A great thing about modern bars is the ubiquitous nature of WIFI connections. Like a double tall, non-fat latte, you can get one on every corner.
Just now "stumbled upon" an interesting web page. It's from the MoveOn Organization - "Democracy in Action." Yeah, yeah, blah, blah. Anyway, it's an online petition to sign that encourages President Obama to continue his boycott of Fox News.
Dudes, I think they're on to something. Let's start a petition that asks every politician to boycott ALL networks. We'd never have to see the lying bastards again!
Brilliant!
By the way, I signed the petition and left a comment asking them to keep Obama off all the networks. Something tells me not to answer any knocks on the door at home.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Putting the Fun Back Into "Fun Sized"
October brings two things of cultural significance. One, is Octoberfest, and a great reason to get together and eat, drink, and be obnoxious. The other, of course, is Halloween, a great reason to get together and eat, drink, and be obnoxious, only this time wearing a goofy costume.
Remember trick or treating and stumbling across the "holy grail" - full-sized candy bars? It was paradise found, and you quickly circled to see if you could get to the house for a repeat visit before the bucket was empty and the front porch light turned off.
All too familiar were the little "fun size" bars. You know, the little bitty candy bars. I hated those damn things. Who said they were "fun" anyway? Fun, we all know, was full-sized. It's like that for everything, including candy. Especially candy.
But, now there's an option even smaller than "fun size." I don't think there's a name for it. It's just these little, tiny mini-bites. Not even a single serving. Taking a blind taste test, you might not even have a big enough bite to discern exactly what candy bar you're almost tasting. The only good thing about the little bites is that it makes the crappy little "fun size" way more palatable in comparison.
So, that's what it took to position "fun size" in a more favorable light.
There's a lot of things that makes being a kid better today than in years past - PlayStation 3, mobile phones, ubiquitous pizza delivery, etc. Little tiny packages of candy ain't one of 'em.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
The Week's Sign of the Apocalypse
Turning the pages of the "news" paper this morning, I saw the following:
Kim Kardashian will receive $50,000 for celebrating her 29th birthday in Las Vegas.
Are you shitting me?
Now, a disclaimer: the source article is a scoop from the New York Post, which isn't exactly the bedrock of journalistic integrity. I wouldn't be sruprised if it was nothing more than an "ad" placed by some scum bag publicist to garner more attention for a person who seems to be a professional at garnering attention for no reason of any social significance.
Of course, it's true. You can feel it in the fiber of your soul, can't you?
Kim gets her ridiculous bounty for placing her also ridiculous booty in theoft-too trendy Tao nighclub in the Venetian Hotel. We, as civilized members of society, are called upon to rise up and do something about this nonsense. Dr. Ray's Rx for the cultural revolution includes:
Kim Kardashian will receive $50,000 for celebrating her 29th birthday in Las Vegas.
Are you shitting me?
Now, a disclaimer: the source article is a scoop from the New York Post, which isn't exactly the bedrock of journalistic integrity. I wouldn't be sruprised if it was nothing more than an "ad" placed by some scum bag publicist to garner more attention for a person who seems to be a professional at garnering attention for no reason of any social significance.
Of course, it's true. You can feel it in the fiber of your soul, can't you?
Kim gets her ridiculous bounty for placing her also ridiculous booty in theoft-too trendy Tao nighclub in the Venetian Hotel. We, as civilized members of society, are called upon to rise up and do something about this nonsense. Dr. Ray's Rx for the cultural revolution includes:
- Join me in boycotting the Venetian and Tao. I frequent Vegas on occasion, and while they won't miss my hundreds on the gaming tables, collectively, they might miss our thousands. Who am I kidding? they won't miss us. But, the Venetian, as pretty as it is, sucks anyways. If you want to go to Venice, go to the real Venice - it might even be less expensive. As for Vegas, all the fun is on the other side, and other end, of the street. As for Tao, my shoes are never nice enought to get in, so it's not like I have to change my behavior. If you're reading this, my guess is you won'thave to either.
- Now for the more, er, delicate step. Everyone in attendance - particularly the nobodies who paid a huge cover just to get in the same party with pooper princess Kim - needs to be "fixed." No, not rehabilitated, as there is no effective manner of rehabilitation for celebutard ass kissing or jock sniffing (the two are often interlocked as one debilitating illness). By fixed, I mean sterilized. It's not eugenics, it's common sense. We don't need more ignorance and vanity in the gene pool.
There you have it, a quick two-step fix to begin to get our society back on the fast track to the right track. The next step is one I take alone - kicking Spencer Pratt's ass in a cage fight.
Join me brothers and sisters - the cultural revolution continues!
Sound the battle cry on Twitter @RayHartjen
Friday, October 16, 2009
Hungry for More
The other day, I was hungry, and, it sucked. Bad. I mean, I was starving. To the point it felt like my stomach was trying to eat itself.
Mind you, it was 5:00 pm, less than a handful of hours after I had eaten lunch. I don't know, maybe I ate a slightly smaller lunch. Or, maybe I napped less and burned more energy in the afternoon. Regardless, I was hungry and unhappy.
Of course, I wasn't really hungry at all. Four hours removed from a meal doesn't exactly qualify as hunger. There would be no telethon in my honor.
How much would it suck to really be hungry? I'm talking haven't-eaten-anything-in-days type of hunger. You know, like hundreds of millions of people on our planet.
This afternoon, I heard a talking head on NPR talk about the suffering we've been doing during this global recession. I took a quick glance around. Road clogged with luxury imports? Check. Starbucks on the corner full of people getting $3 coffees? Check. Every person in site tweeting on a smart phone? Check. Going home to a house not made of mud and hay? Check.
I guess suffering means having to cut back your Starbucks intake from 18 a week to 15. Hey, bring your own mug, you can even save a dime!
"They" say the economy is improving. I don't know. Just in case, I'm going to hedge my bets. Less food, more drinking. That way, if it doesn't turn around, I won't really give a shit.
Plus, I think I wear that long-hair, unshaven, drunken, broken, tortured-artist-soul look well too. With any luck, the chicks will dig it.
Look what it did for Kurt Cobain. Except for the whole suicide part, that is.
Gonna to have to get more used to those hunger pains.
Follow the party on Twitter @RayHartjen
Mind you, it was 5:00 pm, less than a handful of hours after I had eaten lunch. I don't know, maybe I ate a slightly smaller lunch. Or, maybe I napped less and burned more energy in the afternoon. Regardless, I was hungry and unhappy.
Of course, I wasn't really hungry at all. Four hours removed from a meal doesn't exactly qualify as hunger. There would be no telethon in my honor.
How much would it suck to really be hungry? I'm talking haven't-eaten-anything-in-days type of hunger. You know, like hundreds of millions of people on our planet.
This afternoon, I heard a talking head on NPR talk about the suffering we've been doing during this global recession. I took a quick glance around. Road clogged with luxury imports? Check. Starbucks on the corner full of people getting $3 coffees? Check. Every person in site tweeting on a smart phone? Check. Going home to a house not made of mud and hay? Check.
I guess suffering means having to cut back your Starbucks intake from 18 a week to 15. Hey, bring your own mug, you can even save a dime!
"They" say the economy is improving. I don't know. Just in case, I'm going to hedge my bets. Less food, more drinking. That way, if it doesn't turn around, I won't really give a shit.
Plus, I think I wear that long-hair, unshaven, drunken, broken, tortured-artist-soul look well too. With any luck, the chicks will dig it.
Look what it did for Kurt Cobain. Except for the whole suicide part, that is.
Gonna to have to get more used to those hunger pains.
Follow the party on Twitter @RayHartjen
Saturday, October 10, 2009
A Fish Story of a Different Sort
One night, a couple of decades ago, I'm sitting in a bar in Media, PA, a suburb or Philadelphia, drinking a bunch of cold ones with my friends Lisa, Bill, and Bobby. The door opens, and a guy walks in carrying a 4-5 foot long alligator.
The bartender says, "Yo, you can't have that reptile in here. You twos got to leave."
The guy says, "This animal is completely domesticated. He's as tame as a guide dog, for chrissakes. If I can prove to you he's safe, can he stay?"
Bartender shrugs and says, "What do you have in mind?"
The guy orders a pint of Guinness and places his alligator on the bar, directly across from us on the other side. As the bartender slides over his draft, the guy drops his pants and barks to his alligator, "Open!"
The alligator then opens his mouth wide. This guy proceeds to put his balls in the alligator's mouth, resting right on his tongue - an honest to goodness teabag. He then casually drinks his Guinness, like nothing's going on.
We're staring, absolutely speechless.
After about ten minutes, after he's finished his pint, he pulls his junk out of the gator's mouth, pulls up his pants, then orders the gator, "Close," to which the alligator promptly closes his jaws.
"See that? Perfectly trained, perfectly safe," says the guy. The bartender nods and says, "You're right - you both can stay."
With that, the guy looks over at us four and days, "I noticed you all watching. Any of you want to give it a try."
My drunken friend Bill starts to speak, but Bobby puts his hand up and interrupts him.
Bobby takes one more sip of beer and says, "I'm willing to give it a try, but I'm so drunk I might not be able to keep my mouth open that long."
The bartender says, "Yo, you can't have that reptile in here. You twos got to leave."
The guy says, "This animal is completely domesticated. He's as tame as a guide dog, for chrissakes. If I can prove to you he's safe, can he stay?"
Bartender shrugs and says, "What do you have in mind?"
The guy orders a pint of Guinness and places his alligator on the bar, directly across from us on the other side. As the bartender slides over his draft, the guy drops his pants and barks to his alligator, "Open!"
The alligator then opens his mouth wide. This guy proceeds to put his balls in the alligator's mouth, resting right on his tongue - an honest to goodness teabag. He then casually drinks his Guinness, like nothing's going on.
We're staring, absolutely speechless.
After about ten minutes, after he's finished his pint, he pulls his junk out of the gator's mouth, pulls up his pants, then orders the gator, "Close," to which the alligator promptly closes his jaws.
"See that? Perfectly trained, perfectly safe," says the guy. The bartender nods and says, "You're right - you both can stay."
With that, the guy looks over at us four and days, "I noticed you all watching. Any of you want to give it a try."
My drunken friend Bill starts to speak, but Bobby puts his hand up and interrupts him.
Bobby takes one more sip of beer and says, "I'm willing to give it a try, but I'm so drunk I might not be able to keep my mouth open that long."
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Not all types, but both types
Overheard regarding a break up – “Hey, there’re all types of girls.”
Whoa. Back up.
Philosophically and ideologically, yes, there are all sorts of girls. But, women, there’s a bit of a secret here, and I think I’m safely in the brotherhood by sharing it – it’s not like it’s a classified secret or anything: For heterosexual men, there are really only two types of women.
1. Those you would
2. Those you wouldn’t
Of course, every so often a non-thinking Neanderthal will propose a third – Those you did. Un uh. Not here. This guy will argue that “Those you did” are, in fact, a sub-set of “Those you would.” If you dare argue, you’ll have to face the shameful inquisition regarding the drunken night you did someone from the “Those you wouldn’t” list, and that’s one discussion I think you’ll agree is best not begun.
Now, the criteria for making one classification over another is variable by each individual man. It’s also variable within a single man – it changes over time. Sometimes the list slowly evolves over years or decades. Other times, a girl leaps from #2 to #1 over a single, solitary beer.
Who am I kidding? Opportunity alone often shuffles the deck.
Not exactly a groundbreaking discovery for women, you say? Au contraire, my friends of the fairer sex, for if you know what category you fall into, absolute power is yours.
Uh oh, now that was a classified secret! Oops. Now, where’s that f’ing backspace key?
Whoa. Back up.
Philosophically and ideologically, yes, there are all sorts of girls. But, women, there’s a bit of a secret here, and I think I’m safely in the brotherhood by sharing it – it’s not like it’s a classified secret or anything: For heterosexual men, there are really only two types of women.
1. Those you would
2. Those you wouldn’t
Of course, every so often a non-thinking Neanderthal will propose a third – Those you did. Un uh. Not here. This guy will argue that “Those you did” are, in fact, a sub-set of “Those you would.” If you dare argue, you’ll have to face the shameful inquisition regarding the drunken night you did someone from the “Those you wouldn’t” list, and that’s one discussion I think you’ll agree is best not begun.
Now, the criteria for making one classification over another is variable by each individual man. It’s also variable within a single man – it changes over time. Sometimes the list slowly evolves over years or decades. Other times, a girl leaps from #2 to #1 over a single, solitary beer.
Who am I kidding? Opportunity alone often shuffles the deck.
Not exactly a groundbreaking discovery for women, you say? Au contraire, my friends of the fairer sex, for if you know what category you fall into, absolute power is yours.
Uh oh, now that was a classified secret! Oops. Now, where’s that f’ing backspace key?
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