Shiny Penny

Finally, the end of Men is nigh. What!

2011-02-03T10:46:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Charlie Sheen, for putting a stop to new episodes of "Two and a Half Men."

Applause, applause, applause.

Someone had to put their foot down. I'm with Sheen on this one.

As for his recent antics, let's compare and contrast. True, it takes courage to trash your hotel room while your children are next door. But consider the brass balls required to deliver lines like this from TAAHM:

Alan: You have to forget about her, Charlie.
Charlie: (holding bottle of liquor) I know, that's why I got me some milk of amnesia.

For Christ's sake, his character's name is Charlie. That's a stunning display of originality, writers.

Not convinced? The theme song of TAAHM goes something like this:

Men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, meeeeeeeeeeennnnnnn

Colin Meloy of the verbose The Decemberists wishes he could master this kind of word play. (I approve of Colin Meloy's logorrhea.)

So quit wagging your accusatory fingers at Charlie and poo-pooing his personal problems. Has anyone stepped up to suggest that his addictions could be related to being on this supremely shitty show for so long? There, I said it.

America, you are to blame.

Eight seasons of this abomination? Plus, syndication! Good grief. Have you no self-esteem? To give yourselves over to this visual/aural vomitorium week after week, it disgusts me.

And, Duckie, what the hell happened to land you here? Go back to the record store with Iona. Please.

I miss Sheen's Hot Shot days. He was a fine piece of tall, dark, and let's-get-it-on back then. Now he's starting to get those nibblet teeth. You know the ones, from smoking the pipe.

Anyway, I wish Carlos Irwin Estevez well. Sobriety should knock the TAAHM stupor out of him. In the meantime, a heartfelt thank you for trying to save the unwashed masses from Men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, meeeeeeeeeeennnnnnn

Important messages from Facebook

2011-01-31T07:02:00.000-08:00

Facebook Ads prove RIF (reading is fundamental). I learned two important things today:

Cats can't see shit.
Dentists are nefarious.

I vouch for the verity of the above statements and I repeat them with impunity:

Cats can't see shit.
Dentists are nefarious.

Here is the evidence to support these claims. Judge for yourself.


Highly informational Facebook ads in question

I've always suspected that cats need glasses. This explains the irrational and totally unprovoked behavior of my dearly departed Muffin. Yes, as a child I did squeeze her (for science) and drag her around in my sleeping bag (for ease of transportation). Her violent outbursts never made any sense back then but now, yes. Maybe if Muffin had a good pair of hipster frames, we could have all just gotten along.

Look, I've written about cat-related shocking discoveries before. Cats are killers. This is common knowledge. Now we know they're also blind. . . with rage!

Isn't it ironic that we have cat-eye frames and not a single feline has benefited personally? I should really start a foundation.

As for the evil doings of dentists, I'm shocked that they'd reveal their secret practices so brazenly in this ad. Take a long look at that stock lady. Where is she exactly? Heaven? A beach? On a longboat to China? Why is her hair so messy? Why is she wearing a white robe? Is she in the lockup?

Don't think I haven't picked up on the strange coincidence that my own dentist emailed me yesterday to make an appointment and today I was served this dentist ad.

In contrast, I'd like to share with you an example of advertising done exceptionally well.


Exhibit A: Excellent advertisement

Clear. Concise. Enticing to the unwashed masses. No mention of cats (jerks) or dentists (devils).

Hey man, not everyone can be as touched by the genius to craft such an excellent advertisement. Not everyone can repress the urge to share their dirty dirty doings (see dentists) That's a tough break.

Nevertheless, I urge you to pay attention to the messages that surround us. Especially on the highly educational Facebook.

Oscars snub won't go unnoticed.

2011-01-25T08:56:00.000-08:00

What a week! First, Zsa Zsa loses part of her leg due to gangrene (ew) and now this blatant Oscars snub of the single best movie of 2010.

You know the one:

The most excellent and inspiring HOT TUB TIME MACHINE. This sleeper hit restored my faith in man. And hot tubs.

Up until I'd seen HTTM, I feared hot tubs. They're cesspools of bacteria, really. I've often remarked that a hot tub is like a human stew. I still stand by that statement but I will now also admit that hot tubs may have transportation powers, of which I am a fan.

Just take a long look at the stellar cast: John Cusack, Rob Cordry, Darrell from The Office and the only funny person on Last Comic Standing, beers, radio/tape deck, squirrel with cassette tape, and that pasty kid.

How can you beat this premise:

Four guy friends, all of them bored with their adult lives, travel back to their respective 80s heydays thanks to a time-bending hot tub.

You cannot.

I'm disappointed in you, Academy. This is a colossal fail on your part. Your nominations are wholly rejected.

Let's review this big fat waste of nomination space.

Best Picture:

Black Swan (didn't see it / don't care)
The Fighter (didn't see it / care 20%)
Inception (saw it / fell asleep / didn't get it)
The Kids Are All Right (points for Mark Ruffalo)
The King's Speech (don't speak British)
127 Hours (how would Zsa Zsa feel?)
The Social Network (livin' it, don't need to watch it)
Toy Story 3 (Tom Hanks has enough.)
True Grit (don't speak Western)
Winter's Bone (pardon?)

To sum up, I've only seen two of the above movies but can wholeheartedly endorse HOT TUB TIME MACHINE as the clear winner.

Actress in a Leading Role:

Annette Bening (not enough Mark Ruffalo)
Nicole Kidman (no)
Jennifer Lawrence (any relation to Martin Lawrence of the hilarious Martin?)
Natalie Portman (peaked in The Professional, all downhill from there)
Michelle Williams (you were okay in Dawson's Creek, I guess)

My vote is for squirrel with casette tape. Do you know how hard it is to get squirrels to follow through?

Actor in a Leading Role:

Javier Bar. . .

I'm bored with this. Who would argue with a three-way tie between John Cusack, Rob Cordry, and Darrell from The Office?

I'd like to start a campaign to force the Academy to include HOT TUB TIME MACHINE across all categories. From short film to makeup, costume design to cinematography, best picture to music (original song), visual effects to writing, foreign language film to sound mixing, a clean sweep.

Let's set this thing right. Do it for hot tubs and the right to participate in the human stew.

Do it for Darrell from The Office.

Do it for America.

Most of all, do it for Zsa Zsa.

Office Space

2011-01-19T06:52:00.000-08:00

I put Heimlich to work this holiday weekend building out my top secret headquarters. You may be surprised to learn I haven't worked out of a proper office all this time. Brilliance doesn't need your inboxes or vertical file folders or cork boards or ELFA shelving systems. These are distractions for the weak minded. I am super organized without your containers.

Heimlich is another story. Heimlich needs hobbies. Heimlich requires organizational constructs. (This is why he is my henchman, naturally, and not a full partner yet.)

So Heimlich measured, ordered, unpacked, drilled, and assembled — with wild abandon — my new top secret headquarters office space. I now have several shelves and bins and surfaces to fill, stuff, and cover with my super awesome plans for 2011. It's an impressive organization system . . . for those of you that require assistance getting your shit together.

If there's one thing I reject it's clutter. I should really loan Heimlich out to that Hoarders show or Clean House. Never! Get your own Heimlich, you pack rats and magpies!

I'm a very busy super power. That is all for now. Get back to work, workers.

Holly Hobbie

2011-01-10T09:14:00.000-08:00

It's come to my attention that it's a new year and that I may need a hobby. (Other than world domination, of course, which is much more a full-time, kick-ass job than a dalliance.)

Shit. A hobby? Boring people have hobbies to make themselves seem less, well, boring. People who have no friends have hobbies, ergo, to make friends with other friendless people. Sex-starved people have hobbies to meet other sex misters/mistresses and engage in totally unsexy activities. Why the hell do I need a hobby? And how am I going to save "the hobby" from its seriously unflattering reputation?

When I think of "the hobby," I recall my not-so-distant youth and a very awesome pink sleeping bag that depicted one Holly Hobbie. After two seconds of research, I've learned that Holly Hobbie was a real live person who named a fictional character after herself. Ego-tastic!

Anyway, Holly Hobbie -- the fake one -- was in a bunch of books with Toot and Puddle, her best friends. This is all very disturbing to me. It's undetermined whether Toot or Puddle were real live persons too. I suspect my creators forced this Hobbie character and her unsavory associates on me in an effort to make me appear "a real girl" instead of the budding genius I most definitely was.

I reject Holly Hobbie now and retroactively apply this rejection to my youth as well.

I don't need you, hobby. You are rude. I'm relieved that this 10 seconds of self-discovery has liberated me from the pedestrian notion that I need or want a hobby.

Happy New Year!

The Rage: Resurrected

2010-12-15T06:13:00.000-08:00

You know how one day you're the handsomest person ever to walk the crummy planet and the next day you have a shiner? Yes, I know you have no idea about the former but imagine.

The rumors are true. I am in fact sporting a black eye and what now appears to be a green forehead. But really, if anyone can carry this off and still look this good, it's me.

To set the record straight, here is what happened.

On my usual canvass of the neighborhood, patrolling for unruly unwashed masses bunching around tree stumps, drinking moonshine and generally rabble rousing of a nature of which I reject, I was ambushed. Heimlich was picking daisies for a floral arrangement he's been working on so he didn't see the villain approach. It was a sneak attack of the sneakiest kind. The ground opened up in front of me and before I knew it, I was face forward. My precious blood was spilled. Heimlich was horrified and vomited on the spot. (He's very sensitive, as well as evil.)

That's really all I remember. The first night was rough as I moved in and out of THE RAGE. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that ground and my perfectly contoured face meeting it.

The pain that followed was indescribable. I feared for my very large and powerful brain. Luckily my crack team of medical experts helicoptered me immediately to the top secret medical facility which I will not name, for testing. After CAT scans of my very large and powerful brain, it was concluded that my head was in fact too hard to penetrate and my very large and powerful brain was in tact. This was good news all around. I can assure you I would have continued world domination even with a brain injury.

Which brings me to today. Four days since my attack, I can report that I am nearly pain free, save for blowing my nose which is exceptionally excruciating and disappointing since it's one of my favorite activities. Fear not, my attacker will pay for this brazen act of insubordination. In due time. When you least expect it, ground, you will pay.

Never underestimate THE RAGE.

I've been busy

2010-12-10T12:25:00.000-08:00

You know how one day you're the mayor, and four days later some punk usurps your post? Who am I kidding? You have no idea what it's like to hold a position of authority.

Let me paint a picture.

I became Mayor of a local high-class establishment through the popular Foursquare. I have resisted these ridiculous social sucks on my time until I found out Mayorship was at stake. How can Foursquare hand out important titles to the unwashed masses with such abandon? It's irresponsible.

Nevertheless I engaged in your reindeer games and naturally assumed my Mayorship in no time. My chest puffed with pride. Drinks were raised in my honor. Immediately my giant brain began to consider the possibilities of world domination via Mayorships. It's a little small scale for my taste, tres medieval these Mayorships but I was down with the concept of being in charge and other people knowing full well that I am the boss.

Speaking of which, I decided that Boss should be the next level up from Mayor. I will write Foursquare later with this brilliant idea.

Back to my Mayorship. I didn't take my superior position lightly. After celebrating with my minions, I raced home to devise a plan. World domination requires premeditation. It's true I was sequestered for some days working feverishly on the rights and obligations of the unwashed masses in my kingdom (to be honest, the rights were none but obligations many--as it should be).

Four days later, I emerged from my top secret headquarters with my Mayoral Manifesto. It is too brilliant to lay on your tiny brains and a summation won't do my genius justice.

And so, I checked in on my kingdom, elated at the prospect of creating order out of what clearly was human chaos. Rules, people, rules are made by me for you to follow. But lo and behold some villain has usurped my Mayorship! Andrew K. from Brooklyn! Scoundrel! Bastard! Son of a whore! (I realize those last two are similar.) You fool, do you have any idea what my tyrannical mind is capable of? Find your friends, indeed. Oh, I'll find you, Andrew K. from Brooklyn.

Needless to say, I was pissed. I've drafted several letters to Foursquare demanding a recount. Andrew K. from Brooklyn? Give me a break. Listen you little Ross Perot upstart, I will crush you with the ferocity of my tiny fists. Unleash the hellhounds!

Nice work, Foursquare. I've been peaceful for months and now this. The Rage.

Merry Christmas.

Dear NPR, I want to work for you.

2010-06-24T07:20:00.000-07:00

All this unemployment, nee freelancing, has forced me to look inward and ask the tough questions.

"What are you doing with your life?"

Although I'd like to scream "Shut up, innards!" and punch them in the proverbial face, my mind, as you can imagine, cannot be silenced.

An aside on me punching anyone in the face. I have tremendous strength in my tiny fists, make no mistake. I discovered this hidden talent over the weekend when I inadvertently punched myself in the left eye. I was using my superior strength to lift a very heavy box of OXY CLEAN when the damn plastic handle broke and my fist went flying into my left eye. Damn, Penny!

Back to my powerful mind. It never shuts up with its "suggestions" and "recommendations" and "judging." What a jerk. Let me just panhandle like God intended. But no, my mind keeps asking "What do you really want to do? Where do you really want to work?"

So here's my TOP PLACES I'D LIKE TO WORK IF FORCED TO MAKE A DECISION ON WHERE TO WORK AND WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE. (in no particular order)

-- NPR. Does this really need explanation? Have you seen the Jerome L. Greene Space, listened to Story Corps or This American Life, or coveted Carl Kessel on your home answering maching?

-- Four and Twenty Blackbirds bakery. They make the delicious pies and cookies and rhubarb muffins. I don't really want to get up at 4 a.m. to help them bake but I'd gladly be a taster.

-- Attache to billionaire. I'd help you decide which restaurants to go to, shows to attend, vacation spots to hit, etc. You would never look me directly in the face or address me without "Dear Shiny Penny, may I please..."

-- Anonymous lottery winner.

-- Reader of Classics, New and Old. I've always said I'd like to be paid to read. That would be the extent of my duties. I would decide what to read and when.

-- Theater Critic. I love the theater. I also love my opinion of the theater.

-- Oyster Shucker. As long as I get to eat 50% of oysters shucked.

I'm tired of this assignment already. I've made enough important decisions for today and it's only 10:30 am. Yeah, you have to get up early to dominate. That's how I do.

Freelancers have feelings, too.

2010-04-29T10:13:00.000-07:00

Myth: Freelancers have more fun.
Myth: Freelancers have no feelings.
Myth: Freelancers are so carefree and happy.
Myth: Freelancers will work around the clock.
Myth: Freelancers don't care about money.

I'm taking the time out of my whimsical freelance life to bust these myths once and for all. Everyone is under the delusion that freelancing frees you up to do all these great things. Go to museums! Sleep till noon! Party all night! Explore the city! Have sex with strangers! You've been misled and miserably misinformed.

Let me break down freelancing for you. It's really akin to panhandling with your "skill set" in that frying pan. Hell, a thousand people will walk by you and completely ignore your pleas for "Change, sir?" A few will stop to gawk, point, and laugh. Everyone will judge. It's generally an awesome feeling to lay yourself open to all this constructive yet uninvited feedback. But hey, who cares? Freelancers don't have any feelings.

Most freelancers I know are cranky. Myself included. And contrary to popular belief, we are shut-ins. You must not look away from your computer. We receive these secret messages throughout the day. Coffee shops are not an option. Those are for the seriously committed unemployed and unwashed masses. I prefer to contain my unwashed-ness to my own super headquarters. Plus, you need to be at the ready for whenever that client calls, no matter what time. "It's an emergency! I need you to blah blah blah by Monday." Oh, okay, I'll work this weekend because I have no life. Geez, I forgot. You're a jerk.

When we do complete your ridiculous job, please remember to pay us. There's nothing "free" about freelancing. No one is giving me free food or free beer or free rent. I still have to pay for all these things and you have to pay me. Waiting a month, two months, three months, four months, five months to get around to looking at my invoice is not acceptable. In fact, such actions will unleash the demons upon you and I will not be sorry. I will yell at you. You do not want this.

As you might have guessed by this point, freelancing is not the answer to your prayers. Keep your full-time job, you lucky bastard. And buy me a goddamn beer.

The Anti End-of-Year, nay, End-of-Decade List

2009-12-30T13:17:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so 2009 is finally kicking it to the curb. Lots of folks like to take this time to reflect on the "Best of" this and the "Worst of" that and the "Sexiest" blah blah blah.

Yawn.

Clearly, this is an abuse of the very useful and very awesome when-in-my-capable-hands list. Yes, I like lists. I like making lists. I like crossing shit off lists. Is there really anything better?

NO, THERE IS NOT.

So now I have to contend with all these clowns and apes and flunkenheimers making a name for themselves through their original lists of shit we already know about. How about I take you out to a fancy dinner one night and we order some delicious foods. Then later I'll take you home in an equally fancy car and vomit that same fancy dinner all over you so you'll remember how special our night together was? Sound good? That's what these makeshift lists are like to me. Vomitrocious.

It's the end of the year. Big deal. Did you really accomplish anything worthwhile in 2009?

No, you did not.

Are you really going to stick to any of the vapid resolutions you'll set for yourself in 2010?

Lose weight! Grow hair! Give/get more BJs!

Nah, it's all for naught. Do yourself a favor and don't bother with the list. Or better yet, let's make a list of all the things that shouldn't be in a list form.

THINGS THAT SHOULD NOT BE IN A LIST FORM AT THE END OF THE YEAR, NAY THE DECADE

-- The outfits of Lady Gaga.

-- The outbursts of Alec Baldwin.

-- The most famous bald men of the 2000s.

-- The members in good standing of the International Dutch Oven Society.

-- Anyone claiming or deemed to be in "high" society, unless truly high in the best sense of the word during the actual making of this list.

-- A master list of all lists.

-- The listless. They're just not all that interesting, especially all bunched together.

-- The best movies/songs/books/products/scandals/TV shows, etc. Get a journal to indulge your sad sack of a self. Or better yet, take some Gingko Biloba so you'll remember all this inane crap.

-- Friends. A list of friends is always a bad idea. As is, a list of lovers. A list of enemies, now that's genius. And approved. Go write down your list of enemies now.

You get the idea. List making should not be taken lightly or taken at all in novice hands. Lists are intended for those of superior intelligence like myself. God only knows how you'd junk up everything with your lists of Favorite Breed of Puppy or Best Ice Cream Flavor Ever.

That's all I'm going to say this year. And you better take heed. If I find your ridiculous list on the InterWeb, I will take necessary Bruce Lee-like action to kick your list in the lady/dewd box.

Here's to world domination in 2010!

Thank you for your Xmas cards!

2009-12-23T13:01:00.000-08:00

You know how fuzzy your tummy feels when you open the mailbox to see it crammed full of cards addressed to YOU? That's what the holidays are for really. Fuzzy tummies and mail.

You can't go wrong with an actual Xmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/New Year's card. The kind you buy at a stationery store in a box with matching envelopes. The kind that require you know the physical locations of all its recipients. The kind that require postage, from the post office.

This may all seem like nonessential tedium to you. You're wrong, as usual First of all, acquiring the physical location of your so-called friends can never be underestimated as a clear advantage. When these so-called best buds turn on you -- and they will, my little fawn -- you'll know exactly where to send the Edible Arrangement. You know what I mean. If by chance, these turncoats haven't shown their true colors yet, what says "you're super only because of your close proximity to me" more than a Xmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/New Year's card.

Next. Common courtesy dictates that you return the favor when your "loved ones" send you a card. And yet, it's so surprising when you take a tally at the end of the holidays of the number of cards you sent compared to the number received. Appalling is what it is.

"Oh, I've been so busy stuffing my face with all the free chocolates/cookies/free shit at work that I didn't send out cards this year."

"I must have sent your card to that old address. Sorry."

"I'm on the dole, man."

"I reject the post office and its nefarious practices."

"I'm an atheist."

"Dewd, I haven't used a pen since the '80s."

If you've run into any of these excuses, feel free to stab that person in the thigh. It's just unacceptable. I demand that my box be full on this Xmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/New Year's with your heartfelt greetings for me.

Are you going to be a jerk in 2010 too?

Secrets to Interviewing

2009-10-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

You missed me. I've been boarded up in my top secret headquarters working on my list of accomplishments. This is no small task. I'm already up to #45 and this is only for my three-month job at MovieFone. Sometimes it's a burden to be so accomplished.

As I was reflecting, I thought about how easy interviewing is for someone like me. Talking about myself has obviously never been a problem. Listening to me talk about myself is a gift and you're welcome in advance. I felt a twinge in my enormous heart for those less fortunate at the gift of gab and especially those less accomplished. So I give you this:

SUCCESSFUL INTERVIEWING TIPS FOR THE UNEMPLOYED, UNINTERESTING, AND UNACCOMPLISHED

1. When an interviewer asks what you've been up to since being given the boot, suppress your first instinct to respond thus: "I've been catching up on my stories via Hulu." Although this shows you're technologically advanced, it makes you sound like a lazy, bon bon eating slob. Instead try this: "I've been researching new technologies and media of which I'm very passionate and intellectually curious."

2. You know how gripping it is when a friend posts a weather-related status on Facebook? Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Do not resort to the "sure is hot out there." Talking about the weather is totally uncool and brands you as a total snooze. Remember, hiring manager are looking for the next party animal who'll do something super inappropriate at the Christmas party. Those are memories you can't put a high enough price on. Meterologists, you get a pass on this one, but think about how one-dimensional you sound when your small talk revolves around high pressure and humidity. Somebody pull the jerk alarm!

3. If you've taken part in any workplace violence, screaming matches with co-workers or big wigs, you should highlight these as your strengths. Tell them how you really twisted Bob's horns, pushed Sally's implode button, smacked (literally) that smug grin off that Gen Y'ers snot-nosed face. These examples reveal you're a go-getter, a ballbuster, a Chuck Norris-kind of tyrannical leader. You get results! Don't just tell that story either; if you have any physical proof -- video, scars -- show, show, show.

4. Remember the popular song "Pour some sugar on me"? This is your approach to winning the hiring manager's favor. Sugar! A heart-shaped box of chocolates is never a bad idea. If you're strapped for cash or unsure whether Terry is male or female, do not panic. There's truth in the old saying, "you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar." Give the hiring manager the once-over when you first meet. Make sure they notice that you're checking them out from head to toe. A nod and a wink can signal your approval, a thumbs up, high five, or the foolproof "Go on, girl/boy." Think of how starved for appreciation these HR people are. No one ever hugs HR. They should! If you've got the cajones, I encourage you to end your next interview with a long hug, maybe rub the back a little too. Guaranteed results.

5. Finally, this next tip should not be taken lightly. If you have weaknesses of any kind, don't even bother reading this one. Make sure you're sitting down when you do. The secret to interviewing success for the unemployed, uninteresting, and unaccomplished is . . .

THE FOG MACHINE

Huh? I know you're totally unimaginative so let me explain. Imagine the impact your first impression will make if you emerge from fog? Can you see it? Holy shit! I just got chills.

Let's say you're in the middle of the interview and the HR gal/guy throws a real curve ball your way. Before you start sweating like a hog in heat, flip that fog. A sense of confusion and euphoria will descend upon your interviewer. Once the fog has cleared, they will have completely forgotten the question just asked. You can transition by saying, "And that's really how I'd answer your question in a nutshell."

Here are some examples of how The Fog Machine positions you for greatness:

HR: What is your greatest strength?
YOU: Fog Machine.

HR: What is your greatest weakness?
YOU: Not enough fog.

HR: Can you tell me about your most colossal failure?
YOU: That I can still see and hear you through this awesome fog.

HR: Do you have any questions for me?
YOU: How much power do I have in my cube? You know, for the fog machine.

Do you have a firm grip on the power of the Fog Machine?

Go forth and conquer your next interview! Do it with pride. And lots and lots of delicious fog.

You're welcome.

Introducing Heimlich, plus observations from vacation-like places

2009-09-08T08:38:00.000-07:00

I've been away, to far-off and distant islands. This was not vacation but rather field research. In and among the unwashed masses, observing, making important discoveries, getting disgusted with aforementioned unwashed masses, and generally being awesome while doing all of the above.

I should mention I have a new employee.

Meet Heimlich, my German henchman. He's really great. Heimlich likes not-too-long walks on the beach, The Sound of Music, turtlenecks, not sweating, and murder. Not necessarily in that order.

Heimlich's role was to keep me out of trouble and for the most part, success! Off the clock, I took Heimlich to the lighthouse but he got that crazy murderous look in his eye so we had to hightail it out of there before Heimlich ripped his shirt off and started busting heads with his muscles in an angry German henchman kind of way. Heimlich is prone to murder. He is also prone to spontaneous musical interludes. He's a real The Sound of Music buff. Funny, I know. A regular Captain Von Trapp with his Costco winter coat and sewed-on gold buttons and accapella bursts of sweet love songs. Heimlich is a complicated creature.

Whatever you do, do not give Heimlich a tomato. He was once in a band called COUNTER TOMATO. Let's just say it went rotten quickly. He may or may not be on the run as a result of that incident with tomatoes and bands called COUNTER TOMATO. He also may or may not have been portrayed in a recent episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent.

Anyway, Heimlich took many notes for me. Most of them were about murder (Pay attention, Heimlich!) but I managed to find some of my genius in between his hangman drawings. Here are some important takeaways.

THINGS OBSERVED WHILST NOT ON VACATION BUT RATHER OBSERVING THE UNWASHED MASSES WHILE THEY VACATION AND GENERALLY LIE ABOUT DOING AND CONTRIBUTING NOTHING

-- You can't take the corn out of corn chips.

-- Traffic reports are very meta: "On the turnpike, everyone is where they should be."

-- Oysters are juicy. Bagels are juicy. Shrimp are also juicy. "Juicy" is a wonderful adjective that should be used only by me. Sweatpants that say juicy across the rearus endus are ridiculous and I reject them.

-- Long drives down beach roads at 25 mph in super cars that should only be driven at 125 mph are very frustrating.

-- Unwashed masses bunching around landmarks that really aren't landmarks can evoke rage in henchmen.

-- Just because you went to the beach and smell like beach doesn't mean you smell good or clean.

-- I am too super tan and toned for the beach. Seeing my super tan, Ginsu-knife abs makes the regular beach people feel badly about themselves.

-- If you need to diffuse a particularly tense climactic moment of great romantic consequence, try belching very loudly. Works 80% of the time, every time.

Are you still reading this? Why don't you get your own work-study program? I'm tired of you. Always take-take-take with you. It's like talking to a dog. (Boom!)

You're welcome.

Important Things Are Happening

2009-09-02T10:40:00.000-07:00

You may have heard I was recently laid off from that company that does the laying off of super people. Too bad for them. Their super quotient has just plummeted.

Since the laying off of the super people, I've been doing important things in my secret headquarters. Making lists of important things and crossing that shit off when each mission is accomplished. The guy in the picture above has it all wrong. Layoffs don't wreck lives. He obviously has no imagination. Layoffs make life FUN and SURPRISING and HAPPY and IMPORTANT.

Here's a peek into the very important, fun, surprising, and happy things that are currently underway in my top secret location. Take note, guy in picture.

IMPORTANT THINGS HAPPENING WHILST LAYED OFF FROM THE COMPANY THAT LAYED ME OFF

-- Remember that Ginsu Knife infommercial? Those super sharp knives could cut through steel and cardboard and tomatoes! Yeah, that's what my abs will be doing when I'm done working out all the time whilst unemployed. They will totally cut you just by looking at them. I'm also bringing back the half shirt in order to show off my rock-hard, Ginsu-knife-like abs.

-- Doesn't it seem like all unemployed people have pets? Yes, they do. I've already started work on opening my heart to the animals. Kittens! Kittens are cute and furry and independent. But the problem with kittens is they require food and health insurance. Considering I'm on the dole, these kittens are becoming a real albatross around my neck. I'm pretty positive Cobra doesn't cover kittens. But like I said, I'm opening my heart to the animals and have researched making paper maiche kittens or maybe even origami kittens. This is a very good idea! And it's green! Watch as my old resume transforms into a spry kitten! The big ideas never stop over here.

-- Street work is also on the agenda. I think the man needs to know what's happening so I'll be canvassing the subway entrances between 8 and 9 a.m. on the workdays to let the workers know what's what. I'll be the one pointing and yelling "COG" at the Metrocard holders. Feel free to join the ranks.

-- You know what's really great about being laid off? You can enjoy a delicious beverage pretty much anytime of day. With other laid off people. And believe me, there are a lot of them. Take yesterday for instance. I enjoyed not one, but two delicious beverages out in the sunshine with a whole community of non-workers. I will admit my company seemed unwashed and unkempt and I am 100% anti-unwashed. I can guarantee I will continue to shower at least once a week whilst unemployed and enjoying delicious beverages.

-- The time has come to embrace change. I'm looking into changing my name into something catchy and memorable and preferably one word. I've pretty much decided my new name will be INCORPORATED. Yeah, did you shudder just then? I know! It's genius. I think INCORPORATED will leave an indelible impression on folks.

-- Lastly, world domination. With all this free time, this seems like a natural hobby for me to take on more seriously. I admit I was getting kind of lazy in the world domination arena. Sure, I let Kim Jong-il have his fun this summer but now I'm ready to rule in a full-time awesome capacity. Don't make me come over there, Kimmy.

Yeah, that's how it's gonna be around here now. Delicious beverages, world domination, paper maiche kittens, rock-hard abs. Shit. Why didn't I get laid off sooner?

Word.

Anti-nature

2009-07-15T07:04:00.001-07:00

Is what you see here natural? No, it is not. This is photographic evidence of why I am anti-nature. Yes, this is my totally delicious and juicy leg. Try to stay focused.

This past weekend I escaped the secret headquarters on a fact-finding mission in the woods. I was off grid for several days. Your attempts to reach me proved futile. I said I was off grid.

While finding facts in a "park", I was viciously attacked by Nature. Jerk. I did not see this assault coming. The exact nature of the creature which feasted on my totally delicious and juicy leg is still under investigation. In a matter of minutes post-attack, my leg grew very very angry (as seen above). The tiny bite became a hockey puck-sized area that burned. Boy, did it burn. My attempts to soothe the area proved futile. I tried reasoning with my totally delicious but now inflamed leg. Stubborn!

There's no way I'm letting Nature take me down. I ain't going out like this, Nature.

It was rumored I might contract Lyme Disease from this bite. Thankfully those rumors are false. Several balms later, my leg has grown less angry but no less delicious.

In conclusion, Nature is hostile and rude. I am still delicious and juicy. I will be adding these important findings to my Anti-Nature file. I reject camping. (I threw that in for good measure.)

You're welcome.

Jiminy Cricket!

2009-07-09T07:48:00.000-07:00

Thank you to Black Cab Sessions for introducing me to The Duckworth Lewis Method's concept album about cricket. In case you don't know, cricket is the national sport of England! The rules of the game are known as LAWS. How badass is that? There are all kinds of funny expressions associated with this wacky game of pitching, hitting, bowling, and general mayhem on the green. At first I thought it was a lot like baseball but au contraire mon frer.

Needless to say, I don't know a thing about cricket and frankly there's not much space in my gigantic brain for cricket. However, I took a listen to the Duckworth Lewis Method's concept album about cricket and now admittedly love the cricket. Or at least the concept of cricket. The DLM have a fancy website which you should check out on your own time. http://www.duckworthlewismethod.com

You should also watch this madcap video from Black Cab Sessions with aforementioned cricket lovers: http://www.blackcabsessions.com/sessions.php?id=1244633803

Cheerio!

Welcome to the past, North Korea

2009-07-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

North Korea has aired its first TV commercial. And it's for beer! Welcome to the 21st century, North Korea. We have things called advertising here. Advertising helps sell products but considering your people are basically all starving, I'd venture to guess beer won't be much of a market mover.

Here's another tip. If you were gunning for that Cannes award, you'll have to open up your top-secret beer commercial to folks outside your top-secret country.

However, we at headquarters have learned the gist of the commercial goes something like this:

. . .showed a grinning Korean man with sweat on his face holding a glass of beer, with a caption that read, "Taedong River Beer is the pride of Pyongyang." The commercial said the beer relieves stress and improves health and longevity. It also showed images of a pub it said was in the capital of Pyongyang, filled with people drinking.

I can get on board with the claim that beer relieves stress but considering the gargantuan levels of stress one must suffer living in North Korea, I'm thinking this is pretty much bullshit. No wonder this dude is sweating! I'd be drinking my face off if I lived in North Korea and this was the first taste of the 21st century I'd ever experienced. Too bad I wouldn't be able to afford that delicious beer since I only make $1,065 A YEAR.

What a bunch of jerks.

Oh but thanks for adding that B12 to the delicious beer I can't afford. I'm so happy someone is looking after my health.

You are officially dead to me (again), North Korea.

---------------------------------------------------------

Thankfully I saw this guy shortly after learning about North Korea's foray into the present. Now I feel better. Fuck yeah, America! Where dudes can wear robot helmets and play the accordion on the streets and drink beer if they want.

The Winter of The Beard

2009-07-02T08:45:00.001-07:00

This documentary was made for me. I am the target audience. I am convinced of this fact and I'd like to thank the filmmakers for thinking of me and my entertainment.

Unfortunately I will have to wait to see the documentary because it's not in theaters or it hasn't been distributed or bought or some kind of Entourage-type-filmy talk. I ask the Hollywood now to please pick up this film or whatever you need to do to distribute this sure-to-be-awesome documentary to a theater near me. Thank you very much. Do it now.

All I do know is the very brilliant filmmakers challenged these men to grow beards for six months and record their lives. No trimming was allowed! I love this type of extreme challenge and yes, I love beards. Very much.

Watch that trailer again. Maybe send the filmmakers a thank you note. That's what I intend to do.

Thank you beards. You make the world a better place.

I heart the musical.

2009-07-01T11:36:00.000-07:00

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

You will watch this very funny parody of my all-time favorite musical "West Side Story". If you haven't seen the very popular movie of the same name with one Natalie Wood and one Rita Moreno, do yourself a huge favor and rent it. It defines awesome. In fact, I have watched this very same movie so many times that I could probably re-enact the entire thing with dance moves. Upon request of course. And cash money.

Anyway, the kids at CollegeHumor have made a highly entertaining takeoff on "West Side Story" based on popular websites like the Facebook, the Pandora, the YouTube, etc. I think the CollegeHumor kids should take me on board as a consultant for future ventures like this for several reasons.

1. I love musicals.
2. I love musicals.
3. I have an awesome sense of humor.
4. I am older, wiser, and definitely better looking than the CollegeHumor kids.
5. Because I can say shit like #4 and no one will contest its absolute absoluteness.
6. Again, I love musicals.
7, 8, 9, 10. You don't need anymore reason to benefit from a professional association with me.

So watch the video. Laugh. Laugh some more. Thank me for sharing it with you. Write me a thank you note even.

You're very welcome.

Keep it in your pants, dummy

2009-06-25T11:47:00.000-07:00

What is it with these politicians and their extramarital affairs? South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford dropped a doozy of an extra-stupid, yearlong fling with his Argentinian girlfriend.

After he disappeared last week, his staff first said he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail. It later emerged he had travelled to Argentina to be with his lover, leaving his family over Father's Day weekend.

Really? What the f, Sanford? Did he really think he was so covert as to get away with this rendezvous? It’s just too much. And this clown sits on a high horse about family values? Wow.

It seems to be a trend with the government folks to drop trou whenever and with whomever. Remember the romps of Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer, Jim McGreevey and most recently John Ensign. Let me point out that these are not super attractive men. But they’re boning like a mofo. Bone Zone all up in this joint. Maybe part of government service is servicing the people in the naked way.

I’m kind of disgusted.

The media is all a buzz with whether or not Sanford will step down from his Governorship. If it wasn’t for the lying and the coercing his staff to lie for him and the passport requirement to have aforementioned boning, I might show some leniency. But big guy went through Customs to bone and on top of it, boned on Father’s Day. I’m pretty sure that makes you the absolute Worst Father Ever. They should make coffee mugs with that saying.

You know shit happens. People cheat. Those people generally suck. There are a very few exceptions when circumstances are extraordinary — or extraterrestrial — but usually you can count on the cheater being a total a-hole. And in any other industry, your job wouldn’t be threatened by you being a dick in your professional life. (If only that were true, considering there are so many dicks in the corporate and nonprofit world.) In Sanford’s case, his being a total dick could end his career. Do I feel badly for him? Nope. Do I feel badly for his wife? I did for a minute until she said she’d forgive him, in time. I’d say take a pass, lady. Just my opinion.

In conclusion, I’d like to offer this advice to those aspiring to political bigwig or talking head or dude who wears suit 99% of the time: Keep it zipped and locked, dummy.

You’re not welcome. But you never are, are you?

Again with the Japanese

2009-06-24T12:25:00.000-07:00

Japan really knows how to get your attention. JWT (a fancy ad agency) in Japan just won a big fancy Cannes award for its Kit Kat campaign as pictured above. Apparently the translation of Kit Kat in Japanese is "surely win." Those agency wonks decided to create edible postcards that folks can send students as good luck wishes before their super rigorous entrance exams. Japan never does anything half assed.

I wish I was a student if only to receive one of these kick-ass Kit Kat Mails. What's inside that delicious box? A giant delicious Kit Kat with my name all over it.

I really think Nestle should introduce this campaign into the U.S. Only problem is our students here are not nearly as kick-ass smart or let's face it deserving of such a sweet piece of mail. Save for me. I would deserve this Kit Kat Mail. Me and the Japanese. Everyone else can go scratch.

Once again the Japanese impress with their crazy out-of-the-mailbox ingenuity. What will they think of next?

Take a timeout, North Korea

2009-06-18T13:24:00.001-07:00

Seriously. North Korea is on my last nerve. Initially I thought their tiny leader with the pompadour and platform shoes and penchant for movies was just a super self-centered, attention whore. Now I'm annoyed.

Who threatens to fire a missile on Hawaii? Has he ever even been to Hawaii? Not that he'll ever be invited now. What a douche.

Remember that PBS special they did on North Korea? The tiny kids had never heard of the Intertubez or really anything popular culture-ish outside of their North Korean commune. They did sing really beautifully though. Those tiny North Korean kids in their tiny North Korean outfits. It's too bad their leader is such a total douche.

Fast Fact: Apparently the elite North Koreans have their own transportation system. This elite train only travels to and fro the super elite's super elitist headquarters.

It just sucks that North Korea has to ruin everything, like Summer and Peace, with their stupid missile (uh, penis) wielding. What did Hawaii ever do to you, North Korea? Have you ever even tasted the delicious fruits and nuts from Hawaii? Have you ever been lei'd, North Korea?

I officially reject North Korea and its attempted ruination of my summer and peace in general and of course Hawaii.

That is all.

You seriously can't touch this.

2009-06-17T07:02:00.000-07:00

Find more videos like this on AdGabber

First of all, MC Hammer has a new reality show coming out later this year.

Verdict: 100% awesome.

In order to promote said 100% awesome show, the above guerrilla effort took place in L.A.

Behold the group synchronized dance! I wish everyday life was like this. All West Side Story up in your face. Bunches of people just breaking out into spontaneous synchronized dance whenever the mood strikes.

I would totally support that.

Young, old, skinny, fat, who cares. Anyone can join the synchronized group dance. The above video is evidence of that. What really makes me love this effort so much are the gold MC Hammer pants. You seriously cannot touch this even if you tried.

Word.

Science = Fun

2009-06-15T08:44:00.000-07:00

In case you missed it, the World Science Fair took over Washington Square Park this weekend. Maybe you think you're too cool for science school. You are not.

The WSF was packed with young and old science nerds alike. I support nerds and science because having them on your side when trying to dominate the world is just smart business.

To attest to the fun factor at the World Science Fair, see above spaceman, which I won after answering a very difficult science question. I won't embarrass you by repeating the question here. I am just that rad.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In other scientific news, the Doctors (see previous posts) have descended upon my top secret headquarters for the next few days so you may not hear from me. We will be conducting experiments and fieldwork on your habitats. Stay tuned for exciting discoveries.

All Up in Your Unprofessional Business

2009-06-12T11:52:00.003-07:00

If ever there was a PSA for the hazards of non-professional dancing, this would be it. I warn you some of the above video may assault one or all of your senses. Man up and watch it.

The tremendous Santigold invited 10 concertgoers on stage at her show this week to freak it up to “Creator.” Remember Kevin Bacon’s vision quest in “Footloose”? He fought the community board to restore the right to dance in that small town terrorized by John Lithgow. Yeah, Bacon could dance. (But what can’t Bacon do?)

Not everyone in the above video can work it out, which is why it makes sense that certain people should be banned from dancing as a matter of public safety. I’d happily take up that charge of issuing citations to non-professional dancers.

Dancers, we go hard. Unfortunately you don’t see much of the kid in the red t-shirt who tore it up in the most unprofessional of ways. There were air kicks and even a midair split if I recall correctly. As a fan of the dance in general, I commend him on his commitment. Obviously not the most talented at busting a move but bust he did with wild abandon.

You’ll also notice Santigold’s two awesome dancers in gold bolero jackets. There are no words for their freaktastic moves. I was thoroughly entertained.

Dancing has exploded in popularity lately, in case you live under a rock and hadn’t noticed. There’s the highly popular “Dancing with the Stars,” “So you think you can dance?” and probably some others that don’t warrant another character. I prefer the Italian version of “Dancing with the Stars” because the dancers love to yell at the judges and although I don’t know what they’re saying half the time, they’re very passionate about the dance and how they look and about just being Italian. All of which I support.

I feel the urge to dance welling up deep inside me. I’ve spoken of this before (see “Dance, Dance”). I might be having a Jennifer Beales moment soon; I hope for your sake you are in close proximity. In case you didn’t know, dancing is in my totally awesome lineage. Yeah, you don’t know me. But I keep these things from you to protect you from your small, sad, non-professional dancing existence.

Watch the above video again. Keep it in mind the next time you hear “Jesse’s Girl” or “Maneater” and feel the need to unleash your dance on the public at large. Remember “Footloose” too. What would Bacon do? If Bacon couldn’t dance, Bacon wouldn’t dance. You should take this nugget with you and apply to daily life.

You’re welcome.

One of these things is awesome.

2009-06-10T04:33:00.000-07:00

Thing #1: Big Gay Ice Cream Truck

Thing #2: Air Sex World Championships

If I left it up to you decide. . . well that would just never happen.

I like ice cream. I am 100% pro-ice cream. I don’t eat enough of it.
Actually I hardly ever eat it but I support it nonetheless.

I also like trucks. Pick-up trucks, especially. I’ve only ever ridden
in one pick-up and that momentous occasion took place in Australia.
The driver’s name was D’Arry.

I can appreciate things that are big as well as things that are small. And we are pro-gay as an old-timey word and as a lifestyle.

Combine ice cream and truck and you have a mobile taste explosion. I
get the impression from the BGICT website that their truck is not a
pick-up but more like a van. A big gay ice cream van would seriously
upgrade the awesome quotient by 1000%.

My ice cream man as a child only had four fingers on one hand and
three on the other hand. I did not enjoy buying ice cream from him. He
also had a mustache. Points for the mustache.

On to item 2.

Air is good. Sex as well. Together, not so much. You should know by
now how I feel about competitions and championships so points there.
World domination is a definite plus. Yet this string of
independently-awesome words leaves me cold. I hate being cold.

You can visit the ASWC website and see some pictures of competitors.
I’d like to remind you of my earlier post on My Sexy 12-Step Program: Abridged, in particular How to Position Yourself in the Best Possible Sexual Position.

If there are mirrors in the room, make sure your partner cannot see how totally unsexy they look right now, especially when they make that face that they think is outrageously sexy but is really akin to ponies in white sweatpants playing Scrabble.

Yeah, remember that. Now imagine watching a stranger re-enact a scene from their totally unsexy lovemaking on a stage. I want to believe this would be entertaining. I know I'd feel sexually superior but then maybe a little sad for you. A lot sad for you.

How did this air competition become global? Can you picture the Japanese doing this? I can. They'd be awesome because they love competition and hate losing. I'd go to the ASWC if it took place in Japan or was Japanese only.

I think you can guess which side I'm leaning toward. Delicious gay ice cream or strangers sexing up a floor in the most unsexiest of ways. . .

That Look You Give That Guy

2009-06-07T09:47:00.001-07:00

Watch this totally approved Eels' video for "That Look You Give That Guy" from the new album HOMBRE LOBO.

First off, I can't even process the awesome beards happening in this black-and-white video. What I wouldn't give to tangle my digits up in there. Damn.

Secondly, this song warms the cold, black heart inside my chest box. Almost makes me want to shed a tiny tear. I am totally crying on the inside, Eels.

Thirdly, this album's title does not only appear in all caps, which I am on board with, but it's in the espanol, which I am also on board with. The translation is "werewolf." Also on board with.

Fourthly, the members of the bearded band include E (vocals), Knuckles (drums), and Koool G Murder (bass). Do you really need any other reason to mad love the Eels? No, you do not. Do it.

Fifthly, eel is delicious. Try it on a tiny pillow of rice.

I'm feeling vulnerable now.

A short aside. There's a rest stop off the Pennsylvania Turnpike where an infamous guinea hen (a.k.a. turkey) used to loiter. Every damn time I stopped in this rest stop, there was that damn guinea hen. Walking around like he owned the place, hanging around a little too close to cars, taunting people with its guinea hen sounds. One particular stop, I was sitting in the car awaiting a delicious cold beverage from my driver. The owner of the car next to mine came outside and saw this guinea hen leaning on his car. The conversation which followed was thus:

Man: "Where the fuck did you come from?"
Guinea Hen: "_"
Man: "Get the fuck out of here."
Guinea Hen: "_"

Yeah. The tension in the air was thick. Murderous even. But that fucking guinea hen stood his ground. I don't know where the fuck he came from but he most assuredly did not get the fuck out of there.

That look that guy gave that guinea hen was not the same as the look that fictional guy from the awesome Eels' song would totally give me.

Sweet.

Groomsmen

2009-06-05T14:24:00.001-07:00

Oh my! I’ve watched the above video several times. You should watch it several times. I didn’t even know dudes did this kind of stuff to the ‘hair down there.’ I’m kind of speechless. There are so many awesome things about this video that I don’t even know where to begin. I particularly enjoyed the way they shot the post-shave moisturizer.

I would also like to formally announce that I should be working at Gillette if this is what Gillette is working on. I will write them a cover letter (in my mind) right now to request they make me some kind of high-powered executive pronto.

You’re welcome.

I like to be on top.

2009-06-04T04:05:00.000-07:00

It’s come to my attention that the FTC (a.k.a. Federal Trade Commission) wants to be all up in my blogging business with their “regulations,” trying to “legislate” my ethics, and shit.

Listen here, FTC, I will not be controlled or limited or otherwise inconvenienced by the Man. You can’t hold me down with your big government thumb. I like to be on top, and damn it son, I will be on top.

So I’m writing a letter (in my mind) to the FTC to discuss these regulations that were apparently debated and passed without my consultation. Rude.

The FTC’s main beef is with bloggers who accept freebies from advertisers and then write positive reviews of aforementioned freebies. You know, ‘cuz word of mouth is super powerful among the unwashed masses. The FTC claim they want to protect consumers.

From what? Protect consumers from their own whoring, thieving, cheating, backstabbing, lying, otherwise crummy lives? Why?

Hey Mister FTC, that’s the American Dream. To whore, thieve, cheat, backstab, lie, and otherwise lead a 100% crummy life—for free! I’m pretty sure it’s like Article 1 in the Constitution. Yay, America.

As for those bloggers on the dole, that’s too bad. Too bad you’re too unoriginal to write anything original or unbiased or uninfluenced. How sad for you. Everyone wants to be a writer, and that too is the American Dream. For free! But Mister FTC says you can remain on the dole but you just have to admit that you’re on the dole whereby also admitting that you are an unoriginal cog, nay meatball, whoring for the Advertising Man. I hate to slander the meatball which in 99% of cases is delicious but in this case is a whore.

Rest assured, I cannot be bought by anyone. I influence for free! I am only an ambassador for myself and my opinions which are far superior to yourself and your opinions. I exercise my judgment upon you freely and without agenda. If I so choose, I will freely misguide you, if only for my own amusement. The Truth is out there but I take no responsibility for leading you there. Take some initiative for once and find it yourself.

I’m over the FTC. You are not the boss of me, mister. You might be able to crush the dreams and hopes of the common people, but not me. Not. Me.

This concludes our unpaid conversation, brought to you by me as the sole sponsor of me and all things me related.

I am the future. And the future rejects Twitter.

2009-06-02T16:54:00.000-07:00

I don’t understand the Twitter. Yeah, I have an account and I’ve spent a solid week trying to unearth its appeal, usefulness, or really any redeeming quality.

What’s with the character limit? You are not the boss of my characters, Twictators!

What’s with all the following? Why can’t you people add some value instead of always sucking the lifeblood out of me? “What I’m doing” is highly confidential and not open for public forums, let alone debate. I refuse to be compromised by your perverse voyeurism.

Have you even read their Terms of Service? Apparently Twitter rejects those under the age of 13. I take issue with this. On rare occasions, those under the age of 13, particularly those around the ages of 2–4 say some truly funny shit that should be captured in a short-character forum like the Twitter. I will fight for the rights of this voiceless minority.

Therefore, as a result of my intensive research, I reject Twitter. I also reject its make-believe language:

-- tweet
-- Twitterati
-- Tweeters/tweeps
-- Twitterverse
-- Egotwistical
-- Puntwit
-- TwOOb

Et cetera. There’s even a Twictionary.

I feel sick.

It’s not often that the unwashed masses side against my very high-minded, super-informed opinion. But that seemed the case with the Twitter. Marketing wonks practically cream about Twitter, as do a bunch of celebrities and sports-type people. The more I heard about Twitter, the firmer my conviction that the great majority of Twitter is for the illiterate, attention-deficit, self-absorbed idiots (nay Twidiots) of the InterWeb. But why do so many people do the Twitter??? I cannot get my super intelligent head around it.

And then this came into my top secret inbox:

Despite the fact that 99% of Generation Y consumers (ages 18-24) report having an active profile on at least one online social networking site, only 22% of this same age group say they currently use Twitter, according to a study from the Participatory Marketing Network (PMN).

So there’s hope for the youth. Well, at least for 77% of you unwashed youthful masses.

I do like that tiny bird on a branch. The Twitter bird on a branch can stay. I am extremely benevolent to small creatures. I’d also like to extend some leniency to the folks behind the Twitter. After reading the About Us, FAQs, and Support, I’ve come to the conclusion that the Twitter employs emphatics and you know how I feel about emphatics. They are super excited about almost everything and so I cannot reject their enthusiasm and free-love-like use of the exclamation point, no matter how much I’d like to.

Wow, that was really generous of me.

To sum up, the bird can stay. The emphatics are pardoned. 22% of you are a total lost cause. I am still the future and the future which is me is awesome. And you are welcome.

Pizza: The Sport of Champions

2009-06-01T17:49:00.000-07:00

Some times in life you happen upon something really dynamite, and although skeptical at first, upon further investigation you quickly realize your world has been upended. Tossed this way and that.

This is how I feel about the World Pizza Champions.

Apparently there are not only competitions and teams devoted to pizza but also expos and newsletters and fuck, yes, jackets and buttons!

I know. You can't really get your head around this amount of mind-blowing information. Maybe take a break and come back later.

I always assumed the pizza toss was mainly for show and show-offs. Au contraire. Only pizza acrobats truly understand the art of the toss. There's like a whole ritual behind this shit. If and when you visit the very awesome World Pizza Champions site, you will learn of both The Setup and The Toss. Apparently it's important to first remove your watch and rings (?). I can't even go into the particulars right now. You'll just have to do a little of your own legwork for once.

Not surprisingly, the World Pizza Championships are held in Italy. Because all awesomeness issues out of the boot.

The dude above is a champion--and not bad looking either. Look at him toss! He's pictured with a certificate as well, which leads me to believe he is the supreme Master of Pizza Tossing. I can respect mastery of anything being a master of everything myself. I'm confused by his religious tattoos but perhaps he finds the power to toss from a power higher than himself. I can totally get behind that.

Admittedly I am a little confused as to what makes you a World Pizza Champion but I've totally subscribed to the newsletter and intend to find out all of their pizza secrets soon enough.

You should really get over to this site immediately and educate yourself. I can't spoon feed you everything. For example, did you know Finland has two World Pizza Champions? Who knew they even ate pizza -- or ate anything at all -- in Finland? And did you know Japan has its own Pizza Acrobatics Team? Of course you didn't. This doesn't surprise me one bit as I've said numerous times before that the Japanese are all up in everyone's shit and better at it than 99.9%. Konichiwa!

To sum up, pizza is delicious at any time of day or night. People all over the world eat the pizza. There are those who consider themselves master tossers (I can think of a few I'd gladly nominate in that arena as well). Pizza is sport. I will divine all future plans of the World Pizza Champions via their very helpful newsletter and continue my world domination.

You are welcome.

My Sexy 12-Step Program: Abridged

2009-05-31T16:16:00.000-07:00

I was consulting some old Smoove The Love Man posts recently (Educate yourself here: http://www.theonion.com/content/columnists/view/smoove)

Smoove is a real hero of mine, as much as anyone can be more heroic than myself. He lives in Cincinnati! Exciting! And sexy!

And he manages to squeeze in time from his very sexy agenda to dispense love communication fundamentals in silky tones and silky attire at the very reliable Learning Annex.

Anyway, Smoove makes mention of his sexy 12-step program which got me thinking of my own 12-step program, except mine is much shorter because I'm an incredibly fast learner and pick up skills like a ninja.

I thought "Wow, my shorter than 12-step program is really sexy and I should totally share it with the world."

I thought better of that though. You can't just give it away for free. But I'm feeling a little generous so I'll give you a totally sexy peek into my sexy world and maybe throw in a sexy step here and there. I feel for you after all.

MY UNOFFICIAL SEXY 12-STEP PROGRAM: ABRIDGED PLUS SOME OTHER SEXY TIPS

-- Unsexy: ponies; post-it notes; pickles (naturally); vomiting of any kind, shape, or form (even if projectile); a medicine cabinet full of medicines for all of your unsavory and unsexy ailments; barber shop quartets, quarters (so bulky), rainbows; Scrabble; and of course white sweatpants.

-- Definitely sexy: beards (duh); bedazzled anything; inventions and those who invent them; pennies; Abraham Lincoln; scrambled eggs; HORNS; showers (clean = sexy time); Boggle; my taste in music, art, film, and literature (duh squared); on-demand a capella; Nina Simone's "I want some sugar in my bowl." (period, the end.)

-- How to Feel Sexy Every Time: Find someone who embodies the Unsexy items above. Stand next to them.

-- How to Make It Sexy Time With Your Partner Who May or May Not Be As Sexy As You: Say something sexy like "Girl/Boy, I'm thinking that since I'm infinitely sexier than you, you should really treasure this moment in my very precious but infinite sexy time to really go to town on me. Do it. Now." Another option is to steal directly from Craig’s List Personals. If that’s not a treasure trove of sexual feeling for you moderately sexy people, then I don’t know what other recourse you mediocre sexy people have.

-- How to (Un)Dress for Success: What you’re wearing before, during, and after the sexual business at hand cannot be taken lightly. I suggest sexy materials like Velcro, those little snappy buttons that are really snaps on cowboy shirts, hospital gowns, unitards or anything uni, maybe a pair of Clarks and nothing else (me-ow).

Also important in the (Un)Dress for Success is how you remove said sexy items. I’d suggest maybe practicing a horn solo to accompany your state of slow and sexy undress. Either that, or some good old-fashioned, set-the-mood phrases like “yeah girl/boy,” “oh yes, I did,” “grrrr,” with an occasional grunt to mix it up sexy like. Works every time.

-- How to Position Yourself in the Best Possible Sexual Position: Don’t try to reinvent the sexual wheel here. You have sexy limitations and we all know it. If there are mirrors in the room, make sure your partner cannot see how totally unsexy they look right now, especially when they make that face that they think is outrageously sexy but is really akin to ponies in white sweatpants playing Scrabble.

Another good tip is to position yourself close to the nearest exit just in case your partner gets that crazy unsatisfied look and you need to run for your life. This is also good if aforementioned partner forgets to inform you that their equally batshit crazy significant other just got back into town and hasn’t relinquished his/her keys. You can still look sexy making a fast getaway!

Wow, I'm blowing my totally sexual mind with all this free advice. You're well on your way to being 10% sexy, which is about a 100% gain. I'd suggest printing the shit out of this entry and keeping it folded in your pocket at all times.

You are very welcome, somewhat sexy people.

Bed of Meat!

2009-05-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

I love meat. Everyone knows that. Or should. I’d much rather receive a box of meat than flowers or candy, unless of course it’s meat candy because there’s no denying that meat candy would be both delicious and nutritious.

Case in point: chocolate-covered bacon. TASTE. EXPLOSION. Yes! I haven’t actually enjoyed the chocolate-covered bacon just yet because I fear my heart could not withstand the enjoyment. I might die. And seeing as I’ve already had my near-death episode, I’m going to take a pass on you delicious chocolate-covered bacon taste explosion. For now at least.

Back to meat.

I seem to have found someone who enjoys the meat as much as I do. This lady made a bed in the shape of a hamburger, nay cheeseburger, with pickle pillows and a genuine slice of cheese, and tomatoes and shit. This is crazy stuff right here. It’s not for sale right now and that’s probably a good thing. Create some demand in the marketplace. The Hamburger Bed has its own Facebook page. I see this really taking off. It could very well be the waterbed of its day.

Here’s the thing.

I love hamburgers. I do not love hamburgers all junked up with pickles (which I reject categorically) or ketchup or any of those other disgusting condiments you commoners ruin it up with. I like it straight up with some cheese and maybe some delicious bacon and quite possibly some onions.

Yes I love the hamburger but do I want to sleep inside one? Do I want to become part of the hamburger? Clearly any hamburger with me as an ingredient would be fucking phenomonal. It would have to be housed in a museum or something. I’d totally rock the Guinness Book of World Records for most delicious human hamburger ever conceived. Peoples would be licking the windows where my human hamburger would be housed. It would be sad for you. And yet exciting!

This is all fact.

However, why do I want to nod off with my awesome dreams while encased in the hamburger and its sesame-topped buns? Maybe this hamburger bed smells like meat. I might be on board with that.

A long, long time ago I practiced the vegetarianism. I was young and undeniably stupid, more so for forsaking the delicious meat for an equally young and indubitably more stupid boy. After we split, I continued on this tree-hugging ridiculosity until I became tortured by dreams of hamburgers. This is all fact. Night after night I would dream of delicious, bloody hamburgers with their cheese all oozing out the sides just like hot melty cheese can do. After many weeks of such unconscious torture, I ate a hamburger. And it was ri-goddamn-diculously amazing. End of interlude.

With my own hamburger bed, I fear some burglar would unknowingly take a bite out of me when he’s innocently trying to rob my secret headquarters of all its awesome stuff. If that should happen, rest assured I would destroy said burglar after crying a tiny tear on the inside for his dashed hamburger dreams.

I digress. I’m really on the fence with this Hamburger Bed. It’s going to keep me up at night. Those pharmaceutical people should really come up with a sleeping pill that tastes like hamburgers to counteract the sleeplessness caused by the Hamburger Bed. I’m going to write a letter to someone now. Stay tuned.

As always, you’re welcome.

You are wrong and will admit it.

2009-05-27T17:49:00.000-07:00

Hello. I've been busy doing top secret stuff for several months so pardon the absence. My return has been heralded by an attack, nay an affront, to my keen sense of fashion. As we all know, I not only have my fingers on the pulse but I am the pulse of all things fashionable. So this particular assault was completely ungrounded, and one might say ludicrous. My attacker will rue the day.

So let's begin.

IN DEFENSE OF THE GREATEST SHOE OF ALL TIME
Yes, our defense is of the Clarks pictured above. This particular stalwart of fashion is known as the Wallabee. (Sidenote: my assailant claims to be of Australian descent and yet attacks a shoe named after a relative of the kangaroo. Self-loathing, much?)

Ahem. Clarks are a long-established English export, dating back to 1825. I know this because I am an excellent detective and read the Clarks timeline. If you are unfamiliar with Clarks, perhaps you grew up in a burrow somewhere burrowish and that is very sad for you.

Prepare for educational download. Aforementioned Clarks history begins thus:

It began with a flash of inspiration.

Well, in fact, every day I too begin with a flash of inspiration!

It was the very first Clarks shoe and the opening chapter in a remarkable story that continues to unfold to this day. In the decades that have passed since the young Mr. Clark’s eureka moment our shoes have seen social, political and economic revolution. They’ve seen fashions in footwear come and go, and come again – everything from court shoes and winklepickers to wedge heels, sandals and sneakers. They’ve tapped to the beat of crooners, rockers, Britpoppers and hip hoppers. They’ve walked, marched, strode and sashayed through an ever-changing world.

What have your shoes done lately? Mine have weathered unrest and winklepickers! They've sashayed for Christ's sake.

I will admit that Clarks are not for everyone. You have to be of my supreme awesomeness in order to carry the weight of their history. Few can handle the pressure. But they are not in fact ugly. Non! They are a testament to industriousness and as their site says "chosen by those seeking authenticity and individuality. . . a timeless classic loved by millions."

Match point, set, game.

You cannot argue with me. Why would you even try? Resistance is futile. I will debate the pants off you and if you're lucky, your ridiculous, unoriginal shoes as well.

So viva la revolucion, Clarks! I embrace my suede upper and moccassin-like construction. I crush naysayers like bug under my thick rubber sole.

As I am an original, it's only fitting my footwear follow suit.

Formal apologies will be considered by the committee of me in due course and in order of receipt.

You're welcome.

The time has come, nephew

2008-08-29T06:16:00.000-07:00

I took the writer's strike a little more seriously than most. But I've seen, heard, and read enough crap in the last few months to be sufficiently fired up to respond.

You best sit down for this.

First, I'll tell you a story since I'm kick-ass at that. I was taking in some culture this past week, which is not a surprising fact since I'm all high art and shit. Anyway, I took in my culture at the Lyceum in the above-ground hell known as Times Square. The avuncular man seated next to me was laughing so hard that my chair began to vibrate. I enjoyed this very much. The show was good, not great, not mindblowing. I could have written circles around this shit but I have more important (i.e. secret) things to do at present. The point is I was in a relatively good mood.

I get on the subway. (We're in the present tense now. Keep up.) Then this kid dressed as Mary of Bethlehem gets on my car and immediately starts talking all kinds of hate up and down the train. I'm all about free speech, except when it's stupid. Really people. If you're stupid (and you know who you are), shut it.

This particular kid apparently had a lot to say and said it loud enough for everyone to hear. He couldn't wait to kill this person and that person and there was something about crackers that was pissing him off. I avoided eye contact because he was a hot box of crazy and those kinds of hot boxes lean toward stabbing. Anyway, he was getting on my nerves. I could hear his rants through my iPod.

And as I am often want to do I started daydreaming. I approach said kid and tell him to "shut it" and he stabs me in the thigh. I approach said kid and tell him "I hate him too" and he starts to cry. (Pussy) I approach said kid and stab him in the thigh with my pen. I approach said kid and spray paint BABY on his forehead. In big bubbly letters. Pretty!

None of these things happened. The kid got off at my stop and I spared him.

I forget what the point of this post was but you're welcome nonetheless. If you need a wrap up because you're so goddamn dependent on me for everything, here it is. If you are lucky enough to see me on the subway, first of all do not approach me. That's a given. Second, if you are going to start preaching, try to avoid stupidity. If you cannot avoid stupidity, please speak in a funny accent so I won't want to stab you or vice versa.

L8r sk8rs.

Glory Be!

2008-02-16T17:22:00.000-08:00

The writer's strike is over!

You thought I was kidding maybe all this time. Thought you'd get something out of me. That I'd crack? Poor puppies. So neglected, dejected, and sad.

I am back for full attack.

I've learned many important lessons during this radio silence. Not everyone can write. In fact, we are few and far between. It's a burden really. This talent.

Yeah, you don't care, you greedy bastards. You just want deliverables.

Typical.

So here I am with plenty to say. But are you ready for it? How bad do you want it?

We'll see. For tonight, put down your pens and go directly to the bar to rejoice that Shiny Penny has been released from her silent prison.

Cheers to that.

Negotiations continue.

2007-12-17T19:28:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-30T21:24:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-28T18:37:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-21T08:35:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-11-16T15:25:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-14T16:39:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-10T16:17:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-06T19:06:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-02T17:13:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-10-31T16:03:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-10-30T17:53:00.000-07:00

"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

2007-10-29T15:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-26T22:14:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-25T16:40:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-10-24T15:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-19T18:18:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-16T17:39:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-14T14:55:00.001-07:00

My new favorite commercial. Raise the roof, Philly.

Colbert: My Biggest Fan

2007-10-13T10:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-10T04:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-10-06T06:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-10-03T03:55:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-09-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-09-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-23T15:16:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-22T06:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-20T17:21:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-18T14:38:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-14T09:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-12T15:16:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-09-11T19:54:00.001-07:00

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.

2007-09-09T17:41:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-09-08T06:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-09-06T19:27:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-09-05T17:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-04T17:05:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-09-02T18:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-09-01T19:41:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-29T19:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-28T15:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-27T17:25:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-25T06:35:00.000-07:00

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]

2007-08-24T17:48:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-08-22T18:25:00.001-07:00

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

2007-08-20T19:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-19T16:44:00.001-07:00

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

2007-08-18T06:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-16T18:01:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-08-15T16:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-14T03:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Gimme a break

2007-08-09T19:16:00.000-07:00

I sure deserve it. Nell Carter, star of the popular show "Gimme a break," would agree. That's her in the red dress. She had flair. I don't remember all those girls but I do remember the dad. He was a COP.

Back to me. I'm heading to a tropical-like destination sans palm trees and fruity drinks. Or am I?

I'll leave you to chew on that.

Later, skaters.

En garde!

2007-08-08T17:10:00.000-07:00

Notice: to The Scrivener who accused me of one thing and then tried to cover it up by fancifying said accusation as "your force field." I have done an exhaustive 5 minutes of research on force fields and have come to the conclusion that I may or may not have a force field, but I most certainly have a personal scent circle.

According to the Scented Products Education and Information Association of Canada (SPEIAC), everyone has a personal "scent circle" about an arm's length away from their body. Furthermore, it is advised to stay within your "scent circle" at all times. These crazy Canadians have actually drafted guidelines for employers to deal with scent violators. This is like a totally hot topic right now. Smellnatural.com will advise you on how to apply fragrances, which they define as "making you more pleasant and charming."

Alack, if only that were true.

I digress.

As far as my force field goes, I embrace the invisible, pretty much any chance I get. You may have spotted me blowing "air" kisses but I assure you there was in fact a very real recipient. I will concede, however, that I am EN GARDE! as it is a thick, dangerous world, outside of my awesome force field, and EN GARDE! is pretty fun to say in a crowded room. Much like D'Artagnan, I'm at the ready for anything -- noble or ignoble.

As Brian Adams would say, "Everything I do. . . I do it for you."

You're welcome.

Breaking the law(s)

2007-08-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

AdAge recently announced its Power 150: Top Media and Marketing Blogs. I was not included on this list. Thanks for voting, jerks. Even though I do not purport to be a Media nor a Marketing Blog, I'm still offended. I should be categorically #1 on all lists.

Let's move on.

I perused this list. There were many titles I did not recognize and which I deemed not worth my precious click. Bloggers like to name their blogs after themselves it seems, with exclamation points! Note that I do not title my blog Shiny Penny! Thank you for your consideration.

I did click on one Copyblogger because it had two words I like: copy and blog. Both of which I am masters of. I'm unclear on the owner and author of this blog, however, I took special note of the following list:

THE 5 IMMUTABLE LAWS OF PERSUASIVE BLOGGING

As you may gather, there are several BIG claims in the title of this list alone. Five. Immutable. Persuasive.

Wow, I was so engaged. I continued reading.

Law 1: The Law of Value: Your blog must provide value to the reader by addressing a problem, concern, desire, or need that the reader already has. Fresh, original content is critical.

Yeah, I totally nailed this one. I don't think I really need to go into any detail here. I'm so out there on the field for you every day. You should show some appreciation, damn it. You're really ungrateful sometimes. You should work on that.

Law 2: The Law of Headlines and Hooks: Your post titles must stand out in a crowded, noisy blogosphere, and you must quickly communicate the value of reading further with your opening.

Please. Is this Copyblogger serious? I am all over headlines and hooks. I should rename this blog Captain Motherfucking Hook. I dominate Law 2.

Law 3: The Law of “How To”: People don’t want to know “what” you can do, they want to know “how” it’s done. If you think you’re giving away too much information, you’re on the right track.

I beg to differ, Copyblogger. There are many mysteries in this universe and I happen to be one of them. If I reveal all of my secrets, you, dear reader, may imagine that you are actually of the same mettle. That would be unfortunate for you. I can see awful headlines now. Stick to your station. Everyone's better off. I'll tip in my service journalism when appropriate. Didn't I warn you about waving too violently to the manatee? Yes, I did. Didn't I advise you not to wear denim in extreme heat? Affirmative. Didn't I counsel you on the benefits of making lists and not staring at people with neck tattoos and faithfully showing the Bruce Lee adoration? Right on on all accounts. If this isn't how-to station, I don't know what is. You're not getting this caliber of wisdom for free anywhere else. Quit being so needy.

Law 4: The Law of the List: Love them or hate them, informational posts presented in list format are easily digestible, and allow for an efficient transfer of your value proposition to the reader.

You're welcome.

Law 5: The Law of the Story: Stories are the most persuasive blogging element of all, as they allow you to present a problem, the solution, and the results, all while the connotation of the story allows readers to sell themselves on what you have to offer.

Oops, sorry, I nodded off. I tell you stories. Every day is like a new adventure for you. I'm not into the sales aspect though. I like to close the deal just as much as the next future world dominator but sometimes it's a bit cheesy. I am not in fact for sale at this juncture. Anyway, I think this Law 5 pretty lame as #5s go. So I'm just going to do something ballsy and reject it outright.

In conclusion, I am still not on AdAge's Power 150 and I blame you. I really hope you'll step up to the plate and take responsibility for your inaction. I can't carry you all the time. Try to do your small part for Shiny Penny.

Thanks for loving.

With us, it's personal.

2007-08-04T07:12:00.000-07:00

This is the approved tag line of the Rite-Aid Pharmacy. This tag line is meant to make you feel like the pharmacists are human beings and that they view you as a human being as well. Clever. Sometimes when I'm filling up my prescriptions for GREATNESS, I wonder about the pharmacists. Transformers are everywhere. Robots in disguise. Seemingly human, but nay! Evil doers abound. Those with ill will; they say one thing and do another; often they subscribe to a secret, fucked-up agenda.

Anyway, I dropped off my prescription for JUSTICE the other day and the pharmacist ran after me. Literally. He ran down the aisles. I was mesmerized by the arrangement of delicious cereals which is where he found me. (I like to blend into civilian life as much as possible.) The pharmacist informed me of an error in my Rx: JUSTICE. Wow! I thought "that was really personal." Not like "a personal invasion of my privacy" but rather "he really cares about how and when I use my Rx: JUSTICE." I felt a bit of warmness. I almost hugged him because I hear that's what you mortals do. I decided against it though because I also know those in positions of authority, such as myself, do not like to be touched when on the job. You just never know what people are up to. I could go in for the friendly hug and never let go. And can you imagine how my pharmacist would explain an embrace in the middle of the cereal aisle? It would have been unpleasant for him. Not the hug, of course.

You may be wondering why I need a prescription for GREATNESS when in fact I am naturally brilliant and charming. "Ah-ha!" you may be thinking. I hate to dash your hopes that I am just one of you. Let's keep up the illusion for now.

Back to that tag line. It's a competitive advantage the Rite-Aid is touting. As if to say, "Those other guys are impersonal, but not us! Not us." I think I can get on board with this claim. I think I may adopt this tag line in a slightly altered form for myself.

With me, it's personal.

If you really think about it, you're stating the obvious. If, in fact, you are a person, how could any interaction not be personal? Did you just have a giant Duh moment? I know. Sometimes I even amaze myself. I used to hate when people would say "Don't take it personally." Especially after unleashing some ridiculous criticism of something or other. It's really a stupid thing to say. Moreover, a stupid thing to think or act or react to. Everything is personal. Unless of course you are a Transformer or some sort of bot. If this is the case, rock on to you.

I think Chuck Norris would approve of my new tag line. I think Bruce would as well. I'm really pleased with myself this morning. I have to go do something GREAT now. I wish some small measure of GREAT on you because I'm generous like that and shit, with me, it is personal.

A List Only Befitting August 2007

2007-08-02T18:09:00.000-07:00

It's time to draft a list because all plans for world domination begin with the almighty list.

THINGS TO DOMINATE IN AUGUST 2007

-- Phobias. Namely your sweaty arm or leg touching my awesome arm or leg when uninvited or uncalled for. I will resist the urge to knock you down. You're welcome.

-- Peking duck. Maybe. I'm still not sure. Let me amend: headless Peking duck. Doable.

-- The world. Totally within my grasp.

-- The dance. Pretty much a lock at this point but I still need to break out the Flashdance before my shoulders spontaneously tear through all of my clothing on their own.

-- People whose names begin with the letter D or contain the letter d somewhere therein.

-- All previous posts up to this point. I know! How do you improve on greatness? Stay tuned to have your mind blown.

-- Nuts. I like nuts, shelled and unshelled. And, they're good for you! And the expression "Nuts!" should be worked into daily vocabulary.

-- Buble time and the memory of his very catchy song "Everything". I may have to sacrifice my dog hearing to dominate this category. It's worth it.

That's all I'm going to give you. I don't subscribe to the Top 10 list. Top 10 list is not the boss of me. I encourage you to make your own list of PEOPLE OR THINGS TO DOMINATE IN AUGUST 2007. It will make you feel closer to me, but not too close (see first item).

Nuts.

Peaches and Herb

2007-08-01T18:00:00.000-07:00

Breakups are funny. Not so much in a funny-ha ha way but funny-strange. What's funnier is reunions. They can be so awkward. Not for me so much but I'm trying to imagine what it's like to be in your shoes. What I like to do is sing the popular Peaches and Herb song "Reunited". This always breaks the ice. Follow it up with a high-five with your ex and you can't help but have a good time.

I considered giving you a taste of all the lyrics but I think they're probably too intense for you. Maybe you'll start reminiscing or something; maybe you'll cry a tiny tear. That would be unpleasant for everyone involved. So I've included the chorus below because it was the only part I could remember and thought fit to copy and paste. Peaches and Herb would probably want some royalties and I'm not emotionally mature enough to pay out.

Reunited and it feels so good
Reunited 'cause we understood
There's one perfect fit
And, sugar, this one is it
We both are so excited 'cause we're reunited, hey, hey

Don't you feel better already. Don't get hung up on Peaches and Herb's promise though. This is not a foolproof plan. Sure, many an ex would melt at the sweet sounds of some P&H. Hell, who wouldn't? There's probably someone out there who could resist the lambchops of one Herb and the soothing click of Peaches' braids. In those cases, you just keep on singing and say "Nuts to you. Nuts. To. You."

In conclusion, Peaches and Herb are awesome. "Reunited" is an invigorating, feel-good song. However, "Reunited" cannot and should not be used willy-nilly nor should the lyrics be interpreted as a reflection of one's true feelings but rather just pretty solid lyrics that generally melt hearts. Peaches are also delicious on their own as a food group; as is Herb.

My degree in Detective

2007-07-30T18:50:00.000-07:00

I'm totally studying up on how to be a detective, as in Private Eye. I saw a commercial on the teevee and I sent away for a kit. In less than six weeks, I will have my detective license. That's a license to spy. I like to call it a license in need-to-know information. I need to know and you do not.

Did you know the vast majority of detectives are hired for surveillance of a spouse suspected of committing adultery? How boring. I will reject these cases. If you don't know how to set up a Web cam and track your significant wandering other, that's your problem. I can't bail you out of everything. You're totally cramping my style in that way.

If you are considering hiring me, be forewarned that I am expensive. It's all the high-tech equipment and sexy undercover gear. Don't blame me! Sometimes what you think you want to know is worth the price. And sometimes you'd be better off buying a cup of coffee.

Word.

Dance, Dance

2007-07-29T18:26:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see myself in a leotard. You may not know this but I really like to dance. Usually not in public. . . yes, I am a private dancer. But not for money and no, I will not do what you want me to do. And you know why? Because you probably can't dance. It's shocking and a little embarrassing but you should really own up to your defects in character.

Dancing builds character. Did you know that?

I used to watch the very popular show Dance Party USA after school when I was just a sidekick and not my fully-grown Super self. I was very fond of a girl called Lisa in a blue unitard with curly black hair. She knew how to move. I very much liked her partner Michael. In fact, I called in to this show once and spoke to Michael. He sounded very much like a robot. I think I told him he had "great moves."

Back to me. There's a time to dance. And a place. The bus is probably not one of them. And yet I felt the incredible urge to dance up and down the aisles today. I felt as if the dance would explode inside me. I think the passenger sitting next to me could feel my dance intensity too.

Also when I was young, I would frequent this goth club in the city to dance. There wasn't much dancing involved then. We mostly stood around and looked depressed but in a really cool way. Dancing was purely background.

But at some point, dancing became foreground and before I knew it I was a dancing machine. Usually it takes a couple fun beverages for me to shake it like a Polaroid picture. I don't like to rub it in other people's faces how well I can dance. I'm just that kind of person. I know I have the gift.

Lately I've felt the fever though. I want to go Jennifer Beales on someone. Like a maniac. I can totally picture how awesome that would be, obviously more so for the recipient of my incredible dance. So just be on the lookout because if you see me on the street or on the subway or in a restaurant and I'm dancing, dancing. . . consider yourself blessed, at least for that short moment in time.

Horns

2007-07-27T20:33:00.001-07:00

It's a little-known fact that I love horns. The bigger and brassier, the better. And loud. I love me some loud horn. What may surprise you is I play horn. I am my own human instrument. I can when prompted properly imitate the awesome sound of the horn, completely unaided. You'd have to be real special to witness this event but no doubt you'd be changed.

So I happened upon some horns tonight in what they call a jazz ensemble, a quintet to be exact. Not one horn, but two. One big, one small. I was immediately excited at the prospect and imagined I might join in as special guest. You really can't go wrong with horns. Except when you can and you do. Bad horn. Very bad horn.

Not that I lay all the blame on the horns and their masters. Nay. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with the bass player, under whose name -- nay spell -- my horn(ed) brothers played. I wanted to rescue them and one was definitely small enough for me to conceal in my pocket if I happened to have a pocket which I most certainly did not. It was tragedy all around.

There is no turning back from bad horn. I could have jumped in and attempted some sort of musical miracle but in all failure there is some amount of success. Either that was really deep or complete nonsense. I vote deep. Tonight I dream of horns. You should be so lucky.

Sexy time

2007-07-26T17:47:00.000-07:00

It's taken me much self-introspection to come to terms with what I like to call Sexy time. Let me explain.

Sexy time is how I like to refer to the precious moments spent reading through my many concerned messages from folks like Frederik L. Gentry, Ronny Le, Sexual Male, and the always-popular Sex Can.

These folks and others like them (who I have yet to meet. call me!) write me personal emails almost every day, usually on some sex-related topic. They offer me all kinds of tips relating to sensation, enlargement, endurance, and XXX subjects. I can only think someone out there is really concerned about my health and welfare so I'd like to say THANKS! Honest. I'm really flattered.

I thought I'd share some of the messages I receive on a daily basis but then I reconsidered. They're pretty private. One thing they do share is the utmost concern for the time-pressed professional such as myself who, at the end of the day, has zero attention span and even less tolerance for nonsense. Get to the point and do it fast with words that will get my attention. Do you think you could resist a message from Sex Can?

I wish I worked for one of these places whose sole mission is to care for other people. I would be a great ambassador. Consider this a formal application if anyone's reading. I have my suspicions that Chuck Norris is behind the bulk of these communications as he's a very convincing person and seems quite virile, in appearance at least. And he has a beard!

Wow, I'm really pumped now. Sexy time always delivers. Despite my many friends" entreaties, I haven't bought a single thing but already I feel better about myself. Thanks Chuck Norris. And thank you Sexy time.

What's a girl to do, Part II

2007-07-25T20:33:00.000-07:00

Forget my new favorite song. Bat for Lashes is my new favorite band. And I'm not ashamed to admit to my first official girl crush on lead singer Natasha Khan.

This is an older photo -- if she was wearing that giant feather headpiece, I would not be writing to you now because my head would have exploded all over The Knitting Factory.

She's powerful. I am not alone in this belief.

Despite the fact that only giants were standing in front of me, I caught some priceless views of her on stage. You really cannot resist the power of the trifecta: the gold headband, an abundance of face glitter, and the turquoise bra. You cannot and you will not and you won't want to.

You missed quite a performance. Lucky for you, I don't sleep on the job and was witness to Bat for Lashes this very evening. I have my fingers on the pulse, in case you didn't realize. I take that back. I am the pulse.

I may never sleep again. If I do, I will surely dream of wizards and harpsichords and Indian accordians and forests and Natasha Khan. In fact, I may never wake from that dream.

You should buy a plane ticket to England right now so you can purchase "Fur and Gold." Then quickly return and give that album to me because you can't be trusted. This is what you are to do, girl or no girl. Thanks for loving.

"I reject that."

2007-07-24T19:43:00.000-07:00

Let's set some ground rules because I think you're taking some liberties. When I say, "I reject [this] or [that]." I am making a statement of fact. Please don't feel the need to interject or rebut with "I reject [insert your ridiculous ridiculosity]."

Perhaps I did not make myself clear. "I reject that" has been trademarked by The Office of Me. Using our trademark in any way incurs penalties that you are not prepared to have exacted from you by The Office of Me.

Let me rephrase. When I say, "I reject [this] or [that]." you should take a moment to reflect that I have considered your babblings and therefore passed my swift justice. It's really a closed conversation after this point. I don't understand why you insist on arguing. Petulance is not rewarded in heaven.

Allow me to indulge you. Please keep the following list close at hand so as not to further annoy me. Keep in mind that lists will save your soul. People who make lists and then routinely cross items off lists rule the world.

THINGS I REJECT -- A LIST. BY SHINY PENNY

-- Any retort to my trademarked statement "I reject [this] or [that]."

-- Organ meat.

-- Boots and shorts, in combination.

-- Short people masquerading as tall people. You know who you are. This excludes those on stilts.

-- Padma Lakshmi. I'd like to see your kitchen credentials please.

-- Peking duck.

-- Taking someone literally downtown to Chinatown. Figuratively, it's right on.

-- Babies in sunglasses.

-- Marshmallows in any form.

This is the shortlist. Things I do not reject include: the question, "Donde esta la biblioteca?", mangoes, beards, neck tattoos that I can stare at freely, etc. These are a few of my favorite things.

Are we seeing eye to eye now? One more time. You cannot -- in fact you may not -- reject that which I have already rejected. Rejection is good, especially when it's coming from me because at the end of the day you can rest easy in the consolation that you love me very much and I do not reject that.