Irritable Male Syndrome

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

I must admit, I fall well short in considering myself well-read. I go through phases where I read a pile of books one month, and absolute zero the next. Right now I'm in one of those months where I've read nothing, and I attribute it to moving from an area that had a few used book stores that I really liked, to an area that has none. Well, I also attribute it to being lazy as fuck, but we're not talking about that.

This morning I decided to change that; to find some new reading material that would not only educate me and enlighten me--causing me to spend time doing something other than watching Travel Channel and playing Xbox 360°--but also blow my fucking mind. Mission accomplished.

I give

For obvious reason I went with the 5-for-$30 deal, because that's only, like, $13 per subscription. I may not be good at math, but counting money has always been one of my strong suits.

The Choices:
  • Backpacker--I realize that we have no real mountains in or around Minneapolis, or even that I live close to anywhere that would consitute wearing a real pack, but that doesn't mean I can't be one of those idiots that carries a backpack but doesn't want to admit it's really a glorified manpurse. A hardcore backpacker (like me) can still bring his moisturizer and whitening toothpaste everywhere, right?

  • Game Informer--I blame my brother. I asked for his infinite knowledge on the subject of video games, and he pointed me towards this magazine that originates in Minneapolis. Yeah, I'm a Homer. Hey, if you say "Game Informer" in that raspy movie announcer voice it sounds cool. Go on, try it.

    Coming this March to a mailbox near you...GAME INFORMER. [cue ominous music]

    See what I mean? So not cool. Right.

  • Official Xbox Magazine--I blame my mother for getting so drunk that one night way back in '74, thereby producing a son that was stupid enough to buy two gaming magazines. Thanks, Mom.

  • Outside-- Because "Out" was four letters too short.

  • Men's Journal--This one was thrown in solely because my only other viable choice was Penthouse, and I actually thought about it for a split second before coming to the conclusion that it would cause too much drama, but not between my girlfriend and I. Hell, she'd probably only care if I spent too much time reading Jackie Martling or the Forums (I never thought this would happen to me, but the other night while in the dorms/while trying to fellate myself/in the porta-potty taking a wicked dump...), for which she should be worried. My girlfriend is pretty laid back, obviously. I only wish I could say the same for my optical mouse and computer monitor, the jealous bitches.

  • As an added bonus, they decided to throw in two more subscriptions for free--Seed and Entrepreneur. I've never heard of the first(but can only assume that it has something to do with gardening or a being a mega whoreslut, or both), and with the second it'll be nice to have a handy reference should I ever want to spell "entrepreneur" in the future, but I'm really not holding my breath on that.

    So, in a short, short 6-12 weeks, I'll not only be enjoying these staggering works of literary genius on a monthly basis, I'll also be cursing myself for not choosing the magazine with gigantic boobies and unnaturally posed pictures of the crotch.

    Tuesday, January 30, 2007

    I have a little bit of time while I run some process(that you couldn't care less about) in the background, so I might as well write something, even if it's directionless bullshit that pops into my head.

    Sitting here in my cube, eating a ham, turkey and cheese Lean Pocket(Lean, because regular Hot Pockets go straight to my ass) with a knife and fork, just like Costanza and a candy bar, and I must admit that I feel a little retarded doing so. It feels odd. It feels unnatural, but I assure you that my actions are warranted.

    You see, I eat Lean Pockets for work lunch at least 3 times a week. They're quick, easy, and require little-to-no financial committment on my part--just like my last girfriend! And they taste as though God himself filled them with his love; or at least I hope that's his love. I've eaten so many of these delectable little pastries over the past few years, that I imagine the Hot Pockets Board of Directors kneeling before that picture I sent them awhile back, praising my insatiable Hot Pocket habit because it's sure to keep them afloat for many years to come. I've put factory employees spawn through college, people.

    A few months ago, they changed the style of ham they put in their Hot Pockets, though--to deli thin ham.

    Yes, I realize it's pathetic that I eat something so much that I knew immediately when they changed the formula. I'm predictable. I know this.

    That's all well and good because I loves me some deli thin ham, but the ham is so thin that it's impossible to chew through without getting a face full of molten cheese covered ham-goo. If only I was into Foodie porn. Sigh.

    But to allay the fears of all my Furry friends out there reading this, I'll let you know that though I love food, I don't love it like that.

    I love Wikipedia, but someone has got to do something about the woefully inadequate Furry Wiki. Then again, I'd be just fine with the vagueness.

    On another sad note, I am eagerly anticipating the release of Guitar Hero II for Xbox 360 on April 3rd. I'm excited--for a fucking video game--at 31 years of age. I did wait in line for a few hours on the night that Halo 2 was released, but I was out there more for the, um, writing fodder that could not be passed up, rather than my desire to be the first to play a game that features neither nudity nor sluts. I know, I was disappointed, too.

    Guitar Hero is different, though. It's fun. Like, really fun. The only thing that could possibly make the game any better would be to up the rating to Mature upon the addition of a mode where the Guitar Hero gets laid, nightly, just for being a Guitar Hero. I want to ask The Girl if I can be her Guitar Hero, but I really don't think she'd be impressed, nor that her panties might miraculously end up on the stage that I built in my studio apartment over the weekend.

    Thusly, yes thusly, the new ads would absolutely, no question about it, have to use the tagline "Do you have any Guitar Hero in you? Want some? Please? I'm clean! I swear! How about a handjob?"

    Love, Chad

    PS-For those of you that bitched about having to sign up to comment, just do it! Please? How about a handjob?

    Wednesday, January 24, 2007

    So far today at work I've put the finishing touches on my resume and cover letter, used the company fax machine to apply for another job, and finished my 2006 taxes, both state and federal, thank you very much. If that's not productive, I don't know what is. Of course, I haven't been productive doing actual work related things, but little victories are still victories, right? I think my supervisors should cut me some slack; at least I'm not looking at porn or being creepy stalker guy on Myspace.

    Speaking of the latter(and not that anyone really cares), I locked up Myspace profile right after sending off that resume this morning. One needs relatively little information to find someone on the site, and I can only imagine what a potential employer would think should they happen upon one of my blog entries detailing both bitches and hos. Personally, I'd probably hire me on the spot, give me a huge raise and an office corner overlooking the nude beach. Not that we have a nude beach in Minneapolis, but that's hardly my point.

    What is my point? Do I ever have one?

    My point is this; while walking by the ghetto Super America in the Loring Park area the other night, I heard a guy cat-calling to a woman as she walked into the gas station.

    "Wooo. Baby. BAY-BEE! Hey..." he blurted out, immediately followed by maniacal laughter, like he'd just walloped Sinbad in a joke telling contest.

    When I looked over to catch a glimpse of this convenience store Casanova, it didn't suprise me to see that he was black(like there was ever any doubt), but it did surprise the fuck out of me to see that he was sitting on a Lark mobility scooter. Cripple Pimpsalot was not only, well, a cripple, but sitting on his scooter all cock-eyed, trying to project the cool like only a pimp in a motorized cart can. Which is something I'd argue is impossible to do while on a scooter, but he was sure was giving 'er one hell-of-a go. Picture how you'd imagine K-Fed sits on a chair, any chair, and that's exactly how this guy was sprawled out; leaning back, right arm slung over the back of the chair, legs dangling leisurely above the footrest that's ribbed for traction.

    The only thing that could've completed his idiocy is if he'd been holding a 40 in a dirty tube sock and had his hat cocked to the side. For his sake, though, I hope his scooter had compartment for chloroform, because there's no way he's getting laid anytime soon without it. And if he did, where would he find a pay-by-the-hour, no-tell motel with a ramp? That's what I'd like to know.

    Friday, January 19, 2007

    Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here. I'm glad that you're here, just a little surprised. Since I've got you around, allow me to detail some things I cannot, for the life of me, understand. Perhaps you can offer your insight, oh Wise Ones.

    Club VIP Minneapolis--Is there any need for these in Minneapolis? Do we have that many real VIPs that require a seperate area for popular people to drink so as not to be mobbed by us common folk? Of course not. The thing is that I've never seen Prince, Kirby Puckett, or...shit, name another celebrity from Minnesota. That's right, there aren't any. And that means our VIP rooms are populated by retarded assbags from the suburbs--hopped up on Redbull and a false sense of entitlement--ogling droopy-assed girls sporting embellished tanks, or those equally hideous extra long shirts that seem to be all the rage nowadays. Oh hell, while I'm at it, there might as well be a Flirtini or two in the scene, too.

    I could write a whole rant, but why are those shirts popular? I thought the whole idea of women's fashion was to accentuate the best features while hiding the worst. These shirts do neither; they only make a bulbous, out-of-control, Twinkie fueled ass look even more titanic. Don't even get me started on blue jeans sans ass-pockets. Or tight jeans tucked into tall, black boots.

    I digress. VIP rooms. Right.

    It means the VIP rooms are full of people desperately seeking validation from others just as desperate to be validated. Pathetic.

    It's almost as bad as keeping a blog. Almost.

    The Internet-- That probably makes me sound like a crotchety old fucker who misplaced his prunes, but I don't care. Why is everything becoming so goddamn difficult? Just by my estimation, I am a member of close to 4,337.5 sites that require me to log-in. Blogging sites, banking sites, at least 400 internet porn sites; where does it end?

    That would be nice and all, that is if I were dumb enough to keep the same username and password on every single one. But, I'm not. But I'm also not the kind of person that writes any of that shit down. I guess that means even though I care about security, I'm too lazy to do anything about it. I've been told on more than one occasion that apathy is cute.

    The other day I bought an Xbox 360 and after I got it home, proceeded to sign up for Xbox Live, their online gaming service. Sounds easy enough, right? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

    I signed up just fine, but the process required me to have a Windows Live ID account, formerly MSN, to link to my Xbox live account. In a perfect world it's supposed to be one account you can use for a number of Microsoft services, like Hotmail and whatever the hell else that Microsoft sells. If Satan were alive today, he'd applaud Microsoft's effort.

    I thought that I had a account in the past, but couldn't remember which email address I used when signing up, so this time 'round, I used my Gmail account. Safe enough, I thought, considering that I've had my Gmail less than a year and just recently started using it for signing up for various online accounts.

    [removed for overeager nerdery that nobody cares about]

    To make a retarded story short, I somehow fucked up in my Xbox sign up, and instead of just being able to go into the system and correct my mistake, Microsoft requires to me pay $10 for a new Xbox Live identity(gamertag) and also sign up for a brand fucking new Windows Live ID to link to the new gamertag. Apparently it's impossible to un-link my Gmail with my old account, and link it to the new one? Doesn't make much sense to me.

    The only thing that pisses me off more than a superfluous online account is an online news article that has multiple page jumps. Well, that and Splash Pages. I hate splash pages.

    Thursday, January 11, 2007

    You can tell your building is soundproof when something like this happens, and you don't hear so much as the hint of a siren. My apartment overlooks this intersection that's less than 100' away, so you'd think a commotion that this sort of accident would produce would be heard. Nope, not even a tire screech.

    The thing that creeps me out is that I was walking down LaSalle after work at 1am, and I could easily see how this sort of thing would happen. The cab driver, I'm sure, thought that since it was 2am he could speed down LaSalle because there was nobody out. And the pedestrian could've been drinking(just speculation on my part because, really, who else is out at 2am?) and either didn't look at all, or couldn't see the car approaching because of all the other cars parked along the street.

    Either way--yuck-o. I noticed weird orange paint markings on LaSalle this morning, but I thought it had something to do with the parking situation. Silly me, livin' in the city.


    The Girl and I were planning on going on a quick vacation in the next few months, but it looks like that might have to wait a bit. Turns out that a few of her favorite musicians, musicians that rarely play shows, just happen to be playing shows in the next few months; Patty Griffin in Chicago and Dispatch in NYC.

    That's fine with me. If she was cancelling our plans to see someone like, say, Kid Rock, I may have to end her. Luckily, though, it's two bands that she really loves and doesn't get to see often. So, she gets to see two shows that she's absolutely giddy to see, and I get to avoid being a sweet, white bottom boy to an inmate named Cletus(again), which is surely what would happen if I were to have to kill her.

    That's a win-win in my book.

    So, to keep me company while she's gone, I've decided to splurge and buy an XBox 360. I want a Wii, but they're nigh near impossible to track down and I'm impatient,

    When I told her that I was planning on buying one, I tried to justify it to her--and me a little bit--that it was either buy the Xbox 360 and play video games with my nerdy friends over the internet, or track down Gummy the Lush from Market BBQ a few months back to keep me company. Of course, she called my bluff and said that she was ok with me hanging out with a whore as long as I got my shots. But, a tetanus shot hurts, yo.

    I've been teeter-tottering on whether I really needed a 360 or not, but after learning that Guitar Hero II is coming out for the console in a few months, we both needed no further prodding. It will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.

    Monday, January 08, 2007

    The Problem: A few weeks ago my music subscribtion service, Napster, upgraded their client. In doing so, they started using Windows Media Player 10+ or higher, while previously it had been set at 9 or higher. The problem is that here at work I'm unable to upgrade to WMP 10.0 because it requires Windows XP. My work computer runs Windows 2000.

    Shit on a stick.

    As such, my Napster client has become wholly inoperable. It opens and then immeidately crashes. I can still use Napster at home(because that computer has XP), but if I'm paying to use something, I want it to be functional on every damn computer I use.

    The conclusion: Napster gotta go. I am in the market for a new online music subscription service.

    The solution: You tell me. What service(s) do you pay your hard earned money to use? What do you like about them? What should I stay away from?

    I liked using Napster because even though I don't ultimately purchase a lot of music, I do like the opportunity to listen to a lot. I was able to download music to my hard drive--music that's out of my normal, go-to genre and never would've found without the radio service-- that I never really owned. That's fine with me; I don't need to own a license for every song in my library. I rarely listen to more than a handful of albums at any given time anyhow.

  • Radio stations--
  • This allows me to listen my favorite music at my leisure(heh, I said "lez") and hopefully find bands I'd never heard of before. This was one of the main reasons I liked Napster in the first place.
  • Compatible with 2000--
  • I'm fully aware that by the time I cancel and sign up for another service, every damn service out there will probably shun Windows 2000 like it has the clap. I may just be s.o.l. Whatever.
  • Unlimited listening without ownership--
  • This is why itunes is out of the running; it only has pay-per-download, does it not? I've never been able to dig that far into the software without causing harm to something fragile in the room, like a lamp. Or my patience and ego.

    Eh, without having you, dear reader, do all the research for me, why don't just tell me what you use and why you like it, mkay?

    Friday, January 05, 2007

    I'm back!

    Please, oh my, I didn't think I'd recieve this sort of applause upon my return. I'm flattered. If you'll settle down, we can get down to more pressing matters. Ok, fine, just one more standing oh.

    Let it all out.

    You, in the back, please climb off that man's shoulders and put your sheer tee-shirt back on. You can leave that bra up front with me. Yes, dude, I'm talking to you. Sicko.

    Anyhow, I'm sure most of you already knew about this, but I just discovered Cooliris, a kickass extension for Firefox. With it, you can mouseover a link and have a preview window--a preview window with the full functionality of the webpage--pop up in the foreground. Love it.

    This is great for me because it reduces the number of superfluous, uneccessary and redundant mouse clicks for me. It doesn't stop me from being too wordy, but what does? Not much that I know about.

    One thing, though; would the preview still be counted as a page view? If not, my web usage here at work just went way down.

    Also, on the recommendation of a few of y'all, I've decided to try out Google Reader for all 84 of my feeds. Why not? I figure Google already owns my emailing, website analyzing, map making, direction finding, video watching ass, so why not let them take me over completely? The only problem is that, for some odd reason, I can't download the notifier extension here at work, and that's something I need in order make my time wasting as efficient as possible. I'm all about doing nothing at all as quickly as possible.


    Did anyone else learn the word "superfluous" from watching the Simpsons? Just me? Oh.

    I've learned most of my, albeit slight, knowledge from odd places. One day in Mr. Ause's 11th grade World Studies class, he asked a question to which the answer was clearly "an amulet". I knew this, and replied as such. Nobody else had a clue what the fuck an amulet was, let alone that it was used to ward off evil spirits.

    What I didn't tell anyone was that the only reason I knew the answer is because I played a shitload, and I do mean a shitload, of Castlevania and Faxanadu when I was growing up. I let them believe I knew the answer because I was goddamn brilliant.

    Surprisingly, I didn't get laid much in high school.