randomness personified

aren't my 15 minutes up?

Not only was my ugly mug on "Live By Request" (right after "Beyond Belief" if you choose to catch one of the plethora of rebroadcasts), but I also had a Gawker Stalker published. I'm the second Willie Garson post. He also was at the A&E thing. Clearly I have competition in my raving mad Costello-dom.

the eye of the tiger

Once randomness was full of glee. A pithy new comment here, a tawdry observation there. The blog world was new and lustrous. Soon randomness was making friends. Old chums visited, new ones dropped in, links were tossed about like stock options in the dot-com heyday.

But all too soon randomness fizzled just a bit. Call it the proverbial sophomore slump. Insight didn't come as quickly as it once had. The hubbub became a faint hiss. But patience is a virtue the electronic world can't afford to possess and many felt it time to move on. Sure, the tried and true stuck around in hopes that scraps would flow from time-to-time. Some new pals were still around, too. They were certainly appreciated and they noticed when the frenzy picked up just a bit.

However, randomness found a world that hadn't waited. Looking about, randomness found that so many new friends had disappeared and, in many cases, taken down any reference to the glorious past. This made randomness very sad indeed. But randomness vowed to fight on in hopes that one day, one glorious day, the magic can be recaptured in a jar like so many lightening bugs.

So poke some holes in the lid. I'm going to need to breathe.

take me out to the ballgame?

Today is a day that used to literally bring profound sadness to me. It's the last day of the regular season for Major League Baseball. As I contemplated why I wasn't as distraught as I usually would be, I came to a startling realization. This year, for the first time in at least a decade, I did not attend a single game. Not one.

The reasons for this are many. The one that I'll recite if asked is that I simply choose to spend my money elsewhere. Going to a game clearly costs about as much as two concerts by the time all is said and done. However, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I have to admit that going to a game in New York isn't exactly the easiest endeavor.

When I lived in Atlanta, getting Turner Field really couldn't have been much easier. Only about a mile away, it didn't even require that I get on a interstate to get there. When I lived in Michigan, getting to Tiger Stadium was a bit tougher. However, I really would have walked over hot coals to get there. Here, however, it's more than somewhat tricky. Most people take the 4 train right to the Stadium. The station, however, isn't crip friendly so I'm forced to drive. If I leave SEVERAL hours early it isn't a problem. Heck, I even get there early enough to go through Monument Park. However, if I try to get there less than two hours before game time I might as well forget it. The Deegan is a parking lot, the roads around the Stadium itself become a nightmare. When the Tigers were in town for their one visit (a rant for another time) earlier this month I didn't even bother.

The trek to Shea is much, much easier. It's about a 35 minute drive without traffic. It is, however, still Shea. To call Shea a dump is an insult to landfills across our vast nation. It has no personality. None.

This year I followed the game as closely as ever. I still could tell you much more about the game than you would ever care to know. I still watch more games than I should on television. I just couldn't muster the willpower to actually go sit among the masses. Sad, really. Sad.

building a better burger

You know, there are about a billion things I should be doing. Laundry, unpacking, catching up on reading, cleaning my car, making this video CD of Elvis content that I've promised people, updating you kids with ACL pictures and stories.

However, I'm really hungry and I really want Better Burger for lunch. So I'm off. Why? Because I can...

another day, another bender

I forgot to mention that I saw Steve Dunleavy (NY Post columnist and former "A Current Affair" talking head) standing on the stoop of a random bar on 49th last night yelling "It's a beautiful night to die!" to some woman on the curb. I laughed as I said "nice, Steve" and he looked down at me with a drunk, bemused look. I moved quickly. I feared he might fall on top of me.

I'm sure I forgot to mention this because I'm perhaps the last person in Manhattan to have such an experience...

hello, helpdesk?

I used to take helpdesk calls. This would have really helped.

Okay, okay. Before certain people chime in, let me clarify. I was supposed to take helpdesk calls.

knee deep in a quagmire

One of our nation's truly heroic figures, Max Cleland, submitted an absolutely brilliant editorial to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Can I please urge you to read it?

"Welcome to Vietnam, Mr. President. Sorry you didn't go when you had the chance."

mea culpa, mea culpa

Elvis is still king. I'm sorry I doubted your powers, Declan. More later, um, today...

dear declan,

I've tried, Elvis. Really I have. I listened to all the fanboys and fangirls last night who told me that I should listen to "North" over and over. They told me that it would slowly overtake me. That soon I would find myself humming "Still" and hanging on every bizarrely phrased nuance. It's a beautiful record, or so they tell me. I dunno. Must be me. I put it on over and over but all I hear is some guy trying to sing all these weird angles that he can't. It's just not good Just... not... good...

I saw your show last night at Town Hall. One of the aforementioned fangirls told me that it was one of her three favorite Elvis shows. Again, it must be me. It's just that there are only so many times a boy can hear "Deep Dark Truthful Mirror" and "God's Comic" and still get excited by it. Those ten new songs that you played from "North?" Elvis, c'mon. You were singing scales at one point, my friend. You're not Sinatra and you're not Cole Porter.

However, I do have to thank you for taking to the piano to play Johnny's "I Still Miss Someone." Who knew you could play that well? Why, you resuscitated
a song I saw Tift Merritt simply murder over the weekend. Thanks for that, Elvis. Your piano set was really entertaining. Reminded me of Ray Charles. Oh. Sorry. Bad subject.

So I'm going to get ready to see you again tonight at the A&E taping. While I'm getting ready I'll put on my limited edition Japanese copy of "North" (I'll put the DVD portion on later). I just want you to know that I'm not happy about it. You're in love. We get that. Good for you, mate. Good for you.

week of costello

Pictures and day two of my ACL review will be delayed a couple of days. I've made an impromptu decision to try to see Elvis tonight. I think I can get in. It's at Town Hall and I doubt that the crip seats are all sold out. Maybe, but I doubt it. I'm going to hop a train after work and see if I can weasel my way in.

Tomorrow night I'll be going to the taping of the A&E Live By Request. It should prove to be a more interesting set but will certainly be hampered by the start, re-start of taping.

I'm passing on (or unable to get into) Letterman yesterday afternoon, the Museum of Television and Radio concert last night and Regis & Kelly on Friday. Have I mentioned lately how much I love this city?

i see billy and susie and tommy...

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that this post is more than a bit narcissistic. It's also not entirely mine. I stole the idea from, I think, le petit hiboux a few months back.

It's just that I've been surprised and shocked by a couple of e-mails that I've received in the past couple of days from people who say that they read and enjoy randomness. Thanks, peeps. That really makes my day. At any rate, webstats don't really tell me much anymore. Yeah, I get a bunch of hits everyday. But who's here? I really haven't the foggiest unless you choose to comment.

So, if you would be so kind as to leave a little missive here introducing yourself if you're here from time-to-time. It would mean a lot to me. It would also help me figure out who I'm writing for. Look, I'll even go first...

Hi. I'm Mike. I like frogs

give us dirty 'layndry'

Are people really this stupid? I received this spam today...

Important notice

Enter your credit card expiration date:

acl fest day one - in twang we trust

There seemed to be three different "tracks," if you will, one could take in ACL Fest programming. You could see either jam bands, hipster rock bands or alt-country/Americana bands. You could chose to dabble in all three, I suppose, but most people seemed to stick to one genre. Well, until the last day, but I'm getting way ahead of myself there.

Dennis and I, of course, chose the twangy path. We started our day on Friday with the only band that was playing at the time, The Damnations. I'm not sure what we expected, but we didn't like what we heard. It was sort of a bad Indigo Girls vibe. In fairness to them, I read later that they had some sound problems and kicked it into high gear later in their set. We, however, didn't wait around.

Instead we moved to one of the two huge stages (there were four smaller ones) to await Shawn Colvin. Neither of us were too excited to see Colvin, but we knew that we needed to stake out a place by the stage for the later acts. To our surprise, they opened up a makeshift wheelchair section about, oh, two feet from the stage. It was a pretty amazing vantage point. Shawn was fine. Perfectly unobjectionable and enjoyable. She honored her friend Rosanne Cash (who understandably cancelled her set at the Festival) by playing a pretty good cover of "Seven Year Ache" and also called a bunch of little girls onstage to dance with her. I won't be buying any of her records, or anything, but I wouldn't go out of my way to avoid her in the future.

Next up was our beloved Steve Earle. Steve put on a pretty great set but we both were concerned about his weight. Steve is normally, um, portly. Not any longer. He's pretty darn thin, in fact. I'll have pictures up tomorrow to illustrate. According to the Austin paper it's the ol' Atkins Diet. I'm not sure, though. He's probably lost at least 50 pounds in the few months since I last saw him. Fingers crossed...

We then stayed in place to see The Mavericks. I'm not a huge fan but they put on a great show complete with a horn section. Note to Raul Malo: you're fat and sweaty. Don't wear a white gauzy shirt. Thanks.

Robert Earl Keen then turned the crowd into a bunch of sing-along frat boys. It was pretty intolerable, actually. He wasn't awful but the crowd most certainly was. I described him to Dennis as the Jimmy Buffett of Texas which I think is pretty much dead on and certainly not a compliment. Oh, and he waved at me. Yep. A great big goofy "look at the crip!" wave. Yipes. I just noticed that he's playing two nights here at Irving Plaza. I have no words...

I didn't really expect much from the night's headliner, Dwight Yoakam. I know his hits and knew that he supposedly put on a good show but I really didn't expect to love it. In fact, we had a hard time deciding between Dwight and the other stage's headliner, Al Green. Well, we made the right choice. Dwight put on an amazing rapid-fire show. I don't think he stopped to take a breath in his 90 minute set. At the end they literally had to bring a cop on stage so that he'd honor the curfew of 10:00 p.m. and leave the stage. A great cap to a great day.

Oh, and at some point I got a flat tire. That's a story for tomorrow. Pictures, too. If I haven't already bored you to tears...

can i go back now?

Back from vacation, back into a crazed office. We had a great time. Full day-by-day accounts (complete with pictures!) starting tonight.

For now, contemplate this. Which expense is more absurd? The $4.50 ATM service charge that I paid at the festival or the $93 I paid to park my car at the airport for five days? Discuss...

leavin' on a jet plane

Okay. It has been whirlwind of a short week thusfar. I'm leaving for sunny Austin in bit. Will be back in the middle of next week. I probably won't have any access whatsoever in the interim.

Be good. Play nice. I'll be home soon.

i lied

Okay, I said that I posted my last Johnny post. It really was. Until my pal Bruce found this great story.

as i was saying...

It's not just me. Nobody in Stamford can afford to buy a house.

here comes the story of the hurricane

The pessimist in me isn't very happy with this graphic -

Remember, I'm supposed to be leaving Thursday afternoon to go to Austin. Keep your fingers crossed...

all johnny, all the time

Last Johnny entry...

Today Johnny made me smile. I think I've decided that this is the way I want to remember him. I want to remember the goofy Johnny of one of my favorite tracks from his American Recordings discs. "I'm Leaving Now" from American III - Solitary Man is a duet of sheer joy with his partner in crime, Merle. Take a listen if you're so inclined. Warning: intense twang follows...

Ayyy-deeee-ooous, I'm leavin' now. [right-click, save target as]

it's heating up

Well, September is only half over and I can already see that the college football season is heating up. Why's that you ask? Perhaps my beloved Wolverines' 38-0 drubbing of hapless Notre Dame? No. No. That was splendid, but not the real indicator.

The real bellwether that things are in full swing? In the last week alone 24 fine folks have hit my archives with a Google of "I hate Ohio State." Feel the love. Feel the love.

lost in brilliance

I see a lot of films. Many I like, many I think are merely mediocre, a few I simply hate and tiny handful make me gush. "Lost In Translation" clearly falls into the gushing category. In fact, I can't remember the last time I've seen a film that held me rapt and in awe for its entire length. It's easily the best American film I've seen in a decade or more. No hyperbole. I think that's fact.

It's essentially a film about loneliness. Bill Murray is Bob Harris, an aging Hollywood star who has gone to the urban bizarreness of Tokyo to shoot some lucrative ads for a Japanese whiskey company. Alone and sleepless in a posh hotel, he stumbles through a foreign land in a daze until he meets Charlotte (we never learn her last name) who is killing time in the same environs while her photographer husband is in the city on assignment.

To say anything more of the plot would be, well, inappropriate. It's not shocking. There are no twists or turns. It's all beautifully subtle and understated. For that reason it's actually a bit of a challenging film for an audience and a challenging film to review.

The acting turns by Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson are simply brilliant. The understated direction by Sofia Coppola is breathtaking. The score is spot-on brilliant. It is a film to quite simply get lost in.

One scene, in particular, says more with no dialogue than most scripts accomplish in their entirety. In the insane apartment of a Japanese friend, the two characters partake in some crazy karaoke. Bob first tries his hand at Elvis Costello's "Peace Love & Understanding" and plays it almost entirely comedic. Things then turn a bit more dear as Charlotte dons a pink wig to sing The Pretenders' "Brass In Pocket." The longing look Murray holds throughout is truly one of the most poignent bits of acting that I can remember. His forelorn take on Roxy Music's "More Than This" that follows immediately is almost heartbreaking.

There are some negatives. The depiction of Japanese culture is a bit snarky and stereotypical at times. Giovanni Ribisi is tragically underused in his role, as well. However, I think both of these were very much deliberate moves on the part of Coppola. There is no one in this film that matters other than Bob and Charlotte. They're in a strange and bizarre land and everyone around them exists only in shadows. They're truly strangers in a strange land pushed together by their environs.

The fact that this is Copolla's second film is amazing. In fact, with this I think that Sofia and husband Spike Jonze have surpassed the Björk and Matthew Barney pairing as the world's most talented couple.

After writing this feeble review, I read Elvis Mitchell's take on the film. He's a much better writer than I and, in this case, provides a much more concise exploration. But do yourself a favor. The film gets a much wider release than the current New York/Los Angeles screenings next week. Be prepared to be enthralled. I know that I'll be going at least once more. The last time I've seen a film in the theatre more than once? Never.

september finally comes

I did my Sunday trek into the city today to look for the new Elvis Costello re-issues and a copy of Johnny's autobiography which I'm ashamed to admit that I've never read. All were to be entertainment supplies for my upcoming weekend in Austin.

I found the CDs (and others I simply had to purchase...), but was unsuccessful in the hunt for the book. I went to six different book stores and all were sold out. Not a bad thing, I guess. I did pick up a copy of Ring Of Fire - The Johnny Cash Reader which looks quite enticing.

The trek also involved a somewhat impromptu decision to see the new Sofia Coppola film "Lost In Translation." Wow. One of the best films I've seen in a long, long time. Beautifully understated and amazing acting. A full review very soon.

I was stopped in my tracks, though, earlier in the day. I was listening to Rosanne Cash's new release "Rules of Travel." One of the better songs on the album is a duet with her father entitled "September When It Comes." I'm not a religious man in any sense whatsoever but Johnny's lines choked me up once again:

I plan to crawl outside these walls
Close my eyes and see
Fall into the heart and arms
Of those who wait for me

When the shadows lengthen
And burn away the past
They will fly me like an angel to
A place where I can rest
When this begins I'll let you in
September when it comes

country boy, ain't got no blues

I'm not sure how many of you saw yesterday's randomness. I just didn't feel like being festive. Sorry for the brief, but appropriate, interruption.

I don't know how to explain the loss I felt when I awoke yesterday morning and heard that Johnny had left this mortal coil. Johnny was so much more to me than just an artist. Johnny was, well, a part of my life.

Many of my earliest memories involve J.R. Cash. My grandfather (who I believe I have described on these pages as my favorite person on the planet) has always been a Johnny fan. I remember spending weekends with my grandparents in Marshall, Michigan, asking my grandfather to play Johnny Cash records on their bulky stereo. "Johnny! Johnny!" I'd exclaim. My grandfather was always more than happy to comply. I have vague memories of watching Johnny's variety show with my grandparents, as well.

John's health had, of course, been in doubt for the last few years. I think many of us thought we were going to lose him in 2000 when he first started his battle with neurological problems. But he kept pulling through and making some of the most interesting music of his storied career with the odd couple partner of Rick Rubin. I had just read on Thursday that he had suddenly become even more prolific after the tragic death of his beloved June. According to his daugher Rosanne he was writing three songs a day in preparation for a box set and a new disc for the holidays. Johnny told the Nashville Tennesean that he "wasn't going anywhere" and that he wanted to outlive all of his children. Things were looking up, I thought. To hear that he had lost his valiant fight was simply devastating.

I never got to see Johnny Cash in a proper concert. I'll kick myself forever for passing up a couple of opportunities. I called my grandfather yesterday afternoon. He's a spry 87 and certainly accustomed to dealing with death of friends and family. He knew immediately why I called and in a wistful voice he told me "Mike, it's so sad. I really don't want to talk about it. I just want to remember him."

I hear ya, Grandpa. I hear ya.

in remembrance

As I walk through
This wicked world
Searchin' for light in the darkness of insanity.
I ask myself
Is all hope lost?
Is there only pain and hatred, and misery?

And each time I feel like this inside,
There's one thing I wanna know:
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?

And as I walked on
Through troubled times
My spirit gets so downhearted sometimes
So where are the strong
And who are the trusted?
And where is the harmony?
Sweet harmony.

'Cause each time I feel it slippin' away, just makes me wanna cry.
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?

So where are the strong?
And who are the trusted?
And where is the harmony?
Sweet harmony.

'Cause each time I feel it slippin' away, just makes me wanna cry.
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?

-nick lowe

money, this is toilet. toilet, this is money.

I have a very nice apartment in downtown Stamford. It's a really nice building and the location can't be beat. I can walk to any of a myriad of shops, restaurants and theaters.

It is, however, absurdly expensive. It's not that expensive for the area, I guess, but I just feel the fool dumping that much money away every month. For my New York readers, for what I pay I could probably get a studio walkup in Manhattan. I, however, have 900 square feet, 12 foot ceilings, a private fountain terrace outside my window and a laundry room. All of this just 37 minutes from Grand Central. It's pretty ideal, I guess.

However, I received a lease renewal notice today. It's not going up much, just $30 a month. It is chilling as hell, however, to see the annual rent expenditure spelled out. In just about four years of renting I could have paid off my entire mortgage in Atlanta. However, the average sales price of a home in Stamford is $590,000. No, I'm not kidding.

I may take some time to shop around and see if there's anything less expensive but equally perfect. I know the answer, there's not. One of my co-workers just got a new place and is paying about $400 less per month. The catch, however, is that he's about 20 minutes further north and about 40 minutes longer by train to NYC.

Life's all about trade-offs, I guess. I was miserable in Atlanta. I'm really happy here. I guess I just need to remember that every month when I see so much money go with literally nothing tangible in return.

is it that obvious?

I'm very accustomed to children having loud and often bizarre responses to my chair. They're usually of the "Mommy! Look at the man in the wheelchair!!" variety. Tonight, though, I got the weirdest.

I was in the basement of my building heading over to the deli to get a soda. A boy and his father were coming out of one of the parking garages when the child suddenly started running after me. While running full-tilt the brat started yelling "COME BACK HERE, BROKEN MAN!!! COME BACK HERE, BROKEN MAN!!!" He chased me out all the way out of the building while yelling. The father, naturally, did nothing.

Leads me back to a discussion that Kambri and I had on Friday. Children, dear readers, are evil. Every last one of them.

a little less genius in our midst

I'm not ashamed to admit that I felt myself tearing up a bit on my drive home tonight. WFUV was playing Warren Zevon songs back-to-back. I immediately knew what that meant. Warren's death certainly wasn't unexpected, but that doesn't make it any less tragic. He was a brilliant songwriter with an acerbic wit to the very end. There's not much I can say about him that his music doesn't convey better. So while stations around the country play "Werewolves of London" (a brilliant song in its own right) in tribute, I offer up some alternate tunes in commemoration.

So long, Warren. I promise to enjoy every sandwich.

"Hasten Down The Wind" from Warren Zevon (1976) [right click, save target as]

"Carmelita" from Warren Zevon (1976) [right click, save target as]

"Mr. Bad Example" from Mr. Bad Example (1981) [right click, save target as]

"Keep Me In Your Heart" from The Wind (2003) [right click, save target as]

plastic, explosive

In a recent fit of sanity I chopped up my last two remaining credit cards. I have a debit Visa card for credit necessities and, while I'm certainly not in "trouble," I really don't like being in debt.

On Saturday I received my Citibank bill. Normally I don't scrutinize my bills too closely. I just figure out how much I'm going to pay and do it all online. For some reason, however, I took the time to peruse this bill. In a tiny font at the bottom of bill I noticed my APR, 27.something-or-other percent.

I immediately knew that this had to be incorrect but couldn't be bothered to deal with it over the weekend. Finally this morning I e-mailed customer support. They responded by saying that according to my agreement with them my APR could be increased if I was past due with any creditor. This, in itself seems completely absurd. It also, however, is completely incorrect. I'm not past due with anyone. I then responded by saying that this had to be an error. Their retort? "We're sorry for the error. We're resetting your APR to its inital rate immediately."

The moral of the story is, of course, if you have a Citibank card you need to check your APR immediately. Seems to me like nothing short of a big ol' scam.

72,522 channels and nothin' on

I'm connected to 72,522 people via Friendster. I still, however, have no clue what I'm supposed to do. Surely there's a "Friendster for Hipster Dummies" book floating around, isn't there?

emotional rescue

It may not make sense, but to me Badly Drawn Boy's "Silent Sigh" is the closest aural equivalent to a heartbreak.

Stop baby don't go stop here
Never stop living here
Till it eats the heart from your soul
Keeps down the sound of your
Silent sigh
Silent sigh, silent sigh silent sigh
Keeps down all move me down
Could we love each other

And the single most wrenching song ever written has to Eels' "It's a Motherfucker."

It's a motherfucker
Being here without you
Thinking 'bout the good times
Thinking 'bout the bad
And I won't ever be the same

It's a motherfucker
How much I understand
The feeling that you need someone
To take you by the hand
And you won't ever be the same
You won't ever be the same

i guess geeks don't go to church

Am I the only one who is consistently unable to access Friendster on Sunday afternoons? I guess it's just a hangover party that I'm not invited to.

an infusion too far

Those of you who know me know that I have a long-standing weakness for a good vodka. Okay. Those of you who merely know of me are probably aware of my vice. With this in mind and a birthday to celebrate on Friday night, I decided join the birthday boy Ken Goldstein, the erudite Paul Frankenstein, the ever lovely Kambri Crews and others for celebratory drinks at the Russian Vodka Room.

The RVR is a wild place. It's just dingy enough to be a dive and is inhabited by a bizarre mix of Eastern European beauties and seemingly lost tourists. The draw, however, is their infused vodkas. Some of their concoctions are quite tasty. The strawberry vodka and the apple cinnamon variety, for example, drew raves. After a few infusions of our own, however, someone decided to take a wide turn down the dark alley of bizarre treats.

As a public service, I'm here to disuade you from partaking of the garlic, dill and pepper variety. It may sound good on a pizza, as one of us noted, but it was decided that imbibing in such a mix is sure to keep you from any activity with the opposite sex for the better part of two years. Less offensive, but equally bizarre, was the horseradish infusion. I'm not sure whose brilliant idea this mix was, nor am I sure who amongst us decided to order up an entire carafe of the potion. I'm just sure that both ideas were fairly horrific.

accidents will happen

My pal Mike spotted this in the Oakland Tribune. The last line may be one of the funniest sentences ever formed...

Correction

Not everyone in the photo was a prostitute.

dear readers, you suck

A new entry in A Case For Song from the ever lovely Graceland is now up. Many (read, a bunch) of you still haven't contributed to the project. I ain't too proud to beg...

my work is done

creative use of funds

You may remember my giddiness several months ago after purchasing a new MP3 player, the Creative Labs Nomad Jukebox 3. Well, my delight died a few weeks ago when the headphone jack developed a pretty serious short. No problem, I thought. I"ll send it in for repair.

Well, it turns out that Creative Labs, a company notorius for its lack of customer service, only offers a 90 day limited warranty on all of their products. I bought my Nomad in May. I'm out of luck. They wanted $187 to fix it. For that price I can almost buy a new unit.

It's the second MP3 player that I've killed. I can't stand the train commute without music of some sort. Anybody have any good MP3 player suggestions?

not even half worth your time

"Pity? You don't want to be pitied because you're a cripple in a wheelchair? Stay in your house!" - Jerry Lewis, CBS Sunday Morning, May 20, 2001.

Just an annual reminder to my dear readers. If you have the Jerry Lewis Telethon on, please turn it off. Jerry is pure misguided evil. If, like me, you tune in for a couple of minutes every year to laugh at his bloated ol' head that's perfectly acceptable.

Need more proof? Think that Jerry is anything other than a bigoted old man who sets back acceptance of the disabled on an annual basis? Sure. I understand. Read this Parade magazine article. Yeah, he understands doesn't he? How can I stand my life?

"When I sit back and think a little more rationally, I realize my life is half, so I must learn to do things halfway. I just have to learn to try to be good at being a half a person ... and get on with my life." - Jerry on being a "cripple"