Friday, January 19, 1990

So let me get something straight...

Everyone is always biatching about the cold. Everyone is always saying, "man, the winter is so frigid, I wish it were warmer." everyone is always going away on winter vacation, to somewhere nice and sunny. Everyone always says its so nice in California, or Bermuda or wherever. But all those same people are complaining about global warming...

Now don't get me wrong, Ill miss the polish ice caps as much as anyone else. I'm sure they are very scenic and bring in tons of tourist money to Poland's suffering economy, but cant we sacrifice one stinking eastern-European nation to make everywhere just a wee bit warmer? As it is, all we are apparently getting out of all this warming is a one-degree raise. So we go from 43 to 44... Big whoop. And for this people are complaining? C'mon folks, if we wanna get NY up to the 70's in mid-winter, were gonna have to buy a LOT more SUVs then we have. Quite frankly I'm sick of all you bleeding-heart liberals (I've always wanted to say "bleeding-heart liberals in a blog :-) ) whining about environment this and children that. The way I figure, get moderate zones real tropical-like, and go to cool places in the summer. Alaska will be the awesomest vacation spot ever during the killer summers as their outdoor temp will only hit a maximum of mid-80's.

The point is, we gotta get rid of that stupid ozone layer. All it ever does is release our hard-earned UV rays that we work so hard to accumulate. Its ruining our tanning opportunities too. You have to work extra hard to get that healthy leathery brown, if you have more ozone. And more time on the beach, means less time driving SUV's.

Here are my recommendations. We reinstate CFC's in aerosol cans and the like and promote the burning of mass amounts of Styrofoam and the sort. This will destroy the ozone at a much faster rate, thus maximizing the effect of ultraviolet rays and greenhouse gases. To accumulate more of these gases, we ban the creation of yuppie, hybrid cars and ban all forms of fuel-conservation. Then, we sell Saudi Arabia to Halliburton, replace the bald eagle with the Hummer as America's national symbol and kill all democrats (that last one is just for sport). Within 10 years, with your help, Green Bay could be a beach city!

Help us, will you?

I don't even know how I'm coping right now...

Have you ever lived through a personal tragedy? A tragedy so crippling that the initial news of it brings you to your knees? Seven days ago, I received some of the worst news I could have potentially received at that point in my life. Things were going so well... Applications were proceeding to schools, friends and loved ones were generally healthy and happy. Financial comfort, or at least consistency. And then this! A week later, I remain glued here, morbid, weeping big, salty tears at the untimely extinguishing of one of the last few flames that brought light to my otherwise dark and dreary outlook.

There are few things I can take joy in in this life of pain and hatred. A connection with family and G-D, hard work and decent grades, friends to share the solitude of existence with, and mindless entertainment in the forms of video games and television...

I lost one of those last few rays of light last week, and I had taken the week to mourn. I would respect the shiva and wait seven days until I chose to move on, but the seven days have come and gone and I remain bitter and empty. Where is my happiness? When shall it return?

Why did you leave us so soon, Arrested Development? Did we not appreciate you enough? Did our lack of viewership not justify your large budget? If I could go back, and do it all over again, I would speak out for you. Call your name 0ut in the crowds and make people aware of your situation. Make people aware of the Bluths and their problems. Well, your in a better place now I suppose... I hope syndication is all they say it is. I will pray for you every day and I know I'll nsee you again someday; that they'll be airing you in heaven.

Goodbye Arrested Development. Goodbye.

( This was posted on Friday, Nov. 18, 2005)

Thursday, January 18, 1990

Everryone had kiddie tapes growing up. Be it a Mother Goose rhyme tape, Rafi, or some sesame street garbage, we all had these cute little $20 production cassetes as kids that taught us lessons through inspiring songs and silly voices. If you were a Jewish kid though, you had something similar but not quite the same.

Type A) The story tape; with interspersed songs.

I'm thinking specifically of "When Zaidy was Young."

This, a Shmuel Kunda classic, was the finest of its genre. This tape tells the story of the Himmelstein family, through the generations, as they grew up on the lower east side of manhattan in the 30's or 40's. Humorous anecdotes occured, many which you have to be a litvish jew who speaks yiddish to get. There was some major plot twist in which Heimy may have lost his job or something... I dont really rememeber to be honest. The music was cool also. I wanted to ride a trolly to RJJ for months after hearing that tape. Oh well. The voice acting, done primarily by Kunda himself was superb as well. And like all stories in this genre, of which when Zeidy was young is only an example, there was some major lesson learnt, like dont talk Loshon ha'Ra, or Daven with Kavana. Other such gems in this area of jewish-children tapeage include: When Zaidy was Young 2; Where's Zaidy?; the Golden Crown; and The Maharal of Prague.

Type B) The lesson tape, with intersperesed songs.

This was a little less story-like then the following group. Here, a knowledgeable, older male would teach children, talking inanimate judaic objects, and goofy-voiced, doofus adults lessons about being jewish. This would include such topics as: Midos Tovos, visiting the sick and the controversial issue of "who sat on my shabbos hat?" The format was usualy something like: 1) Someone does something he/she/they shouldnt have. 2) A lesson-song is sang to teach them the rules. 3) The kid feels bad, apologizes and gets a candy. This group was pretty abundant as well, the foremost examples being: SimchaMan; The Marvelous Midos Machine; and my personal favorite, Country Yossi, starriing Kivi and Tuki.Heres the rundown. Kivi and Tuki are aliens with voices that sound shockingly similar to Country Yossi's, except if it was computerized to sound a little sillier. odd huh? Now, these aliens come to earth and end up in the care of a single, bearded, orthodox male who calls himself Country Yossi and sings silly, effective songs. Kivi is your typical brown-nosing, yeshivish suck-up. He does whatever it takes to get to the head of the class, regardless of how Tuki will look at him. Tuki is the more rebellious one, but again, in a typical way. He dosent like to learn Gemara, or wake up early for minyan. That Rasha! However, with some simple song-singing, Tuki basically becomes Kivi with a big mouth, showing us that we all have the potential for good within. yay.

Type C)The all music tape.

This one sometimes seems like there are segmenst in between songs, but generally they are airy fluff that have no significant connection to what is about to be sung. The songs on this variety of cassete were usualy more toddler-oriented and dealt with less controversial topics. They would be more encouragement then admonishment and would not teach a lesson, so much as they would reaffirm parental teachings. these were the true Rafis and Barneys of the jewish muisic industry. there were many artists in this category but clearly Uncle Moishie takes the cake.

Uncle Moishie was and is a fat pederast with a large Mem on his hat that likes to make money by ripping off old standards and placing juvenile words in to them. he sang on such topics as: kosher, helping old people, loving your mommy and daddy, and of course, his ouvre: Hey Dum Diddle-Dee Dum. You usualy just played this tape to two year olds to get them to go to sleep or shut up in the car so Mommy can have some quiet time with her little helper.

These were the tapes I grew up with as a child. As we can see the great jewish propoganda-machine is still in full-steam. Good luck to your kids on readjusting to the world after growing up on these.

Wednesday, January 17, 1990

So I was lamenting my lack of a portable media player this afternoon, when I just started drifting back to my first CD player.

See, this must have been about... 10 years ago now. I don't really know if that was late, early, or just on time to have gotten a CD player but I certainly do remember thinking it was really similar to the record player we had in the basement. Not because of the spinning disc, but because of the absolute lack skip protection. I always walked on tiptoes, slowly and deliberately, when I had my first discman on. People always thought I was trying to surprise or rob someone but all I wanted was for the Spice Girls to sound steady. I really enjoyed that CD player though, if even for its own sake.

I realize that at the time there was no practical reason to have a CD player. This was before ANY skip protection technology had been created or even before decent lasting batteries were in effect. I could have about 5 hours of jerky Hanson before I had to recharge. This, mind you, was in preference to cassettes.

Some of you may not remember cassettes. You should put the weed down. Its only been like 10 years. Cassettes were those little, plastic music thingys that apparently worked on magnet-strip something-or-another. I was reading about it and frankly, it sounded much more technologically advanced then CD's but what do I know? Anyway, these cassettes were virtually skipproof. You could have an old, sony walkman and actually dance with it, massive, foamy headphones and all, and not a single skip. The sound quality was average, they were stackable and most importantly, if you held down the FF button (>>) about half-way it would play really fast and sound all "Alvin-and-the-Chipmunksy." Not only that, but they made music pirating that much easier. Lawsuits? Please! I "ripped" my music right off the radio. I still go back and listen to those old Weird Al classics that I dubbed from my classmates without any fear of legal come-uppance. Those were the days.

Then of course, everyone had to switch to CD's. These things scratch, they skip, they get lost, they crack, they melt/bubble and they glint sun into your eyes. Why we switched I may never know, but we did none the less. So what did I do? I switched too. Spent all that money to reget all those classic ChumbaWumba and Billie Myers CD's so that just 3-6 years later the technology could already start to become obsolete. Before I knew it, the digital media revolution was upon me.

Now you may not know or remember this, but I had one of the very first MP3 players in existence. I won it accidentally from a radio contest in like 11th grade or something.

Booker: KRock.

Me: Hey man, can I request some Pennywise?

Booker: Kid... You won!

Me: Won? Huh? Won what?

Booker: You spaz, you're caller 92. You won an MP3 player.

Me: An empee what now?

Booker: Dorkface... whats your address?

The point is, I had no idea what an MP3 player was at the time. No one did. It took me a while to figure out even after I got the thing (which, by the way, held 56 Mb of memory and retailed at $299. That's like 1/8 of an iPod shuffle at 3X the price).

That being said, I still don't have any decent digital media player, I don't know why I haven't bought one and I don't remember why I started this post. I honestly don't remember what my original point was going to be, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna go back to the top to look. I refuse to edit this thing. Maybe I'll spellcheck. Later.

Tuesday, January 16, 1990

So I'm at an impass...

On the one hand, I love this blog. In the 15 or so posts I have posted so far I have come to realize that my opinion is very important to the world today and that people wopuld be upset if I quit. On the other hand, I'm finding it very complicated to continuosly maintain the writing style that has carried me over these past 2 weeks. I'm not so certain that I always care to rant on about things I love or hate. Its good filler, and when Im inspired I enjoy it, but Im concerned that I am becoming a bit contrived. Or a lot contrived... either way.

So now what? Do I vacation? Take some time, reconsider my options, come up with some topics and return in full-furious form? Or do I start posting my random musings? Do I want to share my daily experiences? My political views? My favorite books/paintings/pieces of music? I'd like to post things that I'd like to post about, but again, I'm at an impass.

Monday, January 15, 1990

What the heck is a metrosexual anyway?

Now, I know I'm two years behind the trend. Im not asking this as if I just heard the word yesterday. I just really wanna know what the heck a metro is. Because it cant mean what I think it means.

Now, if I'm to understand, metro means gay in every way but orientation. A metro acts, dresses and behaves like a gay dude. He shops at express, he spends a half hour on his hair in the morning, he just doesn't stick his *ahem* into another guys ::cough::


But can that truly be the definition? Consider this: I have been referred to as metrosexual.

Me.

Color-blind, messy-haired, fat Xvi has been called metrosexual. I barely bathe and I eat with my fingers. Clearly there is a definitional problem here.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have this sort of title bestowed upon me. To be told that I actually dress well, or smell decent; who could ask for anything more? But I just don't think that one should throw the word "metro" around so loosely as if it didn't have a specific definition. Granted, I wear pink shirts, but does that satisfy the metro requirements? I also celebrate kwanza... Does that make me black? No! I'm just a wannabe.

The problem then, is the overuse of labels. We like to use terms instead of descriptives when we talk about people, so that we can lump those we don't identify with into groups, making them easier to hate. Instead of having to deal with that person's unique point of views, we label them into a pre-biased group so that we can conveniently ignore them on that simple basis. For example, not all republicans hate Muslims, not all French are assholes and just because someone's religion is absolute bulls**t, that doesn't automatically mean they are Mormon. It is just as likely that they are Christians, Buddhists or wiccans. We must learn to open up. Accept every person for their personal flaws, not their group flaws.

That's what I learnt from being metro.

Sunday, January 14, 1990

Its odd, but I think us jews have actually taken an article of clothing and called it our own.

Now, Im not talking about a traditional article of clothing. Anyone could say "duuhhhh, but I thought that the shtreimel/bekishe/kapotuh/kippah/whatever-they-wear-in-Bat-Eyin was a jewish piece of clothing..." but thats not what Im reffering to. Im talking about a regular article of clothing that has been TAKEN by the jews and made their own. Im talking about the long skirt.

I dont know if it has ever happened to you, but anytime I am walking down the street (with my head humbly down) and I spy a long skirt, I think: Maidel!

This could be in college, in the city, or in Birmingham, Alabama. Regardless of local, if I dont see knees, Im thinking Jewess. And the type of skirt makes no difference either. Regardless of how fashionable the pattern, cut or assymetry is, if your skirt extends to your knees or below, I am going to assume you are Jewish until proven gentile.

This makes me happy, my compatriots. Its time we stood up for ourselves and fought back against a world that would have us expose our knees. The age of assimilation is over. We are counter-assimilating. We have taken the skirt and we are not returning it anytime soon. Take that goyim!

(special thanks to Karen for posing awkwardly for this picture)

Saturday, January 13, 1990

While bloggoscoping the web recently, I chanced upon a debate regarding an extremely important topic, more pertinent today, in our world of frivolous media and cheap knock-off television, then ever before. The hot topic these media pundits were dissecting was regarding children's television and specifically was asking: What is the most important children's program of all time? While many fine examples were brought forth, I was shocked to see that not a one could grasp the importance and sheer magnitude of the unequivocal dominator of all youth programming. While bantering about the merits and detriments of TMNT or the thundercats, they almost seemed to miss the point of children's television entirely, which leads to my next blegture (blog-lecture?)

The Mighty Morphing Power Rangers (the original!) was, and always will, the greatest piece of entertainment media ever fabricated.



Mind you, this incorporates ALL forms of media and could even be considered a culmination, a coming together if you will, of all such media. Take the humor of television's Conan O'Brien, the wit and cynicism of Jack Kerouac, the visual imagery of Salvador Dali, the direction of Roman Polanski, the soul and spirit of Pachelbel and the brevity of the Taco Bell dog and you may start to get an idea of how important Power Rangers was to a generation of children seeking a cultural identity.

Now, "Xvi," you're probably thinking, "what's Power Rangers got that any other show doesn't?" to which I will roll my eyes at you, calmly sit you down and attempt to inject some sensibility in the entertainment cortex of your brain, so traumatized from television-refuse like The OC or Masterpiece Theatre.

Allow us to go down the checklist of vital elements a show must have to truly be considerd a classic.

  • Monsters: Check
  • Ninjas/Martial Arts: Check
  • A culturally diverse, sexually deprived group of twenty-somethings acting like mid-teens: Check
  • Slaspstick humor: Check, and how!
  • A city skyline that is destroyed every episode and miraculously reconstructed before the start of the next: Check
  • Semi-imaginative, color-distinct costumes, garish in the marriage of pink spandex and biker helmets: Check.
  • Comic relief in the coupling of an abusive fat guy and his bumbling, thin, shockingly-stupid companion: Check.
  • Robots: Check.
  • Giant Robots: Check
  • Swords, nunchaku, lazer guns and dragons: Check, Check Check and Check.
  • A killer soundtrack by Danny Elfman: Well... You cant have it all.

As you can now tell, the adventures of Zak, Kimberly, Billy, Trini and Jason (Mastodon, Pterodactyl, Triceratops, saber-Toothed Tiger and Tyrannosaurus respectively) exist as a parable for the issues facing all youth today. The show was not afraid to tackle such topics as "what to wear to the dance" or "friends hurting the feelings of, and later apologizing to, their friends." Topics which children's television was so afraid to attack before the brave rangers killed those topics with their lazer beams. In fact, prior to Power Rangers, only the oft-censored Full House seemed to have any gumtion whatsoever in providing Americans with a window into the issues encircling its inner-city youth. And Power Rangers did it all, with a killer theme song to boot.

"GO GO Power Rangers!

GO GO Power Rangers!

GO GO Power Rangers, the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers!"

The repetition of the single affirmation, a support for their bravery, a request that they continue their public services and a well-earned pat on the back for saving the city and America's moral decline yet again. Indeed, GO GO Power Rangers. Save our youth from the Rita Repulsives and Lord Zeds of the world. Teach us how to deal with the Bulks and Skulls of the world. Fight the good fight. You truly are the mighty ones.

Godspeed.

Friday, January 12, 1990

Three cheers for wireless internet!

I'm gonna be honest, I'm the ultimate dork of geeks. Im an absolute geek in the "I <3 Ninja Turtles" sense, but I'm not cool enough of a geek to have had anything faster than 56k dialup until right before this past summer. I know!! Whatever. The point is, I have it now and am attempting to make up for lost time by spending as much time as possible online. Now, again, until recently, this has been rather complicated. There was just all this downtime. What if I wanted to have fast internet but not sit at my desk? What if I wanted to lay on my bed? Or hide in the crawlspace where I keep the skin of that drifter I found? What about the countless, wasted hours of time I spend in the little-boys room every day? There was all this time which I used to waste reading, or doing something stupid like that, when i could have been online, "blogging" or "facebooking" or "StumbleUponing" or "IMing" or "mastu... well thats none of your business actually. The point is, I was restricted by my desk. Then I found out, that apparently we are in the wireless generation!!! Let me spell this out for you... w i r e l e s s! Apparently, one can now talk on a phone that connects THROUGH THE AIR. So i got a cell phone and called my friend Ariell, and he got me a router. Now I can waste away my life on the internet, wherever I want. This post? In the bathroom! The last one? Probably in the bathroom too, to be honest. Its funny: instead of spending more time online like I thought, Im on the same amount every day... I just spend a lot more time in the bathroom. Anyway, wireless. Cool.

Thursday, January 11, 1990

(So heres a post that gets an accurate time stamp as it relates to
something that actually happened today. Generaly, as my life is not nearly so
fascinating as to require a daily post, I do not respect the timestamp. My rants
and musings are timeless. This was today though so Ill report it as such)


11/09/2005

Ever put your foot so far down your throught that you arent sure whether to try to remove it or just swallow it down? I do that a lot, and today was no exception.

I was walking down bedford torwards my car when I saw a strange sight. Parked half-on/half-off the curb, with a scraped chasis, missing a tire, the bumper a few feet behind, was a wreck of a car. It must have been hit recently because it smelled fresh, ready for the insulting. I whipped out my camera-phone (that thing that serves the double function, neither of them particularly well) and said to a friend who asked that her name not be mentioned: "wow, I'm glad I'm not such a lousy driver." About that time, the owner of the car was getting out from underneath it, having assesed the damage. To say that he fired daggers from his eyes would be an understatement. Less poeticaly, more succintly, let us say that he wished death upon me and my loved ones. The bad kind of death. The kind that involves honey-smeared genitalia and fire ants.

Thats the kind of thing that happens to me on a weekly basis. I've put my foot in my mouth so many times that I can tell what socks I've been wearing that day, by taste alone. A particular event that seems to occure to me a lot (yet I never seem to learn my lesson) goes something like this:

GuyI havent seen in a while: Hey Xvi, long time no see. Whatsup?

XVI: Not much "guy." Yeah, I havent seen you since your wedding. How is the little lady?

(Now this part changes a bit, depending on how embarassing the situation is, but all of these situations are true! I just may have changed the actual dialogue a bit so as not to bore you.)

Ive gotten this response like 2 or 3 times:

Guy 1: Oh... her. Yeah, were seperated/divorced.

Thats pretty bad, but this has happened too:

Guy 2: Yeah... She passed away three months ago.

And if you think I havent learnt my lesson yet, another ACTUAL response:

Guy 3: Well... She's, kind of, been commited to a mental institution...

XVI! SHUT UP ALREADY! I really need to invest in some duct tape or something...

Wednesday, January 10, 1990


I was really never that good at kugelach...

Most (Id believe a solid 99.999 percent of you) have never heard of kugelach (ku - gil - uch!) but for those that have, you will nod in agreement for most of this post. The simple concept of kugelach is a simple game of podular dexterity. Five square, metal cubes, roughly a half an inch to each side, are all that is necessary for the game. One must take the "kugs" and throw them, scattered, onto the elementary school classroom floor. The first round, or "onesies" if you will is rather simple. You pick up a single kug to be designated the game cube and keep it in your hand. You must then retrieve the other kugs in a specific manner. Firstly, you throw the game cube into the air. While this kug is airborne, you must snatch a single kug from the floor without disturbing the placement of any others, and catch the airborne kug before it lands. Perform this feat three more times (four cubes total) to move onto "twosies." Now twosies is a little more tricky, because you have to pick up two kugs at a time before the game cube lands. Threesies demands the snatching of three kugs simultaneously while foursies... Well you get it. This may seem simple, but also realize that skill is necessary even when scattering the kugs. If they are too close in onesies you may disturb the placement of one while reaching for another. In twosies you need to have two sets of twos, etc... The point is, it gets complicated and finger, wrist, and elbow dexterity are all necessary as well as proper planning skills and calloused palms to match the sharp-edged cubes.

Now I know what the girls are saying, "that game sounds exactly like jacks," to which I respond: "shut up! nu uh!" Jacks involves a rubber ball and weird shaped things. Kugelach has five bronze-colored cubes. There is a DISTINCT difference. Additionally, kugelach is not just a game of skill. In elementary school yeshiva it was a ranking system of one's placement in the hierarchy of coolness. If you could legitimately pass fifth level foursies and get through the finger-bridge you were given the key to the teachers lounge. This stuff was intense. Kids developed techniques ("shtick" we called it) like the SWEEP in foursies, or the backhand catch in which the game cube is caught on the backside of the palm. This was everything. This was real. This is where the boys were separated from the men... In 3rd grade. If you weren't good at kugelach you were nothing.

So I hear you, in the back, asking "but XVI you rock so hard, but you said you were never good at kugelach. So how can that be?" I will answer you, my good man, by informing you that I had the one skill that beat out even the top kugelach masters of Torah Temimah. The one true key to elementary school godliness:

I was unbeatable at Duck Hunt!

Tuesday, January 09, 1990

Man, am I glad that Im not an Eskimo!!

I was thinking about "march of the penguins", which got me thinking about snow, which got me thinking about ice, which inevitably got me thinking about ice cream, which then got me thinking about ketchup, which got me thinking about Eskimos, when I realized how lucky I am not to be an Eskimo. I mean, think of the obstacles I'd have as an Eskimo.

  1. ketchup freezes at temperatures lower then 24.3 degrees Fahrenheit. Its, like, almost ALWAYS colder then that in Alaska.
  2. I don't like fish too much at all. Actually, barring gefilte and tuna, I can say with conviction that I HATE fish. Clearly less than I hate olives, but even more than I hate Avril Levigne. As a culture of fishermen, the Eskimos are just not for me.
  3. I could never fulfill my dream of being a basic cable game-show host. Take Hollywood in general: did you know that there are over 10 trillion Jewish Hollywood actors? Did you? Wanna know how many Eskimo actors/game-show hosts there are? Seven. And three of them are named Bob, so you cant even get called "Eskimo bob" or whatever. And other then P. Diddy, famous eskimo rapper/rap mogul, which of those seven are even famous? None!
  4. The primary Eskimo diet consists of little cream pies, sandwiched between chocolate wafers. That may not seem so bad to you, but realize what they've done... They've turned dessert into a main meal. Now, sure, when you're 9 years old that's awesome, but as an adult who can think logically I can say that its a ludicrous idea. They are de-dessertizing dessert! That treat that waits for you at the end of the meal now IS the meal. What if I get sick of Eskimo pies? They've ruined it! Everyone knows that ice cream is reserved for snacks and breakfast. Stop making it a meal!
  5. Did you know that there are over 27 (or something, I may have made that specific number up) different Eskimo words for "snow." 27. Twenty Freakin' Seven! That's an awful lot of redundancy for one, but even more importantly, think of what that means about snow. Its everything. I cant imagine living a life where snow is a CENTRAL part of every day life. Now, Im not just saying they have a lot of it. That would be like 8 words. Its almost religion when you hit 15 words. But 27? (think about what that means for Americans and screwing/boning/humping/etc... Though)

The list continues, but the thought remains the same. Im just glad Im not an Eskimo.

(The thoughts and opinions on this blog do not represent those of XVI or his sponsors)

Monday, January 08, 1990

So, what in the hell is earth science?

remember earth science? You probably took it in eighth or ninth grade, before you even knew how to spell psyence, forget about understanding it. I cant believe they tried to pimp this stuff off as legitimate to young kids who wouldn't be able to stand up for he real sciences. Had I been in an earth science class in, say, 12th grade, would I have amicably participated? Hell no! Dew point? Moh's Scale of mineral hardness? What is this garbage.

so what brought this to mind? I was talking to someone in college today when their geology test came up. Now, as a man of science I started pondering the hierarchical placement in the "science" totem poll. Clearly physics is the great originator, dictating all rules of natural existence. A second step would be chemistry discussing the physics of the atoms and subatomic particles, the quarks, mesons, muons, taus and such, and potentially even the strings (crap theory... But well see). Branching further is organic chemistry, the "white-supremacy" of sciences only dealing with the chemistry pertaining to living systems (those cocky animated objects) which then leads to biology, which is basically organic chemistry without any of the scientific reasoning. So where the heck is geology? Which area of science branches off into the study of rock strata and garbage of that sort? And then I remembered earth science.

it was at this point that I realized that all sciences are doomed to collapse so long as they remain associated with earth science. In legitimizing earth science as a distinct entity, one receiving even its OWN REGENT!, all things labeled science are now open to enquiry. The facts of yesterday are merely the hypotheses of today and the scams of tomorrow. Jump ship while you can, true sciences. Leave the state, take a new name, come back in a few years when we are ready for you again. You have been ruined.

Sunday, January 07, 1990

Olives... yuck!

People dont seem to want to soapbox on the hot political topic of olives and so allow me to break the ice of conversation. Olives are evil. Thats right. i did not say bad tasting, I didnt even say disgusting. olives are evil, the epitome of all darkness and vileness in this world. On the eigth day of existence, Satan sneaked to the world and laid his unholy seed in our mother earth and thus was the first olive tree to spread its horrific branches. Please do not ask me for proof, this is not a theological conversation. Rather accept what I say as fact and accept upon yourself the task of boycotting all imports of olives into our fair and beautiful country. I have personally accepted the task of singlehandedly wiping the genus Oleafrom the earth in the name of G-D and all that is holy.

now, I know a lot of people out there really like olives, and so I will make this apology. I am really sorry that you were born with mutated tastebuds. I understand that its not your fault and that you would like to repent but dont know how. Well, I have prepared a simple three step program to help you rid yourself of this disease. And yes,it IS a disease. if alcoholism is a disease then eating olives is a pandemic!

Step one: Admitting you have a problem. Pat yourself on the back; youve come a long way, baby!

Step two: Throwing out (most preferably destroying) every olive and olive-derived product within your living space. proactive measures are necessary. Whining about a problem will never get you past step one.

Step three: drink a tall glass of ketchup. Self-explanatory.

Step four: proceed to kill yourself. It may seem harsh,but if you are so far gone as to actually enjoy olives then it is already too late. Better to die in the glory of G-D then live in sin.

(step three is optional but highly reccomended. it helps make the transition into heaven much smoother.)

All who die as martyrs for the sake of G-D in this, His holy decree, shall be rewarded with direct ascension to heaven where 70 fresh bottles of ketchup shall await you. Ketchup Hu Akbar!

Saturday, January 06, 1990


Coffee: Physical necessity or abject love?

What can be said about coffee that cant be determined by a single sip? Paragraphs of eloquent prose could be authored here, on any blog or from any author; poetry could be written from the greats, Shelly, Keates, Seuss but to what use? One taste of that steamy goodness, the earlier in the morning the better and you realize how useless language treally is. Anyone who claims that language is the pinnacle of evolution, the benchmark of society, has never had a venti double shot charamel skim latte' with vanilla and two sugars at about 6:30 in the morning while waiting for the train. Coffee makes the bad into good, the wrong into right, and the hippy into an honest republican with visions of reagenomics and shining cities on hills. The evils of the world, the rapes, killings, floods, earthquakes, Kelly Clarksons... they all just fade away in the steam of frothy goodness that coffee produces for those fewethereall moments.

Now about decaf... Decaf is the Hercules of coffees. Sure, he may be big and powerful when compared to mortal teas, but on Mount Olympus, the home of the great coffees, decaf is nothing more then an impostor. A bastard son of coffee and water. No wonder Hera wanted him dead. I apologize for being close-minded about this but it just makes no sense to me. Would you drink non-alcoholic beer? Would you watch a PG version of Reservoir Dogs? Could you buy a Harlequin romance novel with a bald Fabio on the cover? Then how can you remove the caffeinated Yin from coffee's Yang? You leave it broken... incomplete. If even one person reads this blog and decides to accept caffeine back into their lives and hearts, then the effort of writing this would all be worth it!

Friday, January 05, 1990

The ellipsis:

So you may have read a post or two of mine at this point in which case you have no doubt noticed my absolute overuse of the ellipsis. Those three little dots, so precious to my heart... Now... I'm not quite sure honestly why I overuse them nearly as much as I do. Comments are welcome, but i think I just like to leave thoughts hanging... kind of welcoming discussion or gentle reflection and observation... But thank you Mr. EnglishSyntaxWriter... I dont believe I would have the ability to write an essay or a blog with the nearly the same conviction as I do without your sewwt ellipsis. Oh sweet omission...

Thursday, January 04, 1990

Alas, the cell phone...

I have a cell phone. This makes me sad. Maybe that seems weird. Maybe right now, you're saying, "but Xvi... if you hate the cellphone why dont you throw it away?" or something benign of that sort. But I'll tell you why I keep it anyway: I Freaking need it. Its sad, its terrible but its true. Now, don't get me wrong. I happen to hate almost every form of long distance communication known to man. Email? bane of my existence! Messenger? The antichrist (or whatever concept is similar to the antichrist in my/your religion)! Smoke signals? Tollerable! A friend of mine once told me that if I didn't have cell phones to take out my frustrations on, Id probably rant about yelling-accross-rooms. Maybe its a fear, maybe I'm unwilling to reach out, to love the concept of long distance communication, even though in the back of my mind it makes some sense. None the less. Which is why I have come to hate myself by proxy. It has come to the point that if I have accidentally left my house without my cellphone, I could be 5 minutes or 20 minutes away; I will turn back. As if my cell phone were some poor, distressed child, left home alone crying. In fact, it is I who am the child. Dependant on my cellphone for the mother's milk of communication. What if someone wants to see a movie and I'm not there to pick up the call? What if Ed McMahon has a check for 11 million dollars for me? What if the messiah is on his way and justs needs some quick directions? The fear of what important call I'd miss if I dont have cell phone leaves me feeling naked and vulnerable whenever I don't have that blasted radiation box. Which is why I call upon you, the reader of this blog, to unite with me and our compatriots to rally for the destruction of this bothersome tool. Together we can end our technical reliance on all forms of long distance communication! But first, about that damn Fax...

Wednesday, January 03, 1990

The philosophy of sleeping:

I woke up this morning and really didn't know why. I mean, I really really love to sleep. Now I know about shacharis and sof zman this and plag ha'that and shkia and what-not, but the point remains: I really love sleeping. And then I wondered why, because it seems to me, that I only get the enjoyment of sleep when I'm awake. So what is it that I really like? Is it the satisfaction of knowing that I got a bagel on friday night? Maybe its the subconscious concept of not having to talk to anybody for hours at a time, or do homework, or accomplish ANYTHING honestly. I think the idea that the people in my dreams are always funnier, classier, sexier, friendlier versions of actual real-life people could have something to do with it, but maybe I just dont any of the right people. Is it that I feel more refreshed when I'm awake after Ive had a better sleep? But its the sleeping itself that I love. Getting in bed... Staying in bed... never leaving bed. That doesn't carry over to waking up fully rested. So what is it about sleep? The theme that keeps popping up, again and again through all of my analases: not being awake. Why are we satisfied with longer amounts of sleep? Less time spent awake! Why do we refuse to get out of bed without being physically pulled out by our moms and/or dads? Less time spent out there! So why do we only get into bed at 2 or 3 in the AM at the earliest? I have no idea!

Tuesday, January 02, 1990


An ode to ketchup:

Call me silly but I just figured that a blog titled "Ketchup Goes On Everything" should begin with a slight homage to that most wonderful of food-stuffs. The problem of course I have in writing such a tribute is the issue of classification. Many refer to Ketchup as a condiment... oh you silly people. Mr. Waiter, when I order a steak and ask for ketchup, please don't roll your eyes at me. I only want the steak to enhance the ketchup goodness. When you, my father, anounce: "have some chicken with your ketchup," I wonder why I should. Do I really need a side-dish? Clearly then ketchup is not a condiment but an entree, but of what variety? Is it a salad? Maybe, as it consists primarily of vegetable product. Is it a soup? After all, its great out of the bowl, eaten with a large spoon. Maybe its a dessert? Lord knows its delicious enough! Or perhaps its just a beverage. It can be slurped from a cup with ice on the summer days, or microwaved in a Mug for the bitter winter afternoons. I remember coming home as a kid, after swiveling the walk, and my mom would have a steaming mug of hot ketchup waiting for me. Alas, to relive childhood. Clearly the it does not fall into an umbrella category but is a category all its own. Much like the Norse Mead or the Greek Ambrosia, the Heinz Ketchup is a food of its own variety, able to sustain a bodies needs all alone. Truly there is no greater food-of-the-gods then the Great Red.

A poem:

Ketchup is red,
for a while it was blue(or purple or something),
I love Ketchup,
and so should you! (your not a communist are you?)

- XVI -

Monday, January 01, 1990

So I've decided that this blog in general will be a window into who I am, as told through what I like. A series of tributes to my favorite people, places and things to help you and I understand me better. Some topics to expect: More on Ketchup... video games, British humor, redheads, roadkill, wireless internet in the bathroom, leftovers, any food that once had a face (except fish...), Dr. Seuss and/or the muppets, Frank Sinatra, etc...

Hopefully this will focus you (me) into what the essence of me truly is, one corporeal enjoyment at a time. Or at least make for enetertaining reading for the high/overtired readers.

P.S. Im not actually expecting any readers... If you're here, I understand it was an accident. Feel free to leave.

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