The Next Book On My Reading List

Let me get something straight here. I'm not with Limbaugh. I don't hope Obama fails. Why in the hell would I hope that? From the beginning, the only real beef (a big beef) I've had with Obama has been with his views on abortion. I don't hate Obama. I actually like the guy. I think he's a good family man and he's got integrity. Yes, he's a politician. And because of that he's probably part-scumbag, but as scumbags go, he's pretty squeaky clean.

My biggest problem, through this WHOLE election, and even now, has been with the stinking, slobbering, Obiased media. And my reasons are good. They have betrayed us. Just as Richard Nixon betrayed his country by lying and cheating, the Press has left their CONSTITUTIONALLY PROTECTED rights at the door in exchange for an Obamopiate, a love potion number 9.

They really, really screwed this up. The media's job is to keep the politicians in line. It is their job to provide UNBIASED reporting to the American people. From the beginning of the campaign, they not only fell in love with Obama, but they fell in love with the moment. Now, they have lost a very valuable thing: trust. I can no longer turn on NBC and trust that they will be providing me with an unbiased report. They now have to cover their asses. They played a MAJOR role in turning Obama into the rockstar that he is and now they have to protect that. They are accountable. They are now responsible if Obama's "progressive taxation" policies (i.e. socialist) do not work. They have stepped into a realm that was not theirs to step into. I'm sorry, I know it is an emotional time. But save your tears for the bar after you report the dadgum news.

And now they are in a pickle. The burden of any possible failure is partially on their shoulders now. I honestly feel that the ENTIRE NBC staff should be fired. I'm serious. I'm not talking about MSNBC or FOX here. I'm talking about the non-"opinion"-columnists. I'm talking about the "Journalists."

Because right now, journalism is dead.

(p.s., I'm sorry folks for the continued ranting here about the media. What can I say? I'm half-Irish.)

Frost/Nixon: Review

I like Ron Howard. I've always liked Ron Howard movies. In fact, the Ron Howard movie that all the other critics seem to despise is one of my favorite Ron Howard movies. (Far and Away.)

So that being said, there is no sense in wasting any time here, might as well get to the things that bugged me about Frost/Nixon.

There is a difference in documentary and narrative film. The line can be completely forgotten when doing satire. This is Spinal Tap changed that forever and Christopher Guest (Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show) carried the torch where Reiner left off.

The lines are too solid in drama. That being said, I think that the only mistake that Ron Howard made in this film was in the interviews. Unlike the historical films of Stone, the film was mostly told linearly. All the historical stuff was fired at us in the beginning of the film with actual news clips from the Watergate scandal, interspersed with CGI'd actors.

I've always had a little problem with this CGI-ing actors into real events. Zemeckis got away with it in Forest Gump because he had triggered the audiences mind to be prepared for such a thing and there was no real Historical Gump in the first place. The result was a warm and affectionate smile from the audience back at the filmmaker who was winking at us through the screen as Forest talks to Nixon about his war wound on his buttocks.

In Frost/Nixon, Howard seems to need us to believe that the actors portraying the real characters were the real thing. No director-to-audience winking allowed. However when he interspersed the reminiscing interviews with the narrative story, using the actors in the film as the "actual witnesses" it always made me uncomfortable. Documentary lines were crossed. The imagination disengaged and I longed to see real footage. I found myself wanting to get home to watch the actual Frost/Nixon interview and study the real people. Of course, that's all a sign of a good storyteller, but one who has tried to mix genres in a way that leaves us in an emotional limbo wanting one or the other genre but not knowing why.

This caused a few other things to suffer in the film, mainly Frost's character development. I couldn't get into the actors recreation of Frost because I was too busy trying to remember if I even knew who the real Frost was and who would be the modern day equivalent if say, Bush would have quit. Regis? ... Maybe.

A few other things bugged me. I didn't really think that Frost's fiance, or whatever she was, was needed. She was a bit of a wallflower emotionally and I would have preferred a string of girlfriends to further develop Frost's character. Even if it showed his flaws.

There were many, many strong things about the film. Howard is a good filmmaker with an eye for spotting good stories to tell. He BELIEVES in the story that he is telling and in this case, he wanted us to believe that the actors were real too badly.

Stong points: Frank Langella played Nixon and he was fantastic. He was much more dark and brooding than the real Richard Nixon who, if you watch the interviews, was so incredibly likable. Langella's likeableness was more along the lines of a cult-leader fascination. Otherwise, Langella was mesmerizing. My favorite moment in the film was his phone call to Frost the night before the last interview. What an amazing performance.

Frost was played by Michael Sheen and he was compelling, though his character was most certainly written aloof. I'm sure that was intentional, but I could have gone for a little more Frost-nitty-gritty.

The best thing about this film was that it made me re-think the whole Nixon ordeal. A few years back, don't ask me why, I got on a Watergate kick and spent a few days doing nothing but studying and listening to the tapes and so forth. I came out thinking... "whoopide do."

I believe that though Nixon was wrong in trying to cover up evidence, he was a President on the cuff of the technological age. And if every president before him would have withstood the scrutiny that he had, I believe we'd be very surprised at what we would find. His greatest crimes, in my opinion, where not in the Watergate tapes but in his Vietnam escalations. Maybe even a greater crime was quitting. Strange how that worked out.

I'd be interested in hearing from some of those who experienced the real Watergate and a how it measured up to your memory of the incident.

Seth's Fire Side Chat: The King

Sunday Corn

Tan

I need to take a moment here to talk about a good friend of mine.

My friend Tan is probably one of the most generous and kind-hearted people that I know. If I were to get started on all the things that he has done to help people, without expecting a THING in return, I'd be here all night. Instead, I'll just let you in on the latest installment of unexpected Tan-niceness. (Hopefully, he won't mind.)

A few days ago I called Tan (who knows EVERYTHING about cameras and soundboards and mixing and video editing) for advice on the best fancy camera to buy for my (meager) buck. Amber needs some new headshots and I felt it was time to bite the bullet and buy a camera. It was either that or pay an incredible amount of money for someone to take pictures that I could have taken if I had owned the camera instead of them. The ones that I couldn't take myself are done in studios that cost in the several thousand range.

Anywho... so I told Tan about the camera I was thinking about and he did some research for me, since it was a new model. A few minutes later, he called me back and told me that the camera that I was looking at was fine, but he soon had me convinced that I didn't really need to spend the money and that he would LOAN me his expensive and amazing camera until I had what I needed. Now, even if I lived around the corner, that would be nice enough. But Tan is in Houston. I am in New York. The man took time out of his busy schedule, (and I mean BUSY) boxed up the camera and lens, batteries and discs and sent the whole kit'n'kaboodle UPS. In doing so, he saved the Wards about 1,200-2000 bucks. (Good, competitive headshots are expensive, as are good/descent cameras with the fancy lenses)

And my friends, that is just one of the many goodness's that come out of the man on a daily basis. I have a hard time lending people a pencil. If it weren't for Amber, my family probably wouldn't get any Christmas presents because I'm so forgetful. And cheap.

So, I thought I'd just take a moment here and say, THANK YOU to a good friend that I do not deserve. So Tan, being the true sap that I am, I'd like to dedicate this Youtube video to you. (This song... just gets me... every... time. Snif.)

Obama Priorities

Three Days into office and President Obama has done two major things to help with the limping economy. As more and more Americans lose their jobs Obama feels it is important to give the terrorists their rights and some new prison digs. Awesome.

Then next thing that needs to be done is to delegate tax payer money - you know, all that money that we have to spend - on more abortion funding. Double Awesome. I just wish he had put a touching segment about terrorist rights and abortion funding in his MGM Studio sap film before his election. These things seem to be the impetus of his presidency so far. I mean, if only he had showed his passions for these things more clearly, he'd have had me at "Change."

I gotta say, I'm impressed. Man, so far... I really kicking myself for not voting for him. However, maybe in a few months we'll be paying for illegal immigrants to have free insurance... One can only hope. The audacity of such a thing.

That's One Big Bible, Joe.

Where in the world did Biden find that honking Holy writ?

That thing is almost bigger than his little lady. All I can say is, he better keep his word, cause he is bucking for a seriously huge bolt if he breaks it.

Question to Ponder

"How could an idiotic universe have produced creatures whose mere dreams are so much stronger, better, subtler than itself?" - C.S. Lewis

It's About That Time...

Yes, indeed. The date has been set. The plane tickets reserved...

Come March 30th I will be defending my dissertation at Rice University. Significant meaning of that is: Defending is the very, very, very, very last thing I have to do to get that darn degree. No, I'm serious. That's it. No more German tests, no more bells and whistles... finishedimo. If they pass me, I'll be Dr. Ward, and yes that title looks a little creepy. You may all call me Dr. Ward for a grand total of 1 day (if you want.) After that, if you call me Dr. before I'm 50, I might send you a picture of my armpit or something. And why don't people with Masters degrees get to be called, Master Ward? That, I would have enjoyed.

So to all my dearly beloved Houston buddies, (Especially the WTBC pals) that means that I've basically got three more trips to Houston coming in the next 4 months and then, that's all she wrote. :-( You'll no longer have me begging for a bed and gruel when I come into town. "Please sir, can I have some more?"

I'll be coming back in 3 weeks to do any last minute cleaning on the dissertation with my prof., (trying to get Amber to come on that trip!) then I'll be defending in March, then I'll be walking in May!!! Wahooo!!!!

All that to say, things are going to get pretty quiet around the blog for the next few months. Today, for some reason, I even briefly considered closing shop for good, but I doubt I could stick to my word on that and every time I think about doing that it only makes me want to post more.

I am considering starting completely over with a new look and new name and new purpose... but we'll see. I do know a change is coming for this here blog, soon, just don't know what kind yet.

US Airways plane crashes into Hudson River

Never a dull moment in the hood. Thank God it looks like everybody is getting out... Geeze... Those darn geese. However, when the news came that it was geese, I almost sensed a sense of disappointment in the news anchor's voice. I thought for a second that the MSNBC anchor was going to suggest that it might have been Al-Qaeda geese.

Whatever the case, the pilot of this here plane rocks for landing IN THE WATER and keeping control of the plane. Pretty amazing. If he hadn't kept a clear head, there would be hundreds of mourning families across the states tonight, including his. Praise God.

Bless His Heart...

A few months back, my sister and I were discussing the wonders of the Southern language. After examining all the single syllable words that are made into two-and sometimes-three syllables, (Like, "Seth" becomes, "Say-eth.") we decided that our favorite thing about the Southern language is "Bless his heart."

I love this phrase. It is the most wonderful (and arguably powerful) phrase in the Southern language. "Bless his heart" is the verbal equivalent to the sound that a sword makes as it is leaves its sheath. If you hear "bless his heart," you know that someone is about to be sweetly lanced.

"Bless his heart, he's just slow in the head. Maybe he hit it on somethin' when he was little..."

"Bless his heart, he's put on a few pounds."

"Bless his heart, he's just a gay."

"Bless his heart, he's dummer than a box of dirt."

"Bless her heart, she's awfully flat upstairs."

"Bless her heart, she inherited her daddy's metabolism."

"Bless his heart, his momma told me that he just can't seem to stop wettin' that bed."

"Bless his heart, his acne just makes ya wanna throw-up."

But don't get me wrong; "Bless his heart" doesn't really make you feel bad. First off, the recipient rarely hears it. Secondly, if you do hear it, it can really be consoling to your poor slob-self. It is like a big, warm dummy blanket.

"Bless your heart, you just got all tangled up in those words, didn't ya?" - Laura Bush to Dubya after any old speech.

"Bless your heart, you didn't know that your swim-trunks had slipped off on after that second lap. You just swim too fast. You're so fast, I think I'll call you 'flash'... no, scratch that... awe, bless your heart, don't cry, I didn't mean to make a joke..."

"Bless your heart, you may not have hit the ball, but you sure did swing that bat good! Bless your heart, if you don't make it in baseball, you'd be an expert wood-chopper!"


Yessir. You can have your snobby "to be or not to be,” or "I have a dream."

I'll take "bless his heart" any day of the week. Because, unlike the other lofty preambles, "bless his heart" is really a prayer. "God, bless his heart, because You obviously aren't going to bless much else on the poor sucker. In Jesus name, a-men."

Just. So. Beautiful. Sniff.

The Barnes and Noble Hypocrite

I love Barnes and Noble. That whole sentence has almost become one single word in my vocabulary. Ilovebarnesandnoble. It means something powerful. It sinks into the soul. There is only one sentence that is more powerful to me: I love the Lincoln Center Barnes and Noble.

I walk through the swrirling door, past the security guards and into sweet, sweet nirvana. I can smell the coffee brewing two flights up. I feel smarter just typing about it. It makes me happy. Very happy. The way to know if I am depressed beyond normalcy is if I am not cheered up by the thought of going to Barnes. I have been known to stay there all day. I think that's why they are getting rid of couches and comfy sofa chairs, because of people like me.

So today I stood at this big table full of discount books reading a great piece of American art, and a teenage girl opened up a large book next to me. I glanced over to see what she was looking at.

"Gag me, the Jonas Brothers," I thought, and shook my head in disapproval.

It was the most gigantic book about the Jonas brothers imaginable. The book took up half the table. She flipped through each page slowly, drinking each image as if it were as good as the pink tea or whatever it was she was was sipping. On one page there seemed to be these really cool things amongst the pictures... yes, there were words. I think their presence threw her off for a minute until she exclaimed loudly to the other girl across the table about some favorite dish that Sneezy Jonas loves best. Then she giggled. And slurped. Then moaned.

"What the heck. Can't I get any peace from teen-chick pop culture" I thought... and turned the pages of the giant, oversized annotated Star Wars Encyclopedia that lay open before me. "Wow! I didn't know that about the Sith!" I said to no one. Then I laughed and smacked my leg in surprise. And sipped my coffee. However, I did NOT moan.

Who Would Jesus Smack Down? (NY Times Article)

Excerpt:

"God called Driscoll to preach to men — particularly young men — to save them from an American Protestantism that has emasculated Christ and driven men from church pews with praise music that sounds more like boy-band ballads crooned to Jesus than “Onward Christian Soldiers.” What bothers Driscoll — and the growing number of evangelical pastors who agree with him — is not the trope of Jesus-as-lover. After all, St. Paul tells us that the Church is the bride of Christ. What really grates is the portrayal of Jesus as a wimp, or worse. Paintings depict a gentle man embracing children and cuddling lambs. Hymns celebrate his patience and tenderness. The mainstream church, Driscoll has written, has transformed Jesus into “a Richard Simmons, hippie, queer Christ,” a “neutered and limp-wristed popular Sky Fairy of pop culture that . . . would never talk about sin or send anyone to hell.”

Read the rest. It is actually a very good article and fairly balanced. Let's hear those thoughts! Agree with Mark? Disagree?

Ouch

Think About It...

Wouldn't it suck (for the Calvinist) if, at judgment day, all the predestined were the Arminians, even though the Calvinists turned out to be right???

Could happen. Read the Institutes. It's all there...

Into the Archive: The Chain

I'VE DONE IT!!!!


The secret is out ladies, or should I say, MASTER!!!!!


I have discovered the ever elusive "chain" that one refers to when the ancients spake of the "ball and chain" (el ballius chanus) It took me a while to unravel this mystery but finally, through much prayer and discernment, I have ascertained the truth of the enigma that is the "chain"..... The purse.

That's right, The Purse: that blasted, everliving curse of man's freedom to wander. I wish I could claim my intellect and keen deduction skills as the revealer of this truth but alas, I cannot. I stumbled upon it just as Alexander Fleming discovered Penicillin, by accident. It was so SIMPLE!!!! Yet, soooo Powerful. I don't know why I have never seen it before.

I will tell you the tale of discovery if you are ready for the truth.

We (my wife and I) were eating at the "Sweet Tomato" tonight and I had just finished a round of made-from-scratch pepperoni pizza. Wanting more, I swallow my last bite of tasty pizza bliss and prepared to get up for round 3. "I need to beat the chubby kid in the table next to me. We have both been eating our pizza and eyeing each others progress from the start," I quietly thought.

As I cast a triumphant smirk to the portly toddler and prepared to move, to my surprise, my wife was already stealthily sliding out of the booth.

"Don't go anywhere" she said in a hypnotic mono-tone.
I looked her in the eyes. She continued,
"My purse is here and I need you to watch it."
Slightly confused by the scenario I mumbled pathetically,
"but... I hungry... too"
Then she waved her hand in front of me not unlike the Jedi does when performing the "Jedi Mind Trick" and said,
"you don't NEED anything right now, you NEEED to watch my purse"
I found myself answering almost involuntarily
"sure honey, I NEED to watch your purse"

I sat there paralyzed. Hunger alone was my only source of sanity.
"I want food" my mind and tummy proclaimed.
"but the purse,...I must stay....the purse (cue echo effect)."
I began using my hunger-driven rationale.
"Well, I could just assert my will and go anyway," I thought.
"No, then if the purse was stolen I would be responsible"
Again I pondered,
"Well, I could just take the purse with me it is rather small."
But there again my shameless masculinity instinct would forbid such an action.

There I sat, in perfect stillness. I stared at the immobile purse and it stared from her seat back at me.

It was at this moment my friends, I had my "apostrophe"

I realized that I was chained. I cannot move. There is no alternative. I am aware now that the dangling bag that women carry around their shoulders is actually a very powerful tool of control. It is disguised by the fact that it serves some practical purposes. It even comes in fantastic colors matching the outfit of the female so as to camouflage and distract the weaker sex (men) from knowing its true and real purpose- Bondage.

So from this day forth, I do hereby begin my study of this tactic to develop a counter-attack.

I will brief all those who have ears to hear when I have formulated an effective counter-chain.

Until then... Beware.

(Btw, I usually don't like archive posts unless I'm in dire need of time... However on a recent visit to the the supermarket... I was faced once again with The Chain and decided that it was worth reposting.)

Colds, Subways and Holiness

I'm finally coming to the end of this cold. It's been a knock-down drag-out for the past three weeks and I think that my immune system has finally surrounded the enemy and is near to storming the hill, taking the bridge, toppling the wall.

It seems that everyone in NYC is suffering the same cold right now.

In many ways, living here has been simultaneously the hardest and most rewarding experience of my life. Since I suffer from general anxiety disorder and I'm slightly OCD, I am, by nature, prone to isolationism. Isolationists do very peculiar things that cloak their deadly love of being alone. They usually spend hours on the phone every week with friends. Another outlet for the isolationist is blogging. We can blog and blog and get a pretty good fix for the need for being relational. However, there is a problem with this scenario: Depression. It is ever-looming at the end of each phone conversation and at the end of each blog discussion.

Karl Menninger said that the best way to tackle depression is to "walk across the railroad tracks and do something for someone else." He also said that "Love cures people -- both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it...." And you can't really experience love, humanity and sanity the way we were meant to if we aren't investing our physical self into other people. I truly believe that real Holiness can not be activated unless you are using your physical limbs to serve someone else. Sure, I feel really Holy after I've sat in a room alone, studying the wonders of the Blessed Trinity, but it all turns... odd... and distorted --and eventually unholy and self-righteous-- if there is no physical manifestation of that revelation.

And that's the deal. We are both physical and spiritual beings and for us to truly experience peace and Joy the way that we are meant to experience, we have to walk out of our self-made monasteries and into the pressing and frustrating flesh of the world. This is one of the reasons why the Eucharist is so important. It is God's reminder that true spirituality is not the absence of the flesh, it is the harmony of flesh and spirit in the journey towards "Shalom." My Jewish doctoral student told me two days ago that Shalom doesn't simply mean "peace." It means "the way things are supposed to be."

And this is where this City has been good for me. I cannot sit in my office and tap away on a keyboard and be happy. It is impossible to even FEEL really alone unless I force it. In this way, loneliness is a conscious, moment by moment choice rather than a conceded necessity. Therefore, if you make the choice to be lonely, it is all the more poignant. In many ways, somehow, this place won't allow it.

To get anything I need, I MUST interact with other human beings, and that means experiencing all the baggage that comes with that. To get downtown, I can't get on my modern-day steed, pop in a CD and drive my lonesome self to the supermarket and cover the loneliness with NPR or Gospel Music or some book on tape. No, to get my favorite cereal, I have to get on a subway and squeeze in between two people who I have never met. More than that, I usually have to ask for help, and more often than not, I usually have to help someone else in the process as well. The subway roars to a stop and people push their way in and off the train. Then that person appears face to face with you. They are frantic, desperate and scared. "Does this train go uptown or downtown," they speak fast like an auctioneer.

Instant connectivity. "It goes uptown." A look of relief melts across their face as they jump into the train next to you before the door takes off one of their limbs. In one second, you've helped someone you've never met, and though they didn't mean to, they've helped you.

It may sound funny, but it is those little interactions throughout the day that punch the isolationist out of you and engage you in the small physical acts that bring holiness into the real world. Sure, people can experience this other places, it's just that this particular environment has shown me just how much I NEED to know people, interact with people -whether voluntarily or involuntarily. It kicks my selfish lonely self out into the human race and forces me to either be Holy, or not. A good lesson that I'm still learning.

Blissssss

I just got my new MacBook and it is amaaha-haazing. Fast as lightning, sleek and light. I usually geek over pretty much anything Mac, but I am particularly geeked over this. The new OS comes with a new and improved iMovie that will knock your socks off, (includes Green Screen) not to mention about every other new and improved software that comes standard with the new Macs. And that's just OS software stuff. Have I mentioned how fast this sucker is? On my old PowerBook (6 years old, affectionately. Btw, still NEVER freezes - maybe had to hard restart it in the last 4 years... NEVER. Not ONCE. However...) I could barely run Logic Pro for more than 3 or 4 seconds, at best. All software that I use pretty regularly, even Finale, has just outgrown the old steamer. It was a frustrating sichiation. No longer. This little guy right here is hanging with the G5 tower in the office, possibly faster in some respects.

The aluminum body is oh so light. Pure goodness. That's what this thing is. Pure, predestined goodness.

Plus, I can upgrade to up to 4 gigs of memory... on a MacBook... not even a PowerBook. That is a pretty amazing step up for MacBooks. Now, basically the only difference between the PowerBook and the MacBook is in the graphics card, and about 1000 dollars.

I heart Apple.

Christian Games That Would Actually Be Fun

Remember that Nintendo game about Noah's Ark? Man did that suck. There have been a few recent "christian" games that have made an appearance lately and I think they suck too. These games simply miss the point - it's all about good old-fashioned killin'. THAT'S what I'm talkin' bout. So I've come up with a few suggestions for the industry, more in the true spirit of a good video game: divide, conquer and killlll.

Calvinism: Unleashed. In this game one would lure people with something irresistible over a trap door to hell. Or maybe you could play the young John Calvin at Geneva, sentencing those to death with dissenting views. Maybe in the final level Calvin could have a smack-down with Luther. (Rated: M for Mature.)

Grand Theft Temple. In this game you would try to rip-off poor sinners by selling them crippled doves and gimp lambs. In the last level you fight a young upstart Rabbi with supernatural powers as he tries to over-turn your tables. Only problem would be... You always lose in the end. (Rated: SS for Slightly Sacrilegious.)

Kirk Cameron Tract and Field. In this game you play Kirk Cameron, riding a unicycle through a corrupt city, knocking out innocent bikers and Mardi Gras spectators with the four spirchal laws. If you gain enough points, you can force them to watch the director's cut of Left Behind. If you don't knock out enough people, you are -- you got it -- LEFT BEHIND!!!! (Rated FFA for Fun For All.)

Benny Hinn Holy Spirit Bowling. In this game you roam a huge stage and see how many people you can knock down with "Fire." For extra points you drop into a bonus level where you can do a kind of Holy-Spirt-Force-Choke on hidden Dateline and MSNBC reporters. (Rated T for Toddler)

Noah: Operation Rogue Beast. In this game you wander the ark searching for the wild beast that keeps eating one of each animal. (Sort of like Doom.) However, once the Dachshund is eaten, game over. (Rated FFABVB, Fun For All But Very Bloody.)

Hungry Peter. In this game you play Peter, devouring all the ham you can in each level before the Apostle Paul catches you. (Rated L for Legalist.)

Feel free to add your suggestions!

The Internet Fuddy-dud Award Goes To:

Me.

Exhibit A: I just can't get into Twitter. I've been on the website about 14 times and I can't bring myself to set up an account. I don't know... just something about privacy that is very special to me. I just can't get into all the -

"Hey everybody, I'm about to go drop a poo."

"I'm really tired of my jeans falling down and giving everyone accidental plumber-vision; do you have that problem?"

"I'm about to get in bed... should I change out of these old cruddy boxers, or should I just turn them inside-out?"

"I just got into bed, shouldn't have turned them inside out."

"I just picked a boogie and I'm searching for the best covert spot to wipe."

Is that the kind of stuff you guys want to hear? Really? Am I the only person who thinks that telling everyone in the world what I'm doing at every moment is unbelievably BORING, and possibly gross?

Exhibit B: Facebook. This one I've tried really hard to like, and I do see its purpose... But there's just something about it... I get this icky feeling everytime get ready to post a slew of pictures... of myself. I mean, I like myself. I think I'm a decent looking fella... But ya just gots ta draw a line somewhere with all that "I'm too sexy for this shirt" attitude. Plus, if I get "you've been superpoked" one more time in my mail inbox I'm going to just ... go home and BITE MY PILLOW. What the heck does "superpoked" mean??? And whatever it means, it really sounds very wrong, and quite uncomfortable... and just downright unwelcome.

Exhibit C: I hate stats. First off, it is really depressing to discover that your biggest and best blog is one called "Jankum." And methinks that the people who ended up on my blog searching for "Jankum" weren't trying to find a story about my middle school days. I just bet they left a smidge disappointed. Just a hunch. Sorry pervs. And there sits that graph. Blast that stinking graph. One day its up, and one day its down. Pretty soon they are going to have stat-dysfunction-medicine commercials during the superbowl. And the only way to really keep people coming or to increase the number is to somehow sneak the words "Britney" and "boobs" into the post a few hundred times. Or "jankum."

So there you have it. Internet Fuddy-dud of the year. That's right. So, superpoke Twitter and Stats and Facebook and the horse they rode in on.

Yours truly.

El-Fuddy Dud, Esq.


(Let it be said that I do NOT fault anyone for doing any of the aforementioned things. In some ways, I am quite jealous of those that garner great fun from these activities. I'm sort of like a young child with hands pressed upon on a glass pane, face smushed against its cold surface for a closer look, yet unable to see what all the other children see. I'm the man who forgot to bring his heavy-prescription glasses on the camping trip and can't discern the UFO from the moon, while all his other buddies ooooh and ahhhh, forever changed by their camping trip UFO encounter. These are my hang-ups and my issues. These are ways that I am painfully uncool and old-mannish. Thus, the Fuddy-dud award. Carry on.)

Too MuCU MedICAls iN SYSSstym. geeee. (drool)

I think I might have overdone it on my... ... ... ... (trying to think of word...s...) COLD medicine! I knew it would come. I think if you type enough dots, about anything will come out of your fingers. Maybe my fingers will grow into big round lollypops...

lollypop lollypop, oh lolly lolly pop...

Ever wonder why that song was so popular back then? Wait a second... that song wasn't about a sucker! That was about SEX!

Dangit do I ever hate it when songs grow up on you. I remember the first time I realized this one Bruce Springsteen song was dirty. The lyrics went, "Hey little girl is your daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone? Uh huh... I gotta bad desire. Ohhhh, I'm on fire."

I don't know what I thought all that meant when I was 7, but I think I thought it was something about a burglar or something, calling a little girl who had been left alone.

Sad thing is, today, there are some 7 year old rappers who could make The Boss blush.

What's the world coming to? Just today, I saw a man walking down the street with a cat balanced on top of his head. The cat was just sitting there, like that's where the durn thing was supposed to be. And how fair is that to all the poor little chihuahuas running around freezing their little paws off on the 3 degree concrete wearing their little bells and peeing on the homeless guys? How ERAD he... I mean, DARE he flaunt his cat's dominance over dog balance.

Ahhhh cold medicine. Taken in large amounts, particularly that DM stuff... it can make you feel... funny. Ha-ha funny, that is.

Time for bed, before I start verbally stripping on the internet coffee table.