myblogisPoop

only in dreams

What did you do Friday night? You know what I did? I watched Weezer play their self titled debut album (dubbed The Blue Album by fans) from start to finish. From "My Name is Jonas" to "Only In Dreams," with some "Say It Aint So," "Buddy Holly," and everything else in between. It was incredible, and it was well worth the $5 price of admission.

Okay, what I just wrote isn't completely true. I left out the part where I should have told you that I actually watched the band Morning Theft play a show as Weezer. But that doesn't matter. What matters is I was in a tiny club with a really cool band on stage playing 10 of my favorite songs ever, and I, like everybody else there, loved every second of it.

During "Undone," while everybody was singing along, completely immersed in the experience, something dawned on me: this was brilliant. Morning Theft did it right. They didn't just promote this Halloween show by saying they were playing as Weezer, they announced that they were going to play Weezer's most popular album-- the one with 10 years worth of memories attached to it-- and that's it. If they were just going to do the Weezer thing I'm sure many people would have skipped it out of fear they'd be subjected to "We Are All On Drugs" or a Maladroit-heavy set list. No. They were going Blue, and only Blue. It was a great call.

So here's my question: Why doesn't Weezer do this? And in that vain, why don't other bands do this too? How much would you pay to see a Weezer concert where they only play The Blue Album? Or a Pearl Jam concert where you're guaranteed you won't have to listen to anything post-Vitalogy? Let's talk about this.

Weezer. Let's start with them. The way I see it, Weezer should do one of two things. One, they should put together a tour where they hit small, intimate clubs and just play the Blue Album. I would spend $75 easy to see them in an "Unplugged in NY"-type setting (but plugged in) going Blue. Wouldn't that be an incredible experience? Well, that's one idea. The other: they tour the country playing bigger venues, but only playing stuff off The Blue Album and Pinkerton. They can call it the "When We Were Good Tour," and easily ask double for tickets than what they're asking now.

Pearl Jam. I regret never seeing Pearl Jam in concert. So much. And with every year-- and every album-- that passes, I regret it more and more. Because every new album means that there are going to be more new songs knocking the stuff I really want to hear off their set list. Now, with a band like Pearl Jam there's a good chance we're eventually going to get their Greatest Hits tour where they play everything that's ever hit the radio, but to be honest I'm not really looking forward to that. I want to hear "Leash." I want the last few tracks off Vs. and the few songs off Ten that somehow avoided modern rock radio. Maybe even "Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's me." That's why Pearl Jam should skip the Best Of tour and simply give us "The First 3." The best Ten, Vs., Vitalogy, and maybe a few B-sides like "Yellowledbetter" and nothing else. You name the price.

Blur & Oasis. Please, put the past behind you and tour together. Blur, you guys play Parklife. Oasis, you play Definitely Maybe (sorry, I like it more than Morning Glory.) I'm sure the girls from Elastica are available to open. Let's make this happen.

Counting Crows. "August And Nothing After-- The Tour."

Elvis Costello. Listen, it's not Elvis' fault that he's put out 1,249 albums since 1977. And it's cool that he's run the gamut from punk/new wave to schmaltzy ballads and back again. But if Elvis really wanted to wow crowds, he should go on a "Limited Pussy Shit" tour, where he mainly plays the stuff with balls. Notice I said Limited. He can still play "Alison," and "Good Year For The Roses" and a handful of his other wonderful slow songs, but by making it a "Limited Pussy Shit" tour he won't be able to waste time with piano jazz or anything off of For The Stars.

R. Kelly. "Trapped In The Closet Part I-Infinity: The Tour." I've already called my bank and warned them that if this ever happens I may clear out my account. They understand.

So that's all I got so far. I'm sure I'll think of more. What about you? What tour would you like to see?

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b at 5:41 PM

it's monday and i'm shameless

Don't worry, there will be a real post later on (I'm in a write-y mood). In the meantime, check out today's Post Show. And love it.

Click here you sexy mofo. Oh, and if you haven't signed up to be on our mailing list yet, what are you waiting for? Do it. Sign up. For me. Please?

Be back in a bit.

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b at 11:54 AM

i love the 80's too

I hate you VH1. I hate you for ruining nostalgia.

I'm a child of the 80's, born on the last day of the first week of the new decade. I grew up a typical 80's child: He-Man, GI Joe, and Smurfs on the television; Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, Ghostbusters, and The Karate Kid in the theaters. I read "The Sideways Stories of Wayside School" before bed and I had no problem letting my WWF action figures fight crime alongside Lion-O and the rest of the Thundercats. I wore embarrassingly bright colored shirts, I had shoes with pockets in them, and I wore hats with a flat brim 20 years before it was cool to do so. And none of this makes me special-- it makes me typical-- which is why it's so great.

If you're in your 20's, you grew experiencing many of the same things I did. The movies, the shows, the toys, the cultural events. The Challenger. The Berlin Wall. Back To The Future II. All of it. We all have that in common, and up until about 3 years ago that was a great thing to share.

Up until 3 years ago you could have a casual conversations with friends and out of nowhere bring up something like, "Oh my god, do you guys remember Garbage Pail Kids?" and it was great. People would either respond "Ohh yeahhhhh" or "Ohmygod, I completely forgot about those" and it would lead to a hilarious and sometimes enlightening conversation about something from our youth. These conversations-- whether they were about Garbage Pail Kids or Mr. T cereal or Castlevania were fun to have. It was great to see the look on somebody's face when they were reminded about something from their youth that they had forgotten about, and it was great to wax nostalgic about it until it lead to another conversation about something else from your childhood.

Assuming you didn't consistently talk about the same thing with the same people, this never got old. You could laugh about Mr. Wizard one day, debate Fraggle Rock the next, and have in depth discussions about the Fat Boys/Beach Boys version of "Wipeout" the day after that. It. Was. Fun. I can't stress this enough. However, I feel like I have to repeat that statement over and over again because nowadays, being nostalgic for the 80's isn't fun at all. And that's VH1's fault.

Listen. I kind of love "I Love the 80's." I, like you, have wasted more than one Sunday afternoon laying hungover on my couch and watching 10 straight hours of "I Love The" programming. It happens. You want to stop but you can't, because right when you're ready to turn off the TV they go and start talking about Alf or Rambo or Bo Jackson and then you're stuck. And I, like you, will sit there smiling and think back to a simpler time and thank the geniuses of VH1 for remembering the same things about the 80's I did. It's truly brilliant programming. But, as much as I love watching it, I hate it for the same reason.

Because now I don't remember it the same way. Now I don't just remember Teddy Ruxpin. I remember Hal Sparks remembering Teddy Ruxpin and saying something humorous about it. And that sucks.

My memories have been tainted. Cartoons and movies and toys I had as a child that should of fallen off the face of the Earth in 1990 are now popping up on my TV every weekend in 5 hour blocks that I couldn't avoid if I tried. You can't bring up obscure things from your childhood in conversation anymore because, well, it's not obscure anymore. It was just on TV. The guy from "Ed" talked about it, and-- guess what-- whatever he said was funnier than whatever you're going to say.

Well, there's no point in complaining about this. What's done is done. The 80's are no longer a cultural minefield of casual conversation that we can rely on to break the ice and forge common ground with others. Because you're going to watch "I Love The 80's." I'm going to watch "I Love The 80's." And we're going to love "I Love The 80's."

Maybe, someday, 20 years from now, we'll be able to sit down, get a drink, and reminisce about the time that VH1 reminisced about the 80's. And everything will make sense.

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b at 5:19 PM

Guess The Karo! XI

For the past few months I've noticed a disturbing trend. Whenever I read Aaron Karo'snewest column I tend to turn to whoever is closest to me and say, "Wow. This is the worst one yet." And I'm dead serious. I'm not saying it to be a dick (well, okay, maybe a little) and I'm not saying it to further justify my monthly GTK's on this site. I've been saying it because it's been the honest to god truth.

Well people. This week's was the worst one yet.

In fact, it's so bad that I can only pull out three examples of "jokes" to play with this time. Usually I go for 4 or 5, but I don't think he included that many actual punchlines in the column. It's like he's actually making his stuff less funny to discourage us from playing this game. And that's just rude. See for yourself.

But enough. The game must go on! For you first timers, here's how we play. Below are three jokes from Aaron Karo's *sigh* popular Ruminations column. You're going to have to guess which punchline was penned by the guy who recently made a joke about how much it must suck being stuck behind an NBA player at a movie theater, and which punchlines were written by yours truly pretending to be that guy. Here we go!

(1) The principal of a high school near my hometown on Long Island canceled this year's prom in part because last year's seniors attempted to rent a ridiculous, $20,000 house in the Hamptons for a post-prom blowout. There's talk, of course, of putting on the prom anyway, without involving that pesky principal at all.

a) Is it just me, or does this sound like an episode of Saved by the Bell?
b) There's also talk of renaming the school "Best High School Ever!"
c) If that happens, we'll see more v-cards handed away than Hallmark on Valentines Day.
d) Why didn't my senior class think of this???

(2) I'm excited for my first Halloween in LA. My costume is my old high school soccer jersey. If I hook up, I'm gonna keep the jersey on.

a) I'd like to score at least once while wearing that thing.
b) Things might get weird when I yell "Gooooaaaaaaaaallllllllll!"
c) Even though I might get a penalty for using my hands.
d) But there are so many Mexicans here in Southern California they'll probably love it!

(3) I had this photo shoot recently and the stylist straightened my hair with some sort of device he called a straightening iron. I couldn't get over how it looked. I mean, I've had curtly Brillo pad hair my whole life. When the shoot was over, the stylist was like, you know, you could do this yourself, it only takes like five minutes. I was like, let's not get carried away, chief.

a) I don't even like ironing my shirts, I'm not about to start ironing my head!
b) If my friends ever found out I was straightening my hair, "straight" would be the last word they'd use to describe me.
c) If I have five extra minutes to spare in the bathroom I'm not using it to play with my hair, if you know what I mean.
d) Once you're plugging something into a socket you've already more than bypassed my threshold for hair care. I draw the line at gel.

So give it your best shot. I'm not going to lie, I feel like I was kind of 'on' today. Or 'off,' depending on how you look at it. Good luck.

As always, the answers are in the Comments section. Fuck me!

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b at 1:05 PM

quote

"I really hurt my elbow breakdancing yesterday."

And there you have it: the number one sentence I never thought I'd say in my life.

The Post Show is trying to kill me.

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b at 6:04 PM

why i'm glad it's getting cold out

- I'm pretty sure terrorism is only a summer job for those guys, so that means we're safe for a couple of months. Whew.

- After all of my summer clothing was "accidentally" donated to the Red Cross this spring, I'm ready to go back my long familiar long sleeved shirts and cosby sweaters. It's like going home again.

- Jackets. Finally. Back to jackets. You get extra pockets, you get to look a little more stylish, and you get to pay an extra $1-5 at clubs and concerts checking it. Awesome!

- Girls with scarves. They're cute.

- Snow days. I know it takes a lot more snow to miss work than it did to miss school, but in the winter there's always that chance. Especially with the way Mother Nature has decided to fuck us over this year. I'm thinking we're good for at least one tremendous blizzard... she owes it to us.

- It's a lot easier to justify an unnecessary cab ride using the logic "But it's freezing out! Let's just hail a cab."

- No more trying to figure out the perfect setting on your air conditioner somewhere in between waking up sweating and waking up freezing and clutching onto your covers for dear life.

- It gets dark at 5, meaning you can start drinking even earlier without feeling like you have a problem.

- The freezing smoker dance. My favorite dance move. This winter, when you're in a nice warm bar enjoying a nice cool drink, take a look out the front window and watch all the freezing smokers with crossed arms and anxious looks on their faces sway back and forth and bounce up and down. You'll never be happier that you're 5% less cool than those people ever again.

- No more trying to decide if you're in a hot coffee or iced coffee mood. It's hot coffee until May, bitches.

- Soup! Mmmmm, soup. Don't even get me started.

- Easter, Fourth of July, Memorial Day, Arbor Day, and Labor Day can't compete with Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and MLK Day. In fact, those holidays are so strong not even Valentines Day can bring them down. And that's saying something.

- The subway goes from 'disgustingly hot and humid' to 'disturbingly comfortable.' It still smells like urine though.

- More boots! I'm not sure if I've mentioned this on the site before, but I'm not a foot person. At all. I never notice when a girl is wearing nice, fancy shoes. However, I love a girl in boots. There's something sexy about it... except for Uggs. Can someone let me know ahead of time if we're going to be forced to endure another winter of Uggs? Are they out of style yet? Please?

- Finally, because it's only a matter of time before the excitement of the cool weather ends and we all start bitching, "Jesus, it's fucking cold outside. I can't wait for summer."

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b at 2:57 PM

in the beginning...

So I needed to grab a handful of baby photos for the next episode of The Post Show (...don't ask), and I thought I'd post one of them here to remind you to head over there and watch the skit tomorrow.

Here I am. Twenty something years before blogging about hipsters and fantasy raping girls on the internet.

Where did it all go wrong?

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b at 12:05 PM

"I Had Sex with Julia Stiles," and Other Lies I Like To Tell People

I'm not a liar. Well, not in the traditional sense. I don't purposely set out to deceive people and to present them with falsities and inaccuracies about my life.

Usually.

But I'm not going to lie, I do have fun fucking with people. It's fun to make stuff up and see what people are willing to believe. I've been doing it for years. In high school I remember convincing my good friend Sam(antha) that a guy's penis is supposed to make a high pitched squealing noise right before he ejaculates. Like, "Weeeeeeeeeee." She believed me. In college, I had my girlfriend believing that the reason guys wear white underwear is because our penises have a chamelon-like quality that results in them changing color depending what they're next to. I couldn't believe she bought it. So what's the lesson here? Girls will believe whatever you tell them about penises. Except, "No, mine is actually really big... it's all camera angles and lighting with those porn guys." They can see through that one.

But see, those are my kinds of lies. I'm not pathological. I had a friend in college though, named Liar Steve, who was. Liar Steve would tell us the best stories. The first time I met him he told me that he designed the poster that was hanging on his wall (which was clearly bought at Spencers), that he had sold a screenplay in Hollywood, and that the had hung out backstage with Everclear once, a feat which at the time I deemed "the coolest thing ever." As the year progressed we were blessed with many more Liar Steve stories. Stories about saving a guy's life during a motocross race once, stories about falling into a canyon while rock climbing, stories about the government confiscating his computer because he hacked into the Pentagon. I mean, this guy was AMAZING. Did we believe him? Never. However, he was one of my best friends for a while, and ironically, the only person I trusted telling stuff to. It was great. I could tell Liar Steve all my girlfriend problems, all my worries, everything, and I never had to worry about other people finding out. If he did tell anybody anything they wouldn't believe him anyway... it was the ideal situation!

The annoying thing about Liar Steve, though, was that he lied to his friends. I, on the other hand, tend to only lie to strangers. Mostly because lying is really, really fun. These are the lies I tell. For fun. Do I want the people I'm telling them to to believe them? Yes, absolutely... but only for a little bit. It's too much work trying to keep lies up, and these don't have much of a shelf life. But here they are.

I had sex with Julia Stiles -- This one started on Spring Break. Three of my friends and I went to Panama City Beach, Florida our senior year. We had a great time all week for many reasons: the girls were hot, the drinks were cheap, and since I had interned at MTV the previous summer we had an illustrious MTV ID in our presence. Now, despite only interning and not even having a job lined up after graduation, that didn't stop me from getting drunk every night and pulling the "Hi, I work for MTV, is there anything you can do for us?" card to skip lines, get into VIP sections, and get free drinks. Pretty great. Anyway. Our last night in town as we were getting ready we decided that each of us should come up with our own lie to tell people that night. You know, to mix things up. My friends decided that since we would probably end up breaking out the MTV ID, my story should be MTV related.

"How about I had sex with a celebrity?" Perfect. So the question became: which celebrity? This was where it got tough. It had to be believable. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Angelina Jolie? No way. Never. Jennifer Love Hewitt, Rachel Leigh Cook, Katie Holmes? Those wouldn't work either. We threw around names for a while before we took a break so I could shower. In the shower I racked my brain, and that's when it hit me: Julia Stiles. Perfect. She was pretty, but not stunning. She was famous enough where everybody would know her, but not too famous where I wouldn't stand a chance. She was fairly well liked, girls weren't turned off by her, and she just seemed... attainable.

When I walked out of the bathroom I yelled "Julia Stiles!!!" My friend Eric looked at me and said, "Yeah, we decided on Julia Stiles too."

So then we came up with the story: I was interning at MTV on the 20th Anniversary special that had taken place that summer at the Hammerstein Ballroom. The place was loaded with celebrities, and somehow during the course of the night I ended up talking to Julia Stiles. We hit it off, got drunk, and hooked up that night. We proceeded to casually date for the next few weeks... that is, until she ended things because she was going off to shoot a movie. I was okay though. We promised to remain friends, and to this day we called each other sporadically to catch up.

Not too bad, right? Well, that night it kind of worked. A couple of girls believed it. When we got back from break and I recapped the story to my friend Howie he yelled, "You can't tell people you had sex with Julia Stiles! I tell people I had sex with Julia Stiles! It's believable!" And there you have it.

I have no sense of smell -- This is a fun one. In fact, I'm kind of upset that I'm writing about it now because it means I won't be able to use it anymore.

I only break out the no-sense-of-smell when people are bragging about disabilities, a bizarre thing that we as people tend to do a little more than we should. Why do we do this? Who hasn't ever been stuck with people who boast about things like, "Well, I'm colorblind" or "I have a dulled sense of taste" or "I have a learning disability." Snore. That's usually when I drop the "Well, I have no sense of smell. At all." It's great, because it's hard to disprove. People will usually ask me if it affects my sense of taste. I say it doesn't, because I've never had a sense of smell and I can still taste the difference between things. Of course, the only time I've ever been stumped is when somebody asked me what the name of my ailment was. I should have done research.

I physically can't see black people -- Nobody believes this one. People refuse to accept that I have a bizarre disease where I'm unable to spot, identify, or locate African Americans.

I'm from Corpus Christi, Texas -- I seem to meet sooooooo many people from Texas. It's bizarre. Anyway, in the right situation (i.e. when I'm drinking) I sometimes tell people that I'm from Corpus Christi. Why Corpus Christi? I have no clue. I couldn't spot it on a map. I think I only know it because of the movie "The Legend of Billie Jean" which honestly is a good enough reason if you ask me. Bonus: When I tell this lie I'm usually drunk enough to put on the perfect little Texas accent. I'm usually terrible with accents, but this one has worked every time.

I'm from Corpus Christi, Texas. I moved to Baltimore when I was 18 because my black girlfriend and I were discriminated against. We broke up after college, and it was then that I decided to move to New York and pursue my dream to be a stand up comic -- I used this one on a friend's Texan girlfriend the first night I met her. Thankfully their relationship didn't last. I don't know if I would have been able to keep it up.

I have the same birthday as you -- Again, I'm bummed that I'm writing about this. This is one of my favorite moves, in part because it's designed for me to get caught in a lie.

Basically, here's how it goes. I ask you your birthday. You ask me mine. I say, okay, you first. You say (example) September 29th. Now, here's where skill comes in. As you're giving your answer, I too will jump in and say September 29th. Almost simultaneously. It's a gift. You'll look at me and say "No way!" I'll swear it's true. I'll then grab my friend and yell, "Brian, when's my birthday september29th." Somehow, someway, you won't notice me saying September 29th. Brian will answer September 29th. You'll be blown away. You'll ask to see my ID, I'll say I left it at home (even though there's a bouncer at the door and you know I must have had to show him something).

Now, here's where it ends. Still blown away by the coincidence, you ask me what my sign is. Gemini, I'll say, having absolutely no clue. Your eyes will light up and you'll yell "Ha! No! Scorpio!" I'll say, that's what I said, Scorpio. You'll say you got me. I'll begrudgingly admit that you did. And then we'll share a laugh. Scene.

It's always fun.

I'm allergic to mushrooms -- I say this to waiters when I order dishes that require me to say "no mushrooms." Am I allergic? No. But they disgust me, so I want the waiter to think that if he messes up and forgets to write it on his little pad there's a good chance that it will kill me. I don't think I'm overreacting at all.

I'm allergic to ice -- "Can I get water with no ice, I'm allergic. Thanks." People have actually believed this one. I swear.

Well, those are the only ones I can think of right now. I'm sure there have been many, many more, but those are the fun ones. If you know me, and I've told or used a lie that's not on the list, include it in the comments section. I won't be angry.

I promise.

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b at 4:42 PM

writers bloc

Let's try something new. Since I don't know what to write about today (and it's already 6:30, it's not like anybody's going to read this anyway), I'm going to let you guys vote on what I write about tomorrow. Tuesday. So I'm just going to list a few random titles and let you choose which one I go with.

My Blog is Poop! So interactive!

Alright, here we go. Your options are:

1. Vertical Horizon - The Most Influential Mediocre Band of Our Generation

2. "I Had Sex With Julia Stiles," And Other Lies I Like To Tell People

3. Midgets: So Five Minutes Ago

4. Last Night's Party Results In This Morning's Trip to Planned Parenthood

5. "There are 4 types of pussy in the world," a.k.a., What We Learned From Our Perverted Cab Driver Saturday Night

6. Three of Cups made us wait 2 hours for our entree this weekend and the manager refused to apologize. Note: This actually isn't a topic, I just wanted everybody to know that the manager of Three of Cups on 1st & 5th is a douchebag.

7. Hey! You! Do You Like Improv??? Come to Our Show!!! by The Skit Heads!

8. "Cunt," And Other Words I Learned The Definition of at a Young Age While Playing Scrabble With My Grandmother

9. Searching for Yourself on Craigslist Missed Connections is the New Googling Yourself

10. Adam Duritz: What happened?

Alright. Your call. I know which ones I'm rooting for and which ones I'm rooting against, but it's up to you. Make me proud.

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b at 5:52 PM

my other site is a tv show

Hey, it's Monday, so that means there's a brand new Post Show ready for you. C'mon, you know you want to check it out.

I'll be back in a little bit with a real post. Word.

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b at 11:25 AM

the 5 songs that we've ruined thanks to irony

They're songs we grew up with. They're songs we can't avoid. We should just let them die, but no. We can't. We've embraced them and we play them ad nauseum. They are the five songs that we've ruined thanks to irony.

5. "Ice Ice Baby" Vanilla Ice - Just try, you can't get away from Ice Ice Baby. It's played at sporting events, weddings, temple. Everywhere. It's actually gotten to the point where you find yourself singing along and you don't know when you started. It just happens. If you were born between 1975-1985 the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby have been burned into your DNA. Nobody actually likes the song, we just all know it. It's a part of our world, for better or worse. Let's all agree to accept it... let's just not celebrate it. Okay?

4. "Don't Stop Believing" Journey - I am not going to insult this song for two reasons: 1. the video is amazing, and 2. it is arguably one of the greatest karaoke songs EVER. That being said, ladies, there's no reason to scream at the top of your lungs like Jennifer Love Hewitt in "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer" every time this song comes on in a bar. Come on. You're better than that. Why are you screaming? It's not because you think Steve Perry is hot, is it? It's not because you're into positive reinforcement, is it? I mean, are you that into midnight trains going anywhere? I just want an answer.

3. "Poison" Bell Biv Devoe - Who didn't love this song? Seriously. Anybody? Even people who hate rap love "Poison." Not only does it have a great beat, but the lyrics revolve around one of the most popular and universal subjects in the world: Women are evil. Just a great all around job by Michael Bivens, Something Bell, and Somebody Devoe. The only problem is, not only did everybody on the planet love this song fifteen years ago, everybody on the planet still loves it now. So if you're at a party, or in a bar, there's a good chance you're going to hear it. Everybody has it on their iPods. You even hear it on the radio sometimes. Somehow, this song that came out in 1990 is still being overplayed. Unprecedented. In fact, this song doesn't belong on the list because I'm beginning to realize that there's nothing ironic about it. I think.

2. "Baby Got Back" Sir Mix-A-Lot - The next time you're talking to somebody and they brag that they know all the words to "Baby Got Back," I give you full permission to punch that person in the face.

1. "Living on a Prayer" Bon Jovi - "Johnny used to work on the docks, the union went on strike... uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh uhhh... Gina something something uhh uhh... uhhh.... Well WE GOTTA HOLD ON TO WHAT WE GOT! IT DOESN'T MAKE A DIFFERENCE IF WE MAKE IT OR NOT! WE GOT EACH OTHER AND THAT'S A LOT FOR LOVE! LET'S GIVE IT A SHOT! Now, at that moment, the DJ drops the volume out so everybody can enjoy the loud, off key yelp of a hundred drunken 24-year-olds yelling... wait for it... WHOA! WE'RE HALF WAY THERE! WHOA-OH! LIVING ON A PRAYER!" Take my hand, we'll make it I swear. Whoa. Living on a prayer. At that moment, some guys instinctively play air guitar. Others give their friends high fives. And everybody in Jersey, everybody from Jersey, and everybody who likes Jersey-- for one brief moment-- forgets one big thing: that Bon Jovi sucks.

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b at 3:29 PM

the fast lane

We're getting dangerously close to Yom Kippur, or "the day of atonement" as my Jewish brothers like to call it.

I've never fasted for YK but I think I'm going to do it this year. Not because I think it will wash away all my sins, but because I want to see if I can. It's not going to be easy though. Apparently I'm going to be prohibited from allowing anything to 'pass my lips' from sundown tonight to sundown tomorrow. Hmmm. Well, since I'm only half Jewish, I think I'm allowed to take some liberties. Here are the rules for my Yom Kippur fast:

1. F the Sundown to Sundown thing. I'm starting in the morning.
2. Coffee doesn't count. God would want me to drink coffee, even on the holiest of holy days. ESPECIALLY on the holiest of holy days.
3. Nobody is allowed to complain about my constant complaining about how hungry I am.
4. If it just so happens to be a co-workers birthday and we just so happen to have cake or ice cream in honor of the occasion, I'm allowed to enjoy it. God knows it would be rude if I didn't.
5. Water is okay, but toothpaste is not. Meaning-- I get a day off from brushing!!! Woo hoo!
6. I'm allowed to take my Tylenol Flu.
7. If for some reason a rave breaks out at work and everybody is dancing and grinding and taking ecstasy I'm allowed to take a pill and wash it down with the beverage of my choice.
8. If said rave breaks out, I can drink Red Bull too.
9. If I look out my window and discover a bird's nest, and it's obvious that the mama bird has flown away and left her babies here to die, I'll allow myself to chew up worms and spit it into their baby bird mouths.
10. If I wake up in the morning and discover that I am in fact a homosexual who has finally realized his true sexuality, I'm going for it. And no, I don't think I have to elaborate on that.
11. Actually, pretend I didn't write that. People commenting over at The Post Show already think we're all gay for some reason, so #10 will do nothing but add fuel to the fire. To the very hot, sexy, all-male-action fire.
12. Back to the fast. Cookies don't count. Why? Because I love cookies.
13. Chewing on pens and biting on fingernails is fine.
14. No eating shit; literally or metaphorically.
15. If a beautiful woman calls me or emails me and says, "Hey Bob, it's me, a beautiful woman. I'd love to meet you before sundown and get some food and then bang you... but I'll only bang you if we eat together first-- I am, after all, a beautiful woman. What do you say?" Yeah. In that situation I will be eating.

Now despite all these exceptions, I promise-- I PROMISE-- that there is one thing I will not do while fasting for Yom Kippur: I promise I will not eat any Christian babies. Not a single one. You have my word.

Mazel Tov.

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b at 4:12 PM

canyes? Cano!

All season I've been trying to figure out why Robinson Cano is funny looking. I mean, it doesn't just hit you. It's kind of subtle. It's not like he has a tremendous nose or a lazy eye or a third nostril. It's something else.

Since he was called up I've been saying he looks like a sea creature. Specifically, the Creature From The Black Lagoon.

Or Daggermouth from "Family Guy."

But no. That's not it. Today I figured it out: Robinson Cano has two upper lips!

No wonder the ladies love him.

(All that said, I love this man. I would vote for him for mayor. He's awesome. Go Yankees)

p.s. New Post Show today. Check it out.

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b at 4:27 PM

the JMAA -- jewish mothers association of america

"You're losing your touch, mom."

A couple of hours after learning that The Terrorists (TM) planned on doing evil, dirty things to our subways, I called my mom to inform her that she was slipping. It was on CNN, the mayor had a press conference, and everybody in the city knew about it, and yet-- no phone call. To be honest, I was a little disappointed. My mom was supposed to call me hours before it was on television. Why? Because you know. She's Jewish.

If you don't have a Jewish mother you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. If you do-- you know. Jewish moms subscribe to some sort of newsletter that the rest of the world can't. Or they have their own TV channel that only they can access. Or they have their own AP-- The JP-- where they get all their news. I don't know. I'm not a Jewish mom. But somehow, someway, Jewish mothers have some sort of unique way to receive news stories-- which they then pass onto their Jewish children-- before anybody else. It's a fact.

After 9/11, I would receive a phone call once a week informing where not to go. "Bobby, it's your mother. Please don't go to DC this weekend, there's going to be a terrorist attack." Really mom? I've been watching the news all day and they haven't said a thing. "Please Bobby, promise me you won't go into DC." But mom, my girlfriend is in DC and we already have plans. "Make her come up to Towson. Please. For me." Mom, where did you get this information??? "Just trust me. I know."

Now, I'm not sure if my mom was receiving top secret information from the government or if she just didn't like my girlfriend at the time, but that seriously happened constantly throughout the last couple of months of 2001. Remember the rumors that the terrorists were going to attack malls during busy shopping days that year? I'm pretty sure that those were started by Jewish mothers who didn't want their sons to buy thier girlfriends presents.

So how do they do it? Do they have a Jewish mother embedded deep within Al-Queda who gets the word out to other Jewish mothers throughout the world? Are there Jewish mothers sneaking around the Pentagon perusing classified information and filtering it out to their cohorts? I have no clue! Most Jewish mothers can't even figure out how to use their email, how have they developed the most efficient news distribution system in the world? It truly baffles the mind.

I should have never told my mom about the subways last night. I called to rub it in and to crack myself up, but in the end I ended up the loser. After two minutes of laughing about it, my mother stopped me short and made me promise that I wouldn't ride the subway for the next couple of days. I tried getting around it through clever wording like, "I promise that I won't ride the subway at all... tonight," but it didn't work. She made me swear. "But mom, I'm going to the Yankees game tomorrow night! It's in the Bronx!" Take a cab, she said.

Ugh. Those Jewish moms. They know how to get you.

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b at 4:10 PM

my head is poop

I swear, I'm not flaking on poop. This was supposed to be my big week back, but I'm sick. Not sleeping, combined with drinking in excess at the launch party and over the weekend has resulted in my body breaking down and me getting sick. Boo hoo, I know.

Check out The Post Show today. I'll be back tomorrow, and then next week at 100%. That's my promise to you.

You complete me.

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b at 4:07 PM

how i met your mother

Hey pal, so you want to know how your mother and I met, do you? Awh, isn't that adorable. Well, take a seat and I'll tell you all about it.

The year was 2005. I was living in Astoria, Queens and I was... well, I was in between jobs. There was a misunderstanding at the bank I was working at at the time involving misplaced keys and ransacked safety deposit boxes, and your old pops took the fall. You live and you learn, you live and you learn. In order to pay my rent I got a job telemarketing-- magazines. Gosh, for the life of me I can't remember which one. I want to say People, but I know it wasn't. Hmm. Let's go with People.

Now, telemarketers have it made. Sure it was monotonous, and sure it was the only job I've ever had in my life where I woke up every morning knowing that everybody I spoke to that day was going to hate me, but besides that it wasn't all bad. We only had to work 5 hour shifts because some social psychologist discovered that you were 80% more likely to snap and kill your officemates after the five hour mark. So that was cool.

But yeah, thanks to the telemarketing I had a lot of spare time. I would spend most of the day playing video games, and at night your Uncle Rod and I would shoot pool and play darts at the hole in the wall Polish bar right around the corner. Life was good, as they say. But something was missing. And you know what that something was? Love. Your father was looking for love, kiddo. Unfortunately the bar we hung out in never had many women in it, and the ones that did come in were usually ugly, married or both. Ugh. Here's a little fatherly advice for you: you can only do so many ugly and married women before you start to feel a little hollow inside. And itchy outside. Things were not looking good in the love department.

And then everything changed. It was a cool day in October-- I'm pretty sure it was the beginning of the month, because I remember that rent was due and I was considering selling all of my Kid Rock CD's to get the money in on time. Anyway, your Uncle Rod was working late that night, so your father had nothing to do but putz around on the internet. What was I looking at? Well, that's not for your young ears to hear. Let's just say that you're a good 10 years away from being old enough to check out any of those sites, okay? Anyway, after doing what I set out to do, I swung on over to this old site that the kids used to go to all the time: craigslist. What's a craigslist? Hahaha. Ahhh. Craigslist was a website that had everything you could possibly want on it. It had apartment listings, job listings, you could find tickets to sold out shows and sporting events, you could buy electronics on it-- I'm telling you, it had EVERYTHING. Including... love!

Since I was having trouble finding love in real life I thought maybe this was just what I needed. So for the first time ever I clicked on the link that read "causal encounters" and boy, was my mind blown! There they were, link after link after link... all of them leading to love.

Now, since your father has always had a thing for the ladies-- not boys, like your Uncle Nelson-- I modified my little search to make sure that only the women searching for men popped up on my screen. And sure enough, after sorting through all the transsexuals and prostitutes I landed upon the five most beautiful words in the English language: need a good fuck NOW*

Overcome with curiosity, I clicked the link. And do you want to know what it said? Of course you do!

Can u get here FAST?!?
I will only pick the best good looking guy with a nice cock... (say, at least 7" with a nice girth)
I'm a smokin hottie with an incredible hormone surge right now... so it's your lucky night...
be a Single WHITE M, disease free and VERY VERY attractive... (don't waste my time and yours if you're not)
PHOTOS required... of your FACE... hurry!

She sounded like just my type! I loved smokin' hotties!

Was I intimidated? You bet I was. Your grandma always told me I was an attractive guy, but "VERY VERY" attractive? I don't know about that. I started worrying. What if I send her a picture of my face and she doesn't like me? What if I'm not attractive enough?? What if this relationship ended before it even started?? How would I be able to live with myself? And besides, even if she did find me "VERY VERY" attractive, what if she didn't think my cock was nice? Sure, it's 7" if you start measuring from the right spot, but girth?? I didn't even know what that word meant!

So I tore up the apartment to find a decent picture to send her. Since I couldn't find one, I grabbed your Uncle Rod's digital camera and took a close up one of my face. It didn't look too bad, so I sent it her way. After hitting 'send' I dropped down on my sofa, covered my head with my hands, and started to weep. I was hoping for a miracle. Son. I need a miracle.

And then it happened. "You got mail." I opened it up, and there it was. A brief, but promising response: Mott & Canal. 20 minutes. Outside Starbucks. Bring rubbers.

Wow! Since I knew it was going to take me forever to get there on the N, I blew some rent money on getting a car to pick me up. I thought it was a great move on two parts- one, it got me there on time; two, it was classy. Here's some more fatherly advice: if you're going to meet a girl for casual sex on craigslist, take a car. Chicks appreciate class.

When I got to the corner I saw a beautiful creature smoking a cigarette outside Starbucks. I approached her and introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Sal. You know, from craigslist." She looked at me with a weird face and yelled, "Get the fuck away from me your creep!" Hahaha. Wrong girl! Oh well. Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey. You. Seven inches?"

I turned around and there she was. Beautiful. So beautiful. I had trouble getting out the words, but after what felt like an eternity I was finally able to respond.

"Hi. Yeah. Seven inches."

Your mother and I went upstairs to her place and engaged in crazy anonymous sex-- she really was experiencing an incredible hormone surge, I'll tell ya! Afterwards, I told her I'd call. She told me not to. I asked her her name. She wouldn't give it to me. I told her that I'd love her forever. She asked me to leave.

I wouldn't. I told her I wouldn't leave until she acknowledged that what we had was special. She threatened to call the police. Together for 2 hours, and already our first fight! I knew she was the one.

After a few more threats, she finally gave up and told me I could stay... assuming I was ready to have sex again.

I was, and we did.

I'll spare you all the dirty details, but by sun up the next morning we knew we were perfect for one another. Your mother let me move in, I said goodbye to your Uncle Rod, and the rest, as they say, is history.

So don't let anybody ever tell you that you can't find love on the internet. You can. I'm living proof. Now get your father a beer, all this reminiscing has made him thirsty. Thanks kid.

*Yep. It's real. As if I could make that up

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b at 2:46 PM

a quick monday morning message

I've been asked to inform everybody that the video we posted on The Post Show today is Not Safe For Work, or NSFW if you're into that sort of thing. In all honesty, it's not really safe for home either. You've been warned. (and no, I'm not just writing that here to get you to go over and check it out, I've actually been asked to do this. But for the record, I'm also not above doing that. You've been warned again.)

I'm going to try to give you a real update later, however I'm not sure if I'll be able to because I'm heading home for the holidays. Passover, Rosh Hashanah, Purim-- one of those I think. I don't know. I'm just a halfie.

So rock on. Fuck Friendster. Go Yankees. Goonies never say die. Deal with it.

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b at 10:35 AM