Friday, June 21, 2002
I was watching late night TV at the Four Seasons last night and came across an infomercial featuring porn legends Ron Jeremy and Kim Chambers for a penile enlargement pill. Extenz. 30 day supply for $59.95. I know I have ranted about this kind of thing before, but I simply cannot believe that there is some guy out there who believes this is going to work for him. Come on Jack, you gotta be really dumb or really, really desperate to spend sixty bucks a month for some magic, herbal beans for your regrettably diminutive beanstalk. And let's be honest here, if these pills really did work, if they really could supersize your, um, order, don't you think a major pharmaceutical company would be out marketing the crap out of this? And don't you think they could write their own ticket? Can you imagine what men would pay? Certainly a helluva lot more than $60 bucks. It's snake oil in a vitamin's clothing. It does not work. It will never work. It cannot work. If you really were born with the short end of the stick, I recommend you read my rant from Tuesday and learn how to play guitar and get famous quick. Or get real good at oral sex.
Jim Parisi
Thursday, June 20, 2002
Lesson to anyone who wants to understand how to provide good service (listen up Four Points South San Fran). I arrived at the Four Seasons Olympic in Seattle, and a plate of gourmet chocolate covered strawberries were waiting for me with a welcome back note in the room. Sure it's a little pretentious, but I'm not above a little butt kissing.
Jim Parisi
Wednesday, June 19, 2002
All right. I'm pissed. Be warned, white-hot hostility follows. It's always the little inconveniences that tick me off the most. And this is the most frustrating inconvenience of all time. The manager of any public institution, be it a hotel (namely THIS wretched hotel, the Four Points Sheraton in South San Francisco), restaurant, store, bar, health club, bowling alley - what freaking ever - who decides to save a few pennies a day by installing those infuriating, positively satanic toilet paper dispensers that lock up after dispensing a mere two goddam sheets of paper, deserves to spend eternity being dragged over rusty carpet tacks and dipped in rubbing alcohol. In what way is this a good financial decision? Here's some equally good financial advice. If your IQ reaches 70: Sell. You slack-jawed troglodytic moron in a bad suit. Out of spite, I'm gonna rip the friggin dispenser off the wall, and wrap the roll around my fist like a boxing glove. Listen you ignorant, short-sighted graduate of the Enron School of Financial Management, I'll gladly pay the extra $.50 a day for my fair share of TP. Charge an extra dollar at the door. Make the phone call more expensive. Raise the price of the beer. But let your customers wipe their ass. When I need TP, I don't require two f***ing sheets. Nobody who has ever actually used toilet paper needs only two sheets. And I know neither do you since the sh** you clearly haven't been wiping off is obviously clogging your sense of judgement. This has been my monthly dose of hostility. We now return to more mild-mannered rants and nice, gentle, self-depreciating humor.
Jim Parisi
Midnight + big bathtub + white wine + strawberries + Maxwell + beautiful girl + inner tube + two albino midgets + rubber gloves + a nine iron + a big bucket of Cool Whip = Oh don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about.
Jim Parisi
Midnight + big bathtub + white wine + strawberries + Maxwell + beautiful girl = well, that's for me to know.
Jim Parisi
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
I have a theory. It's not a good theory, but it's mine, and I'm sticking to it. I think there are three things that women, ON AVERAGE (I'm not trying to make too broad a generalization here) find uncontrollably attractive in a man.
1. Fame. There are no famous men desperate to get laid. Even OJ is finding plenty of women who want to jump a celebrity. There is something inherently sexy about a man that is famous.
2. Wealth. This one is fairly obvious. An 80 year old billionaire can still marry a Playmate of the Year. Donald Trump only dates super models. Why? Because he can.
3. Music. This one continues to fascinate me. A homeless drug addict who can play guitar and sing inevitably sees more action in a week than I do in a year.
My theory explains, of course, why rock stars are the most promiscuous people on earth. And how Mick Jagger has actually managed to procreate.
Jim Parisi
Monday, June 17, 2002
I just got back from Yosemite. Meredith got married. She looked beautiful. Steven got all choked up when he saw her walk down the aisle. I don't trust the foundation of any marriage where the groom doesn't get choked up when he first sees his bride walk down the aisle. It was a wonderful wedding held in a tiny little chapel located in nature's own cathedral. Karli and I had about the most amazing date. We drove from LAX up through the central valley to Wawona Hotel at Yosemite's gate. She saw Yosemite for the first time. We drove through the Tioga Pass, went for a walk in Toloumne Meadows, had dinner at the Lodge, and drove home past the Eastern Sierra through the high desert. That may be a little over the top for a first date. As it stands, she is still here. And I'm still smiling.
Jim Parisi
Oh boy (he says all starry eyed), I really like that smile. Here I go again.
Jim Parisi
