How is Steve Jobs going to convince me to buy an iPad? I know it’s going to happen, but how the hell is he going to do it? I can’t quite figure it out just yet.
It’s as if I committed a robbery, and I forgot to get the surveillance tape. I know the cops are looking at it, and they’ll be able to track me down quickly because of my unusual gait and distinctive style of dress - just ask around town. It’s only a question of when they’ll find me.
And so I wait for the knock on the door, “Mr. Mill, please open up. It’s the police. As soon as you open the door we will taser you regardless of whether you resist us. We will also most likely sodomize you with a baton.”
So I sit on the sofa and wait for my door to be busted down, and my ass to be tasered and/or batoned.
In many ways, this is what I’m waiting for Steve Jobs and the Apple Gestapo to do. Except they’ll be gentler. But also much more expensive.
“You have the right to remain silent. You also have the right to pay for your new iPad with Visa, Mastercard, or American Express. Hell, we even accept Discover!!”
So it’s going to happen. It’s only a matter of time. But let’s be honest: the thing looks like a giant, joke iPhone. Now, I think giant, joke everyday items are as hilarious as all get-out, but would I spend upwards of $600 to get one? Maybe for a giant, joke gold watch, or a giant, joke plasma TV. But do I really need a giant, joke cell phone in order to check my email and download movies, music, and eBooks?
The answer, of course, is yes. The logic, however, is not so patently obvious.
Why do I need the iPad? Maybe it will repel unsavory women, now that I’m married. Perhaps it will keep me from being bored, and thus prevent me from drunk eBaying.
Steve Jobs says it’s the best way to surf the internet, and when you watch movies or TV shows (downloaded only from iTunes, of course) it’s like sticking an HDTV right in your stupid Apple-loving face.
This all sounds great to me, and I’m already much closer to being convinced. My wallet’s out. It’s on the table. I can see one of several valid credit cards from here. If only it was 60 days from now, I’d actually be able to buy one.
Does the iPad also feature a Time Machine function? If so, I’ll buy one last week.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The iPad - When and Why Will I Get One?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Hawaii Honeymoon Review Part 1: A Visit to the Volcano
Our rental jeep. Operative word being "rental." Perfect for trying to drive through blindingly-hot lava.Sure, Hawaii is a beautiful place. Lush, tropical forests greener than the greenest country club golf course. Crystal clear waters, teeming with ocean life – and just a little bit of medical waste here and there. Soaring mountains and majestic canyons.
Going into it, we knew we’d see some pretty cool nature-type shit. And we did.
But we also expected one of the highlights would be our visit to Kilauea on the Big Island Hawaii – perhaps the most active volcano on the planet. Maybe the most active in the whole goddamn galaxy. It’s basically been continuously erupting since 1983.
Seriously. It’s crazy.
That mountain belches millions and millions of tons of red-hot lava every year. I wanted to see that lava up close. Witness the miracle of birth – of new rock, fresh from Mother Earth’s blazing hot uterus – firsthand. Feel the heat on my face, and the crunch of freshly cooled magma under my boot heel.
Also, I wanted to see if I could dip my pinky in there for just a second. Come on – how hot could it really be? And I bet it tastes like cherry Jolly Ranchers. Or maybe cinnamon Bubble Tape.
Well guess what? We get to the stupid volcano only to learn that the stupid lava stopped flowing the day before.
We did get to take a great hike across the Kilauea Iki crater, and traipse across some months old lava on the southeastern edge of the island. But nothing even remotely red-hot and flowing was anywhere to be found.
Gazing across the moonscape of Kilauea Iki crater. Kinda looks like a huge, shitty, abandoned parking lot.
Lava shelf on southeastern edge of the island. Danger: 85-degree, year-old lava ahead, below, and all around.Across five-thousand miles, and through five time zones we traveled. All we wanted was a little live lava action. And what do we get? Zilch.
The fire goddess Pele is a stupid bitch. No offense to any Hawaiian polytheists out there. It’s just that I’m disappointed we didn’t see any lava.
And Pele, if you’re reading this post (not sure fire goddesses can even read), hopefully it will anger you enough to put on a nice lava show for the current tourists.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
A Revelation on Traffic
I’ve always marveled at the magic of New York City traffic. It’s mysterious, unexplainable, and infuriating.
I should know. I spend at least 2-3 hours each day in the thick of it.
Every time I try to shed light on its secrets, a new twist emerges. When I least expect it – wide open highway. At 2am on a Tuesday – bumper to bumper gridlock.
Traffic knows not reason nor logic. Traffic knows not what it does to me.
Traffic, why dost thou mock me? Why hath thou repeatedly bitch-slappethed me?
Something else I’ve consciously noticed just this week, but had subconsciously occurred to me long ago: Invariably, whenever it’s clear sailing most of the way home, and it looks like I’ll be back in record time, I hit the worst traffic I’ve ever seen. Sometimes an hour to travel the last 5 miles of my commute.
Fucking BQE.
But there’s really only one explanation. And it ties in directly with an upcoming event, on February 2nd of this year. No, I’m not referring to my friend Alex’s birthday, although I wish him the best for his big 3-4.
I’m referring to the season premiere of “Lost.” And it’s taken until now - the show’s final season - for me to piece the puzzle together.
It’s all about me. It’s all about traffic.
The Island won’t let me get home in less than one hour and twenty minutes.
Monday, January 18, 2010
I'm Back From the Honeymoon!!!
Back from the Honeymoon, with a whole lot to write about. Here are just a few things you can expect to hear about during the upcoming days and weeks:
1) I have observations from Hawaii - our honeymoon destination. It’s the most remote island chain in the world. Yet, you can easily find Costco, Burger King, and Macaroni Grill. But Hawaii is so much more than strip malls in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. More to follow on this.
2) Wedding facts and figures – it all went off without a hitch. I can tell it actually happened because I got some kind of metal circle around my finger now. The damn thing won’t come off, no matter how hard I try. I’ve used soap, butter, and lasers – but to no avail.
3) Sports scores and predictions – the Eagles will NOT win the Super Bowl this year.
4) Recipes and fashion tips. I learned a lot from my wife over the past 2 weeks - being that we pretty much didn’t interact with anyone else during that time. Like how to crochet, and which shoe designers are the hottest this season.
5) What it’s like to be married!!! It’s pretty cool so far. I own her, and I’m waiting for the dowry to arrive by freight train – 40 head of sheep, 2 dozen goats, and 500 cubits of papyrus
Monday, December 28, 2009
Arlen and Brett Go Jeans Shopping
(Here's a little story I wrote about a couple of honest-to-goodness American heroes - Brett Favre and Arlen Specter. It's purely speculation, but who knows? The two of them could some day be best friends.)
Arlen needed new jeans. His wife was a real pain in the ass to shop with. Who else was there? Maybe Joe? He did live nearby. But a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him like hot bus exhaust - the mere thought of spending an afternoon with Joe. The constant effort on Arlen's part to appear even slightly interested. The endless, rambling, inane monologues. The incessant nose picking. The butt slaps. The unnecessary high-fives. No, it couldn't be Joe.
Arlen flipped through his Rolodex, now almost as thin as the fine wisps of hair that still lived on his head. After Biden there was Clinton. He immediately flipped to the next card. The Rolodex went right from C to F, without stopping for a Durbin or an Edwards. Upon seeing the next name, Arlen cracked his first smile of the day. This could work, he thought. This could be fun. It was almost two in the afternoon.
And so it was that Arlen's people spoke to Brett's people, and arranged a little play date between two real American heroes.
It made a heck of a lot of sense, thought Arlen. After all, they had so much in common: a singularly understated fashion sense (comfortable, good value, American-made), legions of adoring fans, and - from first glance - they had maintained virtually the same waistline since college. Brett probably just thought it would be cool to hang out with a "real-life, living, honest-to-real Washington senator."
Arlen was especially proud of his figure. His jowls had always betrayed his rock-hard abs and coconut-cracking thighs. It was frustrating to admit, but one of his life's great lessons was that no amount of time on the Stairmaster could get rid of those jowls. He repeatedly mentioned this to his grandkids - not to scare them, but rather, to teach them the importance of using facial-firming creams from a young age.
It was no secret that Arlen had been through a recent rough spell - an identity crisis of sorts - and desperately needed a pick-me-up. It had been nearly 16 years since he had purchased a new pair of blue jeans, and apparently, that’s what Democrats wear on the weekends. And what better way to soothe the soul of a lifelong politician than a trip to the mall, to bear witness to the engine of America's economy in action - the middle-class, credit-card-wielding consumer. It would afford him the chance to mingle with these commoners for a short time. To allow their rough hands to press against his soft, politico palms for a fleeting moment. To let their eyes linger on his famous jowls - his center of strength, his rock, his redeemer. Think Samson's hair, except instead of hair, they were made of loose skin.
Also, there was a big denim sale at J.C. Penney, and Arlen had a coupon for an additional 15% off.
Brett, on the other hand, had plenty of jeans. He had received a lifetime supply of Wranglers as the majority portion of his endorsement deal. In exchange for his proclaiming them the "Official Jeans of Brett Favre," the former NFL MVP had literally received an 18-wheeler full of his favorite styles. For many, many years, he exclusively wore the straight leg boot-cut, but had since moved on to a slim fit – the better to accentuate his “Mississippi Dumptruck,” as he liked to call it.
Arlen had no dumptruck to speak of – Pennsylvania, or otherwise. And, at least in his own mind, he was not the kind of guy to show off that kind of thing anyway. He was more concerned with healthcare reform and the war in Afghanistan. A five-term Senator has greater things to worry about than the seat of his pants, even though he spent much of the last year and a half trying to protect it.
As Arlen's limo pulled into the mall's passenger drop-off zone, he saw an interracial couple eating ice cream. He suddenly remembered it was time to send his daily text message to Obama. Give him a little reminder whose side he was on now.
“Barry, just a little shout out to remind you I still like abortion. Give Bo a kiss and a belly rub for me. Catch ya later – Specs.”
Arlen let out an audible sigh as he hit the send button. You gotta do what you gotta do, he thought.
The schedule was simple. They would meet at J.C. Penney at 4pm to check out the denim super sale. After that, who knows? Arlen planned to try on ten pairs of jeans, and purchase five - regardless of whether they fit. That was his game plan, and he was sticking to it. No one would accuse him of waffling on this day.
When Arlen arrived, Brett was already signing autographs. He approached the world-class athlete with outstretched hand, slightly damp, and a genuine smile on his face. Brett looked up, just as he was about to gingerly sign an infant's forehead. The grin was now mutual. He returned the baby and the pen to the starstruck parents, and grasped Arlen's hand warmly. Brett's handshake said "how's it goin'," "good to see you," and "I won three consecutive MVP awards," all at once. Arlen swooned as much as his 79 year-old knees would let him. He didn't expect to feel this way. Why did he now sense such a powerful connection to this man? This Minnesota Viking who had once been a Packer. It was all so mysterious and wonderful.
Brett led the way to the men's denim section, and quickly yet confidently picked out an armful of slim fits and bootcuts - without even asking for a size. He handed them to Arlen and went back to the racks to continue his search. For a spokesman and celebrity, Brett was remarkably quiet. Truly a man of action if there ever was one. Without words, the All-Pro quarterback conveyed the message, "I'm an expert when it comes to men's jeans."
Arlen knew he had stopped on the right Rolodex card. Furthermore, Brett would probably get incredible friends and family discounts on any Wrangler products. These jeans will be virtually free, thought Arlen. And it's all thanks to Brett.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Don't Worry, I'm Still Alive Dear Readers
Yeah, so maybe I haven't written in quite a while. Well, let me tell you something - I didn't get one goddamn complaint about my lack of motivation. Not a single word, uttered or typed, from any of my fan and/or fans.
This proves one thing, and one thing only. You were too upset, too distraught to say anything at all. Visiting this blog every day, and not seeing any new posts must wear on a human - much like expecting a treat only to realize that there's nothing in your master's hand must wear on a dog.
That's the kind of thing that can drive a dog to madness. And the same must be true of blog readers. Especially my reader and/or readers.
So please don't go totally mental. I'm still around. Still alive. Still rocking and rolling like a teenager who just found his parents huge secret stash of cocaine and heroin.
In other words, I'm ready to take that proverbial stash and alert the authorities. Even though they're my parents, they shouldn't have anything to do with illegal drugs. Drugs can kill. Especially if someone hits you over the head with a big bag of drugs and then runs you over with their car. That shit will kill you.
I have lots of cool stuff to write about in the near future. I'm getting married in less than 2 weeks for God's sake!! That's worth at least acouple of posts. I need to tell you all about the ceremony, and the flower arrangements, and the bridesmaid dresses. You need to hear about the passed hors' douvres, and the hot and cold appetizers. You must learn about the tablecloths - they will be ivory, not simply white!
Anyway, I'll try to be better about writing. Sorry for the lengthy radio silence.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Pigs Allegedly Smarter Than They Look
A recent article in the New York Times describes some recent experiments that show pig intelligence may be greater than we had ever imagined. According to the article, pigs may be as smart as monkeys and dolphins.
The only problem for pigs – and it’s a very serious one – is that they are FAR more delicious than monkeys or dolphins.
Now, to be fair, I’ve never eaten monkey or dolphin, and I’m not interested in trying. Monkeys look a little too much like people. Dolphins are basically swimming dogs. I would feel pretty bad about eating either of them.
But pigs make bacon, and bacon is awesome. So my question is:
How could something so smart make itself so goddamn delicious?
Bacon, ham, pork shoulder, pork rinds, shredded BBQ pork, sweet ‘n sour pork, moo shu pork, pork sausages. The list goes on and on. And on.
And on.
Piggies are tasty.
Whose idea was it to have bacon as part of your body? Not a smart move Mr. Piggy.On one hand, it’s a brilliant move. They have made themselves a highly desirable species of livestock. We feed and raise millions and millions of pigs a year. But on the other hand, it’s incredibly, indescribably, hopelessly stupid.
We eat millions and millions of them every month of every year.
Now as far as intelligent animals are concerned, monkeys and dolphins are not quite so lovable as to be very popular pets. And so they’re forced to struggle for survival out in the wild – with no manmade coats to wear during the winter, and no manmade treats to eat when they behave well or do something cute. Dogs, have the manmade coats and the crunchy treats, but they’re still widely considered a delicacy in some parts of the world – apparently, they’re not lovable enough not to eat.
Sorry doggies. Apparently you need to evolve to be just a little less delicious.
And so I’d argue that cats are the smartest animals around. We keep them as pets, and nobody - I mean nobody - wants to eat them. Although they probably taste like chicken.
Very cute. Not at all tasty.Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Live Blogging 2009 World Series Game 6 - Phillies are (Probably) Toast
11:15pm: Shit. Mariano Rivera is coming in to the game. I believe that if we, as a species, put a man on the moon, then we can also will the Phillies to score some runs against Rivera. It's a long shot, but no longer than the odds of winning Powerball.
11:17pm: I am afraid. I am very afraid. Rivera looks good, with that silky-smooth delivery and wicked cut fastball. The man can flat out pitch, and the Phillies are quickly running out of at-bats. I will quickly fashion a Mariano Rivera voodoo doll and see if it does anything. We'll know soon enough.
Live Blogging 2009 World Series Game 6 cont'd. - Matsui is the Phillies Daddy
10:02pm: My Matsui voodoo doll has had both arms amputated, and has safety pins jammed into where the real Matsui's eyes would be. And yet, he still smoked a 2-run double for his 5th and 6th RBI's of the night. I'm beginning to think that voodoo is bullshit.
10:10pm: Well, finally something good happened for the Phils. Ryan Howard's bat awoke with a mighty, muscly mash to left field. It barely cleared the fence, but a home run is a home run, as I always say. Phillies now trail 7-3. Anything's possible. This one is far from over. Although I would kinda like to go to bed soon. I'm getting sleepy.
Live Blogging the 2009 World Series - Game 6 - Phils Face Elimination
9:05pm: Pedro looks like shit. I'm very angry. He's given up 4 runs so far, and he's throwing like Betty White - i.e., an 85 mph fastball. Ms. White throws hard for her age.
9:10pm: Phillies get out of the inning after only giving up those 2 runs. Matsui is his new nemesis. I'm preparing a Hideki Matsui voodoo doll with my right hand as I type with my left hand.
