Annie Leibovitz is the poor man's Fabio

One takes good pictures, and the other is Annie Leibovitz. (ba dum bum)

I pinched something in my neck yesterday. Grrrr.

The Night Chicago Died is the poor man's Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia

Good God, I can't stand either of these songs. Points go to Georgia for being a state, and thus larger than Chicago.

All in all, this is a pretty weak entry.

Myspace is the poor man's Facebook

I have completely wasted my life today.



In other news...

I'm convinced our cat is a time traveller. He leaps forward in time to see where I will walk around our apartment in my bare feet. He then zips back to our time and strategically places his puke in these areas. I then find these piles of goo (warm or cold, depending on time elapsed) with the cat-puke magnets God has conveniently stored inside my tarsus bones.

I wrote a letter to Time Out New York. I didn't think it was too snarky, but my wife thinks otherwise. Basically, there was this article talking about a great new staging of Twilight Zone episodes at a bar in Brooklyn. I produced a few nights of the very same thing in a theater 3+ years ago, and I got pretty much no write-ups. I wasn't bitching about the new production, just jabbing at Time Out for not helping me out with a great preview. Of course I didn't give away cheap beer, and we all know that all journalists are drunks. So, next time I stage anything there will be free booze on hand.

I swear to God I'm going to do something productive with this day.

Just not now.

Anne Heche is the poor man's Leslie Mann

Quirky trumps crazy.

So how are your New Year's resolutions going? I'm already stalling on mine (hence the blog entry). I resolved to get the guitar out of mothballs and start writing again. I used to be in a rock band a few years back, and darn it all, I miss it. Even though we were a sort of "joke" band, every now and then we did kind of rock. So I'm re-callousing my fingers and seeing what happens. I woke up this morning with a tune in my head, and immediately started writing. Then I discovered I was writing a song that had already been written. Different key, but still...

Oh, and as for Fantasy Football. I got stomped. 90-59. I knew I would. What makes me feel better is that there was no way I could win. The highest score my team could've gotten was 60. His kicker almost outscored my team. So even though I've gone 9 seasons not placing higher than 4th (out of 12), I've been hooked in once again by this close call to non-sport greatness.

Happy New Year.