The Skinny Pant is Back. Bring Back the Dove Girls!

The late, as in dead, Kate* Audrey Hepburn is starring in a new Gap commercial. She wants to dance in her skinny black pants, and Gap, Inc. is telling you that these ARE in fashion and you MUST go out and buy them if you are to remain fashionable.

Fine. The creepiness of the dancing dead Hepburn aside (shame on you, Hepburn estate), I'm already sick of the Skinny Black Pant ads on television and the print ads that are popping up all over every damn bus stop all over Chicago. I'm really missing the Dove Girl ads from last year. Any why is the word "pant" singular? Why isn't it "pants?" Is this a marketing thing, a fashion thing or a bad grammar thing in the name of marketing and fashion? Regardless, I am truly thankful that Gap, Inc. makes a great deal of their print ads available for download on their site.

Here's a typical urban scene. Can you spot the Gap advertisement?


Yes, there it is. And this is but one piece of eye-litter in the Gap's latest advertising campaign. Here it is a little closer:


And here's the ad featuring a woman who is (thank god for her!) completely on the fashion-ball:


But, like I said, I am thankful that Gap makes their photos available for download. Here's my take on their campaign:

(click for larger image)

* (When I originally published this post, I made mixed up my Hepburns. Pardon me for my dumbassery, and thank you to the anonymous commenter for informing me.)

Hello. I'm back. Or am I?

Like thousands--probably millions--of other bloggers out there, I've gone against the cardinal promise I made to myself some time ago: "I will not just let this blog die off! I WILL keep it updated!" Yeah. And I'm also not going to let my desk become littered with papers while the ashtray overflows with carcinogenic vomit.

Well, to those of you who know me: Hi, how have you been? To those who don't, namely those who wandered here from an interesting Google search phrase: Welcome. And speaking of those of you who still stumble onto this blog occasionally even though up until this moment it hasn't been updated since April of 2006, some of you find me in very interesting ways.

Since I haven't even touched this blog since last April, today I spent a little time seeing how many people still wander in. Some of the key words that bring people here are both funny and disturbing (which is not to say that disturbing can't be funny). For example, the number one search phrase that brings people to my blog is "Monster Cock." It's gratifying though that this is not because this is a homoerotic blog in any way, but because the term "monster cock" is directly related to a previous post on Jesse Jackson. It's even more satisfying that if one types in the term "monster cock" into Alta Vista's image search, a photoshopped picture from this blog of Jesse Jackson gobbling on a big, fat cock is on the first page of search results. Thank you, search engine spider gods! Try this here if you like.

Well, I have some saved up fodder I'm going to post immediately after this one, but I can't guarantee any kind of commitment. Not that this matters to most of you, unless you're my girlfriend of course, which is another life matter entirely. Take care, it's good to be back, and I hope to be back for a while before I disappear again. . .which will most likely happen.

Angry People In Pictures

I have a backlog of photos I've only recently started classifying (shit to delete, decent shit, good shit). I'm discovering more and more that what's going on in the background of the picture is often more interesting than the intended subject. In the post People in The Background, I showed the interesting faces of people reacting to acrobatic street performers. The photo below illustrates something else: Hatred of the photographer. Me.



September 11, and the Patriot Act has had a chilling effect on street photography. If I'm not getting angry looks from people in the crowd, I'm being questioned by a cop. . .

Congratulations Marchers for Immigrant Rights!

On the rally that occurred in downtown Chicago on 3.10.2006, where thousands of patriotic Americans met to oppose HR 4437 Legislation.

Yes, today you marched and protested a bill that would further restrict illegal immigration. I know you oppose this bill because you love America! Don't listen to those jingoistic dickheads who are telling you that coming to this country "illegally" is wrong. (What does the word "illegal" even mean anyway when one is dealing with an important social issue like this?) I mean, you came to this country with the same wide-eyed idealistic vision of America as a land of opportunity just like the Krauts, Pollacks, Dagos and Micks of yore. You came to this country because in your heart you love the hell out of it! You have the American dream, and just like the immigrants of Ellis Island Past, you wanted to come here to find a better job, a better way of life, to learn the English language and become part of this melting pot! Heck, we know melting pots are good, that melting pots make a people and culture stronger, just like a steel alloy!

Okay, so unlike past immigrants, like my Dago Grandparents and great Grandparents, you are bit slow on the uptake in learning English. I'm optimistic though.

True, there are many in your community who have lived here for fifty or more years who still only know how to say, "No Hablo Ingles," but that's okay. You're just not used to all this opportunity and freedom.

Okay, so what if your American-Xenophobia makes you only stay in your communities, where you can get by forever without learning a lick of English. Those of you who go wait at Home Depot for your shitty paying day laborer jobs know enough English to survive: When the contractor shows up and says "Drywall," you raise your hand.

It really is okay because you love America so much. Well, actually, you seem to love your home country even more than America, which puzzles me because that's the place you wanted to escape. Hell, some of you climbed fences and paddled on rafts no bigger than a sardine cans to get here. Which is why I don't understand all the nationalistic pride for the lands you escaped from. Is it because the only thing America is to you is a paycheck? Nah. Couldn’t be. . . However, at the Illegal Immigrant Rights march today, I saw a multitude of Mexican flags and banners (one was even sewed onto ass of this hot chick's jeans) than American flags.

I'm third generation Greaseball myself. I do have a special place for Italy in my heart, but it's way deep down. Some of you are fifth generation, but you act like Mexico is the motherland of all motherlands. I don't want to live in Italy. Their electricity and infrastructure (the real "not for tourists" Italy mind you) sucks. Mexico? A glass of water with cholera will cost you extra pesos! Oh well. I'm probably just a naive Anglo who doesn't understand sensitive cultural issues like this. I wish I could, but that language barrier is hard to cross to build anything like "islands of understanding" across this great cultural gulf. I try so hard to take my blinders off and not be a pig-headed, crass American--my unearned guilt tells me that I should learn Spanish damn it!—but it’s just funny how I worry. I truly worry that America is becoming more and more Balkanized by the day, but this is probably just my paranoia.

Gosh. These worries are stupid. You go Mexicans and randomly tribal Eastern Europeans, etc., etc. (oh shit, the Balkans!). I know that we'll all get along right fine with time!

Oh, I almost forgot: FREE TIBET!

Shannon, I Miss Fucking You Doggie Style

I couldn't help myself. On Monday, March 6, 2006 someone posted the following Missed Connections ad on Chicago's Craigslist:

Shannon-I miss fucking you doggie style. - m4w - 32

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Reply to: pers-139519743@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:00PM CST


You were always so eager for the fun.

I loved it when you told mme [sic] to pull your hair.

It's too bad it didn't work out.

Well, something about this ad really struck my funny bone. Maybe it was the brashness of the title juxtaposed with the haiku-like simplicity of the actual post. In a mirth-making-marathon, I began typing in frenzy and posted multiple spoofs of this ad, like this one:

Shannon-I miss shitting on you doggie style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139526423@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:18PM CST


You were always so eager for the turd drop.

I loved it when you told me to squat above you and arch my back.

It's too bad it didn't work out. Whenever I eat steak, I think of you.

This was the first spoof ad. I posted twelve more ads in record time. Then others began joining in with their versions. Posts that are not mine are highlighted in blue. The following day, I posted even more ads. So did others. Some people were very creative. Some people got very pissed off (in addition to the hate mail people sent me, most of the "Shannon" posts were flagged off the Missed Connections board). I especially like the "Krom" and "Dungeons and Dragons" ads posted by the others. Some of the posts are very in-jokey, dealing Craigslist and Chicago, so if you're not from around these parts, feel free to ask any questions. Or, if you're one of the alternative Shannon writers, feel free to drop me a line if you want a byline. All I know is I haven't had this much fun on Craigslist since the great Poopidence incident. Enjoy.

Shannon-I miss fucking you zui quan style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139527602@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:21PM CST

You were always so eager for the waddle.

I loved it when you told me to wushu your pussy.

It's too bad the thrusting didn't work out.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Hemingway style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139529719@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:27PM CST


You were always so eager for the sensory detail.

I loved it when you told me to "fight the bull-flaps."

It's too bad it didn't work out. Now I'm drinking more than ever.

Shannon-I miss fucking you limerick style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139530891@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:32PM CST


You were always so eager for the pun,

I loved it when you told me to have fun,

It's too bad it didn't work out,

Now my cock's in a drought,

And my masturbatory skills can't be outdone.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Subway® style. - m4w

---

Reply to: pers-139531574@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:32PM CST


You were always so eager for the mayonaise.

I loved it when you told me to double stuff your bun.

It's too bad I'm allergic to vinegar.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Chicago style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139532355@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:35PM CST


You were always so eager for the funds.

I loved it when you told me tax your ass and claim eminent domain of your body.

It's too bad we didn't greast the right palms.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Bill Gates style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139532979@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:36PM CST


You were always so eager for the bugs.

I loved it when you told me to reboot.

It's too bad we couldn't download a patch to make it work out.

Shannon-I miss fucking you fire house style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139534309@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:40PM CST


You were always so eager for the fire.

I loved it when you told me to hose you down.

It's too bad you didn't work out more 'cause my body is so much nicer than yours.

Shannon-I miss fucking you hipster style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139537992@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:50PM CST


You were always so eager for the filter.

I loved it when you told me that deconstructionism is another relative human construct that defeats itself by its very definition while gobbling my cock.

It's too bad it didn't work out. Or did it?

Shannon-I miss fucking you Ohio transplant style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139539088@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:53PM CST


You were always so eager me to Jaegerbomb your puss.

I loved it when you told me to pretend your clit was the Golden Tee trackball.

It's too bad it didn't work ou--GO BUCKEYES!

Shannon-I miss fucking you CTA style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139539697@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:55PM CST


You were always so eager to wait for signals.

I loved it when you told me to board your from the rear, which is clearly against the rules.

It's too bad you raised your fares without giving better oral.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Starbucks style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139540969@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 2:59PM CST


You were always so eager for the cream.

I loved it when you told me you wanted it extra hot and foamy.

It's too bad you cost too fucking much.

Shannon-I miss fucking you tourist style. - m4w

---

Reply to: pers-139542252@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 3:04PM CST


You were always so eager to take pictures of my thumb.

I loved it when you told me, "I'm trying to find your Sears Tower."

It's too bad we were afraid to stray from Michigan Avenue.

Shannon -I miss fucking you doggie style. - m4w - 21

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Reply to: pers-139542518@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 3:04PM CST


You were always so eager to get hair all over my stuff and shit on my floor.

I loved it when you told me by barking and barking that you had to pee.

It's too bad you dodn't have these kickass thumbs and fast wireless internet connection.

From SHANNON

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Reply to: pers-139545398@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 3:11PM CST


I miss you too!

SHANNON - i miss fucking you peach pit style... - 29

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Reply to: pers-139552140@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 3:30PM CST


You were always so eager to let me hang out in you, even after dark.

I loved it when you told me david silver was managing your back half.

Too bad you never got to be in this sadwich.

He didn't mean that Shannon, he meant me

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Reply to: pers-139560713@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 3:55PM CST


Miss you too!

SHANNON - i miss fucking toad stool style... - m4w - 28

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Reply to: pers-139563165@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 4:01PM CST


You were always so eager for me to keep you in the dark.

I loved it when you told me feed you manure.

It's too bad it didn't work out. I'm growing something that looks like a mushroom on my dick.

From Shannon

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Reply to: pers-139564128@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 4:04PM CST


Yeah, I am going to miss it too

SHannon...what about Ashley

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Reply to: pers-139566517@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 4:10PM CST


What about me, I like it Starbucks style...

Shannon wants you to shut the fuck up!

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Reply to: pers-139644927@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 8:45PM CST

You're fucking annoying!

Re: Shannon wants you to shut the fuck up!

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Reply to: pers-139649815@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 9:03PM CST


Does Shannon often refer to herself in the third person?

SHANNON - i miss fucking you Dungeons & Dragons style - w4w

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Reply to: pers-139682035@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-06, 11:28PM CST


You were always so eager for Bigby's Clenched Fist.

I loved it when you blew my Iron Strap-on Horn of Balagorn (Components: Oral, Range: Personal, Area of Effect/ Target: Colossal, Duration: Instant) and spellcast my Flesh to Stone.

Too bad it didn't work out...

Re: Re: Shannon wants you to shut the fuck up! (OP_

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Reply to: pers-139701904@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 1:43AM CST

Did I say I was Shannon?

"Does Shannon often refer to herself in the third person?"

Re: Re: Shannon wants you to shut the fuck up! (OP_

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Reply to: pers-139741683@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 9:01AM CST


Hey pal, why don't you let Shannon speak for herself. Jackass.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Craigslist flagger style. - m4w - 32 - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139752359@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 9:39AM CST

You were always so eager for the flag.

I loved it when you told me to please flag with care : [miscategorized] [prohibited] [spam] [discussion] [best of]

It's too bad we flagged more than we shagged.

SHANNON - i miss fucking you KROM style.

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Reply to: pers-139771911@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 10:39AM CST


You were always so eager for me to crush my enemies.

I loved it when they were driven before me.

It's too bad i never got to hear the lamentations of their women.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Patriot Act style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139778122@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 10:55AM CST


You were always so eager for the surveillance.

I loved it when you told me to circumvent the Constitution of your vagina.

It's too bad it didn't work out. I'm still watching you though.

Shannon-I miss fucking you "uff da" style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139779473@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 10:59AM CST


You were always so eager for the relish tray.

I loved it when you told me "you betcha!" to poking your polka puss.

It's too bad it didn't work out. Now Prairie Home Companion is my bitch.

Shannon-I miss fucking you trixie style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139780381@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 11:01AM CST

Like, you were always, like so, like, eager for like, the fun. Ya' know?

I loved it like when you like told me to pull your hair.

It's too bad it like didn't work out.

Shannon-I miss fucking you Homeless (or 'Walking') Yanni style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139781645@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 11:05AM CST


You were always so eager for the walking.

I loved it when you told me to pull your feathered and skunk-stripe streaked hair.

It's too bad it didn't work out. Wanna buy a watch?

Shannon-I miss fucking you Humboldt Park style. - m4w

---

Reply to: pers-139786307@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 11:16AM CST


You were always so eager for the gangbanger gangbang.

I loved it when you told me that crazy shit about child support.

It's too bad I don't speak better Spanish.

Shannon-I miss fucking you church sign generator style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139795182@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 11:40AM CST

Oh Shannon!

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Reply to: pers-139813607@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 12:31PM CST


the shannon postings are the freakin' best I've seen here in a long time....

thank you, to whomever is writing them and providing someone with meaning and a much needed laugh--even if they aren't intended for me personally, I still enjoy them.

try one about the domestic abuse charges Yanni now faces...

or better yet, P.L.O. style

Shannon-I miss fucking you existentialist style. - m4w

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Reply to: pers-139820434@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 12:46PM CST


You were always so eager for existence preceding essence.

I loved it when you told me to transcend my ideas, the essence, of making love to you into actually slamming you full-on with my Sartre-stick (existence).

It's too bad you became a Structuralist. It didn't work out by my choice, however, and not because of your dumbass "deterministic forces."

I love Shannon posts

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Reply to: pers-139985282@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 10:07PM CST

Cause my name's Shannon. I think half of these are about me. Especially the one about Dungeons and Dragons.

SHANNON - i miss fuckn'ya RENDITION-STYLE!

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Reply to: pers-139958049@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-03-07, 8:13PM CST


Ya were always so eager for the Astroglide©.

I loved when ya tol' me "Γεοργε, ικετεύω ότι βιδώνετε τον πρωκτό μου!" as I peremptorily pounded yer perky hershey-hole.

's too bad things didn't work out. Now the Bill of Rights is my bitch.

I don't quite get the last one. But who cares? Part of the fun of these posts was how once you picked a particular style of fucking, the ads wrote themselves.

Ayn Rand on Jesse Jackson

Though not mentioned explicitly in any of my posts, any Ayn Rand admirer can see her implicit influence in who I am through my writing. This morning I was reading a lecture of hers entitled Global Balkanization. This lecture was delivered to the Ford Hall Forum in April, 1977 available in the anthology "The Voice of Reason, Essays in Objectivist Thought" by Ayn Rand. The lecture begins with a question:

"Have you ever wondered about the process of the collapse of a civilization? Not the cause of the collapse--the ultimate cause is always philosophical--but the process, the specific means by which the accumulated knowledge and achievements of centuries vanish from the earth?"

Rand then answers the question and eloquently and concretely supports her answer. The short answer to her "have you ever wondered" question is "modern tribalism."

"If reason is not valid, what is to guide [people] and how are they to live? Obviously, they will seek to join some group--any group--which claims the ability to lead them and to provide some sort of knowledge acquired by some sort of unspecified means. The group people join is an unchosen group, the group into which you were born, the group to which you were predestined to belong by the sovereign omnipotent, omniscient power of your body chemistry."

And god bless Rand, because in the next sentence she clearly defines exactly what modern tribalism is:

"This, of course, is racism. But if your group is small enough, it will not be called "racism": it will be called "ethnicity.""

Paging Mr. Jackson, Mr. Jesse Jackson!

Now I could go on quoting almost the entire lecture, as it has numerous insights focusing issues usually left murky and defining things in thought that others would prefer to be left to "feeling." But let me try to focus my point by applying her ideas on modern tribalism and ethnicity with today's most visible, modern and repulsive example of a subhuman being. Yes ladies and gents, he's an old friend of mine, a subject I've tried to understand and define, it's Reverend Jesse Jackson.

I've dealt with Jesse in previous posts, specifically: "Jesse Jackson: What's He Qualified to Do?", "Jobs for Jesse", and the mock news story "Jesse Jackson Protests Lack of Diversity in One-Man, Home-Based Business." I dealt with Jesse in my usual and most favorite of ways, by lampooning him and using humor to make my points as razor sharp as possible, while smiling the entire time. But while reading Ayn Rand's Global Balkanization, a paragraph jumped out at me as the most accurate description of Jesse Jackson and all the other profiteers of the ethnicity business:

"The government of a mixed economy manufacturers pressure groups--and, specifically, manufactures "ethnicity." The profiteers are those group leaders who discover suddenly that they can exploit the helplessness, the fear, the frustration of their "ethnic" brothers, organize them into a group, present demands to the government--and deliver the vote. The result is political jobs, subsidies, influence and prestige for the leaders of the ethnic groups."

I have never read an author who can focus and define issues so well. Reason is her tool. I've never heard a more accurate description of Jesse Jackson--as a person, an institution and logical result of what happens when illogic is the means to illogical ends.

Guest Column: Hire A Freelance Freelancer!

Freelance Freelance Services

I am a freelancer. I’m the best damn freelancer you’ll ever hire. I offer freelance freelance services. I offer much more and than providing you with a specific service; I offer you the glory of hiring a cool, corporate hipster.

For example, yesterday afternoon I was protesting against George Bush and his imperialist regime. Later that day I became entrenched in a heated debate about technology where I argued that people’s souls were being replaced by a post-industrial revolution techno-god and that a full return to nature was mankind’s—excuse me—human kind’s only hope for salvation. Well, this was yesterday, but guess what I did today? Today I rode the El Train downtown to my office, but stopped by CompUSA on the way to pick up a new compact flash card for my digital camera. Once I got to my office, I started working on a new logo for a modest company that’s trying to sell semiconductors to midsize markets. Isn’t that fucking cool? Because contradictions are just so fuck-ing cool and not to be questioned or reconciled, it is imperative that you hire me.

Come on. Stop by my office and hire me. This week my office will vary between multiple Starbucks locations during the day and Filter Coffeehouse in Wicker Park in the evening (I just might get wacky and go to Caribou Coffee once or twice as well). In my "office," I’ll be the guy taking up a decent amount of physical space at a table and an even greater amount of emotional and mental space around me to make my presence known while pretending that I don’t care if my presence is known or not. I will arrive at the coffeehouse way before most people arrive and remain long after they’ve left. I will look so fucking cool staring into my laptop’s screen, the LCD glow reflecting brilliantly off my expensive but cheap looking glasses, which may or may not contain actual prescription lenses. While staring, if I'm not in "zombie mode," I’ll be alternating my facial expressions between a look of deep concentration to deep introspective reflection to a raised eyebrow and hint of a smile to indicate that I’ve just uncovered and understood some ironic mystery and/or insight (probably about how all the sleeping “sheep” a.k.a. “American public” are narcotized into their zombie-like state by the corporate elite and corporate teat-sucking obsequious bastards that compromise the “government.”

If all of this doesn’t help you find me, look closer: I’m the one who is fully entrenched in his space. The crusty paper coffee cup with dry, brown stains running down the side indicates I’ve been here for awhile nursing this cup of coffee for at least two hours; I’m the one with the notebooks and/or books stacked in front of my laptop, to the side and on the floor around me; I’m the one you’ll know by the way I can stare straight ahead at my laptop’s screen and not move a muscle or twitch for so long that you’ll have the impulse to install a heat lamp above me like I was your pet lizard. All of this will be happening while I’m most likely listening to my iPod. When I snap out of my lizard-like seeming (seeming I tell you!) catatonia, I will then most likely make a phone call on my cell, using the headset of course. Above all, you will notice the super-cool contrast between my manner of dress juxtaposed with all this high-technology that surrounds and is plugged into me. I will look (and perhaps even smell a bit) like a “man of the people,” one ready to engage in some chanting protest (NO BLOOD FOR OIL! DOWN WITH THE BUSH REGIME!) to overthrow this capitalistic system that oppresses the hell out of me.

If after all this you still can’t find me, my favorite drink at Starbucks is a grande, half soy, half skim, extra hot, white chocolate mocha. Mingle. Ask people what they’re drinking. You’ll find me sipping this most yummy of drinks!

National Shut The Fuck Up Day

Everyone has a cause. I now have mine: National Shut The Fuck Up Day, or NSTFU Day (If you're going to market a cause well, it should be able to be advertised in pithy acronym form).

As the originator and greatest supporter of National Shut the Fuck Up day (NSTFU), I have a lot to say on the subject of people who talk too much. Many people like to hear themselves talk. This, unfortunately, does not mean that people who like to talk have anything interesting to say. In preparation for lobbying Washington NSTFU Day, to educate others and hopefully gather support for my cause, let us address some common situations that more economical speakers must endure everyday. Some situations are individual, such as listening to a politician spew passionless bromides, and others are social-situational, such as listening to two women talk in a coffeehouse, which is today’s topic, namely: Girlfriend Chatter.

I’d rather listen to a hyena mating with a squirrel or even a year’s worth of Jay Leno’s opening monologues than be subjected to “girlfriend chatter.” Personally, I usually encounter girlfriend chatter on outdoor patios or in coffee shops. Once I am comfortably settled and usually very much into a good book, this is when two or more women sit down right next to me. Two chattering “girlfriends” sitting next to a person can get pretty annoying; more than two chattering girlfriends is cruel torture, as their conversations quickly become a tribute to the Sex in the City script writers. If you've ever sat next to women who unconsciously role play Carrie, Smantha, Charolette and Amanda, you know what I'm talking about. The problem of Girlfriend Chatter does not begin when the women sit down; it begins when they open their mouths to speak, which is always the moment before their buttocks hit their chairs.

Girlfriend Chatter Example 1:

“No! Oh my god, tell me!”
“Welllll, she went on a date with that Brad guy, and Becca was, like, so infatuated that she went home with him.”
“Wasn’t this like their first date?”
“Yeah, but like, they’ve worked out together at the gym a lot.”
“Isn’t that where they met?”
“Like, yeah!”
"What a slut!"
(Giggles all around. . .)

What they are saying is bad. What is worse is how they say it. How do I describe the cadence and rhythm of their speech? I live in Chicago, so the majority of the dialects I hear during girlfriend chatter have a Midwestern base. This base is then somehow bastardized and injected with a “Valley Girl” nasality and inflection with a dash of “Snooty Bitch” ala Mrs. Howell from Gilligan’s Island. The words fly out of their mouths in a clipped, machine gun-like fashion. I actually become short of breath when I listen to them speak because it seems as if they never pause to take a breath. I want to breathe for them.

In this situation I soon find myself not even hearing or being annoyed by the content of their conversation. It’s not the words but the rhythm of their speech. It’s like a high-speed version of Chinese water torture. It's water-torture with a high-powered car-battery operated supersoaker machine gun. It’s annoying as someone repeatedly poking you in the chest. Though the content of their conversation fades to the background, there is still one intelligible word that always rises above the blather. No matter how tuned out I become to what they are saying, however, this word rises above the rhythm and rapes my eardrums every time it is spoken. It is spoken a lot. It is the word “like.” The effect is best illustrated with the following example.

Girlfriend Chatter Example 2:

WOMAN 1

Blah, blah, blah, blah LIKE he’s so, Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah-blah-blah. And she’s LIKE Blah-Blah!”

WOMAN 2

LIKE, why does blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, Ba-Blah, Blah, Blah-Blah?

WOMAN 1

It’s LIKE so blahblahblah, blah-ba-ba, blah, LIKE, you know?

***

During NSTFU Day, we hope to reduce the number of blathering, soulless conversations between girlfriends. The best advice I can give on how to not have one of these conversations is to tell all the “girlfriends” what topics to avoid:

1) Dating

2) Shoes

3) Purses

More specific than these conversation topics or even the word "like," there are certain phrases and words that should be avoided altogether:

1) “It’s like so. . .” (or any variation of this phrase, i.e., "I am like so not that into. . .")

2) “I just saw/bought the cutest __________.”

3) “Like, oh my god!”

4) “Does this color, like, look good on me?”

5) “___________ is cute and nice, but I don’t think he’s ready to commit.”

6) The "Like/you know" combination.

Even worse than annoying conversation topics and key phrases, the organizer of NSTFU Day also hopes to reduce annoying speech patterns. We offer a few tools to help certain women reduce the Midwestern pseudo Valley-Girl-Snobby-Bitch machine-gun pattern of speech:

1) Watch the movie My Fair Lady. Practice all of Eliza Dolittle’s lessons for an hour and speak like this in public if you must speak (I’ll endure a bad English accent over what these women ejaculate out of your mouth any day).

2) Hook electrodes up to your nipples. Have a friend converse with you. Have same friend shock you every time you utter the word “like.” It’s best to start with a very low voltage, as this speech habit is so ingrained that a higher voltage would result in permanent loss of nipple sensitivity or perhaps even crispy nippies.

3) Rent and watch the movie Valley Girl. Yes, that is how dumb you sound.

Until National Shut the Fuck Up Day becomes offical, I am optimistic that everyone out there will help do their part to curb unnecessary speech until the day that there will not only be a blessed silence around the country, but also the words that are spoken are well-chosen and meaningful.

POSTSCRIPT

I want to state for the record that I know that there are countless women out there who do not behave or speak as the women in my examples do. To the women whose personal gods are not Carrie and Amanda, I applaud you and ask you to join in the cause to make NSTFU Day a reality.

People in The Background

I've been sorting through a backlog of pictures this morning. A pattern I'm starting to see is that the people in the background of the picture are often a hundred times more interesting than whatever the main picture subject was supposed to be. These are background people watching a street performer in the middle of a running, flying leap over six crouched-down people. These are crops from a much larger photo, so pardon the grain:









There is so much that could be said about this phenomenon, from learning how to change one's focus, to opening our eyes a little bit wider. This is more Mona's territory though. Not that I don't have my own thoughts on this. They just don't fit the general tone of this publication. More poop humor to come. . .

My Real Work Cubicle

With some minor modifications (to more accurately reflect how it actually feels to sit here):


Any other bloggers out there have any get-rich-quick schemes that will actually work?

If You Liked "Brokeback Mountain,"

And you're into politics, then you'll LOVE:


I hear Barack Obama is stunning in his majesty. . .

Otto Pilot Possibly Responsible For Midway Airport Accident

On Thurday, December 8, 2005 a Southwest Airlines Boeing 737 skidded off the end of snowy runway. I know I'm going to catch all kinds of hell for this, but a reliable source has coughed up the following incredible photograph showing a possible reason as to why the plane overshot its mark and crashed through a perimeter fence onto the street which left one child dead:

At this time details are sketchy as to how Otto came to be aboard the flight, let alone allowed into the cockpit. Otto Pilot, famous for his wacky role in the movie Airplane!, is clearly visible in the above photograph.

All other media outlets are now focusing on a possible malfunction in the plane's reverse thrusters and are using this accident as an impetus to spark national discussion on airports with shorter runways. Do you smell a coverup?

Regardless, Chicago's own Mayor Richard M. Daley, (or Richielu M. Daley based on how he runs his administration), a guy with a penchant for ripping up airports he doesn't like, is of course now going to use this accident as an excuse to push his O'Hare Airport expansion plans. Like any good politician (which means "bad human being") he is going to try to please everyone he can. With this in mind, instead of addressing the problem of shorter runways at Midway Airport, I think he should just change the airport name. With a simple name change involving the removal of one letter and addition of two others, the airport could be more accurately described and also contain an implied "caveat emptor" warning to those who decide to fly in or out of it:

The Sphincter of Time Puckers Around My Neck

Fuck you, time. I wish you would show yourself to me so I could punch you right in the face. Nope, that's never going to happen. I'll never see your face, yet I'm still going to fight you every day.

I didn't always hate you, you know. In the past you were okay to me. Back when I attended grade school, summer vacations lasted forever, and then not so long ago, before my domestic situation changed, I had a lot more of you. Now I'm literally stealing a moment of you to directly address you:

What the fuck?

I know you're an abstract construct, yet regardless of what name and definition we thoughtful apes gave you, I know you exist independently of our definitions. What's that cliched quote? Time exists to keep everything from happening all at once? I know you're just doing your job. If you didn't then nothing, not one ounce of matter, would have any place to do anything . However, because I now have so little of you in my life let me now add a footnote to your definition: You're an asshole. Yes, you're an asshole because it just isn't right that there isn't enough of you in my life.

I have never been so possessive of anything, not money, my own safety, or even a woman as I am of you. You're killing me. I want you, and I protect the times I get you all to myself like a mother bear does her cubs. I savor you more than a smoker's last cigarette before quitting. In fairness, I will concede that it's not completely your fault. Technically, you're still doling out the same amount of temporal opportunities today as you did two, five and ten years ago. The big problem is that just like my paycheck is already spent before I even receive it, every second you give me is already nearly completely used up by "have to's." The face I don't show to the world is staring in wide-eyed shock with mouth agape at this. I'm stymied. How did this happen? Still, this doesn't get you off the hook completely, oh no!

Listen dickhead, why not throw some cosmic luck my way and help me figure out how to take time back, to devote more of you to doing things I want to do. You've got contacts. You're a big honcho in the cosmos. Can you help a brother out?

Even the snippets of you where I am free to use you are not pleasurable at all. If I get a free hour of you, there's always something else hanging over my head, a schedule to keep, a place to be, a thing to do, a drama to deal with. If these free snippets of you were farm-fresh deli meat, then the bread surrounding you is made from manure, making the entire affair unpalatable and difficult to digest. Because the unrestricted version of you only comes to me in snippets, I'm thinking of just not trying to do anything with these snippets anymore. Can a seamstress make a beautiful, unified dress out of snippets and scraps of cloth? No. Dresses made from snippets look like the things that I am able to produce with the "free time" in my life, disheveled and ugly things that are never completed nor unified. I can't relax and enjoy the small amounts of you that I dedicate to me. Could Tolstoy have written War and Peace on a gum wrapper? Hell no! Can I accomplish anything with the same sized temporal equivalent? Hell. No.

Take right now for example. I'm sitting in a coffeeshop furiously scribbling down this little note to you. I have just enough time between getting off of work and having (having I tell you!) to do something else to sit down with a cup of coffee and relax. This is not relaxation. I used to treasure these moments, probably because used to be longer than a "moment." Maybe people like me just function better with a schedule that allows meandering to a goal rather than needing laser-beam precision. Maybe I am a Meandrethal. I used to think I was focused. This still sucks. Instead of enjoying this moment I'm inking words to you on this page in the same manner and with the same precision that a caffeinated monkey flings shit (see Neal Pollak's art for a human example of this phenomenon).

And guess what? Two assholes just sat down next to me. They are dousing the last spark of fire in me to even continue with this ranting plea. These assholes are the ones who go out with the goal of being seen and heard. They talk from the diaphragm and perform a conversation, rather than "talk," like they are auditioning for the next big, short-lived reality television show. Not only did I just pull out my headphones and plug myself into them to block these guys out, but I also shoved the buds into my ear canals to a depth that may require medical assistance for removal. The volume is loud enough to justify the hearing loss warnings that came on the headphone package, but I still hear these fuckers!

This is where I give up, time. I've lost my grip on the topic of chewing you out. All I really know now is something has to change, and the change will most likely have to come from me because you are, still, an asshole. I'm tired of fighting with you. I know someday you will ultimately kick my ass, but in the meantime I'd prefer that we danced with each other instead, with me leading.

Awareness Awareness Month Begins!

After Mayor Daley launched Awareness Awareness Month in Daley Plaza on Tuesday, November 1, an idealistic horde of marchers swarmed downtown Chicago yesterday to raise awareness about Awareness Awareness Month.

Manic progressives of all affiliations, colors, biases and interesting forms of employment began the awareness march with glorious sign making activities at Columbia College and then marched through the city streets to the final awareness rally in Federal Plaza.

In a rare and encouraging show of solidarity, a mass of Chicago Police officers marched alongside Awareness Awareness marchers as brothers and sisters in the cause, providing camaraderie and protection from many jealous people who have jobs who would also have liked to get outside and walk around for a bit on such a pleasant fall day.

The marchers showed their in-depth awarness by waving flashlights and chanting "I AM AWARE, I AM AWARE!", which also had the effect of making bystanders along the parade route immediately aware of awareness.

Along with raising awareness about awareness, the march and subsequent rally in Federal Plaza had the antecedent benefits of giving socially active yet frustrated individuals and groups a forum and stage to rant about all of the injustice in the world, as is always the heightened case with these groups whenever a Republican is in the White House.

Once in Federal Plaza, the emcee of the event performed an unintentionally gut-wrenching song from his new album, not for self promotion, but in the the interests of all things grass-roots-like. With each idealistic note sung from his raspy throat and with each tossle of his undreadful dreadlocks, the Awareness level escalated until it reached a fever pitch (which means a lot more chanting).

Just when it seemed the event could not be any more successful, a rousing speech calling for oppenents of awareness to be shouted down caused the excitement and happiness levels of the crowd to soar to new levels. (Even louder, more spirited chanting.)With "Awareness" being the main topic and purpose, all the specific pet frustrations and causes of the marchers began to froth and bubble forth for the usual causes trumpeted by this community:

• The World Can't Wait organization called for the Bush regime to step down.


• The Socialist Party campaigned for a charismatic candidate of the people.


• A petition was circulated for the support of gay and lesbian marriage.


• Members of the Earth on Empty organization dressed as the planet earth staged a mock rape of a sport utility vehicle while proclaiming, "There, how do you like it!"


• A crowd of three people screamed "Save the Rainforest."


• An angry black man called any nearby police officer "boy."


• "Meat is muder" was displayed prominently on at least two t-shirts.

Only one marcher seemed a bit behind the social-times, because on the back of his awareness sign was the slogan "Save the Double Door!" In only its second day, Awareness Awareness month is achieving record levels of awareness in Chicago! If you're not aware yet, you will be by the end of the month, as the light levels in the city will reach "Hiroshima blast" levels (see press release below). Be on the lookout for Awareness, because it is going to find you.

*Reality Note: This march actually happened. It was staged by World Can't Wait at the most perfect time for my comedic purposes. Sorry for the gap between posts, especially to you Mona :) An entry about "time" and my life is forthcoming. . .

Hate Mail From A Sick Man

I received an amazing piece of hate mail yesterday. The man who e-mailed me, Mr. "Sluggo" (part of his e-mail address), didn't like my recent post entitled, "Ku-Klux Coffee." Mr. Sluggo's e-mail said:

You white, racist motherfucker. You don't know what it's like to be a blakc person in society. How do you know that the lady WASN'T discriminated against because she was black? This is something that black men and women have to deal with and wonder about every day. You are a racist a coward and you don't know nothing about a black woman being a strong woman. You're the bitch, bitch!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well Mr. Sluggo, I can see that my post made you very angry. You were so angry in fact that I know that presenting a point-by-point and rational response to your e-mail won't do either of us any good. Instead, my rebuttal will simply be the key words that brought you to my blog in the first place. While these key words do appear scattered through my entries, exactly what you were trying to find reveals much more about you than any response from me ever could. You happened upon my blog through a search for:

"freak black girl shitng [sic] corn"

Checkmate, bitch.

Awareness Awareness Month*

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
For more information: AAF, Chicago Chapter
rantnroll@gmail.com

"DOWNTOWN CHICAGO TO BE FLOODED WITH BLINDING LIGHT TO CELEBRATE "AWARENESS AWARENESS MONTH"

CHICAGO, IL --October 5, 2005 -- Beginning this November, downtown Chicago will be lit up by mind-bogglingly bright lights to celebrate and symbolically participate in National Awareness Awareness Month.

In a coordinated effort between the Awareness Awareness Foundation (AAF), the US Army Corps of Engineers and a coalition of nine-hundred twenty six other "awareness groups," floodlights will be affixed onto specially built towers that literally tower above Chicago's skyline. Additionally, floodlight-outfitted helicopters will also be used at the apex of the awareness raising campaign at the end of the month.

Mr. Rant-N-Roll, president of the Chicago chapter of the AAF said, "Raising awareness about awareness is the bestest thing we can do to help other groups raise awareness about their specific causes." After extensive research, many awareness groups discovered that getting the word out about their pet causes was difficult in an age of short attention spans and ever increasing competition from commercial and public sources for "inclusion in individual thought schemas."

Rant-N-Roll explained that "Though 'awareness' sometimes comes to an individual in a blinding flash, it is more often discovered in gradual stages. It is a process of becoming, often evoloutionary and is often like a slowly budding flower or a once preppie, Polo-shirt-loving kid wearing ironic clothing, smoking Parliaments and hanging out a Filter coffeehouse in Wicker Park."

As the Awareness Awareness campaign reaches its peak toward the end of November, AAF organizers expect Chicago's brightness to outshine the 1945 Hiroshima blast (which, incidentally, coincides with the awareness raising concerns of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, an AAF participant).

Beginning on November 1, Mayor Richard M. Daley will kick off the awareness awareness campaign in a ceremony in Daley Plaza by turning the master un-dimmer switch to "level 1." Over the course of the month, the illumination factor of the city will be increased day-by-day, until it reaches "level 30" on the 30th day of the month:




"I dare you to not be aware by day thirty!" Said Mayor Daley. Daley also added that an alternative awareness awareness program involving heat lamps is also in the works so that blind people can more actively participate in being aware of awareness. For more information on awareness or the Awareness Awareness Foundation, please e-mail rantnroll@gmail.com.

*This press release was originally posted by me last week on Chicago's Rants and Raves board. Someone asked why buildings downtown were lit up with purple and pink lights. Someone responded "breast cancer awareness month idiots." This person felt so good about him or herself with his or her level of awareness, I thought everyone should be able to share in being aware.

Mr. "Wishful Thinking," 2005

A companion piece to the previous post, ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you the winner of the Wishful Thinking award for 2005:


To quote a friend, and I hope she doesn't mind:

Where was this guy? We need to find him, buy him a beer. Ask him about the damage to his car after he ran over the skunk. That this freakin guy exists makes my day.

Ah, his existence makes my day as well. . .

Mr. "He Wishes," 2005

Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you the winner of the "He Wishes" award for 2005:

I like to wander with my camera. When I'm in a rut or having a rut kind of day, just when I'm about to pack it in, pack away my camera and call it a day, this type of photo opportunity seems to arise. Thank you for making my day, Mr. He Wishes, 2005. I'm not your only fan, by the way. The woman below seems to admire your fountain of virility as well.


-RnR

Arriving When the Party Is Over

Post will be restored at a later date. Details as to why will follow. . .

Golf Umbrellas In The City

There's a reason why them call them "golf umbrellas." They are intended for use on a golf course. I know this sounds like oversimplification, but many of you out there just don't get it. This type of umbrella's purpose is described explicitly in its title, "golf umbrella." Perhaps you, the person who uses golf umbrellas in the city, do get the concept, but you just don't care that you are a walking hazard and annoyance.

While the purpose of all umbrellas is to shield a person from rain, behemoth golf umbrellas serve no purpose at all on a crowded city street except to block all pedestrian traffic, piss people off and show what a pussy you are that you need to hide under a tent out of fear of getting a drop of water on your Dockers and/or cheap-ass (yet oh-so-stylish) shirt you bought at H&M.

POP QUIZ: Look at the two pictures below. Name at least one similarity and two differences between the two.


Picture 1 Picture 2

ANSWERS:

Similarity

• Both Picture 1 and Picture 2 are places located on the planet earth.

Differences

• Picture 1 is a wide open and spacious golf course, whereas Picture 2 is a city street.
• Picture 1 shows a rational person using the proper tool in an appropriate place, whereas Picture 2 shows a cluster of fucks who do not know how to exist in a helpful manner in an urban setting, nor do they seem to care.

According to the 2000 US Census, the population density of the City of Chicago is 12,747 people per square mile. In large cities like Chicago, and I'm only stating the obvious for those who can't seem to grasp obvious things, a whole bunch more people live and work in a much smaller space than in most other cities and towns. The city of Kankakee for example is a town only about sixty miles South of Chicago, and its population density is 153.4 people per square mile. Big difference. Combine these sheer population density facts with an ever increasing lack of civility and common courtesy in society, then a living and working in a situation that is often tense under the best conditions becomes exponentially worse. Blocking pedestrian traffic and poking people in the eye with golf umbrellas is but one small example of the thoughtlessness exacerbating the day to day urban existence. The frustration is urban blight for the mind.

I do however give the benefit of the doubt to the city folk in that I'm willing to bet that the majority of people who use golf umbrellas in the city are clueless commuters from the suburbs. A winding, tree-lined suburban street or wide-open strip mall is a hell of a lot better place to use a golf umbrella than Michigan Avenue during rush hour. Many suburban subdivisions already look like golf courses or are actually located adjacent to one.

CASE STUDY: HOW BIG ARE GOLF UMBRELLAS REALLY?

In the photo below, note the gentleman heading into the Tribune Tower:

Look at the width of the stairs relative to the size of the the umbrella. Look at the picture again, but this time imagine it without the umbrella. There's a hell of a lot more space to maneuver on the stairs, isn't there! (Also, when I snapped this picture, it was barely even drizzling out, which makes this man a super puss.)

If the previous example doesn't show just how ginormous that golf umbrellas are in the concrete jungle, then look at the next picture:

This is a patio umbrella. Patio umbrellas are large, and are excellent for keeping one dry when one is on a patio. Now let's superimpose Mr. Tribune Tower in front of this huge patio umbrella:

Okay, I admit that I cheated a bit with the size and perspective of the original picture, but Mr. Tribune's golf umbrella really isn't that much smaller than the patio umbrella which is intended to keep four (FOUR!) people dry.

What's worse, is these huge umbrellas aren't an occasional annoyance anymore; for some reason, their numbers are increasing. They have become a trend. They are the SUVs of the sidewalk:


A completely blocked sidewalk.


While I respect that this guy has his hand on his wife's ass, people couldn't walk up or down the stairs.


Dumbass


The ܜber- Pussy

Okay, maybe I'm obsessed. I mean, running around the city streets while it's raining (with a normal sized umbrella, thank you) so that I could take pictures of golf umbrella people isn't exactly healthy. Am I the only one who has noticed this trend? Am I the only one who gets annoyed and pissed-off whenever I have to duck out of the way or plod behind these people?