Balloon Animals

I have an Asian Civilization Midterm this Tuesday, so naturally I've been playing Half-Life 2 nonstop.
There might be some people out there, MAYBE, who have never heard of Half-Life 2 or even known there was a Half-Life 1. (I know there are, I've met them.) There also might be a lot of other people out there that definitely, most certainly, have heard about Half-Life and talk about it incessantly. I used to be in the former category. I was the kind of person who heard about the video-game Half-Life and said, "Ha! A gravity gun?! Absurd! Preposterous! How dare you insinuate that I need to play such mindless drivel! Now if you'd excuse me, I have a desktop tower I need to defend!" I'd exclaim while adjusting my monocle.
Well, I gave in. I literally traded up for The Orange Box. And I must say, it is worth every second of my life wasted.

Obviously, there are drawbacks to such a video-game addiction. This of course being paranoia, acute schizophrenia, and mild seizures. The game can get pretty intense. There's a lot of monsters that need some killing and after fighting off these mutant-insect-crimesagainstnature-beasties, I can be a little bit easy to scare.
This became clear to me last night.
You see, there are these monsters in the game called barnacles. They look like this:

What they do is latch onto you with their long slimy tongues and pull you up into their gaping mouths where their razor sharp teeth bore into your flesh.
I had just finished playing and was thirsty after such an incredibly intense gaming session (I'm really intense), so I walked into the kitchen to grab a cup.
Suddenly, I stopped.
There was something on my shoulder, caught on my sleeve. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it, long and vertically extended up to the ceiling. Looking up, I saw a black mass above me, looking back with a fiery intensity I thought I had only seen in my nightmares.
Bravely, I exclaimed, "Oh Frick! HOLY FRICK!" And jumped back.
Getting a better view I saw the demon for what it truly was:

Needless to say, I gave that balloon a crowbar bashing like no other.


Dating Advice From The Z-Man, #1

The Z-man was wiped after Valentine's Day, but he's back now and he wants to share the love. Here's one of his most valuable dating secrets passed down through all the Z-men before him.


One From The Vault - The Time Machene

Here's an older-ish cartoon I made with my roommate. Critically acclaimed in seven nations, none of which you've ever heard of.
It's called the Time Machene and if you'd like me to lecture you on the intricacies of the space-time continuum, I already have.


You're All Mime

Oh, great. Just great. I learned this weekend that apparently if anyone plays the guitar while talking they're automatically ripping off Flight Of the Conchords. I don't know how they managed to claim that one for their own, but they did, just like anyone who stands up while telling jokes is copying Demetri Martin.
So I'm sorry guys. Apparently I just can't be creative anymore. So I've decided to revamp the blog and just do what everyone else on the internet is doing. Adding captions to pictures found off flickr.
Congratulations everyone. From now on The Awkward Unicorn will be the official birthplace of LOL Mimes, or what I like to call Mime Memes!

With your help the Mime Memes can be as prolific as the I Can Haz Cheezeburger Cat, or the Walrus Bukkit!

One thing I have learned through all this is that I actually really like mimes. These videos are some of the most awesome I've ever seen:

Will I ever become a Mime? Only time can tell. Until then, I definitely would like to meet one.


New Song Saturday

I guess it's technically not a song, but here it is. I couldn't really think of any lyrics this week. I was busy failing French tests at school:

This Is A Photo Of Me Failing My French Test

So instead of actually studying French I instead made this little number.
Did you know that douche is French for shower? Neither did I. And now I have to think of a new insult. Anyways, this song is about a guy who is a total French shower. It's called Frenching because I couldn't think of anything better.

This Is A Photo Of Me Thinking of This Song

Listen to it here or at the bottom of the page:
Frenching - Zack Newcott and the Chemical Cow


Ten Reasons Why I Otta Punch You In The Face

I'm sick and tired of all these top ten lists that sites like Cracked.com and some other example use to attract visitors. It's sick. Twisted. You want a top ten list? Do you? Good. I'll give you a top ten list. I'll give it to you straight at the face.

I'll give you ten good reasons why I otta punch you straight in the kisser right now. Here they are: thumb, pointer, index, ring, and pinky... and then the exact same five reasons but again on my other hand. Those are the only reasons I need, but whoop-dee-do for you. Apparently those reasons don't count twice. Whatever. I guess it doesn't matter that I am fully capable of punching you straight in the noggin as it is, I guess I have to come up with five new additional reasons right off the bat. I bet you think that's really frustrating for me, don't you? Well good news.

Reason #1 for Why I Otta Punch You In The Face

I'm Frustrated.

That's the first reason I have to punch you straight in the teeth. Emotionally, mentally, physically, I'm a frustrated ball of angry energy looking for one thing and one thing only, to punch you straight in the neck/face. I'll do it too. Say whatever you want, I'll come at you like a bear. A really small bear with thin arms. Oh, what's that you say? I can't hurt you? Well good news, PUNK. You just made my list.

Reason #2 for Why I Otta Punch You In The Face

I Can't Hurt You

Your point was well founded and true, FOOL. Sure I'm going to punch you in the face, but it'll feel less like a dump-truck filled with explosive Steven Seagal's and more like a slight breeze on a cool summer's day. You'll look down and I'll be there with a bruised fist and look of defiance. But that won't stop me. I may be weak, but I'm going to keep punching you in the face because that's what I was born to do.

Reason #3 for Why I Otta Punch You In The Face

I Was Born To Do It

My entire life has lead up to this moment. My fist has been on a crash course, straight to your nose. And my fist wasn't wearing a safety belt, so it's gonna keep on going until your eyes explode in two huge fireballs because that's what might happen if I punched you in the face really fast. I don't know how it got that fast. Maybe my fist was irresponsible and drunk while driving it home, to your face. What's that? That comment was insulting to your intelligence?

Reason #4 for Why I Otta Punch You In The Face

I'm Insulting To Your Intelligences

I don't care how smart you are, my fists have two brains of their own. I call them knuckles, and you won't be so smart after they shake all that information out your brain through your face. My fists are like two giant televisions with American Idol on. You'll feel dumber afterwards. One moment you'll be looking at my fists and the next you'll be feeling sorry for some desperate Asian guy who can't sing very well. That's right. My fists will embarrass you in the face. That's what they do best.

Reason #5 for Why I Otta Punch You In The Face

I Tend To Avoid Confrontations

And you keep saying I should remedy that. But how? Oh, I know. With a punch straight between the eyes.

So there you have it. All the reasons I need to punch you straight in the facial region. I'll get around to it sometime. I don't know when. Soon, I think. Just don't let your guard down. One of these days I'll come up behind you and then somehow end up in front of you to punch you in the face. I can do it. I will. Just wait.


Semi-Pro - Movie Review

I once heard of a man who could tell you, without thinking, exactly where he was on any given date in his life. Only in my nightmares would I dream of having that gift, have someone walk up to me, ask "Hey Zack, where were you on Valentines Day night 2008?" and then be forced to respond with a mumbled "semiproscreening" with a loud cough to cover it up. No, I didn't have a date. Apparently girls have better things to do on Valentines day other than watch a Will Farrell movie with me. Like boyfriends. Or makeup or something.
Who am I kidding, they were probably at a different screening.
What? Oh yeah, the movie. It's a Will Farrell movie, except rated R. So basically it's Dodgeball with swearwords and a basketball. Other than the foul language, I really don't see why they thought going unrestricted would help the film reach it's targeted audience. All the best jokes here are the cleanest in the movie, and I have no doubt you've probably seen parts of them in the previews while watching movies with your own girlfriends in the soft comfort of their enclosed arms as they wrap themselves around your neck and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.


Sorry, I was somewhere else for a second. The movie has it's fair share of problems. The most obvious is the ironic notion that it clearly doesn't want to just be another Will Farrell movie. In some ways I consider this almost admirable. After all, I think the world is getting sick of all the Old School rip offs. However, the film only truly shines when it occasionally glimpses into Will Farrells wacky gimmicks as the team promoter. There are some really funny bits here. Particularly one involving a bear. The rest of the time the film focuses on the character played by Woody Harrelson, an emotionally torn basketball veteran playing the sport he loves. His performance is really quite good, but unfortunately there's really no reason for it. People paid to see an R rated Will Farrell movie, not Coach Carter.
Actually, come to think of it, I don't think anyone paid to see Coach Carter.
The film is splintered between innocent fun, crude humor, comedy, and tragedy. None of it really manages to ignite that spark we have all so longed to experience. No, my friends, there's no love for Semi Pro, just a hollow shell where there once was a heart. It'll never feel the soft caress of a womans hand across his face as he pulls her close to his waist, looks down into her eyes and whispers "Now. And forever!" For their love was one that reality denied. A sweeping shadow in the east, waiting to be obliterated by the rising sun. For they could chase that sunrise all they wanted, but the ever-receding horizon is but a tease to the senses, a dream upon waking. But is that any reason not to dream? Is that any reason not to love?! Certainly not. Just as they say passion is a flame that burns eternal, love is like that ember that promises to ignite another day! Oh lonelyness, you cruel muse!

Cool. Right. So Semi Pro is an okay movie, not quite worth ten bucks to see, but still worth a place on a Netflix.
Until next time, my love. Until next time.


So That's It Then, I Guess I'm a Racist.

Nearby my house I have a pizza restaurant. It's not really old fashioned. They try to distinguish themselves by shaping their pizza in a rectangle shape rather than a circle. I try not to discriminate my pizza on it's form, after all, a stromboli is really the same thing just folded over on itself. For that I consider myself a respectable eater. The restaurant also manages to distinguish itself by shedding the common misconception that all pizza joints are run by sweaty Italians, and instead only hires an entourage of African employees. Although I don't know how they manage to only hire black employee's in a predominantly white neighborhood, I have no qualms with that. More power to them I say. For that I consider myself a respectable person.
So I waltzed into this pizza place and happily ordered an extra-large rectangle pizza for my parents. Quickly I was informed that there was no such thing as an extra-large rectangle pizza, so I improvised and got the next best thing. A large just. So I placed my order and the man at the register said in his thick Nigerian accent, "You know, you are in my class."
I said, "Oh yeah! How's it going?!"
Realizing I had no idea what class he was talking about I decided to ask, "Um, what class is that?"
"Yoga." He replied.
"Oh, yeah! Yoga. What do you think about it?"
He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Pretty good."
"Yeah," I replied, "I like it. Although I have no idea what's going on."
"Yes, I missed the first class," he responded.
"Me too!" I said. "Well hopefully, we'll be able to catch up."
So I paid my bill and walked around while I waited. It was good having a new Nigerian friend. I could say hi to him in class. Nod to him when I saw him outside. Copy his homework. Make inappropriate jokes and say, "Hey, it's cool, I know a Nigerian." Everything was coming up Newcott.
So when I returned to pick up my pizza I found him sitting down in front of the register. Deciding that I should take our friendship to the next level, I attempted to exchange names.
"So what's your name?" I asked.
Realizing I was talking to him, he looked up at me with a somewhat perplexed look.
For a second I thought, wait a second. Somethings different here. Then from behind me, at the register, I heard a voice say, "I'm over here."
Turning around, I was face to face with my actual Nigerian friend, and realizing I had just mixed up two black people purely based on their color of skin, my mind began racing. Briefly, I considered saying, "Yeah. I know. I was just facing the other direction to look cool." But I couldn't. Instead I just said, "Oh, sorry man. It's crazy in here. So what's your name?"
He lifted his name tag. I honestly can't quite remember what it said, only that was something similar to Fromage, the French word for cheeze.
He handed me the pizza and cheerfully said, "I switched class periods for Yoga but I am sure I will see you on campus."
"Yeah, totally, thanks man." I replied as I tucked the pizza under my arm and shamefully shuffled towards the door.


The Spiderwick Chronicles - Movie Review

The Spiderwick Chronicles


After the dismal box office failure of the wonderful Series of Unfortunate Events, the polar opposite money printer of the Harry Potter series coming to a close, and the numerous retellings of Charlotte's Web and Bridge to Terabithia, studios are basically grasping at straws for another literary tale to bring to the screen. All they had left was the Spiderwick Chronicles, which, I'm afraid, I don't know of anyone who has actually read. The good news is that this means I was able to walk into this screening with fresh eyes, along with the innocent expectations of a child.
First, let's look at what the Spiderwick Chronicles does right. The special effects are fairly well executed. Although I know they'll look dated in a few months or years, it has some sparse moments that really do look fantastic. The acting is also fine. The central character, and his "twin" brother, are predictably played by the same actor. It's that little kid from Finding Neverland (I'm not going to bother IMDBing his name) who has since appeared in a number of other films as that same little kid. This time he has varied his resume by playing a slightly older version of that kid with an American accent which very clearly slips into a British accent at the most inopportune moments. He does his best, but I have to say,there is something very unlikeable with his character. The story is unimaginatively imaginative, which is a way of saying it's standard goblin and magic fair. Pretty much all the solutions to problems can be boiled down to magical tomato sauce rather than mind power. It doesn't take much to just accept it, but it takes a lot to make it likable enough to swallow in one gulp. So this is where we get into what's wrong with the Spiderwick Chronicles, and by that I mean it's storytelling.
Once upon a time, every good children's book gave the central characters a very simple and effective motivation. They simply killed off the parents. The resulting orphan was then forced to deal with a whole host of unexpected consequences and confront the world on his own terms. The problem nowadays is that the main characters are born into crumbling families who have split apart and are structurally collapsing. Divorce, affairs, domestic abuse, these are the new catalysts for action. Forget about offing the folks, kids have to now assume that void as responsible adults and piece together the shattered remnants of the past. And as Max Payne so delightfully put it, "The past is a puzzle, like a broken mirror. As you piece it together, your image keeps shifting. And you change with it." Where exactly that puts us, I don't know. I just wanted to quote Max Payne.
So here's my point, watching the Spiderwick Chronicles is one thing. It's a fun romp through the fantasy forest, no matter how gay that sounds. However, it's a whole 'nother ball park to think about the Spiderwick Chronicles. Let me provide an example, at one point the central character is tempted by a goblin who has taken the physical form of a close loved one. Unfortunately I can't expand on that, but I can say that this loved one had caused significant emotional turmoil. Luckily, the boy see's through the facade and immediately stabs the goblin in the chest.
Here's my problem. The film casually glances over the fact that if the boy is willing to stab the goblin, he is actually willing to be wrong. He's willing to take the chance that he could be crazy, or the loved one is actually there. Essentially, he's willing to kill another human being, and he's glad to.
A children's story is meant to reinforce the age old adage that "love conquers all." It is supposed to teach us that if you have to fight for something, you fight for life. The Spiderwick Chronicles is not about that. It's about who do you hate more? The Goblins or the people you are close to? Who hurts you more? Who do you hate less? It's not about salvation, but damnation.
It's not worth ten bucks.


New Song Saturday - Ode To Ralph Wiggum

I was trying to think of a nice romance song for Valentines Day, but the only thing I could think of was this card from the Simpsons. Then I realized, who or what is more romantic than the king of romance himself? That's right, I'm talking about Ralph Wiggum.

If you don't know who Ralph Wiggum is, then first off, shame on you. As the man described himself, "I'm Idaho." And really, that's all you need to know.
That's some good 'tootin boy.

Here's a link to the song: (you can also just scroll all the way to the bottom of the page to see it)

Ode To Ralph Wiggum


Happy Valentines Day... Ladies (Part 2)

Chris sent me an e-mail this morning, and basically took my mind-blowingly-awesome glamor shot to the next level. You might want to look away, I don't know if you can handle your world being shaken this hard.

That's right. From now until the end of time, this will be what you see when you close your eyes. Cherish it.


Happy Valentines Day... Ladies

Just so you know, you can make these wallpaper for your desktop. Scratch that, you probably shouldn't. You wouldn't get any work done. I can tell.

YEAH. Hot.

And you're welcome.

Breaking News For Valentines Day

Answering Machine Message Left 2/14/2008

"Oh, hey! This is Zack from the Awkward Unicorn blog! I'm just calling in response to your excuse the other night about 'being in a relationship with a really great guy' when i asked you out. Yeah, about that, I did a little research and apparently according to a research reported in an article from psychology today , apparently that's not an excuse anymore. I mean, statistically, the chances of you and me getting together are actually pretty inviting, if I do say so myself. And I am saying so right now. By the way, do you live inside a dry-cleaning business? Because that's what the message said when I called in. You should change that, people might get confused."

How I Get Work Done


Yoga Bear

Yoga Bear

All I know about Yoga is what I’ve seen in movies. I think there’s one with Josh Hartnett where he plays a Yoga instructor. Maybe that’s why I signed up. I wouldn’t mind being Josh Hartnett. Kind of. I did really like Wicker Park, although I don’t think anyone else saw it. But that would be cool. I could be the Josh Hartnett of yoga class. Cool.
No. Who’s that? That guy is definitely way more attractive than I am.
Why is he taking a yoga class? He already looks yoga’ed out. Only average guys like me and incredibly attractive girls with low standards should be able to take yoga classes.
What am I supposed to do here? People are sitting on the floor. I’ll put my books down, that’s the first thing to do.
They don’t have shoes on. I’ll take my shoes off too.
Now what?
Man, I probably should have been here for the first class. It’s not good for me to just jump into things like this. I have no idea what to expect. I did take a semester of karate though. That should help. Karate’s like yoga, right? Yeah, Asians do both.
My teacher looks like a yoga teacher. Actually, she looks more like someone who would only talk a lot about doing yoga consistently. I would imagine her to be like the “new-age” obsessed lady that has just moved into a neighborhood and brags about her amazing lotus position while she has a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth. Except nicer.
Okay, the teacher is telling me to grab a mat and an eye pillow. What’s an eye pillow?
That can’t be what I imagine it to be.
I’ll just wait for everyone else to grab their stuff and then grab one myself.
Okay, so an eye pillow is like a really small beanbag. That’s cool.
This mat smells like feet.
Alright, so everyone’s rolling it out. I’ll roll it out too. And now I’ll sit down.
Okay, now she’s telling us to lie back.
Should I use the eye pillow now or should I wait? I’ll wait.
Can yoga people smoke? Is that against a creed or something? I bet those monks in Tibet smoke it up, or use incense or something.
Oooh, the lights are dimming. It should always be like this. I don’t even know why fluorescent lights were ever invented. I can’t think of anything that has benefited from fluorescent lighting.
There’s one last light shining right into my face. It’s weird to stare up at the ceiling. I’m going to imagine that the ceiling is the floor. That would complicate so many things. I’d have to reach up for doorknobs and jump over air vents.
Oh everyone has put the eye pillow over their eyes. THAT’S why it’s called an eye pillow! Of course, it all makes sense now.
Okay, the teacher’s talking. I have to pay attention. She’s saying that I need to clear my mind. Alright. Done.
I need to leave behind my city, my home, the people inside my home.
That’s cool. I do that all the time.
She’s telling me that this is not a selfish act, but a self-LESS act.
You know, I’m really not sure about all that, but whatever.
She says that I must undergo the process of making my mind still. To abide in that place of “being.” That place of being. That place of being. I hope this won’t be an exam question.
You are not your mind.
Then what am I? Oh, wait, I shouldn’t ask that. That’s what they want you to ask, mentally, I mean.
The soul. Right. The soul.
She’s saying I’m a prisoner of the mind. We all are.
I’m reminded of that French guy, jean-somethingorother, the editor of Elle magazine, who was stuck inside his head after having a stroke. Locked in. if that guy had a montra he could have been the best yoga-ist in the world. You know, apart from the stroke and all.
She’s saying I must restrain the mental modifications of the mind. In this case the mental modifications are thoughts.
My eyes are closed and I know I should be focusing, but I can’t for some reason. Maybe I don’t want to.
She is saying that I must leave behind my anger, that anger connects me to the obstacles of this world. She says that anger leads to fear and this fear leads to pain.
Didn’t Yoda say the same thing? Yeah, yeah he did. I bet George Lucas stole that from Josh Hartnett, that guy knows his yoga.
She says I must confront this pain.
Remember when Yoda did that crazy lightsaber fight? Man that was awesome.
She says that I must decide if I want to accept the pain from others as a part of life. I think. I can’t really focus. I keep thinking of being with friends, of different doors opening and people I know and care about being behind them.
She says to stop your mind from thinking you must go against the nature of the mind, but I don’t know if I want it to stop because for me it’s the only way to be with some of the people I love the most.
She says that I must distance my true self from my mental self.
She says that I must become an observer of the mind.
She says that only as an observer can I achieve true enlightenment.
And I wonder how well I’m doing.


How To Start (and End) A Bar Fight

Recently I came across this charming little music video directed By Akiva of Lonely Island fame:

But look at 2:50 on the time line.

That got me thinking, how exactly does someone break a bottle over another individuals head? It just looks so beautiful. So majestic. So very angry and unnecessary.
Nothing punctuates a statement in a more profound way than a broken bottle. It is an image that encapsulates our entire American ideology. It says, "You better step off before I cut you fool!" And it backs up that statement with a sharp piece of glass left in a clenched fist. It is an action that every man dreams of, but I am certain was only actually done once or twice under the correct circumstances.
How exactly can this action be performed in real-life, in front of a camera and behind it?

The answer is actually quite complicated.

If you wanted to make your own "easy to break" (and relatively safe) beer bottle, you would have to use what is referred to as sugar glass. It's actually manageable to make:

But there are some problems with this. While sugar glass is great for broken windows, the process needed to mold that sugar into a beer bottle shape requires silicone and foam, as this one instruction guide illustrates:


There's a lot to read there, so to summarize let me say that the whole process appears to be time consuming.

Let's face the facts, if I want to break a bottle I want to break that bottle immediately.
If only there were a couple southern college kids out there that had concocted some kind of process for this... Oh hey:

How To Break A Beer Bottle On Your Head. - More bloopers are a click away

As this young man demonstrates on his friend Brad's head, it is quite easy to break an actual beer bottle over someone's head after you are considerate enough to break open the bottom of the bottle. To be honest, that method is somewhat ingenious. And when i say somewhat, I mean it's both brilliant and retarded at the same time. I like that combination, especially after seeing what happens when you do it wrong:


Reflections On A Day At The Mall

I spent today at the mall.

I saw a sign in a store window that said: "Low Clearance! Watch Your Head!"
I don't know what was worse. The fact that the sign exists, or the fact that I had to think for a solid ten seconds about it before I got the joke.

Get this. I was in Macy's, getting some sweet deals on a pair of slacks, when I saw a vending machine. I walked by it and realized it wasn't any ordinary vending machine. Oh no. This vending machine only sold iPods. I mean actual iPods. You know those hundred and something dollar gizmos that are all the rage? Yeah, they're available behind glass on a metal spiral that rotates and drops them a solid five feet into a little slot for your convenience. Amazing. I don't know how long it takes to feed a hundred and ninety nine dollars into a vending machine, but you certainly can do it if you would like.
Here's my question: What if it gets stuck?
Am I allowed to shake the ipod vending machine until it drops? Does the same rule apply for ipods as it does for Cheeto's? I mean, if two fall, can I keep the extra?

Subway charged me for a refill. D-Bags. I bought a BLT from them today and felt terrible about myself. I can usually convince myself that anything I eat is at least somewhat healthy, but I'm pretty sure tons of bacon, cheese, and lettuce on a bun had no little triangle on that food pyramid I saw in kindergarten, and I'm pretty sure that hasn't changed.

I'm in college. I feel like I still shouldn't be ashamed to look into a Victoria's Secret as I walk by. I just can't do it.

In case you were wondering how much of a nerd I am in real life, I got my "SLUSHO!" Hoodie in the mail yesterday and wore it non-stop.

Now you can go ahead and say this blog is just a ton of viral marketing.
Whatever, as long as it boosts my google ad clicks.
I need more money to visit the ipod machine.


LOST! (I Finally Get What The Numbers Mean)

I love LOST. It's so amazing, it's unbelievable. I love Lost so much I even record the commercials for Lost. I watch them during commercial breaks for other less important shows, like the news. That thirty second music video they played last night? The one where they play footage of Jack over the song "Doctor Doctor?" That was the best F*#@ing piece of television I've seen in twenty one years of marriage. And I'm only twenty years old and not married. LOST is THAT good. If I was on LOST I'd be the Polar Bear, because the show is so good I'd be shot instantly by Sawyer if I entered the LOST universe. That, or Charlie because LOST is like crack to me. If I could stuff bags of LOST into Virgin Mary statues, I would. I don't care what Locke would say, I would HOARD those statues like no other. Then Locke would spray a flaming can of hairspray into my face because he's such a badass. Man I love LOST. Kate is to Jack as I am to LOST.

What's that? You don't watch LOST? Hahaha. That's a good one. But hypothetically, if you didn't, you could be caught up.

Here is each season of LOST summarized in one line of dialog:


New Post!

I'm sorry guys. Real sorry. I tried to post last night, but I couldn't get anything uploaded.

You probably couldn't tell from my last post, but last weekend in California was the best time I've had since last winter. Seriously. I also had the best gillatto ice cream ever. Just so you know.

There's a new song down here.


Me Vs. Josh Groban Round I

Sorry if you happen to live in the same city as I do, but let's face it. DC sucks. It sucks more than anything I can think of. Even more than Mr. Darcy. It especially sucks after being in California for the weekend. I just arrived back in town today. To understand how I feel about being back let me say I'd be more thrilled if my plane accidentally went back in time, crash landed last Sunday during the superbowl, and the rip in the space time continuum forced me to play the same game of football for the rest of my life. Let me elaborate further by saying I don't do sports.
Facts are facts, DC sucks no matter what. Don't even try to argue.

Last night was the AARP Movie's For Grownups Awards, which was my "official" reason for the trip. I grabbed a couple sound bites for AARP radio. It was great fun. Most importantly it was a good chance for me to rub elbows with a bunch of celebrities, until they ask me to stop and punch me in the face (Juli Andrews and I go WAY back).

Yeah, there were a lot of famous people, but mostly it was just people that looked like they could be famous, maybe.

The good news is that apparently I might fall underneath that category.

I was wandering by the bar (grabbing a coke) when this blonde-haired girl suddenly leaned toward me and said "Josh Groban?!"
In a confused stupor replied, "I'm sorry?"
"Oh," she said, upon closer inspection, "I thought you were someone else..."
Now, maybe there's more than one Josh Groban, or maybe I misheard and she said something like "Josh Corbin." But for the sake of the story (and my ego) I prefer to think she actually mistook me for the singer/songwriter Josh Groban of Oprah fame.

Here's a little side by side comparison for you:

Josh Groban

Yours Truly


The Hotness

Mc Dreamy

Mc Dreamy-er


Too Hot to Handle

Wow. Looks like a dead ringer to me. I don't even know which one is which! Who's the REAL Zack and who's the Android?!
Only an empathy test can tell...