Phillip:

YouÂ’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. More importantly, what the hell have you done in the last twelve months? I think a list of your accomplishments could be written on the back of business card. With a Sharpie. In addition to lackluster performance, you have an extremely limp handshake that creeps people out.

Janet:

You are, without a doubt, the most talked about person in the whole company. Dumb as a stump with a great body. Very attractive. A solid nine. There is no finer sight than that of you bending over in the copy room picking up paperclips. I love you Janet. I love you with all my heart.

Toby:

Please get out of panic mode. Nobody can be that panicked all day long, every day. Considering what you actually do here, itÂ’s uncalled for. Just pick up the phone and say the name of the company. ItÂ’s not like you have stock options at risk.

Arthur:

No one believes you. Every Monday morning we have to hear about your conquests and skills with women, skis, cards, darts, et. al. ad nauseum. You walk from cube to cube with that fucking mug of coffee like youÂ’re the second coming. And you just donÂ’t get it. IÂ’ve told you before to keep your voice down. IÂ’ve told your manager I was going to take it out of his ass if I found you walking the floors again. I have kicked my office door closed in your face and you still donÂ’t get it. You are universally despised.

Martha:

Stop. Fucking. Cooking. This is a workplace, not the goddamned Waffle House. YouÂ’re stinking up the whole floor with that shit. You know what? IÂ’m the guy that had microwave popcorn banned here. Me. And IÂ’m proud of it. Little did I know it would be replaced by you cooking full fucking meals. You put fish in that microwave one more time and I swear IÂ’ll pee in that thing. You go ahead and try me.

Albert:

You are one seriously confused mofo. LetÂ’s forget for a moment the magnitude of your stupidity and talk about whatÂ’s socially acceptable. Asking if you could borrow someoneÂ’s newspaper and then proudly walking into the shitter is justÂ…justÂ…I fucking donÂ’t know what it is. It horrifies me.

To be continuedÂ…

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:47 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I dislike all of you. Immensely. The lot of you are boorish and mundane, without an original thought amongst you.

Specifics

Theodore:

What the fuck do you do in the bathroom all day? ThereÂ’s a fucking pool going now on how many minutes per day you spend in there.

Deb:

YouÂ’re a serious skank. YouÂ’re stinking up the whole floor with the smell of Benson & Hedges and cheap-ass perfume. You must swim laps in that shit. I suspect youÂ’ve had group sex in a moving car whilst smoking a cigarette. Please refrain from speaking to me.

Leo:

If you say, “Think outside the box,” just one more time, I will personally throw you down the stairs. I’ve warned you numerous times.

Carol:

You are way too heavy to be wearing clothes that tight. YouÂ’re not fat, youÂ’re not unattractive, but youÂ’re going to bust the seams on that shit. Please comply, as you seem to be very nice.

Anthony:

YouÂ’re a real asshole and the guy IÂ’m most likely to attack physically. You need to lower your goddamned voice. ThereÂ’s nothing I dislike more than a loudmouth braggart. And you really need new shoes. I would be totally embarrassed to wear those old ratty dogs to work.

James:

YouÂ’re a special case. You love meetings, and I know why. While the rest of us are trying to escape and do actual work, you love to sit there and think in the abstract. I see the way you light up when the brainstorming starts. You know what? There are bad ideas. LotÂ’s of them. And the next time you defend or advance some retarded idea in that conference room I will personally stand up and give an oral history of your fuckups like a griot reciting the 1,000 year history of a village. You will be able to walk under a closed door by the time I get through.

Sam:

I donÂ’t know how many shirts you own, but IÂ’m guessing three. I see you every day and I only count three shirts. ThatÂ’s either very heavy rotation or you need some kind of help.

To be continuedÂ…

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:58 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I have to admit IÂ’m not big on answering the phone. In our house, 95% of all phone calls are for my wife. SheÂ’s on the phone so much the fucking thing gets hot.

Anyway, last night we had an aunt and uncle from out of town come over for dinner. Very conservative and a lot older than us. So weÂ’re sitting there dipping bread into the artichoke pesto when the phone rings. I looked over at my wife and told her to let it ring.

“You know it’s not important,” I said, “You can call them back later.”

She nods in agreement and we go back to chatting in a reserved manner. Just then the answering machine clicks on and a loud voice booms through the kitchen. And at that moment I realized my error.

“Hey asshole!”

It was an old friend of mine. He was hammered. I instantly knew that this would end badly.

“Dude, get your hand off your cock and answer the fucking phone!”

I looked at our guests. They were stunned. Ashen.

“C’mon fuckface, I know you’re there!”

At that point I didnÂ’t know what to do. I realized I was holding my breath. My old lady was looking at me, her eyes pleading. But there was no solution. We were already mortified.

I didnÂ’t know if I should run over and pick up the phone or what. I was about to declare it a wrong number when he addressed me by name, cementing forever the already tarnished reputation I hold in the family.

“That’s Paul’s old college roommate,” my wife offered, “You know how it is…”

But they didnÂ’t know how it is. Or how it was. And we went back to the pesto and I poured more wine and thought about my buddy. And how heÂ’d screwed me royally, and the joy it would bring him when I eventually called back. Somehow, it made me feel better.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:09 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Phone numbers always used to have the area code in parentheses, like this:

(555) 123-1234

Now, however, I have noticed a trend where all the numbers are separated by the dash and the parentheses have gone the way of the dodo, i.e.:

555-123-1234

There you have it. I am so worth the click.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:09 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Out of three authors on this blog, nobodyÂ’s had the decency to post anything in a week or so. I was on vacation so IÂ’m exempt from criticism. Is this any way to run a railroad?

Meanwhile, IÂ’ve got nothing of substance. Again.

I am completely barren of ideas, thoughts or observation of any kind.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:01 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I set aside some time today to post something of substance; unfortunately, IÂ’ve got nothing and it canÂ’t be forced. So in lieu of that, hereÂ’s whatÂ’s going through my head today.

Mark Twain was an overrated, mean-spirited shitbag. He was a newspaper hack who never really understood the novel, though he talked like he invented the damned thing. Yes, they say he had charisma, but so do many arsonists, motivational speakers and con men, all of which I hold in the same regard.

I never forgave Twain for his idiotic and exaggerated criticism of JF Cooper. He came off looking like the nasty bastard he probably was. Aside from my unexplainable contempt for Twain today, my thoughts have been relatively shallow.

I donÂ’t like Poptarts; they just donÂ’t appeal to me.

I never had a proper lunch today and now IÂ’ve got the urge to stuff big fistfuls of dry cornflakes into my mouth. I do that sometimes, late at night, when IÂ’m lying on the couch alone. I lie there like a bum with the TV volume low, so as not to wake anyone, and stuff big fistfuls of cornflakes into my mouth. IÂ’m careful not let the crumbs get on the couch or fall in between the cushions, because thatÂ’s tantamount to killing kittens in my wifeÂ’s view. That and IÂ’m not a pig. I donÂ’t wish to wallow in filth myself.

And I lie there in my underwear and a wife-beater, flipping through the channels, looking for salvation.

Some days you have it, some days not so much.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:02 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I donÂ’t know what to say.

I was standing at the counter with bottle of Coke. I reached into my pocket and out came some crumbled up bills and a handful of coins. I look down at the coins and IÂ’ve never fucking seen them before. I thought they were Canadian or some other worthless currency and then realized they were nickels. All different kinds.

I had a regular nickel, a new version of a buffalo nickel and yet another one with half of JeffersonÂ’s head on it. I was dumbfounded.

WhatÂ’s up with all the new nickels? ItÂ’s bad enough theyÂ’re minting new quarters with Newark and Detroit on them once a month, now the US mint is changing the nickels every week. I just donÂ’t get it. I donÂ’t know what the national debt is, but how the hell can we be spending our resources changing the goddamed coins every week? ItÂ’s got to cost money drawing the designs, stamping the plates and all of that crap. Does this make sense? We should be getting rid of the fucking dead wood in these agencies and theyÂ’re hiring by the busload down at the nickel division.

How many nickels do we need? Are they even worth five cents anymore? Are we going to have nickels from every state? WhatÂ’s next, fifty new dimes? This is fucking criminal! I havenÂ’t been this enraged since they canceled The Rockford Files.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:03 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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IÂ’ve never eaten bear meat, though for some strange reason, I yearn to try it. IÂ’ve no desire to kill a bear personally, but I would really like to try a bear steak.

Perhaps itÂ’s because I get bored eating the same crap all the time. How many days of your life can you eat beef, pork, chicken, et. al.? Granted some people are vegetarians, but I wonÂ’t get started on that unnatural and misguided practice. Human teeth were meant for eating meat.

I’ve eaten a good share of rabbit in my day, which is a favorite of mine. I like ostrich. Quail, pheasant and squab—all fine alternatives to the mundane chicken, as are goose and duck. I’ve had alligator and rattlesnake, when the opportunity has come up, and I’m a big fan of venison as well.

IÂ’m not sure that IÂ’ve eaten a wild boar or not, but itÂ’s certainly on my list. IÂ’ve had buffalo burgers and enjoyed them. IÂ’d like to try me some goat as well. IÂ’ve hankered for moose on occasion, mainly out of curiosity. But for the most part I yearn for a nice thick bear chop.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:06 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
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“I bought you a new pair of jeans,” she said.

I had just walked in the door from work. When I come through the door after work I generally donÂ’t like to bothered, after a perfunctory hello, for my fifteen minute adjustment period.

“Really? Why did you do that?”

I kept right on walking into the bedroom, knowing sheÂ’d follow, talking all the while. She was too excited not to, and that type of enthusiasm scares me.

“Don’t you want to see them?”

I was still standing at the dresser, emptying my pockets and trying to get out of my clothes.

“Of course.”

I knew at that point that I would not like the jeans. She was terribly excited about them and that could only mean one thing. They were something extraordinary, at least in comparison to my stand by LeviÂ’s.

She opened a NordstromÂ’s bag, a tell in itself, and unveiled the jeans. They were dark with pre-made wear spots on the fronts. They were cut funny, I could see that by the way she was holding them up. IÂ’d seen these kinds of jeans before. Very contemporary. Worn by people much younger than myself. People I instinctively disliked.

“Well, try them on!”

She was waving them at me. Somehow, I was afraid of these jeans. Reluctantly I took them from her and looked at the brand. Lucky. I was pretty sure they only made jeans for chicks. Even if they did make jeans for men, IÂ’m not the kind of guy to wear them. But I was standing there in my underwear holding them and she was giggling like a schoolgirl so I put them on.

I immediately felt ridiculous. They fit strangely around the waist. They fit strangely everywhere. I have a very large chip on my shoulder with anything connected to hip-hop and I had a feeling these things may be baggy enough to qualify. Regardless, they clearly didnÂ’t fit.

“You look great! Wait—turn around…”

I turned. I felt her hands on my ass. She was squeezing.

“These are perfect!”

“They’re not perfect. They don’t fit and I don’t like them.”

“You just think they don’t fit. You should see your ass in these!”

“I like my Levis.”

“You have no shape in your Levis. You’re hiding that ass in the Levis. These jeans cup your ass! She kept grabbing my ass and squeezing, chasing me around the room.”

I took the jeans off.

“Listen, I really don’t think I can wear those. I’m not nineteen anymore. I feel like a dick wearing those things.”

She reluctantly put them back in the bag. I apologized for not being more receptive.

Three days later we’re driving somewhere and out of nowhere she said, “That shirt looks nice on you.”

“But you hate the jeans, right?”

I was wearing my beloved Levis.

“Is that all you got out of that entire episode? That I don’t like Levis?”

“Pretty much.”

“So all you took away from that was the negative? That I don’t like your Levis?”

“Well…”

“I buy you one pair of meterosexual jeans and you freak out. Totally missing the point. You're incredibly thick.”

###

This morning I looked on the Internet. Lucky does indeed make menÂ’s jeans. And the prices are fucking obscene.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:12 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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Okay, I finally found my superpower.

IÂ’ve had it all my life but I took it for granted because I thought everybody had it.

I can take a look at someone or just spend a few seconds near someone and immediately know that theyÂ’re crazy.

My wife confirmed this superpower last night when she mentioned I was right; a recent acquaintance of ours is a little fucked up. She didnÂ’t believe me at first, but it finally panned out, and in just the manner I suspected.

When I was young I could always tell when chicks were nuts. IÂ’m not prejudiced against nutty chicks or crazy people in general. In fact, the best sex in the world is sex with a crazy chick. But I have a built in detector.

ItÂ’s the same with people who are a little slow. A couple of weeks ago I pointed out to a coworker that one of the new employees was an idiot.

“You say that about everybody.”

“But this time I’m not kidding. That dude walks around with his mouth open all day. He’s literally an idiot. I’m sure of it.”

My warning was ignored, and I didnÂ’t care because I didnÂ’t hire him. Several days later the coworker parked his ass on a corner of my desk.

“I think you’re right about Harris. Have you seen him answer the phone? Between the time he puts it to his ear and the time he says, “Hello,” there’s an abnormally long pause. Like five seconds or something. Every time.”

“Told you.”

He demonstrated by using his cell while I walked down to the guys cube and feigned interest in his project. The phone rang, he picked it up, put it to his ear and I started counting. It was, like, four-Mississippi before he fucking said hello. I should have starting counting again because when he got no response it was at least another four seconds before he said, ”Hello,” a second time. And by then I was laughing too hard to hang around.

And IÂ’m not making fun of the mentally challenged. This guy was hired at a fairly high level. IÂ’m always shocked about that. For the most part, anyone with tuition money can manage a four year degree, no matter how fucking stupid they are. Then, as if by magic, they show up at some company and somehow interview their way into a decent job.

I guess theyÂ’ve never come up against Jim.

Anyhow, if youÂ’ve got a suspected nut or a halfwit in the workplace, I can pick them out for you.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:29 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Please view this important communique asap.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:42 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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IÂ’ve been indisposed. When I donÂ’t blog IÂ’m not a happy man. This is my therapy, and when I donÂ’t get my therapy I get anxiety in one form or another.

I went to an actual shrink for about four months once. It was many, many years ago and my stress level was through the roof and all I really wanted was a prescription to take the edge off on especially bad days. The price to pay was I had to sit there and go through the process of being analyzed.

If I knew then what I know now, that basically, any time you walk in to see your family practitioner for anything from carpal tunnel to bleeding ears the first thing they say is that itÂ’s probably stress related and hand you a script.

Anyway, for a few months I went the Tony Soprano route with a real live shrink. It was awkward. IÂ’m not the greatest communicator when it comes to meaningful discourse. I kept asking if I could mail it in, but she was having none of that. So I sat there and endured for a while, acting pretty much like Tony Soprano does with Dr. Melfi, minus the mob shit and the insults.

I always felt like she was trying very hard to outwit me. A lot of leading the witness type stuff. And all I really wanted was my script. ItÂ’s not like I was an addict; at the time I had a very stressful job and once or perhaps twice a week I needed a respite. A respite that didnÂ’t come with a hangover.

So like an asshole I sat across from this woman, who was particularly unattractive, and tried not to do wacky shit, like keep cracking my knuckles or jiggling my leg constantly. On one level I was terrified of this woman. She sat there writing her notes, writing her notes, writing her notes. And I half expected her to suggest shock treatments or tell me I had some kind of fucked up personality disorder. I was always just a little bit afraid that maybe I was nuts. I was always expecting to hear, “I think you’ll be better off living in this facility out in Burbank.”

And let me tell you, struggling for forty-five minutes in front of shrink, desperately trying not to be yourself is more fucking stressful than any job.

“Tell me, what do you think is the basis of your anxiety?”

I suppose I could have just said that I was responsible for a lot of people and a lot of money and that my boss was insane, but it just seemed too mundane. I always went with the drama.

“Life is stressful. Buying a loaf of bread is stressful. Getting a haircut is stressful. Finding a parking spot in your fucking parking lot is stressful.”

“So, you feel that finding a parking spot can be stressful? Or buying a loaf of bread?”

“Fuckin’ A.”

“But there must be an underlying cause. Don’t you suspect there’s an underlying cause to your anxiety?”

And as this went on I kept thinking to myself, DonÂ’t crack your knuckles! DonÂ’t jiggle your leg! DonÂ’t act crazy and youÂ’ll be out of here soon!

I would always begin a reply with, “Logic dictates…”

It would drive her nuts. She would repeatedly try to drill into my thick skull that logic had no place in any of this. That phobias were exempt from logic. “Totally exempt!” she would cry. She was right about that of course, even a dullard like myself could get past the obvious.

In the end it was a pointless exercise. It was much more stressful dealing with this horrible woman than it was to just care less about upward mobility. IÂ’ll never forget that womanÂ’s haircut and her frump-wear. And waiting in the outer office, pretending to look at old magazines while I was really sizing up the real crazies, trying to catch a good look without getting caught.

One day I just never went back. There was no further correspondence, so I suppose I was never “turned in to the authorities” as some kind of nut. In fact, I suspect she was rather glad to be rid of me.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 02:26 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Everyone I know has some type of natural talent except for me.

My sister is a damned fine artist and has been since she was a kid. I, on the other hand, canÂ’t draw a proper stick figure. IÂ’m outdone by Neanderthal cave painters.

Some people can sing. Some people have a natural talent for math. I know people who can fix things—literally anything—because they’re mechanically inclined.

I know people who have the gift of spatial reasoning, and are so naturally good at chess that my years of study mean absolutely nothing. They thrash me at will.

Sculptors, painters, dancers, natural athletesÂ…the list is endless.

And I’m still looking for my talent at what some of you might refer to as ‘an advanced age.’

ItÂ’s annoying and mysterious. ItÂ’s also the catalyst for plenty of fights at my house. I address this issue with my wife from time to time because it really does bug me.

“You’re just fishing for compliments.”

“No. No, I’m not. I have no natural talents. Everybody is supposed to have some natural talent.”

“You’re an incredible musician! You can play anything you want, so stop the bullshit.”

“That doesn’t count. I have to work for that. That’s not some gift from God, I busted my balls for hours every day of my childhood. I played until my fucking fingers bled, so don’t bring it up again.”

“Counts.”

“Does not.”

And the fight continues. IÂ’m not talking about practicing something and getting good at it. IÂ’m talking about natural gifts. Do they exist? Obviously. Does everyone have one? IÂ’m not so sure.

Do you have one?

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:36 PM | Comments (18) | Add Comment
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1 I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue does that count? Either way the ladies sure dig it.

Posted by: phin at February 16, 2006 03:49 PM (Xvpen)

2 I can do that too, phin. Should I put that on my internet dating ad?

Posted by: DeAnna at February 16, 2006 07:03 PM (IdVP4)

3 If you can play many instruments, no matter how hard you worked at it it still counts as a talent. There are people who work like dogs at trying to be musicians and the most they achieve is making the dog howl. I know a couple people whose "music" I've been exposed to the point of almost exploding trying not to laugh. I have a knack for learning instruments but I don't have the will to be super competent on them. I think everyone does something well, whether that means actually doing something or dodging doing something.

Posted by: Oorgo at February 16, 2006 07:10 PM (lM0qs)

4 Paul, Sometimes our ingrained abilities seem so natural to us that we don't notice them because they are an integeral part of our being. Your music is a talent and I'll explain why. It's not becuase you can play the instruments. I have learned the basics of playing a (piano) keyboard. I am horrible at it. I'm sure I could study hard every day and get better at it, but I'll never be good. I could pick up a bass (guitar) and learn to play it, but I won't be good at that, either. I have little-to-no sense of musical rythym or timing. I also lack musical creativity. I could learn a little timing with a metronome, but a good drummer or bassist or piccolo player has to have a natrual instict for it. It's like telling a joke... some people just don't have the comedic timing for it. Some people excel at it. I am not musically creative, either. I cannot do that 'thing' that makes a new, catchy, tune. I also do not have what I call 'music memory'. I have musician friends who can remember a song they heard on the radio and play it on an instrument with an amazing amount of detail. Me, I'd be lucky to pound out the most basic part of the melody. So, here's my point -- you have talents in areas that support your ability to be a musician. I like music and it would be supremely cool to be in a heavy metal band, but I'd never be anything better than a second rate hack. What do you think? Talent, or just hard work?

Posted by: Dopple-G at February 17, 2006 07:51 AM (IOwam)

5 I can remember bits of trivia. I'm not talking about just factoids, either. My memory can fix past experiences with great detail. I have memories that predate my ability to walk. I also have a photographic memory; which is great for remembering maps, diagrams, textbooks, etc. I just hold the image up in my head. Of course, it all comes at a price. Ask me what I was doing last weekend and I honestly couldn't tell ya. I have the worst memory when it comes to orienting to time and place. If someone says "Hey, call so-and-so next week and remind them to do whatever," I have to mark it down in my calendar to call them. At work, if I don't take notes at every single meeting I go to, I will forget about the entire thing. The worst though is in school. I can be sitting there, and come out of a trance 45 minutes later and have no idea what the hell just happened. Sometimes, when I leave work in the evenings, I start walking in the wrong direction because I couldn't remember where I parked my car. Or rather, I remembered it incorrectly if that makes any sense. It's the oddest damn thing in the world. I'm wondering if it's early-onset Alzheimer's or something.

Posted by: shank at February 17, 2006 08:36 AM (+H1yK)

6 I can remember anything bad anyone has said to me since I was about in grade 1, is that a talent?

Posted by: Oorgo at February 17, 2006 02:36 PM (lM0qs)

7 I'm good at languages, but then I think that we're confusing "natural talent" with "fortitude". Natural talent is something that we all have, albeit at little things. Tying the perfect knot. Writing blogs. No gag reflex. Little things like that.

Posted by: Helen at February 17, 2006 03:00 PM (pYaFz)

8 Paul, you can write about something as mundane as taking a dump and make my sides hurt from laughing so much. As much as I hate to admit it, you're a fine writer.

Posted by: Victor at February 17, 2006 04:13 PM (L3qPK)

9 I was going to post something a while ago, but I have this innate capacity to procrastinate.

Posted by: Stephen Macklin at February 17, 2006 07:38 PM (DdRjH)

10 I have magic fingers - my massage skills and digital manipulation can almost literally take a lady to a higher plane. I once looked into becoming a certified masseur but the investment to legally charge for backrubs was obscene. Plus, I'm pretty sure I saw "happy ending" on that lesson plan. I also have the ability to say "no" to really crappy beer. Even when it's the only beer available. At least sometimes.

Posted by: Jim at February 18, 2006 06:58 AM (oqu5j)

11 I forgot to mention: my SBDs have been known to clear subway cars at the next stop. If that's not a talent to be proud of, I don't know what is.

Posted by: Victor at February 18, 2006 01:43 PM (l+W8Z)

12 Quote: "I also have the ability to say "no" to really crappy beer. Even when it's the only beer available. At least sometimes." That's not a talent boy, that's a disability. Seek professional help.

Posted by: shank at February 18, 2006 05:58 PM (jfEhX)

13 I wholly agree with Dopple-G. Paul, our ingrained talents are those that come easy to us and don't seem like a talent at all. People that excel at art, sculpture, etc. make it look easy because it IS easy to them. You have a couple of talents that I can see (and I don't know you at all) writing, humor and (based on your blog) music. I agree with those that have said that your music talent is indeed an ingrained talent. Don't sweat the small stuff, hun, and enjoy what you have... YOU ARE TALENTED.

Posted by: Moodie at February 19, 2006 11:21 PM (10FwA)

14 only one that I can think of is that I'm highly organized when it comes to getting people to do things as a group (read: complete bossy britches ) - this is not always a good thing and I think you have quite the talent for writing (but then I've always thought that and you've known that for quite a while - why else would I keep following you from website to website)

Posted by: Casey at February 20, 2006 03:13 PM (0M9ku)

15 I have a talent of ending comment threads... iow I'm a conversation killer, is that a talent?

Posted by: Oorgo at February 21, 2006 11:14 AM (lM0qs)

16 Just as I was basking in the glow of admiration. Er, well, maybe not admiration, but I was starting to feel good. You bastard.

Posted by: Paul at February 21, 2006 11:44 AM (vbP6L)

17 Oh, I forgot to mention that talent too... Spoiling other peoples fun.

Posted by: Oorgo at February 21, 2006 12:18 PM (lM0qs)

18 Paul, I have always put you in the pantheon of writers, well above me. You have genuine, natural rhythm and skill. You are a virtuoso in the music of words. I enjoy listening.

Posted by: Bane at February 22, 2006 01:31 AM (JO5DH)

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Over at this fine establishment theyÂ’re voting on which blogger is the king of poop stories. Hell, I cut my teeth on poop blogging. So for old timeÂ’s sake, hereÂ’s one of the all time great poop stories.

And just for the record, when you shit yourself in a foreign country, it’s much more intense. It’s a long post—hang in there, it’s worth it.
more...

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:38 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Every year the Oscar nominations come out, and without fail, I havenÂ’t seen any of the films. I rarely leave my compound for any reason, but going to the movies is actually painful. I dislike other people and movie theaters put me in too close a contact with the masses. The fucking Herefords, grazing and plodding along with no self-awareness, eating giant buckets of popcorn coated with who knows what, talking on cell phones and cluttering up the general landscape of my life.

In addition, most people have no manners and my aggravation level skyrockets when I’m forced into close quarters with Neanderthals. When I watch a movie I concentrate. I like to become absorbed in the film. The cinematography, the music, the editing—if done well create a separate world for me that I enjoy very much. I hang on every word or dialog. I relax and forget my troubles.

And I canÂ’t do that when some jerkoff is pressing his feet into the back of my chair. Or while some halfwit is talking because heÂ’s too much of a dullard to follow a basic plot line. Without fail some people are late and then you have to watch them walking around in front of you trying to find a seat. How can I concentrate or relax with all that shit going on?

Even the new places where I can sit on a couch and drink green bottles are a hassle when people start talking near you. I just canÂ’t do it.

Am I missing something? I imagine I am. A big screen is certainly better than a small one and I realize the dramatic enhancement. Many people seem to enjoy seeing a movie in a room full of other people. I donÂ’t know, I read somewhere recently that people feel theyÂ’re sharing the movie as a group and that some sort of feeling of togetherness comes from it, or makes the event more special for them. Personally, I canÂ’t imagine being that needy.

If a movie isnÂ’t available on DVD I havenÂ’t seen it.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:16 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 351 words, total size 2 kb.

Today is MozartÂ’s 250th birthday. IÂ’m a fan. I even went to the Salzburg Festival once.

And even though a talent like that is extremely rare, I offer you another, of equal greatness. He never became as famous as Mozart, but I consider him to be his equal.

Ladies and gentleman, I give you, Le Pétomane.

For some reason, this line made me laugh out loudÂ…it just seems so out of place.

“Later he opened a biscuit factory in Toulon.”

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:46 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Rob tagged us with the Gang of Four thing.

Four jobs IÂ’ve had in my life
• Marketing Director
• Sales & Marketing Director
• Pizza Delivery Twerp
• Dishwasher

Four movies I can watch over and over
• Blue Velvet
• Reservoir Dogs
• Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure
• The Godfather 1 & 2

Four places I have lived
• The OC
• NYC
• Miami
• Philadelphia

Four TV shows I love to watch
• Seinfeld
• Ali G
• The Sopranos
• Entourage

Four places I have been on vacation
• Oberammergau, Germany
• Tokyo, Japan
• Napa Valley, California
• San Sebastian, Spain

Four of my favorite dishes
• Sicilian Pizza
• Bouillabaisse
• Fois Gras (no searing, please)
• Subs (on really good bread)

Four websites I visit daily
• Imagine life without Google?
• SBD
• I really hate to admit it…Drudge
• Pretty much everybody on the blogroll

Four places I would rather be right now
• Ireland
• Lake Tahoe
• Bordeaux
• Las Vegas

Four bloggers I am tagging

None. Bloggers get all the glory. IÂ’m tagging regular people without blogsÂ…do it in the comments. Go ahead, letÂ’s have some fun.
Tiffani, weÂ’re waiting.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:33 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 212 words, total size 2 kb.

I'm a Porsche 911!

You have a classic style, but you're up-to-date with the latest technology. You're ambitious, competitive, and you love to win. Performance, precision, and prestige - you're one of the elite,and you know it.

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

Via Bane

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:45 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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Why is it so hard to get a doctorÂ’s appointment? When youÂ’re sick, youÂ’re sick. You need to see a doctor right away, not in two fucking weeks. Christ, by then whatever youÂ’ve got is either gone or has killed you. Most of them now have about six offices they run between when theyÂ’re not out cashing checks and playing golf.

Dramatization

“Good morning, Dr. Robert’s office.”

“I need to make an appointment with Dr. Roberts.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Yes.”

“When would you like to come in?”

“As soon as possible.”

“How about the 12th?”

“Of February?”

“Yes, we have a morning and an afternoon.”

“I was hoping to see him today…can’t you squeeze me in?”

“No, sir. February is the earliest appointment we have.”

“You don’t understand. I’m in horrible pain! I have shooting pains in my side and I can’t eat anything because of the vomiting.”

“I can call you if we have a cancellation before then…”

“But my pee is black!”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but—“

“Lady, I’ve got the goddamned plague! Don’t you understand…I feel like I’ve been fucking SHOT in the side. My pee is black! I’ve been coughing up shit that looks like tripe!”

“Would you like to take the appointment on the 12th or not, sir?”

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:12 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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It seems like a very long time ago.

IÂ’ve gone my entire life without ever seeing the word Sudoku in print or heard it spoken, and in the last week itÂ’s everywhere I look. I have no idea what it is, nor do I want to know.

In other news, can too much cranberry juice turn your poop yellow? A friend wants to know.

TheyÂ’re playing every episode of The Sopranos in order on HBO, one episode per night. ItÂ’s pretty much the only thing IÂ’ve got going for me right now. Big Pussy has it coming to him any day now.

HereÂ’s an interesting fact. I have never seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies. For some reason the whole thing never really appealed to me. Now it seems daunting to try and catch up. I feel like if I donÂ’t have all the DVDs in my possession along with three days off work it will be a disjointed hassle. I probably have some serious mental health issues.

TodayÂ’s lucky number is 29.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:01 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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