Apologies...

I have removed my Tony Snow blog due to, what I have decided, is a case of poor timing. That does not change the fact that he is still an ass.

Yoga vs. Elliptical

Take a look at both of the above images really quick.

Now, we all know in the U.S. of A. there is a degree of femininity prescribed to these two types of physical activity. Thus, I have caught shit from anyone and everyone - family members, co-workers, friends - after going to a yoga class the past two Mondays, the first for free thanks to my neighbor Sarah.

In any event, my roommate Craig Bromberg in particular has taken issue with my participation in these classes, offering such astute, sophisticated critiques as: "You are such a homo."

To which I generally reply with something along the lines of: "Craig, you go to the gym three times a week to spend 30 minutes on the elliptical, and you are calling me a woman?"

Needless to say, I refuse to believe that I am more of a tool for doing yoga than Craig is for riding the elliptical machine, especially since the elliptical is the extent of Craig's physical activity and my yoga is merely complimentary to my weekly running and lifting routine. So, in my opinion, he is the pot which is calling the kettle black.

However, since we could not come to an agreement on our own as to which activity was "gayer" than the other, each of us consulted outside, impartial council Monday night.

Before revealing the results I want to make two things perfectly clear: 1- after having experienced yoga, I can vouch that it is not for the feint of heart, and the elliptical pales in comparison when it comes to level of difficulty. 2- I could give two shits if somebody thinks participating in a yoga class means you swing one way or the other, to me it is irrelevant. I just want to win this argument.

INDEPENDENT COUNCIL

I sought out the opinion of fellow 2004 Miami graduate, Erin Lenger, who happened to be online at the time, and was much more objective than Craig in her reasoning.

aj0232 (Me): what is more feminine... me doing yoga, or my roommate only doing the elliptical - prototypical female workout - when he goes to the gym?
mmlenger (Erin): hmm
mmlenger: that's a tough one
mmlenger: i think that you doing yoga could be seen as more "confident"
mmlenger: i generally have always viewed elliptical machines as female
aj0232: oh god you made my day
mmlenger: however - that was based on my experiences at Miami's rec center
mmlenger: at my gym here - in St. Louis - all guys do ellipticals

Damn... but she was not finished.

mmlenger: ok
mmlenger: put it this way
mmlenger: if i see a guy on an elliptical (based on my experiences at gyms)
mmlenger: i do not at this point assume he is gay
mmlenger: if he is on an elliptical reading people magazine
mmlenger: he's gay
mmlenger: if a guy says he's going to yoga, i don't think he's gay
mmlenter: if he's wearing spandex, he's gay

Fascinating logic. Continue...

mmlenger: anyways
mmlenger: you're not gay because you do yoga
aj0232: well thank you so much for letting me know I am not gay Erin... i was totally unaware of that
mmlenger: hahaha
mmlenger: and don't get attitude
mmlenger: you're the one who brought all of this up
aj0232: yeah, and you were supposed to be on my side here
mmlenger: i think both sides are equal here

Damn. Damn. A stalemate.

Moving on. Craig chose to consult his kid brother Scotty, aka Buddy.

Scotty's point of view was fairly cut and dry, and just as unhelpful.

Drum32882 (Craig): What's more masculine... going to yoga class or exercising on an elliptical?
scottyb73186 (Buddy): Hmmmm... i would say the elliptical, but both are really gay.

Sonofa... oh well, whatever.

Ya done good George

Sweet Jesus, Lord in Heaven. I love you George W. Bush.

All is forgiven.

On Sunday at 2 a.m. I -- and I imagine I am speaking on behalf of 99.9% of the nation when I say this -- instantaneously forgave you (for being president), Dick (for being such a poor shot), Condoleezza (for the gap in her teeth), good old Rumsy (for that one Iraq press conference about the armor), Barry Bonds (for his growing head), Paris Hilton (for being alive) and Michael Jackson (for...), well damn, if I am going that far, I'll even throw in the Grinch.

Whos and humans alike forgive this entire administration for the incredible, Godforsaken, sticky, smelly, oily, snotty, bloody, enormous, 6-and-a-half-year-long catastrofuck (sorry to plagiarize Jon Stewart but I only have so much material) that has been known as your presidency.

At precisely 2 a.m. Sunday morning, as I rode the subway home from the lower east side, watching one bum scorn another bum for "actin' like he ain't got no sense" by sleeping on the train floor, I forgave it all.

My upstairs neighbors here in Hell's Kitchen will sure as hell -- you see how I did that? -- second the motion.

You, sir, expanded daylight savings time.

(I'll pause for the standing ovation here)

Despite merely reinstating the previous dates for an institution thought up by some aristocratic golfers and a fat guy flying a kite, I still wanted you to be on TV at that exact moment, just so we could all see that shit-eating grin curl across your face, right then and there.

You extended the sunlight in my day by an entire hour for an additional month of the year. Some presidents give us a budget surplus, peace treaties and jobs, but you, Mr. President, you showed us the light. Literally.

I knew you could pull it off. I have been rooting for you guys to produce just one single piece of legislation and pull back the clouds, just for a little while, on what many otherwise would have considered the Dark Ages of the 21st Century.

It was certainly worth the wait. You did not disappoint. Mission finally accomplished.

So, as I walk home from work at 6 p.m. basking in that oh-so-sweet sunlight all the while from now until November, I can finally tell myself that the sky over Washington is now only figuratively dark.

Cue the sick bastards

When was the last time you saw or heard a reference to these toolboxes?

Yeah, that's what I thought. It's been a while. Well, I wish I could say the same.

Sunday night a tent was set up down the street outside some bar called the Supper Club that I never noticed before. Weird, but not that weird considering what else you run into out here -- one of my roommates last weekend saw a man laying face down on the sidewalk, not moving. What did my roommate do? Step right over him, no call to the cops or anything... anyway, that's beside the point.

Monday morning on my way to work, there are a couple more tents outside the bar I never noticed until the night before. This morning, a couple more. So I take a look at the poster on the outside wall of the bar. Yep, you guessed it, tonight the MMMM Bop triplets themselves are performing, if you want to call it that.

"Seriously? Hanson?" I thought to myself while getting on the subway. After momentary bewilderment it was out of my head for the rest of the day.

Then, as I am getting off the train this evening I turn a corner and there is a line wrapping around the block to go to this little hole-in-the-wall bar that I had not noticed for more than a year until just 48 hours ago. Needless to say, my first thought upon seeing that was: "What is wrong with with these people?"

Well, a lot as it turns out.

Sure, as expected, the line was mostly made up of little girls. However, intermingling with these teenie-boppers was about a dozen of the creepiest looking old men I have ever seen.

Clearly not chaperoning anybody, these dudes were hard core pederasses... no doubt about it. One guy was wearing a jean jacket with "HANSON" written across the back in bright pink letters. Another had pinned to his pants one of those over-sized buttons -- you know, the New Kids on the Block variety worn by fourth-grade girls back in 1991. Another one of these freaks was wearing what looked like a homemade t-shirt with ironed-on faces of those three then-kids on the front.

Mustaches, shifty eyes, fanny packs, the whole shebang. All these guys were missing was a neon sign fixed above their heads flashing the words "I Love Little Boys."

I wanted to walk up to each of them, one by one, and scream into their faces, through a bullhorn: "Step away from the children!"

What were these parents thinking standing in line there, in many cases, right between their kid(s) and one of these turds? I would assume something along the lines of "good Lord what have I done to deserve this?" and "good Lord what have I done to deserve this?"

One thing is for certain... things sure are looking up for Hanson these days.

Out of the way yuppies

See all these people to the left here? I hate every single one of them.

Why? Let me tell you why: Because they are just standing there, in the middle of the sidewalk, in the rain.

Out here in New York the sidewalks are like everyone else's roads. We use them to commute to work, get groceries, go to the movies, etc.

So if anyone of you ever finds yourself walking along a New York street and suddenly have the urge to make a sharp left, bend over to tie your shoe, or stop and look up at the tall building, don't. Instead, stop and think about what would happen if you followed that same urge while driving down I-75 at that exact moment... an 18-car pile up isn't much worse than being cussed out in four different languages at the same time by the people behind you.

And do you know what makes everything worse? Water falling from the sky.

Look at these ever-so-prepared tourists in the picture up there again. The ponchos. The umbrellas. God I hate them. They are practically invincible and they know it. Because of that, when it is raining and 38 degrees tomorrow and I am sprinting home from work, they will be standing there with a 7'x9' map unfolded in the middle of 5th Ave. while their little turd of a kid is playing red rover with another little turd of a kid.

And as I try to run past them, both little turds will manage to cross into my path at the exact same moment I am jump over a puddle. I will not see either and knock them both senseless into the cement face first.

Then, as I am trying to explain what happed to their four parents in the picture who were to perplexed by a stupid ass subway map they couldn't watch their shitbag kids three seconds ago, I will get approached by a cop who tells me to "just chill the hell out man, and try to be more considerate of other people" without even hearing what I have to say... and I always wondered why New Yorkers have the reputation of being rude.

Whhooooeeeeeeeeeee

Hot damn Hoagie! Ya see that sucker blow!? I can't wait to tap into that $400 million severance! Wait till ya'll see how much shit I blow up then! Hell I might fly up to Alasker and blast that dang ol' Valdez out of ever'ns memory!

What Hoag? Now? Well go tell that r'porter to... he's already recordin'? Well Hell, why didn't ya say so!

Hey there 'merica! Me and m'buddy Hoagie were just takin' some target practice in the back forty. So let me get this rifle outa her' real quick and get a fresh bottle of Jack before we start that tour.

Oh those big barrels of oil on fire over there? Don't worry 'bout those. They was just the 100-gallon puppies we was shootin' at t'day.

Now, jump up into m'truck and we'll get a'goin. Ya say ya never seen a pickup looks like that before? Heheee. Damn straight! It's the Ford F-8,00o, they only made five of 'em and I already blew the hell out of the other four! Millage? Eh, 'bout 10. What's that? On good God no, not per gallon... that's 10 miles a tank. I'll drive this puppy inta the ground though, since those turds in Dearborn rolled out that 9,000. Alternative fuels my ass... gimme some crude! Aright, enough yappin'. Saddle up!

See over yonder? That's m'house? Nah, that's the shed. Nah, that one's for m'dog Zeek. Bingo's that's it, the one with the smokestack peaking over that there little Mountain.

Now to the left we got m'garage. In there I gots 35 gold-plated Harleys, one for each day of the month! Huh? Nope, not in Texas; George W. lengthened ours back in '96. This month we only got 32 days though, so I guess Sally, Betty, and Frida get an extended breather.

Comin' up ahead here we have m'pettin' zoo. It's got Buffalo, Tigers, a Woolly Mammoth, T-Rex, a... How'd I what? Why, I just hired that scientist from Jurassic Park to brew me up a few species that pussied out and went extinct. The Mammoth wasn't a biggie, but that T-Rex cost a good chunk to muster up. Ya know though, the real kicker is the upkeep. That sombitch Rexy rips up six heffers a day!

Speakin' of Rex, m'good buddy and replacement Rex Tillerman is doin' a bang-up job at the helm, ain't he! $40 billion this year! Hot damn, a new record! Suck on that King Abdullah!

Hey reporter... kin ya keep a secret? I got half of it! Yep that's right, I'm not as retired as ya'll think! And you m'boy... well I can call ya pal now, right!? You will git the first invite to the shindig I throw when that check clears!

How 'bout then we bring out m'Howitzer and see if we can't set off those 500 gallon suckers I'm saving for a special occasion! Yeeeeehaaawwwww!

I have a mustache!

Guten Tag Americans!

I would just like all of you to know that there is more to me, and my great company, than just being a "kraut" as 'Mr. Ford Tough' would have you all believe. For example, I wear little glasses. I also have a mustache, which I enjoy twirling. I most enjoy selling cars while wearing my glasses and twirling my mustache.

I do get mistaken for the game man you have in your country... you all know who I am talking about; he who sometimes does not permit you to pass go and collect $200.

Anyway, I have wandered from my intention, which is to illuminate you to the German loveliness. I do encourage every one of you to some time come visit my exceptional Fatherla... I mean country.

I must go now, but briefly first I want to be definite that you are aware of how sickened... that is, fascinated I am by your mongrel race... I mean ethnically diverse culture. I aim that our cooperation as one international company will serve you all positively while it allows me to infiltrate, er, um... learn more about the US of A.