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All Pinzur, All The Time

Friday, July 30, 2004

All Your Resume Are Belong To Us

A friend of mine sometimes has to review resumes for job openings at her company... today she found one with the following objective:

To show employers that can contribute to the company's ambitious.

Her response?

That one's going in the HELL NO pile.

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Marijuana: 10 Times Better Than Paxil

Local pothead and newly-retired running back Ricky Williams told one our Herald columnists today that, just days after he decided to retire, he found out he had failed a third drug test.

But it's not a big deal, he said, because marijuana is "just a plant," which he smoked while traveling with Lenny Kravitz.

Besides, it's medicinal:

Williams, who suffers from social-anxiety disorder and was a spokesperson for the anti-depressant Paxil, said marijuana helped him once he had to stop using Paxil because it didn't agree with his diet.
''Marijuana is 10 times better for me than Paxil,'' he said.
Williams said he doesn't see anything wrong with marijuana because it is ''just a plant'' and his hero, Bob Marley, admitted to smoking it daily. Williams has Marley tattooes all over his body, named his first child Marley and is friends with Marley's children.

And more...

Williams said he continued smoking throughout his time as Dolphins, stopping only for a month here and there, but passed random tests by drinking 32 ounces of a masking agent called Extra Clean and chasing it quickly with 32 ounces of water.

What can I even say to top that.

Vegas: Now and Forever

My brother, myself and a few of our friends are heading out to the Adult version of Disneyland, also known by the more familar name of Las Vegas.  Now, we are not heading out there for two more weeks, but still, the only thing running through my head is Vegas.  I am thinking about how much money I want to take with, how much I need to win if I ever want to continue paying my mortgage, maybe a plastic football full of beer, 115*F , the sun and not coming to work on Monday.

On ESPN.com, the Sports Guy, Bill Simmons, wrote in one of his columns about a trip to Vegas, that there is no better thrill, adrenaline rush and pure-out excitement, then when one friend sends out the mass e-mail with but one word in the Subject line, "Vegas".

This time around, I was sitting doing my mindless numbers thing at work, when my Lotus Notes popped up that I had a new message.  Being the crazy dog I am, I clicked on the "Read Mail" button.  And there it was, much like Ralphie from a "Christmas Story" when he first saw his Red Ryder BB gun, the word that brought back nothing but good thoughts, happier times, doubling-down, throwing $10-20 on Hardways in Craps, getting drunk and riding on the Rollercoaster at New York, New York, lying in the water in the pool and getting shit-faced.....and an occasional walk through Red Rocks Canyon, that to me is the "Vegas" I know and love.  Not that crappy-ass tv drama with a one-time bad-ass turned prom-queen, James Caan (although I still would not want to meet Caan in a dark alley, since he could still kick the crap out of me.)

I think Vegas has truly marketed itself much better than Crack, Cocaine or Heroin, since the rush of a Vegas high can run for the extent of your trip their and even a few days afterwards if things go as planned (which does not necessarily mean winning money.)  If you try and do that with Heroin, you would find yourself with a toe tag on, being prepared for a little ride down cemetary lane.

But, one of the mort fun things in Vegas, is the possibility of the celebrity spotting.  Now, I could pretty much care less about celebrities when they are on MTV, VH-1 about how good of a life they have, and how they have everything they ever wanted just because she has a small waist and 34DDs, but it can still be kind of cool to spot one, or in my case, play a little blackjack with one.

I was in Vegas for the first time, I went with two other buddies of mine, and we headed over to the Hard Rock Hotel.  After circling around trying to find a blackjack table inwhich I could participate in the festivities, but that I found a seat.   I sat down threw down my $100 and began to play.  I quickly realized that I was at a table with 5 other guys who were all friends and hanging out together.  When I looked at each of them, I realized one of them was Matthew Lillard!  Yes, Matthew Lillard!  Can you believe it?  Matthew Lillard.  Now, when I say can you believe it, I mean, do you know who he is?  Most would say, no.  With no surprise from me.  Matty, as we call him, has been in a few movies, "Scream", a cameo in "She's All That, "Summer Catch" (both with Freddie Prinze Jr. ), "Scooby-Doo", "Scooby-Doo 2", and this summer's sensation, "Without a Paddle".  All serious blockbusters.  But he was actually real cool, and when I finally lost all of my $100, since we all were having a good time, he actually tossed a $100 chip my way so that I would continue to play with them.  That or he wanted me....which leaves me to conclude that they wanted me to continue to play.  Good times.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, is better than the "Hot Streak".  Almost every trip you get on at least one "Hot Streak", except for the pinzurblogs good friend, LiAps, who never came close to a "Hot Streak" the whole time I played blackjack with him.  The last trip to Vegas was the greatest "Hot Streak" I have ever had.  It started out innocently enough with LiAps, Big Pinz and myself walking from our home base of the Luxor, and heading out to the strip via Excalibur.  Granted, Excalibur's usual clientele looks like Nick Moore from "Family Ties", but three of us spotted a craps table that was open, and so Big Pinz and Little Pinz began.  The table was up and down for the first hour or so.  But then it got hot, with $10-20 on the Hardways on the Craps table on money on the Pass line and grabbing odds, the roller decided to get very hot.  Many hits on the hard ways were quickly increasing Little Pinz's winnings.  And, knowing that I can win twice, I was throwing money on the hardways where I already have odds on or where the "point" was set.  Therefore, anytime I hit on the hardways, I was a double winner.  By the time the three of us were ready to leave, I felt much more like Matt Damon in Rounders , although still looked much like, unfortunately, Danny DeVito from Twins.   Usually once you leave the casino of where the "Hot Streak" began, the "Hot Streak" will officially be over.  It is always a sad moment, but not as awful when you have $400 more in your pocket than before you showed up that day.  The three of us met up with a few other friends at In and Out Burger, and then on to Downtown Vegas.  Big Pinz and Little Pinz sat down at a Single-Deck blackjack table for a little more fun.  Neither of us could have expected to continue any type of good luck, we each put down about $100 and began playing.  This is when I found out that my "Hot Streak" was in no way over just yet.  In "Classic" Single-Deck Blackjack, you are given two cards, both faced-down, and motion with a quick swipe of your cards on the table if you want a hit or slide your cards under your chips representing you wanted to stay.  Well, I began pulling cards on my hits that would made Card-Trick Magicians salivate.  My $100 quickly grew.  From $100 to $200.  Big Pinz was doing fine to my right, but it was Little Pinz that was hot.  I began throwing down $60, 70, 80 up to $100 per bet and winning.  When I got up to $600 and lost a $70 bet, I knew it was time to permit the "Hot Streak" to burn out like a camp fire when all the campers pee on it to extinguish it.  But the greatest moment, when I walked over to the cage to cash out my $530 winnings, the cashier (not use to cashing out such huge dollars for downtown Vegas) actually had to call over to the Pit Boss to confirm that I had won this and not stolen it.  On our walk back to the car, to return to the strip, is where the Plastic Football full of Miller Lite was found and purchased.  For the small price of $4.50, I purchased beer in a football with a straw for easier drinkability.  That was some of the best $4.50 I have ever spent in my life.

Now, with only a short time before our trip, I expect nothing from the trip in the realms of winning in gambling.  You simply cannot expect to win, there is a reason these huge hotels and casinos exist and how they thrive...by taking my money.  But it has been an almost religious Mecca for our group to meet up there, in the words of Eddie Murphy portraying Buckwheat on SNL, "Ounce, Tice, Fee Times...." a year.  This weekend, this Vegas weekend, is simply some of the best times I have all year round.  I get to see one of my best friends in my brother, and I get to see and spend time with the rest of the Vegas gang, that I proudly call my friends...although a few of them may like (and with reason) to argue the "friends" comment. 

So let this trip be no different, lets drink, gamble, sit out in the sun, do a little blow (ok, maybe skip the blow.....maybe) and have another great weekend.  If there are any stories legal or ok'd to talk about, remember, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, I will.  Otherwise, you will just have to take my word on it.

Sunday, July 25, 2004

People are stupid...

... and this time it's costing me money.

Over the last few weeks, I've been playing a good amount of poker online. I'm a pretty tight player, so I end up folding most of my hands, which lets me work on other stuff while I'm playing. I enjoy it, it makes time pass more quickly when I've got mundane work, and I've more or less doubled my initial stake.

So tonight I went with a buddy to the card room at the Hard Rock Casino on the Indian reservation here in Miami. And got my ass handed me to the tune of $40.

I blame stupid people.

In the online game at Poker Stars, even the low-stakes games I play, most people have a pretty good idea of what they're doing. The hands proceed fairly predictably and everyone's happy - even when you lose, it's generally despite doing the right thing.

But the same poker renaissance that brought it back to prominence has drived lots and lots of stupid people to the casino card rooms - people who have no serious interest in learning poker or even winning money. They just want to play, and consider wild losses the entertainment cost.

In small doses, people like this are good. They turn up online every once in a while, driving up pots they have little chance of winning, doing the job of good dead money.

But in large quantities, they can really screw up a table. If lots of people are throwing lots of money at fairly stupid bets, it has an odd effect: the odds of one schmo hitting a gut-draw to the straight on the river is innocuously low. But if five or six people are holding nearly-dead hands and betting heavily despite having only one or two outs, the chances of AT LEAST ONE OF THEM hitting is eerily high.

When you can't count of people to fold crummy hands early, there's a whole world of hurt waiting for someone like me. Combine that with the fact that I had generally bad luck, pulling weak hole cards and getting crappy flops on the few decent hands, and you can see the Seminoles stashing my two $20 bills.

Case in point: I was dealt an offsuit A-K in one hand on the button. It's a $1/$2 game, so I raised to $2 and called a reraise to $3.

The flop was a rainbow, something like K-7-3. So I paired up my king, had an ace kicker and saw no flush and no real straight threat. I was a happy boy, and against raised to $2 and called at $3 - by this point, about six of the nine players at the table were still in.

Online, that would faze me, but I had watched for an hour as these gomers limped into big pots with nothing but magic beans in the hole. The turn was a deuce, which wouldn't really help anyone. But still, everyone stayed in and the betting reached $6 each. I was a little nervous, but (if I figure the board right) only a hole pair of kings, sevens or threes could beat me.

The river was another 7. That became a little worrisome, since even a rational player could've stayed in the hand with K-7, and a loose player might still be around with A-7. But the pot odds were in my favor, so I stuck it out.

Five players were still in for the showdown. Every single one had garbage, nothing better than a queen high and a pair of 3s. Except for one royal bastard who 4-7, and won with the set.

I really wouldn't have been angry to lose that hand to hole kings (for the set) or K-7 (for the full house) or even the A-7 (for the set of 7s). But to lose it to some jimmy who tossed more than $10 into a hand that had a king on the board, despite having nothing but a low pair... that is INFURIATING.

Stuff like that happened many, many times tonight. I am a chastened man.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Pimping - The New Black

Just days after this blog unveiled to the world the crucial news that the ultraviolet flow of pimpin' ain't easy these days, a piece of spam sent by Bloomingdale's declared ultraviolet to be "The Season's New Hue."

Clearly this blog (and Little Rock pimps) are setting the hottest fashion trends. Coming soon to a runway near you: feathers in fedoras.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Once you chew black...

One of our photographers was recently in Japan and brought back packs of this gum:

It does, indeed, describe itself as "HI-TECHINCAL EXCELLENT TASTE AND FLAVOR."

Those wacky Japanese...

Of all the places to have a party...

Reported by the AP, pointed out by wierd-shit detector Larry Lebowitz:

Four jail inmates escape for beer run, return to party

ROGERSVILLE, Tenn. (AP) — The party’s over for four jail inmates accused of walking away from an unlocked cell block, buying more than two cases of beer and returning to share it with other prisoners.
Ridgy Dean Coleman, Jimmy Joe Stapleton, David Wayne Blizzard and David Allen Hopkins were charged Monday with escape and introduction of intoxicants into a penal institution.
The escape happened Thursday night after cell block doors at the Hawkins County Jail were accidentally left unlocked and a faulty control panel failed to alert jailers, Sheriff Warren Rimer said.
Two of the inmates then walked out through a fire exit, left the door propped open with a small Bible and made a hole in the exercise yard fence.
They walked to a nearby market, bought some beer and returned to the jail.
When the booze ran out, the other two inmates made another beer run to a different store.
Authorities believe the inmates bought a total of three 12-packs and an 18-pack of beer.
"I guess they thought if they came back they wouldn’t be charged with escape," Rimer said, "but they were wrong."
The store visits didn’t raise alarm because the inmates were wearing street clothes borrowed from other prisoners. The crowded jail doesn’t have enough orange jumpsuits for all inmates.
"It’s an unfortunate incident, and the inmates involved are going to be punished," Rimer said. "It wasn’t really anybody’s fault."
The sheriff pointed out that all 36 inmates on the cell block could have tried to escaped while the doors were unlocked.
"At least they came back," he said.

Credit Department

The inexplicable arrival of the pimpin' picture on popular weblog Newyorkish is inexplicable no more...
The always impressive social/professional network of Jamie Rubin (the MSNBC producer, not the former assistant secretary of state) deserves all the credit (and/or blame) for our 15 minutes.
Thanks, Jamie! May the ultraviolet flow of pimpin' always smile upon you.

Brother, can you spare some closing costs?

Over the weekend, Lady Pinz and I did a big ol' cannonball into the drained pool of home ownership. We're buying a condo in a new building in Hallandale Beach, which is the next suburb north of where we live now. We accomplished this feat with clever tactical negotiating skills:
SELLER: Your offer was nice, but we'd like to counter-offer for more money.
US: No.
SELLER: OK, then. We'll take it!
We're planning to take some pictures of the place later this week - we're not closing until the end of August - but here's an "artist's rendering," which does not do justice to the building's Romper Room exterior color scheme. 
It overlooks a canal of the Intracoastal Waterway, which is nice. Despite the fact that it has no dock, boat ramp or any other facility for seafaring vessels, the building is called the Hallandale Yacht Club. But if Madonna can call herself Esther (or, for that matter, Madonna), then I guess the developers can call this building whatever they want.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Now where did I leave my heroin?

This article is just beautiful.  A drug dealer was arrested in New Jersey after returning his rental and forgetting to take with him 88 bags of heroin. 
Could you imagine what was going through his head when he realized he did not have his 88 bags of heroin?
DD = Drug Dealer
DD: Now where did I leave my cell phone? 
Friend of DD: Well, where did you last put it?
DD:  Well, if I knew that I would have my cell phone.  Oh wait, I put it in the console of my rental car with my 88 bags of heroin.  Oh shit, I left my cell phone in the console.  Oh really shit, I left the 88 bags of heroin in the rental car as well.  There better not be some obnoxious, pimply-faced teenager that takes it all.  I will kill him for taking my possessions.

Where am I?

So this past Saturday Night, I went to the Sheffield Garden Walk, which, if you are not from Chicago, is a block party with a few bands, a lot of people, and a lot of booze.  I got to the Garden Walk with my trusty Flask that Big Pinz bought for Little Pinz.  Beer was Five Dollars while Coke was only $1.  Therefore I got through the flask and had a few beers in the 90* weather.  I was having a good ole time.  We did the typical, drinkin, hangin out, listen to the bands, I even think Snagglepuss showed up.  We saw a guy dressed up in a full Spiderman outfit (minus the hood) and wearing Avia shoes (apparently that is what helps Spidey climb buildings and is the most comfortable when swinging his way across the city.) 
My next stop was an all-you-can-drink for $25 from 9:30-12:30.  Well, I got there at 9:35, and only knew one person, so I started drinking, and drinking heavily until others showed up.  I hit on a few chicks, at least, I think they were chicks.  I am not too positive anymore.  She said her name was Bill, which I thought was a weird name for a chick.  Anyways, apparently she did not want to do much with me, because she left me after about a minute of talking.
Then I was looking a little more messed up:

I met up with two friends at another bar and just kept up my boozing ways.  Finally, at 2:30 AM, drunk as 15 Indians, I finally gave up like the French, and went home.  I proceeded to pass out on my couch until 5:30 AM, went to bed and was a waste the rest of the day.

Summertime Fun

I figured with our new found fandom with now over 900 visitors to read our crap, but than a little summertime fun. http://www.christianmoerlein.com/index.php?section=good_times.  This will take you to the great summertime fun, drinking event of bean bag, or as we call it "bags".  Have fun, it is highly addicitive, and will take you entire morning away from what you were suppose to be doing.

Friday, July 16, 2004


When I saw our counter suddenly hit 600 visitors, I figured it was broken.
Instead, I end up thanking NewYorkish, a pop culture and humor weblog, for linking to our green-panted pimp.
I imagine we'll be back a three readers by tomorrow.

Until then, a few other things from NewYorkish that I had to pass along...
This page lets you generate your very own chuch sign, such as this one:

I also really like these braille t-shirts, which encourage all kinds of fun touching. The messages include "cheap and easy," "spank it," and, my personal favorite, "i need a licking."

Fun for the whole visually-impaired family!

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Just when I thought a former professional athlete wouldn't....

After the recent spat of Notre Dame football players and the need to lower academic standard and permit more "black" athletes to allow Notre Dame to become competitive again, former Cleveland Pitcher and Hall-of-Famer, Bob Feller, had to open his mouth. "I object very strongly to Muhammad Ali being here to throw out the first pitch, and you can print that," Feller was quoted as saying in Wednesday's Boston Herald. "This is a man who changed his name and changed his religion so he wouldn't have to serve his country, and, to me, that's disgusting."

Good job, Bob, way to get over something that occurred over thirty years ago. Just because you chose to join the US Navy, give up four years of your life and your baseball career to join the Navy does not make you a better American. There were plenty of people that avoided the draft to avoid going to Vietnam. I am sure some of them we can Senator and CEO, not just the greatest boxer ever.

Although, I think that Muhammad Ali should stop making public appearances since he is now shaking worse than a Crackhead that has gone without a hit for a month. Unfortunately, the only other physical movement Ali can make, other than shake, is put up his fists and pretend to start throwing punches (punches that could and would probably still knock almost anyone of us out). Ali, for all boxing afficionados and everyone else (myself would be grouped in the latter), I want to continue to remember you as the guy who would talk about how and when he would knock you out and then go out and do it, instead of the guy who needs assistance to walk to the pitcher's mound for baseball's All-Star game. Ali, just take a break, move to Florida, and call it a good life.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Ditka continued....

To add on to Big Pinz' comments, he also made the second worst trade in NFL history by giving up everything except for Herschel Walker for the right to draft Ricky Williams who was traded only a few years later. (The Saints traded their entire draft that season).

Also, that man has been doing Levitra ads for Erectile Dysfuntion (ED), which definitely takes away from him that machismo that he is all about. I figured that ads for ED medication was only for former senators not hopeful senators.

Da Senator?

Here's my indefensible argument of the day, prompted by this story that former Chicago Bears coach Mike Ditka is considering running for the U.S. Senate:

Mike Ditka is the most overrated coach in the history of football, possibly all of pro sports.

Despite being handed a team that included one of the NFL's greatest running backs (Walter Payton) and almost certainly the greatest defensive squad of the modern era (which combined to earn the '85 team second place on ESPN's list of the best sports teams of the last 25 years), Ditka won how many national titles?


And won how many NFC conference titles?


I realize that winning even one is quite an accomplishment, but with a talent pool that included Payton, Willie Gault, Richard Dent, Dan Hampton and Mike Singletary, there should have been at least a mini-dynasty going in Chicago.

So ignore his outbursts, his attitude and all of that... even on the dubious notion that it's become OK to vote for candidates based on their success in fields that have nothing to do with politics or government, voting for Ditka would still be a frightening prospect.

Monday, July 12, 2004

Frightening Moments

Is there anything more frightening than when you spend a Sunday afternoon at a barbecue with your friends, and they start showing up with their children? One couple shows up with their daughter who is almost 1 (they have been out of the loop for a little while) and another couple comes with their 8 week-old daughter, and one more recently announced that she was pregnant. So, all of a sudden, not only am I the single guy, but I am also quickly becoming the single guy with friends of married with children friends. Its enough that makes my hair stick on end. Although, as much as I am not even close to being ready for children (nor a relationship apparently), the kids were cute and not loud. I think the only thing that would scare me more is if any of them asked me to babysit their children, granted I think a one-eyed fat retarded couple would have more sense than to do something like that since I may have the kids doing keg stands (they are never too early to learn.)

Oh, and to all of you who were questioning my last post, there are going to be many posts that will leave you all with a simple "?" as your reaction, which is fine with me.

Friday, July 09, 2004

Pimpin' in Court

Received this picture from a friend who works at the Arkansas Democrat Gazette in Little Rock.

He was in court on charges of disorderly conduct and marijuana possession. Here, according to the reporter, was the actual exchange with the judge:

JUDGE: What are you doing to earn a living these days?

DEFENDANT: The ultraviolet flow of pimpin' ain't easy these days, but somebody's gotta do it.

So true. The infrared flow is better, but still not what it used to be.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Correction of The Day

From the Houston Chronicle, this gem:
An editorial in Wednesday's Chronicle carelessly referred to Sen. John Kerry in one reference as "President Kerry." The Chronicle regrets the error.

Underoos are fun to wear

Should I be surprised that our state editor (in his 50s) has never heard of Underoos? One of our interns mentioned something about the 70s-and-80s-era cartoon-themed underwear, and the editor was mystified.

Turns out their were briefly (no pun intended) discontinued, but have been reintroduced. There's also apparantly a push to market "classics" to adults - a marketing move I'm not quite sure how to interpret. I would interested to meet the woman interviewed in this story, who said that if Fruit of the Loom makes adult Wonder Woman Underoos, she'll "buy their whole stock."

I hadn't thought about Underoos in a long time, but saw them just a few weeks ago while watching an excellent marathon of I Love The 70s on VH1.

Does anyone remember a similar product that was pajamas instead of underwear? I had a Spider-Man set, and remember it as a long-sleeve shirt and pajama pants in that waffle-weave fabric used for thermal long johns.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

No longer in his "early 20s"...

Happy birthday, Noah!

In honor of this momentous occasion of Lil' Pinz's 25th birthday, I present this glamour shot of him in his natural habitat:

Click on the "comments" link below to leave your birthday abuse.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

For love of the game

This is a superb email, hilarious the first time you read and it really pure and sweet when you reread it. It was written by an African journalist after seeing his first baseball game in 2002. To protect the innocent, I've removed the names:

Re: the game at Fenway

Hi L----,

at the end of the day, I found baseball a very exciting game, though for the life of me I still can't understand the first thing about its rules! Yeah, I still have to go to a few more games before I master the rules.

I guess what hit me first was the atmosphere at the ballpark, I mean you have all these people decked out in all kinds of Sox fan-wear, all of them abuzz.

The singing of the anthem, the description of various aspects of this
historical Park (running commentary kindly availed by C--------).

Then of course where our seats were added to the excitement: we were seated just about twenty yards away from the Cleveland team's dugout, apparently that's prime time real estate in terms of ball park seats.

Well, what can I tell you, this hotshot pitcher Pedro Martinez stepped on the mound and the crowd was wild with cheering.

And boy, can that guy hurl a ball!

I sure would hate to be the guy doing the opposing team's batting against Martinez. Martinez hurled in a few superfast pitches and the Cleveland guy either missed, fouled or didn't attempt to hit the ball. (Of course being the ignoramus that I am, I was waiting for a home run, though I had by then gained my new status as a die hard Sox fan - complete with a sox cap on my head!)

Apparently, Martinez pitched three guys out, then it was Cleveland's turn to pitch. That is when I learnt that Boston has another super hotshot ball player, that is Norma Garciapparra.

Jeez oh man! Garciapparra succeeded in making me completely love baseball.

You know, the guy stands there with his bat, tapping the toe of one foot after the other at first base, tugging at his sleeves waiting to whack the bejesus out of the ball, and you feel like the guy is got all this energy coiled in him, like some kind of depressed spring. And when he hits the ball, boy, does it travel? The guy took one clout at the ball that could have knocked it through the sound barrier!

L----, I really was loving it, every minute of it.

But after a couple of innings, rain interrupted everything, and we had to go back to L----- H----- (I was informed later that the Sox won the game).

Notwithstanding the wet interruption, I together with S---, T--- and
C----- felt we had a marvelous time, we participated in a great American tradition, we ate hotdogs and frankfurters, we toured the shops in the stadium, inspected all the sox-related merchandise, and (I) was hooked to the excitement of the ball park.


According to my friend who received the email, the writer became such a fan that he would sometimes be able to download feeds of Red Sox games after he was back in Rwanda.

I love this game.

Junior Analyst and a jaw full of Louisville Slugger

Now, before I get into my post with how friggin useless and miserable my junior analyst is, I have to say, that I have recently read Big Pinz's posts and I think I now, with the help of dictionary.com, understand 5 words in his posts. I am proud of my accomplishments.

Now on to my friggin useless junior analyst. The best thing that happened today was for me to find out when I got to work that my junior analyst called in sick to work. It is 80 degrees out and he is sick. I think he has come down with a case of the "job interview-itis". A sickness most commonly found when someone knows that their days are numbered with their current job or are ready to move on to a new one.

This guy has been here for three months and I still have to go over things that I thoroughly showed him how to do three or more times. I was out of the office on Friday and when I got back today and had to do something that he had been working on, I noticed that the information was totally and completely wrong. It is a nice feeling that I know that within two weeks, if he does not real quickly improve himself, I will submit a formal letter of termination for him. And if that does not work, I will use the ole Lousiville Slugger across the jaw technique. Both have similar results just with a different way of getting there.

Nothing like a junior analyst who comes in and decides to dress so crappy for a bank, that new dress codes are established simply because of him. Nothing like showing up to work, at a bank, wearing khaki pants, a nike tennis shirt with a semi-collar, with a zipper front, random black spots that were not suppose to be on the shirt and major yellow pits arm-pit stains seeping out. Surprisingly enough, later that day, our boss sent out an email that we will become from business casual to business casual formal, which is simply button down shirts and trousers everyday except for Friday. So what does my lame ass junior analyst wear? He wears three consecutive wrinkled shirts and then, this past Wednesday, decides it is ok for him to wear a white, polo shirt that he got from his days of working at Sharper Image. Nothing like having clients come in and see someone wearing that shirt. He might as well have worn a Radio Shack shirt, with his name tage with the name "Sven" on it, we a stupid looking goatee, and a look like he has not left his tv set at home from playing some dumbass XBox for the past 37 hours of his life.

Maybe a Lousiville Slugger is not enough.....

It almost makes me miss Jewel...

Newsrooms get innundated with CDs, DVDs, VHS tapes and books that the authors, musicians, filmmakers (or, more often, their PR firms) want to see reviewed. The vast majority are by unknown artists, meaning the Features department looks at them for about as long as it takes to throw away the envelopes.

Here at the Miami Herald, they wind up on a long filing cabinet in the newsroom where grazers are welcome to scoop them up. One of the interns who's doing some support work on my beat snatched one and dropped it on my desk while I was on deadline last week - only this morning did I notice that it's a book of poetry by Billy Corgan.

Yes, that Billy Corgan - frontman for Smashing Pumpkins, who is described by the publishers as such:

Having risen to fame during the grunge era in the early 1990s, Billy Corgan is among the most respected figures of the alternative rock word - a visionary artist who, over a decade later, still commands a devoted following.

OK. I'll reserve comment on that, except to say this:

Google gives you about 72,900 hits on a "Billy Corgan" search.
It gives you about 99,200 hits for a "Tennille" search (plus another 17,200 if you misspell it as "Tenille"), so I imagine "Love Will Keep Us Together" also qualifies as visionary.

Corgan is further described as "long admired for his evocative songwriting" who is using this book of poetry to "embark on a deeper exploration of literary terrain as a poet." He is also working on his first novel, they say.

They conclude their fawning by saying that his poems "further solidify Corgan's status as the voice of a generation."

The book, blinking with fists, is not being published until later this year, and the proof asks that it not be quoted - since it came through the Herald, I'll just say: You really, really can't wait for this book.

There's a poem called "Pussywillows."

Monday, July 05, 2004

I guess I need to post one

I was pretty much suckered into this whole "blog" thing. Hell, I don't even know what a "blog" is. But I am not gonna sit down and write out the definition of it. I have read enough of what is expected for a blog and I think I can figure something out. But still, blog, of all words? Ok, I am over it.

I am Little Pinz, although I am much bigger than Big Pinz, Big Pinz and Little Pinz have pretty much nothing in common with one another with the exception of the last name.

So I just got back from Boston for a friend from college's wedding. After being gone from Boston and Mass for three years I forgot how hard it was to understand those accents. It was like being surrounded by Ben Affleck and Matt Damon from
Good Will Hunting except with real Boston accents all weekend long.

Then I have to deal with the amount that some of these people still drink. One of my buddies looks over to me at the post-wedding party, we are hanging out outside, and says, "I am happiest when I am sh*t-faced." Then promptly stands up, walks over to the fence, vomits, then strips into his boxers and starts jumping in and out of the pool. What a night.

Oh yeah, welcome to our "blog". If you have any questions or comments about my posts, I just dont care. So save your complaints, Michael Moore, and I will continue posting things here. People laugh and say that I can be a bitter person (all very too true), I will try and post the exact things that piss me off. Mostly, I believe, it is the same thing that pisses others off, I am just the one that is willing to admit it out loud.

For example, the current craze with the tube tops or tights shirts, I have to say I like on the right woman. No more fat chicks should be wearing them, I dont care if you just lost 50 pounds and now feel like you look great and want to wear one. When you get to about 120 pounds (you know, another 100 pounds from your current weight) then go ahead and wear one. I cannot look at these broads and their belly fat rolling out of their tube tops. Also, Old Broads should refrain from wearing them or wearing the same stupid looking shirts that teens and early 20s women may wear. It looks dumb enough on the teenagers, but they are suppose to be stupid, pretty much because they are, but an older woman wearing stupid t-shirts and clothes meant for teenie-boppers simply look ridiculously stupid and should be forced to live in Laos or Thailand wearing nothing but these shirts in front of the people that make the shirts for a dime a day with no bathroom breaks.

But that is just an example.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

Saturday Morning Fever

One of the great things about TiVo is getting to watch all those movies you never bother to see in the theater or even rent. One of the downsides about TiVo is actually watching all those movies you never bother to see in the theater or even rent.

Exhibit A: Basic, starring John Travolta. It also claims to star Samuel L. Jackson, who has about four minutes of actual screen time - far less than perennial scene-stealers like Harry "I made enough from my music to buy my way into SAG" Conick Jr. and Tim Daly, the guy who couldn't even carry the lofty load of starring in "Wings."

I desperately want someone to explain to me what in the name of all that is holy convinced Hollywood screenwriters that they could throw together some ridiculous hodgepodge of other bad, contrived, military- conspiracy movies (Courage Under Fire, The General's Daughter) and pass it off.

It didn't help that this movie was filed outside Jacksonville, where my former newspaper was desperate to follow every development. (Filming has started! Actors have arrived! The director has a head cold! Travolta likes lemonade!)

But the location was not nearly enough to mangle this masterpiece of crapulence.

My theory: Travolta.

Some group of casting agents and screenwriters and producers apparently believe that he carries this mystique of aloof, James-Dean-like hipness, as if casting him in an incomprehensible plot makes it painfully hip instead of just painful.

Try and name one really good thriller performance he's carried since Pulp Fiction and Get Shorty.

I'll wait...

La de dah...


You can't, can you? BECAUSE THERE AREN'T ANY. He's headlined so many mindlessly crappy action/thrillers (Broken Arrow, Face/Off, Mad City, Swordfish, Domestic Disturbance, this list goes on and on and on and includes the aforementioned General's Daughter) and yet NO ONE SEEMS TO CATCH ON.

He's sneaked through a handful of decent turns in other genres (the vastly underrated Primary Colors, for example) but even outside of blow-stuff-up and everything's-a-conspiracy movies, he usually manages to simultaneously suck and blow: Michael, anyone?

And I'm not even going to expound on Battlefield Earth... sullying the good name of L. Ron Hubbard.

Just because Quentin Tarantino made him cool for 154 minutes in 1994 doesn't mean he's able to endow coolness on others.

Please, Hollywood, let the madness end. Thank you.

Oh... and welcome to our blog.