HEY!

Three points, Lenin!

Instead he watches while you do

Danger?

One and only

Magic Asians

Glory Days: Savaging the Subway

One day, ten years ago, I was bored.

It amazes me that boredom exists in increments of more than about fifteen seconds. I truly believe it is a human invention, the result of taming an environment so that it is no longer a continued process of attempting to survive any number of things that are simultaneously trying to kill us. We now adapt the environment to suit us and not the other way around. Boredom means we can't evolve.

This is besides the point, but this gives me an idea for turning theaters into legal dead zones in the case of people with cell phones and screaming kids. Reposition the exit doors and line the aisles with Slip and Slides.

Anyway, when I get bored I tend to look for a solution and usually find it. So on this day, ten years ago, I called Subway and set up an interview.

I showed up wearing a button-down shirt and tie and slacks. I selected a firm handshake, but not the typical Los Angeles handshake of the insecure, all trying to crush a man's index and pinkie knuckles as close together as possible. No, this was firm but sure, two shakes and you're done. The manager thought I must have been in the wrong place.

We sat down and he asked why I chose Subway. I looked him dead in the eye and said "I want to make some RUDE MOTHERFUCKING SANDWICHES." I said, my eyes a bit too wide.

He blinked a few times, rapidly. Not what he had been expecting. He opened his mouth to speak again, but I pressed on. "I want to make... I want to make the RUDEST sandwich ever! I'm talking like such a good fucking sandwich the customer bites into it, smiles this beautiful smile, and says 'That is a GOOD FUCKING SANDWICH, man!' I want to take like this bread, right? And then I want to put stuff on it and then bake it for ten seconds and ask if they want to make it a combo so fucking hard that they see God!"

I started to rock back and forth in the outdoor metal chair, making a racket while I stabbed the table with my finger to emphasize each word. I might have been spitting a bit, I can't remember. I was certainly working myself into a faux lather. It was at this point or perhaps slightly after that the manager's head wound up in his hands as he just waited for me to stop screaming.

"I have this one idea for a sandwich, right? It's got this meat and cheese, and then some kind of sauce! SAUCE! Then right before I serve it up, I bake it by tossing it at a precise angle over the sun! Then I punch Jared in the heart so hard that he dies!"

I was breathing heavily. I stopped talking. I was ready for my free drink or a ride in a cop car. Instead the manager rallied beautifully. He was red, but I couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. I'd have hated to play poker against him. He just asked "Is there... anything else you enjoy?"

I pretended to think about this for a second, then said "I kinda like eating sandwiches."

There was a long silence. It was over, and the poor guy was looking for a way to get out without the crazy man stabbing him directly in the neck, I guess. I stood up. He stood up. I held out my hand. He took it. We shook. I said "So when am I gonna know?"

THIS is completely WONDERFUL

HAHAHA FOUR EYES!

Oh shit, it's Youtube.

I will keep video links to a minimum. I find them annoying to a reading/viewing experience and think they really only have an appropriate place if I'm bashing out some semi-comprehensible brain yogurt about music or film, but this ad is absolutely brilliant and should be seen. Don't take my word for it, there's a New York media art museum that agrees.

It's not just the twist aspect that propels this bit of brainfuckery to being art. There's a careful layering of elements, from the obvious color wash to near-total lack of ambient sound to the spartan loneliness of that little kitchenette as offset and thus highlighted by the choice of music. Whole stories could be made of the design choices. One minute advertisements are almost never so carefully conceived and crafted.

AKA it kicks a couple of asses.

The most awesome man ever

The Stranger

The stranger walked along the cracked back street in the flickering and sickly post-dusk streetlamps, listening to the quiet sounds of conversation and saxophone music drifting from the dark little bars that huddled the less fortunate denizens of the city to their breast in these hours. A set of bongos accompanied a beat poet's staccato performance. The stranger's feet began to move with the beat, a little playful jig meant to move forward more than look graceful, but accomplishing both. The wind was cold but mild, and pleasant. It was then that he came upon an especially dark corner of that forgotten part of the city, a sole pool of light creating a makeshift stage on the sidewalk.

There was a muffled jingling sound and a happy clown fell into the light with more grace than his awkward frame would suggest possible. He had long, spindly legs and an eggish body, fat and round. He wore a small bowler on his bald, white head. He turned to the stranger, spun in place, and bowed. Then he did a slight pirorette and leapt out of the light toward the nearby cafe. The stranger just barely caught sight of a glint beneath the checkered coat as the clown vanished.

The explosion lifted him off his feet and sent him violently flying, though in retrospect he felt as if he were being lifted gently off the ground.

He sat up, his ears ringing. Part of a coffee cup landed nearby. In deference to the fact that there are rules to these kinds of things, so did a flaming bowler hat. He extracted a bent cigarette from his coat pocket, looking for his lighter. Not finding it, he regarded the now-aflame cafe. He sighed and tucked the cigarette back away.

Gary Glitter is strictly prohibited

Somewhere, someday

Jesus.

Do androids take Myspace-style self-photos in the bathroom?

Big Sexy Time