This Kickstarter looks pretty cool, actually

I get a lot of emails asking me to promote things on my blog because (1) people mistakenly think I have some huge reach and am totally influential when I'm really just an elaborate newsletter for drunk cranks; and (2) I forgot what 2 was.  Mostly 1.  Most of these emails I just ignore, but I'm making an exception because this one actually looks pretty cool.

Local publisher Last Gasp books is having a Kickstarter for their fall publishing season and I am all about supporting the arts, especially when the arts includes "Beyond the Dark Veil," a "compilation of extraordinary and haunting photographs documenting the practice of death and mourning photography in the Victorian Era and early 20th century" or the "Fetish Coloring Book," which looks extremely dirty.

And here's the thing: a lot of Kickstarters have bullshit rewards like "OUR EVERLASTING THANKS!!! :)" or "Your name on the Memory Wall on our website which No One will ever look at!!!!!" but you actually get shit when you donate to Last Gasp.  Even as low as $15, you get one of two books.  For $25, you can get the dead people book or a t-shirt or even a tote bag like they're KQED or something.  This all sounds like a pretty good deal.

For $500 you can get a "Night out in North Beach with Ron" but I'll need more information on "Ron" and what a "Night Out" might include before I'd take a flyer on that one.

Anyway, I have never before pimped someone's Kickstarter but this sounds legit to me.  At least go look at the prizes & shit.

Shall I Compare Thee to a GrubHub.com: Shakespeare's lost app sonnets

Hark! My raiments rest in shoddy pile
Washing them is not worthwhile
A mighty colossus such as me
Hath no time to bother with drab laundry
Upon my smartphone I shall depose
Some luckless sap to wash my clothes
Washio it seems is the poor man’s name
Collecting my breeches be his game
What happens then I know not
Preoccupied by more important thought
I do know that in a few days’ time
My tunic’s returned in condition prime
For this, I am charged a reasonable fee
I am become the lord of all laundry!
I suppose the matter of making a dime
Is something Washio will work out in time.

I stumbled frantic down the lane

Past shelter unwelcome and profane

“Hark!” I cry, “I just need a spot

“To sit and gather up my thought.

I want neither office nor abode

Just a squat with chair and commode.”

Whilst searching through the iTunes store

My eyes lit upon a major score

“Breather!” my hungry eyes devoured

“Renting rooms by the hour!”

No longer the domain of hotels sleazy

Now copping a room is Internet-easy

Wink wink nudge nudge now you be nice

You shan’t corrupt your room with sin or vice

“Sure thing, Breather,” I commend

Whilst entering room with my lady friend

Such sweet business we will conduct!

Breather cleaning crew, sorry, you’re fucked.

What sweet sounds drift from above?

Is it the voice of the one I love?

Ah! Look, here upon the iPhone screen

A booty text from my sweet colleen

But she is in the Mission though

And I atop shining Potrero

But my phone bestows on us a gift:

Some Prius-driving dork from Lyft 

Into this stranger’s carriage I slip

And pray he speaks not this whole trip

It’s like a cab, but sketchier so

Who needs workers compensation though?

Forward! Advance, sharing economy!

To my lover hurry me!

And if I should die lest he be running late

I pray for my heirs to litigate.

One eve a lover whom I sent my nudes

Fell ill with a serious case of the rudes

Posting my privates far and wide

Driving me nearly to ex-icide

If only there was some way to share

Pics that would vanish into the air.

Aha! Snapchat offers features free

They claim doth protect my privacy

Don’t speak to me of screencaps or hacks

I want to believe my pics free of attack

A simpleton, I am comforted so

By the founder, a raging Stanford bro

And soon I am sure th’ love of my eyes

Will be a means to advertise.

I can't even with this. What the fuck, Louisiana?

Via Carolyn Kellogg comes this brain-injuring LA Times article:

Official wants to de-fund library, users should 'go back to Mexico'

Library funding in Lafourche Parish, Louisiana, may be diverted to a new jail thanks to a legislator who doesn't approve of the library's programs. Jail proponent and chair of the Lafourche Parish Council Lindel Toups supports a ballot measure that would take funding away from libraries.

“They’re teaching Mexicans how to speak English,” Toups told the local Tri-Parish Times, referencing Biblioteca Hispana, a Spanish-language section of one of the nine branch libraries. “Let that son of a bitch go back to Mexico. There’s just so many things they’re doing that I don’t agree with. ... Them junkies and hippies and food stamps [recipients] and all, they use the library to look at drugs and food stamps [on the Internet]. I see them do it.”

"They use the libraries to look at drugs and food stamps on the Internet"! MEMO TO LINDEL TOUPS: LOOKING AT DRUGS ON THE INTERNET DOES NOT GET YOU DRUGS.  If only.

BUT WAIT!  What does Library System Director Laura Sanders have to say about all this?

"The library is not saying we don't need a jail," Sanders says. Originally constructed in 1968 and expanded in 1977, the jail is in poor condition and suffers overcrowding.

She noted that for Toups, the issue of the jail's condition is a personal one. "He does have family members that are incarcerated," she says.

According to Houma Today, Toups' son and grandson were arrested in 2009 and charged with possession of methamphetamine and drug paraphernalia.

BOOM ROASTED. Hahahaha, TAKE THAT, LINDEL.  "He does have family members that are incarcerated."  Laura Sanders, you are my new hero.

Anyway, the election is Saturday, for some reason.  Aren't elections always on Tuesday?  Not that having an election on Saturday is a terrible idea, it's just weird.  Remind me to check back and see if Lafourche Parish defunded its library system.  Fucking hell.

Stick City? Pick City? Something like that.

Before it became a series of hugely popular books and a TV show on PBS, Armistead Maupin's "Tales of the City" started life as a serial in the Chronicle in the 70's and early 80's.  Apparently hoping to recapture some of that excitement, the Chronicle on Sunday launched a new serial called "Click City."

It's OK, I guess.  It's a fairly transparent attempt to capture the tech zeitgeist of the city (not, so far, the Zeitgeist of the city, though), but it comes across as being written by someone who's read about tech and the kind of people that work in tech without actually knowing or talking to any.  Everybody and everything seems like a broadly drawn caricature.  Oh look, here's the "severe-looking barista" and the adorably quirky programmers.  Here's the cafe on Valencia, except "no one was eating or talking to anyone else."  It's all just too much of a piece, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, haven't we covered the tech-is-the-new-gold-rush ground more than enough?  Isn't there a new article every week? At this point, I'm sick of it.

I'd be down for a new serial, though!  Just not principally about Computers and The People Who Work On Them.  How about these:

Mick City: The story of San Francisco's Irish gang underground, told by one of the newest members.

Flick City: The lives and loves of an extended group of friends who work at one of the last neighborhood theaters.

Trick City: You'd be surprised how competitive - even cutthroat - the world of amateur magicians working the party circuit can be.  [No good?  How about the story of a hapless pimp who struggles to control his band of wisecracking hookers? Same title.]

Hick City: We follow 23-year-old Junior Huddleston, a recent arrival from rural Arkansas, as he tries to navigate life in San Francisco.

Rick City: It's about a guy named Rick.

Chick City: About a group of four female friends and their lives and adventures in the city, written by a guy but I've totally hung around with enough women to know what they're like so don't sweat it.

Tick City: Told from the POV of a Rocky Mountain Wood Tick who arrives in the city on the back of a dog returning from a vacation.

It's Name Change Friday!

HI-YO!  Let us return, as we must, to the rolls of those seeking to rebrand themselves with shiny new monikers.

First up we have one I like to call DOUBLE TROUBLE.

ORDER TO SHOW CAUSE FOR CHANGE OF NAME
CASE NUMBER: CNC-13-549553
PETITION OF: Amber R. Tyler FOR CHANGE OF NAME
TO ALL INTERESTED PERSONS: 1. Petitioner: Amber R. Tyler filed a petition with this court for a decree changing names as follows: Present name: a. Tyler Audriana Dempsey to Proposed name: Tyler Audriana Tyler

Uh-oh.  Here we have a situation where obviously things didn't work out with Mr. or Ms. Dempsey and so we're apparently giving young Tyler our last name which, unfortunately, is also Tyler. Tyler Tyler, welcome to a world of confusion.  Unless, of course, we're calling you "Audriana" (lovely, BTW), in which case Audriana Tyler sounds great and carry on then.

Next up is TOO MANY RICHARDS.

CIVIL AMENDED ORDER TO SHOW CAUSE FOR CHANGE OF NAME
Case No. CIV521327 Superior Court of California, County of San Mateo
Petition of: Rich Shapero for Change of Name
TO ALL INTERESTED PERSONS: Petitioner Rich Shapero filed a petition with this court for a decree changing names as follows:
Richard Wallace Shapero to Rich Shapero
Ransom Saltmarch to Rich Shapero
Richard Shapero to Rich Shapero
Richard W. Shapero to Rich Shapero

Apparently not content to change his own name, Rich Shapero wants to change EVERYBODY'S NAME!  ONE DAY SOON WE WILL ALL BE RICH SHAPERO. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

No, I'm just kidding, you guys.  Obviously Rich has been using a bunch of variations and wants to clean house.  So Richard W. and all its permutations will be just plain Rich.  Let's see, we've got Richard Wallace Shapero, fine, got that, Ransom Saltmarch, OK, fair enough. Richard Shapero, sure -

HOLD ON WAIT A SECOND.  Where did YOU come from, Ransom Saltmarch, besides probably a Thomas Pynchon novel?  How did you get mixed up with the Many Richard Shaperos?  Perhaps Rich has a secret life as the dashing Ransom Saltmarch, raising an eyebrow at you from the end of the bar as he lifts a perfectly made martini to his moustachioed lips.  "Surprised to find you here, Saltmarch," you'll say, joining him.  "Really?  I shouldn't think so," Ransom replies.  "Anyway, I was just leaving.  Here, let me get your drink.  Oh, all I have is baht.  Next time, perhaps."  Ransom puts on an exquisite overcoat and leaves, getting into an X-Type parked right in front of the entrance.  You crane your neck to watch but he's already gone.  Ransom Saltmarch.

Have a great weekend, everybody.  Especially you, Ransom.

The Bachelor: What Is the Sound of One Hand Clapping?

We begin over at Chick Mansion, where Chris Harrison swings by to hand out the gonorrhea test results.  YOU'RE ALL WINNERS! Oh no, wait, those are Date Cards.  It seems that Right Handed Sarah will be going on the first Solo Date of the season.  Hope it's not archery!

Perhaps to atone for the shocking lack of helicopters last season, Sean arrives in a chopper for the oblig ride over LA.  There's downtown, there's a parking lot, there's a nightclub in the Valley where you'll someday do an Appearance for $300 and 2 drink coupons.  Whatever.  Let's move on to the next part: some kind of bungee jumping off a building in LA!  That seems good because if Sarah's trying to hold on she'll be easy to push off.  They jump, no one dies, yawn.  In the night portion of the date, they hang out with some booze and Sarah relates a tragic tale of how she was denied the opportunity to zip line in Vegas because of her one-armed status.  That's mean!  Her Dad told her she needs a husband who knows how to handle situations like this.  Like what, one-armed ziplining?  I guess if we move to an all-zipline mass transit system, that's true.  Anyway, Sean looks ready to let Sarah one-armed zip line into his heart.  Awww.  Sarah's only had one Serious Relationship and it sounds like it ended because he wasn't spontaneous or exciting enough.  Dude, if you can't keep a one-armed girl on her toes, you're not even trying. 

Group Date!  They pack about 13 chicks into some limos and head out to a butt-ugly yellow-tinted faux White House New Money mansion.  Oh good, they're going to practice being cover models for Harlequin romance books.  The "winner" will be on some real books!  So now you'll be famous!  At least to semiliterate diabetic 47 year old obese divorcees, or whoever reads those things.  I'm sorry, that's terrible.  I'm stereotyping.  Maybe Harlequin romances are Jonathan Franzen novels with more making out and PG-13 sex, I don't know.  Anyway, the whole photography thing is just as excruciatingly painful and embarrassing for everyone involved as you might imagine.  In the end, Kristy the "model" wins, what with her Man Face and her 3 pounds of makeup.  Congratulations, I guess.

Night finds us, as it often do, boozing by the pool.  Lots of facetime for Lesley.  She even breaks up Sean's hang with Daniella from SF!  STEP OFF BITCH, THAT'S NOT HOW WE ROLL IN THE SUCKA FREE.  Meanwhile, ambiguously ethnic Catherine informs Sean that she likes to say "I'm vegan, but I love the beef."  GET IT? SHE LIKES PENISES.  That is so funny!  Sean has a big fake laugh and says "That's so great!" but it's not great.  It's sad.

Sadly, Yoga Teacher is not happy.  Maybe because of what happened to her hair.

She says this "is not the right setting for her" and leaves the show.  I guess she's never watched a single episode and thought it would be all healing crystals and green tea when in fact it's all vocal fry and Costco champagne.

Next up, a Solo Date with Desiree, who is just as cute and perky and intelligent as a grey squirrel.  What WOULD be an ideal date is gathering acorns and self-grooming.  What they ACTUALLY do is some kind of painfully unfunny Candid Camera/Punk'd type gag where they take her to a faux art show and then someone pushes over a supposedly valuable art when she's like 6 feet away from it and she's supposed to be all scared and freaked out but instead just looks around like WTF and at this point I'd rather watch commercials.  Following this interlude which I desperately hope gets some producer fired, it's back to the Bach House where Sean pulls a couple of fake steaks out of the oven and they sit outside to ignore the fake food and drink.

[DIGRESSION: Speaking of fake food, if you're interested in an ear pick made to look like 2 cuts of yellowtail sashimi, I've got a source for you.]

Des says her parents are "the cutest people" she's ever met!  Hopefully they're dwarves who like to dress up as gnomes.  Or maybe they're meerkats!  Sean and Des agree that it's easy for them to talk, which makes sense because they communicate at about a 5th grade level.  After some piercing conversation about their Favorite Colors and Where Everything Goes When You Close Your Eyes,  it's time to perch by the hot tub, which is making SUCKING GRINDING NOISES and I hope Sarah's other arm isn't caught in there.  She gets a rose and yes, Internet, we know she looks like Katie Holmes.

On to the Cocktail Party,.  Lindsay apologizes for getting so drunk the other night.  GIRL, I'M NO STRANGER TO THAT FIGHT.  Oh guess what?  You're never going to guess.  She wants to marry her best friend!  She must be on the wrong show.  Meanwhile, AMANDA IS NOT HAPPY AND WHEN AMANDA IS NOT HAPPY AIN'T NO BITCH GONNA BE HAPPY.

I think she's unhappy because the producers have given her some kind of yellow dress with fake flower shoulder pads to wear.  Oh, and because she apparently forgot to bring a fucking comb.  Meanwhile, Robyn wants to know if S. is down with dating black chicks and he's apparently a Model U.N. because he's been out with Hispanics, Persians, you name it.  Across the room, Akkikiktok smiles gently, caressing her harpoon.

OK, let's throw some roses around.  Our girl Daniella gets one!  Also Where's the Beef, Grandma, Big Mouth Billy Bass, and Rat Hair.  We have 2 cuts: The Other Black Chick and Horse Face With the 2 Kids.  FUCK, kids really do ruin EVERYTHING.  Oh, and remember Yolanda Yoga went back to Space Mountain voluntarily.

NEXT WEEK:  An ambulance is summoned after one of the girls is grievously injured in a horrific bronzer accident.

Which District 1 supervisor candidate's staff can read and understand English? Let's find out!

I live in San Francisco's District 1, a land of Great Opportunity and Promise that contains, besides my house, most of Golden Gate Park, all of Land's End, approximately 4200 Chinese restaurants, San Francisco Brewcraft, and the Balboa Theater.

We're having an election for Supervisor on Tuesday!  The incumbent supervisor is Eric Mar, who is famous for making San Francisco a national laughingstock via his successful initiative to ban McDonald's from putting toys in Happy Meals.  That was stupid, so I'm not voting for him.

If you live in SF (and maybe other places in the World too, I don't know) you know that around campaign time, you get a METRIC SHITLOAD of campaign flyers shoved under your door and attached to your doorknob or whatever you have.  If you're a sane person, these all go straight into the recycling.  They're like getting the Yellow Pages one page at a time.  Useless.

So in an effort to cut down on this bullshit, I put a sign on my gate that said "PLEASE NO FLYERS."  Easy enough, right?  End of the Flyer Problem?

No.  Not end of the Flyer Problem.  Whether out of spite or uncaring, candidates continue to leave me flyers, often attached, as the flyer below, DIRECTLY UNDER THE SIGN THAT SAYS NO FLYERS.

I know, it's hard to see, but the white thing at the top is my sign that says "PLEASE NO FLYERS" and the blue/red thing is a flyer from Supervisor Candidate David Lee.

SO NOW DAVID LEE IS OUT TOO. 

Phil Ting left one yesterday. I didn't know he was running for anything.  Apparently he's running for Assembly.  I wasn't aware we were voting for Assembly this time.  Now I will be voting for Michael Breyer.  He wants to invest in the future!  I'm for that.  Also, he's the Candidate Who Would Never Leave a Flyer Under a Please No Flyers Sign.  I'm a narrow-issue voter and so far he has satisfied my narrow issue. 

For Supervisor, I am voting for Sherman D'Silva.  So far, Sherman D'Silva has not left any flyers, so that's good.  Also, check out Priority #8! "Require garbage provider to provide lock for all cans (to limit removal of recyclables and prevent garbage from spilling into streets."  Despite his failure to close his parentheses, I'm swooning. Sherman D'Silva wants to crack down on recycling poachers!  Be still my heart.  YOU HAVE FOUR DAYS LEFT NOT TO FUCK THIS UP SHERMAN D'SILVA!

Meanwhile, I'm not the only one with campaign literature problems.  Apparently London Breed doesn't know her district boundaries.   But I do love that name.  London Breed.  The London Breed sounds like a punk band from 1979. Oi!

Story ideas for Bold Italic

OK, Bold Italic, I've been reading for a while and I'm ready to suggest some ideas for a FOUND LOCAL or BOLD LOCAL or whatever the person is who writes this stuff. Here's a couple of concepts just off the top of my head that I think will fit right in. GET AT ME.

Animals of San Francisco Neighborhoods

I know, you're starting to run out of ways to publish the same tired stereotypes of SF neighborhoods over and over, but we can still do it! In this piece, a 24-year-old white person who's lived in SF for 2 years will anthropomorphize an animal for each SF neighborhood. Like, the Tenderloin Rat can have a crack pipe! Oh, fuck, that is funny. And the Marina Minx will be leaning against a BMW! Fuck, this shit writes itself. And the Bayview Badger....uh, never mind.

Illustration: Cartoon of The Chinatown Chipmunk, with slanted eyes and a pink bag and a coolie hat! HAHAHAHA SO CUTE.

Bring Out Your Dead

A chick with a bird tattoo will interview SF funeral directors, who will be confused by questions about artisanal embalming and whether they serve single-batch bourbons at wakes.

Illustration: Cartoon of two dead hipsters with X's for eyes.

Night Crawlers

A chick with a chest piece will interview a confused Lithuanian cabdriver about what it's like to drive a cab on the overnight shift in SF. "I pick up fare, I drop off fare," he says to the clearly disappointed just-out-of-J-school interviewer.

Illustration: Cartoon of a cab catching air going over a hill with a full moon in the background.

Now What Is That You Do Again? Accountant? What Does That Mean?

A dude with a lot of tattoos who works as a barista and is in a folk-metal band and is also a "writer" interviews six San Franciscans with regular jobs who get up in the morning and go to work and then come home and take care of their families and have never heard of underground dining clubs or Hard French.

Illustration: Cartoon of the writer staring incredulously at one of the interviewees after he says he's never been to the Hideout at Dalva.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

A chick with severe bangs will enter the shadowy world of DIY heart surgery and talk to "Boris" and "Natasha," two locals who have rejected Big Medicine in favor of operating at home.

Illustration: Cartoon of the the old "Operation" game with a map of SF where all the organs are

The Bachelorette: Wouldn't it be awkward if someone's parents were homeless? What would they do then for hometown visits?

Just asking.

Final Four! Hometown visits! Shit's getting real! First we see Ems back in Charlotte and rushing home to Lil Rikki wearing.....wait, what the fuck? Some kind of death's head shirt?


Hi Rikki! So good to see you! Can't hear anything over your screams of terror! No, sweetie, it's not a monster! It's what's left after the skin is stripped from your face! Why are you crying?

Boring recap/Emily voiceover about the 4 who are left. Wait, Jef has a "little bit of an edge"? WTF? He's about as edgy as a bowling ball. I get the feeling a wild night for Jef might include some non-decaffeinated Celestial Seasonings and some Family Guy DVDs.

We kick off with Chris in Chicago. He comes out to her as Polish. Hey, what happened to Polish jokes? That was a thing when I was a kid. Another victim of political correctness! I need to contact a Republican about this. Anyway, after a brief pit stop in a Polish restaurant for beers, they're off to Hanover Park to meet the fam. Sturdy-looking Polish Dad, American Mom, and 2 cute enough sisters. Em wants to know if Chris is ready to be a father. Dad says "he will do his best." That should fill you with confidence! The crispier sister is a little worried and wants Em to dump Chris ASAP if he's not the one. FORESHADOWING. Oh, come on. You know what's coming. Hey, do you think Chris's perma-five-o-clock-shadow is planned or he just needs to shave? Oh Christ, surprise! There's a Polish band out back. Soon Chris will be polka-ing alone.

Next stop: St. George Utah, for Jef's "family ranch." Quite a spread they have there! After a little ride in some ATV thing, it's time for some target practice. Jef thinks Ems "looks so hot with a gun." Have I got a treat for Jef. On to meet Jef's family. Well, except for his parents, who couldn't be bothered to show up for this thing on national TV to meet their son's possible wife. Holy shit, there's a crapload of them. Wait, is that the lead singer from Smashmouth?


They're drinking lemonade! Ohhhhh, right, Mormons. That's a dealbreaker right there. Families are great and all, but without booze they're basically intolerable. Ems sits down for a group interview with the sisters. I don't know what's going on here but they all look like they have different parents. One looks like the homecoming queen and one looks like the mean girl from an 80's movie and one looks like Jonah Hill in a wig. Then Jef & E go hang out and he reads her some long thing he wrote. What's up this season with guys reading Emily these treatises on how much they love her? She's like the muse of mash notes.

NEXT. Arie in Scottsdale. Seriously, Scottsdale is like a Bachelor/ette Production Facility. There's always at least 3 or 4 from there. They take a spin in Arie's racecar and then it's off to meet everyone. Oh, shit, no wonder his name sounds familiar! His dad won the fucking Indianapolis 500 twice! Mom's Dutch too and looks heavily plastic surgeried. So they all sit down and everyone starts talking in Dutch! AWKWARD. Oh, Mom wants to know why it didn't work out with Brad. Dad seems like he might be a little sweet on Emily too. Might want to lock the door if you spend the night there!

OK, one more stop. Sean in Dallas. By the lake. With some dogs. Of course. It's so painfully all-American it hurts. OMG, who decorated their house, a team of grandmas? Sean's niece and nephew are "Kensington" and "Smith," of course. Why would you give a girl a name that will inevitably be shortened to "Kenny"? The South Park jokes will never end with that one. Kenny has a playhouse that's nicer than most people's real houses and it has A/C and it was also decorated by whatever octogenarian did the main house. Anyway, the centerpiece is an elaborate practical joke in which Sean confesses that he lives at home and shows her a messy room and then HA HA HA not really. But it does raise a good point: Em should be checking out where these dudes actually live, not their parents' house. That way you can see if they have light-up beer signs or copies of "Man and Beast Quarterly" or whatever.

We're gonna wrap this thing at the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills, the only place I've seen tonight that I actually want to go to. (Rooms available this weekend! $695 a night!) Let's get this on. We know what's coming. Racecar Arie first. Then Jef. It's down to Sean and Chris. The only thing Chris would win against Sean is a Being Polish contest. And, indeed, he is gone. He still hasn't fucking shaved. He's like a facial hair Chia Pet or something. Anyway, he doesn't cry much in the Crying Limo. And then there were three.

I'm already going to hell, so....

The theme of today's post is RELIGION. Oh boy.

ITEM NUMBER ONE: Why do people hate Tim Tebow?

(I just realized that not everyone may know who Tim Tebow is. Tim Tebow is an American footballer generally considered to be of average-to-poor skill at his position, which is quarterback for the Denver Broncos. Previous to this, he was considered to be of superior skill at his position in college, which was quarterback for the Florida Gators. Some people are really good in college and not very good in the NFL. Anyway, Tebow is also known for vehemently and publicly practicing his religion, including frequently kneeling on the field to thank God for a successful football outcome and/or to beseech his help at a crucial moment. Despite his seeming lack of skill, the Denver Broncos keep winning games that they shouldn't win. This is more due to Denver's excellent defense than anything Tim Tebow is doing, but quarterbacks always get more attention than defenses. Back to our story.)

Oh, look, Deadspin already answered this question: Why People Who Hate Tim Tebow Hate Tim Tebow.

I'll nutshell it for you: Because anyone other than Tebow in Tebow's position would be EXPECTED to succeed, but somehow, for Tebow, it's a case of God pulling the strings for a gutsy believer who is somehow triumphing despite being a valiant underdog.

Athletes giving credit to God is nothing new, but Tebow sort of takes it to a whole new level with his very public displays of faith and whatnot. Let's leave aside the obvious question - with something like 200 billion galaxies in the universe, each containing 200-300 billion stars, there must be trillions or quadrillions of planets, and many of those must have life, so why does God take a personal interest in the outcomes of sporting events on one of those planets and, moreover, why does He not seem to care so much about cricket or curling? - and instead ponder WHY IT'S NOT GOD'S FAULT WHEN TEAMS LOSE. The way I see it, if you give God credit for winning a game (or doing well on a law school final, or getting your lost wallet back (actually, that one was St. Anthony, not God, but they work in the same office), then the Big Guy gets the blame when things go south.

How great would that be? Imagine the sideline reporter interviewing the kicker who missed the game-winning field goal: "Well, I lined it up perfectly, hit it dead on, and it sailed wide right. God really fucked us on this one. Thanks for nothing, God. Zero for you in the collection plate tomorrow. Winners get paid, not losers."

SIGH. I'm sure there's a Deep Theological Reason why it's not God's fault but I don't really care.

ITEM NUMBER TWO: R.I.P. Christopher Hitchens, one of the best atheists of all time.



Like I said to someone last night, I didn't always agree with Hitchens - on his strong support for the Iraq War, for example - I always wished I could write like him.

From the Magazine Rack in Hell

I'm not even sure why I made this. I don't even have kids. Parents just bug me sometimes.

I had a much more successful air travel experience yesterday.

As you may have gathered from my Twitter stream, I am currently traveling and therefore may not be posting as much. Two things, though:

1. Kind of an amazing overheard in the Hudson bookstore in the Denver International Airport yesterday. I first noticed this chick because she was holding a book and reading the ENTIRE BACK COVER to someone on the phone. Then she finished and waited for input, apparently, about whether this book would be a suitable read. I guess her confidante advised against it, because she didn't buy the book.

She got in line behind me and I got a look at her. Tall, maybe 5'10" or 5'11", blonde, not especially attractive, wearing glitter on her face, no joke. This is not at 4 am at a club on Ibiza. This is at 6 pm at the Denver International Airport. Is there a Rave Area at DEN that I don't know about?

She's still on the phone. "Oh, this is so cool. One of the directors of the movie I'm doing is going on tour with Atmosphere and filming a video for them. He's not, like, the main director. He's the other director. You've met him. I know one of the singers in Atmosphere so that's cool."

I gotta see the movie that Face Glitter Chick is in. Also, what movie has more than one director? Maybe he's the First AD.

Also, Atmosphere turns out to be an American hip hop group from Minneapolis, Minnesota. I did not know that.

2. After my permanently traumatizing, PTSD-inducing, borderline-suicide-causing trip on United Airlines last month, I just want to say that FRONTIER AIRLINES IS THE SHIT and I will never cheat on you with another airline again Frontier. Somewhere over the Great Plains, happily ensconced in the entire bulkhead row which I had to myself, enjoying my third complimentary vodka, I realized how wonderful Frontier Airlines has made modern travel. We got there early. Fuck you, United.

Battle Hymn of the Sort of Crazy Mother

I'm not a parent (yet, anyway) so I don't know shit about child-raisin' and I'm not about to sit here and tell parents they're Doing It Wrong (except when I see parents who are Clearly Doing It Wrong at Target or whatever but I keep my mouth shut and don't say "You shouldn't call your child 'you dumb little fuck,' it's bad for their development") but I had kind of a bad reaction to Law Professor Amy Chua's child-rearing techniques, as explicated in this article, provocatively titled "Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior" (an excerpt from her new book "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother"). In this scene, 7-year-old daughter Lulu is having a tough time learning a piece on piano, despite working on it "nonstop for a week." The following drama ensues:

Back at the piano, Lulu made me pay. She punched, thrashed and kicked. She grabbed the music score and tore it to shreds. I taped the score back together and encased it in a plastic shield so that it could never be destroyed again. Then I hauled Lulu's dollhouse to the car and told her I'd donate it to the Salvation Army piece by piece if she didn't have "The Little White Donkey" perfect by the next day. When Lulu said, "I thought you were going to the Salvation Army, why are you still here?" I threatened her with no lunch, no dinner, no Christmas or Hanukkah presents, no birthday parties for two, three, four years. When she still kept playing it wrong, I told her she was purposely working herself into a frenzy because she was secretly afraid she couldn't do it. I told her to stop being lazy, cowardly, self-indulgent and pathetic.

Jesus Christ, lady. It's the fucking "Little White Donkey," not lifesaving surgery. What the fucking fuck? And for the record, she's not being self-indulgent, you are. You're the one that wants to hear "Little White Donkey," not her.

Clearly there are cultural differences at play and maybe us dumb Westerners just don't understand and I guess if you raise a child like this they probably will get good grades or whatever but I can't help but wonder at what cost.

Amy Chua says her children were never allowed to be in a school play (or, for that matter, "complain about not being in a school play"). Guess Amy Chua's daughters aren't going to be actresses! Sorry if I'm being snarky but I guess my point is if you shove kids into a super-rigid way of life that you control all the parameters of and don't let them do anything that you haven't planned for ahead of time, I can't help but think that they're maybe not going to develop a creative side the same way a kid who's maybe not treated like a trained dog would.

It's complicated and there are loads of cultural issues I'm sure I'm not sensitive to, but I kind of have a visceral reaction to calling a 7-year-old "pathetic."

UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!! - As commenter Amy suggests, as it turns out, there is more to the story than we originally thought. Apparently Law Professor Amy Chua spoke with columnist Jeff Yang over on SFGate and said, basically, that the article painted an unfair picture:

"I was very surprised," she says. "The Journal basically strung together the most controversial sections of the book. And I had no idea they'd put that kind of a title on it. But the worst thing was, they didn't even hint that the book is about a journey, and that the person at beginning of the book is different from the person at the end -- that I get my comeuppance and retreat from this very strict Chinese parenting model."

So there you go. Maybe it was taken out of context or whatever. I still maintain that calling a 7-year-old "pathetic" is not cool. That said, I also agree with Amy and fellow commenter Verbal Cupcake that many American parents aren't anything to write home about either. I guess there's got to be a middle ground between borderline child abuse and breezy abdication.

Anyway, I don't know if V.C. has kids, but I don't think Amy does, so let's all chat about this again when we all have kids. I feel sort of uncomfortable judging any parent from my childless perch. I'll do it; I just feel a little uncomfortable about it. That is all.

A short story based on today's Trending Topics for San Francisco, at around 9:00 a.m.

Jim Harbaugh was upset. He paced his office, fuming, then grabbed his iPhone 3GS and called Vince Young, whom he findly referred to as “Huckleberry Finn,” for reasons neither of them could remember.

“Vince,” Harbaugh said. “Did you see these god damned People’s Choice Awards?”

“Maybe,” said Vince Young. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Harbaugh fumed, “I was watching and the category for Favorite Constitution came up. Can you fucking believe this shit? Britain was nominated?”

“Great Britain doesn’t have a written constitution,” Vince Young said. “What are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

“No, Vince Young, I’ve never been more sober,” Harbaugh said. “So did you see who won?”

“Was it the Netherlands?,” Vince Young asked.

“Japan!,” Harbaugh yelled. “And their constitution only dates to 1947!”

Vince Young shook his head. “Just seems wrong. Anyway, who won for Favorite Pseudonymous American Author?”

“Mark Twain,” Harbaugh replied. “But he wins about every year. At least the years that Ellery Queen doesn’t win.”

Vince Young sighed. “Anyway, #Whats4Breakfast?”

“What did you say?,” Harbaugh asked. “Did you just say ‘Hashtag what’s for breakfast,’ all strung together really fast?”

“Maybe,” Vince Young said. “#ces.”

Mad Men #13: FMK

Ummmmmmm, OK, how about: Faye, Meghan, and Dr. Rape.

Friends, we are here. We have reached the End of Our Journey and it has been a strange one, what with the Chocolate Bunnies and the slapping and all the trips to California and whatnot. Now I can finally stop taking notes while watching the TV.

Let’s kick things off with Faye over at Don’s place. He’s got a “sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.” Maybe he read the spoilers on Twitter, too! Faye’s the one who should have the sick feeling, speaking of spoilers. OH SNAP.

Don’s taking a meeting with the American Cancer Society. For the first time ever on this show, there’s a meeting where everyone’s not smoking. Looks like ACS has the same offices as the Susan Ross Foundation on “Seinfeld.” Back at the office, Ken won’t play ball and ask his Father in Law to join a foursome. I think they’re talking about golf. God, I hope so.

Did you know that Creeper Glen is played by Matthew Weiner’s son? It’s a good thing Dad runs the show, because that kid cannot fucking act. I mean, I’m sorry and it feels bad to criticize a 12-year-old or however old he is, but it’s really apparent when he does all these scenes with Kiernan Shipka and she’s basically Meryl Streeping his Keanu all over the floor. ANYWAY Creeper Glen shows up at Chez Bets to say goodbye to Sally since they’re moving to Rye and CG says “I say goodbye to people all the time” in his creepy Children of the Corn way and Betty comes home and he is so BUSTED and then she gets mad and fucking FIRES CARLA!?! BITCH! You can’t go around firing Carla! She was cool and plus now the show is whiter than the Brady Bunch.

So Don’s off to Cali again and needs some help with the kids. Maybe Megan wants to come! That’s a good audition for the Mrs. Draper role that’s currently open. As a matter of fact, she does want to come! To California, I mean. Nudge nudge. So off they go and they are in the COOLEST HOTEL ROOM OF ALL TIME and Megan is teaching the kids some weird-ass foreign songs and generally being cool. Meanwhile, Don goes over to visit Stephanie, who looks like she could have just walked out of Pop's. I guess hipsters always look like hipsters. She gives him Anna’s old engagement ring. HMMMM MAYBE FORESHADOWING?????

Back at the hotel, Don’s having a High Life and reading some Le Carre. He goes next door to see Meg. She was told she can never become an actress with teeth like that. She is a little horsey, to be fair. But cute enough! Time to get it on like Donkey Kong. These two. Always with the sexing. Then the next day she’s got the kids at the Super Cool Diner and one of them knocks over a milkshake and Megs is just cool as a cucumber and we’re supposed to think that Betty would be FREAKING OUT and going “FUCK YOU, YOU LITTLE MONSTERS, YOU’RE GETTING MILKSHAKE ON MY BEAUTY” and instead Meg is all “I got this,” and Don’s like “Whoa.”

Hey, what’s this now? Peggy’s drumming up some bidness with Topaz pantyhose! No one’s very excited. I’m not that excited either. “Topaz, it is a brand of pantyhose.” They’re going to have to come up with something catchier than that!

Then we get to the big moment. Don proposes to Megan! “Megan, will you accept this dead chick’s ring? Hopefully whatever she had isn’t contagious.” And she’s all “I don’t know what to say.” It’s fucking Don Draper, figure it out. Later Peggy comes in and she’s like “Are you going to fuck or marry every chick in this office but me?” She’s got a point! Don calls Faye to dump her. I don’t know, man, I think they’ve been on 5 dates and the rule is that you have to dump someone in person if it’s been 5 dates. But she doesn’t want to meet up. Oh well. Bye, Faye!

So Joan’s on the phone with Dr. Very Short Lifespan. I’m kind of amazed he doesn’t get blown up during their conversation. Wait, he knows she’s pregnant? I guess she’s keeping the baby. Honestly, can you ever hear that phrase without “Papa Don’t Preach” popping into your head? Anyway, he’s just as slimy as ever. He’s gonna look good in a casket, though!

I hope next season starts in 1976. I want Don in a leisure suit, hot-tubbing with a couple of stewardesses.

And now, the Winner of the 6-Word Memoir Contest

First off, I would be remiss if I didn't give a shout-out to SMITH Magazine, the originators of the Six-Word Memoir thing. Good job, SMITH Magazine!

OK, we got a lot of good entries here. I carefully considered each one, but, in the end, there can be only one winner. Just like life!

Here are some I liked:

Allan's "Never got to see the Ramones" is a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of life, not to mention punk rock.

Bob sent me "Daddy isn't coming back, is he?" which has its own sad power. (Incidentally, Bob has some very nice photos, which you can see here.)

Jessica's sentiment, "Fuck it, let's just watch TV" rings true and reflects a life philosophy I can get behind.

I paused at Daisy's "I am not who I say," in light of her admitted history of prevarication, and it added fuel to my theory that Daisy is actually a composite character created by a team of writers.

But I liked my fave right off the bat and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it really is a life story in 6 words. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Winner is:

Leslie's "Sorry I called you an asshole"

So, Leslie, email me with your mailing address and Social Security Number and whatever other kind of info would be helpful and I will rush the incredible prize package worth $5.02 out to you posthaste. Congratulations, and thanks, everyone, for playing!

Someone made a malmistake! Or a corrupticon!

From the otherwise drab ""FTC Says Scammers Stole Millions, Using Virtual Companies":

The U.S. Federal Trade Commission has disrupted a long-running online scam that allowed offshore fraudsters to steal millions of dollars from U.S. consumers -- often by taking just pennies at a time.

The scam, which had been run for about four years years, according to the FTC, provides a case lesson in how many of the online services used to lubricate business in the 21st century can equally be misused for fraud.

"It was a very patient scam," said Steve Wernikoff, a staff attorney with the FTC who is prosecuting the case. "The people who are behind this are very valmeticulous."

Wait a second. Did you just say "valmeticulous"? What does that mean, like extra meticulous, or like the evil version of meticulous? Like James Bond villains are especially valmeticulous, right?

Oh, wait, never mind. Looks like it's some kind of fuckup and not a real word. That sucks! I wanted to be valmeticulous too.

The Bachelorette: Iceland Is Cold, and I Don't Feel So Good Myself

Iceland used to be best known for Leif Erikson and Bjork, but these days it’s better-known for volcanism and financial collapse. That makes it perfect for our next stop! I don’t know why; I can’t finish this analogy. I’m still kind of sick. Before we go on, I got a shot of Kasey’s Protect and Guard Your Heart brand tattoo:


Ugh, what a fucking mess. It looks like some cabbage and a bad bruise.

After our oblig establishing shots of Iceland and Ali in a fur hat, it’s time for a challenge: the guys will write love poems to her, and are told to incorporate some Icelandic in them. God, they just find new ways to make this show more painful every week. Next week, maybe we’ll have slam poetry or acoustic Gloria Estefan covers. Anyway, the Entertainment Wrestler tries stopping random Icelanders in the street, which proves unsuccessful, unless the phrase he wants to use is “Get the fuck out of my face.” Ali appears and screams “ICELAAAAAAND!!,” of course. If we ever get somewhere and she doesn’t yell out the name of where we are I’m going to be pissed. The poems are just as miserable and depressing as you might imagine. Frank’s poem is about his ex! I thought chicks didn’t like that!?! Pls. advise ASAP. Kirk wins and gets a solo date.

Off they go traipsing through Reykjavik. Hey, what did ABC do with all the Icelanders? There’s like nobody on the streets. It looks like San Jose. They go clothes shopping. ABC needs to buy Ali some new hair, because they obviously went for the bargain extensions. They buy matching sweaters! That seems about right. Then it’s off to lunch, where Kirk will now tell us about his Secret and Disturbing History.

It seems that some five years ago, Kirk was a Star Athlete (8th best at the 1500, if you must know), when he moved into a Rented House of Horrors. He began developing odd symptoms like he couldn’t lift his arms up and the left side of his body was numb and he bled from the eyes and it sounds like a pretty normal Friday night to me but not even 40 doctors could find out what was wrong! Then a ghostly spirit appeared and told him to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. Not, not really. What really happened was that the house was contaminated. Oh no, that’s an Asbes-don’t! It was full of mold and whatever and with some “alternative medicine” he finally got better. This story is SO BORING. Ali is struggling to stay awake. Ugh, Kirk is so full of mold now he’s like an old loaf of bread you forgot about at the back of the pantry. Oh no, Ali, don’t kiss that! Gross! Now you’ll get the Molds too. That was the least inspiring story of Overcoming Adversity I’ve ever heard.

Hey look, it’s a Group Date! We’re going horseback riding. Or something riding. What are those little things? They’re like dog-sized horses. Good thing Ty knows how to wrangle them! Oh, look, they’re being lowered into a pit in the Earth! I like where this is going! Where are the cement trucks?

Then we’re off to the Blue Lagoon, which is not a pedophilia-themed amusement park but a hot springs. It’s supposed to have healing properties. Maybe it can heal her hair. She makes out with some guys and tells Frank he’s not trying hard enough. I just think he ran out of meth on like Day 3.

Now we have a threesome date with The Entertainment Wrestler and Kasey the Frog Prince. They fly to the volcano that is (WARNING FORESHADOWING) going to fuck up Europe’s travel plans real bad and land and walk around and the EW says this “feels like a wrestling match.” I guess he’s going to pay Kasey $50 to hit him with a folding chair. Time for the big tattoo reveal! Ali says “The only thing Kasey has to do today is be normal.” WHOOPS!!! That’s not really his thing, Ali. He shows her the tattoo. She has the same face you get when someone with a knife is telling you that the CIA is following them. She cuts Kasey! There is some chick in Clovis right now who is going to get the shit protected and guarded out of her. EW and Ali get in the helicopter and leave Kasey on the glacier to die.


Getting close to the end now. Bear with me, but you should know this is more painful for me than it is for you. We have the usual Pre-Rose-Ceremony chats. There’s the Mystery Guy again! Seriously, does he just appear at the end of every episode! Wow, he’s got the personality of an ottoman. She asks him what his guilty pleasure is and he says “Mexican food.” That’s funny, my guilty pleasures are dry cleaning and FM radio!

Now Chris talks to her. Wow, Chris is going all psychiatrist on her! “You’re afraid to fall in love! What are you so afraid of?” Ali looks a little taken aback! I don’t feel so good myself! “Are you afraid they’ll betray you like your father did? Like every man in your life has???!!!?” She’s going to need some Cymbalta! I can tell from the ads. Too bad about the Yellow Eyes and Skin you get from taking it!

Mystery Man gets cut. No surprise there. Next week, Issinbull. At least that’s what Ali keeps calling it. We’ll find out together, I guess.

Today's Power Rankings

Vuvuzela	▼	Is there any way we could add an annoying monotone drone to every televised sporting event?
Vuvuzela Twitter feed	▲	In the future, every phenomenon will have its own satirical Twitter feed
Gavin in Shanghai	▲	Bring me back a #23 and an order of green onion pancake
Vampires	▲♂	There has to be a "Lost Boys" remake in preproduction somewhere, right? I haven't checked, but it's gotta be happening, right?
World Cup officiating		Makes NBA refs look like…I don't know, really good refs or something
Sharron Angle	►☺	Put a little crazy in your Senate
New Bret Easton Ellis novel	▬	In other news, Bret Easton Ellis is still alive and writing novels, apparently
Treaty of Ghent	£▲	Still one of the best treaties
Lakers	▲	Kobe is the MVP. OF RAPING.
Watermelon	▲	The Miracle Food™
Oil spill	◙▼	BP has discovered an extraordinarily efficient way to move stuff that was inside the Earth to outside the Earth
Tagging the Buddha sculpture in Civic Center Plaza	▼	You people are assholes.
Jeremy London kidnapping	♣	Now me! Now me!

How to Do Brunch Successfully in San Francisco

Saturday I went to brunch with some friends. Brunch is incredibly important in San Francisco because it's acceptable to drink during daytime when you're at brunch. Luna Park has bottomless mimosas for $9. That means for someone like me, brunch is essentially free.

Brunch goes from 1:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. After the eating part, you go to Valley Tavern and sit on the deck out back and have a couple of pitchers of beer. Maybe 6 pitchers. I'm not sure. My bar tab was $68 before tip.

Then you go to Rosamunde on Mission because it's 7:00 and you haven't eaten in over 5 hours now. So you get a sausage and, oh yeah, more beer.

Then you go to Clooney's because it's the only place you can think of that won't be crowded. Other people are joining your group, people who haven't been with you since 1:00 p.m. and are therefore more qualified maybe to tell you the next day that you looked like "a mess" when the New People saw you at 9:00 p.m. Even though New People could have lied.

You know what's good then? Shots. Shots and playing Styx's "Mr. Roboto" on the Internet Jukebox. You know what else is good then? Leaving.

[SIDE NOTE: I'm not 100% sure why I wrote this post mostly in the second person. Maybe I just wanted to get all Bright Lights, Big City on you.]

[SIDE NOTE 2: I had a pre-existing appointment the following day, yesterday, at Lucky 13 at 3:00 p.m. and while it was touch and go there for a while, I made it.]