I am now invoking my God-given right to use the expression. Oy vey. So be it.

There are times when I hate my job. No, let me rephrase that. I love my job. I hate fucking up in my job, especially since the nature of my job is that when I fuck up, thousands of people see my mistake. Thankfully, it was caught before it went out, but I still beat myself up for making it and I still hate the fact that I look bad for making it. Aside from that, my upset stomach and my Texas-sized headache and my 5 hours' sleep really made my day stellar.

You ever have those times when all you want to do is put on your pajamas, crawl into bed and watch something really really dumb on TV? Yeah, I'm having one of those nights. Pardon me while I shut down for a while.

Addendum: We're going into Day 6 of lack of music. Since my external hard drive (which contains my music collection) died 6 days ago, I've been jonesing for my music. And, as we've already established, me without music results in lack of concentration, lack of patience, irritability and high stress levels. Basically, all the symptoms of addiction withdrawal. Someone bring me the head of Carson Daly.

Observed/encountered at the gym today:

- A woman (who did have a great figure) dressed in a tight sports bra and short Spandex shorts and not much more besides her socks and shoes complaining that the guys in the gym were looking at her. Of course they're going to look at you. It's like mounting a large neon sign over your head that says, "Don't look at me!" If you don't want guys to look at you, wear a loose t-shirt and sweatpants.

- A woman wearing granny-panties with purple and pink polka dots on it. I know she was wearing this because she was wearing thin see-through white linen pants over them, and when she did her toe-touches, the polka dots reared right up (no pun intended).

- The same old guy who I always see and who ties up the elliptical trainer for over an hour, using it on a low resistance level and at practically no incline and who pretty much strolls on the thing. If you could call it that, since he stops every five minutes to exchange magazines from the huge bag on the floor at his side. He'd get more exercise going outside and walking.

- The annoying woman who took the machine next to me, who probably has a rampant case of ADD. She put on two different TV programs on the TVs mounted in front of us, then made about 5 phone calls, then read part of the Sunday L.A. Times, Variety and The Hollywood Reporter while watching these two different shows. How she did it, I have no idea. Then, when I was done with the Stuff magazine that I was reading, she asked if she could borrow that. She was mildly insulted when I said no, I had to bring it home for my roommate to read since it was our copy, and said she'd leave it at the front desk and I could pick it up later in the week if she could borrow it now. With all the distractions she had, she still wanted my distractions as well?

It's 2AM and an ice cream truck has been patrolling my street for the last half-hour. I swear, I've heard its stupid jingle as it drove past my apartment at least 4 times in the past 30 minutes. Does the ice cream man know something I don't?

Against my better judgment, given the fact that I'm still single and not happy about it, I watched Serendipity tonight. As a result, I am not thoroughly in love with Kate Beckinsale. As if I wasn't before.

I spent a good half-hour or so this afternoon discussing Fate and my lack thereof in believing in it with Jenn, and I also spent some time educating her in the Infinite Quantum Universe theory. So here's my story, an' I'm stickin' to it.

Given that I am steeped in science, I don't believe in fate or destiny or things like that because there's no proof of it. The only proof we have is that random coincidences occur, and that's all I believe is what some call "fate" to be -- random coincidences. It's not fate that you ran into your friend in a strange city 3000 miles away from home, it's not fate that you happened to get a job you love. It's a series of events -- some that have more effect than others -- that lead up to that particular occurrence at a point in time. You ran into your friend 3000 miles away because the both of you happened to make decisions that led to your being in the same place at the same time. You got the job because you happened to notice the ad and you applied for it and they thought you were the best suited for it. To me, fate is kind of like what God was to the ancient Greeks and Romans: a way to take blame or explanation for something and place it in someone else's hands. To assign "meaning" to an event is just to do that -- you're assigning personal meaning to it, but it doesn't mean that it was orchestrated by the Powers That Be or affects anything in the Grand Scheme of What's Going On. And for those of you who believe that fate leads you to that specific place and point in time, let me offer up this contradicting theory that says that somewhere, sometime, you actually don't make it to that place at that point in time. The Infinite Quantum Universe theory says basically that every time an occurrence happens in which a decision is made, an alternate universe is created where the opposite decision is made. And since there's so many of us making so many miniscule decisions throughout every day, that's why there's so many damn versions of these different quantum universes floating around. It's basically the theory that the movie Sliding Doors was based on, except on a much larger scale. The simplest way to put is to say that everything that could happen, does happen. Just not in the specific universe that we're aware of.

Supposing tomorrow morning, you come to a traffic light that's yellow. In the universe you're aware of, you stop for it and don't try to run it. In another universe that's created the instant that decision is made, another version of you runs that light, then decides because you made the light and have an extra minute, you'll stop at the corner shop and get donuts. In yet another universe that's created, you ran the light but decided not to get donuts. In yet another universe that's created, you didn't get donuts so you made it to the next intersection early where someone else driving along the cross-street runs that light and you get into a car accident. And so on and so forth.

My personal theory is that déjà vu is leakage between the universes. A strong feeling that you've done something before that you know you didn't, or a strong feeling that you're in a situation that you've been in before that you know you haven't, may come from a version of you that actually did do that thing or was in that situation that you are in when you get that feeling. But again, that's my own personal theory.

And now, I'm going back to the living room to watch another film. But in a different quantum universe, there's a version of me who stays at the computer. And in another quantum universe, there's a version of me that goes to In 'n' Out to pick up a Double Double. And in another quantum universe, there's a version of me that goes out and finds a dominatrix to spend the night with. And in another quantum universe, there's a version of me that watches a different film than the one I'm about to watch...

On my quest to simultaneously stay within a budget (translation: make it until payday on Monday) and also see all those movies that I haven't seen that people keep telling me I have to see, I finally watched Requiem For A Dream last night. And even though I've had this problem before, I will NEVER EVER again mistake this film for Dream For An Insomniac.

It was like a train wreck. It was horrifying. I sat there, not wanting to watch as these characters' lives just spun farther and farther out of control, yet I couldn't tear myself away. I actually felt a little nauseous when the film was done.

I've always wondered why the default accent for European characters in movies is English. Even if people aren't playing British characters, they still probably have British accents to distinguish that they're not from this country. I realized this last night while I was watching The Count of Monte Cristo where, even though all the characters are supposed to be French, they all speak with English accents.

Feeling a bit melancholy. Brain not working. Ready to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and watch some TV to forget about life for a while. So, in lieu of actual content, here's a handful of my favorite movie lines to keep you occupied.

"Life is not a movie. Good guys lose, everybody lies, and love... does not conquer all."
-- Kevin Spacey, Swimming With Sharks

"This music is the glue of life. It's what keeps it all together."
-- James Kimo Wills, Empire Records

"There's a time to think and a time to act, and gentlemen, this is no time to think."
-- John Candy, Canadian Bacon

"I don't know what you're talking aboot." "We have ways of making you say the letter 'u,' pal."
-- Steven Wright and Kevin J. O'Connor, Canadian Bacon

"You know, there's a million fine looking women in the world, dude. But they don't all bring you lasagna at work. Most of 'em just cheat on you."
-- Kevin Smith, Clerks

"He represents all that is soulless and wrong!"
-- Ron Livingston, Office Space

"Don't you know the Dewey Decimal System?"
-- "Conan the Librarian," UHF

"I could never be a woman. I'd just sit at home and play with my breasts all day."
-- Steve Martin, L.A. Story

"Hey Pigfucker... can I call you Pigfucker?" "No, only my friends can call me Pigfucker."
-- Trey Parker and Matt Stone, BASEketball

"If I were creating a world, I wouldn't mess about with butterflies and daffodils! I would've started with lasers, eight o'clock, day one!"
-- David Warner, Time Bandits

"What we've been doing lately is smoking massive amounts of drugs, binging on Entenmann's and listening to old Pink Floyd CDs."
-- Natalie Portman, Beautiful Girls

And that's just a handful. More later, it's time for me to retreat into the wonderland of flannel sheets.

I had a really bad morning. When I woke up, my external hard drive -- the one that holds all my music -- failed again. It crashed my computer like five times. So I don't have access to any of my music anymore, plus my computer wasn't being cooperative. Then, on my way to work, some loser in an SUV bumper-tapped me -- he was on his cell phone and wasn't paying attention, but slammed on his brakes hard enough to only nudge my car without causing any damage, thankfully. Then I got to work and found that America West had cancelled my flight back East next month, so I had to make alternate plans -- how convenient for them that they let me know just under the 30-day limit that most airlines require for reservations before they jack up the prices. Suffice it to say that a rather large black cloud was hanging over my head today. Until around 3:30 when the mailroom guy dropped off the poster tube on my desk. Dad retook his boards a few months ago. He's a doctor, so every seven years, he should get recertified by the American Board of Family Physicians. He studied for months and was convinced that he failed. He passed, and I know this because he sent me a copy of the letter blown up to a poster size of 24" by 36". When I called to thank him for giving me a much-needed laugh (and ask another couple of questions about other things), my mom informed me that was the original size of the letter. She said, "It's such a big thing to pass your boards, they want to let you know in a big way." It gave me an even bigger laugh when my dad confessed to her -- after three weeks -- that no, they really didn't send letters that big, he had blown it up himself and then convinced her that they sent it to him that way. People do wonder how I turned out so normal when they hear stories about my parents. And no, I don't exaggerate stories about my parents. I don't need to.

One of my roommates was suddenly called away on business. This isn't your normal "go to San Francisco for a conference" kind of trip. They're flying him halfway around the world to Bangkok, where he will literally just deliver a package, then he gets on another plane to Tokyo, where he will literally just deliver a package, then he gets on another plane and comes home. All told, he will be spending around 28 hours on planes -- if not more -- for 2 hours' worth of work. At least he gets to fly business class and spend a night in each city, though he'll probably be way too jet-lagged and will not be able to enjoy himself because he will be way too disoriented to actually do anything. Either way, he's asked me to feed his turtle while he's gone. That's fine, I have no problems with feeding the turtle. I do well with animals. Except this isn't your normal animal. It's not like a cuddly animal where you can spend time with them and they'll lift your spirits and you can play with them. It swims around its tank all day. It digs around in the rocks and crap in the tank. It apparently eats. It doesn't do much else. So this morning when I woke up, I took the proper amount of some very foul-smelling pellets and dumped them into the water. The turtle, which I thought might be a little appreciative about getting fed, gave me THAT LOOK. You know the look I'm talking about. The look that says, "What do you want, bitch? Give me the food and leave me the hell alone." And to tell you the truth, I wasn't going to mess with that. Who knows if it bites?

Someone mentioned new car smell on the episode of "Sports Night" I watched this morning, and now I can't get it out of my head. I have this need to smell new car smell now. I've never understood quite what makes new car smell, or why it's so appealing. Someone once told me that new car smell is the #3 most-appealing aphrodisiac smell to men, just behind vanilla and the combination of strawberries and rhubarb (that second one, I'll never understand). Maybe it's the promise of new machinery, maybe it's the excitement of a new car, maybe it's the joy of owning something brand new like that. They make new car smell. At least they try to. When my parents gave me my first car for my 16th birthday, Mom sprayed the car with a can of "new car smell." When I got into it and she asked me if I noticed anything, I said, "Yeah, the car reeks of marzipan. Did you go to a bakery and leave something under the seat accidentally? It's making me hungry."

No goodies from my brains today, dear children, for I have spent the wee hours of the morn (for those of you who know me, you know that I get out of work between 11:30pm and midnight on Tuesday nights) romping around my new favorite site, The Art of the Mix. This is especially relevant given my recent post on my mixmaking.

Many thanks to my friend Greg for this link. I've already posted a number of mixes that I've done. More will be forthcoming I'm sure, I just don't want to seem too eager or blow my load on my first visit.

And now, sleep and the myriad interesting dreams my subconscious comes up with.

This is why I have no faith in our nation's police forces. If it's this bad in the skies, you can only imagine how bad it is on the ground.

Seems that on a post-9/11 flight, one of the passengers started acting strangely. So two U.S. air marshals handcuffed him and threw him into a seat in first class, then one of them pulled a gun. In the words of the above-linked New York Times article, "The marshals loudly demanded that all passengers remain in their seats, and remain still. They barked a series of orders. No one should stand for any reason. Arms and legs should not extend into the aisles. No one should try to visit the restroom. The message could not have been clearer: anyone who disobeyed the marshals was in danger of being shot."

It didn't end there. When the flight landed half an hour later, the marshals not only arrested and threw the initial passenger into a rather dirty prison cell, they also handcuffed and hauled off some random first-class passenger and threw him into another dirty prison cell. He didn't have anything to do with the incident, he was minding his own business but he happened to be of Indian descent and therefore might've been perceived as a potential threat because he looked Middle Eastern. This is in spite of the fact that he is a U.S. citizen and has even served in our nation's military. A spokesman for the Transportation Security Administration later offered the explanation that he was detained because he had watched the unfolding incident "too closely."

Excuse me? He was watching too closely? Forgive all of us for having any interest in a situation that might involve gunfire, especially one in a pressurized cabin where a single bullet hole could wreak major havoc on the plane's airframe. Let's just call a spade a spade, shall we? Our overzealous air marshals decided that this guy looked suspicious and they had their little power play in suspending the Bill of Rights.

Shall I go back to my rant from a few weeks ago where I reminded you all that Timothy McVeigh and the Unabomber were white American males, and I asked how come people like me who look like either of those guys aren't being detained and racially profiled? Shall I ask why, with the blessing of our Fearless Leader, our nation's airport security personnel are not required to have even a high school diploma -- which might help to guarantee that weapons or potential hijackers don't even make it onto the planes in the first place -- yet are licensed to carry firearms, exert deadly force, suspend civil rights and throw people in jail at will? Shall I ask why we're being so closed-minded to the potential threat of terrorism from other avenues, but we're only thinking planes might be weapons because they've been used before so we're throwing all our security measures at our airports -- so do we have to be subjected to a suicide bombing or a bomb on a ship in a harbor or a car bomb before we begin to consider those possibilities?

I don't know about you, but I think I'm more scared of our security personnel than I am of potential terrorists.

Okay, so it's time for my absolutely sacrilegious thought of the day. Being that I'm Jewish 'n' all, I tend to dismiss many of the legends surrounding Jesus Christ as myths. And being that I'm pretty steeped in science, I tend to dismiss religion in general mostly because I have no hard proof of the existence of God or other Powerful Beings or miracles of that sort. So, given all that, I find it a little hard to believe in the possibility of immaculate conception. I had this thought that maybe Mary wasn't as chaste as can be, and she messed up and got pregnant. It's a whole lot easier to invoke God's name and say that God spoke to you and told you he impregnated you rather than confess to screwing around on your husband, and it'll get you off the hook pretty easily, especially given the fact that 2000 years ago, religion played a much bigger role in life than it does today. Rather than confess to the sin of adultery -- something that could get her and her lover stoned to death by the villagers of Bethlehem -- she told a lie, and both an illegitimate child and a religion were born. The kid didn't even have to look like Joseph because he wasn't the father, "God" was and who knows what God looks like? All she and her lover had to do was keep their mouths shut. Or maybe she didn't sleep around, maybe she was chaste, but she and Joseph were kidding around one night and thought it'd be funny to tell their friends that Mary is pregnant with God's child. Then one person told ten people and those ten people told ten people... and soon it just built up to where the tale had been perpetuated to the point that it couldn't be called back in or be undone. To be undone after so many people heard about it would be sacrilegious and both Mary and Joseph would get stoned to death, so they kept their little practical joke a secret to the grave in that situation. Eh. Just some more of the insanity that pops up in my warped brain. I'll just sit back and watch the nickelodeon explode now as I'm either applauded for making people laugh or burned in effigy for being a heathen.

Lesson #34: the distinct difference between "oy" and "oi."

If you're Jewish, have been around Jewish people or have seen movies with Jewish characters in them, you'd probably recognize the saying "oy." Oy is short for "oy vey," which is short for "oy vey iz meir." I'm not kidding. The expression loosely translates to something along the lines of "oh, brother." If your friend is telling you about how a mutual friend woke up in bed with a dead hooker, "oy" would be an appropriate expression of mirth and oh-man-I-can't-believe-the-stuff-that-happens-to-him! If you just ate an enormous meal and are stuffed to the point where if you put a wafer-thin mint in your mouth, you'd explode, an "oy" of contentment will very much fit the bill. If you're dragging a couch up to a third-floor apartment in a walkup, a long and protracted "oy" will also be useful, especially if it's not your couch or your apartment and you're helping someone else out. So basically, complaining, making fun of others, sympathizing, disbelief (both in a good way and a bad way), exasperation -- these are all acceptable uses of "oy." There are others, but most are acceptable on a case-by-case basis.

"Oi," on the other hand, is most common in the ska and Irish worlds. Mostly used as a greeting, the expression was made mainstream in the Christmas song that No Doubt recorded a few winters ago that's called "Oi to the World."

These expressions are not interchangeable. Saying "oy" to a Jew will make them think that something's wrong. Saying "oy" to an Irishman may result in a situation like that Budweiser commercial where the country hick tells his story over and over of how he's doin' just fine and how he got picked up at the airport by his brother-in-law and what a nice city they all have got here just because the bar patrons greet him with "how you doin'?"

Next week: the correlation between Jews, sinus problems and that "ch" sound that's in all Hebrew and Yiddish words.

It's Sunday night, I'm sitting home alone after paying all my bills and reconciling my finances and realizing just how poor I am and how I really need to cut back on my spending, I have a pile of CDs on my desk literally stacked 8 inches tall (I measured) that I need to plow through, and on top of all that, there's now a decent chance that I won't get the new Powerbook I desperately wanted and kind of needed for my birthday this year. And I have to wake up at 6:30AM tomorrow to go to work. But it could be much worse.