The End is Near

Recently I have been watching more than a few shows about the apocalypse, the antichrist, and other cheery subjects. As a cult leader, a familiarness with these topics is essential, and I figured I'd catch up on these topics, especially with the swell in interest in topics such as this. While watching these shows I've determined that I need to secure a place as an "expert" on these shows to secure an added element of visibility to get the word out about me and my cult.

I've discovered that those who may be the most likely recruits are not exactly the type of folks I hang out with, so TV seems to be a suitable medium to reach them. Unfortunately I can't just appear on TV, so I have to do something else first. Hmmm, maybe a book. I can write a book, which needn't be anything to special, as folks eager to hear about the end of the world (and believe in it) likely don't devote too much time to higher education. Perhaps one of my artistically inclined friends could draw illustrations. If something subliminal slips in oh well. Then I can branch out into other media. Maybe a hokey Jesus song for some Time Life compilation. I have friends with ample talents in these areas, and again, a little subliminal brainwashing might not hurt either. Something like, "It's the end of the world as we know it, so why not send me all your cash anyway."

I figure literary success begets TV stardom begets musical superstardom begets $$$ :)

Ever Pee in a Library or Church? I have.

Doubtlessly this will not be a surprise, but men are weird. Some more than others. Having not resigned myself to the simplicity of Depends, I need to use the bathroom from time to time, even while at work, though oddly enough there is no bath in the bathroom there. Anyway, some men do some really odd things (worry not, I won't be writing about dudes who poop in urinals--oops), but for now, I'm confused with reading habits. I like to read, probably read more than all but the most scholarly book worms (though my choice in subject matter can fall a tad short of scholarly), anyway, I tend to leave my love of reading at the bathroom door. I simply have found better places to read, and when it comes to the bathroom at work, it's an in and out affair, without much delay. So I wonder who not only feels the need to read while, uh, doing their business at work, but also feels the need to leave materials behind for other enjoyment? Do folks who bring a paper to the John and leave it behind for others, think they are doing a public service? What's odder is when I lived in Florida, I'd often see radical, often deeply bigoted, "Christian" comic books on the top of urinals for folks to read. I guess folks looking for a new take on religion should look in the bathroom. Well, I guess public bathrooms are centers of religion and scholarly endeavors.

Sheena Was a Man ... or was she?

This weekend I made a horrible discovery, the likes of which shook my world. When it happened, all I could compare it to was Tone Loc's horrific discovery that Sheena was a man. What could be such a horrible surprise? Well I discovered what I have taken for granted, what I sleep with, what I knew to be true wasn't. I discovered that my down comforter was ... down alternative. It felt like down, and it was quite nice, but the tag said 100% polyester. It was like finding out Hitler was a Jew or something (uh, nevermind). Living in Columbus, I've built up a strong hatred of Canadian Geese, their attitude, and the shit they leave on the sidewalks at work. Knowing they've given their annoying lives for my own comfort makes me happy, but to hear that my comforter is really polyester is quite a let down.

Anyway, my close sleeping companion was shunned, and I rather lay in bed freezing uncovered than allow the the bedding that betrayed me. I grabbed another blanket, likely filled with polyester itself, but certainly not masquerading as anything else. Yesterday I cleaned the duvets on several comforters, including the one that betrayed me. Upon replacing the duvet on the wretched betrayer, I noticed a different tag, one that said 75% down. Had I wrongly accused my comforter of being a fraud? Was I rash and quick to judge an otherwise innocent comforter? Well, I guess I was wrong, and I accepted my comforter back into bed. All was well again, and my comforter kept me nice and warm. I suppose I can be a bit silly at times.

The World's Game: Finale

Last Tuesday I was enjoying the bliss of cheering on the Fatherland against Italy in the World Cup. It was another nil - nil game, and it was headed to overtime. My fellow Kraut Darlene had invited me and my girlfriend over for a Fourth of July grilling event, which had me cut the game short, but thanks to DVR, I was able to pause it and return to the game after a bit of sangria and some burgers. I thoroughly enjoyed the grub, and I returned to watch 27 or so minutes of scoreless overtime (after 90 minutes of scoreless regulation time) until the Italians (at the time I was more likely to use an ethnic slur) scored--twice. My heart was broken, the master race had fallen, and the Italians were going to the finals while the losing krauts had to settle for the consolation game. It couldn't get any worse.

Well, looking back to 1998, it was worse. The World Cup was in France; the French were unbeatable, and I had to listen to Chumbawamba's Tubthumping every time I played World Cup 98 on my PC "I get knocked down! But I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down" Let me tell you that goddamn song is a cancer than grows in your mind and drives you crazy "He drinks a whisky drink, he drinks a vodka drink, he drinks a lager drink, he drinks a cider drink..."--almost as crazy as watching those godforsaken frogs win "Pissing the night away". Now this past Wednesday the French played the weak-ass wussy Portuguese, who dive and pretend to be hurt, and I had no choice but to cheer the Portuguese. Growing up German, the only thing as fun as watching the Germans succeed was watching the French lose. Well Wednesday the Goddamn French won. I was in hell--it WAS worse!

Yesterday it was Italy vs Germany. My disgruntled anger towards the Italians had to wane, as nothing could stop me from hating the French. I initially avoided the game, but alas while shopping at the local Italian market, I saw the game was not only on, but all of the Italian workers and patrons were watching intently, feeling an innate bond with their brethren across the pond. I couldn't help but be swept up in their enthusiasm, mostly because they too were rooting for the French to lose. When I got home, I put the game on, and kept watching the tie game, trying to will a goal for my swarthy Italian brothers. The goal never happened, but as the game ended in a tie, even after an overtime, there were penalty kicks. Italy is notoriously bad in penalty kicks (which is why I was so devastated when they scored minutes before meeting such a circumstance against my beloved krauts, who are invincible on penalty kicks), but I knew they would win. God doesn't hate me that much, and in the end the French choked, and my Italian homies won. I smiled, and all was Ok--not good, but OK.

Nothing Like the First Time

Well I finally fulfilled one of the few remaining rites of passage that have alluded me, going to a drive in movie theater. As a kid there weren't many drive in theaters in the area, and the most notable one was an adult drive in. I really don't want to know what people do in their cars there. Anyway, Saturday night I took some potential cult members to the drive in. Drive ins pretty much only exist in the country, so off to the country it was.

Now there's something that being in small town America always has in common, no matter what part of the country you're in--there ain't shit to do. Thus the drive in was packed, and there was a large line of cars several hours before the show began (which was rather late due to the days being longer--a sign of the apocalypse--join my cult!!!). We came prepared with various mysterious candies from the Japanese market. I dunno exactly what we ate, but everything had MSG in it (I'm not shitting you, it all had MSG). While we waited, we enjoyed the real highlight of the evening: people watching.

Lots of white trash, big belt buckles, big hair, oh, and someone had a black power T-shirt. It's been a while since I've seen one of those (this one was black with the word "black" with a fist in the backgound. What was odd was the dude that was wearing it--the fella was a middle-aged white guy. Odd, really odd.

Anyway, it was a good time. The movies weren't bad, the atmosphere was interesting, and the overall experience was one I enjoyed.