Tickle My Kittens

Welcome to the first in what will most likely be a one-part series called “Are you for real?”

Some stories are too crazy to make up, and this is one of them.

We have a mouse problem in the office. A couple of mice have been seen on desks, in the kitchen, in the hallways, in desk drawers, etc.

The mice are just smart enough to avoid the traps our building’s manager set for them, so a few of my coworkers still see mouse shit on their desks, in their drawers, and on their keyboards every once in a while. It’s a minor inconvenience for them I’m sure, and in an attempt to ward off more mice, our office instituted a “Do Not Eat At Your Desks Anymore” policy, as well as a “Do Not Leave Food Anywhere Anymore” policy. Both signs have been posted in our kitchen.

Still a minor inconvenience for most of us, I think. There is one coworker, however, who is sick of the mouse problem. So sick, in fact, that she came up with the perfect solution to get rid of the mice forever.

As a rat owner, she knows that rats eat mice. This was news to me (and probably the rest of the world), mostly because I thought they came from the same line of rodent ancestry. It sounds eerily similar to eating your third cousin at a family reunion, but perhaps rats are willing to cross lines that we normally aren’t. Maybe mice look like delicacies next to pieces of garbage and food scraps…although, anyone hungry enough to take used food off of plates at The Ugly Mug on St. Patrick’s Day may be willing to eat mice too. Maybe mice are just that good.

Anyway, to keep mice out of her home, my coworker takes a wet paper towel and wipes down the rats. She then takes the wet paper towel and wipes down her baseboards with the rat smell. The rat goo on the baseboards is like kryptonite to the mice, she says. They’ll be so scared of the rats that they’ll go to another floor in the building (preferably the second floor. I hate those guys).

She is SO sure of this that she brought her rat towels into the office and wiped down the entire area around her desk. Then, she took out more rat towels from her bag, wiped down the walls around her neighbor’s desk, as well as the baseboards and the door frame. No one around her said anything like, “Hey, stop. That’s creepy” or “seriously, what the hell are you doing?” Instead, her method was passed around the building like a cooking recipe.

So, while it looks like the mice are indeed avoiding their area, no one else seems to notice or care that the entire floor smells like rats. The fact that there some people over here who prefer the smell of rats to the sight of mice is unfathomable to me. I’ve only seen a mouse once during this entire debacle, and it was running AWAY from me, not towards my food. We can’t escape the rat smell and yet people are OK with this. Also, doesn’t it make sense that if rats pick up on a rat scent, they’d come upstairs to see what’s going on? It seems to me that there could be an upgrade from a mouse problem to a rat problem any day now. People are idiots. Freaky idiots.

This is the worst kind of blogging, but seriously, funnyordie.com is the best site ever.

I got married this summer surrounded and supported by friends and family, all whom I love dearly. I realize now that it was a terrible mistake.

Not getting married. It will probably be years before the ghosts of what could have been will start haunting me. I’m talking about inviting my friends to a wedding where alcohol was served liberally and my female relatives felt safe. I should have kept them separate. I should have eloped.

It all happened that fateful Saturday evening in June. Drunken Astronaut, fellow TMK blogger and confirmed sexual deviant, had a belly full of wine and a glint in his eye that would make any father subconsciously shudder. He was looking for a victim, and he found my cousin.

He started slowly at first, methodically testing her defenses. A casual joke followed by a deliberate brush of the elbow. A round of drinks for everybody. Another joke. Slow dancing. Another beer. There was no need to rush this time. She had nowhere to go.

By the end of the evening she was his. Her pale, expressionless face said everything as they boarded the shuttle to leave. It was inevitable. Once they got to the hotel, he proceeded to defile her in one of the most filthy and uncomfortable places imaginable - the stairwell of a Holiday Inn.

Once upon a time, no self-respecting musician ever lent their music to television commercials. Even the most carbonated of the bubblegum pop stars refused to sink so low as to sell out to Madison Avenue (with the possible exception of Michael Jackson schilling for Pepsi…although his spontaneous combustion on the set of that commercial pretty much conclusively demonstrated what happens when musicians sell out and anger the music gods). Even rock stars that had sold out in just about every other possible way, eschewed the money offered by the advertising industry because they realized that once their music was used to sell products they would—in essence—become nothing more than cheap salesmen, prostituting their art in an effort to make just a little more money.

But a few years ago, something changed. The advertising industry managed to get their hands on the rights to a few classic rock titles and then all hell broke loose. I think it started with some Rolling Stones or Beatles song, but to my mind the most egregious offenses came when I heard Led Zeppelin in a Dodge truck commercial or, worse yet, when Pepsi used Jimi Hendrix in a damned Super Bowl commercial (although that one was, admittedly, kind of funny). I’m not a musical historian, but I think that the use of classic rock somehow paved the way for younger, significantly less talented musicians to sell out to the advertising industry without so much as a second thought. After all, if the music of a rock god like Jimi Hendrix can be used in a commercial, then why the hell can’t Britney Spears sell some Pepsi too?

To be sure, there was a certain inevitability to the alliance between Madison Avenue and popular music. After all, anybody who has ever watched MTV knows that these days a musician’s popularity is based upon marketing as much, or more, than any of their merits as an actual musician.[1] I’m quite certain that I’m not the first person to notice this phenomenon. But what’s gotten me riled up is that these days is the fact that musicians seem to be gaining exposure for selling out.

In particular, I’m a little bit disturbed by the way that Feist and Ingrid Michaelson sold the hell out…and then became significantly more popular for it. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Feist or Ms. Michaelson, they’re the ones who sing those catchy tunes featured in the latest iPod and Old Navy commercials. Given my perspective on music in commercials (or commercials in general), I was deeply distressed when I first heard these songs—songs I listen to and enjoy—being used in advertisements.

But that’s not the worst part. After all, I live in the real world and once a few indie bands noticed that their peers were making scads of dirty money by selling the rights to their songs to Gray’s Anatomy I’m sure everybody wanted on the Gravy Train. No, the worst part is that lately these songs have skyrocketed on the music charts after being featured in commercials. As I type this, Feist’s “1,2,3,4” is the 18^th ranked song on iTunes and Michaelson’s “Way I Am” is 22^nd. To be sure, these are fairly new bands, but I bought Michaelson’s “Girls and Boys” CD last winter. It sure as shit wasn’t breaking the top 20 back then. It only shot up the charts once that Old Navy commercial hit your television screen.

I don’t know why, but this trend really bothers me. I think part of it is that the snobby elitist in me hates the fact that I am listening to the same music as the people who invented Old Navy Performance Fleece. Or maybe I’m just pissed because I can no longer put these songs on the sensitive, High Fidelity-style mix CDs I make for the women I’m trying to bed without being accused of lifting them off of television commercials.

Whatever the case, I’m clearly fed up with the advertising industry. Next thing you know, we’ll have Bob Dylan singing a jingle for an Eastern Motors commercial featuring Peyton Manning. I think that just might make my head explode.

…oh, and in case you don’t know which commercials I’m talking about, go ahead and drape those earbuds around the shoulders of your Old Navy hoodie and enjoy….

UPDATE: So apparently I’m not the only one who’s noticed this phenomenon and the WaPo just wrote about this very trend. Some might say that this makes my post painfully unoriginal or even “plagiarism”. Those people are probably right, but i really hadn’t read this article…..and i really was totally into Feist before they made commercials………or maybe i’m just a liar.

[1] Anybody who thinks that this perspective is jaded and cynical should take a look at Frontline’s “Merchant’s of Cool”….yes, this is a footnote. Clearly being back in school has broken my brain.

I’m tired of this shit. Why do we have to be the only city with a retarded taxi system? Nobody likes zones, not even our Federal occupiers. The current system does not benefit anyone except the taxi drivers. Luckily, we elected Fenty and Graham to serve the interests of the taxi drivers. Bullshit, Fenty. I don’t want zones. I don’t want zone meters. I want the cost of my cab ride to be proportional to the distance/time of that ride. I know that may seem like a radical concept, but every other city has embraced it since, I don’t know, the beginning of time. As for the cab drivers, let them strike. I would like to see them try. This isn’t exactly a unified group of people we’re talking about. In their native countries, many of these drivers would be at war with each other. So what’s stopping Fenty from giving the people what they so obviously want? I knew he was going to end up being a douche bag mayor.

 UPDATE:  Oh.  This is one time I don’t mind eating my words.  Sweet, delicious, zone-free taxi system words.

I don’t know why I find these pictures so amusing, but I do.  And just when I thought it couldn’t get any funnier, somebody combined lolcatz with with postsecret to get the hilariously warped lolsecretz (via my friend Seattle Scribe).

I ran into an ex-girlfriend on the sidewalk the other day, along with her new guy. That’s never fun, but it was somehow made worse by the fact that her new guy is severely unattractive. About my height, 40 pounds overweight, balding. I was stunned. She is a very attractive woman – a head turner, if you will – and here she is with this oaf. Or ogre. Or troll, I don’t know, but he definitely lives under a bridge.

I was a little shaken from the whole experience. You see, this particular ex is one on a very short list of people who’ve summarily dumped me. I was completely in love with her, and then wham – one breakup phone call and I’ve got my head inside a whiskey bottle. It really is like having the breath knocked out of you. So my friend asked me, are you upset because you saw her with another guy, or because he’s so ugly.

Hmmm….

I think it’s because he’s so ugly. I’ve seen exes with their new guys plenty of times, but it’s never bothered me this much. There are just so many reactions: do I wonder why she is with that when she could be with me, or do I smugly pronounce “Ha! Serves her right. Stupid bitch.” Would I have felt better is she were with a man much more attractive than me? I mean, at least it would makes sense, even though it would sting the ego quite a bit. And what if she were with a guy that looked very similar to me? I really wouldn’t know what to think there. Flattered, I guess? Anyway, it really calls into question her taste, nay, every decision she’s ever made in her life. It makes me feel dirty that I was with a woman who clearly doesn’t care about the aesthetic characteristics of those she beds. Would she date Dick Cheney? And what does this say about me? I’m now somehow lumped into a group with pigboy just for dating her? Gross.

It’s just another example of a wide scale travesty endemic to Washington, DC: attractive people dating much, much less attractive people. Attractive girls dating ugly guys, attractive guys dating ugly girls, even attractive guys dating ugly guys [Ed. Note – I’ve yet to see a hot girl with an ugly girl. They’re usually both ugly]. Why do I see this so much? It’s almost like we need some kind of classifying body to issue us league levels. “Oh, you’re a 6? Well, I’m an 8. You’re a nice guy and all, but it would be illegal for me to date you.” No more of this “she’s a really nice person on the inside” crap. I want a system that’s reliable, predictable and objective. A system that brings equality to the dating world. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go fuck a model while it’s still legal for me to do so.

Some of you may not know this, but two protests occurred on Saturday. One was an anti-war march and the other was an anti-anti-war march directly across the street. To catch up on the weekend’s action, head here.

One highlight from the anti-anti-war protest came from Buzz Patterson, who said, “Congress, quit playing games with our troops. Terrorists, we will find you and kill you. And to our troops, we’re here for you, and we support you.” Buzz and Cindy Sheehan, both protest veterans, made appearances along with thousands of not very famous and not very busy protesters at each respective rally.

I think there are many of us who a.) don’t like the war, and b.) don’t like seeing Americans, and most likely humans in general, get killed. However, what I don’t understand is why one would choose to protest the government on a Saturday. What day other than Friday gets less news attention? Saturday. If you were like me, you were probably watching football, or perhaps you were eating a delicious bagel from Bagels and Baguettes and enjoying the perfect weather outside. Basically, chances are you were doing anything you could to NOT do work related activities on Saturday.

This is exactly why protests on Saturdays are ridiculous and a waste of time. I don’t disagree with those who want to try to make a difference, even if they’re idiots and/or wrong. But people who have been around a protest or two, like both Buzz and Cindy, probably should have realized that Congress isn’t in session on a Saturday. Instead, the protesters probably were seeing families in fanny packs, stonewashed jeans, and plastic visors. Kids are crying, parents are sick of their kids crying, and no one wants to go to the Smithsonian museums for the third day in a row. That’s the kind of environment people see in DC on a Saturday. Where are the Congress(wo)men? Not at the Capitol.

Yet, thousands of people came into DC to protest the war (or to protest the anti-war), even when no one of note was around. In fact, our elected officials probably weren’t even walking BY the Capitol, let alone being on the steps of it or at their offices around the corner. The protests, then, were reduced to a social call, where people hung around other like-minded people. I find it unlikely that any opinions were changed by the protests.

By Monday, when people were actually reading papers on the Metro or listening to NPR, the story wasn’t news anymore. I certainly don’t remember seeing anything in the Post about it. Even if there were coverage of it, the news world moved on by Monday, and the story was pushed back to a column near an ad for Camelot. I hear the lunch buffet is delicious, though.

Protesting on a Saturday is stupid. Protest on a Tuesday, during rush hour, if you want to make some headlines that people will read. Look, the permit for the protest was for 10,000 people anyway, and if 100,000+ people showed up (as some people mentioned on Sunday), then it probably doesn’t matter whether or not you have a permit. If you’re committed to getting arrested, as 190 did on Saturday, then don’t be scared about securing a permit. Just maximize the message so it screws up the rest of the District, if you want to try and actually make a difference. Cindy Sheehan said that now is the time to be assertive, and if you agree with her statement, protesting on a Saturday is probably the exact opposite of what you should be doing.

A lot of people will think you’re an asshole for interrupting a work day, but at least people won’t think you’re an idiot for protesting in front of a bunch of empty, silent buildings.

Ever since the cancellation of Arrested Development, I’ve argued that the best show on American TV is The Office. I do remember a brief period after the American version came out when I thought that it just didn’t live up to its British older brother, but the new show was so funny that I quickly stopped making comparisons.

Well, my friends at Netflix recently hooked me up with the British version of The Office on DVD, and it’s blowing my mind again. I was also able to locate a few scenes where the scripts were similar enough to make a solid comparison between the two versions.

First, let’s start with the American version. A consultant comes into the office to address diversity in the workplace, and the boss competes for attention and control of the meeting. Hit play on the following clip and then drag the slider to the beginning of the scene at 3:30 (it counts backwards).

Terrifically funny stuff, but it pales in comparison with its British counterpart.

[UPDATE] I just heard that Ricky Gervais (boss in British Office) won the best comedy actor Emmy last night for his performance in Extras. Apparently I’m so hip that even when I dredge up a four-year-old subject it’s topical.

Part of my job is dealing with publicists. As a general rule, publicists tend to say and ask a lot of stupid shit, so I generally know what to expect. But earlier this week I had a surprisingly stupid conversation with a publicist. She was angry that we had written about her client (who’s publishing a book next month) in my work blog, and were planning to do so again. (Yes, I am actually a professional blogger as well. I bet you didn’t know you were in such distinguished company.) She was unhappy with the prospect of us writing about her client before the book’s release, and told me that “All this Internet stuff — these daily blogs and things — are really screwing things up!” Oh, really, publicist lady? Those daily mentions of your client, which can be linked to and read and discussed over and over, are screwing things up? Interesting. I was under the impression that, as a publicist, your job was to get publicity for your client. Apparently not. This got me thinking about all the other newfangled inventions of late that really are just screwing everything up. A few I feel most strongly about:

Cars. You know who I bet feel really neglected these days? Horses. We should start riding those around again. Leather chaps can and should make a serious comeback, and there’d be fewer emissions to deal with. (Insert joke about horse poo here.) Also, 495 would be way less backed up if we brought back the equestrian mode of transportation.

Cell phones. So what, now I’m expected to call people when I’m running late, and I don’t have to wait until I get home to find out if DA is drunk, again, off Sprite and gin? You mean I can just call him and find out, so I know to just head straight up to my room instead of getting sucked into watching The Hills with him? That doesn’t seem right. If he’s been drinking gin again he probably just wants to have a meaningful conversation about the state of affairs in Israel or Harry Potter, and I shouldn’t deny him that.

Microwaves. Now, I do not currently own a microwave because BAL threw his out before we moved in (DA and I moved into BAL’s old house. Several of our favorite commenters also used to live there. It’s all very Circle of Life.) But I can tell you that my life is exponentially better for it. Cooking in four minutes or less? What a pain in the ass.

Seatbelts. Much like Tracy Jordan, all I want to do is go crash my car and see if the airbags go off. And if those airbags do go off, I’d like to gently rest my face on the pillow-top-like softness of the airbag. Seatbelts be damned.

Band-aids. Wait, you want to cover up your gaping wound so it’ll heal faster? You pansy.