Thursday, July 31, 2008

Sup dawg?

For years Al has been parading around referring to our dogs as "asos." And for years I thought that it was just another sound example of his insanity. I mean, walking around calling things by nonsense names isn't too far removed from any of Al's other habits when confronting the world. When Al puts four digits from his left hand to his face and makes a face of disgust, I know from all of my past experiences with him, he will follow his hand motions with a high pitched, "Bobby Bayouk-son!" (bye-YOOK-son). He will then repeat it around six times, each getting louder and higher pitched. Now I can't tell you who exactly Mr. Robert Bayouk-son is, but he's been a topic of conversation for years in my household. As legendary as Santa Claus is to a four-year-old (or a fourteen-year-old if you live two doors down) the rest of us in this house talk of Mr. Bayouk-son with great amusement and fascination. We've come to figure that he must not have been a sincerely profound character in Al's life because he is only mentioned when LuLu decides that pooping outside is overrated or when Al decides to smell the lint that has been wedged under his toenail for the past seven weeks.

After procrastinating for nearly twenty years I finally built up the strength (and the courage, who wants this looney toon to be correct after all these years?) to see if Al's childhood imagination is relentless or if he does indeed belong in a padded Filipino prison. I found that in Tagalog (the mother country's native tongue) "aso" means dog. I'm not sure if "aso" in the plural tense is "asos" but Al has been right all along. Pointing at LuLu and exclaiming, "That, my friend, is a little ASO!" She sure is. I am happy to have some sort of sign that I will not become completely insane by the age of forty, however I am still stuck in a world of confusion. Who is this Bobby Bayouk-son, and why does he remind Al of terrible smells?

Some "Asos":
Daisy.

Peekaboo.

Chase. Behind bars where he belongs.

LuLu.

Phi Mu.

I could have ran with that one.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

When all else fails...


...blame it on the Mexicans.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Summer Reading.

When I won the Accelerated Reading program in grade school when I was only in 2nd grade, I knew that I was a genius. Actually, it just proved my theory that public school was filled with minions and minorities who had neither the attention span nor intelligence to fully grasp Ramona and Her Father. While sobbing, I raised my trophy in front of the entire school and rested my head on it as if it were the teat of let's say Megan Fox. I knew the future promised excitement and success (but, unfortunately, no Megan Fox). It was my Michael Jordan moment.
My heart tells me he was saying, "This is my Marty C. moment."

Nobody writes anything more interesting and entertaining about China than Peter Hessler.

Maybe even smarter and wittier than David Sedaris. Why are all hilarious writers gay?

About a hilarious team of advertisers in Chicago. Really awesome.

I only read it because I saw Sloane Crosley's picture. Pathetic I know. She has a very cool way of putting some things but I've heard better stories on a Thursday night from TyTy. I think women would appreciate it more. "It" being Ms. Crosley's stories and also TyTy.

Depressing and not depressing but very much badass. Even Oprah thinks so.

He's gay and thinks he's hilarious. Only he sucks. Maybe the worst book I've ever read.

What would it take?

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Hey Bauer, your time is up...motherfucker.

I have had to listen to the 24 cock-jockeys for far too long. Constantly riding Jack Bauer's scroters like he ever did something besides kill imaginary terrorists. Well your brown-people-killing ways are done Jack! Ever since A.P. Calculus class (which I was allowed to play MasterMind in, since I was so lost, as long I kept quiet) I've been shushed like a little kid while Jack prances around smashing his All-American elbow into jihadists' faces. Don't you dare shush me, I'm a grown ass unemployed man.

I've never really seen 24 but I don't think I really need to. Let me guess: white guy with a bad haircut has a day to kill a shit load of people trying to ruin America? Watch Die Hard and save yourself the 22 and a half hours. For some reason people can't find a great reason to explain why the show is so good. "Jack Bauer is so clever and awesome and the writing is so genius!" Bitch please, raise up off those n-u-t's, because you gets none of deez (thoze), at ease. How is that for writing?

The real "Jack" is the one from Law & Order. Murder mysteries of any kind are no big deal to Jack McCoy. The fool will be locked up and bleeding in the showers before you can Object. At a recent sighting at the Playboy mansion where Jack was the guest of honor he was quoted saying, "Mr. Bauer, I object to that whack ass show, that whack ass plot, that whack ass pistol, and that whack ass haircut! Peace mu-fuckaz, McCoy out..." When McCoy leaves the courtroom NBC, TNT, and USA networks all refuse to play the music that is actually accompanying the exit. "I'm a seventh letter of the alphabet!" See below!

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

There might be a supreme being.



To be honest, I firmly believed a dog as nice as Daphne would never have been returned just because she is so gosh darn adorable. And because Humboldt Park can be unforgiving. I guess there are still good people out there.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Lost Dog.

English Bulldog
If anyone sees a dog that looks like this give me a call. It's my cousin's and we want her back.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Them damn Boleyn girls.


I try to keep my love affair with Scarlett Johansson updated and relevant by ogling over her in any movie she is in. That was my intention when telling my parents to hang on to "The Other Boleyn Girl" an extra day before retuning it to BlockBuster. Usually the routine is simple. I insert the DVD and laugh at the absolute ridiculousness of the fact that Ms. Johansson (soon to be Mrs. Van Wilder) is terrible at her craft. To be honest, she was actually alright in this one but I will never get over how much she over acted, and how many mouth airplanes she gave to Woody Allen to be, in "Match Point." That's neither here nor there. At first I wasn't at all interested in this other movie. Some of the phrases in the dialogue were rather not believable. At the very least, I figured there may be a hilarious cleavage shot or some ridiculous baby making scene but I was not at all expecting to be thoroughly entertained. It should be noted that I wasn't entertained in the traditional sense. I'm sure most audiences thought the complexities of the story and the themes of jealousy, betrayal, the lust for power, and what kind of trouble a boner sandwich can get you into, were the most thought provoking aspects of the film. Meanwhile I was sitting on the edge of my seat trying not to erupt with a "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!"-chant. Al was sleeping after all and to wake him would be a sin.

What the movie taught me is that behind a country that prides itself on its traditions and values, there lies the root of every evil in the world: Hillbillies who can't keep their peters in their pantalones.

Mickey packin' heat.

Why would anyone need to bring a gun onto Disney property?

Just in case this mu-fuckin rodent wants to step up.

Monday, July 07, 2008

Why I hate Advertising.

I hope everyone is aware that Google and other search engines and websites have come up with a way to make sure there are advertisements that fill various details of your online profile. After gathering your information online, they start to shape particular advertisements to better suit your needs. At first I thought it was a cool idea, because I did fit the "Limited Edition Jordan's" and "single wild college blonde girls" target market. But after seeing a few disturbing ones (I guess I shouldn't have been visiting those websites those particular ads were attached to) I began to notice just how degrading and insensitive the fuckers who programmed these things really are.

Shit.

Monday, June 30, 2008

Say my name, Say my name.

Here are a few things me and the other Marty have in common other than our name:

We're both cool little dudes.

You know our steez.

We both have badass hi-top sneakers. Nike please.
We both have our own informational websites. His is here. Mine is here.

We both try to impress the brothers.

We're both protagonists. Him in Back To The Future Trilogy. Me in Life (maybe Trilogy if you follow Buddhism or Hinduism).

We both get our wisdom from badass dudes.
His:
Mine:
We both can't stop shaking. It's unfortunate he has Parkinson's but rather fortunate that I have rhythm and a love for shaking my tail feather.

We both don't identify with being yellow. It comes to fisticuffs whenever someone calls him "yellow." I press charges for hate crimes.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

My girl Donatella

Although Dan's rap name (Donatello aka Don Uh Tell Ya) is similar to Ms. Versace's real name, he could only wish he was as successful as her. I usually don't care for her cuts because they often seem to be designed for the feminine looking white male but since her inspiration for this line was Barack Obama, I think she pulls off something that I rather like. But I'm too tubby to don many of these looks.


On the right is a good example of how I would want to dress for work. Keep the kids at home.
Although I'm not sure of its purpose, I love the penis scarf.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Sonotheque.

Last weekend I got a bunch of invites to go to Sonotheque and see some dudes from Stones Throw spin records. The last time I went to one of these things I ended up having a good time but the place was a perfect post office, nothing but male. Here's what I missed:

Erin Murphy done got herself a man. Finally. (And got kind of cute.)
Joe McCahill busted out his badass necklace and thought he was the life of the party.
Hey look! Annie, Jenny, and Tess decided to come out and have a good time!
TyTy finally lucked out. Big time. Jesus.
Dan/Todd Johnson ate his weight in bullshit.
Jason decided to lower his standards to a level I didn't think was possible. And Julian showed Buffalo Bill from The Silence of The Lambs how to Lean Like a Cholo.
No but seriously. I was there. Ask Jason, we even had a conversation.

Shaq's back.


Watch this and realize.

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Jonrón


I'm not the biggest baseball fan but this season I've been watching most of the Cubs games. I don't have anything against the White Sox, I just happen to find the Cubs more fun to watch mainly because of Carlos Zambrano. He never fails to make me laugh every day he pitches and even most days he doesn't. He makes no attempt to cover up his behavior which can be described as "childish" and I think it's hilarious. My fondest memory of him is when the Cubs got into a bench-clearing brawl and he was the last one out on the field but completely ready to fuck somebody up. The announcers said that he was trying to put his belt on but anyone that knows how Mexican-esque dudes fight knows he was taking that belt off getting ready to drop some bitches. The only other person I've seen do that is my Mexican grandfather.

I read this in the paper the other day and it reminded me how awesome Zambrano is. When talking about the White Sox he said, " I like to play the White Sox. It's good when every time I go to US Cellular or Comiskey or whatever the name of that ballpark is, people start screaming, calling you all kind of things. That's good. Sometimes I'm in the outfield and they say, 'Hey you!' and bad words. 'You're a homosexual!' I say, 'Well, I'm going to show them if I'm a homosexual on the mound.' That's kind of like the good feelings between the Cubs and Sox."

How exactly he is going to show them he is not a "homosexual" on the mound is beyond me. Unfortunately I'll have to wait another year to see him make it happen. I'm still excited.

Go heart your own city.


Nothing represents the block I live on more than Mario Joe Panvino. Nicknamed "Big Joe" by my brother and probably a lot of other people, he is a Class-A hit in Portage Park. I remember not being able to walk to 7-Eleven or to the park without at least two or three cars blasting horns and yelling "MARIOOOO!!!!!" in acknowledgment of Big Joe's presence. The positive effect that Mario has had on our neighborhood is a product of what a pleasant city like Chicago can influence. And nothing has had more of an effect on him than Chicago sports teams. He is the biggest Bears/Cubs/Bulls/anything-that-has-to-do-with-Chicago-minus-the-White Sox-fan both physically and mentally. Every conversation brings out at least 10 minutes of Chicago sports related talk and at least a few mentions of Michael Jordan. Mario's back room is a bouillon cube of Chicago sports. Every inch of the wall is covered with Chicago paraphernalia (and wrestling hoz) and to experience it is truly a delight. If you aren't a Chicago fan in any way you will still be amazed at how much shit someone can put on a few small walls (I just thought of a new rap name for Paul Wall's little brother). This is just a snapshot of his room. One day I'll take a picture of the Dennis Rodman autographed framed jersey he has (and that I plan on stealing). But until then, I'm just happy that we can sit around and talk about what we're going to do when the Bulls Repeat the 3-Peat. And I'm also happy that we actually believe it's going to happen.

Friday, June 20, 2008

This just in!


I always thought he liked me because he thought I was a good person. It's because I'm Asian?

Let me holla at a few of you and TyTy can holla at the other one.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

See you C-U



As I look at this profoundly idiotic picture, the answers that I've been looking for reveal themselves quite remarkably. The last 4-5 years in Champaign-Urbana had its moments and I will never hold anything against those great experiences. However, the shithead overload that I experienced throughout college is something that I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Chicago would seem to offer my escape but the emotions that go along with the realization that many of the people I was unwillingly associated with at school now have expensive apartments in "cool" neighborhoods in the city I call home is another thing I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Well I would wish it upon those very shitheads. As I become more comfortable with living at home in Portage Park (a fresh slice of 1992) I begin to realize that what's done is done and it's now time to move forward. I'm unemployed but looking tirelessly for a job and one day it will happen.

From left to right:

Kyle B. Gorman: I know Kyle is/was studying for his PhD at UPenn. I also know that he loves to say very straightforward negative comments about homosexuals and loves commenting on style. His knowledge of music is almost unbelievable but is slightly skewed because of the contempt he holds for non-Justin Timberlake lovers. Part of me hopes that Kyle is putting some "indie" kid in his place about what bands suck and why but more than part of me knows that he is probably off somewhere being just as confused as he was in this picture. Just tell him how you feel about him Kyle, no one will lose respect for you.

Curt Frericks: I know Curt works in Chicago at an Architecture Firm of some sort. There isn't too much I can say about him. My brother thought it was hilarious that Curt had no shame lifting up a girl's skirt on an MTD campus bus. I once saw him throw a haymaker at KAM's, miss, and then get tackled. If he would have landed it would have made my night. But I know he still hasn't landed and I wish him the best. There you go Curt! (That is directed at the waitress at Duke of Perth.)

Fred Follmer: I know Fred is an artist...at being awkward. I won't say too many negative things about Fred because who am I to judge? In late night talks, Fred was awarded the "Most Likely to Have Sex With a Horse." It could be a complement if you were providing pleasure. Probably not though. Will the tag "artist" get anyone anywhere? The answer is undeniably NO!

Amanda Winterroth: Look at those white girl moves.

Erin Murphy: I know Erin likes to forget important details about the roles she's assigned during conversation time. She happily plays the mature 40 year-old "I've been through it all" role and loves giving me the "I NEED HELP!" role. Erin, I'm fine. I don't understand your fascination with getting married before the age of 25 (you failed). Seriously, stop fantasizing about the bad boy (EJ) and go to medical school (Ivy League).

Zoe Schwartz: I know Zoe will one day look back at me and say "What an asshole." And I'm thankful for that. Not that I necessarily agree but because I know the reasoning behind it will be justified (like JT). Do your thang girl but most importantly stop judging Eddie. He's been nothing but nice to you and takes care of Laura (and business). Easily my favorite McCahill. But seriously, just because Eddie isn't an "artist" doesn't mean he isn't a cool dude.

Julian Crozier: Play on playa. Or just stop playing altogether.

Marty C.: I know that you have your eyes set on big things but I think your lack of hard work will never give it a chance to materialize. But seriously, take that fucking hat off and do something with that big head. Who are you to judge?

I will be back.

I applied to work for Oprah today. I love Oprah.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Indoor Sunglass Wearing: An Introduction

Believe you me, sunglasses are noted to be one of the most useful products invented A.D. They are practical and serve well in a variety of situations. Although I’m not sure who invented them, I’ve deduced a few intelligent insights that will help us create a mental image of this hero. The person was most likely a male, because females weren’t allowed to invent things other than female hygiene accessories until JFK was president, and we know sunglasses predate that (The Suffrage Movement: Part Deux). This person was also probably Caucasian because it seems that every brown culture has physically evolved into beings that are not overwhelmingly frustrated with sunlight. (Bad business idea: Asian sunglasses company that only sells in Asia. Great business idea: Abuse of Asia’s lax labor laws and sunglasses are exported to Western countries). I came to this conclusion because I can easily think of many specific Caucasian faces wearing sunglasses but not a single Arab (rich Saudis don’t count). Brown people generally tend to wear them as a stylistic accessory. So we can think of sunglasses as white people’s evolving attempt at brown skin. Sunglass wearers:


From Left to Right: Ex-Cubs pitcher Kyle Farnsworth, Dale Earnhardt, The Artist Nan Goldin, Ryan Reynolds, and Mr. Food. (Please Click image)

So you see baseball players, racecar drivers, domestic abuse victims, fashionistas, and perverts wear sunglasses (from left to right). Fun Fact: A good way to tell a pervert from a baseball player is to see if the person’s sunglasses remain on when they enter a building. On=pervert, Off=baseball player.

I believe it is perfectly acceptable to wear sunglasses when it is sunny out. Watching white people without sunglasses in extreme sunlight can be somewhat degrading as an “Asian”-American. I get overwhelmingly frustrated before I realize that they aren’t mocking me (or maybe they’re using the sunlight as an excuse to mock me). However, before this past weekend I agreed with Larry David in that there are only two types of people who wear sunglasses indoors, blind people and assholes. Times have changed.

1) Blind People: The reasons blind people wear sunglasses should be fairly obvious if you read at a 2nd grade level. And if you don’t read at least at that level, it’s not because blind people don’t want to see people laughing at their disability (or is it handicap?). It’s because seeing people don’t want to give blind people the chance of leading them on. A true example of how people don’t give those less fortunate enough respect. Example:


2) Assholes: Sometimes synonymous with “hipsters”, however, there is a vast variety of people that fall into this category. It could be your grandmother who is too lazy or too “I’m old I can do whatever the hell I want.” It could be someone who forgot their regular glasses in the car, which makes them even more of an asshole because they are too lazy to go and get them. But also, it could be those who have never let go of that one time they felt important. The person who wrote the song you hear when you call the cable company to pay your bill. The person who caught Ringo’s drumstick at that one concert. The person who was awarded the title “Most Likely To Succeed” in high school (and now is severely depressed and a college drop out). And lastly, those less fortunate like the person who invented Crocs. And the people that wear them. The person who says, “Believe you me…” or “What’s the dealio?” Etc.


3) Those who are attempting to avoid Unbelievable Assholes: Over the weekend while hanging out with a friend we decided to get a meal at a local restaurant. Well I guess it should be noted that it could be accurately described as a burger joint. I was enjoying my meal when I spotted an asshole fraternity brother across the street walking around with shorts and sandals. Anything missing from that list of clothing? It’s acceptable to take your shirt off at the beach but walking down a busy street is really not the ideal location. Especially when it is barely over 70 degrees (Fahrenheit). As he passed by I let out a sigh and a laugh and diverted my attention to something else. Two minutes of enjoyable conversation passed when the door opened abruptly and was immediately followed by an “Oh no!” This caught my attention quickly and I turned to my left to face the very person who two minutes prior represented everything that is wrong with the world. My cheese fries curdled and my hamburger quickly tasted like charcoal. In an attempt to see everything a little less clear I put on my sunglasses. Unfortunately it only gave me a reason to stare at the sonofabitch who was now enjoying a hotdog/hamburger combo with a medium fry and a large Mountain Dew, alongside his better than average looking girlfriend. It gave me an excuse to look at him because I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me eye-fucking-him-up.

Sure the owner of the eatery made a quick comment, “No shirts today?” but he wasn’t serious, how could he be? His fake tan lead me to believe that he was dying to take his shirt off too and his comment was filled with tones of jealousy. The only thing keeping it on was probably the two previous citations and the loss of business he received from the previous two times he thought it would be acceptable to serve up an Italian beef, shirtless. As my appetite quickly faded my thirst for blood quickly elevated. After thinking it was probably a bad idea to take my own shirt off and scream, “How the fuck do you like it?” I tried to come up with reasons to justify why bro-mosapien thought it would be completely fine to walk into a food establishment completely shirtless. I couldn’t do it. I was mad at this point but not nearly as mad as I was when I realized this guy didn’t even consider a shirt. He woke up that morning, put on a pair of floral board shorts, slipped on his flip-flops, grabbed his keys, and made his way out of his cave. The thought, “Am I missing an important article of clothing?” never crossed his mind. As soon as he stepped outside shirtless, with no intent of going to the beach, he fulfilled his role as “Asshole.” When he stepped into an eatery he was awarded his promotion to “Unbelievable Asshole.” As I stared through the window I couldn’t help but considering paying the extremely fat Mexican guy wearing a button up shirt and work pants, trimming the plants across the street who somehow managed to keep his shirt on in the blistering heat, a few dollars to walk into the restaurant with his shirt off and sit next to the guy’s girlfriend. Instead I threw out the rest of my food, put my head down and walked straight out of the building. It’s a good thing sunglasses can hide tears too.

Marty

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Kim Jong-ill!


There are not many sane people who idolize war mongering, oilrig-turned-sex-ship-owning, bed-made-out-of-women-having, class-A nuts. But, I’ve never considered myself sane, and I'm proud of it. Kim Jong-il, if you don't know, is the leader of North Korea. King Jong as I like to call him. Whoa, why not a sequel to King Kong where the big ape fights a massive Kim Jong-il? They could fight over a white woman and it would be oddly reminiscent of the original. I bet the Japanese would go nuts if that came out in the theaters. Kim Jong-il has defied everyone in the world and is looked at as a Menace II Society. He a gangster, so of course he flaunts stunner-shades and fresh cut fades, but I'm starting to believe that aside from all that, other world leaders’ opinion of him is overrun with jealousy. King Jong turned an oil rig into a party boat that is home to women (probably nakie) that fulfill a strict set of measurements (eyes, ears, chins, and maybe boobs, actually probably boobs) that King Jong loves. Now that the 21st Century is of legal age, this is the equivalent of turning water into wine. Kim Kong-il>Jesus? I’ll let you decide. At one point he was the leading buyer of Hennessey. He imports Mercedes by the fleet. He loves Michael Jordan. He has the whole world afraid of him. Which world leader can live up to that? Actually, which rapper can live up to that? “It’s hard out here for a pimp,” King Jong would beg to differ.

Kim Jong-il doesn’t waste his time talking himself up. The people already have an unbelievable amount of trust in him and spend their spare time delivering verbal blowjobs that Mr. il might rightfully deserve. The papers write that Mr. il gets multiple hole-in-one’s every round of golf, which I happen to believe. He’s featured in widely popular movies like Team America where he finds home to a character and stuns the audience. As his first feature film he nails the part and many producers like Martin Scorsese are looking into casting him for upcoming North Korean mobster movies. Kim Jong-il may be talented and motivated, but we should not overlook the fact that he is an unbelievable individual.

The individuality that he continuously portrays has lead to a life of obvious fairytale and overwhelming wonder that many men would like to lead (albeit many ideal versions would probably do without the mass famine and overall state of hidden chaos that exists in North Korea). With globalization overwhelming economies and raising new concern for the future of foreign relations, Kim Jong-il has stayed true to the game. Foreign correspondents are closely monitored and not allowed to pass along any negative information that might shed light on life in North Korea. Kim Jong-il ain’t about to let some suckas roll up in his hood and start hatin and shit. All this is due to the fact that he’s an individual and comes correct with what he believes is real. That is what I love most about him. His glasses would be a close second.

So Kim Jong-il has lead his country to being one of the most fascinating places in the world. The people there absolutely (pretend to) adore him. When a medical team of foreign doctors cured people of partial blindness due to cataracts, the first thing they did was bow down to a picture of Kim Jong-il, thanking him for curing their blindness. It might have taken Kim Jong-il an uncharacteristic action by consulting outside sources to fix a few problems but he delivered a significant change to people’s lives nonetheless. If that is what it takes to cure blindness, America could use him. At least eight years of ignorance with a good possibility for another four will be too much for any sane person to handle. We’ll forever blindly follow the sheep in front of us as one of many. At the end of the day, I have little faith that even Kim Jong-il could even fix America’s blindness. I suppose many “sane” people do idolize war mongering Class-A nuts. And they’re not even individuals.

Marty

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Monday, May 19, 2008

Why I don't have a job...

The Lake Shore Theater was offering internships for the summer. It said to send a resume and a "creative" cover letter. This is what I came up with. When I was preparing the final copy, I tried to retrieve the e-mail address I had to send it to only to find it taken down. I can't decide if it was a good thing I never sent this cover letter or if I would have gotten a multimillion dollar contract for being great. I'll never know.

"May 13, 2008

To Ms. Sandy,

I am greatly interested in the Film/Marketing Director Assistant internship that The Lake Shore Theater is offering. For many hours I’ve wondered if one were writing a conversation that was dictated to them and the storyteller said “Yea, I applied for the Film/Marketing internship”, if it would be appropriate to write the symbol for the slash or the word “slash”. Maybe my confusion is more relevant when somebody says “I am a man/god” (slash asshole). So keep in mind that, as I write this, I’m still confused if the small quotes I added above are correct.

I’ve heard great things about The Lake Shore Theater but I cannot say that I have ever been. The most important thing is that I know how to get there and that keeps my options open. I have a great interest in many different aspects of comedy and I think The Lake Shore Theater would be a good opportunity to experience the industry. My college Advertising “education” provided me with some knowledge of marketing and I feel I could at least be helpful in that area. From my résumé you can also see that I don’t have much professional experience assisting a Film/Marketing Director or comedians but I would like to think the students at Urbana Middle School where I’m currently a substitute teacher are good influences on me with regards to comedy. They are great influences because, since they are so young and somewhat innocent their private-part-jokes are not necessarily less numerous but less refined, which is more hilarious in my opinion. I mean those jokes are so played out at this point that you might as well just get to the point if you are going to talk about boners. No beating around the bush (no pun intended, seriously I just talked negatively about those kinds of jokes and I don’t intend to go back on my word. I guess I could have used a different expression).

So even if you aren’t at all interested in my résumé or what I had to say about myself, I ask a favor of you. Can you at least give me a call and let me know if it’s the symbol or the word? In retrospect it probably is just the symbol but that doesn’t really make any sense to me. I kind of despise punctuation that has to be pronounced (“%”). By the way, who decided that the front slash (“/”) is so much better than the back slash (“\”). I think it’s unfair and what if I all of a sudden used the back slash (“\”) every time I used a slash? Would the people reading it be suddenly offended? Would I suddenly be placed on the lower rung of the caste system? Maybe I’m already there. Thanks for reading.

Sincerely,




Why do we even need a slash when we could use the “|” symbol that is is over the “\” key? I mean it seems to make more sense if it were the Film|Marketing Director Assistant internship."

Monday, May 12, 2008

End of an error.


So Toddy Too Hottie packed it up and moved out tonight. After three years of living together I'm not too sure what to think. Here's a list that I've compiled the past few years (past 7 minutes) of things Todd enjoys and a few daily habits. There were really three chapters to his college career. "The Coke Era", "The Diet Coke and Sometimes Coke Zero Era", and "The Post Coke Products Pre Depression Era".

Todd likes:

1) ESPN
2) ESPN II
3) Not leftovers.
4) Having a room that resembles a museum of some sort.
5) Walking around in boxers and hairy chest.
6) "No clue dude."
7) Ruining mornings with morning breath.
8) Sleeping in his jeans once a month.
9) Getting CDs in the mail.
10) Peanut Butter.
11) Catching his toenail clippings.
12) Making as much noise as possible while eating.
13) Keeping his bedroom window open 24/7 365. Not that cold.
14) Large boobs.

Later.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Thursday, April 17, 2008

I honestly love China.

Zhang Huan doin his mutha fuckin thang, ya feel me?
And then there's every other chinamen...

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Let drawers draw.


There has been much debate on whether the UPS guy (Andy Garcia's doppleganger) is actually drawing in the UPS Whiteboard Commercials. When I first saw the commercials I didn't even question whether it was real or not. I just assumed it was. It really didn't/doesn't seem that hard to believe. Sure I thought to myself, this guy is right on the money with that marker. A true marksman! But not once did I think, "Yea right buddy, get real!" The past few weeks it has come on TV as I've been out and I've heard multiple people argue about if whether the guy is actually drawing or if it's done on computers. I mean it is obvious that the newer commercials use enhanced digital graphics because the pictures are moving and shit. If they didn't use computers on those then the ladies better start lining up for Andy Azula because he truly does have magical fingers.

So as more and more people argued about it I started to notice that many more girls (probably a coincidence) didn't believe he was actually drawing. I mean at least 3 girls I know (I can't believe I know more than 2) thought Mr. Azula was full of shit. All of the guys that I asked said they thought he was drawing it but also followed there analyzation up with a "Who really gives a shit?" Fair enough. So after doing a small investigation (that's what they teach us in Advertising) I found the answer. There is a rather extensive analysis of the UPS Whiteboard campaign on Slate that reads, "As an art director who'd made countless storyboards, he also had a knack for fast, fun sketching. (Though a professional illustrator was employed on the set to speed things up by redrawing the whiteboard between takes. 'He had to repress his skills to imitate my style,' says Azula.)"

So Andy is indeed an art director and is actually drawing on the commercials although a professional does redraw the base scene when Mr. Azula's hair gets in his eyes. Azula himself discusses why he was chosen over the actors who auditioned, "I think a lot of the actors had great presence when they faced the camera. But they were actually uncomfortable talking away from the camera and drawing. Turning back and forth and reconnecting with your drawing is a little trickier than it looks." So Andy is drawing on these commercials. I'm not sure if the marks are digitally enhanced to make them look better, but the original lines are actually drawn. It seriously shouldn't be that hard to believe, I mean it's not even as amazing as:

(This could be fake! Let's argue!)

If you still don't believe me:
On the Spot: Martin's Azula
Back to the Drawing Board

But c'mon, is it really that hard to believe?

Friday, April 04, 2008

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

I'm Getting Sick But Not Tired.

Getting sick is probably my least favorite activity. Well, it's either that or conversing with Australians. Either way I try my hardest to avoid both. I have become an expert in spotting the arrival of both of these activities relatively quickly. It has taken many years and many horrible experiences. One time I ended up getting a CAT Scan to make sure my brain was OK, the doctor said it was a severe migraine from too much stress. I, however, believe it was caused by an argument with Aussie Assholes I met in Prague just months earlier.

When coming down with a Cold or a Flu I can feel a soreness in the top of my throat. It's not really my throat though because it's the part you feel your snot hit when you suck through your nose really hard, preparing for an ultimate Lou Gee (I wonder if Mr. Gee was a real person, how do YOU spell it?). Once I sense that soreness I know that if I want to avoid the headaches and the neon green snots I must take immediate action. Sensing a conversation with an Australian is ten times easier.
They are usually white, somewhat athletic, tan and shithead looking. Can be confused with Californians but usually a bit more corny.
Confused. "Arrrr Narrr! What happened to me boomerang?". Translation: Arrrr Narrr = Oh No!. Another example: Euro = Eur-arrr.
 So it's best if you just ignore any person that fits any of these stereotypes. Even if they aren't Australian you'll still be doing yourself a favor.

The buildup to these terrible experiences are at least recognizable so make sure you are prepared to handle them effectively. A quick "CRIMINAL!" shout, followed by a finger point to an Australian ought to do the trick. If not, sit there and argue, most of them are still sad this jackass died.
But dealing with a Cold or a Flu is a little bit more complicated. I know some people like to lie down all day and use it as an excuse to get out of doing things and talking to people. Personally, I like to overload my bod with Vitamin C. I drink OJ all day and make sure I don't eat anything too unhealthy. To be honest it works about 85% of the time. I feel like I'm getting sick for the entire day, then the next day I wake up feeling like Michael Jordan must feel everyday.

Today I ran into some big time trouble. When shopping for orange juice I usually settle with the classic Tropicana. But now that I have a job, I felt that I'd treat myself to some high quality organic orange juice that Eddie McCahill loves talking about. Organic Valley Orange Juice is totally fuckin badass. Seriously. When I rode my bike to Strawberry Fields, I was really pumped to begin my pre-Cold/Flu ass kicking. But then I looked at the price tag.
As Mario Panvino would say, "They're trying to gyp me off!"

Almost $9.00 for a 64 oz. carton of Orange Juice. Who in their right mind would pay $9.00 for a juice if it isn't MJ's man-juice? (That's Jordan, not Jackson). At that price, not only should the juice make sure I never get sick but it should also make sure I grow a few inches, I gain better control of my social skills (especially the out of line comments), and cure my eczema.

So I can't really decide which experience is worse. Arguing with Australians can be pretty fun but knowing that you're going to be sick can get you out of many social situations. My worst fear, besides knocking out one of my beautiful teeth, is being sick in Australia. Maybe then I would pay $9.00 for some orange juice. Only if it promised to keep all the dingos away.