As I hurtle unabated towards the end of bachelorhood, it’s high time I started to think about what I want to do for my bachelor party - even though the wedding isn’t until January 2010. Probably the worst idea in the history of all mankind is to wait until the day before the wedding to have a bachelor party – worse than Napoleon marching his army into Russia at the onset of winter.
First off, I don’t really know what I want to do for the party. There, at least I got that out of the way. So any suggestions are welcome. Secondly, I’m not really supposed to have any girly stuff going on, because Jaimi finds naked ladies distasteful, or something like that. Or maybe it’s me who finds them distasteful. Wait, no. It’s probably Jaimi.
So, no visits to strip clubs or topless beaches.
What else is there?
Well, I like beer quite a bit. So that could certainly play some sort of role.
Beer, you are hereby invited to my bachelor party. You may bring your friends Gin, Vodka, and Pepto Bismol.
I also like watching sports of all sorts. And I like to rhyme some of the time. So perhaps we could go to a ballgame and follow it up with a freestyle rap competition amongst the partygoers.
What’s on the docket so far? We have a sporting event, a freestyle rap session, and beer and alcohol. Won’t we also need food to eat?
Yes, we will need food to survive this event. The question is, what kind of food is the best for a bachelor party? Steakhouse is so cliché. Mexican is too spicy for some. T.G.I. Friday’s is disgusting and depressing. Japanese is good because the fancy pants can get sushi, and everyone else can get deep fried stuff, or meat. That should please all attendees.
So, Japanese restaurant, sports, rhyme time, drinking.
Then maybe a little gun shooting, and wrap it all up with some gum chewing, tea drinking, and knitting. Or maybe needlepoint? Some other kind of arts and crafts? I don’t know.
You can tell I’m new at all of this.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
The Bachelor Party – Phase One Planning
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Maybe I Shouldn't Have Watched the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest During Lunch
It's actually a pretty exciting 10 minutes of competitive eating action. Disgusting, horrifying, hilarious, delicious all at once - pure American entertainment.
The only problem is that I got a little too caught up in the action. With 5 minutes left to go I had already eaten 3 yogurts, 6 bowls of soup, half a pineapple and the DVD remote control - without even realizing it!!
Anyway, it's a great way to celebrate America's independence from those pestering Brits.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
DO NOT BUY A MAZDA – Or, Mazda Can Go Eat a Dick
I try to avoid the “rant” posts, in which a blogger complains at length about a person or entity who he or she doesn’t like and/or is totally pissed at. But now, in a rare display of effervescent ranting, I’ve decided to rain fire upon a particular company – Mazda.
Basically, they suck. And I’m about to tell you why. But before I do – and in case you don’t read any further – please do not ever buy a Mazda vehicle. Ever. In your entire life. Even if they’re the last car company on the planet. If that’s the case, please buy a bicycle. You’ll be better off for it. Trust me.
I’ll make this quick, because I doubt you care all that much about my vehicle purchasing history. I owned a Mazda3 and traded it in for a pre-owned Mazdaspeed6. I had read a number of reviews on the Mazdaspeed 6, and determined that it was generally considered a great car, but had a few issues. One main problem was that the clutch was difficult to operate – and in fact, this is what pretty much everyone who drvoe the car seemed to agree on.
But, Mazda released a TSB, or Technical Services Bulletin that addressed the difficult to operate clutch,, and fixed the problem under warranty – sort of like a recall. With that in mind, I decided to go ahead and trade in my old Mazda for the Mazdaspeed 6, and if the clutch was in fact too difficult to use,, I could have Mazda change the clutch under warranty, according to the TSB. Many others had the same work done, and seemed to be satisfied with the results – according to the internet.
So let me skip to the juicy chase, where Mazda gets all uppity and acts like a bunch of assholes. After 6 months of owning the Mazdaspeed 6, I still can’t get used to the goddam clutch. It’s like an on/off switch. It’s like a cruel and unusual form of torture to drive this car in bumper to bumper traffic on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. The pedal is stiff and abrupt, like a Judge Judy trial. I’m fed up with it. It’s not getting any better.
So I bring the car into my dealer in order for them to do the Mazda-sponsored TSB work. The TSB states that the work should be done on any car within a certain range of VIN numbers that’s still within the factory warranty mileage range. My car fits that description.
But still, for some reason, Mazda refuses to pay for the work. They claim that my vehicle isn’t covered under the TSB. They released the TSB about a year after the affected vehicles were built (and sold) but now claim that the fix is not valid on any cars with over 12,000 miles. Don’t you normally drive about 12,000 miles in a year? The answer is yes for almost every American.
The kicker for me – well actually the two kickers, are as follows. According to the internet, numerous Mazdaspeed 6 owners have gotten the same fix paid for by Mazda far after any 12,00 mile limit. And secondly, Mazda didn’t give a flying fuck when – after they refused to pay for the fix that they originally sponsored – I told them I would simply get rid of my fucking Mazda and buy a Honda or Volkswagen because their car was too difficult to drive and they wouldn’t stand behind their own warranties.
I said, “I will get rid of my Mazda, never buy another one, and buy another company’s car.” Probably with a few “fucks” thrown in for good effect. They said, “I’m sorry you feel that way sir.”
What about, “Sir, we’re owned by Ford, which is on the verge of bankruptcy. We can’t even come close to affording the loss of any customers, much less those that manage blogs which get tens of visitors per day. We will fix the problem as we’ve done with others, and apologize for being assholes throughout this whole process.”
I’m actually being kind when I say that Mazda can eat a dick. Their customer service so clearly wishes to be dead or working for another company. Their managers and supervisors so clearly don’t give a fuck about any of their customers. They’re just in it for the paycheck and the dental benefits, and would probably jump ship to Honda or BMW in a heartbeat.
In any case, for what it’s worth my experience with Mazda has been worse than I can even describe in this blog post. I could probably go on and on, and make this rant much more effective. But at the same time, I doubt anyone would actually read the whole thing. So, I will leave you with this – Never, ever, never, never, ever buy a MAZDA. They suck shit and the company is pure unadulterated feces.
Thank you for your attention.
Monday, June 29, 2009
R.I.P. Billy Mays – Even Oxi-Clean Cannot Erase Your Memory
Overshadowed by Michael Jackson’s death, turmoil in Iran, and Bernie Madoff’s sentencing, was the tragic death of Billy Mays: internationally renowned infomercial pitchman. More than a man. More than a marketing genius. More than a skilled orator.
He was also the proud owner of the thickest, darkest beard on the planet.
I’m not sure if one of the products he sold made his beard as black as the distant depths of space. My hunch is that Mr. Mays – along with his tremendous charisma and knack for finding innovative products – was born with that beard. Or more precisely, born with the exact combination of genes that lead to incredibly thick and luxuriant facial hair.
It’s a strange coincidence that just yesterday I was watching Discovery Channel’s “Pitchmen,” about Billy Mays and fellow infomercial guru Anthony Sullivan. I spent a small portion of time learning about the new products they were trying to sell, and much more time marveling at Billy’s beard.
I’m certain, that under high magnification one could discern the individual hairs that compose the beard. But on TV, and from a distance of several feet, Billy Mays looks like a man painted with coal dust – from the blackest, purest, most carbon-rich coal this side of the Appalachians.
As I watched the show, I was unable to comprehend how light could possibly escape from such a dark, dense beard. And in fact, I think that’s the point: Light doesn’t escape from Billy Mays’s beard. It never could. And now, tragically, it never will.
I hypothesize that the light entering Billy’s beard was absorbed into his face and skull, exiting his head through his mouth, in the form of high-energy sales pitches. His beard was his strength – much like Samson’s hair, or Madonna’s cone bra.
Billy’s beard was a gift from the gods – a miracle, much like Orange-Glo, Oxi-Clean, and Mighty Putty; except much, much darker than any of those products. But could a normal man wear that beard like Billy Mays? Wouldn’t an average man get tired of trimming it every 2 hours, and just shave the whole thing off?
And that’s only part of the reason why Mr. Mays was not your average man. He was an exceptional human being, in terms of talent, intelligence, perseverance, generosity, and sheer darkness of facial hair.
So take a moment to remember Billy Mays’s life and beard. He passed on before his time was up, but he left behind a great many happy memories. If you get to crying, I highly recommend the super-absorbent Shamwow. It can absorb a gallon of spilled milk from the carpet, and still be able to dry your tears.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A Brief Treatise on the Gaper Block
I spend a lot of time in traffic. A LOT of time. I repeat. Very much time spent in traffic. And one thing that annoys me to no end is the most common form of traffic jam – the Gaper Block. Aka, the Rubbernecker. I've written about it before, and I'm sure I'll write about it again.
I’m sure you know it well, in all its varied and equally maddening forms. Its essence – at the true heart of any Gaper Block, and writhing in its deepest, darkest soul , and that which gives it life – is a bunch of stupid assholes slowing down to stare at another asshole or bunch of assholes who have somehow managed to collide into one another, and are now parked on the side of the road.
Maybe it’s raining and the roads are slick. “Oops. I’m an asshole and I don’t know how to use my brakes so I slammed into your bumper.” Maybe someone’s drunk. “Shit dude. I had like 15 beers, and I accidentally drove off the road into a ditch, after sideswiping a minivan and two Passats.”
Whatever the case may be, and whatever the spectacle, people feel the need to slow down to see what’s going on. The general public is completely helpless against this phenomenon. It’s a fact of life. It’s unavoidable.
Taking this into account, I’ve finally decided to go with the flow, instead of screaming at the top of my lungs to no one in particular when I encounter one of these jams.
Often times, the slow down is due to something really fucking stupid – like someone changing a tire, or some jerkoff who being pulled over for speeding. Big deal. I wish people wouldn’t waste their time – and mine – by slowing down for that kind of scene.
My only defense against the intense, undying rage I feel while stuck in one of these Rubberneckers is to try to view the situation as if through the eyes of an outside observer. In other words, to imagine myself above the scene, floating over the terrible traffic – and imagine that I wasn’t so fucking pissed off about missing “So You Think You Can Dance” because of this goddamn 2-hour traffic jam.
And you know what? It kinda works.
When I finally make it to the source of the actual jam, I take a good long look – just like everyone else. I slow to a crawl, and allow my eyes to gorge upon the twisted metal, the carnage, the stupid asshole with the road flare who’s trying to change a tire. And what I’ve found recently, is that often times the scene is worth slowing down for.
“Wow, how the hell did that tractor trailer make it over the barrier and up into those trees?”
“Oh man, why is that smashed up car on the back of the flatbed completely covered in mud?”
“Heavens to Betsy. I can feel the heat of that engine fire from here! And how did that hippo get into the middle of the road?!? What a mess!”
The point is, if you’re given lemonade, make lemon ice pops. They’re incredibly refreshing and delicious, after all. And don’t despair if you find yourself mired in a hopelessly miserable traffic jam. It’s like waiting in line for the greatest ride at Disney World, or for the best hamburger you’ve ever tasted. When you finally get there, savor the scene. And don’t forget to pull your new iPhone out so you can capture some sweet video footage.
Monday, June 22, 2009
iPhone 3GS Update - True Love
As you probably assumed, I haven’t put my new iPhone down since I got it on Friday. I’m truly, madly in love with it. How do I know for sure?
- I would save it from a burning building.
- I’ve bequeathed it my Great Grandfather’s name, as a middle name.
- I’m thinking of buying it a car seat.
- I frequently let it out of my pocket so it can get plenty of air.
- I don’t charge the battery for long periods of time – I’m worried that the plug may cause some discomfort.
- My fiancée is jealous as hell, and I'm afraid she may try to flush it down the toilet or boil it in a pot of water.
While we’re at it, let me hand out a particularly fresh and funky brand of kudos to Apple for shipping the iPhone on time - so that I didn’t have to even consider waiting in line with a bunch of Star Wars geeks at a physical store. Home activation was 100% seamless, and it was a cinch to transfer all the info from my old phone to the new one.
To be clear, my love for Apple is different than my love for the iPhone. It’s more of a love-at-a-distance type of feeling - like how you might feel love for Bo Obama, even though you know you’ll never get to meet him.
But the iPhone feeling, well, that’s as near as the smell of summer dew in the morning. It’s close to your heart, like your hometown, or memories of a childhood friend. It’s a leisurely drive along the coast, and a night of fireworks down at the pier. It’s your favorite food and your favorite movie. It’s all of these things.
But it’s also not at all sexual, lest you think I’m some kind of iPhone freak. That would be as unnatural as a Twinkie.
Anyway, my full review of the new iPhone is forthcoming. I’m trying to find something that I don’t like about it in order to keep my review fair and balanced.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
To the Maker of Zicam: You Son of a Bitch
Dear Mr. Zicam,
“Mr. Zicam,” if that is, in fact, your real name. You see, I don’t know what to believe anymore. Ever since I read this article, about how your product can literally kill my sense of smell.
I’ve used your namesake product – Zicam Cold Remedy Nasal Gel – for a number of years now. I’ve recommended it to my friends. I’ve bought it in bulk from Costco. I’ve tried to give it to the dog, for God’s sake.
And now I found out it could kill my sense of smell?!?!? Forever?!? And ever?!?!
Pardon my French, but what kind of fucking bullshit is that? Why don’t you just take away my sight, my hearing, and my sense of right and wrong while you’re at it?
I used to swear by your nasal gel. As soon as I felt that tingle at the back of my throat – either signaling the onset of a cold, or some type of severe seismic activity – I would spray that god-awful stuff directly into my nose. Right on in there. Like a plunger in the toilet, or a thermometer in the rectum. Completely unaware of the potential life-changing implications.
If you can’t smell, you can’t taste. If you can’t taste, you can’t enjoy life. It’s basically that simple. And your product threatened to ruin my life. I take that type of threat rather seriously.
I can recall numerous times when I recommended Zicam to those suffering from the common cold. I would say, “Oh, you’re getting a cold? Try Zicam. It will clear that cold right up. It’s a little bit of healing magic in a plastic pump. I swear by it. And if you don’t like it, I’ll give you my first-born child.”
Because of you, Mr. Zicam, I owe my first 52 children to those I recommended your stupid, piece of shit product.
I demand recompense!! In the form of your throat lozenges, or any sort of non-nasal cold remedy. May I suggest a suppository, the size of a policeman’s Mag-Lite? And you can try it out yourself first to make sure it’s safe.
Sincerely, and with no regard to your safety, just as you had no regard to my safety,
- The Mill
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
An Ode to GM's Longstanding Suckiness
(I'm thinking about setting this to music - a dirge on the demise of General Motors, and its final chapter - Chapter 11.)
O, master of industry, we thought you'd live forever.
But your management and design teams were not very clever.
It's a sad time for all of us, dear General Motors.
From your huge, flaccid corpse emanates terrible odors.
You once held such power across our great nation.
From Corvettes and Buicks, came true elation.
Cadillac was a brand with top-notch reputation.
A Chevy big-block V-8 was a marvel of creation.
Before long things soured, as often they do.
The Hondas, Toyotas, and Nissans came too.
They offered good value, and rarely broke down.
While your cars lay disabled all across town.
They guzzled gas to no end, and belched toxic emissions.
Inhaling this crap led to chronic conditions.
Our lungs and our kidneys and our pancreas too.
We hacked up black mucus, our feet swelled in our shoes.
But still, you drove on, full steam ahead.
With nary an inkling of how you had led.
And how you had lost, and how you had lied.
Japanese and German, from your grasp we were pried.
Now you're but a shell of former greatness.
Auto workers all over feel serious hate-ness,
Towards you, who drove the auto industry to shame.
As you scramble around and attempt to lay blame.
Oldsmobile was classy, but now pushing up flowers.
Only driven in Florida, at 20 miles per hour.
Pontiac built excitement, received many industry mentions.
Now I think all they build are lawnmower engines.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Swine Flu Update: A Pandemic Means Time to Party
Cool! My first pandemic. This is AWESOME!!
It’s a worldwide flu party, and everyone’s invited. Everyone, of course, except for those with compromised immune systems, or other serious pre-existing health conditions which may lead to a weakened immune system. If you came to this party, there’s a good chance you’d die. So please stay away from the party. The rest of us promise to take plenty of pictures and record video of all the action.
But if you’re a normal person, with a normal constitution, then you’re heartily invited. Leave your hospital masks at home and hop on the subway. Sidle up to that lovely lady who just sneezed all over the place. Take a drink from the same cup as that guy who just had a coughing fit. And go kiss a pig - thank the porcine playmate for carrying this wonderful virus for so many years, before it mutated enough to leap into the human population with reckless abandon.
This flu virus is here to party!! And it doesn’t discriminate. Black, white, Puerto Rican, and Haitian. Jew and gentile. Dog lover and cat lover.
It’s free, and something you can give to your friends. They’ll be thanking you for weeks. Swine flu makes a great gift:
“Happy Birthday Tom!! Here’s some swine flu for ya!!”
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Newest iPhone
When you heard the news about the next iteration of the iPhone, were you: Excited? Disappointed? Angry? Satisfied? Carefree and bra-less? In the middle of something more important, like cleaning the fuzz out of your hairdryer?
Or were you just trying to rationalize why you need to trade in your old, first-generation, stone-age iPhone in order to get a new one?
If you’re anything like me – which I hope you’re not, for my sake, as I can often be self-loathing – then you spent the hours after the new iPhone’s announcement rationalizing the upgrade. I mean come on, the new one has a compass. I NEED a compass in my cell phone. It’s about goddam time somebody crammed a compass into a phone, if you ask me.
And so, I placed an order for the compass-containing, faster-than-Hermes, smarter-than-Athena iPhone 3GS. And while we’re on the Greek gods references, can we all just admit that Steve Jobs is the Zeus of the technology world? An unseen force, firing thunderbolts of ingenuity and user-friendliness from his mountaintop palace.
Furthermore, you don’t have to camp out for 72 hours in order to get the new iPhone. You can order it online and they’ll mail it to you – or knowing Apple, they’ll figure out a way to email it to you. It’ll be delivered on June 19th, so I’ll have to wait until then to see the actual method of delivery.
Did I need to get a new phone? Does my life require downloads at 3G speeds, and 32 gigabytes of storage? Did I mention the new iPhone has a compass?
No, no, and yes. But one fantastic way to rationalize the expense is that I can probably sell my old iPhone for pretty close to what the new one costs. Apparently, the old one can be “jailbroken” which means that you can hack into the system and opne up the phone for use on any GSM cell phone network. Or, it contains a large amount of gold within its circuitry. I’m not sure.
In any case, it’s somewhat valuable to certain people on eBay. And so, on eBay it shall go. Unless one of you wants to buy it. You will get special Mill pricing and free shipping. The special pricing may be higher or lower than you’d pay elsewhere, but it will be very very special – it will be converted from US dollars into Israeli shekels, then into drachma, then into rinminbi, then back into US dollars.
Anyway, I’ll have a full review of the new iPhone when it arrives via whatever futuristic method Apple deems appropriate.
