I would welcome the cold, iron rule of Ms. Hilary Duff.

Anyone but the Sunnis.

The Shiites can suck it.

Hot death will rain down on the Kurds.

Dear President Bush: I vote for candidate Electricity and his running mate Fresh Water. Dillweed.

Thanks for the free “I Voted and Survived” sticker!

Please note: I placed numbers by each candidate in order of preference.  Will accept whichever one is still alive at time of vote counting.

Please, what is an “election”? I was told to come in here and do something with it.

Ruben rules!!  Clay drools!!

On the whole, we totally did better than Ohio.

Despite some of my grammar rants, I like attempts to stretch and play with language.  And that means I like slang. But not all of it. For example, switching the “k” and the “s” in “ask” always rattles me.

So when the clerk said to me, “Now Mr. Howard, I need to aks you for your credit card"--

--I pretty much freaked. I threw my wallet at her: “Please, you don’t need to axe me for my credit card. Take it. And take my cash.  And my video card. And my library card. And my photos.  There’s a nice one that came with the wallet of a smiling family; I’ve named them the Beardsleys and I like to pretend that I send them on secret missions where they disarm nukes and infiltrate subterranean hideouts.”

I know, I know. But the winners for the BOB Awards were announced and I wanted to thank the people who nominated and voted for me.  That was nice.

On the whole, award competitions are dumb. They’re subjective and often ignore superior talent. That is, unless you actually think Evanescence was the “Best New Artist” of 2003.

(And what was up with Star Wars not winning Best Picture in 1977?  I love Annie Hall as much as anyone, but when you’re testing out your new home theater surround sound system, you don’t pop in that DVD and say “Now just listen to the way Woody’s neurotic whining makes the subwoofer tremble.")

Still, blog awards are useful because they help you find new blogs.  For example, my life would be poorer if I hadn’t seen Filegirl’s explanation of why she should win Best Overall Blog.

Anyway, thanks.  Unless you didn’t vote for me, in which case, get the hell off my site.

In a store this weekend, I saw a 2005 calendar showing dogs playing poker.  It was 50% off.

Why even bother putting out that calendar at full price in the first place?  It’s just going to end up remaindered.  When they were making the calendar, carefully selecting and displaying the various pictures of dogs playing poker, they knew it.  They should have just released the calendar in 2004 at half price.  And then, in January, they could have run a 50 plus sale where they give you a few bucks to take it off their hands.

Other 2005 calendars that are likely at half price right now:

Sometimes I watch 24 because I’m too lazy to look at the clock and 24 always flashes the time as part of its attempt to build suspense.  So I find the show very convenient.

I had heard that the latest storyline outraged certain Muslim-American groups, and having seen a few episodes, I’m not surprised.  The plot concerns an upper middle-class Muslim-American family that has apparently been a sleeper terrorist cell for something like 16 years (if the age of their conflicted teenage son is any indication). They receive the signal to begin implementing their evil plan.  Their son’s pretty, white girlfriend finds out too much, and the mother ends up inviting her over, giving her a cool drink, and poisoning her.

But they don’t stop there. After poisoning the girl, the mother shoots her with a pistol and sticks the gun in her son’s hand. This way, the father will think the son was the one who killed her, and therefore be proud of him.

Let me tell you, this is not how normal families operate.  I mean, sure, my parents often poisoned my girlfriends. But they wouldn’t shoot them on top of it.  That?s just extreme.

One of my earliest memories is my father sitting down with me and saying, “Son, we do reserve the right to kill your girlfriends if they interfere with our plans.  But we’ll either poison them or shoot them.  Out of respect for you, we won’t do both.” And I think that’s pretty standard.

My issue is that, in my view, terrorists are not upper middle-class Americans.  They’re young, poor, and illiterate. That’s how they get recruited into terrorist cells in the first place--because they have no hope or vision of doing anything else with their lives.  Depicting an affluent Muslim-American family as terrorists is ludicrous.

The portrayal is particularly annoying when you consider the lack of other Muslim-Americans on television.  The only other one I can think of is the guy on Lost, and that character used to torture prisoners as part of the Iraqi national guard.  Wow, thanks for that balanced portrayal, Hollywood. I bet you’d find more diversity at a testimonial dinner for Trent Lott.

You might say, “Don’t give me that crap about terrorists being poor.  Bin Laden has millions of dollars.” There may be rich men behind the scenes, but do you think they’re on the front lines? When 9/11 happened, Bin Laden was relaxing on a cot in Tora Bora and telling his favorite masseuse: “A little lower--now to the left--a little lower--now to the left. By Allah! I think you’ve got it.”

When the feds catch some American-based terrorist, it’s always some lone, pathetic, misfit trying to create a dirty bomb.  You know he doesn’t have any friends or deep emotional connections.  He makes the Unabomber look like a socialite.

(And weren’t you surprised when you found out that a “dirty bomb” is actually a conventional explosive packed with radioactive materials?  I had thought the guy was handing out copies of Showgirls.)

24 is full of crap. When people get a taste of the good life, the whole murder and mayhem thing pretty much goes out the window. Let me tell you what would actually happen if someone tried to activate a middle-class Muslim-American family terrorist cell: “Oh, look honey, we finally got the signal. I guess we’d better start killing our son’s girlfriends and sending coded messages and preparing to martyr ourselves and whatnot.  Yeah, that’ll be--that’ll be great. I’m really looking forward to that.  Yeah.  Huh--listen, do we have anything good recorded on TIVO?”

Green Day’s new single is called “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” They’re not the first ones to use this phrase. It also appears in songs by Nat King Cole, Brian Setzer, Joe De Luca, and several others.

It always amazes me that this is a phenomenon in our country.  But why would so many people move to such an area in the first place?  Personally I blame the realtors for not making it part of their standard disclosures. They should be legally required to discuss it: “This house is in a lovely neighborhood, very close to schools and parks.  But I’m obligated by law to tell you that it’s near a fault line, and also it’s on a boulevard of broken dreams.”

I’m surprised that neighborhoods don’t band together and fight the situation when it occurs, they way they do rising crime or houses falling into disrepair.  They should post flyers about the issue: “NEIGHBORHOOD IS TURNING INTO BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS.  PLEASE ATTEND MEETING AT THE PARKERS HOUSE TO DISCUSS ACTION. POTLUCK: BRING CASSEROLE OR DESSERT.”

Crazy, gift-of-the-magi like misunderstanding when Jennifer sold their high-end stereo system to buy Brad a diamond-encrusted parachute, while Brad sold their private jet to buy Jen diamond-encrusted headphones.

Jennifer not happy with Angelina Jolie’s new tattoo, which reads “Pitt Stop.”

Brad, in his quest to make Jen “even more beautiful,” keeps downloading Internet pictures of her body and photoshopping on his own face.

Brad wants to focus on his career...with George Clooney.

Jennifer wants to start a family...with George Clooney.

Brad likes to go out at night, with drugs and prostitutes.  Jen likes quiet evenings at home, with drugs and prostitutes.

Jennifer finally got around to watching Meet Joe Black.

Brad finally got around to watching Along Came Polly.

Paper, cotton, leather, and fruit/flower anniversaries are no big deal--but year five, wood, means a commitment.

- So she gave me the book back and said “Sorry for all the Fuehrer.” I was glad to get the book back, but can you believe she compared herself to Hitler?

- Huh?  How did she compare herself to Hitler?

- Well, she said sorry for all the Fuehrer.

- Um…based on the context of what you just said, I think she may have used the word “furor.” F-U-R-O-R.  You know…sorry for all the furor.

- Oh.  (pause) I liked it better when I thought she was comparing herself to Hitler.

I was thinking about all the nice people who have voted in the BOB competition, and how it’s still possible to vote, and how it’s possible to cast a vote every day until the 14th.  Casting a vote every day can be a comforting part of one’s daily ritual--just like reading the paper, making coffee, or hanging out in front of junior high schools.

And then I realized I had something negative to say about one of the other finalists, and how it’s really bad form to post that kind of thing when everyone’s trying to have a nice, good natured, positive competition.  So I figured I wouldn’t post what I had to say.

Heh, just kidding.  Of course I’ll badmouth another finalist.

The fact of the matter is, I’m not too fond of Zach Braff.  As well as keeping a popular blog, Braff is the writer/director of Garden State, a movie that several of my friends told me was excellent--even life changing.  It’s about a guy with dubious hair who feels very confused.  So he returns to his home town, reconnects with several of his childhood friends, meets Natalie Portman, and realigns his priorities in regards to what’s important in life.

Frankly? I liked this movie better when it was released in 1996 under the title Beautiful Girls.

And it’s not just that Braff’s Garden State blog often gets over 1,000 comments per post.  Oh, that did bother me at first.  But then I realized, hey, he’s a celebrity, and he’s blogging. What?s up with that?  The whole reason I started to blog in the first place was because I woke up one day and realized I wasn’t a celebrity.

And not for lack of trying.  Nobody offered me a sit-com deal, even though I made a practice of barging into people’s homes uninvited and saying smartass things. But instead of a laugh track, all I ever heard were police sirens.

Listen, if I was a celebrity, the last thing I’d do is blog.  My agent would be all, “Do you think you could update your site? 1,000 fans are waiting to comment.” And I’d be all, “Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that.  Just as soon as I finish snorting cocaine off the body of this naked starlet.”

Update: Been bumped to 5:30 to make room for an Argentinian band.  I hate when that happens.

I’ll be talking about blogs and their impact on, I dunno, dogs and cats living together on Dr. Andy’s Poetry and Technology Hour later today.  The show airs on 90.3 KDVS, where I was a DJ for two years back in college.  I think they were glad to see me go.  It’s a college indie/underground station, and I have fairly mainstream taste in music.  The program director would barge into the booth and scream “What is this noise?  What is this godawful noise that’s making my ears bleed?” And I’d be all, “Relax, dude, it’s just Chris Isaak.”

Anyway, if you’re inclined you can listen over the web by visiting KDVS and clicking on the streaming audio links near the top of the page.  It starts at 5:30 p.m. PST.

I gave my employee a gift this Christmas, and she was embarrassed because she hadn’t got me anything. I told her I didn’t need a gift, but she was clearly upset.  I remembered that I had been in Target the other day and thought it was cool that they were selling the old ‘60s Batman movie on DVD for five bucks. I said, “You could get me that.” So she did.

But then I looked at the DVD and realized I had a lot of memories wrapped up in it.  I used to date a girl who had a 30-year old retarded sister.  The sister would sometimes come stay with us. Her expression seemed permanently twisted, almost scrunched up, as though someone had put the wrong face on her skull the way you might put the wrong sock on your foot.  My main memories of her pertain to restaurants, which she loved--sushi was her favorite--and also our slow, deliberate marches through public places.  I’d hold her left hand and my girlfriend would hold her right. Together, we made our way down sidewalks and through shopping malls as though we were floats in a parade.  If the people at the Orange Julius weren’t staring at us with surprise and curiosity, I might have thought they were throwing confetti.

Sometimes the sister became upset.  She’d get stressed, or angry, or sulky.  If this happened, or even if you just wanted to occupy her while you got ready in the morning, you’d stick her in front of the TV and let her watch a VHS of the Batman movie. It didn’t have to be rewound to the beginning; you could start it anywhere.  She loved it.  No matter what her mood, it would always make her grin and laugh. I’d often sit and watch it with her, and she’d giggle at the colors and the music and the ridiculous stunts.

So now I feel funny about having the DVD.  It’s the kind of movie that people will latch on when they scan your collection, and they’ll say something like “That’s a movie for a retarded person.” And I’ll have to nod and reply, without a hint of irony, malice, or anti-political correctness, “Yeah, it pretty much is.”

It appears that this site is a finalist for Best Overall Blog in The Best of Blogs (BOB) Awards. 

My conscience urged me not to ask people to vote for me.  A few of my online friends are also finalists, such as Witt and Wisdom’s CW and Ordinary Morning’s Melly.  I don’t like to compete against friends, and I take my online friends just as seriously as my real ones. After all, online friends are much less likely to borrow my DVDs and never return them.

When Hamlet‘s Polonius advises his son Laertes to “Neither a borrower nor a lender be,” he likely wasn?t thinking about Alf: The Complete First Season.  Still, I can relate.

But then I remembered that Melly is hotter than me (as are most 20something Texas women), and CW is taller than me (as are most garden gnomes), so screw them both.  They’ve got theirs. I’m getting mine.  Vote for me.*

*And while you’re at it, drop a vote for my real-life friend Greg, who is up for Most Inspirational Blog.  And I can vouch that he’s just as inspirational in person as he is online, although he tends to direct his inspiration along the lines of “You’re done drinking?  For real? You spineless jellyfish.  I’m embarrassed to be sitting here with you” and then you’re inspired to order another Guiness.  Praise be!

The expression “poker face” means keeping a steady, unreadable expression.  People use this when they are, in fact, playing poker so people can’t tell what cards they?re holding.

I don’t have a poker face.  I have a “Raise Me, Call Me, Bluff Me, Because I’m Your Bitch and I Want to Give You All My Money” face.

There’s a saying that you’re likely to spend the entire new year the way you began it. If that’s true, I invite you all to step up right now because apparently I’m just going to be giving people money all year.  STEP UP AND TAKE MY MONEY.  I DO NOT DESIRE IT.  IT IS A BURDEN.  PLEASE, HAVE MY MONEY.  IT’S ON ME.

I am also likely to pick up a second job.  And perhaps a third.  And perhaps a fourth.