I Like Forest

Something about this email from “Stephenie” (reprinted verbatim) just speaks to me. Can’t put my finger on it. Oddly there are no links in the email, just this text.

Im woman. I have a red hair with copper shimmering. My eyes is purple. I am high. I have beautiful chest. My hair is long straight. I live in a big city. I work in banking. I like to watch funny comedies. Representations in the theater. I like meet friends . I like forest. If you talk about me I am dangerous panther. Most of all in men I value sense of humor. When I saw you theater. I agreed that must. Because I can be for you a incredible lover or someone great if you want. I’m wait.

Anything to Stay Relevant…

In Roger Ebert’s world, the best movies of the decade include the retarded Bad Lieutenant remake, the Kill Bill movies, Spike Lee’s tepid The 25th Hour, Linklater’s experimental (and little else) Waking Life, and Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York (the best movie of the ’00s)!

I guess Herzog’s threat has done its job.

Snowglobes: Banned

It no longer snows upon the world’s miniature landmarks.

The TSA says you can’t carry a snow-globe onto a plane, even if it fits in your freedom baggie, because they can’t measure how much liquid it contains, and therefore it must contain more than three oz of potential explosive, um, water.

Remind Me Again Why I Have a Land Line?

This week my home phone started bristling with static. Again. Had the same problem a year ago, thought it was something with the cordless phone. After many weeks finally got a repair guy to come out and he discovered it was a short at AT&T’s junction box.

Now it’s back. This time I didn’t hesitate, but after using AT&T’s oh-so-helpful online diagnostic tool (which says the problem “is with your phone”), there’s a new kink: Namely, the phone here rings, one time, every two hours, on the half-hour. All day and all night. Just the one ring, but that’s enough to wake you up at 1:30am, 3:30am, and 5:30am, I promise.

Only took six minutes on hold with AT&T to determine they “had me on a repeat code.”

Meanwhile my appointment to fix the static looms. The scheduled time for the repair: “Any time on Friday.” Midnight to midnight, I presume.

For the record, because you’ll never find it on AT&T’s website, the number for the AT&T repair center is 1-866-346-1168.

Update: And 4 hours later, it’s still ringing…

In Other News, Ukranian Cash is Known as the Hryvnia

Note to self/world: If you drop money into a toilet, let it go.

The emergency workers removed tiles, drilled the toilet out of concrete floor and cut the outlet pipe, but the man’s arm remained trapped in the chute. Hydraulic shears and a plumber’s torch were finally used to cut the man free.

Market Street to Close to Traffic for Pilot Project

Well thank God for this. Lord knows when I’m walking near Market and 6th what I really want to be doing is wandering around in the street.

Aw Jeez, Wally

Anyone else find themselves trying to read the faux newspaper articles and notes that appear for a split second on TV shows and movies?

Here’s a classic from Leave It To Beaver.


Joe Queenan offers a dazzlingly insightful look at the modern apology and its apparently utter lack of actual remorse.

Even in more recent, less theatrically vindictive times, true regret for one’s transgressions has always required a willingness to accept punishment, even if the punishment consists of nothing more than humiliation. The wrongdoer must admit that he has behaved shamefully and then accept being shamed. This means that if he is going to apologize for his actions, his apology must be abject and mortifying, with no wheedling, no qualifications, no whining. The apology cannot be used as a justification for one’s misdeeds, nor can the apology be hijacked to make the penitent seem in some way noble. For an apology to work, the apologist must get down on his knees and grovel. It is not enough to ask for forgiveness. He must beg for it.

And What Is Your Age, Sir?

New rules at the airport, yay!

As of Saturday, you may (or may not, who knows!) have to provide your gender (gay) and age (uhh) when buying your little online plane tickets so you can go to New Jersey or whatever, for a funeral. Hooray!