Stolen from Ace, as I’m out of ideas as of late.


Giorgio Moroder — His many film scores include three Academy Award winners. The first came for his score to the powerful film Midnight Express. Next recognized was Irene Cara’s inspirational hit, “Flashdance,” from the film of the same title. And then the highly romantic song, “Take My Breath Away” from the film, Top Gun, brought his third Academy Award. Not surprisingly, compositions by Giorgio have also contributed to numerous other hit films such as The Never Ending Story, American Gigolo, Cat People, Superman III, Scarface, Rambo III, and Beverly Hills Cop II. And his music has attracted many other awards including four Golden Globes, two People’s Choice Awards, and more than 100 Golden and Platinum discs. In February 1998, he received his third Grammy for the song “Carry On”, performed by Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroder.

Jean-Luc Godard — Some fancy pants French director

If you don’t know the other two, I can’t help.

Lazy thingy…

I’ve probably even put this up before.

What American accent do you have?

Your Result: The Inland North

You may think you speak “Standard English straight out of the dictionary” but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like “Are you from Wisconsin?” or “Are you from Chicago?” Chances are you call carbonated drinks “pop.”

The South
The Midland
The Northeast
The West
North Central
What American accent do you have?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Stolen from Ace by way of The Lesley.

I’m going to test you for a hernia while you’re here…

Last Saturday, as I ran up the stairs, I tripped and busted my arm on the wall corner.

It hurt like hell, but I figured the pain would go away. It didn’t.

Monday night, there was still a steady throb of pain, and there was still swelling on the arm. Feeling around the area I hit it, I felt something moving around under the skin. I didn’t think it was broken, nor fractured, but on Tuesday I made a doctor’s appointment just in case. The earliest they could get me in was on Wednesday at 1:30. I figured I had waited for a couple days anyway, so what was one more.

I arrived at the doctor’s office, filled out my forms and went into the examination room. The doctor asked me a bunch of questions (history of diseases, allergies I had, etc.) and checked out my arm. She said that what I most likely felt in my arm were blood clots, but she gave me a form to go get some x-rays, just in case.

Then she suggested a physical while I was there. I was cool with that, so she gave me a gown, told me to strip to my boxers and she’d be back in a second. I did as I was told.

When she came back, she checked my heart, had me walk on my tip-toes and heels, crab-walk and other sorts of things that I had no idea why I was doing them. After all was said and done, she sat in a chair and said, “I’m going to test you for a hernia while you are here. Take off your gown.”

I took off my gown. Then it hit me. I knew how a prostate test was done, but not a hernia test. If a hernia test was the same as a prostate test, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it. I said, “Um, is a hernia test like a…”

“No,” she laughed. “I won’t be doing that today. Take off your boxers.”

I don’t know, once I knew that a finger wasn’t going up my ass, I had no problems stripping off those boxers. They flew off. I’m surprised they hit the floor at all and didn’t land on top of the bookcase or something.

She felt around a little, declared me hernia free and I was on my way for x-rays.

I haven’t heard back about the x-rays yet, I guess that will be tomorrow.

My co-pay was $20, and part of me is still wondering if I got my money’s worth.

Oh oh, the gig was up…

Back in the day, my friend Mykl and I would go out. A lot. I mean a whole lot. We had it down to which bars had drink specials on which night. I kid you not, there was a span of a couple months where the only two days we would not go out were Tuesdays and Wednesdays because there were no drink specials/ladies nights/live bands/whatever.

It got to a point where we would subconsciously (okay, maybe not) see who could tell the biggest, and some time dumbest, lie to people (mostly women). And it wasn’t even to get laid, it was to do it for our amusement. If sex came because of it, well, that’s just a bonus. I think it came to this point because we were probably just tired of going out so much and seeing, and doing, the same old thing. Either way, it definitely made for more interesting evenings.

One night we we decided to leave a bar relatively early — around 10ish. Either one, or both, of us had to work early the next day or the drink special was ending. Most likely the latter. Right before we left, I decided to hit the bathroom, so Mykl said he’d meet me at the car. After I did my business, I headed for the door, and noticed Mykl talking to a couple of girls at the bar.

“Here he is now!” He said as I came up on them.

Before I could open my mouth to say hi, Mykl continued, “This is Pablo, the guy I was telling you about. He’s staying with me while they rebuild is home in Cuba — which was lost in a hurricane.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” one of the young ladies said to Mykl. She turned to me. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Lisa and this is my friend, Sarah.”

I was about to reply when Mykl cut me off. “He doesn’t speak any English,” he said, smiling at me.

Oh, that was good. Because there was no way in hell I was not going to play along. If I didn’t play along, I wouldn’t see where it would go, and where is the fun in that?

“Hola,” I said. And I assure you, there was no hint of an accent.

The girls giggled. “Hola,” they both said. In unison.

“Yeah,” Mykl said. “His family is with my dad in Florida. I offered to show Pablo around DC and Baltimore, so my dad and I paid for his flight up here.”

“Oh you’re so sweet,” Sarah said.

“Oh no,” Modest Mykl replied. “It’s just the way I am. I figure this may be his only chance to see the States, so I figured I would just do for him what I would hope someone would do for me.” He smiled at them. He smiled at me. He was such an angel.

“He doesn’t even look Cuban,” said Sarah. Oh oh, the gig was up.

“Yeah. His mom is American. He looks like her,” Mykl immediately replied. SAVE!

“Do you speak Spanish?” Lisa asked Mykl.

“No, but my roomate, Jefe, does.” Yeah, he was referring to my friend Jeff. Who doesn’t speak Spanish. “But he’s working tonight, so I decided to take Pablo out. Drinking and having fun is universal, isn’t it ladies?”

They giggled. I stood there, silently, grinning like an idiot.

Soon enough, it was apparent the ladies weren’t leaving anytime soon, so Mykl said goodbye, I said adios and we left.

And laughed our asses off all the way home.

It’s not like I don’t like the guy’s movies…

My buddy, Zig, called me up early last week and asked me if I knew that David Lynch was doing a speaking and book signing the coming Saturday (yesterday). Not being a big fan of Lynch’s, I told him no.

He asked me if I was a fan of Lynch’s. I told him no. It’s not that I don’t like the guy’s movies, I just haven’t seen enough to formulate an opinion. I do know, though, that he has a rabid following of fanboys. I hate fanboys (part one, part two), so first instinct would tell me I would not like Lynch (The Elephant Man excluded). There is no way to explain that previous sentence, but I’m a 100% sure there are some people out there that would know exactly what it means.

That said, I’m certainly not adverse to watching more of Lynch’s films. Films like Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, Lost Highway and Mulholland Dr. definitely look interesting, and I am not the type of person to say something sucks before I watch it.

Anyway, I had a great time at the speaking. He read the first paragraph of the introduction of his book, then he took questions. While he seemed like a helluva nice guy, he is definitely on a different plane of reality than the rest of this. It’s either that, or he’s pulling a fast one on the fanboys that insist that his films make perfect sense, and if you disagree, you just “don’t get it.” I, personally, think it’s the latter because that’s what I would do. If I had the training and the coin, I would make all sorts of fucked up films (or films with fucked up nonsensical scenes), develop a following and, right before I die, I would have a press conference and say, “Gotcha. That scene that you thought was so deep and moving really never meant anything. HA!”

But I have to respect the man for at least getting conversation started about his films.

David Lynch David Lynch, again. Everything is just gravy.

Yeah, you click those, they get bigger.