I’m a Laoser, not a Laover

It seems that I keep offending and pissing off people with this web blog. Who knew I’d turn into such a mudslinger? Am I the Joan Rivers of Cyberspace? Us Weekly ain’t got shit on this Laoser! I always meant for the content here to be more tongue-in-cheek but I guess I don’t have the writing chops to pull that off. I don’t need anger management. Most who know me find me to be a pretty laid back guy. But you know what they say, the lighter the picture, the darker the negative.

That said, I’ve never made it a priority to hide my intolerance for people’s bullshit. I’ll bitch and criticize who or what I feel are wrong. Yes, I think Bush is an idiot. Yes, I'm baffled by the adulation commanded by Paris Hilton. Hell yes, I hope there’s some serious bad karma waiting for people like Barry Bonds. I don’t want to hear about what you deserve and I don’t want to hear excuses about what you didn’t do. Own up to some fucking responsibility. In turn, my postings are in a public forum which leaves them open to whatever criticism dished out by anyone with the time (or pain threshold). So bring it! :) The only reason I never sent out a grand announcement along the lines of "Hey look at me and my quasi-intelligent, oh so trendy blog!" was that it was never my style to do so.

Spoil Sport

It’s not so much news anymore but I keep thinking about how Barry Bonds lashed out at the media over his use of steroids. How cares, right? Another pro athlete caught cheating, let’s move on. I think I was more surprised by the disdain Bonds had over the issue. He simply didn’t care that he had cheated. His defense was that other people (particularly the media) cheat and lie and get away with it so he should be able to as well. Who ever said it was okay to cheat? Has he heard of Enron? I hope he has that same arrogant swagger when he’s limp-dicked with man boobs.

Bonds is projected to surpass Babe Ruth in all time homers this season. He has the audacity to use race as the reason he’s being targetted. That the media is trying to protect the glorious Babe’s record. At least he can’t use the same argument when he aims for Hank Aaron, but I’m sure he’ll find some other excuse. I just hope there’s an asterisk next to that big fat number that reads “but he was a fucking juicer.”

Bonds and his demeanor just shows the ill-effects of the public’s eagerness to deify athletes and celebrities. In the age of Paparazzi, they think they’re above laws and morals. Chad Pennington of the NY Jets tried to turn the blame on the media by saying it’s a privilege to be able to report on the athletes, not a right. He and Bonds have forgotten that sports are public entertainment. They are there for the viewers. They are paid an ungodly sum of money for us to watch them run around in uniforms and toss balls around. If they want privacy or the right to use steroids, go play in a community league. When they cash that multimillion dollar check, they then answer to the millions of fans who dish out the money.

As an artist and designer, I know that when I place my work in a public forum, I open it up to public discussion and criticism. Athletes lose sight of the fact that they’re along a parallel path. No, their job is not to get a ball into the hoop; their real job is to entertain.

The NHL is also screwed. The entire season is lost because the players wont accept pay cuts or the fact that teams are bankrupt because there aren’t enough fans to see (i.e. pay) the sport. All of it goes to show that the only ones really suffering are the fans. It was nice to hear that in Canada the fans are turning their attention more towards minor and little leagues without shedding too many tears for the pros.

Fuck the NHL players. Fuck Pennington. Fuck Barry Bonds.

Before and After

Oh Spiderhouse I hardly knew ye

Sure the new two-tier deck adds some needed tables and outlets and the new tiles in the bathroom are nice, but there’s something to be said about the old comic book lined walls and paint-chipped posts. And what’s this? A motion sensor towel dispenser in the bathroom?! Is nothing sacred anymore?

Let’s hear it for hate!

Once in a while I’ll get bored and click the “Next Blog” button on the top right to see what others are doing with their blogs. Yesterday I discovered this which I found amusing. There’s such dedication to the animosity towards this person’s flatmate, it’s mesmerizing and not a little bit scary. Too bad the previous posts aren’t archived. But here’s a gem:

Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Yucky phone
Last night I needed to make a phone call so I went out to the living room and grabbed the phone and went back to my room.. This phone has quickdial, so I chose the pre-programmed umber and casually raised the phone to my ear. As I brought the phone to my face I smelled raspberry jam, but it was too late, it was all over the side of my face. I don't know if the jam got there by her fingers or mouth, and to tell you the truth, I don't really want to know. But she knew about it when she got home.

Today's reason my flatmate pisses me off is that she left raspberry jam smeared on the phone which subsequently ended up on my face.

I read some comments and it’s surprising how many people side with the roommate. How people defend leaving jam on a phone is beyond me. Maybe some feel self-conscious about their bad habits, but come on, who hasn’t had a roommate that annoyed or disgusted them?

My freshman year in college, I had a roommate who, on the first day, was hanging posters in our room and was standing on my pillow with his shoes on. Who knows what sort of shit he’d stepped in before: gum, dirt, dog doo. It was a stark wake-up call from my home, where we took off shoes before going inside. I think the word ‘appalled’ comes to mind.

I remember before leaving for college that I had a fear of walking in on my future roommate peeing in our sink because he didn’t want to walk down the hall to the community bathroom. Luckily that horror was never realized, but that scenario wasn’t too far off from Omar’s roommate getting drunk and peeing all over Omar’s clothes.

But that’s in the past. I think I like my current roomie a little bit more.

The Minimum is the Message

This may be my designer-nerd coming out, but I can’t stand the fact that I have to use special key combos in Blogger to enter the appropriate apostrophe symbol (’) rather than see the frequently misused footmark (').

I see that mistake everywhere and it grates me. Eh, who am I kidding? I'm guilty of footmark laziness in this very post.

i [hate] sinuses

I can’t breathe. My eyes are watering and feel like they’re going to burst. My nasal cavities feel as if cement has solidified within them. I am seriously considering stabbing myself in the face with my pen to relieve the pressure.

Damn you, Austin. I never had allergy issues until I moved here. Now I’m sniffling and sneezing on a daily basis. I enviously look back on those carefree days of ignoring allergy medicine aisles and scoffing at those who needed to arm themselves with kleenex in class. So it goes I guess. Who doesn’t take for granted what they should appreciate? I’ve never heard anyone say “Man, my gall bladder fucking ROCKS!”

Alas, all I can do is retreat to a doctor’s office and load up on drugs. Histamines beware!

From Halo’s heart, I stab at thee

Last weekend was the demise of the Dallas house (aka Sean and Jon's, aka Jon and Mike's) so what better way to send it off in style than to gather up 15 guys and network three Xbox's in the living room and play video games until eyes are bloodshot, livers are aching and thumbs are throbbing? Is there some sort of male instinct that makes such an event so enthralling? Man used to hunt and gather, and now we hunt aliens and gather spinning ammo icons.

All this is speculative since there was a girl in the midst of all this virtual testosterone, my girl to be exact, which left me with too much shame and embarrassment to let my hands get too comfortable nestling a controller. Not that I really minded anyway. I'm not much of a gaming buff anymore and hardly miss it. Plus the small split screen TVs and the fact that the only two guys who knew how to play teamed up to slaughter everyone else made it rather unpalatable. C'mon, where's the challenge? It's like Shaq slam dunking on high school freshmen.

It's still amazing to me that a room full of single guys can so easily resist rows of bars filled with females (just a few blocks away) to play video games. I'm sure I've been guilty many times of foregoing society for a chance to get to the bonus level. But I now I wouldn't hesitate at all to spend time with my girlfriend over a night of video games or to watch football or other minor things (like much needed sleep). But hey, that's me.