Home Improvement Helpful Tip: outlets

In ye olde days, people didn't use many electric outlets. Typewriters were not electric and most other chores that are now done by appliances (like washing clothes and microwaving food) were done by subservient wives. This is still the case in most red states, but I digress. If you have an old house, you'll probably want to add more electric outlets at some point (or marry a goodly woman with wide birthing hips who is content to spend all day scrubbing your wash by hand down at the local stream with the other Amish women).

So here's how you do it:





First, mark out where you want the new outlet to go.












Then, make a hole in the wall with a keyhole saw.















Then, pull the wire through the hole (yes, this assumes you've got a live wire in the wall. We'll go over running a line from an existing outlet some other time...if I feel like it).















The put the outlet into place by feeding the wire through it. Make sure it's an Old Work Junction Box, so that it can be secured to the drywall from behind, without screws or nails.














On to the Misceallany:

1) A friend of mine was commenting recently on how big my place is and how I could rent out a couple of rooms if I wanted to (the basement, for instance, will have it's own bathroom, so I'd only ever need to see the person in the kitchen). Although my mortgage is more than I like, I still don't like the idea of living with someone, and whenever I feel like I'm warming to the idea, I read something like THIS, which brings me back to reality. A lot of people are assholes, and they have to live someplace, so if you rent a room to someone you might eventually end up with an asshole in your house. And although my place is big, it's not big enough for two assholes. Unlike Florida, which is Landlord friendly, DC is asshole friendly. No thanks.

2) It's 6pm on Saturday and I just woke up an hour ago. I feel like sh1t. Kill me now and get it over with. I was out too late last night and ended up making out with a woman who is very attractive and very married with a kid. As I was trying to wrap my head around that, my friend summed it up nicely: "You know...it's all fun and games until you have an angry husband shooting at you". Does this make me a home wrecker?

3) I don't plan on writing much for the next few weeks, for reasons I won't go into, but I have some half-finished posts about my trip to Ikea with a friend who showed me what her "bitch mode" looks like; a post from the legal chronicles about how I ended up not working for a dead guy who liked me; and a post about the green eyed monster called Carl (yes this will make sense in time).

4) I am thinking of adopting a dog. Although a cat would require less maintenance and would pull it's own weight by killing any mice that dared infiltrate the fortress, a cat would also be kinda gay. Not that there's anything wrong with gay people, but I don't think I could afford a whole new wardrobe right now (although apparently, I don't have to change my entire wardrobe). So if you were me, would you adopt a big dog or a small dog?

With a big dog, I could take it jogging (if I did jog, which I don't, but maybe I don't jog because I don't have a big dog), and it could guard the house when I'm out. But a smaller dog will probably make smaller poops for me to pick up and when I sell the place and look for a condo, there are more places that allow small dogs than big dogs. Also, if I need someone to dogsit, I'm sure that someone would more likely agree to dogsit for a dog who's owners give it names like "teacup" or "bijou" than if I had a dog who's owner's commonly name it things like "cujo" or "godzilla".

Work Progress

In a change of pace, I'm going to post some pics of actual work that I've done recently. I get tired just thinking about it.

Part of the reason that I'd run over the contractor I fired if I ever saw him crossing the street is that I had to undo so much of what he did and re-do it myself. So I got to do the work myself, but still ended up paying a lot of money for it. It's feels like being asked to dig your own grave. The end result is you get screwed. Why did I pay this moron if I was going to re-do it myself? Anyway, enough complaints. If you wanna hear people complain about their problems and do nothing about it, you can buy the Sex and The City DVD Box Set.

I've alluded to a structural problem I need to address before installing the cabinets. I could just leave it the way it is and hoped that no one notices, but Catholic guilt prevents me from not doing the right thing.

The window in the kitchen was crooked and I thought it might be a symptom of a larger problem, like when your car's check engine light comes on and you take it to a mechanic and find out that Paris Hilton has a drug problem.

I did some exploratory surgery and took a look at why the window was was crooked and I noticed that the bottom was pushing up on the window.









When I took a look above the window, I noticed there was no proper header above the window, which would transfer the weight correctly. It was only a 2x4 laying on it's side.







Then I stripped the drywall off the old wall.










I really have no idea what they were thinking when the originally did this. And I have no idea why the original contractor I hired didn't say anything about it, but just covered it in drywall.


This is like some feng shui nightmare. The flow of chi energy is blocked by these right angles.

Since the header wasn't distributing the energy, the window was getting warped and would probably get worse over time until the house collapsed, killing the yuppie family that I would eventually sell this place too for way too much money.



So I didn't want to take the old supports out and put them back the right way (because that would involve jacking up the whole room, so I decided to build a new wall in front of it, to take the weight (like when you put your car up on jackstands).


First I started to make some supports in front of the old wall. After putting the top plate and sill plate in, I made the support beams taller than would fit by about 1/2", then I hammered them into place with a sledgehammer so that the new 2x4s would take the weight of the house off the old supports.

Then I added a header.






This is what the finished product with the (correct) header looks like.

Now this wall is strong...like Northern Eagle Claw Kung Fu.






Then we covered it in drywall.








Like this










Then we installed the cabinets and stove. It still needs a proper countertop, but you get the idea.

Adventures in Law Part 1: Batman Hires Me

Well, I got another call from a headhunter in NY. The good news is that I’m becoming more popular than the iPhone. For the third time in as many weeks I was asked to explain what I want out of my life. That got me thinking about what I do want to do with my life (besides being Mr. Rachel McHottie). So maybe I’ll discuss it on here in a series of meandering and picaresque posts and I’ll just refer future questioners to my blog.

Let’s start by discussing every legal job that I’ve ever had. (don’t worry, there aren’t that many, I was so incompetent at most of them that it will make for a few good posts). My first legal job was working for a guy I call Batman. His real name is Bruce Wayne [Last Name] and he was an idealistic lawyer in the town where I went to law school.*

A lot of people in law school will clerk for a local attorney (or judge) in order to earn some beer money and learn a little about how to actually practice law. Money was never a big deal to me, but I did want to learn how to actually sue people since I didn’t want to work for anyone when I graduated. I wanted to hang out my shingle and be a solo practitioner; a lone ranger…a ninja! So I figured it would good to learn how it’s done.

Rather than mailing out resumes, I dropped them off in person because when people see me in a suit they mistakenly assume that I’m smart and competent. Batman said that he’d gotten lots of resumes in the mail but that I was the only one who walked in personally so I was hired. He asked how much I wanted and I said that the going rate was $7 an hour for law clerks (this was 1996) and he said “how about $8 instead?”. Fine by me.

Although most Midwesterners are genuinely nice people (especially compared to southerners, who only pretend to be nice, and northerners (like me) who are assholes), Batman was considered really nice, even among midwesterners. Batman's Dad was the town sherriff for most of his life, so he had an inborn sense of justice.

Batman had personal injury cases where he made money, and other cases that he would take because nobody wanted them and he felt bad for the clients. There were cases where people were fired for filing a workers comp claim; a case where a couple’s baby died and no lawyers would take the case because of the new “tort reform” law that was passed, which made it unprofitable to sue; and there was a family whose house was destroyed and the insurance company wouldn’t pay. All Batman had to hear was “no one will take my case” and he’d leap into action.

He once filed a workers comp claim for someone who earned minimum wage (meaning that his fee wouldn’t even cover the cost of Xerox copies). The company paid the full demand when Batman told them "I'm not doing this for the money, so I'm not going to negotiate. You pay him every cent in the demand or I'll keep filing motions and running up your legal fees until you're bankrupt and you end up working for him."

Batman hated the lawyers who worked doing insurance defense work (partly because they were his opponents, and partly because they worship Satan). I mentioned that the daughter of one of the prominent insurance defense lawyers was in my class.

Batman: Are you sure it’s that guy’s daughter?

Ninja: Yeah…she said he’s her dad.

Batman: That’s surprising…I just assumed that he ate his young.

Now, here's what I liked and didn't like about the job.

Pros:
Self Employment: It's nice working for yourself and deciding what cases you'll take and what you won't. It sux having to answer to anyone, so if you're the boss there is no one to tell you what to do and what time to come and go.

Co-workers: Batman, his wife (the secretary), and the two paralegals were all really nice people. I think in every job that I've ever had, most of what determines whether I liked it or not is the people I deal with every day. I think the key is to work with midwesterners and avoid northerners and southerners.

The Pro Bono Stuff: Helping people who have nowhere else to turn is really gratifying. When I saw some of those people in tears in his office, I really don't know how the other lawyers turned them away.

Learning: I didn't know anything about law firms before I started there, so I learned a lot of things about personal injury law that I'll probably never use, but that I'm glad I got to be a part of.


Cons:
Money: Beer money is fine in law school, but if you have a mortgage then the sporadic payments you get from settling cases is a little difficult to manage. Some months you'll settle several cases and be rolling in dough; and other times you can go 6 months without a paycheck.

Cases: The pro bono cases are gratifying, but you can't do them all the time. The personal injury stuff pays well, but it's cookie cutter work.

Responsibility: As a solo it's tough to take vacations or call in sick. There is no firm without you.

*I won’t mention his real last name since that would tell you where I went to law school, and you could use that

Coming Next Week: More Jobs I Don't Want to Do.

Helpful Home Improvement Hint Number 1

So that I can continue to consider this a Home Improvement Blog, without feeling guilty about the lack of progress, I'm going to post a weekly helpful tip that is based on my vast knowledge of fixing stuff (when I actually do real work). Here's the first one:

When using an extension cord with your power tools, tie the end in a knot like this. That way, if you move the tool around and pull on the cord, it won't become unplugged.

When people see you do this, they will think you are really handy. You can lie to them and tell them you thought of it, if you like. I only mention this because I secretly think most people who read the internets are liars...especially the ones from Nigeria who keep emailing me with investment advice. You can't ALL be the son of the former Prime Minister. Even with polygamy, the numbers would make Wilt Chamberlain envious.


In other news, on my way home from work Friday, I saw a line a half block long of people waiting for the iPhone. I saw on the news that some people have been waiting in line for a week. I don't know if I feel envy or pity for someone like that. The fact that you're life is so empty that you would spend a week of it in line so that you can buy something one day before anyone else means your life is pretty empty. The fact that you can take a week off work to sit in line for a phone means that your job is really not important, or you're unemployed or independently wealthy. So again, I don't know what to make of these people.

In still other news, I'm discontinuing the Investing Ninja website. The powers that be decided it's not a good idea for me to give investment advice, in light of my occupation. Since a paycheck means more to me than you random imaginary people, it's gone. I'd take the site down, but I lost the password (which is another good reason to discontinue it). Plus it takes a lot of time, and no one ever accused me of working too hard when I'm not getting paid for it. So from now on, if I feel like posting something that could be construed or misinterpreted as investment advice, I'll password protect it and you can ask for the password if you want to know what it says.

And finally, because I'm not shy about taking credit where credit taking is due, it's been about a year since I came out with the first Ninja Stock Pick on this very site. For those of you who are curious about how I did, I'm up about 37% for the year (which is better than almost all of the professional hedge fund managers). MAD SKILLZ, Bitchez!!! * I attribute the success to

1. my genius;
2. my hard work;
3. my competitive streak (I wanted to prove that I COULD beat the pros if I wanted to);
4. the bull market (I did really well, but I could've gotten a decent result in an index fund);
5. luck (although the lottery would disagree, I still think I'm lucky)
   

Next week I'll try to finally post some tuxedo pics. Also, maybe some pics of the Kitchen, which is looking better...a little. If there is anything else you want to see on here, let me know and I might consider it...or not.


*I think I'm far enough above the S&P 500 for my results to be considered to be non-random, but then again, I don't know if it's fair to compare my results to professional money managers because if I'd been running a bigger pool of money, my frictional costs might go up, which could erode my results. Also, I placed bets in accordance with my confidence level and, as a result, the portfolio was more concentrated than most, which may have produced some unusual measurements if you calculated the semi-variance, Sharpe ratio, or beta of my investments.

Escape From NY: I Rub a Bull's Balls

Impressions of New York

Well, my NYC trip was eventful. I don't think I'll get that job at the investment bank, but I did get a call from a different headhunter on friday about a different investment bank, for which I am less qualified, so I got that going for me.

I'm trying to decide whether I would want to go to NYC at all. Walking around there, reminded me of the things I hate about New York: the crowds, the traffic, the urine on the subways. I took the Amtrak Acela from DC to NY. It's better than flying because

• it goes from Downtown DC to Midtown NYC, so there's no need to ride in taxis that smell like wet goats, going to and from the airport;
• there's no TSA nazis making you take off your shoes and letting their hands linger inappropriately as they make sure that bulge in your pants really isn't a medium calibre firearm;
• on a train you never worry about the wing falling off because there are no wings on a train.

Within seconds of arriving I was greeted with real NYC hostility that is usually reserved for tourists (since I was rolling a carry on bag with me, they must've thought I wasn't local). I had the following happen to me over the course of a few days:

• fat angry black woman yelling at me because she didn't want to burn the two calories necessary for her to walk around my rolling bag;
• crazy white homeless guy saying "fuck you, I'm a fuckin' vet you wall street cocksucker" when I walked around him, ignoring his shaking change cup in my face (note to self, if going anywhere near homeless people, make sure not to wear such nice suits);
• agressive chinese woman, who was less than 5' tall shoved me out the way to get on the F train first while muttering something in either mandarin or cantonese. Despite her apparent rush, we both reach the station at the same time--because we were on the same train, not in the Amazing Race.
  

It was almost like a Bennetton ad. Yes, that's what NYC is, a Bennetton Ad with angry, ugly people.

My impressions of NYC:

1. There should be no unwanted pregnancies in NYC. There is a Duane Reade pharmacy every 3 blocks in the city. Anyone who can’t walk 3 blocks to get some condoms is probably too lazy to be entrusted with something like parenthood.
2. In midtown, every other shop is 10 feet wide and 20 feet deep and they all sell the same things. Yankees caps, cell phone accessories, and I [heart] NY t-shirts. The larger stores also sell shot glasses with pictures of the empire state building and statue of liberty. Either none of these stores make money or the tourists like to buy a lot of crap that would be the bane of a yard sale;
3. Things are more expensive now. Even Gray's Papaya is raising the price of their hot dogs to $1.25. I went there and had a hot dog and a papaya drink for old times sake. Since I left NY I haven't found anyplace besides Gray's that sells Papaya drinks, but that's probably because they taste like shit and cause cancer;
4. There is probably no internet in all of Manhattan because there are porn shops every other block in midtown. They also advertise that they sell Kung Fu Movies, but I didn't go in. If someone I know saw me coming out of one, I don't think they would believe that I am still searching for a copy of "The Five Deadly Venoms".
   

Another thing that bugs me in NY is that the apartments are really small. Before I bought the ninja fortress, I lived in a 435 square foot studio in Dupont Circle (like DC's lame version of Greenwhich Village, for those of you in NYC). In Manhattan, I'd be paying a lot of money to live in a studio that was no where near as big as that. My cousin, lives in a nice building in the east village, but her place is so small that she doesn't have a TV or dining table.

She does have HER priorities in order though. She's a shoe designer, and she's got lots of shoes. So even though she doesn't have a room for a TV, she's got almost two closets full of nothing but shoes.




Here is my faboulous cousin. She's in China right now, looking at some sweatshops.














See

















I don't know how many shoes she's got (I don't have time to count that high, but I did notice she's got at least 13 pairs of boots.

Here's some of them.









We hung out and went to hipster bars in NYC. Another thing that bugs me about New York is the pretense. Three different hipster bars, yet none of them had Coronas. I was told by a snooty waitress that Coronas are only served at places for the Bridge and Tunnel crowd.
Really? I got news for you, sweetie. Get off your high horse. You're a waitress, not Paris Hilton. We look about the same age and I'm sure I've got more stamps in my Passport than you do, so fcuk you and get me my beer.

Back to the story. So we hung with her, a couple of models and a designer she knows. A fun time was had by all.



Here's a pic of a model, my cousin and the designer.







The next day I had to go downtown to Wall Street to rub a bull's balls. Perhaps an explanation is in order. A few blocks down from Wall Street is a giant brass (bronze?) sculpture of a bull. A lot of tourists take pictures of themselves with the bull's horns. I was after a different part of its anatomy:

***FLASHBACK TO SEVERAL YEARS AGO***

Scene: Me talking to my friend, Duckets, who works at an investment bank.

Duckets: No, that balls thing is a myth. Most people on wall street don't believe in that. The only time you see that is on a big trading day when the market is tanking or something. Then you'll see a line of traders behind the bull waiting for their turn.

Me: Have you done it?

Duckets: Not very often. Only when I really need it.

Me: So you only rub the Bull's balls on special occassions?

Since I don't visit NYC every day, I guess that qualifies as a special occassion and I decided to rub the bull's balls for luck. In case you thought I was making up that story about the balls. Take a look at the following picture. You'll notice that the balls are much shinier than the rest of the sculpture.



Bulls Balls

Unconventional Thoughts on Father's Day

On Father’s Day, I usually think about the second time my Dad almost died.

After I graduated High School, I wanted to hang out and party and, generally be a degenerate, but my dad had other plans. My choices were to go to college or go to work with him--there wasn't really a third choice.

My Dad has his own construction company that varied in size depending on how the economy was doing in New York. He had as few as 5 employees at one point, and 30 people at another. I didn’t like the idea of doing construction with him because he’s not the easiest person to get along with and construction is hard work. I think he thought that “real work” would convince me to go college, but real work also meant real money and I wasn’t too upset with the gig.

After working construction for a few months, I was getting stronger without realizing it. After lifting 80lb bags of cement and pieces of drywall for 8 hours a day, I was getting stronger than I would've from going to the gym.

The day of the accident, we were doing a demolition job in Harlem. Demolition sucks and normally he wouldn’t have taken the job, but things were a little slow and he had 15 people to keep busy so he took it.

I was working on the second floor with my cousin, Little Joe, when I heard a giant crashing sound and saw that a giant metal staircase had come crashing down. There was a wave of dust that came down with it and washed over us. I was coughing and choking. When I looked over at the mass of twisted metal, I saw two white things staring back at me through the cloud of dust; a pair of eyes. It was my father.

I knew my father was working on the sixth floor, I was on the second. This was not good.

I ran up to the stairs. I saw my father’s expressionless face and it terrified me. He was staring straight ahead and his face was covered in dust. There was blood coming out of the corners of his mouth, his nostrils and his ears. His eyes were bloodshot.

His arm was wrapped in the railing of the stairs and his foot was twisted and trapped in the railing in a position that made it look like it wasn’t even part of his body. The metal had warped and wrapped around him like a serpent that was trying to devour him.

I grabbed the metal railing by his foot and felt that it was warm. As the metal bent and deformed it became warmer and felt alive. I tried frantically to move it, but it wouldn’t yield an inch. As strong as I was, I was useless against it. As I tried in a panic to free his foot I didn’t realize that I was hurting him. He put his hand on my shoulder and said “calmate” (calm down). When he mouthed the words I saw the bloody film on his teeth and really freaked out. I yelled for my cousin Little Joe.

My cousin little Joe is built like a linebacker, which is probably why the position he played in high school was linebacker. He came and helped and somehow we managed to get his foot free. We each grabbed an arm and carried him a few feet away and yelled for an ambulance.

After what felt like hours, the ambulance and fire truck arrived and the managed to get him out of there on a backboard with the help of a fire engine ladder. When I saw him on the backboard I started to really panic. As much as I fought with the old man, there wasn’t a second when I didn’t wish I could trade places with him right them.

***

At the hospital I looked around. I kept thinking that this was some kind of bad dream, that it couldn’t be real. I noticed the people, the grey walls with the peeling paint and tried to convince myself that it wasn’t really happening. Then I smelled that antiseptic hospital smell and I realized that it wasn’t imaginary. I saw a sea of faces staring at me and I couldn’t figure out why. I caught a glimpse of Indian man holding his crying child and he looked at me like he felt sorry for me. That enraged me. If he felt sorry for me, it had to be because something was wrong—something that I wouldn’t admit.



“What the fuck are you looking at!!!”

I grabbed the construction helmet off my head and threw it across the room. It landed at his feet.


“Hey!” A guard yelled. He got up from his chair by the door and walked toward me. I stood up and my body tensed up as I balled my hand tightly into a fist and waited for him to get closer so I could shove my fist in his face.

A heavy-set black nurse came from behind the reception desk and got between me and the security guard. I was filled with rage and didn’t know why she got in front of me, but she did the one thing I wasn’t expecting--she hugged me. “it’s allllright child.” She said. She caught me completely by surprise and I did something that I hadn’t done since I was seven years old: I cried.

“you’ll be alllright, jus’ go to dee baffroom and wash your face, child” she said in her musical Caribbean voice. The melodic cadence of Trinidadian, Jamaican or West Indian voices always remind me singing and for some reason that calmed me down a bit. She walked me to the bathroom while she argued with the guard who was unsure of what to do and wanted to call the cops.

“I tole you I’m takin’ kerrr of him, no gone back to your post and leave ‘im be. I’m takin kerrr of ‘im”

When I walked into the bathroom I looked in the mirror saw what the old man, and everyone else in the emergency room had been staring at. My face was hidden behind a macabre mask of dust, sweat and blood. Down the entire right side of my face was painted a muddy mixture of dried blood in an abstract pattern and there were two rivers from my eyes to my cheeks carved by the tears. I saw there was a lot of blood and realized that if I saw someone like that I would’ve stared too.

I walked to sink and let the water run. I splashed it on my face and as I washed the dust and blood off I looked on my scalp to find the place where I had been cut. I looked for it, but I couldn’t find it. Where did all that blood come from? Then I realized something that made me sick to my stomach. It was my father’s blood. I looked in the sink and as I saw the dark brown water swirl into the drain I thought about my father. If he died today, that would be all that was left of him.

I kept splashing cold water on my face, but I couldn’t wash away that feeling with soap and water.

I replayed the accident over and over again. I heard that you’re not supposed to move someone when they have an accident, but I did. Was that a mistake? What if I should’ve left him there ‘till the ambulance arrived. What if I didn’t move him fast enough. Maybe I did something wrong, and if he died today, it would be my fault.

When I left the bathroom, the Guard was still there with the nurse.

“Go’on for a walk outside an’ get some fresh errr” she sang.


I went for a walk outside.

There were two people outside smoking cigarettes. They must’ve sensed something was up and offered me a cigarette. Even though I smoked enough pot in high school to do entitle me to do cameos in every Cheech and Chong movie, I didn’t smoke cigarettes, but I took one anyway. My hand was shaking as I puffed away at it while I walked around the block a few times.

I ignored the people on the street and just walked and thought. I know a lot of useless trivia. I know that raphe nuclei are the only neuro transmitters that use serotinin; and that construction helmets are made from high-impact polystyrene. But the one piece of trivia that stuck in my mind is about fatalities. If you fall from less than 3 stories, your odds of survival are close to 100%. If you fall from 6 stories, your odds of survival are close to 0%. My father had fallen five stories. This was not good.

My Dad has worked in construction since he was 15 and is freakishly strong. When I was a kid, he was in a fight and someone hit him in the head with a tire iron. He picked up the guy and threw him through a car windshield. I hoped that he would be strong enough to survive this, but I wasn’t really sure.

***

Postscript:

Well, I don't feel like doing a part 2, for obvious reasons, so I'll sum up quickly. He ended up surviving the fall, but broke his back and both his ankles. For a while they weren't sure if he'd be able to walk again. But we had him transferred from that crappy hospital to the Center for Joint Diseases where he was operated on by the same doctor who worked on Gloria Estefan's spine. They put 3 pins in his back and he required a lot of physical therapy, but recovered pretty well. His gait isn't quite the same, and he can't bend from the waist like before, but that's really minor considering what he's been through.

After that accident he shut down his construction company and made me promise to go back to college--the law school thing is a different story.

Anyway, I guess you don't really realize how important certain people are in your life until something like this happens. So Happy Father's Day everyone!!!

Miscellany

My friend has an organization that has balls. I mean that literally. And this Saturday, is one of those balls. There is a ball on Saturday at the National Museum of Women in the Arts. So if you want to see one of my friend's balls, then you should go. There will be two, count 'em, two live bands, food, drinks, and me in a Tuxedo. Since I didn't get any good shots of me in a Tux at the wedding I went to, I'll try to get some of me at this event. You can buy tickets on the website. Bring your wife, and if she can't make it, then bring someone else's wife. What's a little adultery between friends?

In our Whaaaaaaaa? segment, why haven't the US newspapers picked up on this? Our moron president gets his watch stolen right in front of his crack Secret Service squad. Good job guys. I know you couldn't keep the First Daughter's wallet from being stolen right under your noses, but this...hahahhahaha.

Also, Bush should keep his mouth shut...always. How do you think the American people would react if the Russian President showed up in Texas and demanded independence for the parts of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California that were inhabited by illegal aliens from Mexico? Well, when you show up Albania and demand "independence" for Kosovo so that Albanians living there illegally can take the land from Serbia, don't you think that's a leeetle inflamatory? It's bad enough that halfwits like Madeline Not-All-That-Bright turned Yugoslavia into a bloodbath, why not send Bush in there to stoke up ethnic hatred and see what happens? Since you're plan for Iraq worked out so well, why not give the Serbs some tips on what to do in Kosovo, right?

In other news, I'll be in NY 'for the next couple of days. This is related to my long-term goal of running my own hedge fund one day. A head hunter called me a few weeks ago about a gig at an investment bank in NYC. I wouldn't mind an extra $100,000 a year in salary, but I don't know if that's going to help with my long-term goal of running my own fund and being my own boss. I don't know if I really want this job, but I know that I at least want to be offerred the job so that I can turn it down if I want. It's always good to have more than one date to the prom even if you are a hot chick with great tits. And I want these NY bankers to be in love with my professional tits. "My milkshake...is better than yours..."

In still other news, a few days ago someone, in my professional capacity, called me an asshole. He said it as he slammed the phone down and I'm guessing he didn't think I heard it. In case you're thinking this upset me, you'd be wrong. I think the feeling was mutual and I kinda like the fact that I ruined this guy's day and got to him enough that he couldn't even wait until the phone receiver was in the cradle until he let fly his little passive aggressive rant at me. Hehehehhehee.

Hopefully I can post more soon. I'll think of something, but my mind is mush right now. Since I don't feel like thinking for myself right now, does anyone have any suggestions for me on what to do? (besides "go fcuk yourself").

The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 2

Okay, here's Part 2 of the Ninja Mitvah. You should probably read Part 1 and Part 3 of the Ninja Mitzvah to acquaint yourself with the rest of the story.

Well, the Ninja Mitzvah went well. A fun time was had by all and everyone made it out with the same amount of fingers and toes that they came in with. Who could ask for more than that? After the ceremony, following our family’s tradition, we infiltrated a rival clan’s celebration and killed everyone who refused to support the Meiji Emperor’s appointment to the Japanese throne. Most of the people at the wedding had no idea what we were talking about so we killed them too. At first the bride and groom were upset, but when they realized that we had decapitated the guy who owned the catering hall and that they wouldn’t have to pay the balance of their bill, they invited us to sit down and have dinner with them. Since there were many dead guests, there were plenty of entrees to go around. You had a choice of herb crusted chicken or filet mignon. Good times!

Back to the story:

On the way down to the event, I had some blogworthy events. I got to drive the Ninja Heavy Armoured Assault Vehicle (“NHAAV”). I wasn’t used to it. The windows are small and it’s got more blind spots than Bush’s Iraq strategy, but it’s awesome to drive. Within the first 45 minutes, I almost got into an accident on the highway, but the NHAAV is so powerful that I didn’t even care. I felt invincible. I felt like I could take any lane I wanted and people would have to just get out my way because my NHAAV would demolish their little hybrid Toyotas, I felt like, well, like one of those assholes who drives a hummer…and I liked it. I think I could get used to being an asshole. Now I know how my brother feels 24 hours a day. I began to think about correlation and causation. Maybe people didn't drive giant SUVs because they are assholes, maybe they are assholes because they drive big SUVs. I asked my Dad how he liked driving the NHAAV.

Ninja: Did you ever run anyone over in this thing?

Dad: No…not yet. Heh heh heh. Don’t put that in your blog.

Ninja: Okay I won’t.

Oh man, look at this grill. This thing would be invincible in a zombie attack. You almost want the undead to rise up and roam the earth just so that you could show them you are not one to be fcuked with.










On the way down, I also saw a car on the side of the highway that was literally on fire. The woman ran out of her car and people were stopping to help her. I tried to get my dad to stop the NHAAV.

Ninja: Oh man! That car’s on fire, quick pull over!

Dad: Are you gonna try to help her?

Ninja: No! I wanna take a picture for my blog!

Unfortunately, Dad didn’t want to stop and by the time I got my camera out of my bookbag, we were passed the scene. Here is a picture that Mysterygirl drew to give you an idea.

I described what happened and she sent me this pic. I forgot to specify that the people were wearing clothes so she, apparently, drew them naked (but thankfully not anatomically correct, because this is a family blog). In her defense, I guess I didn't say that weren't naked, but (other than people in New Jersey) what kind of mental defective drives down the highway naked?


The ceremony itself was pretty interesting. I'd been to a few Bar/Bat Mitzvah parties when I was a kid, but never to the actual event. I got to phonetically sing in Hebrew, how cool is that? Shabat Shalom, bitchez!

Because photography is not allowed in a Temple, I was told by some of my Jewish relatives to get as many shots off as possible before the rabbi stops me, then plead catholic ignorance at the sacrilege I was committing. This didn’t seem plausible to me, because you’re probably not allowed to take pictures in Catholic Church either (actually, you’re not allowed to do much of anything in Catholic church except wallow in your own guilt). But I did it, and I immortalized my cousins’ transformation from boys to men.

At the Bar Mitzvah party, there were the usual jokes about the incongruity of their chronigical age with their being considered men. In the jewish faith, doing a bar mitzvah marks your transition from a boy to a man. Since I'm not jewish I became a man when I hunted and killed a bear using nothing but a compass, a bow and arrow and a loin cloth. Embarrassingly, I don't know how to use a bow and arrow, so when confronted by the bear I had to think of some other way to kill him. So I took off my loin cloth, and when the bear was distracted by staring at my junk (it was a female bear), I threw the compass at it's head and killed it.

Since my cousins are now adults, as their attorney I have advised them not to mention this ceremony if they are caught with a with over a kilo and the judge is considering charging them as adults. I have also sent a retainer to the Playaz to establish a legal defense fund for them.

After the event, I spent some time hanging out with my friend Double Down’s little sister, who is now semi-semi-famous. Apparently, she was in some commercial which is on TV in NYC every five minutes. She plays “Mairsol” a girl from Puerto Rrrrrrrico who is married to Russ, from North Dakota. This unlikely pairing required them to get a phone service with a long-distance plan that would allow them to call his redneck family in North Dakota and her racistly stereotypical Latin family in Puerto Rico for the same basic calling rate, with unlimited night and weekend calling. It’s for some Cable company in NYC which I’m not familiar with. (when I lived in NY, it sucked so bad that we didn’t even have cable…okay, I made that up, we did have cable, but it still sucked),

Anyway, it turns out that she is also a veejay on MTV. And she's living in sin with some semi-famous Latin music singer who's got a record deal with Sony. You can here some of his stuff here.


The reception was out of this world. I’ve seen a lot of weddings that were nowhere near as extravagant as this. It cost as much as my sister paid for her first house in Florida. I didn't take a picture of all the cool stuff, but this I had to immortalize:




The ice sculpture is something else, but those birds and the heart are carved out of a watermelon. Right now there is some guy in Long Island going to bars and talking to chicks and when they ask what he does for a living, he says "I make watermelon birds." Wow.



And here are the monogram thingies at the tables.


I didn't take a pic of all the food (because I'm not a loon) but this was interesting. Look at the chocolate covered strawberry. They used white and dark chocolate to make it look like a tuxedo. A little chocolate tuxedo.



I'll post the family pics next time because there are a lot of them and I suck with pictures. I know what you're thinking. I shouldn't have done Part 3 before Part 2, because now what will I call the post with pictures. That's a good question. We'll either call it Ninja Mitzvah Part 2.5 or maybe we'll call it the Appendix. Sort of like the reference section of a book, except with pictures of good looking people instead of the names of books.

Truth is stranger than fiction

There are things that one is never too young to learn. Among those, are fixing stuff and killing people. I bought my nephew toy power tools because he's already four, so he's old enough to tackle some rudimentary home improvement projects.



"Okay, I'll make you a shed, but I'm a union carpenter, so I gotta overcharge you, even though you're family."






I have fond memories of going hunting with my grandfather in Argentina when I was a little five year old. I remember when he killed an animal and ritualistically rubbed some blood on my cheeks to honor the occasion. I cried when he did it. But not because it's terrifying to a five year old to watch an adult kill something in front of you and wipe his bloody hands on your face. I was five, but even then I was too much of a man to cry for no reason like that. I was crying because, I, like, uhhh, pulled a muscle when I was uhhh, working on a transmission or something. What?

Anyway, I used to think that five years old is kinda young to teach a child how to kill something, but apparently I was a late bloomer. There's a guy in Illinois who got his son, Bubba (no, I'm not making this up) a license to own a gun. Bubba is 10 months old, by the way. You can read about it Here.

I have no idea if li'l Bubba can fix stuff around the house, but if he can handle a gun at 10 months old, I think that makes him an honorary ninja.

Progress Report and Abandoned Blogsperiments

I'm going to be posting less over the summer because

1. it's nice out and blogging requires me to stay inside;
2. I'm making some house progress, but I need pics to show you and posting pics is hard, even with a MacBook, if you're as technologically ignorant as me;
3. I have a job interview in NYC that I'm prepping for and if that job comes through, I may take it and quit blogging completely, so it might be good to cut down on it little by little;
   
4. I'm busy with stuff that I don't blog about.
   

But...I will try to post once a week for the time being. To fill you in on future happenings on this site:

1. Part 2 of the Ninja Mitzvah is almost finished. It's some of my finest work, which isn't saying much. You'll laugh, you'll cry...it will be like when Father Murphy had that tickle fight with you and the altar boys and decided to make it "shirts vs. skins" and things got weird all of a sudden.
   
2. I'll post some pics of the Kitchen Cabinets so far and the structural issue I need to address before I go further. Farther? Ummm, before I proceed.
   
3. I pick up the Tux on Wednesday, so I'll try to take pics and show you people. It's getting alterations now, so I don't know if it will require more than one fitting.
4. I signed up for that Donald Trump "way to wealth" seminar, after watching the annoying infomercials. I don't plan on buying more real estate (or his program), but I figured it would be cool to meet The Donald, and then make inappropriate cliche'd jokes about his hair, and his fondness for eastern european models that are half his age on my blog. The seminar is next week.
   

In the meantime: when I was bored with this blog I thought of doing a few features (blog experiments) and see how they go. Ultimately, I abandoned them all because I'm too lazy, errr, busy to do them, but here are the abandoned blogsperiments and plausible excuses as to why I didn't go through with them. If someone else wants to do them I don't mind, as long as you give me credit. And by credit, I mean cash.



Blogebrity Impersonator: In this experiment, I was going to guest post on certain “in character” blogs as the person who’s writing the blog. For instance, I guest post on your blog, pretending to be you.

Why I decided against it: There were a few character driven blogs or blogs that had a Schtick that I wanted to guest post on (like El Guapo or Jordan Baker’s Friday Q&A), but the one celebrity impersonation that I think I would’ve been best at, The Anonymous Lawyer, turned it down. So without that blog, I decided against it. If I went ahead with it, it would like going to Florence and not being overcharged to see Michaelangelo’s David. It would be like going to a strip club and not being told “if you touch my breasticles again I’m gonna break your fingers.” You sorta need the defining experience to pull it off. Anyway, if you 'd like for me to do it, send Anonymous Lawyer some nasty emails until he agrees, then buy his book on Amazon, to make it up to him.



Celebrity Interviews: I thought some celebrity interviews would be a good way to eventually get Judy Greer or Rachel McHottie to call me. Since I don’t know any famous people, I figured I would call up other bloggers I know and have them answer my questions by pretending to be the celebrity and using only information contained in Wikipedia.

Why I decided against it: I dunno. It seems like a lot of work. Who would I get to do the interviews? What if I didn’t like the answers? What if the blogger wanted to be some other celebrity. For instance, who would want to be Rosie O’Donnel, even if it was only make believe. Plus, if I did it on the phone I’d have to write it down, if I did it by email, I couldn’t ask follow up questions. IM, maybe?



Figuring out Women: Since several women have told me that if you want to understand women you should watch Sex and The City, and since it’s on in reruns every day, I figured I would watch it everyday for a month and discuss my thoughts on the show like once a week or something.

Why I decided against it: I watched the show for a week and a half, then I started getting stomach pains. When I went to the emergency room, the doctor told me that I was growing an ovary and that I should never watch SATC again. He said I was extremely lucky that they caught it before it was irreversible. If I had watched Grey’s Anatomy instead, I would have grown a uterus, which is incurable. So luckily I watched the show that has the chick with the horse face instead.


This Blog Writes Itself: In an homage to the retired Diet Coke of Evil, I was gonna have people make suggestions about what I should write about, and then I would write about it. For instance, some one could say “tell us about the first time you ever tried alcohol” I would write about the time I was in High School at a house party and a cute girl wanted to do a shot of vodka with me (I had never even tried beer before that). And how I tried to down it like I’d seen in the movies, but the vodka burned my mouth and I spit it out all over her Madonna-inspired hoochie wear. You know, stuff like that.

Why I decided against it: Felt too much like a Meme, which I don’t really do.



More Posts About Celebrities that I want to Nail: Although there are entire fan websites that do nothing but post pics and discussion about Judy Greer and Rachel McAdams, oops, McHottie, there are at least 8 other hotties on my Top 10 List of Celebrities that I would leave my future wife for. (Technically, I have 15 girls in my top 10 list, but I’m a lawyer so I can get away with stuff like that). So I thought about posting stuff about the other celebrities that I’m not-so-secretly in love with and why I want to nail them above everyone except 14 other women in the universe.

Why I decided against it: Eh? Do you really care about why I’d rather nail Eva Green than Angelina Jolie?

Audience Participation

Okay, I need some audience participation from the people in DC. I need to buy a Tuxedo sometime in the next couple of weeks. Now, read that carefully, I need to BUY a tuxedo, not rent one. I won't wear someone else's pants. EVER. There are three things that you should never rent or buy used:

1. Bubble gum;
2. hypodermic needles;
   
3. things that go on your crotch.
   

So what I need from you people is a place that sells tuxedos. I went to one tuxedo place--the one on P Street next to my tanning salon (stop laughing, you know you go there too)--and the guy showed me the rentable tuxedos, but the ones that you can buy only exist in the sample books. And I'm not spending that kind of money on something that I can't try on first. I also tried that JPress place on L Street. But they only had one tuxedo. ONE Tuxedo!!!

Now, I know that some people look like douchebags, no matter what they are wearing.

Yes, I'm talking about you, Ryan Gossling. And since you're dating Rachel McHottie, who is second only to Judy Greer in my affections, this won't be the last time you are mocked on my blog. So get used to it, asshat.

Anyway, some people look like douchebags no matter what they wear, but I am not one of those douchebags....errr, people. I want a tux that makes me look good.


So here's what I'm looking for:

A nice classic tuxedo. Nothing funky

Not like this tool is wearing.






Something like this maybe:





But nothing that makes me look like a pussy.




In terms of price, something midrange. (like $600-$900) I don't need an Armani Tux, but I don't want a cheap one either. It should be something that I could wear again (although I probably won't).

So do you know of any places in DC/MD/VA that match that description?

Blog Day of Mourning

Today, Friday May 4th, my ex is getting married. So this will be an official blog day of mourning on my site. Of all my exes, she is probably the one who would've made the best wife.

It's kind of ironic that when we were dating I couldn't remember our anniversary or her birthday, but I remembered the day she is marrying someone else. But life if full of little ironies like that. It's ironic that people tell me I should have more common sense, but common sense is the thing that tells you that the earth is flat. It's ironic that the Jehova's Witnesses tell me that I should find Jesus, but when I found him, he said "tag...you're it!" It's ironic that we have the best university system in the world, but we elect a functional illiterate to lead us.

Today is also the day a friend is making a life-altering decision. I won't say more about it, but I'll discuss it over drinks and dinner tonight with my friend and few others and although I think my friend's mind is made up, at least we can discuss it over a less erudite and more vulgar version of the Algonquin Round Table.

Fogo de Owwwwwww

I participated in an eating contest at Fogo de Chao.

For those you that don’t know, Fogo de Chao is an upscale restaurant with all you can eat barbecue meat. I know that sounds like an Oxymoron but it’s true. The way it works is that you have a coaster on you table with a red side and a green side. If the green side is showing, people come around with slabs of meat on a spit and keep putting it on your plate until you give up and turn your disc to the red side. If the green side is up, the meat keeps coming until you turn that disc over or you die. If you die, they call an ambulance and throw a few pieces in a doggy bag for you to take to the morgue. They don’t mess around at Fogo, baby.

My friend Dirty Dave was visiting and I decided to challenge him to an eating contest to make up for the drinking contest I lost to him in 2000. The fabled Pre St. Patty’s day drinking contest was between me, Dave, U-Boat, Shamus McIrish and Fat Kid Who’s Name I forget.

Dirty Dave was sure his drinking prowess was unmatched. He had some advantages in his favor. He weighed about 30 lbs more than U-boat, or McIrish, (50 lbs more than me) and he’s from a rednecky place where people marry their cousins and start drinking when they’re still in diapers (which in this place, means when they are 10).

Now here’s some random facts about U-Boat. He’s from germany and his real name is Adelbert, but we call him U-Boat because we know it offends him. Actually, I think he’s exaggerating about how offensive he finds it, because it’s common knowledge that Germans love it when you make WWII jokes at their expense.

So FKWNIF dropped out after nine beers, even though he was the heaviest of all of us. I don’t buy his B.S. story that he “had a couple before he got there’. I tapped out at 12 beers and could barely stand. McIrish downed an impressive 15 beers, then threw up outside. He was just trying to get some air, but the beer had other ideas. U-Boat and Dave were up to 16 beers when the place closed and they agreed to continue the contest the next day (St. Patty’s Day).

U-Boat calls in at noon and is ready to start drinking again. Dave was so hungover, that he couldn’t even get up to walk his dog, and as a result, he ended up sleeping next to dog poop all night. He said “no mas” and conceded defeat. Victory for the Nazis…errr, I mean Germans.

Because I’m competitive, the fact that I came in fourth in a drinking contest has bothered me for the last 7 years. I couldn’t beat Dave at drinking, but I thought I might be able to beat him at eating. I put on about 20 lbs from stress eating when I thought I was gonna die, so I’m closer to his weight now. I’m also a pretty good eater. I ate 2.5 jumbo pizza slices once in Adams Morgan without breaking a sweat (it would’ve been 3 but the cabbie said I couldn’t bring food in the car).

The rules were simple, we each had to eat exactly what the other person ate, and the first person to flip his disc from green to red would lose.

I was holding my own against Dave, but I was clearly nearing full stomach capacity and that fat bastard was still going strong. Just when I was about to give up because I couldn’t eat anymore, I got a sign from the heavens: Filet Mignon wrapped in bacon.

Filet Mignon wrapped in Bacon!?! Now, I’ve told you before about how much I love bacon. Oh sweet, sweet bacon. If bacon was a girl, she would be sooooo hot. Now, Filet Mignon tastes awesome on it’s own, but there’s only two things I can think of that could possibly improve how enjoyable it is:

• 1) covering it in Heroin;
• 2) wrapping it in bacon.

Anything tastes good wrapped in Bacon. FACT! In fact, even if you wrapped an olive in bacon, I would think about eating it (although at the last minute I would probably come to my senses and eat the bacon and throw away the olive).

Eventually, Dave won the eating contest. After a while I couldn’t eat any more…even for bacon. I tried a few tricks (like covering the meat in Chimmichurri sauce when my body started to rebel at eating more proteins), but in the end, Dave was just too much of a fat bastard and sometimes a determined will is no match for a fat stomach. I think Sun Tzu said that.

The next day we went out drinking with him, Tiny, and a few girls. Eventually, it got late and Dave, me and Tiny ended up at a dive bar in G’Town.

Now I’ve seen Dirty Dave and Tiny do some questionable things* in the past, but that night I saw a rare display of chivalry. There was a young chick who was so drunk she could barely stand and four creepy arab guys were trying to drag her out of the club and probably date rape her. Tiny (who was a Division I wrestler with Dirty Dave) pulled the girl away and saved her. The creepy guys started yelling at DD and Tiny. They didn’t know I was with DD and Tiny, so I moved behind the creeps so that if one of them took a swing I would hit him from behind with my beer bottle. What? Oh, like you’ve never done that?

Luckily, after some yelling, and “we’ll be waiting for you outside” threats, the creepy guys left without me having to break a beer bottle against the back of their heads. It was almost a full bottle so it would’ve been a shame to waste it. Tiny and Dave then carried her up the stairs and put her in a cab and gave the cabbie $10 to drive her home. Just when I thought I didn’t know who these guys were, Tiny said to Dave “I think she liked you…you should’ve asked to squeeze her tit before she left.” Yep, that’s Tiny.

Then I started getting text messages from my friend who was at Wonderland and wanted me to meet her and some other people out. I couldn’t get Dave and Tiny to go, so I left them there and drove over.

Friend was out with a cougar who was on a date with a guy that was, literally, barely old enough to drink. Friend told me not mention how old the Cougar is. She said the Cougar met the kid online and he didn’t know she was 12 years older than him. Apparently, the kid was legally blind or brain damaged. Because he thought a track suit was acceptable to wear on a first date, I’m assuming he was brain damaged. There were, it turns out, a couple of bloggers there too, but I haven’t seen them mention this night yet, so I’ll let them remain anonymous (yes, I’m talking to you, Cougar).

Anyway, I’m tired of typing, so THE END.

Coming Soon: Part 2 of the Ninja Mitzvah story.

*I’ve mentioned before how Dirty Dave will “teabag” an unattended drink, but I’ve got a few Tiny stories that make that look tame. I'll keep them to myself since this is a PG-13 blog, and because I don't want to get my ass kicked.

Greenspan Still a Moron: Housing Thoughts

Whenever someone tells me I'm wrong about something, I usually assume they are morons, and I'm usually right. When I bought the Ninja Fortress, I anticipated a housing correction because of the stupid things that Greenspan was doing to the ecomony, but I thought that I was getting a good enough deal (and that the neighborhood was developing fast enough) that I would still do okay. The Washington Post has article Here about the housing situation proves I'm right about him.


Sales of previously owned homes in March fell 8.4 percent from February, the group reported. It was the largest one-month drop since sales plummeted 12.6 percent in January 1989, when the country was in a housing recession. It was also 11.3 percent below the number of units sold in March 2006.

Not surprisingly, industry shill David Lereah attributed the decline to "bad weather". Where did you go to college again, David? The housing bubble Greenspan created got people greedy about real estate. They saw other people make LOTS of money for doing nothing and figured "if it's raining gravy, why I am standing here with a fork" and they bought houses they didn't intend to own so they could sell them a few months later and double their money.

I actually met Alan Greenspan once, but I was in celebrity shock so I didn't tell him what I thought about the job he was doing.

Friend: Holy sh1t, man, we just shook Greenspan's hand. Alan Fcuking Greenspan, man!

Me: Yeah...but I forgot to call him an asshole.

If someone offered to loan me money so that I could buy a million dollar yacht, I wouldn't take them up on it because I have no business owning a million dollar yacht. So just because Greenspan made it possible for banks to offer lots of people enough money to buy homes that they couldn't afford, doesn't mean they should take him up on it either. After all, Alan's not the one who's gotta make the mortgage payments.

Greenspan created an artificial boom that made people feel like things were okay, but it has to be paid for eventually. It's like buying things on your credit credit card. You FEEL like you are doing okay because you have all this new stuff in your house, but then the bill comes and you're screwed. You can't make people richer by printing more money.* If you could, the government would just gear up the printing presses and send everyone a check for a million dollars? There are lots of millionaires in Turkey, unfortunately a million turkish dollars is worth about $0.18. And you don't know what disgusting is until you've seen a Turkish Toilet.

Unfortunately, Alan burned the dinner and now we all have to eat it. The drop in housing prices will mean people in the housing sector will get laid off. Greenspan is making great money on the lecture circuit though, so as long as his parachute opens, he doesn't care.

A lot of people who bought houses they couldn't afford, but figured they would sell them to a bigger sucker in 6 months will go into foreclosure and the banks will get burned and will be hesitant to make new loans. We'll be paying for his foolishness with higher interest rates.

I hate to say I told you so, Alan, but you suck!

*See the www,mises.org website on my sidebar for information on the Austrian Business Cycle Theory (for which Hayek won the Nobel Prize in Economics), which proves this point empirically.

YouTubey Goodness

In lieu of a real post, here's some random video entertainment from the net, that is work safe. I think of all the dumb marketing ideas by real estate developers, this is the dumbest. I found out about it from Boston Gal's website.

Here is a series of clips that were used as an internet marketing ploy by a homebuilder. It’s really odd. It features a plotline about their target buyer (a young urban professional who can afford a luxury condo, but isn’t really looking to buy one). The plot goes like this: girl breaks up with slacker boyfriend and moves in with flaming gay male friend. Meets metrosexual guy in building who they can’t decide is gay or straight. Girl discovers that he’s straight, and does what any single hetero gal in her shoes would do. She spends half a million dollars to buy a condo in his building in the hopes that it will get him to like her. Any girl can start going to the gym and highlighting her hair, but guys like it when a girl goes the extra mile and buys a condo in their building. It’s sorta sweet in a psycho hose beast kinda way.







Here is a clip that has three of my favorite things: Jennifer Love Hewitt; sweet, sweet breasticles; and Hanes underwear. I don’t have to explain why I love Jennifer Love Hewitt and her sweet, sweet breasticles, but a few words about Hanes are in order. As you may know from my investing site, Hanesbrands is my second largest position in the Ninja portfolio (after Smith and Wesson). I had hoped to get a 30% return in about a year, then sell it. It’s up more than 30% in 5 months, plus they are launching new products like this Comfort Soft bra and they just signed a contract with a big retailer who will carry their products in several thousand stores. $ $ $ Cha Ching $ $ $ So on behalf of my fortune, I encourage you all to wear Hanesbrands bras and panties (which includes Wonderbra, Playtex, Barely There and Just My Size). If you are working out, be sure to only wear Champion Brand sweats (also by Hanesbrands). Also, if I have stared at your sweet, sweet breasticles recently, I was “researching” this stock. I loooooove me some research.



Here is a video on How to Break Up. It’s educational as well as funny.




And here is a video that I found with some Northern Eagle Claw Kung Fu on it. It has some demonstrations of Grandmaster Shum doing some Wu Style Tai Chi self defense on it too. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Tai Chi, there are three kinds. Wu style, and the other two kinds, which are practiced by wimps. I think part of the reason that Tai Chi is so deadly is that it's practiced in slow motion by old people. I think, in combat, it's really demoralizing to your opponent if they get their ass kicked by an old man who is moving in slow motion, so it makes people unwilling to even fight you.

Back soon with a real post soon, hopefully.

Joining the Boycott

Velvet is a good friend. In the past she’s helped me paint my house, loaned me deviant porn (that she thinks she’s getting back), and told me when I was wearing clothes that were too close to the euro/gay line. So I won’t be attending the Happy Hour. Getting back at people by posting their real names and phone numbers on a website is not cool. So I won’t go to a Happy Hour with people who think that’s okay. And if you are thinking of going to a Happy Hour and revealing your identity to people who are so careless about safeguarding it, then lots of luck to you.

FREE PLUG: DC LINDY EXCHANGE

For those of you in the area looking for something to do this weekend, check out the DC Lindy Exchange. If you're wondering what that is, I'll pretend to know what I'm talking about. It's where swing dancers from all over come to DC to dance with the locals and trade moves. There will be events all day & night Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Some are free, some are not. Some have live bands, some have DJs. Anyway, you can find out more from the website. I plan on trying to go to a couple of events. If you see me there you can shake my hand if you're a guy or dance with me if you're a girl. You'll recognize me by my incredible swing dance moves that look suspiciously like salsa moves that are done to a different rhythm. Also, I'll be dressed in black and killing people between dances. See you there.

Random Thoughts on Housing and Shooting Yourself in the Face With Powertools

This is one of those times when I'll post something timely that is actually useful. Don't get used to it because I don't do it too often. Usually, if you if you learn something from here it will be despite my efforts, not because of it.

Here is an interesting article on housing in the NY Times. It makes the point that when house prices are really, really high, sometimes it makes more sense to rent rather than buy. I think they should've printed this 5 years ago. A lot of the problems that we are having in the real estate market would've been avoided if people kept in mind that buying is better than renting, but not if you buy at any price that would've been considered insane a few years ago. It sorta reminds me of the dot com era when a company with nothing but a website, like eToys (which never made any money) stock was selling at a price that made it worth more than twice as much as Toys R Us (which had billions in sales, lots of real stores and which actually turned a profit every year).

The article caught my eye because they mentioned Hollywood Florida, where my Dad used to live. He ended up selling his house about a year ago for what I thought was an outrageous price. A price that I can only attribute to the unrealistic expectations of buyers in the real estate market, or to heavy drug use.

Speaking of heavy drug use, here is another article that caught my eye in the news. It seems that nailgun injuries are up 200% from 5 years ago, mostly due to weekend warriors buying nailguns and shooting themselves with it. Now, I have a compressor and nailgun that I bought, so I find this particularly interesting. Especially since the nailgun has a safety that makes it unlikely that you could ever unintentionally hurt yourself unless you are really, really, careless or do something really, really stupid like the guy who shot himself in the face with his nailgun. I hope to be using my nailgun this weekend when I do some work in the MacGuyver kitchen, so I 'll keep this article in mind if I am tempted to see if my nailgun is working by holding it up to my face and pulling the trigger.

In other news, I've avoided mentioning dating in this blog because I want to keep this blog focussed on ninjas and toilets. But since I found out that I am not going to die, I started dating again. I don't think I want to turn this into a dating blog because only chicks write dating blogs, and I don't have a uterus (although I was worried that I might have grown one when I was forced to watch an episode and a half of Grey's Anatomy). But I have some thoughts on it. Anyway, a prominent chick dating blogger said she would publish my screeds on dating if I sent them to her. Should I do that and tell you where it is? Or do you people want to read it here? I don't want to set up another blog for dating because I already have a second blog and it's too much work (although my Investing Site kicks ass, if I do say so myself), but I don't want this site to be a random collection of eclectic things that don't match. If you want that, you can just go to my grandmother's living room and look at her curio cabinet. Anyway, so do you internets want me to post stuff about it here, or on another site.

(by the way, this will be general dating stuff, I won't mention specific incidents because it's disrespectful).

Random Stuff about Easter, Passover and Heart Disease

I'll step out of character for a minute to tell you people to check out this NY Times Article on Heart Disease. (free registration required). And if anyone has a history of heart disease in your family, please get yourself checked out.

Back to randomness:

Easter came and went with no big deal. In honor of the Baby Jeebus, today I will eat a chocolate bunny in silent solemnity. A chocolate bunny that I was too lazy to get out of my car on Sunday because it was cold out.

Also, Happy Passover to our Jewish readers. As many of you are aware, although I'm Catholic, I observe Passover because it's a holiday that is sacred to the Ninja. Thousands of years ago, the Lord sent his ninja, the angel of death, to kill the first born child of every egyptian in the middle of the night. All I have to say about that is: MAD SKILLZ!

And finally, I'll start posting some pics fo the progress in the MacGuyver kitchen hopefully this week (which means probably next week).

The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 3

Okay, if you're wondering what the hell happened to Part 2, it's still in the works because it's got a lot of pics and me working a computer is like George Bush trying to do calculus. Anyway, so assume I told you about the actual event and reception and I'm on my way home.

The night before, The Bensonhurst Kid and his wife come up to Long Island (pronounced "Lawwhng-EYE-lind") to show me their new baby. It was a really cute poopy factory, let me tell you. The Bensonhurst Kid and I have been friends since we were about 14, so it was good to see him again and especially good to see his new baby. He had been married before and his pregnant wife died in the Twin Towers on 9/11, so it messed him up pretty bad after that. But he's a fighter (I mean that literally, he was a kickboxer) and he doesn't go down no matter how hard you hit him. So it's good to see him back like his old self again. Anyway, I won't post a pic of him out of respect for his privacy.

Monday morning I decided to stay a while in manhattan and catch the last Amtrak back to DC (the train costs more than flying, but it's worth it). I was going to meet my friend Double Down, a blogger who said she had a blog crush on me, and my imaginary girlfriend (who works with the Bensonhurst kid and has a real life non-blog crush on me).

Double Down works at a big investment bank. I have a LOT of good stories about when we were growing up, but I won't mention them on here because they make me look as bad as they do him. But I will say that if I ever have kids, I will make them play little league soccer on the same team that I did. I don't know what it was about that team, but most of the kids who played on it are doing pretty well (except for the one who died). There's a doctor, a lawyer (me), an investment banker, an executive at a drug company and a few others.

Here's a pic of me and Double Down at his desk, where he is a very big deal. His office has many leather-bound books and smells of rich mahogany, if you know what I mean. He showed me his trading desk, which has 4 computer screens going at the same time. Luckily it's at work. At home, I think with four computer screens and a T1 line you could overdose on p0rn, if you're not careful, but whatever.


Anyway, we met at a bar near Double Down's offices. I arranged to meet him, blogger and Imaginary girlfriend all at the same time. This was interesting since none of them knew each other beforehand. It was either gonna’ be lot of fun, or a blurb in the crime section of the NY Post. (“mediocre lawyer and prominent banker beaten to death by irate internet dates”). It was fun though. There were many jokes made, and lots of double entendres were bandied about without any drinks or pepper spray in my face. We met at an Irish bar which refined the art of fried cuisine to some disturbing heights. I didn't know what my imaginary girlfriend looked like, but she was pretty cute. She was a Brazilian girl, who in the US would be considered a light skinned black girl, or a dark skinned latina. I'm only saying that to give you people an idea of what she looked like. Because I'm not prejudiced I don't even notice skin color when I talk to people...only breast size. Hers were nice, after I got her to take her coat off, I started picturing what they would look like in Carnaval. Niiiice. She was pretty impressed with Double Down's ability to speak Portuguese (he lived in Brazil for a couple of years on business). At first I thought someone else was her because before she arrived, she was on the phone telling me that she couldn't find the place, when another girl walked in front of the window who also talking on the phone and looking around like she was lost.

Ninja: what do you mean you can't find it? You just walked right past it, I'm looking right at you.

Girl: No you're not. What do I look like?

Ninja: You're an angry Chinese woman in your late 30s.

Girl: Uhhhh...what?

Ninja: Oh, excuse me...."Asian".

After a while, the Girl who Blogs, came in. And I have to say, she was a cutie. She was tiiiiny. Less than 5' tall (she wouldn't say how much less) and she talks like she blogs, which is a good thing because I like her blog. If I lived in NY and she had bad taste in men, I would definitely date her. Anyway, she gave me a shout out on the Dr. Blogsteins radio talk show the other day. After several drinks and appetizers soaked in trans fats, we left for the evening. I made it back to the train station with 10 minutes to spare and caught the 10:05 train. If I had missed that one, the next train to DC left at 3am, and that would leave me 5 hours with nothing to do except talk to the homeless people in Penn Station about conspiracy theories. I had a book with me that I bought for the train, which quite frankly sucked, so I probably would prefer talking to homeless people or Tranny Hookers (Hi Porter Goss!!!) than finish that book.

Anyway, I'm back now, and I'm making some progress on the ninja fortress. Next week I'll also start back at the gym and stop eating crappy food. I was eating like a fat girl sitting home from the prom for the past couple of months because, well, I thought I might die, so I didn't think it really mattered. But now I'm planning on getting back in shape. Technically, I'm in shape now, but I'd like to be in a shape that doesn't resemble a barrel.


Looking at this pic you can kinda tell that I put on some weight since November. I am no longer at 10% body fat, but I don't want to know the new percentage because it doesn't really matter. I'm not a fatass, but I look forward to getting back to fighting weight.

Normal

Yesterday I had one of the greatest days in my life. I had a complete stranger tell me that I was normal. That may sound like nothing, but the complete stranger was a cardiologist so the fact that he said I was normal was better than winning the lottery. For the past couple of months I've put on a few pounds and several grey hairs worrying about the results of a sonogram that I had done on my heart. Readers of my blog will remember that a few months ago I was bragging about the results of some special tests I had done. I also mentioned that the technician did a sonogram of my heart and told me that they would mail the test to a cardiologist who would mail me back the results. I got the results back on Valentine's Day. The irony of getting a letter on Valentine's Day that said I could potentially die of a broken heart was not lost on me.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. If the worst thing you could do to a paranoid person is follow them around with black helicopters, the worst thing you could do to a hypochondriac is to tell them that there is something wrong with them; something fatal. After I had a physical, I scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist. The referring doc said it was "probably nothing" but not to exercise in the meantime...just in case. I wanted to be reassured, but I wasn't. It's like when the police tell you that you're not a suspect, but that you shouldn't leave town. The doctor said the results had "TDS" or Technically Difficult Study written on them, meaning it was difficult for them to get a good picture of my heart, which might be why something looked abnormal to them. Shit. "Abnormal". I get freaked out even typing that word.

After worrying that I, literally, might die, the word "normal" has never sounded so good to me. After another sonogram, which involved a hot nurse (no, really, really hot) rubbing gel on my macho ninja chest, and a stress test which involved me running on a treadmill while being hooked up to more wires than the back of my computer, the results were: NORMAL. Although the other tests I took before all said that I was exceptional in every way--Ninja-esque, in fact. I was ecstatic that I was "normal;" more than ecstatic in fact. The man with more degrees than a thermometer and a strange accent said I was normal. THANK YOU, GOD!!!

The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 1

Well, I'm outta' town for the weekend. I'm in NY for a Bar Mitzvah (oh vey!). I know what you're thinking: Jewish Ninjas? Well, yes. Let's not forget the Taga Ninja Clan's 42nd grandmaster was Abraham Hirohito. He made two of the greatest contributions to the dark art of the shadow warrior.



Firstable, The ninja throwing star. Few people are aware that Abraham crafted the first throwing star out of a star of David. Legend has it that several ninja masters were invited over for a Passover dinner and one of the Shinobi inadvertently insulted his wife's Matzoh Ball soup. This particular ninja's command of the yiddish language was not what it should be and when he said he had to pee, he used the wrong verb in yiddish and inadvertently said the soup tastes like pee. Abraham grabbed the nearest table ornament, A star of David, and killed him. The eldest ninja grandmaster saw this remarkable feat and proclaimed that all Ninja warriors should begin using throwing stars as weapons. He also proclaimed that if anyone had to go to the bathroom, they should really, really, hold it 'till they get home.



He also came up with the idea of wearing black. Before him, ninja's would wear a uniform disguised to look like whatever they were hiding near. So if they were in the forest, the would wear a uniform that looked like a tree. If they were infiltrating a castle, they wore a uniform that looked like bricks and mortar. Abraham, using his connections in the Japanese Garment district, was able to get several hundred hasidic outfits (wholesale, no less!) and passed them out as gifts to his ninja friends during chanukah (the "c" is silent, just like a ninja...coincidence?).

So from then on, the ninjas started wearing black and throwing ninja stars...the end.




Before I left, I walked the 2 blocks from my office and attended the first couple hours of a Blogger Happy Hour. I saw BettyJoan (who it turns out I have some things in common with), Arjewtino (an Argentinian Jew who's probably related to me by marriage or incest), I66 (who's part asian, but I'm afraid to ask if he's a ninja, because the only way to be sure if someone is a ninja is to have them kill you), LemonGloria (who seems to have a girl on girl blog crush on someone I know...wow, that's hot), Martin (who I suspect may be part of the Matrix), Across the River (who I'm sure was disappointed by how un-ninja like my shirt was), and someone who recognized me, but looks totally different from the last time I saw her. She quit blogging because of a stalker, started a new blog, made herself look even hotter than before and said to me "hey ninja, don't you remember me? I used to be [blank] but I stopped blogging when I thought someone was going to kill me to vent their pent up rage and sexual impotence. I write under the name [new blank] now." There were some other people there I talked to who I'm sure I'm forgetting. If you're a girl and I forgot to mention you, then please passively aggressively complain about it to your girlfriends of anyone else before you finally tell me how hurt you were. Then I'll pretend I don't know what you're talking about; will reluctantly admit I was wrong; and buy you flowers and apologize for it while secretly resenting you for making me apologize for something that was unintentional. If you're guy and are upset that I forgot to mention you, then stop being such a wussy. Seriously, Chief, do your ovaries hurt when you cry?

Anyway, after my family is done driving me crazy, I'l be back in DC. I'm planning on making a pitstop in NYC where I'll try to meetup with 3 people before i leave. My childhood friend, the Bensonhurst Kid, my imaginary girlfriend (who works with BK and has a real life non-blog crush on me) and a blogger who I've been wanting to meet for a while. I'll report back next week.