People I met last week

My favorite sports writer - Rick Reilly



Two pitchers for the A's - Mark Mulder and Barry Zito



Ian Poulter



Gary McCord



And finally, Burt Renyolds







Okay, just kidding about the last one, but it would have been pretty cool.

Cheese it!

I really felt like posting something today, but instead, I'm passing on the funniest thing I've read today.

Here, from government experts, are 10 warning signs that the prostitute you've picked up is a sinister space babe:

1. Looks too good to be true -- If that curvy cutie working the street corner is a dead ringer for Catherine Zeta-Jones, odds are the gorgeous star isn't moonlighting. A shape-shifting ET has probably adopted the form of your dream girl.

2. Out-of-date lingo -- Alien prostitutes try to fit in by using streetwalker slang -- but often use outdated terms. A hooker who sees a police car and whispers, "Cheese it, the fuzz!" likely hails from deep space.

3. Evasive about identity and origins -- Few gals in "the life" are forthcoming about their full names. But a scarlet woman who refuses even to divulge where she comes from -- vaguely describing her birthplace as "the Midwest" or "overseas" -- could be an ET.

4. Odd, hard-to-place accent. "They have trouble pronouncing the letter 'R,' " Manling reveals.

5. Unusually petite -- The average alien hooker stands roughly 5 feet tall, but may attempt to disguise her size with ridiculously high heels.

6. Sex was "unbelievable." If the encounter was "everything you've always fantasized about," chances are the memory was implanted by ETs.

7. Missing time -- If you paid for an hour with a hooker, but your watch indicates four hours have gone by, this suggests part of your memory of the encounter has been erased.

8. Seems telepathic -- A fallen woman who finishes your sentences or slips up and mentions your real name when you've given her a bogus one, is probably invading your thoughts -- and our planet.

9. Over-perfumed -- Hookers from outer space often try to mask their peculiar ET body odor.

10. Squeamish about spanking -- Terrestrial prostitutes are willing to perform virtually every sexual act if the money is right. But ETs don't like having their butts touched.



Seriously, are there people worried about this somewhere? "Well, I don't know, $150 sounds mighty expensive. Wait - how tall are you? What happened to the last 2 days? Why do you smell so purty?"

Also, while thinking about aliens, I remembered one of my favorite TV shows from the 80s. Still, to this day, not a week goes by where I don't wish that I had the power to stop the clock by putting my fingers together. Think about it - all the extra nap time. Lounging around in the middle of the work day. Finishing that last-minute project AND going to happy hour, too. Carissa, this may be the solution to your post-daylight-savings doldrums. If I remember correctly, the girl could also touch certain people so they could join her in her timeless world. Plus, her dad was Burt Renyolds. I don't know about you, but I wish I had him giving me advice on a daily basis. After looking into Out of this World, I discovered one other tidbit - the show was directed by none other than the great Scott Baio. I think I can die peacefully - Scott Baio AND Burt Renyolds worked together on a project. Oh yeah, and that Evie could gleep objects into existence and transport herself from one place to another.

How nice would that be: I'll pause time, round up the crew, and we'll all go to the Virgin Islands. When we get there, I'll unfreeze the staff at a beach bar and we'll have a lovely gathering over cocktails on this Monday afternoon.

Bigger than my britches

Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for Zach's First Business Trip!* I will be heading into the capital of commerce, New York, during the first week in December. However, although it sounds great, this poses a variety of problems for myself, the least of which is actually acquiring a new suit. One of the great parts of my job is that I can show up to work wearing just about anything, with the opposite effect being that my so-called "business wardrobe" hasn't been updated since the interview process. I'm now left with a suit from [name deleted*] that is a little worn at the seams and what can be called a classic power Zoot suit - a pin-striped double-breasted number with big shoulders and pants with pleats and cuffs. I guess that's what I get for going to the Men's Wearhouse with my dad when I was 19.

More importantly, I have this fear that I really don't know what I'm doing in my job. I'm supposed to be a manager, but there really isn't anything for me to manage. And, I'm an analyst, but I really don't feel like I know anything at all - like I'm sort of a pretend analyst - yet I'm a supposed "expert" on earnings quality (and pension accounting, if you can believe that).

I have zero credentials (even though I'm working toward a CFA designation and CFE) and only two or three years experience. I have never managed money or traded. Hell, I don't even invest my own money. Still, people pay me and my company for my research and make multi-million dollar decisions based on our findings. I just got off the phone with a portfolio manager - he knows nothing about me. However, I know that he has passed the CFA exam (a rigorous three-year certification process) and has a BA and a PhD from Harvard. Why is he depending on me for anything? While in New York, besides meeting clients and prospects, I'm having dinner with one of the most important hedge fund managers and short sellers on Wall Street. I've also talked with the guy credited for uncovering both Enron and Tyco years before the disasters. Somehow, amazingly, I am able to come up with some bullshit that they have never seen before, although I feel like I'm just making it up as I go along. I have this vision that someone will find out I'm 24 and call me out for not knowing what I'm doing. Because of this, I actually prefer the anonymity of the phone: if I don't look the part I can at least sound like I know what I'm talking about.



*Not counting the time I went to Napa when I worked for Kenneth Cole because, um, Kenneth Cole has mysteriously disappeared from my resume.

I misunderestimated the power of a letter

W.

W.

Who would have thought one letter would be so powerful? Especially when that one letter is relegated to the upper-left corner of the keyboard, holding court with the Q. W has become so useless that no one even talks about the letters in front of a web address. It’s all bangbusdotcom this and cheatinghousewivesdotcom that – it’s just assumed to be somewhere on the “world wide web” (as my parents still call it). In fact, www is to dotcom what Jan is to Marsha. Now, in the U.S. – or double-U.S., actually – the next four years belong to a letter. And it's not even the first letter - or even in the first half - of the alphabet. Nope, it's number 23. Just like the winner of the 2000 election was actually second place. And who was that?

W.


Here are some random thoughts from today:

Would Bush have still won if the candidates pulled a wife-swap?

Bush is the first president with a four-letter last name to serve two terms. Aren't we lucky? I can think of some more four-letter words to describe our situation.

Will anyone die this week? There were a lot of non-voters out there, and apparently, death is the only other option.

Finally, the best bumper sticker I saw during the entire election process: “Democrats are sexy. Who ever heard of a nice piece of elephant?”

Ryan, pack your bags

I voted.

I went blue.


Now, I'm going red.

The More You Know

Okay, this is a public service announcement, but it reminded me of those cheesy promo spots from NBC in the '80s. You know, the ones with Scott Bakula or Bill Cosby telling us to Stop, Drop and Roll or Just Say No. Okay, there's a chance that my childhood memories may be blurring together and that none of that really happened. I was actually surprised to find that Alan Thicke (Alan Thicke, people!) never recorded one. And, I can't be the only one who is surprised that these promos are still running. Seriously - they started in 1989 (1989, people!)! Did they ever have one warning us of the dangers of slap bracelets or how light reflecting off of fluorescent clothing is harmful to the eyes? Maybe they had an impact back then, but are kids even watching Will and Grace now?

Anyway, there's only one thing left to say:

VOTE


Besides, in this election, it's really the less you know.




And, his daughter is hotter.

Boys have a penis, Girls have a vagina

After seeing this, this is the first thing that came to mind:

"Child Molester" starring the Governor of California!




Finally, Halloween will suck this year. I've had my costume picked out since last November, and now I will have to wait another year for its glorious emergence. I am attending a wedding on Saturday, and (unfortunately) it is not a costume wedding. Plus, I don't think my wife will let me go Trick-or-Treating this year.


Um yeah, I guess it's for the best, anyway. Besides, Lumberg called me in on Saturday. Damn TPS reports.

Where did who go?

So, I've been gone for a little while. I actually had to work at work. I actually clocked 15 hours in my timesheet Wednesday alone (yes, I'm on salary, but I still have to fill out a timesheet) and I think there's a chance I actually understated my hours. In the mean time, I picked up some odd jobs around the office and ended up with a pretty decent promotion - so I guess that explains that.



To my loyal (read: occasional, if there's nothing better to do), I'm sorry. I just felt all this pressure to write something interesting, while over on Godzilla vs. Peachfuzzerila my boy Marky Mark is pontificating on some really interesting stuff.

I guess this is turning into an apology and a promise. I'll have some really interesting stuff to say in the future, I promise. And I'm sorry I haven't been more attentive. All I ask in return is that you help finish the script by Effin Sweet. Please. Besides proposing to my wife, it may have been the best idea I've ever come up with - and if you know my wife and me, you'll know that's the truth. And now, for something completely different.

OK, here goes....A story by Effin Sweet

[INSERT ZACH'S ORIGINAL STORY ABOUT BABYMOMMA AND BABYDADDY AND THEIR ENCOUNTER WITH THE MORMONS FROM OUTER SPACE....]

{GEORGE, mid twenties, goodlooking, reaches for the remote}

GEORGE: God, why does every fucking movie on Cinemax have to be a piece of shit!

[he channel surfs for a few moments, finally settling on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien"]

GEORGE: Fuck yeah! Shannon Elizabeth!

{SFX: a telephone ring}

GEORGE: Hello?

VOICEOVER (FEMALE): Look Fuckhead! Mess with me again and I'll cut your fucking balls off!


Then?

Getting misty eyed....

I feel so special that Zach would want me to be a guest blogger. I'm not a screenwriter, though, so hopefully I won't disappoint. I kind of liked the idea of our Round Robin script. Zach, where did it go?

An open letter to anyone who cares

Listen, do you think I really care what you think?* This is not the place to argue about the definition of "ironic". Talk to my wife, the former editor, I'm sure she cares. Besides, she's wicked skillful with a belt. Me, I'm about to kick ass and take names. I would've fucked you in the ass Saturday, I'll fuck you in the ass next Wednesday instead! Besides, you're all over the line.





Until next time, waste your time with this.

Shea Stadium the Radium E M D squared, got kicked out of the Palladium, you think that I cared?


*Note: If I really wanted to start a discussion, do I care that you care? Or do you care that I care? Or do I care that you care that I care? Or do you care that I care that you care? Do I really care? Do you really care? Do we both care but don't care to show it? Did you realize that I have typed care so many times, I'm now questioning whether I misspelled it? Who cares? It's just another four letter word.

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

With a title inspired by Carissa's 80's post, I am ready to enjoy this weekend. The stress of studying for a test has passed, and, despite one night of drunken debauchery last week (that included a cigarette!), I still feel the need to kick back and rest on my laurels (and my ass) for a weekend. So, thanks to my lovely wife, I'm staying at the Biltmore Resort this weekend.

This week felt so long, that I thought Wednesday was Friday. This week felt so long, especially after working just three days last week. Yet, here I find myself, at work on Friday afternoon, trying to find little things to do to stay busy instead of leaving early.




Screw it. I'm out. Rock and Roll.

It was good enough for Ferris' ninth sick day

Lately, Phoenix has been getting me down. I have been telling friends and family that the city has been sucking the soul out of me, which is a legitimate fear I have. I mean, seriously, compare this:



to this:



No comparison, right? Okay, maybe I chose that first picture to illustrate a point, and maybe there are some things I really like about Phoenix (like March), but I'm really beginning to think that there's not much more in this town than what I've seen. And it doesn't help the fact that most of the people I knew in college couldn't wait to hightail it out of here.

I've long talked about moving to Chicago (and that's still on the horizon somewhere), but now I'm beginning to think of even other areas I hadn't considered - Denver, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Seattle, Memphis, Atlanta and Boston, to name a few. However, as much as I want to live in a big city, part of me just wants to pack up and move to Costa Rica and learn to surf, working some carefree job to get some spending money. Then, as soon as I'm picturing this utopian lifestyle, I start think about how hard it would be for me to get back on track after I'm done screwing around. Am I too far along one path to start on another? Did I miss my chance? Can I waste a whole winter bumping chairs and working at a ski area?

Pleased to meet you, won't you guess my name?

So I was reading through this list of great songs and, while I agreed with a number of them, I was surprised that a Phil Collins song (and a song with which I was not familiar) took the top spot. While reading the explanation of the song, I was reminded of American Psycho and Mr. Bateman's musical obsessions.

Anyway, I figured that I should have a similar list, with my own Bateman-esque descriptions, in order to give the reader(s) a little bit of knowledge about me. You'll note that I added the option to pluralize reader, because eventually I might find 3 or even 4 dedicated fans. To be true to Retrocrush, this list represents five of my favorite moments from songs - not a list of favorite songs. I started out with a goal of ten, but this was harder than I thought.

1. Led Zeppelin - What is and What Should Never Be. Besides the fact that Robert Plant sounds like he's singing through water for much of the song, there's a part towards then end where the guitar alternates left speaker/right speaker/left speaker/right speaker. In a small room, it is pretty interesting.

2. Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here. At the very end, you can hear a breeze. And, if you are listening to the song with my wife, you will hear her impression of the breeze. Highly entertaining.

3. Jurassic 5 - Concrete Schoolyard. The Bill Cosby sample is quite amusing, as is J-5's obsession with spelling out the band name. However, the best part of the song is the verse at the end with a different beat. "I hope you got your shots cuz this is lyrical malaria."

4. Beastie Boys - The New Style and Intergalactic. The Beastie Boys ran out of samples, so they sampled themselves. "And let all the fly skimmies, feel the beat . . . drop." Honorable mention: Get it Together.

5. Rolling Stones - Sympathy for the Devil. I was trying not to repeat any of the selections from the Retrocrush list, but I kept coming back to this song - but a completely separate section. The guitar solo in this song just rips. And it's probably the same notes played over and over. But it is a really great solo.

Thoughts?

Good times, great oldies

Sonic Waitress: What can I get you today?
Group of Guys in Black Jimmy: 4 Cheeseburgers and Cherry Limeades
Sonic Waitress: Anything else?
Group of Guys in Black Jimmy: No Thanks
Funniest Man in the World: (trying not to burst out laughing) Frankie Sent Us!
Sonic Waitress: Frankie? Frankie Who?
FMITW: Frankie Avalon!
(roar of laughter from within the Jimmy)

Who am I?

After typing that title, I just spent a few minutes chuckling to myself about the genius that is Zoolander.