10 GOTO NERDIST.COM

3 07 2008

Nerdist.comGood evening. It’s me, Mike. I’m taking a quick break from showering so that I can tell you about a website that you are going to enjoy, then bookmark, and then enjoy regularly. Note: I am not being paid to promote this. (However, if anyone has anything they want me to promote, just make the check out to “cash” and tell me which camera to urge into.)

For the past few weeks, my friend Chris Hardwick (member of television’s Hard ‘N Phirm (feat. television’s Chris Hardwick)) has been producing a site devoted to exploring and bringing to your world the weirdest and funniest elements that make up the Techosphere. It’s called, very simply: NERDIST.COM.

My two cents* — it’s very funny and it deserves your turning your life over to it. It’s taught me that underneath all our slick, hip, incredibly sexy surfaces… we’re all wearing dork birthday suits. (If I were a real writer, this is where I’d add, “So, leave that cool exterior at the door and get ready to join the Nerdist Colony.”)

Be sure to read July 1′s “Awkward Hands Calhoun…”. It’s great.

Nice work, Hardwick!
Phirm

* which I received for promoting danzanravjaa.org (thanks Mongolian exchange rate!)





Dear Dairy

1 12 2007

Hello reader. I have something I want to share with you, and it is Lactaid. Not my actual Lactaid, but the idea of Lactaid.

“But, writer,” reads reader, “I’m not lactose intolerant. What do I care about Lactaid?”

Right. What do you care about Lactaid. How about this: Lactaid is not just milk that has no lactose, it’s milk that has NOWHERE TO BE. Check its expiration date—it stays good for months without all that lactose crapping it up.

Think about it: have you ever seen good, healthy lactose on its own? No, you haven’t. Why? Because no one has. It goes bad before the light reaches your eye.

And now a scene from your refrigerator.

REGULAR MILK: This sucks. I’m outa here.
YOU: But you just got here!
REGULAR MILK: Get bent!
YOU: Well!

…and… a scene from my refrigerator.

ME: Lactaid?! What are YOU still doing here? You must be a deadly poison by now!
LACTAID: Poison?! Ha! I’m still as fresh as a slap on the ass. Say, you don’t mind if I just hang out here for a while, do you?
ME: Mind?! Are you kidding? I’m going to go write about you!

My friend, the troubles depicted in Got Milk? ads are no longer relevant. There is milk insurance, and it is called Lactaid.





Brought to You by You™

21 11 2007

People are always asking me: “Mike, years from now, do you think advertisers will engineer a gene that’ll make people involuntarily pick up writing utensils at random and draw, for example, perfect renderings of the Burger King logo?”

I say, No. That’s ridiculous. The way it will happen is this: advertisers will alter the gene that’s responsible for Tourette’s Syndrome so that people uncontrollably shout out product names at random. For example, “No, Carol, that’s not what I mean. I do want to be with you, it’s just that I– CRISPITY! CRUNCHETY! F*CKIN… PEANUT-BUTTERY MOTHER-F*CKIN BUTTERFINGER!!” *

* Note: this is not Tourette’s swearing slipping through—this will be Butterfinger’s actual slogan.





Preflections

14 11 2007

Hi there, reader. Hope you feel like reading about popular photography, because that’s what I’m writing.

It occurred to me, as someone was taking a picture at a party, how, at some point, it became normal to smile for pictures. In the earliest days of photography, nobody smiled. This was for one of three reasons:

  1. They’d never seen a camera and didn’t know what was a-goin’ on
  2. They were suffering from chronic “dignity”
  3. Life was horrible and they had either just witnessed a murder or were being stopped on their way to a murder

Same with paintings: I’ve seen very few historic portraits that feature full-toothed smiles, and those that do are titled something like “Bacchus’ Triumph” or “The Idiot”. Until recently, it just wasn’t cool to be immortalized as looking happier than cool.

Then I got to thinking about how technology is affecting our sense of identity, which led me to writing: Read the rest of this entry »





Feinglass Gets Phirmed!

1 09 2007

What’s been going on? Oh, nothin. It’s been hot. New York was fun; the taping went well. Oh, and—wait, did I not tell you?—I got married.  That’s right, married.  Against the advice of friends, family, and legal counsel, a very nice girl has agreed to be my wife.

The wedding took place in June, just before the honeymoon. And now, because it’s silly and because it’s only three minutes long, I’d like to present, for your personal enjoyment, The Official Wedding Invitation that we mailed out as DVDs.





Melodiconned

14 06 2007

So! (OR)





Mouth-watering Meat

4 06 2007

I was in a Mexican restaurant a few days ago and, feeling adventurous, I ordered a tongue burrito. I guess I must have insulted the waiter, because just before he brought it over to the table, he opened it up and spat in it. I was confused. I guess it’s an insult to (all together now) ask for extra sauce.

ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL EVENTS OR PERSONS LIVING OR DEAD IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL





The Kissing Tips

2 06 2007

Evening, young & vital reader. It’s Saturday night and you’re probably thinking about frenching someone later. Well, before you do, here are some…

KISSING TIPS I LEARNED IN THE LATE 1980s

  • While frenching, be sure to breathe through your nose. If you breathe the same breath back and forth, someone’s going to pass out.
  • As your frenching heats up, run your hands through each other’s hair. Note: never through your own hair, as this looks ridiculous.
  • Though it’s tempting, it is extremely unsafe to french while sitting on the freeway during rush hour, unless you’re in a car.
  • It’s important to brush your teeth before you french (unless you’re actually French). (Come on!)
  • The last word spoken before you actually start frenching should never be the word “rupture”.
  • If you need to open your eyes while frenching, prepare to be traumatized.
  • For the girls: make your frenching a treasure hunt by hiding a coin or washer behind your tonsils.
  • And finally, for the guys: If she makes even the slightest sound of pleasure, DO NOT STOP frenching for at least THREE MINUTES, even if you have to sneeze.

Now go out there and clean someone’s teeth.  HnP says, “You’re ready!”





Dr. Phil: Good

29 05 2007

I’m going to catch a lot of grief for this, but I actually have a little bit of respect for Dr. Phil after seeing the new opening to his show.

Watch it here, in its entirety (open in I.E. if no sound)





The Damned Rambler

25 05 2007

I used to live and work in West L.A., so I’ve seen my unfair share of crazies and burn-outs—especially when I worked at the guitar shop. The gonest of all of them (even nuttier than the “Prussian Army Commander” who furiously argued (with no one) that he grew up with Bruce Jenner in our supply closet) was a chemical brother I call “The Damned Rambler”. I call him that because the only way I can make sense of his condition is to believe the following: that at some point, he was caught speaking ill of his god, who then punished him by making it so he could never ever stop talking. Ever. Not for a second. (Talk about a life sentence!) (Come on!)

While my good friend Leland stood behind the counter and nodded along politely (for 15 tragic minutes), I pretended to work, but really I was just scribbling as many things as I could make out. It was hard, trying to write while hypnotized. He didn’t stutter, there was no thinking, no searching for the right word. And what kinds of things did he say? This little bit won’t do it justice, but… lllllllet’s get rrrrready to rrrrrrramble!

“I took a bullet for Stevie Ray Vaughn…..I never get my gifts at all…..My sister’s a senator—you know her as ‘Susan Sommers’…..There’s a burial ground behind the library…..I didn’t rub many girls’ tummies…..He murdered someone in a mansion and got away with it and that’s a no-no…..I ran track against Huey Lewis and Tony Orlando…..Popped Tina at the Thunderdome and they said, ‘Don’t hit your wife’…..I was head surfer…..Kids on speed down at Havasu—they even scare the Indians…”

I’ll always wonder what would have happened if I had picked up a guitar and started casually playing Ramble On. Maybe it was a hidden camera show and I would have won.

In a mostly unrelated story, the last time I was in Westwood, a random homeless dude asked me for change. I gave him a quarter, and he said, “Perfect! That’s all I needed!” and ran off. That’s never happened.








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