Why To Buy Cubic Zucchinis?

Did you that know cubic zirconia gems have a higher dispersive power than diamonds? (0.060 vs. 0.044) Because they're synthesized in labs they have no occlusions, so even untrained eyes may tell zucchinis from diamonds because zucchinis have more prismatic fire. Well, when I learned that (coupled with the fact zucchinis = no dead brown children) I became an instant fan. I love zucchinis! I want buckets and buckets of them. Buy Cubic Zucchinis by the pound, and wear them with pride - they're cheaper, they're sparklier, and no children lost their arms for you to enjoy them.

El Espanificacion De Espencer

For months I've been dining way out of my Comfort Zone - stopping at those random cabbie dives - the ones with no English menus that look like no honky has darkened their door in ten years (some of them even have makeshift mosques in the basements), but my newest assault on my Comfort Zone is Spanish immersion. I've changed my Comcast menus to Spanish, as well as all my electronic devices. I've replaced all the music in my Ipod with Spanish music, I play the Spanish digital music channels night and day as background music. I listen to the Spanish language track on DVDs, and/or read the Spanish subtitles on every disc (and every disc has Spanish subtitles). I am way out of my comfort zone, pero amo el aprender de Español. !En un año hablaré fluido! Comfort Zones should be enjoyed as frequently as hot fudge sundaes. Get the fuck out of your Comfort Zone or you will never have any clue what you can really do. Every sixty seconds spent in your Comfort Zone is one minute wasted on dessert. Comfort Zones are lazy, delicious, decadent, necessary, dangerous, stagnant, and habit forming. AVOID YOUR COMFORT ZONE AS IF YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT... because it does.

Happinesses

I couldn't have imagined how good it would feel to be "in my thirties". I love it. I've never been happier with my mind. I've never been happier with my body. I've never been happier with my home. I've never been happier with my country. I've never been happier with all the tiny day-filling minutia that compose my life. From my crappy American car to my squeaky exercise bike; my hoodie collection to my books, hundreds of books; my chef knives to my hair shears; my cameras to my candles - fountain pens, journals, pictures, photos, memories, and gadgets - plenty of cool little gadgets (astonishing how much joy I get from my modest Ipod). I don't have much. I don't have a house, or a boat, or a penthouse in the sky (yum!), but I love every motley little member of the collection of crap called my life. My happiness comes from far simpler things than people might imagine. I have ice water. I have surround sound. I have high speed internet. I have music. I have books, and more important than all of this combined... I have my health. I feel like the luckiest guy alive. I love my life.

Tracy Clinton Flick Vs. Paul Obama Metzler

The parallels are striking and hilarious. Nerdy Tracy worked all her life for the job. She was the most qualified, ambitious, and calculated, but popular Paul entered the race and, goddammit, people just like him. Sorry Hillary, but this round goes to Obama. I'm rarely good at predictions, but I'll toot my own horn by reminding everyone that I predicted Obama's presidency 9 months ago. Americans have decided they would rather take orders from a black penis than a white vagina. I've never been so proud to be an American.

Yet Another Painful Admission Of Taste Deficit

I recently confessed that I'm not fancy enough to appreciate opera. After 20 years of experimentation I've come to the overwhelming (and somewhat disappointing) conclusion that I also loathe alcohol. I detest its taste in anything. I fucking hate it. It makes me sick. Yes, even (perhaps especially) beer. Wine too. Hate it. The second an alcoholic beverage washes across my tongue it's like a tiny electrical jolt of metallic disgust. It's instinct. I'm an animal. When alcohol gets into my mouth it sends a poison alert to my brain: "SPIT IT OUT! DON'T SWALLOW IT! GROSS!". My CNS knows better. But I drink for social lubricant. I choke it down. I don't mind the feeling of tipsy (it's the only mental condition in which I can actually tolerate sitting in a bar). I hate alcohol. It's taken me 20 years to say it with certainty. I would take a case of diet coke over a $20,000 bottle of red wine. Hate it. I hate booze.

Once You Go Black History Month

I've been called a "mud shark" by Democrats, and "nigger lover" by Republicans, but those tags don't bother me. In fact, I'm so perverse, I find them funny (but that's another post). I have what's called in American English vernacular: "jungle fever". I didn't choose it. I no more "selected" my taste in human beauty than I did my taste for pizza. We like what we like. Does anyone know why? Why don't i like green peas? I have no idea. Why do I love coconut macaroons? I have no fucking clue. I don't know why I'm attracted to black skin, but I know there's nothing more beautiful or sexy. I'm speaking mainly about men mind you (I've wondered: if I were born heterosexual would I be into black women? - I can tell Tyra is gorgeous, but I don't want to fuck her). My 'jungle fever' is simply a matter of taste - partly sexual, but mostly aesthetic. The Black Aesthetic is ancient and sublime: there was a genetic "Eve" (140,000 years ago) from whom we all descended. She was black and beautiful. White is a sort of bastardization of Black - in the same way Circumcised is a bastardization of Uncircumcised. White came along after black; white is "newer", but I'm not into "new". Ick. It's all about vitamin D3 levels. I never saw my 'blattraction' coming as a child, or teen, or even my early twenties. I was into white boys in the beginning - I didn't even pay attention to black guys. The years passed, and my taste darkened - drifting towards Latin looks (some Thai looks when I lived there), then into browns and blacks of all kinds, then finally to Amistad-black, patent-leather-black. The black face is strikingly beautiful, the black body - sublime. There's nothing sexier on this planet. I find most white people (including myself) pasty, bible-shouldered, flat, and unsexy. It would be nice to find a black huzband, and raise some caramel shorties. I've gone out with a few black guys, but before I've gotten very close to any of them I've ended up saying "nigga" at the wrong moment, or making a barbecue joke at the wrong party and fucking it all up. Racial stereotypes and the hip hop world are no more off-limits than abortion clinics and gas chambers, and comedians understand that Archie Bunker is a send-up; satire. I'm fine with all my black girlfriends (we get on like a house on fire), but I always end up saying stupid things to black men. Mea Culpa. I am guilty. My sin is that I find nothing so holy that it can't be joked about. Anyone know a hot, black, gay comedy-writer I can swap honky jokes with and screw? The blacker the better. No? Then does anyone have any good Polish jokes? No? Okay: A Jew, a Mexican, and a Fag are walking through a watermelon patch... shit, I just did it again. Happy Black History Month.

Say Goodbye To The Monkey

Primates everywhere will be pleased that less than a year is left - until they toss this chimp out of the white house - disinfect the entire building, and sterilize everything the filthy Bushes put their smarmy paws on. Then Barrack and Michelle Obama can assume their glorious place as the President and First Lady of the United States of America. Hosannas in the Highest. I'VE NEVER IN MY LIFE FELT THIS PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN.

Gere's "Hunting Party" Stimulates, Entertains

I rarely plug movies for the simple reason there are very few films I find good enough (on enough levels) to actually suggest a friend (or stranger) take 90 minutes out of the 650,000 hours his or her heart will be beating to watch yet another movie. In this case (and the post below) I'll make an exception. The Hunting Party directed by Richard Shepard is a good movie. "Shephard manages to combine thriller with humour and quips without it becoming a cheesy Lethal Weapon type ride." ... "The crisp, realistic docu-direction, mainstreamed by Paul Greengrass, has exerted its influence and fits neatly into this film without looking forced." (rehman-amer[IMDb]) Rent it, buy it, Flix it, whatever.

"History Boys" Crackling Wit Shines

Another film plug: The History Boys. This gem, a deliciously high-brow (but not full of itself) script adapted from Alan Bennett's stage play, was directed by Nicholas Hytner. I was shocked at how good this was. Thought it would be prep school schmaltz, but it's good.

Publishing My Most Intimate Measurements

LV size-end systole: 3.2 cm. LV size-end diastole: 4.6 cm. LV post wall thick diastole: 1.0 cm. IV septal wall thick diastole: 0.8 cm. Ao root dia.: 3.1 cm. Ao valve open: 2.5 cm. Those are the measurements of my dear, sweet, warm, bloody, beating heart. I recently participated in a cardiac study (as a free way of determining how much damage 10 years of cigarettes and adulterated street drugs had done to my poor ticker). The results were pleasantly astonishing (I have some ubertough cardiac DNA). I thought all those uppers would have thickened my heart significantly, but alas, no! Here's the final report, for the record: Left ventricular internal dimensions are normal at end systole and end diastole. Left ventricular wall thickness is within normal limits. The left ventricular systolic function is normal with no regional wall motion abnormalities identified. The ejection fraction is 65% by biplane method of disks. The left atrium is normal in size. The mitral valve appears normal in structure and function. The aortic valve is trileaflet and displays normal ability. The aortic root is not dilated. The tricuspid valve appears normal in structure and function. The right-sided chambers do not appear enlarged. The pulmonic valve is not well visualized. There is no pericardial effusion or intracavity mass. — Northwestern Memorial Hospital Cardiac Lab