Korean Barbeque
I ate
Korean barbeque last night. Then, in the parking lot on the ground, I came across this picture. Immediately, and right next to the car, I sang dinner.
NY Times: "Yo, soz fo' da jamz push-up, shiggidy my weeble"
Sadness amongst all who love music everywhere:
today's NY Times is reporting on the
death of hip hop. Sales are way down, and would-be rap stars are now forced to come up with alternative ways to get their jamz "out there"....or make the hard choice to change careers and leave the music business altogether.
Snoop Dogg has already started his transition, what with
movie and TV appearances and even children's books. Here's an illustration from his latest, "
Dick and Jane Bust A Cap In Yo' Ass"
Peace out.
The ball's dropping in just a few days!
New Year's Resolutions for Nigel in 2008
- Call everyone by the nickname "Chief". As in, "How you doing there, Chief?" or "I'll have the Waldorf Salad with mustard on the side and keep the croutons a-coming, Chief."
- Three squares. That's all, no more and no less. Economizing at home starts in the bathroom.
- Liqour before beer. Not beer before liquor ("never sicker!").
- Charity work: get around to helping those guys with all the money in Nigeria.
- Replace bile and vitriol with sweetness and light.
#1-4, no problem. #5, jeez, I'm throwing up in my mouth a little thinking about it. Can I do it? Cc-c-c-c-can I?
Happy Almost 2008, everyone! It's another year closer to death.
We're not #1! We're not #1
(Forgive in advance this serious post. Thanks.)
As you evaluate the
pomposity and nonsense spewed by candidates of both major parties this election cycle, beware in particular the ubiquitous
"we're the greatest country in the world" statements. This xenophobic B.S. plays well on the campaign trail, but it's not borne out by empirical data collected by the
Economist Intelligence Unit and published in the
Pocket World of Figures. This annual publication looks at 200 categories in 183 countries.
Just 2 examples that may surprise you:
Quality of Life Index , by city: #1 is Zurich, Switzerland. The first US city to show up on the list
at all is San Francisco, at #29! Even fucking Nuremburg, Germany, home of Nazi rallies in the '30s, comes in ahead of any US city.
Quality of Life Index , by country: #1 is Ireland. Placing well ahead of the USA -- Australia (#6), Italy (#8), Singapore (#11). USA is 13th.
Other areas you'd think we'd be #1 but we aren't: highest car ownership (#14), highest GDP per head (10th), economic freedom index (here, the U.S. is beaten by Hong Kong and Australia)...the list goes on.
And while we tend to think that people are clamoring to immigrate to the US--surprise--we don't even have the most immigrants coming here per capita, not by a long shot:
check this out.What to make of this? Consider: one of the reasons the USA has an image problem around the world is that we continue to try to
export (force?) our political system/lifestyle/viewpoint, and other countries bristle at this. They are perfectly content to make it their own way. And it seems a lot of them are doing pretty well on their own, at least per the facts and figures in the Economist survey.
Food for thought.
My plan to get women in 2008
I'm pretty excited about the one big present I got for Christmas.
A leisure suit! They found one at a retro shop and dang if it doesn't fit! I look great in it, too.
Leisure suits are the bomb. Ladies, don't you agree? Doesn't.....
seepage moisture...occur whenever you see some studly dude in a leisure suit? I'd sure like to think so. See, "back in the day" (notice how I'm using the hep vernacular) , a leisure suit was a passport to pleasure. Whenever I had one on, here's what would happen:
1. I'd go to the
disco2. Meet a woman there and perhaps allow myself to "mack" on her. Smoothly, I'd make some John Travolta-ish moves on the
dance floor. I was especially good at doing
"The Hustle" and also that Russian arm leg back and forth thingy.
3. Retire to the disco bar booth with the successfully "macked" female in question and do some
blow.4. Take her home and
bump uglies.
See? Good things happened to me wearing a leisure suit, and since I stopped wearing them, most of the good things stopped, too. So, it's
back on the rack for the tack! Ladies, look out, here comes Nigel for some
Leisure Suit Lovin'!!
Outsourcing the suicide hotline
So today, being a holiday and moi, being on my own: I got
depressed. So I called
Lifeline; got their call center
in Pakistan. I told them I was feeling suicidal and they
got all excited; asked me if I knew how to drive a truck.*rimshot* Thank you, thank you, I'm here all week, try the veal, don't forget to tip your waitresses.
(Just kidding about the depressed stuff. Actually,
I'm happy as Larry. I've been busy, spending the day doing arm curls.
Working on developing my upper torso. Body By Budweiser....)
It's A Wonderful Life....for pigs
Enough with the Christmas bullshit. I mean, the holiday movies are all over TV, and last night, Philco snapped on and HBO a-playin', I started to get a little weepy watching one in particular. Me, imagine. The film:
Rosemary's Baby (the"director's cut"), and normally I don't react to it...emotionally. **Sniff**.
So we're done with the sentimentality, and it's back to my normal loveable grumpy mode.
Here are two true facts to consider:1.
Ben and Jerry's sends the waste from making ice cream to local pig farmers to use as feed. Pigs love the stuff, except for one flavor: Mint Oreo.
2.
A pig's orgasm lasts for 30 minutes.Perhaps there's a connection? But for now, let's set aside the ice cream business and deal with this
30 minute orgasm. And that's a
normal orgasm. What's the conversation like in the afterglow? Imagine:
Porky (doing his best Barry White imitation)
: Was it good for you, baby?
Porkette: urggggg....(panting) it still is
===5 minutes later===
Porky: Was it good for you, baby?
Porkette: gaaack...(gasping for air) check back with me in 10 minutes, ok?
===10 minutes later===
Porky: Was it good for you, baby?
Porkette: braajabfaj...(through clenched teeth) will you shut the fuck up for at least 15 more minutes? Ok?
Ponder on this next time you eat a ham sandwich or pick up some bacon at the Safeway.
Off to chapel to shake everyone's hand
A not-so-vexing problem: to
attend church Christmas Eve?
Answer:
nope.Why: among other things, what makes my stomach crawl is the
bizarre business, relatively recently adopted, of being told to turn around and
shake hands and say hello to others in pews behind, in front, next to you, etc. When did this start, and why do I have to participate? I don't WANT to meet anyone or talk to anyone or touch anyone. Ever.
The horror: I literally cannot stand this practice; all my instincts scream "flee, now, you moron", as I'm confronted with strangers' hands shoved in my face. "Hello, how are you, Merry Christmas, good to see you, domini, fili, spiritu sancto,
hang on, whoa, the
power of Christ compels you, out evil spirit
OUT, JEZEBEL SPIRIT! OUT!" (see, with me, they sense that something's
not quite right, and the handshake ritual can turn into an exorcism before you know it).
Speaking of rituals: we all know that the smoke thingy slinging back and forth is simply an attempt to cover up the odor of Father Flannery's farting.
Aaahh! Snow is so beautiful!!
It's
not a Santa post or Santa photo...but it is appropro for the season. See, even something as innocent as enjoying the beautiful, first fresh flakes of snow can be, er, spoiled. I wouldn't wanna let you down, shlubbies. But I'm not cynical or nuttin', just sayin':
Merry Flaming Festivus Felafel Fantasmagorical Freakazoid Christmas.
And remember these words of wisdom:
Roses are reddish
Violets are bluish
If it weren't for Christmas
We'd all be Jewish.
(**Nigel, proud to be a mixed caste weird ass comglomeration of Old and New Testament families. L'chaim, peace on earth, y'all, Israel forever 'cause I'm an unrepentant virulent Zionist, and happy birthday Jesus.... Mazel Tov!)
Last one--I promise
His bloody good for nothing elves don't do housework, either.
How the old bastard really looks
Santa's delivery to chez Nigel
One week to go
Hunting sucks the flaming pole of manhood
Normally on Sunday mornings
I'm perving Betty Nguyen on CNN, but for some reason yesterday I hit the wrong remote button and ended up on the
outdoors hunting channel. I watched for about 10 minutes before snapping off the tube and going to the powder room to throw up.
I think hunting is for assholes. Total, complete, lesion filled bleeding anal wart piles extruding assholes.
Let me set the stage for you. First, this episode was filmed as the rut was beginning for deer. Time to mate. And on this "show",
two mental defectives carrying muzzle loaders are
clambering over hill and dale somewhere south of Batfart, Wyoming, in search of male deer--
bucks--to summarily execute. After much pretending to be hit men bullshit (whispering to each other about being downwind, setting up the prone shooting stance, etc), the shit stains murdered a poor buck who was just getting ready to fuck. That's no way to go, don't you agree?
Here's the kicker--they're
wearing cammo (oooooh, cool) but on top of the cammo they've got on
bright orange vests. Think about that for a second. They spend a bajillion dollars at the local
Hunt You Runt store, picking up the latest faux military fashions so as to blend in with the Wyoming landscape--then, spoil the whole effect by slapping on the bright orange "attention other mental defectives: we're hunters, not deer--don't shoot!" safety vests.
Douche Nozzles. Case closed.
A screwdriver here, a screwdriver there--who's counting?
Executive summary:
I succeeded in drinking the plane dry. Sort of.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I fly,
I sit up front, first class. This isn't a snob thing, it's
a weight thing-- I'm too big to get into the coach seats, at 343 pounds. I need the extra room. So I pay the extra or get an upgrade.
The collateral benefit of this is, the
drinking starts immediately and doesn't stop till the last few minutes of the flight. On this one, 4 hours 50 minutes to L.A., I drank so much vodka and orange juice that the first class section ran out of vodka and the flight attendants had to get more from the back of the plane. It got to the point that whenever Trixie or Patti (
not a photo of either of them at right and too bloody bad--they looked the exact opposite of the lovely lass pictured here) came down the aisle, they'd have a drink for me just on gp's.
I lost count after nine doubles.
Plane lands, 90 minutes at LAX, back on another homebound. Once seated, the flight attendant brought the first round saying: "
I see we have some heavy drinkers here today!" I laughed, turned to my seat-mate and said, "she has NO idea!" And the drill repeated itself heading east. While I'm on a roll, this
guy next to me ordered nothing but cranberry juice and soda water the whole flight.
It wasn't till near landing that he
finally told me what he did for a living: he conducts
alcohol and drug abuse interventions, like that show on A&E. He'd been vague about his work when I asked him early in the flight and I didn't press for more detail; it was only as we were landing that he 'fessed up.
I bet he's got some stories to tell after flying with your loyal Nigel.
Saturday, in the air, everywhere
I'm double posting today 'cause I won't post at all tomorrow, when I'm
flying to L.A and back. 5 hours each way, with a 90 minute layover at LAX in between. I'm doing this to get miles so I make my
next level of Delta Airlines "Medallion" status before the year ends. Medallion doesn't offer much except pre-boarding and once in a blue moon upgrades. But the pre-boarding is nice. I also like flirting with the 78 year old flight attendants.
I plan on
drinking the plane dry there and back.
Bono saves the children
Bono, lead singer of the rock band U2, is famous throughout the entertainment industry for being more than just a little self-righteous.
During a U2 concert in Glasgow, Scotland, he asked the audience for total quiet.
Then, in the silence, he started to slowly clap his hands, once every few seconds. Holding the audience in total silence, he said into the microphone,
'Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies.' From the front of the crowd a voice with a broad Scottish accent pierced the quiet ...
'Well, fuckin' stop doin it then, ya evil bastard!'
Eat your heart out, Mary Hart
Two things, sort of celebrity related:
Jodie Foster finally revealed her love of the carpet. Good for her. I, too, am lesbian, albeit trapped in a man's body but lesbian nonetheless. Sign me up for anything involving naked women. Now that I'm out of the closet I feel so relieved.- Liza Minelli collapsed while performing in Sweden. The real question
is, Liza Minelli is still performing? And apparently gullible Swedes can be prompted to shell out kronas in order to see an aging, decrepit, disgusting, smelly, drug addled American female singer stumble her way around stage? Hearing this good news, Britney Spears has already booked flights to Stockholm and will be available for up-skirt photos as soon as the SAS 747 lands.
That's all the time we have for
Entertainment Tonight type bullshit, folks. See you tomorrow with images from
Christina Aguilera's latest proctoscopic procedure.
The phobic babe at the bar
I'm back,
drinking at full speed and strokes be damned!
Bellied up to the
bar last night and standing next to me was an
attractive young woman who, when offered a seat by yours truly, declined thusly: "Thanks all the same, but I have
Kathisophobia." She ignored me thereafter and eventually hooked up with someone good looking and also interesting. I missed again.
Anyhow, I pride myself on my knowledge of stupid and useless things, so I'm wracking my brain for this
Kathisophobia.
What could it be? Fear of women named Katherine, perhaps?
So, pulling out my trusty Verizon XV-6700 Pocket PC,
I Google this thing and read the results.
LMFAO -- claiming "kathisophobia" could be the most unique brush off I've ever received from a lady. Full marks for originality, darling!
Another Christmas cd for your enjoment
For all the people who complain that
Christmas has become too...mechanical:
Osama sings the Christmas Hits
Among my favorites:
"Rockin' around the Christmas Tree
With my big bad IED"
The food? Tastes like crap!
 | 
Two photos from Taiwan's "Modern Toilet" restaurant. The ambience, the decor, the painstaking way they make the food look like....shit. Amazing. |
My last legal post, ever. I promise!
My sister in-law is a
court stenographer, and she sent me an email circulating among her colleagues detailing actual, word-for-word questions and answers from courtroom testimony. Here are
my absolute top three:Coming in at #3:ATTORNEY: Doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it til the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
At #2:ATTORNEY: All of your responses MUST be oral. OK? Now, what school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.
And at #1, the greatest attorney-witness exchange in history:ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?
WITNESS: No, I just lie there.
Shop til ya drop
From the
London Daily Mail, today: "
British psychologist Dr David Lewis found the stress men experience while Christmas shopping ranks level with that felt by a police officer dealing with an angry mob."
When I was a kid, I lived in Asia for 5 years (see post below) and loved every single minute of all of it except the annual trip to the "International Center" in Hong Kong (harbor view, left). We'd be going between Japan and Singapore, so instead of flying directly, mummykins would organize a fucking stop-over in Hong Kong to go fucking shopping.
This "International Center" was 5 levels of shops--hundreds of stores. A yenta's paradise. My mother would make me and my brothers sit/stand in each of these goddamm stores while she cleaned 'em out. She also liked to find shit she wanted us to try on and instead of being cool about it, she'd scream and yell across the store: "Nigel! Nigel! NIGEL! GET OVER HERE NOW TO TRY ON THIS LOVELY SHIRT! ISN'T IT LOVELY? IT'S GOT BUNNIES AND FLOWERS ON IT!!" at the top of her lungs. Everything she wanted us to try on sucked and was wussy (i.e. bunnies and flowers).
Adding insult to injury, there were times when the dressing rooms were all busy so she'd make us change RIGHT THERE ON THE SHOWROOM FLOOR! I mean, I'm 12 years old, trying to figure out what my dick is for, waiting for chest hair to sprout and voice to deepen, pimples beginning to show on my ugly face....jeez, can you begin to imagine the pain here?
I kid you not, these shopping trips lasted a
minimum 7 hours. To this day, I hate shopping, and I'm not so sure how I feel about mummykins, either.
Merry fucking Christmas.
A house is not a home...
So I'm
perusing some of my favorite blogs yesterday--among them
my buddy Carlos', who'd posted a Google Earth shot of his previous home, now owned by someone else. It got me thinking: what if I could find
all the houses I'd previously lived in, and Google Earth them? So, I did!
Sure, this is completely self serving, but what the hell, it was fun.
Here they all are. I've alluded to this in the past on this blog -- I've
lived in a LOT of places, both growing up and then doing vagabond radio crap. In no particular order, and some of the areas circled aren't exactly the house as I lived in it (example, Tokyo, where they bulldozed the house and put up a highrise).
 |  |  |  |  |
| Atlanta | Tokyo, Japan | Minneapolis | Sydney, Australia | Washington, D.C |
 |  |  |  |  |
| Singapore | Melbourne, Australia | San Francisco | Ft. Lauderdale | Sandton, South Africa |
Our holiday party gift exchange
More
Christmas Crap (because as Andy Williams famously reminds us annually, "It's the most...wonderful timmme of the year!")
The
funeral home "Holiday" party is December 14th, and we're doing that silly
Dirty Santa game where you claim other people's presents.
Dirty Santa,
Dirty Sanchez, whatever. All I know is we're to bring an item worth $20 for the big holiday gift swap.
I'm bringing something that'll fuck with people and also
piss 'em off. No surprise there, eh?
Fake lottery tickets. They look just like the real thing, and
each douche nozzle who gets one of these scratch offs
thinks they've really won $20,000. Hours of fun at parties, and I'm hoping a few fist-fights will break out. Plus maybe if I play my cards (or tickets) right I can spend
20--30 seconds with Carmella from casket receiving?
Neighbor's threats don't deter Nigel
No one in my neighborhood likes me. Partly because I perv on their teenage (but legal, I stress, legal) daughters, and partly because
I don't participate in holidays. That includes the dumb lights thing.
I
get this in the mailbox last night:
So my house isn't lit up and so we won't win the stupid
Channel 5 "Good Holiday Neighbor" award. This doesn't move my give-a-shit meter one peg. I think I'm pretty fucking festive as it is, don't you? Look for yourself: here's how my house looks from the park in front.
Mine's second from right. The pole has a camera and green light so I can film trespassers, and shoo irritating neighbor kids off my lawn.
This weekend's theme: eating like a pig
Do you like it? Have another one? Sure, why not? They're
wafer thin....
IHOP: the guilty pleasure
This morning was my first real venture out (except of course for the legal shit earlier this week) and,
contrary to doctor's orders, I ate a
cholesterol laden plate of muck for breakfast at IHOP. Large OJ and a three egg corned beef hash omelette smothered in cheese plus three pancakes. Two pots of coffee.
While I'm feasting, I get a call about a guy I know who's got cancer and who went into hospice last night. That means he's got about three days to live. It got me thinking: there I was, sitting at the table (note, not a booth; I can't fit into booths anymore), enjoying myself and knowing full well that I shouldn't have eaten what I ate. But, dammit, the
only joy in life I have left is consumption and excretion. By this I mean eating and drinking and then the world's most underrated activity, going to the stall to release chocolate hostages when you really, really really gotta go. That's all I've got.
So, I've decided it's
better to live and enjoy but die soon rather than live and be miserable. Eat, drink, oy vey,
fress, fress, fress! Don't be an
alter cocker, gevalt!
I'm pretty excited about the one big present I got for Christmas. A leisure suit! They found one at a retro shop and dang if it doesn't fit! I look great in it, too.
2. A pig's orgasm lasts for 30 minutes.
The horror: I literally cannot stand this practice; all my instincts scream "flee, now, you moron", as I'm confronted with strangers' hands shoved in my face. "Hello, how are you, Merry Christmas, good to see you, domini, fili, spiritu sancto, hang on, whoa, the power of Christ compels you, out evil spirit OUT, JEZEBEL SPIRIT! OUT!" (see, with me, they sense that something's not quite right, and the handshake ritual can turn into an exorcism before you know it).
And remember these words of wisdom:
clambering over hill and dale somewhere south of Batfart, Wyoming, in search of male deer--bucks--to summarily execute. After much pretending to be hit men bullshit (whispering to each other about being downwind, setting up the prone shooting stance, etc), the shit stains murdered a poor buck who was just getting ready to fuck. That's no way to go, don't you agree?
The collateral benefit of this is, the drinking starts immediately and doesn't stop till the last few minutes of the flight. On this one, 4 hours 50 minutes to L.A., I drank so much vodka and orange juice that the first class section ran out of vodka and the flight attendants had to get more from the back of the plane. It got to the point that whenever Trixie or Patti (not a photo of either of them at right and too bloody bad--they looked the exact opposite of the lovely lass pictured here) came down the aisle, they'd have a drink for me just on gp's. I lost count after nine doubles.
I'm double posting today 'cause I won't post at all tomorrow, when I'm flying to L.A and back. 5 hours each way, with a 90 minute layover at LAX in between. I'm doing this to get miles so I make my next level of Delta Airlines "Medallion" status before the year ends. Medallion doesn't offer much except pre-boarding and once in a blue moon upgrades. But the pre-boarding is nice. I also like flirting with the 78 year old flight attendants.
Bono, lead singer of the rock band U2, is famous throughout the entertainment industry for being more than just a little self-righteous.
Jodie Foster finally revealed her love of the carpet. Good for her. I, too, am lesbian, albeit trapped in a man's body but lesbian nonetheless. Sign me up for anything involving naked women. Now that I'm out of the closet I feel so relieved.
is, Liza Minelli is still performing? And apparently gullible Swedes can be prompted to shell out kronas in order to see an aging, decrepit, disgusting, smelly, drug addled American female singer stumble her way around stage? Hearing this good news, Britney Spears has already booked flights to Stockholm and will be available for up-skirt photos as soon as the SAS 747 lands.
Bellied up to the bar last night and standing next to me was an attractive young woman who, when offered a seat by yours truly, declined thusly: "Thanks all the same, but I have Kathisophobia." She ignored me thereafter and eventually hooked up with someone good looking and also interesting. I missed again.
My sister in-law is a court stenographer, and she sent me an email circulating among her colleagues detailing actual, word-for-word questions and answers from courtroom testimony. Here are my absolute top three:
When I was a kid, I lived in Asia for 5 years (see post below) and loved every single minute of all of it except the annual trip to the "International Center" in Hong Kong (harbor view, left). We'd be going between Japan and Singapore, so instead of flying directly, mummykins would organize a fucking stop-over in Hong Kong to go fucking shopping.
I'm bringing something that'll fuck with people and also piss 'em off. No surprise there, eh? Fake lottery tickets. They look just like the real thing, and each douche nozzle who gets one of these scratch offs thinks they've really won $20,000. Hours of fun at parties, and I'm hoping a few fist-fights will break out. Plus maybe if I play my cards (or tickets) right I can spend 20--30 seconds with Carmella from casket receiving?
This morning was my first real venture out (except of course for the legal shit earlier this week) and, contrary to doctor's orders, I ate a cholesterol laden plate of muck for breakfast at IHOP. Large OJ and a three egg corned beef hash omelette smothered in cheese plus three pancakes. Two pots of coffee.
