Nowhere To Go To But Down, Down, Down, Nothing But The Ground Left For You To Fall To

Dear Supervisor Daly:

Fuck off and die.

Better yet, resign first, then fuck off and die.

Thank you.

==========

Dave's weight loss plan has hit a major snag as his knees, burdened by a college-age injury and thirty-five years of supporting his ass in all of its failed endeavors, can't take running anymore.

It's been a week since my last run, and my knees ache. Walking to work is painful. Going down the stairs is painful. Life's painful, and I live it, but I can do without chronic knee pain.

Gotta find a back-up plan.

I Wanna Holla, But The Town's Too Small

There is no way this bill -- which I fished out of my wallet last nite -- was written on by a single, available, semi-attractive, cool chick in the neighborhood. No, it was written by some gay dude who gets laid every night. Just check the handwriting! I just know this shit.

I hate people.

I See Losers Losing Everywhere, If I Lose I'll Only Lose A Care

I was just in the bathroom, brushing my teeth and putting some product in my hair. I'm wearing a black t-shirt, still fat and old, and still rocking a beard, so as I was slicking up my hair this unwanted thought passed into my mind:

Do I look like Paul Mitchell?

I thought about posting that as a Facebook status update, but I got anxious, because I was afraid I was just being my typical annoying, narcissistic self. And that pause was good, because then I got scared that people would read it and start calling me "Paul Mitchell."

And then I would have to kill myself.

So I didn't, and I'm alive to finish this up and go get a sandwich.

(Random Trivia Fact! Paul Mitchell is a co-founder and owner of Patron Tequila! Another good reason to not drink tequila, kids!)

(Also: his real name is not Paul Mitchell. What a complete douche.)

Reminiscing, Got Me Feeling Kinda Low, I Broke Out The Everclear and Then I Drunk Some 'Mo

1:56 in the morning of July 4. This is the 4th time I've been drunk in the last 24 hours. There is some fool out on O'Farrell playing a recorder, which is the most incorrectly-named musical instrument of all time. It doesn't record fuckall, it just makes irritating noises that you want to get away from. If I was prone to beating up people on the street, that guy would be all hurty by now.

Last nite I was talking to some guy named "Dean," which I thought was amusing because I was drunk and when was the last time you talked to a guy named "Dean," especially when you're drunk? Anyhow, during our discussion about the neighborhood, I realized that the random street noise in the 'Loin really does aggravate me. It's not people coming home drunk from a bar at 1:00 in the morning that annoy me. It's the people who make loud, unnecessary noise at all hours of the day. Like some guy playing a recorder, f'r instance.

Goddamned depressed. July 3 of last year was my last day of work. July 4 was an awesome BBQ with a ton of friends, followed by karaoke at Encore. July 5, we were on the road to our new life in San Diego. I still miss her so much.

I've also never had a massage.



Also: last nite I suggested that a friend name her new kittehs Mr. and Mrs. Snugglepants.

I was laughed at. Just like Sarah Palin is laughed at every day, by everyone, because she is a clown. God, I always thought she was just a narcissistic egomaniacal weirdo, but her resignation speech is kind of a strange mess, n'est ce pas?

Anyway, Happy Birthday, America. Keep on dancing:

Of What I Think I Thought I Heard You Loved Me

I've been sporting a beard the last few weeks. I didn't make a decision to grow one, it's just that my laziness and dislike for shaving grew and grew and one day I had a beard and people I ran into lied and said they liked it. Which is nice -- I need some fucking compliments, people. Us needy, terrible insecure people thrive on them.

Of course, fat, slovenly and bearded make me look like Zach Galifianakis. And that's OK, because right now I wistfully imagine that people are better able to tolerate ugly people, at least this summer, anyway.

I'm gonna pick up a beard trimmer tonight from Walgreen's. That'll give me something to do besides drink.

==========

The Mark Sanford adultery confession thing was amazing. I was listening to the Slate Political Gabfest on Friday, and realized I had a very similar reaction to John Dickerson and David Plotz (I can't remember what Emily Bazelon said. But that's not being sexist, because she's pretty, and it always helps to pay attention to what pretty people!). Both Dickerson and Plotz seemed to go into it with some level of enjoyment and enthusiasm -- here's another idiot elected official admitting to sexytime with someone not-his-wife, and he's a southern Christian GOP-type to boot! Awesome!

But as they watched it (as I did), I became increasingly uncomfortable with it. I was embarrassed for myself for taking any sort of joy out of it. Sanford was a fucking trainwreck. He was really emotionally unstable out there, and was confessing to being an unfaithful husband to the entire planet. He hadn't moved beyond it, because he was still caught up in the moment, which is never the best time to go on TV and apologize for anything. We were watching a human catastrophe, and I'm not that into schadenfreude. (Also: it's not like Mark Sanford ever really did anything to me. I live far, far away from his shitty hillbilly state.)

Cheating on your spouse or partner or whatever is bad. I think it's really bad -- among the worst things a person can do in this country without breaking the law. And a lot of it is old person morality -- don't fucking cheat on your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend! You only end up hurting the people you love, or at least the ones who love you. Especially if you have kids. Why would you do that? For some secretive, guilt-ridden sexytime? No thanks. I am a horny-ass bastard, but folks who are taken are completely off my radar. (Yes, even the really hot ones.)

And then I also get made because... look, I'm a single, straight guy. (All of the following apply to others regardless of gender or sexual orientation. Unless you're into bestiality, in which case you need to be shot in the head.) There are plenty of single, straight guys out there who need fucking. Probably a lot of single ladies, too. And so if a guy goes around cheating, he has not only taken one lady off the market (his wife/partner-person), but he's also removed another lady from the pool of available ladies for single, straight guys like me. You're double-dipping, and double-dipping is not allowed with either salsa or fucking ladies.

The fact that congressman, senators, governors and presidents have all been caught in the last decade or so fucking people who are not their wife also points to the stupidity and egomania these assholes possess. It's one thing when Joe Schmoe has an affair -- that's stupid and bad enough. But elected officials like these guys are famous, Important People, which means they have things like an army of staffers, PR people, security details, and reporter-types around them all the time, focused on you, the Important Person. How do you expect to fuck around and not have these people notice? Because then you're entrapping your staff-type people in your affair, because if they notice something is going on and don't say anything, then their complicit in the adultery. (Not saying they should say anything, necessarily, but whatevs.) And if the Important Person lies to them, then great, now they are not only being lied to by their boss (and quite possibly someone they admire -- their are a lot of idealistic idiots out there), but then disseminate that lie to other people.

Reporters don't have that kind of loyalty to an Important Person, of course, so if they catch wind of it then you're fucked. And they probably will catch wind of it, because they're paid to, and EVERYONE loves a good adultery story, even if they're too embarrassed by it to read the horny e-mails you wrote to your mistress in Argentina -- like me.

Of course, I'm also the forgiving, normally not-judgmental sort.

So Fuck All Your Protests And Put Them To Bed

One of the things that annoys me about SFist is how not-on-top of local events they sometimes are. For instance,

This morning was another example. Did you know (San Francisco people) there's a vigil being held today from 6:00-8:00 for Laura Ling and Euna Lee, the two Current TV reporters being held in North Korea for, uh, illegally breathing? There is! (A webcast of it, also, at the link above.) It's being sponsored by the Academy of Art (at the Morgan Auditorium at 491 Post St.), normally best known for buying every single piece of real estate they can find and stuffing them with Parliament-smoking 19-year olds, but which also graduated Euna Lee.

I heard about this from... an Associated Press link on my Yahoo! homepage (Yes, I still use my.yahoo as my homepage. I am old and stupid and fat and deserving of your ridicule). The Associated Press told me what's going on in my city -- my neighborhood, even, almost-like. But SFist? Nothing. I'd guess that there likely will be some news about it on SFist later today, maybe around 3:30 pm or so, which is kind of late in the day to be finding out about this kind of shit. Anyhow, 3:30 is my bet, based on past SFist experiences.

Now, in SFist's case, I think it's just that they are kind of perpetually out of the loop about things. They're not that good at finding out important or entertaining or interesting news or events, or at least, they're wildly hit-or-miss on them. Plus, they're presumably a shoestring operation, and there's only so much they can do.

On the other hand, there's the Bay Area's least favorite collection of idiots, Indybay (they get no link). Now, normally a vigil for two imprisoned women of color is something that Indybay would be all over -- assuming said women were imprisoned here, in America, or at least, Israel. BUT! Lee and Ling had the unfortunate luck of being imprisoned in North Korea -- a friend of Indybay ("US general menaces North Korea with the "military option")!

A search for "Euna Lee" on their fuckdiculous site yields nada.

But, uh, hey, maybe the tools at Indybay are out of the loop as well! They're busy writing and reporting other shit, like...

"Is the Uprising in Tehran a CIA Backed Exercise? Tehran Protesters Address Progressives"

Uh, no. Fuck you, Indybay.

When I Was Only Thirteen I Got Connected

When I walked into work this morning (Stan Bush's epic "Dare" echoing through my whiskey-addled head), I was handed the brand new 32gb iPhone 3G S I ordered (drunkenly!) last week. I was going to post a picture taken from my old iPhone of my new one, like a proud parent or something, but then I got kinda self-conscious about it (what kind of dickhole posts a photo of his new iPhone?), and started thinking about the "Xzibit Yo Dawg" meme and could picture myself mocking myself with "Yo dawg, I herd you like iPhones, so I put an iPhone in your iPhone so you can douche while you douche," and I got anxious about it, and then my old iPhone wouldn't send the fucking photo to my e-mail because it sucks and it's broken which is why I got this new one to begin with.

I've needed a new iPhone ever since I spilled beer (or something) on my old one a few months back, and said old one has been annoyingly half-functional ever since. Also, lint gets in the earbud jacks on these things REALLY easily. For both of those reasons, I'm going to by some sort of cover or case for it (which I will research, perhaps at work!)

So, you get no photo of iPhone. However, you do get the music video for "Dare," which features robots inside another robot so they can transform while they transform.



==========

I never have had anything resembling street cred, so I shouldn't be embarrassed to admit that I've always been kinda queasy about the whole illegal downloading shit. I mean it's illegal for a decent reason -- you can't just take stuff for free that's not normally sold for free! -- and, you know, it's like the only instance where I hear the term "artists' rights" and don't reflexively think, "What a bunch of whiny hippies." And I picture some bored white girl, a couple years out of college, downloading songs off her laptop while shopping for shoes online and, really, that's not a group I'm too sympathetic to.

But then I read this horrible story of a 32-year old mother of 4 from Brainerd, MN being ordered to pay $1.92 million for illegally downloading 24 fucking songs. (Ya darn tootin!) And I'm reminded that as much as I may (or may not) respect an artists' rights to remuneration for their work, I also say, "Fuck Record Companies."

Also: Only old people still call them "record companies." Gack.