Earlier in the week DJ brought to my attention a startling fact: apparently you people are not very literate. Well either that or the content on this site is just too stupid- though no particular post comes to mind. Here’s the evidence:

88% Basic 11% Intermediate 1% Posts by Patty O’Leary

Not looking good. Well, luckily I work in a library and I happened to have some archive access. That’s right! I have access to archived books- really famous manuscripts that have never been released! So, in an effort to boost our reading level, I stole this exclusive chapter excerpt from Herman Melville’s classic Moby Dick. These particular chapters were censored from the original publication because they describe the whale’s penis and Ishmael’s diatribe on whale semen. It’s pretty boring stuff, but I can guarantee you that this is 100% real. I stole these documents from the library I work at and copied them here, word for word, verbatim. Enjoy:

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Hey guys! Last time we busted out a “Dear SmartassRadio” we explained how to stay fit and healthy. It was a huge success and the letters have been pouring in ever since. This time we decided it would be more fun to answer some of the sexier letters we’ve gotten in recent months. Check ‘em out after the jump.

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In my previous post I discussed four criteria which make up the ideal romantic partner. Of course, because I was describing an ideal, I was also describing an impossibility. In my eyes a dream girl/guy would be very funny, extremely attractive, have genius-level intelligence and be as loyal as a lark. In reality, candidates are bound to fall short in at least one of those categories, usually at least two. I fall short in all four.

But hold the phone! My goal is not to discourage people! As Built to Spill’s first album’s title told us: There Is Nothing Wrong With Love! What is wrong is having ridiculous expectations. In this second part, I am going to reveal my second system of romantic qualification: S.A.F.E. (again, this took about 4 minutes of development and is undoubtedly flawed). The S.A.F.E system outlines my qualifications for what constitutes an appropriate partner to pursue romantically. While the F.A.I.L standards will only end in disaster, the S.A.F.E criteria should lead you to a happy and healthy relationship. Let’s begin:

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I’ve found that making up systems is pretty easy. It must be one of those human impulses, to find a sense of logic in everything. Of course none of it is true. I don’t really buy into many systems of thought used to explain human emotions. For example, maybe you’ve heard of psychological term “displacement,” which is an unconscious defense mechanism whereby the mind redirects affects from an object felt to be dangerous or unacceptable to an object felt to be safe or acceptable. So, when your Mom loses her job she comes home and beats your Dad. OK, I guess we can use a term to describe that emotional reaction- but I’m always a little wary of these things. The same goes for dream interpretation. Yes, I think dreams can tell you things, but sometimes people can be too quick to apply a simple system of logic to the infinitely more complicated processes of the psyche.

Having said that, here’s a system I’ve developed (in about 4 minutes) to describe the intricacies of love (feel free to comment on the variety of flaws and over all under-development in the comments). I’m calling it the F.A.I.L-S.A.F.E system of romantic development. Let me explain:

The system is divided into two parts. The first, F.A.I.L., outlines what I imagine to be the ideal person to start a relationship with and then explains why this person cannot exist. The second, S.A.F.E, offers a more realistic set of qualities to pursue in the opposite (or same) sex.

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What do you do on a Friday night when all the money in your bank account is in default because your stupid cell phone company decides to debit your account twice for no reason, and all you have is two dollars and a poodle full pennies?

Let me tell you- You get drunk! You grab everything in sight and you get your ass to the corner store immediately. When I got to the Saba Grocery Store on Castle Hill Ave I had two objectives.

1. Find the cheapest beer in the refrigerator.
2. Haggle the guy at the counter for a cheaper price because all I had was 2 dollars and a thousand cents.

Objective one was a slice A pie. I found this piece of shit…

… and since it had something growing on the top of the can, was half crushed, ready to explode at any given second and without an expiration date I decided- “hey, this can’t be too bad.” So I grabbed two of them shits!

Ah, but what about all those pennies!?

Fuck yeah. How responsible and Badass can a person look?

Luckily, the guy at the counter was great. He pretty much let me name the price for all the garbage I was buying.

Ghetto Greatness Achieved.

Frequently, I find myself envying the relatively talentless people talking to me on TV. Instead of coming to grips with the fact that the bullshit I mindlessly peruse during timeouts passes as legitimate entertainment, I usually just assume the clown spewing pure garbage and nonentertainment into my brain lucked into the gig, held the producer’s family hostage in exchange for the gig, or must have been a bona fide celebrity in a no longer relevant distant past. One person who actually doesn’t bother me so much is Guy Fieri. His show is pretty decent and he seems like a good enough dude. All in all, Guy Fieri probably doesn’t deserve the mockery I’m about to make of his appearance and personality.

Maybe he does.

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This year the opening credits to Saturday Night Live open with Jewish me, Fred Armisen. Quite like me, Fred is seen leafing through a box of vinyl records, presumably in New York City. It is clear that the record store is not very organized because the titles are ordered PEARL JAM, SEX PISTOLS, JOY DIVISION. The closest sensible reason I can think of for that way of alphabetizing is that the second word in the second pair begins with the first letter of the first word in the first pair and the third pair begins with the first letter of the second word in the first pair, but that pattern doesn’t continue unless you replace Joy Division with someone like Joe Satriani, which is obviously stupid because why would Fred Armisen listen to him? Pearl Jam and the Sex Pistols seem like viable options, especially because Fred has been known to guest star in quirky and fun little indie music videos, which I will not link to.

If you stick with me you will be replaying this video a lot. Don’t worry the 2009 version still applies.

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