New column's up. Go read it, or I'll tell Mom.

This week: The Year In Review. Unfortunately, I'm off by about 17 years.

In a recent column, I wrote about the greatness of Scott Baio. It seems that I was ridingthe zeitgeist somehow (from Defamer):

Baio returns to the small screen with NBC comedy produced by Jace Richdale. In it, Baio stars as a 40-something guy who moves in with a 20 year old and subsequently "turns his life upside down." So, like Charles in Charge, plus 20 years, minus Nicole Eggert.

Apparently I don't have the market cornered on humorous reviews of bad movies. This one is just... wrong. But soooo right.

Steve Martin finally sets the record straight:

King Tut was not "born in Arizona."

He did not live in a "condo made of stone-a."

King Tut did not "do the monkey," nor did he "move to Babylonia."

King Tut was not a honky.

He was not "buried in his jammies."

There. Now can we get on with our lives?

Okay, what are the editors of the Onion trying to imply with the placement of that other calendar's title right above Celine?

Hmm...

This is officially te weirdest thing I've seen all week. I have no words.

I would like to point to the single defining factor in modern American political "debate," the confirmation bias, wherein people tend to seek out information that they already agree with. I myself am guilty of this, listening to far more Air America radio than, say, Capt. Hillbilly Heroin or the Falafel King. That said, I don't know how a human being can possibly avoid this psychological tendency for any significant amount of time. It would create far too much cognitive dissonance to constantly listen to things that you inherently disagree with. I suppose, theoretically, you could listen to something you disagree with and change your mind, but then you'd have to listen to something that opposes that thought, and the whole cycle begins again.

I'm just chasing my tail here, but this is the Internet, so I don't feel so out of place there.

However, I do feel that some people take this tendency to a dangerous level, ignoring dissonant information well past the point of rationality, and, I believe, these people tend to be, well, Republican. Also assholes.

But I digress. Back to the dick jokes!

Feeling down, Mrs. Brown? Give Deep Thoughts from Supermodels a read. You'll feel better about yourself.

Yep, we're doomed.

I see that homosexual recruitment is up in Japanese aquariums.

The War on Gnome Indecency has begun. Thank God.

Lindsay Lohan NOT doing Playboy

Ahem.

Check out this creatively worded press release, which I quote from the IMDB's news page:

Redhead actress Lindsay Lohan has expressed her horror at reports she considered gracing the pages of men's magazine Playboy. While the 18-year-old Freaky Friday star admits she was approached by the adult publication, she insists it was never to do a nude spread. She explains, "I'm not doing Playboy, no. Never. They contacted my publicist and they asked if I would do their 20 questions spread, which is not a nude photo that they do with it. It's a regular photo. But I do have a Disney movie coming out and a young fan base and I'm not interested in doing Playboy right now in my life. So we said no and then now they've put it in Star magazine that I turned down Playboy (and) that I approached them and asked them if I could do a nude spread or something, which is not true. Now when people ask, that's the most ridiculous rumor - that I asked if I could do Playboy."

"...right now in my life." But, hey, sometime down the road, when I've resorted to doing Freaky Friday 6: Weird Wednesday and my subpar pop albums are (rightfully) tanking, sure!

I want to marry these people and have their babies.

I saw their holiday show on Saturday and it was laugh-until-you-cry funny. I particularly liked Kevin-Michael Moore's cat's imitation of a reindeer.

Admittedly, it wasn't as good as other shows of theirs I've seen, but it was still better than 99% of what's on Saturday Night Live.

I had something I wanted to write about, but I seem to have forgotten what it was. So I'll just say this: poop.

I shaved my beard today. It's odd to look in the mirror. I feel like I'm looking at someone else. It's very odd. I wonder how people at work are going to react.

I've been thinking about shaving it for some time now. I've had it for about half a year, which is by far the longest I've ever kept one. I liked the way it covered up the imperfections in my face, and drew attention away from my slowly balding forehead. But it was just starting to feel like too much, and I was beginning to wonder what my face even looked like anymore.

The real decisive point came when one of the ladies at work said that she thought I was about her age. This was a bit of a shock, because she has four kids, and presumably took her time about it. I think the oldest is sixteen... So when you start getting mistaken for a decade older than you are, it's time to shave.

That said, it will take me longer to get ready for work in the morning. Maybe a goatee...

In the news today (and note: that link only works through the weekend):

Michael Jackson is opening the gates of his Neverland Ranch - the place where he is accused of molesting a young boy - to dozens of children for a holiday party today. Representatives for the 46-year-old singer say he's invited groups of children to enjoy a day at the California ranch in what has become an annual tradition over the holiday season. It is not clear whether Jackson will be attending the party himself. The superstar is free on bail ahead of his trial scheduled for late January on a 10-count indictment of child molestation.

Two questions: What the hell is he thinking? (I know, I know... something creepy and weird about loving children, spoken in a soft, high-pitched voice.) And what kind of parent is going to let their kids go to this, whether or not Michael Jackson is there?

I'll tell you who: Morons.

In other news:

Supermodel Claudia Schiffer is facing a possible health scare after undergoing a brain scan in a London hospital.

The scare? That the scans showed anything at all...

A friend passed alont this list:

Number of different songs with title to make the charts:
15: "Hold On"
10: "Crazy"
9: "I Need You," "Real Love," "Tonight," "You"
8: "Call Me," "Happy"
7: "Crazy Love," "Friends," "I Love You," "I'm Coming Home," "Stay"
6: "Always," "Angel," "Dance With Me," "Fire," "Freedom," "Lady," "Lies," "Love Me," "My Love," "Sunshine," "Talk To Me," "Tell Me," "Tell Me Why," "Think," "Why," "Words,"
5: "Come Back," "Get Down," "I Like It," "I Need Your Loving," "I Want You," "Love Song," "Loving You," "One In a Million," "Only You," "Operator," "Run Run Run," "So Close," "Steppin' Out," "Superstar," "This Time," "What About Me"

Are pop stars an unoriginal bunch or what?

Apparently the U2 iPod was just the beginning...

I particularly like the Good Charlotte/New Found Glory/A Simple Plan entry, if only because it hits on a theory I've long held, that these guys are all just one band. I feel so old, but everyone on the radio these days sounds like Blink 182 to me.

I wonder if the people who posed for these (surely) stock photographs knew that they were going to wind up on this site. It's kind of like winding up in a Michael Jackson home video.

As a tip to regular readers, the new column is live a day ahead of schedule. I'll give you a taste:

It's official: We have a new entry for funniest headline ever.

I think it's safe to add it to the list of "things I never thought I'd read about in my lifetime," a list that is getting quite crowded, by the way.

Factoid of the day, courtesy of Popbitch:

United Airlines has made the first commercial flight into Ho Chi Mi City, Vietnam since 1975. On this historic flight? David Hasselhoff.

Segments of my interview with Mystery Science Theater 3000's Kevin "Tom Servo" Murphy (the remainder of which appears in the latest issue of the magazine) are now up on the official MST3K website. If you are interested in a copy of the magazine, at the bottom of the interview are instructions on how to get the magazine delivered for less than newsstand price!

The more people who subscribe, the more likely I am to actually, you know, get paid for all this work...

Good lord, I love Goats.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

New column's up at the Poop Shoot. People seem to like it.

See if you can spot Jesus!

Recently, I was working late at the office and was getting a little punchy. I was writing up bios for various members of our group, but one person on the list was new or borrowed from another office (I forget which). So I resorted to making up the following, as placeholder text:

Likes puppies and kitties. Has no criminal record in the United States. Once swallowed a live turtle.

This had me laughing for far longer than it warranted. Particularly the last sentence.

Oddly enough, this made it through four drafts before anyone bothered to cut it out.

When Kilborn left, there was some buzz about Amy Sedaris taking over his job (as host of The Late, Late Show, not as de facto smarmy Hollywood fratboy alpha male, although that would have been funny, too). Despite all the talk, I don't think that she ever got in the running. So if it wasn't her, I was hoping it would at least be hottie du jour Aisha Tyler or State Alum Michael Ian Black. Now word has come down that Craig "Drew Carey Show" Ferguson got the job.

So I guess we'll never get to see Mike's dreams become a reality.

...while being famous is great, being famous without being correspondingly wealthy is a lot like being a really hot nun.

So true, so true. Alas, when it comes to TV, I have grown used to being disappointed.

I covet.

Walked outside to mail a letter today and it was bright and sunny. Made me want to have a picnic.

Went back inside. Worked a bit.

Went to lunch, it was grey and overcast. Personally, I blame the Norwegians.

Oh, before I forget, go read the latest column, about Footloose. I dare you not to be offended.

Things I did today:

Stuffed 1000 company Christmas cards into envelopes.
Put postage on said envelopes.
Lugged box to front desk.
Ate lunch.

Doesn't sound like much, I know, but it took me something like 6 hours.

I am consistently surprised at the pace of the modern workplace. I come from the newspaper world, I suppose (although that was years ago, but the mindset remains) , where the deadlines are relentless and near constant. People in the general business world, I've found, seem to take things much, much easier. I remember one boss asking me to do a rather simple task that involved looking up some information online. "Okay," I said, "you want this, when? An hour?" "Oh no," he replied. "Next week."

Not that it's always like that. Last week was a perfect example. We had two major proposals going out, and one day I was in the office for some 12 hours. Still, a lot of that was waiting.

I should be careful what I ask for, though. I could easily be a lot busier and wind up miserable. There were times when I was so busy while I was working retail that I wanted to strangle someone. But I can't help but wonder. Is it me? Or is it everyone else?

I’ve been pondering reactivating this blog, if only because my current job comes with frequent bouts of dead time. And some interesting things have been happening lately, so it seems like a better use of my time to write about them, rather than just find something else to read online.

First: The job. I am currently a staff writer for a large construction management company. I write and edit their proposals for jobs. It’s not glamorous, but I have found that I am relatively good at it.

In the course of this job, it sometimes falls on those of us in the marketing department to deliver these proposals. Usually that means a drive to some nearby suburb, or the occasional jaunt down to Corvallis, about two hours away. But usually nothing too out-of-the-way. On the more important projects, those more directly involved tend to want to deliver the documents themselves. So when we were asked to put together a proposal for a massive new hospital, one six times larger than any project I’d worked on up to this point, down by San Francisco, I assumed that one of the project team members would take it. I was wrong. They asked me.

Let me just say that it’s not often I find myself carrying documents worth nine figures… So, you know, no pressure.

Now, I had just been to SF a month or two ago, so I knew the area and I was looking forward to having a company car, a (modest) expense account, and some time to kill. Alas, this was not to be. The first sign of trouble was that they had me arriving at 10:30, when the reports were due at 2 at a city 1.5 hours (as the crow flies, and certainly not as I drive) north of SF. Also, I was flying into SFO, meaning traffic. And I get lost easily. Very easily. So I had the flight rescheduled for 6:45, meaning I was up at 4 AM. The day before, I had remarked to my coworker the night before as we were assembling the proposals that, gosh, it would sure suck to oversleep and miss my flight, to which she responded, "Yeah, you'd probably get fired for that." So, again, no pressure.

I set two alarms and had a friend call me to be safe.

Anyway, I get the car, and drive up to the city, but can't find the hospital to save my life. Meanwhile, all I've had to eat all day is a lousy airport muffin. So I'm starving, but I opt to look for the hospital first just to be safe. The phone rings, and it's my coworker. She says things are screwed up, and we left out an important paragraph in the numbers section (well, actually I didn't, but I'm not pointing fingers). She would fax the one with the corrected section in it and that would be that. All right. I proceed to look for the hospital some more and the phone rings. Whoops. We have two screwed up pages now, this one, admittedly, is more my fault. It's the cover letter, which I wrote, and the inside address is wrong. I have to find a Kinkos. All right, but I have to eat first. My coworker is obviously not pleased with my need for food, but I insist. Still, that means no 5 star eatery, I have to chomp down a lousy sub made by a 16-year-old minimum wager with a 'tude.

So I find the Kinkos without incident (thank God), but the (admittedly very kind) lady there has a serious problem conceptualizing time. She insists we can rebind the report as is, by cutting off the inside margin and putting a new binding on it. Trouble is, this requires reprinting about 1/3 of the pages. I can’t stop eyeing the clock while she tells me this will be no problem. See, I have two hours before these things HAVE to be in, or, you know, no more job. She and I investigate the options here for far too long. Finally, I float the suggestion, um, can't we just glue new prints on top of the old ones? After all, if they reject the proposal because they aren't purty enough, we probably weren't getting the job anyway. We go ahead with this, and, fortunately, the directions to the hospital are pretty clear, so I make it, with 10 minutes to spare. The punchline? The people who take the proposals are disturbingly nonchalant about the whole handoff.

Afterward, I realize that I have no choice but to head right back down to the airport so as to catch my return flight. It's a gorgeous day, and at least I have a nice car with a sunroof, but I'm understandably disappointed that I won't get any quality time in San Fran. At least I got the report in on time, and I still have a job.

I wound up getting on standby for another flight to Portland that had been delayed, meaning I'd get in 45 minutes early. Not a big shift, but at this point I was willing to take it. The plane was full, mainly with a bunch of female high school athletes from New Zealand who had been on planes since yesterday (or tomorrow, whatever). I wound up sitting next to a woman who was supposed to be performing (she never said in what capacity) at a Christmas function at 7:30. We were landing at 6:45, and she was deluded enough to think that she would make it by taking the train.

Yeah, if it didn't stop for other passengers, maybe.

I drove her to the church, and she was only 10 minutes late, so I considered that my good deed for the day. And then I immediately went to a low-key party at a friend's apartment and stayed until midnight, which surprised even me. When I started yawning (I’d been up for 20 hours straight at that point), I decided it was time to head home. I think I slept for something like 12 hours.

It was a long Friday.

I swear to God, if I hear McCartney's "Wonderful Christmas Time" song again, someone's going to die.