If you’ve talked to me about my blog before, chances are I’ve mentioned that no one reads it or comments or that I don’t even really consider myself a blogger because I don’t talk about “this person did that to me” or “you know what really pisses me off¹?” or “my life is in turmoil and my thighs are too big” or “why doesn’t she love me like I love her?” or “do you know what my favorite kind of peanut butter is?”…alright the peanut butter one I’d probably write about² but you get my drift. My theory is that because my ideas are so typically inane and ridiculous that no one wants to read them because there is no way to identify with them. I am perfectly okay with this.

While looking for other things to do at work besides work and having run out of blogs to read and extricated as much information as I possibly could from sitemeter, I started poking around Technorati. This may be my eventual downfall. The ‘rati is a pretty cool little site and for those of you who don’t know, it gives you a rank and tells you how many other blogs link to your blog, and also how many blogs link to the blogs that link to you.

All the blogs on the right are sites that I read everyday. The list grows as I find myself going to a site more than once every couple of weeks, or if there’s a particularly good post, then I’ll add them out of principal. It’s my way of saying “you wrote a good post, here’s a cookie!” only I don’t give out cookies and I don’t actually talk to indicate respect. I keep the cookies. And eat them. And I wash it down with respect. I’ll also link to anyone who links to me (which is standard practice for pretty much everyone…. except for Alice, who apparently links to no one³. )

As embarrassing as it is I will now share with you my Technorati rating and link number so you can all laugh at me and say “Wow, you really are the only person who thinks you’re funny. The title of your blog is so relevant now! I finally get it! But I still don’t find you relevant…or funny. In fact, this, if anything, has lessened my opinion of you such that if I saw you on the street, I would pound you into it.”

As you can kind of see thanks to this blurry screen shot, my rating is at 246,459 and I am linked by 12 blogs.

You know that weird guy in high school who seemed nice but no one really talked to because he just wasn’t cool enough? That’s the kind of status I feel my Technorati rating gives me. I get invited to limited blogger happy hours due to this low rating and poor link-factor, then when I go, people say “oh, do you have a blog?” and I say “yes, yes I do. It’s ‘Well at least I think I’m funny.'” and they say “oh…that’s nice.” and then quickly look for a more famous blogger to talk to⁴ after a quick pat on my head for encouragement.

The point of all this isn’t to complain or to seek out pity links and comments (though they’re gladly accepted), but more to say that wouldn’t it be funny if people started to take their technorati ratings really seriously and begin basing their lives and the majority of the conversations on this nerdy claim-to-fame:

(It’s happy hour and many famous bloggers have gathered together to drink and socialize)

Famous Blogger: (enters, wearing a shirt that says “Technorati Top 50, bitch.”)
What’s up bitches? Cast your eyes upon my kicky shirt.

Famous Blogger 2: Oh wow. I’m only top 100 (indicating her shirt). Man I’m so jealous!

FB: Yeah I knew you would be. So ladies, who wants to makeout so I can write about it in my blog tomorrow?

Random Hot Girls: OOOHHH!! Please, please, pick me! Pick me!

FB 2: Man, that is sweet. I hope to crack the top 50 someday. I mean, people buy me drinks a lot and I sign a few autographs here and there, but I can’t command the attention in a room that you do…wait a minute…who’s…who’s that?

FB: Who’s who?

FB 2: That, over there – look!

Famous Blogger 3: Hey bitches. Technorati numero uno here. Yeah. That’s right. (FB 3 has gone so far as to tattoo this rating into his forehead) I’ve written more entries about how miserable my life is and how much I hate the idiosynchrosies of others than anyone. And I swear…a lot. Because its hilarious. Tits. See? I just did it. Just then. But I took it kind of easy on you. You’re lucky. I’m so snide, its awesome.

FB: Oh damn. This guy ALWAYS ruins ma nerd-fame style!

FB 2: I hope he doesn’t drop the F bomb! It’s just so gutsy, creative, and powerful.

(several women leave FB and immediately begin carressing FB 3 as he simply stands with his hands out, gazing up into the ceiling – as if somehow he’ll be levitating a few inches off the ground to the tune of an angelic chorus any minute now)

Andy: Hey guys, is this where the blogger happy hour is?

FB: Yes, are you a blogger?

Andy: Well, yeah I am. But I –

FB 3: What’s your technorati rating?

Andy: Oh, well I’ve indicated it here, on my shirt, just like you guys.

(Andy points to the number on his shirt)

FB 2: …

FB: …

FB 3: …really? I thought that was like your sitemeter count or something.

Andy: Yeah. These things are so meaningless. Don’t you guys think?

(The bar gets silent and a tumbleweed rolls across the room. A glass drops to the floor and breaks, a woman screams, and somewhere in South Eastern Asia, an infant child is crying. Andy uncomfortably tugs at his collar.)

Andy: I mean. Important. Don’t you think they’re important? Haha…ha…heh…ahem. Well, I think I’m just going to be leaving now.

(Andy chugs the remainder of his beer, turns around to leave and on his way out someone tapes a sign to his back that says “Kick Me, Gawker links me less than once a week.”)

FB: Finally.

FB 2: I am glad he left. What a trouble-maker. I don’t know anyone who actually jokes about their technorati rating…I mean..honestly!

FB 3: I certainly don’t either. That seems ridiculous. You know what else is ridiculous? Anonymous commenters. There haven’t been enough posts about that, OR riding on the subway. I’m gonna go do six more posts about each of those topics. Then, when someone posts about how New York bloggers suck, I’m totally gonna write a pithy rebuttal in their comments section. BOO YAH!

FB 2: Genius!

FB: That’s why you’ll always be number 1.

Now I’m destined to get a t-shirt that says “Technorati Rating: 246, 459” with a frowny face underneath.

For those of you that have found it in your hearts to link this lowly, un-famous, non-blogger I thank you, and big props to the classy dame at Gawker who occassionally finds me funny^5.

¹Except when I write about Cingular. I hate you Cingular.
²Look for it later.
³thanks a lot, jerk.
⁴These are the most famous bloggers I have met. Except for Alice, but I’m not giving her any more love in this post.
⁵Not sure if you wanted your identity revealed so no link for you! (I’m turning into Alice)

Today I was perusing through the blogs I usually peruse and something struck me. As I was reading I realized there is always a stark contrast between their blogs and mine: a point. Typically when I start writing something it’s because I think of something funny and then I just randomly through something together and it ends up being nonsensical, ridiculous, and pointless. Today I’m going to try to take this to an extreme as I write the longest run-on sentence known to man using word association and see where I end up.

_________________________________________________________________

I started reading Spinachdip’s guest blog this morning on blog soup and then realized that there’s seldom a point to what I write always comes out a little ridiculous because I’ll start off with a good idea about the lightbulb is probably one of the best, and most inspirational due to the amount of failures in life to me are people that don’t really follow their dream about a hamburger eating him is one of the greatest lines in Seinfeld which my friend Erik and I call the golden standard jazz tunes are just not written by anyone anymore and I’m not sure its for lack of trying or just beacause standards are going to be altogether drawn from different sources of light coming from what they call a “light-box” can actually help cure SAD and now there is a cell phone that has a 3.2 megapixel camera is all I really want and stupid Cingular is really pissing me off because I’ve been waiting and waiting for my most recent commission check but (client not to be named) hasn’t paid yet even though they said they sent the check out last week was great but this weekend I really felt the need to get out of the city and into some greener surroundings because as all New Yorkers know you just start to feel cooped up like a chicken in an egg under an incubation lamp in my room doesn’t have a shade over it which makes the room heat up by a noticeable amount of Penn State graduates in the United States is something like one in six hundred more dollars and I am well on my way to buying a sweet new TV which I probably won’t end up getting because I won’t be able to decide what to do with my life even though I think I know a basic direction its hard to pursue a specific direction because there’s so much cool stuff out there I’d like to have but then I realize it won’t make me happy about going home this weekend and may even get to see the very first Penn State game of the season even though it’s supposed to rain doesn’t really bother me that much but it gets old after a few days of consistent practicing I think I’ve finally gotten some of my chops back and now I’m excited because I’m gonna get a (temporarily removed section) going on in New York each week and writing reviews of Franklin Talk are few and far between each episode has been a much longer period of time is going so fast these days I’m really just not able to believe that I might actually get a job and move to Italy within the next year I’d really like to improve my piano playing skill at Ultimate certainly isn’t unsurpassed but I consider myself fairly good at pretty much anything having to do with art though I’m not really particularly honed in any specific skill other than trombone playing is one of the most satisfying things I do or have done and I miss being in a situation where I’m able to play Ultimate when I finally get my shoulder looked at and I’ll most likely need surgery scares me a little bit but honestly the rehabilitation of my shoulder will be the hardest part of something really musically fulfilling all my goals will be tough but fair enough is enough.

___________________________________________________________________

Huh, interesting.

As of Monday my blog* was slowly but surely creeping up to the high heights of getting my 10,000th visitor. Shut up. I know it’s not a lot for most of you, but damnit, it means something to me.

I was pretty excited at this prospect and began coming up with things I could do to celebrate. I started formulating and contemplating, fornicating and coronating, fabulating and calumniating, and trying to come up with the coolest possible idea for a 10 thousand hit celebration**. But life never goes quite the way you want it to.

“But Andy, whatever do you mean?” you might ask. Well, due to my unfortunate foray into follicle folly*** and my over-active imagination I was featured on Gawker**** and, well, let’s just say I was blasted well over the 10,000 hit mark within about 20 minutes.

Then I got to thinking it would be kind of nice to illustrate my brief history of blogging. Since my first post***** my blog****** has changed******* a lot. Mostly though, I try to amuse myself. I figured my 10,000th post shouldn’t be any different. I mean, after all I’ve hated on Nickelback, ranted about techno, killed a fellow blogger 3 times in one post********, bashed america’s idol, I’ve pretty covered everything. I even managed to up my life expextancy********* by like 40 years…and I’ve died.

So far I’d say it’s been a pretty good run, and to all those people who come back time and again to read the senseless drivel I’ve become so consistent********** with, thanks. And I hope you’ll stick around and keep reading despite all the quirks*********** I’ve developed from being generally odd…and a trombone player.

Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my blog************ as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it*************. It’s nice to know that people are willing to read the goofy ideas and silly scenarios I’ve been coming up with my whole life. Here’s to 10,000 more visitors*************.

Sincerely,

Andy

p.s. In case I mis-linked anything, I apologize.

*SUCKER!
**like trying to see if I could OD on the dictionary.
***OOH! that was a good one.
****For the third time
*****Bet you thought it’d be interesting. You didn’t? Oh.
******ba-zing. that’s twice.
*******the last time I tried to pin me down. I’m back to pretty much doing whatever.
********sorry about that Dade.
*********So you get more crappy posts like this one.
**********I’m not sure why I linked this post here.
***********and maybe continue coming back because of them.
************See? I know when a joke is dead.
*************No I don’t.
**************I just had to put one more sentence so as not to end on 13*************** *’s.
***************I’m very superstitious****************.
****************not really.

Every morning for breakfast I eat oatmeal. I think I made this clear in an earlier post, and if I didn’t, well, consider this the post in which I make it clear and you can now reflect on the first sentence if reflecting on the earlier post didn’t work for you. And if you don’t think its technically reflecting to refelect on a reflection reflected upon only from moments ago, then perhaps you can reflect on it now, as it’s been longer. At any rate I hope it’s clear now that I eat oatmeal for breakfast every morning.

I bring it with me to work, dump some water in there (Poland Spring – because I’m half Polish*), and then nuke it on up. Typically upon placing it at my desk I’ll then grab a fork** from our supply shelves to eat it. Then I return to my desk whereat sits said oatmeal.

Now I never claimed to have a great sniffer, but this morning was just different. Not unpleasant, just different. My oatmeal smelled like french fries. The beer-battered kind you get at The Deli (and then return because they’re cold since they’ve been sitting under the damn heat lamp for so long – or because you saw an employee wipe a booger on them). I couldn’t believe it. So I sat down in front of my oatmeal, thinking my nostrils were most likely being misled, only to find that the french-fry smell strengthened – like so many French people who-…ah who am I kidding? French people aren’t strong at anything.

Then I got to thinking about why my oatmeal smells like french-fries. I couldn’t come up with an answer. I don’t eat fast food a lot (practically never) so it’s not like I have an old Burger King bag sitting in the trash or elsewhere in the office. Potentially it could’ve been the toothpaste flavor I still had in my mouth interfering with the original oatmeal smell – or maybe it was the air conditioner – who knows?

Finally, I decided that if my oatmeal is going to smell like something other than oatmeal, french fries isn’t so bad. It could’ve been much worse. Here’s a brief list of other things I wouldn’t mind my oatmeal smelling like:

1. Chicken
2. Bananas
3. Apple Pie
4. Frank Stallone

*And all polish baby.
**We ran out of spoons long ago.

I’m not sure what exactly my problem is…well, let me rephrase that. I’m not sure exactly what Boris’ problem is. He’s the kind of guy who makes a stupid joke and you laugh at it, but only because he barely speaks English. The type of person who is always trying to make a “business” connection even though he is a barber. He wants people to come back. He wants people to take business cards. What he doesn’t want, is to do a good job.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate immigrants about as much as everyone else…alright, well, at least as much as White Dade. But damnit, when you are cutting hair, the broken English in some sort of Eastern European accent just won’t…cut it. It should really have clued me in. Especially my second time back.

The first time I went to this place to get my hair cut, Sergei did it. Despite the fact that I told him I just wanted him to trim it, he decided he was gonna go Jack Bauer on my follicoles – but he did a good job. In fact, when he was done I thought “Well this is the exact opposite of what I asked for but, at least it looks good.” Oh, if only Boris could’ve been so lucky:

Boris: Hullo.
Andy: Hi.
Boris: Ok. How you want cut, this hair?
Andy: Uh…which one?
Boris: How shall I cut?
Andy: Just take a little off and even it out.
Boris: Okay.

That’s what was said. Here’s how Boris interpreted it.

Boris: Hey there chappy, what gives? Gimme some skin!

Andy: Hi, I’m a stupid b-hole for coming back to this place. Take my money!

Boris: Ok. What can I do for ya today? I have to warn you, I really suck.

Andy: Uh…you know what? I trust you. People that are terrible at things? Why, that’s what I consider the foundations of a grade-A establishment. As long as you can read at a 3rd grade level, you’re classy in my book.

Boris: So then, any vague ideas at least?

Andy: Just take a little off and even it out.

Boris: Okay, I’ll cut off too much hair and leave it all lop-sided and weird looking.

Andy: That’d be perfect – say! You don’t happen to have some rusty, old, barely-functioning scissors around do you? I’d like to purchase them for $100 and do my own haircuts at home!

Boris: Oh, as a matter of fact, I do. (rummages in those weird barber-shop drawers that every barber seems to have) Ah ha! Here’s the pair I killed my wife and brother with, in order to sell their skin for the money I needed to move to America and start my lucrative, shitty, barber shop!

Andy: Lovely! Say, where’s Sergei at? He seems to have an equally poor grasp of English, but still manages to do a good job.

Boris: Oh, I killed him too! Here at Boris’ Barber Shop our motto is: “If you like your haircut, we don’t suck enough…and we’ll kill the person responsible!”

Andy: Why that sounds like a fine slogan Boris. You really have it all.

Boris: Yes, yes I do!

(Andy and Boris laugh uproariously together)

Long story short? I’m buying clippers tonight.

The summer of 2006 saw changes in the Middle East. China fired test missles, an American cheated to win the Tour de France, and Italy won the world cup. What do all these things have in common? Seemingly nothing, unless of course, you happen to be into obscure Podcasts.

Franklin Talk is a revolutionary podcast in that it features a dog, Franklin, who talks. Typically the shows cover everything from sports to current events, to Franklin’s own hopes and dreams. The show was revered by many* as an “hilarious satire on the modern world.” Some even went so far as to call it “the greatest podcast of all-time…including the future, which has yet to see many podcasts that may or may not be better than Franklin Talk. Putting me at risk of looking like a fool for saying this.” But towards the end of July in 2006, a fatal mistep sent the show on a downward spiral.

One fateful night, after returning home from a post-work celebration, Andy slipped and fell in his room. As he struggled to get up, his foot landed on his laptop bag and…well, you can guess the rest from there:

The laptop was sent away to be fixed and Andy assured both Franklin and Franklin’s listeners the show would be back up and running in no time. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

Apple took longer than necessary to repair the laptop and during this two week abscence, things started to quickly spiral downward.

Soon the loss of fame and notoriety Franklin had achieved doing Franklin Talk began to quickly dwindle. Crowds** demanded new episodes, and new episodes Franklin could not provide. Things took a turn for the worse. The following is photographic evidence chronicling Franklin’s plummet into the seedy underbelly of Miami:

Notice he is sticking his tongue out. Franklin often does this to cool off, or, mock those he doesn’t agree with or understand. This is normal Franklin behavior. Day 3.

Then things started to take a turn for the worse…

Notice Franklin’s sudden concern and suspicious glance. It was at this time his paranoid behavior was thought to be indicative of a serious cocaine problem. day 5.

Then all hell breaks loose…

Notice the white powder located on the tip of Franklin’s nose. Day 9

Several cocaine binges later and countless trips to the pound, and Franklin was on his way out with the American public. Things finally came to boiling point when this photo was leaked to the AP:

It was captured minutes before Franklin assaulted this duck, believed to be his cocaine supplier. You can see the duck’s habitat is full of garbage like a true junky’s, and perimetered by a thick chain for security from would-be attackers. Also, if you look carefully, you can see in the duck’s eye’s a look of terrified recognition…as if to say, “quack.”

The question remains: Will Franklin be able to pull himself out of his slump? Will he be able to make amends with his listeners and the rest of America? Only time will tell.

Rumors indicate that Franklin Talk will be back up and available for download with a new episode soon. Let’s just hope that the same level of professionalism, and the high quality content won’t suffer due to Franklin’s reckless lifestyle the past few weeks.

*few
**Well, Matt and Tiff.