In lieu of a post-lunch nap, today I took some time to peruse The 2007 edition of AskMen's Top 99 Most Desirable Women. To spare you the suspense, Beyonce is this year's winner. Sure she's hot, but the thought of Jay Z regularly making sausage out of her roast beef definitely makes her undesirable.
Now, I'm uncertain why this is my favorite onomatopoeia, but I can hypothesize several varyingly perverse reasons:
1. It refers to masturbation. Masturbation is both ubiquitous and funny in my demographic. 2. It's accurate. 3. I first discovered it on the very funny but now defunct webcomic, Sexy Losers. I imagine a few of our readers will appreciate the comedy and references to classic nerd-love of Japanese culture.
Now, I know it's no slackening-your-cheek-and-rapidly-pulling-it-away-from-your-teeth-and-releasing, but it communicates the essential hilarity of masturbation in printed form. We can all agree that such important ideas need be communicable in multiple media.
I think this may officially be the first TOB post from the "New Blogger. The powers that be finally gave us the option of upgrading. Hooray. I'm going to work on tagging all previous posts. It'll be awesome.
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An escaped prisoner who evaded a manhunt across the Southeast by stealing three vehicles, including singer Crystal Gayle's tour bus, has been arrested, authorities said.
Christopher Daniel Gay, 32, was arrested around 11 p.m. Friday near the Daytona International Speedway, said Lt. Patrick Myers, spokesman for Daytona Beach Police.
Gay escaped from a prisoner transport van on Jan. 21 Sunday near Hardeeville, S.C., police said. Authorities have said his motive for fleeing was to see his terminally ill mother; it was unclear whether he ever made it there.
Authorities suspect Gay of stealing a pickup truck in South Carolina, and then the cab of a tractor-trailer in Georgia. He allegedly drove to Manchester, Tenn., where on Monday he hooked the cab to a Wal-Mart trailer filled with $300,000 in merchandise and took off again, police said. He abandoned the rig within 50 yards of his mother's house north of Nashville and fled into a wooded area after Tennessee authorities spotted the truck Tuesday, police said.
He was spotted Thursday night driving a tour bus at USA International Speedway in Lakeland, but drove off after speedway officials became suspicious and asked him for identification, police said. Link
Momma Trains NASCAR Trucks Prison Gettin' drunk (I was drunk when I saw the footage of this on the news.)
I heard about this on the radio the other day, but blew it off. I mean, come on, Diamond Dave and Eddie reu-fucking-nited, at long last? I've had wet dreams about that unholy [re]union since the sixth grade, but it's never been more than fantasy.
That is, UNTIL NOW. "A source" says a tour kickoff in late April is "99 percent" likely. God bless it.
Prudence is a cardinal virtue; the Chronicle never got the memo
What the hell was the Chronicle THINKING when it published the names of all HISD teachers who received a bonus this year, as well as the amount each person received?!?
Among teachers there is obvious dissatisfaction with the performance measures (read: TAKS-related metrics) used to distribute the monies, and the newspaper had to be aware that it would incite resentment at minimum and riot at worst by making public the names of those who worked hard enough(!) to meet the school disctrict's "standards."
A cynical man would suspect that there is much more to this disclosure of information than a simple exercise in the Freedom of Information Act.
BUT, all that said, this talk of a teacher walkout next week makes me want to kill myself. People are awesome.
Read a lot more here and here, and see the list here.
During the Maine trip, someone had the bright idea of chronicling Dice's brief rise and meteoric fall. In homage to the the Nu Chapter's beloved motto, "Shame & Failure," I christened said story Montage of Failure. After all, while many of us give the Shame half a fair run for its money every day, only Dice has managed to truly embody the Failure aspect in all manners of his life.
After only a few short rounds of email, Mango and I have developed a rough outline for any author willing to undertake this worthy endeavour.
Montage of Failure: The Dice Story
Ch. 1: How to lose a girl in 10 weeks. Ch. 2: How to drop out of school in 6 months. Ch. 3: Fingercuffing. Ch. 4: Losing a car, Part 1. The Monte Carlo goes to the impound. Ch. 5: The Bill affair. Ch. 6: Apartment Lighting 101: Extension Cord Theory Ch. 7: One fish, two fish, red fish, BLACKBALL. Ch. 8: Making friends: The Gilmore, Andy, Chris, Amanda, and Monster Sagas Ch. 9: Losing a car, Part 2. The Pinto takes a trip. Ch. 10: Spiritual redemption through poverty.
Please leave ideas for other chapters in the combox. This has the potential for greatness if it materializes.
P.S. I'm only hard on Dice because I love him. A lot.
The New Yorker recently posted an essay about ED (emergency department) doctor cum experimental psychologist Dr. Pat Croskerry concerning the flawed heuristics (manner of approaching an investigation in this context) doctors bring into the doubt-riddled and often misled diagnosis process (please don't ever lie to your doctor about just how hard you work to dick yourself up). It's an easy read, telling stories of the atypical patients that are misdiagnosed before waxing theoretical, and I strongly suggest you read it.
The essay brings up three particular heuristics: 1. "Representativeness" a.k.a. expecting what's true most of the time to be true 2. "Availability" a.k.a. following trends in recently admitted patients 3. "Affective Error" a.k.a. liking your patient too much (WTF?)
Now, I don't approach the essay as a polemic, but it is critical in tone and, like many critiques, lacking in suggestions for remedial action. The first two heuristics are simply good logic, and warping the physician's approach to diagnosis in an attempt to prevent the percentage of errors it causes would undoubtedly be extremely expensive. The majority of patients that create a sense of "representativeness" or "availability" would undergo additional testing to rule out "unrepresentativeness" and, well, that'd be fucking awful considering the number of uninsured patients and universally accepted bloat of American healthcare. It's a classic question: Do we punish the majority for the sake of the minority? As always, it becomes a matter of weighing advantages and disadvantages. Until better and cheaper diagnostic tools become available, error is inevitable in the attempt to run an efficient (and in this case that means life-saving) operation. I purposefully omit often-proffered solutions, such as colleague oversight, because they don't apply to the premise of the essay. In no way does this indemnify substandard doctoring (as is seen in the second two examples of the essay), but believing your doctor is malfeasant in expecting the norm absent of other risk factors can only raise the expected standard of care to a level the current technological and legal environment (think: $$) cannot support. You don't see the bill for a patient of House M.D.
I do think the technology is in the pipeline, so despair not, but that's another post.
Anyways, as always, I invite contrary opinions. I'm just beginning to wrestle with this issues, and I recognize the limitation of my understanding and the benefit of a little intellectual adversity. Also, Nelly Furtado gives me an ambiguous-ethnicity-beauty chubby.
Before the supposed European "takeover" of the NBA of the last few years, international players were few and far between. Still, it seems like they used to be much more memorable as individuals than the prototypical guys you get in the league now. These were my favorites:
Toni Kukoc. Croatia.
When I think about the Bulls in the 90's for more then 3 seconds, I spontaneously orgasm. Whoops, there I went. Toni Kukoc was the 6th Man par excellence there during the second three-peat, 1996-1998. You know your team is going to be damn near unstoppable when you can rely on a powerhouse like him coming off the bench.
Detlef Schrempf. Germany.
Before Dirk, there was only Detlef. Another great sixth man, he could nail the three like nobody's business as well as post up. Though he established himself as a power player with the Pacers, it wasn't until he was traded to the Sonics that really thrived. If not for the juggernaut Bulls (cream) of 1996, he and the stacked Sonics (Shawn Kemp, Gary Payton, Hersey Hawkins, et al) would've been a gimme for the championship.
Rik "The Flying Dutchman" Smits. Holland.
Ohhhh, the sky hook. Remember it? Remember the big, lanky white guy with the little blonde moustache sky hooking in Patrick Ewing's face? It was a thing of beauty. I never even knew Rick Smits was foreign until I heard him speak in a postgame interview after a playoff series against the Bulls (cream). I always figured he was just a big Larry Bird.
Sarunas Marciulionis. Lithuania (former USSR).
What I remember most about Sarunas is the power drive. As clutch as he was in the NBA though, His greatest accomplishment was probably singlehandedly resurrecting the Lithuanian national team. In 1995, he led them to the European Championship, which they lost Yugoslavia, a team led by...
Vlade Divac. Yugoslavia.
Oh, Vlade. So big. So Slavic. So smooth with the passes. I always like to think of Vlade as a young Laker, when he played with Magic, James Worthy, and Byron Scott. He and the 1990-1991 Lakers made it to the Finals where they became the first victims of (cream cream) Michael Jordan's Bulls. Of course, as we all remember, he was later traded to Charlotte for the draft rights to one Kobe Bryant, the future lifeblood of the L.A. squad.
Watch this one, for sure.
And then, there's the greatest, EVER:
He's not MY-vydas, he's not YOUR-vydas, he's Arvydas!
Ok, ok. I know I'm not the ear for talent of our multi-ethnic band of buggery, but I was physically excited upon hearing Wet and Rusting by Menomena. Yes, I know, Friend and Foe is already on Pitchfork's ever-influential list of Best New Music. Also, it's a track from the third release of a band I had yet heard of, but of course, the the excitement stems from discovery.
Anyway, the band's creation of production software to suit their own style of composition is surely interesting, most likely superfluous, but decidedly fucking fine with me if it consistenly churns out the, at first blush, maddeningly sporadic melodic stabs and diverse rhythm textures. But, fap fap, when those drums crash in and pull out. I think Sigur Ros in a blender with no cover, but that's most likely an analogy that could be improved upon by someone with a broader musical catalog.
Rivaled only by the Queen of Pop Soundtrack Hits, fellow canuck, Celine Dion.
"Heaven" from A Night in Heaven. A gay song from a gayer movie. As it is lacking in film footage, I think this video is probably from the Reckless album release a couple years later.
"(Everything I Do) I Do It for You" from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. The golden standard of Theme Songs. Remember how they played the video right after the end of the movie? Alan Rickman was clutch city in this.
"All For Love" from The Three Musketeers. Performed by A.S.S. - Adams, Stewart, and Sting. Sadly, the video fails to incorporate film footage of Charlie Sheen and Kiefer Sutherland, and instead opts for the standard "impromptu circle jerk" theme.
"Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?" from Don Juan DeMarco. I remember that this song made me want to have babies when it came out. I learned how to play it on guitar in the hopes of someday being able to woo a woman with it. No such luck, though, and I was forced to stick to my strict regimen of chronic masturbation. Depp's in the video.
And just for shits:
It cuts like a knife, but it feels so fucking right. So much goodness.
And there was teabagging. (Sorry, Richard, kinda.)
All the pictures I took are available for viewing on a public Picasa Web Album. Go here to look at them. You may or may not need to be signed in with a (free) Google account for access.
Many much gratitude to Giz and especially Francis for accomodating us and playing host.
If any of you that went can remember anything at all about Sunday night, please enlighten me in the comment box. From what I can surmise it was the most eventful period of the trip, yet I seem to remember little to none of it.
We are back. I think that the Chi Phi delegation succesfully weathered the worst that the great Northeast could stand up against us - all it took was a steady diet of liquid courage on our part. Pictures to come tomorrow.
How about that triple overtime barnburner last night in Stillwater? Kevin Durant is such a fucking slugger. Even though we lost, it brought me pleasure to watch.
I kinda like the idea of being at work today. It makes me feel like I'm not a complete waste of skin.
So, having been accepted into the prestigious, private, but eminently affordable (relatively of course) medical school of my choice, I decided to tap into medical culture via several of Times' people of the year: medical bloggers. Luckily, bloggers participate in the same sort of year-end mutually masturbatory award-granting as everyone else, and I was able to find several succint lists from which to cull about 20 blogs to add to my beloved Google Reader (fap fap fap Google Reader fap *splurt*), along with a few foodie blogs.
Anyway, amongst the varied practicing physician blogs (most notably critical care), was the ever-present fear of litigation. Obviously this didn't create posts with craven subjects lines like, oh, "I'm Afraid of Litigation," but the sentiment was there, generally expressed as anger. Now, I don't know just how bad of a doctor I'll be, but I think we can all reasonably assume doctoring on the defensive won't help. I recognize the relative infancy of my understanding of the healthcare system, but I am inclined to agree with this guy.
From relatively few panel discussions with my peers (read: drunken rambling ranting in the courtyard), I have gleaned that people don't like doctors. Fine. I think doctors end up not really liking people much more quickly than their application essays would let on. But, with most of my friends reaching ages where they'll need to avail themselves of the American healthcare system (with liver trouble and elevated cholesterol levels), I feel a responsibility to renew/reinforce our readers' understanding of what the holy hell is going on with physicians and, well, fucking me. So, consider this another one of those ellipsis-preceding posts promising more useful future content. With no school, my excuse pool is essentially empty.
These are the things that make me want to kill myself
After this happened, I proceeded to vomit and defecate over every last square inch of my house, wallowed around in it, poured a handle of Everclear over my head, and lit a match.
Last week I watched a movie that was so bad, I still haven't gotten over it. Actually, that's a lie. I couldn't even watch the entire thing; I only made it through about 20 minutes or so before I had to shut the fucker off. It was without a doubt, the most atrocious thing I've ever laid eyes on. I speak of Feast. This was the first movie I have rented from Netflix that actually compelled me to leave a review for it. It is that fucking terrible.
As most of you probably know, I get an instant hard-on for horror-comedy. I fucking love it, in all its self-conscious, self-reflexive, witty glory. I think I've probably jerked off to Tremors, Evil Dead 2, The Blob, and Critters at least 30 times each in my lifetime. And the genre is far from dead - have you seen Slither yet? It's textbook. However, though Netflix and many of its civilian reviewers billed Feast as comedy horror in the strain of Shaun of the Dead, etc., it most certainly is not.
What it is is pure, unadulterated ass-piss. The 20 minutes I saw was an endless series of cliches, all stitched together with miserably, miserably failed humor, totally devoid of any original content. Not only that, but I watched it when I was stoned, so I was hyper-perceptive of the high school one-act play level acting and the abyssmal production value.
That's right, it's not even entertaining when you're high.
I don't know why it angers me so much that this movie even exists, but it really makes me want to pull the heads off kittens. This is a week later, for fuck's sake, and I still find myself flashing back to the god-awful mess I witnessed after an innocent night of imbibing. I imagine this is the closest I will ever be in my life to being raped. I feel violated, and I'm afraid I may be scarred for life.
I want to get every last soul involved with the making of this abomination and force them to Clockwork Orange it in an old, abandoned theater for the rest of their lives. I want them to suffer the hell that they have created and unleashed upon the earth and mankind for the rest of their waking days.
Cock. Balls.
Read a more detailed (and more level-headed) approach to the suckitude here.
Hooray for Sooners crashing into the mountain! Hooray for fantastic endings to fantastic games! This is one of those rare moments when you can say "that was one of the best X's EVER" or "that was one of the greatest X's of all time" and it not be hyperbole. If you assed out early, you should kill yourself.
Fiutak's got stream of consciousness notes; read them while you watch this on repeat and maintain a constant state of goosebumpage:
Statue of fucking Liberty, baby!
By the way, if Barry Alvarez and whatever other shitclown they had doing color commentary are around for the remaining three BCS games on FOX, I'm probably going to pour hot wax down both my ear canals. I was actually surprised when Brenneman hadn't committed suicide by halftime. That guy's a trooper.
And wow, holy shit! Remember the one Boise cheerleader they kept showing over and over again? The hot one? Look!
The Triumvirate is taking a field trip to Maine next week. It's going to be legend...wait for it...ary.
In lieu of a post-lunch nap, today I took some time to peruse The 2007 edition of AskMen's Top 99 Most Desirable Women. To spare you the suspense, Beyonce is this year's winner. Sure she's hot, but the thought of Jay Z regularly making sausage out of her roast beef definitely makes her undesirable.
