I dun like you: The Go-Getter

I'm introducing a new series to this series... of blogs. It's about people I don't like. At all.

Now when it comes to not liking people, I'm pretty good at it. But this isn't about individuals in particular. No, everyone doesn't like everyone else at some point or another. Sometimes you don't like yourself. Sometimes I don't like myself. Sometimes I don't even like you!! It's true.

But this isn't about them. This is about the irredeemable, the ones who lack the imagination and fortitude to be anything other than a cliche. This is about those who live up to the stereotype. I'll be covering a whole bunch of them but let me start with one of the most irritating species of person: the go-getter.

Name: The Go-Getter (or the Go Getter, or the Go Getta)
Preferred Occupations: Stock broker, banker, accountant, basically any job that requires handling large sums of money not located suitcases/duffel bags)
Preffered Names: Hank, Scooter, Bruce
Average IQ: Hovers just around the level of an ox

If you've gone to a college with a fuctioning business degree program (HINT HINT HOFSTRA HINT), then you've met one. Or, at least, you've ran into one. Perhaps you've even dated one! But you do know the type.

Go-getters are the young business types, the guys who think Wall Street is a guide on what to do (though they're not the only ones who think this). Go-getters saw a guy driving a fancy car when they were little, and once they found out that it takes a shitload of money to get those cars, boom. They were off.

They used to wear pinstripes and suspenders. I suspect they still do. But nowadays it's more like an unbuttoned shirt with a PDA or ten strapped to the belt. They are always elsewhere, even when they're alone. Go-getters imagine life as one big ladder, and since there's a ladder there, well, I guess that means they're supposed to keep climbing it.

What differentiates go-getters from other people who have this mindset is that go-getters are not at all good at what they are or are trying to do. A successful go-getter morphs into a Jones (a subject for another day). But most go-getters never succeed because they are :takes a deep breath: DOG. STUPID.

Let's break this down more organizationically.

1. It's all about them. The word "myopic" was invented to describe the go-getter, except their myopia is focused on a mirror. That is how tightly wound their worldview is. Sure, go-getters are aware of other things in life, perhaps even in other people, but at the end of the day the brain defaults to whatever it is they're on about.

You can observe this whenever go-getters are pretending to engage in human communication. The subject is about them. If the subject is not about them, then the subject quickly turns into how they are better at the subject than everyone else. Because go-getters have a hypercompetitive mindset, everything discussed has to be done in terms of making the go-getter look competent. So the story you had about the time you had noodle soup at Cape Cod? Well one time they were in the Hamptons and they found ramen on the beach AND THEY ATE IT. Ladies, feel free to remove your pants... now.

This myopia fortunately prevents them from establishing many (if any) meaningful bonds with other people, so marriage usually is out of the question (date rape, sadly, is not). Sure, go-getters have "friends," much like oxen hanging out in the herd, but that doesn't mean Mr. Bulltits actually enjoys the company of Mr. Horny. Go-getters view human interaction as a means to an end, so the most affection you can expect from a go-getter is brown-nosing (and that's only if you're richer/more powerful than they are).

2. E-mo-tions...? A lot of people like to shit on sociopaths for being emotionless. That's not fair. At least sociopaths are aware of their condition and, like Dexter, try to at least appear to have emotions so as to throw off the cops.

Perhaps go-getters are also aware that they seem to lack any and all emotional content, but even if they are, they simply cannot handle the whole having a personality thing. I've seen Asburgers cases have a wider range than they do.

What's the main issue here? Observe go-getters in a room, perhaps at a bar, having something called a "conversation." Now, when you and I have conversations, stuff happens like you say a thing, and I listen, and then I say a thing, and then you dry your hair, and then I eat some cookies whilst waiting for you to finish, and then I fall asleep, and then you wake me up, and then [censored] followed by [censored] and then you take off [censored] while I [censored] my [censored] [censored].

Not so with go-getters. I established earlier how they engage in constant one-upsmanship, but that's only half of it. When they're talking about something that they can't prove they're better at than someone else, they kinda just half-ass it. Take sports, for instance. It's extremely easy to talk to a go-getter about last night's basketball game. "Oh yeah, I love the Knicks," one will say.

Leaving aside issues of fair-weather-fandomness or shit like that, the next thing you would do is ask them something like who their favorite player is. If you guessed that their favorite player is either a) the most popular player the team in question ever had or b) the current superstar of the team, congrats, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Go-getters only consume enough information to allow themselves a semblance of functionality. So yes, they are aware that there is a sport called "basketball" and there is a team called "the Knicks" and that from time to time they play other so-called "basketball teams" in competitive games. But that's it. They can't name rosters, or say where they were when the final run was scored in the 1995 ALDS (FUCK YOU GRIFFEY. FUCK. YOU. I HATE YOU. I was on my bed sitting next to my radio by the way). Since none of those things involved making money, the details are irrelevant, and they have no emotional connection to them. And that's just about sports! Pick anything else! TV, art, Play-doh, Light-brites, they have no connection to them!

And that, as they say in the movies, Is Just Creepy.

3. I'm a man! I'm 24! The worst thing about go-getters is that they have below-average intelligence. They really do. Don't throw that "B-b-b-but, my love, they have MBAs!!!" Rote memorization and finagling with computers doesn't make on intelligent. Believe me, I've got enough experience dealing with these types.

Intelligence is not defined merely as being able to retain information. Animals can retain information, but we haven't (yet) elected Kinku the Chameleon as president. (Don't write him off for 2012.)

What makes this aspect even worse, though, is that go-getters mistake hard work with accomplishment. How do you know that society is operated by go-getters? When shit like this becomes the norm. Go-getters share many traits with other kinds of dipshits, but nobody else is willing to put up with 60, 70, even 80 hour work weeks, and least of all to have the gall to act like this is admirable.

Go-getters labor under the assumption that the harder the work, the better they are. I know everyone is indoctrinated into believing that work hard = good person. Go-getters don't understand why that is, though. People reward honest effort, where someone sacrifices themselves (or others, if they're playing chess) for a worthwhile objective. There's a huge difference between a surgeon working overtime during a medical emergency and a go-getter sitting in an office clicking around a computer doing retarded business work that nobody asked them to do and, frankly, aren't necessary even in some abstract bullshit business sense. Yet they do it anyway.

Do you know what else does that? Beasts of burden. Donkeys and camels and llamas and rabbits carry shit because, well, that's just what they're supposed to do. But at least they have an excuse, in that they're animals and that they have nothing else better to do and also because you can race them. But go-getters willingly become beasts of burden, not merely just to make money, but also because that makes them better people.

Last night, at the company Christmas partay, one of our peeps had to step out to answer a business call. Yup. I'm almost positive the person on the other end of that conversation was a go-getter, because who else would be working at 7:15 p.m. on a Thursday night? And who else would think that someone else wants to conduct business with them at 7:15 p.m. on a Thursday goddamned night, goddammit?

The worst part is that go-getters don't even wash out or burn out anymore. This is why international finance is screwed up so much. Hell, this is why business in general is screwed up. Many go-getters who used to get stuck on the trading floor have risen up, sometimes even to be CEOs and shit. Now everyone is expected to work 60+ hours because, well, what else is there to do?

One day, we're gonna have out first-ever go-getter president, and then things will really be screwed up. BlackBerries will be fused into our chests. Everyone will be required to carry a shitty, beaten-up, seven-year-old laptop "just in case something important comes up." Vacations will only be allowed in designated vacation zones (i.e., cubicles in the Bahamas). Also, no more sleep for anyone, ever.

And I don't even want to think about what'll happen with our first ever go-getter Pope. (Mandatory stained-glass backgrounds for all BlackBerries, for starters.)

A Phunney Book: Me Talk Pretty One Day

Some foolish person recommended me this book. To sav him or her (it was a her) from embarrassment, I won't name her name. But she knows who she is, and she will pay.

I'm just joshing*. Much to my surprise, she picked a good one. "Me Talk Pretty One Day" is a solid read, but I don't need to convince you of that, now do I?

I didn't know how to go into this one. At first I thought it was a novel, because that's what the title sounded like. Some kind of potentially lame coming-of-age story, perhaps taking place in rural Nebraska. Well, not rural. Suburban. Like in those commercials. Fuck it, maybe Illinois. It doesn't matter. I pictured a story of an awkward teen (a girl, natch) growing through adversity to become her own woman or some bullshit. The kind of chick lit that's turned into multimillion dollar pictures starring Rene Russo Barbra Streisand the one from that movie where she's the guy's best friend, I think it was Dermot Mulrooney, and she was like, "No, don't marry Cameron Diaz, marry me! I'm Julia Roberts and I'm more fun and vivacious and we know each other better!" And in the end she totally doesn't. It's actually somewhat underrated if a bit stupid and plodding. You know the one. Yeah, yeah, I think it was Meg Ryan! What? No, person's name was Meg Ryan, not the movie.

Wait, what the fuck was I talking about? Oh yeah. So much to my surprise, this was by a collection of essays, and not by some dumb chick lit author, but by David Sedaris. Actually I don't know if he ever wrote chick lit, but a chick did recommend him so I have my suspicions.

I know of the Sedarises thanks to his apparent sister, Amy, who was in Strangers with Candy and some other things. But mainly Strangers. So now I knew what to expect: exasperated comedian writes essays about stuff.

These kinds of books can be hit or miss. If they're from a guy who does standup, dollars to donuts they're reprints of their routines. Not good if you've seen their routines live. Even worse if you've seen their routines live and they weren't good. Maximum worse if they're Dane Cook.

I dunno if Sedaris has ever done standup. I suspect he hasn't, because he can actually write. Sentences, I mean. He can spin yarns. Not that standup comedians can't, but they generally refrain from doing that because their schtick is in talking. No, Sedaris can write.

The best thing about the book is that it's unconventional. The stories often don't make sense. David's life is apparently purposeless, his frustrations usually amounting to no more than a low level of ennui, like a loud fart in bed. They're realistic enough that I can take him as his word that they happened, which makes things even better.

Best of all, there wasn't an essay I didn't really dislike. Well, the final one I didn't finish because it was rather gross and I was eating pizza. Excuse the fuck out of me I like to read during lunch. Don't you judge me.

Sedaris also has a favorite essay-writing style of mine: conversational. You can probably figure out why I like that style so much, you berk.

I dunno what Sedaris' actual occupation is these days, but I do know he wrote other stuff. He should try writing sitcoms. I bet he'd be a natural with Curb. But I don't want to be too pushy.

I don't read too many of these kinds of books, but in the list of top comedic autobiographical essays, Me Talk Pretty One Day is No. 1.





Of 2.






Stop being so sensitive.
































* I'm not joshing at all. I'm gonna show up at work and confront you. But by then I will have forgotten about what so it will just be a lot of awkward glancing around and eye contact avoidance. Followed by what I hope is some messy sex or at least you feeding me something. Something that tastes good, please, like veal. Wait, no not veal. Ummmmmm fuck it let's play it safe. Give me a steak and fries. Did you know that in France they're called steak-frites? I knew that. I took French in high school. One day we should tour France, it's not as boring as it is in Sedaris' book. At least I hope not. Anyway bye.

Scary Stories to Yawn in the Dark

We just cleared Halloween, which means we have Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Black Friday, Festivus, and Thanksgiving again until Christmas. But enough of that. Let's dwell on all the Deathly All Hallows Eve for a second.

You know the deal: Halloween is the "spooky" holiday, aside from St. Patrick's Day, that is. This is the time of year when all the horror movies come out, all the scary TV specials come out, all the scary costumes come out, and election season. Truly the most terrifying season of them all, by design.

Except, I never really bought that. There are a big number of reasons why Halloween/early fall is not the scariest time of the year, nor could it really ever possibly be. For one thing, Halloween itself is pretty much a joke. Even the adults can't be arsed to treat it all spookylike, and really, there's not a whole lot popular culture can do to be (intentionally) scary. Kids in Power Rangers costumes doesn't really strike fear in one's heart, unless one is a Putty.

So who said fall was the best time for scaryness? It's completely misplaced. Misplaced and miscast. It doesn't belong here. Where (or when) does it belong, then, Mr. Smartysexypants, you're saying to yourself. And then everyone looks at you and, and they're like, "What did you just say?"

And you're like, "N-nothing."

"No, you said 'Mr. Smartsexypants'?"

"Smartsexypants."

"Oh. Well who's that?"

"Ummm... A guy I know? He's the coolest."

"What's his name?"

"...Mr. Smartsexypants?"

At that point, everyone goes over to your laptop to see what you're doing. So by now you've left the flat and you're hiding under a bridge, ready to hear my answer. And my answer is this: The summertime.

Think about it. Or don't. The answer is obvious, so you shouldn't have to, but the fact of the matter is, everything that's scary happens in the summer. Everything. Except that one time you thought you shat your own bed. But that was springtime so it was close enough.

Do a cursory glance at every horror movie you know (except Black Christmas. Don't look at that. Figuratively or literally). When do they all take place? The summer. Or if not the summer outright, then a summer-ish setting, where it's warm and sunny. Not threatening. The perfect time... for terror.

(Okay fine, there's also Jingle All the Way, Christmas with the Cranks... FINE. But those aren't movies that are trying to be scary. Can we move on now? Asshole.)

Let's get past the whole movie things, because horror movies really aren't all that scary at all. Instead, I think, deep down inside, we're all more fearful during the summer. How come? Let's take a look:

At first glance, summer's the season of warmth, fun times outdoors, roasting marshmallows by the fire, baseball, basketball, trips to the beach, seagulls, lightning bugs, and forest fires. All wonderful things, to be sure, but there are also downsides that we don't notice at first glance.

First of all, except in Greenland and parts of Pennsylvania, summer is not merely warm. It's hot. Sometimes, it gets really hot. Oppressive hot. Hot enough to roast people alive. You don't hear about kids getting burned to a crisp while locked in cars during the winter, do you? Even though I prefer heat to cold, I'm well aware that a nice, baking summer day can be far more stressful than a cold one, all things equal.

Think about it. The cold you can escape from. You can put on more clothes, you can light your buddy on fire, you can vibrate at a faster rate, etc. Heat, though, is much trickier. Once you stop shedding clothes and/or hair, you're shit outta luck if you don't have air conditioning or a reasonably large body of water or the ability to flap your hands 130 times per second. It's like that episode of The Twilight Zone where the sun's getting closer, and there's really no place for anyone to run, so things just... kinda... slooooowwwww... dooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I don't think it's a coincidence that when it comes to the truly, maddingly, deeply frightening movies they all take place in summer or thereabouts. Summer's the time of heightened activity, and that's both good and bad. More crime takes place in the summer. Stress rises in the summer. There's thunder storms and floods and hurricanes, which are all conspicuously absent in the fall. And lord help you if there's an extended blackout brought on by a heat wave.

Perhaps the most unsettling thing about summer is that it ironically seems to be quieter. Certainly when you get out of the suburbs and away from the constant bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu of lawnmowers, into the countryside perhaps, there's not much going on out there. There may be a couple of animals and shit, but generally the weather is not that active, so there's not as much wind. I'm not doing a stupendous job of explaining it because it's something you have to experience for yourself, but to me, not a lot of things are creepier than waking up to a quiet, sweltering morning where the birds can't be arsed to chirp and the moose are too tuckered to moo or whatever it is they do (hence the name "moose").

As such, my imagination is a lot more active in summer. Even when I was little, I was more afraid of robbers breaking into my house (that's one of the fun things about having a home alarm system in the middle of one of the whitest neighborhoods on the east coast) during the summer than the winter. What dumbass criminal is going to haul himself out to our street when it's 20 degrees? ...Oh.

And when else do you really hear about all the strange events in one's life? Let's face it: During the fall and winter, everyone's inside, not noticing all the strange shit around them because they're too busy watching frostbite slowly overtake their toes or something. You won't hear about how a kid growing up in India, sitting outside in the shade on an especially hot summer day, saw a man with backwards feet stumble down the road, alone. Shit like that just doesn't happen in the fall. Except in Tarrytown, NJ, where it happens every day.

Well anyway, if it were up to me, Halloween and the 4th of July would switch places. Now you can tell proper ghost stories, you can have an excuse for slutting it up, and you can have a genuinely creepy atmosphere so you can properly experience the everyday terrors of moving coffins, bottomless pits, ships without crews, voices randomly babbling over the airwaves, and all the normal, happy things that we only become aware of when we have the free time during a sweltering summer night. Plus I think what the fall really needs is more mattress sales and Roman candles lit up in the middle of busy roads.

I hope you never look at a quiet morning the same way again!

101 CRAZY BUT TRUE FACTS ABOUT THE UNITED KINGDOM (KINGDOUM)

Well this is it. One day you were asleep in Massachusetts, dreaming of me riding a washing machine. The next day, you're awake in Manchester, wondering how it all came to this. But don't feel alone. You are in a world of magic and mystery. You are in the United Kingdom!

Many people have tried--and failed--to grasp the UK's intricacies. The reason why is because they don't have this guide: 101 Really Really Super True I Swear They're True Facts About (Aboot) England. If you study these facts carefully, you'll be able to impress your teachers, win new and exciting minority friends, and most importantly of all, survive in time for me to give you my other surprise gift (don't worry, it doesn't involve my pants... yet). But enough bullshit. Let's get to the facts!!

1. The "u" was added to "-or" words during the American Revolution to distinguish Loyalists from rebels; the idea was to essentially say, "U are loyal to the crown."

2. The British drive on the left so as to allow the Queen to ride her stagecoach on the right; this is why Americans drive on the right, and it is your duty to drive on the right/insist the driver drive on the right, lest you pass up your chance to slay America's mortal enemy.

3. Similarly, blunts are passed to the right, and in America vice versa (so in England, it's pass the blunt to the Queenie on the right).

4. Cricket is so named because it was originally conceived as a way of exterminating crickets in "an enjoyable mannere". The cricket bat was originally used to smash crickets. Early versions of the game would award points for "smashing the cricket" with the ball. Even more points would be awarded for "smashing the orphan."

5. The Welsh are called "taffy" because the last king of Wales, Owyn Taffyr, failed to show up at a critical battle for his kingdom's independence because he was "strikyn wyth a wycked tasty stryng of a most delyghtful taffee". As a result, Willy Wonka has a standing death order on his head in Cardiff.

6. The British maintain many Frenchisms, a vestige of their days as Normans. This was done so as to better facilitate the inevitable surrender to the French, which is currently scheduled to happen in 2116.

7. Fox hunting didn't start out as fox hunting. In medieval times, English kings would hunt page boys dressed in red for sport, a tradition started by Henry VI after he returned from an actual foxhunt in Brabant. (England did not have any native foxes at the time.) This tradition continued until 1813, when a population of actual foxes was finally introduced to the island. However, to this day, before the hunt begins, a hunter is picked to be the "designated fox" in case no foxes are found in the hunt.

8. Roundabouts were invented during the Revolutionary War to catch American spies, for Americans would never be able to navigate them and would thus be stuck eternally going 'round them. To this day, they still boast a 100% tourist trap record. P.S. If you're ever in Swindon, please tell my uncle Bobby that we miss him very much.

9. The original Tewksbury is in Canterbury Province. It is home of Tewkesbury Abbey. It is actually a misspelling of "Tweeksbury," but the name was changed to hide the fact that, like its Massachusetts cousin, the parish is full of tweekers.

10. Another Tewkesbury fact: the final battle in the War of the Roses took place in Tewkesbury. The House of York defeated the House of Lancashire 2-1 in extra time.

11. Prince Charles is next in line for the throne. It has already been decided that the moment he ascends to the throne, the national anthem of Britain will be the theme to "Charles in Charge."

12. Charles is currently Prince of Wales. That alone is reason enough for him (or anyone else) to want to be king already.

13. The Union Jack is comprised of all the flags of the countries of England. The blue background and white cross (St. Andrew's cross) are for Scotland. The red cross is St. George's Cross, for England. The other red cross is the cross of North Ireland (St. Patrick's cross). Contrary to popular belief, Wales IS represented on the flag. If you look very closely at the bottom right corner, the Welsh dragon (nicknamed Wylly) has his head peeking out from the background and is waving a bit. Cornwall is represented by an even smaller black hand extending the middle finger, located somewhere near the top of the flag. You get a free cup of tea for "finding the finger."

14. Tea time was invented by the British East India Company as a means of boosting tea sales. It was a smashing success. Less successful was its attempt at launching Asparagus Hour, though it is still observed in some parts of Kent.

15. Taunton, Mass. has the British flag on its flag. What the fuck, Taunton.

16. Spotted Dick is exactly what you think it is.

17. It should come as no surprise that there is no letter "R" in the English language, which has led to some consternation throughout the ages. One of the reasons for the War of 1812 was that the British refused to recognize the United States of Ameica because there was no such country. A proposed compromise (ultimately rejected) was to rename the USA to the United States of Vespuccia.

18. There is no word in English for "Gesundheit!" The British instead will just stare ardently for several seconds at anyone sneezing.

19. Similarly, there is no word in English for "puddle."

20. William III (of William and Mary fame) was killed when his horse tripped over a molehill. This is why it is considered rude to throw moles at the Queen.

21. The British hate the French (and vice versa) mainly because the British keep stealing French words. This battle came to a head in 1810, when Napoleon declared war on George IV in the infamous Stop Taking Our Shit War of 1810.

22. The British hold the record for winning the shortest war in history: 40 minutes to beat down the island of Zanzibar. The Zanzibarians insisted that the British cheated by "using faggot lasers and shit."

23. The British also hold the record for losing the longest war in history: 1,952 years against gingivitis (ongoing).

24. In World War II, the infamous "Buzz Bombs" were so named because the Germans would launch them to coincide with happy hour in London, thus "bombing the buzz" that came with the post-work drinking.

25. Trafalgar Square originally was in Cape Trafalgar. The British towed it back with them as a war prize in winning the Battle of Trafalgar. A similar attempt at towing all of Gibraltar back to England failed, however.

26. Jamaica was so named so as to pave the way for future puns, namely, "Did Jamaica shit in the sink?" However, plans to make Jamaica a joke word fell through when the American Heywood Jablome rose to international fame and stole Jamaica's thunder. It's still a sore spot in England today.

27. Contrary to popular belief, "God Save the King/Queen" is really just "God save the Kiiiiing, God save the Kiiiiing, God save that King," followed by mumbling and going "da da da daaaa da da" until trailing into "My Country Tis of Thee."

28. The Pilgrims were kicked out of England not because of religious persecution, but because their impeccable teeth were considered an affront to King James I.

29. The first King of England was named Offa. Needless to say, there has never been another King named Offa, because how the hell do you follow that?

30. The first ruling house of England was the House of Mercia. It only had one King, though (Offa), because they were beaten by the House of Wessex, who were not above using steroids.

31. King Edward IV is considered the Grover Cleveland of English kings.

32. The Coat of Arms of England depicts a family of three lions simultaneously gagging at the sight of lima beans for dinner (again!?!).

33. According to the Times of London, historians agree that Queen Anne was the hottest Queen of England. All things considered, that's rather depressing.

34. Great Britain used to be in personal union with the Kingdom of Hanover. However, when Victoria was proclaimed Queen of Britain, William's brother Ernest Augustus took over in Hanover. Contrary to popular belief, this was not because Hanover has a salic law regarding succession, but that it very strictly adheres to the "no fat chicks" adage.

35. George III really was insane. Among other things he did: his piss was blue, he had hallucinations, at times he believed he was a duck, and he sincerely thought "Joey" was a great show.

36. Prince Albert (of "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?" fame) was really locked in a large cylindrical room by Victoria for farting in the bed, which gave birth to that joke.

37. Queen Victoria was named the "Empress of India" in an attempt to lure her out of England because her constant BO was too much for Londoners to handle. It didn't work because being Empress of colonial India is like being governor of New Jersey.

38. The British are angrier over the War of 1812 than over the Revolutionary War, though they will hardly admit it. The proof: Following their defeat at the Battle of New Orleans, the British attempted to rename New Orleans to We Didn't Want This Faggy Fuckin' Swamp Shit Anyway. But, as the war was over, the name change was not considered official. Maps in England, to this day, reflect that name change, though.

39. The British had a penchant for naming their overseas colonies "New _____" in an attempt to get the inhabitants of the original land to leave. This had mixed results.

40. New Caledonia: Failed to get the Scottish to move, prompting it to be sold to France. Reason: The Scotch had no idea what "Caledonia" means.

41. New York: Failed to get the Duke of York to leave. Reason: He was too in love with his yam garden in Yorkshire to leave (everyone wanted him out because he would pelt commoners with yams, which was considered tasteless at the time (it was considered to be in better form to pelt them with radishes)).

42. New Jersey: Succeeded in getting everyone in the Bailiwick of Jersey to move, believing that the New Jersey would have 100% less burning tire factories and 33% less landfills. Unfortunately for them, it had 100% more of both.

43. New Hebrides: Failed to get the Scottish to move. Reason: The Scotch were perplexed as to what a "he-bride" was and feared the land would be filled with gays.

44. New England: Failed to get all the English to move. Reason: The Cornish had hoped that the English would leave, paving the way for Cornish supremacy. All they succeeded in doing was getting the most obnoxious of English to leave, thus strengthening England itself while dooming the future United States to generations of insufferable Patriots fans.

45. New Britain and New Ireland: Failed to get the British and Irish to move; was eventually sold to the Germans, who renamed them to New Pommern (that was a success). Reason: Suspicions were raised when the Danish loudly announced that they had discovered these new lands while greedily rubbing their palms whenever the British asked about them.

46. New Zealand: Succeeded in getting Zealanders to move. However, they promptly moved back when they found that there was no free hash or Eurovision contests to be found anywhere.

47. New Brunswick: Failed to get the Duke of Brunswick to move there. Reason: He correctly deduced that it was a ploy for hunters to get his wonderful pelt.

48. Nova Scotia: Failed to get the Scots to move (again), despite a more direct trick. Reason: C'mon, if they didn't know what Caledonia was, they sure as fuck weren't gonna know what a "No-vah Sco-sha" is.

49. New Dehli: Cancelled dude to confusion over which street to place the New Dehli on, and if it should carry Bubbletape or Bazooka.

50. New Hampshire: Succeeded in getting everyone from county Hampshire to move. Reason: Take one look at the modern New Hampshirite; their ancestors were no different. You'd do the same thing.

51. The British invented the slur of "guinea," so named because Italians would work for a guinea, which was a low sum of money. The first use of guinea as a slur came during the Great Guinea Attack of 1791 when Antonio Ricciardello, a wall-painter, had so many guineas thrown at him that he became trapped in a pile of guineas, which fused with his skin and turned him into a monstrous pile of guineas that ravaged parts of London and ate all of its pizza. It was finally defeated by Antonio's mother's nagging and subsequent denying spaghetti for dinner, young man!! Thus "guinea" came to take a negative connotation.

52. The British tonne is derived from British currency. One tonne is 2,000 pounds. Did that just blow your mind?

53. The plural of "penny" is "pence." It used to be "penni," but the British got tired of people asking them "How many pennis can you fit in your mouth?"

54. If you glue two ha-pence together, you get a full penny!

55. The chav is fast becoming the most common Britfolk to come across, so it's important to be ahead of the curve when it comes to interacting with other Brits. To fit in with the chavs, be sure to a) wear a ton of Burberry, b) collect as many mobiles as you can, and c) greet everyone by slapping them in the face and yelling "SHUT UP MAN" at them in a thick cockney accent.

56. Contrary to popular (American) belief, the Beatles name is spelled correctly regarding the insect (in England). The same is true for the Monkees and the Rolling Stones.

57. Birminghamers are called "Brummies," named after the "brum" noise they made when coughing up soot after a hard day's work in the soot factory during the Industrial Revolution. To this day, "Brummie Day" is celebrated, when everyone puts ashes in their mouth and "brums" them all over each other. Coincidentally, this is still a daily occurence in Newcastle, though for unrelated reasons.

58. The word "faggot" is derived from the British meaning, which is a bundle of sticks. Faggots (and fags) were so named because during the olden times, when rowdy Londoners would go looking for gay people to bash, their victims would "lie still on the ground as if they were a faggot, thus confusing the angry Londoner into thinking they were indeed dead, or at least swooned, and thus not fit for a beating."

59. The word "lift" is derived from the old British elevators, which could only go up (hence the name). When a lift reached the top of a building, it would be retired in an elaborate ceremony involving burning the lift and tossing its ashes onto the streets below. This is what led to the Great Fire of London of 1666, though the practise would not end until 1971.

60. Buses in London are painted red so that, in case of a bull stampede, they could be used to distract the bulls from Londoners. Alternatively, in the case of a bull stampede, they could be used to run over Londoners if the Queen was on board one of them. The last time a bus had to be so used was in 1999.

61. Big Ben was originally conceived as a "sequel" to the Tower of London, in that it would be a prison used to torture prisoners. The clock was intended to be a means of torture, for every hour the bells would chime the chorus to "Come on Eileen." This was stopped almost immediately after the builders realized that all of London would hear that, and so ended Big Ben's original purpose.

62. November 5 (or 5 November, if you wanna be that way) is Guy Fawkes' Day. It is named after the British patriot who knew to "Remember, remember the 5th of November." However, Parliament had apparently forgotten that the day was November 5. So, he set up an elaborate reminder for them. His efforts were so appreciated and famous that they renamed the day after him in his honor, and also issued rather fabulous masks to commemorate his patriotism.

63. According to the BNP, Christmas is a British thing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O839fj8NVY0

64. The Sex Pistols declared Anarchy in the U.K. on 11 November 1976. Anarchy lasted for about three turns until England re-emerged with Free Trade so at last they could snag some sweet foreign trade routes.

65. Oasis got their name due to their Manchester roots, because their splendid teeth were described as "an oasis amongst a desert of yellow.

66. The knighting ceremony dates back to Aethelred the Unready. Aethelred faced a rival in the court, Mingus, and determined to lure him into a trap. On Christmas Day, he invited Mingus to the court for a "special gift." He made Mingus approach the throne and "lowereth his head, that he may receiveth it, yea." When Mingus obeyed, Aethelred produced a large sword, but since he was a shithead, he only had enough strength to flail lamely at Mingus' shoulders. When Mingus looked up and asked Aethelred what he was doing, Aethelred, out of embarrassment, said he was "knighting" Mingus. And so Mingus was the first ever knight.

67. Great Britain formally changed its name to "The United Kingdom" in 1947. This was because the British were tired of being called "BriTONs."

68. During the reign of Henry VIII, the national anthem (and king's walkup music) changed to "I'm Henery VIII, I Am." It did not change again until 1915.

69. The British invented shepherd's pie, so-called because shepherd's use to carve out the bottom of the table and stick their heads into them pie to surprise hungry people. This was a dangerous prank, however, and it is how George II died.

70. English monarch Sweyn Forkbeard was so named because he lost a fork in his beard and no one had the guts to tell him it was kinda just hanging out there.

71. Buckingham Palace is so named because, in commemoration of the Battle of Hastings, William the Conqueror decided to build his new palace there. But, according to the Venerable Bede, "There liveth a most aggresive and unamiable pigge, named Harold, who would eateth the man and child who strayeth too close to his snout, yea." William managed to jump on Harold's back, and "he did so surviveth the bucking ham, and its hooves tasted good. Its eyes, not so good." Since then, it is tradition for newly crowned monarchs to "ride the ham" to prove their worthiness. Elizabeth II stayed on for 10.5 seconds.

72. Contrary to popular belief, Charles I was executed because he lost a bet. He was unable to hold his breath longer than Oliver Cromwell.

73. Lord Byron, the famous poet and part-time stamp collector, died in Greece from sepsis. This is the inspiration for his final and most famous poem: "My Toes Are Red and Puffy and Shit. Is That Bad?"

74. Stonehenge is neither a calendar nor a burial ground. It is actually a postmodern sculpture depicting a schoolyard fight.

75. The British originally named the Hawaiian Islands "The Sandwich Islands." This was so named because Captain Cook was temporarily stranded on one of them (Manuae) without any food. He recalled that the explorers who found the Bikini Atoll named it because they found bikini-clad women on it. So Cook named his island the Sandwich Island in hopes of finding sandwiches on it. He eventually managed to create some sandwiches, but his "sand sandwich" failed to catch on with anyone else.

76. The Pilgrims are famous for being too anal for the Dutch, but that they were kicked out of England was also a display as to how obnoxious they were. Here is a brief list of people who were not annoying enough to be kicked out of England: scousers, wimps, bints, people named "Brent," tits, fags, bros, hippies, beatniks, people who ask you where your accent's from when they clearly know where it's from and just want you to say "beater," and George Michael.

77. Boston's Charles River is named in commemoration of Charles II and his legendary brown urine.

78. William Shakespeare was really Francis Bacon. Francis Bacon was really Jerry Bruckheimer.

79. A quadriplegic, Philippe Croizon, successfully swam the English Channel. When Hitler heard about this, boy, was he mad!

79. Underneath the English Channel is a mysterious tunnel known as "the Chunnel." According to legend, it stretches from Kent to Calais. On the Kent side, confused Frenchmen and Germans magically appear from it, while on the Calais side, drunken fratboys and hooligans appear.

80. Oxford University (home of the Seminoles) is the archrival of Cambridge University. This rivalry is known as the "World's Biggest zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

81. The lyrics to "London Bridge Is Falling Down" are transcribed word-for-word from a speech given in Parliament by Sir Spencer Compton, who witnessed the actual bridge falling down from the window. It was a good thing, too, because the speech was really boring otherwise.

82. There is a game associated with "London Bridge Is Falling Down," where two girls form an arch with their arms and everyone else walks underneath. When the song concludes, the girls lower their arms, trapping whomever is walking through at the time. They then engage in a knife fight to commemorate the looting of the ruins of London Bridge.

83. Another schoolyard game: "Oy!" Oy! is very simple: All you do is walk up to someone unawares and yell out "Oy!" Then you stuff them into a niche of some sort: a locker, a crawlspace, a closet, an oven... use your imagination! The best part is that it is the real national pastime of the British, and everyone is in on the game. Rumor has it that if you "Oy!" the Queen, you get to be king/queen for a day.

84. The British have their own Oscars, called the "BAFTAs". The trophy is a golden mask modeled after the face of Julia Roberts.

85. Contrary to popular belief, Henry VIII did not break from the Catholic church over divorce. He broke away because he disagreed with the Church's position on the Eucharist tasting like "card-board shite."

86. The reason why the Queen's Guard don't ever move or change expression or any of that has nothing to do with maintaining vigilance. It has everything to do with a centuries' long staring contest with the guards at the Mall. If you think the Queen's Guards are tough, just try the Mall Guards.

87. The British Parliament is currently divided into two houses (The House of Lords and the House of Commons). In the 90s, it briefly had a third house, the House of Pain, but it was dissolved in 1996.

88. Preparations for D-Day (as part of the Invasion of Normandy) were made at Devon, whose natural ugly beaches and surly German people were considered the perfect place to simulate the invasion.

89. During the Revolutionary War, John Paul Jones successfully raided Whitehaven, in Cumbria. The damage wasn't much, just some spiked cannons and a shitty fire on a coal boat. The British didn't realize that they were attacked by Americans until they found graffiti left by Jones himself, reading, "NICE HARBOR FAGS LOL".

90. The British slang for a woman, "bird," came from the 1700s, when British men would frequently mistake them for swallows. This also explains why many nightclubs are situated in trees, "to be near the birds."

91. The British have a habit of stealing ancient artifacts and sending them back to museums in England. This is what happened to many Egyptian artificats, artifacts from the Parthenon, artifacts from Calcutta, and artifacts from the world's first Denny's.

92. The Isle of Wight used to be called the "Isle of White," so named because it would combine with the "Isle of Man" to be the "White-Man Islands". The British begrudgingly changed the name to avoid offending people, but they were almost tempted to also rename the Isle of Man to the "Isle of No Blacks Allowed".

93. "Mary Poppins" went through some changes on its way from England to America. The biggest change: That's not a spoonful of sugar she's giving to the kids to make the medicine go down, if you know what I mean. (It's 100% Colombian pure.)

94. The Changing of the Guard is a famous event in places where the Queen's Guards are. It occurs every day at 11:00 am (EST, of course). This is done so that the previous set of guards can make it back to the barracks in time for The Price Is Right.

95. Also, the Changing of the Guard goes through an extended phase if the guard is an infant or toddler.

96. I am now learning that the BAFTA mask is actually the "face of an overwrought dramatist whose success baffles everyone." I'm not sure why they bothered to correct me on that.

97. Britain's most famous serial killer (other than "The Chef" Gordon Ramsay) is Jack the Ripper, so named because he got his start terrorizing mattress shops.

98. The British do not recognize Aluminum as an element, instead replacing it with Aluminium. It has the same atomic weight, but aluminium causes the tongue to spasm into paralysis when pronounced.

99. Contrary to popular belief, the Crown Jewels are not located in the Tower of London. As always, they are located in my pants.

100. Every six years, the British celebrate their empire by having the Commonwealth Games, so named because Britain felt that the wealth of its former colonies "commonly" belonged to it. For these games they have such events as the Run for Your Life, Slave Marathon, the Zulu Massacre Slalom, and the 500m Foreigner with Amusing British Accent Relay.

101. The current royal family is the Windsor family, but originally it was called the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha family, because they're Germans. The name was changed in 1917 because at the time the Germans were being super dicks to England. But as a compromise, the family agreed to have at least one family member maintain certain German traditions. The current "German Prince" (as they're called) is Prince Arry.

SPECIAL BONUS FACT

Because winners always do one more and because I always go the extra mile for you, here's a special bonus fact. This one is even less well-known than all the others so consider yourself lucky!

102. All British gents named Harold love it when you go up to them and shout "YOUR A WIZARD ARRY!"

An Okayish Book

Benjamin "Benny Boo" Barber is a fairly renown political theorist. His job is to examine political systems and, according to his angle, how they influence each other, directly and indirectly. With that in mind, he penned his magnum opus, "Jihad vs. McWorld," an exmaination as to how the two extremes of societies (modern, capitalistic, commercial McWorld vs. traditional, xenophobic, localized Jihad) are vying for the souls of all humanity. It's like Spawn, except without the action figures and Todd McFarlane rambling at the camera before the start of each episode.

The ideas in the book are worth exploring, because as it turns out, neither Jihad (which is a generalized concept rather than the specific cause of jihad by Muslim extremists) nor McWorld are rather nice. They're both competing against democracy, which means citizens from around the world are in a daily struggle to maintain their independence against the leering McWorld and the crazy Jihad.

It's a very strong thesis, but unfortunately Barber doesn't really do a whole lot with it. Of course, one of the book's biggest failings is that the crux of it was written in the 1990s, where Vajpayee is in control of India, Rafshanjani is in control in Iran, and Yeltsin has only just got a decent hold on Russia's government. So, in short, the book is woefully, woefully outdated.

It has very little to say about 9/11. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think it even freakin' HAD 9/11 in it. That's kind of a big deal there!!

Obviously I can't fault Barber for writing an outdated book. To his credit, his ideas are still valid today, but the landscape has changed. For instance, his focus on Germany and Russia are positively quaint in light of today's hotspots and areas of interest. I'm sure a lot of what he has to say is applicable to Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, China and Africa, but that analysis is lacking here.

One thing he didn't cover that he could have touched upon, even in the 90s, was Israel/Palestine. I don't think he mentioned that little area much at all. It was a big deal back then and I was rather surprised he glossed over it. Perhaps his political theory didn't really fit it?

The other major flaw of the book is attributable to his writing style. Mainly, he writes a lot. And a lot. And a lot. About the same things. And the same things. And the same, same things. Entire paragraphs will go by, all basically reiterating the same point, maybe with slightly different examples thrown in. The book probably could be cut by 33% and still retain all its points, and probably be much more concise, too.

Also, the book has a very, very odd way of handling commas, and I rather suspect that it was edited by an Englishman. That would be tres weird because Barber's an American, but he writes like a Brit? No, no, something doesn't add up here. SOMETHING DOESN'T ADD UP HERE. :chomps on cigar:

Otherwise, Barber's political ideas are neat, if kind of obvious (I mean, yeah, choosing between crazy luddites and overbearing soulless pitchmen is a rotten choice). But he does have a flair for passing along stories, anecdotes and details about certain events (the fall of the Berlin Wall, the de-communiz(s)ation of Russia), which in and of themselves are worth reading about. If I reviewed this book 15 years ago, I'd be far more impressed with it.

Though, looking back, it's not a very good tome regarding in a predictive sense, since he misses the growth in international terrorism and such. But as a historical analysis, it's solid enough to be worth a gander. Just be prepared to skip over blocs of text.





Errata: The next post will be 101 Facts You Need to Know Before Going to England, and If You Don't Know Them, You Might Be Killed

Scenes from an Italian Stereotype

Today is (or was, if you want to get TECHNICAL about it) Columbus Day. That's Christoffa Corombo. He's the father of our country discoverer of our country, of course. You know the poem.

You also know that Columbus Day is, aside from a celebration of all things Ohioan, a celebration of all things Italian(-American). Columbus is "our" "mascot," if ethnicities can have mascots. (Fun fact: Greece's mascot is the Philly Phanatic. Normally, the dude who discovered America (and was smart enough to tell everyone else about it; good one Erik, you retard!!) is a pretty big deal, so Italians can be a little proud of him and shit.

But there are several rubs with Columbus. No. 1: He's not really a benign fellow. At all. Unlike St. Patrick, Columbus did not drive the snakes out of Italy, and he could only stay drunk 22 hours of the day. But worse than that, Columbus was a slaver and a really, really, really malevolent dick to anyone with a complexion darker than "ruddy." He presciently noted, upon finding the natives: "I could conquer the whole of them with 50 men, and govern them as I pleased." He would not let that opportunity pass.

Italian-Americans generally don't like being reminded of that, and I can understand why. The problem is that, as far as I can tell, nobody elected Columbus as the mascot of Italian-Americans. Well, I didn't vote for him. I voted for Joe Piscopo. We'll get 'em next time, Joe!!

But Columbus is just no good. Germans wouldn't like it if we made Hitler the mascot for German-Americans, not the least of which because Hitler wasn't American (at least not until after he was snuck into Michigan after WWII). Then again, Columbus isn't really American either. He didn't even buy a villa here. What a cheapskate!

Also, Columbus is only ethnically Italian. His voyage was for Castille, though, so that pretty much explains why things turned out the way they did after his voyages were through.

If you ask me, there shouldn't be a mascot for Italians. There shouldn't be mascots for other ethnicities at all. Mascots are stupid and should only either a) dance on the dugout or b) perform extremely dangerous slam dunks. Columbus can't ball and I'm pretty sure he can't dance, so he's no good.

The real problem with mascots is that they are stereotypes. Now, while I love a good stereotype, the problem is that people aren't really offended by them. Many Italians I know of pretty much fit the Italian-American stereotype to a T: overemotional, macho, family-oriented, pastrami eaters (yuck), religious, boorish, greasy, loud and excitable. If you call them on it, they'll deny it. But they fit the bill in most respects.

That's not meant to be an indictment of Italian-Americans. I think it's just a case of society conditioning people to behave a certain way. It's tough to break out of those molds, especially when you're around people who just want to embrace the stereotype because they love it so much.

But what makes being an Italian better than anything else? In truth: nothing.

Now, you may be screaming "TRADITORE!!" at me, waking up all your flatmates and embarrassing yourself AGAIN, but it's the truth. I don't like or dislike Italians anymore than I do any other culture or ethnicity (except Austrians. Fuck you, Austria). So I bristle at any pressure to be proud of my ethnicity, for a number of reasons.



The big reason is because it, frankly, is hypocritical. Until like 1850, the idea of a united Italy was pretty much laughable. Italy is a big-ass place with diverse regions, dialtects and mini-cultures. In some respects, it's not too unlike America in terms of diversity. And further, different groups of Italians didn't really take to other groups. There was no sense that everyone was an "Italian." People were Genoese, Lombards, Venetians, Sicilians, Piedmontese, Milanese, Luccans (laffo), Toscanans, Ligurians, Neapolitans, Sardinians, etc. etc. etc. etc. get on with it.

Even when Italy unified, it wasn't really smooth sailing, though it did kinda reorganize the inter-regional rivalries into two: north and south. And as far as I can understand, the division between north and south Italy roughly mirrors the division between north and south America (United States of). That's a pretty big difference, frankly.

Now you could say, "But we're talking about Italian-AMERICANS here!" Well, not necessarily for me. If you go by my mother's reckoning, then I'm 50% Italian and 50% Sicilian. But I repeat myself? Not really. Sicily is perhaps the most unique of all Italian subgroups, and I find Sicily itself to be even more intriguing than Italy proper. After all, Sicily was invaded even more times by outside groups, particularly the Muslims. There are still mosques on Sicily today. So Sicily strikes me as a more "happening" place, and it's not really accurate to say it has fully integrated with Italy. I'm sure most mainlanders would agree, which is their loss, because diversity is :cool:.

And then when you REALLY think about it, I'm not strictly 50% Sicilian, since Sicilian ancestry is buried under layers and layers of invading peoples, invadin' and rapin' and shit. Ugly business but that's what happened. So in all honesty, I find the idea that my "ancestry" has a specific meaning on my life to be ridiculous. How much Italian is my blood? How much is German? How much is Spanish, French, Moorish? Maybe a Chinaman's blood is in there too. Who the fuck knows?

And who cares? Does my heritage being 1.4% Turkish mean anything? No. Also my blood is not Italian. It's made of iron and hemoglobin and some other shit, not RAGU.

That said, let's quickly go over what it REALLY means to be an Italian-American, according to societal pressures:

EMOTIONS. Italians must be emotional. We must be passionate. We must take everything personally. I think this is pretty accurate, but then again, all Mediterranean people are considered emotional so it's a wash I guess. It's also pretty stupid. Stop being emotional and then maybe people will respect you a bit!

CATHOLICISM. All Italians are Catholics, except those friggin' traitors from il nord. We love our Pap though. This isn't a good or bad thing, but it gets ridiculous when everyone's all up in people's grill about being a Catholic when THEY NEVER GO TO CHURCH EVER.

The Mob. Personally, I regard this as being the most embarrassing aspect of Italian-Americanism. The mob are jerks. Shut up about all this "honor" crap. They steal and kill and terrorize people for a living, and they are all lousy shots and they have no imagination and are so far up their own asses, it takes Robert De Niro working overtime to make them look appealing. Italians bristle at being called mobsters but when the mob rears its head, they don't do shit to get rid of them. Jerks.

Food! Italian food is pretty goddamn good. Even the not-so-good stuff is good. So give yourself a round of applause, Italy.

Women! Italian women are great, except when they're ITALIAN women. I don't like hos that buy into the whole ethic because that usually means Lee press-ons, gum snapping, hairspray, tanning and an ego that can stretch down the Via Appia and back. Fuck that noise. I do like Italian noses and eyebrows. I don't like the overbite, though.

Guineas. Guineas are, perhaps, the worst. Worse than the mob? Well, not TECHNICALLY, but if I were forced to spend a car ride with a mafia don or a guinea, I would happily jump in the lap of the don. Guineas, guidos, greasers, dagos, whatever you call them, they are annoying as shit. The situation (HEH) has gotten worse since "Jersey Show" debuted, and of course every fucking guinea now thinks that's acceptable behavior so they're coming out of the woodwork even more than usual. I can't really express my deep hatred for this stereotype so I will spare you before this dark hatred overcomes my soul and oh shit too late I just killed a puppy.

The lingua. I can take it or leave it. I'm not really a fan of the stereotypical accent, especially when Mario says it.

Well, that was my little semi-offensive disseration on Italian-Americans. To make a long story short, Italy is nice but it holds no special place in me heart. And I think that's for the best.

Mommy wow! I'm a big kid now!

I'm gonna keep teasing you for a bit while longer. I'm almost done with the Brit thing but first thing's first!

I never understood why anyone wanted to be a fireman growing up. Was it the truck? The firetruck's unwieldy as fuck; only an 18-wheeler is even shakier to drive, but it makes a better explosion when it crashes into something. Was it the fire hose? That shit gets old pretty quick. Is it running into fires with an axe, beating the fire to death with it? Okay, that's pretty gnarly but there seems like there are better things one could be doing.

That said, I never wanted to be a fireman. When I was a wee tike (tyke? dyke?), I didn't even think about career shit. I was only vaguely aware of what my dad did (my mom didn't do anything at the time, career-wise). I had no idea what anyone else did. I probably thought the sisters were just there to teach me and crap. Whoa, does that mean I was unaware of their humanity? Food for thought!

The concept of "a job" probably never sunk in for me until 3rd grade. Don't be alarmed: I was a fairly stupid kid. Maybe one day I will regale you with the full width and breadth of my unbrightness (hint: It involves multiplication...). But at that point, as far as I was concerned, growing up meant doing whatever the hell you wanted to do. And for a long-ass time, I wanted to play BASEBALL!

Yes, America's pastime. It's the first sport I became aware of. Here's a bonus Adamtrivia fact for you: Despite my dad trying to make me a Mets fan, I became a Yankees fan because... I liked their color scheme more. Yes, not even the Mets appropriating Snoopy made me like them. It was all about mistaking navy blue for black. I guess I wasn't THAT stupid after all.

One of the earliest memories I have is wasting time in Montessori school pretending I was playing baseball. I got in trouble a bit over that but I didn't care. I didn't even understand the sport. All I knew was someone would hit a ball around and people would cheer and the guy would run around. As time went on, and I naturally understood the sport a bit better, I still maintained the idea I would play baseball. I was spurned on by a somewhat successful little-league career and a few choice moments as a middle school baseballer. But by 9th grade, my interest in actually chasing baseball stardom waned (as did my actual chances of even sniffing a high school baseball team, much less the Marlins. But I repeat myself).

Sports stardom is still a pretty damn cool thing, and being a sports star is my fourth-highest ideal career choice. But until and unless they made MW2 an actual sport, that's not gonna happen. Alas, we always have the real thing.

Next up: sports broadcaster. I suppose it was a natural progression from the field to the booth. But why the booth?

Well, think about it, genius. What's the only thing better than being paid to play sports? Uhhhh, maybe being paid to watch them? Yea!!! All the guys in the booth seemed to be having fun and learning shit all the time. You get to follow the team, maybe interview some players and stuff, maybe bang the mascot, the sky was the limit!

I was actually spurned on by this by doing some real-life play-by-play. BUT, this is a super mega secret. You are not ready to hear this secret. Don't ask. In time you may know, but not now.

Well it's technically not a secret, per se, but the fact is you don't know it so it's a secret to you and you don't know the proper channels to go through to learn it on your own. Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha :coughs:

Midway through high school, I figured out something even cooler than being a broadcast dude: Being a cop! Yes, I was a sucker for the whole "upholding the law," "enforcing justice" shit. I also liked solving crimes because I figured it'd be like a puzzle, except with consequences YOU TAKE TO THE GRAVE.

It helped that learning that Nassau County cops make like a quarter kajillion bucks a year, and they don't really do anything but sit by speed traps and play a game of Pull Over the Only Black Driver on Long Island. But as time wore on, being a Nassau cop didn't really appeal to me. I wanted to be a big city detective, like Richard Belzer, except real! Also I never watched L&O so none of those guys was an actual influence on me.

I still have a pretty strong sense of justice and I think that if I were given carte blanche to pop into bad guys' homes, yelling "BUST 'EM!!!", I could be a really great cop. But since that wasn't gonna happen, the desire to do this petered out shortly before senior year ended.

For 12 minutes, officially, I wanted to be Bob Ross' assistant. It seemed like such an easy job. Mix the paints, comb the hair, make sure he took his daily regimen of cocaine. But there was one critical flaw in my plan: He got died. Since his got dyingness, he was very much retired, and there's only one Bob Ross. And he's dead. There's probably like another Bob Ross, maybe some guy living in Altoona, but he doesn't paint. Well, he doesn't paint landscapes. Maybe he paints fences or something.

By the way, I entertained this thought while fighting off a particularly nasty stomach virus. I ended up winning, don't worry.

The last stop on the job hunt path thing was being the plucky journalist. Deciding to be a journalist was probably one of the most grounded decisions I've ever made (the other: Spray-painting the word "FUCK" on one of the columns in the White House. It's still there as of 2008. Go take a look!). I was good at writing and very curious about the world around me and shit. So I decided to combine the two things that I knew for sure I had in me. Voila! Journalist.

So I attended Hofstra (on a full scholarship... ladies...) due to its super-strong communications school. It worked out for me for a number of reasons, mainly by leading me down my career path, by opening me to some very interesting ideas about how the media works (even beyond journalism), and by getting me in close proximity to the sexiest goddamn reporter wannabe in the universe.

BUT. A problem arose. The actual work of journalism posed a problem. As I said in my book review of "Flat-Earth News," modern journalism is pretty much crap, at least commercial journalism. It's churn. I mean yeah, you can learn a lot of cool things while being a journalist, and your writing skills are really enhanced by being one. But you're also pressured constantly for deadlines. All day, every day, get the story in by the deadline!! I hate that shit, especially when you have to whip up some crappy little story and nobody is cooperating with your newsgathering and ugh.

That is not to say that I think I'm too goddamn good to be a mere beat reporter. But modern journalism is a constant grind to find shit that you're often resorting to, well, finding shit to work with. As an editor for a software newspaper, sometimes I read walls of text about software and all I can do is realize that a) at least 90% of it is actually PR shit, and b) it seems extremely trivial in the Big Picture.

I didn't quit on journalism. I just adjusted my perspective, and now I'm an editor. So now I can take the crappy stories (crappy subject matter, not necessarily the writer's skill, though... well, yeah) and make them at least readable. That's where my pride comes from. Yeah, I have very little of it but I'm proud of my small pride! I'M A PROUD MAN

I'm 72.9% sure that I'm set on my career. My main career, that is. One day I will pursue a side-career as a writer. I'll probably sell a grand total of 12 books. But I don't write for the money.

I write...













FOR THE WOMEN.