Maybe this is an east coast thing, but when you were a kid, did you ever have an ice cream cake? Growing up in New York and Connecticut, we used to get ice cream cakes from Carvel. These things generally weighed thirty or forty pounds, were chilled to near superconductive temperatures, and required a blowtorch or a diamond-bladed circular saw to cut. By the time we moved to Arizona in 1980, the only ice cream places around were Dairy Queen stores and Baskin Robbins shops, and the age of confectionary ice blocks were over.

This trade off wasn't so bad I suppose. I may have left good pizza and ice cream cakes behind, but I learned to cope with peanut buster parfaits.

Speaking of moving to Arizona, I hadn't even heard of a taco until I saw my first Taco Bell on the long drive out. I think this is somewhat akin to a southerner's first impression of pizza coming from Pizza Hut.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 06:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

Is there a greater hypocrisy than someone hitting my weblog comments with an advertisement for penis enlargement pills using an email address that says nospam@root.com?

Hey fucktard, I hope you get ass cancer and die.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Posted by themightyjimbo at 02:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

It’s become something of a tradition now, The Mighty Jimbo digital pronouncement of thanks. I spend so much of the year gobbling up all the gifts and hardly taking notice of the grace. I binge and forget I’m blessed. And I’m not just speaking of the fact that I can fill my gullet with as many tofu dogs and veggie burgers and yam-avocado sushi rolls and pumpkin-shitake tempura as I can stuff into my mouth.

I’m talking about the fact that I live a life with choices despite my inability to choose. That I live that life free to make those choices despite the fact that so often I choose not to choose.

I have a family that loves me and supports me and I know without even a shred of doubt has my back despite the fact that my back has been turned away from them for more than a decade.

I keep friends who keep me regardless of how much I keep then underneath my own needs.

I can run and climb and swim and ski and surf and ride and reach and fall and despite the fact that I bitch and moan about my aching knees or stiffening shoulders, there is nothing, NOTHING at 32 that I can’t do better than I could at 22.

Although I probably can’t do it as often.

I work from where I want, when I want and more often than not, how I want despite the fact that I really don’t want to work at all.

And for that work, I make an obscene amount of money and collect ridiculous frequent flier miles (miles currently being used as I write this particular post from 33,000 feet) and eat in fancy restaurants and sleep in ostentatious hotels and shake hands with interesting and brilliant people and accrue discounted shares of stock and receive fifty cents on the dollar for my 401K contributions and in three years haven’t spent a dime on a home phone or cell phone or office supplies or that glorious cable modem that keeps me in contact with all of you, regardless of how often I complain about the hours in airports and the ever smaller commission checks and the ISP that likes to crap out when I most want to be blowing off that work and surfing for porn.

I have been on five continents and in ten countries and hung on countless cliff sides and stood on mountain tops and walked in the sands of amazing beaches and swam in the water off perfect coastlines and danced and dined in incredible cities and have seen more and done more than most people have a right to, regardless of how much I crave to see and taste and touch and do more.

I have spent the last year with more love and more sex and more beauty and more comfort and more women than I have in my life regardless of how much I heartache I endured or how often I bitch about she-who-must-not-be-named.

And no matter what happened and why or what she did or what she said or how I felt or how much money or how much heartache, I had no regrets, no doubts, and I did know love for the first time in my life.

And I know that, really, I am rarely ever alone regardless of how often I feel lonely.

I know that when I look in the mirror a capable, strong, attractive and intelligent man is looking back at me even when I’m only looking at the scars and the blemishes and the veritable stampede of hair from where I want it to where I don’t.

I know that even if life is just a river, I have a really big paddle. And I know how to swim.

I have no debts, no responsibilities, no bills and no priorities to keep me from taking risks, and regardless of how frozen in fear I might find myself when I contemplate those risks, I know that the greatest risk is not ever taking those risks at all.

I have known no tragedy, no tempest, no disease, no disaster, faced no doom, encountered no obstacle I couldn’t climb, and yet have learned that even in the darkest places of the world, people still smile at their life, no matter how often I forget to smile at my own.

I spend so much time looking at the holes in the puzzle that I don’t see the picture. I spend so much time trying to understand the lyrics that I never hear the music. I spend so much time getting dressed that I end up missing the dance.

I get so frustrated and flustered with the painting that I forget I am holding the brush.

The very fact that I am here to write these words, my very existence even, is profoundly miraculous, biologically, chemically, cosmically, mathematically.

And for all of it, ALL of it, and all of you, I am desperately, truly, overwhelmingly thankful.

Thank you.

That being said, as soon as this plane lands, I’m gonna go surprise my family in Dallas, play with my nieces, meet my new nephew, wrestle with the dogs, ride the horses, hug my mom, and if I get home in time, eat an obscene amount of tofurkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce. Happy Thanksgiving.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 03:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

This has been a hard week for me. I've been tired and moody and irritable and temperamental and just the other night I ate a half a pint of mint chocolate chip cookie ice cream. Ok, so it was soy ice cream. Real ice cream gives me gas. And that just makes me all bloated and bitchy. Regardless, I'm sure all those calories are going right to my hips.

I think I'm hormonal.

Jesus, I am such a girl.

Actually, I'm just sleep deprived, and I haven't been working out regularly. The workouts are the cornerstone of my routine. I need the workouts. They burn off the tension and stress and sweat away the frustrations of my life. I can sleep. I can relax. I feel good about myself.

But it's the routine that keeps me in rhythm. It's the routine that keeps me out of the darker corners of my head. It's the routine that keeps me comfortable and relaxed and satiated on the drug of mediocrity.

Take away the workouts and the routine quickly becomes unbearable.

A change is due. I can feel it.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

How come when Demi Moore hops into bed with someone twenty years her junior all the women applaud, but when I hook up with a 19 year old at a party everyone cries foul? It's not like I'm trolling a junior high, people. She's in college!

Actually, after looking at that in print it does sound kinda creepy. But dammit, is she ever hot. Hell, I didn't fool around with 19 year olds when I was 19.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (27)

I am constantly amazed by the number of people who consider irresponsible to be synonymous with fun.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

OK, is there any particular reason why every mini-van driving family of twelve that shops at the Sam's Club in Irvine has to bring the entire goddam clan every time they visit the store?

Do you REALLY need to bring Maria and Pedro and Maria and Maria when shopping for ten gallon buckets of Vlassic pickles and palletes of toilet paper? Is that really so damn entertaining for them? I'm tired of playing Frogger with your children in the aisles. Isn't it faster to leave the kids at home with Mom or Dad while you run your errands? Is this some bulk foods variant of "the family who pays together stays together?" Frankly, you all are just pissing me off.

Oh, and when I politely say "excuse me" as I'm trying to pass you and your inconveniently parked cart as you discuss the merits of the recent "Left Behind" paperback, how about you actually slide on over as I try to pass instead of just ignoring me completely. And when I ask a second time only slightly louder, but still pleasantly and with a smile, could you respond then? And when I finally just take the initiative and move your cart out of everyone's way could you refrain from glaring at me like I was something that just crawled out from behind your refrigerator? How about next time I give you a reason to hate me and just launch your cart across the isle, screaming kids with it?

And how come every time I shop there, every single person in the place decides to hit the same four open registers just as I am finished shopping? This shouldn’t be so damn difficult. I'm just here to pay wholesale for some paper towels, a case of Hansen’s and a box of rubbers.

Why are you looking at me like that? What can I say? I'm an optimist.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (22)

I'm too tired to write about anything. It's been four days of four hours sleep, and I can't do it anymore. I think my inability to cope with excessive socializing is the primary difference between 22 and 32. Well, that and the unstoppable migration of hair from places where I want it to places where I don't.

So puppy pictures instead. Hope you don't mind.

Oh, and they named him "Titan."

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

I'm flattered . But seriously not worthy. You should see the pics I DON'T post. Bad skin, no hair, shallow eyes, and a nose that you could see being pulled behind an ox. Not to mention that if you turn me sideways and stick out my tongue I look like a zipper.

Definitely not worthy.

But flattered.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

So I have been tossing around the idea of restricting annonymous commenting on this site. Not so much because I get so many trolls rooting around these pages, but because annonymous commenting just pisses me off.

It's not that I care that people are critical of me and my decisions and my opinions and my lifestyle. Lord knows I am damn near the most opinionated son of a bitch on the planet. And I rarely know when to shut the hell up. Don't beleive me? Ask my ex-girlfriend. To be honest, I deserve most of the abuse I get. I actually WANT the criticism. I want to be challenged. Make me think. Prove me wrong. Expand my horizons. Call me on it when I am being an ass. It's the price I pay by taking this public.

However, as this is a PERSONAL site, and these are my PERSONAL opinions, if you are going to take the time and the effort to criticize, the least you can do is be up front about it. If I have the balls to hang it all out there for you to take your shots, the least you could do is have the balls to allow me to fire back.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. Annonymous commenting is for pussies.

So take the shots when you get them. But if you don't leave your name, you won't get the chance to fire back again.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 02:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

So I get asked this nearly weekly, and I wanted to set the record straight. Yes, I know the "remember info" button in the comments box does not work. It has never worked. It doesn't work for me either. I am not trying to torture you, and honestly I am amazed that all of you are still posting comments here as a result. I would have bailed long ago. I'm petty like that.

However, I do not know how to fix it. I am not now nor have I ever been the mad genius behind the design of this site. I just take the pictures and write the stories. I barely know enough HTML to make this bold. All the coding and uploading and compiling and CSS and RSS and HTML and java and applets and God-only-knows whatever else is going on in the bits and bytes of the background to make all this blogging magic work is managed by none other than The Mighty Halcyon , John Styn.

Now John is a very busy man what with all the hair care and porn and chest waxing he has to do every day, so I don't like to bother him with this site. He has been generous enough to host this thing we all love so much for free, and frankly, I like to insulate him from my depressing technical deficiencies. I had asked him about it back in February when we made the glorious transition from Blogger to Movable Type, but as this was his first leap into that particular application, he did not know how to fix it.

Now I would ask John to dig into the issue to fix it, but every time he has to put on the designer hat, the cash register starts to ring. And although I am on the Styn Friends and Family Discount Development Plan, John has to pay for all those fur pants somehow. And with his sweetie en route to NYC, well, trust me when I tell you that plane tickets are not free. Besides, he will make way more money developing gay porn sites than he ever will developing my humble little blog. And despite the wonderful and terribly flattering support of my three gay readers, I can assure you that we won't be taking DigitalCatharsis in THAT direction any time soon.

So, if any of you Movable Type Masters of the Universe know WHY the "remember info" button in my comments window does not work, and can tell John and I how to fix it, everybody wins. Most of you reading this have blogs, and most of those are using MT. Got any suggestions? Cause frankly, I'm sick of typing my name too.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (27)

So does anybody else think Jacko looks remarkably like Skeletor wearing a wig?

I wonder if he makes the kids dress up as He-Man and Teela.

Ok, so that was poor taste, but I think at this point, everything is fair game with Michael.

On a related note, what parent on the planet would actually let their children near this guy? Most people in America won't let their kids talk to their neighbors unsupervised, but they will let them spend the night with the crotch-grabbing albino sleestack in a Prince Valliant wig? What the hell are they thinking?

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

In the off chance you have ever had to suffer the soul crushing indignities of cubicle life, I offer you my thoughts on the most annoying people from the cube farm.

The Weezer. The Weezer is the person in the cube next to you who with every breath sounds like she is sucking air through a soap filled straw. Eight plus hours of her precarious grasp on life is enough to make you want to end your own.

The Cruncher. The Cruncher spends at least three hours a day SLOWLY chewing pretzel sticks or Doritos. Almost as annoying as the sound of him chewing his snack-food cud is the 120 decibel crumple of the bag after he finishes.

The Stench. The Stench is the guy who eats his home-made bowl of rotting Chinese food for lunch, EVERY day, the very smell of which could turn off a starving maggot.

The Grunter. The Grunter has to clear her throat every 36 seconds ALL DAY. She sounds like an antelope in heat. NEVER sit next to the grunter.

The Freak. The Freak is the guy with zero self control for the daily frustrations of his job. He randomly will slam his phone, shout obscenities or even beat his head against his wall. The thin, cardboard wall that the two of you share.

Captain Annoying. Captain Annoying will spend a good 45 minutes at a time leaning on your doorway, chatting away, despite the mountain of work you need to complete or the personal phone call you would rather be making.

The Manicure. The Manicure will clip her nails at her desk, every f***ing day of the year. And every disgusting "clip" "clip" "clip" is like a needle stuck into your temple. Magically, this woman has nails that grow at least four inches hourly, and almost certainly has 36 fingers and at least as many toes judging by how long the daily grooming process takes. Never, EVER sit near her cube lest an errant nail shaving launched from her clippers clears the five foot barrier between you and lands in your latte. Or your eye.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (14)

If you don't think she is the best writer on the internet, well, frankly, you're just plain wrong.

That she does not have a nationally syndicated column or a book deal or a house full of servants to clean up after her dog is a travesty. Her observations on pregnancy are priceless and should be considered essential reading for anyone intent on breeding now or in the future. Dig through her archives and you will see what I mean.

More importantly, her most recent post has convinced me that I am never, EVER going to get pregnant. Nosireebob. The puking I think I could handle, but I prefer to keep my ass INTACT, thankyouverymuch.

Oh who am I kidding.

I couldn't handle the puking either.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 03:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Aly sent me a short email today. We have not seen each other since the infamous freeway dumping, but we have been communicating fairly frequently. I am still quite fond of her, and I have no hard feelings, though I probably should have sent her a bill for the gas. Regardless, at the end of her paragraph about her dogs and the weather and the climbing and the cold, she writes (and I quote), "BTW, Derrick and I got married."

BTW? BTW?!!

WTF?

That's an awfully BIG "by the way." Like, by the way, I won the lottery. By the way, I'm really a man. By the way, I spent the last ten years in a Turkish prison. By the way, you seem to be bleeding from your ears.

She got married a month ago - BY THE WAY.

Not that I am surprised. When she broke up with me this summer, it was because she met and fell in love with someone new. A legitimate excuse for dumping The-Apparently-Not-So-Mighty-One. However, please keep in mind that this was in August. Within a month she had moved to Montana. By October, her wagon was hitched.

This might seem a wee bit impulsive, but Aly is the kind of person who has profoundly strong instincts about things. I'm not saying she is always right, just that WHEN she feels something, she feels it to her core. So perhaps this isn't quite as crazy as it sounds. For every impulsive marriage that has gone up in flames, I can tell you about one that has gone the distance. Like, oh, my parents.

Personally, I think I would need a little more time than that. Or an iron clad pre-nup.

I'm such a romantic.

Regardless, my track record remains platinum. Nearly every girl who has been with me for any length of time, following our break-up, marries the next man she dates. I am responsible for more marriages than a shipment of defective condoms. Okay, maybe not THAT many, but at least five. It's a little worrisome if you ask me. Like dating me illuminates everything a woman doesn't want in a man, leaving her fully prepared to find what she does want. I'm like romantic purgatory.

Maybe I should look at this differently. Maybe I'm just priming the pump. Either way, I think I need to start charging women for my services. Match.com would kill to have my percentages.

So congratulations Aly. I'm disappointed that we won't be climbing together anymore, and I do miss the dogs terribly, but I am very happy for you. Derrick is an extremely lucky man.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (19)

Kaya shaping young minds. Shudder.

And the triumphant return of funny Halcyon . As opposed to funny hat Halcyon (although we liked him too). Welcome back. We have missed you.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 04:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Quick lesson in democracy to all the trolls out there with an internet connection, a "love it or leave it" sticker and a 10th grade education.

Supporting the troops does not mean you have to support the war.
Loving America does not mean you have to love our elected leaders.
Criticism of American policy does not make you less American.
In fact, based on the history of this country, I would argue it makes you MORE American.
Blind support of an administration only means you are gullible. Or ignorant.
Telling the critics to leave makes you a fascist.
The "American way" isn't always the right way.
Just because we are American, doesn't make us right.
Just because you vote that way doesn't mean you are right.

And if you are going to flame me for this entry, post something at least vaguely intelligent and have enough balls to leave your email address. Anonymous commenting is for pussies.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I moved to Southern California in 1993. Two years after the LA riots. One year after the floods. Two months before the Laguna and Malibu fires. Five months before the Northridge quake. Nine months before OJ. And one year before the inevitable Malibu mudslides.

People would regularly ask me why I wanted to live in this place. Especially after they learned I was paying $750 bucks a month for a one bedroom apartment in Costa Mesa without a refidgerator. And keep in mind, that was TEN years ago. Hell, people were wondering why ANYONE would want to live here.

I'm betting it has something to do with 300 days of perfect weather a year. You know, in between all those natural disasters.

We are environmentally bulimic. Kinda like most of the women in LA. Binge on paradise and then throw it all up later. And if we don't like the way something looks, nothing a little cosmetic irrigation and implantation couldn't help.

Sure, eventually it's gonna kill us all, but we pretend not to notice.

Now where did I put my tanning oil...

Posted by themightyjimbo at 08:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

As restless as I can be, there's a reason why I have spent the last eight years or so living here. Actually, there are 16 of them.

1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8 , 9 , 10 , 11 , 12 , 13 , 14 , 15 , 16

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (14)

I have lots of things to write about. I have stories upon stories stacked up in my head right now. I'm just having trouble getting them all out. I want to keep this thing balanced. A little introspection, a few rants, a generous helping of angst, a dash of wit, and the occasional sappy romantic crappola.

But tonight it's not happening. I keep trying different posts, and I just end up with shit.

I think I'll just post some beefcake and go surf for porn.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBacks (1)

Over 700 people have found my humble, family-friendly little blog looking for pics of nude flight attendants.

This surprises me, and not because I had never written about naked flight attendants. And not because people want to see naked pics either. Lord knows I love a bare body on my laptop - uh, so to speak. I'm surprised because they want to see flight attendants. Have any of these people BEEN on an airplane in the last few years?

At 100+ flights a year, trust me when I tell you that unless you are flying Hooters Air, this isn't a talent pool that you generally want to see naked. Unless of course you are into unattractive gay men or unfriendly women in squeaky shoes. Sure I have seen the occasional hottie pushing a drink cart, but it's no longer a common sight in the friendly skies.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

You know what I miss?

I miss being excited about someone. I miss coming home and having to call my best friends to tell them about how good a time I had. I miss coming home and having to call her to tell her about how good a time I had.

It just seems to me that I had a lot more dates like that when I was young than I do now, despite the fact that I have more dates now than I did when I was young.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Feeling restless again.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I told my vice president, the guy who hired me three years ago, that I hate my job.

I'm hoping for a transfer, but I let him know that if it doesn't happen, I won't be with the company much longer. I'm tired of feeling bored. Feeling underutilized. Feeling apathetic.

I'm tired of feeling like a fraud. I'm burnt out.

I love the perks. The pay. The people. The company. But I hate the work. And it's making me hate myself.

People always tell me to do what you love, but what if you don't know what you love to do?

What if you love to do, well, nothing?

Posted by themightyjimbo at 07:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (32)

So I've been car shopping again. My lease on the Mustang is ending this spring, and the Ford dealership has already begun calling me, wondering just what I might want to do next. I promise whatever I decide it won't involve them. $200 bucks to replace a lug nut? How many times have I called to be removed from your ridiculous mailing list that informs me every three weeks that according to your "records" my car needs an oil change? Your records are about as reliable as the psychic hotline, and I don't feel like driving an extra 30 miles just to change my goddam oil. Leave me alone.

Regardless of how much I don't like those tards at Tuttle-Click, I have enjoyed the car overall. The engine note on a GT is always a treat, a nod to those heady, mulleted days back in the Tucson sun when an REO Speedwagon T-shirt and a big block muscle car were all you needed to score with the hottest stoner chick in the skin-tight Rag City Blues. And then of course I do spend most of the summer with a tan and shiny bean. But a white-on-white-on-white convertible is really not the ideal vehicle for a rock climber.

And I think I need something a whole lot less gay. The vinyl pants are more than enough for now.

I just need to resolve the conflicting desires I have regarding transportation. Part of me wants to go get a Pathfinder or a Touareg or an Audi All-Road or a 4-Runner or something else that will haul my bikes and bags and tents and can survive the trip to Black Velvet Canyon or Holcomb Valley or Paradise Forks. I don't need to be fording rivers in the outback or anything, but take a convertible down a wash boarded fire road and your car will soon have more squeaks and rattles than McCaughey nursery. The sextuplets? 1997? The woman with the bad teeth? Ok, dated reference. Whatever.

But then there's the side of me that positively lusts for 60 MPH corners and horsepower on demand. A car that can turn or stop or go when and how I want. Problem is those cars can't always go WHERE I want. I suppose what I REAAAAAALY want is an M3 or an S4 but frankly, I'm too cheap to drop $50K on an automobile. Oh but just think of the chicks! I wouldn't have enough seats in the car for all of them.

So anyway, I have been test driving cars lately. I really hate the whole process of car shopping. Is there anything good about that experience? How is it that the second most expensive purchase most of us ever make is designed to make us feel miserable and used? I get better service from the condescending, socially detached Marilyn Manson disciple with the nose ring and the blue hair at the local Starbucks than I do from Leisure Suit Larry and his soulless brethren at the Nissan dealer. I swear walking into your average car dealership is like walking into a really bad night club. You know every one in the room just wants to fuck you.

How come when we are about to spend up to half our annual income on a purchase we aren't treated with a little more patience and respect? I can walk into a Wal-Mart and have grandma take my hand and escort me to a private meeting with the store manage should my Coke from the lunch counter turn out to be a trifle too flat. I only get to see the manager of a car dealer if I protest too loudly the presence of the salesman's hand in my shorts.

Is there any dealer that can be friendly and informative for potential customers even if they just want a test drive? I am not ready to buy now. But I will be later. I can't make an informed decision until I know what my choices are. And yet if I mention this when I walk on the lot, the bastards suddenly develop one word vocabularies. I have had sales people refuse to look me in the eye. How come I seem to know more about the suspension than you do? I had one actually say to me "are you through" while I was asking him questions about a particular model I was interested in driving. A VW dealer once told me his cars were just as good as BMWs because they were all German. Should I assume the same for Ferrari and Fiat? I even had a salesman say to me in mid-negotiation on a Mitsubishi Eclipse, "do you know how much pussy you are gonna get in this car?"

No. But I know how much dick I'm getting trying to buy it.

Is there any dealership that won’t make you feel like meat? Is there ANY goddam salesperson who can make a best, first offer and NOT have to "check with the manager" just to get a friggin price? And why do I have to spend two hours negotiating this crap? $455 bucks a month for a 36 month lease payment on a Mitsubishi? With $3500 down?

Look Spanky, I may be a writer but I still took those math classes.

I really think I'm going to try to buy a car online this year. Anything I can do to keep from going through the soul sucking negotiations with those retail whores.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (28)

For those of you who sadly missed the off-beat brilliance of his original blog , you can rejoice in his glorious, yes, GLORIOUS return to the internet.

His latest is testament to the fact that Jim Styn is without question the mightiest Jimbo on the net.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 02:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Not to turn this blog into an endless series of mug shots, pretty clouds, and puppys, but I just had to share the latest addition to my parent's home.

A Bordeaux Mastiff. Think Turner and Hooch. Minus the Turner. A French guard dog. Looks fearsome, doesn't he?

I think my parents are just addicted to drool. He doesn't have a name yet, so they are taking suggestions.

The cries of "awwww, how cute" can now begin.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 08:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBacks (2)

Sure the vinyl and spandex are fun, but this is my more typical weekend attire.

Enjoy .

Posted by themightyjimbo at 09:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Things to do in a hotel room when you are bored. You know, other than jerking off to pay-per-view.

Things to do in an airplane when you are bored. You know, other than, uh, never mind.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Maybe it's just my ignorance of the complexities of the law, but doesn't it seem sometimes that the whole legal profession is entirely too self-serving?

I think in our litigation happy society we have far too few legal eagles and way too many legal pigeons.

Just my $.02 for the afternoon.

Don't sue me.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Only because I am just arrogant enough to post this, and because I spend waaaay too much time procrastinating my way through weblogs.com, I have a suggestion for you, my fellow exhibitionists on the internet.

Tell us something!

I can't begin to tell you how uninteresting it is to come across a blog that is 95% song lyrics or quizzilla surveys. Tell as story. Give us news. Post a picture. What are you thinking? What are you feeling? Who are you today? Did you see something? Smell something? Taste something? Do something? Even the mundane can be interesting - as the six people who read THIS blog can certainly attest.

Hell, just make it up. Be someone different. Be yourself. Be a lesbian, albino, Mormon, vegan stripper with a lisp and a missing leg. Be a bored student with a crush on the english proffessor with the nice ass. Be anyone.

But tell us about it.

If you do insist on posting song lyrics, and good Lord, I love myself a good Bono tune as much as anyone, how about telling us why you are sharing the same song we all already know by heart?

Sure, I know that some days inspiration is at a premium, but quizillas are the blogger's dancing hamsters. Sure, it was fun the first time, but now it's about as entertaining as a Chiapet.

If you aren't going to write, don't bother.

Unless you want to post naked pictures. Those are always OK. It is the internet afterall.

And one more thing: It's "you're," Not "your." Jesus Christ, people. Learn YOUR f***ing contractions. YOU'RE really beginning to tick me off with all that.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (16) | TrackBacks (1)

Maybe it's just me, but I think it's just a little out of line when a man (and total stranger) sends you an IM and asks how big your cock is.

I mean REALLY now. Where does this guy come off?

Like I'm gonna say anything other than HUGE.

Though clearly not as big as his balls.

The inquiry was even made AFTER I told him I wasn't gay - a fact that remains true regardless of my recent choice for a Halloween costume. Funny thing is, despite the audacity of his advance, I wasn't pissed. I wasn't even shocked. Surprised and mildly offended at best. This is what IP blocking is for afterall. But what gives me pause is the breakdown of social and behavioral boundaries that comes from human interaction in a digital environment which is defined by it's lack thereof.

It makes me kinda nervous. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I still like the idea of a dinner and a movie before anyone inquries about the size of my junk.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 04:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

I gotta go work a F***ing trade show. I hate working trade shows. I almost never do them, but I am filling in for someone. The forced smile. The endless conversation about things I care nothing about. My feet hurt. My back hurts. My head hurts. My flight was 2.5 hours late. I haven't worked out in two days. And that makes me CRANKY.

I need to laugh. Tell me your best dirty joke. With any luck I'll have a wireless connection from the lobby so you all can get me through my day.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 07:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (14)

My sister just passed her second bar exam, virtually ensuring her eventual trip to hell. She can now take advantage of the public trust in two states, Florida and now Texas too. Yes, the legal profession. Making the world a safer place for lawyers everywhere.

Texas, beware.

Paula, you rule. Even if you are a lawyer.

And if you ever sue me remember that I am still your older brother and legally can totally kick your ass. Or at least hold you down and fart on your head.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

One of my roommates is moving out. She has a new job up north and is leaving Yuppieland for Tinseltown. Although I would prefer to have just a single roommate, I really don't want to pay an extra $650 a month for housing. Oddly enough, I can use an extra $8000 bucks a year, so I really need to find a new one soon.

I am not happy to see her go. I really like her. She's a great roommate. Sure she's a bit flighty and would block my driveway and dump her trash in the garage and cleaning the counters is a concept completely beyond her grasp, but she is funny and fun and easy going and good hearted and always pays her bills and has been a great roommate these last two years.

Unlike the two before who trashed the house and left used motor oil in the backyard and were always late with the bills and the rent and who really shouldn't have been here anyway.

I've been lucky with the roommates. In eight years here, I have had only seven roommates. Well, nine, but the other two were here for only a month or so before splitting so I don't really count them.

So I need to find a new one. It's a great pad if you know someone in Newport who might be interested. A block from Newport Pier, harbor views, fully furnished, washer/drier, vault ceilings, balcony, fireplace, private patio, free high speed wireless internet, etc etc. No smoking, no pets, no students, no males, no addicts, no racists, no people who have severe emotional problems, Harley Davidson motorcycles, psycho ex-con boyfriends or extreme flatulence, no pyromaniacs, dog-haters, yodelers, mouth-breathers, country-music fanatics, or anyone named Karli.

And no Canadians either. Can't trust those people at all.

If you fit that description, have an extra $650 bucks a month and can handle living with me, by all means, please apply.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

Not that this matters to any of you, but here are the two new additions to my room and sadly where I spend most of my time.

The bed .
The desk .

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Anybody out there ever seen the band "Dashboard Confessional" on TV? The lead singer is just the cutest thing ever. He's like a dark and moody front-man - only 1/3 the size. I swear I don't even know how he lifts the guitar. All those teenage girls who follow him around like puppies can seriously fit a life-sized model of him in their lockers.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)

First off, let me just say that if you are in any way related to me or under the misguided impression that I am the same sweet and profoundly innocent boy you knew in college or desire to keep a safe, comfortable, virginal image of The Mighty Jimbo, you may want to skip this post. Hell, after I finish this, *I* may want to skip this post.

And Paula, if you are in fact reading this and decide to mention it to our mother, you are seriously getting coal for Christmas this year. And next year. And every year.

I don't know when it happened, but sometime in the last week I started channeling the ghost of Halcyon past. And I'm not just talking about the vinyl pants and the fetish collars and the disclosure of waaaaay too much personal information on the internet. Permit me to explain.

So last Thursday, after having drinks with Pete in San Francisco, I returned to my room at the St. Francis to check my mail, finish a post, and get to bed in time for at least six hours of uninterrupted, uneventful sleep before my morning conference calls and customer meetings.

I had just finished a blog post when I got an IM from a new digital acquaintance. A new and rather attractive female digital acquaintance. And an invite to her web cam.

And she was in lingerie. Missing a key part of her ensemble.

Let me clarify here that I have never met this woman. I have never spoken to this woman. With the sole exception of one chat session, I have never communicated with this woman outside of our regular, mutual, occasionally flirtatious commenting on each other's web sites.

Needless to say, this was suddenly way more interesting than work. Actually, fungal growth is way more interesting than work most of the time, but I think you get my point.

So here she is in white silk and stockings and I'm thinking, "aren't you cold?"

Actually I'm thinking it's getting real difficult to balance this laptop on my lap now, but that's pretty much the natural result of near naked women parading around seductively in front of me.

Despite her obvious lack of pelvic coverage, she was, oddly enough, wearing a telephone headset - which kinda made her look like a pornographic version of Brittany Spears. But I'm pretty sure this sort of thing doesn't happen during a Brittany concert. Christina Aguilera perhaps, but Brittany, probably not.

In a nutshell (so to speak), she asks me to include her in my, uh, private time. Not surprisingly, this isn't really all that difficult a request as what she was asking for was almost assuredly going to be part of my evening anyway. And this was bound to be way better (and way cheaper) than pay-per-view.

But what made her request truly interesting was that it was at the direction of a third party - a long distance lover on the other end of that headset. Now admittedly this sort of behavior is normally outside my own social-sexual boundaries. This doesn't mean I was freaked out - it takes a whole lot more than a sexy woman's domination fantasies to make me all a-twitter. I'm just saying their personal perversions were not necessarily on my own sexual menu. Not that there is anything wrong with that. The definition of a pervert is just anyone kinkier than you are. And, honestly, I don't have many hang ups.

Anymore.

Besides, this was all done via internet, and via the internet I may well have embarked on a little digital diversion to reach the same result anyway. So it seemed to me like everybody wins.

Long story short, I indulged in this fantasy. Although I will admit that the smart ass side of me really wanted to take off on some twisted jackass style chat like this .

That part of me was quickly subdued by, uh, stronger urges. Seriously, if you saw this woman, you would totally understand. And for the record, you can't see her because we have promised anonymity. Which is a risky promise when two bloggers decide to bump uglies - even if it is only through the magic of cyberspace.

Regardless, she is gorgeous. And, frankly, I was seriously the lucky one just to have been on line when I was (I swear I am never shutting Messenger down again - EVER).

However, I wonder if this little electrical encounter will in anyway taint our digital - and eventual personal relationship. Earlier in the day we had agreed to meet in a week for caipirinhas and stories of blogging and Brazil. Will our internet intimacy put some awkward spin on things? Kinda like Dr. Evil and Frau Farbissina. "It got weird, didn't it?"

Like "Hi! I'm Jimbo. I've seen your vulva."

Now I have engaged in some provocative chat sessions with bloggers before. I have participated in my share of web-cam naughtiness, but only with people I had met previously, or at least had a long, detailed history of digital interaction.

I asked Halcyon for some advice in this matter. If anyone would know how to handle the social complexities of this, it would be the creator of Globalgasm . His advice was simply to separate the sex and the person. Which isn't always so easy. Leave the vulva chat on the screen where it belongs.

This of course brought up another concern. All that vulva chat happened to be on a work screen, and after signing off I realized I was still logged into my VPN.

Let's just say I'm real happy that I am employed by the least intrusive company in America.

At least, I really, REALLY hope so.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (23)

Sure they may LOOK hot, but you should try WEARING them.

Actually, you should try taking them off. You learn first hand that you are indeed made mostly of water.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 09:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Sometimes it's funny how divergent our paths have been since our youth - back then we seemed to be walking in lock step. Teammates, then roommates, then the same job, in the same dorm, with the same major, same advisor, same classes, same interviews, same friends, same everything. Except clothes. Brother, you still need work on the wardrobe.

I was having a chat with him about my Halloween weekend. He is one of the very, VERY few in my life privy to all the dirt.

At the end of my story of depravity and debauchery and general alcohol-fuelled misbehavin', I asked him how his Halloween was.

"Well, Jack was a dinosaur."

We may be on different roads for a while, but I guarantee Jack was the best looking dinosaur in Denver.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 07:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I need a nap.

The black vinyl and the leather studs and the spandex and the leashes and the women and the drinks and the women and the short skirts and the drinks and did I mention the black vinyl and Jimbo kissing girls and girls kissing girls and Jimbo kissing more girls and who's hand is that on my ass now and I can't believe we didn't get arrested and are you SURE you are only nineteen and did you SEE that girl and oh-my-god and sure I want your phone number and I definitely want your number and I promise I will call you and what party are we going to now and how many strippers do you think are in this room and did you see the Lamborghini parked outside and spank me again and the sun is coming up and where are my pants and I can't believe I have to do this AGAIN tonight.

I definitely need a nap.

Don't believe me? This is just from the FIRST party.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 02:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)