...I'm so fucking sick of John Cena. Especially tonight.

See, it's not even the usual complaints about that he can't wrestle and all that. He can wrestle. He's put on some pretty damn good matches with some surprising candidates (Umaga and Khali, notably). It's just too much.

I'm sure that the little kids love him and that he moves merchandise like no other. That's fine. But it really wears on my enjoyment of the programming. The past year was a great one for Cena in my opinion. He shuffled out of the title picture for a while, got involved in some blood feuds, helped Crime Time get over a little, did some good work. I'm sure the fact that I'm a Jericho mark, now more than ever, influences this, but it was just such a let down to see Cena win the title in his first match back tonight.

For one thing the booking made no sense, particularly since another guy who just returned from injury (Orton) was told he would need to earn another title shot. Why does Cena get one automatically? Cause he's not a dick on-screen? Doesn't seem like the kind of thing that would matter to the McMahons. Obviously, it's all storyline, but it just pisses me off when there's no internal logic or consistency.

Bottom line is that at his worst, Cena gets pushed like Hogan in the 80's. And that just doesn't fly anymore. Wrestling is an ensemble game now, as it has been for years. It wasn't just Rock or Austin with the title for years in the late 90's and early 2000's. It rotated around from HHH to Austin to Rock to Angle to Undertaker. The one man show doesn't work anymore in my opinion. Granted, we've had a decent variety of champions this year. But in previous years (to the point of making me just outright give up on watching Raw), Cena more or less held the belt since winning it from JBL in 2005.

To that effect, Jericho somehow escaping with the title tonight would have been a better option. Then when we go to Raw, not only is Cena back, but he's pissed. Instead we'll get the same old "champ is here" crap. Even if it was just to have Jericho drop the title in December would have been better. It gives Jericho more credit, and by extension, all the guys Jericho's beaten in his title run (including Batista, the presumed 'Mania opponent).

Anyway, I've got the same feeling that I had after the Royal Rumble at the start of this year. Interesting how they bookended. I like the show and thought there was some decent matches, but Cena won in the end and left a terrible taste in my mouth.

It's hard to talk about your personal feelings in a forum like this without just airing your laundry (dirty or otherwise). Last week I wanted to write an entry about how frustrating it is that every person in the world is at least a little crazy and the havoc this wreaks on relationships. Of course, since the relationship in question is back on, and what's more, she took care of me during a recent health issue, I don't have that personal drive to this one anymore. She's a sweet gal.

But I do think there is some value in the basic idea I had before. Girls everywhere of the world, you're all out of your goddamn minds. Everyone of you. I'm no sexist (guys are all either totally crazy as well, or just heartless douche bags trying to live up to some macho ideal "described in books they never read," some one or the other, alternating on Fridays) but I want to speak clearly to the ladies here.

I empathize. You've got so much conflicting information, competition from other chicks, mixed messages from every media source you look at and your own instincts to fight with. You've got to try and forge a meaningful relationship while, presumably, being compared to some photoshopped standard. Is the standard a rail-skinny chick now? Or is it the big-ass J-lo thing? Is it some bizarre combination of both, reminiscent of something you'd get playing the old game Monster Mash (anyone other than me remember that one? Used to make the most pleasing sound when you pressed the button [which brings us back to women OH SNAP!].).

My point is that all of this had made you all crazy. But you know what? It's okay. Because we're all crazy. We're all out of our minds fighting our own programming. We human beings are basically programmed to eat, drink, fight and fuck anything that moves. That was our basic survival technique for ages. Now we've got all this conflicting programming as we try and exist in our "civilized world." Modernity has us second guessing our every instinct when for centuries, instinct was all we had. It's silly to value judge that one way or another, but I think it's important to realize this. We're all trying to live up to the standards of multiple eras and perspectives at the same time.

Think about how sensitive we all are about our bodies. Half the world thinks sex is this horrible dirty function of the human body that the soul must endure. The other half wants to use that fact to sell us something. Isn't it missing the point though? My mother screamed, seriously SCREAMED, at me because I wasn't horribly offended by Janet Jackson's nipple a couple of years back. "What's the problem? We've all got nipples. Are kids not supposed to know about them until a certain age? Do we put hockey tape over them at birth and not take it off until they're 18?" These questions were answered with something about the downfall of society. But I'm still waiting for an answer (a real answer anyway). What the hell is so horrifying (or on the other end, attractive) about a little brown/reddish protuberance on the chest? How the hell can a body part be "evil?" Jesus, I got a little off target there.

Not quite though. This inherent "dirtyness" of the human body is, I believe, the root of our obsession with instituting a physical ideal of beauty. It's how we became fixated on it. It's where easily influenced girls and guys started thinking that the "ass-to-waist ratio" was the most important thing. It's not. Not even close. The problem? Most people are easily influenced. But nonetheless, this sort of disconnection is one of the reasons why we're all crazy and defective.

The solution: actually think for yourself for once. Don't think about yourself in relation to others. Think about yourself. If you look for a mate based on their looks, there's a good chance you'll pick up a mate who dresses that way specifically to meet impressionable people. Don't feed in to it. I know it's impossible to shut out all the media and all the different information being thrown at you, but you'll be a lot happier without gauging your life by it. Or to those still in high school, I should specify, you'll probably be miserable now, but eventually you'll me much happier while all those people who were so "happy" have had to go through 7 or 8 personalities to find one that makes them feel half human.

Human life is nasty, brutish and short. I believe in Hobbes' words like scripture. Our nature is to be complete dicks to each other. But that doesn't mean that we can't turn that back. Sure, we're nasty and brutish, but we're also lovers and artists. We're capable of a lot. Step one is thinking for yourself and not letting your environment, by which I mean the media you're exposed to, dictate your thoughts and decisions. All those magazines and tv shows that talk about this certain standard of beauty, it's because they want to sell you the lip gloss or the slutty looking skirt she's wearing. It's not a public service announcement. Think about what you actually want, not what you're told to want. It may not be the same as your friends. That's fine.

Something that will help immeasurably: communication. A lot of guys and gals have this impression (based on shitty movies and bad novels) that love just arrives, totally gift wrapped and it doesn't take any work or time to come together. Hey, maybe it does sometimes. But that's the exception to the rule. Your prince isn't going to ride in on a white horse and make everything right in the world. I may not ride a white horse (I drive a silver Cavalier), but there's a girl here who said that I'm her "Peter Parker" (only half joking too). As a co-worker on a radio show put it so well once "don't silently suffer trying to be the [person] they want you to be, tell [them] who you are."

Love is an abstract concept. It doesn't just show up fully formed. It can grow and evolve. And, sadly, it can shrivel and die too. But as with anything, it's the journey that's the thing. It's all in the process, getting to know each other and seeing how much you enjoy spending time together. Talk and listen: you might learn as much about yourself as you do about the other person.

Well, I'm tired, and I've written so much I don't remember what I wrote when I started. And I'm still kind of sick, so this may not all have made sense. But I hope you get my general impression.

My drift: catch it!

I've been asking for this for ages. It's about time.










I knew that, like all Nintendo systems, after the initial lull, we'd start to get some really good games come out. Certainly, Mario Galaxy, Kart and Smash Brothers all set the bar pretty high. But this...this I've been waiting decades for. I wanted Punch Out on both the 64 and Gamecube. Finally, it's all coming together.

If this thing has online play, I might never leave my house again.

As one of my exes would say, I pigged it.

I wanted it all. I wanted to be able to come home everyday to a smiley cat, pet him, wander into the bathroom and calmly flush his day's worth of feces down the toilet. Was that too much to ask? Is it that greedy to ask a 6 month old kitten to change his bathroom habits? It wasn't just for my convenience, it was for his too. He wouldn't need to bury and inspect his poop. Splash! There it goes.

I'm sure someone will try and argue to me that it's unnatural for a cat to poop in a toilet and that I was being cruel by fighting his nature. I say get off my lawn, hippie. If we're concerned about the nature of cats, they shouldn't even be in our homes. They should be outdoors, hunting. I'm not concerned about the nature of cats, because if Paul didn't live with me, he'd probably get eaten by a bear or a homeless guy.

Regardless, the training was going fine until he was spayed last week. He is actually a she, but I only found out after a couple of months of calling him he. It's much easier to just continue using masculine pronouns. Anyway, I had a foil baking tray with litter in the toilet, under the seat. He was usually okay, though it ended up on the seat occasionally, and he would push it into the tray. That sucked, but it was manageable until I found myself living alone and there wasn't anyone here during the day. Somehow at that time, he got in the habit of going out of his way to shit on the seat. That's disgusting enough on it's own, but diarrhea (cha-cha-cha), I've come to learn, is a fairly common side effect of the anesthetic they use in the operation. As I'm sure you can tell, at that moment it became unacceptable.

With a heavy heart, I got rid of the baking tray and went back to the litter box. I should have known there would be trouble when the first thing he did was look like he was trying to shit on the wall in the corner. Hoping for the best, I moved the box out of the corner. Today, I came home and found that he had tried to shit on the edge of the litter box.

So, instead of training my cat to use the toilet, I made him too stupid to use the litter box. And to make matters worse, the vet suggested I give him a 1/2 teaspoon of pepto bismol 4 times a day to cure the diarrhea. Even with a syringe to shoot it in his mouth, I'm looking like I was thumb wrestling with Freddie Kreuger when I'm done. I need a falconer's glove. Does anyone have one to lend me?

I've threatened Paul that there's a burlap sac and a river in his future if he's not careful, but he pays me no heed. Can you imagine that? He just walks around, looking adorable and cuddling up to me, blissfully unaware that somewhere, adorned with his name, is a burlap sac.

Maybe I was just at the right age, at the right time, but it felt like I was living a glory age for Saturday Night Live in my junior high/high school years. As much as people often refer to the original cast, or some of the early years incarnations as the best SNL cast, I have incredibly fond memories of the early to mid nineties. Back in the days when Cheri Oteri was really hot. The Roxbury guys was still a funny skit and not a horrible movie. Ditto The Ladies Man.

Most importantly, and the highest point of the show every week, as far as I was concerned, was Norm MacDonald's Weekend Update. With a casual manner, and a deliberate delivery, staring at the audience until they laughed at their own ill-ease, Norm was the man. And he was merciless.

Michael Jackson, O.J. Simpson and Bill Clinton were the most regular targets of his ire. Classic examples-

"O.J. Simpson was in a different court this week, trying to regain custody of his children. Trying to prove his love for his children, Simpson said, quote, "hey, they're still alive, aren't they?""

"Michael Jackson is preparing for childbirth by hiring nannies, servants, assistants and more bodyguards, presumably to protect the child from Michael Jackson."

Or the top story from the first show after O.J. was found innocent: "Well, it's official, murder is legal in the state of California."

Now, while everyone else in the world is in awe of how much Tina Fey looks like Sarah Palin, it just doesn't do it for me. Sure, she looks like her, but that's not enough. At least Rich Little usually had some funny things to say.

Me, I just find myself scouring the internet for more clips of Norm. We need his counsel now more than ever. Thankfully, I caught the Bob Saget Roast recently, which was a great fix of Norm that I've been lacking for ages. Sure, he just told classic roast jokes, but his delivery sold it.

Come back Norm! We need you!

Welcome to my corner of the internet. I was inspired to post this after finding that I couldn't post a response on Jackson Publick's LJ without singing up. I figure I may as well make the most of this.

Nothing to write today, but I'll be in touch soon. Very soon.