matthearn.com

Uh oh . . . Emily sent me a survey! Guess what that means! It’s time for all of y’all to edumacate yourselves about the B.A.M.F. that is MATT HEARN. Let’s begin.

• What time do you get up?

  It varies. If I get to bed at midnight, I’m usually up around 8. If I manage to finish up all the silly crap I do in the evenings and get to bed by 10, I’m usually up by around 8. Today, for example, I stayed up until 11:30 watching the Red Sox pitchers crap all over the mound, so I was up at about 7:55.

• If you could eat lunch with one person, who would it be?

  Probably God, if He counts as a person, and since I make up the rules, I say He does. I figure somewhere between the salad and the entree, I’d just reach across the table, grab Him by the shoulders, shake Him for a few seconds, and scream “CAN WE GET SOME RESPONSE OUT OF YOU? Please? A burning bush, something, ANYTHING. Just let us know you aren’t dead. Thanks.”

• Gold or silver?

  Silver. My skin and hair coloring don’t work well with gold, and I think you have to be either really Italian or really trashy to pull off wearing a lot of gold.

• What was the last film you saw at the cinema?

  Jackass, sometime back in 1999 or 2000. I haven’t been to a movie theater since, and honestly haven’t really missed it. There’s nothing that’s been released in the last 5 years that I would be willing to pay $9 to see, although there have been countless times I’ll see a trailer and say, “Ooh, gotta go see that!” And then I just don’t.

• What is/are your favorite TV show(s)?

  Based on what I bother to snag with my DVR, I’m a fan of the Simpsons, Joey, Scrubs, Will and Grace, Futurama, and Days of Our Lives. Though technically we record the last one for Sarah. I am a huge Family Guy fan, but the DVR doesn’t bother to get those because we have every episode on DVD.

• What do you usually have for breakfast?

  If I have time, 4-6 eggs and 4-6 pieces of bacon. If I don’t have time, I try and scarf down a yogurt and some carb-free chocolate milk. If I’m hungover, I stop at McDonalds and get 8 or 9 bacon-egg-and-cheese-biscuits that I eat throughout the morning.

• Who would you hate to be stuck in a room with?

  Someone who feels very strongly that John Kerry is the right man to lead the United States, and has a book of statistics proving so.

• What is your middle name?

  Danger.

• Beach, City or Country?

  This is a toughie. Each has its merits; I love going to the beach, but the high prices and crowds tend to drive me a little insane. Also, there’s not a lot of work for UNIX Engineers at the beach, since the sand plays hell with the cooling fans. I like the city a good bit, for the culture and public transportation and easy access to Thai food, but again the high prices and crowds of people turn me off. Ideally, I’d live on a big ranch with a lot of acreage, preferably in the middle of Central Park, but with a big fence and lots of shotguns to keep joggers out.

• Favorite ice cream?

  Anything with about 8 tablespoons of Hershey’s Syrup on top of it. And no nuts, I hate nuts. Except peanuts, those are delish.

• What’s your favorite quote?

  I’m gonna go with this one that Jared said to me on instant messenger this morning:

  “Nothing is worse than being sick with an annoying phlegmy cough and letting out a big cough that launches a green ball of s*** out of your mouth and onto your leg/desk/keyboard.”

  Gross.

• Which would you prefer to buy: shoes, purses, makeup or bath products?

  Shoes. Definitely. Mainly because you didn’t list “Stereo components,” I don’t wear makeup, I don’t take baths, and the one man-purse I own is all I need, man.

  Also, I really dig shoes, and I need a couple more pairs of brown ones. Better hoof it to Rugged Wearhouse!

• Price not considered, what kind of car would you drive?

  1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS with the 454 big block. Probably something in a racy orange or red. With doilies on the seats.

• Favorite sandwich?

  Whichever one is on my plate when I sit down at the table. I’m partial to anything with a lot of roast beef or turkey or egg salad, and as long as it’s got some American cheese and a crapload of mayonnaise, I’ll eat it.

  Mmmm . . . crapload of mayonnaise.

• What characteristic(s) in people do you despise?

  Sitting in the left lane while not passing anyone. I think it should be punishable by death.

• Favorite flower?

  The little lace ones on the front of brassieres. They smell great, even if the joy is momentary ’cause the brassiere’s owner usually ruins the moment with a blast of pepper spray and a swift foot to the jumblies.

• If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?

  I think I’d like to spend a week at a resort in the Caymans. With Jude Law.

• Favorite brand of clothing?

  Old Navy. They size everything large so my 38″ waist can wear 36″ pants. I love it.

  Also they make excellent manbags.

• Where would you retire to?

  I wouldn’t want to be far from my family, but probably Texas. It’s nice there, lots of space and cattle. I love cows.

• Favorite day of the week?

  Today! Just kidding. Friday, probably, depending on whether or not I go on-call that weekend.

• What did you do for your last birthday?

  I don’t remember, which is hardly surprising. I think we probably had a party at the house, and I probably took off my pants.

• Where were you born?

  Upper Darby, PA. I think there’s a shrine to me there now. Or at least one of those blue and yellow “This famous Pennsylvanian was born here and later went on to fame and fortune as a professional Clodagh Rogers impersonator” signs.

• What’s your favorite color?

  I like blue. Do you?

• Favorite sport to watch?

  Probably football, although auto racing and baseball are equally enjoyable. I’m also partial to women’s billiards. Jeannette Lee will be my 6th wife.

• Who do you least expect to send this back to you?

  Uh . . . this question is only appropriate in an email. This is not an email. I am thusly ignoring this question. It never happened. Do you hear me? IT NEVER. HAPPENED.

• Person you expect to send it back first?

  See, what we have here, is a failure to communicate.

• What fabric detergent do you use?

  I think we go with Tide, most of the time. HW handles the laundry duties at the house. I’m in charge of making sure the DVR records Days of Our Lives and ER, changing cat litter, and downloading porn.

• Coke or Pepsi?

  For many years, I drank Coke. Even now, I prefer regular Coke to regular Pepsi. However, Diet Coke is similar in flavor to automatic transmission fluid, so most of the time nowadays I drink caffeine-free diet Pepsi.

• Are you a morning person or a night owl?

  I have an easier time staying up late than I do getting up early, so I guess night owl is the proper response. In reality I’d be happiest if I had time to sleep 10 to 12 hours per day.

• Favorite restaurant

  Whichever restaurant I happen to find myself in when the food is served. At this point in my life, I will eat just about anything, but I’m partial to good prime rib. Harry’s Savoy is a top pick for the best beef, although Sullivan’s does a pretty good Porterhouse. I haven’t been to Walter’s in a while, but I remember that as being tasty also.

• What is your shoe size?

  It depends largely on the maker, because different shoe companies have different views on width. If I can find something sufficiently wide (EE or greater), I wear about an 11-1/2, or a 12. If I have to buy a fairly narrow width I’ve been known to wear a 14.

  I probably wear a ladies 14 or 15, which is challenging to find, and expensive.

• Do you have any pets?

  Four psychotic, chain-smoking cats: Pete, Poly, JD, and Veronicat, aka The Cheat.

Don’t you feel hell of educated now?

NOTE: It has been made apparent to me that this post is difficult to follow because there are TWO Dougs involved. One is Doug Cook, who ran the half-marathon. The other is Doug Nagengast, who I know from high school. Hopefully that makes things easier to follow.

Kickin’ it Old School in Beantown, Day Three: or, George W. Bush is Personally Responsible for the National Plague Known as Erectile Dysfunction

Waking up Saturday morning was unpleasant. My mouth tasted like a hooker’s armpit, someone had installed an owl head rotation device inside the base of my skull, and there was a milky brown haze throughout Emily’s apartment, the result of hours of somniflatulence on the part of Sarah and me. There was only one thing that could save us:

Krispy Kreme donuts.

Luckily, as you’ll recall from yesterday, I had the foresight to pick up a dozen (10 glazed and 2 chocolate cake, to be specific) the evening before. So Sarah, Emily, Emily’s sister Sarah (yes, things got very confusing later on), and I scarfed down the remaining donuts and plotted out our day.

(BTW: To all of you who gave me suggestions on cool things to do and see in Boston, I feel I should apologize, because we saw and did none of them. George’s Island remains unvisited; I certainly didn’t venture near the library or the church. We did visit a lot of restaurants and bars, though, as you’ll see.)

After hosing ourselves off as best we could and making ourselves as redolent as possible, we tracked down our friend Bob, with whom we were acquainted in college, and who is now studying screenwriting at Boston University, and met him and our homegirl Lynn (at whose home we stayed Thursday night, remember? Keep up) for lunch at a bar somewhere downtown. This bar featured a $5 “burger and a Bud” special, but I decided to start with a Bloody Mary, since I had internal wounds that required the application of that holy red unguent.

After lunch we played pool and drank beer until we got hungry again and, instead of going to see the sights of Boston that I promised everyone I would investigate, went to the Green Briar, where we met high school friends Doug N. and Kristy (as well as Emily’s sister Sarah). D&K are wonderful people, but I was unprepared for their level of political interest, and found myself in the middle of a lengthy “If you, Matt Hearn, don’t vote for John Kerry, this country will founder by 2007 and thank God we’ll already have moved to Canada by then” diatribe. I think we talked politics for at least 17 straight hours.

Luckily, I had beer to comfort me.

Day Four: or, I was RUNNING!

After getting to sleep around midnight on Saturday, Sarah and I awoke at 7am Sunday morning. On purpose. Why? Because our good buddy Doug C. was running in the Boston Athletic Association Half-Marathon. At 8am. I’m not sure who’s more insane, him for running it, or us for going to watch it.

We got there a little late, around 8:15, and found ourselves at about mile #2, watching the main pack of several thousand people go by. Then we realized that, without coffee, it was likely that we would not survive to see the runners come back at around 9am. So we wandered around a bit until we found a Dunkin’ Donuts (Sarah almost wept with joy when we spotted it), got some refreshments, and came back to settle down and watch at around 8:30.

Around 8:40, the first of several extremely fast racing wheelchairs came by, its owner slapping his thumbs against the wheels to thrust himself forward. I’m told the fastest wheelchair racer finished in something like 53 minutes. Just shy of 9am, the first of the runners came by, 5 or 6 Kenyan guys in a pack. The race winner finished in just under 63 minutes, which divides out to less than 5 minutes per mile.

Doug C. came by at just after 9am, to the applause of many, and finished 38th out of 3158 finishers, with a finishing time of 1:18:02, or about 5:58 per mile. (Full results to be found heah, boss.) My one experience with competitive running was a 5K I did about 18 months ago, in which I ran 3.1 miles in 35 minutes and 36 seconds, or about 11 1/2 minutes per mile. Apparently I’m slow . . . who knew?

Doug C. didn’t really have time to chat, what with still having another 2 miles to go, so we just headed back to the car before the main group came by, and went back to Emily’s, where we rested for a while. Watching people run is almost as tiring as actually running, I tell you.

At noon, we headed to Tonic for a most excellent brunch with Bob, Kristy, and Doug N., during which I saw a baby of approximately 12 months with her ears pierced. Apparently I commented on this rather loudly and possibly drew the ire of the child’s owners. I will reserve judgment, except to note that my children will not be having anything pierced until they are 47 years of age and I am dead or senile.

After lunch, we meandered back to Emily’s apartment where we watched “Wet Hot Summer,” easily the most disturbing film I’ve seen since Furburger, but with (unfortunately) much less nudity and a lot more shots of Janeane Garofalo doing heroin. We watched a little football, and then around 6pm we decided to get on the road, since we had a 5.5 hour drive ahead of us. We stopped off to see Lynn one more time, and then got on the road. We took a slightly different route home, detouring further west around New York to avoid having to drive through the Bronx again, and made it home by around 12:45am, exhausted but happy.

The next morning I had to go to work, and I have been largely miserable ever since.

WhoooooooooEEEEEEE did we have fun in Boston this weekend! And we thank all of our friends and enemies that knew we weren’t going to be home for three days and didn’t come over to steal our stuff. That was kind of you.

Day One: or, Why New York Drivers Are Retarded Cognitively Deficient

Last Thursday, we snuck out of work at around noon and met Sarah’s mom at the Three Little Bakers’ Dinner Theatre, where we watched our friend Nora play “Lola” in Damn Yankees, which was Highly Rad and Entertaining. (I also ate the first of many high-carb products that were sucked down all weekend like wingnuts into a shopvac.) I left the theater confused over who’s giving whom “the pain,” what that has to do with the Mambo, and why anybody would feel the need to say “Erp” about any of this.

Next, we headed home to pack up Sarah’s car with the basic necessities:

• Clothing
• Camera
• Manbag
• Our fat butts

and we got on the road. It was a pretty difficult drive; the traffic wasn’t TOO horrific (since we didn’t leave until close to 6pm), but unfortunately there was a lot of construction.

I also discovered that people in the section of I-95 that runs through the Bronx have very interesting ideas about when it is proper to come to a complete stop in the left lane of a 55mph freeway. I almost got us sandwiched between a Lincoln and some kind of large van because the van was following me rather closely, and the driver of the Lincoln noticed that cars roughly 2 miles in front of him were tapping their brakes, so he decided to simply stop and get his bearings. Bad times all around, although luckily I avoided subjecting us to ghastly and visceral deaths. So I guess there’s a silver lining.

We arrived in Framingham at around midnight, entered our friend Lynn’s righteous abode, had a beer each, and then were asleep before our heads hit the pillows (which leaves a nastier bruise than one might imagine when one’s head is 6’3″ from the ground and the pillow is only the thickness of an airbed from the floor).

Day Two: or, How are your nipples doing?

We awoke the next morning, bathed, got our bearings, and immediately went to the mall.

Hey, I needed a Red Sox visor.

Unfortunately, NOBODY had one. Even “Bob’s,” which had a wing o’ Red Sox paraphernalia the size of a Pep Boys, had no visors. Roughly 300 kinds of hats in all colors, of course, but hats tend to sit on the top of my head like beanies, because my skull is large and misshapen. We tried 3 or 4 different shops, and had no luck.

So we said to hell with that joint and headed into Beantown. We hit a little traffic at a toll, because apparently EZ-Pass is a relatively new thing up there. I swear, for every car that had EZ-Pass, there were roughly 400 that did not, all clogging up the coin lanes. They were so far backed up that even those of us that wanted to simply speed through the express lanes couldn’t GET to them.

This is a far cry from home, where the number of people who actually have to pay change at tolls is fairly low, roughly the same as the number of people that can’t figure out how to use the self-checkout lanes at grocery stores. (And it should be known that I hate all of you, because you caused Kmart to actually GET RID of their self-checkout lines because they discovered that roughly 50% of their customers had the mental capacity of a plate of deep-fried sheep testicles, and it was costing them more to keep employees standing around to help morons with the touch-sensitive screens than it was to simply have staffed checkout lines. Not that I’m bitter.)

We got into Brighton with relative ease, even found a free parking spot on the street Emily suggested we use, and found a most excellent Thai restaurant where we got lunch specials and drank a bottle of Beringer white zinfandel. It was pretty good, albeit very sweet; it was kind of like high class Thunderbird, if you can imagine. The food was excellent as well; I had sesame beef and scarfed it down. (See also: wingnuts vs. shopvac.)

Then we hopped on the T to ride down to Fenway Park. I’m all about the T. It was easy to use, reasonably fast (it took about 25 minutes to get downtown, and it probably would’ve taken us that long to drive there, plus another 20 minutes to find a spot, plus we would have been paying something like $847 to park downtown, plus one of us would have had to remain sober so we could get back home, so spending $1.25 apiece on the T was an absolute bargain), and the friendly driver was able to explain to us out-of-town yokels how to stick our money in the machine.

The only real downside to it is that every time someone mentioned “the T” I thought of the transvestite in “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” who also had something s/he referred to as “My T.” (If you’re not getting my drift, let’s just say that his/her “T” was usually tucked in a very uncomfortable place.) There was a lot of involuntary shuddering at train stops this weekend.

Once we got down towards Fenway, we quickly found a Store 24 so I could buy a disposable camera, since I forgot to get the digital out of the car, and also because I knew I couldn’t come to Boston and not visit a Store 24. We also found some street vendors who sold me a sexy blue visor with a big red B on the front, and found some vintage looking hat for Hearnwife. I got some wild pictures of the outside of Fenway park that I hope to get developed this week and get posted. (I did later get some shots with the digital camera, mostly of the Boston Half Marathon, which I will cover tomorrow.)

Emily told us we should just head over to a bar nearby and watch the game from there, and she would meet us there after she got out of work. So we went into Jillian’s, where we drank the first of several dozen beers, and met a very nice fellow named Leo who

• informed us that he was turning 40 the following weekend,
• had a penchant for needling people,
• seemed to have a fun level of extreme violence simmering somewhere below the surface,
• became pathologically interested in the fact that a woman at a nearby table was wearing braces, and eventually went over to talk to her and got shot down like a WWII Messerschmitt, and,
• when Emily finally arrived, asked her without preamble: “So how are your nipples?” and then collapsed in a fit of raucous laughter.

We found him highly entertaining, and we all bought drinks for each other for several hours, until Leo finally left around the 7th inning. Luckily, we only had to go without entertainment for an inning or so, until two random fellows showed up who were EXTREMELY amused to meet people from Delaware. They had a lengthy argument about whether or not there were towns in Massachusetts named “Delaware” and, inexplicably, “Florida.” One of them was named Ryan, that’s about all I remember of them.

Sarah and I also took the opportunity to call Brian from the bar and make him put his son on the phone so that we could wish him a happy birthday. He told Sarah he loved her, so she got a little teary for a while. (As I recall, he had no interest in talking to me. Hardly surprising. I’m scary.)

The game itself was WILD. After Mike Timlin let the A’s tie it up, the mood in the bar changed DRASTICALLY, but it wasn’t like what would have happened in a Philadelphia bar. It was odd. In Philly, the fans would have simply started ordering drinks and just pretended the game wasn’t happening at all. In Boston, the fans were still riveted to the TV, albeit with the feeling of universal gloom that Red Sox fans know well. Truly bizarre.

After Ortiz hit the walk-off winner, everybody went nuts. Luckily, there wasn’t a riot in the streets or anything; everybody was just really happy. Drunk, but not violent drunk. It ruled.

We headed over to Legal Seafood, where we were informed there would be a 40 minute wait, so I went ahead and bought a dozen Krispy Kremes and looked over the new games at an Electronics Boutique. We actually got seated in under 15 minutes. I then polished off a lobster and a plate of clams and mussels, along with a portion of a bottle of wine.

I think we ate most of the Krispy Kremes on the T back to Emily’s apartment. Tomorrow: the startling conclusion! (Days three and four. There’s not actually anything startling, really, unless you consider 3-12 hours of liberal politics startling.)

Daniel Stoddard has alerted me to this:
Jack Chick’s New Movie! And I can’t really imagine anything that would excite me more. Let’s take a look!

Have you ever read a Chick tract?

I sure have, and I wanted to talk to Jack about this. The phrase “Chick Tract” makes me think of the gastrointestinal properties of pigeons. Jack, any chance you could go with a different name? “Chick Pamphet?” “The Gospel According to Chick?” Just about anything would be an improvement here. (If you HAVEN’T actually read a Chick Tract, here’s a good one with which to start.)

If so, you know that God has enabled Jack Chick to present the gospel in a way people can’t resist. In this brand new film, The Light of The World, Jack Chick uses that God-given ability to deliver the gospel in an even more compelling and dramatic format.

More compelling and dramatic than a Chick Tract? I’m not sure I could keep from pooping my pants!

Ways you can use this film:

• Show it at Bible studies or cell groups, looking up the Scriptures as you go.

Cell groups? Huh? Is Christianity now a terrorist organization? I must have missed a memo.

• Invite friends and neighbors to watch it in your home.

“Hey Steve, wanna go to the Eagles game with me on Sunday? My dad had to back out due to contracting tuberculosis.”

“No way, dude! I’m spending Sunday afternoon at the Hearns watching the Jack Chick video again! Say, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Personal Saviour^TM?”

• Give a copy as a gift to friends or relatives who need Jesus.

“Okay sweetie, I know how much you wanted that pearl necklace we saw at Walmart, but you’re going to LOVE this instead!”

In a day when many Christians are producing watered-down, politically-correct films,

Yeah, “The Passion of the Christ” was rather dull and uneventful.

The Light of the World provides exactly what you would expect from Jack Chick-a straightforward, biblically accurate, no-punches-pulled presentation of the gospel with a compelling salvation appeal.

Compelling. Salvation. Appeal. Man, that might be just a marketing gimmick, but I am frickin’ SOLD.

Know any unsaved people who watch TV?

Man, who doesn’t? I sit in front of the tube, watching Beavis and Butthead, and I’m definitely wondering: there’s got to be someone out there like me! How can I reach him and make him accept Jesus Christ as his Personal Saviour^TM?

Many who have seen advanced screenings of this film have been moved to tears.

Yes, just like “Ishtar!”

You can almost feel the crackling flames of hell as you watch!

That’s all I needed to hear. When I’m watching a religious video (which happens ALL THE TIME at Hearndom II), I definitely want to feel like I’m creme brulée.

In short, people, Hearn needs a copy of this video, and he needs it NOW. I wonder if Chick would let me use my DVD burner to just make a bunch of copies of the video to share with everyone I know! I mean, I just want to make sure everybody I know accepts Jesus Christ as his or her Personal Savior^TM! That’s got to trump international copyright law, right?

So I’m driving in to the office today, flipping through the radio stations, and as I flipped past WYSP I hear Howard Stern yell “Goddamn Clear Channel!” I didn’t bother to stop and hear what he was whining about, but it got me to thinking how much I really hate Howard Stern.

I mean, completely aside from the blasphemy (which bothers me more and more as I age, to the point now where when I catch myself saying “GODDAMN IT!,” which happens roughly every 14 minutes, I usually then apologize to some unseen being), Stern is simply unfunny, boring, and completely uninteresting. I’m fully in favor of freedom of speech, but Howard is simply reflecting some of the worst things that humanity has to offer. I guess I’m just not sure how he sleeps at night knowing that he’s justifying the horrible behavior of the lowest grade of America.

On the OTHER hand, people around the world seem to be taken in by him as well, to the point that the citizens of other countries apparently think that most, if not all, Americans are like him. Which amuses me to no end, because there’s nothing I like better than being underestimated. I’m not being sarcastic; I can’t imagine anything I enjoy more than the look on a person’s face when he thinks you’re dumb or untalented and you prove him wrong.

But to get back on track: does Howard Stern have any really redeeming value? I can’t see it. He only has two subjects that he seems to bring up constantly: women, and how to get them naked, and why Clear Channel and the FCC are causing him great personal anxiety. Not exactly NPR-quality material, there.

Also, it troubles me that he’s as old as he is, and he continues to get women to show up on his show and take off their clothes. I’m not jealous; it just skeeves me to hear someone in his 40s or 50s saying things like, “Oooh…yeah, go ahead and take that off. Wow, you do have magnificent breasts. Robin, aren’t her breasts great? Mmmm…” It’s like watching your father snort cocaine off a stripper.

Plus, I don’t see the point in discussing breasts that I can’t see. If they’d just stop blurring out the fun parts of his late night TV show, I might be more interested.

OOH! OOH! Further UPDATE on the whole Manbag Situation: So I went to Old Navy yesterday to get a nice black stylish fall jacket (which I found, incidentally, and bought me one for $58) and some pants (I got a nice pair of light brown bootcut corduroys) and I happened to find (along with some shirts) a really cool canvas messenger bag on sale for $9.99! It’s a little big, but I think anything smaller would clearly be a “manpurse” instead of a “manbag,” and would probably get me a “manbeating” on the streets of Boston this weekend.

I have to find some things to put in it, though. At the moment all it has in it is my cellphone, sunglasses, and lunch. What do chicks put in purses? I don’t really need to put makeup in there (though it does make me look pretty, I get funny looks from my coworkers), and I have no current need to carry tampons. Perhaps I could throw a book in there, and randomly pull it out to show people how intellectual I am. I’ll have to get some dorky reading glasses, though, and if I added dorky reading glasses to my current outfit people will think I’m a particularly tall lesbian. Can’t have that.

So I hear that Microsoft has released a new Service Pack for Windows XP. I imagine I should probably get around to installing it on the new computer that’s purring away in my Unnamed-Room-That-Used-To-Have-The-TV-In-It, but I hesitate to do so, for the simple reason that ever since the last time I ran Windows Update on my work-issued laptop, it takes roughly 17 minutes to open Internet Explorer for the first time. And that interferes with my ability to read Achewood, which is really the only thing I do at work other than fail to update this website regularly.

Has anybody out there installed the latest Service Pack? I’d love to have your feelings on it. After installation, have you noticed any of the following symptoms:

• Slow processing speeds?
• Inability to read amusing cartoons featuring stuffed animals?
• Shortness of breath?
• Inability to download “BangBus” videos?
• A not so fresh feeling in, you know, “The Area?”
• Eyeball lacerations?

Please leave comments below regarding the above.

In other news, HW and I are going to Boston for a long weekend! I’m looking for suggestions of cool things to do while we’re there. My parents said something about going to the Boston Public Library, but at the mention of the word “architecture” my eyes kinda glazed over and my forehead landed in warm quesadillas.

Beantown native Rod suggested I check out George’s Island and try to get it on in one of the prison cells – I mean, look for ghosts. The only things I really have planned is that at some point, we will be finding a bar to watch the Red Sox play the Oakland As whilst surrounded with the Fenway Faithful, and on Sunday morning we’re gonna get up at the buttcrack of dawn to go watch my buddy Doug run in the Boston Athletic Association Half-Marathon to benefit some kind of hiv.

Leave suggestions in the comments, along with the XP Service Pack stuff, and I’ll try and sort all that stuff out. I expect to be able to post something amusing tomorrow, and MAYBE something over the weekend, but with any luck I’ll have PLENTY of truly disturbing pictures taken on the trip that I’ll post early next week.

I have received a note. It does not, unfortunately, read, “Bubba has big titties.” (That’s an inside joke that 3 of my readers will get. Maybe.) Instead, it actually reads:

Now, one would think that “catching typos on the front of official mailings” would be rather important to the Republican Party of Delaware, but apparently not. I considered contacting them to discuss the possibility of hiring me (at significant cost, obviously) to proofread everything they send out, but

1. the last thing I need is my liberal hippie friends finding out I’m working for the Republican Party,
2. Republicans, despite being the party of the wealthy, are notorious tight with a dime, and
3. I was afraid the phone conversation would go something like this:
   Them: Republican Party of Delaware, how can I help you help us help Bush?

   Me: Greetings! I wanted to make you aware that there is a significant typo on the front of the mailing I have received from you.

   Them: Oops. Um…our, uh, bad. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you might send us some money anyway?

   Me: Har! No, I wanted to propose to you that you hire me to proofread all of your future mailings. For the low, low price of $100,000, you will get the leading [amateur] linguistic expert in New Castle, Delaware!

   Them: Uh…Kerry has horrific hair.

   Me: Yes, it’s rather pouffy, isn’t it? But that’s neither here nor there. Can we meet and work out an agreement in which you will give me a lot of money?

   Them: Uh…Kerry has prostate cancer!

   So you can see we wouldn’t really get anywhere.

So in the end, I simply decided to post the image online and make fun of it, to the entertainment of all. You are entertained, right? Oh. Dammit.

Okay, I had another kooky dream. This one was a DREAM WITHIN A DREAM, if you can imagine. It was like one of those where you keep waking up, and keep waking up, but you’re never really awake. Truly bizarre.

Anyway, in this one, the dream within a dream was that I was auditioning for yet another production of Brigadoon. Why, I can’t say. You’d think I’d’ve had enough of it, but my subconscious is a wily bastard. Anyway, the audition dream ended as I “woke up,” and said to my wife, “Hey, I need to find out when the Brigadoon auditions are so I can go do that!” (I should mention at this point that I “woke up” in Sarah’s car, in a Goodwill parking lot.) Then I realize, Oops, it’s Thursday! And auditions were on Wednesday! Oh well, I’ll call the director and see if arrangements can be made.

At which point Sarah and I ran into the music director, whose name escapes me, and asked her about it. She revealed that it was in fact FRIDAY, not Thursday, auditions were 2 days ago, the cast was already set, and rehearsals were starting that very evening. Damn.

So I decided it might be fun to call the director, who I spontaneously realized was a guy I had known from college who at one point was kicked out of school for something involving him punching a police officer. (I hesitate to repeat his name, in case there’s, you know, an active investigation into the matter.) I didn’t have his number, but Sarah called him on her cell phone, listened for a moment, and then hung up. I asked,

“Did you reach him? What happened?”

“I’m not sure. Someone answered the phone on the other end . . . it sounded like they were being beat up,” she replied.

Then a short black guy who was remarkably similar to “Ezal” from “Friday” (played by the inimitable Anthony Johnson) appeared and asked us where we got the large number of church-style folding tables we were standing near.

“Um . . . well, they aren’t ours.”

“Do you know,” asked Ezal, “if anybody’s comin’ to get ’em?”

“No idea, dude. I’d say they’re all yours.”

Then I awoke.

Analysis, please. I think it indicates that I’m very, very sick.

In the vein of yesterday’s political-type column, go take the World’s Smallest Political Quiz and post your results! I scored rather highly Libertarian, although admittedly the test left out certain things like foreign policy and environmental policy, areas where the Libertarian party and I tend to, um, differ. Check check it OOOOOUUUUUTTTTTT.

And thanks to Brian “D-Train” Dellinger for the idea. He is a rad man.

Oh, and: Update on Hearn’s Manbag Dilemma: I’ve decided a better solution is to simply wear sport coats wherever I go! I need to develop a collection of stylish jackets and thereby have many extra pockets for my wallet, my phone, my sunglasses, a coupla packs of condoms for when I go to Woody’s . . . I mean . . . um . . . nevermind.

At my company, in order to track how many hours we spend working on various projects for various clients, we have a phone system that we use to enter our hours. (Yes, you heard right: one of the largest computer companies in the world still uses a phone system to enter time sheets. Sad, really.) This is not terribly significant information except for the following interesting fact: we have signs here at work, with the official company logo and EVERYTHING, that read in large, block letters:

Do the right thing.
Enter your time daily.

“Do the right thing?” It’s as if they want to us to think that failing to enter our time every afternoon is similar to stealing server components or stabbing our coworkers with pens we swiped from the stationery closet while the secretary’s back was turned.

It’s just odd, is all I’m saying.

In other news, our two mainstream Presidential candidates are going to argue on national TV on Thursday night, likely making it impossible for me to get my weekly dose of Joey, Willngrace, and URR! My enthusiasm is absolutely without bound. Okay, all sarcasm aside, is there anybody out there who cares less than I do? I mean, seriously. How can anybody in good conscience vote for either of these two idiots? A guy I know is thinking of getting a bumper sticker that says “Accept Kerry,” which drive me nuts because

1. I’d like to vote for a candidate that has more to offer than simply “I’m not that guy you hate,” and
2. Personally, I think Bush is a better candidate than Kerry, his 17th century views on homosexuality and religion notwithstanding.

Another guy I know mentioned the other day that he found it strange that people can simply vote “the party line,” i.e., entirely Democrat or entirely Republican. This same guy is going to vote for Kerry simply because he despises W. I find it FAR more disconcerting that people are willing to vote for a guy simply because he’s the lesser of two perceived evils, despite the fact that I wouldn’t trust him with running an Arby’s.

I have 3 words for everyone:

THIRD. PARTY. CANDIDATE.

How the hell is anything going to change in this country if everybody continually votes for one of two guys who are so similar that I think they share toothbrushes? Voting for third party candidates isn’t “throwing your vote away,” any more than voting for any other losing candidate is. The more that we as a nation vote for people who we actually think would make good presidents, the more the major political parties will have to sit up and take notice.

Also: DOWN WITH BIG GOVERNMENT! Libertarian party++!