July 29th, 2008 at 2:58 am
Posted by Jon in Uncategorized


Alas, another week has gone.  And if you’re reading this prior to August 4, 2008, you’re probably wondering, “What’s up with the purple font, Barney?”  Believe me, I don’t know.  I picked this theme when I first started the site, because I thought a brick wall would be a cool background.  It was either that, or a chef carrying a bunch of carrots or something.  And originally, I thought it would be funny to have my face superimposed on the chef, but then I thought better of it.  After all, the last thing I want to do is look like I’m mocking chefs, because I’m definitely not.  I wouldn’t want somebody cooking my meal to take a break to look at some moderately humorous sentences, then come across this page and see me apparently mocking chefs.

          And it would probably be even worse given that I’d have probably referred to him as chief if I saw him, because you know that’s gotta drive chefs crazy, how they’re just one letter away from being in charge of everything.

          Also, I didn’t want to make it look like I was promoting carrots.  I don’t have anything against carrots, I have the utmost respect for them and what they do.  But I just feel it’s inappropriate to act as some sort of visual spokesman for carrots.  It’s not like they’ve asked me to do it.

          In the fair city of Boston, the big story this week wasn’t carrots, but it’s the annual Manny Ramirez soap opera.  From my perspective, there are three possible solutions to this scenario: 1) The Red Sox keep Manny Ramirez.  2) The Red Sox trade Manny Ramirez.  Or, 3) The Red Sox go on a family vacation to France, and Manny sleeps through his alarm in the attack.  Nobody notices, because they count Bartolo Colon as two.  Then, Manny finds himself alone at Fenway, an experience that initially proves exhilarating, but soon turns to sorrow when he realizes just how much the Red Sox mean to him. 

          But that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about.  I’m here to address an incident that occurred recently at a local barbering hole you may have heard of called SuperCuts. 

          I like SuperCuts for several reasons.  First of all, when you go in, they always ask if you’ve been there before.  Which is pretty ridiculous.  What difference does it make if I’ve been there before?  Is that going to affect my competence as a haircutee?  What if somebody says no?  Do they have to watch an instructional video on sitting?

          Secondly, they always ask what your name is.  And for some reason, I always give them my real name, but I guess I could give any name.  Just for fun, I’d like to say “SuperCut.”  That’s right, I own the place.  Free combs for everyone.

          Thirdly, they always ask if I’m just coming from work.  “No, I just came from murdering a family, actually.  You see, I caught my reflection while I was bludgeoning, and noticed the sideburns were getting a little unkempt.”

          None of that really bothers me.  It’s actually somewhat reassuring, sort of a way to know the person cutting my hair is an actual SuperCutter, and not some scab.  And I normally don’t have incidents at the old SC.  Not until recently.  The most recent time I got my hair cut.  The recent haircut time.

          When I entered the SuperCuts, there was a slight drizzle in the air.  Not a full rain, just a drizzle.  I like drizzle, mainly because it’s one of the few meteorological terms Al Roker and Snoop Dogg can agree on.

          Anyway, because it was drizzling, I was wearing a ballcap.  And when the haircut was done, I paid at the cash register, left a nice tip for the haircutter, and headed for the door.  I noticed that it was still drizzling, so I put my hat back on—and that’s when the young lady gave me a look.  Like, she actually looked deflated.  And it’s now I find out that it was “poor etiquette” of me to put my hat back on before I left.  Which I think is ridiculous.  One theory is that I insulted her haircut by covering it with a hat—but no!  I was actually protecting her work by shielding it from the rain.

          Somebody else said I should have walked outside holding my hat, and waited until I was out of sight to put it back on.  Which is stupid, because then it looks like one of two things: either I’m being obnoxiously proud of a pretty average haircut, or I stole a hat.  Have to keep your hat off until you get out of sight?  What happens when you go to the proctologist?  Do you walk around like Winnie the Pooh just so you don’t hurt the schmuck’s feelings?

          Either way, I’m very perplexed by the whole issue.  So perplexed, I decided to write about it, when I forgot I was supposed to think of something better.  If you have a take, feel free to speak up.

          But for now, we move on.  Prepare to be enlightened.  Prepare to be dazzled.  Prepare by cutting the plastic film with a knife, then defrosting for 2-3 minutes on high.  It’s time for the signature feature of this phenomenon called Rinemania…




In case you didn’t know, this week is shark week on the Discovery Channel.  And it couldn’t come at a better time, as a Great White (the shark, not the pyro-pushers) was seen off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard earlier this summer.  “Just how does this affect me??” you shriek like a girl.  Well, here now is a comprehensive, Cause & Effect breakdown…of Shark Infestation at the Beach:


Cause: For safety, beaches hire extra lifeguards.

Effect: Jeremy Jackson happy for the work.


Cause: Warning Posted: “Shark Spotted: Swim At Your Own Risk.”

Effect: Response Posted: “No I Wasn’t, Go in the Water.”


Cause: Due to shark concerns, more beachgoers stay on the sand.

Effect: Sand-dwellers equally frightened by Jon’s dad and his metal detector.


Cause: To get a rise out of swimmers, pranksters wear strap-on fins to imitate shark.

Effect: Shark’s wife irritated when it repeatedly asks, “Do I really look like that?”


Cause: Helicopters called in to provide aerial view of water.

Effect: Only aerial provided is of a couple dudes spoonin’ in a jet ski.


Cause: Tourists startled when a shark again appears close to shore.

Effect: Shark explains it just wants to know what’s up with Brett Favre.


-           -           -           -           -           -


Two down, one to go…it’s time for…




While speaking to reporters yesterday, John McCain expressed concern about relations between Russia and Czechoslovakia, despite the fact Czechoslovakia hasn’t existed since 1993.  And it doesn’t end there; McCain also expressed concern about relations between the continent of Pangaea and the lost city of Atlantis.


In San Francisco, there is a movement to rename Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant after George W. Bush; they would call it the George W. Bush Sewage Plant.  Bush supporters are calling this the biggest outrage since the Dick Cheney Center for Killing Puppies.         


After Starbucks announced it would be closing 600 locations, loyal customers have started up a Save Our Starbucks campaign, trying to save their favorite Starbucks.  Apparently, these people aren’t comfortable with the idea of finding a new Starbucks, as it would involve going next door or crossing the street.


Speaking in Australia, Pope Benedict urged young people to spurn materialism.  He then looked at his watch, gathered his medallions, and sped away in the Pope Mobile.


In New York City, there was a fashion show featuring dogs dressed like their celebrity owners.  Matthew McConaughey’s dog wore no shirt, Britney Spears’ dog wore no pants, and Bjork’s dog wore a swan.       


A city panel has approved a one-year band of new fast food restaurants in South Los Angeles.  And when she heard this, Kirstie Alley announced she was moving to North Los Angeles.      


A huge brawl took place between the Los Angeles Sparks and the Detroit Shocks of the WNBA.  Each woman in the fight is expected to receive a multi-game suspension and an offer to guest-host The View.       


French authorities have busted multiple participants in this year’s Tour de France for blood-doping.  They became suspicious when one guy won a stage using a unicycle. 


Dark Knight star Christian Bale was arrested for assaulting his mother and sister in England.  And in a related story, original Batman Adam West was arrested for assaulting a gumball machine at Arby’s.          


Dunkin Donuts announced it will stop serving anything with trans fats, effective this fall.  As a result, they’ve changed their name to Dunkin Napkins.


A German court has ruled in favor of a man who sued his hospital, after a hospital error made it impossible for the top of his skull to be reattached after brain surgery.  The man was awarded 3,000 Euros and a hat.


Have a good week, everybody,


Comments Off | Permalink
July 7th, 2008 at 9:10 am
Posted by Jon in Uncategorized


I’ll be honest: things ain’t so great.  Today, I ran two miles and felt like I ran 20.  I was so slow, I feel like I may have actually traveled backwards in time.  I was almost waiting for 15-year-old me, he of the 18:20 5K to run past, asking if the Sox ever got around to re-signing Mo Vaughn, or if President Gore got busy with an intern. 

                I’m still trying to figure out where to work, and what’s more, where to be.  I began feeling old, as I grew to miss simpler times with simpler answers, where even simple minds can come to simple conclusions.  So, I decided I’d ask my Dad an important question: did he want to go see Batman?

                For it was on a day much like this one, nearly 20 years ago, that my Dad decided to take me in his red Jeep to see a movie with the guy from Mr. Mom and the guy from the Laker games going head to head, a suitable substitute for the Ghostbusters.  And now, all this time later, The Joker was set to raise mischief in another Batman thriller.

                More accurately, The Dark Knight, as the kids are calling it.  And as I feared he would, my Dad hesitated.  He hemmed, he hawed, but finally he said yes.  Although neither of us said it, we both remembered what happened 19 years ago.

                A half-hour before show time, my Dad and I gathered to travel to the old Hampton Cinemas Six.  We had our ticket money, and our snack money, and this time, we got in my red Jeep.  We made small talk—just as we did 19 years ago.  But I think our thoughts were still held prisoner by the murk of that past occasion.

                We walked into the soon-to-be-not-there-anymore Hampton Cinemas and got our good.  Much the way we did in 1989, we ordered our popcorn and soda, and I got myself some Milk Duds.  The popcorn was salty, and the Milk Duds, sweet—bittersweet, as is the memory of that first Batman outing so long ago.

                That day started off sunny enough at the beginning of the earlier Bush Administration.  I was six years old, and nursing a wrist I had broken falling from a swingset.  My Dad was on vacation, and I was excited to be going to a real-life, all-out, full-fledged grownup movie.  Until then, my idea of edgy was Slimer eating someone else’s food, or Judge Doom doing the old shave-and-a-haircut trick to lure Roger Rabbit out of hiding (I still maintain that would be the best method to find bin Laden).

                And the audience looked more grownup, too.  Big, tough teens with their buddies, some with their dates.  They kept looking at me funny, as if to say “What’s he doing here?”  It was a feeling I welcomed and embraced, much the way I did at the Connection, or Channel 7.  And then, after about 47 minutes of product placement advertisements (well if Batman uses Energizer batteries…), the movie actually began, with a family of tourists deciding, “Ah the heck with a cab, let’s try this dark alley!”  Next thing you know, a couple muggers take their money—and that’s when I was introduced to the Caped Crusader.

                The action flowed fast and furious.  We saw Bruce Wayne wine and dine Gotham City’s finest at his elaborate estate.  We saw Jack Nicholson fall into a vat of acid, emerging as a cross between Rip Taylor and Cher.  And we saw Batman and the Joker battle to the end.  And, I could tell by the way he acted, my Dad was proud.

                Unlike a lot of kids at the movies, I didn’t have to leave the theater.  I didn’t cry.  I hung in there, like a grownup.  “So what did you think?” he asked.  “It was great!”  I said.  And I could have left it there, but something wouldn’t let me.  It was the curiosity that’s bottled up inside each and every child that permeates like indigestion at a Wienerschnitzel.  “Except for one thing,” I began, “What was the deal with Bruce Wayne?”

                Dad paused.  “What do you mean?”

                “Well, there’s Batman, he’s the hero.  Then there’s Vicky, his girlfriend.  The Joker’s the bad guy.  But who’s that Bruce Wayne guy they kept showing, and how come he’s not mad Batman’s kissing his girlfriend?”

                I swear, you could actually hear my Dad’s heart stop beating.  His normally red face turned Joker-white.  I noticed a bead of sweat begin to swell on his forehead.  After a long pause, he asked, “What?”

                “Well, they kept showing the Mr. Mom guy sitting around thinking…is he thinking about Batman?”

                With that, my Dad actually turned the ignition, and shut the car off.  I saw the rest of this man’s life actually flashing before his eyes.  I could see the dreams of his boy earning Pulitzer Prizes evaporating; prospects of marrying into money, faded.  Oh my God, I could almost hear my Dad think—my son’s retarded.

                “You mean to tell me that in all that time, you never figured out Batman was Bruce Wayne?  Please tell me you’re joking.”  The only problem was that when he said that, a car had honked its horn, so to me, it sounded like he said “you’re Joker.”  So, I responded thusly: “Uhhh…you’re Batman.”  Now he was really worried. 

I could hear the thoughts again.  Is he just sick?  Did he hit his head when he fell off that swingset?  Maybe he just did some drugs or something.  But the jig was up; my Dad had taken me to see Batman, and I hadn’t been able to piece together the great non-mystery that is Bat and Wayne being one.

                I don’t think my Dad ever really got over it.  For as the years progressed, it would be my Dad playing devil’s advocate.  It would be my Dad who was never quick to judge a teacher about whom I complained.  And I don’t think it was because he didn’t love me; more that he loved me as any father would love his crazy child—with a grain of salt.  “Yeah, maybe that teacher is a jerk—but still, this is the kid who didn’t realize Batman was Bruce Wayne…”

                But things had changed 20 years later.  I had matured.  I was smarter.  I was able to piece things together.  And so as we sat there in the very same theater—#1—at what was by now the place I worked in high school, I felt confident that I wouldn’t frighten and/or shame my father.  If only there was some way I could redeem myself.

                Then it happened.  About 45 minutes in, I could sense Dad getting restless.  He shifted from side to side.  He fiddled with his napkin.  Then, he turned to me, and semi-whispered, “Could you explain what the heck is going on?”

                Slowly, I assessed the situation.  “What do you mean?”

                “Is the Joker with those guys, or against them?”

                It had been 19 years.  There had been three different presidents.  We had witnessed terrorist attacks and hurricanes, and at the Hampton Cinemas Six, the tables appeared to have turned—for it was my Dad asking me what was going on in a Batman movie.

                Some may have been annoyed.  Some may have been exasperated.  Some could have identified with the confusion.  After all, this Batman movie wasn’t as simple as Good vs. Evil; it was more like Good (maybe) vs. Everybody Else We Could Fit Into a Movie.  But I was up for the challenge.  When the Joker went one way, I was able to explain it.  When Batman went another, I was comfortable acting as an interpreter for the insanity.  I hung in there for nearly three hours, following each and every twist and turn.  If I, with my kindergarten-level attention span, was able to decipher everything that occurred in this film, I could show that I was no longer a complete moron.

                When the film ended, we got back in the car, and on the way home, I proved myself: I explained how the Joker was able to pull off his heists, the back story of Harvey Dent, and the corruption of the Gotham police department.  And my Dad was finally able to realize I wasn’t a moron; I was a smart guy.  A guy who keeps on top of things, who never misses a beat.  A guy who knows exactly what’s going on, and all the relevant ramifications.  And, a guy who enjoyed the film, particularly the performance of one Heath Ledger.

                Man, I can’t wait for his next movie.






A recent article on Space.com suggests that people could soon be having sex in space.  At first glance, this seems silly and unlikely, if not, like, a lot of fun.  Here now is a Cause & Effect breakdown of people having sex in space.


CAUSE: Lack of gravity will make it impossible to determine who’s on top.

EFFECT: All “No Fat Chicks” t-shirts replaced with “Only Pretty Fat Chicks” t-shirts.


CAUSE: Distance from Earth makes it more tempting to cheat.

EFFECT: Charlie Sheen caught banging a Klingon whore.


CAUSE: Outer space culture will lead to new names for sexual positions.

EFFECT: Couples brag about doing it “Alf style.”


CAUSE: Extra terrestrial life forms influenced by human approach to sex.

EFFECT: Scientists shocked when it’s revealed 17 Martians engaged in a pregnancy pact.


CAUSE: Space surroundings inspire new pickup lines.

EFFECT: Creepy swingers now asking if they can Buzz your Aldrin.


CAUSE: Couples flock to their favorite planets to make love.

EFFECT: Record number of people climaxing on Uranus.  Uh-thankya.





In a recent interview, John McCain called Teddy Roosevelt his favorite conservative idol; he also called him his favorite college roommate.    


While speaking to reporters yesterday, John McCain expressed concern about relations between Russia and Czechoslovakia, despite the fact Czechoslovakia hasn’t existed since 1993.  And it doesn’t end there; McCain also expressed concern about relations between the continent of Pangaea and the lost city of Atlantis.


Barack Obama saw Batman this weekend.  Evidently, he was enthralled by Two-Face.


Christie Brinkley’s ex-husband allegedly spent $3,000 a month on internet porn!  $3,000 a month!—or, as Eliot Spitzer would call it, three-fifths of a hooker.


Last week in New York City, there was a fashion show called Paws for Style, an animal shelter fundraiser featuring dogs dressed like their celebrity owners.  Matthew McConaughey’s dog wore no shirt, Britney Spears’ dog wore no pants, and Bjork’s dog wore a swan. 


In Fort Pierce, Florida, an 18-year-old woman is accused of hitting her 24-year-old boyfriend over the head with a toilet seat, when she caught him smoking crack in the bathroom just feet away from their eight-month-old son.  To give you an idea how bad this is, today the producers of Cops said the incident wouldn’t be airing because it was “too white trash.”


She actually beat him with a toilet seat—or as Senator Larry Craig would call it, “foreplay.”


A new study claims that Botox shots could help prevent migraines.  In fact, today Joan Rivers said she hadn’t had a migraine since 1872.  


The city of Rome has passed a new law that prohibits people from snaking near monuments.  To which Kirstie Alley said, “What about snaking on monuments?”


Due to the recent credit crunch, Paramount has been forced to suspend plans for $450 million worth of film financing.  $450 million!—that’s more than 450 Rob Schneider movies!                 


In Kentucky, a man paid a prostitute with a $100 gas card.  I believe that’s what prostitutes refer to as a “Hump and Pump.”


After complaints from women’s rights advocates, the city of Atlanta is removing all “Men at Work” signs from its roads.  However, all “Duran Duran” signs will remain in place.                               


A 48-year-old gas station owner flew a lawn chair rigged with helium-filled balloons more than 200 miles across the Oregon desert, landing in Idaho.  The man actually planned on flying 300 miles, but people shot him down when they learned he was a gas station owner.                               


In New York City, the Chrysler Building was purchased by an Abu Dhabi sovereign fund.  This marks the biggest purchase of a U.S. landmark by an oil-rich country since—well, the White House.             


British Prime Minister Gordon Brown is urging people to stop wasting food, after figures revealed that families throw away an estimated £ in groceries per year.  In fact, if things get any worse, Brown said they may have to bring in Kirstie Alley.          


Fires continued to burn in Big Sur.  In fact, California wildfires have gotten so out of hand, Denis Kucinich has put forth a plan to impeach Smokey the Bear.


Will Smith’s latest number one film is Hancock, the story of a superhero who’s wasted all the time.  The film’s described as Superman meets Amy Winehouse.


The Sierra Nevada Corporation claims it’s ready to start selling a ray gun that, by using the microwave audio effect, can actually make people hear voices in their head.  They say this may finally allow everyday people to experience what it’s like to be Gary Busey.


While appearing at Cyndi Lauper’s tour in Canada, Rosie O’Donnell compared her time on The View to the prison rape scene in “Born Innocent.”  The comment drew sharp criticism—mostly from the producers of “Born Innocent.”           


The city of Seattle has decided to auction off five self-cleaning public toilet stalls, with bids starting at $89,000 each.  The stalls have already drawn numerous bids—all from Senator Larry Craig.                                 




Comments Off | Permalink