el shipo no sinko

Why is it that even though planes are the safest way to travel there are all these rules and instructions that accompany every commute from the moment you enter one airport to the moment you arrive at another one? How come the safety instructions are a bit more lax on boats? You get on a cruise ship and there's no detailed instructional video with survival techniques. You are simply pointed in the general direction of the lifeboats (not enough for everyone so first jump first serve) and possibly given a life vest. Why? Because everyone knows that if something goes awry (which it probably will) the sinking vessel will generate a powerful enough whirlpool to take down you and your flotation device with it. If disaster does strike some lucky bastard will end up sitting in his lifeboat with his life vest on while someone else will look on in admiration. The designer of the Titanic tried to fool everyone with "this ship is unsinkable" bullshit but after everyone watched Dicaprio's face disappear into the clear blue water during nighttime the lies have ceased. We all know by now that if it floats, it's sinkable. Also if you're a man more bad news for you. While the women and children get all the vests and boats your ass is wondering if you can still climb on that iceberg.
Potential doom is the reason why Tom? Cruise ships have everything you can ever imagine on board. In case it's your last trip you can go down a happy camper. There is an overabundance and excess of everything. Alcoholics can drink nonstop, the obese can eat, the gamblers can gamble, the sunbathers can tan, etc. Think of any possible vice that's bad for you in small quantities and multiply that amount by some huge number and you'll get an idea of your total exposure while on vacation. The attacks on your health stop short of unlimited radiation dosage due to immediate expiration instead of give or take a few years. Be aware folks! Boats are not safe. There are tsunamis, icebergs, potential sinking, and who knows what else involved. If the Titanic taught us anything it's the fact that there can be a dancing polar bear on a melting ice cap flailing his soon-to-be extinct paws for your ship to get out the way and your ship will still ram into him. At least you can occupy yourself at the all-you-can-eat buffet during the hour-long submersion into the water.

If those potential calamities are not enough there's a new thing to worry about that I recently came across. If you should fall ill during the journey (I mean there's really no reason why you should after a week long gorge and drink fest but lets say you do for the sake of argument), the emergency team may "accidentally" drop you into the icy waters of the Atlantic in the attempt to transfer you onto another boat. This actually happened and to a senior citizen no less. Basically you start off under the weather and end up under the water. Well if that's the case then I suggest taking your chances on the mother ship until you dock on some island with a stellar healthcare system. Malaria beats out hypothermia any day in my opinion.

The FU train (U keeping mum like the K in knife)

The F train is on my shit list. It's a 2 second walk from my building and I'm convinced that the conductors hide their trains around the bend and stake out my back entrance in order to quickly pull up to and away from the station just as my foot crosses the threshold. My orange sneaker acts as a green light, or better yet, a shot before the sprint, to them. Needless to say this gives me insufficient time to make it but more than enough time before the next train arrives 10-15 min later. Upon the next train's arrival I almost feel the conductor's disappointment for having just missed this precious chance to F with me. Every day, no matter what time I leave the house this happens so that's how I know it's on purpose. If it was an occasional occurrence I'd attribute it to my schmuck luck but a daily basis type of deal is evidence enough for a trial. This kind of situation makes me want to call the ThreeJasons (secret society the real name of which I'm afraid to mention) and ask to be taken off "the list" (if you're on "the list" you're shit out of luck and guaranteed to just miss the train for the rest of your life.) Maybe I'm not the only one. Chances are there is one designated asshole per station that must be made to miss the train he wanted to take no matter what. In fact, I'm pretty sure there are a bunch of us (a sufficient enough number to qualify for a support group) each of whom misses the train by a different interval of time. The folks who have it the worst constantly miss it by a hair just as the door slams in their disbelieving faces.
Maybe someone is trying to drive the point home that you're just too slow. Maybe it's a metaphor for yet another missed opportunity. "Here you want this train right here? With these new shiny polished carts? With the guarantee of no delays? Too late it's gone". Better luck next time.

Why is there an "I'm a Mormon video ad" on my blog?

I keep waiting for that check from Google for letting them post their ads in my personal space and it's like waiting for the tooth fairy. If ye shall perchance stumble upon this trusty forsaken blog kindly do the following: click on the ads before you read my posts. In fact, I forbid ANYONE to read my highly entertaining posts unless they have clicked on whatever Google deemed suitable to place on the right and bottom of the screen.
P.S. I did not make up the title. There really is an "I'm a Mormon" ad on my blog. Who can I inform that "I'm a Jew?"

Observation

Have you ever noticed how if you’re successful and happy everyone wants to be your friend but secretly (in some cases outwardly) hates you? On the other hand if you’re a miserable loser everyone feels sorry for you and seems to like you but doesn’t want to be around you. This is always true without exceptions. Personally I prefer option number two any day. Life seems easier that way. There are no commitments, no responsibilities, no one to answer to and nowhere to go but up. But why bother going anywhere? You are exactly where you are meant to be so find yourself a warm place to plant your hopeless bottom and enjoy the show. Keep a watchful eye on everything that goes on around you, be the observer and not the participant, cower behind the front row of the ground troops while they battle it out. After all you’re the weakest link and you’ve got nothing to prove. Doesn’t that take the pressure right off? Critics will argue saying that’s no way to live. Don’t pay them any attention. Do what’s right for you. The higher you strive the further you can potentially fall but the lower you aim the firmer your feet are planted on the ground. No messy gravitational interventions and no disappointments. I find more and more proof of this daily. The homeless men lie on the benches or ride the trains with smiles on their faces while the hard-working class of people show signs of stress in the form of veins bulging, pulses escalating, and fuses blowing at the Starbucks workers for putting one less spoon of sugar into their drink than necessary.
Warning: This lifestyle not intended for everyone. If you are an overachiever please consult your parents at the first signs of depression, anxiety, heart attack and or stroke due to too much free time on your hands and not enough trophies/medals.

Interview skills

Lately, I’ve been reading so many “useful” tips on how to land a good job and they all make me sick. Look your best, firm handshake, warm and genuine smile, openness, etc… Ok so lets say this mythical creature does exist, what the hell is the other 99.9% of the population supposed to do? Why don’t we just bypass all the figurative brown-nosing and get to the real deal. We may as well drop on our knees the second we walk in, pull down the interviewer’s pants and kiss his/her bare bottom. At the end of each “helpful” suggestion list there is always a phrase: “Remember, you are also asking questions and determining whether the job is right for you, so it’s really a two-way street”. Really? Is that why I’m sitting here sweating, coughing, forgetting the English language and demonstrating symptoms of down syndrome, while the person sitting across the table with various awards and pictures depicting their world travels is calmly assessing my neuroticism with their arms neatly folded, and looking at my resume is if it’s the most despicable, not to mention unreadable document (which it must be since they keep asking me about my experiences and education which has been clearly outlined with bullet points)and taking phone calls from their two-year old? The argument that this is a two-way street is further weakened by the fact that while the interviewer is digging for gold in my X-files I’m supposed to keep mum about salary, insurance, vacation, and such hush-hush, not to be discussed topics. I’ve got news for you ABC Corp.: those are the only things that interest me! That’s all I need to know to determine whether this company is right for me. I don’t care about my duties, who I’ll be working with and why, my boss’s family vacations, etc. But mostly I just need this job. Not want but need. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here hyperventilating with anticipation of being your humble servant. There, hire me now.
This so-called meeting of the potential employer and employee may as well be conducted in a good ol’ torture chamber. It would be just as prolonged and painful. “Are you references real? Either confess that your experience is fake or be boiled alive. Your choice. If we do find that your experience was in fact real after you’ve been hanged, don’t worry you will be pronounced a national hero and honored accordingly, alas posthumously”. Needless to say, no one will come out of there with a job. Pretty much like today.
I’d make a few changes to this unnecessarily torturous process. At least if the atmosphere was different, say a candlelit dinner for two, at a five-star restaurant I’d be more disposed to “tell them about myself”. I feel much more at ease telling my future employer about my abilities after a glass or two of the most expensive wine (which they’re buying by the way, I mean which one of us has a job?). The key is to throw fairy dust in their face all evening until they’re almost positive that there has never been, or ever will be a better candidate for this particular position. Whether or not you can actually do what you say is another story. You learn on the job. After all, we’re all inquisitive creatures by nature and there’s no reason we can’t ask how to make a copy every ten to twenty minutes. Good luck and let Obama (the pro) be with you!

Thou shalt not reproduce after your spouse is gone

So the good news is that I don’t live in Iran. With my luck I’d be stoned to death for just standing there watching someone else getting stoned to death and not contributing. However, the adulterous widow who is actually about to be stoned to death isn’t so lucky. That poor woman! It’s hard enough trying to get some while only being able to flirt with your eyes but now she’s getting punished for succeeding? If the same laws applied in the U.S. we’d all be sitting in our respective holes buried to our necks with no one left to cast the first stone. Then the situation gets more grim. The alcoholic, half-lesbian, jailbird to be, Lindsey Lohan, is petitioning for the widow’s release. That’s right Iran. You listen to the woman who broke every rule in the Koran five times over and should’ve been stoned even in this country (which she was most of the time). What does it take to be punished here? Join the wrong sports team? Lohan was finally sentenced to prison and is about to compete with Paris Hilton for shortest amount of time spent behind bars. It’s like they’re walked into the cell and the doors shut behind them only to reopen a second later with the words: “So, you rich, nastily-beautiful semi-celebrity, had enough soul-searching for one lifetime? Did some serious self-reflection in there? Well you’re out. Go back to the filthy rich house you came from. And take your dog with you”. Lindsey will ask for more time though after seeing all the potential Samantha Ronsons around her. “Now wait a minute, lets not be hasty officer. I have a few hours of contemplation left in me". Ok back to this poor Iranian woman. Word on the street (so she probably hasn’t heard) is that she’s already been whipped and lashed in prison. At least her children are rooting for her. I was sure they’d side with the justice system and robotically scream for their mother to be martyred for the sake of their father (whoever he was....we are talking about a severely loose woman here).

Newsworthy

Seventy years ago Germany was threatening to take over the world. Everyone knows how that ended. Well the second coming is upon us. Paul the Octopus is gaining power, brainwashing the masses, and making (Germany 1:the rest of world 0)-like predictions. Can someone at least get this thing a mustache? Granted, the Hail Paul salute would be difficult to execute for those with but two arms but we’ll manage. Needless to say, not everyone is happy with this rising star. Death threats are pouring in to turn the critter into calamari and end its winning streak. According to the headlines this psychic invertebrate is unfazed by both fame and death threats. It seems that the only thing he’s fazed by is soccer. I get the feeling that Paul also told Lebron James to sign with Miami Heat by nodding his head in the direction of the south. Lets fry that son of a gun!

Naturally once the Germans surface, so do the Russians. While Lebron James is burning in Heat, the Russian spies are bringing back a burst of much-needed cold air to this country. The crap they pulled-you gotta love ‘em. I guess it’s the westernized commies vs. the psychic Germans again. Meanwhile Mel Gibson is beating the hell out of his Russian, Oksana Grigorieva to see if she was also in the spying profession. He claimed that he was too drunk to remember the last twenty years of his life and for all he knows his real name is Maksim Gibsonovich and he’s about to be swapped for some vodka.

And those are the big news: Lebron James, Paul the Oracle, and Mel Gibson.

Oh I almost forgot about Mani the parakeet from Singapore and his take on world sports. Are Germany and Singapore the only countries able to breed psychic animals? Seriously U.S. go and fish out a mutant from the gulf and see what it can do.