The Exercise Bike

We moved the exercise bike. It was getting no use in the bedroom so now it’s in the living room. It’s right near the bar, so I can drink a beer while I ride.

Okay, I’m kidding. I mean, I might drink a beer—but I have no intention of riding that damn bike.

New Jersey On TV

Images of concrete and calzones are flashing across your television screen. In recent years, shows like Real Housewives Of New Jersey, The Sopranos, The Jersey Shore, and Jerseylicious are making New Jersey famous—but not in a good way.

If you’re not from New Jersey, you might be wondering about the accuracy of these programs. After all, quite a few local residents are complaining about the unflattering portrayal of their state. Since I’ve lived in New Jersey my whole life, I thought I’d settle the issue once and for all.

Is New Jersey an industrial wasteland full of greasy sleazeballs dumber than the average slab of eggplant parmagiana? Is New Jersey a state filled with jealous shopping-mall floozies who spend half the day down at the nail salon and the other half scratching each other’s eyes out with their full sets of French tips? Are we a bunch of fat, swaggering slobs in SUVs with no class and no etiquette, despite having the highest per capita income in the country?

Yeah, maybe.

Last Song

What will be the last song you ever hear?

We’re all going to die. There might not be any music playing when it happens, but you’ll hear a final song sometime before you go… What will it be?

If you’re sick in a hospital bed, you might get to pick it. If you die in a car wreck, you probably won’t. It’ll just be screeching tires blending with whatever’s on your car stereo at the time.

Now here’s the real question: What do WANT it to be?

If I’m really unlucky, I’ll be killed in an elevator accident, and I’ll be hearing an orchestral arrangement of Whitesnake—or maybe the asinine ear-torture of Yanni. But if I get to choose, I’ll probably pick something loud and fast with a sense of humor. Probably something by the Ramones, like Blitzkrieg Bop or Can’t Give You Anything.

What would be your ultimate last song?

Magno Gone

My novel, Magno Girl, was eliminated from the Amazon.com “Breakthrough Novel Competition” last night. I was watching the Food Network show “Chopped,” and I checked the Amazon web site and then told Jill I’d been given the ax.

I didn’t expect to emerge victorious, but I’m disappointed not to reach the round where “ordinary readers” can vote. Of course, I noticed the book that won last year was soooooooo not like Magno Girl, ha.

I’m just glad the contest inspired me to rewrite the book again. So now it’s done. You can read some of it here. I dare you.

A Letter

The government sent me a letter about the upcoming census. The letter explained I’d soon be receiving a form from the Census Bureau. So they sent me a letter telling me I’d soon be getting another letter.

I’m wondering how many other people received this letter. I’m wondering if I’ll receive more letters telling me about upcoming letters. I’m wondering if there will be a regular flow of mail telling me how much more mail I will receive about my mail.

“Dear Citizen, only three more days until the arrivial of a letter from the Census Bureau. Only one more day until another letter about that letter.”

“Dear Citizen, only two more days until the arrival of a letter from the Census Bureau. Only one more day until another letter about that letter.”

“Dear Citizen, only one more day until the arrival of a letter from the Census Bureau. You will also receive an additional letter about that letter.”

Dear Citizen—here is your letter from the Census Bureau! You have also received another letter in your mail box. Please open that letter and read about the information contained in this letter.

Sincerely,
The Government

DREAM

So I had this dream…

Did your eyes just glaze over? Is there anything more tedious than listening to someone describe one of their dreams? It’s like they’re going to show you pictures of their vacation, only none of it will make sense.

“Yeah, we were in this warehouse, and then my third grade teacher was there, and we were all eating raspberries, and there was this monkey running around, and a woman with a backpack, and she offered me a ride on her skateboard, and then we were on the beach, and this guy with a huge salami was chasing me, and then I woke up.”

Are you paying attention? Because I lost interest back in the warehouse.

There are a couple of exceptions to this “dream situation”—if I’m actually in the dream, I tend to find it interesting. And if it’s one of Jill’s dreams, I tend to be interested even if I’m not in it, because I want to know who she’s thinking about besides me. But otherwise, really, I’m not that interested.

happyjoe.net

This web site will be abandoned in the near future, so I’m busy packing. Picture that scene in Star Wars where the rebels are preparing to evacuate the icy world of Hoth. Of course, there’s no phony-looking snow monster lurking in my living room. Okay, there was one, but I shot him.

I’m creating a new web site called happyjoe.net. It will greatly resemble this site only with a different color scheme—because I always say, “If it’s not broken, don’t fix it, and if it’s an ugly canker sore on the face of the internet, who cares?”

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this blog. I might move it to the new location or I might just start over. Sometimes it’s good to start over. I’d like to start over in kindergarten but they told me I was too old.

Do you have any memories from kindergarten? I have a few. I remember playing with some plastic dinosaurs and wishing I could just go home. Now I’m at work every day and it’s still the same, except for the dinosaurs.

Winter Olympics

So Larry was telling me one of his web sites was hacked a few years ago and he lost all his data. This is a tragic story that makes me realize exactly how much people suck. Actually, I already realized it, so let’s just say this reinforces the idea.

This web site has automatic database backup, so I can’t lose anything permanently. It also has a plugin that will find any hacker and vaporize his face. Hey, hacker, have you tried eating a cheeseburger without a face? I’m guessing it’s pretty hard to do. So watch your step.

I suppose I should write something about the Winter Olympics. I suppose I should satirize curling as an Olympic sport—but I won’t, because there are enough people doing that already. But I’d like to say one thing: If curling is an Olympic sport, then bowling should be an Olympic sport. Because bowling is harder than curling. A bowler has to lift the ball, and a bowler must often bowl while completely drunk. And that’s not so easy.

Actually, bowling might already be an Olympic sport—I’m not sure. I don’t watch the Olympics.

Super Bowl Sunday With Hendrix And The Who

We’re getting more snow. Can all this snow clean the world? Maybe if it smothers the right people.

Some guy on the radio said the most common color for a car is white. I’ve never seen a white car. I live in an alternate reality filled with silver, black, and a bit of midnight pearl aqua.

The Super Bowl is an excuse for people to get together and binge on barbecued animals. But who needs an excuse? In fact, who needs the game? I ate plenty and didn’t watch ten minutes of it.

Okay, I watched The Who at halftime. Actually, I watched half The Who at halftime. The Who hasn’t really been The Who since Keith Moon died back in 1545.

There’s a part of me that likes to see old guys still playing—hey, why not? And there’s a part of me that hates to see old guys playing—because they
often look ridiculous. It was tragic that Jimi Hendrix died so young, but hey, he’ll always be 27 years old. He’s never going to be that bald, fat dude flicking his tongue and singing Foxy Lady.

Reincarnation

Do you believe in reincarnation? It’s an interesting idea. Not as interesting as the concept of sex in outer space—but still interesting.

Most people who believe in reincarnation also believe they did something fascinating in their previous life. Usually, this is because they’re not doing anything too fascinating in their current life. So in a way, they’re daydreaming about a fictional past in order to feel better about their drab future.

I’m guessing I was a soldier in a previous life. Not a great general or anything like that—just an oridinary slob who liked to express his anger with humanity through the use of government-sanctioned violence. Plus, I can’t see myself as a farmer, standing around waiting for rain to fall on a patch of weeds. I probably died on a battlefield with a spear in my chest. I hope I didn’t lose any arms or legs.