It looks like it was delicious once

This entry comes with required reading, so apologies for that. The good news, though, is that it's funny.

This comic has come to bear heavily on my life, as it has divided the people into two camps: Gabes and Tychos. I am a Tycho. Found food is garbage, and you will not convince me otherwise. For the longest time this argument -- whether a whole, seemingly untouched cake under a glass cover could be trusted -- had been theoretical. But fittingly enough over Thanksgiving weekend it burst into reality with a ferocity that could not have been anticipated.

I don't agree that Gabe's found cake is a treat to be enjoyed, but I understand arguments to this end. There is no explicit reason to believe that it has been tampered with in any way, but it begs so many unanswered questions! Where did it come from? Who baked it? Why did its previous owner abandon it? It's not like it's a puppy that can up and run away. My hesitation where found (but protected) cake is concerned is no doubt a product of my obsessive-compulsive nature. I will fully concede that point. But this weekend I witnessed terrors that would shock and appall you!

A friend of mine found a discarded bag of Doritos -- a favorite snack of both of ours -- hidden in a tea cart at a bar. Per our custom, she invoked the aforementioned comic. Ignoring the pleas of our companions to dispose of the bag, she dove in to the stale chips, leaving me aghast and my jaw on the floor. Sickening!

Our debate has been given new life. Where does food end and refuse begin? I staunchly believe that left-in-bar-furniture errs on the side of refuse.

Fall is awesome

When I was a lad I ate four dozen eggs every morning to help me get large. Also, I found fall to be the least exciting season of the year. I had really bad seasonal allergies, which made breathing and talking difficult tasks. Plus there was school. I hated school.

Now that I'm grown and eat five dozen eggs, so I'm roughly the size of a barge, I'm all about fall. For starters, I live in the San Fernando Valley in Southern California. Summer gets HOT. But in September, the daytime temperatures float around the mid 70's to low 80's, which is fine by me. My more recent infatuation, football, also returns. And for the third year in a row, the Cowboys opened their season with a win.

But the most robust addition to my life in the last third of the the year is the return of television. Specifically, new television. More specifically, new scripted television.

I've been known to complain that there's too much to watch. Right now I'm working through Medium on Netflix, and haven't even started on Mad Men. But in reality I know that that's like saying, "I have too many peaches to eat in my kitchen." There are much worse problems to have. And really, it's even better than that because unlike peaches, if you don't partake in good TV it doesn't get all gross and moldy.

Welcome back Richard Castle and Ted Mosby, Architect and James "Sawyer" Ford and Jack Donaghy. Give five hurrahs, give 12 hip-hips. Television is the best and the rest is all drips.

Gerald Sensabaugh is my homeboy

Gerald Sensabaugh (I hate this term) tweeted that he was going to have a live chat on his website until 7:15 CDT. "Cool," I though. Maybe I'll pop in for that and see what's the happy haps. I got in there at 5:12 PDT (7:12 CDT), and apparently it was just #43 and me. Awesome on the one hand, really weird on the other.

I basically interviewed a player whose career I hadn't followed before March, and who I haven't actually seen play with his new teammates. Awkward! And while I do enjoy the football, I'm not nearly the expert that my brother is. But I couldn't just leave the chat, so here is what happened:

GS: Hey welcome to live chat
MT: Thanks. What's good?
GS: I only have a short time due to meetings
MT: No worries.
MT: How's training camp so far?
GS: its going awesome i love the fans and we're looking pretty good
MT: Excellent
MT: I'm following some of the twitters of the guys at DC.com
MT: They're giving the secondary high praise.
GS: that's good we are playing some good football the defense is looking good
GS: the offense looks good also its some great competition out there
MT: That's great.
MT: Any inside scoop on who might start at RCB?
GS: i have no clue we have to good young corners battling it out. It will be interesting. Both will play large roles on defense no matter who starts.
MT: Yeah.. it sounds like a stiff competition.
MT: But that's a great problem to have.
GS: yeah well thats my time i have to go to meetings i will chat a little later look for my tweet to let you know the tim
MT: Absolutely
MT: Good chatting

Gerald Sensabaugh left the chat.

So there it is. Seems like a nice enough guy, and I hope the coaches are right in that he can cover and hit.

Mike T : Romance :: Jackie Collins : Science

It seems like every day I'm learning new ways in which I'm weird. If asked last week, I would not have said that dating has become passé, but apparently NPR is more clued in to what's happening with young people than I am.

I had assumed that the infrequency of the people around me dating was a product of living in LA, where everyone is crazy career-focused and plastic surgery has made the standard of beauty attainable(-ish) much longer. So it makes sense that in a culture with that mindset, fornication would burgeon. And with the increased costs of entertainments, "why buy the cow when you can get the sex for free?" (Mallrats)

I don't do it a lot, but I think dating can be fun. It gives me a reason to put myself through a 30-point inspection, and unless my judgement proves to be way off, it means a couple of hours in good company.

The idea used to be you are going to date someone that is going to lead to something sexual happening," [sociology professor Kathleen] Bogle says. "In the hookup era, something sexual happens, even though it may be less than sexual intercourse, that may or may not ever lead to dating. (Wilson)

I don't know Bogle's vocabulary, but she might describe me as an "old soul". Someone my age or a little younger might go with "sex camel". I'd probably like to get married some day, but I don't subscribe to the popular notion that there should be a 3 at the front of my age before I do so. When I have the appropriate elements -- that is, a suitable partner and the means to support ourselves -- that will be the correct time. That being my motivation, science bolsters my adherence to the ebbing convention.

I look at courtship as an empirical process. Romantic, I know. But seriously, let's say that over the course of a year I meet Ms. X and Ms. Y. We take the statement "<Insert inamorata> and Mike are a not a perfect match" and seek an indirect proof. Because I like things abecedarian, let's start with Ms. X. We'll say that I meet her early in the year, before the end of the NFL's post-season, but after I've stocked my bookshelf with the Star Wars novels that I received for Christmas. During this time I might learn that she's a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan, additionally that she hates all things science fiction. In this scenario our statement is proven true, which is not what we want, but at least it's information.

Some months later, I meet Ms. Y. Maybe we both reach for the last copy of The Muppet Show - Season Three at Best Buy. We get to talking, exchange numbers, date for a while, and I learn that she also enjoys French Impressionism, and teaches Krav Maga. If these trends continue on a long enough timeline, we can then reasonably conclude that the statement "Ms. Y and Mike are not a perfect match" is false, in turn proving that the statement "Ms. Y and Mike are a perfect match" is probably true, if not absolutely.

Had my fictive counterpart merely hooked up with these girls, he(/I?) would have missed out on a lot of useful information. Ms. X might have seemed cooler on the surface than she turned out to be, which could have led to attempts to reconnect. Or Ms. Y might never have doled out the free Krav Maga lessons, which would be tremendously un-awesome. I will fully concede that hook ups can be fun. But so can pinball, and I don't have to be naked to do that. Also, no girl who I don't particularly like has called me incessantly because I'm good at arcade games.

I'm certain that none of the girls I've dated in the past will be the future Mrs. Mike T. That's information I didn't have when I was 15, so I've narrowed the pool of prospects by that many. Incidentally, another interesting indirect proof to investigate is "Mike's propensity to academize everything is not why he doesn't date more." Let me know what you find out.

Works Cited

• Mallrats. Dir. Kevin Smith. 1995. DVD. Gramercy Pictures, 1999.
  
• Wilson, Brenda. "Sex Without Intimacy: No Dating, No Relationships." NPR.org. June 8, 2009. <http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105008712>
  

I'm not 17 anymore

One day the dichotomy of my lifestyle is going to catch up with me, and it won't be pretty. The delicate balance of being a health and fitness enthusiast and an awesome twenty-something bachelor about town is precarious. I would drop a chemistry-derived simile right here, but laboratory science outside my bailiwick. Just think violent chemical reactions.

I started the weekend at a whiskey bar to celebrate a friend's birthday. I'm a bourbon man, so it was a setting that made me pretty happy. I even made a new friend; a 10-year old named Henry McKenna.  Fast-forward to the end of the night.  It's 2:10, I'm downtown, and I need to drop friends off before I can go home and crash.  When I finally wind up getting into bed, it's just after 3 and what's the last thing I do before my head hits my pillow?  I set my alarm for 7:45.  Barely more than four and a half hours later.

If someone else was telling me this story, I would stop them at this point and say, "Seriously?  What part of that sounded like a good idea?"  But it gets better.

I like to think of myself as being a rational person.  Despite that claim, however, I usually take a class at my gym on Saturday mornings.  And frankly, I think the insanity of it is less my fault and more that of the person who set the scheduled.  But then on top of that, the girl who leads the class is getting married in October, so basically it's Bridal Bootcamp for the next 5 months.

I'm happy to report that I survived, if only by the skin of my teeth.  And I can now say definitively that vigorous exercise on 4 hours of sleep with whatever remains of a couple of glasses of whiskey running through one's veins is not the best idea.  I guess it's my own fault for giving it this much thought, but clearly I'm inching my way to being Roger Murtaugh.  I am 100% not looking forward to getting too old for this... stuff.

Notes on polite society

The cornerstones of polite society are not Styx albums. Many people seem unaware that they are, in fact, metaphors. And that what I said is a pun.

Over the course of the two years that I've lived in my apartment I've learned a couple of things about one of my neighbors. She's single and she really, really likes having sex. This isn't information that I sought, but instead that I surmised after having the data imposed on my naturally analytical mind.

Let me set up the scenario and the evidence. I sleep with my bedroom window cracked, and every once in a while over the course of a night I'll hear... remember those Herbal Essences commercials from a few years ago? It's like that, but times ten. Sooo it's pretty clear that the girl likes having it off. And the sporadicity (I hope that's a word) of these events suggests that the source of her um... elation is neither a long-term boyfriend, nor anything tucked away in her bedside table. There you have it. I'm like Batman.

Where her habit bears on polite society is the hour. I like to sleep at night. As I understand it, it's not an uncommon policy. As I said earlier, I keep my window ajar, but so does my neighbor. I know this because I can hear her as well as if she were in the same room, and this wakes me up. No one should be roused* at 4:30 on a Thursday morning by sex in which they are not directly involved. And even then, there are only a few, very specific circumstances that make it acceptable, either in principle or by law.

I've been left with little recourse to this, as I see it as an act of aggression. By the power vested in me by teh internets and the blogosphere, I am declaring a new rule. If you're doing something between the hours of 10pm and 1am on a school night that keeps you from copulating, you've missed out. Maybe you can try again in the morning, but your opportunity for the night has passed. And for Pete's sake, close your windows. There are some things people just don't want to hear.

In other news, why did Gwyneth Paltrow look like she'd been wading in olive oil back stage on the Tonight Show last night?

*Get it? It's another pun

I hate advertising

I am one of the people who is fake engaged on Facebook, so I suppose I'm partially to blame for this frustration.  But what if I was for real engaged?  Would it be helpful for me to see this...

Really?  This is a service you're advertising, Facebook?  Is it not enough that her name shows up in my profile that now I have to repeat it with a moronic font and design?  Tattooing a significant other's name on anything, virtual or otherwise, is just plain stupid.  When/If I do become engaged for reals, my fiancée insistence that I brand myself with her moniker will be a sign that I have chosen the wrong girl.

That brings me to my broader point... that advertising has become utterly ridiculous.  Commercials are basically built-in opportunities to use the bathroom.  Concocting a plot thread for a spokesperson I don't like anyway is not the way to pull me into your restaurant.  I might even go so far as to say that Jack is the first victim of a traffic accident who I hoped wouldn't make it.  I must be alone in this, because apparently the "Hang in there Jack" campaign was deemed a success.  Go figure.  But Jack In the Box is not the only culprit.  I ask you... why would anyone order a Grand Slam when they could instead have Pancake Man?

Ads should not make me denigrate the good or service in question.  Ideally, they should be clever, and employing some form of wordplay.  But that may be too much to ask.  I, after all, do not fit the peak of the bell curve that is America.  But at the very least, I think we can all agree that commercials should not actively make me want to leave the room.  Maybe one day when reality shows are the only programs being broadcast the likes of Tina Fey and Ken Keeler will turn to hawking Trident.  Solving one problem, but introducing a whole new one.

For balance I'll leave you with a commercial that I not only don't hate, but actually quite enjoy.  Even though it's for a candy bar that I've never had from a country where I've never lived.

Judgments and so forth...

Generally speaking, I subscribe to the notion that one should not judge a book by its cover.  Generally speaking.  There is important data that can be extracted about a book based solely on its cover, whether it be metaphorical or otherwise.  Example, if one does not wish to read a book about dragons, one should not invest time in a book with a dragon on the cover.  And if one doesn't wish to date a nerd, maybe don't hit on a girl wearing a Princess Leia '08 t-shirt.

This was the thought process I employed when promos for "Important Things with Demetri Martin" first made their way to my television screen.  I assumed that, like so much in our society, the title was meant to be ironic and that this Demetri fellow would instead drone ad nauseam about inane things, Napoleon Dynamite-style.  No, I didn't like that movie.  Let's put that behind us and move on.  I'm not sure what made me want to give Mr. Martin a fair shake.  I'll chalk it up to free time and a mild curiosity.

My sense of humor was cultivated in Death Valley -- that is, it's dry.  As a result, I wholeheartedly agree with his policy on who should throw stones and when.  Apparently the brand of his comedy is not news too regular viewers of "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart".  I was impressed to learn that each episode of his show is devoted to tackling a matter that is (to some degree or another) important.  This is an instance in which I'm glad to have been wrong.  Now I have another stand-up comic whose work I can enjoy.  He's probably not for everyone, but if you like words, you're in for a treat.

I hate April Fool's Day

I love pranks, but I hate April Fool's Day.  I feel like that's not as strange a stance as it probably sounds in a vacuum.

The reason I hate it is because every year without fail, people who aren't funny see it as their personal responsibilities get the better of a peer.  Here's the problem, though... more often than not, it isn't funny.  So this person has built up in their mind how awesome the thing they had planned is going to be, and since it isn't funny to anyone else when the cord is finally pulled it's met with, "Oh, so you're not really ___?"  Let's be honest, that blank is usually filled with the word "pregnant".  So at this point the prankster is the only one laughing.  Best case scenario, he or she has only tried to dupe one person, and there isn't a group of people standing around wishing they were somewhere else.  Do we as a society really need a day devoted to this kind of tomfoolery?

As I said, I love pranks.  Setting your roommate's clocks ahead?  Funny.  Leaving fake rodents or body parts in your office secretary's desk?  Funny.  Putting a bouillon cube in someone's shower head?  Hilarious!  If you want to do one of these things, just go for it.  You don't have to wait for the 91st day of the year.  In fact, doing it another day will make it even better, because no one will inherently suspect a prank is coming on June 16th.  And anyone who is that suspicious deserves to get gotten.  But if the only gags you can devise are either wholly unoriginal, or just plain unfunny, do us all a favor and leave it to the professionals.

I will admit that there are a few exceptions to my hatred of April Fool's Day.  I don't mind references to this, the mother of all non-holidays in ways that are either benign or call attention to how ridiculous it is.  I co-wrote a comic strip during my college days, and on April 1st the artist would put mustaches on one or several of the characters.  Today saw the release of a "Special Report" from a podcast to which I subscribe.  And as an unrepentant jerk, I'm a fan of the Liar's Day wiles of one John Gabriel.

I will leave you with a prank from the Office that always makes me laugh.  Who would expect this elaborate a prank at Christmas?  Not Dwight.  Well... maybe Dwight.  But he clearly deserves it.

Amy Heckerling is a funny lady

Rosie [breaking up a fight between Izzie, her daughter, and some boy named Noah]: Hey!  Hey!  Break it up!  Who taught you to hit girls?

Noah: She started it!

Izzie: I can take him!

Noah walks away.

Rosie: What was that about?

Izzie: He said, "Your mother's show only got a 6.3 rating and it's down the toilet."

Rosie: Hey, Noah!  I heard Brad Pitt's firing your dad's law firm!

Heckerling [on the commentary track]: Oh, this is based on a-- a fight my daughter had with a kid at the park once, because, uh-- she was playing Ninja Turtles and another kid said, "You can't play Ninja Turtles.  My father produced Ninja Turtles."  So she told him him, "You can't play any talking baby games," and I thought, "I gotta get outta Hollywood."

I don't know.  I thought it was funny.  Here's another gem...

Upon waking this moment will unwind itself

This week I had the good fortune of seeing You Me & Iowa, who are quickly becoming one of my favorite local bands.  This is especially noteworthy because unlike Carney or the Ruse, I was introduced to their music before any members of the band.

I was hanging out with Buddy Girl Cath at Hotel Cafe, when they took the stage and opened with “Christmas Time is Here”.  Instant points for an awesome cover of one of my favorite Christmas songs, but talented performers don't always translate to high-quality bands.  I had time to stick around for “Dress the Stage”, which segued from the Vince Guaraldi classic.  I was sold.  On the strength of that song, I made a point to see a full set the next chance I got; even if it meant driving to Silverlake.  Their live show as well as their recordings showcase the polish of a much more veteran band.  I was surprised when lead singer Andrew Carroll told me that the night I happened upon them at Hotel Cafe was their first show in Hollywood.  They are a band who could very easily go very far.  They remind me of a combination of old and new Incubus.  Not so much in regards to their style, but more so in terms of their creativity.  A band that bands would like, and songwriters talented enough to have a broad appeal.

Without preaching that you should buy their record now (though they might send you a second free), I will strongly suggest that you watch one of their videos.  Remember the creativity I mentioned earlier?  This is it in a nutshell...

You Me & Iowa: Make Your Home (Smell Delicious) from You Me and Iowa on Vimeo.

À la Rufio

Admitting this will undoubtedly damage my nerd-cred, but I was late to the Joss Whedon party.  I never watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel despite enjoying the movie many have forgotten.  By the time I would have been open to the idea the breadth of canon in the Buffy-verse created a whole new obstacle.  I am constrained by a 24-hour day, which is not enough to consume all the media I wish I could.  Maybe one day I'll see what the big deal was.

As the life span of Whedon's space western was only marginally longer than that of a bolt of lightning, I missed out on Firefly's original run as well.  I suppose that makes me partially responsible for its cancellation, so my apologies to science fiction enthusiasts.  Not having been a Buffy fan, I was wary of Malcolm Reynolds and his crew.  But praise of their exploits on the big screen as the next Star Wars sold me.  I maintain that naming the series after the class of Reynolds's ship -- or vice versa -- is a little bit weird.  That aside, I really got into both the series and the movie.

When Dollhouse arrived, I suppose there was no reason for me to be cautious.  I fully endorsed the portion of the Whedon anthology I had experienced, but the previews just didn't hook me.  When I did invest the necessary time in the new series' first three episodes, I was disappointed when the aspect of Firefly that most spoke to me was absent.  I didn't care about a single one of the characters.  Three episodes deep I could see the general direction in which Mr. Whedon and Ms. Dushku were likely heading, but the cost was too high.  I was not willing to invest an hour a week for the promise that one day I might care about the tiny people in the box in my living room.  I cared about Jack Shephard within 10 minutes.  He was saving lives out of the gate!

Last night I was introduced to Richard Castle, and with him a second theory to explain my affinity for Captain Reynolds.  Perhaps Joss Whedon's role was less than I had assumed.  After all, my personal experience in his work was limited.  I now believe that Nathan Fillion, in all of his snark, gave the character and his series the lively spark to which I attached.

There is a new show that I will watch on a weekly basis.  He has Whedon's sword.  He's the Pan now.  My loyalty has shifted... Fil - li - oooooooon!

Public servants just don't understand

I don't do drugs.  I never have.  I won't do drugs today, and the odds are high that I won't do drugs tomorrow.  As a matter of policy I try not to plan much farther ahead than that.  I  do, however, know a number of people who have used drugs in the past, could use drugs today, and may very well use drugs tomorrow; it will be Saturday, after all.  Traditionally I never cared that that's a manner in which they chose to spend their time and money.  They most assuredly would not ascribe any greater value to my collection of Star Wars novels.  All of this was before today.  Before I learned what really hangs in the balance.

I have to thank 1up.com by way of Penny Arcade for bringing to light the true perils connected to drug use.  After the implication that drug use would lead to breakfast fell flat, the producers of anti-drug PSAs have decided to hit young people where we live.  I don't think that I'm alone when I say that my ability to complete Prince of Persia is far more compelling than the thought of, oh I don't know... dying.

I respect what people are trying to do with regard to steering kids away from drugs, but there's a line.  Across this line the impact is lost, and the message becomes fodder for bloggers who are both handsome and awesome.  I have been a young person -- to one degree or another -- all my life.  And I know my kind well enough to say definitively that if Leonardo and company could not keep my generation from using drugs, nothing will.

I wish I still cared about Peter Petrelli

My take on serial shows is that once I invest in them, I'm in for the long haul.  I have to know what's the deal with the island, who the mother is, and in this case how people with abilities and people without them will reach resolution.

As many of my other compulsions sometimes do, this has become inconvenient.  When I first decided to jump on the Heroes train it was because I was particularly interested in the stories of a few of the lead characters.  So I Netflixed the first two seasons, and caught up on this season on Hulu.  It was a fun ride for a while, but things about it are beginning to get under my skin.

First of all, no one dies anymore.  In fact, the last major character to die was one of the ones whose story first hooked me.  I don't even almost care about the new character that the actor is playing.  Not that I need to see people dying to be entertained, but the sense of dread any time someone could die is gone.  And when *spoilers* Noah was brought back to life after being shot through the eye?  It's a good thing that happened at the end of an episode, because I would have missed the next 45 seconds as my eyes were rolled to the back of my head.

Next, the title character... Hiro Nakamura.  Again, one of the characters who first hooked me.  I really dug his origin story, but as the series progresses I feel like his character is becoming more about comic relief and less about what it means to be a hero.  I'll freely admit that I could just be looking to see him as the funny guy, but that's the risk the show runs when he says things like "Greatu Scott!" in extreme close-up*.  Masi Oka is a funny.  But every time I see him being funny I give a little sigh because I thought he was funnier on Scrubs, and have hoped that Franklin would reappear at some point.

In effect, I now only watch the show out of habit.  I'm out of characters to care about.  The Bennett family never did it for me, although I am glad that Sandra is less of a damsel in distress.  But Claire needs to stop making out with every dude she meets who isn't a relative.  Peter needs to decide once and for all a happy-go-lucky smart alec, or a brooding tough guy.  Suresh is kind of a tool.  The whole Sylar side story feels like it was concocted just to give him something to do.  And what's up with Parkman falling in love with a girl who's like 15 years his junior at the drop of a hat?  I watch TV for characters.  If I just wanted to see people with cool abilities, I would spend my evenings looking up parkour videos on YouTube.

*to date this has been the single funniest moment of the series.

Lectori Salutem

What's up, everybody?  I've decided to run a little experiment, and you get to be part of it.  But before we start proper, let me back up and give you a little bit of history, for the sake of context.

I love going out.  I love seeing bands, eating at diners, watching movies, hanging out in bars... all manner of things that are customary for twenty-somethings living in the big city.   But here's the thing... I run in a broad circle with such varied interests that I can't always rely upon my friends' opinions of what's awesome and what's less than awesome.  Not that they're not valid opinions, they just don't always fall in line with my likes, dislikes, and various idiosyncrasies.

This became less of an issue when I discovered Yelp.  It turns out that teh internets are full of people, a few of whom like the same things I like.  Who knew?  It was a new dawn.  I learned that I could look to a few reviewers I trusted to get recommendations on bars, restaurants, and the like.  In turn, others were interested in what I had to say about spots around town.  I was not prepared for this, but cool.  Let's run with it.

But wait... I have opinions on things that aren't exactly "Yelpable" -- that is, they don't have physical addresses.  If people care about why I love Timmy Nolan's and hate the Happy Ending, maybe those same people would care why I love Stone Temple Pilots and hate M.I.A.  That's how we wound up here.  This will in effect be my Yelp for everything that isn't a place.  Bands, movies, TV shows, people I meet on the street, you name it.  I hope we all enjoy it.