So this came in the mail today...

It turns out, size does matter.

Those that know me are aware of just how much I like gadgets and gizmos. Yes, I prefer gizmos to gadgets, but it’s so close you can almost call it a draw. But in the all too likely event that someone will have a gun to my head and my preference of one over the other will determine the continuance or ceasing of my life, AKA the stake, I will chose gizmos. But it’s kind of like choosing a favorite child, but not like when you have one kid that’s a giant pain in the ass and it’s easy to say you prefer one over the other. No, it’s like when they’re both good kids and they always do their chores. But this analogy has gotten out of hand, so lets awkwardly move on to what we’re really here to talk about.

When it comes to technology, I like it. But when you can make the same equipment do the same thing, only then you make it smaller, well, I love it. I was already an admirer of the ipod. It does so many wonderful things and it does them all with an extremely easy user interface. (Except for this one lady’s daughter. I work with this woman, and her daughter is continually baffled by it. She has to have it, but she doesn’t know what to do with it. She has all of 6 albums loaded onto the thing. It makes me sad. She called me one day because it wasn’t working and apparently I’m in ipod IT. She said one of her “friends” spilled coke all over it and she wanted to know if that had something to do with it not working. I told her it was a possibility and then threw up in my mouth. Unable to continue the conversation due to the vomit in my mouth, I hung up and spent the rest of the day typing a letter to Apple letting them know that they should really have people take a test before they’re allowed to buy an ipod. Wow, this is a rather lengthy, and might I add unnecessary, parenthetical statement.) Then within the past year, Apple decided to up the anti so to speak. They introduced the ipod video and the ipod nano. This made my life 10 times more difficult than it needed to be.

My problem is this: I love video. I love the ipod. I love tiny things. I think it’s pretty obvious where this is going. Having to choose between the nano and the video nearly cost me my sanity. In the end, I went with the nano because it was too damn cute to pass up. It’s so tiny and it does so much! I’m not stupid enough to bother with the 2 gig model, so don’t even ask. I have a beautiful black, 4 gig ipod nano and I couldn’t be happier. Well, I guess I could be happier if the nano came with video capabilities, but I guess that’s just asking too much. Or perhaps Apple is just saving themselves a little something so people have a reason to buy one next Christmas.

Eventually, when I become laughably rich, I will own an ipod video and continue to do ridiculously unnecessary things with it. I look forward to that day. For now though, I can live with my 783 tracks +photos with about 600 MB of free space for growth purposes. I’m just now getting into the world of podcasting and am quite impressed with what there is to offer out there. Allow me to plug a friend of mine for a minute and give a listen to the Glitchcast if you feel so inclined.

And now, because I can… some tenacious D… or illegal D. I’m not really sure. I’m not an official in the NBA, I have too much integrity for that…

A few highlights from my email…

Not unlike so many others, I have a spam filter for my email. I enjoy this feature because it keeps me from receiving a plethora of offers on reduced price software and medication. I’m also aware that a certain Christian group desperately wants to lend me money, but I just can’t bring myself to reply to their tempting email offers. Every once in awhile I go through the spam trap just to make sure nothing important gets held up in there. It happens from time to time. Upon viewing the contents of the trap though, a few subject lines stuck out to me. The following is the subject line followed by what I believe I might gain from actually reading the email, however, it should be noted that I did not, in fact, read any of those emails. I feel like it would have been an unnecessary waste of time given my superior “hunch” skills. I’m pretty confident you’ll agree that my assumptions were most likely correct, thus rendering an actual reading of the content obsolete.

Attention grabbing email subject line number 1.

“Jon, Oprah switches to green tea for the new year!”

Ok, first of all, this one grabbed my attention because it is clearly addressed to me. I mean, my name is Jon. There’s just no way you could fake that. I’m not even going to listen to any arguments that might suggest the possibility of a computer program randomly generating names that start with “J” and then getting so lucky as to pick my name correctly then send me a bogus email. Nor will I listen to any far more ridiculous claims that due to some form I filled out online with my name and email address that they have customized an email for me like they have for thousands of others. Those claims border no treasonous. I’m not sure why it’s treasonous, but it is, and those claims border on it.

As to the actual subject line, anyone that knows me is familiar with my “Be Like Oprah” plan. I initiated this plan back in 1997 when I became acutely aware of just how much money Oprah is worth. She gains weight, I gain weight. She loses weight, I lose weight. I subscribe to O magazine and read it religiously cover to cover. Any person that can find a way to make money off of their name both forwards and backwards (harpO Productions… freaking genius…) is worthy of my insanely creepy lifestyle duplication. This is why the subject line intrigued me so much. I see that Oprah has switched to green tea. This means only one thing to me: I must switch to green tea. I felt like just making that decision in my head made my bank account swell.

Probably another reason I didn’t feel it necessary to read on with this email is that the subject line pretty much covered it. I’m not entirely sure there could have been much further useful information in there for me. Perhaps there was a green tea offer of some sort, but really, I don’t think an email is the place where you want to be ordering your Oprah brand green tea. Plus, I don’t even know if I can trust the source of that email. For all I know, they could be offering low quality green tea and just be trying to cash in on the Oprah name. Wouldn’t be the first time. Sometimes I feel bad for all the problems Oprah must have being Oprah. Thank god she has a palatial mansion to get away from it all. I suspect I’ll need something of equal size and grandeur when my Oprah transformation is complete.

So yeah, that email caught my attention.

Attention grabbing email subject line number 2.

“Jon, brag about your Louis Vuitton bag”

Again, the use of my first name was key in this one. We’ve already discussed the ridiculously miniscule chances of that happening, so it was once again evident that this email was addressed to me and to me alone. This email however, did not feel like it was so much informative as it was instructive. I have a Louis Vuitton bag, and it’s now been made clear to me that I need to brag about it.

I’ve had the bag for several months now. I take it with me everywhere. Often times I wear whole outfits designed entirely to accentuate the bag in all it’s subtleties. I get a lot of comments on it, and I don’t mind telling you that I love every one of them. Sometimes I’ll get some backhanded compliment about how it looks like I have a really good knock off. I tell them straight to their face, “Honey, this ain’t no damn knock off! This here’s the real deal!” Then I bust out my portfolio of documents containing a vast array of authenticity certificates, one of which is signed by the president of Arkansas himself. (when I first received that particular certificate of authenticity, I was entirely unaware that Arkansas had a president, but they do, and he signed my certificate of authenticity. You can challenge both his existence and his jurisdiction in this matter, but you will lose on both accounts as he is a legitimate governing body of all handbags, international and domestic.)

From this day forward, I promise that I will indeed make more of an effort to show off and highlight the fact that I have a Louis Vuitton bag. Some people claim that I follow random orders from mysterious emails a little too easily. To those people, I say only this, “Have you seen my Louis Vuitton bag? Oh? You don’t have one? Sucks for you.” You know that you don’t really have a good handbag unless people are selling cheap knock offs on street corners everywhere. Luckily, that doesn’t apply to me. Wait until you see the outfit I have planned for tomorrow. It’s a sexy little strapless number I picked up last weekend at the swap meet.

Attention grabbing email subject line number 3.

“Jon, get access to thousands of TV channels and clips ON YOUR COMPUTER!”

Again, I cannot stress enough how eye catching it is to see my very own, incredibly unique name in the subject line. Couple that with the two letters T and V right next to each other, and it’s guaranteed a second look. I’m not obsessed so much with the programming side of television as I am with the technological side. I like TV’s that have no less than 3 different forms of input and preferably no less than 6 available inputs. S-Video and Composite are a must, but then Component, DVI, VGA, HDMI and Fire Wire are the ones that really get my blood flowing. I really feel like I’ve gone off topic here, so I’ll show some restraint and move back to the email subject line. My name and TV are what grabbed my attention, but upon further reading and comprehension of the rest of the sentence, I realized that they were attempting to sell me the internet. I already have the internet available to me on my computer and what with the new google videos, I’m a pretty happy man. I’m pretty sure it’s just a matter of time before google becomes a religion. http://worshipus.google.com. Check it out. They make religion fun and easy, just like everything else they touch.

Having now evaluated it properly, I think this email would have stayed in the deleted items box.

I hope now everyone can see the amount of time that it takes me to think about things after glancing at just 3 subject lines in my spam filtered email box. I don’t even know when I find time to do the simple things like eat, sleep and breath.

How about we see some changes?

Every so often I reach a point where life becomes so routine and mundane that every day just seems to blend into the others forming one giant mushball of crap days. This kind of thing becomes evident to my friends and family when I say things like, “So what’s president Regan up to these days?” or, “What’s new in the Soviet Union? Is that cold war thing working out for anyone?” Generally I get smacked in the mouth and remember that it’s 2006 and we still don’t have flying cars or condos on the moon yet. (However, I do feel it necessary to point out that property on the moon is dirt cheap right now and what with the rising cost of land in California, I felt like I would be a fool not to purchase several thousand acres of land in the Sea of Tranquility which is sure to be a hot spot when they start developing. We’ll see who gets the last laugh…) This always disappoints me.

Then there’s the flip side to that coin. I’ll get into a mood where the futures so bright, I have to wear shades. (Stupid old song reference: Check.) There seems like there are an infinite number of possibilities, my job doesn’t suck and all is right with the world. Then I’ll go through a drive-thru at Wendy’s and when the window lady hands me my food, she’ll say, “Thanks for coming, see you tomorrow!” and I’ll think to myself, she knows something I don’t… (by the way, this is a true story. I’m 98.36548% sure that English was not her first language and she was just trying to be polite by wishing me well with one of our crazy American clichés, but there’s that nagging (seriously, biggest f’ing nag I’ve ever met) 1.63452% that says something else is going on, and great lengths have been taken to keep me out of the loop) Then I’ll remember that it’s 2006 and we still don’t have flying cars or condos on the moon.

Ma’am? Excuse me? Ma’am?

Hey there, sorry about the delay in the post, but I was out of town for new years. Hope everyone had a good time, I know I did. Plus, my internet was not officially turned on until yesterday. I’d like to thank Cadiz in particular for being so patient with me.

With regards to my recent trip, it went quite well. Spectacular even. And while I could write in upwards of 32,489,654,816,168 pages on just how well it went, I will instead choose to focus on just the tail end of the trip. The flight home to be more specific.

As my trip ended, (always a regrettable moment, however this time even more so as I enjoyed the company I was with immensely) the usual request was made of me to have a safe flight. I said that I would and I am a man of my word. This is not a new request to me by any means, so I knew exactly how to act. In my 28 years of life, I’ve flown several dozen times and each time my safety is requested, I comply. Never once have I scurried under the plane to cut some cables or rip out some wires prior to takeoff. I’ve never attacked the pilot in mid flight by throwing steaming hot coffee in his eyes. I’ve also never set off an EMP (Electro- Magnetic Pulse) while in the air, consequently knocking out all the navigational and electrical equipment on the plane, thus rendering it dead in the air with no time to recover. And I’ve never eaten the food on the plane, because any or all of those activities would then make it an unsafe flight. Like I said, I am a man of my word.

***Side Note***

A lot of people will try and tell you some nonsense about how you need to be at the airport at least 2 hours before your plane takes off. I’m not sure who started this rumor, but I’m pretty sure they have strong ties to Hitler and the Teletubbies. Ladies and Gentleman, I am here to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. Heck, you don’t even need to be AWAKE 2 hours before your flight takes off. If you think you need to be there more than 10 minutes before your flight is scheduled to leave, I’m here to tell you that you’re dead wrong. Of course, the 10 minute rule only applies to big airports. If you’re heading to a smaller airport, plan on getting there only one or two minutes ahead of your departure time. You shouldn’t need more than that, trust me.

***End Side Note***

When I boarded the plane, something didn’t feel right. The only seats available were at the back of the plane.

***Side Note***

Anyone that thinks open seating on Southwest Airlines is a great idea obviously doesn’t know what it’s like to be indecisive. Talk about a nightmare. Having half the passengers wandering around trying to decide if they want a window or isle, front or back, near the bathroom or far away, is not a good thing. When you book your ticket, they should have a little box for you to check if you are indecisive or not. That way, those people can waste their time on the website deciding if they are indecisive or not, not on the plane. If they check that box, then they get an assigned seat, if not, they can chose their own. Also if they check that box, when they check in at the counter, they can also be given a yellow paper crown that says, “I am not capable of making simple decisions quickly or easily,” to wear on their heads to help the rest of us out. I think on the whole, it would improve plane morale.

***End Side Note***

As I walked to the back of the plane, I started to notice that approximately 95% of the passengers currently seated on the aircraft were all children under 2 years of age. The remaining passengers all suffered from ACD (Adult Crying Disorder). I thought to myself, “this isn’t going to be a pleasant flight.”

I was not mistaken in my prediction. For nearly 4 straight hours one passenger in particular was whaling away relentlessly. He was 37 years old and apparently he missed his dog Scooter. Scooter was two rows up trying desperately to look like he didn’t know who the guy was. It was not the most pleasant flight I’ve ever had, but it didn’t crash, so I can’t call it the worst either.

But that’s still not as bad as that one time… begin flashback…

Getting a ride to and from the airport is never an easy thing. So I opted out of that this time around and instead chose to park in long term parking just a few miles away. They run a free (or so I thought) shuttle to and from the parking lot, so I happily waited for the next one to make its trip through the airport loop. I happened to be in the first Terminal, so when the shuttle arrived, it was almost completely empty. What luck I thought. (often in these situations you can look back and see where the exactly things went wrong. For me, it was shortly after I thought I was going to have the shuttle to myself.) Then the shuttle stopped at the other 6 terminals. It did not fill up slowly, no, it became jam packed almost instantly. It seems as though I was traveling on a less reputable airline, thus there were not many passengers to pick up at first. I don’t know if it was fate, or karma, or just random happenstance, but a fairly large woman who was clearly twice my age wound up next to me. This woman seemed to have a need for her cell phone every 30 seconds. She would go into her purse to get it… wait, let me back up. First she would reach down and miss her purse, then she would correct herself, go into her purse and then grab the phone for a second, only to put it right back. Each time she did this, I would look straight at her, but she kept her eyes down and refused to look at me. Around the 4th or 5^th time, I had to say something. I never imagined myself in this situation, and no matter how unnatural the words felt coming out of my mouth, they were never the less, entirely necessary. I said to her, “Ma’am? Excuse me? Ma’am? Ma’am, that’s my penis.” She still refused to look me in the eye or even acknowledge me at all. I have one rule about touching my penis! If you’re going to do it, you better damn well have the decency to look me in the eye when you do. Under the right circumstances, it can be a fun and enjoyable activity for all, but if it’s done improperly, it leaves both parties feeling cheap and used.

I was only on the bus for 20 minutes, but it felt more like 27 minutes with the molestation factor. But hey, who doesn’t want to end a nice vacation like that?

So to recap, I’m back from vacation, I have the internet again, I flew with some crying babies and I was reminded of the time I was molested by an old lady. Wow… this post really could have been a lot shorter…

SUPER IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!!!!

The world is a cruel place… especially when you move. That’s what I’ll be doing on Saturday and Sunday. One of the many unfortunate side effects of moving is the lack of internet access. Optimistically, I’ll be back up and running in about 8 business days. Worst case, I’ll never see the internet again. I will then realize that, karmicly speaking, I just wasn’t meant to peruse the internet for things like this and this. I certainly hope that’s not the case. So please forgive my absence, or just call it business as usual.

Some people have pet rocks…

I have pet peeves. Yes, it’s true. Sometimes people do things that irk me. These things involve not washing your hands after you go to the bathroom, using florescent green ink to write notes, eating your slice of pizza directly over the rest of the, as yet uneaten, pizza, purchasing vowels and NBA officiating. But one of the worst offenders in my giant book of pet peeves is the vanity license plate. They’re not so bad when you can understand what they are trying to communicate through clever uses of the numbers 2,4 and 8, but sometimes, it’s an inside joke that only two people in the world know about. I will lose sleep over not knowing what it means, and I consider this a travesty.

This pet peeve also includes the license plate holder. I’ve accepted that many people in this world think that “Get in, Hold on and Shut up” is as clever as it gets. And of course there’s the ever popular, “Driver carries no cash, wife has it all.” I once saw that on the back of a rusted out ’78 Datsun. What was left of the paint job was irreversibly sun damaged, none of the hub caps matched and use of duct tape repair was rampant (I, of course, had the highest respect for this man knowing that he was keeping his vehicle up to code with a liberal use of duct tape.). I’ll bet that guy was getting held up at gun point by various gang members all the time and he had no choice but to protect himself in the only way he knew how, with a license plate holder.

One of the negative things about commuting 45 miles each way to work everyday is that I invariably encounter said license plates and license plate holders. Today, much to my chagrin, was no exception. It was a double whammy, and that’s saying a lot because every day when I get in my car, I say, “No whammies, no whammies” several dozen times in the hopes of avoiding any and all whammies, and wouldn’t you know it, I get a double whammy! What are the odds? 15,321,246,986,511,216,987,413,151 to 1,356,998. Strange odds I know, but seriously, who’s betting on that kind of stuff? Soccer moms and out of work chimpanzee actors, that’s who. I’ve seen them at the local dive bars, arguing with their bookies and it's not a pretty sight. (what was I doing at those local dive bars? That’s none of your damn business and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your nosey little face out of my affairs!)

So I’m driving to work, and as usual, things start to slow down to the break neck pace of 15 mph. I suppose that’s fast if you’re on foot, but in this modern age, it just doesn’t do it for me. I’ve got 150 horses under the hood, and if you think they like to be corralled into a 15 mph pace, you’re dead wrong. They are wild horse and they like to run free. Unfortunately, the corralling that takes place means that the likely hood of me being annoyed by someone else’s license plate/ holder are increased by approximately 1,000,000,000,000,000%. Trust me on that one, I did the math, and that’s the increase. I triple checked it and had 4 unbiased mathematicians from 4 different, neutral countries verify my findings, and even though there was some grumbling about how bad the craft service table was, all of the mathematicians agreed with my findings.

Once the crawl had set in, it was only moments before I saw what would be the bane of my existence for the day. There they were on my right, a small, late model midnight blue BMW. My eyes were seemingly drawn to the license plate holder. I don’t know why, probably because irony knows no bounds. I read the license plat holder, knowing full well that nothing good would come of it. This is what it said, “Walk like it’s for sale and like the rent is due tomorrow.” Now I admit, from time to time, I make stuff up. Occasionally, my posts will be somewhat fictional in their content. This however, is no such post. I cannot for the life of me figure out what this piece of nonsense is supposed to mean. I will lose sleep over this. I will curse the existence of license plate holders and I will very likely run that person off the road should our paths ever cross again. Sure, maybe that’s a little harsh, but at this point, the rent is due and they are pretending to sell something. I don’t know if they are tight on money, I don’t know if it’s an apartment, a condo, or a house and I’m not sure if there are any homeowners association fees due. The license plate holder gave me no indication of that. If anyone has any knowledge on this topic that they are legally allowed to share, please feel free to do so in the comments.

The Most Honest Post to Date

Here’s a little known fact about me, I sneeze approximately 1,329 times a day. I’ve tried everything from saying to myself, “self, do not sneeze today” to writing on a chalkboard, “I will not sneeze today” several dozen times. None of those seemingly bullet proof solutions have ever been able to suppress my amazing urges to sneeze though.

It’s gotten to the point where I’ve had to hire two retired mall security officers to carry around a mobile sneeze guard and hold it in front of me wherever I go. The Mall Pigs, as I like to call them, (seriously, it’s a term of endearment…) and I can often be seen walking around town, taking in some fresh air. Awhile back I had an automated system that was mounted on a giant backpack. It was a circular guard that would rotate every 5 minutes. As the shield passed through the backpack, it would be washed off, thus ensuring that I had a newly cleaned sneeze guard every 5 minutes (kind of like the protective shields they have on the tv cameras mounted on Indy cars.). While I loved the automated system, as I am a gadget freak, I missed the human touch. I like having officer Dukowski and officer Schmidt at my sides for every day conversation. I keep the automated sneeze guard in my car though, in case one or both of them call in sick. (for those of you that are dying to know, and I’m sure there’s at least one or two of you out there, officers D. and S. have a squeegee system worked out where in they alternate cleaning off the old fashioned portable sneeze guard. I do not envy them, but they rarely complain about it.)

This brings me to my next topic. All to often, people like to point out to me that when you sneeze, apparently you can’t keep your eyes open. This is false. I can absolutely keep my eyes open while I sneeze. Not only do I have photographic evidence of me in mid sneeze, eyes wide open, but I challenge anyone to stand directly in front of me whilst I sneeze and see if I close my eyes. What 99.95687% of the people I encounter don’t realize when they tell me this is that I have a stamped certificate from my optometrist. It has been notarized by a state representative and states that I possess “Superior Ocular Control.” Or SOC as it’s known in the optometry world. It’s not surprising that they don’t know this Because to my knowledge, I am the only person in the state of California that qualifies for such a prestigious award. I’m not shy about presenting it to them either. When question, I can often be heard explaining to the individual that I have SOC.

I will answer the obvious question now. No, I do not keep my eyes open every time I sneeze. While I do possess this rare ability, I choose not to do it unless called out on a challenge. The reason for this is that the only known side effect of not closing my eyes while I sneeze is that all of my eyebrow hairs fall out. Again, if challenged, I will not back down, but I prefer to keep my eyebrows. While everyone agrees that I don’t look any worse without eyebrows, as a matter of personal preference, I like to have them there. When I put on the prosthetics, everyone can tell and it’s just sad. “Nobody’s eyebrows are that perfect!” people will say. They are right; no one person has eyebrows as magnificent as my little eyebrow toupees. But the three hours it takes every morning to get them to look that way just isn’t worth it for me. Sure, having remarkably perfect eyebrows is nice, but the cost in time is to high. Bear in mind that I have many things to accomplish through out the day and to lose 5 hours to the eyebrows (three to apply, two to remove) is just too much.

While I can see how many people might think that all this sneezing would be a bit of a curse, allow me to enlighten you to one of the many perks it offers. A study was recently conducted by the National Association of Sneezing And Loitering (N.A.S.A.L. for short.) wherein it was determined that given the high totals in everyday sneezing produced by me, (I was second overall in the world. First place when to some Norwegian named Thor. He sneezes an average of 1,700 times a day. I rarely break 1,500 on a good day.) I am the most blessed individual on the face of the planet. (Turns out Thor, the first place guy, is kind of a jerk, so people rarely bless him. He’s actually ranked as the 5,631,326,215 most blessed individual in the world, if that’s any indication of how big of a jerk he is.)

Ahhh… another post in the books. Feels awkwardly unsatisfying, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, maybe next time I’ll post about something that makes sense… maybe not. Hot damn I’m unpredictable!!

New Post Eve

Is everyone excited?

October 31, 1977

Four Forty P.M.

The moment my life started,

Not when it began.