Mindblowology

Where the hell I've been (two guesses... not hell.)

2009-06-08T23:34:00.000-07:00

Hey,
I haven't forgotten this blog - I've just ignored it like crazy.
Anyway, this is what I've been up to: http://www.fayettevillefeed.com

Check it out.

Where the hell I've been (two guesses... not hell.)

2009-06-08T23:28:00.000-07:00

Hey,
Just updating you on what I've been up to - http://www.fayettevillefeed.com

Road Trippin' 3, the Never Ending Story

2009-02-16T09:33:00.000-08:00

Rhode to Nowhere: Part III
By James Johnson

Last time on Rhode to Nowhere: our heroes, writer James Johnson and musicians Manquillan Minniefee and Stephen Waters went on an impromptu road trip from North Carolina to Providence Rhode Island, taking with them only $200, musical talent and six of the largest balls this world has ever seen.
Now, the exciting conclusion:
For such a small city, Providence was brimming with eventfulness. So much, in fact, that I’m going to have to break this story down into concise, vague and unhelpful blurbs.

Day 1
Minniefee, Waters and I meet our new roomies, Rhode Island College students, Dan Baker, Dan Ferrell and John Birt. Before any real introductions can be made, the three students let us in on their plan to rid their apartment of a fridge that they can’t quite fit down the stairs.
“See, a cop came by and told us the fridge was blocking an exit, and when we told him that we couldn’t fit it down the steps, he said to toss it out a window,” Baker explained. “… that sounds like permission to me.”
Some celebratory fridge tossing pasta is prepared, friends are invited over, and finally the main event.
Ferrell, Birt, Minniefee and Waters crowd around the apartment sized fridge and squeeze it through the tight window opening on the side of their building. The usual hunk of metal sounds are heard, however an uninvited sound effect arises - “KER-KLASH!”
“There wasn’t any glass in that fridge,” said Ferrell, trying to peak out far enough to see what could have possibly made such a sound.
Soon enough the long arm of the law was called in (it didn’t have to stretch very far, being as their apartment is located directly across the street from a police station).
The men are given a nasty talking to by one cop after another (seriously, it was like every cop in town was forming a conga line outside), and even got a nasty ticket.

Road Trippin'

2009-01-29T04:10:00.001-08:00

Rhode to Nowhere: Part II
I know you’re getting on in years, so let me refresh your memory … Last we spoke, I was engaging in the adventure of a life time (Gulliver’s Travels, Huckleberry Finn and Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventures all rolled into one), hitchhiking with two traveling musicians from North Carolina, to Massachusetts’ shriveled and deformed cousin, Rhode Island.
Sadly, Kerouac, I am not. The hitchhiking experiment was a failure. As it turns out, people are less likely to pick up three random strangers off of the side of a busy highway than I’d first suspected (shoulda left my murderous glint at home). So, I decided it was time to take the good old fashioned route - motorized vehicle … just like the pilgrims.
Initially I thought my musician friends, Stephens Waters (drummer, banjo player, man-beast) and Manquillan Minniefee (guitarist, silent film star, lothario), would appreciate my volunteering the use of my 1993 Toyota Corolla for the trip, but they looked at her as an uninvited pooper on the party that is their lives.
“Man, if you’d just kept walking a few more miles, we’d be having a real adventure,” complained Minniefee.
“Yeah James, you’re a wussy,” said Waters, only, he didn’t say “wussy.”
But once the boys saw what great time we were making, all complaints subsided, I.e., they fell asleep.

Alone On the Road (with two other guys)
After a couple of hours on the road, I too was dreaming of adventure on the interstate, unfortunately, I was driving on the interstate at the time. Having tried everything to keep awake, including opening a window, switching on the radio and punching myself in the face (had opposite effect), I decided a rest stop was more than called for …
Sleeping, driving, more driving, a lil’ driving and even more driving … You’ve got the gist.
What was amazing about the whole trip was the total lack of interesting things that happened during the drive. In fact, we only had to stop for gas twice!
It did get kind of interesting once we reached New York. See, driving through the Big Apple took skill, agility and cat like reflexes for those instances in which you would need to cut another driver off while simultaneously flipping the bird to some guy beside you. This was Stephen Waters’ domain (so said Stephen Waters).
What followed was a rollercoaster of tunnels, bridges and heart pounding speed - I’m pretty sure we almost died, like six different times.
Finally after an entire night and half a day of driving, we arrived in the Ocean City, Providence Rhode Island, now all we’d need was a place to stay.

HitchHiker Guide to Failing

2009-01-22T19:38:00.000-08:00

Rhode to Nowhere
By James Johnson

Last November, on a lark, I agreed to accompany two traveling musicians on an impromptu road trip from North Carolina to Rhode Island. Two more random locations, I struggle to think of.
The mission? To get from point A.) to point B.), with only $200 between us, musical talent (of which I have none), and our wits (of which I have even less). The method? Hitchhike. Why? ‘Cause I’m a genius, that‘s why.
Before we get into the true brilliance of our plan, let me first introduce you to the sherpas to my hitchhiking journey, folk rock musicians Manquillan Minniefee and Stephen Waters.
Though just barely scratching 20 (guess who had to buy the booze), Minniefee and Waters claimed to be experienced hitchers. Hitchhiking, after all is among the most cost effective ways for them artsy types to travel, besides just being cool.
--
Disclaimer: Hitchhiking is not cool! It is reckless and dangerous, not unlike smooth tasting cigarettes, European sports cars and sex … all of the terrible things in life.
--
Still, despite their experience, both Waters and Minniefee admitted that this would be among their longest hitches to date. Much of Waters’ experience was actually in train hopping.
“I’ve probably train hopped six or 10 times when I was a kid, just to get to a bigger city,” said Waters. “I think you would have never made it on a train, and we would have been in mad trouble … ‘cause you would have died.”
“Yeah, then we’d have to get rid of your body,” Minniefee added helpfully.

It Begins

We left early in the morning so as to give ourselves plenty of day light to work with, and were dropped off by a friend at a gas station just off of highway 95. Naturally, we dressed to the nines. A hitchhiker, you see, is part salesman (the product being his or her company), and as such, should look presentable and provide a pleasant odor.. Preferably “new car smell.”
We also carried a sign written on a piece of cardboard which read “Providence, RI. We’re nice, I promise.”
Sadly, no matter how friendly our smiles, how charming our sign, or how much leg I exposed (should of shaved), the rest stop we’d been dropped off at was proving to be a lost cause.
Finally, Waters concluded that the location was not an active enough rest stop to insure us a timely pickup, and decided to make a change in our strategy.
“Lets just walk to the next exit and see if we get any better results there,” said Waters. “Maybe if we get lucky someone driving down 95 will pick us up before we get there. It’ll probably only be like a mile or two.”

16 Miles Later

I learned a lot during this magical trek.

Mile 2: Walking makes me cranky. And by “cranky,” I mean I used expletives that I wasn’t aware were a part of my vocabulary … Apparently I‘m fluent in Spanish.

Mile 4: Stephen Waters walks at about the same pace that I run. I mean my God, half the time the only way I was able to communicate with him during the walk was by calling him on the phone. No joke.

Mile 7: It is now too dark to read our sign and too cold to stop walking. I have learned to hate my sherpas. Their stupid optimistic smiles, their dumb happy-go-lucky attitudes, their idiotic insistence that we do not give up and build a new life along the edge of the interstate highway. We could build a house out of abandoned truck tires and burn my clothing for warmth!

Mile 12: Though Minniefee and Waters seem virtually unaffected by the walk, my feet are now sore and bloody, my head light and my pace staggered. Though weak, I hope to catch up with Minniefee, so that I might hop on his back and ride him the rest of the way. The world is my pony.

Mile 16: Suddenly something occurs to me - “I own a car!”

A 1993 Toyota Corolla, to be precise. We rest briefly on a bridge as I begin making phone calls to arrange a ride back home, so that we can instead drive to RI, using the power of modern technology. The money we had would easily cover the cost of gas and toll booths. The only problem would be making enough money while in RI to get us all safely home. But that’s a story for another day … Hint: As of this writing, I am no longer a car owner. Why? ‘Cause I’m a genius, that‘s why.

Web contraption gets new cog!

2009-01-07T18:59:00.000-08:00

The other week I hinted that there would be an announcement (by saying “there will be an announcement.” Subtle, I know) and I am a man of my word.
Introducing: www.humor-column.com
That’s right, I’ve got one of those .com type deals. We’re legit, son!
Naturally, I spent much of today celebrating this news in the usual way, but after an hour of banging on pots and pans whilst blasting “the Jeffersons” theme song, I remembered that, with a great domain name, comes great responsibility.
A good professional website deserves a halfway decent professional blog, which means, no more farting around (this includes using terms like “farting around”). Expect a new column soon.

Now, where’d I put those pots and pans?

First rule of lesbian fight club ...

2009-01-02T23:46:00.000-08:00

Small update to vent a minor complaint.
This afternoon I noticed a headline reading "Lindsay and Sam Start New Years With a Huge Lesbian Fight."

Ahem, ahem... WTF (parents, ask your kids what this means ... better yet, don't)?!

I really could give two sh*ts (count 'em, two) about Lindsay Lohan and her girlfriend, DJ Sam "What's-her-face."

For one, "DJ" will never, in my mind, qualify as an actual job title. It's up there with birthday party magician, and well - blogger.

But my gripe isn't with Sammy, but rather, the jerkass who tossed together that headline ... Yes, lesbians are pretty awesome, no one is denying that, however, unless their fight was on the topic of whether or not Ellen DeGeneres is actually a lesbian, or merely an effeminate male (et al. David Spade), or anything else directly lesbian related, there is no reason to refer to it as a "huge lesbian fight."

If Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith were to have a big public brawl, would the headline read, "Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Engage in a Big Blacktastic Battle For Kwanzaa!"?

A girl and her hearse.

2009-01-02T09:44:00.000-08:00

Every now and then I like to profile someone with a far more interesting life than my own.

Death Cab for Cutie
By James Johnson

Morgan Anderson, 22, isn’t exactly the girl next door (unless of course, you‘re the Adams family). Growing up, while other girls were memorizing the dance steps from the latest Britney Spears video, Anderson found her role model in 1950s pin-up model Bettie Paige, and her musical beat in rockabilly. But it is Anderson’s latest eccentricity that has garnered her the most attention: her new hearse.

Love at First Sight
Anderson had bought the 1989 Cadillac hearse from a retired court magistrate, who like Anderson, was a car fanatic, and a fan of the macabre.
“I’d always told the previous owner that I was going to buy that hearse from him one day,” Anderson said. “I couldn’t tell you exactly why I wanted to buy it, but I just fell in love with it.”
That day came sooner than Anderson thought, when last January her original car, a Buick, was totaled in an accident. Upon hearing the news, the original owner called her to tell her he was now ready to give the hearse a new owner.
“The hearse wasn’t for sale,” Anderson added. “He only sold it because he knew how much I wanted it.”
Anderson chose not to disclose the amount she paid, but believes it was worth every dime.

Bad Vibes
Unfortunately, not everyone Anderson has encountered has shared her love of life’s final ride. In the short time that she has owned the vehicle Anderson said she’s been stared at, made fun of and accused of Satan worship and necrophilia.
“It was weird the first week. You could almost say that it was a life changing experience. Everywhere I went, every drive through, every stop light - everywhere - it was just nonstop attention.” Anderson said. “But not all of it has been positive. The worst experience I had was at the Wendy’s. A very rude woman at the drive through put her whole body out the window, pointed, laughed and made fun of me right in front of a customer.”
You know things are bad when even a Wendy’s employee is looking down on you.
In another incident , Anderson was asked by a woman if she simply spent her time waiting in front of nursing homes, waiting for someone to die.
“That was just an example of some of the ignorance I’ve run into,” Anderson said.

Awkward Much?
When not being chased by angry villagers, or praised by jealous rockers, Anderson has discovered a discomforting drawback to her ride of choice.
“Sometimes I’ll run into a funeral march and I’ll get the weirdest looks,” Anderson said. “Like, I’ll be smoking a cigarette and rockin’ out, and suddenly feel really out of place. It can get weird out there.”

Trunk Room
The contents of Anderson’s hearse has inspired the imaginations of some pretty sick puppies (myself included), below are the top five most popular guesses Anderson has encountered.

1.) Dead bodies. still has that new carcass smell.

2.) Casket. Voted best place ever to hide a dead body in Mafia Monthly.

3.) A bed. Wink, wink, hint, hint, nudge, nudge.

4.) band equipment.

5.) A smaller hearse, with an even smaller hearse inside of it, and inside that hearse exists a far smaller hearse and … right well, you get the picture. This one was my guess.

Borrowing wit.

2009-01-01T13:58:00.000-08:00

It would appear Marxism has since spread across the country.

“Although it is generally known, I think it’s time to announce that I was born at a very early age.”

“Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

“If you want to see a comic strip, you should see me in the shower.”

“From the moment I picked your book up, until I put it down, I was convulsed with laughter. Some day I intend on reading it.”

“Quote me as saying I was misquoted.”

“Here’s to our wives and girlfriends … may they never meet!”

“Die, my dear? Why that’s the last thing I’ll do!” -
The last words of Groucho Marx.

Goals for 2009: Kill Michael Phelps.

2009-01-01T09:30:00.000-08:00

Bum, bum, bum - another year bites the dust.
By James Johnson

Sorry kids, 2008 is moving out, and the hotter, sexier and younger 2009 is moving in - meet your new mommy.
Sure, 2008 had its charms. It introduced us to Sarah Palin who was kinda awesomely hilarious - I mean, if she’d been introduced to us as a wacky next door neighbor on a popular sitcom, instead of as the potential leader of the free world, she’d be bigger than “Fonzie.”
“You betcha” coulda become our generation’s “ayyyyy” (honestly Fonz, what kinda catch phrase is that? It’s not even a phrase!).
I read somewhere (probably an audio book) that 90% of people who write out year end goal lists see their lists’ goals almost entirely met by the end of the following year, which tells me that: people need to set some loftier freakin’ goals.
To lead the way, I offer below, my year end goal list - now with 20% more loft in every bite.

1.) Blow a million minds.
This here blog is averaging about 100 people a day (I’m being generous), and I’m hoping to change those numbers - even if I have to take a felt tip pen to my computer screen and add extra 0s.
I may need your help. I’ll be honest, if the shoe were on the other foot, I’d probably laugh at you for wearing backwards shoes. But I’m taking a gamble on you being a better person than I (even though I rock out loud).
Please pass this blog onto your friends - especially if your friends happen to be editors for weekly or daily news publications. And visit as often as you can … reloading the page over and over doesn’t count ... Mom!

2.) Buy a portion of Canada.
Uhh… the good portion.

3.) Make enough money to buy a portion of Canada.
These aren’t in chronological order, just so you know.

4.) Maintain a loving romantic relationship for more than a year.
All my recent relationships have come and gone with a quickness. I enjoy commitment - it’s one of the easiest ways to do nothing, while getting congratulated as if you are doing something.

Hypothetical man: “Wow, six years, really? Congrats.. What’s your secret?”

Me: “Mostly not breaking up.”

Hypothetical man: “You’re a stronger man than I‘ll ever be.”

Me: “And I exist!”

Hypothetical man: “… Yeah, you know what? F**k you!”

End scene.

5.) Kill hypothetical man.
Respect yo creator, bitch!

6.) Write a book.
I’ve already got potential titles, all of them ending in “Electric Boogaloo.”
Writing a book has been a dream of mine since the day I realized it must be ridiculously easy to get published. Don’t believe me? Check out the urban fiction section of your local Wal-Mart - they barely spell-check that sh*t!

7.) Love my family more.
My family kicks ass (gladiator style) and though I’ve put a lot of focus on showin’ my friends the lovin’, I want my family to know that I’m still there for them … this is the only way I can ever hope to inherit the family cat, and my mom‘s collection of Star Trek toys.

8.) Win the Olympics.
I’m 25 and it is endlessly depressing to me that people keep assuming I’m 36 (no offense 36-year-olds).
Granted, my hairline appears to have a restraining order against my eyebrows, but I also suspect that it has to do with my diet - and so, I pledge to train like Michael Phelps, then destroy him in battle.

9.) Get a big rock.
Not too big for me to lift, but big enough to destroy Michael Phelps in battle… and still have enough killing power left over for that damn hypothetical man.

Well, that’s about it. One I hope to write a top 10 list that actually ends in 10 - but that’s a lofty goal for a far loftier year -2012 is looking promising.

Not all "Fun Facts" are fun.

2008-12-30T18:20:00.000-08:00

The changing face of my face.

2008-12-30T02:20:00.000-08:00

Hey kittens,
If you're a returning visitor, you're probably wondering why I'm no longer bleeding, but am instead giving you the stare down with creep eyes up there. The bloody banner had to go. For one, it had nothing at all to do with the title (maybe if I was bleeding from the head?), and for two, I got bored.

I also wanted to comment on something I noticed while surfing other blogs (yes, I'm one of the last 6 people who still call it "surfing") - I'm one long winded motha F-er!
Most of these bloggers barely scratch out a paragraph - meanwhile I'm screwing around here trying to write "War and Peace."
I have much more to say on the topic, but suddenly I'm feeling self conscious - so I'll end it here.

PS: Germany rocks ... It knows why.

Tux to be you.

2008-12-29T00:02:00.000-08:00

Love me, love my tuxedo
By James Johnson

A while back I received an offer from Ruth Davis’s Affordable Tuxedos.
Davis presented me with the chance to wear her tuxedos for any snazzy journalism related event, which had me ecstatic, until I realized - I don’t go to that many snazzy journalism related events.
Remembering how unwise it is to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took Davis up on her offer and have developed some brand new ways to enjoy the suit James Bond made butch, the tuxedo.

Go fishing - in a tuxedo!
Fishing involves a lot of sitting around, staring at nature, and trying to avoid awkward conversations with your son, so why not do so in style?
Upon seeing your sharp new tux, the fish will feel as if they’ve been invited to an award ceremony. You can even replace your worm bait with mini-Oscar statues and play a drum roll before you toss in the line.
“And the winner is!”

Go to a job interview - in a tuxedo!
You’re supposed to dress to impress at a job interview, right? Well why not take that a step further and make your interviewer feel as if he or she has to impress you?
If you complete the look with a monocle and top hat it’ll be just the push you need to give your new employer the uneasy feeling that you’re just eccentric enough to one day be running the company.

Get fitted for a tuxedo - in a tuxedo!
Uh oh … Did that just blow your mind?

Go bowling - in a tuxedo!
Bowling is one of the few sports to not really garner its own uniform (trucker caps don’t count), so why not make the tuxedo the official uniform of bowling?
Honestly, the end result could go either way. This will either tremendously help the reputation of bowling as a gentleman’s sport, or really diminish the reputation of the tuxedo.
“Sweetie, I can’t believe you wore your bowling uniform to our wedding.”

Merry thing to you and your thing.

2008-12-24T02:09:00.000-08:00

Hey -
Just droppin' by to wish those reading this a merry Christmas, happy New Year and a cheery kwanzaa (may the spirit of black power reign supreme in your household).

Also, I want to plug my good frienemy Maia Miller's kickass blog/site. Go to it and be amazed, as her site will put the full power of the Internet to use.. Finally, you'll see how websites will look in the year 2014 (all hand drawn).

www.MaiaMiller.com

One more thing: be on the look out for a big announcement from this here blog.

Laterz playahz ("z" makes everything cooler.. Erm, coolerz).

Crappiest toys of Christmas

2008-12-19T17:34:00.000-08:00

Naughty Lil’ Toys
By James Johnson

In the news business Christmas time usually means hacking out some lame ‘best toys gift guide’ to appease those parents who aren’t on speaking terms with their kids. Been there, done that. Introducing the season’s “worst toy gift guide.” You’ve been warned.

1.) FurReal’s Butterscotch Pony
Butterscotch Pony is an award winning toy that claims to make any little girl who has dreamed of having her very own pony, the happiest spoiled brat on the block.
The toy, which is roughly the same height of your average 10 year-old (and width of your average 40-year-old Cubs fan), has been made by Hasbro using advanced realistic animation that reacts to touch. Basically, it moves its head around and grumbles when poked, but otherwise it sits there and does nothing. If this gets confusing to your daughter, simply explain to her that Butterscotch is a special kind of magical narcoleptic pony who needs constant stimulation in order to remain conscious.
Suggested retail price? $299.99. My suggestion? Buy a dog.

2.) Speed Stacks Stack Pack
Sport Stacking is the latest craze trying to redefine the word “sport” to mean “thing you can do while breathing.” The competition requires its players to take plastic cups and stack them really, really fast. That’s it. Just common old plastic cups.
But if you think you can just go to any Dollar General and buy just any plastic cups to stack, think again. These special Speed Stacks brand cups come with something you’re not going to find on any generic plastic cups: a logo.
Oh and four holes in the bottom to prevent stackers from doing anything crazy and unnatural, like say, drinking out of them.

3.) Turbo Bug VacuumA low-powered vacuum designed to suck up bugs so that your child might learn about/torture them for hours on end. This is either a great way to teach your child about the importance of cleanliness, or how to best develop the sadistic curiosity needed to pursue a fruitful career as a serial killer. Either way, this toy - sucks.

4.) Baby AliveWhy do we keep encouraging children to one day want to have kids of their own? The best way for the human race to avoid the consequences of our environmental sloppiness today, is by making certain that no one is alive tomorrow.
Fortunately, Baby Alive seems more likely to make a case against breeding, as its main function is its ability to do what humans do best, create waste.
The doll comes with small packets of “baby food,” that once fed to Baby Alive, is instantly leaked into the baby’s diaper.
Aside from being incredibly messy (both going in and coming out), it has one other realistic baby attribute. Baby Alive is where your money goes to die.
It actually requires you to buy it more food. It is literally one more mouth to feed. In a perfect world, one could simply re-feed the baby its own waste, but as costly as buying extra baby food might be, it is nothing compared to your child’s therapy bills after witnessing such an ungodly act.

5.) Adolf Hitler’s “Mein Kampf”Just in time for the holidays Adolf Hitler’s “Mein Kampf” has received a republishing.
While not a toy, it was on special at a local book store that would probably rather go unnamed. The bookstore’s employees explained that due to fears that the book might not do well during the Christmas season (or Hanukkah for that matter), the company had requested that the book be sold half off with the purchase of romance novelist Nicolas Sparks’ book, “the Choice.” For some reason, the employees refused to pair these two books up. Ah, nothing says love, quite like a book full of hate.

War For the Holidays

2008-12-15T14:53:00.000-08:00

By James Johnson

Anyone remember the Robert De Niro film "Wag the Dog"? It was about a Washington spin doctor that concocts a fake war to distract the media and the public from the real issues plaguing the country. Though it had a January 1997 release date, it still somehow feels like a holiday film, especially in relation to America’s latest made up war, "the war on Christmas."
Every year a hand full of columnists pick some random corporation that has dared to start greeting their customers with “happy holidays,” as opposed to “merry Christmas” and accuse them of taking the “Christ“ out of Christmas.
The Gap, SEARS, Wal Mart and K-Mart have all felt the wrath of boycotting Christians, bound and determined that these stores acknowledge their holiday and no other.
“If these companies stop saying merry Christmas, people might start forgetting that Jesus was born on December 25!” cry worried protesters.
Does this strike anyone as needlessly paranoid? Really? Is daring to acknowledge that there are other people who celebrate other religious holidays in the month of December really going to be the final nail in Christianity’s cross? The single most popular religion on Earth, with 2.1 billion worshipers, is going to be derailed by common courtesy?

True, calling Christmas trees “holiday trees” is ridiculous. Placing a model of Santa and his reindeer on top of a Nativity set is ludicrous. And taking down a cross at a government office, only to leave up a menorah is just unfair. But then so is pretending as if yours is the only God on the block with a day worth celebrating.
We’re in a nation in which the majority rules, and the majority have a responsibility to not trample the minority, no matter how unpopular their beliefs may be. It is our responsibility to do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Sound familiar?

Hypnotoad

2008-12-14T14:00:00.000-08:00

Though I may seem like a jaded middle-aged veteran journalist (average journalist life expectancy is 42), I still have my weaknesses and for every weakness there’s a crutch. Bad speller? Use a spellchecker. No good at taking notes? A handheld recorder. Illiterate? Well trained dictation monkey - also known as an editor.
But what if your job requires you meet a deadline, and you’ve got a nasty case of procrastination fever? What crutch can help you with a basic problem that exists entirely in the confines of your grey matter? How ‘bout calling up a hypnotist, like Teresa del Giudice?
Giudice is a trained hypnotist of the highest order who has been tampering with the human subconscious since 2003, when she attended a hypnosis school in Chicago, Ill.
Since starting her practice Giudice says she has been approached to help clients conquer a variety of unique problems, from weight loss, to memory recovery. But could she help me stop procrastinating? Read on to find out … or if you’re too lazy just skip to the last paragraph, then go take a nap. You’ve earned it.

First impressions

Though I like to consider myself the opened minded sort, I was initially skeptical about meeting with a hypnotist. If “the Maury Povich Show” has taught me anything, it’s to not trust “the Maury Povich Show,” or anything I’ve ever seen on it, including hypnotism.
I expected Giudice to be one of those “New Age” chicks, complete with power crystals and body odor, but was instead presented with a well dressed young woman with no noticeable odor at all.
“The people who do hypnotism for show are doing just that, putting on a show,” explained Giudice. “They show people what people expect to see hypnotists do, and make it appear as if they are making people do things out of their own control, but the truth is -- I can not make you do anything that you do not want to do.”
This is both reassuring and disappointing. While it means that she can not force you to give up your bank account number, this knowledge also means that you can not go to work in the nude the following day and then attempt to blame your hypnotist.
Hypnotism has also been used to help speed healing and is therefore thought of as an “alternative medicine,” but Giudice prefers to call it “complimentary to medicine,” as she believes strongly that hypnotism should not be used as an alternative for medicine but rather as a tool in conjunction with medicine.
“Take Irritable Bowl Syndrome. It has been shown that hypnosis is one of the best treatments for it,” said Giudice.
My bowls however are in pristine condition and so Giudice went about the business of tinkering with my brain.
We sat in my office’s break room for what seemed like an hour, with me in a trance state. No crystal balls, pocket watches, or pinwheels were used. Giudice merely spoke to me until I was completely relaxed (reggae music could have sped things along).
My mind went on a magical mystery tour of emotion, taking me to the root of my procrastination. What could it be? Was it a traumatic childhood event? An ex-girlfriend who never believed in me? Brain rot?
Soon I had my answer. Turns out I’m lazy … I was really hoping for the brain rot.
It is too early to say whether or not the experiment worked, but I can say that I cut out of the session early so that I could pursue another story. So, there’s that.

I am legend - at failing ...

2008-12-11T21:14:00.000-08:00

Nothing leaves an unpleasant after taste quite like eating one’s own foot. Not long ago I had written a story about the new entertainment complex, Docks at the Capital. In the story, I lightly teased the business for taking so long in opening, made fun of their Scotty dog mascot, and boasted that if the business were to somehow acquire the wildly popular “Dance, Dance Revolution” arcade game (“Guitar Hero,” for the tone deaf), I would then see fit to challenge and destroy them.
Now, being as I’ve never actually played the game in my life, it might seem odd for me to raise this challenge - but I was drunk off creative freedom and editor Jim McBee saw fit to give me enough rope to hang myself with.
Swallowing my pride, I entered the Capital building, ready to destroy whatever lackey the Docks people would send my way.
That lackey came in the form of Docks’ Amusement Manager (best job title ever) Jorge Rivera. I decided to up the ante by offering Rivera the chance to battle me at three other games as well.
“Okay, though I’ve spent a lot of time testing all of these games,” Rivera warned me with a confident smile. Ah, confidence. That’s the first sign of fear.

Hoop Fever
Hoop Fever is a game in which you toss basketballs into a hoop from a few feet away. While it won’t make anybody into an NBA star, it is said that if you make at least 10 of these, you can then officially consider yourself better at the 3-pointer than Shaquille O’Neal. Sadly, he still has more money than you.
Result:
Rivera’s confident smile revealed something more devastating - blindingly white teeth. With each toss of the ball the gleam of Rivera’s enamel burned my sensitive pupils.
Technically, this round was lost, but Rivera’s hygienic superiority could not save him in every game.
Rivera: 7
Johnson: 3

Fast Track
Dice hockey. If you don’t know what this game is, then take this opportunity to give your parents a harsh talking to for having denied you your childhood. The rest of the story will be here when you get back.
Result:
After commenting on Rivera’s freakishly bright smile, he seemed slightly less chipper than before. In an effort to revive his diminishing spirits, I decided to let him win this one. Deep down, I’m just an old softy.
Rivera: 7
Johnson: 3

Jumpin’ Jackpot
Namco’s “Jumpin’ Jackpot” is an interactive jump rope game, where the player must jump on a pad with sensors in it, over a virtual rope. This game requires skill, timing, fitness and speed, all attributes writers are known for.
Result:
… I don’t want to talk about it.

Dance, Dance Revolution, SuperNova
Dance Dance Revolution SuperNova (or DDRSN. An acronym so long it almost defeats the purpose of using an acronym) is the latest in developer Konami’s arcade dancing series. Basically, you and your opponent stand on two different “dance pads,” and have to hit the pad’s buttons with your feet in accordance with the arrows shown on the screen.
It’s all the fun of a nightclub, mixed with all the excitement of a totalitarian dictatorship.
Result:
In an offer of kindness, I agreed to setting the game’s difficulty level to “easy.” I wanted to destroy Rivera, not humiliate him.
The rhythmic beat of “Honey Punch” by J-Pop sensation Riyu Kosaka took over and Rivera and I were transformed into dance masters. Foot forward, foot back, left, right, left, forward - left and right? No!
My years of ballet classes seemed all for naught, as this game was asking me to toss out everything I knew about the art of dance, so I rebelled. Rather than following the game’s sick demands, I followed the demands of my heart. It was as if I was possessed by the spirit of Gene Kelly and John Travolta all at once (Travolta is dead, right?).
Unfortunately, as impressive as my gravity defying back-flips, leg-splits and head-spins were, the arcade game would have none of it, instead rewarding points to Rivera for his robotic obedience.
Rivera: 7852348
Johnson: 851851

Mass Headache (10 things that are okay to mass email me).

2008-12-07T21:20:00.000-08:00

Mass Headache
By James Johnson

Welcome to the Internet. Here, you get access to free news, videos of piano playing kittens, and other stuff too unspeakable to mention ("rule 34" is a cautionary tale). Most importantly, you get useless mass emails from friends, on various topics such as, the Top 10 Best Stoner Movies, a Nigerian prince needs your bank account number, and of course, the personality survey (Are you a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw? An orc, or a white wizard? A rebel, or a basket case? I'm a princess).
These mass emails almost always conclude with some sort of veiled death threat: "forward this email to 25 other people, or the ghost of Bill Gates will kill you. He's waiting just outside, aiming at you with a sniper rifle … or, erm, the ghost of a dead sniper rifle."
To finally put a stop to this madness, I've decided to compile a Top 10 List of things that are totally acceptable to email me. Please pay close attention, because by the end there will be a test that will help determine what kind of person you are ... I'll say you some time - you're a princess.

1.) Anything work related. This includes press releases, story tips and praise. You may also send me negative feedback, but only about other writers.
"Dear Mr. Johnson,
that Thad Mumau guy went too far."

"Dear reader,
while I do not know what you are referring to, I agree whole heartedly. He must be stopped. Meet me behind the Westwood Shopping Center tonight at 9 p.m., and bring your pitchfork."

2.) Alcoholic beverages. While I'm not certain it is physically possible to email hard liquor, I have equipped my computer with a spigot just in case.

3.) Party invite. I attend any and all parties, no matter their theme. I'm cool with cult meeting invites as well, but don't expect me to bring my own robe.

4.) Nigerian prince related news. Yes, yes, I realize that these things are almost always scams, but I've got a great scam brewing myself. I've been luring Nigerian princes with my shiny bank account, then kidnapping them and holding them for ransom.
What will you do now, Nigeria, without your precious supply of Nigerian princes? Hmm?!

It would appear my Top 10 List of things that are totally acceptable to email me, doesn't quite add up to "10." Those with O.C.D. should appreciate that it has at least ended on an even number. You're welcome.
Hopefully this post has shown you the evils of mass email, while at the same time helped me reach my blog quota for this month.
Now please forward this post to 25 other people. It is said (by me) that all those who do not forward this post shall be haunted by the ghost of Marquis de Lafayette, who will make them feel incredibly guilty for not paying attention during history class.
"Ooooo. Yooou don't know who I am doOooO yoooou? OoOooo! Dooo yooooou?"

100 phone numbers, 1 week. Balarky!

2008-12-06T00:04:00.001-08:00

ODDS OF LOVE
By James Johnson

Nowadays it seems like everyone is finding love through some dating website or speed dating technique, but whatever happened to the good old fashioned approach of simply asking a woman for her number -- you know, in person.
To prove that love need not require a search engine to be found, I took to the streets to ask 100 women for their digits and along the way craft a handy tip guide.

TIP #1, Don’t do what I did
Being as I had a deadline to nail (100 seems very doable on a Monday afternoon), I had to keep my delivery quick and to the point. Rather than indulge in small talk, like finding out first names and making eye-contact, most of my encounters involved a quick and garbled “can I get your number?”
For whatever reason, this resulted in a lot of dirty looks, eye rolls and shocked stares. The first sign of a Mace and I curl up in a fetal position.
Swallowing my pride and wiping the sweat from my palms, I began my first trek in the most typically female dominated area - the mall.

TIP #2, Wingman up
Heading into this, I knew my combined lack of charisma and soft squishy face would make me an ideal punching bag for the angry boyfriend type, so I made sure to drag a few wingmen with me. Here, I offer a special thanks to Jaymie Baxley, Matthew Jones and Jim Stichka (it was his idea to go to a lesbian bar).
The extra muscle came in handy near the end of my mall venture when a miffed military man approached Baxley, Jones and I after having followed us for 21-minutes.
His beef, as he had explained, had arisen from the fact that I had asked for the phone number of a woman who was married to a buddy of his. He felt the action was disrespectful to the U.S. Military, and naturally, he wanted to have a polite discussion about the matter - old west style.
Baxley and Jones puffed up behind me (or simply held their breath) and I tried to calm the situation by acting as if he had said something entirely different than what he’d actually said. Works for Bugs Bunny.
“Hey man, thanks for being so cool about this whole thing,” I praised, giving him a reassuring shoulder nudge as we began going our separate ways. “You have a goodnight.”
Somehow this actually worked, and the man, - satisfied that he had taught me a lesson - turned and left. At this point, I thought it’d be a good idea to leave.

Tip #3, Don’t mess with mall security
Yep, evidently someone was so flustered by being asked for their number, that the long arm of the fake-law got called in, and we were given the ol’ walk of shame to the exit. This was thus followed by a slow walk of shame to our car (we were parked on the opposite side of the mall), that quickly evolved to a brisk sprint of shame once Baxley mentioned that the mall had their own snipers.

Tip #4, Be pretty.

Obviously, if you’re simply asking for phone numbers, then you are making this decision based entirely on shallow first impressions (which you’ll later tell your kids was “love at first sight”), and so you shouldn’t be surprised if the response isn’t based on these same snap judgments.
To help better my odds, I wore a sported the “business casual” look. While the jeans said I liked to party, the blazer said I was still employed.
I was also sure to shave. Some ladies like facial hair, but designer stubble went out with “Miami Vice.”

Tip #5, Being lonely is just as bad as being a street vagrant.
The above tip occurred to me after attempting to ask the number of a woman who was walking downtown with an older friend. She gave me a shocked look then smiled politely and explained that she was currently married with child.
I apologized and strolled in the opposite direction as the older woman grumbled, “My God that took balls. And I thought they were cleaning up this part of the city.”
Perhaps a new brand of deodorant is in order?

The final tally

81 women said no. This much rejection in one week is probably not healthy.

18 said yes. Never underestimate the seductive powers of pity.

1 lesbian. She was like that when I found her.

Despite all the above, I did actually manage to have some fun dates. As I am a gentleman, I won’t go into too much detail but I will say that the single greatest thing to come out of this experience hasn’t been the off chance of a romantic encounter or even the meeting of new people, but the blessing of rejection.
I found after the experience of being rejected more than 80 times, I didn’t have the fear I once had of simply approaching a pretty girl. Abs of steel, a great car or an impressive job title will never be able to compete with the fearless confidence offered by being able to take “no” for an answer.
‘Course, the car couldn’t hurt.

The PROOF is out there.

2008-11-27T00:14:00.001-08:00

Here's a ghost story for thanksgiving. Let us not forget that the original thanksgiving was celebrated by dead people... go with it.

Early this year my office got a call from a local group calling themselves the Paranormal Research Office Of Fayetteville, or “PROOF.” The group invited my office to send in a reporter to tag along on an investigation of a house at 247 Coolspring Street, downtown. Realizing that this could possibly be a dangerous assignment (“Scooby Doo” is a cautionary tale), they sent their most expendable reporter: this is my story.

The PROOF Is Out There
By James Johnson

8:00 p.m.
I arrive on the scene, accompanied by photographer Albert Stichka and our creepy quiet friend Maia Miller, who was asked to come along merely because of the eerie vibe she gives every situation.
Upon pulling up, the Scoobies and I (I’m more of a “Fred” ) were greeted by PROOF leader Jerry Holland.*
Holland wasted no time introducing his crew.
Tim Kuntz, a computer tech and as of recently, a reformed mullet wearer - he regrets nothing. Jenna Garcia, parapsychologist and reluctant ghost prodder (“If there is a ghost in the room, please give us a sign by touching one of the men in the room … anyone but me,” chanted Garcia in a not-so-proud moment). And finally, Andy Nunez, a joyless man who gets his kicks from trouncing the strongly held myths of others.
“For me, the thrill is when you can debunk one of these ghost stories,” Nunez said. “You’d be surprised how much fun that can be.”
After being formerly introduced, Holland set about the business of giving us the background on the house we were about to enter.
Apparently, the house, which doubles as an office space, has had a long reputation of being a prime creep-out zone. Holland said that he has heard testimony dating back more than 20 years of a ghostly woman appearing in the window.
Not only that, but residents have reportedly heard loud unexplained footsteps upstairs, and expressed feeling as if they are being watched.

8:15 p.m.

The boys had just gotten done unpacking an array of ghost hunting tools that would make even Casper go pale (if he had pigment to begin with). Electro Magnetic Field detectors, motion detecting video cameras, night vision and of course, lots of batteries. All that was missing was a proton pack - but alas, Christmas only comes once a year.
Altogether, the gadgets have cost the group well over $300 (rough estimate), and there is another $100 put into preparation for the average investigation. Still, Proof performs their investigations free of charge.
“This is my hobby,” Kuntz said. “If I collected stamps, would I expect someone to pay for my stamp collection?”

8:30 p.m.
The Proof crew had decided to split up into teams (as horror movies have taught them nothing). I tagged along with Holland and Kuntz, who decided to hold their first investigation inside the attic.
My fear of height, combined with my dislike of enclosed places and allergy to being eaten by attic monsters, kept me waiting patiently at the bottom of the attic steps.
“You may want to come look at this,” came Kuntz voice from above.
“Jinkies,” I thought. “Have they found a clue?”
What they had found was a brief glimpse of a creepy moving shadow that had passed by in the attic, in an area where nothing was in a position to cast a shadow. Kuntz and Holland were amused, but weren’t ready to call this case closed quite yet.

9:00 p.m.

Not much has happened yet. It turns out, ghost hunting, just like any other form of hunting, includes a lot of waiting. One notable difference is that at the end of the day, no one gets to eat ghost. Snack break to the rescue!

10:00 p.m.
The snacks are delicious. It is difficult to be scared when munching on some Chips Ahoy.
Once everyone is together, I do a quick head count to ensure that everyone had survived the first half of the ordeal. Amazingly photographer Stichka lives. I had pegged him as a “red shirt” the instant I met him.
“He’ll die one day,” I quietly assured myself. “Red shirts always die.”
Though obviously a certain amount of belief has to be involved for the Proof groups to be able to invest this much effort into an investigation, Kuntz notes that the group is far more interested in finding the truth behind a ghost story than adding fuel to any myths.
“I’d love to find any hard undeniable evidence of a ghost, but I also want to make sure we’ve taken every step to debunk it,” Kuntz said.
For the most part, Kuntz said that they have managed to debunk most of their cases. One example was with a family claiming that a ghost had been killing their fish. Upon investigation, Proof found that there had been a carbon dioxide leak near the area where the fish were kept.
Another easy to debunk ghost story are the ones involving people finding ghostly orbs in their photos.
“You want orbs? Just shake a rug and take a picture,” said Holland. “You’ll get an orb from the flash reflecting off of the dust.”

10:30 p.m.

After overhearing that the Proof group would most likely be remaining in the house until 3 a.m., I decide to call it a night. We shook hands, said our goodbyes and left, confident that nothing interesting or eventful would happen for the rest of the night. Stichka lives to die another day.

The Interesting and Eventful Stuff That Happened
As Holland had warned me, most of the good ghostly happenings happen late after midnight.
“After you guys left at about 12:45 a.m., Tim says to me, ‘did you see that?’ Over my shoulder Tim said he saw a shadow almost peer out over the staircase... I decide to switch positions so that I can spot it if it happens again,” said Holland in a more recent phone interview. “After a while, I saw this shadow peer over before moving back. We went after it, taking pictures like crazy.”
Holland said that while the group now feels that “something is going on,” in the house, they will have to do another investigation to debunk it.

*Members of Proof asked that their first names be altered so as to protect their day jobs.

Heel click

2008-11-24T22:09:00.000-08:00

Director Dick Lumbard has performed on the Broadway stage numerous times, directed some of theater’s finest actors, and even taught Tim Allen how to dance (he had a guest spot on an episode of ABC’s “Home Improvement.”), and now he has agreed to take on what may easily rank as his proudest achievement: dancing side by side with Dance, Dance, Revolution legend, James Johnson.
This, Lumbard undoubtedly thought, was akin to winning both a Tony and an Oscar in one night. He might not have thought this, I neglected to ask him, but I’d call it a safe guess.
As we took to the dance floor in front of a floor length mirror (great for zipper checks), Lumbard first asked me about my experience.
“No one puts baby in the corner,” I growled back with a cocky sneer.
See, this line is a obscure reference to the smash hit documentary “Dirty Dancing,” starring Patrick Swayze. Only a true dance master would recognize this reference.
Being 50% Puerto Rican, I had entered the room with the safe assumption that there was no dance move that Lumbard would be able to teach me that I wasn’t already fully versed in (thanks to genetics and/or ethnic stereotyping), but then Lumbard broke out the jazz hands. Maaaan booty, it was on.
I tried to follow Lumbard’s heel clicks, hip thrusts and ball steps (yes, this is an actual move), but my body was unwilling to comply.
Finally, using some unseen power (perhaps that of grayskull?), I managed to complete a “bell click.” A bell click, for those unaware, is a special move in which one hops into the air and clicks their heels together. This move is most often done by crazy old prospectors after discovering gold, or just about anyone else who wishes to celebrate an accomplishment in the most flamboyant way possible.
Of course, if your only actual accomplishment is successfully completing a “bell click,” then you may want to follow up this celebratory dance move with a celebratory heavy drinking.
Goofiness aside, I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly thank director Dirk Lumbard, for allowing us to waste his time.

Yep - I'm a Marxist.

2008-11-13T22:19:00.000-08:00

"Either this man is dead or my watch has stopped."
~ Groucho Marx

Sprinkling Hot Wet News All Over Your Face.. Mm.. Taste it!

2008-11-13T21:30:00.000-08:00

Evil Never Dies - It Just Retires

This just in from the good people in U.S. intelligence (the same folks who brought us the faulty reason for invading Iraq, and forgot to warn us about Sept. 11): Osama bin Laden lives!!! … kinda.
The agency believes that Osama bin Laden is isolated from al Qaeda and spending all of his free time surviving and probably catching up on the latest episodes of “Dancing with the Stars.” … ‘cause he’s evil.

Be Obama’s Bitch

Obama’s already doing what he can to boost employment in America - he’s hiring!
The Obama transition team will be sending a seven-page, 63-item questionnaire to every candidate for Cabinet and other high-ranking positions (uh, president is taken.)

Cool person - wearing a fedora ...

2008-11-13T20:20:00.000-08:00

The House that Hash Built

2008-11-13T19:37:00.000-08:00

“No sh*t, there I was …” is considered the ideal start to any Hash House Harrier’s story, so here goes.
No sh*t, there I was … trudging through swamp water and stumbling through tree brush in the middle of a downpour, all the while wearing a $171 suit. But I wasn’t about to complain, for that day I was among the infamous Hash House Harriers and therefore, among friends … Seriously though, how’d I let myself get talked into this?
The Hash House Harriers are an international social, non-competitive running and drinking club.
Seasoned Hashers will often describe the group as “a drinking club with a running problem.”
There exist more than 1,700 Hasher chapters (or kennels) throughout the world. Odds are, there‘s at least one in your own town (follow the trail of beer and vommit.)
Generally, the average trail (if there is such a thing) will take its members on a 3-mile trek through some of the roughest and dirtiest terrain available, with white markers to guide the hashers along. At random points hashers will come upon signs, telling them if there is beer nearby, giving them an alternative shortcut, or asking them to take part in a uh, physical inspection in which one player has to flash certain body parts to another player in exchange for directions (this is optional).
“It is more of a social group than anything else. It is an excuse to get out and do something with friends, meet new people and drink,” said Carolina Hashers Game Master, StrawberryShortC**k.
Though the Hashers try to remain as in line with the laws as they can (public intoxication aside), they choose to use only code names so as to protect those members whose jobs would frown on the drinking game.
“We’ve had members who have been high ranking military officers, doctors and even some lawyers,” StrawBerry explained. “The group has a kind of rude and crude sense of humor, but it’s all in good fun. The hash names range from the down right dirty to the absolutely funny.”
By the end of the trek the group gather in a circle and partake in drinking games, singing dirty songs and sporting kilts (minus the underwear, because otherwise “it’s just a skirt”).
“It is just a really fun way to get out and meet people,” said longtime hasher AllHandsOnC**t. “Right now, all the friends I have are people I’ve met hashing. They’re like a family.”
Once the trek was over, and the beer was passed out (it was hidden in a lake), I too felt like part of a family. A disgruntled, drunken family. Who can’t relate to that?

Hash House History

The Hash House Harriers have a rich history that stretches back to 1938 (mind you, these people are drinkers, so details are sketchy). It first began in Kuala Lumpur, when a group of British (no surprise there) colonial officers and expatriates began meeting after work on Monday evenings for a run, following a paper trail.
After a few months the group was approached by the Registrar of Societies (otherwise known as “the man”), who advised that the group take a break between drinks to toss together a constitution, and name themselves, thus the Hash House Harriers were born. The Internet has pretty much done the rest.

The Science of Blowing Your Mind ...

2008-11-13T19:26:00.000-08:00

Greets,
this blog will in no way make you smarter. If anything, you may just become dumber (you may also start to grow hair where once you did not). It will update you on the day's news - on the daily - and every now and then, I'll get off my lazy (yet firm) ass and take you on a magical adventure. Uh, your welcome.