Why do we always hear about the sons of bitches, but never their daughters? Is there something in the bitch DNA that prevents them from having female offspring?
Chatroulette, it seems, is a lot like life.
I usually don't do these posts back-to-back, but in the spirit of strange people doing strange, creative new things, here is another one to check out. It's the story of Josh Harris, an eccentric, relatively unknown pioneer of the internet. I could relate to this movie on a certain level thanks to my experience with blogging and sharing videos. Interesting stuff!
Why is this angry Czech mob chasing these two guys in suits? Watch this movie and find out. It's the kind of crazy shit I like!
I don't know anything about this company other than
"Charles əb"
One of my biggest fears as a blogger is that some media smear-merchant will take something I've written here out of context in order to sully my pristine reputation as an arbiter of all things decent and pure. In order to preempt these vicious attacks, I went through some previous posts and identified a few potential problem areas. The following are inferences people might draw from my blog without the proper context:
One of the things I've loved about Netflix, besides introducing me to the world of documentary film, has been the chance to watch certain TV series I missed the first time around. Last night I completed the fifth and final season of The Wire. I had heard a lot of great things about it and it pretty much exceeded my expectations. It could very well be the best episodic television I've seen. If you have Netflix and you haven't watched it yet, do yourself a favor and add it to your queue. It is some seriously good shit.
...apart from the fact that I proposed to Megan today.
I get a strange sense of pride knowing that when someone does a Google Search for "Queen Elizabeth's Butthole" the only thing that comes up is a post I did in 2008. Of all the zillions of websites out there, mine is the only one that contains those three words in that order. This is definitely going on my resume.
Not to turn this into some sort of obituary blog,
Someone on Facebook posted a link to a site called Unhappy Hipsters. It might not be as funny if you're not familiar with Dwell Magazine (Megan loves it), but I was laughing my ass off! I hope it's updated often.
I know this news is a few days old, but as some of you may have noticed, I haven't been around much lately. Actor James Mitchell who played long-time patriarch Palmer Cortlandt (a.k.a. Pete Cooney) is dead.
Now, if some of you think the idea of watching a documentary about an asshole like Mike Tyson doesn't sound all that enticing, I can't say I blame you. However, I am an equal opportunity doc-watcher -- you give me one, I'll watch it. I wouldn't say that the film changed my perception of Iron Mike, but it was certainly interesting. I also thought the editing was very well done.
also known as a
When I was growing up, we didn't eat out at restaurants very often, so when we did it was kind of a big deal. Now, I'm not sure if this is due to a Midwestern tendency to always try to be happy with what you get or whether it was specific to my family, but no matter if we were eating somewhere fancy or ordering Moons Over My Hammy at Denny's, we would always ooh and aah over each dish as the server placed them before us - no matter what. It usually went something like this:
...finishing your last Mai Tai in the Maui airport.
...I wanted to wish everyone out there in blogland
