Oh.My.God.

This may possibly be the greatest day in all of humanity. The nee plus ultra.

One of my headline submissions was accepted at fark.com.

The story: Charlie Chaplin's cane was bought for $91,800 at an auction.

My headline: Chaplin's cane fetches $91,800. Shoe Goulash still $8/plate.

Huhn? Get it? I thought so.

Boooya!

Okay, so in looking over this blog for near the past year, I can say beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am crazy-head-over-heels-mad-like-a-rabid-dog in love with my wife. Last night, we went out for a small bite, drinks, and then went CD shopping, and in all that simplicity, I had the most phenomenol time.

Some couples struggle to find excitement and do extreme things, big, broad and booming, to ensure that their lives are a thrill a minute:

"Wow, hon, that week in Cancun, where we got shit-ass drunk at that expensive resort and then swapped with ten other couples, wasn't that teh awesome!?!?!"

"Hells yeah, you buff, tanned, waxed business mogel! Now let's buy an SUV and watch the Mexicans mow our lawn!"

I see that I'm meandering here, drifting on an I-hate-Orange-County tangent away from my point, so getting back to it: MARRIAGE AIN'T THAT FUCKING HARD, GUYS. Just trust each other, be honest and open, be available to each other for the good and bad. Simple. Don't play games. Change with one another, not away from each other. Learn that life is a twisted joke and you can laugh at nearly anything tossed your way.

Oh, and swap. Big time important.

I've been back on the "You know, you're gonna die someday" kick again. It's a subject I revisit with relative regularity, and it always puts me in my place. Suddenly, I stop bemoaning the fact that I caught a red light because the schmo in the red Mustang was yammering into his phone, that I got cashew chicken instead of the Kung Pao that I ordered, that George W. Bush is driving the planet into a murky abyss of self-involved lunacy.

Actually, that still pisses me off.

In my mind, one of two things are gonna happen when I take the last train to Deadsville: Nothing or reincarnation. Either way, I won't know that I've died, so there is a smidge of comfort in that versus the, "I believed the wrong thing and now I'm sitting in Satan's soup bowl" malarkey, the shit constructed to scare kids (and adults with childlike minds) into not talking in church, speaking back to their parents, or group buttfucking. Nope, to me, it's all or nothing, but once I step back and remember that either way I'm a feast for maggots, I start actually enjoying things. Like scented soaps, cool breezes, the bark of a dog, or the pert breasts of a passing out-of-work actress.

Come to think of it though, I've never not appreciated sky-pointing chest puppies.

Anywho, I'm back to that comfortable place that I haven't visited in far too long.

I feel foggy today. Maybe it was the 9+ hours of sleep, the massive influx of coffee this morning, allergies or severe lack of booze in my system from last night, but everything has a fuzzy halo around it...and I kinda like it.

Our imac G5 arrived today! We'll set it up (what we can without the talents of one Danny Jewell) tonight and cruise around like futuristic compu-nauts from the year 2008, which is the year we'll be selling it for $4 on ebayplus.com (they will have bought ebay for 5 trillion bucks and financed the first dog-breast implant by then).

Did you know there's software available on the intarweb that converts your cellphone into a vibrator? Well, it's been a long time coming (ha!), but there she is. I wonder what the world would be like without technology? We'd all have to go to pron shoppes to get our skank and vibs. Huzzah for advancement! Onward and upward (and inward and outward and inward and outward...)

I need to write a short about doing kid's birthday parties in Los Angeles. When I run through the vivid yet horrific memories, there are some wicked tales in there: Having to play Superman but without the ability to fly or lift cars (Superman, by the way, without super powers is simply "stranger wearing tights at my party"), the Sylvester and Tweety show where some 4th grade dipshit kids ripped off my tail and I challenged them to a fight; the Little Mermaid show where I played the prince and the HOTTEST chiquita, wearing nothing but a bikini top and tail, played Ariel - how we went out for lunch afterwards and she stripped out of the tail in the parking lot down to her thong and held a conversation with me; the numerous times I suspect I did parties for the kids of Orange County swinger parents, how freaked out I was having to do a party in Compton and having it turn out to be one of the most appreciative group of sweet kids I've ever met; playing George of the Jungle wearing nothing but a wig and a loincloth (you are deemed "naked guy at party" from the moment the door opens), the manymanymanymany times neither the children nor the parents spoke a lick of English and I was screaming my nuts off in a Barney costume; jumping into my 71 VW Saturday mornings at 9 and not returning home until sometimes 8 at night only to awake and repeat on Sunday, sitting in traffic on the 405 heading down to Long Beach on a Friday night as Batman and showing up 2 hours late; the Spiderman show where I caught the mothers checking out the - ahem - "tarantula" in my costume's pants (it really left little to the imagination)....Jesus, and that's just off the top of my head.

I'll search for an angle later, but I needed to empty those contents out of my head. Now there's more room for pie in there.

I love morning runs this time of year: Crisp, clear air, the warm sun slicing through the chill warming my face, the slap slap slap of my Nikes on the hardened asphalt, and most of all, the weird looks I get from motorists that scream, "What in theee hell is wrong with you?"

I feel like a superhero in my winter running clothes - the tights, gloves, fleece hat, and reflective shoes - and there is *something* "heroic" (I admit to being slightly hyperbolic there) about non-race running. Just you versus yourself. It's not as though you're being chased and have to make a mad dash to save your ass, you aren't trying to beat some exterior force; the scenario is you, your thoughts, and the road. I guess that's why it's difficult to imagine ever not doing a solo sport in some capacity.

My allergies are killin' me here. My right nostril is stuffy, my right eye is tearing, and my right gland in my throat keeps going up and down. It beats the hell out of my two office mates' situations. Both of them are home sick. Not "homesick", mind ye. Although that is entirely possible.

"I built a little friendship out of
some crazy garbage called the
blood of the exploited working class.

Now I laugh and make a fortune
off the same ones that I torture
and a world screams

'Kiss me, Son of God.'"

- They Might Be Giants

I was just strumming this on my ukulele and it hit me how poignant this catchy, silly ditty is to this very day, everywhere: Yay world! Gooooooooo assholdeness!

I also was recently perusing some web postings that was smearing the term "liberal" as if it were aligned with "goat-ass-fuckers". Check this shit, from my boyz Miriam/Webster:

liberal: marked by generosity : OPENHANDED a liberal giver b : given or provided in a generous and openhanded way

Guilty as accused. As far as being openhanded, I wouldn't mind slapping a Bush supporter with an open hand as well. See: not ALL liberals are peacenicks. In fact, I'll throw down any day with you fat, lazy, unread, misinformed sheep. Let's go - outside! No you CANNOT bring your shotgun, Jeb. Yeah, you'd better sneak one more peek into yer bible because you're gonna be meeting the writers of it in a few.