Hmm, perhaps I am a sick freak

"I know, right? What kind of a sick mind would think that a chain of butcher shops inspired by Ed Gein was a good idea?"

Actually, maybe the question should be, "What kind of a sick mind even thought to allude to Ed Gein as a caption for this contest?"

For those of you who aren't familiar, the above is the cartoon from this week's New Yorker caption contest. Every week on the last page of their issue, The New Yorker publishes a cartoon without a caption, and invites the readers to submit their own. The hundreds (dozens?) of contenders are competing for, well I don't really know, but I'm betting the prize The New Yorker awards to the winner pales in comparison to the fact that winners get to brag about their caption being chosen. I mean c'mon - if my caption were to ever be chosen (not that I've ever sent mine in...their all humorless bastards anyways...don't know a good caption when they see it! Their content to just let captions that people put their sweat and tears into flounder in the pile! Um, ahem), I'd totally eschew the year's supply of Rice-a-Roni to just carry around the issue my caption was published in and shove it in every passerby's face, declaring, "Look! The New Yorker, one of the most intelligent and intellectual magazines written today, deems ME as witty and clever!" (Rightfully, the passerby would then pummel me with his/her issue of Cat Fancy)

And I can't even be honored for being the first to think of writing an anti-caption. Seinfeld made fun of New Yorker cartoons back in 1998, and every week, Daniel Radosh features his own anti-caption contest on his blog.

But I was a bit taken aback when, as I first laid eyes on this week's New Yorker contest cartoon, I thought of alluding to Ed Gein. What kind of a sick freak am I? One of my first posts on this blog was about how The Aristocrats joke could serve as a Rorschach test, and now I'm thinking the same holds true for the New Yorker caption contest.

Then again, the cartoon takes place at a butcher shop, there appears to be dancing Rockettes sitting in the meat counter, and weirdly, there is a hacksaw hanging in the background. An allusion to Ed Gein - or any other demented serial killer - seems inevitable. Maybe a Patrick Bateman reference is more current?

So obviously I can't send my Ed Gein caption into The New Yorker - how about this one?

"Using the meat counter as advertising space brings in WAY more money than the ground chuck ever did."

Sigh. I'm never gonna win that caption contest.

I want to be a nude model

As some of you know, I recently started a new job. This past week was my first with the new company, and HO.LY. SHIT. The amount of information I have absorbed, and the fast-pace of this work environment, has me seriously contemplating if I have gotten in over my head.

Just to indicate how dire the situation is - I don't even know what this company does. Are you computing that? I was hired to help them compete in their industry and keep the company functioning at peak performance, and I don't even know what they do!!!! I'm learning the ropes, the terminology and jargon is slightly less greek to me than it was five days ago, but after waking up at 6:30 am, working for 12 hours straight, then stumbling back home around 9 pm, I'm barely able to digest and organize all the information that was thrown at me.

And it's even more than not thinking I can do the job - I don't know as if I want to do the job. Or any job that requires me to stay on top of 20 things at once, work 60+ hours a week, then feel like a zombie when I finally plop my ass on my couch.

This is why nude modeling has all of a sudden become an ideal profession to me.

My body isn't bad. I don't think it's Playboy ready, but I have the goods so that if I wanted to pose for Playboy, all I'd need to do is work out and tone up for a few months, and then Mr. Hefner might seriously consider putting me in his magazine. My boobs are already Playboy ready, not to sound like a raging narcissist, but every guy or girl who ever had the privilege of laying eyes on them has confessed that my breasts are beautiful. And on top of how gorgeous they are, they're natural. The genes I inherited made me struggle with acne (which has cleared up fairly well, BTW), but hey, I got a nice rack. Genes are very give and take.

Nude modeling - or any profession that required one to use their body as an object - always seemed below me. I eschewed the premise of not using my mind to earn a living because being intelligent and knowledgeable is the highest achievement anyone could pursue. Not to mention, intelligence is sustainable, whereas looks are not. It takes a lot of plastic surgery to nude model when you're 40.

But now I feel like a massive moron for not using what God gave me to bank some buck when my body was at the zenith of its suppleness. I have finally come to the conclusion that nude models are the most intelligent people in the world - they are hot AND they are geniuses. They realize that money means the difference between a good life and a bad life, and if you want a good life, why be proud? Why spout off about the integrity of intelligence and the goodness in bettering your mind, why bother to be an intellectual when it doesn't matter AT ALL how smart you are if you're living under an overpass and eating out of dumpsters?

And even beyond being smart - why force yourself to work 60+ hours a week for the good life when all you need do is take your clothes off and earn the same amount?

Well, most nude models probably don't make the same amount of money as say my boss, but they can earn enough to at least live comfortably - and all they have to do is stretch out on crushed velor blankets while naked! Jesus, I'd love to lay naked on crushed velor, but I can't afford crushed velor, and I don't have the time to lay naked on crushed velor! So to imagine doing so while getting paid for it - now that is the good life.

I used to think nude models, porn stars, and strippers were deluded and sad when they'd say things like, "I LOVE what I do for a living. It's the best job in the world!" But now I can see that I always thought like that so I could feel better about the path I chose, the path to be an intellectual instead of an object.

There's gotta be some downsides to earning a living as a sex symbol - I better see some in the comments before I decide to move to Cali and get a job as Maggie Gyllenhaal's titty double.

UPDATE: It is Sunday, and I have spent the past 7.5 hours working on this huge proposal my company has due tomorrow afternoon. And it's my first week. KILL ME PLEASE.

It's gettin, it's gettin, it's gettin kinda hectic

Thank you Jebus for making November 4th right around the corner, because I think when I say that I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS FUCKING ELECTION, I echo the sentiments of many. The Obama vs. McCain epic has soaked up everyone's energy, and the 2008 presidential election has been on most liberals minds ever since Bush got reelected in 2004. That's four years - four years of speculating, debating and praying that Americans be given the right candidate to fix all of Bush's fuck-ups.

Last week I became embroiled in a fairly volatile email exchange with some friends from back home (Ohio). Maybe I shouldn't have demonstrated my disgust for a mass anti-Obama email a pal sent out by cc'ing everyone on the list (many of whom I didn't know) and stating that McCain was a crazy old man and that everyone who voted for Bush in the last two elections owe Americans and the rest of the world big time for his fuck-ups. But if you're going to send out a political email one week before the election, particularly one that was full of inaccuracies as this anti-Obama email, then you have to be prepared for the backlash.

So I cc'd everyone on the list, and two receivers (of whom I attended high school with) decided to respond to me by accusing me of being an ignorant lazy socialist, and one of them (who used to babysit me, actually) went so far as to accuse me of being anti-American and suggested I move to another country.

I won't go into the details on how I layed the verbal smackdown on these two idiots, but just to demonstrate how badly the McCain campaign has it right now, I will say that one of them used a doctored photo to prove her point. Like, come on - this is what McCain supporters are forced to rely on to defend their candidate?

But the fact is, I got into a bitter argument with people I grew up with, and it went beyond the political - there were some harsh, personal attacks thrown back and forth, and I'll never be able to look at these girls the same again, as I'm sure they view me. Political debate should never get that dirty amongst friends, but it is especially inevitable in this election - there is so much on the line, and so much passion for those who really believe

So I am ready to bid you adieu, presidential election 2008. It was a fun, bumpy ride, one full of intrigue, disappointment, disbelief, rebelief and tears (yeah, I might have cried a few times, don't judge). But my mind has been sapped, and my energy is not infinite. The last bit I have left will be spent on Tuesday, when I'll be wringing my hands and checking the polls and grasping for every piece of political news and expert opinion I can. How it all ends will dictate my next big move - either streaking through the streets on a champagne-induced drunk, or starting the next American revolution.