Saturday, August 31, 2002
Clear skin! Is that too much to ask for? Is it? For God's sake, I have already lost my hair. I've been in ever expanding battle with unwanted hair everywhere else for the last ten years. I know love handles and a saggy ass are just around the corner. Couldn't I finish with this adolescent acne affliction sometime before I'm f***ing fifty? How about it? Clear skin. That's all I want.
Jim Parisi
Friday, August 30, 2002
The regular security announcement broadcast at John Wayne International Airport says: To enhance your safety, please closely control and monitor your luggage. To enhance your safety? Enhance? How on earth can someone enhance my safety? Conrtol and monitor? That has got to be the worst boilerplate ever. Wish they would just cut to the chase. "Hey dumbass, watch your luggage or some criminal might steal it or put a bomb in it."
Jim Parisi
Thursday, August 29, 2002
I am still finding endless amusement in the search engine queries that lead people to my humble little blog. I had a full month of people finding me by looking for penile enlargement pills. That has finally tapered off. My two favorite recent queries? "Anal zucchini" and "skinny girls in spandex". I suppose if you are really into spandex, "skinny girls" is probably an important clarifier. But anal zucchini? That's awfully specific. "No anal bananas for me, no thank you. And anal cucumber, that's just wrong. But anal zucchini! That's what I call a turn on." There is just no end to the variety of mankind's perversion. Gotta love the internet and it's ability to exploit just whatever it is that fires up your loins.
Jim Parisi
It's been a year since I left for Yosemite to get beat up on the Nose of El Cap. There is no chance of me getting on that bad boy this year. I am completely out of climbing shape. I have lost all the calluses on my finger tips. I never train on the indoor wall anymore. It doesn't help that 24 Hour Fitness has taken a total couldn't give a f*** attitude with the wall at their flagship club in Irvine. I joined the place seven years ago specifically because they had the best climbing wall in the state. The gym was filled with talented climbers. New routes went up every week. It was fun to train there. Today, there are no good climbers working out on the wall. New routes might go up once a season, despite management's repeated claims that they have hired someone to do route setting. The ropes they had been using had been up for over a year. That was very, very bad. Basically, it was unsafe. And when they replaced them, they replaced them with dynamic ropes. They won't last a season. With the days I work away from home, the appalling state of climbing at my gym, and the added time required for me to drive from my house to Irvine, I just never train anymore. This sadly also means that I can barely hoist myself up a 5.10. I may cancel my membership and join the local climbing gym. Try to start cranking hard again. I'm gonna have to if I have any hope of ever dragging my ass up El Capitan. Or maybe I'll only climb easy routes from now on.
Jim Parisi
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
I was on the 20h floor of a skyscraper on Market Street in San Francisco last week. I was sitting in the ubiquitous Dilbertesqe cube and doing my email. A Harley Davidson drove by somewhere on the streets below. I could hear it, clearly, *loudly*, on the 20th floor of this fully enclosed, air conditioned, earthquake resistant skyscraper in a room complete with acoustic tiles and insulating cubicle dividers. Geez guys. Just how loud do those things need to be? The 20th floor? Come on. When I was in college, I spent a summer working at Roach Glidden Paint in Irving Texas. The manager there was a Harley fanatic with three show winning custom bikes. His attitude: Loud pipes save lives. Perhaps. But they also irritate everyone within a five block radius.
Jim Parisi
Tuesday, August 27, 2002
I live on Newport Harbor and want to know, do the blondes with positively HUGE fake breasts come standard with the purchase of that half million dollar cigarette boat, or are they optional? Cause every time one of those gas-guzzling monuments to overcompensation rumbles and gurgles past my house there is at least one Playmate in a string bikini laying on the bow or reclining in the back. So I'm curious. Optional? Or standard equipment?
Jim Parisi
Did you know that Hostess Twinkies have beef in them? It's true! The same Twinkies with the little angel cake cowboy on the wrapper and the creamy filling. I guess the costume makes sense. An angel cake cowboy with the nickname "Twinkie"? Don't get me started on the creamy center. Seems way too much like gay porn masquerading as snack food. No surprise they would dress him like a member of the Village People. I digress. Twinkies have meat in them. Read the label. May contain beef fat. May contain? May? Am I the only one who finds it worrisome that hostess doesn't know exactly what is going into it's snack cakes? Strange. Mmmmm...Twinkies. Meaty... If you are a vegetarian, you ought to stay away from those Twinkies. Then again, I suppose most vegetarian types don't spend a whole lot of their money on snack cakes.
Jim Parisi
Monday, August 26, 2002
Why the hell can't I find a good pizza in Orange County? I'm not ashamed to admit it, but I am a pizza bigot. New York style pizza is the only style pizza for me. Sure, the deep dish Chicago types will argue with me, and I admit that historically they have a reasonable foundation for that argument. But they are wrong. Deep dish is a variant of traditional pizza. And NY style is better anyway. Deal with it. I can already sense the uproar. Those crazy Windy City types. Have a real middle child relationship with NY. Always trying to one up us. Regardless. A good slice of a NY pie is a big, floppy, foldable, slice of heaven. I can smell a good pizza place well before I walk in the door. In ten years in Southern California, I have yet to find a good NY style pizzeria. Sure we have lots of pizza joints, and pizza is a lot like sex. Even when it's pretty bad it's pretty good. But I really wish I could find a good pizzeria. The biggest problem is that bad pizza has become so common that people don't know what good pizza tastes like anymore. Dominos is not good pizza. Any franchise is not good pizza. This is exacerbated by the fact that Cali is also filled with trendy, new age, gourmet style pizza bistros. Sure, it's fun to put eggplant, portabella and radiccio on a pie with assagio, but it's NOT pizza. A good pizza place you can smell in the top of your sinuses. The sauce is sharp, spicy. The cheese is thick, but not too thick. It doesn't impede folding. And it's only mozzarella. No Cheddar. No Monterey Jack. Mozzarella! Toppings are light. Maybe pepperoni. Sausage. Meatball. Mushroom. Onion and peppers. No fruit. No chicken. Nothing I can't pronounce. Personally, I'm a vegetarian, so I stick with cheese. Even when I wasn't a vegetarian, that was my choice. Plain cheese. Nothing to interfere with the delicate culinary ballet of cheese, sauce, and dough. If you want to try a really stellar pizza and happen to find yourself in Westchester, NY go to Broadway Pizza in White Plains. Mike runs the best pizzeria in town. Order yourself a large cheese pie. Sit down with a pitcher of beer. And walk out with a tear in your eye from the delicious, cheesy, doughy joy. If you do live in Orange County, and you do know what good pizza is supposed to taste like, and you do know of a good local joint, dinner is on me if you send me the recommendation.
Jim Parisi
Sunday, August 25, 2002
She left today. She has been here since last Friday. Sure, I no longer have piles of women's clothing all over my floor. I've cleaned all the long brown hair out of my sink and shower. I'm gonna have time to get some work done, and I'll even get to bed early tonight. And no one is gonna hog the covers at 5 AM. I'm not spending gobs of money on dinners and drinks and climbing stuff and pictures and concert tickets and gasoline. She even remembered to take all of her stuff with her. No errant hair clips or little white tank tops or shampoo bottles. She left with a handfull of books from my bookshelf, a tan and a new pair of climbing shoes. She also left with a big chunk of something out of my chest. I miss her already.
Jim Parisi
