What was she thinking?!?!???

Polar Bear Cub Unwanted

In case you're too lazy to go to the link and read the story and see more photos of this ridiculously cute beast, here's the nutshell: Knut, the cute polar bear cub, was rejected by his mother, Beastly McBeasterson of the Berlin zoo (and not even for wanting to live an alternate lifestyle) and the bearded man gets to hand feed and play with the cub.

In other, related news, I'm moving to Berlin, to pursue my true calling: Playing with cute animals. I've tried to add that on as a job description, along with researching adorable creatures, but have so far been rejected. I have to make it to the Berlin Zoo while Knut is still feeling rejected and confused, so it'll be easier to convince him to live with me in Brooklyn.

If I can't get to Germany, I'm hoping to dupe someone into taking my apartment as trade for a bear. Getting a little desperate, so any kind of bear will do. Hey, if the white man could trade beads for Manhattan, I should be able to pull this off.

But the day hasn't been all fun and games. I had to educate my sister, as this real life conversation proves (this conversation took place via Electronic Instant Note Passing):

Sis: Awwwww I want one!!!!!!!

Me: I KNOW, me too. It's the cutest thing ever.

Sis: And then when it grows up we can make it eat people we don't like

Me: YEAAAAAAAAAA

wait

no!

Sis: lol

Me: Bears like chocolate and berries

Sis: Chocolate? Are you sure?
Me: POSITIVE! I've done hours of extensive research. Besides, I'm 3 years older, and therefore i know more.

Sis: Oh of course. Silly me.

I think this conversation should serve as evidence that, had I been able to conversate with Knut's mom, she would have kept her baby. However, her loss will be my gain. Germany, ho!

Photos courtesy of me stealing them from Reuters

Brilliant Roommate Conversation #1

Me: Yo man, where all the bears that I was told live in Brooklyn? I haven't seen any!

Human Dynamo: No, that's a tree that grows in Brooklyn.

Oh Boy

Cam'ron is the David Caruso of the rap game. Well, minus the red hair, stupid sunglasses and lecherous behavior. Take this Killa Cam lyric, from a battle rap between some crappy rappers and some other, less crappy rappers (my viewpoint is slightly biased since I believe Freeway to be the best rapper ever):

"I'm the pink panther, my panther is pink
My mink is mink
Huey and screwy, huey duey and louie
Nah they ain't ready for this."

The words may be slightly wrong, because I don't care that much, and while looking them up, got completely involved in a re-run of Scrubs with the Silver Spoon NYPD Blue nurse detective and why Cam'ron wears Rocawear boxers but hates Jay-Z. The point remains however. Cam'ron has ruined rap, much like David Caruso has ruined Miami and forensics, with stupid and smarmy catch phrases and some sort of bright reddish trait (pink for Cam, fake flame hair for David).

Where could I be?

I came home last night, feeling something was amiss. It wasn't that all the lights were off, as Dynamo is quite energy conscience. Walking past my diamond studded door, in which I usually see my solid gold four poster bed and beautiful harem with ostrich feathers and grapes, I noticed something strange. My door was closed!

I began to panic a little bit. Dynamo and his lady friend were both downstairs. Was I in my room? If so, should I keep it down, in case the me in the room was asleep? It would be awful rude to wake me up. Most annoyingly of all, I couldn't remember being in my room and closing the door.

I steeled myself, and cautiously pushed the door open. I was immediately greeted with fanning and delicious grapes. All was well. This time.

Stay tuned for more, next time on "When Past and Present Larrys Collide"

America's Most Hated

It's not K-Fed. I mean, him and I will probably never be boys, but I'm willing to live with that.

No, last night's episode of Scrubs, in which one of the characters (Dr. Perry Cox, played by John C. McGinley) calls out Dane Cook for being an unfunny buffoon, has given me hope. Hope, and the desire to see "America's Most Hated: David Caruso" front page in tomorrow's New York Times. As I don't actually read the New York Times, or any newspaper not named Metro, someone else will have to look for me, and diligently report back to me. Since this blog lacks the technology were-withal of Time magazine to include a mirror, I will just have to settle for naming the person. You. Yes, you will need to get back to me. And for the love of all that is good, do not fail me.

*************

Yesterday night, at the West 4th street stop, I crossed paths with John Hodgman, author, actor and hobo afficianado. He turned away, no doubt shy after he recognized me as one of his myspace friends. It took you long enough to accept me, Hodg-man. I forgive him though, as it's always a little uncomfortable meeting an internet friend for the first time, especially one who you've never actually spoken to, except through words in a book you've written.

Caruso in a box

While watching the semi-hilarious "Dick-in-a-box" video from SNL's Andy Samberg with Justin Timberlake, I realized two things. One: Justin's wearing a wig that looks exactly like David Caruso's hypnotically red "hair;" and Two: I'm probably going to end up blogging about this. Oh, and Three: I no longer believe I have a great shot at stealing Cameron Diaz away from Justin. Now, there's only two others Caruso's wig should fit, based on the size of ginormous melon, and that's present day Barry Bonds, and an African elephant, which begs the questions, is Justin a pachyderm on 'roids, and why is everyone so obsessed with David Caruso.

Oh, Possum!

Thursday night, quite drunk, stumbling back from my boss' housewarming party, I turned the corner on my block and came face to...uhm, ankle, with an opossum. I'd never seen a live one in the wild before, so despite it's rat-like appearance, I was quite excited. I was also intoxicated enough to believe it was Splinter. It was so surreal, standing on the corner of my block in Brooklyn, with an opossum on the curb in front of a car (probably not its own, they're notorious for riding shotgun) that I didn't even think to take a photo with my camera phone as proof against naysayers. By the time I thought about it, Mr. Opossum had smoothly slid under the automobile, out of sight, and a little voice in the back of my head told me reaching my hand into a dark space to grab the opossum was a bad idea.

I've also discovered parrots (or perhaps parakeets) in my neighborhood, but haven't been able to take a photo of them yet. Watching one fly with wire in it's beak to build/repair their nest on top of a telephone pole was quite cool. Plus, I thought maybe they'd be good for home improvements on my condo.

Unfortunately, both of these species do not belong in Brooklyn, further underscoring the problems with global warming and keeping exotics as pets, which is often times how exotic birds end up in Hasidic areas of Brooklyn. Hmmm, maybe global warming isn't so bad, if it will eventually allow kangaroos to migrate to Brooklyn too.

Dream Log 6907.2

Everyone always wonders why I'm perpetually late to everything. It's because I sleep. I oversleep. And I don't do this out of any immense feelings of being tired. No, I do this because my dreams, as you will see once again, are simply awesome:

I woke up (in my dream of course) to find Ms. Dynamo (his girlfriend, not mom) eating my bagels. There was only one left, a multi-berry from Massachusetts. I'll be damned if I'm going to let her eat it!* I told her I was upset with the amount of bagels she'd already consumed and if she touched that one, I'd run her through with my saber.**

I sort of realized this was a dream when my apartment contained a tank full of 3 ducks, who were often quiet, but one moment when they thought I wasn't paying attention, they all had a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. I also had 2 puppies who could sort of talk, miniature grizzly bears (mom and cub) that lived in a fish bowl, and a terrarium full of terrarium creatures.

Next up, I was hanging out by a pool, showing off my really tanned skin, huge pecs and generally awesome physique, when Cynthis (name changed to protect identity of Cynthia) rides up to me on a bicycle. This was made more impressive owing to her being in the pool, ON TOP OF THE WATER (like Jesus, if you're missing the damned analogy), peddling. Sure, she was swaying back and forth a little bit, but who has perfect balance biking on H2O?

She was one of my 4 girlfriends in my dream. It was just like the time there were 4 Supermen in Metropolis, but all were fake Supermen, and 1 was the 1/2 cyborg Superman who was all evil and totally bent on world domination. Only this was way more useful, because I had FOUR GIRLFRIENDS. None of them wanted to kill me with cyborg strength, but rather with kindness. They were all fighting over me, wearing short skirts or performing Christian miracles for my affection.

Now I recognized 2 of the women, the third didn't matter (yea, I love em and leave em in my nocturnal slumber), but the fourth intrigued me. She was 1/2 Asian, 1/2 something else, and all ridiculously fine. Being as how my dreams are portents of the future, 1/2 Asian woman, wherever you are, don't make me wait. I mean, we're going to be together again (probably tomorrow night after about 11:30 PM), so let's get started on this now. Neither of us really has a choice anyway, since it's fated. I just hope you don't ride an early train, cause that'll make this all more difficult.


*Note: Not that she's not super nice or anything. But, it's a multi-berry bagel from Massachusetts!

**Note 2: I don't condone violence, especially towards women, and the closest thing I've ever owned to a saber is a broom whose handle I took off and waved menacingly.

The Prestige

I recently saw The Prestige, a movie that can't quite be described without then being ridiculed. That's not to say that it wasn't good, because it was. Quite good, in fact. However, the premise contains some elements of science fiction as well as the possibility of the occult. Two magicians, Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, are constantly dueling and sabotaging each other's acts in a relentless obsession of one-up-manship.

Unfortunately, I couldn't watch Christian Bale without "I am Batman" running through my head, and was quite pissed when Hugh Jackman didn't simply eviscerate Christian with a simple Snick-snick-snickety-snick of his claws. This might just be me, because I also had brief, nightmarish flashes of Hugh in Kate and Leopold.

Some other notable scenes/thoughts during the movie:

• Hugh Jackman wanders into a giant, alternating current, crazy-ass lightning machine, in the hopes of mimicking Storm's powers.


• Christian Bale picks up a woman by showing her nephew a magic trick. He later takes her out for dinner, and drops her off at her apartment, where she refuses to let him in. Being a magician, he decides to break in, and when she turns around, he's offering her a tea kettle. She laughs at this. Yes, breaking and entering, with the possibility of sexual assault, is apparently the way into her heart.


• At some point, Christian's wife is railing on and on about how she knows what he is. I guessed correctly, but I also wondered if he was somehow a zombie. Then I realized being the undead probably wouldn't help you make canaries disappear, would lead to a constant threat of decapitation by overzealous zombie hunters and would cause dogs to bark at you.

So if you want to convince your friends to see this movie, which was really quite good, please do not try to explain the plot. Trust me, Christopher Nolan tells the story WAY better than you would.

Movin' on up

Dynamo and I finally moved in to our condo in Midwood, Brooklyn. For those of you unfamiliar, Midwood is EXTREMELY close to Manhattan, has a lot of really cool, hip things to do, and all the meats are easily identifiable at the neighborhood stores.

However, things aren't all perfect. I'm living out of my suitcase, but at least my bed is in my room to stay and will never be in the living room and the PS2 is set up. But I predict in the next 2 weeks, I'll be cooking all my meals and buying tons of groceries and putting them in our new fridge that will replace the old one that doesn't fit, using any single spatial dimension, in the space it was meant. And though I don't currently have internet access right now (which means this blog was created in the future and sent back through time somehow), I also predict my computer will soon be here, along with a nice dresser for my clothes. Yes, everything will go smoothly in the next two weeks, I can feel it.

Photos of new apartment are sure to follow.

Robots Amongst Us

I think my coworker is a robot. Of course I'm scared, cause all robots are programmed to kill, usually women named Sarah Connor. Ok, so this guy/metal man isn't The Terminator, but he could be A terminator. I'd like to present Exhibit A, an email conversation with him, as evidence:

Me:

Mr Roboto,

I assume Angl0-Saxon Roboto is a
decently common name, but I came across this while searching for myself:
http://tedleoguide.com/tedleolive.credits.html

Were you ever affiliated with the band in some way?
I took photos of them back in the day that they used on their site…

Possible Robot Guy:
Not me. You are right both my first and last name and the combination of the 2 are very com-mon in the U-nited States of A-mer-i-ca, England, Ireland and Scotland. Please give me robot food.
*arms swinging back and forth mechanically*

And if that's not enough to convince you that the robot invasion is in full swing, witness the picture I found on the internet and decided looked just like him:

Viral Self Defense

About a month ago, I was required by my job to complete a security awareness training course. There were a couple of parts to the course, including Email Awareness, which involved knowing that electronic mail messages are now all the rage, and Defend Yourself Against Viruses, which I was so excited about passing that I printed up the certificate and hung it on my cubicle wall.*

All of the sections had a course to read through before taking the quiz, which of course I skipped and went straight for the tests. Who needs background information when you're a genius in your own mind? This backfired when I failed one of the categories. A 75% is passing. As long as I get 7.5 out of 10 right, I'm good. Sadly, there was no partial credit for a half-right multiple choice answer.

Rubbish! I closed and reopened one of the sections, as I decided the tests were getting too taxing and wanted a short break. That counts as a failure, and I only have 5 tries per test. Not I look like I complete dullard!

Perhaps the best part, even better than the questions, was the goofy illustrations




*Is there a more depressing sentence than this? Maybe only involving land mines.

Eat at Joe's

Do you live in broadleaf or coniferous forests, 5 to 10 thousand feet in altitude? Like resting in the trees but feel constantly pushed out by developers taking your land? Do you posess a pseudo thumb, useful for grasping stems and shoots as you sit, human style, on the floor? If you are an up to 250 pound male, or 220 pound female, with distinctive black and white marks, and the above applies to you, why don't you come snack on our delicious bamboo flooring. Stop on by. Dynamo and myself are always receptive to visitors. We have only the finest caramelized and pre finished bamboo planks, and for your convenience, they're just sitting in tons of boxes in Dynamo's room. Help yourself. Perhaps enjoy a side order of drywall, or bring back some screws for the kids to play with. The deliciousness is limited, so call today.

Sorry, but zebras, red pandas painted white, and all other imposters WILL be turned away.

The Strongest Bird

At my superbly creative job, I'm in charge of digitalness. One aspect of this tremendous responsibility is handing hard metal objects, with cords and cables, to creative types who take said objects, head to Brazil for a week, and drink on the beach. The metal objects, or hard drives, which should be used to store images in the form of digital information, are more often used as frisbees or pawned to buy more caipirinhas.

To keep these coveted items safe, I ordered Pelican cases, which are hard on the outside, soft on the inside (think Arnold Schwarzenegger in "Kindergarten Cop"). These suckers are tough. A tank could run over them, even stopping to rest on them while the driver does presumably more important things (like shoot at the enemy a la G.I. Joe) and the case would hold up.

But like all superheroes and strong cases, Pelican has its weaknesses. While searching the website, I found the comforting "Pelican Unconditional Lifetime Guarantee of Excellence" section. This was followed by the less comforting "The above guarantee does not cover sharkbite, bear attack or children under 5" section. I wonder if real pelicans need be so worried by Jaws, ursines and toddlers.

Halloween

I've become increasingly less enamored with Halloween. It's still a more sacred holiday to me, than say Bastille day, but for how long? I've been driven to this position by costumes, as well as my neighbors.

Now I'm not attacking all the cute little kids in costumes. At least, not right now. But I will, to steal all their candy, and then I'd be the Candy Don, ruler of the sugar market. I think children usually dress up cute, and I applaud parents for taking them around, like a pack of really dense locusts, whatever area they live in to get food that will rot their teeth. In addition, I officially approve of costumes for women. So what if they're completely ridiculous, and basically an excuse for women to dress up like sluts. I remember Halloween parties in college where every single woman was either a sexy nurse, a sexy angel, a sexy devil, a sexy catwoman, or in very rare cases, a slutty, strip teasing, sexy nurse who moonlights as Catwoman. Thus is my concept of Heaven.

My problem isn't even that I never have a really good idea for Halloween, and if I did I think of it in February and then forget it well before the time to implement it. My problem is I can't dress up for Halloween without revealing my secret identity:



















A few of my neighbors have put up a ridiculous amount of tacky decorations, including, but not limited to: saran wrapper bats on the walls, fake cobwebs on plants with plastic spiders, a sad looking dracula but an excited Frankenstein, etc. Do they keep all this elaborate nonsense the entire year? It seems a shame to throw it out, especially the giant skeleton on the door. The worst part, however, is a witch in the corner of the hallway, which everytime I walk past, I think is a person lurking to get me, and I immediately drop into Chuck Norris mode. The damned wicked witch also apparently lights up and cackles. I'm gonna drop kick that motherfucker!

Celebrating closing

Here, Dynamo and I have perfected the fine art of celebration. After one of the biggest moments of our lives, we ate gyros from a nearby, Hungarian/Turkish gyro shop; washed it down with Arizona's fine 99 cent green tea from a can, 2006 vintage; and relaxed on our only piece of furniture, a heavy wooden desk and rolling chair.

WOOOOOOOO PARTAY!

Closing Costs

Friday, October 6, 2006. Dynamo and I were scheduled to meet at Michael and Swerdloff, attorneys-at-law's office. The name itself throws me off, because very few people use their first names for the law firm. Take, for example, Crane, Schmidt & Poole, the law firm on spectacular TV show Boston Legal (I may have a man-crush on James Spader). Those are all last names. They're pure fiction, but so is the use of Swerdloff as a first name.

After searching around for what we imagined the law firm's building would look like, we found a house. With a sign. A paper sign. Taped in the window. An 8 x 11, printed on an inkjet printer, sign taped to the window mostly hidden by blinds, welcoming us to the law office of Michael and Swerdloff. It was more like a dentist's office. We all took seats in the waiting area, half expecting a swerdly looking oral hygienist to come out and offer to clean our teeth while we closed.

Closing went smoothly, except for a few things. Such as our lawyer not understanding basic principles of math. Us not understanding basic principles of not getting extra money back. Finding out our monthly payments were going to be $500 higher than originally expected. Being moved from the first room because some guys had to do something with air ducts or something .

Closing is an exciting, yet extremely stressful time, and any little thing sent my eye twitching. We wanted to make sure everything was completely in order. Two and a half hours later we were in the clear. Except, at the very last moment, I noticed my name was spelled incorrectly on the housing deed and title, which actually were not in the expected Monopoly form. If it wasn't for my timely actual reading of the papers thrust before me to sign, the small error would have granted my condo to Phinneas Q. Sherberthead.

We had finally closed! And the first mortgage + city taxes + pickle taxes + not having a pet dingo charges weren't due until December 1st! Free ride, baby! To this end, we hopped in my pimped out pimpmobile (1993 Mercury Villager with questionable turn radius) crusin' and playin' Wu-Tang (on the radio)...with no particular place to go.

Everything was high 5s and W signs, until we got close to the apartment. There, in an act of ridiculously bad driving, I managed to hit a cop. Not a cop car. An actual, ticket-giving, clearly-shouldn't-have-been-walking-so-far-in-the-road, definitely-shouldn't-have-raised-his-left-arm-when-he-did, cop. My right side-view mirror cracked back into the passenger side window and I had an "Oh Crap" moment. I always considered myself a rational person, until Dynamo had to calm me down and direct me not to flee from the scene. I pulled over, got out the car, and walked towards the policeman, shaking like a Polaroid picture the entire time.

"Holy crap, oh crap, are you okay? I'm so sorry. I have no idea what happened, I thought I was further over on the left, and I think a car came into the lane and I moved over and didn't have as much space as I thought..."
"It's okay, I'm fine...you barely grazed my elbow, which was jutted out way into the road while I made my 'I'm a little teapot' pose."

Well, I'm glad he was fine, but my mirror was cracked right down the middle. And those things are not cheap to fix. I'm still waiting on the cop to give me money for the damage he caused!

A P-Killer Dedicated Polar Bear Update

This post is dedicated to P-killer, who always makes an effort to get me to write more consistently and considerately provides this blog space with humorous commentary. And as we all know, humorous posts plus humorous comments is a great recipe for chili.

It's been a solid 15 days (or what the experts refer to as "more than enough time to get a polar bear) now since we've painted the apartment "Polar Bear," and still no luck. Thinking perhaps the paint was not so much a lure as a way to transform our condos walls into living, breathing, actual polar bears, I started petting the walls. To no avail. Not only are the walls NOT super furry, cuddly and seal-hunt-ly, but they're filled with roller drip marks.

This proved my original idea of paint as a lure must have been correct, and yet so far only failure. Meditating on the problem, I thought maybe the polar bears were actually being camouflaged, and running out before we could properly introduce ourselves. To this end, I painted one wall "Chile Pepper," figuring there's no way a polar bear could blend in against a bright red/orange wall. That is, until I watched Lost and realized how smart they were. The bear could paint itself bright red/orange as well! This was going to be trickier than I thought.

On this same episode of Lost, however, I realized some polar bears (some, not all, before you start badgering innocents) are actually quite dangerous and live in caves on lush tropical islands and eat people with walking sticks. Dynamo had a cane, and maybe these clearly insane polar bears can't differentiate, so maybe it's best not to lure one in.

I'd do more research on this topic, but I've got to go paint my walls "Delicious Golden Honey." To lure in grizzly bears, of course.

Polar Bear Picking

In a last ditch effort to attract a polar bear companion, Dynamo and I painted our new condo. Planning for days, we decided to paint it white. But not just any white. Polar Bear white. And not just any Polar Bear white paint, but Behr Premium Plus. You know, for more Behr attracting action. While Behr is spelled incorrectly, I can assure you their logo is an actual bear, which in turn reassured me that my plan would work.

So far, however, all I've gotten is 3 kittens and one cat, who may or may not be feral but are ridiculous cute anyway, that crap a lot in our condo's shared backyard.

While this is a hotly debated issue, I've come up with a few reasons why so far a polar bear hasn't sauntered into our living room:

1. I calculated incorrectly, and their favorite color is yummy seal gray or coca-cola black
2. It's not yet cold enough
3. The paint that attracts them is flat finish; we used eggshell and semi-gloss

Terrorsaurus Teddy

"It's kind of a cute little teddy bear and people wouldn't think that a cute
little teddy bear would be able to kill fish."

Ok, what are teddy bears based on? Right, real bears. And what do real bears do? Yes, beg to be cuddled and wrestled with and ridden through the Holland Tunnel as my personal, eco-friendly transportation. But also, kill fish with the express purpose of eating them. And while this teddy bear probably bit off more than he could chew, his instincts were in the right place. Yes, 2,500 is a lot, but maybe he was real hungry at the time, and ended up having eyes that were bigger than his stomach. That's why everyone cautions grocery shopping while hungry. Same principle.

Read the whole article here: http://msnbc.msn.com/id/15004927/?GT1=8506

By the way, don't go expecting 2-3 posts a day in the future, because you'll be severely disappointed. Like I was when the tooth fairy turned out to be my father in his underpants.