Carl Lewis - The Baddest Dude Alive?

I never bought the old "Carl Lewis is gay" conspiracy. Sure he wasn't as macho as other celebrity athletes, but so what. Prince never struck me as the most masculine dude in the world either, but he macked everything that walked.

After all these years of whispers and innuendo, it's pretty safe to say that my opinion has been fully vindicated given this video evidence I unearthed. Now some conspiracy theorists will point to his one-piece unitard, effeminate gestures, and falsetto voice as irrefutable proof of his orientation.

Personally, I think the video proves the exact opposite.

* First, it should be noted that he's the only man working out in a gym with a bunch of women -- hello, this is every straight man's fantasy!

* Second, at the end of the video, Carl is seen being escorted by a white woman into a sauna. What's the old expression - "If this sauna is a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'!"?

[ N.B. I will be the first to admit that his saunamate is a bit on the mature side, but I'm guessing he has some sort of kinky GILF fetish. Even more macho. ]

* Lastly, and most importantly, no gay man would be caught dead in that horrible outfit. belt? Sweet Jesus, a black unitard with a white workout belt? Gianni Versace would roll over in his motherfucking grave if he saw this fashion statement.

The defense rests. The verdict? Carl Lewis -- Guilty of being a bad-ass motherfucker.

Shit Louis, In a Nutshell

Boys and girls … David James is exhausted right now. I am flying back from Shit Louis, Missouri as I write this and I can barely keep my eyes open. One day after returning from Maggotfest, I had to head to the Loo’ for an all-day, technology implementation strategy session (kill me please).

The technology meeting was an utter waste of time. I totally could have dialed in to that cluster fuck call. I pretty much laid it out for them that I was not going to be traveling to St. Louis every other week like I did for a short while in 2006 (ZES got the worst of that project, though -- my apologies my man).

In order to get through Wednesday’s meetings, I had to ingest an inordinate amount of caffeine. And by inordinate, I mean “shitload.” At last count, I was up to 5 cups of coffee and 6 diet Cokes. And still, I’m nodding off in the afternoon. I wonder if it had anything to do with the subject matter -- implementation of some new “turnkey” “back office solution.” Look folks, I’m not making up these terms and I don’t personally use them, I’m just parroting them back because they were permanently etched into my memory. In fact, I kept track of the number of times “solution” and “customization” were used -- 141 times. Conversely, the term “Scarlett Johansson” wasn’t uttered a single time.

After looking at slides containing terms such as “Strategies Align with Corporate Vision,” “Business Blueprint,” and “Go Live and Support,” I was subjected to a stilted dinner with my boss and some other suffering colleagues. It mercifully ended around 8:30, after which point I was able to retire to the hotel bar to drink more with the aforementioned tortured co-workers.

Thursday included yet another 3+ hour meeting with my boss. Fuck me, why couldn’t I have drown on that whitewater rafting trip? I am pretty confident that I tortured animals in a past lifetime to deserve my current work karma.

But then, it was over. It was 3:00 and time to head to Lambert Airport. Not surprisingly, I was excited to leave Thursday but of course I had to endure the inevitable flying annoyances before I could make it home:

* I am sitting next to some over-tanned, wrinkle-saurus who keeps borrowing my magazines to read. Evidently she didn’t realize that she would be stuck on an airplane for 4+ hours with nothing to do. Fuck, what’s wrong with “Sky Mall” magazine?

* I made the mistake of using the bathroom after a guy in red shorts who ~ destroyed ~ the lavatory. Given all the chemicals and masking agents, it’s pretty fucking hard to further raise the disgusting meter. But evidently the “Little Red Crapper That Could” found a way. I’m blaming it on the pre-flight beef tacos and coffee. Well done, my man.

* I’ve experienced on-and-off turbulence for twenty minutes. I know I've mentioned this before, but there must be some travel route that doesn’t fly through the eye of whatever tornado which perches itself over the Colorado mountain range.

* Some old-ish dude just walking down the aisle just grinded my arm and shoulder with his crotch. I’m not talking about the “accidental-glance-of-my-ass-or-thigh-against-your-shoulder.” I’m talking full on “hey-birthday-boy-you-get-to-judge-the-lapdance-contest-at-Lucky-Cheng’s-restaurant-full-on-grind.” The guy just left me simpering here in my seat like Jodie Foster in "The Accused." God, I feel so dirty.

And so it went. I’m headed home to sleep … and then sleep some more. Oh, and I just signed up to play another rugby game this Saturday against a team of experienced “old boys” (i.e., 35 and older), who are usually out of shape (hooray), but dirty as shit. Oh well, should be fun. Have a great weekend kiddos and I’ll work on posting some photos/more content.

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star ....

The trim and lovely Star Jones celebrated her 45th birthday (she doesn't look a day over 43) with a group of friend. She was accompanied by her masculine and 100% straight husband, Al about whom she once said "Allie Reynolds better not be looking at other mares!" With all that extra skin and E.T.-like face, that would normally be a pretty tall order. However, it's Al Reynolds so there's not much risk there.

I'm not sure what I love most about this picture. Is it the flappy layers of skin which makes her upper arm look like a wizard's sleeve? Or is it the clearly-pained look of Al who doesn't appear to be enjoying "The View"?

It's a close one, but I'm going with the latter. Drink up Al, it will make all the pain go away.

Dearest Salma

In response to recent less-than-flattering pictures, a representative for Salma Hayek has revealed that the actress in pregnant and engaged to French businessman Francois-Henri Pinault.

They say that true love is blind, which might explains why she:


... got knocked up by and engaged to him:


Now I'm probably being way too superficial here. Perhaps he's a sweet guy, with a penchant for romantic poetry. Maybe she was able to find the last nice, normal guy who's tired of playing "the game" and is ready to settle down. You know, maybe Salma Hayek grew tired of the Hollywood superficiality and, against all odds, was able to look past their age difference and his less-then-leading-man looks in order to be with her one true love.

Or maybe it could have something to do with the fact that he’s a billionaire. I don't know, this one is too close to judge.

Pet Peeves of the Day

Here's a short excerpt of the never-ending list of things that piss me off:

* Three hour conference calls where I haven't been provided a copy of the handout materials. "Oh, you can Google 12 C.F.R. 30 to find the regulations online." Fuck that. I can also Google "amputee porn" but I'm not going to do that either.

* When it rains, there are 2 sets of people that annoy he shit out of me: (a) those people who have oversized umbrellas who walk down the middle of the street, causing other pedestrians to duck and dive out of their way, and (b) those people who have umbrellas but who insist on walking under the awning, forcing those individuals without umbrellas to walk out in the rain in order to avoid them.

* I bought a daybed sofa last night and specifically asked "does this include everything? Is there another box?" I was assured that I had everything. I get home ... open up the box ... and discover I'm missing the mattress, the hardware, the instructions and a pillow. What the fuck?! How could I be missing all this stuff? I call them back and they reassure me that there's not another box and ask that I return it for another box, presumably one that contains all of the required pieces. You can be goddamned sure that I'm going to open it up in the store and assemble it right there to make sure I have everything.

Okay, that is all .... for now.

New Laptop: Day 2

Dear IT Department:

Thank you for your timely response to my trouble ticket. Okay, I have to admit it that you haven't actually contacted me for 2 days -- let alone fixed my problems. But I thought that by thanking you in advance, you would actually be kind enough and respond to my cry for help. I hoped that kindness and patience would prevail over rage and threats of bodily injury.

Anyway, if I were to ask Santa Claus for one gift this year (other than the previously-requested world peace and Scarlett Johansson's virginity), it would be that one of your fine technicians would actually respond to my open trouble ticket and help me walk through the configuration of my new work laptop.

Don't get me wrong, I am honored that my company would actually spend $450 on a new Dell laptop. I'd like to think that you responded quickly to my complaint that I could no longer read the screen on my current Etch-O-Sketch laptop. In reality, it was probably the email rant where I noted that I was going blind from trying to read contracts on a goddammned pixilated screen. But that's water under the bridge now. My vision is returning to normal and I now have the fancy, newish (read: refurbished) laptop to use.

Well, at least use in theory. You see, it's not quite working properly, hence my call into our IT help desk to open a trouble ticket. Since the IT brainiac in St. Louis (i.e., Silicon Armpit) couldn't figure it out over the phone, it appears that my company is entrusting me to fully configure the new laptop, including, installing and setting all of the software, firewalls, security settings, systems tools, files, folders, backup data, and the like. I'm honored. It's kind of like when Pak'n Save entrusts you to responsibly pack your own groceries. Except, of course, that a computer contains years of important files and documents and is a wee bit more complicated to figure out than remembering the simple rule of "pack eggs and bread on top." But who doesn't like a challenge?

Anyway, if you could respond this year, that would be great. I'll be the guy in his office stealing WiFi from another building because the fucking network connection doesn't work on this piece-of-shit laptop.

Very Best Regards and Merry Christmas,

David James

Dear 8 lb, 6 oz Baby Jesus....

It’s the unholy hour of 6:15 a.m. on Tuesday morning, and I’m standing in a security line at SFO airport. There’s about 30 people ahead of me in line, so I’m not alone in my enjoyment. As we shuffle through, one of the TSA agents reminds travelers that there liquids permitted on the plane. Evidently, the tourists ahead of me in line didn’t receive a copy of the memo outlining the well known travel restrictions and were forced to throw away 3 bottles of Napa’s finest wine that they had attempted to smuggle on the plane. Ouch.

As I finally make my way through the line, the splint on my arm draws the attention of security and I am whisked away to a special area for closer scrutiny. Evidently there’s something in the Security Level Orange level that requires individuals wearing medical-related devices to submit to extra-special security screening. God knows what happens to travelers in wheelchairs once the security level is cranked up to Red, but I think it involves a full body cavity search.

Unfortunately for my readers, the rest of my travel to St. Louis was pretty non-descript. I had an entire row to myself, passed out about 10 minutes into the flight, and slept pretty much the entire way. No Shrek-like seatmates, no vomiting octogenarians, no flatulent teens.

What can I say about St. Louis itself? I’m basically out in the suburbs, right near the nation’s largest strip mall (congratulations, Missouri) and I can’t get over the combination of Red State, Wal-Mart, and the general level of unhealthiness. People smoke in bars and restaurants, the serving sizes are ridiculous, and everything appears to be deep fried, even when it doesn’t need to be. The best example of this was one of the dessert options at dinner one night -- deep fried cheesecake. Yup, that pretty much sums up St. Louis for me.

Fortunately for my audience, my flight back from St. Louis on Thursday contained its normal level of heightened annoyance. Within 5 minutes of taking off, I notice that the airplane smells vaguely of vomit. And by vaguely, I mean “strongly.” But it’s no big deal. I’m sure that I can hold my breath for 3.2 hours.

It turns out that the source of the smell was the woman in the row directly in front of me, who is eating some fragrant delicacy that I think is some combination of cod, vinegar and sweat socks. God bless her for sparing people in the airport by waiting until the flight had commenced before breaking into her dinner. What a thoughtful lass.

The voice over the intercom just announced that the in flight movie would be “Talladega Nights - The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.” Wow, things are starting to look up. The rest of the flight I alternate between “Ricky Bobby” and Season 2 episodes of “Arrested Development” and was perfectly content. It even helped me to temporarily forget the putrid stench which was the dinner of the woman in seat 14D. Good times.

Tuesday Musings

Sorry for the delay in posting, but I've just been lazy. That's all there is to it. But I'm going to do my best to provide content on a more regular basis (tomorrow's jury duty notwithstanding).

Anyway, the highlight of my day was going to the gym, which tells you all you need to know about how my day has gone. And for some reason, I am invariably confronted with weird behavior and/or ridiculous workout "outfits." And the past few weeks have been no different. To wit:

* I am still amazed when I see people work out in their work clothes. I'm no even talking about the guy who happened to wear dress socks or jeans to the gym. I'm talking full on oxford shirt, khakis and dress shoes. On the treadmill ... and on the machines. And you can pretty much guarantee that they went right back to work without showering or changing. Simply awful.

* I am also amazed when I see people walking around the locker room after having emerged from the shower still wearing their workout shorts. Showering while wearing your shorts? Is this middle school gym class or what? Unless you're hung like a Chihuahua, there's no reason to cover up, not to mention the fact that you still have to wash the private parts. You know, by directly applying soap to the area?

* Yes, it is perfectly acceptable to wear workout gloves at the gym. No, leather gardening gloves are not the same as workout gloves.

* What inspires guys to completely shave their arms, legs and chest? I counted 4 people at the gym the other day who were slicker than an election year politician. Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a little "manscaping" now and then. Trimming the carpet which is your upper back hair? Fine. But Jesus Christ, this shit is getting out of hand. It's not like you have an upcoming body building contest there, so unless you're part-Sasquatch, there's really no acceptable reason to Nair your entire torso. Ever.

* The last story still haunts me to this day. I had just finished working out on a Friday afternoon at a 24 Hour Fitness gym in San Francisco. As I walked into the locker room to shower and change, I noticed that there was a sweaty man with a think handlebar mustache standing completely naked with his leg on the bench, talking to another man, who was also completely naked. Okay, not that big a deal so long as they don't start going at it while I'm changing right next to them. No, what was troubling was the fact that the mustached man was eating munching a package of uncooked tofu hot dogs. One right after the other. In a locker room. And then, after consuming the entire package, the two of them headed to the showers, presumably to bathe in separate stalls.

Words do not describe how disgusting it is to watch a sweaty naked man eating tofu hot dogs in a dirty locker room. Even thinking of it makes me throw up in my mouth just a little bit.

It's not me, it's them.

I'm Not Just the President, I'm Also a Member

Rosemary: Is that a Member's Only jacket?
Mauricio: Yes.
Rosemary: So what are you, the last member?

Gwyneth Paltrow and Jason Alexandar, "Shallow Hal"


I saw a man on the ferry this morning wearing a very similar jacket to this classic "Members Only" to this one.

And then upon closer inspection, it turned out that he was wearing an imitation Members Only jacket.

Holy shit. I didn't realize that it was an exclusive club. In my mind I imagined leaning over and saying "you know, it pays to be a member," and then I started to giggle.

Yes Viriginia, I am an asshole.