I hope to make it through the day without getting infected. It will be tough. It’s a jungle out there and it’s only 10:30 in the morning. I just went to get breakfast and was promptly pursued by a mob of slow-moving, shamrock-laden zombies.

St. Patrick’s Day has always reminded me of a zombie movie. The streets are filled with people. And those people mumble (usually the word “cheers”), stumble and occasionally try to bite me. The good thing is that they are not fleet of foot. They are generally slow and plodding, therefore I am able to avoid them with some swift maneuvers.

It really isn’t so bad because their temperament is usually very jolly. As long as I can make it through today without being bitten or hit with any vomit-shrapnel, I’ll be good.

Is it odd that I am deathly afraid of Lady Gaga? Because I am. She frightens me. I don’t know whether to dance, become aroused or vomit when I see one of her videos. It is way too confusing.

I can’t quite put my finger on why she makes me feel so uncomfortable. Perhaps it is because she straddles the attractive line. Is she attractive, ugly or just odd looking? I am not sure. I am sure that I cannot look at her for an extended period of time and that my newest nightmare is being involved in a staring contest with her. She has weird bug eyes.

At this point, with “New Moon” having irreparably damaged them, Lady Gaga is much more frightening than vampires. I believe she might actually suck my blood. And what’s even scarier is that I would probably be dancing to “Poker Face” while she does it. That is a catchy tune.

What Ms. Campbell truly represents is a slippery slope. One so slippery that it might cause you to trip and then proceed to scratch you and hurl a cell phone at your cranium. This brings up the question some males must face in their lives (Not me fortunately. My girl is great. Sweetie, if you are reading this, I only find you mildly insane. Well, maybe moderately would be a better word. But you aren’t Naomi …Is it worth it? Just how crazy is too crazy?

I present a hypothetical: If you had a chance with Naomi Campbell but had to spend a week with her in order to take advantage of it, would you do it? Or would you fear for your mental and more importantly, physical well being? Personally, I would lean toward no. I don’t need my personal belongings being set on fire in a public place. Plus, she looks tough as hell. I don’t think I could beat her (in self defense of course).

What I would like to see is Naomi pursue a side career. I think she’d make a heck of a vigilante. She + Catsuit=Neat. And if she was wearing a catsuit, I’d probably reconsider my answer.

Go for it Naomi. It is your destiny.

I can’t stand being hungry. It is horrible. How can some people function while starving? I see it all the time. They haven’t eaten in hours but they say they can wait. If I go to a restaurant and they tell me there is a 45 minute wait, a part of me dies inside.

I can’t control it. Hunger makes me angry and unable to function. I will do anything to get rid of it including eating random items that should be put together to make food or just shouldn’t be combined at all. For instance, I’ll shovel a couple pieces of turkey, a piece of whole wheat bread and a spoonful of peanut butter into my trap in a 10 second period. I don’t even have the patience to wait on a microwave. I’ll eat something cold before I wait one minute for it to heat up.

Females never seem to understand my point of view on this. Perhaps it is simply one of the ways we are wired differently. So let me just get this out there…ladies, a dude can never, ever, be held accountable for something he says or does while hungry. Just let him eat and forgive him. Everything will work out better that way. Trust me.

Sorry about writing this blog. I am hungry.

I’ve always had a method to judge how sick I am. I simply ask myself this question: Would I rather die or continue living if I was going to feel this way from here on out? Right now, I’ll choose life. Truth be told, I am feeling much better than I was just earlier today. I rarely get sick and when I do it tends to be exactly what I have now, some 24-48 hour bug. I wonder if my immune system is strong or if that is just the natural lifespan of said bug. Either way, following a long afternoon nap, I am nearing regular condition.

This presents my other sick dilemma: When do I start resuming activities as per usual? Is it ok for me to exercise now that I feel better? Can I leave the house? Can I blog? Should I go swimming with the Polar Bear Club?

I’ll settle on resting for the remainder of the day and hitting the ground running tomorrow (which is nearly impossible when you think about it…who runs right out of bed?). This means I must stop writing now. There has to be some sort of link between nonsensical musings and reinfection.

Seriously, who the hell can engage in these sort of practices, look themselves in the mirror and then say “I am good at my job”? That person is a buffoon, no matter how accomplished they say they are. I was just told I have to delete the previous two sentences. I am going to be disobedient. Lundberg.me needs no editor (other than me of course).

If you are in a similar position, remember this, the voice in your head is generally correct. The one that says “why?,” “this is dumb” and “you are an idiot,” amongst others things. People are hired to do their jobs. Let them do them. And if they aren’t good at them, hire someone who is.

Micromanaging is just wrong. It’s WROOONNGG! *Eric Cartman voice*.

I have previously voiced my disdain for the automated voice lady. Well, I got to hear plenty from her today. I had a billing issue I needed resolved and sure enough she said things like “press one for this option you don’t want” and “press two for another retarded option.” How come pressing zero doesn’t work anymore? Why do I have to deal with that bitch?

Later in the day it was file conversion issues. I don’t know what that means either. That is why it took me so long to figure out. How the hell am I supposed to know what frickin’ program to download or what to install to convert some extension I don’t understand to another extension I don’t understand? I spent at least four hours googling it and then practicing mostly unsuccessful trial and error attempts.

Finally, I finished. And now I have to do the work I was trying to do in the first place. The hammock and asian masseuse will have to wait I guess; at least my newfound technology is functioning properly now.

Press the back arrow if you’d like to leave this blog. Or hit refresh to read it again.

Ever since I moved to New York I gained an urge to walk places (this urge is deeply tied to my lack of a car and desire to avoid waiting for a train). It is how I learned the layout of the city. Between that and running I gained my bearings rather quickly.

Other people do not share this penchant for walking. When I suggest walking somewhere rather than another form of transportation, I am generally greeted by a bewildered stare. Even if the journey is just 20 blocks or so. Then again, I am the guy who would rather get off and walk than wait for a train transfer.

Recently, I have used these walks to get in touch with my thoughts (No, I am not gay). I tend to bump some tunes and attempt to hatch a master plan while looking at the buildings and observing the antics of various crackheads. In fact, I’m going to embark on a trek from 34th street to 102nd street right now. Hopefully I come up with a plan that involves more productive activities than blogging about walking.

I can’t tell you how often I find myself staring mindlessly at this very computer screen, refreshing pages and hoping to see something new. Nothing new appears. Rinse, wash, repeat. It is this unproductive trap that has resulted in this torturous blog I am currently writing. Self motivating drivel.

Someone recently told me that when I am unsure of what to do, I should write my feelings down. This practice made me realize that I am insane. So, I figured, why not share this information over the internet?

My whole existence is a struggle between a cocky prick and an insecure sissy over control of my body. The cocky half believes he is the wittiest person in the world and is hell-bent on unparalleled success. The other half tells him he isn’t as good as he thinks he is and winds up endlessly staring at a computer screen. This half will actually click on someone’s inane Facebook photos. I like the first guy better. The one who doesn’t care what you dressed your dog as for Halloween.

I am not sure how I got from point A to point B here but the moral of this nonsense is that you shouldn’t do nothing. Go grab the world by its coattails or something. I understand if you no longer like this site (assuming you did before) after reading this.

I am going to start writing a movie now. Right now.

Just missing the train is among the worst experiences in life. Anyone who helped lead to this result immediately becomes your arch nemesis. People who lollygag up the stairs or refuse to move from your path should be forced to clean up litter on the tracks with their bare hands. Either that or the clothesline must be legalized for this specific situation. Then maybe those imbeciles would know how it feels to just miss the train and have to take that long look down an empty tunnel.

On the flip side, hardly anything in life gives me greater joy than just making the train. You see it coming as you enter the station. You instantly realize your next move must be perfect, you cannot afford a mistake. It is time to race through the gates, a missed swipe is unacceptable. You then race down the stairs dodging any aforementioned moronic path-blockers as you go. Next you think about ascending the stairs, sometimes electing to use the double step method (long strides to scale two steps at at time). Finally, you have to avoid pedestrians crowding the platform. If you do all of this successfully and step onto the train just as the doors close, your heart begins to sing a jubilant tune. A Tiger Woods’ fist pump is perfectly appropriate at this moment.

Sometimes the little things can make you feel like a giddy crocodile.

Some of you may ask, what exactly is a hater? Urbandictionary.com defines a hater as “a person that simply cannot be happy for another person’s success. So rather than be happy they make a point of exposing a flaw in that person.” I partially agree with that definition but I think it is easier to describe with real life examples. A hater is that person who will laugh at your joke and then tell you it isn’t funny. A hater is a person who questions your motivation for pursuing your goals. This person is constantly irritated whenever you feel genuine satisfaction. To me haters are those who aren’t happy with their existence and don’t try to improve it, whether due to lack of motivation or another reason. As a result, they are inherently unhappy with ambitious people who have achieved any level of success (there is also the type of dude who just hates on stuff to be funny or as a character trait, not out of malice. They can be cool).

The great thing about haters is irony. They are actually a great motivator. You can blame them for anything. If you are tired and don’t feel like working, simply tell yourself “I can’t let these haters get me down.” And chances are if you have haters then you are doing something right. The more you accrue, the better you are doing. Haters are actually your biggest fans. So, if you’ve got them (or even if you don’t), feel free to address them. “Hi haters.” “Good morning haters.” “Sorry haters.” “I love all my haters.” Using sentences and declarations featuring the word hater is simply awesome. Try it sometime.

So remember, don’t be a hater and don’t be bothered by haters. But also don’t be scared to voice your opinion because as Common once said “If I don’t like it, I don’t like it. That don’t mean that I’m hating.” Nobody needs yes men. Peace haters.

–A baseball game that ends in under three hours.

–Godzilla emerging from a body of water.

–Someone actually winning a stuffed animal in that claw game.

–Robin Williams or Dane Cook being funny, just once.

–Dave Chappelle. Where did he go?

–Myself, stealing a pie from a window sill, while a woman waves a dough roller in disapproval.

–A full commercial break that does not feature one of the Black Eyed Peas or one of their songs.

–A giraffe wearing a fedora.

–Jack Nicholson playing another role other than Jack Nicholson.

–A news report without a mention of swine flu.

–Hulkamania running wild.

–A cat surfing.

–Heidi, Spencer, Jon & Kate, Glenn Beck, Perez Hilton, the lead singer of Creed, Dr. Phil, the Octomom and Frank Caliendo getting slapped in the face…in slow motion

–A dinosaur. Any dinosaur.

–Money in my bank account.

–Beyonce in leopard print. I am fairly sure I have seen this before but I would like to see it again.

–An end to this pointless blog entry.

The worst example of this occurs with voicemail. It is insanity that I have to wait while she gives instructions on how to leave a voicemail. I know how to leave a voicemail. There is a beep, then I start talking. But no, that would be way too easy. Instead I must hear this stupid lady tell me that I have to wait for the beep. I hate her.

They should start providing customized voices like they do with GPS. At least then I can be annoyed by a voice that l like. Sometimes it could be Hulk Hogan “If you’d like to leave a message brother, just wait for the tone brother.” Other times Morgan Freeman could echo the same sentiments in a more soothing fashion. And I could even throw in a little Mike Tyson to keep me on my toes “Leave a message after the prolonged elongation of elapsed time periods of waiting. I’ll beep your children.”

For now I will have to continue wishing that I could respond to the voicemail lady (other than when she asks a question and never understands the response, REPRESENTATIVE!). I think I would tell her, “If you’d like for me to not figure out who you are, find you and slap you, please press one and shut up”. I feel better already.

Bald Eagle + Great White Shark: Imagine a shark that is airborne. By land or by sea, an absolute killing spree. The only question is, would the eagle’s wings be strong enough to support the weight of the shark? Perhaps a mako shark would work better.

Crocodile + Rhino: Size, armored skin, horn and teeth. This massive creature would own any territory near water.

Polar Bear + Silverback Gorilla: This beast would be adaptable to multiple climates and would be immeasurably powerful. Add in the bear’s weaponry and the gorilla’s intelligence/agility and you have a contender for greatest monstrosity.

Siberian Tiger + Cobra venom: A cat is already the preeminent hunter and fighter in the animal kingdom and the tiger is the top feline. What could make it even better? Poison. Imagine, the quickness and power of the tiger with the added bonus of a deadly bite. Insane.

African Elephant + Cheetah: Mixing the biggest animal with the fastest seems like a good idea to me.

Which of these combos is the deadliest? Does the fact that I took the time to write this prove that I have a problem? Do you have better creations? I will stop with the questions now.

I have recently changed my opinion on naps. I used to hate them because I always felt groggy immediately after taking one. Then I discovered this thing called coffee. Now I nap semi-regularly. They are a good way to recharge and not feel tired during evening festivities and they also allow me to stay up late to properly watch sporting events, including west coast basketball games. That three hour time difference can be mighty significant.

The key to a great nap is the duration. I have yet to determine the perfect length but I know it is more than 25 minutes and less than an hour and a half. If anyone out there is still reading this and has the secret formula, please leave a comment. By the way, has anyone noticed that the easiest way to tell if you fell asleep is whether your mouth tastes like Satan’s body odor right afterwards? Even if I am asleep for 30 seconds, somehow my breath is victimized by the dark prince.

We officially have a new front-runner for lamest blog yet. By the way, have you ever woken up from a nap, thought it was the next day, and started getting ready for work? Yeah, me either.

No matter where you are, there is a deli nearby. It is unbelievable. And considering my affinity for sandwiches, (sandwich blog here) this dependability is invaluable. Put it this way, if I am hungry, I can grab a chicken cutlet sandwich on whole grain bread (I prefer heros but so many times all that is available is white bread. I think it should be mandatory that the wheat hero be carried in every deli), a drink and some fresh pineapples (who can resist fresh pineapples?) for under $10. And that goes for two in the afternoon or five in the morning. Fantastic.

The next part of the deli equation is finding your local spot. It is important to locate a deli nearby that you absolutely love. I have and I go there 1 or 2 or 3 times daily. It is like my home four feet away from home. I would say it provides 60% of my meals and 20% of my groceries. That place rules.

I don’t have anything else to say about this topic and I am fairly sure this blog was not worth writing (and in your case reading). This is what happens when I am bored. I guess I will head off to my home deli now. Fresh pineapples here I come!

Meetings are pointless. If you have some information you want me to know, pull me aside and tell it to me. Do the same for anyone who needs to know the info. Meeting avoided. Nevertheless, we all must endure them on occasion. So what should you do if you have to attend a meeting? The way I see it there are two strategies…

1. Totally check out–Attend the meeting in physical form only. Turn your brain off, stare forward and tough it out.

2. Try to win the meeting.

Which strategy I choose is usually dictated by how much I perceive I have to gain or just how much I care at the moment. My meeting-winning technique usually comes down to making sure I hit those running the meeting (who are just there to try and look good, display authority and receive public congratulations, while avoiding criticism) from four angles. First, I make sure I say something extremely positive about the company that toes the line between phony and cheesy…”Every day is a challenge and that is part of what makes working here so exciting.” Next, I try to say something insightful about the business, how it is changing and what I try to bring to the table. Thirdly, I attempt a carefully worded critique of something we are doing and how I feel we can improve upon it (this is usually genuine aside from the politeness, lack of colorful language and exclusion of the phrase “you idiots”). Finally, I plant my flag in the middle of the room with a well-timed hilarious one-liner that incites boisterous laughter from all attendees. If I can accomplish all four of these things, I generally feel comfortable enough to leave the meeting while raising one fist in the air.

Perhaps you have felt the same way or perhaps you would rather have attended a meeting than wasted your time on this blog.

Why do I like going to the movies by myself? Let me count the ways. First and most importantly, I pick the movie. I am not going to see anything I would charge $500 for Movie Ratings-How much would I have to be paid?. Secondly, I leave when I want. I usually take a leisurely walk to the theater and aim to arrive about two-to-five minutes before the scheduled start time. Since movies start almost exactly 15 minutes after they are supposed to, this gives me time to pick up whatever I need, use the bathroom and find a seat, which leads me to my next point. When you are by yourself, finding a seat is easy, especially now with the solo handicapped seats in the middle (I only use them when they are unoccupied, which is always. Those seats are awesome). I am almost always sitting and ready to go right as the previews start. The whole event is simply the length of the movie and travel time. Nothing else.

The only more enjoyable movie experiences I have are seeing a highly anticipated action flick, super hero movie or comedy with some friends or going to see a movie we both want to see with the girl (not one she picked, that usually=worst movie experiences. Sorry babe).

I go to the movies by myself all the time and I have no problem saying it. Somebody go get me a mountain to yell it from.

Shows featuring animals attacking humans must get very high ratings because they are always on. And I must admit, I usually watch. Shark attacks surfer, I watch. Mountain lion attacks biker, I watch. Spider bites housewife, I watch. But why (other than the awesome, ferocious, beasts involved that is)?

Is it because going in you know the person survived and you’d like to think you’d survive in a similar situation? For some reason I always think I would have the wherewithal to poke a shark in the eye or rip at its gills if it attacked me (more likely is me screaming like a girl as it spits out my fibula). Or is the extreme nature of the event, something that you may fear but would never expect to happen, that makes it so interesting? Or is it simply that animals are cool?

I have no idea where I am going with this and you all are probably hoping that an elephant steps on me and breaks my computer at this point. Don’t worry, I’ll stop. I think there is a show about parasites eating people’s brains coming on…

I don’t think I can overstate how much I dread seeing certain movies. The mental preparation such an experience entails is tremendous. I cry inside. Hard. On the flip side, there are movies I loved so much that I would have retroactively paid above the face value of the ticket had I known I would enjoy them so much. Here are some examples of the system (food and drink are included and you never know when you might be pleasantly surprised; I actually enjoyed 13 Going On 30 when I was forced to see it).

Pay me $500: Pride and Prejudice (1995)–I hated the book and this had a runtime of 300 minutes. Prediction=Absolute torture. I might rather be waterboarded for a full 45 seconds.

Pay me $200: Love Happens (2009)–A love story featuring the absolutely generic Jennifer Aniston and Two-Face. 109 minute runtime lowers the price.

Pay me $150: The Time Traveler’s Wife (2009)–I would wish I was the time traveler the second I walked into the theater. Rachel McAdams is a good actress.

Pay me $100: Madea’s Family Reunion (2006)–I have never seen a Tyler Perry movie. I would see my first for $100.

Pay me $50: Jennifer’s Body (2009)–If this was starring Kathy Bates instead of Megan Fox it would fall into the Love Happens category.

Pay me $20: Sorority Row (2009)–Looks fairly entertaining and fairly terrible.

I pay $25: Inglorious Basterds and District 9 (2009)–I loved both of these flicks and they were worth more than the price of admission (which is about $25 nowadays).

I pay $50: The Big Lebowski (1998), Billy Madison (1995), Team America (2004) and others–Personal classics that have stood the test of time. Almost priceless ($50).

Here are the actual G.O.A.T.’s that I can come up…

G.O.A.T. Cornerback, Linebacker and Wide Receiver: Deion Sanders, Lawrence Taylor and Jerry Rice (football has to be done by position and these are the ones that are tough to argue against).

G.O.A.T. Boxer: Muhammad Ali–Might not be the best ever but he is certainly the greatest.

G.O.A.T. Hockey player: Wayne Gretzky–See Jordan.

G.O.A.T. Wrestler: Hulk Hogan–Not my personal favorite (that would be The Rock) but Hulkamania was a movement.

G.O.A.T. Talk show host: Oprah–I don’t even like her but her influence (housewife cult) is enormous.

G.O.A.T. Radio host: Howard Stern–Ratings and revenue. The only competition is Rush Limbaugh ( I refuse to give him too much credit).

G.O.A.T. Band: The Beatles–Their compilations hit number one. Still.

G.O.A.T. Pop star: Michael Jackson–He died and the world stopped. Even the children surveyed agree.

G.O.A.T. Rapper: Jay-Z–Whether he is your personal favorite or not, you can’t deny the catalogue.

G.O.A.T. Dinosaur: Tyrannosaurus Rex–I always went with the Triceratops head-to-head but T-Rex is the dinosaur.

G.O.A.T. Monster: Godzilla–Godzilla will always be that dude, minus the Matthew Broderick flick. He fit in the subway? Really?

G.O.A.T. Children’s Show: Sesame Street–Everyone knows how to get there by now.

Am I missing anyone/thing?

On one hand, Beyonce is somehow elegant and feral at the same time. She moves in a captivatingly frenetic, herky-jerky fashion, and her hair always seems to be blowing and glistening as if she is constantly walking into a light, exotic breeze.

On the other hand, Rihanna is simply sultry. That is the best word I can think of to describe her and it is this trait that has caused her meteoric rise to the top of the female rankings (this question used to be Beyonce or J-Lo for me, but Rihanna has taken that spot; no offense to Mrs. Lopez–she is now a mother).

Who would I pick? It truly is a head scratcher. Gun-to-head I go with Beyonce on experience points (she has been at or near the top of the game for nearly a decade now) and her track record of looking good in both concert get-ups and evening gowns.

But that doesn’t mean that Chris Brown didn’t mess up bad, real bad (that isn’t even factoring in all the MJ tributes he could have done. I would have watched every one of those. Like him and his music or not, that punk is one hell of a live performer. If I could dance like that, I would do it wherever I went. “Check out that dancing fool in line for coffee! Did he just serve the barista?”).

Who do you choose?

*Note to my girlfriend* This blog pertains to a parallel universe where you don’t exist. In the current universe, you are the most breathtaking woman imaginable. Also, please don’t click on the photos page on this site. Thank you. *Note over*

Three-days just feels like the perfect amount of time. It takes all the pressure off. One day for the beach, one day for sports and frolicking and one day for nothing. I am downright giddy and I don’t have to work tomorrow. Plus, I will be primed to get back on my grind come Tuesday because the whole weekend was too short excuse won’t fly following an extra day off.

I will end this blog now because it is terrible and corny. The complete opposite of a three-day weekend.

The thing about the transfer is that you feel like you already got the wait out of the way. You were on the train and then you have to get off and wait again. Most of the time I refuse. I prefer to walk, even if it adds 20 minutes to my trip, rather than waiting (this does not always go over well if I am traveling with a group). At least when I am walking I am moving toward my destination. Otherwise I am standing on the platform, endlessly staring down the corridor, hoping to catch a glimmer of light reflecting off the track that signifies the arrival of another train.

The problem when it finally comes? It is the wrong train. I am frustrated just thinking about it and I am currently sitting in a comfortably air conditioned room with nowhere to be anytime soon.

I apologize to anyone reading this who enjoys that look or sports it themselves. I am not trying to insult you, it is just that this look makes me physically ill. Just my opinion. I will stop now, I have nothing else to say on the matter. Actually, I do have one more thing to say…

PLEASE STOP WEARING PINK SHIRTS AND KHAKI PANTS! *Lundberg out*

I now can find out about a studio recording session with my favorite artists, a speculated trade directly from the player involved, and get legitimate news straight from the horses mouth. Not to mention the fact that it allows me to promote myself relentlessly. I am not sure if this is all something that will eventually fade away, mainly because I am unclear how to monetize it, or if it will become a staple of new social media, but either way, I will certainly use it for all it is worth while it is around (the one odd thing I still do is go to the direct url of the people I am interested in instead of following them. I find something weird about telling some famous person I am following them). I believe this makes me what they call a “lurker” in online jargon.

With that said, I will end this blog by saying, please follow me. It will really make me feel better about myself. Thank you. Really, follow me. Please.

The problem with the emphasis I put on making the next train is that it causes me to think evil thoughts. Have you ever had someone stop in front of you on the subway steps for no apparent reason? Even worse is when that person is absurdly obese and they just stand there right in the middle, complete with a confused look plastered on face. If you need to be confused, be confused at the top of the stairs. Your decision on what to eat for your next meal is not going to be any tougher a few strides up. At that moment dropping them with the Stone Cold Stunner seems perfectably reasonable.

I don’t feel so bad about feeling that way. What I do feel bad about is feeling the same way toward the elderly people who are not prepared to ride the train. I understand that you are too frail to walk at a reasonable pace but that doesn’t mean you can’t have your subway card ready upon your inevitable arrival. Why risk one of the remaining moments you have left on earth rummaging through your purse while simulataneously causing me to miss the train? If you need help, just ask. I will gladly swipe your card for you and carry you up the stairs so that we both make it on time. “What a nice young man!”

I apologize for the thoughts expressed in this blog. I promise I am exaggerrating for effect. I would elaborate but I have a train to catch.

And there is no time of year where they are more important than the summer. A fresh pair of kicks is a must to go with any shorts and t-shirt ensemble. If I could afford it, I would go nuts and have a pair to match all of my outfits (I have outfits?). But with every new pair there comes one dreaded moment. The first scuff. Nothing can be more devastating. When it happens you look down and search desperately for a way to erase it. But alas, that pair will never be the same. You might as well pour out some liquor.

I am not going to spend any more time writing about shoes. After all, I’ve got scuffs to try and wipe off (plus this really isn’t a good topic).

Sandwiches are perfect. And they are versatile. Just because you have a sandwich for lunch doesn’t mean you can’t have one for dinner. You can simply have a whole new sandwich experience. For instance, lunch can be a healthy turkey and guacamole sandwich on whole grain bread. And then dinner can be an unhealthy chicken parmesan hero. In fact that is what I am going to have today and it is going to be awesome.

I love all kinds of food; Indian, Chinese, Sushi, Italian, but nothing truly makes me happier than a sandwich. I am not sure if this warranted being written about but nothing else is going on and that is what I am thinking about at 9:30 on this Thursday morning. Yes, you read that correctly, sandwich in the morning (That is another thing…what is dumber than designating certain foods for certain times? If I want a lb. of pastrami at five in the morning than by god that is what I’ll have. The same goes for grits at night and I am not even sure if I have ever even made grits).

This penchant for dominance can get me into some trouble. For instance, last night my girlfriend became a little perturbed when I spent about 20 minutes intently searching for a triple-word score involving the word quandary in a game of Scrabble, scowl firmly planted on my face the entire time (Yes it has come to that. Scrabble-filled evenings).

I am hopeful that my competitive nature will eventually work to my advantage in life. I figure it is much better to really want to succeed than to strive for miserable failure. Therefore I will continue to fuel my competitive drive, all while replaying the line, “I will not lose…ever!” from Jay-Z’s classic U Don’t Know on a continuous loop in my brain.

Good thing no one is writing against me at this very moment in a blog-off. I’d have a tough time garnering a win with this entry.

Do you feel the need to flex your muscle that much? Are you that insecure? Is functioning in real life that difficult for you? Generally if I want to communicate with someone I simply call or e-mail them directly. I don’t call their mom to tell on them.

Ccing people is fine if you are passing on information or if the subject matter is something that concerns many people. But doing it as a method to show your control over a situation or as a means to correct or chastise someone is so transparently selfish it is ridiculous. All it is, is a blatant attempt to show that you are doing something, which probably means you aren’t.

I find the best way to deal with an e-mail bully is the same way one would deal with a school-yard bully. Give it right back to them. Reply all, acknowledge the issue at hand, politely state your opinion and in the process eviscerate their message. 99 times out of 100 that will be the end of the e-mail chain.

I usually laugh when I see a bully-ish e-mail (and no I didn’t receive one to prompt this blog). It is funny, irritating and sad all at the same time that someone would so desperately feel the need to prove their own self worth by trying to make someone else look worthless.

Vampires are supposed to be cool and dangerous, not angst-ridden sissies who look like back-up members of Fall Out Boy. I am not even sure what Twilight’s plot is but I know the cover of the book features dainty hands clutching an apple and that the main guy resembles a younger, prettier, more depressed version of Derek Zoolander. That Robert Pattinson…he’s so damn hot right now.

Like I said before, I am not sure boys even like Twilight, so I could just be writing about nothing (I need something to blog about). I just hope that in the future vampires will return to sucking blood, not just sucking. Where the hell are Blade and Buffy when we really need them?

Look, I have no problem with fixing something that you are very self-conscious about it. If your nose really bothers you, get a nose job. But don’t proceed to fill your lips with goo and pull your face skin so tight that you can’t blink or move your eyebrows. Also, it is ok to get old. Aging can add character. Don’t make it look like you are wearing one of those famous president Halloween masks. Do you think that look is going to make young guys say, “Dude! That 60-year-old chick is slamming. I love her wrinkly arms and reptilian face”? Let it go.

I apologize to anyone reading this who may have already undergone multiple procedures. I sincerely wish you luck in your battles with the Dark Knight.

Reality t.v. has created a new kind of celebrity. The talentless one. The person who is famous for being famous. Do the names Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, Heidi and Spencer, or anyone referred to as a Bachelor or Bachelorette ring a bell? I suppose being entertaining on television is a talent but it is not like any of these people broke into the business by honing their craft.

With such a large “talent” pool available I think it is time for cross-over reality t.v. I might watch Paris Hilton attempt to care for Jon and Kate’s kids or Kim Kardashian as the bachelorette or Heidi on a date with Flavor Flav. And nothing would be better than making Spencer attempt to be the new Crocodile Hunter.

I would be very happy guy if Jon and Kate were replaced on those covers by a picture of his legs hanging from a croc’s mouth.

Our bus driver inexplicably decided to exit the New Jersey Turnpike to avoid imaginary traffic. Oddly enough, what do you think we encountered on the local highway? You guessed it…a Cintaur. I felt like we were in bizarro-world Speed. “If we go over 10mph this bus will explode!”

Once we finally got moving I heard a strange, shrill noise. The girl across from me on her cellphone. The sound of her whiny, privileged drivel inspired a homicidal urge the likes of which I did not know I was capable. Never before have I wanted to see someone propelled through the front windshield of a moving vehicle before. That all changed today. Or as she would put it…Umm, actually, I would be like so excited to like fly through some glass onto the highway and bounce off the median. Did you like, umm, see my carcass? Gross!

Silver Spring, Maryland has never seemed so enticing. C’mon bus.

I think other states should follow suit and do things to make themselves uniquely identifiable; it has already proven successful for Nevada. What if Idaho became the midget capital of the world? Missouri should consider building roller coasters for public transportation (it could start at the Arch). Then one day I could say I have been to St. Louis. What about Montana? They could turn it into a giant wildlife park: Ride an elephant, dine with gorillas and run from a tiger…Its Montana!

For now Delaware will have to do. At least when I am heading south to Maryland I can stop by and throw some coin on an over/under.

Over/under: four years until Montana takes my suggestion.

Why do girls put their men through that? If you want a dog that needs to have a bow in its hair the least you can do is take care of it yourself. I imagine most guys who have to walk these dogs are secretly wishing that it gets swooped up by a hawk. If your guy doesn’t ask you to chop firewood than he shouldn’t have to walk Peppermint.

I used to wish I had a pet Tiger. A Maltese would be a heck of a step down. Unless I could walk both at the same time. That would actually look really cool.

Why the hell would I need to go faster than light-speed? Scientists say it would be possible to take a jaunt to a star. That is nice. But what am I going to do on a star? Incinerate myself?

Also, the method behind all of this sounds a little iffy. “The idea is that you take a chunk of space-time and move it,” said one NASA-affiliated scientist. I don’t know about you but moving space-time doesn’t scream easy or safe to me. I am not exactly sure what the space-time continuum is but surely this would affect it.

Now if we were talking teleportation I would be all for it. I have and will always want to teleport. No movement of space-time there. Just the movement and rearrangement of molecules, that is all…

To infinity and beyond!

Bird Flu, Mad Cow Disease, SARS…Have you ever met or heard of anyone who had any of these conditions? That didn’t stop them from becoming big deals in the media. I am half expecting to hear this the next time I turn on the T.V.: Swine flu–Coming up, we’ll tell you why you’re as good as dead.

There have been 20 reported cases in the U.S., none fatal. And 19 of the 20 people recovered without hospitalization. Some deadly virus. Sure there have been some swine flu fatalities but most of those occurred in Mexico, a country that is not exactly thriving at the moment. Spring break in Cancun no longer sounds as enticing as it once did. “Take a swim in the refreshing water, drink Corona and enjoy some swine flu and a full-scale drug war…Its spring break in Cancun.” Places that have, you know, medicine, should be ok.

I wonder what random animal will get the next disease that will be here today and gone tomorrow? I nominate the squirrel.

*Contracts swine flu and dies as punishment for not taking this seriously*

Credit Cards have afforded me the opportunity to be an “Imaginary Baller.” For those of you who are not down, a baller is someone who has the wealth to spend extravagantly and look cool while doing so. The problem with being an imaginary baller is that nothing about a credit card statement is cool and paying 12% interest on debts is certainly not ballin’.

It is easy to justify a purchase by saying “I’ll just put it on the ol’ card, nothing like some opposite saving,” especially when you already have significant debt compiled. I guess this is because there is no tangible exchange of cash and no trips to the atm machine involved with credit cards.

Also, when you take money out of your checking account the total on your receipt goes down. Seeing that you have $4.36 to your name not only has a way of metaphorically slapping you across the face but also causes you to open your wallet and look at it incredulously. It is at this point that your credit cards begin to shine with a happy glow. They then grow legs and smiley faces and say things like “why would you deprive yourself of a home-pedicure kit, I’ll help you out pal.”

I have now locked my credit cards in a box. My days of being an imaginary ballin’ are over, instead I’ll just imagine I am a baller. Until I am that is. Home-pedicure kit here I come!

Nature rules. I love it. But not the nature I see in person. I like that. I appreciate nice weather and butterflies and if the conditions are right I might just frolic with glee. But the nature I love is the cheetah destroying the jugular of a gazelle kind of nature. That rules.

There are basically three things I watch on television: comedy, sports and nature shows (I believe high-def was invented for sports and nature related programming). If you want to know how to escape an alligator or bear attack, I’m your man. If you want to learn how to socially interact with gorillas, I’m your man. And if you want an informative tour of a zoo, I am still your man.

I watch all kinds of nature programming but there is always one thing I am hoping to see. If you are a male and share similar interests I am sure you feel the same way. No matter the program this hope remains the same…to see a killer animal conflict. I don’t care if it is a show on why koalas are so cuddly, I am still likely on the edge of my seat hoping that the next scene contains a battle between a crocodile and a polar bear (even though that is impossible due to geographic locations).

If it wasn’t cruel and unusual I would root for the Japanese to capture animals and put them in the same arena for a weekly television show. For now I will continue to tune in to nature related programming to learn some interesting animal facts all the while fascinating about an animal Royal Rumble (WWE style) featuring the 30 most dangerous beasts on the planet.

My money’s on the tiger because tigers are awesome.

Man drawn and quartered. Young child eaten by dinosaur. Red Sea parted. Should I prepare myself to read about these topics? I mean pirates?

First, let me start by saying that this is a serious issue. Lives are being put in danger and there isn’t anything funny about that. However, I can’t help but meet the news of pirate attacks with a smidgen of incredulity.

It is 2009 and American ships are being attacked by pirates. It is 2009 and American ships are being attacked by pirates (I just wanted to make sure you read that twice). Pardon me, but shouldn’t pirates be a non-threat? If Peter Pan can defeat them I would hope modernly equipped ships would be able to thwart their attempts to swing aboard. We must really be in a recession.

Shouldn’t we call these guys something else? Just so I can treat it with the seriousness it deserves. I don’t want to have to picture some dude with a parrot on his shoulder yelling “arghhhh” when hearing about hostage situations. I was actually trying to find Somalia on a map but every one I looked at had a giant black X marked where Somalia should be.

For the love of the Dread Pirate Roberts what is going on?

How am I supposed to accept the fact that the Brontosaurus did not exist and that Pluto is no longer a planet? Don’t these scientists realize that I used to play Brontosaurus on Pluto? And once they found this out why didn’t they just change the name of Apatosaurus to Brontosaurus. Who in the hell (blasphemy) cares about the Apatosaurus? And what about that acronym for our solar system that they used to hammer into our heads? “My very educated mother just served us nine pizzas.” I should have known that was B.S. What kind of educated mother would serve kids nine pizzas? Which brings me to the Food Pyramid…

They even posted that stupid thing in the school cafeteria. If you ate according to the Food Pyramid you’d be built like one. 6-11 servings of bread or pasta and 3 servings of milk or cheese? Sounds more like Kirstie Alley’s lunch than a healthy diet.

I pray to God that they don’t go after Roy G. Biv next. (Oh wait, they already did. Damn them.)

Anyway, the word tweet has re-emerged in my lexicon thanks to twitter, which now has 7 million users. What do I think about it? Honestly, I am not really sure. It seems kind of stupid and arrogant. Sort of like having a website with your name followed by dot me.

So naturally, I signed up for a twitter account. The problem is that I am not sure what to do with it. I mean once I have reached a certain level it will be much easier to just tweet something like “Come bask in my awesomeness as I am currently at the Museum of Natural History.” But what about now? Do I tweet “clipping my toe nails”, “crying myself to sleep” or “writing a hilarious blog”? I am not sure.

The biggest problem I have though is that I don’t want to follow anyone. I simply do not care. I don’t care if you had a bad day, I don’t care if you are walking your dog, I don’t care if you found a great sale, I don’t care if you were nominated for Secretary of State. I just don’t care.

So to anyone I am following please know that I am only doing so to be polite. I am a leader, not a follower.

*checks twitter to see what people are up to*

I think the reason it is so much fun is because if you are hanging out with the guys then you are not hanging out with girls. Have you ever tried to hang out with a group of girls? Excruciating. First of all, girls prepare for a night out like I would prepare for war. I can get a full nights sleep just while they do their hair.

And while guys hang out to b.s., girls only want to dance. As a result they choose a venue featuring amenities such as over-priced everything, impossibly loud glow-stick music and an enormous crowd of tools. To top it all off they furiously attempt to catch up with each other in an environment that was seemingly designed to stifle any normal social interaction.

Whenever I am thrust into this situation I am unsure how to react. Sometimes I will glance around the room to see what the other guys are doing. But most of them are just standing around with their hands on their hips and their lips pursed as if to say “I am really, really cool.” And they are usually wearing some sort of stupid hat.

Just writing that last paragraph makes me want to give the boys a call. I could use a good raft ride across the Mississippi.

Every day I deal with a handful of people who defy description. People who would argue against logic and results with stubborn garbage (a toolish combination of words and rationalizations that cause your face to scrunch up as if you had just seen the Wendigo riding a donkey). When something doesn’t work their solution is to try what didn’t work–harder. Their lie-to-breath ratio is approximately 2.5:1 and I am not even really sure they are breathing. And to top it all off whenever something of any type of importance happens they run around and gyrate as if they are trying to summon rain.

So how do you deal with these kind of people? If I knew for sure I wouldn’t be writing this blog. So far the two best solutions I have found are avoiding them altogether or greeting them with your arms wide, a smile on your face and exclaiming “HEY!” followed by either buddy or pal. You then listen to their gibberish nodding as if it is sensical and proceed to the nearest mirror and remind yourself that you are right and you will not be assimilated.

How these people came to be I do not know. Perhaps Satan created them while on an acid trip. Maybe they are invaders from Planet Asinine. These are my best working theories. I will probably never know or they will explain it to me in a way that no functioning human could comprehend.

I guess what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (or just kills you).

Whatever the reason I have spent many a night arguing with friends about topics such as Luke Skywalker vs. Wolverine, a Tiger vs. a Bear and Rainbow Brite vs. the Gummi Bears.

As a result of this obsession I plan to make VS. a big part of this site and welcome any VS. suggestions or challenges (I will take on anyone over the internet).

Today I was wondering who the greatest Jason of all time is: Bourne or Voorhies? One is a cold-blooded assassin. The other, a hockey-mask wearing undead savage. Bourne has the advantage in weaponry and wits, Voorhies the upper-hand in retard strength. In the end I think Bourne’s savvy wins out and he eventually finds a way to stop that un-killable bastard (unless they are in space because Voorhies has experience in space). Plus you know Bourne would make sure he is dead-dead not just mostly dead, thus negating one of Jason V.’s go to moves…rising from the dead and shoving a machete through the esophagus.

Be on the lookout for more VS. related content on this, the greatest site in the world (or at least the greatest site with this particular url).

And just for the record Star Wars nerds…Wolverine would murder bitchy Skywalker.

Anyway, the worst part of being poor nowadays is online banking. Instead of crying only when I get my paychecks or when I go to an ATM I now have the ability to constantly monitor my banking account. This becomes especially significant when I am on the verge of over-withdrawing my funds (a bi-weekly occurrence). Have you ever been about five hours from having a paycheck direct deposited and felt like the $1.67 left in your account will hold you over and you won’t over-withdraw? Yeah, me too.

The worst is when you feel that way and log-in one more time for good measure only to see -$20.33 on the screen. When this happens to me I generally scream out the name of the culprit…Mariondelio!

Mariondelio is a filipino boy I sponsor. His family earns only $22 a month so I decided to double it. A relatively small number that I decided to have automatically withdrawn from my account on a monthly basis. Thus it is one I generally forget to account for and one that punches my bank account right in the stomach at the most inopportune moments.

And the worst part about it is that I can’t help but picture little Mariondelio running around tossing money in the air in that poor little country of his. Maybe he has taken my $22 a month and built a golden water slide that leads from his roof to the new granite pool in the backyard that his family had built since they are now the wealthiest family in their neighborhood. It is at these moments that I feel like answering one of his letters to me (he will generally write a short thank you for saving me from insufferable poverty note with a picture of Spiderman or something drawn in crayon at the bottom) with a note of my own saying, “Guess what Mariondelio. It is just a loan. And I do charge interest.”

Or maybe I should just tough it out so I can appreciate it later.

So I was suffering from boredom again and decided to engage in an activity sure to assuage it…Staring out the window.

When I was staring out said window I saw a group of school-children frolicking on a playground and came to a realization. The most fun you can ever have is recess. Now I have tried various drugs, rode Roller coasters, played every sport under the sun and even used a Slip N Slide but none of these activities (though they may be exhilarating) can replicate the sheer joy of being 8-years-old and running around with your arms flailing and screaming at the top of your lungs as the recess bell sounds. Recess is the most fun anyone can ever have.

What I find I ironic about this is that recess is at the beginning of the word recession. What the hell? Has there ever been more of a juxtaposition? Shouldn’t they give it a scarier name like poorcession, hellcession, or justlikewatchingaromanticcomedycession or something?

With that said I have a solution for those suffering blues from the recession or any other thing that has them down. The recess pill. I propose that chemists all over the world should unite to create a pill that can somehow capture the sure jubilation one feels when leaving the classroom and heading for the playground. What better way to solve a problem then combining child-like feelings and drugs?

(Now if ecstasy already gives you that feeling I apologize. But I have never tried it and everyone I have been around who is on it acts like a retard attracted to neon colors and I want to punch them in the face.)

Perhaps I am just longing for the days of yore when things were simple but maybe I am on to something. Either way I think I am going to head over to that playground I was watching and see if I can join in without getting arrested.

My answer is not that complex and probably doesn’t deserve its own blog but oh well. I think there are two reasons I find myself enamored with certain sports (I am not one of these dudes who watches everything or considers things like golf a sport). For one, the drama is not forced. As much as you may trust your ability to prognosticate no one truly knows the outcome of a given game. That is why you spend so much time biting your nails, pumping your fist, hopping around like a mad man or sobbing uncontrollably.

The second reason is that I love to watch someone truly special do something that shouldn’t be possible. There are certain guys who are just captivating. I guess people identify with different types of athletes as some people appreciate the craft more, others may like the zest with which someone plays and some just like to root for their favorite team. Me, I like to watch the guys I marvel at and who make me say “Wow” or “Yippee”…LeBron James (I think he was born in a petri-dish), Brandon Jacobs (that punishing style), Nate Robinson (that l dynamic little bastard), Michael Vick when he was active, Barry Sanders or Michael Jordan in their primes, etc. Basically the guys who make me rewind a play and futilely attempt to get my girlfriend to watch.

In conclusion I don’t know if I learned anything or provided any insight but at least I wasn’t bored for the last 10 minutes. Corny period over.

Every presenter would introduce the nominee with some hyperbolic speech like “Your performance in this film was so exemplary that my soul actually left my body because I was so fixated on the screen and your fantastic transformation into character.”

Look, I really like movies and being entertained but can this over-selling and pedestal placing of what is actually being achieved here stop? They are acting in movies. No big deal and probably not even that hard. Yes some people are better than others but even that is subjective. I am pretty sure I have seen Jack Nicholson win an Oscar for playing Jack Nicholson and more than once at that.

Have you actually ever really left a movie utterly astonished by how good someone was? Many times you leave and say “wow, so and so was really good,” but I don’t think anybody has ever rocked my world to the point where I needed to take a walk before I felt comfortable about driving home.

The best thing about the show? Beyonce. Dear God. From now on if I want to use a simile or metaphor to describe something unbelievably awesome it will be, “Yo son, that shit was like Beyonce on Oscar night.”

I hate boredom. I mean, I really, really hate it. You may ask, don’t most people hate boredom? My reply to that is, I am not so sure. I have met plenty of people who hate doing anything. They like to sit there and watch t.v. or just sit there period.

Now every once in a while I enjoy a lazy day, particularly if there are big sporting events, but I cannot do it on a consistent basis. If I have five minutes of free time and nothing to fill it with I start to get angry. Why do you think I am writing this stupid, bitchy blog? Because I am bored. I ran out of websites to surf, I already ate, I’ve stared at a picture of Beyonce’s ass and I have worked out. Now I have nothing to do and five hours to do it in. I have even run out of stuff to write in this awful entry. I now get suicide. I won’t do it but I get it. Bye.