My Life as an American Gladiator is on hiatus.

I guess that's kind of obvious, what with the not-updating and general laziness glimpsed round these parts lately. But I thought you should know.

So Joe Strummer is gone.

It's pretty pointless to eulogize a celebrity you didn't know anything about, but I can say that The Clash always sound right to me, no matter what age I've been or what's going on in my life. I saw Joe Strummer live only once, on The Pogues' Hell's Ditch Tour, when he was filling in for Shane MacGowan. I remember that it wasn't exactly like a Pogues show, but it was still great, with the band doing old Clash songs as well as their own tunes.

I'm off to spin White Man in Hammersmith Palais.

(Nice Achewood tribute)

I would be remiss here if I didn't mention that my best pal Bindlestick Billy got hitched last weekend.

I was co-Best Man, and I have to say it was the best damn wedding I've been to (except mine of course).

So congratulations, man. I'm proud of you.

The wife and I are off to indulge in large quantities of wine and cheese in front of the fire, to celebrate the Winter Solstice.

Kikkoman Whackadoo Flash Video

I'm not sure what the hell's going on here, but man is it entertaining!

Listen, Honey, if you're reading this, please don't get me a luxury car with a giant bow on it this year.

It's just that it's getting a little embarassing.

One more thing here:

I can say honestly, unequivocally and without a moment's hesitation or doubt, that I do not want the American Express Travel Bag.

OK? Can you leave me alone now, American Express people??

Dog-In-A-Shell

[purloined on the sly from 50 Cups]

Turkish Delight!

We happened to be in CostPlus last night (which is one of those stores that sell little broken papier-mache monkeys that give you a moment's pause and the tiny little jars of jam and chutney that lurk in the dark recesses of your fridge for decades. They also sell tooth decay by the metric ton, so I wouldn't advise a trip to their candy aisles if you're having any doubts about the state of your enamel) and I was overjoyed to find that they are once again carrying Turkish Delight.

Besides having the distinction of being offered to Edmund by the Snow Queen in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, Turkish Delight is just super good. Amazingly good. It's so good, in fact, that I'm not sure you deserve it.

What is Turkish Delight? It's a kind of firm gelatin, flavored traditionally with rose and lemon (or fruit) and covered in powdered sugar. Some varieties have pistachios or almonds in there as well, though I've never tried it with nuts. Doesn't that sound like the best thing ever?

No?

Fine. More for me.

My monitor here at work is starting to fade out.

This means roughly every five seconds the display dims ominously and I make a sound like an angry bear cub and whack the side of the monitor. This is kind of pleasing, if it weren't for the frequency. I enjoy hitting monitors. Especially little crappy 17" OptiQuest Retina-Destroyer 5000s like this one.

Sadly, my little squeezy-stress-snowman is paying the price for this monitor abuse. Every time I hit the monitor, he flies off, executing a series of somersaults of varying degrees of difficulty, before winding up, lost and afraid, under the desk.

And every time he falls off, I pick him up, give him a couple of words of encouragement, and place him back upon his perch. He knows, of course, that he will be launched again from his aerie. Perhaps he even anticipates the blow. Does he live in fear, my snowman?

Is this answering the question of why i haven't updated my blog in a while?

UK Entrances to Hell

Some real classics in here, including:

Badadada Tatatata The protective lasers of Badadada tatatata have turned the air to jelly for miles around but a visit is still possible using breathing equipment. Very popular and definitely worth seeing as the quality of construction here is guaranteed to blow your mind. This entrance has been used as the output for gastric juices from hell's guts for 22 centuries.

Braaashteeefunorvallishhtuuu Satan's heat-image can sometimes be seen here and it has recently been proven that all of the earth's insects were born just inside the metal door.

I can say for sure that there are some motorway-side eating establishments in Engalnd that are at least entrances to gastrointestinal hell.

[via staggernation]

Apparently, there has been a huge upsurge in the number of grizzled, outdoorsy types being abducted by scantily-clad alien women and subjected to clean, close shaves.

According to one abductee named Chet (not his real name) the scantily clad visitors were painted silver for no good reason.

This alarming trend is sapping our generation of some of the finest George-Michael-like stubble ever produced. They must be stopped!

Leading UFOlogists theorize that these shaving fiends first started to take notice of our haggard and stubbly chins when the Gillette company introduced the MACH 3 Razor, which opened rifts in the space-time continuum by featuring 3 blades on the same razor. Down was no longer up. Up was no longer down. We were through the looking glass, and the short-skirted aliens had to do something about it.

The shadow government that runs the Earth so reliably is said to be working on an ultimate weapon: a razor with FOUR blades. If such a technological enigma can be solved, we may be able to put a stop to these disturbing, though quite hygienic, abductions, and make the world a safer and scratchier place for our children.

Once again, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for another Kafkaesque's Great Idea

One of those glass booths that blow money all around, and you have to grab as much as you can in one minute....but filled with bacon!

I've been walking around the office with my shoes untied today.

Now, I see these punk kids with their untied shoes and think they look like monumental goobers, but I have to tell you it's pretty enjoyable. There's the element of danger inherent in the untied shoelace, which we all know could wrap around your other shoe and send you hurtling toward your doom, especially if your office is equipped with a wood chipper. Also, the rest of the office knows you're a risk taker. Like just for a second they think of saying "Why Kafkaesque, your shoes are untied! Surely you will be killed!"

But then they think for a second and sigh "Wow! That Kafkaesque sure is ahead of the curve, what with the shoes-untied thing and all."

Of course, having your shoes untied is merely a precursor to the ultimate work goodness: taking off your shoes under your desk. That's always nice and freeing. Especially if you're talking to someone more important than you and the whole time you're thinking "Man. I'm totally shoeless under the desk here and Mr. Business Boy doesn't have clue one!"

These small acts of civil disobedience are important if one is to successfully stave off despair.

I think next Friday I'm not going to put my arms through the sleeves of my shirt and see how that goes. I cannot be constrained by these societal restrictions!

Also, I have a new strategy for when I am questioned about anything at all at work.

I'll just say "Because Mr. Spock told me to."

If that doesn't make everyone leave me alone, I'm thinking of branching out into phrases like "Because that is the way it is written in Vulcan law."

Whenever I think of Saddam Hussein having "Weapons of Mass Destruction", I get a mental image of him stirring up a big pot of chili, or curry or something. He's wearing a little chef's hat and one of those aprons with the airbrushed naked woman on it and saying "Who wants some of Saddam's Weapon of Mass Destruction, huh? I made it with pimentos this time."

Then it gets weird.

You know what's a lot of fun?

Oh. Wow, you're right. That is fun. And with the soy sauce? Even more fun.

But I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about walking around hunched over like Quasimodo because your neck hurts and you can't turn your head. I've been doing that all day, and let me tell you, it's a hoot.

It is hard to say, though, whether it's more fun for me or for all of my coworkers who get to give me odd looks and shuffle away from me as if I were some sort of flesh-eating zombie. I don't know.

I knew I shouldn't have been slamming my neck in the car door over and over and over again yesterday. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Rapper Dentist Daddy & Hip Hop Dentistry

Nothing I could say about this would do it justice.

Particularly heartwarming is the picture of Dr Cunning and C-Murder

You know how there are all these sci-fi movies and stories where machines become self-aware and start with the whole "Kill the humans" routine?

That's why I'll never own an electric toothbrush.

Every year, the first of December would roll around and the kids in my family would get an Advent Calendar.

Advent Calendars, of course, are little scenes of serenely happy German or Dutch people having Christmas celebrations. Also, glitter is involved.

Little doors are cunningly hidden in the scene with a number that corresponds to the date. You open the little door for, say, December 2nd, and you sigh appreciatively: "Ah! A smiling hedgehog."

Or maybe you'll say "Oh! A small whellbarrow filled with some orange things that could possibly be gourds."

The pictures were always the same. And I mean always. You'd have candles. Nutcrackers. Candy canes. Sailboats. They loved the sailboats. Sometimes a rocking horse. You could pretty much count on these things showing up in your calendar. I mean, if you hadn't gotten a candle yet, and it was getting towards the 20th, you had a candle in your near future.

And there's not a whole lot of suspense about the picture you'll get on the 24th: it'll be Baby Jesus. That's just fine. Not terribly fulfilling for a young agnostic like myself, but there you go.

So as the years went on, the arrival of the advent calendars would be met with less and less excitement, and eventually with bitterness. Who wants to see the same pictures, year after year*?

Of course, there is another variety of Advent Calendar, in whcih you trade the excitement of smiling woodland creatures for chocolates with pictures of smiling woodland creatures on them. True, it's not the best quality chocolate. It's kind of like eating a small brown crayon every day in December, a practice which I cannot with a clear conscience recommend.

My wife swears by the chocolate calendars but, being German, she is helpless to defend herself against the cocoa bean in all of its manifold guises.

*Besides the American movie-going public, that is.**

**I know, that was pathetic.