Holiday Cards (!!!)

I'm not going to pretend that it hasn't been a long time. I'm not going to pretend that it might not be a long time again.

But that's not what we're here to talk about today. Take a look at a calendar, or go cut a hole in a river and jump into it, and see if you can figure out what we are here to talk about.

Assuming you aren't currently dying of hypothermia in the back of an ambulance, congratulations. You're correct.

We're here to talk about The Holiday Cards, version 5.0. More specifically, we're here to talk about how anyone still lurking around this dusty corner of the internet might go about getting his or her frostbitteny hands on one.

Mainly because far too much of my far too limited brainpower has recently been diverted towards fighting off spastic hordes of tiny little science-major babies all hopped up on Red Bull and Adderall, I haven't come up with any new ideas for how to disperse said Cards. Accordingly, we're just going to roll it back and do it like we have the last couple of years.

Well, there is one slightly new qualifier. It's still extremely simple and painless, though. At least compared to jumping into a frozen river. The deal:

You: Send us an original holiday card of your own. This means that it either (i) features a picture of you, your family, or your TMNT action figure collection, or (ii) is homemade. No one shall be permitted to run out and spend their hard-earned money on a store-bought card for a couple of jokers like us. Just send us one of the cards you're already sending out to everyone else, or glue some cutout magazine heads to some construction paper and call it a day. If you don't have magazines, use a marker. If no glue, use gum. Creativity always encouraged. Occupy Arts and Crafts Street.

In return:

We: Send you a Holiday Card, v.5.0 unless and until we've run out, in which case we shall send you our most extremely righteous telekinetic Holiday Vibes instead. Either way, we'll be sure to post a digital version of this year's Card by the end of the month so that everyone can join in on the fun ("fun").

Deal? Deal. PS: In case you've forgotten, here's our address.

Happy Holidays!

Breaking News: Great Clips to Hire Amish Beard-Cutting Attackers

CEO Hans Snideman announced at a press conference this morning that Great Clips, Inc., the undisputed market leader in the rapidly expanding "terrible haircut" sector, has agreed to contractual terms with three key members of the breakaway Amish group charged with violent beard-cutting attacks on several other Amish communities throughout Ohio during the last several months.

Compensation information for Levi Miller and the auspiciously-named brothers Johnny and Lester Mullet was not immediately available, but Snideman announced that the three would immediately take charge of the company's renowned Customer Disservice division.

Snideman noted that new hires had also been strongly pursued by Great Clips competitors Supercuts, Fantastic Sam's, and your crazy one-eyed aunt, but had ultimately concluded that Great Clips represented an unparalleled opportunity for the violent destruction of other people's hairstyles.

"These are men at the very height of the profession," he enthused. "They bring a truly unique capacity for savagely disregarding the follicular wishes of their victims... er...customers, and the entire Great Clips family is delighted to welcome them aboard."

Messrs. Miller, Mullet, and Mullet were not present at the press conference due to an unforeseen scheduling conflict with their kidnapping and assault trial, but industry analysts expressed great enthusiasm for the hires, and Great Clips stock (NYSE: SCLPS) rose nearly 18% in an afternoon of feverish trading.

Real Talk

By now you're surely well-acquainted with the major news story of the last several days.

It's not hard to understand how such a life-and-death issue can bring out so much vitriol in those with opposing viewpoints. No matter what your position, the emotions involved in something so permanent and violent and tragic are almost inherently preclusive of reasonable discourse.

The anger.

The horror.

The sadness.

The fear.

I guess, for me, it's just hard to get so emotionally worked up over Netflix's decision to separate its DVD and streaming offerings into two separate companies because I can still remember what it was like having to rent VHS tapes from Blockbuster.

Have a nice weekend.

Love, Dan.

Your Urgent Assistance is Required

1. What type of demented creature makes this noise for hours on end, and with particular enthusiasm between 5:30 and 7 AM?

2. How do I most swiftly eradicate said creature and the rest of its species from the planet?

*completely unrelated "woodsy scene" stock photo courtesy of the author's personal archives*

Art-a-Tron! Engage!

For the last 48 hours, I've been doing two things, and two things only: (1) watching Star Trek (The Next Generation) (duh) episodes via Netflix streaming, and (2) attempting to create a stencil painting for Paddyboy's birthday on Monday.

Now, at long last, with my hands, face, and entire respiratory system caked in toluene, and with all of the rest of me suffering from a near-irresistible urge to shout questions out loud at "the Computer," it is finished.

The painting, I mean. The painting is finished. I still have four and a half TNG seasons to go, so nothing to worry about on the dorkiness front. But yes. The painting is finished, and I think it turned out mostly okay, the five -- yes, five -- emergency resupply runs I had to make today aside, and the right-at-the-very-end colossal screw-up at least mostly aside.

Anyway, in a spirit of exhaustion, celebration, emphysema, and exploration of outer space, I present to you, The House of Zef.

The Initial Sketch: I'll thank you to keep your snarky comments to a minimum. It's just a freehand outline that I could blow up to canvas size (24" x 36"), and I always end up making a bunch of adjustments (most intentional, many not) when cutting the actual stencil anyway.

The Mock-Up: Possibly overkill, but I figured it couldn't hurt to make sure that, you know, at least some of the stuff I was trying to put on the canvas, you know, actually fit. A Bit of Background: Paddy is (rightfully) obsessed with the South African lunatic rap group Die Antwoord. He's been making his own t-shirts lately with "House of Zef" written on them, and one of the members of DA, Yo-Landi, has a pet mouse that she's always carrying around with her. Hence the lettering, hence the image. Not Pictured in the Mock-Up: The all-important, all-terrifying checkerboard pattern that I wanted to try to stencil on top of the mouse as a tribute to another of Paddy's heroes, one of the all-time greatest characters in cinematic history, Jeff Spicoli. A Huge Shout-Out: To Artist Cousin, who provided invaluable guidance as to the least-horrible way of making a minimally-embarrassing attempt at a checkerboard stencil.

Some Intermediate Stage: You can see that the fateful checkerboard attempt has now begun, and if you look closely enough, you can also see that an ominous haze of dread has filled the entire studio (garage).

Some Intermediater Stage: Approximately 6 hours, 4 TNG episodes, and the aforementioned 5 resupply runs from when I'd begun, the preliminary layers had gone well enough, and the checkerboard was mostly -- and miraculously -- not a complete disaster. I still don't really want to talk about any specifics for fear that this is just a happy, paint-inhalation-induced fantasy and I'm going to wake up to something out of Alice in Wonderland.

The Lettering: At this point, all I really had left to do was wait. Wait for the paint to dry, wait to remove the cardboard, and wait to remove the stencils. Almost all I'd been doing all day was waiting, and all I had to do was wait just a tiny bit longer. So what did I do? Did I wait? Did I?

NO I DID NOT WAIT I JUST ACTED LIKE THE MORONIC MORON THAT I AM AND STARTED PULLING EVERYTHING OFF IN A GIANT IDIOTIC RUSH AND ONE OF THE STILL-WET-PAINTED COINS I WAS USING TO HOLD THE LAYERS FLUSH TO THE CANVAS FLIPPED UP OFF OF ONE OF THE STENCILS AND STUCK TO THE EXPOSED CANVAS AND LEFT A COIN-SHAPED MARK THAT I FRANTICALLY SPENT 45 MINUTES TRYING TO FIX MOSTLY IN VAIN AND IT WAS ONLY BY CHANNELING THE OVERPOWERING COMPOSURE OF CAPTAIN JEAN-LUC PICARD THAT I DIDN'T GO MENTAL AND BURN THE ENTIRE HOUSE DOWN.

The Finished Product: Um. Ahem. Yes. Well, aquí esta. It's not at all perfect, obviously enough, but it's not the total debacle it very well could have been, either. Frankly, I think we'd be justified in rounding it up to a win solely on account of no houses being burned down. Anyway, once I'd finally, actually, let it dry, I cleaned it off, took it upstairs for the grand, night-before presentation to the almost-birthday boy. . . and. . . found out that he'd fallen asleep ten minutes earlier.

Indeed.

Well, I guess I'll just have to watch another dozen episodes to cheer myself up.

MAKE IT SOOOOOOOOooooooooooo!

Hey! Wha' Happened?

I know this doesn't count as a real post. I'll see what I can do about excluding it from the total tally in the increasingly appropriately-titled "Microfiche" sidebar.

And I genuinely do have a bunch of genuinely real posts rattling around in my dusty attic of a skull right now; I just won't be able to properly track them down for at least a few days yet. I'm too busy trying to keep from getting murdered by biology.

A brief teaser, though, of the upcoming topics, to prove that I'm not lying, and also to prove that I'm extremely annoying: 1. The Worst Restaurant Meal of My Life, With The Pale Rider!, 2. Potential Roadtrip News!, 3. A New Painting Commission!, or, How Does One Master Oil Paints in 48 Hours, or, Where's Bob Ross When You Really Need Him?, and finally, as the last shall be first and the first shall be last (and please do make sure to fasten all seatbelts, sign all waivers, and schedule your ambulance in advance), 4. Paddyboy has a Blog!

Okay. Now. Back to the previously scheduled untallied programming.

Fred Willard. One of the great underappreciated artists of our time, I submit, and while this definitely isn't anywhere near his best material, it's still quite genius and it's still been stuck in my head all week.

Hey! Wha' Happened?

Slap Chop Photo Shop

[Shouty Infomercial Guy voice]: DO YOU LIKE THE INTERNET?????? DO FUNNY PICTURES MAKE YOU LAUGH-- SO HARD??????? DO YOU THINK TECHNOLOGY IS-- SO AMAZING AND FANCY??????? YES!!!!!! YES YOU DO!!!!!!!! WE CAN READ YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!!

[Shouty Infomercial Guy voice (still)]: AND LET ME TELL YOU RIGHT NOW THAT YOU'RE IN LUCK YOU WACKY LEPRECHAUN BECAUSE I HAVE THE BEST OFFER YOUR WACKY SHAMROCK BRAIN HAS EVER HEARD OF IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE!!!!!

[Shouty Infomercial Guy voice (still)]: YES THAT'S RIGHT THANKS TO A UNPRECEDENTED HERPES OUTBREAK IN MAINLAND CHINA I'M ABLE TO OFFER YOU A ONCE IN A LIFETIME FREE TRIAL INTRODUCTORY TRIAL OF THE BEST FUNNY INTERNET PRODUCT YOU CAN EVEN IMAGINE!!!! TRY!!!!!! TRY!!!!!!!! SEE?????? YOU DID NOT JUST IMAGINE IT!!!! WE JUST READ YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Shouty Infomercial Guy voice (still)]: I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE THIS OFFER MYSELF AND I AM ABLE TO READ MINDS!!!!!!!!!!!! AND GUESS WHAT I'M AS SERIOUS AS THAT OUTBREAK WHEN I SAY IT'S FREE TO ONE LUCKY CALLER!!!!!!!!!!! ALL THAT WE NEED IS A NAME AND A LINK TO A PHOTO AND A LIST OF THREE ITEMS TO BE INCLUDED IN THE FINAL PHOTOGRAPH AND YOU JUST WAIT AND SEE BECAUSE THAT LUCKY WINNER IS GOING TO GET A FREE INTERNET SPECIALTY SENSATION!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND THEY WILL BE ALLOWED TO KEEP IT FOREVER AS PART OF THIS INTRODUCTORY TRIAL OFFER AND IF YOU THINK THIS SOUNDS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE YOU'D USUALLY BE RIGHT EXCEPT FOR THIS TIME AND MAYBE A COUPLE OTHERS AND JUST TAKE A LOOK AT OUR PREVIOUS DELIGHTED WINNERS AND HURRY UP AND CONTACT US NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Call-Outers Gon' Call Out

I've been getting called out quite a bit lately for my lack of blogging.

Do you know what getting called out is? It's when someone much lamer and dumber than you tries to make you feel bad about something that you've already forgotten about because you stopped listening to them and started loudly fake-snoring after their first few words.

Do you know what the worst part about getting called out is? No matter how exquisitely you've expressed your disdain for any-and-everyone doing it, if you ever happen to (coincidentally) decide to do what they'd (apparently) been blathering on about, they'll all immediately take full credit.

They'll conclude that they've succeeded, that calling you out is effective. They'll begin to do so more and more frequently, with a wider and wider range of complaints. You will be under constant siege. Your fake-snoring muscles will scream in agony.

There's only one known solution. I just invented it right now. It's to do whatever you're being called out about -- here, in case you've lost track somehow, it's blogging -- so terribly badly that no one could ever possibly be interested in taking credit for it.

And now you see the genius. I was born for this.

So, without any (further) further ado, let's have a list! Everybody hates those! The unofficial theme of this one will be inspired by Paddyboy's best man speech earlier today (I'm claiming at least Assistant to the Co-Writer credit), the unofficial theme of which was "Second place is the place to be."

The Best Movie I've Watched Since I Last Blogged:
1. True Grit
2. The Parking Lot Movie

The Best Book I've Read Since I Last Blogged:
1. On The Road
2. Palm Sunday

The Best Album I've Listened To Since I Last Blogged:
1. Bon Iver - Bon Iver
2. The New Pornographers - Challenger

The Best Meal I've Eaten Since I Last Blogged:
1. Entire 16oz can of chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
2. Las Palmas Carniceria Sidewalk Stand Tacos

The Best Internet Video I've Viewed Since I Last Blogged:
1. Dis-a-ppointed! (yes, I'm still watching it.)
2a. Planking. Don't.
2b. Howling. Do.

The Best Food&PantsMan Blog That Will Certainly Be Discontinued Before I Next Blog:
1. All 87 prior blogs, tie
2. The Pale Rider

THE END!

Disappointment

DON'T BE SALTY.

That's what the cover of my autobiography will say, assuming I live long and scandalously enough to get away with biographicating myself, and also assuming that the representatives of Douglas Adams agree with the opinion of my legal staff that any allusion to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is perfectly incidental (and extremely flattering, anyway).

DON'T BE SALTY.

It will say the same thing on the back cover too (for emphasis), although the back will probably be done in some sort of 5-dimensional time lapse hologram or something, in keeping with the times. The hologram may or may not include an idealized representation of me singing a rousing medley of inspirational songs I may or may not have written about myself.

DON'T BE SALTY.

This will be the general theme of the actual work itself, as well, a fiendishly clever, self-ironical motif wending its way through the seemingly (but not necessarily!) random mixture of hilarious stories (about me!), delicious recipes (for food and success!), paint-by-number portraits (of me!), and sheet music (the holographic medley!).

But hold on a minute, you might be thinking. Just hold it right there.

How on earth is anyone ever going to complete (or even begin!) a work of such breathtaking significance and magnitude if he can't even consistently update a simple old (3-dimensional) website (that doesn't even have any music or portraits or anything)?

...

...

...

DON'T BE SALTY.

PS - This is officially my favorite video that I've seen this year. I'm personally responsible for at least two-thirds of those views.

The Buffalo Down

I can't get the smell of buffalo wings out of my nose. I have no idea how it got in there, but it did, and it's been there since sometime yesterday morning.

Perhaps you think this isn't such a bad thing. Perhaps you think that the scent of sour meat is inoffensive, even enjoyable. Perhaps you're very much like I was about 36 hours ago: (1) male, (2) hungry, and (3) stupid.

The problem with Eau de Buffle, though, is that it doesn't have much of a shelf life, no matter how much of how many of those aforementioned three things one might be. The other problem is that the only options for attempting to extract such an intractable odor from the depths of one's own proboscis all seem quite capable of having made William Wallace talk.

Then again, maybe I shouldn't try removing it at all. Maybe it's some sort of sign. An omen. Of what, it's hard to speculate. I guess let's just say that if anyone knows anyone who might be capable of interpreting a happy interpretation about this vinegary little situation, please direct them my way. Quickly.

***

In other news, using the term as loosely and self-ridiculingly as possible, I'm happy to report that the first semester of my still-unannounced secret mission has been successfully completed. I know that telling only the beginning of a story is a crime worthy of swift and painful death, but it's just far too likely that I (1) still manage to screw things up, (2) change my mind and try something else instead, and/or (3) require the postponement of overt discussion in order to ensure a properly frantic effort.

Besides, the only reason I even allude to the endeavor at all is so that I can provide dispatches from the front, as it were, without seeming to make absolutely no sense. At least as judged on my own preexisting curve.

Speaking of which, and by way of sincerest apology for the story stallout, I offer the photo below of the Lucky Finals Moustaches* grown by my comrades and I in our joint efforts to succeed most mightily in our disparate missions of varying secrecy.

*I would just like to note that I am painfully aware that many dictionaries list "mustache," without the "o," as the primary spelling of the word, but that I find such practice both etymologically and morally reprehensible, and shall never myself do any such thing unless by mistake.

Finally, I'd just like to note that any rumors of this website's demise have been greatly misunderestimated. Which is to say, well, nothing. That's not a word. But which is also to say, that although at some point this little corner of the internet will necessarily go the way of the mighty beast whose wings are currently flapping most obnoxiously throughout my nasal passages, that point has not yet been reached.

Onward and upward! and Geronimo! and etc. and etc.