Faith Popcorn reckons that this is the year that we start to rail against mental pollution and the constant junk, chatter abd crap that is projected at us day after day, hour after hour. Here in New York city we get a commercial message every 19 seconds - making a 30 second commercial 11 seconds too long and causing most people to put up the walls, turn up the i-pod and feign death.
Meanwhile my friend william is trying to sell airlines on a miles for trees program that could make flights carbon neutral and I'm trying to sell a bank on a Carbon Neutral Car loan - where they plant enough trees to offset the 12,000 miles a year that I'm going to be driving rather than pay a huge commission to a broker and of course Jude is looking at corporate governance and sustaintable strategy.
Perhaps, just perhaps, one of us will make a difference soon,
Oh - and should get scan dates today
Friday, January 12, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
still waiting
Okay I'm still waiting on dates for scans but a call to the hospital this morning resulted in the lind of 'I think I saw an approval on the fax machine somewhere... but it's clinic day... can I call you later call' that's leaves you unsatisfied in much the same way as hollow sex with a soapy madame (allegedly)
I"ve not told my second hand soapy mistress story on here, have I? Okay here goes - a friend of mine calls up to my hotel room in a bit of a panic. "I think I've killed my hooker" he says. Ever ignorant of the accessory to the fact laws of many countries I head down to investigate.
I arrive in a long, narrow room (with nasty but inevitable shower stall in corner) to find said friend sitting on an inflatable matress on a floor covered in soapy suds with a dauntingly still Thai woman in the corner.
The service paid for had been 'soapy massage' - but the woman had been a little over eager. She's laid down said friend on the mattress and filled the room with fairy liquid (or the Thai Version thereof) and had proceeded to slide across his increasingly slippery body with her equally hard to handle torso. Until, in a moment of uncharacteristic enthusiasm, she had set off to the back of the room in order to gather further momentum for the launch that she then embarked upon... hurling herself with some force toward him - only to skip off, be propelled in an upwardly direction by the compressed and decompressed air-mattress and plant herself, face first in the wall. Cueing phone call and my arrival.
Luckily she wasn't dead, he wasn't naked when I arrived and soon everyone was patched up and either richer or poorer as was deemed appropriate.
What a cheery tale of prostitution, debasement and western arrogance
I"ve not told my second hand soapy mistress story on here, have I? Okay here goes - a friend of mine calls up to my hotel room in a bit of a panic. "I think I've killed my hooker" he says. Ever ignorant of the accessory to the fact laws of many countries I head down to investigate.
I arrive in a long, narrow room (with nasty but inevitable shower stall in corner) to find said friend sitting on an inflatable matress on a floor covered in soapy suds with a dauntingly still Thai woman in the corner.
The service paid for had been 'soapy massage' - but the woman had been a little over eager. She's laid down said friend on the mattress and filled the room with fairy liquid (or the Thai Version thereof) and had proceeded to slide across his increasingly slippery body with her equally hard to handle torso. Until, in a moment of uncharacteristic enthusiasm, she had set off to the back of the room in order to gather further momentum for the launch that she then embarked upon... hurling herself with some force toward him - only to skip off, be propelled in an upwardly direction by the compressed and decompressed air-mattress and plant herself, face first in the wall. Cueing phone call and my arrival.
Luckily she wasn't dead, he wasn't naked when I arrived and soon everyone was patched up and either richer or poorer as was deemed appropriate.
What a cheery tale of prostitution, debasement and western arrogance
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
A genuine US Patent
Thanks to Patently Silly for this one
Penile Volumetric Measuring Device
patent#: US 7147609
Penis size: For too long (puns are inevitable when discussing the subject), it has escaped the rigorous analysis of modern science and has been left prone to self-serving exaggeration. Thankfully, one fearless inventor has arrived to clear the field of biased pseudoscience:
"Throughout history, there has been discussion and focus on the human male sex organ. Generally, having a large penis is seen as more masculine and manly than having a small penis. Well-endowed male pornography stars are looked at by many with admiration and envy due to the size of their penis."
"there is a remarkable lack of convenient and accurate methods for measuring the penis. Most men merely take a ruler and measure the size of their penis in inches. However, to adequately describe the size of a penis the length alone is not enough. Nor is it enough to know the diameter at an arbitrary point. The penis is not shaped like a true cylinder, but rather it has a more complicated shape. Therefore, a method for measuring the size of a penis needs to account for the unusual shape and size of the human penis."
In the short 22 centuries since Archimedes first shouted Eureka from his bathtub, inventor Jason Turner has applied the same techniques of fluid displacement to accurately measure the one-eyed trouser snake.
Of course, scientific breakthroughs can often be met with fierce resistance: Knowledge is power, but the truth, if small enough, can hurt.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
12 minutes to midnight
It's 12 minutes to midnight here and I've just been going through New Year's Eve pictures. I look bloated, jowly, bald and avuncular - at best. This is not the look that I was going for - and once again the commitment to the new diet and exercise program is enhanced. New Year's Eve kinda sees the whole world turn into Vegas for the night, doesn't it? It's a kind of wholesome vice - more naughty than nasty (on the surface anyway) that somehow seems state sanctioned. Of course all over the world there are people trying to recreate that famous Times Square kiss - Jude and a strange woman (or rather a woman who was a stranger) try their own version here. Also the woman was too short and too drunk to reach much above the nipple but hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas - right?
Pushing the button?
I wish I had someone to police my internal panic button... someone to stop me reaching for the 'Send' icon on my e-mail. A little voice that says 'try DRAFT'... or "Now is not the time"
Perhaps I thrive on paranoid conspiracy and drama... or perhaps they're really out there and plotting to not pay / fire / kill us.
Anyway suffice to say that today is a day that I'm imagining the cry of 'Panic Stations' and a Clive Dunn style flap. Nothing serious - just ascendent shit and a fan spinning mercilessly. We will handle it.
Perhaps I thrive on paranoid conspiracy and drama... or perhaps they're really out there and plotting to not pay / fire / kill us.
Anyway suffice to say that today is a day that I'm imagining the cry of 'Panic Stations' and a Clive Dunn style flap. Nothing serious - just ascendent shit and a fan spinning mercilessly. We will handle it.
Monday, January 08, 2007
MRI
I have quite a few of these coming up in the near future. My scans were due in December but the insurance company stalled knowing that I was about to change providers and the new company is demanding to go through all of my records before signing off on the money for me to go ahead again.
These rooms are always incredibly cold - and the gowns that they give you always just the wrong side of the indecent. Though I quickly learned to ask for two and to wear the first backwards - thus ensuring that you're covered right up to the moment when you haul your legs skyward to enter the magnetic donut itself.
The weirdest thing about getting a scan is that despite having a large, warm and well appointed waiting room every hospital and scan center moves you into a corridor when it's time to swallow the barium and wait the requisite hour for treatment. I have no idea why. Perhaps semi-depression and a stiff draught help clarify the image.
Of course as it gets closer to scan times you become more aware of everything going on in your body, I'm hyper-aware of every swollen node, bout of bloating, half pound shift in weight and cough at the moment. It's actually a very strange feeling - being suddenly in touch and in tune with yourself. You start to do more, to eat better and to go to bed that little bit earlier.
And of course the idea that you're about to have your mortality measured means that you up the fun quotient. Right now I really don't care how potentially embarrassing / mortifying a situation might be. I have no shame. I'm joining things. I'm taking part in life again. I'm a participant. Which of course makes me realize that I'm too often a coaster and an observor of life. But - aren't we all?
These rooms are always incredibly cold - and the gowns that they give you always just the wrong side of the indecent. Though I quickly learned to ask for two and to wear the first backwards - thus ensuring that you're covered right up to the moment when you haul your legs skyward to enter the magnetic donut itself.
The weirdest thing about getting a scan is that despite having a large, warm and well appointed waiting room every hospital and scan center moves you into a corridor when it's time to swallow the barium and wait the requisite hour for treatment. I have no idea why. Perhaps semi-depression and a stiff draught help clarify the image.
Of course as it gets closer to scan times you become more aware of everything going on in your body, I'm hyper-aware of every swollen node, bout of bloating, half pound shift in weight and cough at the moment. It's actually a very strange feeling - being suddenly in touch and in tune with yourself. You start to do more, to eat better and to go to bed that little bit earlier.
And of course the idea that you're about to have your mortality measured means that you up the fun quotient. Right now I really don't care how potentially embarrassing / mortifying a situation might be. I have no shame. I'm joining things. I'm taking part in life again. I'm a participant. Which of course makes me realize that I'm too often a coaster and an observor of life. But - aren't we all?
Back at work this week
and still no real sign that anyone is concerned that I'm costing a small fortune and doing almost nothing. I on the other hand am very concerned. But then concern is something that I mastered many moons ago.
The outside world today smells of gas - there's a leak in Greenwich Village by all accounts - train suspensions; the works.
This isn't very interesting is it? Though I read this definition of an advertising insight this morning
"An insight states a truth that alters the way you look at the world"
Not earth shattering... but a good, solid, workable definition
The outside world today smells of gas - there's a leak in Greenwich Village by all accounts - train suspensions; the works.
This isn't very interesting is it? Though I read this definition of an advertising insight this morning
"An insight states a truth that alters the way you look at the world"
Not earth shattering... but a good, solid, workable definition
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