My New Single-cell Cell Phone

I have always had a mild loathing for people who walk around with high-tech gadgets, barking at the piehole. Particularly on a bus. I've fantasized about smacking said device clear off their head, if only to watch them quiver with surprise.

I am now proudly one of them.






















My new cellphone. And proof that I'm a white guy.



My old cellphone shit the bed on Sunday and I found myself stranded, communicationless, unreachable, and totally helpless- within minutes. I loved that phone. The thing was barely two years old. And I only dropped it a few times. Of course, when I drop something, I lunge for it the way an overweight clown might, and end up flinging it 40 feet in the air.

Like a crack addict roaming around for another fix, I found myself scouring the West Side for T-Mobile dealers. I have no great love for T-Mobile, mind you, but I have to admit they've been decent. More importantly, Catherine Zeta-Jones is totally hot.

Two of the four T-Mobile dealers I visited were virtually 100% incompetent. In fact, if it's possible to be more than 100% incompetent, these folks fit that bill. They were drooling morons who, each in their own special way, demonstrated within seconds that they hated their jobs. The 3rd dealer I went to, to my surprise, was not only fully competent, but quite helpful. Unfortunately, his shitty phone selection looked like the toiletry aisle of a Russian supermarket. Christ, is everything in life a trade-off?

Just when I was thoroughly fed up and a mere nose-hair away from crawling back to Verizon, I found one last T-Mobile dealer. Fortunately for him, and for me, he was not only a great salesman - confident, knowledgeable, empathetic - but he had dozens and dozens of new cellphone models to choose from. Including the exact one I wanted. Finally, the best of both worlds.

I purchased arguably the smallest cellphone on the planet; the microscopic Panasonic that everyone seems to be fighting over. It's about the size of a Zippo lighter. I never realized how GIANT my fingers apparently are, but when I go to press a number, I end up pressing all the numbers around it too. I'll just use that NEEDLE it comes with to dial numbers. Anyway, within 3 minutes, the guy had my new cellphone working. And he was even able to dump the numbers from my old phone onto the new one.

So thank you, Mr. T-Mobile dealer! In my book, you are indeed authorized, just like all those signs say.

What have I learned here? That sometimes, you just have to learn to let go. It's the only way you can ever hope to become overly dependent on a whole new cellphone.

Are You Linkin' At Me?

Well, I've finally learned how to create a link. It's a wonderful thing but I've been told they're often overused. And if I'm not careful, I could end up looking like a moron.

Raising [money in] Arizona

Yesterday, my brother's wife Suzanne ran a half-marathon with 33,000 people in P.F. Chang's Rock 'n' Roll Arizona Marathon & ½ Marathon. Her purpose: to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. A half-marathon is 13 miles, 193 yards.

I'd have trouble running 193 yards.

But she did it. In under 3 hours. She's been training for months, collecting dozens of sponsors along the way. Her goal was to raise $3,300-- but she raised nearly $5,000. She was also the only runner in her group to pick up a corporate sponsor: Volvo signed on.

A runner named Haile Gebrselassie ran in that race too. I'm not even sure he can pronounce it. I don't know if he raised any money, but he shattered two world records in that very race. He ran the half-marathon in 58 minutes, 55 seconds-- 21 seconds faster than the record he broke. He also beat the world record for 20 kilometers, which I think is a distance that's just shy of the half-marathon. He has a career total of 20 world records. And two Olympic gold medals, just for good measure.

Naturally, I asked Suzanne how many times during the race she and Haile were running neck and neck. Being the modest person she is, she said never. But after hours of searching through the dailies of this race, I managed to find this picture:

Dynamic Duo: At left, Haile Gebrselassie. At right, Suzanne.


Congratulations, Suzanne. You've done a really great thing for people who desperately need the help. I sure hope they appreciate you out there.

World's Dumbest News Headlines #1

I found this today, roaming through msnbc.com:

"Blacks more likely to celebrate MLK day - poll"

Shocker!

Dad, you there?

I just saw the Bodies exhibit down at the Seaport. You know, the one where they show all the organs and gross musculature that looks like pulled pork? Well, about half way through the show, you get to see what a bunch of lungs look like after a lifetime of smoking. You can imagine how black and diseased they were. I know you read this thing from time to time.

Please, for the bazillionth time, stop smoking.

The truth is,

baked lays kinda suck.

virtually 100% of my mail is junkmail or bills.

if you get charged the wrong amount, you will be overcharged.
how often do you get undercharged?

it's been done. probably even a brilliantly original post like this.

if it was up to women to approach men at any social gathering,
the human race would end.

cab drivers never take anyone for a ride. they want you out of their cab as soon as possible so they can start that meter again at 3.50, instead of waiting for the 40c increments.

you will never get a raise if you don't ask for one. you won't necessarily get one by asking either.

there's no such thing as a mutual break-up.

Steven Segal is fun to watch, I don't care what anyone says.

Quizno's is way better than Blimpie or Subway.

my new year's resolutions last about a week.

I have no idea why I started a blog.

horses smell like ass, though you can never tell from watching a movie.

my friends and I giggled every time we heard the word 'come', until we were about 15.

I still own over 100 pounds of Lego.

I will never play the guitar as well as Jon Clarke.

some people honestly don't understand that it's wrong to not clean up after your dog.

almost nothing works out exactly the way you think it will.

when one door closes, another one does not always open. sometimes, the door slams shut. if your fingers don't get caught in that door, it's a good day.

the moment I can't come up with another idea, my career is over.

it's just a matter of time before we see two Starbuck's right next to each other.

anyone who says they don't like bacon is lying.

I'm tired of hearing black comedians joke about racism.

I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather live.

implants are nauseating.

you're not gay if you like John Denver.

honesty is not always the best policy. but it usually is.

women notice men's shoes for some reason.

Madame Toussaud's Wax museum is a pathetic waste of money. trust me on this.

I cheated on my college economics final.

my economics professor was a dufus.

SQUEE-Z-Pass.

Christ, you'd think these were starving people in Uganda fighting over a bag of rice. It's a fucking toll.

The inbound NJ Turnpike toll can run as high as $3,600 per car, as demonstrated here.

Homos On The Range.

I like men.

I just don't want to sleep with them.

Besides, to quote my friend Tammy, women are way too "squishy and fun." That said, we just saw Brokeback Mountain. I'm no Gene Siskel, but I know a good movie when I see one.

Ishtar is not that movie. Neither is Son of Mask. Brokeback Mountain is. I loved it. This is what happens when you put good actors, good stories, good writing, and a good director in a room together. Or on a mountain range. Good things just happen. If you haven't seen it, don't read on. Although I think we all kinda know what it's about by now.


The very talented wives, played by hotties Michelle Williams and Anne Hathaway. Movie fact: Boobies were exposed for a mere 2.8 seconds in a film that is two hours and 14 minutes long. Why so stingy, Ang?



In case you're curious about the moving parts, here's a mini review, courtesy of Adam Sandel, of the Sentinel Film Writer.

Based on the short story by Annie Proulx, 'Brokeback Mountain' is the tale of ranch hand Ennis Del Mar [Heath Ledger] and rodeo cowboy Jack Twist [Jake Gyllenhaal] who spend a 1963 summer herding sheep on a remote Wyoming mountain. After struggling with the harsh environment and their physical and emotional isolation, the young men have a sudden, almost violent sexual encounter that neither of them understands. It grows into a tender kinship that must end with the summer as Ennis heads back home to marry his sweetheart Alma [Michelle Williams] and Jack heads back to Texas. The film follows the men through the years as Jack marries a rodeo queen Anne Hathaway and both raise families. A reunion four years later proves that their love has only deepened with time — but Ennis is convinced that much larger forces make it impossible for them to ever be together.








Ang Lee. Not really that hot, but a great director.


There were a few times I almost cried. Almost, okay? And it wasn't because I felt Ennis and Jack's burning, forbidden love tugging at my heart strings. I get it, that was the point of the movie. But I thought the writers and Ang Lee did a really good job demonstrating how far the pain spread, by making us understand the parents, the kids, and the wives too - particularly Michelle William's character - and what they were going through. The fishing rod that still had the tag on it after years of supposed use. The notes she left on the hook, that never got read. The little man-on-man trist behind their house that she happened to see. It's got to be hard enough for a woman to see her husband cheating the 'traditional' way. How do they feel when they see their husband making out with a fishing buddy? Hey, maybe it's just me, but a life with either of these women would have been pretty darn good. Of course, who wants to cuddle up to Michelle Williams when you can have a nice hairy man to keep you warm?

What I can't understand is why there's so much talk and other hoopla over Heath Ledger's absolutely unreal performance - which it was - and not a peep about Jake Gyllenhaal's - who actually had a more difficult role, I thought. This movie will win lots of Academy Awards, if not more. It's already cleaned up at the other award shows. And to think there are theatres across the country that will not show this movie because of the subject matter. I even read a blog that stated "no straight man will go to see this movie without prodding from his wife." That's just dumb. It's totally worth seeing.

By some odd coincidence, there was a large gay contingent sitting behind us led by none other than 'Jai', of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy fame. He also lives in my building. I see him walking his dog every now and then. One of these days, I'm going to casually ask him if I can get a 2-minute opinion of my apartment decor. Don't know what my opening line will be, but we have so much to talk about now, don't you think?

New Year's Eve: When Douchebags Everywhere Come Out Of The Woodwork.

Thought it might be high-time for some good-old original writing, since I've been sprinkling my entries with so many forwards. I guess I could rant about the deafening $75-a-head, 300-person New Year's (read: fraternity) party I attended in Soho, but let's talk about my trip home, since that was more eventful.

I knew it would happen, but the transportation stars aligned in the worst possible way. It's hard enough to get a cab on New Year's Eve. Add a Saturday night. Mix in some bad weather. And what you have, my friends, is a mathematical certainty that you're not getting a cab. Not without a fistfight, anyway. At 2:30am, I counted around 10 people at every intersection with their arms up in Hitler-fashion, somehow believing that a taxi would actually stop for them.

So I took the L/R. The left/right. Okay, I walked. That joke works better when you slap your quadriceps as you say it.

Anyway, I don't think I was two blocks from the party on Greene Street, when I saw yet another person who was clearly drunk, actually fall on his face. We use the expression "falling on your face" metiphorically, but this guy really did it. It was a bloody mess. Some people rushed over to help him, while I stayed busy nearly puking all over myself from seeing what was left of his forehead. I wouldn't make a good doctor.







At left, the normal human brain. At right, severe microcephaly, common in 20- and 30-somethings, and brought on by New Year's Eve in Manhattan.


Then things got interesting. Have you ever heard the crunch of bones? Sure you have. Think back to the last time you ate lobster. At 9th Street by the PATH station, two guys and a girl got out of a cab. The girl must have put her left foot down a bit too close to the rear wheel as she got out. She was drunk. The cab driver wasn't paying attention. He pulls away. Her foot doesn't. You can imagine what happens next. Screaming. Yelling. Honking. Girl laying on ground. Boot stuck under tire. Men helpless as usual. Me nauseous again.

The thing is, I'm sure this sort of stuff happens every New Year's Eve. Heck, every day. But I couldn't believe the number of girls I saw on my walk home who were crying, wiping mascara off their faces in every conceivable direction. The number of couples who were screaming at each other. The number of people who were stumbling in the streets. Not to mention the ample minefields of barf. I know New Year's Eve is an emotional time for some reason, but let me ask this question: what the FUCK? Why do people have such a hard time getting a grip? It reminded me of Saint Patrick's Day or the Puerto Rican Day Parade; two of the messiest, most violent events in the city. I'd rather chew off one of my own legs than be here on either of those days. Anyone with me?

For six of the last seven years, my 'New Year's crew' and I have hosted our own New Year's party. And they're always good. A few people even came up to me at the party on Saturday and said our parties were better. So I guess in a way I've been sheltered from all this shit.

They say "The best defense is a good offense". Maybe I'll keep throwing those parties.