Enjoy the barrage of posts while they last tonight. I'm entertaining myself during some unplanned downtime before heading out to First Ave before too long to see DeVotchKa. Miss Employed, you might appreciate these fine products. I was scanning the postings at CNET's Crave blog and was drawn to this gem, a German site touting a spray-on condom that cures in 5 seconds. And if that's not fast enough, check out the Pronto Condom. Definitely watch the video demo. Finally! I can't count how many times I have accidentally unloaded onto a chick's stomach before I could even get the condom on. I excite!

Here's a rather cool screensaver. Turns your desktop all flamey-like. The demo is free to try, but too bad you have to pay $20 to register the stupid thing. Regardless, it entertained me for 5 minutes. Trust me, that's hard to do unless you've got an awesome rack and little concern about having an orgasm.

Either I need to get the shit cleaned out of my ears, or I heard one of the most misguided product slogans in recent history on WCCO during my drive home. Jerry Rice was playing up his "Dancing With the Stars" gig in an advertisement for a product to relieve joint pain or muscle soreness called Tiger Bone or TigerBone(?). The ad closed with the announcer enthusiastically barking, "Tiger Bone--Go for the bone!"

I will indeed "go for the bone" Mr. Announcerschmuck. I will indeed.

It's been a while since I've posted some of the delightful google searches that result in people stumbling across my blog. The last couple of days have brought some gems.

jizz flying everywhere
and my second all time favorite, bowel movements that smell like perm chemicals

Tomorrow it will have been 4 weeks since my LASIK procedure. I still am not regretting it in the least. The only annoyance, which has been minor so far, is that I definitely notice a halo effect around bright lights in a dark setting. I can usually watch tv or a movie in a dark room without it being very bothersome, but it is quite prominent when driving at night. Headlights from oncoming cars and lights in traffic signals have a bit of a hazy blur around them. For some people, this condition is permanent, and for others, it eventually goes away over the course of weeks to several months. I could live with it as it is, but I hope it improves at least somewhat. Otherwise, I will finally have a weakness that my enemies could use to defeat me. The headline the next morning would read, "Super awesome dude dies trying to exit room full of cobras and flashing traffic signals."

I also still have bad vision days here and there. Or at least they'll start out that way. What I've found is that this seems to be linked directly to hydration. If I am somewhat dehydrated, this will sometimes result in blurry vision that no amount of drops or blinking can seem to take care of. However, if I drink a couple big glasses of water and maybe some juice, it clears right up. At work alone, I usually drink just shy of a gallon of water each day and consume little to no caffeine, so this hasn't been much of a problem so far. And yes, my large intake of fluids means I piss like a race horse several times a day, thank you very much.

Speaking of piss, I think as a supplement to "Start SEEING Motorcycles" bumper stickers, there should be "Start HITTING the Urinal" stickers and signs for men's restrooms. Anytime us men use a public restroom, we're guaranteed to be standing in an inch deep puddle of urine from several dozen other people. At the bar, I can totally see it. You've had a few shots, you're a little wobbly, and you veer off to the side a couple of times. Oops! You correct course and continue with your mission. But in an office building at 10 in the morning? Are you swinging it through your legs and trying to hit it while facing the opposite direction? Trying to bank it off the wall? What's going on?

Time to take a cue from Amber and go on a woman ban. The month of December will be for Jeremy and Jeremy only. I will write more (sorry, that may or may not include more blogging--I've been doing a lot of offline writing recently, as well). I will kick the workouts into high gear. I will spend more time with my friends. And I have a list of geeky projects that need completion. Most of them involve Frankensteining assorted computer parts together to serve various functions in my home automation system and stream my music collection. Maybe I'll even start writing that artificially intelligent program to automatically seek out the muthafuckin' swiggity-ass pr0n and index it by chick hotness, tit size, and snatch tightness.

It is the winter of Jeremy. Rise, my pretties! RISE!

P.S. Earlier tonight, I was thisclose to buying a 72-inch 1080p rear projection DLP HDTV that was on sale (you don't want to know how much "on sale" would have cost). I did some planning over the weekend and realized the fireplace thing will be a far more involved and gigantic project given the location I want to put it in my house. There would be ripping out part of a wall, building it out, drywalling, and even some masonry for good measure. I'm feeling ambitious, but FUCK THAT. I'm going to sock some of my newfound cash wad into savings and blow the rest on a big ass TV and a Tivo Series 3 (that's the high def Tivo) or possibly homebrew my own digital video recorder for the hell of it. In any case, I realized I should wait to buy the television until after Christmas...unless some crazy ass deal comes up. That should also give the very new Series 3 a chance to fall in price. The cheapest I can find a new one right now is about $680. God damn! I bought a brand new dual tuner Series 2 for $30 not that long ago!

In the last week or two, I've made delicious homemade caramel corn a couple of times and after being quite good in my workout and eating habits the last few days (save the big Thanksgiving meal), I decided to wing a recipe for a new taste sensation, chocolate popcorn. Well, I didn't really wing it. I had a recipe for chocolate frosting, heated it up, drizzled it on the popcorn, baked it at 250 degrees for 15 minutes like I would the caramel corn, and...well, the result was not worth the effort. Don't get me wrong, it tasted ok, but I'm not going to send a whole pan of "tastes ok" straight to my gut and ass. So I threw most of it out. I decided to drink some Summit instead. That shit tastes more than ok.

Last night I decided to try the Hollywood Video Express kiosk at Cub Foods in Eagan. These are video rental vending machines that take a credit card as payment. You can rent a DVD for a dollar a day, including new releases. This is a great bargain over renting a new release at Blockbuster, but not so great if you're bad about returning the movies in a timely manner. I don't know what Blockbuster or similar competitors are charging for new releases and late fees, but forget about returning the movies to the kiosk for a week, and you've racked up $7 or $8 per DVD.

Theoretically this is pretty convenient, but how many times have you been with your friends or significant other at Blockbuster debating at length over what movie you want to see? She wants to see Mona Lisa Smile for the third time, and you want to see Naked Cheerleader Rubdown III: The Nippening. You argue over the merits and shortcomings of a couple of dozen movies as the more decisive patrons pass you by to make their selections. Now put that extended series of arguments in front of a single rental kiosk in a 24 hour supermarket with a line of several people behind you. You know exactly what you want to rent, but you are one of the unfortunate souls behind the gum-smacking high school dropout and one of her baby daddies as they bicker incessantly.

I will be returning my DVD's this afternoon, but I've seen the process, and unfortunately you're stuck in line for the return, as you have to interact with the screen. No slot to shove the discs into like at Blockbuster or other brick and mortar rental stores. I'm sure with my luck, I yet again will be stuck behind the 300 lb toothless trailer matron in overloaded sweat pants with a baby hanging off each massive, sagging, spider-veined tit.

But for overall value, I still give the kiosk a thumbs up. I rented two new releases, Nacho Libre and X-Men: The Last Stand for $2 plus tax. X-Men I'm glad I didn't pay $8 for in the theater. I'm also watching Nacho Libre as I write this and so far my thoughts are similar. Worth seeing, but not worth paying much for. Pending verdict for both: meh.

...and cook a kick ass Thanksgiving meal. Regretfully I contributed nothing but wise-ass commentary to yesterday's Thanksgiving meal, but my brother Troy and his wife Danielle played host to one of the tastiest Turkey Day meals I've had in recent memory. Troy manned a turkey fryer they were trying for the first time since getting it as a wedding gift two years ago. I've never had a deep fried turkey, but by God, that is the way to cook the fuckers. It was without a doubt the moistest, most tender turkey I have never cradled in my insult hole. Round it out with two types of dressing/stuffing, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, several other side dishes, and your choice of pumpkin or apple pie for dessert (I chose both!), and you've got a hell of a meal.

This year our mom had to work over Thanksgiving weekend (she's an RN), and we've been able to see her a couple of times over the last three months, so there wasn't much sense driving up to North Dakota to have a big lunch with her just to see her off to work a few hours later. Originally I was going to join a couple of my friends for Thanksgiving, but was invited over to Troy and Danielle's. With the exception of one sister, Danielle's gigantoid family of seven brothers and sisters, her parents, plus one brother-in-law and two nephews, were there. Both nephews are toddlers, and there are several siblings under 10, so you know it's going to be a lot of running, yelling, screaming, crying, yelling, crying, screaming, falling, thumping, kicking, yelling, jumping, and screaming. I know I often joke about my "disdain" for kids, but I always get a huge kick out of Danielle's family.

It helps that my brother and I share the uncanny ability to tune out the screams and cries of children. For someone such as me, who does not have children and does not wish to have children of his own, this is indeed a fortuitous gift. However for my brother, who does plan to have children with his wife, I'm not sure this is a skill so much as a potential hazard to his offspring. Case in point, a year or two ago, I was over at their house while most, if not all, of Danielle's clan was visiting. A huge clamor arose upstairs, followed by the distinctive sound of a tiny human body thumping down the stars, and culminating with a huge BANG and wailing cries of pain. Everyone in the room immediately jumped to their feet and ran to the aid of the battered, but intact child. Troy and I reacted to everyone leaping to their feet and leaving the room, not the sound of the fall, which we had filtered out. It's a survival mechanism.

So aside from not wanting to babysit your kids, keep that in mind should the thought enter your head to leave them with me for a weekend or grant me custody in your will. They could tumble down my basement stairs and die of a broken neck, and I wouldn't even know it until the stench of the corpse made my tortilla soup slightly less palatable.

I'm probably going to be in the minority on this one, but once again, lawmakers are sticking their beaks too far into someone's business. Some lawmakers in Minnesota want to ban fees and expirations on gift cards. Now you're thinking, "Sweet! I hate those fucking fees! Way to go to bat for the little guy! And here's another sentence with an exclamation point!" I'm going to go on record and say that laws completely banning fees and expirations on gift cards, laws that would indeed be to the advantage of consumers such as myself, are unnecessary and unfair to businesses.

Yes, I actually said "unfair to businesses." Why? Imagine that you buy a used car from your well-off cousin Sven for $2,000. Your cousin, trusting you since you're family and all, accepts a personal check as payment. You mark down the check number and amount in your checkbook, and proudly drive your car home, leaving clouds of thick, black exhaust rolling behind you. A couple of weeks go by, and you decide to peek at your checking account balance online. "That's funny," you think to yourself. "Why hasn't Sven cashed that check yet? Oh well." You are curious, but remain unconcerned.

Another six weeks later, you check your account balance again. Sven has still not cashed the check. On the one hand, you're cool with having the money in your account all the longer, but you're also getting perturbed. You want to be able to balance your checkbook and have things in order. That money is in your account, but it's not really yours and you can't really count it as such when doing your accounting. Maybe 6 months down the road, things are a little tight money-wise. The memory of that check has faded somewhat, and one night while having a few strippers grind your junk, you realize you're out of cash. You check your balance, realize you have more than enough to grab a couple c-notes and go upstairs for a couple bed dances.

The next day, cousin Sven is digging through his car for the connector cable for his iPod and comes across the check he tossed carelessly in the glove box a few months ago. "Sweet! I totally forgot about this check. I have to go to the bank today anyway. Might as well deposit it!" Unfortunately the check clears the day before your automatic mortgage and several other electronic bill payments go through. Oops! Overdraft fees out the ass.

Ok, so it still was irresponsible of you to spend money you didn't have. However, I used that example to illustrate the inconvenience of having to continuously account for that uncashed check, never knowing when numb nuts would finally get around to depositing it. In a way, the same is true for gift cards, albeit in a rather inverse fashion. Let's say you buy a $200 Best Buy gift card for your father for his birthday. Your dad is a bit of a technological neophyte and really doesn't know where to begin in spending this geek loot. He tosses the card into a drawer and forgets about it until nearly a year later when he's looking for lube for your mother's dried up cootch. He sees it, makes note of it, continues his feeble attempts at pleasuring your mom, and drives to Best Buy the next day to load up on batteries, surge protectors, and blank DVDs (after being told they no longer carry blank VHS tapes and not realizing he doesn't have a DVD burner or for that matter, a DVD player).

For a year, Best Buy has not been able to count that $200 as a sale. Now take that $200 and multiply it by tens, even hundreds of thousands. That is millions of dollars they cannot count as a sale. I know, I know. Poor Best Buy! Can't spend or reallocate all those multiple millions of dollars. Here's me playing the world's smallest violin. Ok, so what if the gift card wasn't from Best Buy? You bought it at a smaller local chain with only a couple of stores and razor thin profit margins. That $200 multiplied by a few dozen customers can make a big difference.

So now you're thinking to yourself, "Jeremy is a big fucking pro-big business Republican George Bush lover!!!" Nope. I like money, and I like it better when it's in my pocket than being spent by government or big business, but you're off the track. I'm not suggesting that there should be absolutely no regulation of gift card fees. What I am suggesting is that an outright ban is shortsighted and heavy-handed. Banning gift card expirations? Perhaps. But if you're going to ban expirations, then fees should still be allowed with legal restrictions as to the rates and amounts. Those rates and fees should also be clearly printed in larger type on the front of the card, not in fine print on the back. Smart retailers would tout low-fee or no-fee cards as advantages to buying their gift cards over those of their competitors.

I do agree with one of the proposed changes, and that would require the retailer to give cash back for any balance on the card less than $5 if requested. Let me rephrase that. I don't agree that should be a law, but it is a fair term that retailers should consider implementing on their own. The amount is small enough that it wouldn't be a huge inconvenience to the retailer and large enough that the consumer could use the gift card without feeling compelled to purchase items costing more than the gift card amount just to use the whole thing.

End unpopular rant.

I'm standing in line outside of Wal-Mart in Eagan. Actually I'm just standing outside of Wal-Mart and am the only one here. I needed to get a jump on Black Friday shopping. Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving where all of the stores have crazy deals to entice shoppers into lining up and biting toddlers to get good deals on hand towels and ejaculating Elmo dolls (and I don't mean that in a dirty way--get a dictionary and expand your vocab, perv!). This puts them in the black, or ahead financially, thus Black Friday (although Michael "Kramer" Richards thought Black Friday was something else and is planning to yell at it and call it an n-word).

So here I am holding my place in line. Thank God it's supposed to be a gorgeous day. Possibly the 60's today and mid to high 50's tomorrow. Here's my shopping list for BF deals:

• $10 off a waffle maker for myself.
• The second season of the sitcom "Wings" on DVD (with commentary by Tony Shalhoub!) for $6 for my brother.
• A pink rayon sweater for $4 for Mom.
• A green rayon sweater for $5 for her husband.
• A second pink rayon sweater for $4 for my sister-in-law.
• A name brand DVD player for $15 for a friend.
• A case of Lean Cuisine frozen dinners for $10 for a friend.
• A hot dog cooker and bun toaster for $7 for a friend.
• The third season of "Monk" on DVD (with commentary by Tony Shalhoub!) for $10. Also for my brother.

Total Spent: $71
Total Savings: $50
Total time I will have spent in line and on shopping: 55 hours
Very lowball estimate of the value of my personal time: $50/hour * 55 hours = $2750
Adjusted Total Savings: $50 - $2750 = -$2700

Shit.

Tonight I slipped on the same pair of sneakers that I was wearing when I was raking the other day and headed out the door for my haircut. As I was backing down the driveway to go to my haircut appointment, I caught a whiff of an unpleasant odor. It was mixed with the smell of my still relatively new leather jacket, and I couldn't immediately identify it. The odor teased me all the way to my destination, and when I got out of the car, it was gone. I had spilled a little mocha on the rubber floor mat this morning, so I wondered if I hadn't cleaned it well enough and the milk had spoiled. I was grasping at straws for an answer.

I checked in for my appointment, sat down, and noticed my shoe was untied. I bent down to take care of it, and there was that same fucking smell! This time it was a very distinct shit smell. I looked, and sure enough, nearly the entire bottom of my shoe was smeared with shit. I had to have stepped in it when I was raking. Fuck that god damn neighbor's dog. They let their dog run loose when they're outside to supervise, which is fine. I'd rather the dog run free than sit tied to a 6 foot leash all day like the poor dog across the street. And normally the neighbor is good about picking up the leavings, but every once in a while a nice, wet horse apple gets left behind for me to discover while I'm doing yard work.

Great! Now I have a poopshoe and am about to get my hair cut. I sat there for several minutes, thankful no one was near me to wonder why I smelled of autumn-lain crap. I furtively tapped my foot to try to knock loose some stool. I checked the floor. Nothing. This must have still been steaming when I stepped in it!

The girl I regularly get my haircut from bounced over with a friendly hello, and led me back to her station. Gotta play this cool, man. Can't let on that I have a warm biscuit on my shoe. But would she be able to smell it? And would she think that it was ME that smelled like shit? I sat in the chair, and she set to work, chatting me up as scissors flashed and hair flew. The whole time I could smell doodie. I couldn't take it anymore. Finally I asked, "Do you smell something?"

"Like what?" she replied.

I didn't want to play my hand. "Um...well just an odd smell."

She thought a moment. "Hmm...well now that you mention it, I did kind of smell something when we first came over here, but now it's gone."

Great. She smelled it. But at least she doesn't now! "Oh, well I smelled it when I was sitting in the waiting area. Maybe there's something in here." Damn! I took it too far. Now she'll want to find out what it is! I was just satisfied that she didn't smell it now. You should have dropped it and moved on, Jeremy! Way to go, dumbass!

She spritzed her water bottle. "Is it that?" she asked.

I didn't want this to turn into a game of Find the Smell. "No. Maybe someone's getting a perm or something."

"I don't think we have any perms tonight. Is it this?" She spritzed a small bottle of fragrant hair product. What, was she going to spray every god damn bottle she had at her station?

"No, that's not it. I don't know what it is. It's fine. It's a not bad smell, just...odd." Lies! I knew damn well it was icky dog poody doop on my shoe!

Finally she seemed satisified, and finished my haircut with no further incident. I paid my bill, and headed out the door. Once near my car, I looked around and begin scraping my shoe against the curb. Huge wads of feces rolled up on the concrete. I scraped and scraped, and the shit kept coming. I had no idea it was this bad. After a while, no more shit seemed to be coming off, so I hopped in the car to head down to Burnsville. Perhaps somewhat ironically, I needed to buy new running shoes at The Running Room, stop at an ATM for cash, and pick up some bottle water to have at work. Before I even left the parking lot, that now-familiar smell hit me. Dog crap! Sumbitch! I cracked the sunroof open and hauled ass down the freeway.

A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot near The Running Room. Again, I looked to make sure no one was around and began madly scraping the bottom of my shoe on the curb. Wads of kibble-fed turd were left behind to dry. I knew there had to be more though. I cursed and headed into the store. Inside, I was greeted by a lone salesperson. I knew the exact brand and model of shoe I wanted, and she ducked into the sliding racks to see if she had a pair in my size. Either way, I kicked off my shoes and quickly glanced at the bottom of the poopshoe. I could take a wire brush to the fucking thing and not get all of that shit out of the treads. The salesperson emerged from the rack, and I nonchalantly returned my coloncake-covered shoe to the floor. I was in luck, and she had the exact model I was looking for in my size. I tried them on and decided I would take them. She replied with a bubbly, "Great! Let's just box those up for you, and--"

"Uh...actually I think I'd like to wear them out." I couldn't take it anymore. I could no longer keep my terrifying secret under wraps. I am a dealer of TOO MUCH INFORMATION, dammit! I don't hide things. I make it my business to make my business everyone else's business. It's what I do. It's who I am! I blurted out, "Frankly it's because I have dog poop on my shoe. It smells pretty bad."

Her eyes widened, "Oh yuck! I'm so sorry!" It was an odd amalgamation of horror, sympathy, and shock of being delivered such unpleasant information so bluntly.

I was now emboldened enough to no longer care. "Yep. Let me just box the old shoes up. Hopefully this will contain the smell on the way home. Do you have any of that protective spray?"

They did have spray. So I added that to the tab and sprayed down my new kicks as she ran my credit card. It then occurred to me that she might not appreciate me filling the air of the store with the harsh shoe spray. "Oh! I'm sorry. I should have waited to do this outside. I'm just determined to stink up your store tonight!" She wasn't amused. I signed the credit card slip, grabbed the bag containing my box of poopy shoes, and headed out to my car. As I threw myself into the driver's seat and closed the door, a familiar friend tickled my nostrils. But this time as I turned toward the box on the floor, I smiled. Oh, poopy shoes, soon you'll rest in my garage to await winter's frosty grip. Perhaps then a good swift tap on the ground will convince you to release your shitty payload. If not, you're out with the spring trash, perhaps to be claimed by a hobo who won't care how you smell because he already reeks of crapped pants and cheap booze.

A coworker sent me this link to a local indie. One of his friends did some camera work on it. No words. Should have sent a haiku writer.

Film's website: www.in3dragon.com
Trailer (it's worth it for the voiceover alone): www.in3dragon.com/Trailer/index.html

UPDATE: Also see the thread I posted at MNSpeak.

My recent streak of strange dreams got even stranger last night. This morning I awoke from a dream in which I had won a national writing contest that was sponsored by the guy who draws the comic strip Marmaduke. The guy was giving radio and print interviews where he raved about what I had written, but I didn't remember what I'd written or even entering the contest for that matter. So most of the dream involved me rifling through boxes and drawers desperately trying to find a copy of my submission. But I did find a greeting card I'd planned on sending to Saddam Hussein congratulating him on his upcoming execution. It was then that I realized that my entry was related to my quest to find the perfect greeting card for Saddam Hussein. Maybe it was the mushrooms I ate last night. Nah, they were portobello.

I had been hearing ads on The Current for The New Standards concert at the historic Fitzgerald Theater for a while. I thought it sounded like an interesting show. John Munson of Semisonic, Chan Poling of The Suburbs, and vibraphonist Steve Roehm take "new standards" from the modern era and put their own spin on them. I was listening to The Current on the way to the airport from work yesterday and heard that Dan Wilson would be joining them. That combined with my recent and sudden financial turnaround gave me reason enough to call up my usual concert buddy Mary. I knew she'd be up for it since she's a big fan of Trip Shakespeare, Semisonic, and Dan Wilson.

I first should mention the very pleasant coincidence of seeing my friend Kristina at the show. Not only did she happen to be on the job manning one of the cameras filming the event, but she also happened to be on the same balcony Mary and I were on.

With the exception of one song where Matt Wilson sang and played the electric guitar (I believe it was called "Descender"), the entire evening was acoustic, and at times, downright orchestral. They did a lot of songs I love, including "Under Pressure" by Queen (I have a strong suspicion from, a smattering of initial reactions when John Munson first played the opening bass line that some people honestly thought they were going to bust out some muthafuckin' Vanilla Ice, but maybe I'm giving people less credit than they deserve--wait, no I'm not). I also loved their rendition of Outkast's "Hey Ya" and Beck's "New Pollution." And Mary even got one of her favorites, "Snow Days" from Trip Shakespeare, during the encore (and check out this 25th generation dub of a live performance of that very song that I found on MySpace).

The crowd at the show was a trip in and of themselves. Young kids texting their parents sitting right next to them all the way to translucently white 50+ guys who couldn't clap to the beat of the music to save their lives. T-shirts and jeans to suits and ties. Everyone was pretty well behaved for the most part. It was assigned seating, and this wasn't exactly a headbanging type of show. Though there were a couple of drunken assholes who shouted random nonsense once or twice when one of the performers was introducing a song.

The whole evening was emceed by Mark Wheat. So I've always wondered quite generally--what is this guy's deal? Good radio voice. Check. Pleasant British accent. Check. Ability to speak more than two words without...an awkward...pause...while...he...seems...to search...for...what...to say. BZZZZT! But evidently he's well-liked. He's won several local radio awards. Probably for most non-contiguous dead air in a radio broadcast.

Hi. Im the internet. U & I need 2 hav a ltl tlk. Did u think I havent noticed all those tImz uve slapped yor meat rownd whIl l%kin @ me? datz rly sick. wud U do that 2 the hot chk in the apartment across the st.? Oh. U wud. well, lt me put it this way. wud u wnt some1 lookin @ yor mom or yor ltl sis whiIe doin that? Of course not. itz rly gross. & it makes me very uncomfortable. L%k, U & I have 2 live 2gether & wrk 2gether evry day. If youre rly in this 4 the long haul, UL stop it. or @ least go in the othr r%m when Ur doin it. @ least that way I dont hav 2 c it or know whats goin on. U perv.

Having been to Trader Joe's near Sacramento when it was out in California in May, I was somewhat familiar with the shared erection that is TJ's fandom. So I was not surprised in the least that when Trader Joe's opened in St Louis Park a month or two later that people went apeshit. Since I have little tolerance for throbbing masses of distracted and rude slack-jawed consumers wandering shopping aisles in a bargain-induced haze, I've avoided the SLP store (soon to be joined by a Maple Grove location) like the plague.

Avoiding Trader Joe's was quite easy since it has been far out of my way (until recently). Eagan is a few miles southeast of Minneapolis, and TJ's part of St Louis Park is just west of the Uptown area of Minneapolis. Well, since early September, I have been seeing someone who lives on the edge of Uptown, and Trader Joe's is on the way to her place. Today I finally decided to pop in on the way home to stock up on a few supplies and see if there were any interesting bargains.

It was a madhouse. Whoever designed the newly constructed narrow-ass side street (the whole shopping area is a brand new development) that connects with their postage stamp of a parking lot and decided to allow on street parking there should be forced to blow out a pink sock. I probably waited a good 10 minutes to even get into the lot. Then a Joe's employee had to direct traffic to keep cataract-stricken grannies and lard ass mouth breathers from backing into other cars and simultaneously direct impatient drivers waiting for a spot to let them out. These are the situations that are harsh reminders of how panicky and stupid people are in large groups.

Inside was about what I expected. It was about the same size as the one I went to in CA. The only difference is because of Minnesota's puzzling liquor laws, the wine, beer, and other booze had to be in a separate store with a separate entrance (no matter--I'm fully stocked on beer at the moment). I picked up some bananas, a big New York strip steak to split with a friend before we head out to a concert tonight, some bread and veggies to go with dinner, and saw they had packaged sushi for $3(!!) and picked up a small sampler. We ate at Sushi Tango last night and had a fabulous meal, but even after that, this $3 package of 6 rolls hit the spot for lunch.

Because of the how busy it is and the parking situation, I doubt I'll be a regular at that particular TJ's location, but if I'm preparing a good meal and want to stock up on fresh, interesting ingredients for a reasonable price, I will definitely be stopping in. I just hope they come to the south metro soon to make it even easier for me (and in the end, that's what it's all about--me).

I was informed yesterday that I will be the subject of the "Employee Spotlight" section of our company's newsletter. Finally it's Jeremy's turn to shine! Now you get a sneak peek at what our company will learn about the J Man and get the added advantage of reading it before it's savagely edited of all humor, f-bombs, and non sequitur references to Dustin Diamond's on screen dirty sanchez!

Oh, and I've removed certain personal info and anything that could identify the company I work for. Sorry, but I'm enough of an embarrassment to them as it is. The reading starts off a little dry, but give it a chance. Kisses!

When did you start with []?
May 17, 2006.

What is your title and what do you do in your position?
I’m a software developer. I help out with improving [] code, fixing bugs, etc. Currently I’m spending the majority of my time writing an interface to automatically update [] with data from [] and accounting. We’re shifting toward [] to manage our customer relationship and other enterprise data.

What’s the best part about your job?
The best part about my job and the IT field in general is that technology evolves rapidly. You learn something new each and every day.

What are your educational credentials and related experience to your current position?
I have a BS in Computer Science from the University of North Dakota. One of my first jobs (that wasn’t farm-related!) was working for a NASA-funded educational website while in school at UND. So I’ve worked with the web since you could bounce it on your knee and trick it into playing 52 Pickup.

Where did you grow up?
I grew up on a farm 10 miles outside of [], North Dakota, a town of around 1,200 people.

How many siblings do you have?
I have a brother a couple years younger than me who lives in Savage. He’s still plotting his revenge for the time I whipped a box of frozen waffles at his head from point blank range (true story).

Did you have any nicknames growing up or today?
Only the “endearing” kind from family that tend to come back to embarrass you in your adult life. So the answer is no. (cough)

What’s your fondest childhood memory?
Sometimes I miss the quiet of the farm and helping my dad during harvest.

Who is in your family (names of spouse, children, significant others, etc.)?
n/a

What are the ages of you children (if applicable)?
n/a

What are your hobbies and/or favorite sports or activities?
I enjoy running, hiking, writing, cooking, playing the piano, travel, and checking out local bands in small clubs around town.

What are your favorite types of books? What is your all time favorite?
I like mysteries, sci-fi, historical non-fiction, and biographies. It’s impossible to pick a single favorite.

Do you have a hero or role model that you aspire to emulate?
As I mentioned, I enjoy writing. There are several writers I admire for their works and/or achievements. But no one of wide renown, really. [Note from Jeremy: this was my way of tactfully not mentioning my word lust for Diablo Cody and her ilk in the company newsletter]

In a perfect world, you would…???
Not care about material possessions. But I do, so I roll with it. I plan on buying more stuff after work. Over the weekend, I will be purchasing accoutrements, and next week I’ll acquire some bric-a-brac and assorted whatnotteries. The Super 8 is threatening to put it all on the street and rent out my room to someone else.

Early in the summer of 1994, I pulled some cash from my Scrooge McDuck sack of graduation gift money and ordered a shiny new 486 computer from Gateway (then called "Gateway 2000" since "2000" still sounded futuristic). It would be nearly a month before it would arrive. How could I possibly endure a month of waiting for 66 megahertz of pure computing bliss? How could I wait a single moment longer to do cool things like use CD-ROMs, run Windows 3.11 and play Doom? Surely I'd be clinging to the ceiling for 4 weeks straight.

This caused a bit of temporal dilemma, as I wanted that summer to last as long as possible. While most of my friends couldn't wait to get out of our little no-stoplight town, I didn't want to leave. The prospect of college terrified me. It would be the most drastic change in my life since our family moved from the double wide next door to Grandma and Grandpa to the newly constructed house on a farm closer to a different town. In fact, it would result in nearly the same situation. I'd have to adjust to a new home, a new town, a new school, new teachers, new classmates, and new friends. Except this time my parents wouldn't be there.

Also of great concern to me was the fact that I would be living, namely driving, in the much larger city of Grand Forks, North Dakota, population 50,000. This was Manhattan compared to our sleepy little town of 1,200. Mind you, the act of driving itself was of little worry to me. At 18, I had been regularly driving in one form or another for a good 5 or 6 years. I had been driving cars, pickups, tractors, tandem trucks, even occasional 18 wheelers since I was a tween. And once I had my North Dakota drivers license at the wise, grizzled age of 14 (that's full blown license, not permit), I was driving those groaning trucks heaped with tons of grain to the elevators in town.

But driving on a country road or small town street is much different than driving in "the Forks." I would now be forced to deal with concepts such as roads with multiple lanes going in the same direction (horrors!), traffic lights with protected left turn arrows (the diabolical bastards!), and merging onto freeways (Khaaaaaaaan!). These things were studied in books, tested on in written exams, and even practiced for an hour or two one day during a "field trip" to Grand Forks during behind the wheel training. But they were still as foreign and impractical to me as snorting a line of coke from a filipina hooker's ass crack.

Incidentally, do you now understand why so many people in the upper midwest cannot perform a simple lane change or freeway merge to save their fucking lives?

With so much to fret over, perhaps a month of pining for my new computer was a blessing in disguise. But there remained the question of how to while away nearly 30 more days of CD-ROMless existence? Television was all reruns, I certainly wasn't being invited to the boozey bonfire parties with the popular kids, and God wasn't likely to throw me a bone since I'd turned my back to his church when I was 16 (a nice Bible-themed laser light show sure would have been entertaining though, God). I spent the next several days convulsing like a junkie in withdrawal. FUUUUUUCK! When would my computer arrive?

Finally the answer came to me on a rolling drop of cold sweat--live in a tent, dummy! Yes! It was astoundingly brilliant in its simplicity and purity. I erected my 2-person tent outside and lived in harmony with the dog, farm cats, and Mother Nature herself. At first, I set up camp next to the attached garage. Nearby was the sturdy dog house, which the dog turned his nose at, leaving space for a churning mass of mewing spring kittens and their mother. During the day between calls to drive a pickup here or tractor there for my dad, I lounged in the tent watching daytime television on a portable set, reading science fiction books, and entertaining the increasingly playful kittens and the always needy dog. I entered the house only for food and dropping deuces. Nature's matted florae was my urinal, and the dirty, shitty smelling animals were my family.

A few days later I decided a change of scenery was in order. I moved my tent to the second floor deck behind the house. There I was within steps of the fully stocked kitchen and was that much closer to the indoor facilities when my crap factory rumbled. Though I now also would enter the house if I heard the phone ring, I otherwise remained true to the original rules. I could still pee outside. The only difference was that it now hit the ground from about 10 feet up.

At night, I listened to the steady sounds of chirping crickets and leaves rustling in the same breeze that carried in the smell of the dog farting from as he lay just outside my tent door. In the brisk mornings, I awoke with a numb nose, but never felt more content than I was all bundled up in my sleeping bag and blankets. Yet I often found myself lusting after that gleaming 486 with the fifteen inch monitor and Microsoft Works. Soon, baby doll. Soon.

One day late in June, I made a typical house run for a duke and a sandwich. I was very deliberately arranging pickles on a mayo-slathered slice of bologna resting on pillowy white bread, when I heard a vehicular rumbling in the distance. From across miles of flat North Dakota fields, I saw dark mass barreling down the gravel road as if to escape the rolling clouds of dust behind it. I knew what it was, and my heart leapt in my chest. It was the UPS truck. Oh happy day! My preciously computer was here at long last! I danced spastically and shouted for joy.

The familiar brown delivery truck pulled into the driveway, and through the window, I saw the driver step to the back of the truck. The rear door rolled open, and he emerged holding the first beautiful white box speckled with spots of black like a Holstein cow. I eagerly signed for the delivery and squirmed as he brought the other boxes into the foyer. Once he left and the door closed behind him, I immediately tore open the boxes and set to work. There was no time to savor this moment! There's computing afoot!

Through many late nights, I installed software and tweaked the computer's settings to my liking. I giggled at the novelty of the shiny CD-ROMs but eventually realized that I had nothing with which to test the true power of this growling computer beast. I pulled out copy after copy of Computer Gaming World magazines and devoured game reviews in search of a worthy test subject. So many sounded so fun that I could hardly decide! So then I pulled out the latest 4 inch thick edition of Computer Shopper magazine. Perhaps there were other games advertised in there. Deep in the back, where tiny, text-only ads go to die, I found a beacon of hope. I immediately wrote down my order information and stuffed the paper into an envelope. As I raised the flag on the mailbox the next morning, I thought to myself, "4 to 6 weeks? How can I possibly wait 4 to 6 weeks?" But there was no escaping fate. I would have to find a way to pass those long summer days until I could have my first ever taste of computer pornography.

The two parts needed to commiserate:
http://www.cnn.com/2006/LAW/11/15/sex.plane.ap/index.html?eref=rss_topstories

I've been awake since 5. I can't fall back to sleep for the life of me. I awoke from a rather depressing dream about stripper girl ex that involved her dating one of my neighbors. I remember feeling saddened that she'd stoop to breaking up his and his wife's seemingly very happy marriage more than jealous. They should write a book about dreams. I think I'm up for the day. Fuck it. I'm going to work early. It's going to be a long day.

Within a few days, my LASIK surgery will be paid for in full. Not only that, but I will have wiped away all of my consumer debts in their totality. The new windows I had installed on my house last year? Paid. The fancy LeafGuard gutters from the year before? Paid. The only debts hanging over my head will be my dwindling student loan balance and my mortgage. As a matter of fact, I may very well end up paying off about 25% of the balance on my student loan, but we'll see how responsible I'm feeling. This and I also found out today that my 2007 property taxes will be at least 1.8% LOWER than 2006. Quelle fuck est-il?

How did I manage this? I hate to say it, but I have to keep mum on that part. If I had some sage personal finance advice that could benefit everyone, I'd gladly share it, but in this case, it's combination of lucky circumstances and a specific personal situation I can't go into (ooooh, mysterious!). I can assure you it was 100% legal, no children in India were exploited, and only one or two cats died. Ok, seven cats and a poodle, but who's counting?

Does this mean I'm going to turn around and go arm-flailing apeshit with my spending now? God knows I've had my eye on a nubile young 70-inch DLP HDTV for while now, but NO! Though this does reopen the possibility of trip to Vegas and/or California this winter. Other than that, I must continue to save for responsible things like investing in another home improvement project. I'll tell you what I really, really, really have wanted to do for years--a fireplace. I would love to have a remote controlled gas fireplace in the living room. It adds resale value to a house, and nothing is more romantic than rubbing one out with some soft music playing and the light of the fire dancing across your well-lubed hand.

A muckety-muck with a California company was outright surprised when their offer of 4,000 talking Jesus dolls was declined by the Marine Reserves' Toys for Tots. The organization's reasoning for declining the offer was dead on--they aren't going to give a bunch of Jesus dolls to kids who may or may not be Christian. You might as well give a Judas Maccabeus plushie to a Muslim kid or a Muhammad Trapper Keeper to a Jewish kid (though the Muslim kid would probably be more offended to get the Muhammad Trapper Keeper than the Jewish kid).

Sure, you could argue that if this family in need is celebrating Christmas, then they obviously are Christian. But are they? Maybe this is a poor family of athiests or vampire slayers who are simply looking for a way to bring the rare joy of opening a gift to their kids. Christmas may be the holiday that spawned the charity, but Toys for Tots won't (and shouldn't) refuse to give a gift to a family based on their religion or lack thereof.

There's no such thing as a free Jesus doll. This would have been a gift with an agenda of proselytization behind it, and Toys for Tots was right to wave them off. Besides, what Christian kid do you know who wants a talking Jesus doll for Christmas unless it fires plastic missiles and comes with an MP3 player built into its ass?

The web is 16 years old today.

First let me clear up a common misconception. Though the terms "internet" and "web" are often used synomynously these days, they are not actually interchangeable terms. The internet is a decades old global system of networks and computers that carries and channels communications between computer systems. The internet has been around since the 1960's. The world wide web, or web, is based on a specific method of communication on the internet called the hypertext transport protocol, or http. So that's why you see http:// in front of web addresses and where the very common convention of starting website addresses with www came from.

It should also be noted that it is no coincidence that hardcore web pornography will turn 16 tomorrow. Happy liquid explosion day!

Remember the fun you had as a kid playing with Play-Doh? Every once in a while your parents would try to cheap out on you and try making terrible homemade Play-Doh and slip it into the can. You caught on immediately. "Hey, this isn't Play-Doh!!" Play-Doh had that certain smell, that certain texture, and well, let's face it, that certain taste (admit it--you tasted it!). And if you were lucky, you or someone you knew had a Play-Doh Fun Factory. Squeeze the lever, and you could extrude a long curl out in the shape of a star or even thin, meandering strands of spaghetti.

But all the while you played with this fragrant, perfectly textured 'Doh, you had one hope, one wish. More than anything in the world, you wanted to be able to poop into the Fun Factory and extrude your crap. You tried with all your might, but just couldn't get the Fun Factory up your butthole. Your parents didn't understand. They sent you to counselors and child psychologists who observed and interviewed you, occasionally pausing to say, "Hmmm..." and scribble furiously in a little notebook. But you were oblivious behind the one-way mirror. You just kept trying to pinch your loaf into the Fun Factory to no avail. Then one day, you came to and were fifteen years old, hands covered in crap, and nothing to show for it but a deeper voice and some pubes down below.

To the outside world, you finally gave up that silly dream. Or as they called it, that sick, disturbing dream. As the years crawled forward, you still quietly held onto that dream, the dream of extruding your feces into a simple shape. You didn't care what. It could be a star, a square, some spaghetti poop, whatever. Just not round and lumpy. Twice a day for as long as you can remember it was round and lumpy. Anything but round and lumpy! Every bowl movement was a painful reminder of the dream you left behind.

Then one day it happened. You were looking online and found a product called The Turd Twister. Saints be praised! Finally a product that can extrude your fecal leavings into assorted shapes. Stars, Christmas trees, hearts, shamrocks...the list goes on and on! And not only that, it extrudes it directly from the source--your poop chute! No more grunting and squeezing over a primary-colored plastic toy, much to the chagrin of the other adults in the waiting room at the dentist's office.

Your fingers trembling, you click to order this invention from heaven, but then realize it's $15. And it's a GIGANTIC plastic disc you have to shove up your ass and tie a piece of dental floss to in order to pull it out. Then you have to clean it. Oh, but no worries! It's dishwasher safe! Tell me, do you really want that fist-sized, ass disc releasing peanuty shit all over the inside of your dishwasher with your cookie sheets, soup bowls, and Smurfs collectible glasses in there? And what if the floss breaks? Now you're one of those people who E.R. staff will snicker at when they look at the x-ray of the disc with the shamrock opening stuck up your ass. And what if you have diarrhea but don't realize it until it's too late? It would probably come out looking something like this:

I'm quite proud to announce the latest addition to the afterglide crapeteria, the I'm thinking boobies™ t-shirt. Comes in adult and infant sizes (because babies like sucking on the teat almost as much as I do). Also for sale, the I'm thinking boobies™ cap. Show them what's really on your mind!

UPDATE: I've added a few other related adult and baby items in the store. Check 'em out!

According to my research, less than 1.2 million of the world's internet users enjoy having fun. This is a startling statistic and paints a gray cybersphere populated by depressed loners, isolated computer geeks, and black lipsticked goths.

Here is the breakdown according to my google searches:

Approximately 694,000 people like to have fun.
A mere 493,000 people LOVE to have fun.

Interestingly enough, it would appear that a very large percentage of those who enjoy fun the most are actively engaged in a search for love, romance, or friendship.

43% of people who like fun made that declaration on a dating or social/professional networking website.

62% of people who LOVE fun were part of a dating or social/professional networking website.

Please also note that I am not including the 535,000 people who declared that they themselves were fun, 56% of whom where on dating or other networking websites. This is simply a declaration of self perception and/or the perception of others. This does not conclusively prove that those individuals actually enjoy having fun. They believe they are fun but might very well hate being fun.

Other interesting statistics:

Only 7,400 people believe they are a goofball.

A paltry 645 people believe they are a TOTAL goofball.

Nearly 1.3 million internet users pooped.

Though he didn't return again from the dead, Jesus Christ, son of the Lord our God, issued a statement today.

"My faithful lambs, first my love for you now is as great and as unconditional as it always was and always will be. But we need to talk. I appreciate all of the effort you go to in order to celebrate my birthday, but things have long since gotten out of hand. This year I saw a display of Me-mas ornaments and outdoor decorations at Target at the end of September. SEPTEMBER! I know it's almost cliché to point this out, but it seems like it's earlier and earlier every year.

"Now I know where you think this is going. You're thinking this is where I'm going to chastise you for commercializing my birthday and making it all about expensive presents, fattening the wallets of corporate bigwigs, and pumping money into the economy. You're thinking that I'm going to remind you that the purposes of celebrating my birth are to remind you of the ultimate sacrifice I made for you and to let you set aside time each year to spend with your precious family. Well, just between you and me, I think what you're doing is AWESOME! Who else gets to have people celebrating his birthday for like three months each year??? NO ONE, that's friggin' who!

"It seems as though each year the celebration of my birth is one to two weeks earlier than the last year. So in a couple years, you'll probably be starting sometime around Labor Day. In 5 years, it will be around July 4th, and so on. So here's what I'm proposing. Just save yourself about 15 years of buildup and skip straight to celebrating it year round immediately! Just think of it! Me-mas trees up year round. Me-mas sales and bargains at Wal-mart 24/7/365, baby! You will be able to buy one of those quesadilla makers or s'more sets for $10 all year.

"Look, to be perfectly honest, I don't even care if you remember the real reason for all of the Me-mas stuff. This is free publicity for me and my peeps. So keep it up! You're saving me millions each year in advertising costs. And those are millions I can pump back into the gyro franchises I'm opening all over the Pacific Northwest and Canada. So kisses, lamby lambs. I love you, and I love what you're doing even more!"

I've got my blog template a little closer to where it was, including the watermark background image. Unfortunately I realized that a consequence of my fucking around adding labels to all 400+ archived posts (did I mention that I put labels on over FOUR HUNDRED posts?) is that my RSS feed is a tad screwy. It's currently showing extremely old posts instead of the most recent ones. I think I can fix that though. Now I just need to see about getting the drop cap/drop letter/whatever the fudgecicle you call it. You know, where the first letter of the paragraph looked like this:


Maybe I should change the drop letter/cap thingies so they're made out of cartoon penises all bent into various letter shapes like clown balloons.

Enough with the civic responsibility already!! A mere two days after voting, I received a letter indicating that I am officially on call as a potential juror for the federal court in Minneapolis. Damn you, federal government!. Did you not read that I voted? I walked--WALKED--1.5 miles to cast my vote. I researched the candidates, positions, and referendums to make myself an honest-to-God informed voter. I even dipped my finger in purple ink afterward just to be on the safe side. Nobody forced that purple ink on me. So I have dusted my hands of any care to be part of the turning cogs of our society's functional betterment for another year.

I had received a letter early in the year indicating that I was a potential candidate to be put on call for a couple of months later this year. That time came and passed, and I had forgotten all about it, assuming that I was off the hook. Nope! I'm on call in January and February and could be called in to interview for jury pools 2 to 4 times during that period. That means driving downtown in rush hour traffic, taking time away from work (I need to look up what our company's jury duty policy is). Then if I'm selected, I'll be listening to boring-ass testimony about some guy who cheated on his taxes or beat a park ranger to death with the blunt end of a hatchet and beak raped a bald eagle. Snore!

I switched my blog over to the new version of blogger last night and have switched over to a new blogger beta template. I'll be working bringing back the old colors, formatting, etc into the new template and adding tags to all of the past posts tonight, so bear with me while things look a little plain jane for a few more hours.

UPDATE: You can do some really cool stuff with the new blogger beta templates, but I'm a little overwhelmed at the prospect of getting things like they were before. Editing your template is quite different, and there are some gee whiz things a web/programmer geek like me can do, so I'm pondering the possibilities. For now, the colors, links on the right, and logos are back. I'll probably end up working on it more over the weekend.

UPDATE 2: I obsessively went through and labeled/categorized all 400+(!!!) archived posts last night. I also changed the list of links called "selection