25 November 2003

For a Trip to JMU? I'd Pay a Dollar


Anytime my buddies and I get together for a drunken romp at JMU (er...scratch that, reword it yourself) it turns into something memorable. I hereby spoonfeed you a short account of this JMU weekend. It will annoy, shock, bore, and hunger. First things first, let me introduce you to The Weekend's Players:

--Craig (The Host--proprietor of GoldenRoad and all around good guy, yet female-whipped worse than any of Catherine the Great's horses. He is the only one currently still living in Harrisonburg, so we crashed at his place.)

--Perdue (That Guy--I've mentioned him before. Charming until he gets half a beer in him, then just simply humiliating. But in a good way, for us.)

--Loftus (Ross from Friends--chicks dig him, but for some reason he couldn't score in a Bangkok whorehouse with a fistfull of dollars and Brad Pitt doing the pushing.)

--Roland (Johnny Cochran--Seems like a great guy until the first shot goes down. Then you'd swear he has Tourette's and an IQ of less than 7.3. And he got into law school?)

--Ruby (That Guy #2--The one "Crazy Friend" that we all know, love and fear. When the chips are down, bet on him and Perdue to say/do something insane.)

--Farrell (Did not show up but is intrinsic to the plot.)

Here we go:

--The weekend was marked by an unbelievable thick homoerotic element that I could have done without. Not only was there a near-constant rash of "Good Game's" at Highlawn, but whenever Roland drinks he tries to hump Perdue. Actually, let's be honest, he tries to hump anything., including Craig's digerido. Gotta give mad props to Lily for putting up with it, or maybe it works in her favor. I don't know. Also, there was a lot of Craig yelling, "Why don't you come over here and suck my d*ck?" I think it was because he's been listening to a lot of rap.

--None of us can drink like we used to. With the exception of Loftus, each of us neared death at least five times during the experience. I was broken upon waking Saturday morning, and Ruby's effort the following morning looked like something out of the Evil Dead Trilogy. More on that later.

--Not a single one of the single dudes in the group (myself, Loftus, Perdue, and Ruby) came anywhere close to being remotely near a girl thinking about touching us in a vaguely sexual manner. I mean not close. So far in fact that the light from Touching a Girl will not reach Earth for 3.8 million years. Between Loftus, myself, and Perdue, we are looking at a good three calendar years without any action. I'm pretty sure it's been so long since I've had sex that they've changed it on me. The worst offense of the weekend came at Highlawn Saturday night. It was myself, my friend Meghan, and a girl named Michelle, our new Dukette obsession. This girl has always been cute but somehow in the time we left JMU until we got back she exploded into a gorgeous little dancing package. We were all excited. I met her before, saw her talking to Meghan, and decided I'd say hi. I want to be clear on something: I was not hitting on her. Not that I wasn't going to at some point--I was. Not that I had a chance--I didn't. But this is what transpired:

(I walk over to MEGHAN and MICHELLE)

ME: Hey.
MEGHAN: Geoff, this is Michelle.

(LOFTUS comes walking over and stands next to us.)

ME: Hi, I think we met before.
MICHELLE: Yeah, I remember that.
ME: Actually, I think it was at a Ranger Party.
MICHELLE: Right, it was.
LOFTUS (to me): Wow, good memory. Stalker.

Loftus walks off in the other direction, and you might as well have extracted me from the conversation with an oversized Vaudeville cane. Needless to say, I have only fond memories of Michelle in a clingy red evening gown. And Loftus is now my Non-Friend.

Aside from those, Ruby danced with fat chicks, because that's what Ruby does, and Roland got cornered by a girl who introduced herself as "Bambi".

(EDITOR'S NOTE: When introduced, I immediately made the joke, "Hi, where's Thumper?" I then fake-laughed hysterically. Good times.)

She was a plump little muffin of a girl and revealed to Loftus that she came from Jersey. Oh, and she threw in the fact that she was a mental institution. We passed this girl off to each other like a foreigner asking for directions.

"I'm from Jersey."
"Really? Oh, well then, you've got to talk to (insert victim's name here). He knows all about that."

--Favorite quotes of the weekend, which will contain neither speaker nor reference to what they were speaking of, so as to conceal intentions and protect the innocent:

"Are you a Jew? Listen, is Farrell there? Is he trying to f*ck you? I don't want you around him, he's going to try to f*ck you. Don't let him f*ck you. Actually, I don't care, f*ck him, go ahead and f*ck Farrell. Perdue, Ge-off, and Loftus are all listening. Call me tomorrow."

"That townie lady is about to drop it like it's hot."

"Yeah, alright, so she hurt your feelings and all, but doesn't it make you feel better that she got fat?"

"I thought we were going to make out? Oh wait, you only want to hang out with black guys."

"When the f*ck are they going to play Hey-Yaa?"

"No listen I'm fine I can drive no I can you can't take my van f*ck you you f*cking f*ggot where is Farrell I'll f*cking kill him..."

"We have one pork roll casualty."

--We make it through two nights of unsurpassed drinking quality without human casualty. Then, inexplicably, early Sunday morning (well...before Noon), Perdue gets pissed at Craig and attempts to get off the futon. He stumbles and falls. AS I am laying on the floor next to him, this scares me, and I jerk upward. Perdue's lip collides with my knee, and my knee wins the battle. Perdue is down. He rises moments later with bleeding lip. After countless (and by that I mean less than 24) hours of hearty intoxication, it takes a Sunday Morning Stumble to cause someone to become injured. And I am not taking into account Loftus's ill-fated Tour Guide Blunder through the prickly-bush forest behind Forrest Hills, which left me with pricklies all over my left hand. This has made for itching, burning, and severe discomfort while masturbating. I don't want to discuss any more than that.

--If I left anything out, which I'm sure I have, let me know.

Finally, I'd just like to add that one and a half tanks of gas, two orders of chicken wings, two latenight cheesesteaks, countless Michelob Lights, one pair of handcuffs, a pile of fake greasevomit, a long walk through campus, two hours of dancing with hot girls, severe humiliation and $180 later, I still have the best friends in the world.

I f*cking love you guys.


20 November 2003

You're Not Wrong. You're Certainly Not Wrong.


--Would like to thank the wonderful folks over at DanWho (those folks being...Dan) again for coming up with the Official GooseTown Logo (TM) above. Feel free to click on the picture to find out more about the man whose life I base every decision in my life on, Cousin Scott (WWSD?).

--After watching the whole Britney-Spears-Tours-Three-Clubs-In-One-Night thing on MTV, I now hate her. My official position is now that I would not be upset if she got hit by a bus. But, though I don't want to say it, don't want to say it at all, she has a fine, fine ass.

--From my buddy Trevor (Triznev to all of you):

>>PS: Item R, subsection ii, OC is the best show on TV, period. Last evening's episode was as good as any 90210 episode, and that my friend is a bold statement coming from my mouth. I want to nail both moms, and Summer so hard, wow. Hell and the girl from Pittsburgh.<<

Trev, I couldn't agree more. The O.C. is clearly the 90210 of this generation. The only thing that saddens me about the whole thing is that we're kind of in between generations. We were a bit too young to appreciate the finer beginnings of 90210, and by the time it was over, it had lost its flavor and Steve Sanders's hairline was fading faster than Tommy Maddox in the fourth quarter. Now we're like 24 and senior citizens and The O.C. is just starting. Clearly, it's aimed at a younger demographic, but I'm claiming it as my own. Why? Does anyone realize the "drama" that shall define my highschool/college experience was Dawson's Creek? No f*cking thank you. Plus, the chicks on The O.C. are, like, five times hotter and kewler than on 90210 or Dawson.

But I have some gripes: Why does Benjy McKenzie (Ryan) make those "I'm halfway between crying and taking a crap in my pants" faces? And why is he dating Marissa so soon? Couldn't they have strung us along a little? Why is Seth's mom so gosh darn hot? Couldn't they hold off on him scoring with both Summer and the Pittsburgh girl? They are rushing into the action far too quickly, but I'm holding out hope that the writers have some really soap opera-esque ways to keep me interested without getting too ridiculous.

Sidenote: Kelso on That 70's Show is going to be a daddy. BURN!

--OK, here's my thing about Ferris Bueller's Day Off:

There are some movies that you can watch all the time, there are some movies that are only good for one viewing. Most John Hughes films fall into the former category. Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, even a little Planes, Trains, and Automobiles...all these movies you can watch over and over again and never get tired of them. But very few movie shave the capacity to change each time you watch it.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off is a transcendent film in this way. It's done so very well that it appeals to those that are 13, 16, 18, 25, even 30 years of age. Hell, my dad still loves it and he's going to be 57 next year.

The scene that always seems tweaked a bit, meaningful in a different way every time is the scene in the Museum. All the paintings, but especially the part of the montage that has Cameron looking at Seurat's "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte". This scene is specifically designed to be viewed as a major point in the movie for Cameron, but every time you watch it, it seems like something has changed, like Hughes used another angle, or an extended take, or something. You see something different in the Pointillistic brushstrokes, some verisimilitude between Cameron and the child's face.

This happens to a lot of people with a lot of movies. The thing is, the movie hasn't changed--you have. There is something different about you that brings out feelers for a particular scene. The thing about Ferris Bueller's Day Off is that it is able to regard its audience in the scope of personal transition. This is to be wholly appreciated, as only a very few films can claim this ability. I welcome the mention of any others.


19 November 2003

Sure, But What Could Be the Worst That Would Happen, Molestation?


--As many of you know, I am a firm believer in Innocent Until Proven Guilty. I think it's one of the best ideals of our legal system, and because of that I don't want anyone to think I'm jumping to conclusions. But let's all agree on the fact that one of two things are happening with Michael Jackson:

1. He is molesting kids.
2. People are falsely accusing him of molesting kids.

Either way, why would anyone involved WANT THEIR KIDS IN MICHAEL JACKSON'S HOUSE? If these people are not making up the stories, he is a pervert and needs help plus incarceration. Even if you're a big fan of his music and you talk to him and you think he's harmless, if there's a chance the guy is a child-groping felon, WHY WOULD YOU LET YOUR KIDS ANYWHERE NEAR HIM WITHOUT A CHAPERONE? Did you not see him HANGING HIS OWN KID OVER A HOTEL BALCONY TO TAUNT REPORTERS?

If you're Michael Jackson, and people are falsely accusing you of molesting their children, and it's happened a few times, FOR WHAT F*CKING REASON WOULD YOU EVER LET KIDS IN YOUR HOUSE UNSUPERVISED AGAIN? Am I the only one with these questions? Does this make sense to anyone else? I feel like I'm Steve McQueen, and I've stumbled onto a leper island, and I realize I'm the only one with good limbs, as Dustin Hoffman has a f*cked up leg. As many as two people just got that analogy.

--I'm sorry, I know, I know, but...The O.C. is the best show on television. There, I said it, and Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't care.

--I will devote an entire rambling thought to Saved By the Bell at a later date, but I did want to mention my All Time Favorite Exchange (TM) on the show:

SLATER: "You made me look like a jerk at the Maxx last night."
ZACK: "Well that's what you are."

(ZACK and SLATER begin to fight, knocking off MR. BELDING'S toupee in the process. It falls into the punch. ZACK and SLATER laugh hysterically at the inexplicable turn of events and instantly renew their friendship, forgetting that mere moments ago such angry words were spoken in a fight over the lusty JOANNA from South Dakota.)

--Amazon.com (I refuse to link those b*stards because of this) carries the following DVD's in its Corey Haim Classics Collection (TM): Lucas, The Lost Boys, Blown Away, Fever Lake, Dream a Little Dream, and Snowboard Academy. What have they mindbendingly omitted? None other than License to Drive, a movie which features not only harrowing car chases, the father from Mr. Boogedy, and the best onscreen performance by the Coreys (Haim and Feldman) ever, but a very, very young and supple Heather Graham, before she was corrupted by Marky Mark's gigantic prosthetic genetalia.

Well, this just proves there is no God.

--Has there ever, anywhere been a more annoying Ad Campaign than the current sh*t pumped out by Chili's? I swear, based on their awful commercials alone I will never eat there again. You know the ones I'm talking about, where they have some fat nobody singing about Chili's food on the street somewhere. My "favorite" is the one with the three assh*le teachers, one with a Caribbean-themed shirt that's seven sizes too big for him, singing, "All that flavor, gonna make it mine." F*ck. You. Or how about the chick trying to Skee-Bop? "Oooh woo, Chili's, dig that spice, ooooh woo woo..." If I ever see you, I will punch you.

Do these commercials absolutely infuriate anyone else besides me? I have boycottedededed Chili's for life. I simply cannot fathom that I'm sitting here writing for free, and some d*ck with a pen somewhere came up with this idea and some bigger d*ck with a more expensive pen greenlit the whole campaign. What the f*ck?

Which reminds me of another thing I hate about restaurants...the g*ddamn cutesy bullcrap they make up for the menus. There is an Italian restaurant in this area, not unlike the Olive Garden, called The Italian Oven. What's the section of the menu that houses their pasta dishes called? None other than "Pastabilities". "Pastabilities"? "Pastabilities"? F***********************************ck you, pal.

These people that do these things, they're from f*cking Pie Country, I swear.

--I have a whole thought on Ferris Bueller that I want to get out to you, but not tonight. It's actually a serious, thought-provoking entry that I'll save to juxtapose against my Saved By the Bell meanderings. Just think about the first time you saw it, and then the last time you watched it again. That'll prepare you. Fun Trivia Fact, though: the two actors who played Ferris's parents in the movie met on set, and then got married in real life after the film wrapped. They're still together. Their son's name?

F*ck, I don't know. Anthony? How the hell would I know something like that? What do I do, follow these people around? Jesus, what do you want from me? Where are my pants?


18 November 2003

I Post Blog, You Have Good Time Laugh


--Picked up Chinese food tonight. Now I want to preface my comments with the disclaimer that I understand it must be very hard for someone to come into this country straight off the boat, open up a business with little or no semblance of skill in English and not only strive, but survive at all. I have the every respect for these foreign friends. I am not making fun of these people, merely pointing out something. If I move to China to open a business, I'm going to be cognizant enough to grab a local to help me with the language.

The local Chinese eatery has a few signs hanging up. Only one really bothers me. It's on the front door, and it's a series of eight Asian characters. It might say, "Place your order and Cantonese and receive 15% off your purchase!" It might just as well say, "We come in the food of these stupid Americans," as I can't read a f*cking bit of it. But doesn't that unnerve you? A sign in all Chinese characters outside a restaurant in Backwoods PA? I'm not going to lie. It frightens me and I want to know what the f*ck it says. There is no reason to hang a sign outside your store in a dialect you and only about six other people within a 50 mile radius could understand. Something is going on.

Then you go inside. There is a large dry-erase board behind the counter, exclaiming, "NO. 1 SZECHUAN MAKE GENERAL TSO CHICKEN BEST TASTY CRISPY CAN'T BEAT AROUND HERE." Of course, you get the general sentiment, but doesn't it just send the message, "Hey, we only care enough to get it half right. We assume you'll understand." If I open my own business in Outer Mongolia and I only know bits and pieces of the language, I'm for damn sure going to get someone who knows what the hell they're doing to proofread, lest I put out a sign that reads "ME NO HAS TO PUT FEET FOR YOU IN SWEATY SOUP" in the native tongue.

The best is as you're walking out; there's one half of a plastic Yellow "Wet Floor" tent leaning against a wall. Scrawled on it in Sharpie is the warning "HEY THIEF I KNOW YOU STEAL ONE I WATCHING YOU NOT STEAL MORE HALF, NO.1 SZECHUAN OWNER".

And yet, as the food swims pleasantly into my stomach, I have no gripe. Even if the sign on the door reads "WE TRICK UNLUCKY AMERICAN ASSH*LE WITH CAT!"

--Quick, someone think of more Wasted Potential Hotness (TM) than Mia Sara. For those of you living in a cave, she played Sloane in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Jesus H. Christ, look at the crap she worked on. Does her agent know you're allowed to turn down a script? There have got to be a million more like her and I can't think of any of them. Mia was headed for great things only to fall off the face of the earth and resurface in TimeCop. God I wish I were making that up. The only other one I can think of is Danica McKellar, who played Winnie Cooper on The Wonder Years. I don't think we can count her, as she had such a great run and was one of my obsessions growing up (along with Tiffany-Amber Theissen, as pre-90210 Kelly Kapowski in Saved by the Bell...possibly the first, last, and only time a hot girl will retain a Polish last name in any kind of Hollywood production). But then, a few years later when Fred Savage was doing the sitcom Working, she showed up as a guest star in one episode and had somehow eclipsed her previous childhood hotness. I mean blazing hot. And then she got down to her bra and I had to be rushed to the hospital to reverse the effects of the subdural hematoma that beset me. Look at her resume! Hip, Edgy, Sexy, Cool? Reality School? Black Hole? My poor Winnie, I don't even want to touch that last one. But God, I'd let her do me.

Please, mention more. After all, there have to be a few Natalia Cigliuti fans out there, right? And can I be the first to mention, though not likely, the possibility exists that Hilary Duff will end up looking lilke Flipper? Also, on a note of Quite Not Wasted Potential Hotness(TM), Leah Remini is just...whoo....gettin' warm in here...I feel a Saved By the Bell Post coming up real, real soon....


My Most Thought Provoking Postulate Yet


--Allow me to be more specific...this is more of a question based on what I consider to be a highly philosophical hypothesis. I have integrated such a theory into a screenplay and a play, and it is so copyrighted to me. Don't even think of stealing it, though you are free to pass it around the internet, giving me full credit for posing such a high-class query. Again, this thought was inspired by the Oscar-snubbed TimeCop, starring the always venerable Jean-Claude Van Damme:

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Since this Unconquerable Postulate (TM) was brought out of my memory banks by James over at CannedJam, I will use him as my variable.)

Let's us assume that there is James in the year 2003. James is married and lives in a house. James somehow finds a way to travel ten (10) years into the future, and does so. James is now in 2013. However, James of Ten Years from Now (James-X, we shall call him) and James'ssss Wife of Ten Years From Now (we shall call her Wife-X) both still exist and live in the same location. Let's say James-X, believing nothing is different in his world, leaves for work at 8AM. Wife-X is staying home that day. James of Ten Years Ago (just James in our book) is now living in the same world as James-X and Wife-X. James locates his house and finds Wife-X inside. Wife-X is at first frightened but then simply assumes that her now younger-looking husband (who is, unbeknownst to her, actually James) has had a spa treatment, thus obtaining said younger look. She decides to have sex with him. James then returns to his time period without ever coming into contact with James-X, which we all well know would result in an immediate implosion of the space-time continuum and end existence as we know it. Still with me? Good, me either. Let's continue.

For whatever reason, James, now safely back in 2003, tells his wife that he went into the future and had sex with her future self, Wife-X.

James-X comes home to find that Wife-X has mistakenly slept with his younger self. Assuming he takes her story as true (a rather large assumption, but a critical one at this juncture), think about the following, each being one of my Greatest Philosophical Postulates of All Time (TM):

1. If you are James-X, did your wife cheat on you with yourself (yourself being James, the You of Ten Years Ago)? Are you jealous?
2. If you are Wife, did James cheat on you with yourself (yourself being Wife-X, the Wife of Ten Years From Now)? Are you jealous?
3. Is there another situation that's funner to think about?

God, sometimes I blow my own mind.

--Along those same lines, I've had this conversation with many before and responses have been all over the board. This one is for the guys:

Let us say that you have a girlfriend of three years whom you love very much and want to marry. One day you find out she is having an affair...with another chick. Are you jealous? Upset? Do you end the relationship?

My answers are no, no, and no. I have thought about this over and over and over and I can't imagine any situation where this makes me anything but more sexually charged.

--I watched Britney on Leno last night. Honestly, I never thought this day would come, but my affinity for Britney has worn off. Is she still hot? Yes. Would I let her rape me over and over? Likely. Does she do it for me like she used to? Not nearly.

First off, everything she says comes off as contrived and fake. This is a double-edged sword, because on one hand, if she's fake, that's really bad, and if she's not and actually acts like that always, that's really really bad. Neither is good basically. So I'm dropping my "Let Britney Do Whatever She Wants" protest. As far as I'm concerned, she's form Pie Country and not worth the time.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: The size of young Brit's boobies fluctuates more than Oprah's weight and Bush's popularity combined. I'm no longer impressed.)

--Only 207 days until The Greatest Event in the History of the World. No one to date has guessed correctly what this Event is.

--Last thought of the day, as this should inspire some real deep thought. It's game I like to call Hump Island. This has been done over many, many times in thousands of different ways, but rarely do you see it in print. This is your chance to make your list permanent and put it out to the world.

Select five people whom you would most want to spend an eternity with on a Desert Island. Include one Wild Card in case one of the chicks gets too old, too boring, or too bitchy...the Wild Card shall also serve as your Flavor of the Week, so to speak.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Chicks answering the Hump Island Challenge can substitute males...I guess.)

Goose's Top Five (in no particular order, as that changes often and without notice):

1. Catherine Zeta-Jones
2. Kelly Preston
3. Diane Lane
4. Erika Christensen
5. Natalie Portman
WC. Rachel Bilson (Summer Roberts on The O.C....oh my God....)

Show me whatcha got, people....


17 November 2003

How to Tell if That Email Is Spam: A Public Service Announcement from GooseTown


--Email spam is a pesky phenomenon that dominates our daily inboxes. I don't personally know anyone that doesn't outright delete it all, but apparently people who don't do so exist, as Spam proliferates countless personal addresses. Who are the people sending out this trash? And more importantly, why are so many people reading it that it becomes profitable? In any regard, if you are having problems determining what might be Spam and what might not be, here are some handy tips for consideration:

1) You receive a message with a Subject line reading "RE: Your membership application", yet you don't recall signing up at scratchingmytesticleswithaspoon.com.

2) Someone wants you to look at her webcam. If there is a girl out there that wants to give you free exposure to her personal lesbian-action sexual forays, I don't know her, and neither do you.

3) Your penis is big enough, you're not into nude midgets, you don't need a mortgage, you're not interested in harboring money for a representative of a foreign government, you've never thought about real estate in Madagascar, or you don't have a subscription to Celebrity Scat.

4) Your answer to the Subject line "Are you looking for fun in your area?" is "No". Or even if it's "Yes".

5) You don't need eXtRa $$$$$$$ To PaY OfF yOuR DeBt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!aksg41.

6) You don't recall having a friend at the email address jheurndbv09q384nfbjbfu@gsuew8345nj.net.

Asking yourself these simple question should alleviate any Spam-related headaches. Remember, though, these Spammers are getting ever more clever. Should questions arise, you know who to contact. More later.


16 November 2003

An Infrequent Moment of Seriousnessosity


Growing up, my brother Kyle and I never really had the most poignant or loving relationship. Most of this is my fault. When I was hitting my stride, Kyle was there, but four years behind me in age and, as I thought then, eons behind me in compatibility. I think it's the typical Big Brother Struggle (TM)...you know you're stuck with this other kid in the house, but he's annoying and overbearing, trying to tag along with you everywhere and just generally f*cking up everything you're attempting to do as you swing around the corner into puberty. Your reaction? Make sure you know just how much you detest him. And boy, did I make sure I did that.

I'm sure other big brothers have done the same. But that shouldn't be used as an excuse. I should have been a different kind of big brother all those years. Things were different for us because that was the same time we were warring our parents got divorced and life started mean more than just who got to watch what on TV or who owned which video game. For years I had a chance to be a role model, not only for Kyle but for our two younger brothers. And I blew it. I was too concerned with myself and what was going on with me to take responsibility for anyone else. I can't shoulder too much blame here, as I was only 12-16 and still figuring myself out, much less the rest of the world. But other people figured out how to step up, right? Why couldn't I?

The positive side of the situation is that we made it through. And not even so much that we made it through but that we put it behind us. I grew up, Kyle grew up, time moved on, things got better. Don't get me wrong, it's not all peaches and cream that made everything disappear. You can't go back and redo it. I left for college and I knew there were a lot of things that I should have done different, a lot of choice I should have though better of, so much that might have made a more positive impact on his life. But if you asked me to go back and remember the things we fought about, who started what, who won in the end...I couldn't. Not because I don't want to, but because I have really put it out of my mind. Not in the way that psychologists classify it, Repressed Memories and the like. I don't remember anymore because, is the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter.

What I could tell you about were the ridiculous one-on-one football games in the backyard; teaching him how to climb a tree; taking a walk down to Rakestraw's; pushing him on his kiddie ATV when the battery power ran out; showing him how to throw a sweet knuckle curve with a whiffle ball; being the first person he called the first time he got drunk. All that was the stuff that mattered, not the petty bickerings or the fat lips that resulted. Somehow, after all we had been through, the kid looked up to me. Amazing how that kind of thing happens, right? It's cliche, sure, but only eleven or twelve years removed from the onset of the Thrilla in the Villa we're not only close-knit brothers, we're best friends. There's a sense of pride that comes with being related to one another. It's not like it used to be, but I have to think that it's so good right now, in part, because of it.

When Kyle joined the Air Force two years ago I had reservations. Can he hack it? Will he take to discipline? What is he thinking, what with September 11th still burned into our permanent psyche? Doesn't he know how dangerous this is?

If you know Kyle, you know these aren't concerns for him. It's not because he's a dumb kid or because he didn't care. It's because he's the type of person that almost always does what's right. He felt it was right for him to participate, to defend our country in one of the most turbulent periods in our short history. He didn't care that he could be potentially risking his life--he only cared that he had a chance to get in there and lend a hand. So he did, and he hasn't looked back once.

Tonight, Kyle hops aboard a massive cargo plane and endures a 13-hour nonstop flight to the Middle East. He's not going over there because he has to; he never needed to sign up for this assignment in the first place. He's going over there because he wants so badly to matter, so badly to do what is right. It's what he's always done. It's a sobering thought to know what's going on over there and knowing he's going to be right in the thick of it. It's even more sobering to know that there's nothing I can do now. My little brother has taken quite a big step. Where he used to need me, I--and everyone else-- now need him. I missed a large part of my chance to take care of him, and now, when I feel like I should the most, all I can do is grasp at air and hope for the best. Now I'm looking up to him.

Amazing how that kind of thing happens, right?

And it all got me thinking today, thinking about Kyle, thinking about what is going on in the world, thinking about what our roles are here in this place. It got me thinking about heroism. "Heroic" is a word we toss around too much too often for the wrong reasons. They often say that heroism is thrust upon unsuspecting men, not the other way around. Well, maybe that's true some of the time. But think about those people, all those people, that deliberately put themselves in the path of Harm's swift hands, knowing full well that the choices they've made could end their life at any moment. Think about all those people that work in the face of those odds. You realize that heroism is not based on time or chance. Heroism is not based on the number of wars in which a man fights or how many lives he takes in the process. Heroism is lives in the righteous ideals for which you fight, and the number of lives you preserve in doing so.

So sure, there is sadness in Kyle's departure to places unknown. But most of the tears that continue to well up in my eyes come only from pure, absolute pride for why he's there and what he stands for. I can't even begin to describe it. It made me think about what I'll say the next time when someone asks me what my little brother does. There are a list of things I could run off--my little brother is an Air Force Airman; my little brother is an MP; my little brother is a peacekeeper; my little brother is a representative; my little brother is a soldier. Or, I could just keep it simple.

My little brother is a hero. My little brother is my hero.

Kyle, you do what you've got to do, and you come home safe.


14 November 2003

Just Shut the F*ck Up and Sell Me Some Gilby's


--Have you ever heard of Chuck Wepner? No? Chuck was a fighter back in the 70's. He was well known for being a boxer with very limited athletic ability but a TON of heart and chin. He would go toe-to-toe with anyone that would strap on gloves. He always lost, but he never got knocked out and never gave up. His career as a punching bag that couldn't be destroyed earned him the nickname "The Bayonne Bleeder". In a bout with Muhammad Ali, he went the entire distance (15 rounds), even knocking Ali down in the 9th, but lost by unanimous decision. After that he kind of scuttled around different circuits doing what he could. He now sells liquor for a living.

Why am I mentioning this? Well, in several interviews over the years, Sylvester Stallone mentioned that he attended the Wepner-Ali fight and was awed by Wepner's moxy. So much so, in fact, that he used him as the inspiration for Rocky. Have you ever heard Stallone talk about him? No?

Here's the reason I ask: this week, Wepner filed charges against Stallone and all the producers of the Rocky for a share of the profits to all five films and any upcoming releases, of which they are planning at least one. His lawyer's reason? Stallone had constantly been dropping Wepner's name over the years in different interviews linking Wepner to the Rocky character without his permission, using Wepner's celebrity to gain notoriety. This is disturbing for two reasons:

1. You do not need to retain permission from someone if you use them as only an INSPIRATION for a story. There is a big difference between "inspired by" and "based on a true story".

2. I'm willing to bet that no one reading this ever heard of Chuck Wepner before I mentioned him. I follow boxing almost religiously and had never heard of the guy. I'm also willing to bet that if you had never heard of him until I talked about him, you certainly never heard Sly talk about him.

Wepner is a product of our culture that allows us to sure each other for anything, bringing an entire case with baseless accusations and wasting taxpayer money in the process. Wait, let me back up: the fact that our country allows a person to sue someone for anything is a good exercise in freedom. However, I return to the old adage: just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD.

F*ck Wepner's lawyer. I do not include Chuck in this tirade because many reports indicate that Chuck may have been brain damaged over the years due to his fights and that his family and unscrupulous lawyer are mostly in on the suit, using Chuck as a pawn. Any way you slice it, this sucks, and anyone bringing this against Stallone and other can go straight to hell in my book. Wepner isn't even from Philadelphia. Idiots.

To date, between theatrical release, video/DVD distribution and merchandise, the Rocky series have earned over $1 billion.

SIDE NOTE: Reason #4,592 I have the Ultimate Respect (TM) for Sly Stallone--He felt so strongly about his Rocky script--which he wrote--that he took $100,000 pay to for the script, acting and all production duties he handled after every single studio but one turned him down. Also, you notice how one side of his mouth doesn't move when he talks? That's because during birth they had to yank him out with foreceps and they damaged several facial nerves.


--The new Travis album is depressingly bland, boring, and horrid. I am extremely disappointed, as Fran and Gang are usually on top of their game.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Let this not take away from their first three albums, which were--yes Craig, f*ck you--brilliant: Good Feeling, The Man Who, and The Invisible Band. They could be described as elements of each Coldplay, Radiohead, Oasis, and The Verve.)

My note to Fran: please let Radiohead monopolize, brooding "I hate everything in the world and want to bawl quietly about it" market. Don't get me wrong, I'm a Radiohead fan, but I'm telling you, the people that listen to more than two of their songs in the same day are crying for help, desperate to commit suicide. Sidenote to Thom Yorke: there is a time to stoop bitching and whining and contemplating and be happy. Find it.

Back to Fran: you are much better when your songs all sound different and they are downtrodden yet hopeful. Get off the schnide. Travis has never caught on in the American mainstream like Coldplay or Radiohead, to a degree, and this album will probably keep them from ever doing so. A shame, really. I hope they regain form.

Addenduminining my Strokes comments, I'd like to add two drawbacks to the album that have really nothing to do with the music...

1) I realize you guys are going for a certain vibe, but the album is a bit overproduced. The megaphone effect for your lead singer is good in some songs, but not all of them (Craig there has to be a technical term for this, what the hell is it?). When the lead vocals are drowned out COMPLETELY, something is wrong. I know, I know, part of the gig is to sounds like a record...I get it. But if I wanted a record, I'd forget there were CD's...that sound good. C'mon, guys. I checked every EQ setting I had and nothing made it better.

2) Even if it were produced differently, I still wouldn't be able to understand a single f*cking word the guys says without the lyrics in the liner notes. Thank Christ for that, because they are great lyrics. I thought they were from New York? Do they still speak English there? Does this guy slur more than Paris Hilton at an open bar? What's happening?

--Everyone is talking about this Triumph skit on Conan where he does the weather report from Hawaii. I'm trying to find it online...

--I'm sure this joke has been made a million times, but do you really think the chicks on Baywatch needed the little orange thingys to float? I mean, come on.

--Received possibly the biggest comment of my life twice this week from people who read the blog, to the effect that they have something to look forward to everyday. Though they're likely lying to be nice, this makes me feel quite good. With that, I reveal the news that there may be something much bigger in store than just this simple text monument. This is exciting to all five of you who read my blog daily. Details coming later...

--As of today, 14 November 2003, it is a mere 211 days until the Most Important Event in the History of the World. The first person to email/IM me and correctly guess what this event is will win a Sony DVD Player**. Hint: I will be in LA when this event takes place.

(**--Denotes that by "win a Sony DVD Player" GooseTown Management means that entrant correctly guessing said Most Important Event in the History of the World will pay for own Sony DVD Player if they so choose to have one. Phrase "win a Sony DVD Player" does not imply that GooseTown Management will actually award a physical prize, nor will they purchase physical prize, nor shall they take any part in anything having to do with a Sony DVD Player. Void where prohibited. See above for details. Contest not valid in New Mexico.)


Shamelessly copying off Craig, I shall begin my own list of GooseTown's Top Five Movies of the Week, which I suggest you peruse at you leisure. Good day.

(EDITOR's NOTE: the html code to Bold text is a bookended "strong" denotation on specified words. Goose finds this to be strong to...quite strong.)

1) The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari--Early German expressionismm aking it more disturbing than a night at a brothel watching your mother get sodomized by a midget with one leg. Tough to find anywhere, so good luck. I paid $75 for this movie on DVD, once again proving I'm an idiot
2) The Awful Truth--Good ol' screwball comedy. Impossible to go wrong with Carey Grant. You grandparents will remember this.
3) Kentucky Fried Movie--A John Landis classic. Expect little and you will laugh your face off. Not high quality filmmaking. Lots of nudity and a good-natured look at racism. And Asians.
4) The Graduate--If you are male, between the ages of 22-30, and have not seen this movie, please move to the front of the auditorium so you may be shot.
5) Bottle Rocket--If you liked The Royal Tenenbaums or Rushmore, run to pick this up. If you haven't seen either of those, watch this one, then move to the front of the auditorium with all the other confused gentlemen.


13 November 2003

You May Be Covered in Cardboard, but F*ck You, Pal


--Was thinking about this today and relaying my feelings to a buddy. The whole thing was spurned by my comments about the homeless woman below...

Homeless people bother me for a number of reasons. Very few homeless people are homeless because they are, as the PC culture in this country would tell us, "less fortunate". Maybe they lost their job; well, people lose their job every day but don't just drop all faith and head for the nearest corner to beg. Maybe they have a drug problem; well, in some form that's very likely their fault as well. There are a lot of people who are homeless who need psychiatric care--I'm not talking about them. And don't you see a lot of homeless claiming to be Vietnam Vets right now? There was a period of time in the mid-70's when a lot of these soldiers came home to find their fellow countrymen calling them "babykillers" and refusing to employ them. This WAS a problem, yes. But now it's 2003. I haven't heard of anyone refusing to hire Vietnam Vets...ever, really. So no more "Woe Is Me" excuses, fellas.

Here's my thing: I owe $60,000 in college debt. Sixty. Thousand. I'm paying nearly $700/mo to keep ahead. And I'm making it on about $1,200/mo pay. It sucks and I hate my life. Also, because I had to help my family when it was needed, I took a HUGE pay cut and my credit is f*cked as well. But I'm doing it because it has to be done. I'm willing to bet 90% of homeless people are debt free. Debt. Free. So everyone who begs for change and holds up a sign reading "Penniless and Homeless", I just want to walk up to and say, "Look, pal. I'm sixty-thousand in debt. In the Red. I'll be paying out my ears, unless I hit it big, which I plan to but that's neither here nor there, for thirty years to catch up. And you're broke? Wrong, motherf*cker, you're broke even. Now go to a halfway house, take a shower, clean yourself up, go get a f*cking McJob, and you'll be ahead of me in life. Now shut the f*ck up."

--Remind me one day to tell the story about the girl who masturbated on Roalnd's coffee table, my favorite story from college. I just don't have it in me tonight, but soon.

--I have noticed far more 16 year old girls looking at me lately, and I think I know why. Girls don't check me out. It just doesn't happen. But last week I shaved my head (well, almost, down to a "3" on the clipper scale) and I haven't shaved my face since. So now what I have going is a defacto Justin Timberlake coiffeur with the Justin Timberlake Tweener Beard (too long to be stubble, too short to be a beard). I am very fond of the tweener beard, as I have very soft skin and shaving causes razor burn like crazy. Plus, I think it's pretty manly. But back to the new hotness...

Since my main man JT has popularized the look, I appear to be capitalizing with the pre-legal crowd. This is about as exciting as finding out you won a free cruise...while you're in prison.

--As of today, 13 November 2003, it is exactly 212 days to the Most Important Event in the History of the World.

--The new Strokes album is, as I expected, brilliant. I will be picking up the Travis album tonight.

--I can't be the only one that watches every reality TV show that comes down the pike. I know I'm not alone. What I did not expect was to find out, last time down at JMU, that my buddy Craig is a fellow RW/RR Challenge: The Gauntlet Fantasy Game player. The kid has an MTV.com Fantasy Team. Craig hates MTV and hates reality television. I am blown away.

I am currently 4658 out of over 84,000 teams, down from a peak of 497 earlier in the show. I fear that if I might win the Saturn, MTV might hunt me down and take it away because I know Steve from RR: The Quest. I swear to you, Omnipresent Viacom Media Conglomerate Chief Executives, Steve has provided me with no information. I assure you, if he had, I would not be talking about it, nor would I have slid nearly 3,500 spots in the last three weeks. Anyway, Steve posts the most informative behind-the-scenes Episode Guides each week, and you should read them. I will also link up the site for RW BTNY Lori, which I read regularly, as she is somehow more unstable than I am.

I am going to win that g*ddamn car, I swear. Also, they are filming another Challenge in Mexico right now. I hope to Christ they take it back to a Male Vs. Female match up, because I love watching the hos lose.

--Quote of the day from the incorrigible Steve Perdue: "All I remember is that I drank and Geoff told me the next day that I was wearing a purple wig and telling some Chinese guy, 'Me love you long time.'"

It really did happen.

This, by the by, is the same kid that One Memorable Day (TM) got hammered, stuffed his mouth full of roast beef, decided to pick a fight, and ended up in wrestling match with one Mr. Jeff Farrell. Now, imminent danger of choking aside, there was this...

As the two were entwined in some kind of homoerotic lustball, Steve reached down to grab Farrell's foot and gain an advantage in the proceedings. He gave Farrell's big toe a manly jerk...and screamed. Because it wasn't Farrell's big toe...it was his own. Genius. Sure genius. Also, the same night with the wig and the racism, he kicked a ledge for no reason and broke his foot. Ladies, can you believe this man among men is single?


12 November 2003

Can I Get a Lint Brush With That?


--Due to my hypoglycemia, I have been on a ridiculous calorie restriction for the past two months. Five days a week I have to take a serious load of vitamins and sugar pills, and bind myself to no more than 1,200 calories per day. I kid you not. The worst part of this has been giving up my beloved Coca-Cola products. I love Coke. I need Coke. It might not be my best friend, but it's close.

And I know what some of you are thinking: ""But Geoff, there's Diet Coke!" True, but it sucks. It's like giving up Michelob Light for Michelob Ultra, which is a sacrifice only fat chicks on the Atkins Diet need to make. Have you had Michelob Ultra? It's like drinking bong water. It's so far from Mikki Light that it blows my mind. I don't understand. Let's talk about something else.

Diet Coke...today I broke down and bought one. I needed caffeine, it has no calories, and I found one with Lemon. Diet Coke with Lemon. This could be OK, right? F*ck no. Apparently when they said "with Lemon" they meant "with Fabric Softener", because that's what it tastes like. I took three sips and started hallucinating. All of the sudden I'm driving the Snuggle Bear (TM) and he's asking me to buy him beer. That was my last foray into Diet Cola. I'm now stocked on water and I hate my life immensely.

--If some of you haven't seen this yet, here is a link to my old website that I built for a class at JMU. It's pretty worthless but there are some good pictures. And yes, Stanley is still safe with me in PA. He's excited about our upcoming permanent road trip.

--New link to Just Carmen. There is nothing stable about this girl, which is a good thing, and her site is littered with Britney Spears pictures, which leads me to believe there is a repressed lesbian fetish going on here, which is exciting in and of itself. And, I mean...what more do you need? I'm getting a happy battery just thinking about it. Where the hell are my pants?

--So, OK, I'm officially moving to LA in May. It had been March, but that's a long story (incidentally, Tim and Eric, if either of you are reading this, don't tell Dad, I haven't figured out a way to break it to him yet). It's a liberating feeling knowing that you are no longer a spectator in a life you hate...you've taken control of the horse and put yourself in the race. My buddy Trev is coming with me, either just for the drive or as a roommate. I could count on fifty hands the number of times we've fantasized about exactly which college football package we will buy. I mean, we'll have to watch PSU games at like 9 AM West Coast time. There's finally a reason to wake up on Saturday morning...well, a reason that isn't masturbation.

If there was a rap theme song to this road trip, it would be called "Trippin' a UHaul: Maybe Not Us, But Two Men Could" by Goose feat. T. Richardson Brown, Banker. How you luh-dat? Is that yo ass or yo momma have reinderr? Collectin' so much grass PoPo...alright, sorry, I'll stop.

More on Geoff's LA Adventure (TM) in the coming weeks.

--I'll end with a funny story. I was speaking with the inimitable and lovely Lesbian Ali tonight and this came up, so I thought I'd share it with you all. If you have heard me speak of this before, well...listen again.

Lesbian Ali lives with Lesbian Michelle in a Fantasy World called Hunter's Ridge, apt. 1360 E. Though they would tell you to the contrary, they are in fact sleeping with each other. There are two things that prove this, and I'm not making either up:

1) They have a cat together named Dillon, and when they get wasted, which is every day except Szzzblehmpfday, they torture it, exclaiming happily in baby-speak, "Diwwon woves when his mommies get dwunk."

2) They own a tandem bike together. Two. College. Girls. Tandem. Bike.

So of course we make friends with them as soon as possible. Fast forward to this October on a particularly drunken trip to JMU. My buddy Loftus and I meet said Lesbians out at a party. We are not sober. We soon stumble back to The Magical Hunter's Ridge, where men have been created and ripped apart in a single night. Loftus, ignoring TWO plush couches in the living room(and probably Michelle's bed, but we won't speak of that), immediately pulls a...well, a Loftus, and passes out on the floor. I attempt to eat spaghetti, with little success. The lesbians retire to their respective bedrooms as I go vegetable on one of the couches.

Fast forward again to roughly 7 AM. My eyes open. I have NO idea where I am. Suddenly, taking a slow, SLOW look around the living room, I recall, "Ah, yes. JMU. Ali and Michelle's. That's right." Then I feel a large object to my right. I look over. It's Michelle. "Why did Michelle get on the couch with me," I first wonder. Then I reassess my surroundings and realize that I've made my way into Michelle's bed. No explanation. I nudge.

GEOFF: "Hey."
MICHELLE (GROGGY): "Aaaaaarghhthp."
GEOFF: "How the hell did I get in here?"
M (Now awake and startled): "Um...I don't know."
G: "Really, how did I get in here?"
M: "Really, I don't know."

A few beats of silence.

M: "Why is my closet open?"
G: "I don't know."
M: "I never open my closet. Why is the bathroom door closed?"
G: "Huh?"

Silence. Golden silence.

M: "Did you pee in my closet?"

Honestly, I don't know if I did or not. I really couldn't tell you how or why I got in her bed. It just happened. Though no evidence was ever found of closetal urination, we can't put it past me. When I was four I peed in my babysitters closet about thirteen times over the course of one summer. I made an Olympic Event out of it. I was the Carl Lewis of Long Distance Closet Urination. So there's a pattern of past behavior.

I'll be back at JMU on Nov. 22nd. Ali, I'm gunning for your closet next.


11 November 2003

A Near Concussed State of Flabbergast


(EDITOR'S NOTE: The following will make sense to few...or no one. What I am about to babble on about will be vague and contain no semblance of detail. The person mentioned in this entry will not be defined by name, sex, race, location, age, or any other distinguishing characteristic.)

I don't want to understate the personal value of what I'm about to explain...I am at a loss. People who know me know I do not often, if ever, go into a state where I cannot speak. It may have happened once in college, where myself and a few buddies watched a girl spontaneously strip for us and then masturbate on a coffee table at 4 AM. Maybe then. But this blows it away.

I have, in very few words, been had. The wool has been pulled very snugly over my eyes. I've been bamboozled, outwitted, and turned around. I have been Punk'd. And I don't know that I'll be able to accurately describe my state right now. I'm going to try to convey something to you all, but I don't know if I'll be successful or not.

It has just come to my attention that a person I considered very near and dear to me has been working me over all along. I'm not talking pretending to be someone they were not...I mean flat out deceiving me. It has been going on for years and if you had told me straight to my face at most any point in that time, I would have laughed at you. I almost didn't find out. I had a conversation with this person recently, and something interesting came up. By chance I mentioned this to a mutual acquaintance in a phone call tonight and the whole thing came tumbling down. In an instant--and I really mean that, an instant, I can't overstate that--the whole damn thing came crashing down. Remember in A Few God Men where Tom Cruise gets Jack Nicholson to admit he ordered the Code Red? Like that, like a movie, perfectly planned along, and when it happens all you can think is, "Wow, I should have seen that coming." It's not quite like finding out that it was your grandfather who shot Kennedy, but more like that your Grandmother was one of Hitler's mistresses. That kind of thing. Not only because it is someone I cared about, but someone I trusted. I don't trust many people. I'm now reminded in Big Red Letters why.

I'm making sure to be scant on specifics here, because even in my vegetatitve state of the moment, I know they matter little or nothing in the long run. I don't want to engender controversy or "out" someone. It just happens to be one of those things that you know you can't completely divulge but you have to tell someone, anyone. I'm pulling the literary equivalent of Geoff's Pet Peeve #1, the infamous, "I have to tell you something, but I can't. So I'm not going to."


There are a lot of thoughts circling my head, and even more emotions. The most prevalent is shock, honest to God shock, like walking into a room and having sex with a random girl only to find out it's your sister. Then there was disbelief, which was fleeting and is gone now, because I can see the whole picture clearly. There are trace amounts of anger, which I'm sure will multiply once I've processed everything. Lingering below the surface, almost hidden from my radar at the moment, is an impending sense of hurt, which I know will come crashing down on me in the very near future.

But most of all, when the smoke finally clears, the events of today will be humbling. Again, if you know me, you know this is a near impossible feat. It's not because this is a huge hit to my massive ego--though it certainly is. It's not because it detracts from my belief that I'm a highly intelligent person--it hasn't. It's not because it has shelved my faith in humanity--that happened a long time ago. It's because, with hindsight being 20/20 and all, I know deep down it's my fault.

I let it happen. I let it happen and, though subconsciously, I encouraged it.

That's the worst of it all. Above all else I value logic and reason, and in this case I threw them both out the window, apparently with the rest of my brain along for the ride. I'm disappointed in myself, though the game was certainly well-played by the other party. The thing is, I don't think this person will ever know that this is about them. I'm not even sure if they read this. That's not the point. I don't even know if I know what the point is, but I can tell you that if the victim weren't me, I'd be congratulating the afflicting party on a job well done. Perhaps I should fire myself as Coach? Find a new Offensive Coordinator? Hire a new Head of Scouting?

Nah. I think the only good thing that might come out of this for me is a better grip on the realities of human nature. Not an understanding, mind you, but a plausible explanation that leads to me not making this mistake again. I am going to remember this for everyone I meet from here on out. Matter of fact, in my desired career field, this occurrence could help me out monumentally. In the long run. Someday.

Maybe I'm still pretty great. This isn't life altering in the sense that it will keep me from being normal for an extended amount of time. But it's certainly going to shift my worldview in another direction.

In the words of one of my gurus, "The lesson, as always, is that I'm an idiot."


Why I Liked Matrix: Revolutions and, in Unrelated News, Why I Need Psychiatric Help


--Matrix: Revolutions was a huge success in my book. I am going to detail why for all of you, as this has caused much controversy, but will warn you that if you have not yet seen the film and don't want to spoil it for yourself, please scan through until you get to the second set of stars (****). This will denote the end of my spoiling.

*************SPOILERS ABOUND BEYOND THIS POINT*************************************************

1) Let me start with the things I didn't like--

--The scene where Trinity dies is way, way too f*cking long and drawn out. They talked too much. Note to Wabalooski Brothers: people who have been impaled by large pieces of metal generally can't talk for five minutes. Say goodbye and let her die. This moment almost took me out of the movie.

--The lady who played The Oracle in the first two films died before she could finish all of her scenes for the second installment, so they had to go out and get someone else. The reason for why she looked different in the third was paltry and useless because it added NOTHING. I want to make this clear: the Washavinskis would have been better served to just not mention anything about her appearance than do what they did.

--These two are about it.

2) Why I did like it:

--I thought the whole third story wrapped up the parts of the overall trilogy without giving you every single answer. I like very much that it combined parts of various religious theology (Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism) with an emphasis also on secular philosophy. I also don't think for a second that they talked too much, as is oft a complaint. One of the big themes of the movie is free thought...so they were apt to speak and think freely. Did anyone notice that much of the philosophical questions posed were answered during the fight scenes? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? When this comes out on DVD, rent it and rewatch it for this reason if no other.

--I would have been lost with all the computer programming jargon if I hadn't done a little bit of searching to understand its connection to philosophy and theology. One of the major pulls of the film is that it takes so much from the Biblical story of the Great War in Heaven, the story of with which I am fascinated. It also helped me greatly to read up on the history of the Merovingian...and not the ones that ruled France in the 7th Century. It might be interesting to some of you to read about them here. It also helped to research oracles a bit, and not just The Delphic Oracle. There are also strong connections from The Oracle to The Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene.

My point? I am immeasurably impressed at the amount of research and detail the Warbonski Brothers put into this work. It's depth is incredible and if you are even slightly versed in any of these studies I believe it makes the film much more interesting.

--I have always been a big fan of the old martial arts movies. Even the sound effects. The Wac...ah, f*ck it, the W. Bros. were the same way and even used some of the techniques during filming. In the scene in Reloaded where Neo fights the hundreds of Smiths, they played with different sound effects, like toppling dominoes. I just think that's neat. I can't think of any other word but neat. Neat is the word I'm using. And I'm overly impressed by the fact that the W. Bros. and their team came up with a brand new cinematrographic/directorial/special effectual technique, something no one does these days. Have you noticed the proliferation of Bullet Time (TM) technology since the first film? It's everywhere. The whole concept blows my mind. I consider the final fight scene between Neo and the Smith to be one of the best things I've ever seen on a big screen, in scope and in execution because I really think it was appropriate and, though it was highly special effects laden, not overdone.

--Finally, and this is my biggest point, one of my favorite Conquerable Postulates is that Free Will and Fate coexist. Think about it: everything we do is inevitable and nothing we have done is can be altered simply because we do not possess the capacity to travel back and forth in time. So all of the choices we make in life lead to a point. In the moment, we can make one decision or another, but that choice can neither lead us to where the other choice would have nor could we backtrack and do it over. Therefore, though we make our choices freely with each passing moment, we could never change them, and being that you can't go back, you are always set in one path.

I have no idea what I just said. The point is, the W. Bros. offer a story in which the hero has a choice but ultimately cannot alter time and space. There will be a cycle that goes on. Does it ever stop? When did it ever start. These are eternal questions, and I think important questions. This story gave me another way to think about them, to contextualize in my world.

Plus, I'm a sucker for this particular story, most popularized by Jesus Christ. You know how it goes: a stanger walks into town where everyone is afraid of him except a few, and these few befriend him and learn from him, and then he begins to affect the public, but there is a misunderstanding, and he is either run out of town or killed, and only afterwards do the people realize his intentions were benevolent and that he held the secret to leading a good life.

This story's inception was NOT the Bible. The roots of this story can be traced back as far as ancient Mesopotamia and the first known civilizations at the axis of the Tigris and Euphrates. It is one of the Six Original Stories of the World, and it's probably the best known. Because it's so effective. We all want to believe there is a savior out there. We all believe in some deep recesses of our brain that we might be that savior. Or at least help him/her along.

This trilogy does that for me. It's not so much the execution of everything--many parts could have been done better. It's not so much the manner in which it was done, though I think it was more than timely and more than appropriate. For me, it's all how it came together.

Certainly they weren't going to top the first film. It was groundbreaking. It may have been the best overall film of the 90's. I resented parts of the second film that strayed from the form of the first. But I realized that the first film only told a very, very small part of the overall story, and that keeping it there would have eventually taken the characters nowhere.

I'm very pleased with all three for those reasons. Disagree if you like.

***********************************SPOILERS DONE MOTHERF*CKERS*********************************

--Here is a dream I had last night:

I'm on a boardwalk-like area somewhere, maybe by the ocean, maybe not. There are a lot of college-aged kids around. I'm attempting to buy something to eat. My ex-girlfriend walks up to me, drunk. I try to be polite but she is being loud and obnoxious. I try to leave and she follows me around into a sporting goods store where I attempt to find a fitted Cleveland Indians cap to no avail. She comes in, still loud and obnoxious, and is so drunk that she falls over. I have to help her up. I leave the store, and she follows me out, yelling after me. She buys a beer as I try to walk away. She is drinking it and starts making out with the beer guy, then continues to follow me. There is a fast-forward (the first ever fade-out/fade-in in Geoff History), and I'm at a play. For whatever reason, I walk through the actors while they are in the middle of performing the play, up a ladder and out onto a very thin, creaky balcony outside. Trying to think of a move, as I can go almost nowhere, she walks out to face me. I wake up as I'm thinking, "She's going to stab me."

Can anyone analyze this for me? I guess my real question is, do I see a psychiatrist or a psychologist? What drugs do I need? And how much of each? If it helps, I ate celery and a cup of Blueberry Yogurt before bed.

--I have seen the Paris Hilton sex tape. I'm less impressed than I was and find her less attractive every day. That said, she does have better boobies than I would have given her credit for. I can say that. But it's all the nicer I can get.

--I'm beginning to get my insulting swagger back. I like insults. They're like the S'Mores of the Communication World, but less sugary and more hurty.


10 November 2003

I Take on One Idiot After Another

Email: GooseTownMail@yahoo.com

--At a party I attended this weekend there was a girl who claimed to be from Greece. I engaged her in conversation. This is the dialogue which transpired. Mind you, I was drunk, she all too sober:

ME: "Are you really Grecian?"
GIRL: "What?"
M: "Are you really Grecian?"
G: "What's that?"

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This is where my initial confusion set in. Slight red flag goes up.)

M: "You're from Greece?"
G: "Oh, yeah, I was born there and lived there 'til I was 10."
M: "Oh, OK. I always wanted to go to Crete, did you ever get there?"
G: "Where's that?"

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Major red flag. Crete is an island thirteen and a half miles off the coast of Greece.)

M: "What?"
G: "I've never heard of it."
M: "Well what part of Greece did you live in?"
G: "I don't know. We were seven hours from Athens."

(EDITOR'S NOTE: What the f*ck?)

M: "Seven hours?"
G: "Yeah."
M: "Greece is basically the same size as Georgia. There isn't a point on the peninsula that's more than seven hours away from another unless you're traveling by donkey."
G: "That's all I know. We were seven hours from Athens."
M: "Did you perhaps live not in Greece but in Turkey?"
G: "Um, no."
M: "You're a liar."
G: "What?"
M: "You're from Jersey, aren't you?"

That was the last I got out, as my friends extricated me form the situation. Why do people like this exist? Either you are lying about your origins or you are the definition of stupid, and I struggle to decide which is more pathetic.

--Everyone once in a while, you get word from someone that, for you, transcends time and space. Their very being inspires creativity and a deep calm in your very soul. Hearing from them in even the most simple of ways can send your heart aflutter and bring tears to your eyes. Every once in a while, this person sends you an email.

But most of the time, you just end up getting email from Ben Foltz. Such is life.

Ben writes:

>>"after perusing through some of your thoughts i thought of something that id like to hear your opinion on: the tip jars at places like smoothie king and starbucks. i dont really like to tip these people, what exactly are we tipping them for? should we taste our drink first, and if its extra good, then give them a tip? just doesnt make sense."<<

Good question. Hell no, you don't have to tip these grubbing b*stards. Now I have not frequented the establishments you mentioned, but I ran into a similar annoyance at my local Chinese restaurant. I ordered my food, came back five minutes later, paid by check card, and handed the recipt back to the woman behind the counter. She nearly took my head off.

LADY BEHIND COUNTER: "Hey, you forget tip."
ME: "What?"
LBC: "You forget tip."
M: "I didn't forget...you're not getting one."
LBC: "We work off tip."
M: "You tip your cooks?"
LBC: "No."
M: "Then who works off of tips?"
LBC: "Ownah get tip."
M: "I'm not giving you money for putting my food in a paper bag and bending over to get chopsticks."
LBC: "You leave tip."
M: "I leave store."

The nice thing was I already had my food so they couldn't slip anything toxic into it. F*ck these people. You know who else has the wrong idea? This 80 year old woman who I saw sitting outside Grand Central Station in NYC last summer. She was holding a sign reading "Vietnam Vet, Homeless, HIV positive" above a coffee can. Now let's ignore the fact that there are few, if any, 80 year old female Vietnam vets. If you want to promote yourself, do you mention that you're HIV positive? I realize you can't contract the disease from local airspace, but it doesn't make me want to come near you. How about "Twenty Year-Old f*ckbunny wearing old woman costume, horny, will blow you for $7 and McGriddle"? At least then we know you're trying.

--You might know I'd make a definitive post about my Fantasy Football domination and now I'm likely going to lose to Keith Miller, Sigma Pi Pledge Herald, UVa Chapter for the second time this season. Brett Favre better thave the g*ddamn game of his life tonight.


08 November 2003

Some Stuff on a Friggin' Cold Saturday

Email: GooseTownMail@yahoo.com

--I shall now officially link another site to the GooseTown Federation (TM), Golden Road. This is a fledgling yet important little Blog dedicated to the wonderfully complicated world of my good friend and former roommate, Craig Metz (who also goes by C-Money or, as I like to call him, Crizzle Mizzle). This site is especially important in that Craig aims to tackle critical issues facing the world and our society, whereas I am rooted in my babbling about minutiae. He is one of the smartest people I know and, were I forced at gunpoint to pick a slogan for his site, it would certainly be "Golden Road: Sometimes it's too much, sometimes you just want more."

Please leave comments and be sure to ask Craig about his Half-Price Law School Education Directive.

So, to recap, here are my Linked Associates:

1) CannedJam
2) DanWho
3) Golden Road

--Many who know me have heard me tackle this issue before in other forums, but I feel the need to bring it to the forefront here: The Erector Set Spoiler.

Remember Erector Sets? For the younger generation, no, this is not a contraption that Rafael Palmeiro uses to mount his wife...it's a mechanical toy set, not so much unlike Legos, that allows to to build various objects out of metal and screws. I never had an Erector Set, but it was a much coveted item. I wanted badly to build the dinosaur they showed on the commercial, or possibly the car. I remember a good friend of mine getting one and we built the tallest building I had ever seen at the time, a monstrosity which stodd nearly four feet tall when we were finished. The important thing about whatever you built was that no, it wasn't "pretty", but you made it yourself and it had some kind of fucntion. I was always a relatively smart kid, but standing there, looking at our magnanimous creation, not once did it ever enter my mind, "You know, someday, some assh*le somewhere is going to make a lot of money by putting this sh*t on the backs of redneck cars."

C'mon, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The "pimped-out" 1993 Nissan Stanza, Maroon with paint chips, lowered for mad good handling, phat 22's, tinted windows, coffee can exhaust system, banging bass....and an Erector Set Spoiler bolted to the top of the trunk. It's the equivalent of wearing an Armani suit to McDonald's with tin foil wrapped around your shoes for effect. It makes not an ounce of sense mechanically and even less aesthetically. True, a good amount of street racing proliferates my area (as I'm sure it does all areas where there is a heavy redneck population), but do you really think it's going to help you outrun a 1991 Mitsubishi Lancer for 200 feet outside the local Dunkin' Donuts? More importantly, how can you look at this ugly metal contraption and think, "Yes. I need to affix this to the back of my car not only because it will help provide wind shear for a faster race time, but it just looks so absolutely stunning that many, many girls will want to sleep with me. Yes, I must do this now."

I have absolutely no answer for this. I see at least twelve per day drive by my office window. It's almost like each one is taunting me. I truly believe that whoever figures out this fetish should be the one entrusted to end World Hunger and find the Holy Grail.

Along the same lines, I was at a party last night with my brother. He is twenty and all the kids his age in this area have only one interest: cars. They define each other by what car they have. Instead of describing another kid like, "He's tall and has brown hair and always wears blue," it's always, "he drives a red Z4." That's all they care about. One kid was trying to describe a girl to me, whom he said was perfect, and one of his big points for her was that, "She can drive a five speed like a guy." Holy f*cking sh*t, why didn't you say so?!? Get her over here now! I've always wanted a woman who exhibited innately masculine qualities such as being a gearhead and racing accountants on the highway. Maybe we can stay up late at night to talk about beef or why Toyota is better than Chevy or how Kevin Harvick is a p*ssy but Jeff Gordon rules. Please, write down her phone number before I lose my edge. Later in the night, the only girl who was there was shocked, dismayed, and horrified by my admission that I cannot drive stick. I never learned, I don't care to, and it's so far from being an issue to me that the light from Issue will not reach Earth for 4.2 million years. Now I don't have too much masculinity to begin with, but whatever I did have was gone from her radar in that instance.

Therefore, seeing as how this is apparently a vital skill to women, I will no longer be attracted to any female that cannot use a blender.

--I am steamrolling my Fantasy Football competition. I mean it's really getting ugly. True, I lost last weekend, but I was without my star player (Priest Holmes) and had previously been in a seven game winning streak, so something had to give. I certainly thought I had one of the best teams on draft day and now I'm sure. My buddies, at the time, scoffed at my draft. Holmes is injured. Jamal Lewis is injured. Who is Chad Johnson? Why would you trade for Brett Favre?


The best part of our league is that we have two friends, Loftus and Roland, who couldn't figure out how to draft. Roland got impossibly drunk by the third round, at one time announcing that someone had picked "Greg Maddux", and Loftus is one of those kids whose Fantasy Drafting Style is obscured by his Real World team loyalties and player affinity.

Roland got LaDanian Tomlinson and Brett Favre in the first three rounds, but the rest of his draft then becomes a mishmash of washups and journeymen. Loftus, who was far less drunk, allowed his first eight rounds to go as such:

1) Donovan McNabb; 2) Peyton Manning; 3) Jeremy Shockey; 4) Koren Robinson; 5) Brian Urlacher; 6) Ray Lewis; 7) Keith Brooking; 8) Amos Zereoue

Now looking back, picks One and Two were not so bad. No one could have known how horrendous McNabb would be, and Manning has been better than promised. But Round Three began Loftus's doom. In a league where Running Backs score a good deal points more than all other positions 75-80% of the time, you cannot afford to wait until Round Eight to draft one. Also inexplicable is the Mid-Round drafting of three consecutive defensive players. Though they are the top defensive players in the league, they almost always score fewer points than top offensive players on a week-to-week basis. The real key to the draft is the Round Three picking of Jeremy "Where the hell is that End Zone Thingy?" Shockey. Again: always good to have a friend who is Fantasy Blinded by team loyalties. A massive Giants fan, Loftus went out of his way at least a round early to nab Shockey, who is having a decent Fantasy Year but not producing at near the rate of a Tony Gonzlalez, whom I was able to grab two rounds later. The Day before Week Five Sunday, Loftus argued with me. Asking which Tight End I would rather have on my team for the duration of the season, I chose T-Gon over Shockey. Loftus wholeheartedly supported Jeremy, at one point telling me I was insane. Stats since Week Four:

Shockey: 35 rec., 380 yds, 1 TD, 1 Fum. lost, Overall Rank: 73
Gonzalez: 16 rec., 320 yds, 3 TD, 0 Fum., Overall Rank: 47

As TDs count for twelve times the amount as receptions, Gonzo is blowing Shockey away. Also note that Tony has played one less game in that timespan due to a Bye Week. Loftus and I talked about this a week or two ago. Asked if he felt the same, he said, "I stand by Shockey." Of course you do.

That's why you're 2-7. Maybe Duce Staley can pick it up for you this weekend. And you can probably still grab Dane Looker off the waiver wire!

--I will devote an entire Babble to The Matrix: Revolutions in a day or two. Suffice to say, I disagree with most of the critics and thought it was brilliant. Also took in Elf last night and laughed harder than I can remember. I highly recommend both.


05 November 2003

An Open Message to PETA...I F*cking Hate Your Organization

Email: GooseTownMail@yahoo.com

I have wanted to post about this for a while, but haven't had the time recently. Well here I go!

Do you ever get into arguments with these animal rights people? Are they some of the most insane CauseHeads in the entire world? I'm not talking about those people that want to see criminal charges brought up against people who abuse their pets--they should be locked up. I'm also not talking about the people who oppose and protest the testing of dangerous chemicals on animals so we can have a silkier feel to our shampoo--that shouldn't be allowed either. I myself find circuses to be detestable, outdated attractions that should be shut down at all costs. PETA supports all of these causes. So why do I hate them so?

PETA--The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals--has gone from being an animal-activist watchdog group to a hippie infested, political and sociogastric lobbying machine of Neo-Aesopic robots. Check out their website and look at their causes. They hide behind their noble, original intentions of animal protection to mask their real concern...spreading their "Vegans rule" propaganda. Things have gone completely out of hand. The main problem with PETA is that their organization is made up largely of idealistic young people who are so engrossed with their belief system that they feel the need to force it on everyone. And they will stop at no cost to subject our society to their cause.

Consider a few of their more prominent "causes" in the last few years:

1) A 1996 campaign that called for a boycott of the Green Bay Packers, as the name "Packers" refers to meat packing and is therefore insensitive to animals. PETA demanded they change their name to one five selected nomers, including the "Pickers".

2) Their 2000 "Beer is better than Milk" campaign, in which they argued that beer was a better overall nutritional value than dairy products.

3) A 1995 campaign in which PETA "operatives" protested and then vandalized a pharmaceutical lab that was forcibly breaking the legs of puppies and infant chimpanzees to test a new drug.

The first two of these are harmless on a social scale and can be laughed off. The Mayor of Green Bay actually held a press conference in which he laughed at PETA, for as we all know, asking Green Bay to boycott the Packers would be about as effective as asking Mariah Carey to boycott insanity. The "Beer No Milk" campaign can be seen as little more than Vegan zealots attempting to speak for the whole of society instead of just doing what is good for themselves. One might compare these PETA members to many Southern Baptists...most just want to see their cause have a voice, while the few radical members that make up the leadership and are most vocal shove their views down America's throat.

But when you look at the last cause, the objective seems justified. Who wants to see poor little puppies and chimps harmed in the name of a large pharmaceutical company? It's barbaric, intolerant, and the firm deserved what it got.

Or did they?

The fact is, the medicine being tested on the furry critters was nearing the completion of FDA approval. The procedures were medically structured, mechanical, clean breaks done only once the animal had been anesthetized. The drug being tested was (and is still, thankfully) being touted as a possible cure for Osteogenesis Imperfecta, a debilitating, crippling disease faced by thousands of newborns each year all over the world. The disease causes the skeletal structure to develop at a very weak pace, resulting in a brittle bone density that lasts throughout life. The reason the puppies and chimps were used for tests was that scientists and researchers found their bone DNA and density to be most comparable to that of human infants. This ensured that the tests would provide the most reliable data without compromising the health of any humans.

Now I ask this: though certainly no one wants to see puppies get their legs broken, if you are taking only a few puppies out of millions for the testing, is that not worth it? I think if my kid were born with such a disease, I would eschew my melancholy feelings for those puppies in favor of a possible cure. And this is the basic problem with PETA. They refuse to see the big picture.

Stick to causes that matter. If a few puppies have to be sacrificed for the human race to better itself, hey, I'm all for it. People come first in my book. What PETA did was destroy years of data and research and the lab basically had to start over from Square One.

PETA and other vergetarian/vegan groups also tend to twist science in their favor. They are notorious for paying independent scientific firms to find ANY evidence contrary to popular theories of evolution, a geohistorical food chain, or the fact that humans have carnivorous tendencies. If you try to debate them on this, they bring up "Facts" about the history of the world that can be refuted by the simplest of elementary school textbooks. Why? These people cannot fathom that anyone would want to believe something to the contrary, and moreover refuse to accept that fact. They always claim that if we really wanted to eat animals, we should go out and catch them with our bare hands. I say we've just invented a less time-consuming way to process our meat.

I recall a debate I had with one Zealot, to whom I brought up the topic of the Lab Trashing. As is the typical style of these activists, they resort to Poisoning the Well or ad absurdium logical fallacies, but this chick was absolutely off her rocker. She made a claim that I was "looking for any excuse to kill an animal". I replied by simply saying, "If faced with the roadway decision of plowing over a squirrel or running your car full-on into a tree, I hope you choose wisely."

This is her response to that reply, word for word, and I wish I were making this up:

>>"Some accidents can't be helped. I drive responsibly and at a good pace that things like that I see much ahead of when I will encounter them. I guess I can presume most dead animals hit such as deer were hit by ignorant people like you who drive fanatically. That type in so much of a rush that you endanger many people even on the road because you want to pass someone by and get to the place you are going quickly. To kill another living thing just for your impatience is so inhumane."<<

Unfortunately, this is the mental state of many of these activists, and they overshadow the people who really are trying to protect animals. Therefore, instead of actually helping to secure Rights for our nonhuman friends, they set themsleves back years.

There's really nothing we can do as part of the Sane sector of society, as these people deserve every chance and right to express their views as they see fit. Probably best to just let them vent and sit back and laugh at them with the rest of the world, but every once in a while I like to point out just how idiotic I think they are.

On that note, I shall be enjoying chicken wings for lunch today.


Random Thoughts for 05 November 2003, AM Edition

Email: GooseTownMail@yahoo.com

--Not that I was eagerly awaiting its arrival or anything, but could the new Britney Spears song be any worse? I actually manage to get angry when it comes on the radio. Why do we constantly have to wait for her to skip to soft-core porn? Is there anyone that would deny that a third-rate acting career and a Playboy spread are already ingrained in her near future? The girl can't sing and this collaboration with Madonna gets my vote for the Exxon-Valdez Man Made Disaster of the Year Award (TM).

But I'd still let her f*ck me.

--Along the same musical lines, is it possible that Lifehouse is the best band of the last twenty years? (EDITOR'S NOTE: If you have a Sarcasm Meter hanging in your office, I apologize for just blowing it off the wall.)

--Got another IM from the previously-mentioned Karyn, continuing the gymnastics debate:

>>"i agree... its just disheartening to feel that it is not a sport... because somehow not have the "sport" label seems to make it less in value"<<

Not true in the slightest. It doesn't lessen the value, it just makes it a different kind of event. Now if somehow they made gymnastics into a contest wherein you comepted against another individual flipping through an obstacle course, with the winner completing the event in the least amount of time, well....you've got a Sport there. And that I would watch. Take into account that, though a NonSport, gymnastics is more physically rigorous than just about any Sport out there. And feel fortunate that you are probably bendy. Very bendy. Actually, We should all feel fortunate for my buddy and former roommate Kyle, Karyn's boyfriend. Good show.

And mad props for using the Vocab Word "disheartening" in a sentence and spelling it correctly.

--Did anyone watch the interview on MTV between Ja Rule and Louis Farrakhan? Is there a more psychotic African-American leader besides Al Sharpton? If you are a minority, are these really the people you want speaking for you? It's the equivalent of me announcing my unwavering support for Jesse Camp.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: If Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, whom I actually like most of the time, had a child, is there any doubt he would grow up to be Don King? Any doubt?)

The whole time Ja, as I like to call him, looked very, very uncomfortable. Why? Because good 'ol Louie sat him down to discuss his escalating feud with...Fitty Cent. Fitty. Farrakhan called for the meeting because he didn't want to see--and this is a quote--"another Tupac-versus-Biggie-type agitation that would further divide the African-American community." Members of the black community, your leaders have so little faith in you that they believe a rap showdown could tear apart the ties that bind your entire social structure. Good call.

Safe to say that few African-Americans hold Farrakhan as a "leader" in their community, but I'd like to hear thoughts on the issue. He's certainly no Malcolm X or Martin Luther King. He's more like a religious Bryant Gumble, only black.

By the way, I want to get this out there: I hate Political Correctness and Hyphenated Americans. If you are black and request that you be called African-American, then fine, I'm willing to do that, but I want you to know I think it's dumb as hell. I would be beaten if I asked to be called "Irish-American" instead of "white", even though white people need just as much a distinction made of their ancestry as blacks, possibly more. I've never been a minority, so perhaps there's a much deeper issue there that I'm not seeing. But there was a guy I once knew from St. Maarten (which is in the Caribbean, for those of you not geographically inclined) who insisted on being called "African-American" even though at least as far back as seven generations, by his own admission, his family was on St. Maarten. I mean seriously, alligators and crocodiles people, let's pick our battles.

All for now, I have a big thought in the works for later today....


04 November 2003

You Know You're a Loser If....

Email: GooseTownMail@yahoo.com

--OK, OK, I'm guilty as hell, I watched a show the other night called something along the lines of "World's Craziest Wedding Videos". It was horrific, except for the weddings where people started fights. I absolutely MUST comment on one wedding, however...

The groom of this particular wedding was standing in front of the minister with his soon-to-be wife. He was clearly enthused about the whole situation, which is disturbing in and of itself, but let's skip past that. Towards the end of the ceremony, he began to whoop and holler with excitement. This is when the narrator decided to chime in, letting us know, "This groom seems a little more excited than most. Why? Well, when he kisses his new bride in a few moments, it will be the first time they've ever kissed before, anywhere ." (EDITOR'S NOTE: I added my own emphasis at the end there, but it's effective and pertinent.)

That's not a typo. These two people, who are up in front of their respective families getting married, had never even kissed before.

I'll say this first: I respect the right for everyone to approach their personal relationships in any way they want to. I respect (and this sometimes--SOMETIMES--borders on admiration) the approach of "Waiting Until Marriage (TM)" for sex if it is based on a religious conviction. I strongly disagree with that course of action, but respect in nonetheless. I can also most certainly see the point of not necessarily waiting for marriage, but waiting until you find someone you're comfortable and/or ready to sleep with. There are a lot of reasons to wait. That said...

These two people are idiots. F*cking idiots and absolute losers. I will not debate this for even one second. F*cking idiots. Absolute losers. No debate.

What possible reason could there be for this? For Christ's sake, even Jesus himself used to mouth-kiss Mary Magdeline. I honestly cannot comprehend what type of world these people live in. If it's a religious conviction, they have missed the point of whatever it is to which they prescribe. If it isn't, they are complete sheltered morons. I hope to God they never procreate, and as I type that I am visited by one of the worst mental pictures that my catastrophic mind has ever produced. God help these people. And me.

Hey, I'm as big an idiot as they come, and far be it for me to tell anyone how to live their life. Except these people. Seriously, if the two of you ever read this, please do not ever have children and stay away from other humans for your period of being on this Earth, as you can only set the race back several generations. They had less stringent dating standards in pre-9/11 Afghanistan.

--Answering an Email:

Actually this was an IM, but let's pick our battles here. This comes from my good friend Nip...er, Karyn. Confounded by my "Comments" system and unfamiliar with the rigors of email, Karyn asked me about gymnastics in the most direct fashion of communication this side of face-to-face verbalizing---->

>>"ok well i tried to e-mail you a comment on your cheerleading argument that you wrote a while back but im an idiot and couldnt figure how to do that. I agree completely with your agrument that cheerleading is not a sport for all the reasons you listed, gymnastics however is a sport. I did gymnastics all while i was growing up...you say it is a judged competition and therefore cant be a sport..but there are set rules and regulations and standards on a performance and every routine starts from a certain score (not necessarily a 10) because it has been evalutated for its worth... it is partially opinionated and partially objective. what do you think?"<<

Thanks for the IM, Karyn. Gymnastics is not a sport...it's an athletic competition. Though there may be objectives in gymnastics NOT based on subjectivity (a certain move you have to perform at some point, a standard piece of equipment that you must perform on), the end result is almost entirely based on someone's perception or your performance, not your performance itself. Think of it this way: In football, you must cross the goal line to score six points. Simple, basic, not up for interpretation. You are not awarded points based on HOW you crossed it; neither are you awarded points based on your grace or skillin crossing it. It either happens or it doesn't. Gymnastics cannot be this way inherently. True, you and another competitor may perform the same move, but who "wins" is determined by which of you a panel of judges finds did it "better". Part of the wonderful rigidity of Sports is the objectivity that sometimes allows a lesser team to prevail in a contest, because they were better able to follow the established rules.

So I hope that answers your question, as I have no idea what I just said.

--"Finding Nemo" should win an Oscar this year for something, and I don't care what. Also, I'm setting myself up for a disappointment of massive proportions tomorrow when I view "The Matrix: Revolutions". That way, if it ends up being a good movie, it'll be a monumental...eh...non...disappointment (I think I have two brain cells left and they're fighting).

--Did anyone watch "The Joe Schmo Show"? I was completely crushed to watch the recap episode, after they had told the poor guy everything was fake. I take back everything bad I ever said about the guy, which wasn't much but was there somewhat. What a decent human being. Honestly, I always liked the guy but thought he was an idiot. He reminded me a lot of my buddy Sanders, who is a sweet guy but never going to split any atoms (I can say this safely, as he's stuck in Germany in the military). He once exclaimed to two other 21 year-old males in an otherwise empty room that one of our assumptions about the WWF was "bullcrap" (and DAMN was he angry). I repeat, he was age 21. The funny thing is, every once in a while the kid busts out with a vocab word and you look around the room for Cyrano de Bergerac like, "Who the f*ck is feeding this kid lines? Did he just use the words 'solace' and 'verisimilitude' correctly in the same sentence?" This Jow Schmo guy (Matt is his name) was just like that, or so I thought. Then I find out he went to law school for a bit. Well, I take back my sentiments and wish Matt the best. After all, he made off with $100,000...and a complete distrust for all of humanity. I have the latter myself...now all I need to do is somehow get the former...

All for now...maybe more later tonight...