The Bloggy Blogface!

     From 2001-03, I called the northwest corner of Louisiana my home. My initial foray into the real world was met with a trip halfway across the country - a trip that consisted of a thirty-six hour bus ride (with plenty of transfers in sketchy towns in between) and a friend in Little Rock who took me the rest of the way to the Pelican State. Prior to this, my only moment spent in the state was interviewing for the position. That was early June, where I hopped aboard a couple planes and was whisked away to campus for hours upon hours of interrogation. The interview process wasn't really that bad, but what was bad was my ill-fated idea to take a walk around campus shortly after the interview ended. I was drenched in sweat upon my return, completely oblivious that the humidity there stuck around much longer than it did back in upstate New York. Regardless, I was in love. I was in love with this idea of continuing (starting, maybe?) my life elsewhere. The first few weeks...

 I guess I'm either just old-fashioned, or an old fart (probably both), but a brief moment during this year's Westminister Kennel Club Dog Show made me cringe for what remains of our culture. Lost among all the captivating bulldogs, dalmatians, sheepdogs and other breeds was the lack of care by some human beings during what should be a considerable duteous moment. The guilty party in question? Some gal in the stands. That's right, in the stands. She had nothing to do with the show at all. Well, she kind of did. She paid her $55.00 to get in and watch all the adorable doggies. Totally worth the cost of admission, sure. But what she did...what...she...did...! Unfortunately I do not have a screen grab of the incident. What I do have, however, is a grab from a sporting event that depicts the exact same thing. Maybe it's the same girl, who knows. Can you spot it? Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not some sort of patriotic nationalist or anything of the sor...

     My horror was brought to life a few short nights ago while shoving appetizers in my face at a fancy chain restaurant. It was at this very place I discovered, to my devastation, the interaction of two gentlemen that defied the laws of the utmost manliest logic. The characters, one bartender and one patron, delivered such a lecherous dialogue that I was almost prompted to ask them to surrender their man cards immediately. The gorging commenced in style, casually nibbling on all the delicious hopefully-not-microwaved offerings of boneless wings, spinach dip, and washing it all down with a couple Blue Moons. The patron, an older mustached fellow, apparently had been there for a couple hours, enjoying himself while waiting for dinner to be served. He was quite chatty with a friend who sat next to him briefly, but eventually the friend parted. This left our loquacious protagonist with our trusty bartender, a seemingly late twenty-something guy with considerable ink o...

Eyeballs are very dumb. Mostly in how we have to take care of them. Such a drag. Most of us have two of them, and that's pretty awesome. Some of us only have one, and that's still okay. Maybe more honorable, depending on how you only have just the one. Some of us have none, and that's both unfortunate and perhaps honorable, again depending on the back story. Above all, eyeballs are just stupid. Yeah, I'm talking to you, eyeballs. You and your gross composition of fluids and membranes and rods and cones and photoreceptor cells. I hate touching you. In fact, I can't even touch you. It freaks me the hell out, much like touching soft foam does. Nobody touches you. Not even the eye doctor lady trying to put contacts in for the very first time. That experience lasted roughly forty seconds until I was slumped on the floor outside of the bathroom, my brain and stomach nauseous from the mere idea of someone touching my eyeball. You literally make me sick just thinking a...

 In case you haven't noticed or anything, it's winter. How do I know? Because everyone is complaining about it. Some places are recording record lows all across this land. Here in western North Carolina for example, we had recent overnight wind chills of maybe twenty below zero. It's pretty brutal, and like most stories, aren't legit enough unless they include some ration of death. How many deaths have there been? Depends on where you read, really. Six? Seven? Two-hundred? Which one draws the most shock, and more importantly, more ratings? Throw around some cliches like "...cold enough to take your breath away" , or "life-threatening wind chill" , and what we have is another painstakingly desperate state of panic.  The most enjoyable part of this cold chill - I'm sorry, I guess the trendy correct  reactionary ratings term for this is Polar Vortex - is not so much mainstream media's orgasmic reaction to it, but by overly-cliche re...

Hi,    I'll cut right to the chase. These things are the WORST - UGH. No, I'm not talking about that slinky denim skirt (which isn't bad), nor those boots (which are, maybe). I'm referring to those goddamn machines she and those other folks are using to purchase things. Who made them, and more importantly, who thought they would actually help with anything?  Where to start with these bullshit machines? Let's start small. Let's talk about the good ones. The good machines that don't have hordes of people lined up to use them. Small stores, like CVS. Those are nice. Simple. Efficient. Red. Sometimes, there's merely one person ahead of me there. Most of the time, THERE ARE NONE. This is important. Also, those ahead of me don't have 4,553 items in their little red basket. Quick check-outs. So, these machines are decent. Kind of. Even in New York City, there's room for one on your own. A brief wait, at best. Additionally, these places of...

Open letter to random message board poster who thought he and his friends would have been drafted for United States military duty during the Persian Gulf War. First, we can dismiss the fact the United States eliminated military conscription (i.e. - the drafting of civilians) way back in 1973. Because hey, why not live in an imaginary world where we might need it again. I don't think you have any sheer grasp of the numbers involving the U.S. military, or perhaps you're just selectively avoiding researching stuff on your own because it helps with whatever agenda you're trying to drive home. At any rate, I'll try to relate things as best I can. Operation Desert Storm occurred for roughly six months in 1990 to February 1991. Without getting into too much detail, the United States sent almost 700,000 soldiers to fight this war. Seven-hundred thousand. Or, about the current population of the city of Boston. That's a lot. We basically sent a major city over there. S...