By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
"As an actress, I know how important eyes are in how you look and how you communicate, and thought this would be a unique way to draw attention to eye care while supporting a great cause through the alignment with Vision USA," the flack alert quotes Clarke as saying, without a hint of how much scratch this lame-ass gig is paying her. "As an occasional contact lens wearer, I also know firsthand that comfort is extremely important, and how you care for your contact lenses can make a huge difference in how comfortable your eyes feel at the end of the day."
Especially a day spent reading crappy dialogue off cue cards, eh Lindy? From now through October, consumers can cast a vote for the celebrity they think has the most beautiful eyes right here. Entrants get automatically entered into a sweepstakes to win a year's supply of Complete MoisturePLUS MPS, whether you wear contacts or not! Put it in your eyes now, bitch! There are also other prizes, including a dee-luxe trip to . . . drum roll . . . ORANGE COUNTY, CALIFORNIA! We're there! Honestly. We're there. And we're ashamed. And our eyes hurt. But the butt? Feeling fine!
Posted Aug. 22. I guess I have to start noting the time now that Gustavo set the precedent in my absence: 5:07 p.m. Is that "2ish" enough for you?
WELCOME BACK ME!
So I let that Arellano kid take this virtual bird-cage liner over for a week and what does he do: he shows me the hell up, that's what! Blogging at all hours, linking to anything that moves, using complete sentences--folks, how the hell am I supposed to compete with that? He's made me look so bad that he's left me no choice but to do the obvious: call in Jim Gilchrist. Hey, Minuteman! Isn't that supposed to work as well as Hey, Culliganman? No? Not so much? Whatever. All I know is, in explaining my absence to leave cold, drizzly OC (swear to God, last Monday, Aug. 15, was one of those Twainesque coldest-winter-I-spent-was-a-summer-in... kinda days here. In the middle of fucking August!!! Who says global warming isn't screwing up the weather? Oh yeah, everyone from our own barely knee-boardin' congressman to that lone atmospheric scientist from Bumfuck, Iowa, or The Art Bell Show--you know, the dude The Right trots out every time they have to counter overwhelming scientific evidence of man-made global warming) for cold, drizzly Baghdad by the Bay, Mr. G.A. insinuated that I was haunting the Bay Area, looking for opportunities to go all Tonya Harding on the unsuspecting lower legs of members of the Oakland A-Holes, to increase the postseason chances for Your And My Anaheim California Los Angeles Angeles of Stanton, Ventura and Lower Cucamonga. Since, no, you did not read anything about an Athletic Supporter going down, I do feel it is my duty--and alibi--to likewise rule myself out as a suspect in the mysterious death of San Francisco 49er Thomas Herrion. I swear that I never laid an oven mitt on the dude. Furthermore, every season when the time comes that my beloved Oakland Raiders are eliminated from the playoffs (which has been happening earlier and earlier I'm afraid), I quickly switch allegiance to my second-favorite team: you guessed it, those Niners! (Check out their opening page.) Unfortunately, they've been getting eliminated even earlier than my Roiders, which means I don't watch a lot of pro football in January. But I've still got 'SC, the second-best pro team in all of Southern California (behind Mater Dei, but of course). The biggest difference between Frisco and here? I'd say it was the bumper stickers on the backs of cars. Saw a lot of Kerry-Edwards and Fuck Bush This and Fuck Bush That stickers up there. Driving up Fairview to work this morning, I had a car in front of me with FOUR!!! black W. stickers on the back and two identical stickers informing me to Save Social Security by reading up on the issue. (Funny thing is I have, and am not convinced Social Security needs fixing). In the lane next to that car was a Bronco with an Offroader for Bush sticker. Fucking A-Hole fans, no doubt.
TEAMING WITH TEEMU
In other sports news (you can see which section my head has been at on holiday; just call me Jimmy the Geek), it just broke (well, hours ago now) that Teemu Selanne is coming back to the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, Bell Gardens and Lower Etiwanda. Which brings up an interesting story. I enjoy hockey somewhat, go to a game or two each season and follow the standings in the paper, etc. But I wouldn't call myself nutso over the sport. For instance, watching hockey in person vs. on TV, I'd compare to having sex with a live person vs. having sex with a live person encased in glass. Blurry glass. And maybe the person isn't alive after all. Which is weird because when you watch hockey in person, you're watching it through glass. But it's better. Folks, the point is I was chatting with someone who is really, really into hockey. Ducks hockey. And to keep the conversation going, I mentioned how I liked the fact that the non-Disney Ducks at least seem to be building a team that plays to their roster strengths, which as I understand it would be best summed up as meatheads who skate well. In other words, they'll be fast and brutal, leaning more toward defense than offense. At least someone there at the Pond is honing in on one focus as opposed to the scattershot teams of the recent past, I reasoned. So this hockey fanatic starts going on and on about that, and brings up all these roster moves in Anaheim and elsewhere, and what that all means in the grand scheme of things when I ask, since I've been away from the local rags, if Selanne, as I swear I read somewhere, was thinking of rejoining the Ducks. The guy comes back at me with a blank look, wants to know where I heard such a thing, like I'm insane or something. Actually, I answered, fumbling and stumbling, the story may have been Kariya and Selanne were thinking of returning, but I do distinctly recall a possible Teemu Act 2. Again, I get the youse-crazy look. We switched subjects to dry walling. Well, who's the crazy mofo now, Zamboni breath?