Some people have a gift for understanding and communicating fear. Comic book writer and novelist Neil Gaiman is definitely one of them.  I love this mini ghost story, included in a great piece he wrote for the Times:

“And then there was the one who said, in her cellphone’s voicemail message, sounding amused as she said it, that she was afraid she had been murdered, but to leave a message and she would get back to us.

It wasn’t until we read the news, several days later, that we learned that she had indeed been murdered, apparently randomly and quite horribly.

But then she did get back to each of the people who had left her a message. By phone, at first, leaving cellphone messages that sounded like someone whispering in a gale, muffled wet sounds that never quite resolved into words.

Eventually, of course, she will return our calls in person.”

If that doesn’t creep you out, you have no business having a Happy Halloween.

Cousin Anne came to visit this weekend. We had a great time.  I had considered trying to get her to go visit the Exploratorium, a science-oriented museum in San Francisco, but then I decided that was silly. So then I asked her what she wanted to do and she said “I heard the Exploratorium is good.” So right away, you’ve got yourself a good cousin.

(Digression)
Bad Cousins are ones that:

Are close personal friends with Tony Danza
(/End Digression)

It’s worth nothing that Anne is very low key, but the right exhibit at the Exploratorium can make her appear high strung:

Ha!  High strung!  Now that’s comedy you can take to the bank.

I haven’t been the Exploratorium in about twenty years or so.  I was surprised at some of their new exhibits.  For example, there was an exhibit featuring Vanna White that attempts to demonstrate how our perceptions are easily fooled.  First, the exhibit shows two photos of Vanna White upside down:

Seems okay, right?  But here are the same pictures right-side up:

Wow!  That’s a powerful scientific lesson!  I think we can all learn something from this demonstration--namely, it can be dangerous to look too closely at Vanna White. Although, in all honesty, I knew that already.

I had never met Cousin Anne before, and it’s interesting the things you find out about people that no one bothered to tell you about.  For example, it turned out that she’s a big fan of punk rock.  I took her to Fisherman’s Wharf, when I should have brought her to see KMFDM at the Mezzanine.  So not punk rock.

On the other hand, it’s no big.  Because the good thing about first meetings?  In most cases, it’s likely that there’s many more to come.

Posted by Greg at 06:03 AM on 10/30/06

Link to This

The New York Times says that Senator Barack Obama’s recent admission that he might run in ‘08 has “complicated” Hilary Clinton’s own presidential ambitions.

Gee, you think so, New York Times?  No wonder you’re a beloved and respected newspaper that’s used in bird cages across the country.

Let’s be clear about this: If Barack runs, Hilary is toast.  I mean, the kind of toast that you butter and then it slips out of your hands and lands face-down on the linoleum and you pick it up and throw it out.  That kind of toast.

Here are some reasons why Barack will win the democratic nomination in ‘08:

1. It’s way more fun to sing the “Banana-Fo-Fana” song with Barack’s name than Hilary’s.

2. As opposed to the title of Hilary’s book (It Takes a Village), the title of Barack’s book (The Audacity of Hope) does not induce projectile vomiting.

3. David Palmer was a popular black president for several seasons on the TV show 24.  In contrast, Geena Davis’s Commander in Chief only lasted one season.

4. Let’s compare quotes.  Barack during his popular keynote address at the ‘04 Democratic National Convention:

“No, people don’t expect government to solve all their problems. But they sense, deep in their bones, that with just a change in priorities, we can make sure that every child in America has a decent shot at life, and that the doors of opportunity remain open to all.”

Hilary, during the height of the Clinton scandals:

“I’m not going to have some reporters pawing through our papers. We are the president.”

5. Barack has recorded a spoken word album that won a Grammy.  Hilary has chanted incantations that caused her enemies to be torn apart by evil demons.

6. Barack’s spouse, Michelle Obama, is Vice President for Community and External Affairs at the University of Chicago Hospitals.  Hilary’s spouse, Bill, simply has External Affairs.

7. “Barack” means “blessed” in Swahili.  “Hilary” means “she whose bosoms defy gravity” (source: Top Secret!)

8. Hilary: Travelgate.  Barack: Colgate.

I have no problem with Dustin Diamond, a.k.a. Screech from Saved by the Bell, making a sex tape.  Or even making money from it.  But I have to draw the line at the boasting. Oh my god, the boasting.

He told US Weekly: “"Let’s just say, if I were a small man, it would be worse.”

Oh no he didn’t. Diamond, the fact that you’re even still breathing is TMI, but that comment completely put the whole incident into the end zone.  So to speak.  And what the hell are you bragging about anyway?  You’ll never be as sexually capable as your former Saved by the Bell teacher.  Why do you think they called her Miss Bliss?

In completely unrelated news, I saw a blonde wearing a T-shirt that said “I had a nightmare I was brunette.” Which I liked, although I want to make it clear that I have no particular allegiance in this ages-old conflict.  Please don’t firebomb my home.

In even more unrelated news, here are the last three songs that were stuck in my head so badly that they were literally on repeat for hours and made me want to pry out my brain with an ice cream scoop: “Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then)” by The Decembrists, “Ooh” by the Scissor Sisters, and “Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death from Above” by Cansei De Ser Sexy.  Now there’s a fourth one, “I Want to Love You in my Room” by Irving, which is still replaying itself.  I figure maybe I can lift the curse in The Ring fashion by forcing other people to listen to it and thus free me from my own nightmare.  Check out the video--although I warn you that I’m more fond of the music than the video, which shows more tongue than Gene Simmons visiting his dentist.

One of the most popular methods for getting in shape involves an ancient exercise practice called Yoga.  There are many stereotypes involving yoga, including the notion that it’s all about sitting on a mat and wrapping your foot behind your neck.  This is simply not true. More often than not, you have to put both feet behind your neck, so that you roll forward and bang your nose on the mat.  This explains why many people who practice yoga tend to walk around with a dazed expression.

Yoga carries many of its own unique traditions and expressions.  For example, it’s not uncommon for a practitioner of yoga to wish you “Namaste.” This is an ancient Hindu word meaning “I’m slightly better than you in just about every way.”

There are several types of yoga.  The Americanized version is called Hatha, which is more about physical fitness than refining and achieving a spiritual outlook.  In fact, the American tendency to discard the spiritual side of yoga in favor of its fitness benefits has upset many traditional practitioners.  However, most Americans are very open and interested in the spiritual aspect of yoga, as long as it doesn’t interfere with their television schedule.

Another popular American version of yoga is called Bikram, which was developed in the east.  That is, East Los Angeles.  It’s the version of yoga where strange people make weird noises inside of a heated room, usually around 105 degrees, and is therefore often mistaken for jury duty.

Revered spiritual leaders in the distant past were responsible for spreading the ideals of yoga, and one of them is actually still living and teaching today.  Carmen Electra single-handedly invented an important and influential branch of yoga called “Cardio Strip Tease.” She has many tapes and DVDs on the subject, and they are worth watching over and over again. 

For more information on yoga, move to the goddamn SF Bay Area. People won’t shut up about it around here.  That and the 49ers--although usually not by the exact same people.

There’s a new park off Scott Street in San Francisco. The park is high up in the hills and overlooks the city, revealing a dazzling horizon of buildings wreathed in fog. 

I’m sure that it’s completely legal to be poor and still take your kids to this park, but for whatever reason the poor just don’t bother.  Whenever I take my niece there for some playtime, the scene is always the same: all of the parents glow with carefully created tans.  Many of them have marathon and triathlon T-shirts. No one wears sunglasses or jeans that are less than $200.  The kids have expensive, complicated toys that grind up sand and spit it out; sometimes the toys make whistles and siren noises for no particular reason.

As I follow my niece around from swings to slides to sandbox, I hear snatches of conversation:

“I was in advertising but I wanted to keep my own hours so I started my own business.”

“Sure, the downturn has swallowed up a few million in equity but we still think we can sell.”

“The nanny wasn’t working out and now we’re not sure about the cook.”

These people are in no way unpleasant.  When my niece approaches the merry-go-round, a nearby father will immediately shoot his hand out and stop it, allowing her to get on and join his sons while they spin around and around.  When she makes a move that indicates she’s had enough, the spinning immediately stops and she’s able to disembark.

Still, I’m the guy who works for the Man five days a week.  I’m the guy who barely holds up a mortgage on a small place outside the city.  I’m the guy who fumbles with a routine diaper change while well-groomed mothers look on disapprovingly (it’s Uncle technique, ladies, get used to it).  I’m the guy who thinks how very, very strange it is to be this old and still feel out of place on the playground.

Do you ever stop and consider that you might suffer from a mental disorder in which you believe that you’re completely clothed, but in fact you’re naked?  When you dress in the morning, you’re just clutching at air.  You leave the house and you think you’re wearing whatever outfit is appropriate for what you need to do that day, but you’re actually brandishing your bait and tackle at the world.

It became clear early on that you suffered from this condition, so everything was prepped for you in advance.  Your parents told your neighbors, and your schools, and every place you ever worked.  Every person you’ve ever known has pretended to interact with you as though you’re a normal member of society, even though you’ve always been flaunting your junk like a Tijuana stripper.

Naturally you’ve become a celebrity.  Even though the world’s initial fascination with you wore off years ago, you’re still very well known.  Documentaries analyze you, and web sites monitor your progress through life.  Behind the scenes of your everyday existence are videocameras and paparazzi. You’re like an R-rated, full-frontal version of the Truman Show.

Sometimes you’re struck with anxiety dreams where you show up to work or a social function without clothes on.  But those aren’t anxiety dreams. That’s your subconscious trying to batter you into sanity, letting you know what’s really going on beneath the warm, comforting folds of your mental delusion.

Well anyway, have a nice day at work!

A letter to my employer:

Dear Employer!

I want to thank you for recently replacing my cell phone with a Blackberry.  I know you did this to increase my efficiency and productivity, ensuring that I’m “plugged in” at all times and can respond to emails with lightning speed.  And so I can!

I know that this additional efficiency is important to you, so I want to assure you that what happened today will never happen again.  It’s just that I was kind of bored in that application demo meeting today.  You remember the one, right?  There must have been fifteen people in the room!  But I didn’t have much to do so I started playing with my Blackberry, which I don’t really know how to use. And I opened up the web browser and went to CNN.com and lo and behold! They had an interview with Daniel Handler about the final Lemony Snicket book coming out this Friday.

So I read it!  And it was funny!  And I looked up and nothing was going on in the meeting, so I looked back at my screen and saw a link that said “Handler Responds to Rumors about a New Movie.” And then I clicked it.  And it took a long time to load, but I figured whatever, it’s a Blackberry, right?  But I didn’t realize that 1) it was a sound file and 2) a Blackberry can actually play a sound file.  So imagine my surprise when my Blackberry suddenly screamed “SO WHAT ARE THE CHANCES OF A NEW MOVIE, MR. HANDLER?!” into the middle of the meeting room.

Anyway, after everything settled down, I knew that I had learned my lesson!  And you can rely on me for efficiency and productivity from now on! Because now I know that it’s very, very bad to surf the web during meetings.  Because that’s not what a Blackberry is for. 

So instead I spent the rest of the meeting playing “Brickbreaker.”

Yesterday I received my blood donor’s card.  I felt a rush of pleasure when I looked at what type blood I had.  I’ve been out of school for years, and I had completely forgotten how great it feels to get an A+.

I’ll be extremely glad when Bush leaves office, but not for the same reasons that other people will be; it’s because my legs are killing me.  The thing to understand about me is that I do whatever signs tell me to do.  So whenever I’m about to take an elevator, I always see a sign that says “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, TAKE STAIRS.” And how else would you characterize the past one-and-a-half terms under Bush but a constant state of emergency?  So I’ll be extremely glad when he leaves office and I can take the elevator again.  I mean, my legs look great!  But I’m really sick of stairs.