40goingon28's Best of the Decade Awards

The Aughts! Wow. So that started with Y2K and then we were all like "Oh, that Bush totally stole the election" and then it was boring for a while and then 9/11 happened and things pretty much went in the shitter after that. Dad says that we shouldn't have walked on the Moon, that it threw everything out of balance when we walked on the Moon, and hey, that's as good a theory as any. I think he's kidding, though. He maintained that one of my friends was the Unabomber for a long time until they caught the real Unabomber so you can never really tell with him.

In the Aughts I lived in North Beach, changed jobs, got divorced, lived in Cole Valley, went to Texas, went to Ireland, went to England, went to South Carolina, went to Oregon a few times, got married, and a bunch of other stuff. It's been a good time.

Best album: The Wrens, Meadowlands


If you really care, ask me and I'll bore you to death with why. If you don't know about it, just listen to it and get back to me.

Best cioppino: Caesar's, on Powell.

Best showers: The two I took consecutively immediately upon returning from my one and only Burning Man, in 2004.

Best wedding: Probably mine, earlier this year. OK, definitely mine, earlier this year.

Best bar (overall): Zeitgeist. Remember, I'm covering a whole decade here.

Best bar (early 2000's): Tony Nik's. Has anyone been there lately? What's it like now?

Worst thing that happened to me: Getting hosed for a shitload of money by my ex.

Best thing that happened to me: Getting a dog. KIDDING! Meeting and marrying The Wife. Everybody together now: AWWWWWWWWWW.

Thanks to everybody who made this decade possible. You guys are all awesome.

Happy New Year! Don't smoke too much. See you next year.

"Natural causes": Our Nation's New Menace

Authorities said Monday it appeared actress Brittany Murphy died of natural causes after becoming ill with flulike symptoms in the days before she collapsed in the bathroom of her Hollywood Hills home.

--------------

The drummer with Avenged Sevenfold, a rising force in the heavy metal scene, died on Monday at his home in southern California, the group and authorities said.

James Owen Sullivan, nicknamed "The Rev," appeared to have died of natural causes, Huntington Beach police Lt. John Domingo said. He was 28.

WTF? Natural causes used to mean "died of old age." Now, apparently, it basically covers everything. 28-year-olds do not just die. There's a reason. I mean, fuck, I guess you could get hit by a bus and then someone could say "He died of natural causes after he suffered massive organ failure," but that wouldn't really be telling the whole story, would it?

Brittany Murphy was on like 38 prescription drugs. MAYBE that had something to do with her death. The drummer guy, I have no idea, but c'mon, do the math. He was a professional musician. Maybe - just maybe - drugs might have been involved?

In the meantime, forget about H1N1 or underwear bombers. The real thing to be afraid of is that "natural causes." It's coming to get you.

Jukebox of Terror

I was at Bloodhound on Saturday evening, hanging out and watching the Emerald Bowl (meh, kinda boring) and drinking and so forth. It was pretty dead; there were only maybe 10 people in the place, total. One of the owners was playing a great mix of old soul and funk from his iPod, which we were heartily enjoying, when one of our fellow patrons stepped up to the jukebox. What followed was an object lesson in why some people should never be allowed around a jukebox.

Now, let me preface this by saying that Bloodhound has a pretty good jukebox. It's not one of those Internet jukeboxes that lets you play any song ever recorded; no, it's preloaded with CDs, but there's some great stuff on there, like Blitzen Trapper's "Furr" and "Dear Science" by TV on the Radio and both discs of "The Essential Clash." Homegirl skipped right over all this musical goodness.

No, she seemed bound and determined to play a set that sounded just like any drive time on KFOG, one tired, played-out radio hit after another. You know what's great after Fleetwood Mac's "Say You Love Me"? Why, "Jammin'" by Bob Marley, that's what! Oh yay! And then how about "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic"? I've only heard that 10 or 12 thousand times. I almost forgot what that sounded like. What, nothing from "Steel Wheels"? I can tell you wanna rock; that's why you put on "You Better You Bet," one of the lamest Who songs. Am I in a bar, or in the back of a soccer mom's Windstar? "Hey Mom, play 'Fire and Rain' next!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!"

By the time her set mercifully ended and mine started, it was about time to go. She put on like 15 songs of relentless blandness. The musical equivalent of American cheese and mayonnaise on Wonder bread. Painful.

It was Christmas Eve

The Pogues and Kirsty McColl, "Fairytale of New York"



I truly hope you all have a wonderful Christmas.

I'm going Christmas shopping today

The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1.
Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

"Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.
2.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.
3.
Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.
4.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.
5.
Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.
6.
When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made,

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred.

I took the day off to go shopping. Pray for me.

One semi-related note: My first thought last night was "Hey, I don't have to get up in the morning, I should drink tonight." My second thought was, "Wow, that sounds like something someone in college would say." I didn't drink last night. Growing up.

We watched "Up" instead. It was cute enough. As the main character is voiced by Ed Asner, I couldn't get Lou Grant out of my head. Needed more swears. You know that old guy would be swearing up a storm, kid there or not.

Yeah, we saw Avatar.

Yes, yes, we surrendered to popular culture and went to see Avatar yesterday. Let's talk about it for a minute.

First, the obvious stuff. Visually, it's pretty much unlike anything you've ever seen. Incidentally, if you don't see it in 3-D, don't bother. I can't imagine it looking right without the 3-D. There are some black plastic Buddy Holly glasses you get. The 3-D looks pretty amazing.

Now, having said that, it doesn't look real. I mean, you're not going to forget you're watching a movie. The alien characters, who are all done with CGI, don't look like they really exist in a real way. But that doesn't mean they're not cool to look at. Anyway, I think Tom Maurstad from the Dallas Morning News pretty much nailed it:

At more than 2 ½ hours, Avatar is full of overlong sequences of flying and fighting in which Cameron just can't resist showcasing all the cool things he can do with his computers and cameras. And it is cool. But all this "change the way you look at films" hype is just that. While Avatar is impressively seamless, you're never fooled. This doesn't look like a documentary film; it looks like a video game.

Since this is a James Cameron movie, the dialogue is terrible, sometimes cringingly bad. You know, if Cameron would let somebody talented write the dialogue for his films, he would really have something. He's got the visual part down, but if you could watch "Titanic," for example, without groaning repeatedly at the ridiculous dialogue, you're a stronger person than I.

Does this look like a real person to you? Me neither.

So yeah, it's a spectacle and it's going to make a ton of money (so far, $232 million, if you count foreign and domestic, and it's only been out FOUR DAYS) and if I keep trying to judge it on its merits as a film, rather than as an event, I guess I'm not going to get anywhere. So, by all means, go see it.

Also, it should be about a half-hour shorter, but I guess once you develop all new 3-D technology, you want to use it.

[UPDATE: IRONY ALERT!!!!! - I just saw this interview with Cameron and Peter Jackson, and Cameron says: "People often ask us about the future of filmmaking because we've both been innovators in the last few years, creating cutting-edge stuff that gets widely or narrowly adopted. I think the simple answer is that filmmaking is not going to ever fundamentally change. It's about storytelling. It's about humans playing humans. It's about close-ups of actors." No additional comment from me needed, right? L O L.]

Goldschlager is a sometimes food

You thought you could always count on Cookie Monster. Sure, we can't smoke in the grocery store any more, people look at you funny if you have a couple of Crown Royal rocks at lunch, and now I have to bring my own tote bag to the grocery store like an NPR listener with a little grey ponytail. Fine, whatever. At least Cookie Monster was still out there. He was all FUCK YOUR RULES, I EAT COOKIES, THAT'S WHAT I DO, TAKE YOUR SALAD AND YOUR SOY MOCHA AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS.

Then they got to him too. Because you know what? Now "cookie is a sometimes food." Oh, fuck, CM, I am so sorry. You were the rebel, the danegrous one, and now you're putting on your New Spirit cross-trainers and doing yoga and having a smoothie. This sucks. I prefer to remember you as you were:



Cookie was good enough for all of us, Cookie Monster. For all of us.

Don't stare at Oscar the Grouch if he's looking a little placid and glassy-eyed. It's the klonopin.

Thank you for the lovely party. I had a wonderful time.

SO THAT HAPPENED.

The Wife and I kicked off Vaguely Christmastime Date Night at Epic Roasthouse and oh my, me without my Platinum Card! It was full of swells. I was just about the only guy not wearing a suit. Whatever. Everything we got was really good. I didn't take any camera phone pictures of the food because I'm not one of those people, so here:

Imagine 8 delicious ounces subtracted from this, then expertly seasoned and grilled to medium rare perfection. That shit was excellent. What else? We got some ahi tuna, also very good, some scalloped potatoes (OK, not as good as Craft or even my Dad's; I shit you not, my Dad makes scalloped potatoes you would fucking kill for), some kind of brussels sprouts (they were OK b/c you couldn't taste the brussels sprouts), green beans amandine (DFL; is it almondine or amandine? I swear it said amandine on the menu), and a bottle of 2006 Loring pinot noir which we both loved a ton.

I'm not gonna lie to you, it was expensive, but for a once-a-year splurge, you could do a lot worse. Plus, what recession? They were doing land office business.

Then it was off to the SF Appeal Christmas Party. Oh, whoops, Holiday Party, in case you hate Christmas like all of us in SF do. Recognized Spotswood and Brock at the door because I've seen them on my Internet Box before. Got some free drinks and hung out. It was packed. Talked to Beth most of the time, who couldn't have been nicer. Then I said to Brock, "Hey, I love your site." I am a fucking idiot.

Then they ran out of booze and if I don't have booze I'm like Santa without cocaine so we had to go. SEE YOU GUYS NEXT YEAR!! KIT!!!

(I hear Chris Daly showed up after we left and brought more drizinks, but just as well. I would have said something wrong and gotten him mad at me and the last thing I need is Chris Daly angry at me.)

(Seriously, though, big thanks to the Appeal for a sweet-ass party. Will do business again.)

Other than the Santa picture, everything in this post involves an open bar.

Let's get meta for a second.

I got this email invitation to attend the SF Appeal's Christmas Holiday Party, which is tonight. And at first I was all "THAT'S RIGHT THEY HAVE INVITED ONLY THOUGHT LEADERS TO THIS EVENT" and then I quickly realized that they were promoting it on their front page and it's free and there's free booze so basically anyone who can operate a mouse and read at a 5th grade level could figure out how to go and drink up all the free booze. Just imagine your party overrun with the people you see using the free Internet terminals at the library. I'm sure it won't be like that. Maybe.

Point being that I've been doing this blogging thing for about a year and a half now and I've got a pretty steady readership and have been linked to, in the past, by such local luminary sites as SFist and SF Citizen and Eye on Blogs and Beth Spotswood even put a permalink to me on her blog. So I'm sort of part of this community of local bloggers, I guess, even though it's pretty much just an online thing and so far I've kept my Real World and my Blogging World separate, save for one exception, when I met JohnnyO from Burrito Justice. Super nice guy.


So I'm like "Do I want to become public? Like actually meet some of these people for real?" And The Wife said, "What are you going on about now? I was watching Vampire Diaries." And I said "Never mind."


So I don't know. The Wife and I are going out to our Special Christmas Date Night Dinner and we'll play it by ear after that. I guess, worse comes to worse, it'll just be another party where I don't know anyone that I crashed for the free booze. We'll see.


IN OTHER NEWS, this is now my favorite Christmas picture of all time.

When I have kids, I'm going to blow this up to poster size and hang it behind the tree every Christmas. It is five kinds of awesome.

OH ONE OTHER THING I HAVE TO MENTION -

As you may have gathered, I'm not exactly the dance club type. Thumpa thumpa music kind of makes me want to kill myself. Thus, of course, I've never been to Suite 181 or any of its ilk. And THE LAST PLACE IN THE FUCKING WORLD I would go on New Year's Eve is a place like that.

But wait. I saw this ad and Suite 181 has limited $40 advance tickets available for theie NYE thing, which includes, according to them, "OPEN BAR ALL NIGHT."

WHOA. HOLD THE PHONE, BIG MAN. That means I pay $40 and drink whatever I want all night? I can make that $40 back in an hour. Are you sure? What's the catch? What am I missing?

Because if there's no catch, you might find me in an Ed Hardy shirt with a shitload of gel in my hair and covered in Axe body spray this New Year's Eve. When in Rome.

Obama wants cavemen to stare menacingly at you

As regular readers know, I'm a big fan of weird and even weirder advertising, but this one takes the cake.



WTF TIMES A MILLION. Obama asks Moms to return to school to what, become male loggers or serial killers? To study Cro-Magnon man? To join a freak-folk band? WHAT THE FUCK COULD THIS ILLUSTRATION POSSIBLY MEAN?

I hope I'm wrong about this, but it makes me think that Internet display ads are constructed entirely by computers. They select an image at random from their memory, assign it randomly to some text, and place it on various websites.

[Also, and this feels entirely like piling on, the fact that Pell grants are available for returning students does not, in fact, mean that Obama has asked Moms to return to school, any more than the fact that the U.S. Army owns helicopters means that Obama has asked teenagers to take rotary-wing flying lessons.]

The LHC, the end of the world as we know it, and my brief career in particle physics

Let us all collectively now take a break from Tiger and the 10 11 12 mistresses and the Muni stabber and Copenhagen and South Carolina governors and Top Chef and whatnot and instead talk about something that will TRULY BLOW YOUR FUCKING MIND. I'm not even kidding.

So there's this thing called the Large Hadron Collider on the France-Switzerland border, or I guess, technically under the border, since it's way underground. It's a big ring that's like 17 miles around, and what happens is that science guys go down there and shoot subatomic particles at each other and try and find shit like the Higgs boson and figure out why we have mass and where everything comes from and who sent the UFO that's buried under the ocean floor near New Zealand. I might have made that last part up.

If you're saying "What the fuck is that thing?," you're not alone.

Anyway, it's totally fucking complicated and just click on the Wiki link if you want to read more. Me, I'm personally kind of interested in string theory and particle physics and cosmology but I figured out early on that wouldn't be my life's calling when I found that I couldn't mulitply 5 times 6 without looking it up and all this shit apparently requires a pretty good grasp of math. We're getting way off the point here.

Now here's the thing. Because of the way it works (and that's as specific as I can get), there is a nonzero chance that the LHC may produce miniature black holes. WHAT THE FUCK. No, seriously. As we all know, black holes are bad news because they suck in everything around them and so forth. Now, the LHC people obviously don't want anyone thinking they could destroy the Earth with their accidental mini black holes, so everyone's toeing the company line and telling you what they want you to hear: "Destroy the world? Pshaw. This thing's safer than a riding mower. Your clock radio has a better chance of creating a world-ending event." That's what they want you to think.

As it happens, the LHC has been beset by problems. Like one thing after another. And they're weird problems. Like a bird dropping a baguette into the fucking thing. You could not make this shit up.

Here comes the mindblowing part: I had this theory, which I freely admit was probably caused by watching too much sci-fi as a kid, about why the LHC couldn't get fired up. Here's my theory: All the shit they told us not to worry about is real, and the reason they can't start it is because people from the future are traveling back through time to sabotage it so we won't destroy the Earth.

WHOA DUDE. THAT IS FUCKED UP. Have you ever really looked at your hand before? Let's order pizza.

So I was all, "Man, I'm not just a drunk with a blog and much younger wife. I have come up with some groundbreaking shit here. Who do I call about this?"

But of course, I shoulda known better. After Googling for about 3 seconds, I find out I'm not really the first person to think of this. Much smarter people have already thought this up and probably used math. (Although, to my credit, these guys think the Higgs boson went back in time to kill it. I don't even get that at all. I say it was a couple of guys in jumpsuits. Which one do you prefer?)

Sorry for this brief interlude into the world of subatomic physics. We'll return to booze and Jersey Shore and shit like that next week. Unless they start that LHC up. DUN DUN DUN!!!

New Bar Night: Carlo's, Dirty Thieves

Once again, your three intrepid adventurers drunks set out into that Good Night to go to a couple of places where at least two, and maybe all three, of us had never been. You call it New Bar Night. We call it maize.

Hey, I bet you anything you've seen the exterior of Carlo's Bar more than the inside of your own stove or maybe even your mother's face. That's because it's perched next to 24th Street BART and everybody takes 24th Street BART all the time. Or maybe just me. And the other people who take 24th Street BART all the time. ANYWAY.

It's interesting sociologically and anthropologically that there are these mostly- or totally-Latino bars sprinkled around the Mission, which makes sense because, of course, the Mission is (still) a largely Hispanic neighborhood, but which most of the white people who live in and around there never go into. (PLEASE don't leave an angry comment if you're a white person who hangs out in a Latino bar. Good for you, I believe you, etc. Just making a generalization.)

SO in the interest of seeing what the deal is, we headed into Carlo's Bar. Being a Wednesday night at 8:00, it was pretty empty. As expected, we were the only non-Hispanic people in there. Everyone stared at us. Not in a mean way. Or maybe in a mean way; I don't know. There was very loud Mexican music playing. I'm sure there's a term for the specific kind of music but I don't know what it is. There were three female bartenders, which seemed odd because there were about 8 customers. They all rushed over to us and started speaking very rapid Spanish. We said "Tecate" and got some Tecates. They switched to English, sort of.

Like I said, about 8 people. Couple of guys playing pool. One M/F couple dancing energetically to the music. At this point, we're just soaking it all in when the guy next to me strikes up a conversation, sort of. Jesús, as it turns out, is from Mexico and is EXTREMELY FRIENDLY. Also a little drunk. I could understand about two out of every 20 words so I nodded and smiled a lot. He introduced himself to all of us and proceeded to say, I think, that he likes San Francisco a lot. I might have accidentally told him I was from Mexico. I'm not sure. Jesús works at a very well-known Indian restaurant, so if you've had Tandoori chicken in the Mission in the last two years, chances are Jesús has cooked for you.

We would have stayed for another beer but here's the thing. Everyone was incredibly friendly and it was fun and everything but I was cornered and, frankly, Jesús would not shut up and it's kind of awkward to try and have a conversation with someone when you can't really understand a word they're saying. Also, his breath was deadly, I'm not joking. So we had to take our leave.

I know what you thought when you saw Dirty Thieves in the title of this post: How could TK have never been to Dirty Thieves? Either that or "Ugh, I'm not reading this bullshit," one of the two. Anyway, I went there a few times when it was Treat Street, but I haven't been since it became Dirty Thieves. Anyway, perfectly fine bar. I bet it gets seriously hipstered up on weekends. Just saying. Interestingly, there was a M/F couple dancing here, too! Is there a new Dance Dance Revolution I don't know about? So it's got booths and a pool table and bathrooms and an Internet jukebox and blah blah blah it's fine.

More on the hipster issue; features catchy song!!!

Looks like the hating hipsters thing is nationwide:



A long time ago I used to live in Richmond, where this guy is singing about. There's a college there, VCU, known for its art school. Also it's cheap and pretty flat (i.e., easy to get around on bike). It also had some good bars and some great local music. I don't know if it still does, but mix all that shit together and it's like Hipster Bait.

[Courtesy of this guy's Tumblr.]

Then I moved to Provo and was immediately given a $500 gift certificate to Crate and Barrel

Oh, fascinating, it's yet another Let's-Move-To-Oregon-And-Rediscover-Joy-in-Life article:

For at least a couple of years now, my wife and I have been rehearsing a break-up conversation with the Bay Area. As much as we love it here, we're just not sure if it will ever work out.

A lot of our uncertainty revolves around money, and our realization that we can't afford to buy a home here. That fact, rightly or wrongly, has become a touchstone for other uncertainties -- about finding a neighborhood we can stay in for the long term; about having good school options for our two-year-old daughter; about making enough money to afford the high cost of living without giving all of our waking hours over to work.

Go. Please. Quit whining and just go. God, stop talking about it and move. Jesus. You are boring the fuck out of me.

"I probably worked 10 to 12 hours a day in San Francisco," Lynch says. "Now it's probably closer to 6 to 8. But I do a broader range of things."

Like playing the French horn in the local symphony, for example. He was a serious musician through college, but he says "that aspect of my life was kind of shut down when I was in career mode for 15 years ... One of the first things I did (when we moved to Bend) was I got my horn back out."

Also, my hair went from gray back to brown, I lost 40 pounds, my dog started speaking perfect Mandarin, I can now make delicious crepes, blah fucking blah. These stories are all perfectly predictable and always the same. I left the Bay Area and discovered perfect happiness!

Look, the city is not for everyone. There are a lot of downsides. But I am so fucking tired of hearing yuppies whine about how they just can't make it here any more. FINE. GO. Just shut the fuck up about it.

P.S. French horns work in SF too. I'm almost positive.

P.P.S. We were talking about going to Maui for New Year's Eve, but I just checked and flights are around $900 R/T PER PERSON. Fuck.

Also, repeated listenings of "Fairtytale of New York" were involved

OK, so the tree is up and decorated. It all went down last night. It involved 4 people, 2 dogs, 8 bottles of wine, a bottle of prosecco, most of a 6-pack, some Jameson, some bruschetta, chorizo and goat cheese in phyllo, ground lamb toastettes, the "Glee" soundtrack, "Don't Stop Believin'" at top volume, several trips to the store, some heart-to-heart conversations, that kind of thing.

I found a piece of paper this morning with this written on it:

"Everybody's getting sick right now."

"That's what happens when you fuck a girl from Brazil."

Honestly? I have no idea.

The crazy is strong in this one

Arlington is apparently a town in Tennessee. It is "rich in history and heritage in the midst of vibrant growth." It is also rich in BATSHIT FUCKING CRAZY. Take it away, Memphis Commercial Appeal:

In the opinion of Arlington Mayor Russell Wiseman, President Barack Obama's speech on Tuesday night on the war in Afghanistan was deliberately timed to block the Christian message of the "Peanuts" television Christmas special.

Wait, what? Obama timed his speech so people couldn't see the Peanuts Christmas special? No, no, no, Commercial Appeal. You are making that shit up. He didn't really say that. Let's check his Facebook post just to make sure.

"Ok, so, this is total crap, we sit the kids down to watch 'The Charlie Brown Christmas Special' and our muslim president is there, what a load.....try to convince me that wasn't done on purpose."

Oh dear. Now we have to try to convince Russell Wiseman that the President did not time an important policy speech about an ongoing war to deprive Russell Wiseman's family of the opportunity to watch the Peanuts Christmas special. Have you noticed that Obama has not answered these charges yet!!??!!? Very damning. Very damning indeed.

For Russell Wiseman's benefit, and the benefit of all other Interested Parties, I have compiled a short list of other things Obama has done that you may not be aware of:

1. Caused mosquitos to bite Russell Wiseman/other residents of Arlington/your children/you
2. Raised price of 20 oz. Diet Coke at 7-11 near Russell Wiseman's house from $1.35 to $1.50.
3. Borrowed Russell Wiseman's weedeater last summer; never gave it back; probably still in White House garage.
4. Dried out Russell Wiseman's Thanksgiving turkey during cooking process; made it resultingly unpalatable.
5. Injured Eagles' DeSean Jackson, resulting in damaging loss to Russell Wiseman's fantasy football team.
6. Unfriended Russell Wiseman; he knows why.

Melt the pounds, and sadness, away with the TK Diet

Imagine my dismay when I stepped upon the scale after returning from Thanksgiving break and found that I had ballooned to an unsavory 205 pounds. Now, I'm 6'4" tall, so it's not like I'm getting mistaken for Chris Farley (plus, I'm not dead, so there's that), but I like to keep things in the 190 to 200 range. My lanky frame drives the ladies wild. Or something.

So I'm on the TK Diet. Now, let me warn you, the TK Diet is not for everyone. Actually, it's never been medically evaluated, and from what I can tell, it's probably extremely unsafe for anyone except me. So don't try this at home.

Here's how it works: I figure I need to cut my intake to about 2400 calories a day to become de-fatified. It's actually kind of surprising how easy this is. First, let's get the eating part out of the way. Have a sandwich and a Lean Cuisine and a lot of cucumber and blah blah blah you're only up to like 800 calories. I don't really care so much about the food. That leaves 1600 calories for what's important:

BOOZE.

Now, you can just forget Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (175 cal). God forbid you have a Flying Dog Double Dog Pale Ale (292 fucking calories! Jesus!). We're all about getting the most per calorie we can.

I guess you could go with Michelob Ultra (94) but I had 4 of them last night and they taste like ass. Miller Lite has 96, but come the fuck on. We're not drinking that.

No, in the end I'll spend the extra 50 calories a can and stick with good old PBR (153). Cheap, reliable, dependable.

Or I guess you could have 22 shots of Jameson instead (70 cal). THAT'S LIVIN' RIGHT THERE.




(Practitioners of the TK Diet, you will find this site and this site extremely helpful.)

How funny is it that Collegedrinkingprevention.gov has a handy-dandy alcohol calorie calculator right there on the site? THANKS, COLLEGE DRINKING PREVENTION!!! Now I can get shitfaced without getting fat! You guys rule.

What does Obama want?

Moms to go back to school, apparently. And to make school longer. And have more of it. And to have it year round. It's weird, but I never knew that Obama was so fascinated by education and/or the length and intensity of the school year. And Moms.

He also wants to change the national anthem and shut down Fox News. DUH.

The most awesomest 3-D animation recreation of the Tiger Woods thing you will see today

You have to watch the whole thing. It's only a minute and 36 seconds, relax. Why can't American TV be more like this?



I love the thought bubble over her head at about :57. WHORE!

Srsly, Tiger wouldn't be caught dead in a rugby shirt like that. When did this accident happen, 1986?