This LeBron James Guy...I'm Not Liking Him So Much

The Miami Heat are good. This everybody knows. They are good not because of great coaching, superior management, or weak conference opponents. No, the Miami Heat are good because of talent - specifically the talent they've purchase in the last 6 months. I'm talking here about players like Chris Bosh and LeBron James. For those of you who aren't big sports fans, let me see if I can draw a comparison here: start by picturing a movie staring Robert De Niro, Tom Hanks, and Robert Redford. Even if this movie is based on the story of a typical Wednesday at Turkey Hill, directed by a sixth grader named Chloe, and featuring a supporting cast of actual Turkey Hill employees, you'd probably go see it and it would probably do pretty well at the box office. Maybe not one of AFI's top 100 films of the century (even this one), but odds are this would be a successful film. Such is the story of the 2010-2011 Miami Heat.

Since the acquisition of James and Bosh in the off season, the Heat have been followed by media and basketball fans with a fervor rivaling that of the Beatles circa 1964 - probably what led James to rename his team the Heat-les last week. Subtle. And, although suffering a string of early season losses, they seem to be on track with those pre-season predictions of championship caliber cohesiveness. The criticism for LeBron's off season antics seems to have diminished as well. It seems with every double-digit win, there are fewer sports writers carping about his ego-stroking press conference to announce his decision to work for a new company.

You'd think James would now play the part of the peoples' champ and take the higher road as it relates to his former team and critics. You'd think his "people" would be advising him to keep a low profile and politic until he has an NBA title (at least). But, we're not in the age of the peoples' champ. We're in the age of Twitter - and with it, the age of the mirror held showing the true reflection of the pampered athlete. Case in point: James' tweet after last night's 112 - 57 drumming James' former team took at the hands of the current NBA champion Lakers. It went a little something like this (exactly, actually): "Karma is a bitch ... Gets you every time. Its not good to wish bad on anybody. God sees everything!"

Me to LeBron: That's the spirit, LeBron! You really told 'em. How dare those players you left to dwell in the bottom of the league try to compete and get embarrassed by the best team in basketball. And, well done closing your mindless babbling with God's endorsement. I'm sure he was very invested in the outcome of the Cavaliers/Lakers match up...and your opinion.

I want to root for James and the Heat; there's just something about a dominant player at the top of his sport that appeals to me. I was a Bulls fan in the 90's, despite Jordan's gambling and womanizing. I'm a Phillies fan, despite Ryan Howard's gambling and womanizing. Come to think of it, maybe I'm just a fan of gambling and womanizing. But, kicking a man/team/town when they're down is too much. As for this year, I'll be rooting for, you guessed it, Kobe Bryant - a man whose political approach, coupled with his gambling addiction and history of womanizing make him a perfect match for my loyalties.

Finally, to LeBron: do yourself a favor. Go find a nice casino, some groupies, and leave the Twitter account alone for awhile.

Facebook Zucks!

Last week Time Magazine announced their Person of the Year for 2010. You may know it as the prize that almost always goes to a world leader, or champion for peace, or champion for the global economy, or champion for irrigation in third world countries or racist cowboy Ted Turner (1991). In the most talked about blunder since 2006's selection of You - remember when the editors put a makeshift mirror on the cover and tried to convince us that they didn't just phone it in that year - Facebook creator (sort of) Mark Zuckerberg was chosen to carry the flame, making it official...dorks have won.

I won't mince words here, I loath Facebook and Mark Zuckerberg. Here are a few things about Facebook that make me want to quit my job, build a cabin in the Appalachians out of branches and leaves, and grow my own Eggo waffles:

Invading my Own privacy: Feel like you need to take a college class in how to use the site just to ensure that some douche from high school doesn't see and/or comment on your vacation pictures? Me too. Question: what do you say to this comment: "Steph and I went there last summer and it was fabulous!!" I mean, I sat next to this guy in sophomore English. Answer: "Who the hell is Steph?"

Friends and lovers: As if my insane jealousy and relationship insecurity weren't already a handicap, now I have one more outlet for my irrational investigations. A common conversation we have in my house goes something like this:

Me: Who's that guy who commented on your status last night, huh?

Her: That's my Aunt who just got a shorter haircut. Dumbass!

If I was a car, I'd be a... car that doesn't care what kind of car you are. I don't need to know which Golden Girl you most resemble. I don't want to hear about which animal of the Serengeti you would have been. And I have no interest in which Care Bear you would date. The truth is if you need a survey result to tell you who you really are, spend less time on Facebook and more time in therapy - works for me.

Likes: Sally likes flowers. Tim likes bread (the food, not the band). Al likes The Rolling Stones. Rick likes Ron's status. Angela likes that Rick likes Ron's status. I like to be left alone.

Don't get me wrong. I think reconnecting with old friends and keeping up with distant family members are wonderful things - assuming you don't hate those old friends and family members. And I suppose Mark Zuckerberg does deserve some recognition for inventing (sort of) the site that has revolutionized most of our lives. I'm just not sure if his name belongs with the likes of Lindbergh, Churchill, and Martin Luther King Jr. As for my personal favorite for the award...we'll just have to wait until next year Ditty Dirty Money.

Phone It In

Not the techiest person in my circle of friends, I recently came across an ad for HTC's newest phone, the Evo 4G. This shiny gizmo peaked my interest for two reasons. First, it appears to be way better than the new phone I just bought, meaning I'm no longer the cool guy in line at Starbucks. Story of my life. Second, it has more than enough features required to spike my technophobia - yep, it's a real thing. It's a disorder in which people (old people and me) harbor anxieties relating to modern technologies and their use. Here's a quick quiz to tell if you are a technophobe.

You have technophobia if . . . when someone tells you about their new phone features, you say any of the following:

a.) There's just so much to learn!

b.) Why is there so much to learn?

c.) It's so complicated; and so much to learn!

d.) Did I black out? Where's my rotary phone? I need to ring my physician for a house call.

I'm not one to get excited over technology; and I've never been the guy with the newest mobile device or latest, lightweight laptop. (Actually, until last month I pronounced it "labtop," which also makes sense if you think about it.) So, I'm not too depressed at the latest gadget to hit the market, rendering mine un-awesome. I guess it's this old-timey attitude that makes me the Verizon store attendants' nightmare. After all, these people live to tell you every feature their state-of-the-art "communication devices" posses. Here's a quick exchange that occurred when I recently bought my new phone...

Verizon Guy: This device is awesome! It has a global network which allows you to access your email, twitter, facebo-

Me: Can I call people?

Verizon Guy: Yeah, but you can also pay your bills with our autobanker feature and skype from any countr-

Me: So...I can call people then?

Verizon Guy: Uh, yeah.

Me: Great! I'll take it.

The truth is, I don't care if my phone allows me to check my email from inside of a submarine or play sudoku from outer space. I'll probably never have to text my mom from a Vietnamese POW camp. Good to know I can, but not really necessary. And what, exactly, are "G's?" Seems like just the newest way to measure superiority. "How many G's do you have? Only 3! Oh how cute." This new one even has a kickstand! I'm not sure what for, but it must be pretty great.

Really, this all just steams from jealousy. I'd love to be the guy with the cool new GPS or sexy iPod that carries eight years of music. Remember when you were a kid and you had the Trapper Keeper with the Lamborghini on it? Well, I didn't. I never got to the store early enough and ended up with the stupid solar system one. Congratulations. You're better than me again, Evo 4G guy.

Baked Alaska

Disclaimer: If you are a member of the Tea Party and/or Grand Old Party, please go to the following site now: http://www.hannity.com/. You'll find the words there as comforting as your NASCAR Snuggie. The content below is satirical in nature. For a definition of the word "satire," go here now: http://www.merriam-webster.com/. You'll find a very easy to understand explanation of that word. Warning: do not type in the word "misunderestimate." Sadly, you won't find it and the core of your belief system may be shaken. Bye now.

Ok, for the rest of you...Sarah Palin has a reality show coming soon to TLC!! You probably think I'm going to spend the remainder of this entry making comments like, "At last, the final harbinger of the apocalypse. Take us now angels of rapture! Surely, this is what has been foretold in the ancient scrolls of wisdom.?" Or maybe, "I can't wait for John McCain's upcoming cameo on The Jersey Shore." Or perhaps, "This is actually the first time the words Sarah Palin and reality have ever been mentioned in the same sentence." But, I'm sure every late night host has beaten me to that. Instead, I would like to submit the following...

This is a great thing. Why, you ask? Simple. Reality TV has become the last stop on the notoriety train for most "celebrities" - the 14th minute of Warhol's theory on fame, if you will. Take the Osbourne's. It was funny for a year or two and then we realized just how messed up these people really are; and that was the end of their run. All we have to do is put up with one (maybe two seasons) of Palin's unintentional satire on propaganda and then she's gone. No more Vice Presidential candidates who confuse an iceberg for Russia. No more Bristol Palin doing PSA's about abstinence (I mean, really? This is like asking Charlie Sheen to speak at an AA meeting). or making it to the finals of Dancing with the Stars - not that I watch that show.

Want another reason? Political funnies. I'll admit it, I miss Bushy a little bit. While running a superpower might not have been his strong suit, gaffing at press conferences and while abroad with dignitaries sure was. Palin might not have that same Royal family-like breeding, but she can deliver a one liner to make your brain implode with confusion and awe. Exhibit A came while she was referring to a department that does not exist.

"I think on a national level your Department of Law there in the White House would look at some of the things that we've been charged with and automatically throw them out."

Folks, don't be mad a Sarah Palin. She didn't invent crazy. Our society breeds it. The career of Carrot Top is the quintessential example. Just think of Palin as real-life X-man - a genetic leap in the crazy species. I'm sure Sarah Palin's Alaska will draw a huge audience - assuming it's not on opposite Paula Dean's cooking show - and be wildly successful. And just think of all the great episodes they can have. Years from now we'll all be talking about this show in Seinfeldian terms. "Remember the one when Sarah dressed up like Osama bin Laden for Halloween and her neighbor accidentally shot her? Or how about the one when Bristol took her baby to the hypnotist to convince it that it wasn't gay after it's first word was 'pink?'" See? It won't be so bad, ya know?

4 Intulechewulz Only

An avid gym rat, I'm not often home in time during the week to catch my favorite show of all time, Jeopardy. Ask those who live with me and they'll tell you that when 6:58 PM hits, I'm planted in front of the TV anxiously awaiting that baritoned voice announce, "this is Jeopardy!" I'm so ripe with anticipation for the evening's competition; I barely notice the nightly lottery ritual taking place, which is great comic fodder - some "lucky," dumpy member of the local community handling the daunting task of retrieving ping-pong balls from a homemade vacuum cleaner. If aliens ever come to earth and this is the first thing they see, we are doomed (of course, if aliens come to earth, we're doomed regardless - have you seen Bridezillas?).

For those of you who don't know much about the format of Jeopardy, let me give you the basic rundown. First, there are three contestants - representing average members of society (and by average, I mean they usually work for NASA and spend their time inventing space shuttles, time machines, and space shuttles that time travel). The host, an uppity prick named Alex Trebek, reads words and tries to convince the audience that he's smarter than he actually is. He accomplishes this through a series of pronunciation corrections - especially in the topics of Greek gods and Renaissance artists. For example, if the answer is Prometheus and you the contestant responds, "pro-meth-ee-us," Trebek will casually respond, "yes, pro-mee-thee-us." Like I said, prick. One more thing...questions are presented in the form of an answer and contestants' answers must be provided in the form of a question. I'm sure it made more sense in the original pitch meeting. The greatest champion in the history of Jeopardy is Ken Jennings, whose 74 straight wins amassed a total of 2.5 million dollars in earnings. He looks exactly like you would expect - a combination of comic-book-geek-villain and 40 year old virgin.

Whether you've never seen the show, of have an unhealthy obsession and find yourself oddly aroused (not me, of course) when Trebek reveals the shows categories, here are a few helpful pointers to enhance your viewing experience:

1. Set a goal - I usually try for 20 correct answers each night. If it's College Week, I'll aim for 25 and up since they dumb it down for tomorrow's leaders. If it's Kid Week, I show no mercy. Most of those little shits are smarter than I am and have better lives; so let me have this one thing!

2. Shut out all external stimuli - Gotta pee? Hold it. Phone ringing? Leave a message. Kid needs help with his homework? Sorry, Johnny. Daddy can't show you where Venezuela is on the globe and run the board on U.S. Presidents. Your family (and bladder) will just have to understand that your life is only getting harder. Shutting out the world for 30 minutes might just help to forget all about that printer jam incident at work today.

3. Keep your expertise to yourself - As a general rule, you won't fare well in categories that match your passion or education. If you have a degree in biology and wear t-shirts with clever science references on them, you'll be lucky to get one out of five. If you love 80's music and tell everyone you're an expert, you'll probably miss a question like, "this AC/DC front man was not Back in Black." (It's Bon Scott, dumby). Trust me, I have an English Lit degree and embarrass myself every time on "Shakespeare Last Lines." Don't get frustrated. You'll catch up on Chinese Dynasties - or maybe not.

4. Do one thing well - Speaking of Chinese Dynasties...if a category comes up that you know only one aspect of, make that your answer for each question. If the only word you associate with Chinese Dynasties is Ming, yell that out like a kid with turrets every time. Warning! Do not deviate from this strategy after three or four questions. Odds are, if you change it up at the last minute and yell "Dang" (not a dynasty), Ming will be the next answer. A couple of my go-to's...In the category of Civil War: Ulysses S. Grant. For Fascist Dictators: Mussolini. Presidents Named Bush: chimpanzee. You might look like an idiot 80% of the time, but that one correct answer is worth the humiliation.

5. Ignore Alex - He is a son-of-a-whore, blood-sucking bastard, who would love nothing more than for you fail. The weapons in his arsenal: a Frasier Crane voice, vast collection of houndstooth jackets, and undeniable sex appeal. Focus on the goal and tune him out, or he'll suck you into his black hole void of pretension. Other than that, he's an OK guy.

So, go at it Jeopardy enthusiast! Remember, it's only pathetic if you care what people think. By the way, pathetic comes from the Greek pathos, meaning "suffering." Yay!

What is the end?

Let's All Go to the Lobby . . . To Spend Our 401k's

I LOVE movies. I'll take them almost anyway I can get them - on my computer, on an airplane, on our embarrassingly old and slightly broken television, even while sitting on the john at an expensive hotel - anywhere. I even got excited when my high school health class watched that movie about date rape. (Just to clarify, I'm not a fan of date rape - I don't like it at all, in fact). Recently, on a flight back from the west coast, I was more than happy to watch Valentine's Day, the only movie they offered and one of the most recent ensemble romantic crap loads Hollywood has produced. I mean, Ashton Kutcher was in it and still I watched! In other words, I'm a fan (of movies, not Ashton Kutcher). But my favorite way to experience movies is in their natural habitat, the theatre. These glistening towers of imagination and beacons of creative exploration have carved a very special place in my heart over the years.

Growing up, the highlight of my week was our Sunday family trip to the movies. My dad would take us for our ritualistic pre-showtime drugstore stop to load up on candy and snacks. "I'm not payin' those movie prices. It's highway robbery," he'd say. My mother, Bonnie to his Clyde, would store our illegal snacks in her giant mom bag (perhaps a topic for a future blog). There was a certain rush in sneaking those snacks past the 17-year-old ticket taker, fresh off of his pot-smoking break. I'm sure we could have snuck a full Thanksgiving meal by him, but we still felt like outlaws eating our 50 cent jujubes and M&M's. In college, I learned the art of deep pockets and was able to smuggle in not only snacks, but large bottles of ... let's say soda. The cost for snacks was just too high for a college kid.

It's still true today. As movie tickets have gone up in cost, snacks have tagged right along for the ride. I'd like to think that I've matured since my outlaw days. And so, I recently attempted to walk into a movie theatre with hot tea from Starbucks. Nothing to hide. Naked to the world. I was certain that I would be rewarded for my honesty. Turns out, the 17-year-old on guard/ticket-taker this particular night was actually taking his job seriously and asked me to finish my drink before entering. I believe his exact words were, "uh...can you, like...uh...finish that?" Out of anger at our public school system and the prospect of losing my $4 tea, my response was to ask for the manager - a default reaction I learned from my dad. (The truth is, I never really know what to do when the manager "comes over.") I put on my best adult face and demanded a refund - a pathetic and predictable bluff. The manager then pointed to the ticket booth and told me to ask for my money back. Damn! I was almost in tears - due mostly to the manager's extreme halitosis. Here's how the rest of the conversation played out:

Me: I've brought outside food in here before (this was a lie - and not a good one).

Halitosis: Well, this is a new policy.

Me: Show me where it's posted (now I've got him).

Halitosis: It's not posted. We don't have to post our internal policies.

Me: (Damn!) Come on! This is just tea.

Halitosis: Sorry. We just don't allow any outside food or beverages that we don't sell here.

Me: (Ah ha!) Show me where you sell Starbucks.

Halitosis: We don't. I meant no outside food or beverages.

Me: (Damn again!)

At this point I threw my drink away and walked by the manager brushing his shoulder with mine slightly and mumbling "ridiculous." I realize this was super passive aggressive and juvenile, but F you. His only response, "enjoy your movie." I purchased a $5 water and sulked into the dark theater. Movie manager: 1. Me: 0.

Epilogue: While I haven't sworn off movie theaters, I have decided to revert to my child-like ways. I invite each of you to (1) sneak in as much food as possible to your next movie going adventure - sneak in a hoagie or a chef salad and bottle of wine, really go for it - and (2) after your movie, tell the closest theater staff member that you snuck outside food into the theater and proclaim "soup to nuts!"

I'm a Lucky Man (or Woman or Child)

If you're confused by the title of this article, you should be. You see, to the thousands of scam artists, career criminals and just plain old douche bags out there, it doesn't really matter my gender or age or even if I have a pulse - just that I have an email address. Actually, I have three. Not that it matters. I've been tracked down at each by some of the best bottom feeders in the scamming game. Why, just this week I've received email messages from Mr. Song Li Le of the Hang Seng Bank in Hong Kong; Ms. Rita Marie Thomas, Director of Funds Clearance Unit for the Federal Reserve Bank; and John Simmons, Consular for the British High Commission.

I know what you're thinking, "Hang Seng Bank? British High Commission? Come on MF, these places can't be real." Well, you'd be wrong. After doing extensive research - meaning Google - on these entities, I can assure you that each exists. As for Song, Rita Marie and Mr. Simmons...who knows and who cares. Their actual names are more likely Ronnie, Derrick and Sal. And, they live (in a basement) eating a strict diet of generic Cheetos and Mountain W. Sadly, I'm a little flattered that they would take time out from their online bidding wars for Xena Warrior Princess Limited Edition Action Figures and watching videos of people having sex with Air Wolfe to scam me. Also, their messages are almost always positive. Here's a quick excerpt from one of my favorites from "Mr. Peter Klaus:"

It is with gladness, i write you this message, to congratulate you on the successful release of the sum of $3.5 Million USD to you, Credited to Online Bank ATM Card account that was set up for you in our bank the Oceanic Bank Plc.

First of all, this guy was so excited that he didn't even capitalize "i." That must be a good sign - busy guy with a lot of money to give out, I'm sure. Second, $3.5 million on an ATM card?? In your face, black AMEX! I'd much rather have my money safely secured in an account that doesn't earn interest and is only 4 digits away from belonging to someone else. All good things, so far. But wait...Oceanic Bank, huh? Isn't that the parent company of the airline that crashed in Lost? Something seem fishy here.

How about this one, sent from "Ms. Mary Martins" of the UK Lottery Organization...

We happily announce to you the draw of the UK-Lotto Sweepstake Lottery International programs held in Malaysia on the 30TH July, 2010 Your e-mail address attached to ticket number:56475600545...drew the lucky numbers:07-12-23-26-29-44 which subsequently won you the lottery in the first category. You have therefore been approved to claim a total sum of 2,367,834.

Great! I love to win British-sponsored, Malaysian-held lotteries - especially ones that (1) I didn't know existed until today, (2) I didn't have to buy a ticket for and (3) are awarded in non-specific currency. Boy! Times are tough in Malaysia, huh? It must really suck for them that Americans are winning their lotteries. If we ever want to conquer these guys, all we have to do is sit back and wait for our winnings to bankrupt them. Maybe I should send them a care package with my winnings.

But, those scams are child's play compared to this one...

DEAR,

I AM MR .SMITH JAMES,I AM THE ONLY SON OF LATE MR JOHNSON SMITH, MY FATHER DIED IN MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES IN WHICH I BELIEVED THAT HE WAS POISONED BY HIS BUSINESS ASSOCIATES.

AFTER HIS BURIAL I DISCOVERED A DOCUMENT COVERING (USD 15.5 M) WHICH HE DEPOSITED IN A FINANCE COMPANY HERE IN ACCRA GHANA I HAVE VERIFIED THE DEPOSIT WITH THE FINANCE COMPANY AND ITS AUTHENTICITY IS CLEAR.I AM SOLICITING FOR YOUR KIND ASSISTANCE IN THE TRANSFER OF THIS FUN FROM THE FINANCE COMPANY HERE TO YOUR COUNTRY FOR INVESTMENT.

Where to start? In a word...perfect. First, I love the intimacy. The fact that ".Smith" (yes, his name is dotSMITH) calls me "dear" is heartwarming. Second, not only is the author seeking the sympathy vote, but just in case you love a good mystery, he has you covered. A real Hamlet-type plot line. (On a side note: isn't it awesome that both the son and the father have two last names - so unbelievable that it's actually believable). Third, $15.5 million is way at the high end of the email scam spectrum. Ballsy. Last, you can't have a good con without a county of mysterious origin. I've never heard of Accra Ghana, but it sounds like it's got the right combination of powerful banks, plotting business partners and a bounty of last names. In my opinion, this one is the textbook example and blueprint for all scumbags to follow.

I have about 65 more, and I'd love to show them all, but I'm running out of time - if I don't claim my unexpected inheritance from my dead Japanese aunt by the end of the day, I'm out 6.5 million yen. Funny, I didn't even know my family had any Japanese ancestors. Oh well...

Summer of 2010: What We'll Remember

So...ok, it's not the end of the summer. Actually, it's just barely half-way over. All the same, I'd like to take a whimsical look back at one of the most newsworthy summers since that of 1918. You know, when Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated? Remember? Forget it...on to the list!

1. Oil Y'all! I specifically avoided any blogs about the BP oil spill. I just couldn't bring myself to feast on this comedy of errors. At the end of the day, there was nothing to make fun of. The good people at BP did that all on their own. With solutions that ranged from putting a massive dome over the leak, to clogging it with a wad made of golf balls and old oatmeal, to Kevin Costner and his brother inventing some kind of machine (just like the drills in Armageddon!) the list reads like a Mel Brooks movie plot. My thought all along was to just stuff Rush Limbaugh's bloated melon in there. Hey-O! In the end, it was Kevin Costner's MC252 pump that won out. You can't make this stuff up.

2. And he shall be LeBron. And he shall be a good man. For those of you who didn't get the Elton John reference here, I apologize. For those of you who did, you're welcome. LeBron James proved this summer that a good portion of Americans are idiots. 10 million, to be exact. That's the number of people who watched LeBron's one hour special on ESPN to announce his decision to leave the Cleveland Cavaliers for the Miami Heat. The circus that was LeBron's decision became the biggest mockery of free agency to date. People in Cleveland were so infuriated with this grandstanding about his decision that they burned his jerseys in effigy. What happened to the good old days of just burning flags, draft cards and bras. Things that mean something in this country? Don't get me wrong, I take no issue with LeBron's decision to move from the armpit of the world to a place where women wear bikinis to the grocery store (I've never actually been there). I just wish he could have shown a little more class and forethought. I guess that final tally is ten million and one idiots. Sorry LeBron.

3. Tiger's Back! (sort of). I had reserved this space for a great joke about how Tiger Woods was able to sleep with many, many, many women; get caught; survive an ironic beating with a golf club at the hands of his wife; crash his car; go to rehab (again, sort of); and come back to win a major championship. He did most of those things. However, his golf game, amazingly, suffered some setbacks. Have no fear Tiger. The same Americans who were so willing to watch LeBron's ESPN special are rooting for you. It won't matter how many strippers you bedded or illegitimate children you fathered. Hit a monster drive, sink a 50 footer for eagle, win The Players Championship and all will be forgiven. In the words of the great Don King, "only in America!"

MF

Wordficiency: It's Just the Right Thing to Do

I love wordplay. More specifically, I am an admirer of the invention of new words. Shakespeare was probably the best at this. He has been credited with the creation and introduction of over 8000 words in the English language. It's likely that I don't even know that many words - neither did he it appears (hence the creation of 8000 new ones). One phenomenon of wordplay garnering some attention lately is the practice of combining two words or names to make one, dually-descriptive word. Brangelina, Beniffer and ginormous are just a few. We call this wordficiency* (word + efficiency). And it's been around for a long time. If you've ever been invited to brunch, you have reaped the rewards of this process. The rules are simple: (1) combine two words. Any more than that and you will just confuse the masses. (2) only one of the words can be in full form. For example, catastic (cat+fantastic) is funny - and a little depressing. However catfantastic is just as depressing, but also unimaginative.

That's it. Try it for yourself. But, beware. It's not as easy as you might think. Just ask linner, the embarrassed step-brother to brunch. He never could stack up. Instead, he's been relegated to sarcastic comments of hung-over college kids who have slept right past two meals. Here are a few of my submissions for your consideration...

1. Oilcean - We're closing in on two months of the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. So far, estimates put the amount of oil leaked at about 30 million gallons. Given the "strategies" BP has put in place to slow/stop the leak - I think at one point they actually were going to use a huge ball of slop including golf balls, rubber and eye of newt - it's time we get used to the idea of taking a dip in the Atlantic Oilcean during our summer vacation. My friend Rush Limbaugh might disagree. But, I just don't put a lot of faith in his or BP's ecological training.

2. Republicrat or Demopublican - I am tired of politicians switching parties for votes. There should be a Scarlet Letter label put on these carpetbaggers. This makes about as much sense as a man born and raised in Boston who roots for the Yankees because he looks better in pinstripes. I say we force these cowards into a new party. I haven't decided on which of these two I like so far - I'll just wait to see what the majority goes with.

3. Brinner - Just because linner never got his day in the sun, doesn't mean we give up on combining one meal name with another. The truth is that I love to eat cereal at dinner and I have nothing to call it. Some people may want to call this brupper, but that's just odd.

*Much thanks to Kamber for their assistance with this entry. I always value your inputelligence.

I Cry at Movies: A Guide to Staying "MAN"

OK. This could get ugly; but I'm prepared to show the way for all my red meat-eating brothers out there who have quietly (and secretly) brushed tears away while sitting next to their disinterested, dry-eyed female counterparts. Don't be ashamed men. You see, I've put a great deal of time and thought (and embarrassment) into the topic. I've sat as a sobbing, emotional juggernaut questioning my masculinity at every genre from Disney cartoons to low-budget sports flicks to random rom-coms staring Aaron Eckhart (and there are a lot of them). This vast amount of experience has enabled me to devise the following 3 simple rules - each one designed to keep your reputation closer to Mickey Rourke than Mickey Mouse.

1. The Bathroom is Your Ally
Did Old Yeller or Bambi's mother just die? Feel a swell of emotions coming on? Now is a good time to excuse yourself from the situation. You can always blame that ridiculously large soda or go with a small bladder defense (I'll leave it up to you to decide if a small bladder is worse or better than crying in public). One word of caution: don't use this excuse more than once for any one movie. You'll cease to be an emotional sidekick and instead be "that guy that shat himself at the movies".

2. Avoid Jennifer Aniston
There was a time when Jennifer was happily married to Brad Pitt, on the cast of Friends and did movies with Ben Stiller and Jim Carrey - light-hearted and forgettable roles. Then something changed (what could it be, I wonder). Now her movies are about as light-hearted as presidential assassinations. I recently was coerced into renting one of her latest turds, Love Happens. Hmm...love is a good thing. Sounds harmless, right? Nope. It's about a mourning widower who parlays his wife's death into a self-help book and speaking tour. Full of happy things like alcoholism and accidental death of children, this movie brought out the 15-year-old girl in me. I say, "Never again" to Miss Aniston. Although, I did like the one episode of Friends where Monica and Chandler - oh never mind.

3. Sports: Not the Solution
Think you'll be safe with a sports flick? Think again, sissy. Inspirational stories with underdog plots, sympathetic characters who remind us of us, lines designed to give you goosebumps, slow motion scenes with dramatic background music - these are just a few of the reasons to avoid movies about sports. Think I'm too sensitive? Here are a few popular sports movies you may have seen: Rudy, Field of Dreams, Rocky, The Pride of the Yankees, Miracle, The Natural, Brian's Song, Braveheart. OK, Braveheart isn't really a sports movie, but they do throw stones at one point - big stones. If you didn't cry at more than half of these, you should be employed full time as a person who fires people. This genre might seem like the safe choice on a Friday night at Blockbuster, but not only will you probably get a tear-induced snot bubble, you'll also lose your one movie choice for the month.

Follow my advice and stay on the road to Mantown. But, keep in mind most of this is coming from a guy who cried during Major League II. In my defense, however, Corbin Bernsen is arguably one of the most powerful actors of our time.

Model Citizen? Part 2

Some people were born to be models. Some were born to be writers. Some were born to write about the time they discovered that they would never be a model. If you're reading this and fit into the first category...piss off. This entry is for those of us with crooked noses and lazy eyes who want to make fun of your high cheekbones and perfect abs. Pretty people: don't waste your time here. Go look at GQ's website. I think they have a feature about how Josh Duhamel's sweat can cure leprosy. Now for the rest of us...please make sure all beautiful people have left the room...are they gone...good. I hate them.

But, what I hate even more are the talent agency parasites that feed on parents (of normal looking kids) who think their child will be the next Iman because they took that "one great photo at last year's family reunion." Luckily for me, I was able to observe all of these species in their natural environment at my talent callback last week.

I was ready. Fully prepared with my hip/young-looking shirt from Target, two fancy photos (see Model Citizen Part 1) and best Derek Zoolander blue steel face. I'll also mention that I spent considerable time primping: my face was shaved, nose hairs trimmed, hair freshly cut and teeth whitened. And, yes, my ear fuzz had been perfectly plucked. All of this, even though I put my name in as a voice over performer. Still, I thought, there's always a chance that they'd see "something" and my modeling career would skyrocket. I was wrong.

One thing I can quickly identify based on my past as a sales manager is a bait and switch. I could smell it the minute I stepped foot in the talent agency. A young college student took my "head shots" and motioned me to the waiting area where I was now corralled with a group of out-of-shape and nervous 13-17 year-old's and their even more out-of shape and nervous parents. Now, I'm no Jake Gyllenhaal, but in this room I could easily have convinced anyone that I had been an underwear model on one of those huge screens in Time Square.

A sixty-something woman, clad in black suit and Joan Rivers mask made her way to the runway. (Did I mention we were in a room surrounded with mirrors and a runway in the middle of it - we were). For the next 45 minutes we were told all about her time in "the business" and how hard "the business" is if you don't have help from someone who has been in...you guessed it..."the business". She dropped big names like Cindy Crawford, Joan Crawford, Joan Collins, Phil Collins (ok, not the last one) and told us that although "not many newcomers make it," her school has a 72% success rate. Apparently her idea of "success" is measured by simply graduating from this institution of higher leeching, even though no high-profile models working today are actually graduates.

Now that we'd be sufficiently intimidated, we were given some pricing options for their school and told that unless we had a passion for modeling registering an 8, 9 or 10 (on a scale of 10) we shouldn't waste their time. At which point I gathered my water bottle and new-found humility and walked out. You see, I had already figured myself to be a 7 out of 10 on the passion scale. In the end, I guess I'd rather be a modeling school drop-out than a John Casablancas graduate taught by the Darth Vader of "the business". I can't believe I shaved my ears.

Model Citizen?

The people closest to me will know that, in addition to toiling in the blogosphere, I've been know to perform a good many impressions. My Scottish voice (Sean Connery) might be my favorite, but I have a few others I've worked on over the years. Most, I'm confident, are offensive - like the gay German or the 42-year-old Star Wars fan who lives with his mother.

I'm not sure to whom I owe this talent since neither of my parents can do an impression. My father does have one alternate voice he uses for every nationality when telling a story - it's a sort of Asian-with-a-speech-impediment hybrid. Often, when he does a vocal impression in the middle of a story, the listeners end up feeling sorry for the person he's depicting. "Oh, how sad," they think. "That poor man in the story is so brave. Can you imagine being a foreigner with a mental disability? I thought you said he was British?" Maybe I was adopted.

And so, from the Never Give up on Your Dreams department, I decided I should try to parlay this annoying party trick in to a dream career. My first step...email a talent agency. I sent one brief (and I'm sure pathetic) email to the Jon Casablancas talent agency and then instantly forgot about this goofy exercise. Two weeks later, I received a phone call from Maureen, the head agent at JC (that's how we, in the business, refer to Jon Casablancas). She convinced me that I was perfect for what they do and to meet with her two days later for a "sit down". Impressed by her rhetoric, I agreed. I would need to bring at least two photos of myself and my resume.

Not quite sure why a voice over professional would need head shots, I nevertheless went where any financially challenged person with a dream would go - the closest drug store. I developed two photos that didn't make me look like an ogre. The finished products were a sort of embarrassingly amateurish, black-and-white, 8 X 10 with fancy border that looked great at first sight. However, as I continued to admiringly look at them over the next few hours, I realized just how silly this would look to a tenured talent agent. How could I expect to compete against professional models with pictures of me playing basketball and posing with my son at his birthday party. As for my resume, I decided to bag that idea since the last performance I had was in playing brother number 8 or 9 in a summer production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (in 8th grade). Not exactly Sir Laurence Olivier. No ma'am, I was going in there as myself and if that wasn't good enough...they could kish my ash (Sean Connery, again).

To be continued...

I Feel Old

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I'm not old. In fact, I hear 30 is the new 20 - which would have been of some consolation last year when I actually was 30. But, lately I've been noticing a good many signs that our society is already beginning the process of clearing me out and making room for the next wave of ultra consumers and hipsters. Yes, the story of replacement is the only true consistency in the human saga. I've already created a miniature version of myself; and it's only a matter of time before he realizes that I am, in fact, not cool (or whatever word the kids are currently using). Just in case you are around my age and aren't sufficiently depressed by the fact that Justin Bieber was born the same year Forest Gump was released, here are a few more pick-me-ups:

1. The average age of players in the NFL, NBA and MLB is 27. It seems like only yesterday I was routing for my sports heroes. As they dunked from the freethrow line or hit the game winning home run and thought "that'll be me some day." Now, I fall asleep before halftime while Lebron James is a 3-time MVP. He's 25, by the way.

2. Dakota Fanning has been in 28 films. Wasn't she just the annoying little shit in Sweet Home Alabama? These days she's an accomplished actress who is called a genius by Myrel Streep and is currently playing the annoying teen-aged shit in one of those Twilight movies (full disclosure: I've seen them all).

3. To legally smoke in the U.S. you must have been born in or after 1996. OK. The good news here is that the majority of the 18-year olds who start smoking today will most likely die before me. The bad news is that I will need to drink a daily blended mixture of green tea extract, carrot juice, shaman hair follicles and eagle urine to outlive all of them.

I'll have better news next time, but I have the sudden urge to ingest some prunes and put on my mint-green trousers for my daily walk.

Are You Kidding Me?

HMJS Readers,

The following is an actual email that recently came across my desk. For the purposes of authenticity, I've made no changes to the grammar - I think you'll see why. I have a few thoughts after. Please enjoy. (Oh, one more thing. It's important to note the original email was in a Comic Sans font - as are most credible political manifestos. OK, now go ahead.)

Let me see if I got this right..... If you cross the North Korean border illegally you get 12 years hard labor. If you cross the Iranian border illegally you are detained indefinitely. If you cross the afghan border illegally, you get shot. If you cross the Saudi Arabian border illegally you will be jailed. If you cross the Chinese border illegally you may never be heard from again. If you cross the Venezuelan border illegally you will be branded a spy and your fate will be sealed. If you cross the Cuban border illegally you will be thrown into political prison to rot. If you cross the U.S. border illegally you get:
A job
A drivers license
Social security card
Welfare
Food stamps
Credit cards
Subsidized rent or a loan to buy a house
Free education
Free health care
A lobbyist in Washington
Billions of dollars worth of public documents printed in your language
The right to carry your country's flag while you protest that you don't get enough respect
And, in many instances, you can vote.
I just wanted to make sure i had a firm grasp on the situation!
Please...it's time to wake up Americia !!!!

Right about now, you're probably thinking what I was thinking. Where exactly is the country of "Americia" and why does this person think we need to wake them up? Must be an opium epidemic. My second response is to go immediately to Venezuela to become a spy! I've seen a bunch of James Bond movies and would love to wear a tuxedo and drive a cool Jaguar loaded with heat-seeking missiles. Lastly, as I'm between jobs currently, it looks like all I need to do for new employment in the U.S. is take a trip to Canada and back to get some offers. Not half bad, huh?

When did we stop caring about people other than those who look and speak like us? When did we stop realizing that foreigners wanting to live here is at the very least flattery to the greatness of our country and its rights? The truth is, if you lived in any of the other countries listed above and broadcasted a message criticising their government, the punishment might be much worse than just a random blogger making you infamous. Not sure what would happen to you in Americia.

Time Scare: TV Star Named as Early Suspect

New York City's Time Square was brought to a screeching halt Saturday evening (and into the early hours of Sunday morning) as a "smoking" SUV parked on West 45th Street was discovered by tshirt vendor, Lance Orton. Orton, who is more well known as the face of Zatarain's Rice Corporation, had only this to say regarding his heroic discovery,"you see something. You say something."

Quite a contrast to the comments made by 9-year-old Stevie Torson, a passer-by on vacation with his family, who said, "he who smelt it . . . dealt it."

The SUV was found to be stocked with "cheap-looking alarm clocks connected to a 16-ounce can filled with fireworks" and a rifle cabinet packed with a "fertilizer-like substance." No true suspects have been named; although based on the list of contents of the vehicle, all early signs point to television's MacGruber.

Black Ho Son

Prior to this year's NFL draft, a controversy was broiled up in Miami. It seems that during a standard player interview, Miami Dolphins' general manager, Jeff Ireland, asked Oklahoma State receiver, Dez Bryant, if his mother was ever "a prostitute." (I believe that question comes during the "are you a cop? 'cause you have to tell me if you're a cop." portion of the player questionnaire.)


To be fair, the line of questioning was initiated when the Miami Dolphins' front office uncovered this photo of Bryant's most recent family reunion.









Ireland has since apologized; and Dolphins' owner Stephen Ross has stated that he will "take appropriate actions, if necessary." And that he is fully prepared to "smack a bitch" but that he "really doesn't want to."

The Quest Begins

So...let me start by saying that if I end up with more than three followers, I'll consider this blog a mild non-failure. I'm assuming my mom, sister and girlfriend will be the first. If Jon Stewart is the fourth, we can end this little rouse. My goal is simple - become a writer for The Daily Show. Along the way, I hope only to make a few people laugh. By the way, I love that, if you are reading this, you are considered a "follower". It's as if you are now a member of my flock. Let us pray...