3 minutes I'll never get back

Mr. Britney drops it. And by "it" I mean a pile of steaming turds. I'm not sure I even heard the motherfucker rap during the course of the 3 minutes I'll never get back.

Oscar nominations are out

Here's a list. Save the date: Sunday, March 5th.

Anybody feel lucky and want to up the stakes? Say $10 a ballot?

It's All Zenbetty's Fault

Because she had to go and post this, I had to go and try to find out more. Then I looked around and read this, which ultimately led me to this.

I am now disturbed.

MONKEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because I love you, ice skating monkey gallery. Enjoy.

I know what a cinnamon roll is

Begin rant:

Went to Flightpath this morning for a meeting. I walked in, said hello to my friend, dropped off my bag at his table, and stepped up to the counter to order. The chick behind the counter was talking to someone else about random shit. Not being in any kind of hurry, nor an asshole, I waited for them to finish. Finally they did, and the barista turned her attention to me. As it's a coffee shop, I got a coffee. And as I hadn't eaten anything, I asked for a cinnamon roll.

She said to me, "Well, we have cinnamon rolls, but it's probably not what you're thinking of. We don't have what you're thinking of."

Egg-squeeze me?

If you could jump into the wayback machine with me and journey back thru time to those thrilling days of yesteryear, to the days of Lee jeans and a lemon-yellow kitchen straight outta the 70s, you'd find me there, because that was our kitchen. There's a good chance you'd find me eating some cinnamon rolls, most likely by Pillsbury, the kind in the biscuit can with icing at one end. Though it could be the kind that came in a box with icing in a little squeeze package. Regardless, the rolls themselves were basically the same: dough with cinnamon and sugar on it rolled up with icing drizzled on it. In fact, as far as I know, that's pretty much how I'd describe any cinnamon roll in general. Ok, maybe they don't all come with icing, but for the most part they do. If I'm hungry for a pastry in a bakery or coffee shop and there's a cinnamon roll, I'm probably getting it. (Unless it's got raisins and then I tell it to fuck off.)

So, back to today...

"You don't have what I'm thinking of?" I ask, amazed that this mind reader hasn't done more with her psychic gift than pick up the morning shift at a coffee shop. I look over to the pastry cabinet where I see a cinnamon roll like the one I ordered there a couple weeks earlier.

"No," she says. "Most people mean coffee cake, which is more of a bread--"

"No, I want a cinnamon roll," I say, talking over her. (Newsflash: Though not a rocket scientist, I also know what coffee cake is.)

"--than what we have, which is just this," she pulls one out, "pastry thing with some cinnamon and a lot of sugar."

"Uh, that's what I call a cinnamon roll. That's exactly what I was thinking of, and that's what I'd like."

I mean, whatthefuck? She's telling me that I don't know what I mean, or want (see above def. of cinnamon roll), and what she thinks I want is something else entirely, and called by another name (coffee cake). And it's not like she was some wet-behind-the-ears freshman either. She was older than me, looked to be in her mid-to-late 40s, tattoo on her breast. Nor was it done in a manner like she was offering me a piece of The! Best! Most! Scrumptious! Coffee Cake Ever! b/c they didn't have any.

I won't deny that I have done what she did to me. Sometimes, I'm very sure of myself; too much for my own good on occasion. I would like to think, though, that I try to find out a little more information from whomever I'm talking to, before I correct them, or steer them in another direction. If not, I apologize and you are now authorized to bip me in the future. When I then give you a "wtf?" look, just say, "Remember the cinnamon roll, asshole."

End rant.

Go Hoyas!

22 Georgetown law students turned their backs on Attorney General Gonzales, during a speech he gave yesterday about the domestic wiretapping scandal. No shouting, no disturbance, they just stood up as 4 students dressed in black, hooded robes (a la the Abu Ghraib photo) walked in with the banner seen above, and everyone turned around. I don't give a fuck about spying on terrorists who want to blow people up, even if the terrorists are in the US and American citizens. Nope, spy on American citizens all you want. I don't care because I've got nothing to hide.

I just want them to do me one favor.

Do it within the confines of the law of the land. It's called the Constitution, assholes, and it was probably the first thing your government or civics teacher mentioned in class. We are a nation of laws, not one of men and women. And if you can't do it within the law, and if you can't get the law changed to allow it? Then. You. Can't. Do. It.

Clergy Letter Project

"Eh," you say. "Preachers write a letter. I should care why?"

Because it's a letter not disputing evolutuion, but accepting it. And saying that the idea of the universe being created by a creator, or I guess that should be Creator, and evolution aren't mutually exclusive. This is the belief I hold, until I learn more. Basically, I'm waiting to find out from science (is it Science? ooohh, caps!) where all the gases that were floating around the ether before the Big Bang or after it came from. I need an explanation of where and how those gases, and the atoms and molecules that comprise them, came into being. Maybe there is a theory, but I haven't come across it. Point it my way if there's one (or more) out there.

Hot, political statement girl-on-girl action!

Some Chinese ladies bring it to Tianamen Square. The uniformed fellow (cop? soldier? party patrol?) doesn't seem too happy.

Truthiness

According to a panel of linguists, "truthiness" is the word of the year for 2005. Stephen Colbert gave us this gem on "The Colbert Report" and defines it as "truth that wouldn't stand to be held back by facts." The AP article says it's "the quality of stating concepts one wishes or believes to be true, rather than the facts." The linguists made a damn good choice.

I've been following the story about James Frey's memoir "A Million Little Pieces" and the recent brouhaha bacause of evidence turned up by thesmokinggun.com that he invented and/or embellished much of the content of the book. I first heard about it over Christmas while in Houston. My father-in-law's girlfriend's son and wife told us about it, and it's story of a raging alcoholic/drug addict/criminal and his journey to straighten out his life. Oprah made it her book of the month and, big surprise, it sold millions. Now, Frey, and Oprah, have had to come out and defend the book, saying there is an "essential truth" and that it can help people.

That may very well be true. But it doesn't erase the Fact that he made stuff up. In my world, that takes it from being a memoir to a work of fiction. Oh well, with truthiness on his side, who's going to stop Mr. Frey? And Oprah's reputation and book club, what comes of them? Probably nothing, as the nation does what it's been doing these last couple of years--gives a collective shrug and goes back to shopping and watching a new VH1 special about the last 5 minutes.

Who's going to call him what he is: a liar? Should I expect tough questions from Larry King? Of course not, because they might cause his heart rate to rise ever so slightly, which would bring out his doctor to proclaim another heart attack. And you just know Oprah must have given Frey an earful as she has to defend him, and by association, herself.

This whole truthiness thing is bad. There are lots of people lying out there. The worst ones all seem to come from here. When it's resident publicly proclaims that he is breaking the law and will continue to do so, we're fucked. As the media and pundits opine upon the predicament, they skirt around the Fact that a special court exists to approve wiretaps and that they can even be approved up to 72 hours after the tap was initiated. They ignore the Fact that this court has rarely, in thousands of cases, denied approval of a tap. Meanwhile, apologists begin to promote the idea that in the War on Terror, breaking the law is "maybe... part of the job" of the president.

Please excuse me while I vomit myself to death and watch this country, which you and I may bitch about much more than we praise it but it is still better than probably 95% of the other countries on this rock, flush itself down the crapper.

In Deliverance of 2005

comes 2006, we hope, though its early days have been filled with much that is for sucks. Anyway, I'll drink to the promise of better days to come in the '06 with my 32 ozs. of Tecate.

I got a haircut, and for me, it is to laugh. Heh-heh. Maybe not for you, but whatever. Currently in a prototypical stage, we'll see how long this goes and how long it gets. The Mrs. doesn't like it, but that's no surprise.