Welcome to the Hotel Illness

An open letter to Mr. J.T. Lambert

1/31/03 @ 12:23 PM

Dear John T. Lambert,

Since you have taken time out of your day to send me an unsolicited email, I thought it would only be just for me to give you some unsolicited advice in return. In regards to your email (subject: Christopher, I am a real person) there are a couple of things you might want to consider:

1)  While you may indeed be a very 'real person,' the fact that you need to announce this suggest a touch of insecurity on your part.  In which case I would suggest that you take a day or two off from your heavy load of spamming work and ask yourself a few introspective questions. Such as: Am I really real? and How do I know I'm real and not some script sending out random emails? 

2)  If, after much soul searching, you confirm your state of existence, then I recommend you make note of a few things.  I couldn't GAF whether you are a real person or not, nor do I care what you are selling, buying, leasing, loaning, or giving away.  Instead of sending out endless amounts of cyber-litter, may I suggest you do something more constructive, like verifying the potentiality of recreating Jackass stunts.

A semi-real person

Shower Shock

1/30/03 @ 9:35 PM

I'm a bit behind the times here I guess, but caffeinated soap?   Really?

When only the finest will do . . .

1/29/03 @ 10:28 PM

Back to your regularly scheduled idiocy

1/29/03 @ 2:18 PM

I have a hulking head
and my tonsils aren’t trivial.
A brigade of snot their vedette,
whose plan is just diluvial.

My body rife with strife,
I should fix myself a cocktail
made from the two best things in life:
What else, but ice cream and NyQuil

Tampa Bay vs. Iraq

1/28/03 @ 11:28 PM

I'm amazed none of the Warbloggers have picked up on this piece.  Michael makes an interesting Libertarian/Republican argument against going to war with Saddam.  I'm not sure I agree with it entirely, but it is nice to see something besides bleeding hearts and renegades. 

I'm unsure about this view because I think liberating the people of these nations is just one of a number of possible reasons for attacking.  One such reason being defense.  Yes, defense.  I'm not saying we should definitely attack Iraq, because I'm still not positive it is in our best interest to do so.  What I am saying, is that, at what point does a defensive maneuver become an offensive one?  At the risk of sounding simple, I would say that in some ways, it is not too far removed from football.  Take the Super Bowl;  Tampa's defense was extremely aggressive. They not only took advantage of every stupid move the Raiders made, but also applied enough consistent pressure that they encouraged (if not actually forced) the Raiders to bumble around more.  Yet, on the other hand, it is entirely possible to overextend yourself defensively.  So, I guess what I'm asking is: In today's nuclear, bio-warfare world, what differentiates an offensive move from a defensive one? 

Ode to Robe

1/28/03 @ 11:23 AM

There are getting to be a lot of odes here.  Does that make this the land of odes?  The blog of odes?   Am I a man of many odes?   Or am I just sowing my (not so) wild odes?

I have a robe
green and flannel in its making
The first item grabbed upon awaking
Three pockets and a belt to tie
And just one hole, a dime in size.
Alas, 'tis this? The hole is ripping!
A flap flayed, my trust betraying,
And giving to me, as it were,
A very, very, cold shoulder.

Luke, your not even warm!

1/27/03 @ 10:19 AM

I take showers that leave me looking like I just stepped out of Silkwood, partly because I'm a masochist that way, and partly because I just can't stand the cold.  A showering experience is not a success unless I come out glowing with the radiance of first degree burns.   The lobster look is what I'm going for here.

So imagine my trepidation this morning when I cranked the faucet to its rightful setting of 'Boil,' and was greeted by the most tepid of waters.  And that, it would seem, is the tone for the day- tepid.


1/27/03 @ 8:13 AM

"Several teens complained that police had overreacted."

Sorry, but if you're life is this pathetic I would say the police underreacted.  They should have pureed your puerile asses.

Sometimes, simple says it best

1/27/03 @ 12:07 AM

"All these little things in life they all create this haze
There's too many things to get done, and I'm running out of days"


1/26/03 @ 11:36 PM

There was so much talk about the best defense vs. the best offense, but what everyone failed to mention was that Tampa's D was actually their second offense.   When a defense is that aggresive I'm not sure it can still be called a defense.  Tampa ruled the game, and I'm still blown away by the speed and agility of their "defense."

Overheard at the SB party-

You know, he doesn't really look that tall.
How tall is he?
He's at least 5'10" or 5'11"

Heh, 5' 11" is tall? I must be the Jolly, Skinny, Green Giant.


1/23/03 @ 8:36 AM

You might remember Hung-Ta from this post, but anyway he left last night to go back to Taiwan. Before he left though, he gave me a business card of a friend of his who is looking for people to teach English in Asia. I would make more than I would start out making here in the U.S. as a teacher, and it would be an amazingly interesting experience. I'm not sure as to how long I would have to commit. Two years would be much easier, than say five or so. Considering my dilemma it is definitely an option. I wonder what the cost of living is like over there.

Everyone's a critic

1/22/02 @ 12:05 AM

Yet poetry has constantly the air of making statements, and important ones; The acceptance which a pseudo-statement receives is entirely governed by its effects upon our feelings and attitudes.  Logic only comes in, if at all, in subordination, as a servant to our emotional response.  The remedy, is to cut our pseudo-statements free from that kind of belief which is appropriate to verified statements." - I.A. Richards

Ok, so why all the importance placed on 'pseudo-statements'? Logic may not always change our emotions, but we are able to temper our emotions or, at the very least, are actions according to logic. Literary theorists kill me. They are always skipping lightly over certain truths in order to create some sense of the extraordinary. They have to I guess - after all, written criticism is an art in itself.

So we have a critic, creating a work of art about how to critique art.   Is this where we got the phrase "crawling up your own ass?"

Babble, ramble

1/21/02 @ 7:45 AM

My first post with CSS, and I only halfway know what I'm doing. I've got a headache. I skipped class and I think I'll link to something here. In fact, this is kind of cool, once you get your head into the right space. No, not that space.


1/20/03 @ 7:35 PM

So, I've committed to writing six stories this semester. I'm nervous. I'm anxious. I'm excited. Six term papers would be no problem. You're provided with a topic and some specific texts to work with, they've all but written the thing for you. But fiction. To write a story that can go anywhere, and examine anything. To write six stories, under the pressure of deadlines. The blank page is the ultimate freedom until its expanse is magnified by a quota. I'm a wreck.

UPDATE:  I just found this via Highindustrial.  Alas, I am not alone.

" I myself am lucky to greet my own “author” on anything like a regular basis, and my fear (to touch on another recent thread) is mainly that the feckless, procrastinating, profoundly unreliable bastard will one day fail permanently to show up, leaving me having to pretend that I know how to write fiction."


1/18/03 @ 11:20 PM

Welcome, Pisces
PiscesYour horoscope for today
More soulmate activity, increasing into a frenzy of romance that you might not be used to, let alone be ready for. If this person is making deeper commitments than you expected, it's time to take a break to analyze the depth of this situation.


Guarding Garbage or The Dangers of Dumpster Diving

1/17/03 @ 11:07 PM

My usual route to the White Hen involves cutting through an alley, and like most alleys here, it's lined with dumpsters. Nothing unusual there. The dumpsters are also chained and padlocked shut. Which is something I had never seen before I moved to Chicago, and something that I still don't completely understand. I don't know how many times I've rounded the corner unwrapping a new pack of smokes and tried to stuff the foil and cellophane under the lids of one of those dumpsters - a nearly impossible task thanks to those super-duty chains and padlocks. So I'm left with either tossing the trash on the ground or stuffing it in my pocket. In a city strewn with trash, does it really make sense to lock up trash receptacles? I mean, can they possibly make it any harder to dispose of something properly?

Tonight it's the same old story, except this time when I round the corner I see two guys, who, judging from their attire did not work at the White Hen, or the Kinkos next door, or anywhere else. So anyway, these two guys are straining so hard to get the lid of this dumpster open that they've shucked their jackets (it's 4° F windchill) and have what appear to be either vagabond platyhelminthic worms or their carotid arteries about to burst clean through their skin.

Which brings me to a couple of questions:

1) What in the hell could be in a Kinkos/White Hen dumpster that could be worth all this anguish?

2) Why in the hell do you lock up something you're throwing away?

Pfui, Deutsch

1/16/03 @ 8:55 AM

Finally, my last semester of German.  I've given up the notion that I will ever become fluent in this or any foreign language, but I have learned a few very helpful phrases:

Ich werde getrunken und ich lasse nicht Communism zu.

Fur so einen kleinen Frau hast Du aber sehr grosse Schnauzbart

Warum kann ich keinen Kettensaege haben?

Kellner, da ist eine suppe in meines Bier.

Hat jemand einen schwarzen Koffer abgegeben? Es sind 10,000 neue Banknoten und sack voll Greis darin.

Oh, mein Gott! Ist das Blut?

Sometimes, it's just that simple

1/15/03 @ 11:22 PM

We can be driven by different things, but they all seem to boil down to Fear and Love.

A) We strive to be better because we're afraid of what others think:

1. We're afraid of we don't make enough money, have a nice enough car, etc.

2. We're afraid of not living up to another's expectations (that person will no longer like/love us).

B) We love ourselves:

1. We inherently love what we do.

2. We love those we have chosen to be around

What drives you?

Ah, yes . . .

1/14/03 @ 11:56 AM

"Excuse me," Melissa said, "but that is just such bullshit."

"What is bullshit?" Chip said.

"This whole class," she said. "It's just bullshit every week. It's one critic after another wringing their hands about the state of criticism. Nobody can ever quite say what's wrong exactly. But they all know it's evil. They all know 'corporate' is a dirty word. And if somebody's having fun or getting rich- disgusting! Evil! And it's always the death of this and the death of that. And people who think they're free aren't 'really' free. An people who think they're happy aren't really happy . . . Like, the only way you can make something bad out of an ad that's great for women-which you have to do, because there has to be something wrong with everything- is to say it's evil to be rich and evil to work for a corporation, and yes, I know the bell rang." - The Corrections, pg. 44

It's Monday, and it's insanely cold . . .

1/13/03 @ 12:15 AM

. . . and classes start today, and I'm still not completely registered, and I can't get a U-Pass until I get a complete schedule, and did I mention it's f-f-f-friggin' f-f-f-f-freezing?.  In ignominy of this insipid 13th day of January, I am declaring it 'Humorless Monday'.  Yes indeed, there will be no humor today.  None.  

There will be no stories of ducks walking into bars, no visuals of people slipping on banana peels.  No blonde jokes, bits of late night monologues, elephant jokes, nor any other kind of animal jokes.  There will not even be any political humor.  This, is a very grave day.   

Mr. Penn, in his infinite wisdom, anticipated the forthcoming of Humorless Monday and cracked all his jokes to Larry King on Saturday.  (link via Sine Qua Non Pundit)

To my short-term memory

1/12/03 @ 2:25 PM

An Elegy . . .
. . . of things that come and things that go
that sneak up quick and slip by slow

And from what did this void begin to grow?
I do not remember, I do not know.

Did I let it out with the dog?
Or lose it in some addled fog?

Did I lay it with my keys?
(A note to self: Where are these?)

Is it stored away in a damp shoebox?
Or kept safe under an old keyless lock?

Did I lose it in a high stakes game?
Or give it to . . . you know, what's his name?

Did it vanish in a puff of smoke?
Was it inhaled with one giant toke?

Forgotten like a painting with one bad stroke?
A lost Renaissance, or was it just Baroque?

To things that come and things that go
lost in the ebb, found in the flow.

Let me raise my glass in toast
to that which I miss the most.

All that and a bag of HP

1/11/03 @ 4:01PM

Speaking of the 2005 Mustang, looks like Ford did fix that silly looking rear end.  Now they just need to tweak this and put it in one of these or these, voila, a modern day Cobra Jet  Heh  It produces 590 horsepower at 6,500 rpm and 509 foot-pounds of torque at 5500 rpm, and is about 70 pounds lighter than the 5.4.  

Ode to Guinness*

1/27/03 @ 12:15 AM

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, in want, when three four-packs I bought,
And poured my first glass of your liquid grains
Clunk and rattle at the end of its draught:
"What the hell," sayeth I, "tis in that can?"
But being too happy in thine happiness,
I drank one . . . and nine or ten more I guess.
In some melodious plan
Of curiosity and fearlessness,
I ripped thee open with the greatest ease.
Twat did I find, in your empty regions?
But a white plastic ball, delved in your mirth
Tasting of goodness in my repletion,
I savored the sweet sadness of your dearth!
And here I stand and voice this folderol,
"Bullocks to you," I say, "my beer's got balls!"

Out of My Disposition

1/08/03 @ 7:52 PM

Have you ever done something out of character? Something so completely unlike anything you've done before that even you can't believe you did it? 10 years later?

Those who know me, I think, would attest that I'm pretty low key around people I don't know. I tend to hang with those I know and like, because I'm pretty awful, really, at doing the small talk thing.

So anyway, it's '93 and I'm in Nashville (yes, that Nashville) and a friend and I are leaving the mall after our weekly trip to Taco Bell. My friend is just about to turn out of the parking lot when we spot four chicks in a red Beemer convertible that would make Genelle Frenoy take a job for the city cleaning out sewer pipes.


"Yeah!" We've not a chance in hell.

My buddy slides (screeches) through the oncoming traffic in order to pull up beside them, but the light turns green and they hit the entrance ramp to I-24 west, which, just happens to be our way home.


"Yeah."   What the hell are we gonna do, follow them all the way to who knows where?

Being the most excellent driver he is (remind me to tell you about blindly crossing five lanes of traffic at an some insane speed sometime) he mashes the gas 60, 65, 70 . . . 75 . . . 80 . . . And then, were cruising beside them.  What to do, what to do. My 1001 Pick-up Line encyclopedia suddenly seemed remarkably abridged. I couldn't remember this particular situation being mentioned. What to do, what to do.

I glance over, four blonde manes blowing seductively in the wind, tanned appendages draped across the white leather interior. Good God, this is absurd.  What do I sa . . . ahhh, yes, of course.

I start rolling down the window.

"What in the hell are you going to do?"

If ever, anyone wore a shit-eating grin, it was I at that time.

"What the hell are you doing!!?"

I can barely hear him over the 80 mph wind ripping through the car. The window hits its stop. One last glance at my buddy and I start to crawl up onto the edge of the door. By this time I have the girls' complete and undivided attention (well, except for the one driving who is about to give herself whiplash from the frantic double, triple, and quadruple takes). Four very rich, very pretty women are staring at me like I'm some kind of crazy person trying to hand them a cootie. (Well, OK. Point taken, but I do/did not have cooties!)

"Hey!" Their faces are starting to match the white leather interior, and one, I swear, is curling up into a fetal position in the backseat.

"Do you come here often?" I yell, literally collapsing back into the car laughing. The BMW roars off, and I'm certain they broke triple digits in the process.

"I can't believe you just did that!" My laughter subsides enough to allow me to see my buddy all slouched down in his seat, peering through the arc of the steering wheel and the dash, which induces another fit of laughter that lasted all the way home.

Its a wonder the poor guy ever let me ride with him again.


1/07/03 @ 7:52 PM

Everyone's asleep.  Except you, sitting in the ponderous silence of the kitchen. The view from your window is a darkening shade of some movie you can't quite place. Your mind drifts over the landscape of your past and back to the trees, painted still and window-framed on your wall. The snow glowing blueish-white in the moonlight. Its antagonizing peacefulness demands that something be done, yet it offers no suggestions - a blank screen awaiting your projection.

I'm in a mood

01/06/03 @ 11:00 AM

I'm in a mood where all I want to do is scream.  Scream and break stuff.   Scream, break stuff, and empty every bottle of shampoo at Jewel right there in the middle of aisle six.  Ueh.  Guess, I'll just go to work.

A Fanatic is a fanatic is a fanatic

1/05/03 @ 11:45 PM

I've said before that atheist can be just as fanatical, close-minded, and utterly annoying as religious zealots. You don't believe in God (or a God, afterlife, or anything). OK. I get it. No need to repeat it every time you turn around. I don't care. Really. They say people are only fanatical if they are unsure. No one goes around proclaiming that Jenna Jameson is going to take her clothes off.

Which makes me wonder if these people, the fanatically atheist and fanatically religious, doubt the very beliefs they spout incessantly.

"Why is it that Xians can not accept the fact that there is no proof that God exist and that beliving in God is extreemly illogical?"

Christians (or, as so cleverly spelled by this individual) may very well be illogical, but to state that God does not exist because we cannot prove it is also illogical (the converse is also true, obviously). It is an argumentum ad ignorantiam, or argument from ignorance. If it cannot be proven that something does or does not exist (ghosts, aliens, God, One-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eaters), then you cannot logically argue either way, hence the term faith.

Making the world a better place

1/03/03 @ 5:27 PM

For those of you who weren't aware, I have dedicated my life to making this world a better place for all of humanity.  Yes, I have renounced my capitalistic ways and I shall now bestow my hard earned knowledge upon human kind absolutely free of charge*.

"Well, that's great," you say, "but what exactly are the fruits of you labors?"

That, my friend, is an excellent question, and I'm glad you asked.  Step right up and allow me to tell you about my latest creation:  

Exploding Ice CubesTM.

Now I can already hear the philistines among you muttering, "Why in the hell would I want Exploding Ice CubesTM?"

This is also an excellent question, and let me answer by asking you, dear skeptic, a question of my own:  Have you ever found yourself entertaining guests and suddenly realize the only thing you have to drink is that gallon of scotch you bought for $5.99? 

Yes.  That's exactly what I thought.

Yes dear readers, I will now show you not only how to serve that economy bottle of goat piss scotch without embarrassment, but how to ensure your guest enjoy it.


Patience eager reader.  First, you need one or more ice cube trays.  May I recommend these:

which I am making available to you at my cost.

Second, you will need H2O.  Yes, plain old ordinary tap water will do.

Third, fill the ice cube tray(s) up to the top of each reservoir with water.

Place the trays (and the water) into the freezer.

Close the freezer door.

Allow the ice cube trays to freeze approximately 1 and 1/2 to 2 hours*.

Remove the trays from the freezer and gently twist the tray.  When done correctly, this will induce air bubbles into each of the cubes like this:

Return the trays to the freezer and shut the door.

Once the ice has frozen completely, simply crack and dispense as you would ordinary ice cubes.  When placed into a room temperature drink the solid (ice) and gas (air) will expand at different rates, thereby causing the cubes to shatter with profound 'pop'.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have a life.  Why do you ask?

A '67, er '68, uh . . . 2005 Mustang

>1/03/03 @ 8:30 AM

Motor Trend has some concept drawings of the 2005 Mustang.  Following the nostalgic lines of the latest Thunderbird, the 05 Mustang is  a strange compilation of late '60s body styles.  It's an interesting design, but they need to do something with that 280Zesque rear end.  That's just wrong.  No word yet if Ford will improve that anemic OHC 4.6L.  Let's hope they take some cues from Steeda, or at the very least make the 2005 a 5.0.


100 Things
Aural Oddities


Cagey 1  Two  III  Vier  5
Exploding Ice Cubes
Ode to Guinness
Ode to spyder
Roommate Hell


May '02
June '02
July '02
August '02
September 1   2
October 1   2
November 1   2
December '02


Armchair Analyst
Capitalist Lion
Cerebral Moloko
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Hot Feet
Sine Qua Non Pundit
Tequila Mockingbird
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The Eyes Project


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