Max-stravaganza

You know what else really grinds my gears? I went to the post office to ship off the last load of Christmas whatnot. Priority mail had better be worth it. My total comes to $21.65. I pay with a twenty and a ten. Instead of simply getting back exactly change, the woman at the front desk stiffs me three bucks. I point out her statistical mistake and she stares at me as though I just ordered a salad in a steakhouse and says "No. The change is correct. Look!" So I look at my palm and in addition tot he 35 cents are three strange coins. Son of a bitch. She gave me Sacagawea dollars. Son of a bitch. I hate the US Postal Service! Seriously, folk. Who the fuck uses these golden atrocities? They look like quarters, but they're not. Vending machines get confused when you use them (thinking that they're quarters). And they're so damn rare that you can never bring yourself to spend them. When you do decide to use them at a store, the clerk will stare at you for

What do I love most about the holiday season? The gifts? The music? The Jesus? Scrooge and Marley? Vacation? Tickle-me-Elmo? The menorah? A Muppet Christmas Carol? The answer to all of the above question marks is: No. What I most revere about this sacred time is the beverage known to mortals as eggnog. It's cool. It tastes good. It has a twinge of flavor at the end that makes you remember what exactly you're drinking. When enjoying a cool glass of...water, let's say. You can easily slip out of consciousness, let your mind wander and forget that you're currently swallowing some h20. If you attempt to transcend this plane of being while a glass of eggnog is in your right hand, you are instantly brought back to earth by the thought of "DAMN! This is good!" Now, what bothers me about eggnog is the social taboo that it can only be consumed during the yule tide. Two words about that: BU and LLSHIT. I want to have a glass of eggnog with every meal f

Does anyone else remember Chris Gaines? I was discussing an old episode of SNL with Marco and Ben Jr. when I discovered that Mr. Gaines is a forgotten relic of pop culture gone wrong. Allow me to elucidate the situation... Gaines was born in 1967 in Australia to a pair of Olympic swimmers. He dropped out of high school to form a band called Crush, which released a popular song called "My Love Tells Me So", being inspired by, not surprisingly, the work of Garth Brooks. After a band member died in a plane crash, Gaines was dormant for several years before releasing a solo album, Straight Jacket, which remained in the Billboard Top 40 for 82 weeks and won four Grammys. Gaines then was involved in a serious car accident and required numerous plastic surgeries over the next two years, before releasing two more solo albums and being declared "the new Prince". Since that day, what has become of Mr. Gaines? Some say that he is now a world champion curler for the Swiss nati

Apologies to everyone who's been bitching about me not updating my blog. Maybe this is indicative of how militant people without blogs are....until they decide to start one and get understandably lazy. Let me put it this way: the grass is not as easy to mow on the other side of the fence. And that was too awful of a metaphor for me to use. Moving on.... Recently, the New York Mets offered a two year deal to this man: Julio Franco I know what you're thinking. "Max, I really don't care about baseball to begin with. Why should a two year contract even interest me? By the way, Max, you're incredibly good looking and your bench press is SOOOOO impressive." Why should this deal excite you? Mr. Julio Franco, who has played first base for the Atlanta Braves over the past 5 seasons, is currently 47 years old. Yes. 47. As in the number after 46. When he fulfills his contractual obligations, he will be a 49 year old professional baseball player. Let me put it to you thi

So, I've decided to take a break from my James Joyce paper to talk about my candidate for President in 2008. He is a man of convictions. A man with a stellar record of military service. A man who knows how to get things done. A man who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty in order to set the world straight. A man who also has a talk show on FoxNews and frequents the Sean Hannity radio program. Col. Oliver North Argue with me if you dare. You'll lose. Do you want a strong leader like Colonel North or Hillary? That's right. I'm glad you see it my way. With that being said, I'll go back to my boy Stephen Dedalus. SERENITY NOW!!!!!

Why do I hate this queer little man? an essay by Max Davison Clay Aiken. Both his first and last names sort of rhyme with "gay." He deservedly lost to Mr. Ruben Studdard during season 2 of Idol. His song 'Invisible' is sadly one of the most played on my iPod. It is so damn catchy! It's the greatest ode to borderline stalking since Rick Springfield's 'Jesse's Girl.' But that's not saying that Clay is even close to the level of godliness that Rick possesses. He sings to overweight minority women in his music videos. And for some reason, women love him. These are reasons enough to dislike the man. But I use the word 'hate' in the title to this piece. Why the hatred? Why the increased degree of intensity in my disapproval? Consider the following lyrics from his (only) hit single, 'Invisible.' If I was invisible Then I could just watch you in your room If I was invincible I'd make you mine tonight Do you not

Frosty the Snowman Knew the sun was hot that day So he said let's run And we'll have some fun Now before I melt away Frosty the Snowman Had to hurry on his way But he waved goodbye Saying don't you cry I'll be back again some day Did anyone give any thought to the possibility that Frosty the Snowman represents the story of Jesus? He came around Christmas time, showing the children the way to live life properly. How to enjoy themselves while attempting to "catch him." He is destined to melt/die for your sins. Only at the end, he offers a message of hope. "I'll be back again some day." We have to sit and wait for the return of Frosty and the love that he brought. Sounds pretty biblical to me. Taking Jack Evert's advice, I have decided to write an exposition on this subject as well as my thoughts on how "Mary Had a Little Lamb" is about the Liberal conspiracy to keep religion out of public schools. And I use the word 'li

Oh, Linda Ronstadt. You may be a dirty communist, but I love you. So this is how my Saturday night ends. This is how my formerly promising Saturday night ends: writing on my goddam blog while listening to Linda Ronstadt. I know that it's depressing, but allow me, for a moment, to vent about all the crap that really bothers me right now: Barry Zito is going to be traded. Lonely. Finals Week. Phonenite tomorrow. Going to dances with the mentality of "I don't need alcohol to have a good time" only to realize that you're only lieing to yourself. Alone. Yeah, when you write it down, it doesn't look like much. But it sure feels like it. A man once said "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you'll find you get what you need." Yeah, Mick Jagger was full of bullshit. Hopefully I'll be more jovial by the next time you see me. I've had bad dreams too many times To think that they don't mean much anymore And