Underpants On The Outside

The Perils of Unprotected Sex: Hypersenses

Tue, 25 May 2010 12:25:26 +0000

Some of you probably know this by now, but Wonder Woman is pregnant. When we tell people, the reactions we get are fascinating. Wonder Woman’s friends think is this is the most specialest, wonderfulest thing of all time. They cry and hug and generally use lots of exclamation points. My friends, on the other hand, think this is hilarious. I don’t see why – I am perfectly capable of handling the next twenty to thirty years in calm and collected manner. See how calmly I typed that? I’m going to be fine.

So what if my wife has the super-senses of Daredevil now? [smells self] Oh, crap.

It’s seven in the morning right now. Wonder Woman is supposedly sleeping in the other room right now, but I guarantee she isn’t. She can smell my coffee. She can hear me typing, and I don’t mean that she can hear the keyboard, either; I mean that she can hear the words. (Love you, baby! Go back to sleep!) There’s even a good chance she can see me through two walls, our kitchen counter and her eyelids.

According to all the books she’s reading on “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” (Cute title, but I would have gone with: You’re Screwed: What to Do, Now That You’ve Made a Baby) the hormones going through her body are heightening her senses, like she was bitten by a radioactive bloodhound, then a radioactive bat and then a radioactive eagle. It makes me feel just terrible for her. The sight of food residue on dishes makes her ill unless I wash them vigilantly. She needs me to take out the trash sometimes or she might throw up, even it’s only been a day or two and I can’t smell a thing. Even the noise of me eating peanuts while I watch TV irritates her so much that I need to leave the room.

This may be shallow of me to say, but I can’t help but feel a little grateful that it’s her and not me. If my sensory perception was amplified like that, I would notice so many little things that would drive me crazy. Y’know, like the way that Wonder Woman’s “baby-sense” only acts up when the kitchen’s messy or she wants the remote. And then I might feel like a chump.

Didn’t think I’d catch that, did you, woman?!? Well, you thought WRONG.

Of course, I can’t prove that Wonder Woman is using her “+1″ status as leverage. After all, she’s got tons of literature on her side saying that it’s impossible to predict what kinds of sensations will irritate a pregnant woman, but it’s nonetheless real. And if it just so happens that the things that tend to nauseate her are “whatever I’m eating, unless it’s cookies”, and that they tend to nauseate her between the hours of “whenever she wants to watch TV” and “whenever she wants a backrub,” well, the female body is a mystery…

Bullshit. You wouldn’t know it listening to the so-called “mainstream media”, but there’s plenty of literature that says pregnancy is, and I quote, “a walk in the park.” (Oberman, Zach. It’s Just Nine Months; What’s the Big Deal? Underpants on the Outside Publishing, 2011)

Who are all these “books” written by, anyway? CHICKS. Sure, they’re doctor chicks, but they were chicks before they were doctors, amirite? How do we know they’re telling the truth, fellas? It’s a chromosomal conspiracy, I tell you! What if they found out that blueballs wasn’t really excruciating and possibly fatal?!? What if this is their revenge? WHICH ONE OF YOU TOLD???

Sigh. I kid, of course. As excited as women get when we tell them the news, the first thing that every one of them asks is how Wonder Woman’s feeling. They also ask it in that tone of voice that suggests they expect the news to be bad – the tone of voice in which you’d ask someone, “Is the city going to make you pay for it?” That’s telling. The truth is that despite the last several paragraphs, we’ve been lucky so far. (I’d knock on wood, but I’m pretty sure it’d get picked up on sonar in the next room, and I’d insert a Hunt for Red October joke here, but that would imply my wife was a submarine.)

I’m certainly in no position to condemn someone for whining, either. To hear me tell it, I don’t get colds; I get semi-annual Black Plague. Every 2-3 weeks, Wonder Woman has to wax my ears, which has gotta be right up there with waterboarding. We live a half mile from a Target, and God forbid we buy both dishwashing AND laundry detergent, because the return trip becomes the Trail of Tears 2: Jewish Edition. I’m training for a marathon, and my three months of discomfort was enough that I felt I needed a separate blog to complain on.

I may kid her a little, but in all honesty, WW’s been a trooper so far, and I’m not just saying that because “you’d better, Mr. Ha-ha-funny-man-with-the-stupid-jokes-on-his-stupid-blog.” If my end of the bargain is a few inconveniences to help her be more comfortable, then between now and November I’ll just have to try to not blink so loudly.

Nnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrds!!!!!!

Tue, 20 Apr 2010 11:56:03 +0000

A couple mornings ago I was drinking my coffee and trolling the interwebs for funny things, and I came across this wonderful little article: The 10 Best Mathematicians. Now, I know a bunch of you reading this are big ol’ geeks, so I recommend you get yourself over to this site and enjoy. Even for you non-nerds it’s plenty understandable, even when we get to the later numbers and things start getting weird.

Personally, I felt the biggest omission was the Texas Instruments TI-82 graphing calculator. Not only did that thing get half of the kids I know through Pre-Calc and Calc in high school, but you could also play Street Fighter on it. No one on this list can say the same.

There are, of course, some fantastic moments in it. On its surface, it seems that the goal of the article is of course to make math a little bit more accessible; get people to understand that it has a long and storied history, full of dynamic personalities rather than a bunch of lonely weird hermits with crazy theories about the world. And just because each one of these dynamic personalities seems to have some very weird theories about the world, the type of which that could only develop and be fostered in total isolation, is merely a coincidence.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

#1: Pythagoras. Let’s be honest, there really couldn’t be anyone else here. We all know who he is. Two interesting things in the blurb about him. The first is that “[his theory] probably pre-dated him.” In other words, he’s not the best mathematician; he’s good at branding. Well, shit – I can do that. From now on, it’s not going to be called the Transitive Property. It’s now “Oberman’s Inference.” I call dibs. Mark it, Dude.

The second interesting thing I did not know was that “famously, [Pythagoras] didn’t eat beans.” In other words: while Pythagoras’s THEOREM describes the sides of a right triangle, it is his LAW that defines: Beans Beans = The Musical Fruit. And we all know the corollary proving that Tooting (t) to be a linear function of Eating (e).

#2: Hypatia. I know, right? A woman??? For the record, it’s not misogynistic for me to be surprised. Winnie Cooper wouldn’t be able to sell a kajillion books about doing math and wearing pink at the same time if there wasn’t still an expectation that most women have better things to get excited about than the triumph of a really awesome proof. (If the Chappelle Show had been around when I was in high school, I would have definitely finished some proofs by shouting, “I’m Rick James! QED, bitch!” Most women do not feel the same way.) The writer of the article even starts the blurb on Hypatia by basically saying, “I swear, this is legit…”

And yet “her most valuable scientific legacy was her edited version of Euclid’s The Elements, the most important Greek mathematical text.” Not to pick nits, but that’s not being a mathematician, that’s being a stenographer. By that logic, Simon & Schuster should share the number 3 spot on this list. I know Wikipedia isn’t the end-all be-all of references, but she doesn’t show up on Euclid’s page until the footnotes. For all we know, Euclid promised to add her as an “executive producer” after she gave him a bobojo. I’m not saying she wasn’t smart or she wasn’t good at math – she very well may have been. All I’m saying is that Euclid himself doesn’t make this list at all, but the lady who edited his book is #2??? Something smells like Title IX in here…

Still, she was “murdered by a Christian mob who stripped her naked, peeled away her flesh with broken pottery and ripped apart her limbs.” That’s a bit intense, no? I mean, I thought I hated math books as much as the next kid, but DAMN.

#3: Giorlamo Cardomo. Part of me wishes I could have hung out with this guy. I mean, he invented probability theory in order to help him with his compulsive gambling. On the other hand, along with being a compulsive gambler he also wrote 131 books, and was a doctor to boot. Something tells me he never shut up.

#4: Leohnard Euler. The first thing the article mentions about him was that he published over 900 books. While impressive, I’m pretty sure it’s not his biggest achievement in math, so let’s not bury the lead. When the author does finally get around to Euler’s contribution to math, the formula isn’t even written correctly. Not at all. (It’s not like I knew the actual by heart, but nothing about the formula seemed correct so I looked it up.) The author tries to justify Euler’s position in the list by saying that most mathematicians regard Euler’s formula as “beautiful”, but he must know that that really doesn’t mean shit to the average lay person, because he also sums up by adding, “Look, you wouldn’t have Sudoku without him. Is that good enough for you Philistines?”

What really astounds me is that that the author left out one of the most famous anecdotes about Euler:

It’s believed that he suffered from what we now know to be anemia, and Euler would often gorge on red meat, to replenish the iron in his blood. One night, Euler had a particularly large feast in preparation for the following day, when he was due to present some of his latest theories to some other prominent mathematicians at the time. As it turns out, he over did it with the feast, and the next morning he woke up with incredible pain in his joints from excessive iron in his blood. He was in no condition to present. It actually became quite a scandal. The whole incident was known as…

…wait for it…

Ferrous Euler’s Day Off. [Thank you. Thank you. I'm sure that joke has been made before in nerdier circles, but it's new to me.]

#5: [I know, it's hard to go on after a killer joke like that, but I must.] Carl Gauss. Gauss is known for two things. The first is his “discovery” of Non-Euclidian space, where it’s possible that parallel lines can still converge. That means we’ve crossed the line into “weird” math, and I must say, I think the word “discovery” isn’t used correctly here. People “discover” things like comets, or moles on your inside thigh – you look somewhere and see something no one has ever seen before. That’s a discovery. When you come up with an conjectural, multi-dimensional concept of space, you may have invented a new way of modeling the universe, but you still haven’t discovered shit – you’ve “come up with.”

Gauss’s other contribution to math was discovering that measurement errors created a bell curve. See, now THAT’S a discovery. And because of that discovery we have the modern-day grade curve. So thanks for that, Carl, you dick. I GOT AN 85 – BUT THAT’S A ‘C’ JUST BECAUSE I’M IN A CLASS FULL OF GODDAMN GENIUSES?!?

#6: Georg Cantor. Along with attempting to prove the superfluous nature of the silent E, Georg “most perfectly fulfills the (Hollywood) stereotype that a genius for maths and mental illness are somehow inextricable.” I like how the author tries to pin it all on Hollywood, when his number one guy wouldn’t eat beans. Georg’s known for the “counter-intuitive discovery [again with that word] that some infinites were larger than others.” Gee, I can’t imagine how that might loosen up a guy’s grip on reality. For the record, Cantor was alive in the same era when artists were going on absinthe binges and cutting their own ears off. Coincidence? YOU DO THE MATH.

The thing that really pisses me off is that I came up with the same exact theory independently when I was in the fifth grade and told Andrew Yamamoto that my forcefield was stronger than his laser gun by “infinity times infinity.” QED, bitch!

#7: Paul Erdos. [There's an umlaut over the 'o' in that name, but I'm not about to hunt down where that exists in Google Docs.] The blurb begins, “Erdos lived a nomadic, possession-less life, moving from university to university, from colleague’s spare room to conference hotel.” [Apparently this blurb was written by "Hollywood".] There is absolutely no mention of what he contributed to math, only that he wrote 1500 papers with 511 collaborators. In super-nerd fashion, the blurb mentions that mathematicians give themselves “Erdos numbers” based on their degrees of authorial separation from Erdos. (The 511 collaborators are Erdos 1’s, anyone who published a paper with those guys are Erdos 2’s, and so on. And you know those guys just get so much tail because of it.)

Paul Erdos: Math’s Kevin Bacon.

#8: John Horton Conway. I’m just going to quote this one directly. “The Liverpudlian is best known for the serious maths that has come from his analyses of games and puzzles.” First of all, this is a math article, so I don’t see why we have to make fun of the guy for being short. That’s just uncalled for. “In 1970, he came up with the rules for the Game of Life, a game in which you see how patterns of cells evolve in a grid.” Like many of you, I was pretty sure the author had a gross misunderstanding of how The Game of Life is played. The cells don’t evolve in a grid! They usually go to college, and it’s a rather twisty path, idiot! But then I did a bit of Googling and found this. Oh. “Early computer scientists adored playing Life, earning Conway star status.” Pretty sure we should be putting the word ’star’ in quotes there. I won’t lie, I watched that simulator run for about five minutes, and it’s quite dork-awesome, but let’s keep things in perspective. Also, I’m not sure how you “play” this game; you watch it. It’s like saying you’re really good at playing lava lamp. Then we get this tremendous quote: “He has made important contributions to many branches of pure maths, such as group theory, number theory and geometry and, with collaborators, has also come up with wonderful-sounding concepts like surreal numbers, the grand antiprism and monstrous moonshine.” Spoiler alert: none of these concepts are as wonderful as their names.

#9: Grigory Perelman. Let’s see: scraggly beard, unemployed, lives with his mother in near-solitude, and acts irrationally. It’s time to stop blaming “Hollywood” for the stereotype. In 2006, Perelman came up with a proof of the Poincare conjecture, which was one of the “Millennium Problems” – a series of mathematical problems that were so big, a million dollar prize was offered for each one of them. I don’t know how you say “QED, bitch!” in Russian, but I’m pretty sure it was shouted from the St. Petersburg rooftops that day.

Perelman solved the Poincare conjecture in 2006 and was given some big math muckamuck award, which he turned down. That’s being an oddball. Last month he was offered his million dollar prize, and he turned that down too. Remember at the top when I said he was unemployed and lives with his mother? That’s not being an oddball – that’s being an asshole. If my son were an eccentric genius, I like to think I would do whatever I could to support him. But if I found out he was turning down million-dollar gifts? You are SO grounded, young man! Then again, how do you punish a guy who likes to be alone working on math problems? He LIVES in “time out”…

#10: Terry Tao. Tao proved something about prime numbers, yada yada yada. The blurb is easily the dullest of them all, probably because after a cursory glance at his Wikipedia page, Tao seems to be a rather well-adjusted genius. Married, kids, good job in Los Angeles, a blog… the choicest nugget I could find on him was that at the age of 8, Tao scored a 760 on the math section of the SAT. It’s unlikely, but I love to imagine him taking the actual SAT at an official test site. How much would that fuck you up if you’re fifteen and just when you’re getting yourself settled, some eight year old kid comes in and sits down next to you? (Note to self: when I have a kid, I gotta do that, just to see the horrified look of every teenager that walks out of the room.) When I was eight, I couldn’t stay within the lines of a Spider-Man coloring book. Terry Tao was filling in a Scantron sheet. Point: Tao.

Not for nothing, but here’s another interesting fact about Tao: one of his brothers has an IQ of 180 (and works at the Magic Kingdom!) The other has two degrees. Supposedly, Mama Tao refers to her vagina as “The Play-Doh Genius Factory.”

Unfortunately, we all know this list is bullshit. If any of these guys were worth a damn, Russell Crowe would have starred in a movie about them instead.

QED, bitches.

NOTHING CAN STOP THE JUGGERNAUT!!!!

Sun, 04 Apr 2010 23:44:27 +0000

One of the following things is true:

A) I make big, bold decisions. I don’t waste a lot of time, sitting around and “thinking”.

B) My decisions always turn out well.

C) I am a world class athlete.

Well, truth and fiction recently collided when I made a bold-yet-doomed decision to run a marathon. Presumably I was either drunk or in possession of someone else’s body at the time. To be fair to myself, it’s possible that this won’t be a disaster. Like the joining of matter and anti-matter or peanut butter and tuna fish, it’s hard to predict what will happen.

In my life, I’ve found that a lot of bad decisions lose their negative connotations when viewed through the prism of scientific experimentation/observation. Whorehouses become “Reproductive Simulators”; casinos become “Statistical Laboratories Allowing Considerations for Real-World Dynamics.” Therefore…

Observations on the Physiological Response to Aerobic Exercise in a Caucasian Male over the Age of Thirty in Relation to Tubbiness

Abstract: We’re going to make a fat man run a bunch, and see if it kills him or makes him sexy.

Subject: A thirty year old male. Last known physical exertion is described as “this really hard game of Halo 3 a couple years ago,” and subject’s wife, “Wonder Woman”, describes his sexual attractiveness as “really depends on the lighting.” Interestingly the subject’s friend, “Becky”, asserts that the subject is not actually fat, suggesting that the subject’s fatness is purely psychological. Physical evidence taken before the experiment indicates otherwise:

Methodology: Subject has joined Team in Training, an awesome organization, even though they make Subject get up really early on Saturday mornings to run.

Initial Results: Mixed. Subject is now capable of jogging up to ten miles continuously. While this is an improvement over 125%, physical change remains undetectable by current technology:

Conclusions: Beats me. Experimentation to continue until June 6, 2010. Weekly updates can be found at subject’s new running blog, “Racing Stripes on Love Handles.”

Paging Dr. Z

Mon, 01 Mar 2010 23:22:38 +0000

A very dear friend of mine is now nine months AND ONE WEEK pregnant. She’s gone on Facebook, asking people for suggestions for what she can do to pass the time while she waits on the kid.

Personally, I think she’s looking at this problem all wrong. Why so passive? She’s the kids mother, for crying out loud! It’s never too early to start teaching good manners, starting with: it’s rude to be late to an appointment.

So here are my top 6 8 things she can do about her (adorable I’m sure) little wombguest who, quite frankly, is starting to overstay his/her welcome.

1) Playskool’s “My First Eviction Notice.”

2) Invite friends over. Make it sound like there’s a totally awesome party going on just outside your vagina.

3) Put speakers against your belly and start playing Metallica. Psychological warfare.

4) Take a rolling pin. Start just below the breasts, and work your way down. (Be careful, obviously. You don’t want to hurt the kiddo – you just want to let him know you’re not messing around.)

5) Smoke ‘em out.

6) Pacifier + fishing pole = baby. For the line, I’d say a ten pound test oughta do ‘er.

7) Find something to do – something where the absolute most inconvenient thing that could happen during it would be to have a baby. For instance: drive to Los Angeles.

8) Start baking cookies. Stand near oven. (True, this is similar to #2. But everyone loves cookies.)

How ’bout it, Underpants readers? Any more?

6 Hours of Meeting; One Nugget of Gold

Tue, 02 Feb 2010 01:16:15 +0000

I’m currently sitting in hour 6 of a sales conference that can only be described as “riveting”. Well, that would be the only way to describe it, on the condition that you knew no other words.

The speaker just asked “Who can tell me a use for cream cheese?” About ten seconds too late, I turned to the guy next to me and whispered…

“That’s between me and my fuck-bagel.”

Thank you – I’ll be here all week! (Literally. Yay sales conferences.)

To the Girl in Seat 7E

Mon, 01 Feb 2010 02:18:52 +0000

Hi there,

I owe you an apology. We haven’t known each other long – about three hours now. In three more hours or so we’ll be touching down in San Francisco. Are you from San Fran? I’m guessing you are – you don’t seem to be wearing very much makeup.

Sorry, I’m rambling. This is just a bit awkward for me, but… here goes.

I’m sorry that I smell so badly. I don’t know what happened. I put on deodorant this morning, but I get a little nervous when I fly. I didn’t realize how bad things were, but when I reached over to get my drink from the stewardess – oops, flight attendant – I couldn’t help but catch a whiff of myself. I am really glad I’m not sitting directly to my left! Unfortunately, you are, and for that I am sorry.

Have I smelled this bad the whole time? I can’t help but think of all the things I’ve ordered so far from the stewarde-oops, there I go again. (I just thought of a funny name for them: “altitude wenches.” Oh c’mon, that’s funny. Don’t get your flannel panties in a bunch.) There was the water, then the tea, then that cheese platter, then the second round of tea. Then she’s gotta come around again afterwards to pick up the trash, and then it’s all, second verse, same as the first.

I should also apologize for having to get up to go to the bathroom so much. Was that The Time Traveler’s Wife you were watching? It looked intense. Why was Rachel MacAdams crying? In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best time for me to get up, but it’s all this tea, y’know? Speaking of which, I’m going to need you to wake up now…

Okay, I’m back now. I was debating whether to mention this, but I thought about it a bunch in the bathroom and I decided I should come clean. (Sorry I kept you waiting – I didn’t realize you had followed me.) It should come as no surprise by now that yes, it’s me who’s been farting. Did you know people can become lactose intolerant in their later years? I’m starting to think that’s happening to me. Side note: the cheese platter is surprisingly delicious for airplane food.

I hope you can forgive me. Please understand: much like Eric Bana’s character in The Time Traveler’s Wife (or at least what I could gather without the sound) my body does things that I don’t understand, am unable to control, and have a negative impact on the women around me. (But don’t get any ideas – I’m married!) I just hope my bodily issues don’t cause me to get shot by hunters.

Oh yeah: sorry for watching over your shoulder so much. That really seemed to annoy you, though I don’t see what the big deal was. Was that girl at the end his daughter?

- The Guy in 7F

P.S. Please forward this to the girls in 6F and 8F.

What a Difference a Day Makes: 24 Little Hours

Wed, 27 Jan 2010 06:36:14 +0000

I’m a big fan of 24, though most of the time I’m just impressed by how much Jack Bauer manages to squeeze into a day. To illustrate, I compare each hour of Jack’s day to the corresponding hour in my own day. Enjoy.

Jack’s Day, 8-9pm:

Last night, I had an awesome “throwback” 24-viewing experience, as I had the pleasure of watching it in the company of Ex-Roommate Mary. Ex-Roommate Mary was part of the group that first introduced me to 24, and I still enjoy watching it in that group environment. Wonder Woman doesn’t watch the show, and each week I keep forgetting how fine the line is between “really awesome Jack Bauer impression” and “You’re being an asshole. Now untie me and put the kitchen knife back in the drawer.” At least Ex-Roommate Mary understands my humor.

The only downside to this arrangement was that Ex-Roommate Mary hadn’t seen the first four episodes. Hm. I wonder where she could read really long but somewhat amusing recaps of those epis- OH WAIT I’M TALKING ABOUT THIS SITE. Do you know what it feels like to try and describe four hours of 24? I guarantee the writing staff of the show doesn’t. It’s not pleasant.

On that note… ON WITH THE SHOW!

When we last left Jack, his ex-girlfriend operative had just cut the arm off of a low-level Russian mobster, played by the “Why Squirrel Hate Me” guy. Jack is about as perturbed as most people would be if you scratched their car. There’s no panic; just frustration.

[on further examination, we discover that Firecrotch didn't cut off the guy's arm - just his thumb, so the bracelet would come off. So he can still type, butallofhissentenceslooklikethis. One Two Three Four, you just lost a thumb war!]

8:07: Jack doesn’t think this operation should continue. It’s a funny choice of words when you think about it, because she’s pretty much playing Operation (Travel Edition.) Jack tells her that she’s unstable. Unfortunately those are the hardest to get rid of. (When I tried to break up with my unstable ex-girlfriend, she refused to leave my room. We stayed together three more months. Her Facebook photo now shows her holding an M-16.) Jack reiterates that she’s not fit for this mission, but she calls his bluff, because she’s the only way they’re getting the nukes in time. She’s got Jack by the short and curlies in one hand; he’d better hope her other hand isn’t still holding that saw.

When Squirrel Hate Me wakes up (he fainted when he realized his detachable thumb gag just got a lot more realistic), he says he’ll take her to “Vladimir.” Just then, Chloe calls Jack, telling him about ten minutes too late about the guy’s parole bracelet. The show is not called “24 and some change”, Chloe. Try and be a little more on the ball next time.

8:17: Squirrel Hate Me and Firecrotch are in a car, with Jack tailing. Squirrel is surprised she wants to deal with Vlad, after “what he did to her.” I’m curious to hear what that’s all about. Luckily, so his Jack, so he puts Chloe on it. I wish I had a Chloe. I’d probably call her 36 times during a single episode of Lost.

8:31: Team FireSquirrel pulls up to a nondescript garage. Squirrel Hate Me gets out to go talk to the guys first. While he’s gone, Jack asks Firecrotch what happened between her and this mysterious “Vladimir.” Wait – Jack put Chloe on this fourteen minutes ago and she still hasn’t got him anything??? OK, I’m officially concerned about Chloe. She’s struggling with the computers, it’s taking her forever to find stuff. Then it hits me – I bet she’s using Office 2007. It’s terrible. I don’t know if Office 2007 is under the “I’m a PC and Windows 7 was my idea” marketing campaign, but if so, I would really like to meet the person whose idea it was to get rid of the pull-down menu system that I’ve been using for the past twenty years. Personally, I was not ready for a change. I would like to meet that person, and then rearrange their entire house. Looking for the milk? It’s in your sock drawer! Welcome to the Office 2007 experience!

Firecrotch tries to tell Jack it was nothing, and that Squirrel Hate Me is “a drama queen.” At which point Mary yells at my TV: “You just cut off his fucking thumb!!!” I really did miss her.

Some minutes later (I wasn’t taking good notes): Firecrotch is brought in to meet “Vladimir”. Even though Vladimir knows that she was being brought in, when she enters, he’s facing away from the door, attempting to nonchalantly lean on a shelf, even though all of his henchmen are facing her. This is obviously what Vladimir has determined to be his “cool” look. Every guy has one. Mine involves a slight, almost flirtatious pursing of the lips. Needless to say, none of these looks are actually cool.

Hey – Vladimir is a Cylon! The guy playing Vladimir (Callum Keith Rennie) played the Cylon “Leoben”, on Battlestar Galactica. That’s two BSG actors now. I just hope Jack knows to be careful. The Cylon can’t die – he’ll just be reborn in a new body. Though, come to think of it, that might be Jack’s dream come true. A man that can’t die is like an all-you-can-eat buffet… of torture.

Chloe tells Jack (finally) that things went bad between The Cylon and Firecrotch. They were together while she was undercover, and it sounds like things got rough. Suddenly, it all makes sense to Jack. Firecrotch WANTS to die. Remember, when Curtis threatened a mission a couple years ago, Jack shot him in the neck, and Curtis DIDN’T want to die. Bros before hos, Jack. Bros before hos.

8:40-ish: Firecrotch plays 20 questions with the Cylon as he tries to find any holes in her cover story. Finally he tells her she has balls. (Well, Jack’s just getting tons of surprises tonight!) Then the Cylon orders his men to tie up both Firecrotch and Squirrel Hate Me, and to throw them in a trunk. They go for a ride, as Jack tails them and Chloe follows via satellite. Jack tells Chloe that they have to assume they’re being taken somewhere to be killed. Then he yells, “Damn it!” Usually when Jack yells that, there’s someone nearby. Usually he has his hand or a gun to that someone’s throat. Now he’s in a car, yelling into a bluetooth headset. The whole scene just looks so impotent. It’s like he’s yelling at traffic. The Jack Bauer I knew doesn’t yell at traffic – he waterboards it.

8:57: On his headset, Jack hears Firecrotch get out of the trunk, but the car he’s following is still moving. He realizes he’s been following a decoy. Chloe missed the real bad-guy car leave about five minutes later. Jack actually yells, “Are you kidding me!?!” at Chloe. I don’t think this has ever happened. I’m telling you, Office 2007 is a nightmare. It’s not her fault.

Cylon takes Firecrotch to the water. Squirrel Hate Me gets killed. Over his headpiece, Jack hears Firecrotch give this sappy speech about how she’s got nothing to live for, and he should just kill her. (No Best Supporting Actress Emmys were harmed during the filming of this scene.) Sure enough, The Cylon doesn’t kill her. According to him: “I had to be sure. You understand, right?”

Mary (in fake Russian accent): “Water under bridge, yes?” Not to Squirrel Hate Me it isn’t.

Jack tells Chloe to stand down – they bought her cover. He’s breathing heavy. I’m almost certain he ejaculated in his pants.

For the hour:

Kills: 0
KO’s: 0
Driving: a lot
Stakeouts: -1 (you followed a decoy, Jack? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???)

This is possibly the worst hour I have ever seen Jack have.

Z’s Day, 8-9 PM:

Damnit. I told myself to do something interesting Monday. Unfortunately I had an office party, and in order to get home to watch 24 with Mary, I spent the 8-9 hour on the subway.

For the hour:

Kills: 0
KO’s: 0
Trains taken: 3
Open seats: 1

Like Jack, I did a lot of traveling during my hour. Unlike Jack, I actually went in the right direction. I WIN!!!!

But Baby, I’ve Changed!!!

Fri, 22 Jan 2010 03:52:48 +0000

Okay, here’s my question:

Say I were to show up at an ex-girlfriend’s house. I interrupt whatever she’s doing, but it’s important, I say – I have a message for her that she really needs to hear.

I admit that our breakup was tough on me. A lot of the things she said hurt me at the time. But after a while, I started to see what she was talking about. I WAS taking her for granted. I HAD become boring and stale. And if I was really being honest with myself, I couldn’t blame her for wanting to see other guys.

But things were different now. Because of her I’d changed a lot of things about my life – I was getting out more, trying new things. I wasn’t a different person, but I was a better person than I had been. And I wanted her back.

Would that work? HELL NO. So then why do I want to try that new Domino’s pizza so badly! Why?!? What did they do that I didn’t?

Well, they didn’t cry, for one. But that just means they don’t love me as much as I loved her. My hypothetical ex-girlfriend, that is.

Or maybe I should have painted my dick with garlic butter.

What a Difference a Day Makes: 24 Little Hours

Thu, 21 Jan 2010 17:43:07 +0000

Jack’s Day, 6-7 PM:

When we last left Jack, he was chasing down Chloe’s longshot lead on a guy who may have framed the reporter… oh, you either watch the show or you don’t care. Let’s just agree that Jack has to find out where some guy went once. If Fox wants me to recap better, they’ll stop showing four-hour premieres.

6:05 PM: Jack shows up at the corner of “Broadway and West 23rd, in Queens.” At the time the show aired, I was SURE that such a location does not exist – that they had just thrown together three New York sounding locations, like, the corner of Statue of Liberty and Yankee Stadium, in the East River. Turns out, I don’t know shit. There is a Broadway and 23rd in Queens. I will never disbelieve anything I see or hear on this show again. The only error is that you’d never call it West 23rd, as Queens is east of Manhattan. In your face, 24 writers!

Jack pays some kid $100 to find out that the guy he’s looking for went into a house. Because we – the viewers at home – are omniscient gods, we know that this is because the assassin has set up a false identity as a member of the NYPD. The house belongs to another member of his squad, who is due on the Shmiranian President’s security detail. The Assassin wants to switch shifts with the other cop, so that he’ll be on the President’s detail instead. Got it? Awesome. Now we’re all omniscient.

6:09: Jack looks in the window and sees that Good Cop and his wife have been murdered. Jack draws his gun.

6:10: Jack kicks in the door. The way I see it, Jack just tortured a building.

6:11: Other Cops show up at the door, and Jack realizes he’s fucked, because Bad Cop is gone, and in general it’s not good to be a guy holding a gun in a room with a dead cop. Luckily, I’m sure Jack will be able to sort this out with a sentence that begins, “My name is Jack Bauer…” Sidenote: One of the cops is the guy who played Herc, in The Wire. I think it’s the 24 producers’ way of admitting that their show blows. Rather than write a good show, they’ll just use actors from other shows we’re fond of. (And Freddie Prinze Jr.)

6:13: Jack gets the drop on one of them. Right on time: “My name is Jack Bauer…” You just keep trying that one, Jack. That bit is bound to work one of these days.

6:14: Today is not that day. Before Jack can get through what’s going on, he gets tasered in the back by Herc. But rather than arrest Jack, Herc takes him back inside for a good ol’ fashioned beating-down. Someone go get the Gimp.

6:24: Jack is getting beat down. When Cop-who-isn’t-Herc thinks Herc is being too rough, Herc sends him away. I bet he misses Carv right about now.

6:41: That is now 27 minutes straight that Jack has been getting the shit kicked out of him. Yet just as Herc comes in for another round, Jack tips his chair forward, charges forward and rams him, breaking his chair. Jack then does a somersault to get his legs through his cuffs, picks up a chair leg, and… Herc’s ribs just got JACKED!

You know what strikes me about Jack’s escape? It’s that there weren’t any ropes he had to work loose, or cut on a sharp piece of glass, or anything like that. In other words, Jack could have done it whenever he wanted. That means he just sat through 30 minutes of getting punched in the face, presumably because he liked it.

6:54: This time, Young cop follows up on Jack’s information and realizes he’s telling the truth. By now Jack knows that Assassin Cop is going to the U.N. to kill the Shmiranian President, but he needs a ride. He tells Crybaby Cop, “Officer, this is going down NOW. You can either stand here and do nothing or you can help me stop it.” Ooh, that cop’s willpower just got JACKED!

That being said, has Jack thought this through? See, Crybaby Cop happens to be of the Asian persuasion, as they say. And the last time Jack followed an Asian cop… it didn’t end so good. (He spent 18 months in a Chinese prison.) I’m just saying…

6:58: Jack gets on the phone with Freddie Prinze Jr and tells him to stop Shmiranian’s president’s car. Why is he in a car, you say? Well, I haven’t taken the time yet to go into the details of the assassination plot, but let me ask you this: have you ever played the board game “Mouse Trap?” It’s basically like that, except swap out “net that falls on mouse” with “bomb under manhole cover.” Everything else stays the same, including the way that the game required so much set up for so little payoff. Jack’s warning provides JUST enough time for the Dreamboat to swerve in front of the Shmiranian President’s car as the bomb goes off. WILL HE BE OKAY?!? There’s a chance I’d be in suspense if I wasn’t going to find out in five minutes.

For the hour:

Kills: 0
KO’s: 0
Ribs broken: 1
Wooden furniture pieces busted: 2
Punches to face: -329 (estimated)

Shiiiiiiit. Break furniture and get punched in the face? I coulda done that!

Jack’s Day, 7-8 PM:

When we last left Ja- oh just press PgUp.

7:02: Surprise, surprise, The Dreamboat lives. The Assassin starts to freak out as his Rube Goldberg deathtrap is unraveling before his eyes. He watches as the Dreamboat sends the Shmiranian President safely to CTU Headquarters, then flees when Dreamboat sees him. Freddie Prinze Jr. chases him into an alley, where I’m pretty sure the Dreamboat will die. I think everyone knows that any time a sidekick chases after a bad guy, they’re going to die. The problem is people never realize when they’re they sidekick. YOU ARE THE SIDEKICK, DREAMBOAT. And since I know my wife’s not reading this: YOU ARE THE SIDEKICK, WONDER WOMAN.

7:05: The Shmiranian President’s brother was in on the plot all along. He too freaks out hearing that his brother is still alive, so he stabs a CTU officer in the neck and runs away into the night. To be clear, no one had suspected a thing yet. UNTIL NOW. That’s using your noggin.

7:06: Oh man, Dreamboat just followed the Assassin into an abandoned building!!! ABORT!!! ABORT!!! YOU ARE ROBIN, YOU DUMB (but handsome) SON OF A BITCH! And here we go. Assassin has the Dreamboat at gunpoint. He has him get down on his knees, so I guess tonight’s killing will be served execution style.

7:07: GUESS WHO SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY. Jack shoots the assassin in the nick of time. While Robin tries to unvoid his bowels, Jack rips open the Assassin’s shirt. I assume he likes to view his handiwork. After noticing some interesting tattoos, Jack whips out his cellphone to start taking photos for Chloe. I bet he has a tremendously thick album at home.

Some minutes later that I didn’t record: The tattoos suggest the assassination has some connection with the Russian mob. CTU knows of a woman who worked undercover with the Russians some years ago. It’s the Firecrotch from last season. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s a small world aaaaaaaaaaafter all…

7:20: Jack gets to CTU, says good bye to Dreamboat and says he’s going to try and make the last flight to L.A. Chloe tells him that Firecrotch is coming down to the office. Jack says she didn’t return his calls. Chloe says that she had some kind of breakdown. Now, I didn’t watch all of last season, but both of those things might have to do with the time Jack shot her in the neck and left her suffocating in a ditch. Lady: he’s just not that into you…

7:22: The assassin’s body has traces of radioactive elements. See, this is why they should have ended the show after Season 6. Once you nuke Valencia, you really don’t have anywhere else to go unless Jack’s going to take on a Death Star. They should have had a press conference and said “Look, we shot our wad. Deal with it. Show’s over.” Now 24 is the only show in history that can consider nuclear terrorism to be a tired plot device.

7:27: Firecrotch arrives by helicopter. From the skyline, it appears that CTU is in New Jersey. Why not. A few minutes later, she gives the team a breakdown on what the tattoos mean. Like all tattoos, they mean the dudes are badass and not to be trifled with. In unrelated news, I have a tattoo. I am badass and not to be trifled with.

CTU asks her to go back undercover. They offer her her badge back. She reminds them that she quit, and doesn’t want her badge back. Then she takes the job anyway… out of the good of her heart? What the hell is going on? She needs to go back and watch Lethal Weapons 1 & 2 again, because she doesn’t seem to fully understand the rebel cop mentality.

7:32: Jack comes by to say goodbye to Chloe. Chloe tells her that Firecrotch is going undercover to go after nuclear bombs. This intrigues Jack, who wants her to go undercover for some NON-nuclear fusion, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. They talk shop for a bit, but Jack doesn’t seem super confident in her abilities. She apparently almost killed someone during her interrogation, and Jack worries that she’s gone to “a dark place.” Considering that Jack basically lives in this so-called “dark place”, I don’t think his concern is for her mental well-being; I think he’s afraid she’s going to try and move-in. ”Uh, babe? You left your toothbrush in the dark place again. We talked about that, remember?”

7:33: Oh dear – Jack pulls back her sleeve, and Firecrotch has been cutting herself. Firecrotch dismisses Jack, and as we cut away, the moop-moop sounds a bit more melancholy, somehow.

7:42: Jack interrupts Firecrotch’s briefing to ask to speak with the director alone, but Firecrotch remains in the room. That oughta make it easier for Jack to throw her under the bus, as he basically tells the director, “Bitch is crazy.” When Firecrotch reminds them that she’s their only way into the Russian mob, Jack re-raises by insisting on being part of the operation, and the director acknowledges that he’d be a fool to refuse. An hour ago he thought he needed “more than Jack’s instincts,” and now he’s letting Jack run the show. Bill Buchanan, drinking at home – alone – approves. Jack apologizes to Firecrotch, and yet another angel is stabbed in the knee. Knock it off, Jack.

7:52: Jack and Firecrotch start arguing in the car. She knows he doesn’t trust her. Most people probably assume she’s still talking about the mission, but I’m getting a sense of deja vu that makes me think they’re arguing about which route to take. I fucking hate arguing with Wonder Woman in the car. For all you single folks out there: a Garmin is they key to a good marriage. (I’m willing to talk sponsorship deals, if anyone from Garmin is reading this.)

7:54: Hey, it’s the “why squirrel hate me” guy from those airline ads! (Psssst! Ad people! If I remember your punchline better than the brand, you have fucked up your commercial.) 24 producers clearly don’t use a casting agency – they just watch TV.

Squirrel Hate Me is Firecrotch’s connection to the mob. Unfortunately, he’s on probation, and he has a bracelet that monitors his position. So he can’t take Renee to see some guy she’s trying to find. Renee uses her womanly charms. THEN HOLY SHIT SHE CUTS HIS ARM OFF!!!! Jack comes in yelling in that Jack way of his that this is over, and she replies, “Maybe for you, but I’m just getting started. Now get someothing to cauterize the wound.” Wow! From the look on his face, Jack’s got wood. When they roll play, I bet their safe word is “Moop Moop”, cause that’s how Jack ends everything.

For the hour:

Kills: 1
KO’s: 0
Lives saved: 1
Rekindled Lust: .75 (-25% because there’s no way this ends well)

Solid hour from Jack.

Zach’s Day, 6-8 PM:

Sadly, on the Monday this aired, I happened to spend those two hours watching the two hours of 24 that aired Sunday.

For the hour:

Kills: 0
KO’s 0
Lives Saved: 0
Pages Written: 2.5 (est.)
Funny Jokes: 2.5 (est.)

I am getting blown out of the water here. I’m actually going to put a reminder in my calendar to “Do something noteworthy” between 8-9 on Monday. So far, all I can think of doing is either making some really impressive sandwich or trying to have sex with my wife. I say “try” because she’ll probably have just got home from work, and that’s always tricky. (Somehow I don’t think “But it’s for the blog!” is going to work.)

UOTO Presents: Conversation 101

Wed, 20 Jan 2010 04:07:21 +0000

Today, Life handed me the following pop quiz:

You’re standing there with your dick in your hands, and you’ve just said the words “I guess this is our special place.”

A) Where are you?

B) Who are you talking to?

C) What are you responding to?

After the test, I looked at the answer sheet. The acceptable answers were:

A) Your bedroom.

B) A girl or guy (your choice).

C) Having just lost your/taken their virginity.

A) Anywhere with snow. Or a desert island.

B) No one. Just you and your penis.

C) Having just signed your name with urine.

My answer?

A) A men’s room.

B) A co-worker.

C) The statement: “we sure seem to meet in here a lot.”

I’m hoping for partial credit.

[Ed note: Special thanks go out to my zipper, which showed incredible comedic timing in choosing JUST THAT MOMENT to get stuck. Thanks, outlet mall pants!]