and be down with Darwin. He saw no conflict whatsoever. He was bewildered anyone did. He was pretty much like, "But ... Darwinian theory is so AWESOME!!! How could it be a bad thing?"

One analogy I've used when arguing with fundies (or defending evolution to, say, the nice Christian guy who worked at my last job) is to say that science is a noble way to chart the nooks and crannies of god's creation -- because that's how my 11th grade bio teacher sees it, and that's also how my sister sees it.

I think I need to get my fucking head out of the clouds and stop acting like they're anything but exceptions to the rule.

Guys, my history with religion - and by association, science and Darwinian theory - has been turbulent and complicated. I've spent plenty of time pissed off about it, and I've spent plenty of time cool with it.

But as Slate pointed out: Look at this 1993 NORC survey: In the United States, 63 percent of the public believed in God and 35 percent believed in evolution. In Great Britain, by comparison, 24 percent of people believed in God and 77 percent believed in evolution. You can believe in both—but not many people do.

OK, the Phillipines and N. Ireland are the exceptions, where about 60 percent of the populace believe in evolution and god, but for the most part, they're inversely proportional.

Damn, guys. This would be an easier fight if Darwin didn't pose such a threat. Why aren't there more Jesuits or liberal Catholics out there?

Any thoughts on this, guys? Am I wrong? Am I taking mighty Slate too much at its word?

Don't Knock it...

2005-08-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

Fellas,

I sense sarcasm in your last two posts. I suggest that you can it, for the sake of the COUNTRY!

Marching in Washington D.C. is a time-honored tradition that makes our country great. It is a chance for people to do one of two all-important things:

1. Attempt to make a strong statement that will get utterly ignored

2. Make an inane statement that will be needlessly hyped by those who are sponsoring the local news.

Obviously, this 9/11 thing continues to be a downer for some people, and so what better way to cheer up our collective national conscience than with a rousing country music concert after a short walk? I know THAT'll get me supportin' the big "W".

I can still clearly remember the feeling I had two and a half years ago, when I joined the over half a million other people to rally at the National Mall, and then march to the White House, to make a statement against going to war. I will tell you, honestly and without irony, that I looked around me at the throngs of passionate people, and I said to myself that there was no way that Bush could ignore this. We were just too many people to overlook. We went to war a few weeks later.

A year later, I was a part of the March for Women's Rights. Over a million people demanding continued protection for a woman's right to choose. (A controversial issue on this blog, to be sure. Bob, let's agree to disagree on this one.) (For those of you new to this blog, the last parenthetical was perhaps the most sarcastic thing ever written. Look back for proof.) There was a large march through the streets of D.C., highlighted for me by my now-famous incident, where I told a young girl to fuck off. (About a third of the way down the page). We went away from that day certain that, with the masses of people gathering for that event, women's rights were here to stay, and Bush was sure to go. A year later...Bush is going to replace Sandra Day O'Connor on the bench.

So marching...is...good.

And MAN does Clint Black kick ASS!!

C