Negotiations continue.

I'm breaking my silence. I realize my absence had you reeling but I'm in great demand these days.

The WGA flew me out to L.A. this past week to do some sweet talking with my tribe. Writers are really opinionated. You may not have surmised this. They are excellent communicators as well, except when it comes to personal matters. Then they pretty much suck it.

As you know, negotiations broke down. The studios are accusing the writers of cheap tricks (not the great 80s band); the writers are getting lazy about their picketing. Everything's going to pot.

All this talk really bored the crap out of me so I took a spin around the Los Angeles parts with my agent and resident Los Angelen. What a confusing place. For all the cars, there are hardly any folks around, pounding the pavements and such. It's kind of weird.

My agent showed me an excellent time though. We sported, adventured, arted, drove by hideously ornamented houses, and such. I even lost my sunglasses! In no time, I had forgotten all about the writers. That's how it is with us writers. We're extremely "of the moment" or "in one ear, out the other." I love witticisms like that.

Once again, I set out to do a job and mission accomplished. I trust the writers and studios will come around soon; if not more Scrubs reruns which is pretty sweet if you ask me.

Disgustipated

There's this really great song "Disgustipated" by Tool. Go listen.

I'm disgusted with the world at large. What follows is evidence:

-- Woman in Queens robbed and then had her eyes and mouth glued shut by assailants.

-- Woman potentially flogged for naming a teddy bear Mohammed. Her class named the bear.

-- Woman raped, nay gang banged, for being in a car with men, now faces flogging and jail time.

-- 13-year old girl hangs herself when her MySpace boyfriend breaks up with her. Turns out another girl's mother posed as the boyfriend to teach the girl a lesson.

What the fuck is wrong with you people? I mean, really. What is wrong with you? This is not normal. This is not acceptable. The world is beyond going to pot. If we we're going to pot, people would be much nicer to each other.

I'm disgusted with you. As a race of all people. I don't care what color you are or what you believe in. Disgusted.

I finished a novel the other night seemingly about two vigilantes trying to clean up Florida's corruption. The gist of the conversation is 'if you aren't mad about something, you're passive and letting it happen. So get mad.'

I'm damn mad.

Speechless Without Writers

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm on strike. I am a writer after all. I know it's hard on you but imagine how I feel with all these ideas locked up inside. It's gotten so bad that I've developed physical symptoms. My neck refuses to turn in any direction. I may start wearing a neck brace just so I can avoid the uncomfortableness of explaining why I can't move here or there. Maybe that popular graffiti artist NECKFACE will write NECKBRACE somewhere in the hopes that I feel better. That would be sweet.

In the meantime, writers being writers who can't write wrote a commercial. Genius. Here's the link:



It probably won't work because writers can't really do anything technological but we sure can write the heck out of technology. Shit, I think it actually works. Cool. Us writers rock it. (Just in case: www.speechlesswithoutwriters.com)

That's all I can write today. My legs are going numb. I may be totally immobilized tomorrow if this strike doesn't end soon.

Bright Eyes

So yeah, I went to see Bright Eyes at Radio City on Monday. Apparently a lot of folks really hate this guy. Well, too bad for you haters, because the show was loud and good. You can't really deny any show when there is a lot of horn involved. There was horn o'plenty which equals awesome in my book. (That was really a great Thanksgiving joke. I hope you appreciate it so much.)

Sure there was some weirdness and I'll be the first to admit it. Sitting down for an entire concert that is not in fact classical or jazz is weird. And civilized. And yes, weird.

Also weird was the family of of four sitting in front of me. Mom, Dad, brother, sister. The sister looked booooored; the brother took a lot of video; Dad may have been high; Mom jammed on it. Family outings to rock concerts are weird. Sorry if you have a family and go to concerts together. Just know most people think you are weird.

I'm really not going to go into the details of how surprising this Bright Eyes show was. I was expecting something depressing and quiet. Just goes to show that even I can be surprised. And that is surprising.

Captcha!

I attended a conference yesterday because that’s what high-powered executives like myself do. We sit in freezing cold rooms with strangers and listen to someone or another brag about how great they/their company are. Then we eat crappy food and listen some more.

Some speakers proved more valuable than others. The first admitted that he didn’t know what engagement he had this morning. It showed. In fact, he was thoroughly uninspiring and unprepared. Well done.

Other speakers however proved worth the wait. One in particular stood out as top notch. In appearance he was the exact opposite of everything my “industry” is. Thank god. (Everyone kept referring to the room as “the beautiful people.” I think everyone is blind.)

Anyway, the Professor, as we’ll refer to him, explained how he developed Captcha, which is that jumbled-up word combo you have to type in when you buy tickets and stuff online. Out of all the speakers, he was the only one who drew questions. And a lot of them. One woman asked how he comes up with his ideas. And instead of saying something smug like “you have to stop listening to the noise,” he answered honestly: “I don’t know.”

Did you just feel that breath of fresh air?

Yeah, bitches, so did I.

Unfortunately I don’t think the audience truly grasped or appreciated how valuable the Professor’s presentation was. At an idea conference, his was the only presentation that really demonstrated the ingenuity of a creative idea that could be spun out a million times over. He took a problem and solved it. Then someone figured out how to get around his solution so he created another solution. And so on and so forth.

That’s inspiring.

What’s funny about all this is that Captcha is a way to tell humans and computers apart. I often find myself encountering this very thing.

“Are you human or bot?” For serious.

I have blogged often enough on the massive population of bots and now there’s technology to identify you.

Be afraid, bots!

In conclusion, you should really open your minds to the possibility that someone other than creatives have creative ideas. Only I am permitted to judge you, whether it’s silently or in a public forum. Also, if you have an appointment somewhere, show up knowing where you’re going and have something to say especially if audience members each paid half a grand to see you. Dummy.

Forgiveness

It’s such a strange thing to ask for. Even stranger to say out loud.

I forgive you.

Whatever, dork.

You really have to fuck things up to ask for forgiveness. We’re talking major life-altering calamity. Like a tornado of wrong doing. Whoring comes to mind. Emptying someone’s bank account. Murder. Dismemberment. The drogas. We’re not dealing with small potatoes on the quest-for-forgiveness front. Or maybe I’m just too forgiving.

Anyway, someone asked me to forgive them recently. It puzzled me. Not exactly the choice of words I would have chosen given the situation, but then again my choice of words is always top shelf and on point.

I digress.

Am I really in a position to grant forgiveness? Have I been so terribly wronged as to warrant forgiveness? What is an appropriate method of asking for forgiveness? It seems like such a serious thing to do — asking for forgiveness. I think it’s incredibly revealing especially considering the person in question thought their indiscretion was so weighty as to warrant forgiveness. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just rhetoric.

I was treated shabbily. There’s no denying that. And true enough I was owed an apology and at the very least an explanation. And the whole situation was entirely avoidable, which is really unfortunate and sad. But forgiveness?

Perhaps forgiveness was sought in order to clear this person’s conscience. I’m unclear on the motivation behind this particular request. Or the intention thereafter. I don’t suppose it much matters because I’ll probably never know.

People make mistakes. (I, of course, do not, but I’m trying to imagine what it’s like to be you.) People hurt each other’s feelings all the time. Not that that behavior is acceptable but sometimes people deserve second chances. Shit happens.

So, what’s a girl to do? What would Bruce Lee do? I may have to do field work and really fuck somebody’s shit up and then ask for forgiveness. Nah, too much contact with the outside world.

In conclusion, be careful what you ask for. Even though I am great, it may not be in my capacity to grant your every desire. And it may not even be what you really want. So just be clear, you know.

The floor is open for conversation. Let's start there.

You’re welcome.

Broke Back

This was an aborted post from yesterday. I fell asleep before I could muster up the energy to hit publish. Rejoice, for I am in fact still alive! I am using my nose to hit publish because it's the only part of me that does not hurt. Right on.

10 hours of anything is ill advised. 10 hours of physical and emotional pain, however, is euphoric. Maybe not during or even technically after but let's say hypothetically it is because I may not be able to type tomorrow.

I have just endured 10 hours of pain. It's called a journey. I like to call it a painful journey as I am currently in pain in every crevice of my rock hard body. I sweated buckets. This is no exaggeration as I was in a room with 400 other people and I happened to be next to the heater.

I may in fact be dead right now. Wouldn't that be something?

So yes, you guessed correctly I was on a yoga retreat. A personal revolution as the brochure billed it. The dictator inside me was overthrown. Beaten into submission if you will.

The emotional part was not my bag. I do not like to share. This was an important lesson for me to learn. At one point we were asked to share with our neighbor. You know what? I'll pass. But in the spirit of being neighborly, I tried. My first words to my neighbor were: "I do not like to share." You can imagine it went pretty swimmingly after that.

Okay, that's about all I got in me. My fingers are starting to cramp up. My muscles may never relax. Which would be awesome!

Word to that.

Bio

I just finished writing a friend's professional bio. These are hard things to do. I don't think it's a small coincidence that bio closely resembles b.o. except that there's a great big fat I in the middle. See what I mean?

Anyway, it got me to thinking what I would include in my own bio. And so I submit:

THINGS TO INCLUDE IN MY UNOFFICIAL BIO a list by Shiny Penny

-- Awesome.

-- Humble.

-- Multi-talented.

-- Multi-lingual.

-- Multi-tasker.

-- Task master.

-- Master of the written word.

-- Owed dues from Stephen Colbert for use of "You're welcome" in book promo campaign.

-- Stephen Colbert's hero.

-- Not fond of hero sandwiches.

-- Very tall.

-- Very super.

-- Not a party pooper.

-- In awe of the Japanese.

-- Descendant of Bruce Lee. Not directly, but spiritually.


I could go on forever. That's the funny thing about bios -- they're so self-congratulatory and usually so full of shit. Except for mine of course. I encourage you to write your own bio or at least a list of things to include in your bio when you ask someone else to write it for you.

References available upon request.

Important Safety Information

Are your legs keeping you up at night? You might have RLS (restless leg syndrome).

For serious.

I had no idea such a syndrome existed but I saw a commercial for prescription Requip and now I am a believer.

Requip is some kind of crazy drug that I guess puts your legs to sleep, which seems like a cool idea when you are actually sleeping but kind of annoying the other 16 hours of the day.

The Requip commercial is genius. You see this woman very troubled by her restless legs. You see this in her face. You don't actually get to see her legs going at it. I suspect she doesn't really have restless legs. Anyway, after this big fat faker takes Requip, you see her pretty much doing the same shit she was doing in the beginning but happier: lying in bed, reading a book, hanging out.

Requip is pretty impressive. You could say I was riveted to the TV.

And then it got better.

Side effects, baby. Read on.

Prescription Requip is not for everyone. Requip Tablets may cause you to fall asleep or feel very sleepy during normal activities such as driving; or to faint or feel dizzy, nauseated, or sweaty when you stand up. Tell your doctor if you experience these problems or if you drink alcohol or are taking other medicines that make you drowsy. Also tell your doctor if you experience new or increased gambling, sexual, or other intense urges while taking Requip. Side effects include nausea, drowsiness, vomiting, and dizziness. Most patients were not bothered enough to stop taking Requip.

Okay, so social contact may be a bit challenging in the beginning, what with the sweating and vomiting. What I find particularly awesome however is the risk of increased gambling and those other urges. I mean, wow! There's a drug that makes you want to gamble? I should have read closer to see what lab is behind Requip. The Tropicana maybe!

The other awesome thing about the side effects is that RLS sufferers were not "bothered enough" to stop taking Requip. That's commitment. Or sheer laziness. Or Bob just hit the triple cherry at Vegas. Ka. Ching.

In conclusion, you should always read the fine print of whatever drugs you are taking because in addition to the relief of your symptoms, said drugs may also induce weight loss (due to vomiting and nausea) or more urges! Who doesn't want more uncontrollable urges? And the gambling. Win-win all around.

Are your legs keeping you up at night? Are they?

This is not all together interesting.

However, you will read this post to its entirety because I deem it so. My will be done.

This week proved to be entirely uninteresting news-wise, unless you are me because my universe is always thrilling. A non-stop "thrill-a-diller" as John Sterling is fond of saying. I realize, of course, you do not know who John Sterling is. Your world is small. Turn on the radio and learn something.

I'd like to tell you something about sustainability. This is a "green" term. Not "green" in the sense of "it's not easy being green" although the irony is not lost on those of us smart enough to know Kermit the Frog was a visionary, way ahead of his time. Sustainability is about the future. If you suspend your disbelief long enough to believe there is a future.

I've been thinking about these big questions. What does the future hold? Do I even want to be a part of a future when the present is fairly shit-filled and unhappy for the vast majority?

Consider.

-- Colbert is no longer running for President.

-- The current roster of candidates are still running for President.

-- People, all over the world, act, for the most part, like animals. And by animals, I do not mean the cute and cuddly, inanimate kind on your bed but rather the Darwin "survival of the fittest", I-will-kill-you kind.

-- The poor outnumber the rich everywhere.

-- Mars is still uninhabited.

-- Mars Bars are extremely difficult to find and enjoy with abandon.

-- Mars Bars aren't even that delicious.

-- Today is All Souls Day. Have you prayed for the dead?

-- The dead are scary.

Faced with the above unavoidable facts, sustainability seems not so attractive. It implies a rather laisez faire, "oh just go along with it" attitude. Not quite a forward-looking ability but rather a survival tactic. What happened to progressiveness? What happened to hope? What happened to common courtesy?

Alack. A direct hit with the two-pronged goad seems almost welcome. Quick relief. But no, puppies. We're in this sustainability together.

So onward. This is my brief inspirational message to you on All Souls Day, otherwise known as Day of the Dead.

You are welcome.

I hold you responsible.

Robert Goulet is dead. He needed a lung. Why didn’t you step up?

Don’t you feel guilty now?

Goulet! Why? Why God? Why?

I remember Goulet from classic appearances on The Simpsons, King of Queens, those Emerald Nuts commercials, and Goulet’s Snooze Bars. Smooth, baby. He could so undress you with his silky tones. That’s how he rolled.

Goulet!

Do you realize he was the original Sir Lancelot in Camelot? Do you? Man, you don’t know nothing.

Goulet’s motto: “Check it out.”

Can you deny the power of Goulet? No, you cannot. Can you look into his mustachioed face and not swoon? No, you cannot. You should just submit to his delicious baritone. Submit!

He was a master craftsmen. Much like me. Everything Goulet touched: Gold, baby!

Apparently Goulet passed yesterday. Thanks for letting me know. I had to take half a day today once I found out.

Educate yourselves here: www.robertgoulet.com

I have to go lie down.

Godspeed, Goulet.

Call me!

"Hi. How are you? I'm great. Shiny Penny may or may not be home. What do you want?"

That's pretty much how my last conversation went with the telemarketer. The telemarketer calls me almost every morning at precisely 7 a.m. I ignore these calls. Thank you, caller ID.

Today, I answered. I think I needed to talk to someone. And this telemarketer had something very important to say to me, otherwise why would this telemarketer call me every day for two months at the same time? This telemarketer is dedicated. I appreciate this kind of devotion, as I deserve it.

Turns out, this telemarketer didn't have much to say of an urgent nature. I was tempted to ask my own questions of this telemarketer.

"How about a subscription to the New York Times?"

"Are you happy?"

"One month free plus weekends!"

"Do you feel exclamation points really convey your emotion?"

"And free access to all this great content on the Web."

"The InterWeb is evil. Comment."

Yeah, this telemarketer was not engaging. At least in my imaginary conversation with said telemarketer. I tried diligently to get said telemarketer off script. No dice. I suspect said telemarketer was a robot in disguise.

The phone is funny that way. It's a pity teleconferencing never caught on. Or video phone. I suspect the urge to talk on the phone naked or while on the john or while picking your nose is too strong to allow for teleconferencing or the videophone. Pity.

I think I signed up for that DO NOT CALL list. It doesn't seem to have taken. People still want to talk to me. And who can blame them? I am an excellent conversationalist.

So fine. Call me if you must. I may answer. I may probe deep within your heart. I may unravel your mysteries. I may just hang up. It's the thrill of the chase. Try me.

I dare you.

Very Scary

A lot of folks are really getting into the Halloween spirit. I’ve seen a fair share of costuming in the last few days. Some good. Some bad. Most just slutty. All of which confirms my belief that Halloween is kind of stupid.

Despite my anti-Halloween proclamation, I felt it fitting to draw up a list.

I submit the following.

PEOPLE, PLACES, OR THINGS THAT SCARE ME a list by Shiny Penny.

-- Ferrets.

-- People who own ferrets.

-- Places where there are a hell of a lot of ferrets.

-- Hell.

-- Fundamentalists. (Note that “fun” and “mental” are contained herein. Not a good sign.)

-- Grilles. As in decorative braces.

-- Redheads. Pretty much across the board. Sorry, red.

-- People who thank the Lord or Jesus or the Lord Jesus after they’ve won something, like at the end of a reality show or the Super Bowl or after receiving a free bowl of soup at Chili’s.

-- Those starving people on “Survivor.”

-- Alec Baldwin. But only mad, “you little pig” Alec Baldwin. I might enjoy him yelling at me. Ergo: scary.

-- And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead. In name only; musically, thumbs up.

-- Trail(s) of Dead.

-- The Dead. Pretty much in any form (including musical ensemble).

-- Staph infections. Flesh eating diseases. TB. Mad cow disease. Bird flu. Any combination therein.

-- When you innocently Google someone and the results go on for more than 10 pages. Unsavory topics contained therein. And exclusive photos! Yay!

-- Results.

-- Mayonnaise.

-- Teenagers. Teenagers on the street. Teenagers on mass transit. Teenagers hanging out outside my Rite-Aid.

-- Rats! As an expression: awesome. As an animal: opposite of awesome.

-- The Japanese. Far too creative for their own good.


That’s a double Top Ten, as in a list of 20. Do not attempt to use the above items in some kind of mass scare tactic against me. If jars of #17 mayo start arriving at my headquarters, you will not enjoy #16 the results as it will most likely involve #10 Alec Baldwin getting somewhere close to your face with #1 ferrets or #7 redheads. Not good odds however you shake it.

Word.

Full disclosure

I am beginning to really despise Chicago. It's like an underground vacuum sucking the very life out of New York. First, Sam. Then, Siggy. Now, Kate. (Yeah, it's all about naming names because I'm pissed off.)

I'm really tired of these bon voyages to Chicago. I curse you, Chicago. I don't care how many songs are written about Chicago and how fabulous it is. You still suck, Chicago. Not as much as Boston, but right there behind it.

Deep dish pizza sucks. The John Hancock? Big deal. Lakes? Duh. The Cubs? As an animal, fine; as a team, pbbt!

I don't get it so I'm just going to continue my hating.

F' Chicago.

This is just the tip of the proverbial melting iceberg of my wrath on all things Chicago. Minnesota is next. Then California but that state is burning so I'll delay the true storm until it rains out there. You're on notice, California.

Apparently the acupuncture is not puncturing my hatred of all of humanity and its environment. We'll have to acquire deeper needles. For your sake.

You're welcome.

Damn.

Next stop: Tchotchke

The tchotchke derives from the Yiddish, circa 1971, otherwise known as the trinket.

I hate the tchotchke and all that it represents. In fact, I categorically reject the tchotchke.

I didn't always hate the tchotchke. Until today, I had contained my distaste for the tchotchke.

Today was black indeed.

I attended what is commonly called a trade show. The origins of the trade show go way back and frankly I don't care enough to look it up. This particular trade show was for various tchotchkes and tchotchke hawkers.

I have visited hell.

It is full of tchotchkes.

You are well aware I reject clutter. Picture a trade show full of clutter. This is from whence the tchotchke was issued.

Pens! Mousepads! Golf shirts! Cheese boards! Stupid thing you throw on the wall and watch it climb down! Clocks! Staplers! Chocolate with your logo on it! Post-its in various shapes and sizes! Paperweights! Catalogs of all this and more!

Now a tchotchke on its own might actually bring a small amount of joy. That stress ball shaped like a brain came in handy now and again when I imagined whose brain I was squeezing the stupidity out of. However when you get more than one tchotchke in a room, it's akin to a gang bang. Everywhere you look, there are more and more tchotchkes. They breed like killer rabbits -- they appear cute and useful but they are demons, lords of darkness, minions of Satan himself.

I am now imposing a ban on all tchotchkes. Should you even mention the word tchotchke, I will throw down my Bruce Lee high kick all over this planet.

For serious.

Stop the tchotchke in its wicked path of destruction. Before it's too late.

My soul is black.

This was the accusation leveled at me today after I casually mentioned I hate Halloween. Not very PC, eh? No. It is not. We have feelings over here too. We don’t believe our soul to be black. Or any other color for that matter. We don’t even believe we have a soul; although we do have rhythm (see previous dancing posts).

So what if I hate Halloween? What are you going to do about it, punk? Hey look, some people are really good at the dressing up part and the spooky decorating and the hoarding of delicious candy. I remember fondly filling up my pillowcase after begging around the block for some treats or else. It really is the only time kids are allowed to threaten adults with bodily harm unless they fork over some sugar. And that’s pretty sweet if you’re a kid.

Currently, if I desire candy, I buy it. I no longer have to beg or dress up for my candy so where’s the benefit of Halloween? People don’t TP trees in New York and I’m pretty sure no one eggs around this town either. L A M E. See, there’s no joy left in this holiday. And I’ve seen kids trick or treat in Rite-Aid and the deli. That’s just weird and wrong. “Buzz off, kid, I’m buying beer and smokes.” Is that what you want your tiny Spiderman exposed to?

I do laugh at a good costume. I am not heartless. Kids pretty much look high-larious in anything, especially if it’s vegetable related. I’d love to see a kid dressed as a giant T-bone steak. God, that would be awesome.

Adults dressed up don’t do that much for me. I took a spin through the local Ricky’s to see what manner of costumes were available. There were a preponderance of slutty costumes for women: slutty nurse, slutty nun, slutty pirate woman, slutty slut, slutty gangster, sluttly slut in negligee, slutty cheerleader, slutty dominatrix, slutty construction worker woman, slutty nerd, slutty girl dressed as ape. A lot of ladies take advantage of Halloween to really whore it up and more power to you. But why not just dress that way year-round? What’s stopping you, cowards?

Halloween used to be about dead people and spirits and black cats and superstitions and cool Celtic stuff. But America botched it all up. Now it’s about boobs and booze, like every other day of the year. Stupid America. Bunch of ruiners.

In conclusion, Halloween may have once been cool but now it’s corrupt and vile and bankrupt. This is not only the way I feel but the way you feel as well deep down, if you weren’t still trying to stuff yourself into your slutty turnip costume.

Fashion Finds

If you find yourself flush with cash money this fall, may I suggest the following fashion-forward items.


#1. The vending machine skirt.
Not surprisingly a Japanese designer came up with this season’s must-have. "First I’m a skirt. Now I’m a head-to-toe vending machine." Did you just see that? This is what’s known in Japan as a “queer tool.” Its creation is actually in response to the miniscule crime rate in Japan. Rather than engage in an all-out throwdown, the Japanese prefer to blend or rather disappear. I think I can support that. Actually I’m not quite sure. Aren’t ninjas from Japan? And samurais? And sumo wrestlers? Hello, Pearl Harbor! This is not a passive people. Am I wrong? I need to go to Japan immediately. Let’s start a collection fund for me to hightail it over to Japan for this very important research. Thanks!


#2. Fundies.
Yeah, jury’s out here. I’m not so sure how fun these actually are. Practical? Negative. Maybe worth a 30-second chuckle? Definitely.


#3. Gold Sneakers.
Wow! Have all your dreams just come true or what? I know. I was so excited about these metallic slip-ons, only to discover the item is unavailable. I knew it! Someone bought up every last pair. Hoarders! I deserve these gold sneakers. I bet they’re in Japan. Even more reason for me to get over there pronto, tonto.


Start saving up, kids. Luckily Christmas is only a stone's throw away. I do not endorse wearing all three of the above-mentioned fashion-forward items at the same time. I fear for you. I really do.

You're welcome.

Dr. House

The doctor is in my house.

It's been two days since the doctor arrived. I can proudly say I am now well. The doctor has some wicked power. The doctor's ministrations have made me all but new -- but better. Newly better. Better than new. Better new.

Since I bounded back so quickly, the doctor took to the streets for some spontaneous field work. The doctor's preliminary findings are not so shocking to a genius such as myself but I'm not so sure you are ready to handle the magnitude of the doctor's geniosity. (I totally just made that word up. I think I like it. You like it too.)

The doctor and I plan on performing several experiments over the course of the next two days. Things will be revealed. The truth will be known.

While Dr. House roams the streets researching, I thought it befitting I make a list.

HOUSE CALL LESSONS a list by Shiny Penny

-- The world is ending. It is 75 degrees in October.

-- House calls are generally awesome when announced in advance. Unexpected house calls can result in robbery.

-- Being well is super fun; being sick is also super fun but only if you are me.

-- Sofa City should be outlawed in all states. However, Sofa City is a generous gesture not to be underrated.

-- Slow down. WARNING: only slow down if you are not in, or near the vicinity of, Times Square.

-- Joe Torre is gone, baby, gone.

-- Your superhero headquarters always look dirtier when the doctor is in the house.

-- ZOMBIECON!

-- The doctor and I agree we hate Halloween. The very word contains "ween" as in "weenie." Surely this is a clue.

-- I will now introduce myself as a doctor. Doctors command respect. You can become an honorary doctor for doing absolutely nothing. Bill Cosby is a doctor. Bruce Lee should be a doctor. I deem him Dr. Bruce Lee from now on. You may also refer to me as Doctor Penny.

Contrary to my popular opinion, I've given you a Top 10. Consider this a boon to you. It will not happen again, that I can assure you.

Back to the lab!

Death & House Calls

I am totally dying as I write this. The good news is the doctor is coming into town tomorrow! Hooray! The doctor is not only making a house call, the doctor is like totally staying in my apartment for as long as it takes to nurse me back to health. That's the kind of company I keep.

I'm really hoping the doctor brings something powerful to cure me of the death currently waging war on my innards. The doctor has warned me that the doctor is not that kind of doctor but a doctor of research. Bah! What kind of doctor are you without prescriptions? I will humble this doctor into a diagnosis and immediate treatment. Research this, doctor!

I would totally donate my body to science, by the way. Why should the world suffer without my presence, alive or dead? I could hold the cure to all kinds of wonderful ailments (none of which I have at present, save for a mild case of death). I'm sure my body would really blow the research world up. My body might just be too intense to cut up though. Researchers may have to encase me in glass like Jesse James or the Pope and showcase me. I would be okay with that option as well.

So yeah, other than the death, things are great! Thanks for asking. I haven't reached SICK: THE ANGER phase yet. I'll let you know if it's imminent but I'm really banking on the doctor to shake things up in here.

The doctor and I may even share a post. The doctor has a lot to say. If the doctor eradicates the death, the doctor will be granted an audience, that being you. This is very exciting for the doctor. It is very exciting for you.

I'm really busy with this death thing so that is all for now. Word.

Philly's Finest

My new favorite commercial. Raise the roof, Philly.

Colbert: My Biggest Fan

I was riding the subway the other morning and saw an advertisement for Stephen Colbert's new book "I am America. (And so can you!)" The copy read:

I wrote a book. You're welcome.

Obviously this caught my eye immediately as I routinely end posts with "You're welcome." I'm not going to get all up in Colbert's face about this infringement -- I'm just going to say "YOU are welcome, Colbert."

Yeah, that was super generous of me. I don't claim to have coined "you're welcome." I'm just saying it's all starting to make sense that Colbert is my biggest fan.

I will explain. I have a particular visitor who I cannot identify for the life of me. You might say this visitor is enamored of me.

Hey, thanks! I'm flattered! (That was two exclamation points in a row. You know I'm serious.)

Anyway, there's this repeat visitor. And then there's Colbert's advertisement co-opting my favorite phrase. Coincidence? Nah, man.

I could unleash my detective-like skills on this situation but why bother? Let the man adore. You be who you want to be, Colbert.

You are, as always, welcome.

Alice Cooper Goes to Hell

Hi! How are you? Great news! I am writing to you from Hell, where I've taken an unexpected trip. Turns out they could use some extra hands down here so I'm pitching in for a spell.

While I'm doing the hellfire thing, I thought I'd recommend you take a listen to the very awesome Alice Cooper album "Alice Goes to Hell." It's super!

For serious. It's hard to beat tracks like "I'm the coolest" and "Give the kid a break" and "I'm always chasing rainbows."

You have to listen to the album in order so you get the story. So don't put it on your fancy iPod and listen will-nilly because my spirit is already angry and I may bust my wicked Bruce Lee moves on you.

Okay, eternal damnation calls. Take care; brush your hair.

Stick it out.

In an effort to counteract The Reading's predictions, I recently underwent acupuncture. As a result, I have not only been poked and prodded but now have magnets in my ears. The magnets have thrown me a little off kilter. You could say I've experienced some disorientation, fatigue, confusion, general malaise. All of which means, IT'S TOTALLY WORKING.

If you've never undergone acupuncture, allow me to give you a taste. Your acupuncturist will ask you very personal questions for at least 45 minutes. These include, but are not limited to:

-- What do you eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?

-- Do you dream in color?

-- What is the consistency of your bowel movements?

-- On a scale of 1 to 10, how awesome are you?

The Chinese leave no stone unturned. I'll get my official "diagnosis" in a week after my acupuncturist has a chance to really mull over all that is so wrong -- and yeah so right! -- with me.

Initial prognosis was I don't have enough blood circulating throughout my body. This makes my spirit angry. No shit! I'm angry just thinking about it. I'm not exactly sure how I remedy this blood issue but you can trust that I am on top of it. If puppies start to go missing or blood banks get looted, don't look at me.

As far as the actual acupuncture part, it was pretty awesome getting stuck with tiny needles. I had a few in my feet and legs, two in each hand, and the motherload in my stomach. Something truly dastardly must be cooking underneath my rock hard core. This does not surprise me one bit. I have to admit I did keep my eyes closed while the needles were in me -- more for your sake. I can only imagine how freakalicious I looked with those needles sticking out of me. You'll have to imagine too.

In conclusion, my spirit is angry and you may be responsible. Full diagnosis to come. Acupuncture is really fun. I can't wait to get needles in my head and neck. Keep your puppies close. That is all.

Wrestle it out.

I think it's time I gave the WWE (formerly the WWF, as in World Wrestling Federation not World Wildlife Fund) its shout out. Consider this your props.

I have watched the WWE on and off for three decades. I am neither proud nor ashamed of this admission. It is what it is and you can go scratch if you don't like it. I can say that I have in fact watched live Wrestlemania I, II, and III. I can say that I have in fact enjoyed watching live Wrestlemania I, II, and III. How many people can make both those statements? I am unique in every way imaginable.

As a youth, I very much liked the WWF. The Hart Brothers, Andre the Giant, Rowdy Roddy Piper, The Iron Sheik, Hulk Hogan, Nikolai Bolshevik, and others all bring back the memories. I'm not sure exactly what drew me to these muscle-y acrobats but I dug the drama of someone getting the smack down and then coming back to win it all.

At some point I strayed from the WWF. For at least two decades I'd say. And then surprisingly it resurfaced. First there was that reality show on MTV about becoming a professional wrestler. It was engrossing. I'm not sure why that show isn't still on but I suspect it's because Americans are generally fat and lazy and don't like getting slammed on their backs.

Later that same decade I was forced to watch RAW every Thursday night. I did not enjoy this. The characters were fairly different. Most of them I didn't recognize but after a few weeks of this, I got sucked right back in. I especially liked that Chris Jericho. He's bad. He's good. He's bad. He's good. It's hard to keep up. His pants were consistently tight though and he was always ready for the gun show. I would like to get in the ring with him.

I digress. Last night I went to see a play about a professional wrestler. I am totally serious. It's called "American Sligo" by one of my new favorite playwrights Adam Rapp. You should go see it because it's disturbing and uncomfortable, like Neil LaButte, but funnier. There were some priceless phrases in there, which I can't summon at this particular moment which is why you should go see it and stop relying on me so much.

Yeah, so, wrestling. I don't have any big proclamations. Like much in life, it is what it is. Word.

I don't know much...

It's true. I do not know much if much is the measure of knowing. However, I do know very well small sections and this is why you adore me, as well you should. You should never trust those people who proclaim they know a lot or that they're experts. The latter are the worst kind of people around. They're pushers and no one likes to be pushed -- shoved maybe, but not pushed.

In the spirit of admitting I do not know much, I offer the following.

WHAT I DO NOT KNOW MUCH ABOUT by Shiny Penny

-- Who sings that song "I don't know much but I know I love you."

-- Why that song is in my head.

-- Why Myanamar can't just be called Burma since Burma is easier to say and to spell.

-- Why people bring paraphernalia to bars that can easily be tripped over.

-- Why birds suddenly appear, every time, I am near.

-- What makes people play games, e.g., Scrabble, Tetris, Ring & Run. I amend that. What makes people play games such as the aforementioned for hours.

-- Why some things are so hard to attain and others so easy, and yet the hard to get are ultimately more fascinating.

-- Why anyone plays hard to get. If you want to be gotten, get got already and stop bugging me.

-- Bugs.

This is the short list. I have no intentions of knowing much about any or all of the above. I am okay with that. Because at the end of the day, I know that I am still awesome and you still love me. And you're welcome.

Just try to look away.

Just when I thought the Japanese would never one-up the man pillow comes the transparent frog! What will those crazy Japanese think of next? It must be tough to be on the cutting edge like this time and time again. I can relate.

Anyway, as anyone will tell you, frogs are pretty great. Maybe not to touch or cuddle up with late at night but to look at from afar and behind glass cages, they are generally pretty awesome. There was a huge exhibit at the Natural Museum of History not too long ago which I unfortunately missed and am still quite angry about. (Thanks for bringing that up by the way.) This just goes to show that the world loves frogs. And who wouldn't?

Do you have any idea how many species of frog there are? Neither do I! That's just how many there are! Too many. And the colors! Don't even get me started on how colorful frogs are. Butterflies wouldn't stand a chance in a beauty pageant. That's just a little known fact in the scientific world. I know this because I have deep ties to the scientific world. They often consult me, these scientists of the scientific world. And why shouldn't they? They absolutely should and do and that's the end of that story.

Back to this transparent frog. It's a little creepy looking. Especially those milky looking eyes. Ew. Can you imagine what that milky looking eye feels like? Like cooked spaghetti I bet! The Japanese scientists "claim" they cross-bred this frog for the study of diseases.

Yeah right. Who's buying that? You know how those Japanese scientists get after a couple Sapporo. Have you seen the size of a Sapporo lately? Who can blame them for tying a few on? Sapporo is delicious by the way.

In terms of social networking, I don't see this frog getting much play. It remains transparent its entire life. That's not really a competitive advantage in the pad hopping environment. (This is my interpretation and does not reflect the interpretation of those looped Japanese scientists swilling down their Sapporo on a lonely night at the lab.) Apparently they can also create glow-in-the-dark frogs. I know. That one cannot be handled at this late hour -- it's just too intense.

I have to thank the Scrivener for the tip off to these crazy frogs and of course I thank the Japanese once again for creating everything magical in the world today.

Domo arigato.

Day One, Post Reading

I thought you might be concerned about my well-being, post doom and gloom predicted in my Tarot Card Reading. I am still present and accounted for. Thank you for your letters of concern.

However, I did notice yesterday a strong desire for destruction welling up within me. Could be all that anxiety I haven't managed. It's like a ferocious tiger inside me, this anxiety. I think I'll call it Charles. My ferocious tiger of anxiety called Charles. Has a nice ring to it.

Charles was feeling a little randy last night and forced me to drink a bunch of wine. Charles likes to party. Charles also likes to play the music loud and so Charles and I had a nice chat about what else: anxiety! It was riveting. You should have been there.

I'm kidding of course. Charles and I didn't talk at all. Charles is a ferocious tiger and tigers don't talk. He did enjoy the Beaujolais though! I thought maybe Charles and I could work up some sort of compromise wherein he would not tear me limb from limb. Jury's still out on what course of action Charles will take.

It's funny that anxiety. I don't feel particularly anxious but now that someone has told me that I have anxiety, I feel obliged to develop some anxiety. It's the polite thing to do. And when I set my mind to something, watch out.

I really hate predictions though; they're so presumptious. (God, that was a good one.) I think the Tarot Card Reader is trying to control me, albeit remotely. He may have picked up on my awesomeness and has some sort of dastardly plan for world domination and I'm his ticket to ride. (That may have been the best sentence I've ever written.)

In sum, I am not myself. Did you meet Charles? The Tarot Card Reader may have designs on my person. I am not anxious right now but if provoked, I may become anxious. Pretty awesome all around, no?

The Reading

I had my tarot cards read last night for the first time. Fascinating! The highlights are as follows, in list form.

READING HIGHLIGHTS a list by Shiny Penny

-- I have anxiety.

-- I need therapy for my anxiety.

-- If I don't get therapy for my anxiety, I may have to be put on meds.

Let me interrupt for a minute. It only gets better from this point on.

-- I am indecisive.

-- I need to getaway and sort out my head.

-- There's a lion in my environment f'ing my shit up. This lion may want to eat me. This lion may just want to maul me and leave me for dead. This lion can't make up its mind apparently. It's unclear whether this lion is real or a figment of my very active and awesome imagination.

-- I will buy a new mattress in 2008. (No shit -- the tarot cards said this.)

-- I will go overseas with my future imaginary spouse.

-- Apparently I am seeing/or will see someone with a dangerous ex who may throw it down with me.

-- The straight world is much more uptight than the gay world. (Wow, my mind is blown.)

-- I need to bake someone cookies. (Again, I am not interpreting -- these were the exact words as transcribed by my bff.)

-- I should plan on crying a lot in the near future. (YES! Finally, something to look forward to.)

-- My gay friend will invite me over for dinner. (Again, YES! Things are looking up as I am always hungry.)

-- I learned what "whiskey dick" means. (That wasn't in the cards -- just some bonus information provided by Mr. Tarot. I learned a lot about Mr. Tarot's boyfriend.)


These are the high of the highlights. As you can tell, I'm pretty pumped about the next 6-8 months. Watch out! Here begins my reign of terror. Three cheers for me!

Thanks for loving.

Malatesta

At long last. You've been waiting so long, right? Monkeys. You waited like two days max. Well here I am, working it for you. As usual. Unpaid servant of the people. I am really great.

But actually I am not really great. I have had this pounding headache all f'ing day. It feels like there is some serious fighting happening up inside my head. Like the left brain got super pissed at the right brain and they're now brandishing knives and dancing around like the Jets and the Sharks in West Side Story. Someone's going down.

I could take some sort of medical aid to alleviate my suffering but I figured I'd power through so you could stop waiting around for my next entry and maybe do something productive with yourself. Eat a banana! Jump rope! Steal a little girl's puppy!

Yeah, headaches really suck. I'm going to lie down or something and think about eating bananas and jumping rope and stealing a little girl's puppy.

Word.

A Meditation on Waiting

I hate waiting.

Were you waiting for that?

Yeah, that's right. I hate waiting. I hate waiting in line. I hate waiting for the phone to ring. I hate waiting for people who are late. I hate waiting on hold for customer service. I hate waiting for things to happen. I hate waiting for people to speak up. I hate waiting for the subway. I hate waiting for the bus. I hate waiting for the donuts. (I hate donuts, therefore I also hate waiting for them.) I hate waiting tables. I hate waiting for lights to change. I hate waiting for answers. I hate waiting for people to change. I hate waiting for someone to get to the point. I hate waiting for someone to make up their mind. I hate indecision of any kind.

Ha Jin, one of my favorite authors, wrote a whole book about waiting, called Waiting. I did not hate it. I hated the main character though for being so pathetic about waiting.

Good things do not happen to those who wait. I know this to be true because those people get tired of waiting and go do something else and then forget that they were waiting for anything in the first place.

I am not impatient. I just like shit to do what it's supposed to. I like people following through on what they say. I like happy endings. I also like sad endings. However I don't like waiting around for things to end.

In sum, time is precious. Waiting around is maddening. I am now mad that you are still here reading, waiting for something else.

Against All Odds

I mentioned a few posts ago how the dance was welling up inside me. It's still in there, waiting to tear some shit up. In the meantime, a song started to brew deep within the cockles of my heart. The most excellent "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins. Just look at that picture. Do you see the intensity? Phil does not fuck around.

This American Life's "Breakups" show is responsible. You should go listen to that. It's Ira Glass' fault that I've had this song running through my mind. I can still picture the video too.

"Against All Odds" has been torturing me. I heard it everywhere. I saw it in people's faces; they morph into Phil. This is disturbing. I saw a couple making out yesterday and I wanted to just go up next to them and start singing "How can you just walk away from me?" They were really going at it though. I was afraid they wouldn't hear me. "Against All Odds" should not be wasted. If only I had a mic. And those drum pants! I could bring Phil wherever, whenever.

Sweet dreams.

That was then. This is now: Phil is gone. I've destroyed him and "Against All Odds." Phil has been released from my secret chamber. I thank Winnie.

I took Phil downtown to Chinatown and fucked it up. I tore it up like a voracious wolf. A tiger! A manatee loose in New York City and taking no shit! (I sincerely apologize for the profanity but you need to understand how serious this situation was.)

1 a.m. marked the momentous release of "Against All Odds" belted out, nay screamed at top lung, free in the universe.

Godspeed Phil.

In sum, songs like the most excellent "Against All Odds" need to be destroyed, Bruce Lee style. Rock it if you got it.

Birth

There are worse things than celebrating your birthday. I submit the following:

WORSE THINGS THAN CELEBRATING YOUR BIRTHDAY a list by Shiny Penny

-- Giving birth.

-- Eating pickles.

-- Getting lost in Newark.

-- Being mauled by one of those black bears in Colorado looking for a light human snack.

-- Seeing anyone male in a speedo, nay a thong.

-- The word thong spoken aloud, with or without sound effects.

-- A day without horns.

-- A day without beards.

-- A day without me. (I'm channeling you. How awesome am I?)

-- Misunderstanding, miscommunication, misogyny, missing limbs.

This is the short list. I could go on and on. Birthdays are funny, not funny ha ha unless that's how you roll. Those of us at The Office of Me get weird about birthdays. Although normally the center of attention, we shy away from it on our actual birthday. I know everyone else is thanking their lucky stars that I was born. Of course you are! We appreciate your devotion. We will try not to get embarrassed by the outpouring of love. We are beginning to get confused by our self-referential "we." We are taking our leave now.

XOXO

Party in your pants.

Watch this video. My dreams are coming true. Not only can I now imitate the sweet sweet sounds of the horn, with these pants I am my own ensemble.

My mind can hardly contain itself. I will take my one person show on the road. Drums and horns. What more do you need for a party? A party all the time.

Rock.

Grass.

Walks are underrated. Long ones where you start in one direction and end up much farther out of the way. Bob Marley has a great lyric: "My feet is my only carriage so I got to push on through."

Bob's deep.

I took one of those mission walks and ended up pretty far a field from my original destination. Anyway, as I was working on my bitching tan as only I can do on one of these milestone walks, I reposed for a spot, sitting in the grass, being all quiet, and started thinking about that Warren Beatty movie "Splendor in the Grass."

The title is misleading.

I thought about how excited I was to first watch this movie, not knowing what it was about but curious about the young, strapping Warren Beatty. He did not disappoint. He was both young and strapping, and apparently ready for the gun show.

If you haven't seen the movie, I won't be a ruiner but just know it doesn't end well. There is in fact no splendor in the grass. There is only heartache and pain (some sex), a whole lot of crazytown, and bugs. Well, there were bugs in my grass. I thought about those bugs when I sat down. Maybe I killed a bunch of them. Pity.

In sum, walks are awesome. They make you think. About grass and Warren Beatty (and sex), and crazy people, and how things aren't always what they seem on the outside. And how awesome I look when tanned.

Word.

Run for your life!

There are so many great things about this picture and the story behind it. What you are seeing is the monster spider web that is kicking ass and taking names in a North Texas park. Some scientists believe this massive web is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Apparently you can hear the hum of mosquitoes caught in there. Mu-ha-ha. Some people are grossed out by this monster web. These people have no imagination and should be sacrificed to the web.

I don't think I'd appreciate walking into this monster web but I do appreciate its ginormity. Just goes to show when spiders work together, shit gets done.

I could compare this web to colonialism. I may just do that. I'm still thinking about it. I could compare this web to social networking, like an arachnoid Facebook. Maybe spiders are just looking for a date. "For a good time, come to the web. Meow."

So many possibilities. I may have to get down to Texas to witness the wicked web for myself. I will be thinking about this web for the rest of the weekend. That is all.

Time is on my side.

I will tell you a story.

I have a favorite watch. It was a gift from someone very small, who I am pretty well convinced does not have any money. The face of my favorite watch shows the clock tower in Berne, Switzerland, and yes there is a picture of a bear in the lower left-hand corner, which is the symbol of the city. I like bears. Apparently there's a black bear problem in Aspen right now. Bears are totally breaking into shit and then being shot and tagged by the police.

Anyway, my most favorite watch has been an hour slow and five minutes fast for the past year. This has caused me great anxiety but I've rolled with it because the universe is usually in my favor. I've had to do some quick math as you can imagine in order to always be on time, every time.

Yesterday, I was explaining my predicament to a co-worker and demonstrating how the thingy on the side of the watch doesn't rotate the hands. Lo and behold the thingy worked! I was beside myself. I could actually change time. I felt close to bursting.

I can see you do not share my excitement. (Don't ask how I can see it; know that I am always watching.) That's too bad for you. This was a major breakthrough as I no longer have to add an hour and subtract five minutes to know what time it is.

I feel liberated. However, now when I look at my watch, I am confused because it's actual time rather than what I've silently referred to as bear time. This is all very uninteresting. But it's a true story. And you should be thankful for the truth every once in a while.

You're welcome.

Greatest. Organization. Ever.

BEARD TEAM USA.

I've already made my feelings quite clear on beards. And yes, I knew about the World Beard and Moustache Championships for some time. I'm happy to report Beard Team USA kicked some bearded ass at the championships on September 1. You should totally visit their website and behold the magical mystery of the bearded: http://www.worldbeardchampionships.com

Apparently anyone can be a member. I am not a member. I am an admirer. But I could be a member if I would just email Phil. He might question my intentions though so I'm laying low for now. Phil also has a bitching beard and according to his blog, he is 251 years old. I don't went to screw around with this guy Phil. He means business. Beard business!

If anyone out there would like to join Beard Team USA on my behalf, I would totally dig that. I'd like to know if they send you a card or certificate or something, and maybe a grooming kit. That would be wicked!

Today I read all about the Beard and Moustache Categories. I had no idea there were so many flavors of beard. And they have crazy names and descriptions too!

Hungarian: Big and bushy, beginning from the middle of the upper lip and pulled to the side. The hairs are allowed to start growing from less than a maximum of 1.5 cm beyond the end of the upper lip. Aids are allowed.

I too was confused by the "Aids" but the Beard Team USA leaves no stone unturned. Aids include wax, hairspray, and other hair cosmetics. Aids do not include very small people hidden inside your beard. AWESOME!

What's more, you should totally check out the Gallery of Contestants and Champions. Prepare to have your mind blown into tiny tiny bits. I'm still picking up the pieces after seeing Memili Rustuoglu's Freestyle Moustache. This guy does not mess around. He is the real deal. Deal with his moustache!

I feel like screaming.

I am so exhilarated by my new favorite website. I can hardly sit still and you already know I'm morally opposed to sitting so imagine how crazytown I'm feeling.

Beards!

Craptastic

I'd like to lodge a formal complaint about today having sucked on all accounts. AstrologyZone.com predicts destruction for The Office of me this entire month. I do not appreciate this one bit.

Apparently a solar eclipse is going to really tangle my shit up next week, and how am I to prepare for this catastrophe? AstrologyZone.com suggested I change my hair.

You know what? I don't need the flip tone. I don't think AstrologyZone.com can pick up what I'm putting down, especially when I take you downtown to Chinatown.

Let this be a warning that September may suck around here through no fault of my own. I may have to kick some Mercury ass and tell Uranus where to go. Do not get in my way. I know the fu. And I know the kung.

PAO.

Labor not.

Happy Labor (free) Day! I looked up the origin of our holiday celebrating sloth (as depicted above) and discovered it dates back to the late 1800s. (That's right -- even on Labor (free) Day, I toil for you.)

Apparently the hoi polloi didn't want to work back then either. In this instance, I mean hoi polloi as the "commoners, unwashed masses". What's funny here is I used "hoi polloi" this very same day but incorrectly. I intended it to mean hoity toity upper crusters when in fact it means the opposite. Let this be a lesson to you: even I need a day off.

I encourage you to lay about tomorrow because this is what our government wants. True, most of us can't locate North America on a map but as Miss Teen South Carolina correctly pointed out, it's because "most Americans don't own maps." Clearly, this is a travesty. I intend to address maps on another occasion.

In the meantime, enjoy the opportunity to do nothing and have nothing expected of you. Labor not. Take some pointers from the two-toed sloth and max the relax.

Word.

P.S.

A LIST OF P.S. BY SHINY PENNY

P.S. If there is a long line waiting for the bathroom and you come to the front of the line and ask 1."Is this the queque for the bathroom?" (and you are not British) followed by 2."How would you feel if I cut in front of you?" Please don't be surprised if I respond "I will punch you in the face." because you deserve it.

P.S. If there is loud music in a small space, you are obligated to dance. If you are not dancing because you are too cool for school, I will be happy to tell you that you are a. not too cool for school and b. should leave said small space now.

P.S. According to the Film Cavern, if you cannot dance, you will be shot. I'm just reporting facts, not interpreting. There is a video depicting just this. If you laugh, some people may give you a disapproving look. I laughed anyway.

P.S. Some people like to be looked at. Some people like to look like they're being looked at. Some people like to be looked at looking. All of the above are boring.

P.S. The mental bridge to Queens has been reconstructed. Look out.

P.S.1 would have been a scary school to attend. I'm glad the kids are alright.

P.S. A fully crotcheted outfit may sound like a good idea but in practice don't be surprised if it's impractical. A technicolor fully crotcheted outfit, nay jumper, may sound like an even better idea...it is not.

P.S. You love me very much.

Hustler

Wow, so many things come to mind when I think hustler. Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman were not high up there. However, Midnight Cowboy, the popular movie from the 70s, has opened many doors. Jon Voight plays Joe Buck, strapping, blonde cowboy just arrived in New York City. Dustin Hoffman is Rico "Ratzo" Rizo, a crippled crook with a mean cough and clearly a sweating problem. They are an unlikely duo. I should also mention here that Jon Voight plays the hustler.

Up until today, I had assumed hustlers to be heartless and perhaps unscrupulous. Jon Voight has shown me the light. His brand of hustler is actually quite bad at the hustling part, and often ends up getting hustled by his hustlee. Quite the conundrum. I will not give away the ending. You should see Midnight Cowboy for yourself.

I think it no small coincidence I saw this provocative movie about hustlers. There is suspicion in The Office of Me that we may be the victim of a hustle. Further investigation is necessary. I will keep you posted.

My point being: Trust no one. Everyone likes to hustle, whether they admit it or not. Some people even like The Hustle, the popular dance -- these people should be quarrantined. Suspect everyone. This is not paranoia or paranormal. Beware of the sexy hustle. Be ware. That is all.

By request

I present to you NEUTICLES: It's like nothing ever changed.

Imagine your predicament when faced with the question "to neuter or not to neuter." You can't exactly conference in your pet for his/her opinion, but these are big decisions, not to take lightly.

How will Rufus feel without his junk? Will Sparky be less of a dog? Will I be less of a dogowner with a dog with no junk? Will Karl Marx be humiliated in the dog park during the sniffing scenes? How will Sandwiches react to the backdoor hump? Will Pencil become depressed, despondent, lose interest in cool dog things like dirty socks, tennis balls, and crotches?

If these are the burning questions on your mind, burn no more! NEUTICLES is the answer. Testicular implantation for pets. There's a video and everything so you know it's legit. These implants are as natural as nature intended. That's what the web says and I believe it. If you need further confirmation, here are some testimonials from pet owners:

"I've put off neutering "Crooked Joe" for months and when I found out about Neuticles and spoke to them it made me feel better about neutering. Joe not only looks the same now- but dosen't know he's missing anything."

"He's a guy and I wanted him to remain looking like one."

"Baby Snow has all the benefits of being neutered-Neuticles are just a whole lot nicer."

"Frodo never knew he lost anything and is just a happier little dog since he's been neutered with Neuticles."

I know what you're thinking. The hell Crooked Joe, Baby Snow, Frodo, and Guy don't know they're missing some junk. THEY KNOW. Your attempt to perpetrate this lie upon Crooked Joe, Baby Snow, Frodo, and Guy is futile. I will not be taken in by your fancy website NEUTICLES. I don't care how attractive that graph paper background is.

Now look, I'm all for neutering. But implantation, well, I reject it. That's right, puppies. I reject your NEUTICLES. I further reject them because Rush Limbaugh is quoted on the site: "Neuticles are just plain neat."

If you must investigate for yourself, be sure to check out the size and price chart. A large pair are going to set you back a buck and a quarter. XXL run close to a grand. You decide how much Lucky's junk is worth.

You're welcome.

Konichiwa

Uncool Hunter dropped this gem in my inbox this morning. Those kooky Japanese are at it again! Apparently there are a lot of Japanese single women, and this ingenius man-arm pillow is the answer to all their lascivious dreams. Note the large, puffy hand. And the soft blue pajama sleeve. I feel comforted just looking at it. Coveting it really. Just goes to show, you can't keep a good Japanese woman down.

Emergency Broadcast

I thought I'd update you on the results of the Miss Teen USA Pageant, which I just googled seconds ago.

Miss Colorado won. Miss Jersey was first runner-up. Do I know how to pick them or what? Personally I think Miss Jersey was robbed. It probably has something to do with her being a redhead. (As I write this Rick James' "Superfreak" is playing on the radio. Coincidence?)

Miss Jersey could totally take Miss Colorado downtown to Chinatown. Miss Colorado wouldn't even know what figuratively hit her as she was taken downtown to Chinatown by Miss Jersey.

Needless to say, I am disappointed. I will be drafting a letter to the "judges" of Miss Teen USA, who included: Melissa Joan Hart, Joey Lawrence, some skater kid named Ryan who looked very uncomfortable, and some other people I didn't care about.

This concludes this emergency broadcast. Carry on.

[hoj*poj]

I just watched the shit out of the first 30 minutes of Miss Teen USA. Mario Lopez of Saved by the Bell Fame is hosting. Teens look a lot different than when I was one. These girls could easily pick up work at Hooters if this Miss Teen USA thing doesn't work out. (By the way, Hooters is the third least Tivo skipped commercial ever. Coincidence?)

Anyway, I'm rooting for Miss New Jersey, even though I'm no longer engaged in Miss Teen USA. She's pretty, even though she's a redhead and I'm afraid of redheads. (By the way, redheads are an endangered species. The gene is dying out. That's science!) They really should just shorten Miss New Jersey to Miss Jersey. New Jersey as a state rolls like that. Abbreviate it up in here. Holla.

I promised a hodgepodge and I aim to deliver.

(It's hard to find good potpourri these days.)

When I am underslept, I straddle the fine line between useless and brilliant. I am in fact underslept. . . and yet still brilliant. You are welcome.

Garlic powder leaves a gnarly aftertaste in your mouth. Down with garlic powder.

I like horns. I've said this before. It's no surprise to anyone.

I've said bacon is The Great Equalizer. I add: Oysters are The Great Equalizer. They may in fact have the power to unite nations, eradicate evil, make love-not war, perform awesome horn solos. The power of the oyster remains untapped.

There is in fact a Hodgepodge Society that aims to change the shape of human history. I'm hoping by "change the shape" that human history is going to get all jacked up, like ready for the gun show or something. And by gun show, I mean muscle-y. Rad.

I may have passed by my opportunity to sleep so I'm going to leave you with the aforementioned hodge of podge. Feel free to add your own signature hodge to my podge. I'm feeling generous like that.

Rock.

Talk is cheap.

The above awesome video confirms my suspicions:

-- Talk is cheap.

-- The listener isn't listening anyway.

-- You're probably talking too much and boring the pants off everyone.

-- Making out solves all problems.

I endorse making out on any and all occasions. Some may call it my signature move. Watch "The Listening Man" video above by the British band The Bees and you will unlock the mysteries of the universe.

You are very welcome.

For the greater good

I submit the following for your own personal enrichment:

TOOTSIE ESSAY CONTEST: WHY I LOVE TOOTSIE ROLLS

Write an essay. Enter to win a year of Tootsie Rolls. Can you think of a sweeter deal?

No, you cannot.

You should try to win this awesome prize of 27lbs of chocolate-like goodness. Try now because once I enter you have zero chance, which is considerably less chance than you have now. Go.

Baronness von Penny

The above is the view from the open-air cockpit biplane that I flew in today over the Hudson Valley. It is as cool as it sounds. And now cooler because I did it.

You can actually fly in one of these four-seater planes with your pilot in back for a mere $50. It was the best $50 I've ever spent. You will be asked to wear the appropriate headgear and goggles and believe me it is worth it.





This was my plane. The Natural. Those are the old folks who flew before us. They had a seven-year-old too but she chickened out at the last minute. See you lata, sucka!

I can't begin to describe the exhilaration of taking off, cruising in the air, and then landing in one of these contraptions. They feel like toy planes. They asked us to keep our arms in at all times. They asked us to not touch the fuel gauge or step on the wing. They asked us to obey our pilot when in distress. They are not the boss of me, but I cut them some slack this time.

In conclusion, I will now respond to Baronness when called. Flying is awesome. Don't be too jealous. Scratch that -- you should be very very jealous.

Word.

As Seen on TV

I was watching some teevee this morning when I happened upon the following infommercial:

HIP HOP ABS WITH SEAN T.

Let's be clear on a few things before I launch into an endorsement of aforementioned infommercial.

-- I love infommercials.

-- Infommercial actors should win awards. Robert DeNiro and Meryl Streep could learn a thing or two from these masters of craft.

-- No one is more ebullient or excited about the simplest things than the "real people" in infommercials.

-- Without infommercials, we may have never experienced the joys of Gintsu Knives, Ron Popeil's Pasta Maker and Rotisserie, OxyClean, TaeBo, The Gold Kit, etc.

-- Infommercials make life worth living.

Now that we're all on the same page. . . back to HIP HOP ABS. I think it's no small coincidence that I just mentioned how I wanted to go Jennifer Beales on someone and then I randomly click on HIP HOP ABS. The universe is always in my favor.

Sean T. the very cut instructor from HIP HOP ABS has a simple mantra:

Tilt. Tuck. Tighten.

Do you feel that? Sean T. will ask you this question repeatedly as he shows you how to dance your way to flat abs with such signature moves as the "Get Busy!" Not only are these moves going to make you sleek and sexy but the unspoken suggestion is that you will QUOTE score UNQUOTE with your new sleek and sexy body. And yes, you will also have a blast while burning off those love handles.

What more could you possibly want out of life?

As my abs are already rock hard, I don't have any need for HIP HOP ABS but I felt it my duty to share with those less favored by nature this totally awesome product. Your neighbors may not appreciate all your thumping around but just lift your shirt and said neighbors will be silenced by your six pack. That's how powerful the core is. How do you think the presidents of this country were elected? It wasn't their platforms but rather their rock hard abs. Try to prove me wrong.

In conclusion HIP HOP ABS will change your life. It changed Chris' life. He was 5'10" and 235 lbs with shoulder-length curly hair. Not anymore! Now Chris is a sleek and sexy 185 with the same shoulder-length curly hair and dark circles under his eyes. I suspect once you get HIP HOP ABS in your system, it's next to impossible to stop dancing. A small price to pay, no?

In conclusion to my conclusion, infommercials are really great. HIP HOP ABS will change your life. The rock-hard stomach is the secret to success and happiness. The TV is a magical box that I will continue to monitor, if only to help you help yourself. And you love me very much.

Rising to the next level

I am so tempted to write about wizards, specifically the song "The Wizard" but I will resist the urge.

Instead, I submit something educational. This is me going out on a limb for you.

COMMON ERRORS IN ENGLISH a list, not composed by me, but strongly endorsed by me: http://wsu.edu/~brians/errors/errors.html#errors

Holy shit, puppies! I applaud whoever cataloged this exhaustive list, alphabetized and everything. This "brian" must be one angry grammarian. I salute you angry brian.

Be forewarned that possession of this knowledge will not help you quote score unquote. If that's what you're into, I cannot help you. Scoring has never been an "issue" or "problem" for me. You should work on your baggage elsewhere and stop bringing everyone down, Debbie.

For non-Debbies, check out this list and learn it. Apply it in everyday life. Do not succumb to the common man's errors.

I submit the following:

COLD SLAW: The popular salad made of shredded cabbage was originally “cole slaw,” from the Dutch for “cabbage salad.” Because it is served cold, Americans have long supposed the correct spelling to be “cold slaw”; but if you want to sound more sophisticated go with the original.


First of all, Shiny Penny rejects cold or cole slaw. I reject slaw in any form. If you have to consume slaw, please do so out of my sight. When you are consuming your contraband slaw, have the decency to refer to it by its proper name.


I submit the following:

KOALA BEAR: A koala is not a bear. People who know their marsupials refer to them simply as “koalas.” Recent research, however, indicates that pandas are related to other bears.


This is very confusing. Koalas don't look like pandas so why is angry brian mixing things up here? I think he's trying to keep us on our toes. Thanks angry brian.


I submit the following:

TONGUE AND CHEEK: When people want to show they are kidding or have just knowingly uttered a falsehood, they stick their tongues in their cheeks, so it's "tongue in cheek," not "tongue and cheek."


I know what you're thinking. angry brian doesn't touch on the gesture illustrated by tongue in cheek. Perhaps he is not only angry but sensitive in this area. Pity.


In conclusion, this site is very helpful -- for you -- and you should refer to it often. Maybe print it out and carry the pages with you for reference. Figures of authority are hot. People like to be corrected whenever possible. These are facts.

Again, you're welcome.

She's got legs.

Remember that ZZTop song?

She's got legs. She knows how to use them.

Seems so innocent. But I'm sure the legless would beg to differ. I'm like Switzerland on this particular issue as I currently have too many opinions out in the ether.

However, I thought of this classic song today on my commute to my other top secret headquarters. There are two people I see every day on the train: short, well-dressed Asian man and blonde woman with short skirts.

The Asian man will have to wait for another day.

Blonde woman. I have only ever seen her from behind. Usually ascending stairs. She often wears short white skirts, black panty hose, and high heels. I have never seen her deviate from this costume. Today it made me wonder.

Doesn't she get hot in those panty hose? How many pairs of panty hose can she possibly own? Does she rinse out the same pair every night? Why doesn't she have any runs? Is she some kind of service worker? What's lurking underneath her panty hose? Are her legs real?

I thought about these questions for an intense five seconds. When I got to work, I happened upon an article in the New York Times called "Sweatology." I think from the -ology that sweating is a science. Rad.

This article explained that most people have 2 million sweat glands; oversweaters have 4 million. If we didn't have sweat glands, we'd be covered in apelike hair.

This is what I have concluded: panty hose lady is hairy. And possibly apelike. She is dangerous. I am sure of it. Stay away from her.

I don't think it's any coincidence that ZZTop were also hairy and I thought of this song when faced with this woman's legs.

I am like a detective. Only better.

You're welcome.

Reflections from the Think Tank

I have returned from my top secret mission to Shiny Penny Research Laboratories, location undisclosed. The Doctors housed and fed me as we conducted our many tests on humanity and the environment. I'm working on the patents now but thought fit to share with you some of what we have learned in preliminary field work.

WHAT I LEARNED ON SUMMER VACATION WITH THE DOCTORS by Shiny Penny

-- Milk is an ill-advised sexual lubricant. Whole milk, in particular.

-- Eating bacon every day, sometimes twice a day, makes you smarter. Bold claim, yet nonetheless true: Bacon is the great equalizer.

-- Although licking can be fun for both licker and lickee, inappropriate licking just gets you wet. (See entry on milk.)

-- The very famous song about "My Meatball" may or may not have anything to do with the Smokey Mountains. [For novices, I give you this taste: On top of old Smokey, all covered with cheese, I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed.]

-- Meatballs are both delicious and nutritious.

-- Neuticals! Holy shit. I will be posting more about this highly controversial topic at a later date. For now, Neuticals! The faint of heart should not watch the video.

-- Emphatics are my favorite kind of people. You always know where you stand with them. Emphatics either love you as if you are the most incredible creature in the world or loathe your offensive presence. It's always clear cut.

There are so many other exciting things to share. I encourage you to take your own vacation and stop living vicariously through mine. You are acting like a parasite. Give me some space.

Thank you! You are the best. . . and sometimes the worst. . . but never both at the same time.