*The Life & Times

Happy Leap Day

2008-02-29T00:00:00.000-06:00

Those of us paid monthly know there's nothing happy about February 29--the day we work but aren't paid for. Or, as bloggers call it, a weekday. That is all.

My Primary Sources

2008-01-01T00:00:00.000-06:00

Regarding those final essays you've been hearing so much about recently, here's an actual email I received from a student:

Hi Mr. Shain,

I just had a question about the essay question. Im working on topic three and it says that I have to incorporate significant primary sources. I was wondering if I could refer to my lecture notes as my primary source. If you could get back to me as soon as possible, that would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,
XXXXXXXXXXXX

Gifts Abound

2007-12-27T00:00:00.000-06:00

While many Americans celebrated Christ’s birthday with an orgy of consumerism and contempt for their extended family, I celebrated Christmas by reading the inspired works of fiction my students submitted as alleged final exams. And although some of you may feel your bounty of gifts included some real “crap” you can’t wait to return, I bet few of you received self-identifying crap like these essays:

Jamie Lynn Spears: Pregnant, Fucked

2007-12-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

Today, Jamie Lynn Spears, sixteen year old sister of Britney Spears, announced in OK! Magazine that she is indeed pregnant. Self-proclaimed devout Christian Jamie Lynn played cum dumpster to teen-boyfriend and fellow church-goer Casey Aldridge (pictured shirtless). Shockingly, Kevin Federline was not implicated as the father (yet). One source cited Spear’s reluctance to “give up the brown eye” and “mistaking Tic-Tac mints for contraception” as contributing factors to her pregnancy. Aldridge did not return Facebook messages left by *The Life and Times, although he did update his status to “royally fucked.” No comment yet from older sister Spears who managed to avoid teen pregnancy through abstinence and visits to Planned Parenthood. Critics say this move may help bolster Britney Spear’s tarnished image merely by association, especially if Jamie Lynn accidentally kills her own child by leaving it in a parked car while in rehab. Meanwhile Britney’s publicist confirms Ms. Spear’s Christmas card this year will feature a photograph of her two children with the caption “At least mine aren’t bastards, y’all.”

Day Four: Evacuating

2007-12-14T00:00:00.000-06:00

It's now day four of the Mr. Shain has no power campaign. Let me assure you, I've given up and moved to an undisclosed, powered location in Oklahoma City (with the dogs of course). However, digital cable is still out at my safe house so don't think my situation is without its misfortunes. The tipping point came when the local meteorologists predicted 6" of snow and highs in the low 20's. While discussing the plight of middle American families with my mother, she told me, "I'd rather freeze to death in my own home than sit in an emergency shelter with 800 people." I think this really explains a lot about how my brain was distorted as a child.

Day Three: I Can See My Breath

2007-12-13T00:00:00.001-06:00

Where the fuck is FEMA? Just because I’m not a black grand-mother of twenty in the Super-dome doesn’t mean I don’t need help too. Oh wait, I guess things didn’t work out so well for those folks either. Well replace New Orleans with Oklahoma as FEMA’s latest victim by stupidity. Do you know what the FEMA officer brought to my door today? Electricity? No. A generator to make my own electricity? No. Bottled water? No. Hot chocolate and spiced cider? Hell no. He fucking brought me a chainsaw. What the fuck? Am I supposed to take this out into the woods to collect my own firewood? Or am I supposed to volunteer to start removing trees from the city’s streets? Will that keep me warm tonight? I politely told the FEMA man I wasn’t in need of a chainsaw. He looked at the two trees laying in my front yard and wished me luck. I said, I don’t need luck, but if you’d like to use your chainsaw to get this debris out of my yard, that would be a big help. He pretended to laugh and walked away. I pretended to use the make-believe generator he brought me. I can still, however, see my breath in the house now.

Day Two: Still No Power

2007-12-12T00:00:00.000-06:00

*The Life and Times of Mr. Shain is still without power after 48 hours. The fun has really, truly worn off. The house is quite cold, despite the fire I’ve been stoking non-stop all day. I, along with every piece of clothing I own, smell like Malibu (think about it…). Have any of you ever tried to grade term papers by candlelight? Well it blows, let me tell you. I would have killed myself if I were born in the middle ages (for several reasons, but mainly due to the lack of central heat and air). Oklahoma Gas & Electric issued a statement saying that it could be seven to ten days before power is fully restored to neighborhoods with downed power lines (like mine). As a result, a line of customers trying to buy generators formed at Home Depot and wrapped around the entire building. I did not buy a generator; I was only there to pick up caulk and potting soil (unrelated). However, I may have purchased sweaters for the dogs on the way home. They're argyle.

Ice, Storm, Target

2007-12-11T00:00:00.000-06:00

Today I woke up very cold. It was because the heat was off. The heat was off because the power was off. It seems that overnight we had a bit of an ice storm causing every fucking tree in the state to topple over under the weight of the ice. We all awoke to cold toes and the cracking, popping noises of branches breaking. The neighborhoods looked like war-zones with debris covering the streets and yards and all the houses dark, powerless. Here is my street.

Bees-spot and I braved the storm to buy emergency provisions at Target. It was like a bank run. People we grabbing and pushing and buying everything in sight. We attempted to secure hotdogs, but the only thing left was pepperoni (picture forthcoming). However, they did have Toblerone, Saint-Géron bottled water, cashmere mittens, and bagged ice (for our gin and tonics). Thank God. Afterwards, we meandered through town and took jaunty pictures of ourselves, which we do every Monday night. Usually we can’t show people, but here’s one, just this once.

It’s about 10:30 pm now and we still have no power and my house is very cold. Please send gas-powered electric blankets. Target had none.

My Intellectual Property

2007-12-09T00:00:00.000-06:00

Recently I’ve experienced a minor surge in traffic on *The Life and Times. While my ego appreciates the attention, my brain wants to know why. While investigating the source of my new popularity, I serendipitously came across another blog (which shall go unnamed, unlinked), which had reposted my “Short Fat Toddler” story without a byline or any reference to my blog. Although the blogger didn’t claim authorship of my work, I thought that his preface, “From a link from a link from a link link link” left something to be desired in terms of blogademic honesty. Honestly, I felt a little cheated. It raises the question: What are the normative standards we ought to observe in this world of weblogs? I wish I studied ethics. Or not so much.

Jenna Bush on Ellen: Daddy Time

2007-12-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

On Tuesday Jenna Bush, first daughter of the United States, crossed WGA picket lines in Los Angeles to film a guest appearance on the Ellen DeGeneres talk show in order to pimp out her book (or something, I don’t really watch daytime television). Having the daughter of the President cross picket lines pissed off some writers of course, as it should. But what are you going to do about it? Her father could have you killed.

What I found even more disturbing, however, was what happened when Miss Bush unexpectedly called home to talk to her parents during the taping of the show. After negotiating the family assistant who picked up the phone, Jenna was transferred to her mother, Laura Bush. When Jenna asked her mother what she was up to, Mrs. Bush answered, “I’m just sittin’ here with daddy.” Was she referring to the corpse of her dead father Harold Welch? No. She was of course talking about Jenna’s father, George W. Bush. Laura Bush calls her husband, the President, “daddy.” Am I the only one who finds this repugnant? No, because it’s a normative fact. Here are some discussion points for the comments section:

Do you think Mrs. Bush likes to ask for a spanking from “daddy” while making love?

Does President Bush refer to himself in third person as “daddy” during cabinet meetings? E.g. Daddy knows best, etc.

Has the president ever confused himself with Mrs. Bush’s actual biological father?

[discuss]

Pimping Juno (Movie) & Diablo Cody (Writer)

2007-12-05T00:00:00.001-06:00

It's rare that I spend any time talking about other people's successes on *The Life & Times. However, when I find something that is so good and so unreasonably distributed by Fox Searchlight, I just have to pimp it out on my blog. Today, December 5, Juno opens in theaters in select cities nationwide (read, no where in Oklahoma). I had the privilege of seeing Juno two weeks ago at the DGA screening, and I loved it. Juno is a wild, surprisingly honest story of a girl, a guy, their unborn baby, and the couple that wants to do adopt it. Zaniness and heartbreak ensue as Juno decides what to do with the baby, how to talk to the father, and where to find the couple that would be the parents. Written by stripper cum writer, Slackmistress look alike, and fellow blogger Diablo Cody, the story springs between the irreverently comical and impossibly awkward. Allison Janney, Juno’s stepmother, steals the show. If you haven’t see Drop Dead Gorgeous lately, rent it. But before you do, find Juno and see it.

I Am a Horrible Human Being

2007-12-03T00:00:00.000-06:00

But you already knew that, so enjoy...

Please Turn Off All Electronic...

2007-11-27T00:00:00.000-06:00

While enjoying the spacious Denver International Airport waiting for my delayed flight to hell, I thought I would capitalize on an opportunity to share with you, my *The Life & Times reader, my Thanksgiving Holiday. Within an hour of landing at LAX I was at an art gallery opening on Robertson listening to an Israeli explain how he believed Jesus was a great spiritual leader but was not, in fact, crucified. Did I mention this show was dedicated to the crucifixion of Jesus? Because it was. There were a lot of skinny jeans being worn that night. I decided Jesus would have worn skinny jeans; he had the body for them. I however do not. Instead I will be rocking the oversized knit sweaters and jackets this winter.

Two Girls One Cup, We're Not Funny

2007-11-14T00:00:00.000-06:00

Last night, Bee-Spot and I thought it would be really funny to do the 126,873,270,982,390th reaction video to the viral hit "2 Girls, One Cup." Blythe had never seen the video, so she came over and we recorded the magic in honor of "Cringeday Wednesday," a regular feature over at the Bee-Spot. Turn up the volume really loud before playing the video because it's hard to hear us. Also, if you've never watched the original video before... then maybe you should just pretend you never saw any of this and forget all about it. Or you can find it on www.2girls1cup.com. Remember, you can't un-watch something.

Kanye's Mom Would Have Loved Batter Blaster

2007-11-13T00:00:00.000-06:00

Last week, while reading/skimming Clinton's brilliant blog Zombie Fights Shark, I discovered the best new product of 2007 that will forever change our lives--compressed pancake batter in a can--Batter Blaster! Check out their website to see how blasting batter can improve your quality of life. Realizing that there were no nearby retail stores in my area selling this new wonder of the western world, I sent the company this simple letter:

Which prompted this email response:

As soon as I get back to Los Angeles, I'm buying these miracle blottles by the gross and driving them back to Oklahoma. So please place your orders with me as soon as possibe.

-Mr. Shain
Batter Enthusiast

The Ebony Michael Jackson

2007-11-09T00:00:00.000-06:00

Last month, Mark (the Mrs. Mr. Shain) produced this cover for Ebony Magazine, which will hit newstands on Monday, November 12. Thanks to the internets, Defamer.com already picked up the story, thus making Mark a more successful blog-entity than I could ever hope to be writing for this abject failure. Is there any justice in this world? I guess there probably is.photo by Matthew Rolston

You Might Have a Problem

2007-11-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

You know what’s funny about alcoholism? Watching a middle-aged woman whose skin looks like a saddle bag with scabs on her face walk into a liquor store at 2 p.m. to buy a $5 bottle of vodka only to drop it in the parking lot while trying to unscrew the cap. If I had tags for this blog, I’d file this under: Mr. Shain Is an A-hole, Midday Cocktails, I Heart Oklahoma, and This is Not About Blythe's Mom.

Professor Bartok

2007-11-01T00:00:00.000-06:00

The language skills of my 90-year-old professor seem to be atrophying with age. Granted English is his fifth language, but today he said to me, "I check my email erotically." I hope he meant erratically. I really, really hope.

Short Fat Toddler

2007-10-23T00:00:00.000-06:00

Mr. Shain: I need to get this prescription filled.

Pharmacist: Alright, what’s the date of birth for the patient?

Mr. Shain: October 30, 2004.

Pharmacist: So he’s got a birthday just around the corner.

Mr. Shain: Uh-huh, guess so.

Pharmacist: I’m sorry, there seems to be a mistake on this Rx. The weight is listed as 50 pounds.

Mr. Shain: No, that’s correct, we just weighed him.

Pharmacist: No, he couldn’t possibly weigh that much.

Mr. Shain: What? Why? He’s really fit. Dr. Biles said he’s the perfect size.

Pharmacist: Well how tall is he?

Mr. Shain: How tall? I have no idea. Maybe a foot 'n a half? Why?

Pharmacist: So you’re telling your three year old son is only 18 inches tall, weighs 50 pounds, and your pediatrician thinks he’s fine? Do you realize the average three year old is twice as tall and half the weight of your son?

Mr. Shain: My dog.

Pharmacist: What?

Mr. Shain: My dog. The average weight of a three year old is half the weight of my dog. Did you notice that the Rx was written by a vet?

Pharmacist: Oh.

Silk Soy Sex

2007-10-18T00:00:00.000-06:00

Silk Soymilk wants you to keep your heart healthy and blood HIV-free.

*Now with condom in every gallon!*

I Heart Teaching

2007-10-08T00:00:00.000-06:00

Teaching college freshman is like giving yourself a big hug. Not really, it’s more like this—only not as glamorous. And there is certainly no craft services table (catering). I wanted to take this opportunity to share a few quotes from my students’ recent papers:

“The Bible is considered the most accurate book in the world.”

“Trying to comprehend a being that is all power is in a sense a waste of time.”

“My dog is not very intelligent.”

"Without Christianity there would not be any diversity in the world."

“plethoric”

“The complexity of nature is obvious. Nature is complex.”

“The Big Bang is a theory that gives evidence for the Bible.”

“evil monkey-squirrel god”

“Where we live a sinful life and die.”

“Therefore, one can conclude that since the Bible is entirely accurate then God does exist.”

“Wikipedia…”

“Blaise Pascal, a credible Philosopher of the 17th century, spread his seeds to many fields.”

“incorrect fallacies”

“Faith in God is something personal that should not be challenged by a theory or thesis.”

A Relationship In Trouble

2007-09-30T00:00:00.000-06:00

Esquire’s second annual The Big Black Book (which is red this year) enlightens the modern man with a list of “10 Things You Never Say To a Woman.” Upon reflection, I realized I’ve said 8 of the 10 to Blythe, including the following:

“Is that what you’re going to wear?”

“You look [anything but ‘beautiful’].”

“You were hungry, huh?”

“And you’re not invited.”

“Do you have any cash on you?”

“It’s my money.”

“Let’s walk. We [you] could use the exercise.”

“No.”

Monday Morning Mocha

2007-09-24T00:00:00.000-06:00

I have a jolly-good idea. The first commenter (today) to correctly identify BOTH the name of the building in my header AND the identity of the statue in my avatar will win a $20 Starbucks gift card along with a signed photograph of Mr. Shain and Bee-Spot (including full frontal face). I’m serious folks; how else are you going to win free lattes this morning? It is on!

(Leave your guesses in the comments section.)

Can't Stop, Can't Go

2007-09-21T00:00:00.000-06:00

Today while waiting in line at the market to check out, the man in front of me purchased a pack of Nicorette gum and two 48oz bottles of prune juice. I thought to myself, “this man is deeply frustrated.”

The Work, She is Over

2007-08-15T00:00:00.000-06:00

Today was my last official day in the Los Angeles office. Following a short sabbatical, I'll move back down to part-time from Oklahoma, where the wind truly does come sweeping down the plains. Now that the nastiness is behind us, blogging shall resume in high fashion. Topics to look out for in the following weeks are:

• Driving 20 hours straight with two dogs
• My students are stupid, here’s why
• Bee-Spot & Mr. Shain do yoga (with pictures)
• Milwaukee and me, a retrospective

Also, thank you for all of your letters and phone calls asking if I was okay. Indeed I am. Also, screw you for not calling.

Happy Belated Birthday Blythe

2007-08-07T00:00:00.000-06:00

I still got nothing here (see last post). The work situation still keeps me busy about 70 hours a week. If I'm not at work, I'm home drinking alone with my dogs. Sorry this is impacting you, the reader. So, Sunday was Bee-Spot's twenty-sixth birthday and she got loaded, wore a low cut dress, went to trashy bars, and still go no play. Sad for Blythe. However, X-tina (a friend from high school) sent her a power point (download here) with this disturbing picture of me and B-Murph from a debate tournament in Phoenix (I think). Enjoy.

Hostile Takeover (of Mr. Shain)

2007-08-02T00:00:00.000-06:00

Sorry that *The Life & Times has been content-free for the last couple of days. Things at the offices of *The Life & Times have been a bit busy. And by busy, I mean employees getting sacked, people crying in the bathrooms, directors drinking in their offices, screaming fights on the conference line, profanity, and lastly a hostile takeover. Yes, my company (rather the company that owns me) is being bought-out/purchased/paid-off like a cheap hooker who’s seen too much. Things were accidentally leaked on a call Tuesday morning and it’s been a nonstop riot here ever since. The best part? Oh, did I mention the new owner of my company is 26 years old? Because he is. He’s twenty-six. He’s two months younger than I am. Also, did I note that I am the youngest employee at my firm? Because I’m not anymore. Well, maybe I still am since He is not really an “employee”. I can’t say anymore right now, but if I go missing, you can unravel the clues left in this message to discover the location where they’ve likely dumped my body. Also, I think you people know too much about me already after certain yearbook photos and messages written by Mr. Shain were leaked on the Bee-Spot. We’re not speaking to Blythe right now.

The Simpsons Movie (Gone Wild)

2007-07-30T00:00:00.000-06:00

What was originally supposed to be brunch and matinee showing of The Simpsons movie, somehow turned into brunch followed by mimosas followed by mojitos and spending the entire afternoon at the bar. By the time the 7:00 pm showing of The Simpsons rolled around, it somehow seemed like a great idea to go to the movie completely faded.

Things were jolly good until we got in line for concessions. A standing-on-one-leg contest was initiated, ending with Shemeka falling into the couple behind us. Jose tried to buy cigarettes with his popcorn from the concessions lady. Steven hit on a couple gave them his phone number. Once we made it into the film, Jose fell down getting to his seat, although once seated, he prompted fell asleep—only waking when the woman behind him kicked his seat because he was snoring. Shemeka also fell asleep, though did not snore. Good times.

On the way home Steven admitted that he’d forgotten to “tidy up” this morning before his housekeeper came over. After she left, Steven went into his bedroom to discover that she had organized his collection of cockrings. He’s looking for a new housekeeper now. Am I the only one who’s embarrassed about his friends?

Friday Confessional: U wunt a cord Ramuné?

2007-07-27T00:00:00.000-06:00

First off, let me say that I love the Japanese—the food, the electronics, the fashion, the Shintoists. So when first learned about the cultural phenomenon of Ramuné, I had to try it. Ramuné is a Japanese lemon soda sold in a Codd neck glass bottle sealed with a marble. What’s up with the name? Well it’s transliterated from the Japanese bastardization of the English word “lemonade.” Get it? Ram-u-né… Lem-o-nade. Love it. But the best part of the drink is definitely the bottle. To open the drink, you have to push in a glass marble jammed in the lid. The marble drops and is caught in the neck of the bottle. There are two small nodes in the neck of the bottle where you have to balance the marble while drinking so that it doesn’t roll back into the opening and block it. It’s a drink, it’s a game, it’s a blast.

Dim Sum Combo B

2007-07-24T00:00:00.000-06:00

Last night while waiting in line at Famima!! (the Japanese style convenience store of magical dim sum delights and bento box lunches) I stood behind a tall, well built guy about my age who was purchasing sushi, Pom tea, and some kind of protein business. After the cashier rang up the total, $17 dollars, this dude pulled out a wad of cash from his front pocket and paid the entire bill in singles. Damn strippers. Front pocket not shown.

Becoming Eleanor Abernathy

2007-07-23T00:00:00.000-06:00

Most of you know Ms. Abernathy as the Crazy Cat Lady on The Simpsons. What most of you don’t know is that Ms. Abernathy was a child prodigy turned Ivy League grad turned burned out casual alcoholic turned psychotic cat lady. What some of you do know is that I’m currently transitioning into stage three: burned out casual alcoholic (yes, I’m typing with one hand whilst enjoying glass of cabernet with the other—sue me). Sunday night’s two hour block of Simpsons reruns included "Springfield Up" the episode where we learn Crazy Cat Lady’s gripping back story:

Eleanor, age 8: declares feminist ambitions

Eleanor, age 24: graduates from Havard & Yale

Eleanor, age 32: burns out, turns to wine

Eleanor, today: throws cats for fun and profit

This clip really, really spoke to me, and made me want to hang out with her after work. Alright, we all know this is actually Blythe.

Tammy Faye

2007-07-21T00:00:00.000-06:00

Hope you're in the big gay discotheque in the sky Tammy Faye.

Friday Confessional: I Heart Beckham

2007-07-20T00:00:00.000-06:00

The truth is 99% of the time I don’t give a damn who Colin Farrell is fucking or how many DUIs Paris, Britney, and Lindsay have this week. I’m rather immune and uninterested in Hollywood at large. I once had a twenty minute conversation with Jaclyn Smith on set before asking her what she did for a living. That was awkward.

But there are those rare moments when the confluence of Access Hollywood, libido, and second hand fame cast a magical spell over me. Such is the case with Mr. David Beckham and his wife Mrs. Posh Spice. I am in love. Which is why it’s so ironic what Mark did to me this week. Tom and Katie (yes, that Tom and Katie) are throwing a “Welcome to LA” party for the Beckhams, and it will be the event of the summer in Hollywood. When Mark told me he scored a rare and coveted invitation to the dinner, I was elated. I was ecstatic. I was over-stimulated frankly.

However, the euphoria was short lived. Sober in the face of fame, Mark decided he didn’t want to go. “It’s going to be insane,” he insisted. And with that, all of my hopes and dreams for this world vanished like so much smoke. I was empty, alone, and now hungry. I had some ice cream. The worst part is, I’ll never get to blog about how big Victoria’s head really is. I’ll never get to blog about David’s alleged botox injections. And I’ll never get to blog about how Tom tried to convert Posh and Becks to Scientology. I guess I’ll just spend my weekend looking at this:

I Miss Blogging, Blogging Misses Me

2007-07-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

Work has been a ridiculous crazy bitch this week and has prevented me from participating in the blogosphere, where I have little or no influence. Touché. After work, my time is split between my meth addiction and yoga. I know, wacky. Here are the things I would have been blogging about if I had the time to be funny:

Kelly Rippa’s Husband:
Today, my Managing Director and I had lunch as Asia de Cuba. I had the lobster club. Kevin had the calamari salad. But yummiest part of the lunch was sitting next to Kelly Ripa’s husband, Mark Consuelos.

Férfiakt: Possibly the Worst Movie Ever?

Outfest provided this gem of Hungarian cinema. The English translation of the title (which is just “Men”) is “Men in the Nude.” Let me tell you, there’s not even one goddamned cock shot in the whole fucking movie. WTF? Seriously, WTF?!? Worst movie ever.

Speaking of Hungary:
In Hungary, when shopping for produce in the market, you must weigh your own fruit, print out a bar code label-sticker, and attach it to the bag for the checker. This proves to be quite a challenge for foreigners because A) they don’t know they’re supposed to do it, and B) it requires knowing the Hungarian word for the item you’re purchasing in order to press the correct key on the machine. For those of you who’ve been to Central/Eastern Europe, you know that although they’ve discovered democracy, they’ve yet to master capitalism. That said, I was once in the supermarket, in line to check out, when the woman in front of me hadn’t weighed her bananas. The checker lady yelled at her in Hungarian, to no avail. I explained the checker’s tirade in English, to no evil. Charades were played, to no avail. It was at this point that the checker lady picked up the bananas and slung them across the store and shouted “NO BANANAS FOR YOU” in Hungarian. Does this remind you of something?

Visit My Company's Website

2007-07-13T00:00:00.000-06:00

Context is so important to everything we do. What seems like a killer company name on the new bone-white letterhead, could turn out to produce unwanted google hits as a web address. This is the case with the following REAL businesses and their unfortunate websites:

1. Who Represents is where you can find the name of the agent that represents any celebrity. Their Web site is www.whorepresents.com

2 . Experts Exchange is a knowledge base where programmers can exchange advice and views at www.expertsexchange.com

3. Looking for a pen? Look no further than Pen Island at www.penisland.net

4. Need a therapist? Try Therapist Finder at www.therapistfinder.com

5. There's the Italian Power Generator company, www.powergenitalia.com

6. Don't forget the Mole Station Native Nursery in New South Wales,
www.molestationnursery.com

7. If you're looking for IP computer software, there's always
www.ipanywhere.com

8. The First Cumming Methodist Church Web site is www.cummingfirst.com

9. The designers at Speed of Art await you at their wacky Web site,
www.speedofart.com

Breaking News: B&S Boring

2007-07-11T00:00:00.000-06:00

Some of you might be under the impression that Bee-Spot and I are purposefully zany in our comments as a way of garnering attention. I assure you, we're always like that. Submitted for evidence, yesterday's gmail conversation. Blythe is trying to convince me that we should also venture into writing a joint blog:

me: uhm, in other new, i hate blogging. so why do i want to write for 2 blogs now? news flash: i dont

blythe: news flash, you do love blogging, so why not have two? well, i know that we'd have a good joint blog

me: this just in: shain quits, bee-spot blog without readers

blythe: you're so mean

me: news flash: blythe realizes, shain is mean. also: sky is blue

blythe: but still…

me: i'm ready for a nap

blythe: it's only 11.30

me: ONLY 11:30? what's that supposed to mean

blythe: nap time already? didn't you get up about 2 hours ago?

me: so?

The point is, we're really this boring in real life... it's not just on the blogs.

Help Fight Pediatric AIDS

2007-07-09T00:00:00.000-06:00

It has recently come to my attention that a certain, twisted group of people has begun to regularly engage in the reading of this blog here at *The Life & Times. I, Mr. Shain, am truly thankful for this. Looking at Sitemeter gets me off better than [redacted].

However, upon further investigation (also known as blog-stalking) I have come to realize that many of my loyal readers/gawkers/angry commentators do not include this blog, *The Life & Times, on their own blogroll. This makes Mr. Shain sad… very, very sad. I think it also might cause babies in Africa to spontaneously develop pediatric AIDS. And a puppy dog gets hit by a Fedex truck every time you read *The Life & Times without adding it to your blogroll first. The point is:

Add Mr. Shain’s *The Life & Times to your blogroll today, and help stop pediatric AIDS and the needless killing of puppy dogs. Only YOU can stop the madness.

*The preceding has been a paid advertisement and does not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the management of this blog.

Sunday Fun Day

2007-07-08T00:00:00.000-06:00

Friday Confessional: Random Crap

2007-07-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

Mr. Shain in the news: Sometimes other bloggers read this crap and realize what a brilliant and talented writer I am. Sometimes they don’t. But here are three that really get me:note: this is a picture of me that was in the news

Welcome to the Tiki Hut!: Just for Shain
World of B: The Cooler
Bee-Spot: Pure Drivel (classic)

Italian Explosion, Part III: I’m so not good with my kitchen appliances right now. This, unlike the fridge, was totally my bad. I just wanted to throw the whole thing away.
Fourth of July addendum: I almost forgot about this text Bryan got on the 4th. Turns out, sometimes domestic violence is funny. Note to readers, Matt is Brandon’s boyfriend. They were vacationing in Palm Springs until the fistfight broke out. They don’t really remember what started it (the booze does that) but Brandon spit toothpaste in Matt’s face, Matt shoved him back, and then the punches flew. Hotel security was called, and Matt was removed from the hotel (but was the one who drove). Oh, those gays!
Meth addiction: Recently, there's been a lot of blog "chatter" about my alleged meth addiction. You know who you are. For the record, I'm not a meth addict, and I have a very nice, very expensive smile. I also sleep A LOT and am always exhausted. How many meth addicts can say that?
I am being monitored: Yesterday I got a hit from Kuwait. Okay, fine, but this hit was actually from the "Kuwait Ministry of Defense". Okay, a little weird. But this comes after a mysterious flurry of hits last week from Israel and the Palestinian Territory. I think spies might be communicating via my comment section. Has anyone actually ever met Blythe or Cherry Ride? Hmmm...

Wii-mbledon Champ

2007-07-05T00:00:00.001-06:00

note: I've reposted this blog to fix the comments section. Please comment away now. Please.
I’ve recently been asked by readers to blog about the man behind Mr. Shain, the real Shain. To these readers I say, “Fuck off, this isn’t a diary.” Instead, here’s a blow-by-blow recap of my July 4th holiday.

7:30 am Wake up, look at clock, go back to bed.

8:00 am Get out of bed. Read blogs, CNN, and New York Times. Check sitemeter.

10:00 am Breakfast at Eat Well with Bryan, JB, Robert, Steven, and Mark. I order an omelet with cheddar, mushrooms, and spinach—they don’t have green onions. I also drink a coke. Whole wheat toast on the side, but I don’t touch it.

12:30 pm Spin class; vomit.

1:30 pm Walk over to Jose’s BBQ. We buy beer, Red Bull, and macaroni on the way.

3:00 pm After a few beers, the Wii-mbledon doubles tennis tournament begins. I’m partnered with Brendan.

4:30 pm Brendan and I place second after a final round match against JP and Steven (2-6, 6-4, 7-6). There were 8 match points. It was crushing. Also, we are sweating like pigs at this point. There was a minor wii-njury during the tourney.

6:00 pm Bryan, Mark, and I spend quality time in the garden together. More typical fag conversation about shit… I don’t remember. Rum and coke now. Gourmet burgers with blue cheese stuffed in the middle are grilled by Robert. We love Robert. Also, amazing guacamole is prepared by JP. We love JP. Mark heads to second party; I stay.

8:00 pm Seriously, I have no idea where the last two hours went. Meeka, Bryan, Brandon, Dan, and I talk about [insert intellectual topic here]. I think Scooter Libby came up. Steven and I have a meaning conversation about losing faith in government. Red Bull? Yes please. Meeka, Dan, JP, and Brendan get really, really into playing Super Mario Brothers.

9:00 pm We head to the roof to watch fireworks. West Hollywood is a horrible place to do this—too far from both downtown and the beaches (where the good shows are) and it’s so smoggy you can’t really see shit. We get locked on the roof. Brendan, Steven, and Dan are really fucked up now. JP is picking up cigarette butts. Steven almost drops his iphone off the roof. Meeka and I watch the mess.

10:30 pm Wii-mbledon singles tournament ends in my triumphant defeat of Brandon (6-3, 6-2) and being crowned wii-champion. I get a wii-trophy. I suffer from wii-elbow.

11:30 pm Brendan has his first-ever deposition in the morning and is still a little bit sloppy drunk. JP attempts to hydrate him. Dan is not helping. I decide this is the end of the road for my holiday—I still have to get home and blog. This shit doesn’t blog itself.

Key words for the day: Heineken, Mexicans, Degas, constitutional law, Nintendo, manchowder, Kathy Griffin, iPhone, Honduras, French post structuralism, chasm, awkwardness bomb

The History Channel Will Blow You

2007-07-04T00:00:00.000-06:00

So maybe I’m spending my Tuesday night alone (with the kids) enjoying a bottle of Cabernet and maybe a few Rx pharmaceuticals—prescribed by a doctor thank you—and watching the “Universe” marathon on the History Channel. I’m kind of an astronomy/physics buff… so I need to watch these things like Blythe needs to watch Paula Deen. Anyway, the History Channel just ran a promo with the following tag:
Maybe this is just more enjoyable now than it will be when I wake up on Wednesday, but still I wanted to share it with you. Because that’s what I do, I share. Sharing means caring. At least that’s what this doctor thought. God I love live blogging. We should do it more often.

Update: Perhaps it's too small to read, but the History Channel tag is "Get Your Mind Blown." They actually said this on TV people. It's funny. Don't make me explain why.

Apple iPhone - Yeeeah Bitches

2007-06-30T00:00:00.000-06:00

I'll be reading your blogs exclusively from the iphone.

Friday Confessional: Savasana

2007-06-29T00:00:00.000-06:00

I’ve become a raging yoga fanatic. For years, I’ve rolled my eyes and thrown rocks at people that have extolled the benefits of yoga to me. Now I’ve somehow become the douchebag toting around the sticky mat and spouting Sanskrit like a goddamned hippie. Last night I spent five minutes in vrischika-asana. Now my neck hurts.

Speaking of Sanskrit, one such word I love to say is “Savasana,” which means corpse. At the end of our practice, we lie on our backs, palms up, motionless, like a corpse. Supposedly you meditate during this time. Instead I pretend to be dead. After many nights pretending to be dead, I’ve decided that I want to die outside, in the rain, during a summer thunderstorm. Nothing crazy, no tornados, just a strong shower with healthy thunder. Preferably with a light towel over my face. No rocks underneath either. Please don’t tell my yogi, she’ll make me do breath of fire until I pass out.

Is Your Boss Wearing Leather?

2007-06-26T00:00:00.000-06:00

Most of us* spend our days at the office wasting our lives surfing the internets, pretending to read super-lame blogs just because they link to ours, and making banal conversation with the douchebags we have the misfortune to call coworkers. The relationship with our coworkers is tenuous; there’s a delicate balance between friendly and friends. Our knowledge of their personal lives should be limitted to their partner’s name, kids or no kids, and maybe where they’re from originally. Sometimes the coworker-relationship line is crossed. Maybe you find out Susan’s husband is leaving her because he’s hitting some 20 year old blond intern at PWC. Maybe you find out that Aaron’s brother is slowly dying of AIDS in his guest bedroom. Maybe you find out that Trish is a size 2 because her husband kicks her when she eats. All these things are fine, but it really puts a damper on the workplace banter.

Yesterday I was in my associate’s office, shooting the shit about baseball and (etc.) when I noticed a nail file sitting on his desk. “That’s odd,” I thought to myself. You don’t meet a tremendous amount of straight men who keep nail files on their desks. Then I noticed a website printed on the file… something with the word “leather” on it. Curious. When he went to lunch, I snuck back into his office to get a better look at the website (NSFW) and then threw up all over myself. I thought the "Boy Butter" he kept in the fridge was for his english muffins.

*Blythe excluded.

Annie Leibovitz & My Boyfriend's Groupies

2007-06-22T00:00:00.000-06:00

Last night, it was my distinct pleasure to spend time with the great American photographer Annie Leibovitz. She was invited to speak about her most recent book, A Photographer’s Life 1990 – 2005, at the Art Center College of Design by her contemporary and friend Matthew Rolston. The evening went smoothly; Matthew’s speech was simple and glowing, and Annie’s talk was revealing and surprisingly frank in regards to her relationship with Susan Sontag. However, the entire event was marred by a posse of Art Center students who endlessly fawned over my boyfriend Mark. Mark is Matthew’s producer, and Matthew is a god to some of these budding photographers. Once these kids discovered who Mark was, they latched onto him like a leach to a baby calf. There was drool; there was gushing. I threw up a little in my mouth. On the drive home I reflected on what had become of our simple lives in Oklahoma. I decided that I was okay with the groupies; I decided I was okay being a trophy wife.

UPDATE: Italian Explosion

2007-06-21T00:00:00.000-06:00

The bitch fridge froze again yesterday. My milk is an icy block. My eggs are rocks. My temper is short.

BerkShares Say F-You to US Dollar

2007-06-20T00:00:00.000-06:00

United States separatist in Great Barrington, MA have begun to print and circulate their own currency, know as the BerkShare. After almost a year since its inception, the BerkShare is accepted at over 280 local businesses. “I just love the feel of using a local currency,” said Trice Atchison, 43, a teacher who enjoys the contact high from handling BerkShares, which are laced with LSD. Over the last ten months the BerkShares have become a regular part of the local economy and are one-to-one convertible to US Dollars.

This is not the first time a private American group has printed its own money. Most notably, Halliburton introduced a currency known as the “Iraqi Dinar” to the formerly independent country of Iraq. A spokesman for Halliburton explained that, “the best way to exploit an oil-rich nation is to control its economy—and now we f*cking print the god-damned money!”

Making Daniel Cry

2007-06-18T00:00:00.000-06:00

As many of you know, today is the one year anniversary of my friend Blythe’s breakup with her long time high school boyfriend. Let’s call him D. Phelps to protect his identity. No, that’s too easy to figure out. We’ll call him Daniel P. You can read about Blythe’s reaction here: Bee-Spot.

Frankly, the break up with Daniel might have been the best thing to ever happen to Blythe. Believe it or not, Daniel was a douche bag. Hardcore. Seriously, biggest douche to graduate an Oklahoma high school in 1999. Douchey. Now, Daniel and I go way back, like elementary school and gymnastics way back. Yeah, Daniel did competitive gymnastics in a teal leotard—I have pictures. We never really liked each other. Rather, I was nice and Daniel was a bitch and that failed to foster a healthy relationship. He was the kid who said shit like, “What’s wrong? You’re just upset because you took a piss out of your first pube.” Seriously, where did he get this material? By the time high school rolled around, I was in good company hating Daniel. He’d really stepped up his game and alienated most of the people who pretended to be his friends. However, our mutual hatred for one another was palpable. Blythe, being the fledgling masochist that she was at 16, decided she’d love to be verbally abused on a fulltime basis, and thus began dating Daniel (I was only available for part time abuse).

Blythe and I had developed a healthy working relationship in Yearbook class our freshman/sophomore year. Yes, yearbook, really. We won awards damn it. It was hot. Okay, so Blythe and I are friends, and maybe she had (has) a little residual crush on me (like most girls I went to high school with) even while she was dating Daniel. This fact was not lost on Daniel (to my delight). My senior year I made Blythe go with me to some random art lecture at OU. She lied to Daniel, telling him she was going to an SAT study session with Lacey. The next day he found the program from the lecture and confronted her. When she told Daniel that she was with me all night, he broke into tears. Yes, for the record, I made Daniel Phelps cry like a mother fucking baby. So congratulations Blythe, on the one year anniversary of your successful break up!

The Old and Homeless Hate Me

2007-06-15T00:00:00.000-06:00

It’s only noon and already this has been a busy Friday. Around 9am I was hit by a car. While coming back from our little office café (Normandie—where Pete Sampras and his wife often have breakfast together) an elderly man in his late 100s took his foot off the brake right as I was crossing the street in front of him (in the crosswalk bitches). This happens; people get bumped, no big whoop. But this time he didn’t stop, he tried to mow me down, like a fucking hit man. With cat-like reflexes, I jumped onto the hood of his car and did a dive roll to safety. Senile-hit-man just kept rolling, confused and possibly rolling, until oncoming traffic had to stop and yell profanity at him. Some coffee was spilt. Later on, a nice homeless man, dressed in a white (formerly) shirt and black slacks walked into our office to request a key to the bathroom. We work in an adorable little office suite with shared (and locked) bathrooms—very freshman dorm situation. Well, the bathrooms are locked for a reason, mainly to prevent nice homeless men from moving in. At first we were confused about why he was asking us for the key—he wasn’t here to see anyone from our office. Then we caught the smell and it all clicked. All I could think about was that Will Smith movie where he’s a homeless Wall Street intern sleeping in the bathroom… because that was what was about to go down here. Eventually I made up a lie explaining that we didn’t have bathrooms in this building but that he should try Sotheby’s across the street. With candidates interview this afternoon, I can only imagine what the rest of the day will bring.

My Childhood is Dead

2007-06-13T00:00:00.000-06:00

First it was Mr. Rogers, then it was Mr. T, and now Mr. Wizard has joined the ranks of the deceased. My childhood, spent staring into a small grainy non-high def box of a TV, was defined by these Misters, and their deaths mark the official end of all that was good in my youth. Mr. Wizard inspired a deep love of science within me that I have carried throughout my life, both in and out of the classroom. With the staggering failure of No Child Left Behind and science test scores that are on par with Cambodia, now more than ever we need a Mr. Wizard. I’ll never forget the time he filled a glass of ice full of water and then let the ice melt, only to show us the glass didn’t overflow because of displacement. That was fucking rad. Mr. Wizard, the children of the 80’s salute you.

Correction: It has come to my attention that Mr. T is, in fact, not dead. My apologies to his family and creditors.

Hotels.com

2007-06-11T00:00:00.000-06:00

On Saturday morning Mark and I drove up to San Francisco to see friends for the weekend. We didn’t really plan ahead; so right before we left we got on hotels.com to search for a cheap place to stay. There was a quaint little walk-up in Union Square (ok, maybe Tenderloin adjacent) for only $50 a night. Sold. We’re only there to sleep so who cares if the paint is chipped and the ceiling’s stained. For reference, Mark and I have stayed in some of the world’s worst dives--$1/night hostel in Cairo, genocidal border crossing between Congo and Rwanda, and many defunct former Soviet Bloc hotels. However, after waking up at 7am on Sunday and strolling into our “shared bathroom” at Hotel Olympic, we knew this was something different. The toilet room was covered in urine. Not just the seat, the whole room. And to accent the wetness was a used condom. Hot. The shower was even worse though. In European style, the shower and toilet were separated, but this arrangement must have angered or confused some anxious guest in the night, because in the absence of a commode someone had simply shit in the trashcan. And to crown his achievement, a cigarette butt was neatly extinguished on top, like a cherry. Nothing says good morning like a hot cup of coffee, a used condom, and a pile of shit next to your shower. Worth every penny….

I'm Still an A-Hole

2007-06-07T00:00:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, the hopes and dreams of a young Los Angeles Associate in my office came crashing down around him when he was fired—over the phone. Yes, we are big-time a-holes at my company, the whole lot of us. The best part of the sordid tale is that I was brought into this office to hire and train his replacement two weeks before they actually fired they guy. I just slowly started “helping” him with projects and “taking things off his plate.” The day before he got axed, he came into my office to ask if there was anything he could help me with because “I feel like there really isn’t anything for me to do here anymore.” Ironic isn’t it. I replied in my most cheery voice, “No, I’m all set here, thanks!” Because we’re a-holes, the VP fired him over the phone, after lunch; he cried a little. I secretly took pictures with my camera phone while pretending to call building security. I emailed them to colleagues who printed them on 8x10 glossies and hung them up in the kitchen. We are a-holes. Speaking of… we’re looking to hire a new a-hole to join out team. Email me if this sounds like a place you’d like to work.

Italian Explosion

2007-06-04T00:00:00.000-06:00

On Friday I came home to discover that my crap-ass refrigerator decided to freeze over, exploding a glass bottle of San Pellegrino on my top shelf. There are tiny shards of green glass everywhere—imbedded in the butter, sprinkling the jam, and hiding between the eggs. Fuck you fridge, fuck you. My strawberries are crunchy now.

Mystery Vegan

2007-05-27T00:00:00.000-06:00

This weekend, Mark and I braved the Valley to attend a friend’s 30th birthday dinner in Tarzana at a quaint little vegan restaurant called Madeline’s. This frightened me because it meant I was going to be both eating vegan food and driving in the Valley. I’ll say upfront that the meal was not bad and I have no cause for complaint. However, I was completely puzzled regarding the menu. It was filled with items such as “Spare Ribs,” “Chicken Seitan,” (which I had) and “Cheese Platter,” none of which came with descriptions of what was actually in the food you were ordering. Why the hell would anyone order a cheese platter at a vegan restaurant? Do vegans want to pretend they’re eating meat so badly that they can’t even acknowledge the textured vegetable protein patties that actually make up the faux-chicken? I think this is odd. Towards the end of the meal a bug landed in my water glass, and I seriously considered eating it just to spite the restaurant.

I Worry About It

2007-05-25T00:00:00.000-06:00

I worry about it too Sue....

You know feces?

American Idol [un-Spoiler]

2007-05-24T00:00:00.000-06:00

For those of you living in a cave and reading my blog for current event info, that girl won American Idol. Yeah…

What really inspired me to write today, however, was the old time reality show Jeopardy. I generally hold this show’s contestants in high regard, but tonight I was shamed by their ignorance in one particular category—Africa. Three pillars of American awareness came up completely empty when asked to name the official language of Ghana, to locate Sudan on a map, to name any of the countries that border Ghana, and to locate the Gulf of Guinea (the only African gulf). The media incessantly asks how we continue to allow genocide and famine to continue in Africa, but it doesn’t seem as surprising when you realize that even the most learned Americans are still oblivious to the entire continent. How many courses did you take in college that focused on Western Europe? How many focused on Sub-Saharan Africa?

On the Road

2007-05-22T00:00:00.000-06:00

The great void that has been my blog for the last month has been secretly filled with term papers, grading, and moving home to Los Angeles. There are numerous things I missed about Los Angeles, but the one joy that has been unparalleled since my return is driving.

Navigating a car through the boulevards, avenues, and twelve lane interstates of LA is an art. It envelopes your senses and engages your mind. Strategy is necessary; timing is everything. And the rhythmic weave of cars between lanes, riding inches from your bumper, is like a ballet of steel. I am a four door black ballerina with leather, back on stage.

This Is Why I Want to Teach

2007-05-14T00:00:00.000-06:00

The second best thing to really shooting sixth graders:

TEACHERS STAGE FAKE GUNMAN ATTACK ON SIXTH GRADERS

MURFREESBORO, Tennessee (AP) -- Staff members of an elementary school staged a fictitious gun attack on students during a class trip, telling them it was not a drill as the children cried and hid under tables.

The mock attack Thursday night was intended as a learning experience and lasted five minutes during the weeklong trip to a state park, said Scales Elementary School Assistant Principal Don Bartch, who led the trip.

"We got together and discussed what we would have done in a real situation," he said.

But parents of the sixth-grade students were outraged.

"The children were in that room in the dark, begging for their lives, because they thought there was someone with a gun after them," said Brandy Cole, whose son went on the trip.

Some parents said they were upset by the staff's poor judgment in light of the April 16 shootings at Virginia Tech that left 33 students and professors dead, including the gunman.

During the last night of the trip, staff members convinced the 69 students that there was a gunman on the loose. They were told to lie on the floor or hide underneath tables and stay quiet. A teacher, disguised in a hooded sweat shirt, even pulled on a locked door.

After the lights went out, about 20 kids started to cry, 11-year-old Shay Naylor said.

"I was like, 'Oh My God,' " she said. "At first I thought I was going to die. We flipped out."

Principal Catherine Stephens declined to say whether the staff members involved would face disciplinary action, but said the situation "involved poor judgment."

It's Star Trek II for Real

2007-05-07T00:00:00.000-06:00

This made me throw up a little in my mouth:

DOCTOR FINDS SPIDERS IN EAR

ALBANY, Oregon (AP) -- These guys were not exactly Snap, Crackle and Pop.

What began as a faint popping in a 9-year-old boy's ear -- "like Rice Krispies" -- ended up as an earache, and the doctor's diagnosis was that a pair of spiders made a home in the ear.

"They were walking on my eardrums," Jesse Courtney said.

One of the spiders was still alive after the doctor flushed the fourth-grader's left ear canal. His mother, Diane Courtney, said her son insisted he kept hearing a faint popping in his ear -- "like Rice Krispies."

Dr. David Irvine said it looked like the boy had something in his ear when he examined him.

When he irrigated the ear, the first spider came out, dead. The other spider took a second dousing before it emerged, still alive. Both were about the size of a pencil eraser.

Jesse was given the spiders -- now both dead -- as a souvenir. He has taken them to school and his mother has taken them to work.

God Hates Me for Yesterday

2007-05-01T00:00:00.000-06:00

"And I was greatly terrified because of the wrath and anger, because the Lord was provoked with you utterly to destroy you."
Deuteronomy 9:19

This is as true today as it was when it was written, nearly a hundred years ago. Yesterday, I may have provoked the wrath of God with my mocking of fall-down boy (who may or may not have be seriously injured). Today, the Lord brought upon me three plagues:

1. I bore witness to the mowing down of an innocent baby squirrel. A large pick up truck clipped his furry little back legs as he was darting across the street. The squirrel was, however, not was not quite dead and lay helplessly in the gutter waiting to die--fluffy tail still twitching. I wanted to cry.

2. I endured a dancing stag. It was pouring rain today, and as a result traffic was at a standstill on Lindsey. I was trapped driving behind a large SUV with a plastic stag sitting on its hindquarters affixed to the rear hitch. Disturbingly, the buck had a red and white bull's-eye painted on its ventral side. More disturbingly, the plastic suicidal animal DANCED when the driver braked. Its legs worked front to back vigorously as if to shout, "I'm over here! Point the gun this way!" I wanted to vomit.

3. I talked to an ombudsman. After pulling into the parking lot at the bookstore, a small, white-haired lady of around 80 years tapped gently on my window. I was concerned, due to her age, that she might be senile or having a heart attack, so I reluctantly rolled down the window. This was a mistake. Once down, a thirty-minute "conversation" commenced. It seems that Agnes (her real name) was a fan of the Volvo and herself had owned many Volvos [note, I drive a Volvo as well]. She told me how her last Volvo had 360,000 miles when she sold it. She told me how she bought her two sons Volvos. She told me about her mechanic who fixes Volvos. She told me about her newest Volvo. She told me lots of things, and eventually I stopped listening. Sometime during her diatribe against American cars I noticed her nametag (Agnes) and realized in horror that she was an ombudsman at the Sam Noble Museum of Natural History. Mark and I recently had a bad experience with another ombudsman at the museum when he tried to get in our car and go home with us, citing extreme loneliness and neglect at the museum. I realized it was best to just stay quiet and let Agnes extol the virtues of Swedish auto engineering until she stopped talking or dropped dead--whichever came first. She eventually thanked me for talking (ironically, rather I let her talk) and departed, having successfully shared the Word with me. I imagine tonight she'll go to her temple of Volvo and recount her proselytizing to an eager but small crowd of followers.

The point is, "Sorry God."

You Fell, I Laughed

2007-04-30T00:00:00.000-06:00

I've got another two weeks before this semester is done. I keep reminding myself the reason that I'm doing all this:

In other news, I am an asshole. Today, while stopped at a red light, I watched the biggest, nerdiest undergrad (wearing jeans shorts and white socks) attempt to run through the crosswalk in front of me. I say attempt because he didn't make it. He bit it, hard. We're talking rolling head over heals in the street, losing his backpack, and clutching his knee while rolling on the pavement hard. All this chaos unfolded right in front of my car. And did I get out and help this poor kid? No, I buckled over laughing so hard I thought I was going to accidentally take my foot off the brake and run over the gimp. After what seemed like minutes of literal writhing in the street, he limped off to find his bag and drug it to the sidewalk. I drove away, but I took a little piece of his dignity with me.

With All This Virginia Tech Hype

2007-04-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

We've seemingly forgotten what's truly important:

1. Sanjaya got voted off American Idol.
2. Attorney General Gonzalez is still a partisan prick.
3. Britney, how much hair has she re-grown?
4. Bush is still pushing that whole Iraq war thing.
5. Polar bear cub Knut is still cute, still alive.

You were all thinking the same thing you heartless bastards.

A Post-Virginia Tech World

2007-04-17T00:00:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I came home to discover 12 new emails from my university outlining the new-fangled security measures that we as students and teachers will be forced to endure throughout the rest of the academic year (and possibly beyond). Phone-trees were established and updated, a resolution to remain safe was passed by the academic senate, email boxes were clogged with junk to ensure a cyber-terrorist couldn't get to us electronically, our president David Boren expressed his deep sorrow to anyone who cared to listen, and finally all campus buildings were locked, to be opened by guards only after showing identification and appearing Caucasian and free of weapons. All in all, it was a long day.

However, today proved that living in this post-Virginia Tech era would not be as simple as an email-blast. During my first class of the morning, campus police rushed into the lecture hall, decked out in SWAT gear, and informed us that there was a security breach on campus and that we would be required to stay in "lock down" until the "situation" was “resolved.” I asked if there would be prison sex like on Oz and if we could put the girls in a different room to really get an authentic experience. The police, although secretly amused, did not respond. Some girl in the front started to cry, so I continued to lecture, ironically about virtue ethics, i.e. the right thing to do is the thing that the virtuous person would do.

At some point I ran out of examples and got bored talking, so I asked the coppers if there had been any progress (we're still sitting in class 20 minutes after it ended). An officer responded with, "Sir, the safety of you and your class is our first concern here."

I retorted, "Well then you should let me out then! I could show you some of these students' test scores... I think they may have brain damage and it could be contagious. Prolonged exposure in close contact is not safe."

The officer began talking into his walkie-talkie and turned his back to me. Some of the students were staring at me now. I pretended to read the newspaper and drink the tea that I'd actually finished an hour ago. Team SWAT all of sudden began filing out of the room and gave us the all clear to go as well. When asked what happened they simple said the situation was "resolved.” "Resolved like they blew up the building resolved? Or resolved like they got the mustard stain out of Boren's tie resolved?" I asked. No answer.

Later, back in the safe confines of my departmental office, I learned why we were locked down. A student reported seeing a man holding what looked like a rifle walking quickly into a classroom. A sketch artist created this rendition of the eyewitness account:

The object was later confirmed to be an umbrella. The student said she had a hard time seeing it clearly because of all the rain.

A Little Recursion for Logic

2007-04-14T00:00:00.000-06:00

I Heart My Passport

2007-04-10T00:00:00.000-06:00

Due to an unforeseen lack of mental resources this week (year?), I've resorted to pictures. This post is more of the same. Perhaps worse.

I love traveling and regard my passport like a wallet full of pictures of my kids. But even more special because I see my kids everyday, and sometimes frankly they're just a pain. The following are snapshots of my passport:

(notice the visa from the former Yugoslavia!)

Drinking in West Hollywood

2007-04-07T00:00:00.000-06:00

You know 32 different ways to order a Mojito.
You were drinking green apple martinis in the nineties, beyotch.
You drink vodka tonics for the lack of calories only to stop for pizza on your way home.
You did saki-bombs, not beer-bongs, in college.
Your personal Cheers is the Abbey, and everyone really does know your name (or has slept with you and since forgotten your name, if names were ever exchanged, but still people look at you like "how do I know him?").
You’ve actually seen Lindsey Lohan drunk in person, not just on Perez Hilton.
You’ve actually been to an AA meeting with Lindsey Lohan (while she was drunk, and you were probably still a little hung-over yourself).
Fiesta Cantina forties.

From Such Great Heights

2007-04-04T00:00:00.000-06:00

If you haven’t noticed, I haven’t written anything in the last week (in fact, even if you did notice I still havent written shit). This is due to grading exams and wanting to throw myself off a ~~bridge~~ water-tower. We don’t really have the type of bridges from which you could successfully kill yourself in Oklahoma. But water-towers are plentiful and tall in the plains. I’m finished grading now and will eventually regain the will to write. Maybe. Sometime.

Approval Matrix

2007-04-02T00:00:00.000-06:00

The following is a Norman version of the Approval Matrix lifted directly from New York Magazine and inspired (stolen) from Bee-Spot:

Dear John Deere

2007-03-29T00:00:00.000-06:00

My neighbor, who I call deer hunter (I forget his real name) does not mow his lawn. It's ragged and overgrown and thatched with pine needles. His backyard, I have learned, is paved. It is where he stores his industrial John Deere riding lawn mower with halogen headlights. His wife is blind.

Eating in LA - Part I

2007-03-26T00:00:00.001-06:00

You make soy and tofu regular parts of your diet.
You only shop at Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, and Bristol Farms.
You’re so over Sprinkles, it’s all about Pinkberry now.
You’ve waited in line over an hour to buy cupcakes (Sprinkles).
You’ve waited in line over an hour to buy frozen yogurt (Pinkberry).
You have an opinion about Dough Boys, either way.
You know the difference between nigiri, maki, and temaki.
Your Sunday brunch starts at 2 pm at Hugo’s, the Griddle, or Toast.
You’ve eaten quiche at Urth Café, but don’t know why.

And These Are My Hummel Figurines

2007-03-23T00:00:00.000-06:00

Recently, my friend Betsy attended a dinner hosted by her Ph.D. advisor for all of his doctoral students. Her professor, a Czech Jew who survived Dachau during WWII, created the following awkardness before the meal:

Professor: [giving an impromptu tour of his home] ...and this is my personal library. That entire bookcase is filled with foreign language translations of my books.
Students: [oooh, aahhhh]
Professor: And over here is a collection of my brother's sculptures.
Betsy: These are remarkable. Is he a famous Czech sculptor?
Professor: No, he did these when he was eight...
Students: [mild, respectful laughter]
Professor: These sculptures survived the war. He, however, did not.
Students: [awkward silence, dry cough, sniffle...]
Betsy's imagined response: Oh, did you watch him die in your arms at the concentration camp? (Because really, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?)
Professor: And on this shelf is my collect of Hummel figurines...

My Favorite Norwegian: Sondre Lerche

2007-03-22T00:00:00.000-06:00

Set against the sea of fedora hats that marks any indy concert in Los Angeles, Sondre Lerche rocked the El Rey theatre last night with help from the Faces Down band. It was Lerche’s third performance in LA and his first return to the city since recording his latest album Phantom Punch here last year. In contrast to his last album, Sondre’s Phantom Punch is a frenetic mix of rock and melody—a one-eighty from the jazzy stylings of the Duper Sessions. The entire concert took on the flavor of a Modest Mouse show, though complete with Sondre’s keen sense of humor and wit. Unfortunately, the Los Angeles crowd seemed less familiar with the band’s latest album and remained slightly subdued as a result. But when Sondre unleashed his hits from Faces Down and Two Way Monologue, the crowd’s excitement was tangible. Highlights included: Modern Nature performed as a duet with the audience, Sondre’s pep-talk before Phantom Punch, a classic performance of Track You Down, and my personal favorite, a rare treat, All Luck Ran Out. If you haven’t fallen in love with the Phantom Punch album yet, see this show—you will.

Play List:

airport taxi reception PP
say it all PP
phantom punch PP
tragic mirror PP
face the blood PP
well well well PP
happy birthday girl PP
dead passengers FD
sleep on needles FD
modern nature FD
all luck ran out FD
two way monologue TWM
track you down TWM
the curse of being in love DS

OU Gymnastics

2007-03-20T00:00:00.000-06:00

Saturday evening Bee-Spot author Blythe and *The Life and Times author Shain attended the No. 5 Oklahoma vs. No. 9 Iowa gymnastics dual meet at the OU Field House. The following are each author’s respective versions of that night.

Mr. Shain’s Version:

Senior and defending National Champion Brian Carr prepares to begin his Floor Exercise after OU has already posted three solid scores on this event. OU leads Iowa by two full points.

Bee-Spot: This is really exciting Shain, all eyes are on Brian during this competition. He’s really the heart of this OU team. You can just feel the tension in the air can’t you?

Mr. Shain: You’re absolutely right Blythe; this boy’s on his way to a Wheaties box!

Bee-Spot: Brian’s opening pass is huge—a double twisting double layout! And he sticks it! NICE. That landing is so difficult because of the speed of those rotations, but he’s not giving anything away with extra steps tonight. OU’s really improving their floor routines this season.

Mr. Shain: Absolutely Blythe! Oh wow, he’s working the floor! Brian knows exactly what he’s up against tonight—he’s got to go clean on this routine. Punch front one and three-quarters, flawless. Wow… whip two and half to prone! What does that fulfill in terms of the requirements?

Bee-Spot: I have no idea Shain. But I’m sure it’ll be hard to beat! His third pass… half-in, one-three quarter roll out… he did have a little trouble with this is warm-ups earlier. But not tonight! Solid!

Mr. Shain: Oh he nailed it! Brian’s getting bonus for his connections between these acrobatic skills now. Legs fully extended, straight, tight, beautiful. He really stands above the rest in terms of his flair Blythe.

Bee-Spot: Yes, that is tight isn’t it. And look at that Y-scale, Shain, see how far apart his legs are, he’s earning virtuosity for that. Ok, Brian’s final pass is a double Arabian in a piked position—this is one of the toughest elements being performed tonight.

Mr. Shain: And he nails the landing! There’s no way anyone from Iowa can touch his package tonight Blythe! I think he just locked it up for OU!

Bee-Spot: He certainly locked it up for me Shain!

=========================================================

Bee-Spot’s Version:

Bee-Spot: Why am I here again?

Mr. Shain: blah blah blah pass I used to be a gymnast therefore I'm better than you blah blah blah.

Bee-Spot: Can we drink yet?

Mr. Shain: blah blah rings horse blah blah blah.

Bee-Spot: OU loses points. Their outfits are entirely too sparkly.

Mr. Shain: I love gymnastics!

Bee-Spot: Do you think the ladies teams get funding for bikini waxes? Do you think I should get a brazilian?

Mr. Shain: Why? It's not like you're sleeping with anyone. Or ever will. Jumping! Spinning!

Bee-Spot: I like the shorts the boys wear when vaulting. Hot. Oh God, these boys are three [actually up to six] years younger than me. I'm so old. That one's got his shirt off! Muscles.

Mr. Shain: Yeah, you are. And ugly. Dismount!

Bee-Spot: The Iowa coaches look like they're going clubbing after this. She's got rhinestones on her shirt. This is a gymnastics meet, for Christ sake. Those are the ugliest heels I've ever seen. Does Marc Jacobs design for Wal-Mart yet?

Mr. Shain: Are you talking, because I'm better than you.

Bee-Spot: I need a pedicure.

Mr. Shain: Shut up. That was a tough vault.

Bee-Spot: She just fell! Ha!

Mr. Shain: Point-five deduction.

Bee-Spot: For the stupid ribbon in her hair. These women are in college. Ribbons? Bows? This is a fucking sport not a fashion show.

Mr. Shain: Running! Cartwheels!

Bee-Spot: We are not sticking around for the autograph session. In fact, we're leaving right now.

The Barefoot Contessa & Me

2007-03-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

This weekend I read a NYT’s article about a Food Channel favorite, Ina Garten. To be quite honest, her wildly successful show, The Barefoot Contessa, irks me. It portrays the food stylings of a middle-aged Hamptonite who throws tea parties and prepares elaborate brunches for her island lady-friends. And there’s the perennial “special Friday dinner” which she prepares for her husband Jeffery when he returns home for the weekend (he works in New Haven if you can imagine!). I always watch hoping the camera will pan down to her feet to confirm her barefootedness and reveal that she’s actually chained to her kitchen. However, this Time’s article pointed out that Garten started her career not with baking scones, but as policy analyst for the Office of Management and Budget during the Carter administration. It turns out that the woman can actually read more than a cookbook. And it made me think, if you can go from white collar State Department analyst to Hampton homemaking guru in a lifetime, where the hell will I end up at fifty? A philosopher-king of some small African fiefdom or bowling alley shoe attendant? It could go either way I guess.

These Things I Learned

2007-03-17T00:00:00.000-06:00

Today, amidst snow and the functionally illiterate, I returned to Seminole Oklahoma after an 8-year absence to judge high school debate. Debate is the technical term, but it is altogether misleading. The word cluster-fuck seems more illuminating.

Now some of you, not from Oklahoma, may be asking, "but what is Seminole?" Although not a Native American linguist, I contend that "Seminole" simply denotes the maximal set of organizational skills that can be acquired via the union of two first-cousins plus a leaded water supply and a suspicious proximity to high-voltage power lines; i.e. I advance the theory that the meaning, or bedeutung as Frege wrote, of "Seminole" is merely the empty set, similar to "Santa Claus," "the present king of France," or the class of prime numbers less than 2. There's just nothing there. Yet, I digress.

Today, while young men and women fight and die in Iraq to defend our American freedom and protect our sacred institutions such as public education, I witnessed spectacular atrocities right in my own backyard. A squat, compact, sophomore boy, when confronted in a speech contest with a question regarding US and Iranian relations with Iraq, dazzled his audience with an exactly 17-second long oration in which he declared that "we ain't got nothing to do with them folk over there" and left it up to us to fill in the rest of the puzzle. Foreign policy W-style I thought.

During a different, yet equally horrifying event at the tournament, four students were asked to prepare sermons ranging from the American deficit to the SAT. A sharp fellow from a small, western town, which contains neither a library nor a hospital, but has found room to accommodate two competing liquor stores and a "Bait-'n'-Ammo" shop, informed the eager crowd that had gathered to hear his word, that the recently elected Congress would not "hurt the deficit." Two minutes into his speech it became evident he had confused the word "deficit" with "Laura Bush," and despite some initial reservations, he was now convinced that Madame Speaker Pelosi would not try to kill First Lady Bush in a supposed hunting accident. After impressing me by completing a 3-minute speech without reference to "rag heads" or "camel jockeys" the contestant was summarily disqualified for cheating. In fact, 3 out of the 4 contestants were caught cheating. Another cheater was a soon-to-be-junior-college-drop-out whose best friend was a genius and only received a 13 on the ACT, but herself did even worse (though she quickly qualified that of she was not a genius). And the third cheater: a bright, cheerful, blond girl who tried to multiply 13 by 200 during her speech but, after several seconds of silence, was unable; embarrassed, but not ashamed, she boldly declared, "Heh, well I don't know. I suck at math!" Feminists around the globe suddenly became nauseous.

It is perhaps worth noting, for the readers own moral enlightenment, that the sole orator whose integrity remained intact, thus allowing him to win the tournament, gave the following argument to explain the rise in capital murder cases in the US:
1. Wages are increasing, but not as fast as consumer spending.
2. Increasing interest rates are forcing both parents into the workplace fulltime.
3. Due to the family's purchase of a new car, childcare is out of reach.
4. More children are home alone.
5. Parents have guns at home.
6. Children, alone, play with guns, and inevitably shoot each other.
7. Therefore, the rise in capital cases is due to murderous children with guns.

This argument went unrequited. It really makes you think.

Now home, retired by the fire in my dressing robes and reflecting on the day, I can engage in the sort of radical skepticism Renee Descartes immortalized. Though I doubt not my own existence or the potential of real knowledge, I doubt the future of American education.

The profoundly retarded walk among us; and sometimes if you live Seminole, they are also your math teachers.

Local News

2007-03-14T00:00:00.000-06:00

Boy stays in home with dad's body for 2 days

OKLAHOMA CITY, Oklahoma (AP) -- A 6-year-old boy stayed in an apartment with the body of his father for two days after the man died on their sofa, obeying instructions to never leave without permission, firefighters said.

The boy, whose name was not released, didn't want to leave even after firefighters arrived, fearing punishment if he left, fire department Maj. Noble Lee said.

"He wasn't as distraught as one might think," Lee said. "I don't think he understands the gravity of the past few days. He wasn't as upset at the situation as he was about being outside the residence without permission."

His father, Kevin Dale Judd, 52, appears to have died of natural causes, authorities said. The body was found late Monday after neighbors and a maintenance man reported a foul odor, Lee said.

According to a police report, the boy told police his father had been feeling ill and laid down. The boy left the room to watch television, and when he returned his father was slumped over.

The boy did not know to call 911 in case of an emergency, said Department of Human Services spokesman George Earl Johnson Jr. He apparently had not eaten in two days but refused food and water offered by firefighters and paramedics, Lee said.

Johnson said the boy will remain in DHS custody until relatives are found to care for him.

Copyright 2007 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

These Things I Know, or Knew, Maybe

2007-03-13T00:00:00.000-06:00

It is a popular topic for philosophers, the question “what is knowledge?” Up until the latter half of the twentieth century, three words succinctly answered this question: justified true belief. Like E=mc2 before it, K=jtb had a seductive simplicity which seemed to satisfy the sophist’s epistemic lust. Here’s why it seems to work:

Belief: In order to know that you have two children, for example, you must believe you have two children. You can’t know much without believing in it first. True: Your belief must be true in order to count as knowledge. I cannot know that the capital of California is Los Angeles because the object of my belief is false. Our beliefs must match up with the way the world really is for us to know our belief. Justified: Your true belief that this week’s lottery numbers are 8, 32, 16, 7, 29, & 2 must be justified in order for you to know the lottery numbers. For example, suppose on Monday I bought a lotto ticket with the numbers listed above and claimed to know these would be the winning numbers. Who would believe me? Very few… very, very, few (only a dozen people are even aware of this blog’s existence). But suppose Friday rolled around and the very same numbers I predicted five days earlier are drawn. Would anyone agree that I knew the winning numbers? Not normally… most you would assume it was simply luck, even if I truly believed those numbers would win. Without justification, my beliefs remain only beliefs, ungrounded. After I’ve won the lottery, and someone asks me, “What were this week’s numbers?” then I do KNOW the winning numbers—my belief is true, it matches the numbered ping pong balls that popped up during the drawing, and it is now justified by the newspaper that published the results, the live news broadcast, the lottery board writing me a check for $237,000,000, and the like. Now I know.

I knew until 1963, when a small-time assistant professor, Dr. Gettier, at Wayne State University somewhere in BFE destroyed knowledge in a two-page paper that was his first and only published work. Gettier destroyed our sexy definition of knowledge with a mere counterexample.

Suppose Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones work at Whole Foods (not Gettier’s choice but I’ve updated the story for my audience). Mr. Smith knows, i.e. has a justified true belief, that Mr. Jones will get the promotion to produce manager (suppose his boss Ms. White told him and Jones’s name is frosted across a congratulatory cake in the bakery, etc.). Mr. Smith also knows Mr. Jones has ten coins in his pocket—he’s counted them himself (they’re quite close). With this information, Mr. Smith deduces that the new producer manger will have ten coins in his pocket. However, when the big announcement comes from Whole Foods management, it is Mr. Smith who gets the job, not Mr. Jones. Oh, and guess what… Mr. Smith also has ten coins in his pocket. Breakdown:

Mr. Smith has a justified true belief about the new producer manager. His belief: The new manager will have ten coins in his pocket. His justification: Ms. White told him Mr. Jones would be the new manager and Mr. Smith knows Mr. Jones has ten coins in his pocket. The truth: The new manager has ten coins in his pocket. Ergo, Mr. Smith has a justified true belief, but does not appear to have knowledge because it is SMITH not JONES who is the new manager. FUCK.

Kierkegaard on the Self

2007-03-09T00:00:00.000-06:00

A human being is spirit. But what is spirit? Spirit is the self. But what is the self? The self is a relation that relates itself to itself or is the relation's relating itself to itself in the relation; the self is not the relation but is the relation's relating itself to itself. A human being is a synthesis of the infinite and the finite, of the temporal and the eternal, of freedom and necessity, in short, a synthesis. A synthesis is a relation between two. Considered in this way a human being is still not a self. In the relation between two, the relation is the third as a negative unity, and the two relate to the relation and in the relation to the relation; thus under the qualification of the psychical the relation between the psychical and the physical is a relation. If, however, the relation relates itself to itself, this relation is the positive third, and this is the self. --Kierkegaard

General Relativity Is Hard

2007-03-07T00:00:00.000-06:00

So I've been sick, and tired, and busy. I have nothing to say except that my physics course is kicking my ass. Here is a recent email from my professor:

GR 6333 students

Hint for evaluation the Riemann tensor.

The Riemann curvature tensor Rabcd has a maximum of 20 independent components. When all 4 indices are down it has the symmetries of equations (21.29) of Hartle. You can think of Rabcd (all down) as a 6x6 symmetric matrix Mij =Mji with ab being one index i and cd being the second index j. Because of the anti-symmetry on ab and cd each pair can take on 4x3/2=6 independent values, e.g. i = (t,r),(t,theta),(t,phi),(r,theta),(r,phi),(theta,phi). Because Rabcd=Rcdab, Mij is symmetric and can have at most 6x7/2=21 components. (21,29d) removes 1 additional component making a total of 20.

To work this problem I would suggest using equation (21.20) with your connection symbols for Schwarzschild, to evaluate Rabcd (a up and bcd down).

Look at 6 expressions, e.g., one of which is Rabtr, and see which of the values of (a,b) give a non-zero component. Because the metric is diagonal ab =(t,r) is a possibility but you don't need to compute ab=(r,t) because it will not be independent of ab=(t,r).

There are only 6 independent non-vanishing components of Rabcd the Schwarzschild metric and they can be found on page 554 of Hartle.

RK

Skunk

2007-02-27T00:00:00.000-06:00

Animal Control is on their way to my house. They’re closed on Mondays, so they couldn’t make it out until today, four days after our battle began—the battle for our backyard.

Sometime in the early evening of Friday, a small, happy-go-lucky skunk decided to move into the wilderness that is my backyard. And while I’m all for the cohabitation of nature and man, my bulldogs are not. It is their backyard, and they guard it like a castle. This was the case when at half-past-ten Bronco, one of my munchkin-doodles, dove through the doggy-door at a dead sprint and began rolling vigorously all over our carpet in the office. Mark and I watched curiously for approximately one second before being completely overcome by the burning, musky scent of skunk, sprayed all over our dog.

If you ever want to know how you’d really respond in a true emergency, have a dog rub skunk spray all over your house. As it turned out, I reacted poorly but quickly. Screaming, tears running down my face, I chased Bronco around the house before quarantining him in my bathroom. As with all emergencies, my first instinct was to get online and google “skunk spray dog.” I now imagine if Mark lost a hand in a backyard wood chipper, I’d run inside and google “detached hand” before realizing I should call 911. Perhaps I could text 911 while googling and post a bulletin on Myspace.

Anyway, at this point Mark and I discover that I have none of the home remedies listed online and realize I’ve got to make a run to Wal-Mart because the Dollar Palace is closed (see yesterday’s post). Now, despite Bronco’s success in spreading his stinkies (this is the word we use so he understands) across the entire house, I’ve actually managed not to touch him at this point and assume I’m safe to go out in public (the fatal assumption). I jump in the Volvo and off I go.

Mere moments after walking into the Wal-Mart health and beauty section, I pass two associates who remark to each other:

Shelby-Linn: “Kaylee-Mae, do you smell sompthin’?”
Kalylee-Mae: “Damn that’s nasty… smells like sompthin’s burnin’ gurl!”

I stop dead in my tracks. “No,” I think, “It can’t be me… I didn’t touch anything. I’m just being paranoid!” Lots of things in Wal-Mart smell like shit, including many of the other customers and Loretta—the 92 year old greeter with the colostomy bag. “I’m fine,” I tell myself one more time before proceeding and encountering yet another associate, Patsy.

Patsy shouting across three aisles to Kaylee-Mae and Shelby-Linn: “Now I smell it over in aisle thurteen! What is it?!”

I’m standing next to Patsy as she belts out this proclamation. She has no idea it’s me. It is me. I’ve now got a team of associates calling a manager to come find out what the smell in health and beauty is. FUCK.

Although I never realized it before, I learned that night that my greatest fear is actually smelling like burnt rubber and musk (in public). People always say “death” or “public speaking” when polled about this sort of thing, but I’d better dollars to doughnuts it would only take one good skunk incident to get these people to change their vote. Shocked, horrified, and now crippled by emotional pain, I ran straight out of the store without buying a single thing. I vowed never to return.

Alas I was forced to call my father, at midnight, and ask him to get the products for me (including feminine douche, which he actually purchased but only after having to explain the entire story to the cashier) and bring them over to the house—the house, which at this point, I’m not sure I can ever leave again. I stayed up until three in the morning scrubbing every surface of my home, only to go to bed completely saturated with the skunk—in my hair, my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my very soul.

It’s been four days now and the house still smells. Bronco still smells. My bathroom still makes my eyes water. And worst of all, the skunk is still in the backyard, digging in for a long summer of fun. I can’t even let the dogs in the backyard because of the smell and possible rematch. I keep telling myself they will catch him; take him away, far away. I can’t smell like that again. I can’t. I won’t.

Sometimes You Don't Feel Fancy

2007-02-25T00:00:00.000-06:00

Ms. Jackson was brave enough to put into words what I've always felt. This is quintessential Oklahoma right here...

Where do you avoid when you've got that not-so-fresh feeling?

A Kick in the Teeth

2007-02-22T00:00:00.000-06:00

WARNING: Today’s entry is an unusually autobiographic insight into the author’s emotional instability, love, and heartache. Please be aware that the following post is not funny.

For the past three days Oklahoma has emerged from the cold, bitter fog of winter and transformed into an amazing sunny, blissful koromogae. And although you might note that for the past eight years I’ve done nothing but bitch about the warm sunniness of Los Angeles, I am now truly enjoying the change.

However, this shift in weather has also coincided with a figurative kick in the teeth from my dentist. At the beginning of the month, I had the first of two appoints to create a crown for one of my molars which, due to a genetic gift which is my defective enamel and a constant conjunction of teeth grinding, had all but disappeared. Before we began this process, I was told my university insurance would cover 50% of the procedure (a whopping $900). OK, I can work around that. However, yesterday I received a call from my dentist explaining how they were wrong to tell me my insurance would pay for half, in fact insurance would pay for nothing, because I had the procedure TWO WEEKS before the end of my “waiting period” for the insurance to cover “major work.” Thus unexpectedly, I now have a heft bill to pay if I want my tooth back. But this is only the most recent of a string of financial hardships I’ve suffered in the last two months:

1. Car door keyed so deeply, it had to be filled and repainted. $300
2. Lost car key, replacement involved software, remotes, etc. $400
3. Computer collapses, dies unexpectedly. Must be replaced. $1400
4. Other car door is attacked by a pillar in a parking garage. $600
5. Tooth ground to nothing, replaced with porcelain. $900
6. Other molar chipped while eating gyros with Blythe, filled. $200

So long summer trip. So long new tennis shoes. So long savings account. Say hello to the “quick sell” isle of the grocery store.

Proud to be OK!

2007-02-20T00:00:00.000-06:00

When your university's newspaper headline reads "Still home to the KKK," how are you supposed to feel? Ashamed by your state? Ashamed by the poor quality journalism? Ashamed by your fellow man? Good thing I enjoy shame.

Godiva Chocolate

2007-02-19T01:11:00.001-06:00

While waiting on line at Starbucks for my chai latte, I witnessed a man, but a mere boy, of perhaps 80 or so, walk up to the counter and steal a chocolate bar. He was bold, assertive, but not conniving. He was fearless but not naive. He simply knew. And he took, quickly, while no one was there. And then he was gone. Turned out not far, just on the other side of the wall, sitting, alone, eating his prize with a certain sense of entitlement and ease. The veracity of a toddler hung on his face. He had no guilt. Pride almost. This was certainly not his first crime. Caught before, several times I'm sure. But he'd honed his craft, and no longer did he even need to feign confusion and play the part of the disoriented invalid. He was 8 years old again emboldened by immunity garnered from the shabby chic flannel of the kindly grandpa.

An Actual Email

2007-02-16T00:14:00.000-06:00

The following email was sent by Dr. Nancy Mergler, Senior Vice President and Provost of the University of Oklahoma:
Notice the time stamp in the email, 11am. Nancy must start her lunchtime cocktails a little earlier than most. If you'd like to learn more about Dr. Mergler, please visit her website. Or, just give her a call at home (405) 360-0755.

Be your own Jackson Pollock!

2007-02-15T00:36:00.000-06:00

I'm simply in love with this flash animation "Splatter" by Miltos Manetas courtesy of Yvon Lambert Gallery in New York, which allows you to be your own Jackson Pollock without the mess (and haven't we all secretly been yearning for just that?). If you have a Mac (read: aren't a loser) you can save your Pollock creations by doing a screen shot (shift+apple+3). However, you must hit the shift button twice in order to lose Manetas's signature (you'll see when you do it). If you have a PC, I'm sure you can do it too, and that's great--I just don't care honestly. Enjoi!

Boy Girl Scouts?

2007-02-14T00:00:00.001-06:00

Tonight I settled in with a glass of Charles Shaw $2/bottle Merlot and a box of Girl Scouts Thin Mints cookies. Yes, I am this classy in real life. Anyway, as I was ripping into the package, I noticed the front of the box, which features some poor troupe of scouts on a ropes course clad in helmets and t-shirts with an array of unnatural colors God certainly never intended—and my honest first thought upon seeing the picture was, “why is there a group of boys on the Girl Scouts box?” Turns out the girls are just in desperate need of eyebrow waxes. See for yourself. I think the lesson here is that prepubescent girls should not be allowed to engage in activities requiring helmets. Or, if helmets are unavoidable, pink shirt embroidered with "I'm a girl!" should be worn. Moms, let's avoid transgender confusion--don't let your daughter do activities clearly designed for boys.

Christ Be with You

2007-02-12T09:27:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I read in The Daily Oklahoman, a federal judge ruled that an 8 foot tall granite slab, inscribed with the 10 Commandments on one side and the Mayflower Compact on the other, could indeed remain at the county courthouse in Muskogee, OK. Federal courts bad, county courts just fine. The paper heralded the ruling as a triumph. This bold editorial line surprised me until I found the Daily Prayer Section published at the bottom of the paper. Christ be with you, vote Republican. *22August 2006.

Things We Do to the Dead

2007-02-11T23:08:00.001-06:00

My department’s secretary Lindsay returned from a funeral on Tuesday where the body of the deceased was on display wearing his Oakley sunglass, NASCAR racing jacket, wrangler jeans, ostrich skin cowboy boots, and a can of Skoal tucked gently in his hand. That my friends, is what white trash is all about. Apparently there was originally a bottle of Jack Daniels in the casket, but it was stolen during the viewing the night before.

Another friend of mine works at a funeral home. Now, he himself doesn’t do anything particularly exciting like embalming the corpses or fixing their hair and make-up; he’s just an admin. That was true until last week, when he was asked to press the feet of a stillborn fetus onto his desk Xerox machine. No one had provided the funeral home with the deceased’s birth certificate, which is the origin of the footprints so popularly printed on the memorial programs of babies. The day before the funeral, drastic measures were needed to ensure the timely printing of the programs. And thus, in a back office of the administrative wing, my friend, with his assistant, juggled the lifeless corpse, pressing its tiny feet onto the freshly cleaned class of the copy machine. The resulting image revealed not only the footprints, but also the hands of the men holding the baby, which had to be edited out, not with Photoshop, but an entire bottle of whiteout. Ultimately, the prints were made, the family was pleased, and that’s all the really matters I guess.

Needle Exchange

2007-02-10T19:15:00.000-06:00

Today, the front page of the Daily Oklahoman included a medley of photographs depicting young children being stabbed by needles, their faces in vary degrees of contortion. The headline, blazoned across the paper, read "Immunization Time." I considered whether this was possibly the first time people in Oklahoma had encountered western medicine, justifying the front-page coverage. Upon closer inspection, the article confirmed that this was indeed an annual ritual. Good to know. *Originally published 19 August 2006.

This is a blog

2007-02-10T12:36:00.000-06:00

At the request of Blythe (see Bee-Spot) I've created a "real blog". Indeed.