Get me a motherfucking record player NOW!

I want to be a record collecting LP junkie. I want to be Rob Gordon (John Cusack, High Fidelity)!

During the last 10 years of my life I have focused heavily on collecting music. Not just music from my generation, but all generations of music. I hunt through all types of media, everything from myspace pages to used LP bins at thrift shops to find the next album to my 70,000 song life soundtrack never ends.

The USB turntable is my latest musical collection tool. The turntable's amazingly transforms paralyzed LP records into mobile mp3s, capturing my imagination in the process.

With any format of music (except cassett tapes) at my will my mutating iTunes will have more fuel to grow. Garage sales, your parent's old record collection have become my kitchen cabinet and I'm always hungry.

I simply love the notion of giving life to old LPs like Dr. Frankenstein. Knowing that their messages, melodies and rhymes will live for decades inside my growing musical iTunes society.

Long live great music. Let it haunt my soul long after I die.

Grandma knows a few things about cooking

I have discovered recently that I love cooking. The thrill of creating tasty dishes from scratch tickles my Betty Crocker soul.

Inspired by countless years of helping my grandma Jackson in the kitchen spawned a cooking demon in me with the fiery passion of kerosine soaked grill.

A tasty seasoned pork chop coupled with a healthy serving of steamed vegetables began my humble descent into the depths replicating my grandma's. The easy, healthy(ish) dish gave me confidence to expand my repertoire to other yummy yet healthy meals.

Though my grandma taught me how to navigate a kitchen, she was laden with
unhealthy cooking habits from the beginning of the 20th century. Her delicious meals built on whole
milk, high fat butter and heavy salt, with pans lubricated with lard.

The tastes didn't quite match up after replacing her fattening ingredients
with healthier alternatives, but I was more interested in
replicating her methods, not her heart attacks.

Now that I'm able to make a multitude of dishes, (mostly in southern
cooking style) cooking has taken on a new meaning. I'm not just cooking to
feed myself, It's starting to be fun. I'm even beginning to
take on my grandma's attitudes towards others enjoyment of food.

"Are you hungry? Want me to make you something?"

"How did those biscuits turn out? They taste a little dry to me."

I think the enjoyment of cooking will only propel me towards other
dishes, deserts and snacks, becoming easier and faster with every
trial.

Unfortunately my Grandma won't be around to see my cooking
pinnacle, so every opportunity learn from her experience and show her
the progress I've made. Knowing her cooking styles and experience will be
transcended to another generation or two will make her proud.

I saw a character actor at the airport

I had arrived back in Atlanta from my long Thanksgiving weekend in Arizona. The gate area was insanely busy, surrounded by hundreds of people I was just trying to make my way to baggage claim and that's when I saw him, a well recognized character actor from television and film.

He looked at me just as I looked at him and gave me a look of "No, don't approach me, it's not worth your time." With a small smile I kept walking.

The problem with this story is that I can't think of this man's name (I never knew it) or what shows/movies he's been in. I want to say Sex and the City or a guest appearance as a rich murder suspect on Law and Order.

He looks like a poor man's Richard Gere. He's in his early 50's. Gray hair, six feet tall. He often plays corporate assholes, the worried dad or lawyer.

I think he's a lawyer on a current Drama.

If anybody out there has any idea how I'm talking about, I would greatly appreciate your assistance or thoughts.

This man is not bearded.

Cell Phone Courtsey. Please.

There are social rules to using your cell phones people. Unfortunately, not everyone is aware of these rules. So let's briefly go over them.



Rule # 1 (And most important)

Do not have important, private conversations in public. That means on the bus, subway, in line, in a restaurant, or next to me in the airport. Private conversations should remain private.

Complete strangers sitting around you at the gate of an airport don't need to know that your father is in a nursing home and your dysfunctional siblings are stealing from his bank account.

"I want to treat him nice, I want to buy him nice things , like a new TV. But my sisters will steal it and pawn it for dope money."

Not only can everyone hear your personal business, they know you are a complete spaz and that the person on the other end of the phone thinks so too.

While in public, keep conversations short and quiet as a courtesy to the people around you.

Rule #2.

Don't blue tooth in public.

There is an entire culture that think it's OK to Bluetooth in public. They don't realize everyone around them is annoyed and making fun of them.

Blue tooth technology was invented for safety purposes, to allow users the luxury of talking to others while driving, while keeping hands free and eyes focused on the road. They were not invented so you could walk through the mall or grocery store and talk to other people like you're crazy

Rule #3.

Do not text while eating with others.

It may be acceptable to text while eating with friends in preparation for other social events. But while eating with relatives, business associates or love interests, it's best to keep your thumbs on the table. Your LOL's, WTF's, and OMG's can wait till after dinner.

Rule #4.

Texting while driving is dangerous. Only attempt short messages while waiting at stop lights (this is somewhat dangerous, but at least you aren't moving).

Rule #5.

Put your fucking phone on vibrate when you leave the house. Why should everyone in Woolworths hear T.I.'s latest hit on full volume whenever you get a call. And God save the soul's of people who let their phone ring in public because they don't want to answer them. You know hitting the end button will silent a call without stopping the ringing or sending it straight to voicemail.

Whether it be laziness, stupidity or lack of manners, hopefully rude cell phone users will understand the error of their ways and start being considerate of the individuals that are forced to share their public space.

I'm excited, I'm flying.

The day before a big flight is always exciting. There are so many possibilities, so many things to prepare.

What should I wear? I should wear layers, because it can go from hot to cold in a matter of minutes in the airport/airplane areas.

Should I dress for comfort or to impress? If it's going to be a long flight I want to dress comfortably. But what if I sit next to a pretty girl and I look like a slob, she won't offer me her peanuts, she won't even let me borrow her Air Mall magazine.

Screw her, she's stuck up anyway, I'm wearing sweatpants.

What should I bring on the plane to keep me busy, book, music, movies? Movies are great if you have headphones, but then you have the whole "look I have a computer on the plane, I'm hot stuff," effect and you don't want that.

Music is a solid choice. But then you have to worry about messages overhead that you don't hear. "Now serving seconds on Coca-Cola, for all that can hear this message." You may also lose out on amazing conversation with a random stranger.

Books are the best choice. You don't have to turn them off during during the flight, others will still engage in conversation and when else do you get to read?

Remember to be cautious with what book you bring to the airport though. If you're almost done, you may be stuck staring at the back of the seat in front of you for a few hours, or buying some overpriced shit-cover from the airport gift shop.

Finally, food. What to eat and when? Eat right before, you don't want to be waiting in line and have to drop a deuce. Some experts agree that patrons should attempt to eat only at the airport. The food is expensive, but it's generally exotic and a treat, like Cinnabun and bathrooms are always close by.

In summary, dress comfortably casual, bring a good book and have a Cinnabun or two, they are delicious.

Eat fries, no matter their age

The world's most important machine belongs to me.

I have created the first ever French fry rejuvenator.

Finally, a machine that regenerates French fry freshness regardless of age. Hour old to month stale fries can be restored to their inception freshness in under 60 seconds.

The technology is fairly complicated and a lot of my research is written in sandscript, but the proof is in the pudding, fry pudding that is.

To capture this market before it explodes, I have started a corporation, Long Live Fries Inc. (LLF). LLF can rejuvenate any style of fry, French, potato, home even hash browns.

Simply send your fries to the address below in a sealed box or envelope. I will revive your French fries to pristine freshness and ship them back to you for your approval.

First time fry fresheners pay a one-time fee of $111.11. All following fry rejuvenations are only $11.11. LLF does offer discounted memberships for frequent renewers.

Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Unfortunately, since satisfaction is based on opinion, LLF can not offer refunds. Please feel free to ask any questions, leave concerns or just tell us how great your fries taste at www.LongLiveFries.org

Who wants ketchup?

Long Live Fries
P.O. box 34234-3234
Orlando, FL 45345-3423

I want The Eagles of Death Metal to do the soundtrack for my feature film

I do not have a movie written, or even completely thought of yet, but I do know that The Eagles of Death Metal doing the soundtrack.

If you don't know The Eagles of Death Metal (EoDM) yet, see if you can get a feel for them by reading the rough outline of my movie script.

OPENING SCENE: (Just after 1am, Friday night) A wild bar in the middle of San Bernadino. Our hero enters (he's only our hero, because we haven't seen any of the nasty shit he did before) wearing black jeans, a leather jacket and a t-shirt that reads "shirt optional".

Half the women in the bar are chain-smoking menthols, while the other half pole dance, regardless of what they're doing, their eyes are now resting on our hero.

Through the cigarette smoke our hero eyes a beautiful red head dancing on the far right stripper pole.

Out of nowhere a tattooed, long-haired 50- year-old grease ball says, "Eat shit Jake!" and smashes a beer bottle in his face.

The largest-dirtiest-biker-grease ball-stripper-broken pool cue-bar fight you've ever seen breaks out.

(End Scene)

MIDDLE SEQUENCE: Driving (on a monster sweet hog) to Las Vegas to marry his red haired, 19-year-old stripper girlfriend and lay low after robbing a pet store, then setting half it's puppies free.

The nighttime desert air is cool on their faces as they drive faster towards Vegas. A preemptive honeymoon roadblock makes itself known a few hundred feet ahead. It turns out the stripper's daddy is a major boss man back in LA and is not too happy about his little girl marrying one of California's most notorious.

Needless to say, the blood spilled halfway between LA and Vegas didn't taste a thing like Cherry Cola.

END SCENE: As our hero waits to visit the devil in his lover's arms outside The Heart On motel, blood oozing from his mouth. He asks her, "Even if it takes years, whatever you gotta do, revenge my death." The red haired scarlet kissed and squeezed him for the last time, before plotting how her father would die.

Sunset, mountains, palm trees.

THE END.

Christmas Coke is better

The truth is, Christmas Coca-Cola is tastier than regular Coca-Cola Classic.

Don't get me wrong, everyday Coca-Cola Classic is the most refreshing soda-pop on the market, always has been, always will be. But somehow the last two months of every year, Coca-Cola is able to stock grocery store shelves with the finest tasting pop the world has ever tasted, Christmas Coca-Cola.

There is something indescribable about Christmas Coca-Cola. I'd stake my reputation as the world's greatest writer on it. Some magical ingredient must be added to every batch of Christmas Coke.

"Oh Adam, it's simply the effect of the Christmas Spirit, you receive from gazing at the Christmas Coke packaging, you silly handsome man." people would say to me.

"Nay." I would respond.

In 50 blind taste tests I picked the Christmas Coke 101 times.

Unfortunately, the results from taste tests I conducted were not as conclusive.

It turns out only 50% of the individuals I tested were able to taste the difference. Baffled by the results, I conducted a second test on the same individuals, a joy test.

After the joy test, my Christmas Coke results made perfect sense. It turns out the people that could taste the difference in Christmas Coke, were the same people that tested positive for joy. Christmas Coke can only be tasted by people that have joy in their lives!

In order to taste the most joyous beverage of the season, you have to work for it, the other 10 months out of the year. Try a little extra every day, to let joy inside your life. Whether it be laughing at a joke, drawing a picture, or simply relaxing with an amazing book, do your part to make your life cheerful.

And for those of you that think I'm full of it and have no intentions of adding any joy to your lives, you may want to try Pepsi's holiday soda, it's right up your alley.

That looks easy

Bull riding. Bull riding seems easy to me.

I know that I wouldn't last 2 seconds on that ride, but still some 100% man part of my brain refuses to believe it's true.

I feel that way about a lot of things. Fist fighting, movie directing, race car driving, reading, the list goes on. Until I try those adventurous tasks, my ego will continue to grow unchallenged and full on the B.S. I've been feeding it.

Lately I've been getting gassy. I need to release some of this pressure by tackling the activities I've been putting off since I was a little boy. It's now time to learn how to scuba dive, mountain climb, play volleyball and change a tire.

The need to fail is as important as the need to succeed. Simply moving is what I require. Judging activities and people has distracted me long enough, now it's time to see what I can do, not just say.

If I fail, so be it, at least I'll go flying through a wall rather than slamming on my breaks to avoid trying.

Who am I kidding? What's on TV?

What does Hugh Hefner think of himself?

Every man, whether he wants to admit it, is jealous of Hugh Hefner in some way.

The luxurious mansions, the decades of sex with the world's hottest women (Fact. Hef has had sex more with more beautiful women in his life, than I've had erections), his access to illegal drugs, his ability to do illegal drugs off the bodies of beautiful women, the ability to have beautiful women do illegal drugs off him, travel the world, host amazing parties, and work at a magazine. 

 If you can't find something to be jealous about in that long sentence, I think you need to reexamine what you find important in life.  

Hef has beat the system. He has made a life of being a porn slinging ladies man, with thousands of women left in his wake. But is he happy?

Hef's life may be filled with constant satisfaction, but I believe that satisfaction looks a lot like a donut.  His center is missing. Life needs to be a balanced meal, can't be made up of only sugary sweets, it needs to have substance and meaning. 

Hef has been locked in the world's greatest candy store since he was a little boy.  Sure it was great at first, and probably through the first few decades.  But reality begins to set in.  If you don't have stability, structure and loyalty, your center begins to sag, amongst other things. When you leave this world, whether your Hugh Hefner, or some asshole, you wonder "Who will remember me when I'm gone?"  Will someone be able to remember the real Hef?

So while we're all looking in at his mansion, wondering how great it is inside, I bet Hef is looking out.  Thinking about the life he could have had and the love he never found.  

Even the greatest party in the world gets old and 20 year old pussy gets boring, "right"?

  

Blogging makes me gassy

Surprise, surprise, I don't care for blogging. My feelings for blogging are similar to my feelings for facebook, they're both a waste of time.

But who wants to hear me talk about, how blogging is a waste of time or that facebook will make you sterile? I'm thinking nobody. So let's move on to a more interesting topic. Jesus.

Now I'm not going to sit here and lecture you about not being close enough to Jesus, but I can assure you, if you're reading this blog you're not close enough. I'd prefer to lecture you on Jesus girls, sometimes referred to as "Jesus freaks." ("Jesus Freaks" being a unisex term, which is fine, I'm sure there are Jesus guys out there too).

Urban Dictionary refers to Jesus freaks as " n. Someone who displays an unusual or embarrassing amount of enthusiasm for Jesus.

someone evincing 2 or more of the following symptoms: 1: proclaims the lord is coming with the imminent end of the world 2: has signs on their person, car, or home with bible quotes 3: goes to church more than once a week 4: started their own christian offshoot cult because the rest aren;t pious enough 5: tries to foist an extreme form of christianity off on others 6: is a born-again christian and/or fundamentalist

Have you ever had a crush on a girl that was a Jesus freak?

It's like trying to date a girl who has a boyfriend back home. Except his name is Jesus, and he can see everything she does.

Try doing more than kissing. You might as well be dangling a box of condoms in front of her saying "I got these just for us." SLAP!

God help you if you actually get into a relationship with a Jesus freak. I dated a girl for three months and I barely got to first base. "You know I can't go any further. It just wouldn't be right. What would Jesus think?" She would say.

"Ah, he'd think you were prude." I would respond in my head.

They mean well and they're nice girls. But the idea of waiting till marriage for sex is deranged. It's like going to a car dealership and having the dealer say "Sorry. You have to buy the car before you can drive it." Knowing my luck, it'd be a Ford or Chevy dealership too. Suppressing your sexual feelings till marriage is bound to result in so much pent-up sexual aggression that it would overflow, leaking into other facets of your life. I guess that's why so many Christians like Christian Rock.

How can you know you are truly meant to be with someone, if you've never slept with them? Relationships (in my opinion) reach a new level after you've slept with someone, so marring a person you haven't slept with yet, would be like marrying a stranger.

At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter whether the person next to you believes in Jesus, is a virgin, or just has really shitty taste in music. All that matters is if they make you happy. The earlier in life you understand that, they happier you'll be. I promise.