In a recent Pew Research Center poll, 42% of respondents said they believe in a strict creationist theory, and 64% said they believe creationism should be taught alongside evolution in schools. [link]
Folks, I can only invoke the solemn and mostly intelligent rant by one Mr. Lewis Black: “Fossils, fossils, fossils… I win!” Look, there’s a strict policy on separation of church and state, and state includes school. But what really fascinates (and scares) me is the fact that there are people out there who are so firm and resolute in their faith in God that they put it above science.
But I’ll tell you one thing I did learn in school. Math. And stupid stuff like geometry. And because of that, I can say this: Tom Cruise is on crack, and crack is wack. Therefore, by the transitive property, Tom Cruise is wack. Thanks, and stay in school.
(Ed. note: And I specifically used a big word for the entry title to impress Meme, since she apparently digs that kind of thing.)
Something that makes me unhappy: The fact that my neighborhood gas station increased its price for regular unleaded from $2.78/gallon to $2.92/gallon over the course of six days.
Something that makes me happy: The fact that I write for a daily publication that would print this actual quote from an important person in the radio industry: “Have you ever seen a horse piss? It’s like a garden hose on full blast for three minutes! Most of the wiring runs underneath the studios.... Do you want to explain the corrosive properties of horse urine to the engineering department?”
How many times do I have to insist that despite my (alleged) intelligence, big & dumb stuff can send me into hysterical laughter?
I’m particularly fascinated by the word “cadre.” I love using it. Say it, it even sounds cool. Caaaaahd-ray. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to use it at least once today in the company of others.
Speaking of today, for all the computer people in the neighborhood, Opera, in celebration of its 10th birthday, is giving away free registration codes to its web browser today and today only. Beats what I got for my 10th birthday. (Actually, I can’t remember what I got for my 10th birthday.)
The day started out pretty poorly. I couldn’t sleep last night because it was so ghastly hot in my apartment (over 80 degrees), so when I was rudely awoken by Neil Diamond blasting out of my clockradio at 8:30am, I was not only disoriented because I had no fucking idea why Indie 103 was playing “Sweet Caroline,” but also because I’d only gotten 4 hours of sleep. And then I failed to reach that delicate balance of caffeine and food in my system, so I was overcaffeinated and dangerously twitchy for a good portion of the day.
Thankfully, things ended very, very well. An old friend and I went out for our annual tarot card reading, and the reader was dead on—almost scary in some ways. And even though I don’t put much faith in that kind of thing, it actually helped me stop worrying about a few things coming down the pike in my general direction. Besides, who can’t have a good time when you’re with good company, running all over Los Angeles to do random things like roast S’mores at the Saddle Ranch (Ed. note: The S’mores at Luna Park are way better, but you don’t get to roast your marshmallows over a fire pit there) and get serenaded by a couple of guys trying desperately to do a medley of songs by The Cult using only an acoustic guitar and a violin, and then doing the Pee-Wee Herman dance in the car on the way back home. Hysterical laughter cleanses the soul, and no—there was no alcohol in my system at any time during the course of the night.
However, there will be utter and total collapse soon, since I’m dead tired. Wheeeeeeeee.
The weekend’s various events:
Pro: Ian Abercrombie, better known as Mr. Pitt on Seinfeld, was in front of me in line when I was getting lunch.
Con: All weekend, I had this odd urge to buy a candy bar and eat it with a fork and knife.
Pro: My easily suggestible nature amused a friend.
Con: My easily suggestible nature made that friend suggest that I clean my apartment since she was cleaning hers. Thus, despite the 85-degree weather (and lack of A/C in my apartment), I spent several hours cleaning it from top to bottom.
Pro: I got stoned for the first time in over a year.
Con: I woke up Sunday morning and found 1/3 of a jar of peanut butter suddenly missing.
Pro: Almost a year after its release, I finally saw Team America. And I finally found out the title and artist of a song I’d been looking for for an awful long time.
Con: We were not amused. (And by we, I mean me.) If I want to see rampant puppet sex, I’ll go see Avenue Q again.
Check it, but right-click and save as.
Tomoyasu Hotei - “Battle Without Honor or Humanity (Kill Bill Mix)”
I think I’ve hit news overload. With the amount of things bombarding me on a daily basis, I’ve pretty much resorted to getting my information from The Daily Show because I need that sweet candy coating put on my news, or else my head might blow up.
Peace Mom. War Mom. Illegal immigrants. Hurricanes. Runaway teen actresses. Deadlines in Iraq blown again. States of emergency. Rolling blackouts. Housing bubbles. Chinese military threats. And that was all just in the first 10 pages of today’s Los Angeles Times, and that includes several full-page ads for the latest and greatest in cell phones.
I wish there was a way we could all just take a break before we hit a flashpoint. As insane as it sounds, my grandfather told me stories about how when he was fighting in the Ardennes during the Battle of the Bulge, everyone—American and German, people on both sides—laid down their arms and stopped trying to kill each other on Christmas Day. It would be stellar if we just had one day like that now… just a worldwide Day Off From Everything.
The Evolution Control Committee featuring Dan Rather - “Rocked by Rape”
Right-click and save as.
At the suggestion of my co-workers, I TiVo’d the Comedy Central roast of Pam Anderson. They said it was fucking hilarious—and I can say that because I watched the uncensored version. Personally, I was unamused… mostly because of the antics of one Courtney Love.
Many of you know that I hate Ms. Love and think she’s an untalented stupid mess of a person who never should have gotten famous in the first place, which is also pretty much the way I feel about Avril Lavigne. And I was disgusted by Courtney’s onstage performance. She was hogging the camera, yelling at everyone who was up on the dais, and she was the only one who couldn’t take any remarks about her—everyone else laughed it off, she got huffy. And then she flashed the camera… actually, it was more of an extended display, since she lifted her skirt up for about a full 30 seconds. And then at the end, she pretty much fell off the podium trying to attack Pam and make out with her.
The best part was that every other minute, she was yelling about how she’s been clean and sober for a year now… to which Jimmy Kimmel replied, “Courtney, I hope you really are still on drugs, because if this is you sober, you need some serious help.”
Of course, I do realize that the roast was actually taped last month… but I still find the timing ironic that only days after the roast first aired, Courtney admitted she’d fallen off the wagon and was put back into rehab.
I’m not usually one to believe in ghosts or the supernatural or the paranormal. Hell, I doubt the existence of God because I’m pretty rooted in science, and I tend to think there’s a scientific explanation for everything—whether we’re at the technological level of understanding various things is another story, but I haven’t gotten proof one way or another about whether God exists, so I stand firmly in the “undecided” category.
That said, I’m still really intrigued by the prospect of ghosts, and reading Meg’s experience launched me into an hourlong foray, scouring this site for the listings and descriptions of the haunted buildings in California—some of which I’ve actually been in and didn’t realize.
However, what came to mind afterwards was an experience my best friend and I had on our July 4th weekend excursion from Spokane to Denver. We had stopped off at some random rest stop at the side of the road in Wyoming, and to call this place a rest stop would be generous. It was a small parking lot with a giant map of Wyoming posted and two bathrooms in a building the size of my living room. Needless to say, we both ventured into the bathrooms, having consumed enough caffeinated beverages to drown a horde of rampaging Huns. The odd thing was that while we were both in the bathroom, we both swore we heard a cell phone go off, and the ringtone was a MIDI version of “The Safety Dance.” We both came out of the bathroom and looked around, but the place was deserted (as well it should be—we were in the Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming!). We both asked each other, “Did your cell phone go off while you were in the bathroom?” Of course, neither of us took a call while we were in there, and neither of our phones have “The Safety Dance” as a ringtone. To this day, it’s still unexplained.
OoooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOoooooooo… (That’s the spirits telling you to right-click and save as, or they’ll haunt you for all eternity.)
How I Spent My Day Off From Work by Keith
1. I enforced my own freedom. Well, basically, my freedom to leave the country whenever I want. I renewed my passport, which expires at the end of this year. The sad thing is that renewing my passport made me realize I haven’t left the U.S. in 4 1/2 years, not even for a drunken run to Canada… or Mexico. But once I get my new passport back, I’ll be able to—and for another 10 years!
2. I made it possible for me to see again. I updated the prescription lenses in my glasses and sunglasses. This, of course, meant that I had to wander around Los Angeles for 2 hours today with no glasses whatsoever, blind as a bat and blinded even more by the blinding sunshine. (Without my glasses, my vision is 20/500, which means I can see things clearly at 20 feet that most people see clearly at 500 feet.) Among other ways I passed the time was sitting in a chair in a mall, reading Lewis Black’s new book, which is not only funny, but I could hear his voice in my head reading the text aloud, which made it even funnier. (And possible a little creepy that I heard his voice in my head.)
3. I had my way with TiVo. Translation: I finally got around to watching a movie on my TiVo that had been sitting there for the last two months, waiting for me to watch and then delete it.
4. I disengaged from work… mostly. I only checked my work e-mail three times!
The following is a public service announcement regarding concertgoing behavior and etiquette following my experiences at Coldplay last night (who put on a great show, by the way).
1. No Extreme PDA® at the show. I can understand that it’s nice to show affection to your significant other, especially when Chris Martin is singing a song like “Fix You” or something along those lines, but please limit to cuddling, hugging, handholding and light smooching. Trying to suck each other’s faces off and exploring your significant other’s esophagus with your tongue—not cool.
2. No loud singing along. Yes, it’s great that you know all the words to every song. I’m happy that you’re a fan. But standing behind me and singing loudly off-key in my ear is not going to win you any brownie points. Let the guy up on stage—the guy who people paid good money to see (even if I didn’t)—do his thing and earn his keep. I’m not paying to see you in concert. In fact, if I don’t punch you in the mouth, I may pay you not to sing. Soft singing, I can understand so that it doesn’t overpower the person on stage, or hell, even lip-synching along is fine.
3. Don’t be that person who wears a t-shirt from a past tour. We know you like the band; obviously, you wouldn’t be here unless you wanted to be or unless your girlfriend threatened to withhold physical affections if you didn’t go. It doesn’t mean you have to show off that you’ve seen them before. As the Cake song “Rock and Roll Lifestyle” says, “How much did you pay for your rock ‘n’ roll t-shirt that proves you were there, that you heard of them first?” It’s just kind of obnoxious.
Thank you. You may now resume your normal broadcast day. Me, I’ve been doing a ton with the running around the greater L.A. area and the hanging with friends and the singing group performing on Venice Beach this afternoon, so I’m taking tomorrow off from work. I’m sleepin’ in, yo.
I watch The 4400 on USA, and last night’s episode was about a woman who has the ability to really amp up the adrenaline and aggression levels in the men around her. And I thought to myself, “That’s nothing new. Guys act like macho morons around women, regardless of preternatural abilities.”
Ever cruise through MySpace and happen to read the comments on a particularly hot girl’s profile or photos? They’re littered with guys saying things like “U R HOTTTTT!!!” (those extra t’s really make a difference) or “Wow, you’re gorgeous, wanna hook up?” I can’t imagine a woman seeing someone write something like that on their profile and thinking, “Oooh, this guy sounds great! I’m going to seek him out and make all his fantasies come true.”
It happens in realtime as well, since I was on my way out last night and ran into some of my new (and female) neighbors, who were on their way back from a local bar. Yes, they’re good-looking, which is why they’d picked up a hanger-on who was trying to get them to come back to the bar—he walked three blocks away from the bar to try to convince them to return… well, either that, or he was hoping to get invited inside, which didn’t seem like it was happening. The guy was using the lamest pickup lines to try and get them to come back out, but thankfully to no avail because if they had worked, I would’ve lost faith completely in women’s ability to say no to stupidity.
This kind of insanity is pervasive, sadly. Watch a couple of guys competing to get a woman’s attention in a bar sometime. Or just head on over to MySpace and check out what guys have to say on the profiles of some hot women. It’s almost like there’s something in female pheromones that just turns guys dumb. And while my presence may have driven off the hanger-on (because he saw them turn away from him to talk to me), I probably became just as dumb and said some stupid things to my new hot female neighbors as well. I can’t help it, it’s beyond my control.
About six months ago, my company moved to a new building—only across the street from our old place, but what a difference. 41 shiny floors up with a view from the ocean to Ontario (that’s California, not Canada) and from the Hollywood Hills down to Long Beach, a basement concourse with a Starbucks and two convenience stores and a bunch of food places, and a bar downstairs. On a good day, we can see all the way to Catalina, and we’re also in a good spot to watch the planes on approach to LAX.
The best part about the new building is the scenery. And no, I’m not talking about the external view. The women who work in my building are gorgeous. I have no idea where they imported all these great-looking women from! Either way, suffice it to say that a co-worker and I have been so impressed with the quality of life in our building that we have established the Good Building Initiative™. Basically, what this entails is us seeing gorgeous women and remarking to the other, “The Good Building Initiative™ is working well,” or “The building is Good today,” or (a personal favorite) “My name is George W. Bush, and I approve of this building.”
Things reached an all-time scenic and comedic high today when we went downstairs for our usual morning coffee run to the deli. (Have I mentioned the $1 Coffee Bean cup of coffee at our deli?) On our way through the lobby, we passed this absolutely drop-dead beautiful woman—probably one of the best-looking women I’ve ever seen in Los Angeles. My co-worker was so stunned by her beauty, all he could utter was, “Uhhhh… winning...” Five minutes later, I was still laughing.
Did I mention that said co-worker and I have also instituted Sexual Harassment Thursdays™ at the office? Sometimes, it tends to accidentally spill over into other days of the week.
1. So after that whole Faith No More thing yesterday with the dream and then posting the file here, I turn on the radio on my way to work, and what do I hear? Yes, kids, Faith No More’s “Midlife Crisis.” Maybe I’m becoming an effective dreamer?
2. There are few things more disturbing than the sight I saw last night: A man in his late 50s, balding and with a beard, stopped at a stoplight in a minivan with all the windows down, singing along to Britney Spears, which was cranked up on his car radio. No, there were no small children in the car with him. No, there was no one else in the car with him either. Someone please find this man and either put him out of his misery or put us out of ours.
3. Holy crap, Steve Carell was funny on The Daily Show last night. For those of you who didn’t see it, Carell was there to be interviewed for The 40-Year-Old Virgin—and it was his first time ever actually being a guest rather than being part of the show. He came out dressed exactly the same as Jon Stewart was, and the two of them spent the first two minutes of the interview in a hilariously faked awkward silence until Stewart finally said, “Uhh… so… do you have a report to file?”
Another week, another sign of the Impending Apocalypse: As if the first one wasn’t bad enough, 20th Century Fox is stroking its invisible beard and formulating its evil plans to make Garfield 2, a sequel to the live-action Garfield movie it released last year. Ugh.
Meanwhile, gas prices in Southern California have finally breached the $3-per-gallon mark. I went out last night in search of el cheapo fuel and managed to fill up at $2.79 per gallon. Now I can’t even say that we invaded Iraq for the oil, because gas prices have gotten so ridiculously expensive that we’re probably not seeing much output from Iraq at all. The question remains… why are we there, and why are we still there?
But now for the moderately happy thought of the day: Brooklyn, NY-based band Kids Against Combs were preparing to put out an album last month called Sean Hannity (631) 673-8003—Hannity’s real, private, unlisted home number, and the band also put his home address in the liner notes. Mr. Hannity was not amused, and his cadre of lawyers sent “Whoa, Nellie!” letters to the band. Kids Against Combs have retitled their album, which is now for sale: Please enjoy The Album Formerly Known As Sean Hannity’s Phone Number ... Currently Sean Hannity Is a Democracy Subverting Douche Bag.
For some reason, at one point last night I dreamed I was listening to Faith No More… I mean, I’m not surprised that my subconscious recognizes the awesomeness that is Faith No More, but still, to dream about the actual process of getting a CD and listening to it? In that vein, may I present for your right-clicking-and-save-as-ing pleasure:
Okay, folks, listen up: I know Johnny Cash sometimes slurs his words a little, but in his cover of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt,” he says, “What have I become, my sweetest friend,” not, as someone asked me, “my Swedish friend.” “My Swedish friend” is not new slang for heroin, and Johnny was not battling a lethal addiction to IKEA.
Also, Johnny Rivers was singing about a “Secret Agent Man,” not a “Secret Asian Man.” Quite frankly, I have no idea how being a secret Asian man is even possible. I mean, “Surprise! I’m Asian!” doesn’t really work. It’s a little hard to hide that kind of thing.