Fire Safety Week

Let's continue yesterday's accidental theme, shall we?

I wanted to get to work early this morning, since the CIA infosession is tonight and I'll have to leave work a little early to orchestrate the chaos. (Full update tomorrow!) This meant only one thing - letting the alarm clock win. It sounded, I woke, I stumbled. Of course, this getting up at alarm one is a little different than the routine I've enjoyed for the past several weeks. That routine has one of two outcomes. 1) Stave off the clock of ill repute just long enough to make sure Mama's Family is over at 7, and then get up and shower. 2) Fall asleep on the floor/couch/computer chair the night before, crawl to bed sometime during the night, make sure NOT to set my alarm in any way, and wake up in a frenzy.

1 is favored. 2 is feared. 3 is confusing.

By 3, I mean the subservient napper method. Like I said, I woke up early, and thus things did not seem as familiar as I would have liked. The chair in the middle of my path to the door - that remained a fixture (so did the arm of said chair into my knee. Ow.) But as I entered the hallway, something strange caught my half-opened eyes. The ceiling is glowing green.

Green glows are not uncommon at the Random of Run. If you were to walk into the darkened apartment after a long day, and not a light in the apartment on, you would experience an eerie illumination similar to the Mr.Burns-X-Files episode of the Simpsons. My computer alone has 17 different lights on it, few orange, most green. Spud's stereo, complete with the silly slot machine game that no one has ever figured out, let alone won, cycles thrugh glowing numbers throughout the day. There's the Playstation 2's two display colors of blue and green (since turning it off would negate the "Madden Channel" we grown accustomed to) But the hallway? That was a glow-free zone, friends.

Until now?

Someone has installed a new fire alarm.

Granted, there was a fire alarm in the hallway when we moved in, but it wasn't this space-age contraption. The old was manufactured circa 1937, and really served little purpose. Which made it completely acceptable when I knocked it down within our first month here. It was an accident, granted, but since Spud and I both have the awareness to identify fire, we felt no need to re-attach it to the ceiling. That was 15 months ago.

But now, someone has lost faith in our inferno identification skills. There a brand new 2004 production smoke detector in our hallway, and I have no idea how it got there. It's got a glowing green light (that clearly has thrown for enough of a loop to blog about) and in theory, a loud buzzer that will wake me up in the event something in the apartment is burning up. We didn't ask for it (unlike the ceiling in the bathroom, for which I have entered my weekly "Make sure this doesn't cave in on my showering head" request,) but it has shown up nonetheless. And that's the paradox of living at Fairfield Crossing.

"Ask and you shall not receive, but here's some stuff you didn't ask for instead. So we're square, right?"

Maybe tomorrow I'll ask them to fix the fridge, and instead they'll bake us muffins.

Dare I say, en fuego.

Well it's official, I finally missed a weekday of blog. No worries, I snuck an extra Saturday post in back in August, which should keep the masses happy and my average of 5 a week steady. Honestly, it's not that big a deal - all of you should have been out helping the economy on Black Friday. The Y.A.B. staff misinterpreted the day, dressing all in black and laying roses on prior sources of online entertainment in memoriam. It's not that those websites are dead, they've just lost my interest. They leave me with that look in my eyes of disinterest. Think the Redskins, on offense, on 3rd and 18. You get the picture.

At least Homestar is coming back strong after weeks of sub-par e-mails. Check out "Virus." It's a winner.

Having to go back to work today, I decided I would try some different things in my morning routine, as an attempt to jumpstart what could be a long and winding week. I brushed my teeth with my right hand. I wore a different coat to work. I took a shower without the ceiling leaking from upstairs (Wait. It is leaking from upstairs. Damn.)

I also tuned out Saved by the Bell and SportsCenter for some good old local news. Given, local news for me most often means national and global news for the rest of the world, but it's worth a shot. Besides, I need to start prepping the protocol for how to find out when snow has caught DC in its icy grip (Hey, I can dream, can't I? Especially after watching some of Denver-Oakland last night) So I turn on the news, and it's the usual. Politics. Bills. Political guys named Bill. Out of control fires in Maryland. Traffic. Sports. Weath-

Wait. Out of control fires in Maryland?

Sure enough, Prince George County's bravest were out putting out two separate fires in College Park this morning. One was at some hotel. The other was at some restaurant. No Terrapins were harmed in the independent blazes. (Not that turtles could really hurry out of a burning building...) This got me thinking. What if my building was engulfed in flames? Do we have a protocol set up in case of such an incendiary emergency?

Oh. That's right. I'm the protocol.

When I was least expecting it, I was designated for my floor of the Towers as the Emergency Floor Coordinator. (Or in my abbrevispeak, Floordinator) What are the demands of the job, you ask? Well, first let me introduce you to the tools I have been entrusted with.

• Hazard orange safety vest
• Clipboard with matching pencil
• Two glowsticks (ok, maybe just one, since I used one when I was at work late at night)
• Earplugs
• All the mocking I want (thanks to the aforementioned vest)

Now the plan (assuming everyone is acting with complete rational thought in the event of an inferno) is for Condon to wait until everybody is outside and flame-free, while I wait patiently at my desk and do my best to blow the fire back into the hallway. Or maybe fan the flames with my clipboard. Once my lucky co-workers have evacuated, the floordinator is to go office2office to make sure everyone has left the floor.

"Um, yes. You need to evacuate. The building is on fire."

"No, I'm good thanks. I'm on a conference call."

(throws glowstick at ignorant fool)

"Alright, have a nice day."

Clearly, there are some kinks that need to be worked out. The main one being that by the end of the ordeal, I'm probably on fire. That's a problem. But hey, at least I've got a vest that will let people in the next county know I am on fire.

A Farewell Speech

Hi there. Gobble.

I'm the Condon Family Turkey. You can call me Ankara. I don't have much time to type this - considering Thanksgiving dinner isn't all that far off. But between the perpetual cleaning, the Wawa coffee runs, the prep time required doe all the side dishes and appetizers, I've managed to waddle my way away from the stove and into the family room. Good thing I blend in. There's enough woodcraft or porcelain turkeys in decorative form that these people may not notice my presence.

I've been here in the family room since about 8am. It's been hectic, but I've managed to keep a low profile. I first decided to make my hiding place on the fireplace, but once Toni came down and turned on the electric fire (something about "it being freezing in here" despite the fact it was 66 degrees outside). Because of her heat-seeking ways, I had a sudden craving to be accompanied by some bacon and lettuce on a sesame see bun. Thus, I relocated to underneath the coffee table. From there I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Some thoughts...

1. Do we really need a Barney balloon in 2004? He hasn't gotten any more appealing, especially at the length of 9 Buicks.
2. Speaking of Buicks, I feel this uncanny need to purchase a new Buick LaCrosse. Or a frightenly skinny woman. Is she supposed to be the car? Is this going to be like Transformers, where the unsuspecting model magically transforms into a new trendy American sportscar?? I just don't know.
3. The Barenaked Ladies were the only musical act to not take the lyp synching seriously. Congrats. Anyone who WAS taking it to seriously could have used a hammer on the head from Ginormous Bob the Builder.
4. Spongebob Squarepants - apparently can get creepier! Just make him 50 ft tall and full of hot air.
5. Glad we can trust Matt Lauer for those hard hitting stories. 1 year ago, Fallujah. Today, talking about Garfield's inflatable teddy bear.
6. Dude, that guy from 98 Degrees is singing Walk Like an Egyptian with a bunch of Discovery Channel kids. So that's what happens if you don't marry Jessica Simpson.
7. Side tangent - there's not a whole lot of clearance under this coffee table. Heck, it was cozier in the oven. Maybe I'll head over that way...

(opens oven)

Oh, look! A bright light! Maybe just for a few minutes, I'll go to it. Ah! So warm and comfortab-WHAM.

(closes oven)

Happy Thanksgiving, loyal readers.

And a roof over every NED

Hate the nickname, but for titling purposes, it'll do.

My license plate is NED 45B. Most people who seek to annoy me refer to the license plate's associated vehicle as Ned. It's far from stellar, but until I can come up with something better, I just have to take it as is.

Today I'm blogging from the home office in Medford, New Jersey. The beds are warm, the food is abundant, and there's a Wawa on every corner. I also get to blog in a much more comfortable setting than a desk chair surrounded by modular systems furniture. No, I get to type on a laptop, lying down, near the fireplace, as monkey butlers serve cold glasses of watered-down apple juice to me. (Ok, maybe not monkey butlers. Yet.)

Not only am I living in the lap of er...comfortability, so is my car. When the parents are away, the children (and their respective modes of transportation) will play. My car, which has gotten so used to be parked under the protective blanket of a parking deck, is tucked safely within the garage. A garage is a beautiful invention. Every morning in Falls Church, my car has to deal with the worst Mother Nature can muster, as well as me starting the car up faster than I should in order to warm it up. But not today.

Top Five Reasons the Garage is a Beautiful Thing

1. You never know when you are going to need a weed wacker, an old croquet set, or a bag of 14 soccer balls. It's good to have them nearby.
2. Much closer to the door - much shorter distance to fall on one's face.
3. The Genius of the Tennis Ball String - Outside, you don't know where the curb is until the bottom edge of the license plate makes that awful screeching sound. Inside, there's a string that hangs from the ceiling so that you know when to stop. (At one point there was a tennis ball on the end of said string, but an aluminum bat when I was 12 took care of that.)
4. Don't have to spend the first 5 minutes of your commute removing leaves and pine needles from your car. Sure, you could forgo that step, but then in the parking deck it is painfully obvious who owns their house in the suburbs and who parks outside their apartment on Random Run Lane.
5. Dominion Towing - on the outside looking in.

Land of the Free, Home of the Run

Monday, it became quasi-official. Never mind that neither the City Council or DC residents have officially approved the new stadium deal (please do, RFK is awful!), Major League Baseball has announced the new name of the Montreal Expos.

The Senators? Nope.
The Monuments? Nay.
The DC Metros? No, fool, The Mets already have laid claim to the abbreviation rights of the word “Metropolitans.”
The Washington Nationals? Yahtzee!

I’m fine with the Nationals, and it will be good to have a hometown team that doesn’t lose to the Cowboys on Monday Night Football. I’m still Philly-pride allied, but since the Expos call the N.L. East home, I’ll see the Fightins’ 9 times here in our Nation’s Capital. And I wouldn’t mind having a second team to root for. In football, there’s the Colts. In hockey, any of the Monroe Project expansion teams. In basketball, anyone who’s not in prison. In baseball? The Nationals.The only problem with this plan of grandeur is that everyone seems to be glossing over one fact: they’re still the freakin’ Expos, people. This is the team from the city who have more people attending locked-out Canadiens games than seeing Jose Vidro and co. That’s another thing – Jose Vidro is their best player. And you have never heard of him.

Jim Bowden is serving as the interim general manager. Interim is a kind way of saying, “If this all goes to hell, don’t blame me, I’m just a temp.” Sooner or later, Bowden will step aside, and let Chris Condon take over the franchise. Then, and only then, will the Nationals fulfill their destiny and establish the identity that only Y.A.B. can provide. I’m waiving the entire team, and replacing them with…

…former Presidents of the United States.

These guys were born leaders. They’ve taken us through international conflict, economic downturns, state secessions, the “Miami Vice look is radical!” era, and even the occasional assassination attempt. If they were, ya know, all still living and in halfway-decent shape, this would be what the Washington area can expect on opening day 2005.

Starting Lineup

1. Rutherford B. Hayes – Right Field - early ancestor of Willie Mays Hayes.
2. James Buchanan – Centerfield – He has a Buchanan of an arm. Perfect for throwing out baserunners at home plate.
3. James Monroe – Second Base – Little known fact – Second base, along with the rest of the American Continent, was declared not to be colonized (or stolen) in the Monroe Doctrine.
4. Theodore Roosevelt – First Base – Batting cleanup, he’ll speak softly and swing a big stick.
5. Andrew Jackson – Left Field – The first democrat in the oval office, Old Hickory belongs in left field.
6. James Garfield – Third Base – reflexes like a cat, that one.
7. William Howard Taft – Catcher – Backstop personified.
8. Martin Van Buren – Shortstop – Before Ozzie Smith made headlines as the Wizard of Oz, the Little Magician was taking one-hoppers and turning them into double plays.
9. Lyndon B. Johnson – DH - As Kennedy’s VP, he was also designated to the Oval Office.

Pitching Staff

• Abraham Lincoln – Bigger than the Big Unit.
• John F. Kennedy – Roger Clemens may be the Rocket, but Kennedy was the whole space program.
• Herbert Hoover – What. A. Screwball.
• Ronald Reagan – Took down Communism. Why not Barry Bonds?
• Millard Fillmore – Why do I have the feeling he’d be some sort of submarine knuckleballer?

Bullpen

• William Henry Harrison – (very) short middle relief
• Richard Nixon – set-up man
• Dwight Eisenhower – closer – Oakland had Dennis Eckersley, a.k.a. “The Eck.” The Nationals have “The Ike.”

Take that, Detroit!

Detroit, Michigan can stake claim to a lot of things. They have the most unique hockey celebration. They produce cars faster than Alfie disappeared from theaters. They get to host a Thanksgiving football game every year (Good news - national coverage! Bad news - against Peyton Manning!). Lots of special distinctions for the motor city. Well, leave it to the Garden State to start trimming that list down for the holiday season. If anyone is shopping for Detroit, they have a newly-vacant space in their trophy case at City Hall.

Number One? No longer.

Even with the Malice at the Palace happening over the weekend, D-Town was no match for the eventual victor in the race for Most Dangerous City 2004. A dubious achievement for the leader of the City Crime Rankings, this victor receives the "Golden Handcuffs" Award. Of course, the issuing agency hopes that rather than put them on display, the local law enforcement will actually USE them to make an arrest every now and then.

"I still can't believe it. I gotta give you your dream shot. I gotta send you up against the best. You two characters, are going to Crime One! For five weeks you'll be looting against the best delinquents in the world. Detroit was number one, you guys were number two. Detroit lost it, turned in his red wings. You guys are number one!"

Welcome, Camden, NewJersey.

Camden is about 25 minutes from Medford. Before I go into analyzing the committee's selection, let me give you some background on the City Near Brotherly Love. This city leads two lives. One is a noble life, attracting unsuspecting suburbanites (people, not cars) into its grip in order to provide said visitors with various forms of entertainment. The problem is, there's this other life that provides said visitors with fear and mayhem. Here are some examples:

• It's summer. The Fightin's are on a west coast road swing, and you're in dire need of some peanuts and/or crackerjacks. Unless you can convince the Aramark folks at Citizens Bank Park that there's baseball happening, your only option is in scenic Camden, New Jersey - home of the minor league River Sharks. Here are some lies you may encounter at your night at the old ball game. 1) There is such a thing as a River Shark. 2) Your vehicle is safely parked with no threat of being jacked.
• And since your trolling of the Delaware River turned up not one of the aforementioned sharks, you must satisfy the need for fish-watching. Fortunately, the New Jersey State Aquarium is nearby - in beautiful Camden, New Jersey. Some of the sites you may encounter: Sea urchin. Sea horse. Seaweed. Sea Cucumber. See that kid in the Iverson jersey run down the street with your wallet.
• Finally, the best venue for concerts in the Philly area is the Tweeter Center, which, in order to follow this blog's theme, is located in Camden, New Jersey. You've probably got one of these in your hometown. It's a big open-air amphitheater type place - seats under the roof, lawn, obviously, outside the roof. Overall, I've seen many a show at the Tweeter. This includes the Y100 Feztival, where I first found the Guster. But on the crime theme, this was also the venue where I went with Justin, Karen et al. to see a special sneak preview of Johnny Tsunami. And just like that, Camden, New Jersey stole my credibility.

For the Rogniks

Due to the CIA project taking over ALL of the free time today, I thought I would keep it simple, stupid. For Jon and Shay....

The Luckiest
by Ben Folds

I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

What if I'd been born fifty years before you
In a house on a street where you lived?
Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike
Would I know?

And in a white sea of eyes
I see one pair that I recognize
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you

Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of day
sAnd passed away

I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know
we belong
That I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

Quotent Quotables

I love when AFI makes my day.

Casting all critics, Rolling Stone, and IMDB-ites aside, I defer to the American Film Institute as a guiding force in the judgment placed upon cinema over the last century. I don't know who makes up said institute, but they have done a phenomenal job of compiling lists that glow with greatness. You won't find trendy picks, or picks to please certain movie production companies. You're not going to find polls rife with subjectivity. If you want that - watch any list on VH1. If you want real movie greatness, watch an AFI special.

The process for composing an AFI's 100 Greatest list is simple. They come up with a topic that is integral to film history. Best movie. Best song. Best villain. Whatever. Then the all-knowing compile a semifinal list of sorts, with a list of 400 candidates vying to make the list. This also peaks viewer and reader interest. 8 months later, they list has been whittled down to a solid century. 100 entries into the hallowed hall of fame. I'm impressed every time.

Well, a new topic is on the table: the Top 100 movie quotes of all time. (Such a good category, it should have been mine.) Well, there's the ring. And oh! My hat is in it!

I scanned the list of 400 - a 103 page pdf file, mind you, and I realized that coming up with my own Top 10 from this list was a little daunting. Maybe when it gets down to 100 - but not now. Due to my lifespan, my knowledge of movies definitely skews neo-centric, where I have a solid working knowledge of most things post 1990, and I'm working my way back. So, I took the 57 entries on the list from 1990-1999 and put together a fierce top 10 list. These are quotes that I found to be the decade's best based on the following criteria:

• Wording
• Delivery
• Effect it has on the film
• Memorability
• Quality of film
• Cultural Importance

Well, I feel that last measurable will count a little less than the importance AFI will place, just because I had a hard time cutting down the list. Despite their cultural importance, "Show me the money" from Jerry Maguire and "Hasta la vista, baby." from T2 just missed the cut. This was a hard list to trim down, because of a strong decade of quotent quotables. In ascending order, heeeeeeeeeee're we go!

10. That’ll do pig. That’ll do. - Farmer Hoggett (James Cromwell), Babe. (1995.)

9. First rule of Fight Club – you do not talk about Fight Club. - Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), Fight Club (1999.)

8. It's a hell of a thing, killin’ a man. You take away all he’s got and all he’s ever gonna have. - Bill Munny (Clint Eastwood), Unforgiven. (1992.)

7. We didn’t land on Plymouth Rock. Plymouth Rock landed on us! - Malcolm X (Denzel Washington), Malcom X. (1992.)

6. I do wish we could chat longer, but I’m having an old friend for dinner. - Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins), Silence of the Lambs. (1991)

5. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. - Verbal Kint (Kevin Spacey), The Usual Suspects. (1995.)

4. I see dead people. - Cole Sear (Haley Joel Osment), The Sixth Sense. (1999.)

3. Houston, we have a problem. - Jim Lovell (Tom Hanks), Apollo 13. (1995.)

2. You can’t handle the truth! - Nathan R. Jessup (Jack Nicholson), A Few Good Men, (1992.)

1. They make take away our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom! - William Wallace (Mel Gibson), Braveheart (1995.)

Seasons Greetings from your Landlord!

Well, at least I can't say they never write.

I have a loathe/hate relationship with our landlord. It should be a simple, business only matter, but it truth, it's so much more. They lease me an apartment. We pay them a monthly rent expense. They don't get a brick through the leasing office window. We don't get evicted. (And hey, they even give us pool passes! Awesome!)

But, unfortunately, the relationship cannot end there. In December 2003, the rocket scientists in leasing accused us of turning our rent in late, when in reality they closed the office early because it might have snowed that night. (I'm not kidding, people. 2 inches of snow will paralyze this region. If you have a spatula or a cake server, you have better snow removal equipment than the Virginia Department of Transportation.) After a few strongly-worded letters and a certified money order to pay the rent later, things were patched up, at least to get us through the new year.

The management here is like the Flyers. Operationally, it's a well-tuned machine. But the management has taken a few too many cross-checks to the head. When something breaks (like the ceiling in the bathroom,) it gets fixed. When a tree endangers our balcony furniture, it is swiftly brought to its arboreal knees. But when it comes to letting the management wield its hammer of incompetence, it unravels quicky. For example, take towing.

Please.

We have a rule here in the Random of Run. No Car Gets Towed Twice. 8 cars - all towed. Ever the same? Well, up until this week, the answer is no. Let me explain the parking policy in such a way as to make it clear how downright confusing and backwards the policy really is.

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Wasn't issued a parking pass, even though you live here? TOWED.
Used a fake parking pass to beat the system? TOWED.
Didn't get back from Baltimore by 9am to move the car? TOWED.
Had a rental car without the parking pass? TOWED.
Overslept and couldn't move the car in time? TOWED.
Registration expired? TOWED.
Stopped into to have some pizza, and didn't have a visitor pass? TOWED.
Got back from a Bon Jovi concert in the middle of the night? TOWED.
Parked in the access road for 2 hours after unloading groceries in the rain? Strangely enough, not towed. YET.

The reason I ramble this all to you is the sign that greeted me when I got home from wishing Liz a happy birthday: HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM FAIRFIELD CROSSING! NO TOWING 11/24-12/1!

This is the best gift I have ever received. Seriously, I just got a gift that was a promis that they would leave my car put. A pledge to not move my vehicle without asking. Genius.

I think they're on to something.

With the holiday shopping season fast approaching, I just wanted to let you know for Christmas, you're all getting a promise that I won't break into your residence and take your televisions.

Happy Holidays from Y.A.B.!

Intelligence Matters.

I’m leading a double life.

No, no, this isn’t the superhero thing again. (Although, I haven’t encountered Nightpaver in weeks, thank God.) It’s a life of balancing your everyday unassuming desk job with a secretive side that involves top secret communications and clandestine activities. Financial analyst by day, undercover operative by, well, also by day. These sides of me are intertwined to the point where I don’t know if I should thank the café staff for lunch or just shoot the cook. What am I really up to? That’s for me, the Laptop of Foom, and the wall to know. That’s right.

I’m a grad student.

Not just any grad student, mind you. A grad student who has taken on a task of epic proportions. (I’m talking epic, man. Like Spartacus epic, not Troy epic.) My cohort is currently enrolled and enthralled my MBAD 230: Marketing Management. In my opinion, this course should have been a cake walk – I was a marketing major, after all. And my prediction is at least partly true. All of the materials we have covered in my recently-purchased textbook is as familiar to me as the entire dialogue to Cool Runnings. Now if it wasn’t for that other pesky little “in-class project.”

GW has been tabbed by a company called edVenture to participate in a real-time marketing project. (Real-time means all the time.) Our job is to market the objectives of the selected client to the GW campus, as a means of market research for the client to use elsewhere for this demographic. For example, a class two years ago was partnered with General Motors to promote the ugliest SUV of them all, the Pontiac Aztek. I figured this seemed like a much more interesting task that stats homework, and so when the professor asked for two volunteers to be the coordinator between the class and the client, I raised my hand. Hey, I can organize a campaign to promote an ugly car, no problem. Where’s the twist?

Ah yes, the twist. ‘Tis no car we’re marketin’, laddie. ‘Tis the C.I.A.”

Yes, the Central Intelligence Agency. They’re the client that I took responsibility for on behalf of the class. What does this mean for Double-Oh-Condon? Well, I’ve got to pull of the convincing of the GW campus that the C.I.A. is an employer of choice for graduates. This still can’t be hard, can it?

Top 10 Reasons It Still Can Be Hard

1. We’re not allowed to do any press releases about the CIA, thanks to a recent federal crackdown of information dissemination. Thanks, Office of Public Affairs!
2. Jack Ryan is not in our class, and besides, he keeps changing what we looks like. Alecrisson Forffleck?
3. This is a 15 week project crammed into our 7 week timeframe. It’s like trying to fit a loaf of bread into a mayonnaise jar, and expect a perfectly normal sandwich.
4. We’re marketing to people who want to become spies. You know how hard it is to have spies as target market? Standard flyers and posters will not suffice. Chalk markings on mailboxes, now that’s how you market to a spy.
5. The GWU-Foggy Bottom area of DC – not a single mailbox.
6. Oh, that’s right. We all have FULL-TIME JOBS. My co-coordinator insists a project of this magnitude would take a normal marketing agency three months to put together a campaign of this scale. Sigh.
7. I only know of 2 people from GW who read this blog. Not exactly marketing to the masses.
8. We need to positively promote the Agency, while all of the guys up top are jumping ship. It’s a good thing college kids don’t read the newspaper these days.
9. I think big picture – it’s hard for me to do things in a limited or smaller role. It’s like when I was 6 and my dad thought I should sort my baseball cards. He was thinking I should sort them into teams, not by team in order of past year’s finish, alphabetically by position with extra detail paid to rookies and guys named Roenicke.
10. I’d tell you, but then I would have to kill you.

Meet the Crockers

My cooking abilities are legendary in some circles (read: my own mind.) I have come up with scores of innovative dishes, each with its own flavor and chock full of umm…condocity. Over the years, inspiration has hit me in the kitchen. Some call it a gift. Most call it a cry for help. Take some of my past creations:

• Condonents – Yes, the famous collegiate snack food for anyone with a loaf of bread and a fridge with little food. Just add any condiment you find in the refrigerator door to a slice of white bread. Fold. Chew. Repeat. (Okay, maybe not any condiment. We do not support Horseradish Bread.
  
• Big Bowl of Pudding – Harder than it sounds. Make some pudding. Put in a big bowl. Don’t drop it on the ground. Repeat.
  
• Pheasants with Vermicelli and Ground Bacon – yep, typed in “fancy recipes” on the internet and this is what I got. Would you believe I can make this at will?

Yeah, me neither. (And the pheasants rejoiced.)

Aside from one disastrous Black Forest Cake for Pretztoberfest 2002, I had never tried my hand at the dessert world. I’m a cake baking faker. Maybe that’s why this recent attempt was that much more interesting.

Mr. Jonathan Rogers, a good friend from William and Mary, will be welcoming Miss Shay Mocnik to his neighborhood not too far from now. There’s some wedding traditions that must be observed here. And thanks to a certain Honduran National we like to call Jasen, the bachelor party was one of them. And since said Honduran is living with Mr. Rogers in his neighborhood, another venue needed to be chosen for several of Jon’s friends to get together and celebrate in the name of matrimony. Enter Random Run Lane.

Jasen was very set on surprise good Sir Jon with a party he’d never forget. We’d go to the adult Chuckie Cheese’s – Dave and Busters – for dinner and drinks, and we’d probably mock Jon for several hours. But before we could raise a glass, Jasen had something else in mind.

Betty Crocker, eat your heart out.

Spud’s and my mission, since we chose to accept it, was to construct a birthday cake that the “entertainment” was to, well, pop out of. Now you must know that this was Jasen going against the Legion of Groom’s wishes – nothing scandalous. Now of course Jasen is going to comply with Rogers’ request, but not without having a little fun of our own.

5 hours of work, 5 seconds of hilarity.

So Spud and I baked a giant cake. After buying 64 square feet of bright pink construction-grade foam board, we headed to my car to transport the material home. Here’s the first problem – They come in four 8 feet by 2 feet strips, and I don’t drive a school bus. So, yeah, we were the guys with the glowing pink rectangles sticking out the sun roof that you may have seen. (It kind of looked like my car was a giant Bubble Tape dispenser.) We also failed to observe the laws of aerodynamics. With the board slanted forward (the in-car portion was in the back seat, not the front), it provided us with just enough lift to take off and sail across the DC Metro area, if by chance my car hit 16 miles per hour. Good times.

After icing the cake with some vanilla white latex paint, we then cut up all the boards in order to construct it. Four tiers with half-foot steps later, we were staring at a 4.5 foot tall, 16 square foot base white foamilla cake with a hiding place that even my shoulders could fit inside. We then cleaned up, welcomed the other guests, helped the “entertainment” into the cake of Good Hope, and waited for the guest of honor to arrive (who by the way, thought we were hanging out tonight since “Sara” was in town..

Jon: “Do you mind if I partake of one of your Yuenglings?”
Spud: “Yeah, no problem. Here they are, right on the table behind me.”
Jon: That’s okay, I’ll go through the kitchen.
Chris: “No, wait – they’re right on the tab-“
(Jon sees the cake in the dining room, complete with pink and blue decorative icing.)
Jon: (a little frightened) “What the?
(Chris frantically throws on the music. Just before Jon can ask what the heck is going on here…)
Mattias Caro (leaping out of aforementioned cake): Surprise!

And that, my friends, is how to fake a cake.

Get Vegas on the phone...

...'cause I have a line that will bring in the bets.

Tonight, Katie and I went to T.G.I.Fridays, well because, it's Friday. (I'm such a sucker for indirect advertising. I'm a sheep, especially after a long week.) Actually, we happened to be in the city to pick up a textbook that I need in order to comply with an open-book exam tomorrow morning. After much debate on the need to purchase said book, I decided it will be in my best interest to have it on hand for the exam. You know, just in case my marketing major doesn't have the wheels to finish this leg of the MBAmeter Dash.

Anyways, Friday's. It's one of those fine establishments that know it can make its money in the soft drink department. If they feel the need to undercharge for the Jack Daniels (Insert Random Food Here) just to compete in price wars with those communists over at Applebee's, then they need to find a cost savins elsewhere. This is the explanation behind charging a $1.98 for a soda.

Highway Robbery? Nay. A challenge to take down the system? Yep.

I pride myself on taking the "Free Refill" policy to the house. The White House. I am the self-proclaimed President of Carbonation. At a restaurant such as Friday's, the waitress is kind enough to take your drink order while you peruse the menu. Standard procedure dictates that when she returns to take the entree orders, she's got the just what the Condon ordered - a tall glass of Pepsi (or in more trying times, Coke.) This is where my plan kicks into gear. It's not that I sit there with the straw permanently affixed to my throat, it's just that I enjoy the immediate rush of ice cold soda. One drink turns into another, and the waitress extends the courtesy to replace the empty glass with a full one. This is only the beginning.

By the time Jack Daniels shows up with his glazetastic whatever, I've drained glass number 2, and looking for three. This is where the speculation begins. How far can Condon go? Soda is cheap for a restaurant - for cheaper than $1.98 per glass. I've just doing my part to right the world, stand up for the consumer, and get one man's money's worth in cola.

Glass three is on the table. But so is my meal. That slows things down, and this is where Vegas needs to step in and put my dinner habits on the big board. The official over/under on my soda intake will be opening at 3.5 glasses. Place your bets, people.

"Cause the house always wins. Play long enough, you never change the stakes. The house takes you. Unless, when that perfect hand comes along, you bet big, then you take the house."

Let Freedom Ring!

Yes, yes, yesterday I was a little late getting on the blog flume, but it did get in at the eleventh hour. And fifty-four minutes. So, hopefully if you visited, you did take the time normally allocated to reading the most current post by exploring the rest of the page. (That, or you went out and rented every Jerry Bruckheimer flick Blockbuster had, and then felt the need to blow up your coffee table for no reason whatsoever.) On the right hand side (---->) are some links, all worth checking out, but I really haven't changed them since the blog's inception. Maybe I'll update those on the weekend. (Or, maybe I'll go to class for four hours. We'll see.)

Also over yonder are a list my bloggers in crime. I don't know how often you all get a chance to check any of those out (since I've taken to writing James Michener length posts over the last three weeks), but they're worth the read. As I was running down the list the other day, I noticed something unusual with one of them, the one belonging to one Robert Josephus Malachi Harford III.

There's been a revolution.

For those of you who have never met Rob, he's a character. His hair changes color. He plays a mean game of frisbee (remember that old SHS Frisbee poll we used to do? Didn't do the guy justice.) He's driven 18 different cars since getting his license. He's worked at least two different video stores without beating a customer over the head with a poor rental decision. (Ooh, Navy Seals!) He's got a blog, and he does his best to give the people what they want: good, old-fashioned, daily readin'.

Communism needs Blog ruled the internet with an iron fist for the first few months of R.J.M.H.3's efforts. Posts were owned by all readers equally, there was no need for a capitalistic hit counter, and most of Rob's rants were translated in broken English, as he actually posts in the native tongue of Mother Russia. Rob's writing sessions were accompanied by downing bottles of vodka, watching ice hockey, and wearing a heavy wool full-length coat and a silly little fur hat. It was worth the watch. (However, Mother Russia outlawed Rob's webcam, so we have to pretend this is how it was.)

But then there was a change...

The American blogpublic saw that Robbilovich was exceeding his bounds, threatening to crush bloggers in Afghanistan, Eastern Europe, and North Korea with its "Blogastroika" methods of information dissemination. People in those regions no longer felt that they had the freedom to rant, declare, and defend opinions and civil liberties they held dearly to. Robbilovich would force them away from their computers, into bread lines, and make them to watch the most boring movie in the history of cinema.

But the United States would not stand for such a travesty. Loading up their cyber military with pop-ups and junk mail, Harford was forced to abandon his support for the prior regime or face being crushed underneath the blanket of unsolicited advertisement. There's no greater symbol of a free-economy system that windows appearing on your computer screen pushing some stupid product you'll never need. They came strong and fast. The shock and awe campaign was too much for Mother Russia, and she released her grip. Rob was free to blog as he pleased. And America needs blog was born.

God Bless America. Happy Veteran's Day!

Not enough hours in the day...

That's right - it's Wednesday, which means I had way too much to do to get the blog done for those East Coasters looking for an interesting and relevant diversion at work. Because the day ends in a four hour brainbath of knowledge in Alexandria, much of my discretionary time during the day ends up getting devoted to finishing up last minute homework and making it abundantly clear that once the clock hits five, I can do nothing more at work. After all, there's no time like Beltway Time, and I'm afraid all matters have to get put on hold until I'll fire up the Laptop of Foom tomorrow (I went back to changed Foom to my originally intended 'Doom', but I kind of like how it sounds. That machine has lacked a name for too long. Now thanks to a late night blogging session, it's Foom.) (Longest parenthetical note ever.)

Now just because I phone it in (I learned from the best.) when 5 comes around does not mean that my e-mail inbox follows suit. For some reason, people wait to request the most ridiculous information the minute I put my jacket on. Oh, and they want said information 5 minutes ago. Here's a snapshot of what I have waiting for me tomorrow...

"Chris, how many square feet of space are built into the FY '06 Columbia Gateway Pool/2nd floor 7125 Pool and how much rent dollars this equates to.. Sorry to be pushy, but I need to know soonest. Thanks! - Toni Nylander"
- This one's a big liar. This is the person who procrastinates until the moment when she needs something and then all of a sudden it gets moved to Def Con 47. She can wait 'til morning. After I get a bagel. And do a crossword puzzle. And then create my own crossword puzzle. Using the Gaelic alphabet.

"David Kovalev has read your e-mail titled, "Germantown Credit."
- Then you have people who wait until you're gone to read the topics that you need information from. I have a read receipt function turned on, meaning I know the absolute instant someone chooses to grace my words with their ocular presence. Gee thanks, Dave. If I don't get a response by morning, I'm going to be waiting at your desk with the Laptop of Foom.

"Please review this rate summary spreadsheet for accuracy. Thanks, Joel Kovalchuk."
- Gotta love people on the west coast. By the time they get to work, I've already gone through my morning e-mail, planned a location for budget alterations, beaten all of my coworkers in Jenga, written the blog, and have been eyeing Greg's danish for a good two hours. Nice of you to catch up with the rest of us, Joel. You can't send stuff at 6:58 pm and expect an immediate return. Unless your question is, "What channel is the Daily Show on?"

...I'm counting about 7 e-mails regarding my marketing class' project. That's pretty impressive since at the time of sending, I am pretty sure I'm sitting within 25 feet of every sender in a classroom in Alexandria. Something's not right here...I think I'm going to blame the IT department at GW. One - I've never met 'em. Two - they don't read the blog. Three - You're a blame. (Oh no he didn't!)

See what I have to look forward to tomorrow? Rock, rock on.

* - Real identities and names have been replaced with the last niames of National Hockey League players. Figured no one would mind, since 252 of them at in Europe. Y.A.B. - not yet converted to metric.

** - Beating everyone at Jenga may have been an exaggeration. That pirate from PR has quite the steady hand.

Cage Against the Machine

In my search to find a reliable site for the "Revenge of the Sith" trailer, I find myself being bombarded by ads and streaming video for the latest Jerry Bruckheimer offering, National Treasure. It's the story of a man named Benjamin Franklin Gates who uses clues found in the symbols of patriotism to recover the greatest reward the founding fathers have left our nation - a big chest of treasure. (What did you think I meant? Freedom?) I have a feeling that the fact the main character is named after Benjamin Franklin will have some factor in the movie's outcome. The fact he is named after Franklin Gates will not. Regardless, this is a Jerry Bruckheimer production, which translates into one and one only casting mandate for the role of Mr. Gates: Nicholas Cage.

This will be the fourth time Bruck has tabbed Cage to be the heroic leading man in a movie guaranteed to be chock full of unneccessary explosions, cringetastic quotable dialogue, and probably some underlying theme that makes moviegoers proud to be Americans. (See Harbor, Pearl.) We saw Cage take on The Rock, hijack the plane in Con Air, and floor it in Gone in Sixty Seconds. These are both movies that could have been disasterous. But the Bruckheimer "Fly by the seat of the budget" method works. No one is looking for Oscars here. Just a chance to make things look cool.

It's a well-guarded secret that Bruckheimer likes working with Cage because he is part of the Coppola family, a family whose name weaves in and out of the great moments in cinema history. And since Francis Ford spent the late 90s working on his latest masterful opus, he had little time to blow stuff up with Jerry. As a result, this leaves Bruck with Nick, and because of the success of The Rock, he gives him the right of first refusal on any new prject that comes down the pike. Cage picks his flicks well, as here is a listing of the other Bruckheimer pictures as of late had they been infused with Cage-eosity.

Pirates of the Caribbean (2003) - Having played a Captain recently in Captain Corelli's Mandolin, decided to decline the role of Captain Jack Sparrow. Had he taken the role, however, he would have used the same Italian accent he used in the aformentioned movie. "Oh-ah no! Why-a did you burn-ah the rum? That's a spicy meat-ah-ball!"

Blackhawk Down (2001) - Eleven years later, Cage still shudders at the sight of another helicopter movie. In 1990, Fire Birds shelved his career up until Honeymoon in Vegas. Probably a wise choice to skip it.

Remember the Titans (2000) - Nicholas Cage? As a black football coach in a segregated Alexandria, VA in the sixties? He's made bigger reaches before...(ahem...City of Angels)

Enemy of the State (1998) - Cage almost accepted Will Smith's role in this underrated techno-triller. Had he taken the role, Smith would have done Snake Eyes, and instantly killed his career. We can accept Snake Eyes from Cage, but not Smith. He's box-office gold.

Bad Boys (1995) and Bad Boys II (2003) - More Smith, not Cage. I think there's some rule that if Nicholas Cage and Martin Lawrence share more than 4 consecutive minutes of screen time, the world implodes. That's bad for the box office.

King Arthur (2004) - Yes, this was Bruckheimer. He apologizes. This was an easy pass for Cage, since the only open role was Guinivere. Ewwwwwwww.

Armageddon (1998) - I am convinced Cage is in this movie somewhere. It's vintage Bruckheimer. Throw science out the window, put the existence of humans at risk, and blow stuff up. Perfect. Now if you've watched the movie as much as I have, you know that there are two teams of four drillers that go up into space. One team has Bruce Willis, Buscemi, "Max", and Will Patton. The other team is Affleck, M.C. Duncan, Owen Wilson, and that other guy. He gets two lines in the movie, despite being sent up to save the future all of us. My theory is this role was much bigger, and had been written for Cage. But once he pulled out to do 8mm (why, Nick, why?), they got the catering guy in a space suit to fill out the roster.

Coyote Ugly (2000) - Too many jokes...

Pearl Harbor (2001) - Another Michael Bay flick, with strong patriotic undertones. Cage was slated to play Rafe McCauley (Affleck, again) but once on set, he kept doing that "Let's Go" thing from Gone in 60 Seconds and Tom Sizemore got so annoyed he gave him the ole' right cross. You can't have a leading man with a broken jaw.

Kangaroo Jack (2003) - He wanted to be the kangaroo. Umm...would have made the movie better.

Elevettiquette

I think I've covered is these last fifteen weeks of blog just about everything that composes my morning routine. From morning commute to breakfast selection, I think I've written all there is to write about beating the heck out of my alarm clock up until the "You've got 53 unread messages, get crackin' punk" greeting my nameless work computer welcomes me with. This said, I fully can count on you to be able to fill in for me seamlessly should I decide to "join witness protection" or "take a trip to the Caribbean" or "oversleep terribly."

Being Condon can't be that hard in the morning. I don't say much, and when I do, it's not like I'm putting a ton of thought into it? Example:

Coworker: "The crazy think about what they put out for breakfast is that no matter what people buy everyday, they are still going to make the same items despite their lack of popularity. I mean, honestly, who buys a cruller? It's sitting next to a cheese danish on the tray, it is my contention that its chance of consumption is slim to none. Chris, what do you think?"
Me: "Bagel. Now."

But in order to fully pull off the Condon-switch, you're going to need to know what I think about for the minutes and fifteen seconds between my car and my desk. And that topic: elevators.

Before this turns ugly, let me credit the technology behind the noble elevator. Now in the part of the building where I work, we have an elevator lobby of six shafts, with each elevator going from the B3 level of the parking garage, all the way up to the 9th floor. Six elevators, all with the ability of vertical transport. My question: How in the world does one elevator open on a floor instead of the other five? There's got to be some internal computer that barks out orders, so that the entire six pack doesn't rush to the B3 level to take me to work, but rather the one that is the most convenient. It's a well-oiled machine, and I have no idea how it works. There's nothing more beautiful, impressive, and complex in this world than the schematics of the elevator management system.

God to Chris: "Oh, come on! Have you never even considered your own circulatory system?

But all is not well in the Elevatoria. I've got some issues with how people use the elevators in my building. Here's some tips that will get you far in life (assuming life moves up and down, and you hear a metallic bell sound everytime you reach a milestone)

1. When someone is getting in the elevator after you, do your best to hold the door open. Do NOT press the button for your desired floor, as the door will interpret that to mean "hit the tall kid crossing into the elevator, and make him drop his Gatorade.
2. If you are on the 1st floor, do NOT take the elevator to the second floor. Take the stairs. You'll get to your destination just as fast, and you won't be subject to the collective Scowl of Doom that awaits you in the elevator.
3. Cell phones - bad idea. You are going to lose reception sooner or later, so just don't make that call. Unless, everyone in the elevator is allowed to contribute to any decision made over the phone in said conversation. For dinner, you guys are going to have Special K with Bananas.
4. Do not bring freshly-cooked food into an elevator, unless you want me to follow you to your office and yoink that piece of cheesecake when you reach into your drawer for napkins.
5. There's a window of when you can yell for someone to hold that elevator. I'm going with 5 yards from entry. Any farther, you better be willing to go back downstairs and buy cheesecake for all parties affected by your inconsiderate gesture.

Oh, man. Now I want some cheesecake.

Utensil. Me, blog.

As a contributing member of the working world, there are things in life that you consciously long for from your childhood. Maybe it’s having the opportunity to take a mid-afternoon nap. Perhaps it’s a finely prepared meal of Kraft Macaroni, hot dogs, and apple sauce every night instead of having to making dinner yourself. And once, just once, I ‘d like someone at work to ask me to build something out of Legos. Is that too much to ask?

On the other hand, there are some things that don’t require the above daydreaming. There’s a regression of youth that is happening right now in your life, and you don’t even know. True, some parts of life follow a straight line path, with a starting point and a finishing line. Such is the means of transportation: now that you’ve got a car, it is highly unlikely you have the desire to leave it in the garage and crawl to work instead. But there’s other things that follow a cyclical track, and without realizing it, you find yourself back in Square 1. (Can their be squares in a circle?)

Take the art of writing, for example. No, not the ability to compose poetry or pen some poignant prose. (That’s alliteration, friends.) I’m talking about the physical application of a writing utensil to paper. As one progresses through life, his choice of implement evolves on account of sophistication.

When you’re first granted the right to write, you are given crayons. Kids love ‘em, wall-paper-scrubbing mothers hate ‘em. Crayons teach you to stay in the lines and the definition of the phrase. “non-toxic.” They provided the greatest spectrum of shades you’ll ever get to use.

Phase 2 is the world of the pencil. I’m talking big, fat, circumference of your arm pencils. These enter your life in kindergarten, along with green-handled scissors, jars of paste, and those cool neon rulers. In my case, these pencils come equipped with those rubber triangles, so that (in theory) you hold a pencil properly. Guess what? They’re a sham. I still hold a pencil so low that I might as well coat my fingertips in lead and fingerpaint my way to a signature.

In about sixth grade, you get your supply sheet over the summer and lo and behold, pens! Given, they have to be erasable, but now you’re in the big time! You get to apply ink! And, as an added bonus, southpaws get to smear everything they have written across the page, creating a muddled mixture of letters and smudges. Awesome!

Once you hit high school, you apparently no longer make mistakes. (unless your name is Kwame Brown – why did you turn pro again?) Therefore, the “erasable” requirement to your pens is left in your eighth grade locker, and baby, you’re in the world of permanent ink. Sounds great! The only drawback – since high school starts before sunrise, you are a lot less awake when using the aforementioned utensil, thus leaving your clothes permanent ink-ridden when your hand slides off of your forehead during your seven minute nap in homeroom. Umm….or so I hear.

Your arsenal stays pretty constant through college, where having six classes in six different academic buildings pretty much leaves you with whatever you find in the bottom of your book bag or off a bulletin board signup sheet in the hallway. If all else fails, there’s always chalk.

A diploma and a commute later, you’re at work, and you’ve got the supply catalog in front of you. You’ve got a decision to make. You’ve been using pens for the last ten years of your life, and they rarely fail you (mainly because you lose them before they ever run out of ink.) They give you consistency and color. Good ole’ pen.

But yet, a friend from your childhood leaps of the page. That’s right, it’s the pencil! (gratuitous exclamation!) And I’m not talking ultra-trendy mechanical pencil. I’m talking good ole’ Dixon Ticonderoga. There’s just something about the feel of ultra-sharp labor on paper that makes you feel alive. People respect me for my choice of weapon. Call it a preference, I call it a way of life. So like I said, what goes around, comes around.

(You may ask, did you not just skip over the second coming of the noble crayon? No, I implore you, that’s what going to Friendly’s is for.)

Sonic Deathmonkey

This comes from YABNews's Austrian correspondent, Mattias Caro.

Monkeys at Hindu Temple Attack Children

GAUHATI, India (AP) - Monkeys lurking at an ancient Hindu temple in India's northeast have attacked up to 300 children over three weeks, temple officials said Tuesday.

`They hide in trees and swoop on unsuspecting children loitering about in the temple premises or walking by, clawing them and even sucking a bit of blood,'' a priest at the Kamakhya temple in Assam state, told YABNews. The temple, one of the most famous in India, is located in Gauhati, Assam's capital.

`I was returning home from school when a monkey suddenly pounced on me, scratched my head and hand and pushed me to the ground,'' said Jolly Sharma, a 6-year-old girl. At least 2,000 rhesus monkeys roam in and around the temple, but none had shown aggressive behavior in the past, the priest said.

Monkeys are often found in tens of thousands of temples across India. They are seen as a symbol of Hanuman, the mythical monkey god, and devotees visiting temples often feed them. While occasional attacks by monkeys are not uncommon at temples, the sudden surge in attacks at the Gauhati temple has experts perplexed.

The loss of habitat due to increased human settlement in the hills around the temple and the release of monkeys kept confined at home ... could be among the reasons for some of the monkeys behaving in a weird manner,'' said Narayan Mahanta, a wildlife official in Gauhati.

Three monkeys were randomly tranquilized by wildlife officials over the weekend and have been taken to the Gauhati Zoo where they will be examined in search of clues to explain the changing behavior, Mahanta said.

Hmm...good find Caro, but I have some thoughts. It's like what they tell the people on ESPN's Dream Job. Reporting for reporting's sake is nice, but there are deeper stories within. It's the editorializing that keeps the reader's attention, no?

With that said, here are some Random Condon Thoughts:

• Can monkeys lurk? Lurk means "to sneak, exist unsuspected." It does not mean "flail wildly with gangly arms, swing from tree to tree, and scream like a banshee." Something doesn't seem right here.
• Apparently, the monkeys prey on the children who choose to "loiter about" in the temple. Really, I feel bad that you just got served by a monkey, but you should have known better. Hindu Law states, "Cut out the loit'rin', and get with the prayin'."
• Jolly Sharma? No, dear, you don't have a name that attracts bullies. Don't worry.
• "experts are perplexed." Experts in what, exactly? Monkeys? Temples? Monkey-temples? Senseless rage studies? I've just decided. I'm an expert, and I, too, am perplexed.
• Ohhhhh, so it's because of the release of monkeys kept at home....that makes absolute, complete - Wait. No, it doesn't. Domesticated monkeys should know better.
• Three monkeys were randomly tranq-ed, huh? Okay guys, if the passed-out, drugged monkeys attack anyone, let me know.

More as this story develops.

That Politicking Clock

You may have noticed that I'm a little late entering the blogosphere today. Like 12 hours late. While you may be able to normally count on me for a pre-lunch posting, today, it seems, that I am as reliable as the "Redskins Incumbent Fate Factor." Which brings me to the real reason for my tardiness...

Let's just say earlier today, my brain did not have all of its precincts reporting.

I stayed up last night into the early hours while the nice black box named Sony wove tales of "projections" and "prognosticating" and "party animals." Bruce Springsteen was warming up in Boston, the Bush daughters were entertaining the crowd at the Reagan Building, and somewhere in the District Ralph Nader was yelling, "Echo! Echo!" in an empty room. Yet the champagne was far from flowing as the clock struck one, as the powers that be (read: TV!) had yet to project a winner for the 2004 Presidential Election.

Now for some reason, I had become glued to the television screen for most of the evening. It was kind of like watching football on Sundays when you've got a fantasy team to worry about. There's production you come to expect from some of your players, but until they show you the votes, you simply curse their existence. It is with this premise that I feel Iowa is the Santana Moss of the Electoral College.

Don't get me wrong, I multi-tasked. Always quick with the keyboard, I hopped from news website to news website to see which outlet had the guts to call a state a whole 2.4 seconds before its rivals. Plus it kept me updated on the races NBC had no interest in. Sorry, rasta, NJ Weedman won't be taking down Jim Saxton this year. Cnn.com. MSNBC. Foxnews.com. Alt-tabbing my way into the night. And then it hit me. All of these websites - they got themselves TV stations! So at 1 am, the tides changed. I stopped cyber surfing and started channel surfing. Here's my take at what I saw.

1:01 AM: (on NBC) NBC continues to go strong into the night, with Brokaw giving his final election everything but the kitchen sink. His metaphors for democracy are starting to enter the "Reach" category, philosophizing the similarities between the race and the ginat map on the Rockefeller Ice Rink. For more information on the exit polls in Minnesota, Brokaw throws the coverage to Kristi Yamaguchi and Elvis Stojko at the Decision Desk.

1:03 AM: (over to Fox) The hot topic over at Fox - Polls in Alaska are closing any minute!!! That's 3 electoral votes that FoxNews will soon project for Bush! While the woman with the broken-looking jaw explains how you vote in igloos, Shepherd Smith searches the studio for Morpheus.

1:06 AM (onto CBS) These guys have been a little slow all night long. Dan Rather announces CBS News projects than Senator Kerry has won his home state of Massachusetts. (Polls only closed there 6 hours ago...)

1:07 AM (ABC) - Hmm...commercial. Well, at least it's good to see that the NetZero guy won his race. I was worried for awhile...

1:08 AM (NBC) - Back to where I've spent most my night. After giving Michigan to Kerry, Tim Russert and Brokaw have resorted to treating Russert's electronic chalkboard as an Etch-a-Sketch. Wow, that's a great bunny rabbit, Tom!

1:12 AM (Fox) - Agent Smith has just reported that the Democratic Party has Neo cornered in a subway station in Illinois. He then sends the coverage to the field, where he morphs into Barack Obama.

1:14 AM (NBC) - Brokaw updates on the Senate race in South Dakota. Tom Daschle looks like he's on his way on, Jim Thune will be taking his seat, and Brokaw is daydreaming. The new Mt. Rushmore - Washington, Jefferson, Brokaw, Roker.

1:18 AM (CBS) - Dan Rather reports that CBS News now projects that Bill Clinton will win the state of Arkansas over challenger Bob Dole.

1:20 AM (ABC) - At commercial. Some people like Bush. Some people like Kerry. Everybody loves Raymond.

1:24 AM (CNN) - Do you think if the ratings surpass those of FoxNews, Ted Turner will just let Chris Matthews liquidate Paul Begala? Apparently, you can be a tool and get to talk about the election on national TV.

1:27 AM (MTV) - John Norris is talking about voter turnout. See above.

1:31 AM (NBC) - Tom Brokaw is getting a little tired. I think he just said that "Barack Obama" knows kung fu.

1:32 AM (Fox) - Agent Smith has pinned Keanu Reeves to the wall with a roundhouse kick, and states, "Never send a human to do a voting machine's job."

1:35 AM (TBS) - Oops, wrong channel. Oh look! Kate and Leopold! Again! Sigh.

1:38 AM (CBS) - Dan Rather now reports that CBS News has projected Jefferson Davis will take North Carolina's electoral votes from Abraham Lincoln.

1:41 AM (Fox) - Fox is the first channel to put Ohio in the Bush column. Agent Smith quips, "No, Senator, your hopes are already dead."

1:43 AM (NBC) - NBC becomes the only other state to put Ohio in the Bush column. Russert is alone at the desk, as Brokaw is down working on his Triple Salchow-Double Toeloop combinations around El Mapa Gigante.

1:46 AM (ABC) - No, not election coverage here, but you can catch "Two and a Half Men" on Mondays at 9pm every week. Phew, that was almost too close to call.

1:50 AM (NBC) - Tom Brokaw has returned to the desk, this time with a slew of flower bouquets and cheap stuffed animals. While he waits for his scores in "Artistic Impression", Lester Holt explains that Kerry just didn't get out the young vote like he needed to.

1:52 AM (MTV) - John Norris - slumped over in his chair, not breathing. P. Diddy - a man of his word.

1:54 AM (CBS) - CBS News is now projecting that the Whig Party will carry the New England states yet again.

1:58 AM (Fox) - Fox projects George W. Bush as the winner of the Presidential Race. Trinity has ousted Laura as the First Lady. Shepherd Smith unplugs himself from the Matrix.

2:00 AM (Cartoon Network) - Ooh, Family Guy!

The Old College Try

Today on Election Day, millions of Americans will decide on a bevy of issues, the most important being the race for the Office of the President of the United States. The candidates have been on the campaign trail for days stumping about the war in Iraq, healthcare, terrorism, the economy, and who can wear the most casual blue button down shirts in a 24 hour period. Abortion, stem-cell research, immigration laws, taxes, these issues have all been brought to light. But the one issue neither candidate has talked about much in 2004: education.

Of course they're both pro-education. Could you imagine one of them coming on an Anti-Education platform? It's like telling your constituency that you are Pro-Cancer or "all for puppy kicking." It's just not going to happen.

Well, count on Condon, my fellow Americans. I have your education in mind. And with that, I did some comprehensive research to find out where education is headed in this century. The future of the nation is reliant on the need for Americans to attend our universities to advance their knowledge. But where, you may ask, should the youth of America look to gain their slice of Academia? It's not Harvard. Yale? Nay. William and Mary? Ok, perhaps.

No, Kids of America, make something out of your future. Apply for admission to the Electoral College.

I've been hearing about this school that's been around since the Constitutional Convention in 1787. That makes it the 12th oldest college in the country (2 years too slow, Georgetown!) It has produced every President we've had since Jefferson (and I thought W&M was good), and it has a student body from all 50 states and DC. Most applicants come from California, Florida, and New York. Its school colors are red and blue, and official mascot is the Pundit. Student life is vibrant on campus - the college throws two big parties a year, and several smaller independent parties that have their own cult-like followings. Track and field is the College's most popular sports, when it invites all of the students to participate in the "Race to the White House." Oh, and admission applications - not accepted from Canada.

In case any of you were curious about furthering your education, here's the Offical Application for Admission to the Electoral College. Enjoy, and don't stay up too late writing those essays...

VITAL STATISTICS
1. NAME:________________
2. SSN#:________________
3. Are you an American citizen? (circle one) (Y/N)
4. For Canadians who answered "Y" to 3, are you really an American citizen? (N/N)
5. State your High School is located:_______________
6. Is this a state we should care about? (Y/N)_______________
7. VAT (Voting Aptitude Test) Score ______ (min. score of 270 req.)
8. How did you hear about us? (Please check all that apply:
[] CNN
[] Fox News
[] MSNBC
[] You're a Blog
[] Do I get a free T-shirt for filling out this application?

SUPPLEMENTAL INFORMATION
9. What is your prospective area of concentration?
[] Political Science
[] Government
[] Public Policy
[] Forensics / Debate
[] Strategery
[] Purple Coronary Studies
[] Stuff That's Oval

10. Complete the following rhyme: "1 State, 2 State, ___ State, ___ State"

11. We will be contacting your high school guidance counselor for your academic transcript. Is your high school guidance counselor competent? (Y/N)

12. Is anyone in your immediate family named Chad? (Y/N)
13. Is he/she pregnant? (Y/N)

ESSAY QUESTIONS
Please answer these as honestly and efficiently as possible. Our admissions committee would like to go to bed tonight at a reasonable hour.)

1. Describe a character in fiction, an historical figure, or a creative work that has had influence on you and explain that influence.

2. In your other applications, did you feel that Question #1 was a waste of time?

3. Define swing state. Do you live in one? Compare and contrast the two campaigns' travel schedules in terms of jet fuel efficiency and sleep scheduling?

4. Go ahead, stump for something. Anything. Umm, stump for Twinkies. Yeah, that's it, tell us why Twinkies should be the official ageless snack cake of the United States of America.

5. Would you like to live in a single-party or bi-partisan dorm?

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That's all, folks. Happy Election Day.