Archive for September 1st, 2009

This is one of those moments when I get angry that I’m intelligent. How can I make myself stupider so that I can engage in discourse with people like these? They obviously don’t understand the concepts they’re discussing (socialism, Marxism, healthcare, the U.S.S. Constitution [you know, the book?]), nor do they know how to spell “czars” (or they don’t know how to draw a “z” on oaktag).

Great analogy about owning someone and therefore owning their hat, fat guy in the stupid hat.

And take a bow, Australia! One of your expatriates has been “educated” by Michael “Savage”!

G’night!

We took a car service to the airport (the only one that seemed to have unanimous support from the Park Slope community) and gave ourselves plenty of time to get to the airport.

As we entered the car, as rehearsed, we dropped extremely ham-fisted hints about how our upstairs neighbors will be keeping an eye on our place while were gone (not entirely untrue, but still more fiction than fact). You know, just in case all cabbies meet in a smoky underground bar somewhere and divvy up the addresses of folks that went to the airport that day. Of course, you don’t know if such a feint will produce the desired effect until you return home.

The first red light our driver blew through, to his credit, he expertly converted into a seemingly-intentional left turn (across two lanes!). Of course, if anyone was crossing the street when he pulled off this feat of reckless wizardry, they’d currently be orbiting the planet, but luckily the streets were empty(ish). Teresa and I looked at each other as though it might be the last time we did so without stitches. The next two times he ignored red lights without slowing down happened while we were in the middle lane — thus decreasing the odds of killing someone as they descended from the curb — but they were still kind of daunting.

About 90% into the journey, the driver started to explain why the cars travelling within 20 mph of the posted speed limit were pussies that feared the new increased speeding fines (we were in a work area). We played the “oh, yeah! totally! uh huh!” game as our fingernails dug further into each other’s thighs. As we pulled into the entrance to the airport, the driver told us that he lives two blocks away from us — always has, always will. The phone call I had planned on making to the car service to complain about the man who almost ended my life (and that of my Mrs.) went dead. Instead, we both told him “see you around” as I paid him (the $5 tip was more due to PTSD than genuine affection, but I got this delightful anecdote out of it).

First class used to be glamorous. Now it’s only glamorous in comparison to coach. The seats are wider and more comfortable, the amount of leg room is noticeably increased, sure, but when I fly coach on JetBlue I get my own TV to watch (and more than one channel/program!). American (the Arby’s of air travel) makes everyone in first class watch a single TV that plops down from the ceiling. It makes first class feel like a bus.

The stewardess that took our order for drinks referred to us by our last names (she was reading it off a seating chart, bless her heart, but it still made us feel like muckety-mucks). I was allowed as much of their booze as I wanted (I had a single glass of their red wine with my delicious steak quesadilla; I had to drive for an hour when we landed), but no one stopped all the people in coach from using our lavatory in the front of the plane. And there was no curtain to separate us! Unacceptable! Sigh.

We arrived in good spirits. Our one checked bag appeared on the carousel without any blatant damage and waited patiently for the shuttle to the [Despicable Car Rental Company] lot. When we got to their lot, I was informed that while I had a confirmation number, I could not rent a car from them. The sticky wicket dates back to 2001 — what happened isn’t important (no action was ever taken), but they were now telling me that my name and driver’s license (whose number I used to secure the reservation online) were flagged and I wouldn’t be able to rent from them. She did, however, explain that based on the info she was seeing (and a quick call to Chicago) she had the impression that the flag would more than likely be removed without a problem, but that it was now after 6:00p.m. and they wouldn’t have an answer for me until the morning.

So we were on a lot 2 miles away from the airport in Miami in need of a ride to Fort Lauderdale (or at least back to the airport to rent from someone else). [DCRC] offered us a lift back to the airport. But as soon as we pulled away, the driver insisted on taking us to a different off-site lot — Thrifty. Teresa and I repeatedly insisted that he take us to the airport (what if they don’t have a car at Thrifty?), but he insisted on going to Thrifty. Fine. I told him to wait in the lot with my bags and wife while I went inside. I chatted with the nice lady who told me that, yes, they had a car for me. And yes, I could rent it. The [DCRC] shuttle guy suddenly ran in and asked if they had a car for me. I said yes and he ran out. I turned around and listened to my insurance options. The cheapest insurance they could give me was roughly $40/day. I laughed and told her I’d have to take my chances and drive uninsured. She said OK — the cost is $500. That was over $300 more than my confirmed rental at [DCRC]. Teresa said fuck that (rightly so) and we hopped the Thrifty shuttle back to MIA.

We shopped around and decided that Royal was our best bet (imagine being on fire and entering a store that sold water — do you think you’d get a fair price? That’s what it feels like to be negotiating a car rental IN AN AIRPORT). We rented it, got on their shuttle, picked up the car and headed for the Fort. When we explained to Joe (my father-in-law) what happened, he insisted that we return the car ASAP and let him chauffeur us around. We settled on a 48-hour rental, allowing us to visit the Monkey Jungle and Teresa’s old stomping grounds on our own.

We stopped into a strip mall pizza joint on our way back to the Fort the next day (so one of us could answer nature’s call) and rewarded their plumbing generosity by buying two of their gourmet cupcakes to take back for later. The guy behind the counter chatted us up and, after hearing we were from Brooklyn, insisted on our trying his pizza for free. He heated up a slice and we prayed that we’d be able to choke it down.

It was outstanding.

We didn’t have the heart to tell him that we were leaving the area immediately, unlikely to return any time soon, so we accepted his refrigerator magnet and left a few bucks in the tip jar and prayed that word of mouth would keep him in business.

Most of the rest of the trip was spent on the beach (the water was incredible), with the one super-duper exception being the Water Taxi we rode. The captain makes horrible jokes while explaining who owns which colossal mansion and imparting little historical factoids (most of which were actually fascinating) — it’s like a Duck Boat that stays in the water. Joe was a superb host and the trip was great.

Our flight back was mediocre at best. The gay steward (redundancy?) with the white hair plugs never mentioned our names. He seemed angry that I was ordering breakfast for my sleeping wife (if you ain’t gonna stop Farty McCoach from stinking up my first class poopcloset, then I’m-a order my wife’s breakfast whenever I feel like it). The movie was Monsters vs. Aliens. The breakfast was a refreshing cheese omelet with mushrooms and home fries. The coffee was sub-par, but the OJ was delightful.

There was a loooooong delay at the carousel but everything was unharmed and accounted for. The cab ride back was a law-abiding one and no one robbed us while we were away — our ruse had worked! But I wondered if maybe our first driver actually lived in our neighborhood or if he have manipulated us the way we had tried to manipulate him.

Then we slept.

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COUNT THE DOUBLE ENTENDRES!!!

Today’s front page has Eliot Spitzer smiling like a cheshire cat with the headline 2nd COMING and the sub-head Say it ain’t ho! Spitzer eyes new run

I can’t imagine how Rupert Murdoch could be losing so much money… karma, maybe?

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This makes me so angry. Charles Rangel, who hid $1,300,000 in personal income from Congress, who didn’t pay taxes on two New Jersey properties he owns, who also forgot to mention to Congress roughly $3,000,000 in business deals he made from 2002-2006, added provisions to the health care bill that would (are you sitting down?) “Punish those who fail to alert the IRS to potentially questionable tax exemptions” and “Bar the IRS from waiving penalties against taxpayers who clearly erred in good faith.”

Both sides of the aisle love to throw around the word hypocrite, but I think this time it is totally appropriate.

Someone please get this piece of shit out of government forever. Please. Criminal charges would be even nicer, but I’ll settle for him fucking off.

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Bill Thompson, who foolishly thinks he has a chance against Bloomberg in the next mayoral election, owed almost $1,000 in unpaid water bills.

I think every politician everywhere is an idiot. Someone please prove me wrong. Please?

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Carrie Prejean is suing the Miss California USA pageant for (are you sitting down?) “religious discrimination.”

I think I have the answer, gays. Start a religion called The Church of Homosexuality. All gays can join and enjoy tax-exempt status. And when a vapid waste of air like Carrie Prejean explains why your love is impure and her love is the right love, you can sue her for religious discrimination.

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Soft-drink makers are angry at the new ad campaign in NYC that show human fat being poured from soda/iced tea bottles. Oh shut up, poison-merchants.

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Chris Brown still loves Rihanna. Awwwwww…

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Major League Baseball and ESPN hate Jews.

The Yankees (yay!) and the Red Sox (boo!) have a game at 1:00 p.m. on Sunday, September 27th.

Wait. No they don’t. It’s been changed to 8:00 p.m.

Which is after sundown on the day that Yom Kippur begins.

And if you think you shouldn’t protest this, I assure you that first they’ll change Yankee and Red Sox games, then they’ll come for the Phillies and Tigers and Cubs and Rangers and then they’ll come for you…

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Paris Hilton will be allowed to sue Hallmark for making a greeting card with her photo and “that’s hot” catchphrase.

Can I just ask: WHAT FUCKING OCCASION COULD THIS POSSIBLY BE APPROPRIATE FOR? Does the outside of the card say “Just thought I’d waste a minute of your time opening the envelope and reading this card. Open it and see a picture of Paris Hilton and her ‘that’s hot’ catchphrase! Also, I’m sorry your son died.”?

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Spielberg just optioned Michael Crichton’s new book Pirate Latitudes, which I hope gets made and premieres on the same day as Pirates of the Caribbean IV: Eh, Why Not?

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Rep. Peter King (R-LI) is running for Senate. He is almost as big of a scumbag as Rangel. No, actually, they’re tied.

Someone please defeat him. Please?

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Scotland insists that they let that mass murderer go back to Libya in the interest of justice, not oil.

Um… bullshit?

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Was Brian Jones murdered? Police are re-opening the case of his drowning in 1969. With 40 years of decomposition, time is definitely not on their side (no, it’s not).

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Vomit Penises (sorry, Ralph Peters) explains why the “Witch hunt at CIA endangers US” and if you breathe through your mouth and like gun shows, you’ll probably agree with many of his points.

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Just remembered — hunt down Bill Moyers on last week’s Real Time with Bill Maher. Required viewing for all Americans.

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HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

In one of this shitty paper’s articles on the Disney/Marvel merger, they quote “Gareb Shamus of Lizard Entertainment” which is close, but not exactly right. Gareb is the CEO of Wizard Entertainment, my boss.

Will this destroy the company once and for all?!?!?!

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OMG!!!! Bloomberg’s girlfriend wore the same dress TWICE!!!!!

I hate this paper.

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Last night’s game (and Andy Pettitte’s almost-perfect pitching) was amazing. When do we clinch again?

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Paula Abdul wants a talk show. My wife wants a pony. They should both get their wish at roughly the same time.

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Uh-oh. I haven’t started dinner yet. Time to go.

See you in the a.m.

Not a whole lot going on in today’s (yesterday’s) paper. Jenna Bush Hager got hired by the Today show to contribute monthly stories on “issues like education.” She will continue to teach elementary school (to her father) during her tenure at NBC. I wonder if she’ll address what her father did to the Texas school system before he became POTUS…

How do make web-nerds angry? If you’re IKEA, you change the font in your catalogs from Futura to Verdana. Honestly, the responses on the internet are pretty amazing. The online forum Typophile ended its first response to the first change to the IKEA catalog’s font (in 50 years!) with the line, “It’s a sad day.” I agree, but not in the way Typophile meant.

Almost as disgusting as the stuff we’re learning about Phillip Garrido are all of the neighbors and relatives who are getting their 15 minutes by telling whoever will listen “I always knew there was something going on in that house” and “I’ve been wondering for years how a registered sex offender could get away with having kids in his house” and “I believe my son killed those prostitutes” yet no one ever did anything about what they saw/feared/assumed. Except the person that called in the cops. Sadly, the cops didn’t really look through Garrido’s house when they followed up on that call. This story makes me very angry.

Over 200 New Jerseyans have been raising a stink about Moammar Khadafy’s plans to stay in their state next month. Khadafy has assured them that he will stay in Manhattan instead. Are you gonna let New Jersey show you up, New York? Let’s get to protestin’!

Speak of the devil! Chuck Schumer has called for sanctions against Britain (if, and only if, it is proven that they entered a quid pro quo with Libya for the release of the Lockerbie terrorist/oil). That’s not quite what I meant by protestin’, but it’s a start.

Ever wondered what math smells like? What about social awkwardness? Well, wonder no more! The British website Firebox is releasing a new line of Star Trek-themed colognes. If you have $49 (and no dignity), you can purchase Tiberius or Red Shirt (both for “men”) or Pon Farr (for “women” — and named after the Vulcan mating ritual). I can already hear the radio ads… “Unfuckable… that’s what you are…”

Final Destination 3-D topped the box office this past weekend. I’ll be seeing it today. Hooray!

In Pakistan, a contestant on a reality show was swimming across a lake wearing a 15-pound backpack when he suddenly stopped, yelled for help and then sank. He drowned. He was 32. The show’s sponsor, Unilever Pakistan, claims no responsibility for the man’s death, but are going to provide for the man’s widow and four kids “out of rightness.” Think that’d happen in the US? Me, neither. But my favorite part is the last sentence of the story: “Plans to air the show are on hold.” I guess they’re waiting for the right time to air the man’s unnecessary and easily-avoidable death out of rightness.

Point At Another Briefcase Or Stop Pointing At Briefcases is moving to Waterford, Connecticut. Congratulations to the germaphobe host and the hookers who assist him.

Off to the cinema. More to come…