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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
All You Never Wanted to Know and More
In true Where the Hell Was I? fashion, each entry is not only a ‘Thing’ — it’s also an incoherent, rambling blog post. Only the best for this blog, baby! Click ’em all!
Volume 1: The Numbers Game
#1. I currently have one pet, and it’s a pit bull named Susie.
#2. I have had two non-finned pets before Susie.
#3. I am three degrees away from Kevin Bacon. Semi-officially.
#4. In high school, I had a denim jacket with four band names airbrushed on the back.
#5. My wife and I own five computers between us.
#6. I have only needed to get six stitches in my life.
#7. I used my middle name until I was about seven years old.
#8. I have been in eight different major league baseball parks.
#9. I have had nine different positions since college.
#10. My brain wakes up at around ten each morning, regardless of when I get out of bed.
#11. I competed in a regional Spelling Bee when I was eleven years old.
#12. My wife and I have been together for twelve years.
#13. I started dating my wife on Friday the 13th.
#14. My house has fourteen steps between the first and second floors.
#15. I once had to work for fifteen hours on my birthday.
#16. I last played basketball when I was sixteen years old.
#17. When I was seventeen, I DJ’ed for the local college radio station.
#18. I will have been married for 3000 days on the eigteenth of August, 2004.
#19. I won a weekend trip for two to Washington, D.C. when I was nineteen.
#20. I had a long-distance relationship with my wife for twenty months.
#21. My first, and last, interest in politics came when I was twenty-one years old.
#22. I was kicked out of graduate school when I was twenty-two.
#23. I worked for a brain surgeon when I was twenty-three years old.
#24. The only show I’ve religiously watched in the past two years is 24.
#25. I got married when I was twenty-five years old.
#26. I dropped out of graduate school when I was twenty-six.
#27. I have roughly twenty-seven hours of Monty Python material on videotape.
#28. My first girlfriend was twenty-eight years old.
#29. I made a New Year’s Resolution to lose twenty-nine pounds.
#30. I got a surprise trip to Atlanta for my thirtieth birthday.
#31. I walked across the Golden Gate Bridge when I was thirty-one years old.
#32. I was thirty-two the first time I was laid off from a job.
#33. I am thirty-three years (and one day) old.
Chapter II: Talents, Accomplishments and Snarky Opinions
#34. I’m a pretty good juggler.
#35. I once road-tripped from Richmond, VA to Hilton Head, SC, overnight.
#36. I’ve been skydiving. Twice!
#37. I’ve been the Chief Technical Officer of a company.
#38. I am the pickiest beer snob I know.
#39. In high school, I won awards for emulating Bill Cosby.
#40. I have three jokes that I can drag out for at least an hour apiece.
#41. I’m a green belt (retired) in Tae Kwon Do.
#42. I have read — and reread — all five books in the Hitchhikers’ Guide trilogy.
#43. I once went whitewater rafting.
#44. I’ve been to the top of the Empire State Building and the Eiffel Tower.
#45. I’ve written two science fiction short stories.
#46. Wendy’s has the best French fries. Sorry, McDonald’s fans.
#47. I can work the three-star puzzles in Games magazine. Sometimes, anyway.
#48. I finished Half Life, Max Payne, and Red Faction.
#49. I’ve seen three operas performed at ‘The Met’ in New York City.
#50. I was a Features Editor for my college newspaper.
#51. I have won four fantasy sports championships.
#52. I’ve never watched the movie E.T.
#53. I learned at least one thing from every class in college.
#54. I think that what is art should be art, and what is not, should not.
#55. My high school yearbook quote was a Husker Du song lyric.
#56. I broke my nose playing softball.
#57. There exists no food that could not benefit from the addition of hot sauce.
#58. I still have my Amiga computer, but I finally gave up my Commodore 64.
#59. I can ‘go the other way’ in softball.
#60. I never lost a game of ‘Mercy’.
#61. I’m very competitive, and take challenges — especially from inanimate objects — personally.
#62. I have walked through the underground catacombs of Paris.
#63. I have angled for catfish in the Louisiana bayou.
#64. I do not have children, and cannot fathom ever, ever wanting that to change.
#65. I once peed on the exact geographical center of the state of Kentucky.
#66. I make a mean tuna casserole.
#67. The first wedding I ever attended was my own.
Book Three: Miscellaneous Crap, and Other Dubious Factoids
#68. I once had the perfect phone number.
#69. My honeymoon was in Ocho Rios, Jamaica.
#70. I’m a huge fan of Syracuse University sports, for no logical reason whatsoever.
#71. I am hard to impress, but easy to please.
#72. I would much rather be too cold than too hot.
#73. I read in waves, mostly science fact and science fiction.
#74. My college mascot was the ‘Praying Colonel’.
#75. I obsess over certain tasks, and sometimes make things harder than they should be.
#76. I chew my nails when I have to do something that I’d rather avoid.
#77. My nickname in high school and college was ‘Foz’.
#78. I always believed that people were essentially good. Until kindergarten, that is.
#79. I have never been to a funeral, nor seen a dead person.
#80. I have, however, seen several severed limbs and internal organs.
#81. I joined a fraternity in college.
#83. I’m not impressed by presentation, window dressing, or personal titles.
#84. My parents divorced when I was very young, then remarried. To each other!
#85. I’ve been placed under anesthesia exactly once. I had seven teeth removed.
#86. I was the first grandchild on my mother’s side of the family.
#87. My Myers-Briggs personality type is INTP.
#88. The worst physical pain I’ve ever endured was dislocating my shoulder. Twice.
#89. My favorite meal is the Dinner of Champions.
#90. I was one of ESPN’s 3Play contest winners.
#91. I am an only child. (Explains a lot, doesn’t it?)
#92. I generally lump magic, God, and the Powerball lottery together, and eye the lump warily.
#93. I’m allergic to cats and rabbits, and probably certain other furry critters.
#94. I wear boxers, but I do have an emergency pair of briefs.
#95. I do all of my agonizing before decisions, not after.
#96. I once had strep throat and mono at the same time.
#97. My parents have had as many homes since I left for college as I’ve had.
#98. The worst movie I ever paid to see was ‘Nothing But Trouble’.
#99. I have a soft spot for cows.
#100. I have a small chunk of pencil lead embedded in my right knee.
Addendum D: And One to Grow On
#101. I have absolutely, positively zero regrets.
Permalink | No CommentsAll right — I’m gonna try this out, and see how long I can milk it before I get bored.
(And no, I don’t say that to all the girls, either. Or the guys. Or the moo cows, for that matter. Hush up.)
So, here’s the idea behind this little item: every so often a word — a deliciously ridiculous, and often spectacularly inappropriate, word will pop into my head. No reason, no nothing, just *pop*, and there it is. And I’ve decided that the world would be a better place if I didn’t just let these words fade off into oblivion. So I’m posting them here, and I’ll link the latest one from the front page. With me so far? Frightened, just a little? Good.
So why the name ‘Quantum Terminology’? Well, for one thing, I couldn’t think of anything catchier, right off the bat. I’m not sure it’ll stick, frankly, but it’s all I’ve got for now. And it fits, if you think about it hard enough — quantum physicists tell us (well, okay, ‘us’ wouldn’t understand them; so they tell each other, mainly, but that’s not the point) that at the tiniest sub-sub-submicroscopic level, all sorts of oddball things are going on. Particles buzzing around, bouncing off each other, transferring energy, changing form into one another, travelling through time, even winking in and out of existence altogether. Spooky, no?
Anyway, that’s pretty much how I think of the words that I’ve listed here. One millisecond, I’m walking along, or driving, or doing headstands in the shower — perfectly normal, everyday stuff — and the next millisecond, *wham*, one of these weird, inexplicable words is in my head. Spooky? No. It’s quantum. Oooooh.
Okay, so fine, all you clinical weenies out there — it’s probably really the early onset of dementia. Take your medical degree and shove it, cupcake — if these words are gonna worm their way into my head, then I’m puttin’ ’em down here for all of you to look at, too. We demented types are all about the sharing, you know?
So, I hope you enjoy this little experiment. I’ll run anything that pops into my head through Google to make sure it didn’t infect someone else’s brain first, so you’ll know that the words you get here are freshly minted. (And
minty fresh!) I don’t know how many of these things I’ll remember to post here, but maybe you’ll find one or three you like. I know I have.
Term #1: porksmitten
Notes: I really like this one — it’s got so many possible meanings. Think about it — someone could be ‘smitten’ with pork, or actual pigs, or (the obvious) ‘porking’. (Yeah, it’s the dirty connotation that everyone thinks of first, isn’t it?) But with a little creative punctuation, it could also mean little bitty hoof coverings for pigs, too. Or for pork roasts, I suppose, or even chops.
Okay, there’s such a thing as overanalyzing a nonsense word. I see that now. Sorry.
Term #2: balljousting
Notes: Okay, just for the record, when I think of this word, I envision knights on horses, with beach balls or something on the ends of their lances, okay? (And I mean beach balls, literally. And I mean lances, dammit!) Or two big burly guys beaning each other with medicine balls, or bowling balls, or cannonballs, maybe. That’s what I think of when I think of ‘balljousting‘.
Because there’s no other connotation that doesn’t give me the damned willies. *shudder*
Term #3: codsmoker
Notes: Look, like I said, these words don’t have to mean anything — they just pop into my head for no good reason. Frankly, I think I need medication of some kind. Heavy, heavy, medication.
And look, this one doesn’t even have a particularly dirty connotation, as
far as I can see. I suppose a ‘codsmoker’ could simply be someone who puts a particular kind of fish in the smokehouse.
Oh. Yeah, you’re right. When I put it like that, it does sound dirty, doesn’t it? ‘Codsmoker‘. *snort*
Term #4: melonspawn
Notes: This one I think deserves a web site. No, no — it’s own domain. ‘melonspawn.com‘
And hopefully, that domain would contain sites about things that people have ‘spawned‘ (i.e., created) from their ‘melons‘ (i.e., heads). And I’m not talking boogers and ear wax, folks.
Of course… ‘spawn‘ is kind of a funny word all by itself. And ‘melon‘ has a whole other connotation — probably more widely used — to describe a different part of some people’s bodies. Hmmmm.
Yeah, either way, it’s all good. Heads, boobs — these are all important parts. And then there’s the actual fruit — who doesn’t like a nice melon
now and then? Man, it works on so many levels! Somebody get out there and register ‘melonspawn.com‘ today, would ya?
Term #5: assmometer
Notes: Okay, so finally a made-up, pop-into-my-head word with just one connotation, and not an especially dirty one at that — ‘assmometer’ just has to be one of those rectal temperature takers, doesn’t it?
Or… I suppose one could make the case that it could mean anything that’s used like one of those anal thermo-dealies. Which would make it very dirty, indeed. And in more ways than one. (Ick!)
I have to mention, too, that when I thought of this word, I was thinking of one pronunciation (‘ass-MAH-me-ter‘), but have since realized that another (‘ass-MO-me-ter‘) is not only possibly, but probably preferable in a’from da hood’, street cred kind of way.
Oh, and I just thought of another possible meaning — the ‘assmometer’ could be used as a measure of how hot a hottie’s backside is deemed to be. (‘Deemed to be‘… well, there goes that ‘street cred’, eh?)
Anyway, I think for this usage, the second pronunciation would have to be used. For example:
Dude 1: Daaaaaaamn, check out that J-Lo’s iddily-ass! Baby got all kinds of back, yo!
Dude 2: Word, dog. She be a hunnerd and ten degrees on the ass-MO-meter, slick.
Dude 1: Solid.
Yeah, have I mentioned that I need serious help? I have? Good. I mean, I mean… ‘solid’. (How was that? Was that ‘fly’? Would it help if I’d stop putting
the words in quotes… ‘dog’? Meh.)
Term #6: cobslobber
Notes: Let’s be clear, right up front, folks. I don’t make any claims as to what these ‘words’ mean, or even that they ‘mean’ anything. They pop into my head, I write ’em down, and that’s it. End of story.
That said… if this word has a meaning, then I sincerely hope that it’s the drool that’s left on an ear of corn after all the kernels have
been bitten off. I think that’s a positively peachy meaning for this word.
But that’s mainly because I can think of other meanings for it, and they’re not pretty, people. Not pretty at all.
Excuse me while I go wash my brain out with soap. G’day.
Term #7: jackbaggery
Notes: Here’s another word that could mean any number of things. Maybe it’s a place that sells accessory pouches or purses for your jackboots. Or a store that sells a different kind of jackbags. Or maybe a place where you can go to have your bag jacked. And wouldn’t that be nice? Doesn’t everyone like a bit of bag jacking every now and then?
(And the answer is no. No, people don’t, usually. There are very few combinations of meanings for the words ‘bag’ and ‘jack’ that make ‘bagjacking’ something pleasant in the slightest.)
(Which is not, of course, to discount the fact that there are one or two combinations that would make it pleasant in the mostest. I’m just saying.)
Man, this whole page is getting weird. I wonder if I’m getting enough vitamins in my diet. Meh.
Term #8: cowbang
Notes: Look, I have no idea. I’ve told you, these things just pop into my head, unbidden. (And how the hell you’d bid a ‘cowbang’ to begin with, I
couldn’t tell you. Nor would I want to know, if you happen to be privy to that sort of information. Sicko.)
As for a definition… well, I don’t know. I suppose it could have
something to do with some sort of bovine pyrotechnics, if such a thing exists. It could also be a rather crude description of the mating activities of hot ‘n’ horny heifers. Personally, I suspect it came about simply as a result of having watched too much South Park lately — specifically, the episodes with the giant cow clock and the ‘Fingerbang’ boy band among them. And hey, can anything
inspired — even indirectly by South Park be so bad?
Term #9: pudsnugglers
Notes: This little gem popped into my head when searching for an exclamation along the lines of ‘Curses!‘ or ‘Drat!‘
(You know, like ‘Newman!‘ from Seinfeld, or my favorite, ‘Bitches!‘)
Anyway, as usual, I’m not quite sure what the hell it means. I’ll leave it
up to you to decide those thorny sorts of questions. I’m guessing, though, that
the sort of people who would be ‘pudsnugglers‘ are probably diametrically opposed to activities like ‘pudwhacking’, which I didn’t make up. Nor practice. Nor admit to knowing what it means. Ahem.
Damn. Now it went and got all uncomfortable around here. Pudsnugglers!
Term #10: flaccipointing
Notes: This should only be used when a sad and unfortunate situation is truly… well, deflating. It’s the ultimate term for expressing profound disappointment — at least if you’re a man. As in the example:
‘I really liked ‘Sorority Pillow Fight’, volumes 1 and 2. But volume 3, where they only used throw pillows and pincushions? Very flaccipointing.‘
I think you can see how useful this new word can be. And seriously — what was up with that third pillow fight movie? You don’t mess with a winning formula! Sheesh.
Inspired by — and sometimes submitted to — McSweeney’s, Charlie’s Big List of Lists is… well, just that. A big list. Of lists. That I made. I’m Charlie.
(Man, sometimes this copy just writes itself! Genius!)
Anyway, the Lists section
over at McSweeney’s has always made me giggle, so I thought I’d give it a try. Unfortunately, they don’t accept any content that’s been posted elsewhere, so I can’t let you in on anything I’m submitting there until they’ve published it, or (more likely) turned up their editorial noses at the foulness and deposited my list in the shitcan with a large pair of salad tongs.
(And since I’ll simply link to anything I eventually pay
convince them to publish, all you’ll ever see here are the lists that they’ve rejected. Or that I knew already were likely not print-worthy. How lucky are you?)
At any rate, writing these lists is an interesting diversion and a nice, short writing exercise. They’re the literary equivalent of twelve-ounce curls. And they’ll have just about the same effect on your waistline. So give me thirty seconds or so, and I’ll give you a list. Feel the burn!
My Four-Pronged Plan to Stimulate the Economy
1. Mild electroshock treatment
2. Deep tissue massage
3. Profound existential conversation
4. Hustler
Status: Never submitted
Note: Look, I’ve seen some of the ‘stimulus’ plans, and mine’s no worse than any of them. Maybe all the economy really needs is a ‘spa day’ once in a while.
Old West Outlaws Less Notorious Than John Wesley Hardin, Who Once Shot a Man for Snoring
Curly Joe Winchester, who once tripped a man for sneezing
Little Tex Claiborne, who once spanked a boy for tattling
Bobby Bonney, whose brother did most of the shooting, frankly
Sherman ‘Hoss’ White, who once stabbed a man for singing, and though the man lived, we hear he ended up with a really nasty scar
Wildcat Jane Clanton, who once kicked a dog for drooling
Buckshot Abrams, who once gave a man a dirty look for hitching his horse to a handicapped post
Clint ‘Doc’ McGee, who shot a man once, but only in self-defense, and was haunted by the memory for years afterward
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 03/07; rejected 03/07
Note: I really like the idea of less-notorious outlaws. Maybe it’s because I myself once wedgied a man just for smirking. Where’s my Time/Life book series, I ask you?
Additional Situations During Which Sting May Be ‘Watching You’
Every leaf you rake
Every limp handshake
On your coffee break
When your bunions ache
During Rikki Lake
At your next clambake
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 10/06; rejected 10/06
Note: I really felt like throwing a ‘When you cheat on your taxes‘ or ‘>i>While you’re sleeping‘ in there, but I thought it might be a little much. Creepy Euro rock stars sneaking up on me is one thing I don’t want to have to worry about.
Things I Would Never Do When I Think a Policeman Might Be Watching
Exceed the speed limit
Vandalize a public edifice
Pick my nose
Create a public disturbance
Jaywalk
Covet my neighbor’s wife
Transport contraband across state lines
Litter
Offer candy to children
Worship false idols
Status: Never submitted
Note: Not that I would ever do any of these things in the first place, of course. As far as you know. And if you’re not buying it — then just don’t tell the damned cops! I have to do all my coveting and jaywalking in private as it is.
Words That Aren’t Asian in Origin, But Are Still More Fun to Say With a Cheesy Kung Fu Movie Accent
Hiawatha
Chichen Itza
Milli Vanilli
Ikea
prestidigitation
Kiki Vandeweghe
Testarossa
Gitchee Gumee
pooper scooper
mojito
Status: Never submitted
Note: My personal favorite on this list is, of course, Ikea. Those who know me personally are well aware that I am physically incapable of saying the word without sounding like a constipated ninja delivering a deadly karate chop. Iiii-KEEEEE-ah!
Things I’ve Yelled at Pedestrians From My Car That Could, In a Court of Law, Conceivably Be Considered ‘Road Rage’
“Lady, that ass isn’t nearly hot enough to keep me from smacking you with a Honda.”
“Next time, mister? Legless. LEGLESS!!“
“Your crossing guard can’t help you now, Junior!”
“I will run you over, and then I will eat you!”
“Hey, humpstain — my ‘right of way’ trumps your ‘right to life’, you dig?”
“Move that walker, grandpa, or you’ll be trading it for a wheelchair!”
“I bet that sweater would look even better crumpled up on my front bumper.”
“You’d better have a Buick in those pants, buddy, or this is gonna hurt.”
“Nice legs, sweetheart. Now USE THEM!!”
“Metal box go fast! Box hit you — very bad! Me winner! You? Douchebag!”
Status: Never submitted
Note: I’ll fess up — I’ve never actually yelled most of these things to actual pedestrians. But I’ve thought them, and worse. In the heat of the moment, I’m usually reduced to shaking an angry fist and screaming something eloquent like, ‘BLLLUURRGH!!‘ Yes, I’m a weenie.
Questions That Should Never Be Answered Honestly
‘Do these jeans make my ass look fat?’
‘That is your finger, right?’
‘Do you know why I pulled you over?’
‘Are you just telling me what I want to hear?’
‘Hey, that’s not a webcam, is it?’
‘Who’s your daddy, baby?’
‘What are you thinking about, right now?’
‘Are you shitting me?’
‘Is that a banana in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?’
‘So how was that visit to the gynecologist, anyway?’
Status: Never submitted
Note: One small clarification may be needed here. It actually is acceptable — and sometimes advantageous — to answer the next-to-last question honestly, provided the situtation is right. Which would include not actually having a banana in your pocket, and quite probably not discussing that gyno visit at the time, either.
Ten Hints That Tell a Guy He’s Too Old to Ever Be Sexy Again
10) You still imagine yourself participating when you watch steamy love scenes at the movies — only now you consider how you’d break a damned hip, if you were to carry on like that.
9) Your idea of a date involves an episode of ‘Diagnosis: Murder’ and a Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast. With the right girl, maybe there’ll be canasta afterward.
8) Two words: coin purse.
“Your idea of a date involves an episode of ‘Diagnosis: Murder’ and a Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast.”
7) You’ve given up on finding yourself a smoking hot MILF, and set your sights on a nice matronly GILF, instead. You’d better hope she’s a Polydent user, Romeo.
6) Watching your favorite TV programs evokes thoughts like: ‘I wonder why Bea Arthur and that Dick Van Dyke fellow never got together. They could have had the most handsome children!’
5) Girls no longer give you their phone numbers in bars; instead, they give you the number of a good toupee fitter.
4) Four more words: 1984 Buick Riviera sedan.
3) The barber shaves your ears during a haircut. He doesn’t even ask — he just does it.
2) You notice your nipples getting more tender and sensitive. It’s from your belt chafing them when you’ve pulled your pants up under your armpits. Who are you, Ed Grimley’s dad?
1) You make Saturday Night Live references from before anyone reading this was even born. You’ll clearly never be sexy again — you ignorant slut.
Status: Never submitted
Note: For the record, only eight of the ten actually apply to me. I don’t drive a Buick, and my waistbands remain somewhere in the vicinity of my actual waste. But I do loves me a game of hot, sweaty canasta. Oh, baby.
Products That May Cause Dangerous Longer-Than-Four-Hour Erections
Viagra
Cialis
A Ferrari Testarossa
Eva Longoria
Chili cheese fries
A Three Stooges marathon
Anything with a Hemi
A three-pointer at the buzzer to win
Eva Longoria, again
Las Vegas
Status: Never submitted
Note: What do you think would happen if Ms. Longoria ever visited a Vegas drive-thru cheese fry restaurant in her Hemi-modded Testarossa, with the Stooges playing on DVD? I don’t know either, but I can guarantee it’d be messy.
More Realistic Exercise Alternatives to Thirty Minutes of Jogging for the Average American
Sixty minutes of vigorously kissing executive ass
Ninety minutes of swearing at commuter traffic
Three hours of ‘beer pong’
Four hours of playoff Madden on XBox
Six hours of complaining about the weather
Nine hours of sweating over a PowerPoint presentation
Fourteen hours of watching ‘Seinfeld‘ reruns
A lifetime of quiet flabby desperation
Status: Never submitted
Note: I was going to include ‘blogging’ on the list, too, originally. But it’d take eons of banging away at the keyboard to equal a half hour of running. Better to play it safe and sedentary, eh, kids?
Foods With Less Nutritional Value Than the Chicken McNugget
Twinkies
Gummi worms
Chee-tos
Sandpaper
Rock salt
Packing peanuts
The KrustyBurger Rib-Wich
Rat poison
Status: Never submitted
Note: It may not be nutritious, but after writing this one, I sure am hungry. Can I get mine to go, with a side of Chee-tos and D-Con, please?
IM Status Messages I Would Use at Work, If I Were Really Being Honest
“Weeping softly in stairwell A. Back in 10.”
“At my desk, but just don’t care.”
“Way too sober to deal with you right now.”
“Afternoon food coma; useless till tomorrow.”
“Being browbeaten by boss. BRB.”
“Can’t a guy surf for porn in peace around here?”
“Pretending to make coffee. Try me in 5 min.”
“In no mood for those bullshit smileys, Carl.”
“Sleeping in mens’ room. Check stall 3 in emergency.”
“Busy ruing questionable career choices. Back in 5.”
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 04/06; rejected 05/06
Note: I kid, I kid. Actually, I don’t use instant messaging at work. Sometimes they’ll call my cell phone, and wake me up on the john in the bathroom stall, though. Man, is that embarrassing.
Birthday Presents for Unwanted Children
Tackle-Me Elmo
Barbed Wire Slinky
E-Z Break Oven
Simon (Cowell) Sez
Chinese Water Torture Checkers
Horny Horny Hippos
Crack House Barbie
Connect Fourteen
Snoopy’s Yellow Sno-Cone Machine
Jarts
Status: Never submitted
Note: For the record, I never received any of these gifts from my own parents. Except Jarts. They did buy me Jarts. Really, really, really sharp Jarts. And they used to pin the target to my ceiling so I could ‘practice’. Maybe they were trying to tell me something, after all.
Names the NCAA Basketball Tournament Might Be Known By, If It Didn’t Occur in March
December Dementia
May Mania
October Agitation
The Christmastime Crazies
Summer Solstice Psychosis
Leap Day Lunacy
Harvest Moon Hysteria
“Those damned tall kids pre-empting CSI again!”
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 03/06; rejected 03/06
Note: I still think ‘Harvest Moon Hysteria’ would get people excited about basketball. But probably only Amish people, since they’re the only ones who know when the hell it comes. Or what a ‘harvest’ is.
Bingo Night with People Who Don’t Quite Grasp the Concept
“I-19.”
“G-53.”
“B-2.”
“BIG! I spelled B-I-G!“
“It’s BINGO, Mrs. Brown. Not BIG. Keep playing. O-70.”
“GOBI! GOBI over here!“
“I’m sorry, no.”
“It’s a desert! I’m not making it up this time!“
“It is a desert, yes. But it’s not BINGO. O-68.”
“B-*sigh*. B-14.”
“BOOB! BOOB! B-O-O-B, boooooob!“
“Mr. Reynolds, no. And let go of Mrs. Harrison’s shawl. We’ve discussed this. N-37.”
“Nothing? No one has a bingo yet? G-55.”
“I-22. Anyone?”
“N-44?… Meh. Fine, what have you got?”
“I got a BOOG.“
“BIGGIO?“
“BOOBING! BOOBING! BOOBING!“
“CHECKMATE! King me already, ya mensch, ya.“
“GIBBON!“
“Close enough, GIBBON it is. Extra applesauce for Mrs. Graham tonight. Can we watch Jeopardy now?”
Status: Never submitted
Note: The last list idea from the initial batch to be completed. And like everything else on this site, it’s probably funnier if you imagine the old folks from the Simpsons when you read it. I want some taquitos!
Leading Roles for Which Jim Carrey Will Someday Be Turned Down
“Quiet Dignity”
“Subdued in Seattle”
“The Way It Was: The Walter Kronkite Story”
“Being Ben Stein”
“C-SPAN: The Movie”
“Eeyore Takes a Nap”
“Aretha”
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 02/06; rejected 02/06
Note: Actually, I might sort of like to see Jim Carrey playing Eeyore. Heaven knows he’s made an ass out of himself in most of his other movies. Oh, I kid, I kid. No, really.
Winnie the Pooh Catchphrases Considered by A.A. Milne Before He
Settled on ‘Oh Bother!’
‘How troublesome!’
‘Piglet poop!’
‘Fiddle faddle!’
‘Oh, the humanity!’
‘Well, piss on Kanga and call me Roo!’
‘Poopstain!’
‘Honeysuckles!’
‘DON’T YOU MAKE POOH SLAP A BITCH!’
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 01/06; rejected 02/06
Note: Perhaps a little esoteric. And juvenile. And ‘fiddle faddle’ may be one word. Still — picturing Pooh screaming that last one, with a bear backhand poised to strike, makes me giggle every time.
Domains Considered By Pepsi Before Settling on ‘BrownAndBubbly.com’
SweetAndSugary.com
CarbonatedAndWet.net
CaffeineAndCavities.com
CokeSucksABigFatWeenie.edu
TanAndEffervesh-Effervensc-Efferfesc-*Bubbly*.com
ItMightNotRot_ALL_YourTeeth.org
AnyDomainThatDoesn’tEvokeImagesOfDiarrhea.com
OrGaryColeman.com
IfWe’reThisDesperateTheColaWarIsAlreadyLost.net
Googel.com
Status: Never submitted
Note:I love Pepsi, really. But what the hell were they thinking?
Selected Excerpts from Employee Evaluations I Have Received
‘Obviously exaggerated skill set on resume.’
‘Better suited to a part-time role.’
‘Often tardy.’
‘Doesn’t work well with others; known to snap.’
‘Needs simple tasks explained multiple times.’
‘Not easily motivated; could be more of a self-starter.’
‘Reprimanded several times for inappropriate pinching.’
‘Caught blogging during business hours.’
‘Often found sleeping on the job.’
‘Prone to slipping out early for a beer.’
‘Suggestion: demote to custodial position?’
‘Surprisingly thorough.’
Selected Excerpts From Comments My Wife Has Made After Sex
‘Obviously exaggerated skill set on resume.’
‘Better suited to a part-time role.’
‘NEVER tardy.’
‘Doesn’t work well with others; known to bite.’
‘Needs simple tasks explained multiple times.’
‘Too easily motivated; could be less of a self-finisher.’
‘Reprimanded several times for inappropriate pinching.’
‘Caught blogging during ‘business‘ hours.’
‘Often found sleeping immediately after the job.’
‘Prone to slipping out early for a beer.’
‘Suggestion: demote to custodial position?’
‘Surprisingly thorough.’
Status: Never submitted
Note: This one started out with ‘Surprisingly thorough.’ From there, it was pretty much all downhill, as self-serving compliments go. Imagine that.
Sue Grafton’s Less Successful Murder Mystery Series
‘A’ is for Asthma Attack
‘B’ is for Belt Sander Accident
‘C’ is for Complications from Minor Surgery
‘D’ is for Drunken Bet
‘E’ is for Euthenasia
‘F’ is for Feeding the Bears
‘G’ is for Groping a Truck Driver
‘H’ is for Hypothermia
‘I’ is for Industrial Solvent Spill
‘J’ is for Juggling Machetes
‘K’ is for Krispy Kreme Overdose
‘L’ is for Lactose Intolerance
‘M’ is for Morbid Obesity
‘N’ is for Natural Causes
‘O’ is for “Old Age-itis”
‘P’ is for Petting the Wrong Doberman
‘Q’ is for Questioning Authority
‘R’ is for Running with Scissors
‘S’ is for Shellfish Allergy
‘T’ is for Trampolining While Intoxicated
‘U’ is for Underestimating the Power of Cheese
‘V’ is for Vasectomy Gone Horribly Wrong
‘W’ is for Wood Chipper
‘X’ is for X-Ray Technician Negligence
‘Y’ is for “You Really Let Me Get All the Way to Y?”
‘Z’ is for “Zowie! You Stopped Paying Attention Around ‘G’, Didn’t You?”
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 12/05; rejected 01/06
Note: I really thought ‘Groping a Truck Driver’ would put this one over the edge. I’m pretty sure my mental picture of the events surrounding that method of death is way more vivid than it should be.
Lessons Learned This Christmas
Some people’s Christmas trees look like they were decorated by a one-legged lobotomized orangutan with ADD issues. Still, it’s usually best to not actually say that when the tree owner asks what you think.
There are very few social circles in which it is appropriate to replace the words ‘O Tannenbaum’ in the Christmas carol with ‘Oh, Turdy Bum’. My family is not one of those circles.
Should the presents containing the edible thong you bought your wife and the full-length nightie you purchased for your grandmother somehow get mixed up, you want to clear things up as quickly as humanly possible. No good can come from that.
In some circles, it’s considered bad form to return your Christmas gifts. It’s especially frowned upon to open a present, demand the receipt, and drive immediately to the mall to exchange the gift for ‘something that doesn’t blow goats’.
At no time while your spouse or significant other is modeling new Christmas clothes should the word ‘Sta-Puft’ come out of your mouth. Trust me.
‘What the hell is that supposed to be?’ is usually not the proper reaction when opening a present. Or when commenting on your wife’s candy cane cookies.
‘Regifting’ and ‘underwear’ are not two great tastes that taste great together. Particularly if you tried them out first. And accidentally wore them backwards. And played squash in them.
It’s widely believed that department store Santas despise having their beards pulled by small children, above all else. But in truth, they’re far less patient with a middle-aged man sitting on their lap and asking for a sack of toys down his chimney this year.
Status: Never submitted
Note: Honestly, I’ve never asked a Santa, of any kind, for a sack of toys down my chimney. I was once propositioned by one who asked if he could put two lumps of coal in my stocking, but I refused. My candy cane doesn’t swing that way, fat man.
Adjectives That May Be Used to Complete the Phrase ‘Have a ________ Kwanzaa’
Krazee
Kool
Phat
Cadbury (just you wait; the ad guys’ll think of it eventually)
Kollosal
Jiggy
Killer
Kornucopial
High-Kwality
Status: Never submitted
Note: One of my deepest regrets in all of life is that I couldn’t think of a way to make ‘Kowabunga!’ an adjective for this list. I have to live with that for the rest of my life.
Songs Made More Compelling By Replacing ‘You’ with ‘Jews’ in the Title and Lyrics
‘I Want Jews to Want Me’ — Cheap Trick
‘Can’t Stand Losing Jews’ — The Police
‘Jews Are So Beautiful (to Me)’ — Joe Cocker
‘I Got Jews, Babe’ — Sonny and Cher
‘Don’t Jews Want Me, Baby?’ — HUman League
‘Jews Shook Me All Night Long’ — AC/DC
‘What I Like About Jews’ — The Romantics
‘I Will Always Love Jews’ — Whitney Houston
Status: Never submitted
Note: U2’s ‘With or Without Jews’ nearly made the list, but it seemed a bit ‘heavy’ for the mood. And I’m sure I missed dozens of good ones.
New Years’ Resolutions, with Corollaries
Lose weight. (Investigate vacuum cleaner as possible liposuction instrument. Test on dog first.)
Work harder at the office. (Blog four hours a day, instead of three.)
Give more to charity. (One dollar at a time, via G-string deposit. Those poor, poor, hot, poor girls.)
Search for inner peace. (Unless finding it involves an enema. If inner peace is up my pooper somehow, then it’s staying put.)
Be better organized and more efficient. (Surely, there’s a way to fit six martinis into a lunch, right?)
Do unto others as I’d have them do unto me. (Especially if the ‘doing’ involves hot fudge and a slinky. Rawr!)
Stop flinging dog poop into the neighbor’s yard. (Fling dog instead.)
Eat healthier. (Fine. I’ll stop putting bacon bits in my hot fudge sundaes. Happy?)
Do little things to show my wife I love her. (Hey, what the hell are you calling a ‘little thing’? Oh. Right.)
Never, ever again decide that a bunch of holiday lists will make a good post. (But hit submit on this train wreck, anyway.)
Status: Never submitted
Note: For the record, the vacuum cleaner doesn’t work so well. But on the plus side, the dog’s intestines are now completely dust-free!
Words That Should Never Be Spoken on a First Date
‘acquitted’
‘basement’
‘halitosis’
‘Oprah’
‘pokey’
‘proctologist’
‘rectal’
‘snookums’
‘taxidermy’
‘woogie’
Status: Never submitted
Note: I’m pretty sure that I’ve broken my own rule with at least three of these. And had the rule broken against me with four others. Who knew I’d be set up with an inappropriately affectionate ass doctor’s assistant with a penchant for stuffing animals?
Comments I’ve Made About a Movie, to Cover for the Fact That I’ve Never Actually Seen or Even Heard of the Movie
“Man, could you believe that girl? What a hottie.”
“It just works on so many levels. It’s almost spooky.”
“Hey, wasn’t the guy in that from the other thing? You know, the thing. With the girl.”
“I heard that was originally unrated, and they had to cut out a bunch of hot lesbo action to make the theaters.”
“Eh, you know the Oscar voters won’t consider it, though. Buncha snobs.”
“I totally saw the ending coming.”
“It was so cool how they snuck Steve Buschemi into that one scene. Did you notice?”
“That part in the middle? With the effects? That was so cool.”
“They should’ve gotten Anne Heche for that one part, though. That would’ve sealed it.”
“Meh. The book was way better.”
Status: Never submitted
Note: I guarantee you, these comments will fool anyone about any film ever made. Except those ‘Ernest’ movies. Or anything starring Steve Buscemi, of course.
Proposed Replacements for ‘Husky’ Blue Jeans Size
‘Unskinny’
‘Supersized’
‘Portly, Jr.’
‘Gitano Gigantes’
‘Thickskins’
‘Reubenesque’
‘Roomy Fit’
‘Bootylicious’
‘Thunderthighs’
‘Asstastic’
Status: Never submitted
Note: I wore ‘Husky’ jeans myself in grade school. I would have so preferred ‘Bootylicious’.
‘Treats’ You’d Rather Not Find in Your Birthday Pinata
Broken glass
Chiclets, pre-chewed
Live bees
Warm oatmeal
Colostomy bags
Gasoline
Rice-A-Roni
The Cosby Kids
Dead bees
Geraldo Rivera
Status: Never submitted
Note: Actually, I sort of like the idea of Geraldo Rivera in a pinata. Maybe the lost secrets of Al Capone are in there with him.
How to Get Jared Fogle’s Goat
“Hey Jared, whatcha eatin’? I bet it’s Subway. Is it Subway? I bet it is.”
“Come on, really. It was lipo, wasn’t it? Don’t lie to me, skinny boy.”
“Man, I bet you’d kill for a Big Mac, wouldn’t you?”
“Hey, you’re the guy! Who used to be really big and fat and disgusting! That guy!”
“Dude, seriously. ‘Six-inch peanut butter and naner on wheat’. It rolls right off the tongue.”
“So, you ate what? A sandwich a week for six years? Please. We all know it was a fat suit.”
“Look, everybody — it’s the Quizno’s baby! Hey, Bob!”
“So after you had your stomach stapled, then what? Damn! Almost had you!”
“It’s kind of gay, you know. ‘Eat Fresh!’ Did you come up with that? ‘Cause it’s sort of gay.”
“So if they’re ‘sandwich artists’, why they don’t spread the mayo with paint brushes, then?”
Status: Never submitted
Note: This seemed much funnier in my head. Really. No, you shut up.
Animals That My Wife, If Cornered, Could Kill with Her Bare Hands
An ant
A goldfish
A housefly
An earthworm
Coco, the claw-happy tabby from apartment 10-G
A wounded moth
A (small) spider
That creepy ‘Zoom zoom!’ kid from the Mazda commercials
A mosquito
Regis Philbin
Status: Never submitted
Note: Actually, two of these aren’t true. We don’t know any cats named ‘Coco’. And she’d never be able to kill a moth, no matter how beat up it was. Regis, however, better watch his fucking back.
Life Lessons That Can Only Truly Be Learned From Experience
“Don’t touch that, baby. The stove is hot.”
“Nah, tasers don’t hurt. They just stun you.”
“Sure, biotech’s a safe, solid investment. Go for it!”
“Oh, fiddlesticks. Would you mind picking up that soap for me?”
“Ooooh, what a tasty-looking attachment. Clicky clicky!”
“Dude, I’ll bet you anything. That’s a guy in drag.”
“Dysentery, schmysentery. I’m having a glass of water.”
“Well, surely the next Brendan Fraser movie can’t suck this badly.”
“Hey, this is past the date. Take a drink and tell me if it’s bad.”
“No, really, honey — tighty whiteys are uber-sexy. Honest.”
Status: Submitted to McSweeney’s 01/05; rejected 02/05
Note: I dug this one out of my old email cache. I’d almost forgotten about submitting it, almost a year before I started this list of lists. Perhaps some things are better left in the past. Meh.
(Ed Note: This is an archived ‘about’ page, written in late 2003 and thoroughly out of date. Please see instead the current About Charlie and Where the Hell Was I? page. Thankies.)
Well, what can I tell you, really?
Way back in the hot July summer of 1970, a child was born in Los Angeles, California. Both his parents worked — his mother in an office, and his father as a bluegrass street musician, if you can call the latter ‘work’. He was young and impressionable, doing his best to stay out of trouble — and the hospital — while becoming fascinated with L.A.’s burgeoning hip-hop scene. In the meantime, he traveled, spending time in Kansas with his strict Presbyterian grandparents, and in Europe, with his other grandfather. He took up breakdancing, learned the guitar, and planned, above all else, to make it big some day. He dropped out of school at sixteen to follow his dream, and moved to New York to try his luck. Failure came quickly, though, and he soon made his way back to the West Coast to try another angle. He would not be deterred so easily.
And that man went on to become Beck.
(Um, I’m not sure why I told you all that. Let’s start over, shall we?)
On a steamy July night in 1970, a star was born in the Bronx, NY. The proud parents were a hard-working couple from Puerto Rico; they’d made the difficult move to the States to provide a better life for their baby. Early on, it was clear that the child could dance. And that it had an enormous ass. Before long —
Wait, hold on. Sorry, that’s Jennifer Lopez. Damn. One more try.
I, too, was born on a hot July night in 1970. While my material successes have been somewhat more… um, modest than my monthmates above, I make up for it with… uh, being cooler. Yeah, cooler. And I write a blog. And I think I’m taller, too. So nyah!
Anyway, back to me. I’m not sure what you’d want to know. I suppose I can give you the ‘driver’s license’ version of me. Here’s what my current license says: Male, 6’3″, 180 pounds. Hair brown, eyes hazel, contact lenses needed to drive. Oh, and I’ll donate organs, too, once I’m through using them. That’s about it, I suppose. The weight’s off by twenty pounds or so; I think I just copied info from my previous license. Hey, speaking of which, here’s a really small crappy image of the picture from that license. It’s maybe ten or twelve years old now. I look a little happier in the current photo, by the way. Older, sure. Bigger, yes. Drunker… well, about the same. But happier, definitely. Downright friggin’ jolly. Maybe I’ll scan it in one day; it’s probably better than the train wreck of a mug shot I just gave you.
Is that enough? Can I stop now? No? Well, crap. I guess I’ll tell you everything, then. I’d better start at the beginning…
I grew up in a pretty crappy part of the country. I don’t think I’m quite ready to tell you where exactly, but I’ll tell you this — the name of the state I grew up in has a compass direction in it. Can you think of any states with ‘North’, ‘South’, or ‘West’ in the name that shouldn’t be landfilled over and forgotten about? Me, neither.
(Oh, all right — we’ll save the beaches of the ones on the coast. Fine. Everything else must go.)
So, suffice to say that my childhood was dull at best, and screaming willy-inducing at it’s worst. I don’t have a sister-wife myself, but I know people who do. ‘Nuff said.
I grew up an only child, which will no doubt explain an awful lot if you keep reading my stuff. My parents divorced when I was two or so… and remarried about a year later. I have no idea why, and I don’t really remember any of it myself. Maybe they just wanted some time off. Maybe one of them wanted to become a porn star, and came back when they didn’t have the ‘right stuff’, so to speak. Or maybe I was just too much for one parent at a time to handle. Whatever it was, I really can’t say. I’m sure it contributed to whatever mental instabilities I have, but on the conscious level — I got nothing. Just thought I should mention it.
Speaking of horrible influences on my fragile psyche, I’m also a product of the United States public schools system. (In one of the crappier of the forty-eight contiguous states, remember. Most of my teachers did more drooling than schooling. I taught my high school math teacher how to tie his shoes. It was not pretty.) And just to prove that the system failed me more or less miserably, I’ll tell you this — after eighteen years of living in the armpit of the nation, bearing the brunt of jokes and sneers because of where I was born, I decided to do something about it. I opted to move away for college — get a fresh start, see the world, and finally find out what real civilization — where people have all their teeth, and wear shoes, and everything — was like. I used all of the intellectual power at my disposal to think of the most exciting, energetic, downright exotic locale I could find. I was looking for a life-changing, eye-opening college experience.
So, of course, I ended up in Kentucky. Central Kentucky. Rural central Kentucky.
(Damn you, public schools!)
No big city, no nightlife, no jetsetting crowd. And still not enough damned teeth to go around.
(For Chrissakes, is dentistry that fucking hard to come by? These people always had their frigging horses shoed and their crops tended — is it so much to ask to add a little brushing and flossing to the daily routine?)
Anyway, the less said about my college experiences, the better. (Most of it’s sealed in my criminal records now, anyway. I’m not really allowed to talk about it.) There’s one exception, however — I met my wife in college, and we’ve been together ever since. (In a couple of weeks, it’ll be thirteen years together. And almost five since I unchained her from the radiator. She was a little hesitant at first… but I think I’ve sort of grown on her. I barely even need the hypnosis any more.)
Um… moving on. So, I got the hell out of college and moved to Pittsburgh.
(Which is better. Not exactly ‘happening‘ or ‘metropolitan‘, but better. I was learning.)
I spent the first four years there as a biologist-in-training, and wondering why the hell I didn’t really like it. In college, I thought I’d like it.
(Maybe I didn’t really catch on that all the beer and parties and sports and shit weren’t really part of the major itself. I don’t know.)
In any case, I finally got fed up and got into computer programming, which I’ve been doing ever since. And I’m getting tired of it now. Anybody out there need a nonsense writer?
(So, does getting bored with your career every eight years or so count as ADD? Eight frickin’ years seems like a pretty damned long attention span, if you ask me. But no one ever does…)
After a couple more years in Pittsburgh, the wife and I packed up shop and moved to the Boston area.
(Finally, civilization! The only people who don’t have enough teeth around here are the Bruins. Hallelujah!)
We spent three years flushing half our fucking money down the toilet paying exorbitant rents in Brookline, and this spring moved — with our plucky mutt — to a house of our own in Watertown, just a hop and a skip outside of Boston proper.
So, that’s the life history. What else is there? I’m a big baseball fan. I play volleyball, softball, and golf.
(None of them well, but all of them with gusto. Or maybe it’s ‘pesto’. I always get those two mixed up. You should probably never come to my house for pasta.)
I’m an aspiring standup comic — my first (and quite possibly last) show is on November 16th, 2003. (Come see!) And… aw, hell, I don’t know. Haven’t you read enough already? If you want to know more, go see my 100 Things Posts About Me, or read the About the Blog page. If the shit above isn’t already more than you want to know, I can guarantee you’ll get your fill from those other links. Enjoy!
(Ed Note: This is an archived ‘about’ page, written in late 2003 and thoroughly out of date. Please see instead the current About Charlie and Where the Hell Was I? page. Thankies.)
This blog came into the world, crying and kicking, on June 17th, 2003. I was sitting at my desk at home — where I’m am right now, as a matter of fact — avoiding going into the office to face the workday. The first post was born at 10:23am, if that tells you how good a job I was doing in my avoidance. Within a month, I was laid off. (Oddly enough, not for being chronically late. Or apathetic. Or even for using company resources to write pointless drivel on a faraway web site.)
But the blog continues to live, and grow, and blossom. (And it’s starting to grow hair in some really weird places. I think it’s a hormonal thing of some kind. Just try not to mention it. Blogs can be very sensitive.)
A lot has happened in the four-plus months since then. (Though I’m still avoiding work, as if the timestamp on this entry doesn’t tell you that.)
The name of the blog changed in it’s first hour of infancy.
(The original name was the ‘Sitdown Standup Experience‘; read the very first post for the explanation. And remember the name; it might be a trivia question someday if anybody ever reads this crap.)
After a while, I ditched the stock Blogger template I was using and found a more unique look.
(Though people now tell me this looks like Wil Wheaton’s site. Eh. Could be worse. Fuck it.)
I spammed a lot of blog directories, begging people to come take a look at the loony dickhead in the glass cage.
(A proverbial ‘glass cage’, of course. Actually, I live in a very nice plastic kennel. If only ‘loony’ and ‘dickhead’ could be proverbial, too… *sigh*)
I composed my 100th post a while back, soon after completing my 100 Things Posts About Me. And I recently welcomed my 5000th visitor to the site.
(And mom said I’d never amount to anything — sheesh!)
‘But,’ I hear you saying, ‘what’s it all mean? What’s this place about, anyway?‘ Well, I’m glad you asked. (You could have asked more nicely, of course, but at least you asked. A rude, demanding question beats no question any day.) So, I’ll tell you about the ground rules I’ve laid out here for myself:
That’s more or less it for the rules. Really, the blog’s just here to entertain. First me, and then you, if you like what I’m doing. (Man, it sounds an awful lot like sex when I put it that way.) So, I hope you like it, and you have as much fun reading it as I do writing it. Oh, and just in case you do — you might want to throw some paper towels down on your desk, or get one of those plastic protector doohickeys for your monitor screen. You never know when I might get lucky, and get you to reverse-snort your Sanka.
(That’s the best, man. Every time somebody reads this stuff and nostril-showers their desk or laughs out loud while the boss is listening, I get a little tingle. Not that kind of tingle, but still — a tingle. I just have to hope it’s not me doing it next. With all the work I’m putting off, I’m hangin’ on by a damned thread as it is. Yikes!)
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