Head-noise

2006-07-20T14:54:00.000-07:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

How many damn blogs do I have?

2006-03-20T14:12:00.000-08:00

Sorry, kinda forgot this blog even existed. It's funny how that works.

So what's new? You been keeping yourself busy? How's Susan and the kids? Did you ever find that stapler you were looking for? How's the weather? Would you like something to drink? Why don't we talk like we used to?

It's safe to say that I don't grasp the concept of blogging at all.

I promise I'll put something up real soon. Just as soon as I find something I want to write about. Until then, be good to eachother. Or not. I really could care less.

Christmas cards.

2005-12-25T21:33:00.000-08:00

I've decided that these would look pretty snazzy on display up here. Try to imagine that they're tacked to a fireplace. An Internet fireplace. That's what I'm doing.

Psst. They're thumbnails. Don't strain your eyes. Just click on them.

Road rage is my favorite kind of illiteration.

2005-11-25T14:24:00.000-08:00

I drove a car off the road today.

I'm not terribly proud of it, but goddamn it, I was already late for work and there's really no excuse for slowing down for a green light with the express purpose of making me miss the light. So I drove my car so far up the guy's bumper that I could've told him what he had for breakfast this morning. I guess he either became enraged or frightened by my actions, and pulled over to the side of the road to let me pass. Which I did. At which point I'm guessing he flipped me the bird, but I didn't really feel like looking at the prick to see how he reacted.

I should probably get my temper under control, but fuck, the driving in this town is so goddamn ridiculious some days that I can barely stop myself from just randomly smashing my vehicle into other cars for shits and giggles. And it really doesn't help when I'm as drunk as I am all the time. So please, just stay the hell out of my way and everyone will be happy. And still alive.

Tales from a broken man.

2005-10-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

Say hello to Charlie.

Charlie needed new tires, because he said that they helped his traction during the winter months. I'm a nice guy, so I went out and bought Charlie some new tires. It snowed for a couple days, and Charlie was able to stay adhered to the ground, even while taking corners at 35 mph. He was happy. I was happy.

But tires are expensive, especially for a guy who is in the process of paying back his college loans while renting a deluxe apartment on the North side of town. So now I'm living on a diet of rice and tuna until my next paycheck arrives from on high.

The things I do for my car.

-Erik Hagen

P.S. If you have any money to spare, track me down. If I eat any more tuna, I'm likely to sprout gills.

Missing: White Blonde Male Blogger. Somebody call CNN.

2005-09-22T11:28:00.000-07:00

Boy, you'd think I'd update this site at some point, wouldn't you?

Yup. You would certainly think so.

25 Extra Things You Didn't Know (Or Really Care To Know).

2005-07-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

1. A 2x4 is actually 1-1/2" x 3-1/2". And yes, some people are anal enough that this bothers them deeply.
2. The Guinness Book of Records holds the record for being the book most often stolen from public libraries. I found that out in my own stolen copy. Suck on that, Wilton Public School Library.
3. The liquid inside young coconuts can be used as substitute for blood plasma. Good to know next time Dracula drops by the place looking to satiate his eternal hunger. Set the brother up with a coconut smoothie. He'll be totally cool with that.
4. The numbers '172' can be found on the back of the U.S. $5 dollar bill in the bushes at the base of the Lincoln Memorial. This is all part of a massive conspiracy. '172' is the exact number of wallabees that fit into the car trunk of a '72 Chrysler LaBaron. And I think the implications of that speak for themselves.
5. There are more chickens than people in the world. If chickens ever get around to evolving thumbs, you might consider hiding.
6. A goldfish has a memory span of three seconds. Which is why my old goldfish Mr. Gills kept trying to introduce himself to me 15,000 times a day, up until I introduced him to my cat, Mr. Whiskers.
7. More than 50% of the people in the world have never made or received a telephone call. The other 50% can't even go five minutes in their car without being on their freaking cell phones. Goddammit, GET OFF YOUR PHONES AND DRIVE, YOU IDIOTS!!!!
8. There are four cars and eleven lightposts on the back of a $10 dollar bill. The conspiracy thickens. I think.
9. If you want to figure out how tall an elephant is, add up the circumference of two feet, and you get exactly the elephant's height. I wasn't aware that elephants were only two feet tall. Aren't facts fun?
10. The electric chair was invented by a dentist. Yeah, I have a hard time believing this one too. My dentist is a gem.
11. Every person has a unique tongue print. The Department of Homeland Security will be by later to slather ink all over your tongue. If you resist, the terrorists will have won.
12. 1 in every 4 Americans has appeared on television. Mine was on an episode of WWF Smackdown. I am not making that up.
13. In a study of 200,000 ostriches over a period of 80 years, no one reported a single case where an ostrich buried its head in the sand. Although there was a report of one researcher who wasted 80 years of his goddamn life.
14. Los Angeles' full name is "El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula." So, yes, even L.A.'s name is fake.
15. Most scorpions will glow under black (ultraviolet) light. Next time you're at a rave, bring a scorpion with you. Impress your friends.
16. 26 (easily visible, there may be more) states are listed across the top of the Lincoln Memorial on the back of the old US $5 bill. What does it all mean? You'll know soon enough. Maybe.
17. 47.2% of all statistics are made up on the spot. It'd be funny if I just made that one up, huh? Because I did.
18. Dachshunds were originally bred in 1600 to hunt dachs, which is German for badgers. In other news, apparently badgers aren't nearly as tough as they look, if they can be hunted by tiny yapper dogs.
19. Birds have the right of way on all Utah highways. Yet another reason to stay the hell away from Utah.
20. The very first bomb dropped by the Allies on Berlin during World War II killed the only elephant in the Berlin Zoo. Take that, ya Nazi elephant bastard.
21. You burn more calories sleeping than you do watching television. I compensate for this by sleeping with the television on, effectively burning twice as many calories.
22. Cat's urine glows under a black light. Probably because of all the scorpions they eat.
23. All of the clocks in the movie "Pulp Fiction" are stuck on 4:20. There's probably a good reason for this, but being a law-abiding, upstanding citizen, I wouldn't know it.
24. Bats always turn left when exiting a cave. It's because of their OCD, I bet.
25. Walt Disney was afraid of mice. So he did the sensible thing and invented a three-foot-tall, shrieking cartoon rat and planted it onto every piece of merchandise he could get his hands on. Now we're all afraid of mice.

You can go ahead and skip this one.

2005-06-27T20:57:00.000-07:00

Holy Lord, it's been a while, huh?

I made a decision a while ago that this blog should be about more personal things than the other one, where I humiliate myself for cheap laughs, but then I quickly realized that I don't really like writing about personal shit. Nothing personal, I'm just not that interesting of a guy. I wake up, I go to work, I come home, I drink a little, I pass out in the hallway. Typical North Dakotan.

But I feel obliged, out of my sense of duty to flood the Internet with more and more of me, to keep at it and occasionally put something on this site as well. So that's what I'm doing. I'm putting a little something up for you to read.

So...how's it going?

Okay, I'll admit, I didn't really plan this out really well. I don't really have a subject, per se. But cut me a little slack here. You think it's so easy being a blogger, why aren't you doing this? Click on the link on the top. Get your own blog. Give it a goofy name. Write about inconsequental things. You're so smart.

Okay, sorry. Let the frustration get the best of me for a sec. But I'm better now. The truth is, I've been out of sorts for about a month or so, so it's been hard trying to get my shit together. But things are looking up, so I'll try to keep at the whole writing thing. Unless I find something better to do, in which case I'll probably do that.

That's all I've got for now. Thanks for reading. I'll do better next time, I swear.

A slight error in Public Relations.

2005-05-06T10:10:00.000-07:00

A quick little anecdote from work.

As the P.R. Director for Kranzler Kingsley, I write press releases for the company when we hire any new people. Basically, all I do is write a little background info, what their duties will be a the agency, come up with a title, slap a picture on there and send it out to all of the major newspapers.

So I did this for our new A/V Editor/Producer Mark Gray recently. Mark's got an impressive background working in post-production for national accounts in Chicago, so his press release was kind of a big deal. So I wrote it up last week and sent it out.

This week, it started showing up in papers. The Mandan Daily News was one of them. Mandan is where Mark is originally from, so the Daily News is his hometown paper. So I'm sure he was looking forward to seeing himself in there in a nice little article. So we were a bit surprised when they called us earlier this week to apologize for a typo they'd made in his article. Here's a picture of it. See if you can figure out where the typo is.

krankingmark72yel
Originally uploaded by Expatriate.

Yep. You guessed it. Mark joined the KKK.

It's a pretty simple mistake. The name of the agency gets shortened down to KK from time to time, so it's not that much of a stretch to get that extra "k" in there and confuse us with another name that's not quite as beloved as our own. But still, I just get a kick out of Mark having the headline "Mark Gray Joins KKK" printed in his hometown newsletter. Couldn't tell you if Mark feels the same way, though.

I think this one's going to Leno.

I hate reruns, don't you?

2005-04-23T19:39:00.000-07:00

I posted this the other day on the other site, but then I buried it under a bunch of other shit, so I thought I'd post it here. This is one of the few things I've written in a while that I actually liked, so it seemed like kind of a shame to go to waste. So here it is. Enjoy the sloppy seconds.

I'm not going to lie to you people. Blogging is not easy. It's why I sometimes disappear for weeks on end, because I'm holed away in a burrow somewhere, desperately trying to think of something to talk about. But every now and then, the skies open up, and I am given a gift from the gods: a shiny, wonderful topic that begs, no, demands, no, threatens the well being of myself and my loved ones if I don't write about it. Today is one of those days, my lovelies. And I guarantee, after you read this next sentence, there's no way you'll be able to resist the siren's song of my blog today. Ready? Here it comes.

Mesa police want to add monkey to SWAT team

Associated Press

Apr. 16, 2005 03:10 PM

MESA, Ariz. - The Mesa Police Department is looking to add some primal instinct to its SWAT team. And to do that, it's looking to a monkey. (Maybe the best opening statement for a news article in, like, forever.)

"Everybody laughs about it until they really start thinking about it," said Mesa Officer Sean Truelove, who builds and operates tactical robots for the suburban Phoenix SWAT team. "It would change the way we do business." (You know, it's true, I laughed about it at first. But then, after I started thinking about it, started really thinking about it, I laughed even harder. Go on, just run the idea through your head for a little while. It just gets funnier and funnier.)

Truelove is spearheading the department's request to purchase and train a capuchin monkey, considered the second smartest primate to the chimpanzee. The department is seeking about $100,000 in federal grant money to put the idea to use in Mesa SWAT operations. (See, they sneak it in right there, the capuchin monkey is only the SECOND smartest primate. Why are we settling for second best? This is America, is it not? Get the damn chimpanzee. Better yet, get yourself one of those big ass gorillas, train him to hold a grenade launcher, and Unleash, The. Beast. Who is with me on this? Come on!!)

The monkey, which costs $15,000, is what Truelove envisions as the ultimate SWAT reconnaissance tool. (Don't you wish this guy was your friendly local neighborhood police officer? First of all, he's got a name straight out of a detective novel - Officer Truelove. Second, he builds robots for a living, which not a lot of people can claim without being full of crap. And then, you really just gotta love a guy who is so secure with his job that he can go in front of the public at large and say, "Hey, you know what, I need $15,000. It's for a monkey.")

Since 1979, capuchin monkeys have been trained to be companions for people who are quadriplegics by performing daily tasks, such as serving food, opening and closing doors, turning lights on and off, retrieving objects and brushing hair. (Because that's pretty much what SWAT agents do too, right? Opening and closing doors, turning lights on and off, retrieving objects from perps and then brushing their hair. Those are the kinds of things you want your specially-trained police monkey to be able to do.)

Truelove hopes the same training could prepare a monkey for special-ops intelligence. (I, in my lifetime, have daydreamed about all the different kinds of things I could do if I had a monkey for a friend. I could drive around town with him, take him out for ice cream, go for walks, maybe even train him to fight me with a little sword and shield. But, for all the thinking I've been doing, the one thing that I had never considered was special-ops intelligence. In the future, though, I'm going to keep that in mind, just in case my monkey permit goes through. God willing.)

Weighing only 3 to 8 pounds with tiny humanlike hands and puzzle-solving skills, Truelove said it could unlock doors, search buildings and find suicide victims on command. Dressed in a Kevlar vest, video camera and two-way radio, the small monkey would be able to get into places no officer or robot could go. (Well, first of all, I'm having a lot of fun picturing a kevlar vest small enough to fit on a monkey. But I just don't think it's fair to ask out brave men in blue to have to make the choice between using a monkey or a robot. Personally, I'd use both. That way, first the perp sees the monkey coming, then the robot, and then you can swoop in and make the arrest while the perps are attempting to figure out just what in the hell is going on.)

It has been a little over a year since Truelove filed a grant proposal with the U.S. Department of Defense under the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, and he is still waiting for word. (Can't imagine why it's taking so long. This should be top priority, you'd think.)

If the grant goes through, Truelove plans on learning how to train the monkey himself and keeping the sociable monkey at home, just like a K-9 officer would. He projects that $85,000 in grant money would outfit the monkey with gear and pay for veterinarian care, food and habitat for three years. (See, again, you just gotta admire this guy's gumption. If you walked into work tomorrow and told your boss that you can't possibly do your job anymore unless you had a monkey to help you, he'd probably laugh at you, and rightfully so. But then, by some miracle, if he stopped to really think about it and then actually agreed with your dumb ass, you'd probably stop right there, mission accomplished, right? Not this guy. Not only does he need a monkey to do his job for him, he wants to be able to take him home at night, just to hang out and stuff. And on top of it, he wants someone else to pick up the tab for feeding and clothing the little bastard. Goddammit, if this works out for this guy, I want the same damn deal. I really do.)

-END-

I really have no idea how I feel about this. Do you ever just feel like, when people talk about living in the real world, that there's really no such thing? It would seem to me that things like this would confirm that theory. How can I trust reality ever again when we're now training monkeys to be cops?

These are strange times we live in, my friends. But they told us, right from the beginning, if we're going to fight terrorism, we need to start thinking outside the box. And if any of you has a better idea than training monkeys, I'd like to hear it. So go grab your wallets. These super intelligent monkeys don't just pay for themselves, you know.

-Erik Hagen

/If for some reason this plan doesn't ever get off the ground, I think Disney should still make a movie about it. I would so pay to see something like this.

TheExpatriateAct@gmail.com

Flickr

2005-04-18T21:23:00.000-07:00

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Hooray for Flickr, my new girlfriend.

Please, nobody tell my old girlfriend she's been replaced by Internet picture software.

On temporary hiatus.

2005-04-12T15:54:00.000-07:00

In the past, I used to have favorite websites that I would visit often that would, for some reason or another, stop updating for a while. Maybe just a week, or a month, maybe forever. And, because I'm a bit of a whiner, I never quite understood why.

Well, now I don't just read the Net, I write it too. And I needed a break. And, no, I still don't know why other people do it.

I'm in a really busy period at work. It's RFP season, which means we're looking to pick up some new business, which means I'm spending mass amounts of time writing proposals to lure new clients in with. If you weren't aware, business writing is boring as hell, and also really time-consuming. A typical advertisement or script I can write in fifteen, thiry minutes, but ust today I finished a 20-page proposal that took all of two days to write. Fun, huh? Anyway, this seems to be killing off my will to come home at night and continue to write some more, so I'm letting my batteries recharge a bit before I get back into it.

I would've posted this on the TriBlogs, but there's other people to entertain you over there, so it doesn't seem important. So, just in case there's anyone who cares, that's what I'm doing and where I'm at and why I'm not around. But I'll be back soon. Swear to God.

In the meantime, there's got to be other blogs you can read written by other slightly erratic mid-20 year olds who live in North Dakota. Or there's always porn, I suppose. Seems like that'd be easier to find.

-Erik Hagen

My kingdom of filth.

2005-03-29T21:40:00.000-08:00

My apartment's such a fucking mess.

How did I end up this way? Why am I incapable of putting things back in their proper place as opposed to throwing everything all around willy nilly? Is this really any way to go through life?

Did I just use the phrase willy nilly? Good God.

It seems to me that life would be a lot simpler if I could walk from room to room without stubbing my toes or any other appendages. Is that really too much to ask? But still, everything I own is on the floor. Why is that? Why? Why, God, why?

I'd hire a maid, but it'd just be so humiliating. I'd almost have to clean up before calling them over. And what exactly would be the point of that? Plus there's the whole having no money thing. That could be a problem.

I suppose I could get the Merry Maids. With a name like Merry Maids, it probably takes a lot to shake them. But if anyone's going to be able to annoy the shit out of a Merry Maid, it's gonna be me. Belee dat.

So I either have to clean all this shit up myself, or learn how to hover in mid-air. Both seem equally inprobable. So I guess I just have to move. Or maybe just stop walking around in bare feet. Decisions, decisions.

-Erik Hagen

Erik Moran.

2005-03-15T11:45:00.000-08:00

Hey, Morans!

I think if I could sum up every fear I have in this life, it would be that I don't want to be this guy.

But just for shits and giggles, let's see how I stack up. Fun, huh?

Burgeoning beer gut. Check.

Hairy, bear-like legs. Check.

Red, white and blue bandanna. Nope.

St. Louis Cardinals fan. Hells no.

Resplendent, flowing mullet. Working on it.

Three teeth. Check. (x 10)

Moustache. Yup.

Khaki shorts. Not so much.

Jingoism. I write jingles at work. That's kinda the same thing, right?

Posse of fat guys and children. Working on that one too.

False aura of mental superiority. Better believe it.

Spelling inadequacies. Yeah, but I have a Spell Checker.

I think I just scored a 70 or an 80 on this quiz. Maybe I am this guy. Shite.

Please don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.

I Don't Care For This Title

2005-03-08T13:51:00.000-08:00

If you're reading this, congratulations. You just found something new. It's kind of like finding a quarter on the street, isn't it? Not exactly life changing by any means, but still, hey, free quarter!

If, however, you're not reading this, then how in the hell are you comprehending what I'm saying? Are you in my brain? Don't make me go in there after you. I'm afraid of what I might find.

So, yes, my ego is now so big that one blog cannot possibly hope to contain it. Thus, numero dos. If you're asking yourself why, here's two good excuses.

1.) I'm hosting my archives for The Expatriate Act here from before the software changeover last August. They had been sitting collecting dust on our old page, unviewable to anyone but myself, but that just seemed like a shame, so I did something about it. If I ever figure out how to put them up on the TriBlogs site, I'll be sure to do that, but for the time being, they're here. Feel free to peruse them and try to decipher anything entertaining about them. I've been through them five or six times. I'm still looking.

2.) I'm a massive attention whore. And I like to swear. A lot. So, shit piss fuck hell damn bitch shit on you. Aaaaaaaaahhhhh. You have no idea how good that felt.

So, welcome aboard, mateys. Immediately below, you'll find the house rules. Do abide by them and you and I will get along just fine. And that's all I have to say about anything. If you'd like to challenge my newfound authority, please do so in the comments section. Thank you all.

-Erik Hagen
/This shtick is getting old.

Rules Can Be Fun!!

2005-02-28T14:04:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my Head-noise.
My name is Erik Hagen, and I am your leader. Feel free to look around, but don't touch anything. This is where I talk, you listen and we all feel better about ourselves. First, some ground rules, because rules are the first stop on the path towards good, clean fun.
1. Topics are all off the top of my head, scary as that may be.
2. If you comment, I will answer. I do this in the spirit of community and good will. I am so awesome.
3. I will force my musical interests on you. This is for the best.
4. I will not force my political or religious beliefs on you. You're gonna have to take care of yourself for those.
5. I may offend you. This does not concern me as much as it should.
6. I reserve the right to take cheap shots at things or people I do not like. That which I do not agree with, I will mercilessly taunt until it goes away. I do this to entertain, which makes it all better. Right?
7. I like non-sequiturs.
8. Clowns are scary.
9. If I see something on the Internet that I like, I will tell you about it. You will enjoy it, and we will have a good laugh about it, because we will then be friends. For life.
10. We are open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Stop in when you can.
11. I update when I feel like it.
12. No shoes, no shirt, what do I care? I can't see you.
13. Adult swim only. No kids. They leave fingerprints on the glass. I don't like that.
14. I will talk about my girlfriend and my family. They will become offended by my bringing up personal details on the Internet. I will feel shame for a short time, followed by an inappropriate amount of apathy. The natural order will restore itself.
15. No smilies. Please.
Read the rules. Know the rules. Be one with them. But if you learn only one thing here, let it be this:
I have no idea what I'm talking about.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation (An Essay by Erik Hagen)

2004-08-06T12:06:00.000-07:00

So I've left Medora in my rearview mirror, and all I have taken with me is the memories. And three bags full of pirate gold (which, incidently, Woo Hoo!! Woo Hoo!! WOO HOO!!).
On that note, please take the time to thank Kelly for filling in for me last week, because I won't. I will say this, though. Geekmobile? Dude, totally not cool.
What was I talking about again? Oh, yeah. Medora. Come, gather around, children, and I'll regale ye with a tale of adventures on the high sea.
Arrr...
I'll keep this short, since not much happened. Here's what I did.
I rode a horse. This was a first time for me, probably because of my deathly fear of four-legged animals that are bigger than I am (elephants, giraffes, wooly mammoths, lions, tigers, bears, certain types of apes, etc.) But I did it. And I didn't even poo myself. Can't say the same for the horse though.
Ugh, poop jokes. Have l really sunk this low?
I got one of those old timey Western photos. This was Jessy's idea, as was the horses, and basically everything else we did that didn't involve cable television, pizza or a motel bed. But, yeah, I now have a black-and-white photo of me wearing a tophat and a coat that was three times too big on me and my girlfriend in chaps. You take the good with the bad, I suppose.
I ate a lobster. First night, at the Rough Rider Hotel, they had a restaraunt right in the hotel. So that's where we ate because, hey, how conveniant is that? So, since I have way too much disposable income lately, we had lobster. And, yes, I did wear a tophat and a monacle while I ate it. And, yes, I spoke in my best Thurston Howell III imitation. And, yes, Jessy did sit at a different table from me.
On a related note, Jessy's eyes were practically swollen shut the next day, so apparantly she's allergic to shellfish. Who knew?
I got sunburnt. Again. I burnt the hell out of my face at the company volleyball game earlier this summer. Then I did it again at the State Fair. And then I did it again on vacation. I officially only have the capacity for two colors: pasty white and bright red. Guess which one I am right now?
I added to my collection of useless things. So what'd I get? A walking stick. Yep. A walking stick. I think it makes me look sophisticated. My mother thinks I look like I'm making fun of crippled people. If I am, it's not intentional. I also got a talking cow. But not just any talking cow. This talking cow is crazy. Squeeze his hoof and he goes, "Moo. Moo. Moo-oooo-hoo-hoo. Ha ha. Mooooo. Mooooooo. Hahaha. Moo-OOO-oooo. Heehee. Moo. Moo. And shakes. Needless to say, I named him Mr. Shakes and he now sits proudly on the couch in my office.
Other than that, we drove for long periods of time, I got carsick, threw up a little bit, stayed in three different hotels because of our poor planning, had two Italian sodas (grape and melon), went swimming, accidently exposed the city of Medora to the sight of my slightly flabby, mostly hairy, ghostly white belly, signed a legal document promising never to do that again, packed, unpacked, packed again, unpacked again, signed about fifteen guestbooks (ex: signed the Medora Visitors Center guestbook, "The pork was delicious!"), took a picture with a tiny tree, annoyed my girlfriend approximately thirteen times in three days (Yes! New record!) and was run out of town on a rail.
And, no, we didn't go to the stupid Musical. You like the Musical so much, why don't you go? Huh, huh? Why dontcha?
Ok, now my fingers hurt, so I'm calling it a day. Thanks for reading. If you're planning your own fun-filled weekend in Medora, see if you can find the three tiny bags of pirate gold I buried somewhere in the park. Wait, I probably shouldn't have told you about that. Stay away from my gold!
Next time, I ain't promising anything, but I might have a surprise for you. Actually, it's not my surprise, but it'll surprise you anyway. So if you have a weak heart, track me down on the streets and I'll give you a hint. But then you'll have to promise to act surprised anyway. So start practicing.
-Erik Hagen
/Yes, Kelly, blogging is hard. Really, really hard.

And now for something completely different

2004-08-02T00:21:00.000-07:00

In news that may or may not ruin your entire week, I must regretfully inform all the loyal fans of the Expatriate Act (what do you call yourselves? Expatramaniacs?) that your regularly-scheduled author of this fine web journal could not be with you this week. In his absence, you are reading the smooth sound-stylings of his equally-talented twin brother, Kelly (you can call me Al), as I will be filling in for him, just this one time.
I'm doing this because Rik (that's what I call him, cuz I don't trust people with two vowels in their names) is currently on vacation in Medora. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't actually know that he's on vacation in Medora. But, that's a whole different story.
Well, it goes like this: The real story is that Rik's girlfriend Jessy has to trick my simple-minded brother out of the house every once in awhile. So, thanks to a map written in blue ink on a sheet of college-ruled paper he found buried under all the garbage in the backseat of his VW Bug (or, as I call it, the Geek-mobile), Rik is currently riding horseback through the Badlands of our great state, looking for treasure buried there by ghost pirates.
While we're on the subject, I'd like to send a shout-out to Jessy on behalf of the entire Hagen clan. If it weren't for you, we'd never get that kid off the couch. You're a gift from God.
Anyway, he sent me the keys to his kingdom (aka, his username and password) so that I could just jump on here and let you know he's okay. Well, as okay as a kid can be while believing that ghost pirates left a treasure map in the backseat of his car. But, as soon as he figures out that ghost pirates can't draw maps, since they can't hold pens in their apparitional fingers, he'll be back here writing his fun-filled rants on stuffed animals and his favorite television shows. Just you wait and see.
-Kelly Hagen
/Hurry back, Rik. This blogging stuff is hard.

My Day at the Zoo.

2004-07-24T19:43:00.000-07:00

It was a couple weeks ago that Jessy and I got bored, so we decided that the Minot Zoo was where we ought to be. So we loaded up the truck ..er.. Beetle, and headed to the land of Whooping Cough and State Fairs.
We had a grand time, as you would imagine, circling all the pitiful caged animals, feeling very glad that we weren't marmasets or lemurs or any other odd looking animals so people wouldn't throw handfuls of corn kernels in our faces. I did learn a number of things while we there, so I guess I could consider the trip as some sort of educational field trip. Allow me to enlighten you.
1.) Somebody has put a price on my head. This doesn't apply strictly to the Zoo, since the same thing happens to me at Kirkwood, or Kmart, or even just walking down the street. Soon as I start to hoofing, people automatically start heading straight for me. I don't know why this is, but I can only assume someone has put them up to it. All you have to do is run head-on with me, possibly knock me to the ground, and you get five bucks. That makes sense, right? Either that or it's my magnetic personality.
2.) There is nothing stupid enough that I won't spend my money on. Something about gift shops just does me in. If I go someplace, I have to buy something stupid. Zoos? Check. Airports? Check. Hospitals. Check. This time was no different. I now have a marionette puppet of a duck in my room that I lost interest in about five minutes after I opened it from its package. It now sits within the $12 Spider-man 2 popcorn bucket I bought when I saw that movie, which is another blog unto itself.
3.) Some people are stupid. As we were leaving, we noticed a family trying to feed a grizzly bear by hand through the bars of the cage. The Zoo, knowing that some people are stupid, had tried to prevent this by having the cage floor slant downwards from the bars so the bears couldn't get up anywhere near the people outside. This family had gotten around this by reaching through from the very far corner of the bars, where they were slightly within reach of the bears, who were more than happy to take advantage. We left before the bloody carnage, though I personally would've liked to have taken pictures. If you see a family of five in the Minot area with about seven arms between them, tell them I said hi.
4.) Giraffes are smart. There were two giraffes, who had apparantly eaten anything that could possibly be eaten within their element. To make up for this, one giraffe would stick his head out as far as he could from the bars, stick out his tongue and eat whatever grass he could. As we passed by, I sensed his desperation, put a quarter in one of the machines and threw the fellow a handful of dog food to eat, which he did gratefully. Upon moving on, I noticed that he continued with his act for everyone else that passed by, who, like me, did the exact same thing and fed him more handfuls of dog food. When the giraffe tired of this, he left and his partner took over for him. I guess they were on shifts. Giraffes are crafty that way. I wonder if the Zoo splits the quarter profits with them. 5.) Penguins copulate. Of course, I probably knew this already, but I really hadn't given it much thought. But now I've seen it with my own eyes. Here's what happened. Jessy and I, being penguin buffs, set up shop by the penguin area, because if anything of interest is going to happen at the Zoo, it's going to be done by a penguin. So we sat, and there was about 10 or 15 penguins total. Of that number, only one was actually moving. But, brother, when he moved, he entertained. He would walk around the area, pick up a rock with his beak, waddle back to his little home, where another penguin was lying down in (I'm assuming his dainty penguin bride) and he would put the rock in there with her. I'm assuming he was building her a fireplace, or possibly walling her in. But it was entertaining. Which is why I dubbed him Mr. Excitement. I consider Mr. Excitement my new best friend, even if he is a penguin and I am but a human being.
Anyway, as we're watching this, a large group of about three women and seven screaming brats wander over to watch the penguins at the same time. Since they're not moving (except for the one burying his wife), one of the kids starts yelling at the penguins to get in the water, because penguins are much more entertaining when they're swimming. The mothers, thinking this to be quite hysterical, encourage Junior to repeat the line fifteen more times, because it just keeps getting funnier. As I start to consider hopping the fence and throwing one of the penguins in just to shut the kid up, one of the penguins begins to move towards another penguin, who is in a vertical position. This catches everyone's attention, because somehow this might lead to a penguin getting into the pond, which seems to be all anyone is interested in. But instead of inviting the other penguin for a dip, this penguin proceeds to climb atop his vertical friend and, well, do his penguin thing.
This sends a hush through the crowd, leaving the mothers into a silent sort of horrified reaction. I look over at my conservative girlfriend who, like me, is stiffling a giggle. And then, as the penguins are in the heat of their penguin passion, one of the children looks back at his mother and says, "Mom, what's that penguin doing to the other penguin?"
I'm not the type to draw attention to myself. So rather than scooping up the tyke onto my lap and proceeding to give the little dickens a lesson on the birds and the bees, I just lowered my head and had a silent laughing fit under my breath, probably given away to these horrified women by my convulging backside. Looking over at Jessy, she shoots me a look that I know all too well, that old "please don't embarrass me in public" glance. So I don't, the group leaves en mass, and the penguins finish their sport and proceed to go back to doing nothing. The natural order is restored once more, and I am pleased.
I don't have any sort of life lesson to end on here, besides enouraging you to visit the Minot Zoo sometime this summer, or possibly the Dakota Zoo if you like looking at goats and cows instead of gibbons and zebras. To each his own. And, if you happen to see Mr. Excitement, revel in his antics. He truly is a star in the making.
-Erik Hagen
/Penguin love is beautiful too.

I'm Writing About Crane Machines. It's Come to This.

2004-07-11T23:47:00.000-07:00

You know those crane machines you see when you’re leaving Kmart or the grocery store? The ones that taunt you as you walk by, questioning your manhood and then laugh at you when you fail miserably at their game, all in that horrible high-pitched robotic tone? The ones filled to the brim with stuffed animals that look like they were stitched together by five-year-olds in third world countries for $.02 an hour?
Yeah, well those machines, I own them. Own. Them.
I am the crane machine commander. Bow down before my might. There is no machine I cannot conquer. And if you don’t believe me, go in my girlfriend’s room sometime. Actually, on second thought, don’t do that, I’d have to murder you. But if you were to go in there, theoretically speaking, you would see at least twenty, twenty five of those stuffed beauties, each costing me fifty cents each. Now if that isn’t a talent bestowed upon me by God himself, I don’t know what is.
Why do I mention this? Simple. I’m going into business. Should you have a loved one’s birthday in the not-too-distant-future, give me a call. You give me a dollar, I’ll use fifty cents on the machine and keep the other fifty cents for myself. Provide me with the quarters, and I’ll get you a bad imitation of Donkey from the Shrek movies, a suction cup Garfield to put in your window, or maybe even an overstuffed Spongebob Squarepants, if you’re lucky. Sure, they’re not the greatest gifts on earth, but it’ll only cost you a buck. And I’ll even let you say that you won them. Just think of the looks of admiration you’ll garner from your friends and family. It’ll be glorious, I tell you. Glorious.
As for me, I’m going to use the money I gain from this venture to do something I’ve wanted to do for a while now: buy my own crane machine. That way, I can continue to hone my skills, in my goal of becoming the World Crane Machine Champion. Now, I’m not certain that there really is a World Crane Machine Championship, but I'm assuming there is. And that it involves a big, golden belt, like in wrestling and boxing. And I could wear the belt around the time. And hit people with it. That would be cool.
Of course, you may be thinking to yourself, what’s the point of having your own crane machine, since you’d have to fill it yourself? What’s to be gained from that? Well, I’ve already considered this. That’s why I think I’ll probably put personal stuff in there, like my keys and my wallet. That way, every day when I wake up, it’s like a challenge just to get out the door. Maybe I could put the cat in there too, raise the stakes a bit. I’ll have to check with PETA on that though. Might be some rules on the book about picking up cats with giant metal claws. If there wasn’t, though, you’d think that’s how animal shelters would work...
Ok, I know what you’re thinking. This guy’s flipped his gourd. And maybe I have. What’s it to ya? But let me tell you this, you may say that I’m a dreamer, but let me tell you, I am not the only one. Ever hear of a guy named, oh I don’t know, Einstein? Well, he had a little dream too, and he called it relativity. And he worked every day at it, and wouldn’t you know it, eventually he invented relativity. Now I don’t know what relativity is, but I’m sure I use it all the time. So thank you, Mr. Einstein, for keeping the dream alive. God bless you and God bless America.
-Erik Hagen
/Send your dollar in a self-addressed stamped envelope to me, courtesy this newspaper. Spell Erik with a “k” or I’ll get mad.

Hooray for Hollywood, da da da da da da da, Hollywood.

2004-06-28T23:15:00.000-07:00

I love movies. I really do.
I would encourage those of you who don’t already to get out to your local cinema and support your favorite Hollywood actors. God knows they have it rough. But in case you aren’t aware, summer is a very busy period for those in the movie-making business. Often, summer is where most of the biggest movies of the year are released.
Because I am a connoisseur, and have too much disposable income, I have visited the cinema a few times already this season. Here are my thoughts on the movies I have seen, and even a couple that I haven’t. See if you can figure out which is which. I’ll give you a peanut.
Shrek 2 - I saw the first Shrek in the theaters and enjoyed it, so I kind of felt like I was obligated to do the same for the sequel. I don’t know if that’s a rule or not, but it seems like it should be. Anyway, this one’s already made somewhere around two billion dollars, so I’m assuming that unless you’re one of those militants holed up in a cabin in Montana or pinned under a boulder, you’ve already seen this one for yourself. The advertising claims that if you’ve only seen it once, you haven’t seen it at all. I’m going to have to point this out to the pimple-faced kid at the Grand Theaters. It doesn’t seem fair that I’m short seven bucks for a movie I never even got to see.
Troy - Like most of the rest of you, I’m fairly confident of my sexuality. Which is why it’s fairly troublesome that Brad Pitt’s butt keeps showing up in this film. I’m beginning to think it might be nominated for Best Supporting Actor at the Oscars this year, it has that much screentime. Fortunately, before you have too much time to ponder the roundness and shininess of it, all of a sudden someone’s shoving a spear through someone else’s skull, and all is right with the world yet again.
Needless to say, my girlfriend liked this movie more than I did.
The Day After Tomorrow - George W. Bush doesn’t want you to see this film. Why is that? Because he doesn’t want you to know that global warming takes about twenty or so minutes to get going. Then everybody’s screwed: Los Angeles, New York, Tokyo, France, London. Curiously enough, no mention of Bismarck at all. You know why that is? Because it can’t possibly get any colder in this state than it already is. So go to this movie and laugh at all the people being wiped out by things we’ve grown fairly accustomed to.
Van Helsing - Good Lord, my brain’s still recovering from this one. Here’s all I need to say about this one: At the beginning of this movie, Kate Beckingsale’s brother is turned into a werewolf. During a full moon, he turns into a werewolf and growls at his sister a bit before jumping out a window. The next night, surprisingly enough, there’s yet another full moon and he becomes a werewolf again, gets into a fight with Hugh Jackman, ends up biting him and turning Van Helsing into a werewolf. After killing the original werewolf, Van Helsing is told he will turn into a werewolf at the next full moon - in three days. I’m willing to suspend a certain amount of disbelief in the name of entertainment, but I’m fairly certain that if there’s that many full moons in a row like that, you really don’t need to worry about werewolves or vampires or monsters of any kind. You should be more concerned about the fact that the moon and the earth have both spun off of their axises.
Oh, and apparently the only way to kill Dracula is with a werewolf. Yeah, who knew?
The Chronicles of Riddick - My girlfriend has a bizarre crush on Vin Diesel that, though I don’t understand it in any sense, I have come to some sort of acceptance with. Mostly I just try not to think about it. Now, if you saw the precursor to this movie, Pitch Black, you know that it was a fairly decent Alien knockoff. The sequel, however, attempts to rip off Star Wars. I’m not a genius by any means, but I know that usually, when you make a sequel to a movie, you try to keep it at least somewhat similar to the first film. Apparently, this is no longer the case. So Vin Diesel, who was a serial killer in the first film, all of a sudden is the big hero who saves the galaxy. Sure, they say in the beginning that he’s supposed to be evil, but he doesn’t actually do anything evil. He beats up bad guys and mumbles his lines menacingly. Oh, and Judy Dench is in this movie. Still have no idea why.
Garfield, White Chicks, Soul Plane - Um, no thanks.
So that’s the summer so far. But this week is when the good stuff starts, because Spider-man 2 opens on Wednesday. I’m not making a joke here, this is the one I want to see. When they announced that they were making movies about Spider-man, I was sure they were going to screw it up. But they didn’t. For one thing, Sam Raimi is the best choice for a director they could’ve made. And Tobey McGuire, I wasn’t sold on him at first, but after the first movie, I don’t think that anyone else could do it better. And Kirsten Dunst, well, she’s fun to watch. Which, of course, I mean that she’s a terrific actress. Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.
So I’ll be seeing that, and hopefully I’ll see Fahrenheit 9/11 as well. And don’t start getting uppity with me on this one. I know Michael Moore has a fat head and twists facts and all that. But he’s also damn entertaining. And isn’t that what’s supposed to count?
I’ll just be happy if there’s no werewolves in it.
-Erik Hagen
/Should I be concerned about the Brad Pitt thing? Seriously.

These Things Take Too Long to Write

2004-06-27T23:30:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm not on vacation any more. I'm...um...
On strike! Yeah, that's what I am. I'm on strike. Tribune unfair! Unsafe working conditions! Power to the people! Power to...
Ah, screw it. I'll just update.
So, it's been a while. Hope you didn't miss me too much. Yeah, I know, you didn't miss me at all. I'll try not to take it personally. Anyway, here's a copendium (is that a word?) of everything I've done in the last two to three weeks.
1.) My brand, spanking new car spent a week in Fargo getting fixed. I went through Taco John's drive-thru, rolled down my window in order to make the drive-thru attendant's job that much easier, and then I wasn't able to roll it back up. Turns out the regulator in the window's motor had exploded. So, since it's under warrantee, I run around town looking for the Bismarck Volkswagen dealer. After I ran out of gas three times driving around town, I determined there wasn't a Volkswagen dealer in Bismarck. Turns out I have to take it to Fargo. So I did. Unfortunately, I had to have a local shop prop the window up with a couple of pieces of wood in order to make it to Fargo. In doing so, they took out a part they shouldn't have, and the next thing you know, I'm paying money out the butt at two different places to have it fixed.
Oh, and now my trunk doesn't work, but I'm afraid to do anything about it.
2.) Work sucks. All right, it doesn't suck as much as it is slowly crushing my spirit. I had decided out of college that any job that involved writing would be perfect for me. This turned out to be total crap. Sure, it's a writing job, but it's more of a job than writing, if that makes any sense. Most of the time, I write stuff that I like, which then goes to the higher-ups who chop it up, who then pass it on to the client, who proceed to chop it up even further, until the finished product looks nothing like what I started with. And I do this at least three or four times a week. Beyond that, though, at least it pays all right.
Also, for some reason we're having a staff volleyball game in a few weeks. So if anyone cares to come by my house and break my leg sometime this week, I'd really, really appreciate it.
3.) I looked at a giant cat yesterday. The cat's name is Loon, and he's located at the Pet Connection. I wasn't aware that I was even interested in owning a cat, but apparantly I am. Maybe I just like the idea of having a cat named Loon. Here, Loon. Come get your num nums, Loon. Damnit, Loon, quit crapping in the sink.
4.) My book's not getting published, yet. I mentioned a couple times that I had entered the book I wrote into a contest. Turns out it didn't win. But I'm not bitter. No sir, not me. I'm sure the book that won was ten times as good as mine. Yep, I'll just have to try that much harder next year. Gotta keep a positive outlook. Gotta keep a positive outlook. Gotta...
sigh.
Anyway, I guess it's back to the grindstone. I think Plan B is to find an agent, and then try to get the thing published the old-fashioned way: lots and lots of ass kissing.
5.) My brother had a job interview with the Tribune. Who said nepotism is dead in today's job market?
6.) I got abducted by aliens. But you don't want to hear about that.
7.) Creamed asparagus. It's good on toast.
8.) Beef stroganof. What can I say? I like the way it feels between my toes.
Ok, I kinda forgot what I was listing there. Might be time for bed. Or maybe time to stop drinking. I'll try to not wait as long until the next entry. But I ain't promising nothing. In the meantime, be good to each other and be good to me. If you can't do both, focus on the latter. It's more important.
-Erik Hagen
/Seriously, the cat is huge. I think it weighs more than I do.

Writing From Paradise

2004-06-19T13:32:00.000-07:00

Shhhhhh.
Be very, very quiet. I'm on vacation.
(drip drip drip)
That's the sound of my troubles melting away.
AAAAaaaaaahhhhhh......

On the Subject of Me, Still.

2004-06-07T00:32:00.000-07:00

So I got my new car the other day. As I beamed in the success of a succesful purchase of a vehicle I had wanted for a long time, Jessy casually asked me, "Now that you have your Beetle, what's next?"
"What's next," I said. I'll tell you what's next. I'm having a party!!
WOOT!!
So what are we celebrating, you ask? Well, as anal and unimportant a fact as this is, I'm sharing it with you anyway. Today's the six month anniversary of The Expatriate Act (a registered trademark of yours truly, all rights reserved, bladdy bladdy blah), and I, for one, am celebrating. By celebrating, of course, I mean that I'm writing this up at the last minute, alone in front of my computer and, sadly, sober.
Wee, some party. The dip's not even very good.
I know, it's hard to believe that it's been six months already, being that, you know, nothing much has happened. So what's changed since my first blog? Well, let's visit the Way Back Machine and find out for ourselves.
Just so you know, I realize this is self-indulgant and stupid, but play along. I don't have anything better to do.
I got this gig when, one day in October of last year, my mother called me and asked what in the hell a blog is. I, being a font of useless information, told her it was short for web log, and it's where pasty-faced, friendless losers moped and whined about their feelings on the Internet. She replied to me that, in the Tribune classifieds, they had an ad looking for bloggers. I, realizing that I was a complete hypocrite, and foolishly believing this might be a paying gig, decided that was for me.
The ad listed a website, which had a form of some sort just asking to be filled out. Being the form fan that I am, I filled it in eagarly, easily whipping through my name and age, stumbling a bit on state and ZIP, but regaining ground on email address. Then, at the end, I was asked to prove my writing chops in 86 words or less. I, because I am hardcore, immediately began to wonder, "Why 86 words?" As far as numbers go, 86 is not a round number, nor a particularly popular one. In fact, if you were to rank the numbers 1 to 100 in order of popularity, I'm reasonably certain 86 would fall in the lower ranks, possibly at number 86, ironically enough. Any way, I spent the next two days pontificating the significance of the reasoning for requesting 86 words until eventually my brain hurt too much and I decided that I didn't care any more.
So, on the third day, I sat at my computer screen and typed up a solid, if not spectacular introduction to my inner mental workings. Being a writer, I used no less than the entire 86 words to make the case. After hitting the submit button, I waited patiently for a return email. I started up a brand new email account specifically for this submission, being that the account I was using at the time was nearing being full and I really didn't feel like cleaning it out. I set up my new email account to send me a text message the instant it arrived so, even if I was not online, I would still know instantly. This was, of course, one of those things you should find out about right away, being a life-changing event and all. So I steeled myself to wait, a process I figured would take two or three days at the most.
Two weeks later, I decided I was going to be a go-getter. After all, God helps those who help themselves, right? So I decided to apply once more. On this next application, again I used all 86 words, this time doing my best to not be so goofy, but instead basically begging for the job. This, I thought, would assure me the job. After all, I was clever, I was earnest, I was dedicated, not to mention dead sexy. These are all qualities any self-respecting organization would be looking for. Surely it was only a matter of time before I would hear back now.
Two more weeks later, I mentally told the Tribune to go to hell (something I continue to do on a nightly basis because I am hardcore and a rebel to authority, so there) and decided to go on with my life. About a week or so later, having totally forgotton about the whole thing, I recieved an email with the title "Welcome to the Bismarck Tribune blogging team." Being a whole buncha dense, I decided this was spam and deleted it promptly. After all, it might have that West Nile Virus I had been reading about.
Later that day, in a moment of awful clarity, I realized that I was retarted and retrieved the email from my Deleted file. Within, it had a checklist of things that I needed to do, including submitting a name for my new column, finding a suitable piece of artwork, writing a 100-word introduction, jumping up and down on my left foot and reciting the alphabet backwards. I did all I was asked for. I decided on The Expatriate Act for a title because I hate George W. Bush, and I enjoy stupid puns. My artwork is that picture of my typewriter keys you see upon entering the site. The picture, by the way, is of the very typewriter that I type up each and every column on before before sending it to the Tribune via carrier pigeon, where it is then uploaded onto the Internet via magical gnomes, or so I assume. I don't know how technology works, because after all, I'm hardcore. I'm hardcore.
Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah. I wrote up my first blog and sent it in in time for the anticipated opening date of December 1. The night before the opening, I could hardly sleep. I was that excited. When I awoke the next day, I raced to the computer, like a child in anticipation of opening his Christmas gifts. I dashed to the Tribune website and searched. And searched. And then I searched some more. There was nothing to be seen. This is when I returned to cursing out the Tribune within my mind. The next day, I got word that the site had been delayed. I, of course, grovelled and thanked them profusely, becuase I am a sniveling worm. But you knew that already.
So we went online December 6th, which is when my first blog went online. If you're curious, http://www.bistrib.com/blog/archives/00000007.htm, here's how I introduced myself, assuming you didn't read it already. Actually, I know you didn't read it already. Notice I no longer do that The Expatriate Act, Version 1.1-10 at the beginning. Turns out, that was really, really gay, so I stopped. Otherwise, I'm exactly the same person as I was when this all started, except I live in a different city, and I have a different job, and I have a different car, and I had my face Extreme Makeovered. Come to think of it, I'm actually not the same person that I was when I started writing this. Funny how things change, huh?
So, happy anniversary to me, to the site, to the other bloggers (who, by the way, are also very good at their own writing, no joke), and, most of all, happy anniversary to civilization itself, because it had to have started on one particular day, and today is as good a day as any. So what can you expect in the next six months? How the hell would I know? I just work here.
-Erik Hagen/Seriously, I'm hardcore.

FW: The Lotus Totus

2004-05-31T17:45:00.000-07:00

So I'm spending the holiday the way I spend all my major holidays - eating Cool Whip out of the carton while clipping my toenails, and I'm thinking to myself, "Self, I'd really like to write about my life today, but all I'm doing is eating Cool Whip. Sure, I could stretch that out to a good three paragraphs or so, but who'd want to read that?"
While pondering this conundrum and trying to trim the ever-ellusive pinky toe nail, I decided to check my email, and suddenly, the answer jumps right out at me. Of course! Why write up my own blogs when I have perfectly good writing emailed to me every single day, free of charge, just waiting to be broadcast to the whole world? That's right, CHAIN EMAILS!!
So, enjoy this week's peek at my Inbox (Well, that sounded slightly dirty). Just for fun, I inserted my own comments in. Think of it is a director's commentary. Or just me being a smartass. Sirrah sirrah. Without further, ado, I present the Lotus Totus email!!!
You have 6 minutes.... (To live? Oh, God!!)
There's some mighty fine advice in these words, even if you're not superstitious. (Mighty fine advice, huh? Apparently, this was written by some old timer sittin' on his porch whittlin' with his dog Skeeter.) This Lotus Totus has been sent to you for good luck from the Anthony Robbins organization. (Anthony Robbins has his own organization? Life is so unfair.) It has been sent around the world ten times so far. (Wow. Must have some serious travel lag.) You will receive good luck within four days of relaying this Lotus Totus. (I’ll be waiting by the mailbox. Except when I’m not. Then I’ll be doing something else.) Do not keep this message. (Where would I keep it? I don't even have a box for it.) The Lotus Totus must leave your hands in 6 MINUTES. (Yeah, you already said that.) otherwise you will get a very unpleasant surprise. This is true, even if you are not superstitious, agnostic, or otherwise faith impaired. (Don’t you threaten me, email. I’ll label you spam so fast, your great-great-great-grandchildren will come out cross-eyed. Wait a minute, that didn’t make any sense.) ONE. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully. (I hear the good folks at the Tribune were expecting quite a bit out of me when I started doing this crap. I certainly showed them, didn’t I?)
TWO. Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other. (I think if I end up marrying a man/woman, my ability to talk to him/her will be the least of my problems.)
THREE. Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want. (If I can't believe everything I hear, does that mean I shouldn't believe any of what you're saying? Oh, God, my head hurts.) FOUR. When you say, "I love you," mean it. (I love you.) FIVE. When you say, "I'm sorry," look the person in the eye. (Look into my eyes. Deeper. Deeper. Give me your wallet. Cluck like a chicken. I'm sorry.) SIX. Be engaged at least six months before you get married. (Trust me, when I get engaged, it’ll be three or four years minimum. Procrastination, my oldest friend.)
SEVEN. Believe in love at first sight. (Things that I now believe in: love at first sight, Bigfoot, the Easter Bunny and Jesus.) EIGHT. Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much. (I had a dream I was Spider-man the other night. I challenge anyone reading this not to laugh at that.) NINE. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it's the only way to live life completely. (I love Cool Whip. I’m not going to get passionate about it, though. Too messy.)
TEN.. In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling. (Stick it, porkface.) ELEVEN. Don't judge people by their relatives. (I knew a kid in high school who was raised by wolves. It wasn't neccesarily his most defining personality trait, but it was pretty damn close.) TWELVE. Talk slowly but think quickly. (O kay . Will do .) THIRTEEN. When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, smile and ask, "Why do you want to know?" (“Mr. Hagen, did you or did you not kill this man in cold blood?” [grins] “Why do you want to know?”) FOURTEEN. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk. (Oh, great.) FIFTEEN. Say "bless you" when you hear someone sneeze. (Otherwise their soul escapes through their nostrils. Saying “God bless you” crams it right back up there.) SIXTEEN. When you lose, don't lose the lesson. (Or you’ll be a lesson loser. And that’s something you just can’t live down.)
SEVENTEEN. Remember the three R's: Respect for self; Respect for others; and Responsibility for all your actions. (Beyond that, remember the other three R’s, Ritalin, Rite Aid and Rhinoceroses.)
EIGHTEEN. Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship. (However, be sure to let great big disputes destroy casual acquanticeships. Especially when it involves throw-down, knuckle-pounding fisticuffs. Those are so awesome.) NINETEEN. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it. (I’m starting to think this entire column was a mistake.) TWENTY. Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice. (“Hello? ... Oh, hi, Bill. ... Why, yes, I am smiling! ... Why, yes, I am stoned! ... Well, thanks for calling!” [click])
TWENTY-ONE. Spend some time alone. (Not a problem for me, thanks to my collection of restraining orders.) Now, here's the FUN part! (Oh boy! The FUN part!) Send this to at least 5 people and your life will improve. 1-4 people: Your life will improve slightly. 5-9 people: Your life will improve to your liking. 9-14 people: You will have at least 5 surprises in the next 3 weeks
15 and above: Your life will improve drastically and everything you ever dreamed of will begin to take shape. (Ok, since my readership is somewhere in the tens of thousands, that would mean I can expect about 50,000 surprises in the next 3 weeks. Man, I’m liable to have a heart attack. Curse you, Lotus Totus!)
A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart. (Gee, thanks for throwing in one more pointless trite saying. I appreciate it.)
Do not keep this message. (You heard the man. Spread the love, people.)
-Erik Hagen
/For every person you forward this blog to, Bill Gates will donate one dollar to a kid with inoperable swelling of the kidneys who's never seen a snow flake. Really.

Of Keys and Beetles...

2004-05-26T00:10:00.000-07:00

Before we get into this, I wanted to mention that this week I ended my probationary period at work and am now an actual employee of the advertising agency I don't care to name (legal liability and all, you understand). They gave me keys and everything.
Unfortunately, I now have a job review coming up later this week, except I don't know when to expect it. You know how when the Russian mob is after you, and you know at some point they're going to jump out and begin the systematic process of breaking every single bone in your body, at first with a baseball bat but eventually just with well-placed punches and kicks, and you know it's going to hurt like hell but you have no idea when or where it's coming? It's just like that.
Come to think of it, you probably have no idea what that's like, do you? Well, needless to say, it sucks.
The reason I mention this has nothing to do with work. Now that I know I can't be fired on a whim, I've decided I needs me some new wheels. Can you feel the excitement? No, no you can't. It doesn't work like that. Anyway, my old car is sending me not-so-subtle hints that it doesn't like me any more. For instance, last week my engine set on fire. While I was driving. Off a cliff. Into the ocean. Cars, what can you do, right?
I should mention that, despite the fact that it has been on fire and completely submerged in saltwater, that does not mean in any way that it’s completely unsalable. Which is why I'm officially advertising it right here. Let's say, $2.83. Call me. We'll haggle.
The car that I'm looking to buy is a Volkswagen Beetle. I want one no older than a 1999 model, automatic (Ed. note: At one time, I had a grossly offensive statement here that I was too stupid to realize at the time was grossly offensive. For anyone unfortunate enough to read it, I deeply apologize.), less than 35,000 miles, around $10,000 or so, color preferences include black, dark blue, dark green, red or orange. No white, no lime green, no silver. Maybe yellow. Or purple. Do they make purple? They should. I'm going to look into that.
Now that you know what I'm looking for, I expect you will all be keeping an eye out for me. If you see one for sale, send the info my way. If you see someone driving one by on the road, run up alongside the car and push the driver out Grand Theft Auto III style. I will make it worth your while. Trust me.
Here’s something I’ve noticed about Bug drivers. One, they’re usually small women. Now am I neither small nor a woman (though my high school gym teacher might debate the latter, damned bald-headed bastard. Ugh, repressed teenage memories coming back, somebody help me), so I’m hoping I don’t stick out. Other thing I’ve noticed is that there seems to be some sort of law that requires you to have a novelty plate that somehow involves the word “bug” or “beetle,” like BUGLVR or BEATLE or LDYBUG or something along that lines. Here’s the idea I have for mine: LOOKATMEIDIDNOTGETENOUGH
ATTENTIONFROMMYPARENTSSOINEED TOSPENDWHATLITTLEMONEYIHAVE ONSOMETHINGTHATWILLMAKEMEFEEL SPECIALLOOKATMELOOKATME PLEASESOMEONELOOKATMEOHYEAHBEETLE
You think that’ll fit?
Ok, my old car seems to be on fire again, so I have to run. Remember, in about a couple weeks or so, look for a tall skinny kid wearing a toque and driving a Bug through the streets of Bismarck, probably leaning his head out of the car and screaming obscenities at you. That’s me! Make sure you wave.
-Erik Hagen
\Hey, you can't wave with one finger. Oh, wait. Nevermind.

2004-05-16T22:42:00.000-07:00

Hi, everybody!!!!!
Ok, that was a little much. Anyway, too lazy to write anything up tonight, so I want to share something with you. I mentioned I got a short story published a while ago. Someone* asked me to post the story so they could read it. I'm only too happy to oblige.
A word of warning: the language is harsh at times, and I don't like censoring myself, being self-important and all. So I'm leaving it as it is, raw as can be. If you think you won't like it, don't read it. It's not terrible, by any means. No f-words or c-words or j-words, but just so you know. Don't send me any letters. I need positive reinforcement.
*"Someone" being me.

Interoffice Memo

To: Third Floor Sales Staff
From: Frank J. Fallick
RE: New promotion.
The management of A.T. Bullox Co. is very proud to announce the latest advancement within our staff.
...
Upon re-reading that last statement, we, the management of A.T. Bullox Co. would like to apologize for any implicit sexual overtones. We didn’t mean it the way it sounded.
As of this week, Raymond Baylor is now the Assistant Vice Manager of Subsidiary Sales. Raymond has been with our company for fifteen years now, proudly serving as our accountant on the sales tax staff. Raymond has been a dedicated employee, and is long overdue this new opportunity in the company. Those of you who deal with subsidiary sales will now be going through Raymond, if James Pillar, our Manager of Subsidiary Sales, or Oliver William, our Assistant Manager of Subsidiary Sales are not available. Congratulations, Mr. Baylor, on moving into this new position; we are positive that exciting things are about to come.
...
Also, in an effort to improve the relations between the departments, we have embarked upon the task of expanding our knowledge of the Information Systems department. To this end, we have disassembled a vast number of our terminals and randomly exchanged parts therein which vaguely resembled each other. This was a very enjoyable process on our parts. Unfortunately, we were unable to reassemble the terminals with the parts that we had removed, and were forced to disassemble all of the phones, copiers, printers and modems in order to successfully put things back as they were. They assure us that a repairman will be in sometime next week. Until then, all correspondence is to be handled by pencil and paper. We also suggest yelling across rooms. We find it works well, provided you flap your arms in a proper manner to draw as much attention to yourself.
Remotely yours,
Frank J. Fallick
Management
A.T. Bullox Co.

To: Management staff
From: Raymond Baylor
RE: re: New promotion.
This is the proudest moment of my life. I am very honored to accept this new position as Assistant Vice Manager of Subsidiary Sales for the third floor sales staff. It has been a long time coming, but my new moderate position of semi-authority is well earned and I will do the entire management staff proud. I will soon whip the Department of Subsidiary Sales into the finest Department of Subsidiary Sales this side of the Missouri. Rest assured that the small amount of faith you have entrusted in me is well placed. I am the man for the job.
Exuberantly,
Raymond Baylor
(The new!!)Assistant Vice Manager of Subsidiary Sales
P.s. My phone is now making the loveliest humming sound as a result of last week’s realignment. I find it beneficial to my working environment. Really.

To: Frank J. Fallick
From: James Pillar
RE: The new Asst. Vice something or other.
This is a quick status report on the first two days of Mr. Bailor’s new position. Far be it for me to make any premature assumptions, but I believe that he may be mildly retarded, or some sort of a chimpanzee. While I do appreciate the addition to the staff in order to alleviate the burden of subsidiary sales, I do not think that he is the man for the job. On his first day, he entered the office with a team of men he referred to as his "posse." At all times, his "posse" formed a protective sphere around him, and during our morning presentation, proceeded to encourage Mr. Bailer with calls of "Tell it!" and "What he said!." Though his "posse" has since been barred from the building, he continues to harass the sales staff. He has posted numerous posters around the office, depicting himself in a Big Brother-like manner. Though I have expressed my concerns with Mr. Baieialer, I do not seem to be reaching him. I also believe he is ending his business calls with, "I love you." Is this some manner of explicit office prank I am not aware of? If so, when can I expect him to point out the camera so I may get back to work?
Sincerely,
James Pillar
Manager of Subsidiary Sales

To: Frank J. Fallick
From: Raymond Baylor
RE: Certain attacks on my character.
Mr. Pillar has told me that he submitted a rather unflattering impression to you on my first days in power. Actually, he more wrote it on a piece of paper, wadded it up, and then bounced it off my forehead. Regarding my new stimulus posters, I feel it is important that the staff see me as an authority figure. I have read 1984 by George Orwell, and though I do not necessarily agree with all of Big Brother’s methods, I believe that he did have a very effective management plan, and intriguing ideas on time management. Also, I had them made up at Kinko’s, and I believe they were very professional looking. Some of my subordinates did not seem to agree, as my methods of inspiring the staff only seemed to inspire them to tear my posters into tiny shreds. I sense resistance to my methods, but I will bring them around to my way of thinking. If I can not be both respected and feared, than I will settle on the latter. It is more easily achieved.
Respectfully,
RB
A.V.M. of S.S.

To: Frank J. Fallick
From: James Pillar
RE: Continuing problems with Mr. Baylior.
I do not mean to keep harping on the same problems, but my new Vice Assistant Subsidiary Sales Manager is becoming a continuous problem to my staff. He seems to feel he can assert his authority by challenging workers to Indian leg wrestling. Though we have told him this is not how things are settled in the "sane" world, he usually retorts, "What’s the matter, you got your skirt on today?" Does Mr. Baialior have any actual authority? This has not been made entirely clear to me. I attempted to sit him down and address these problems. During our chat, he proceeded to remove his right contact lens and swallow it. He also kept stroking a picture of Willford Brimley he had on his person, which he incidentally refers to as his "father." I feel these things must be addressed as quickly as possible, or I fear my staff will resort to murdering him. They are already drawing up plans, which are actually quite detailed. It’s nice to see them band together against a common enemy.
Seriously,
James Pillar
Manager of Subsidiary Sales
P.s. I believe my modem may have the wrong parts in it. It seems to now be capable of time travel. I would like to have it looked at once it comes back.

To: Third Floor Sales Staff
From: Raymond Baylor
RE: Some new office guidelines.
I am the vindicator of the damned:
I would like to pass onto you a new set of guidelines for conduct in the office. These will henceforth be referred to as the "Commandments." These are to be followed to the letter. There will be no warnings.
There are cameras in all of the chairs. You are henceforth to pretend you are not privy to this information.
The copier will now be known as "Earl."
No one is to touch Earl.
No one is allowed to use the word "transcontinental" from now on in interoffice memos.
My father does not like Bob Mackey. We suggest he be a little less German.
Casual Fridays will now be known as Pants-less Friday.
I am certain that these new policies will increase our output tenfold. You are not to mention any of the contents of this memo outside of the workplace. Do not make me follow you people home. Also, I have been told that the office hamster, Mr. Skittles, was actually a rat all along. If we stop feeding him, I believe he will stop growing.
Consider me the patron saint of you sick sons-of-bitches,

Raymond Baylor
Our lord and savior who sees all.

To: Frank J. Fallick
From: Oliver William
RE: Great God in Heaven, do something!!
Oh, Lord, please end this cruel injustice. I beg of you to remove this foreign presence from our offices. He is a virus in penny loafers. I tried to talk to "him" about his wicked ways, specifically his newfound tendency of adding unneeded "p"-s to his words in his reports. He proceeded to sketch a crude drawing of me onto a napkin with an orange crayon, and I believe he was attempting to masturbate to it behind his desk later in the day. I am therefore tendering my resignation, effective immediately. Please please please, don’t tell him where I am going. He is the devil himself.
Respectfully,
Oliver William
Former Assistant Manager of Subsidiary Sales

To: Frank J. Fallick
From: Raymond Baylor
RE: There’s a pradio in my pfingernail.
With the precent departure of Mr. William, may I assume pthat I will be assuming his pposition? I am not pcurrently in a ppostion to take on any additional workload. I am too busy pconstructing a satellite I intend to pstick into my ear in order to pcommunicate with the voices I am phearing. If you should pknow where Mr. William currently lives, I would like to know for some presearch I am doing. Yeah, that’s the pticket, presearch.
I love you,
Raymond Baylor
The One Known As I Am.

To: Frank J. Fallick
From: James Pillar
RE: A clarification on yesterday’s events.
Mr. Baylure is no longer with the company. The paramedics assured me he died on impact after falling from the top of the building. Specifically, falling of his own volition and absolutely not by anyone else’s actions. It is always sad when a man goes mad with a moderate amount of power. Regardless, I will need a competent replacement for him. Please note the competent part. It’s extremely key.
Sincerely,
James Pillar
Manager of Subsidiary Sales

To: Third Floor Sales Staff
From: Frank J. Fallick
RE: A reply to recent communications.
Recently there has been an influx of memorandums from your department into our inbox. We thank you for that. The paper quality of the stock was extraordinary. Once shredded, they make incredible paper mache. Please send us more of these lovely memos. We are constructing a duck, and we have not yet completed the bill. Do you have any orange stock? That would be great.
Eagerly,
Frank J. Fallick
A.T. Bullox Co.

-End-

Passing the Buck

2004-05-10T23:19:00.000-07:00

Dear Blog People:
Please excuse my son, Erik Hagen, for not posting on his bloggitude for the last week. He assures me he has been very busy doing many important things. I've never known him to lie to me ever before, so I assume it's true. Anyway, please read my son's blabber. He's really a very talented little writer, though I do wish he would shave more often. He doesn't look very professional. One of these days, they're going to mention it at his work. Then he'll be sorry.
-Sandy Hagen
P.S. I wish he'd clean his ears more often as well.

Thanks, Mom. Happy Belated Something or Other Day.
That's enough of that. Let's put aside the clowning and try to be serious for once. Let's talk some current events, shall we? I'll give you three guesses what I want to talk about, and the first two don't count.
That's right. I wanna talk about Lynndie England.
Name doesn't ring a bell? It should. She's been on your TV screen about five thousand times in the last week. I dare say she got more press than the cast of Friends this week. If you haven't figured it out yet, she's the short girl in the Iraqi prison photos with the cigarette dangling from her mouth while she gives the thumbs up to naked Iraqis' wangs (Ed. note: wang is slang for penis, Mr. Hagen is not allowed to use the word penis, thus, wang).
Here's what I want to write about Ms. England. I'm sure a lot of you look at those photos of her and think, hey, I'd really like to smack her. She has become the face of all this. You think of those stupid photos, you think of her, grinning like a moron like it's all some sort of stupid joke. Better yet, she's smoking while she'd doing it, not only encouraging the torture of lower class people, but promoting the benefits of nicotine to our impressionable youth. For shame!
And I'm just as annoyed as the rest of you. But it's not so much because of the photos. Sure, I don't like 'em, but it's something else that really gets to me. What annoys me about Ms. England is reading about her relatives somehow trying to convince us that somehow she is the victim here. It's her mother who's the most blatently ignorant about the whole thing. In one interview, she states "She just happened to be there when they took these photos." At the same time, she also said the abuse was "stupid kid things, pranks" and asked defensively whether "what the Iraqis do to our men and women is just?" Let's just take a minute to analyze her points, shall we?
One, she just happened to be there. This one seems to be tossed out the most by the England family. I believe Lynndie herself has claimed she was in "the wrong place at the wrong time." The problem with this argument is that people who are really in the wrong place at the wrong time are victims. Ms. England isn't a victim here. Real victims don't pose for pictures while they're being victimized. Sure, you can argue that she was just following orders, that she was just a pencil pusher who happened to be there when this stuff was going down, so she got caught in the pictures. The problem is, her expression tells you everything you need to know. If she was really a victim, and someone deserving of some manner of sympathy, she wouldn't be nearly as damn ecstatic as she appears to be. She's smirking, she's laughing, she is sneering at people she sees as being less than herself. Whether or not she did the torture or not isn't the point. She's getting her jollies off seeing it, she's participating in the humiliation. Don't give me this "wrong place, wrong time" crap. It doesn't hold water.
Two, it's just stupid kid pranks. She's actually right about this. Stuff like this does happen in high school all the time, usually in men's locker rooms. But how exactly does that excuse it? At least when it happens in school, you can blame it on immaturity. These are supposed to be the best soldiers we have to offer. It's no wonder Ms. England had no problem doing the things she did. If her mother can write this off as "stupid kid pranks," it's obvious she has had zero definition in her upbringing as to the difference between right and wrong.
Three, it's no worse than what the Iraqis have been doing to us. This one really bothers me. Yes, it's not nearly as bad as what the Iraqis have been doing. But we were supposed to be taking the moral high ground here. This Administration has been harping on the fact that we liberated Iraq because it was the right thing to do (Well, actually, first they told us we were doing it because Iraq was going to blow us up with their high tech weaponry, but once that fell through, then it was about humanity and all that other junk). You cannot justify this by saying we're still better than they are. Being better than they are would be not doing anything at all. Just the mere fact that we're anywhere in the same league as they are means we have failed at what we were attempting to do.
While we're talking about the Administration, I'm more than a little annoyed at Dubya's "apology." I believe he said he was "sorry for the suffering cause by these unfortunate incidents." How lame is that? That's kind of like if I were to take a piss on someone, and then say I was sorry for getting their shirt wet. How hard is it to say, "This happened on my watch. I didn't do it personally, but I was the one in charge and I'm sorry." No, can't have that. That'd make us look weak. Better go with the "I'm sorry, but I take no personal acceptance" shtick. That'll work.
Back to the point at hand. I realize that I'm making this girl into some form of scapegoat. I realize she wasn't the only one doing these things. And, not to excuse their behavior, but I realize that when you're fighting a war, there is a certain madness you succumb to. This madness turns your enemy into something sub-human. And when your enemy is no longer human, you no longer feel the need to treat them as being human. But, please, just take some responsibility for your actions. You cannot justify this. You and your family can blame it all of on your upbringing, your surroundings, the Iraqis, whatever. At the end of the day, though, the only person Ms. England has to blame for her predicament is herself.
Unfortunately, thanks to people like Ms. England, the rest of our soldiers who really are just doing their jobs are going to have a much harder time doing it. And they're the ones she, the other soldiers who did this and the powers-to-be who gave them their orders should have to answer to. But, as we've all figured out by this point, that's not going to happen. Not when there's more finger pointing left to do.
-Erik Hagen
/For what it's worth, I apologize.

I Got Nothing

2004-05-03T00:14:00.000-07:00

Eh, I'm tired, let's keep this short.
I just got back from Fargo. I had a reading for a publication I got published in on Thursday night. That sucked. Spent the rest of the weekend hanging out with the brother. That was cool. Other things happened too. I watched a lot of DVDs. I bought a watch. I got really drunk on Friday night. A good time was had by all.
And by all, I mean me. Not you.
The reading was all right. I got a short story published in a literary magazine out of Fargo, called Red Weather. My "pay" was two free copies. Whopee. They had a $25 prize for the best prose story, which I didn't win because my writing doesn't appeal to old boring people. I only mention that because the judge was both old and boring, and picked a one of your typical "I'm a grad student, look at how stuffy and concieted my writing is" stories. Didn't even get a stupid honorable mention.
Yes, I'm bitter. Could you tell? Maybe I'll post my story up here and let you all judge whether I'm any good or not. All I know is that self-important literary types don't like me. They probably don't like you either, but I wouldn't take it personally.
Ok, so maybe I do take it personally. Blame it on my surpisingly delicate ego.
Any way, I got to hang out with my brother for the weekend in his new apartment. He's got one of those security buzzers where you buzz people up, like on Seinfeld. Come to think of it, I never got to try out my George Costanza impression on it while I was out there. Maybe next time. Other than that, it's a nice little place. One could almost call it homey. Or homely. Which is the word I'm looking for?
My brother, I should mention, is looking for a job here in Bismarck as well. I mention this because one of the jobs he is applying for just happens to be as a sports writer at the Tribune, the same newspaper that so generously provides bandwidth for my eccentric ramblings. So, since the Tribune has done so much for me already, I am publicly declaring that it's not nearly enough and I want more. Come on, give him the job. You owe me, what with all the traffic I bring in. What would this site be if it wasn't for me? Try not to think about it, it's too awful to imagine.
Hey, look at me! I'm biting the hand that feeds me!
Any way, now my weekend's over, and here I am back in Bismarck. Now that I'm here, again, I'm expecting to be entertained. Come on, Bismarck. Entice me with your well-documented charms. Make me glad I came back. I know you can do it.
...
Any time now.
-Erik Hagen
/Still waiting.

Open Letters to People Who Probably Won't Respond

2004-04-25T22:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I realize that I don't write as often as I should, and I apologize. Rest assured that you are in my thoughts always, except when I think of other things. Then I don't. Anyway, I thought I would take this opportunity to write you this letter. If you can find the time, please write me back. You don't have to talk about much. Just let me know how you are. I'd give you my address, but I am currently living out of my car. So please forward any mail to 92 Pontiac Sunbird (Blue), Bismarck, ND 58501. Please be sure to enclose money. Lots of money. I could use a domecile with a little more trunk room. I have a lot of boxes.
Your friend,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear My Sinuses.
What’s the deal, guys? It’s been five days now. You’re congested, you’re swollen, you’re making my head very warm and achey. I’ve tried medicine, cough drops, I even drank tea, for God’s sake. Tea! I’m a 25-year-old man. I shouldn’t be drinking tea under any circumstances. But I did it for you. Please, I’d like to be able to breathe sometime in the future here. Let’s get back on the path of wellness, fellows.
Sincerely,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Mother Earth,
This Summer, as you might now, the annual Rockin’ the Hills Festival will be taking place in Bottineau. This year, the bands scheduled to play include Nickleback, Three Doors Down, Puddle of Mudd, Live, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Styxx, Warrant, Great White, Dokken andFirehouse. That is why, for the weekend of July 1st through the 4th I am requesting some sort of sinkhole in the Bottineau area, one big enough to swallow every single one of these bands. I think it will be for the best.
Sincerely,
Erik Hagen
P.S. Earth Day was totally bitching this year.
----------
Dear Bottineau,
I apologize in advance for requesting that the Earth swallow you whole this summer. It’s nothing personal, you’re all really nice people. I just feel it’s important that you take one for the team. If possible, you might consider heading out of town that weekend.
Apologetically,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear John Cusack,
How did you get to be so frigging cool? I mean it. I want to know.
Love,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear The Passion of the Christ,
I realize you’ve been out for several months now, but I still haven’t seen you. That might change sometime in the future, but I wouldn’t count on it. I’m just not a big Aramaic fan. Maybe I’ll just wait for video.I hope this doesn’t make me a bad person.
Faithfully,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Creed,
What the hell happened to you guys? I don’t miss you or anything. I just don’t see you anymore. I think you got sued for sucking in concert, and then nothing. Did you quit? I’m just curious.
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Spambot Who’s Spamming the Site,
You must really like Online Casinos. I realize you’re just making a living and all, so don’t take it personally that I delete all your stuff from my comments. I think if you want to make a bit more cash, you might consider spamming a site that people actually read.When do I get my cut? After all, if anyone does read your stuff, it’s because of my stellar writing skills bringing them in. Think about it.
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Eli Manning,
I think it’s important that people realize that life is filled with disappointment. I just want you to know that my heart was with you when you were drafted to play professional football and offered a multi-million dollar contract from a franchise that you didn’t want to play for. Sure, you’re living a dream most musclebound, braindead jocks can only dream of, but, Goddamnit, they’re the San Diego Chargers. Who wants to live in California anyway?I’m glad things worked out in the end. You’re an inspiration to anyone who ever tried to get their way by whining and crying until they go their way.
Your fan,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Randy “Macho Man” Savage,
This Sunday at the Pontiac Silver Dome, I will make you suffer! I will crush you with my giant pectorals! There’s nowhere to run, Macho Man. Soon as I get that figure four leglock locked in, you’ll have no choice but to tap out, brother. In front of those 15,000 fans, I will prove, once and for all, who the better man is. Whatcha gonna do, brother? Whatcha gonna do?
Hugs and kisses,
Erik “Hulk” Hagen
----------
Dear The Simpsons Episode I’m Watching,
You know that one part where Bart and Lisa were watching television, and on the news they reported that there was a major tornado tearing through Dayton, Ohio, where they thought Homer and Marge were, and then they showed the tornado tearing up the hotel they were staying at, and then it comes back and tears through the rubble, but Bart says, “Maybe they’re still alive. Maybe they were in the basement,” so they show the tornado comes back again and stomps on the rubble down into the basement? That was pretty freaking funny.
Your fan,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Ashton Kutcher,
I realize that, though we are both the same age (25), our lifestyles are startlingly different. Some would say that you have accomplished more professionally than I have, but I feel, in time, I will eventually turn things around. You’ll see.
Watch your back,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Erik Hagen,
As you may or may not be aware, this premise has worn terribly thin, and I would suggest you give it a rest. Perhaps take a little time for yourself, have a beer, watch Alias. Spoil yourself. Blog writing is extremely tiring, and not especially rewarding. I would suggest to you (or I, more specifically) that you find more fulfilling things to do with your time off than waste it writing to a nonexistant Internet reader base. Perhaps a hobby. I hear macrame can be fun.
Signed,
Erik Hagen
----------
Dear Erik Hagen,
Ah, what do you know?
-Erik Hagen
/Does anyone have a stamp?

This Blog Has No Title

2004-04-20T00:46:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wanted to start writing something but you just couldn't do it, so you sat there for a real long time staring at that blank screen, the dark, empty screen just sitting there mocking you until you got sick of it and you just started typing something off the top of your head, and then you looked at what you'd written and decided that it sucked so you highlighted the whole thing and - click - you deleted it all, then you sat there for a while more, and the screen was still blank, still mocking you, still reflecting your giant nose and buck teeth back at you, so you went and grabbed your Game Boy Advance instead, played it for half an hour, and then typed up the first dumbass thing you could think of?
No? Yeah, never happened to me either.
I've got the worst case of writer's block. That wouldn't be so bad if, you know, that wasn't my job. Or my hobby. Unfortunately, for both cases, it is. So, um, yeah. Something funny. Or something weird. I don't know. One or the other.
I apologize for the lack of updates for the last week-and-a-half, but as I mentioned, I'm retarted. I know y'all don't know what to do when I'm not around, and it's been weighing on my conscience, I assure you. But it's all right. Everything's gonna be ok. Uncle Erik's here. Everything's all right.
What the hell was that?
Ok, continuing this mess, let's talk about something else. You know what's starting to make me slightly crazed these days? Bismarck traffic. I swear to God, none of you know how to drive. Not a danged one of you. Now I realize at this point, you're laughing to yourself and saying, you know, he's right, I drive around all the time and everybody else really doesn't know how to drive. But stop right there. I'm not talking about everyone else. I'm talking about you, too. Yes, you, the person who's reading this right now. It's called a turn signal. Is it that damn hard to use it? I mean, come on.
Just to be fair, I'm going to throw myself in there too. Because it's true, I'm an idiot. I drive too fast, I tailgate, I randomly curse at people who are in my way. Sometimes I invent new obscene gestures which are, quite frankly, just totally not called for. Occasionally, while I'm driving, I make decisions so mind-numbingly stupid, I honestly have no idea how or why I'm still alive. I'm not an elitist jackass. I'm an equal opportunity jerk. When I say everybody sucks at driving, I mean everybody sucks at driving.
That being said, you all suck.
Ok, this whole driving rant is getting completely out of hand, and I'm sure I've offended my entire reading base by this point, so I'm just going to stop. Yup, that's right. Stopping right here.
I'd like to take this opportunity to throw my brother a shout-out because, as I'm writing this, I'm conversing with him on the MSN Messenger and he specifically asked me not to. So, shout-out, beeotch.
On a related note, visit his blog by clicking right...about.....here. He's kind of like me, writing-wise, except coherent and stuff. Must be nice. Anyway, now you can compare both our adventures on the World Wide Web and decide for yourself who really is the superior Hagen.
But, seriously, it's me.
I got my diploma in the mail the other day. Only problem is, it's about the size of a postcard. So now I need to find an itty bitty picture frame to put my itty bitty diploma in that I now am about $10,000 in debt for. Even more depressing, I just found out that the only thing my college education was good for was getting my first job, which I already did, meaning my tiny diploma is now not worth the paper it's printed up on. Yay, crushing blow of reality!!
So, uh, who wants to buy a diploma?
Ok, that's all I've got. I've read this whole blog now, and it makes not one bit of sense, so I might as well quit while I'm deranged. Maybe I'll try this again tomorrow, when I might actually have something to write about. Sorry about the whole "you don't know how to drive" thing. I don't know what I was thinking.
-Erik Hagen
/I got nothing.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

Bopping Along in my Barrel.

2004-04-08T23:54:00.000-07:00

My, but I'm in a mood.
If you're planning on reading this, be warned that it is, as usual, me bitching and whining and moaning about things that are totally out of my control. I know what you're thinking, wow, that sounds like it really sucks. And it probably will. So may I suggest you instead click on http://www.subservientchicken.com, and tell this chicken what to do. Try it, I myself have been doing it for hours. It is literally the most fascinating thing that I have ever done.
If you, however, are interested in my own brand of madness, then by all means, follow me into the rabbit hole.
Let's get into what's bugging me.
A couple weeks ago, I started watching this show that I really, really liked. It was a show called Wonderfalls. You might've heard of it, but you probably didn't given the fact FOX never really advertised it. Let me do my best to describe the show for you then, since you've obviously been left out. It was about a girl who works at a gift shop at Niagra Falls who has a really rich, elitist family. Jaye (the girl's name) had a degree in philosophy from an Ivy League school, but she didn't really have any ambition, being that she's from my generation and none of us really care all that much for achievement. Any way, she's snarky and moody and pretty damn amusing. In other words, the girl of my dreams. But then one day, inanimate objects start talking to her. They tell her to do things, usually weird things that end up helping people. That's basically the gist of it, just kind of a weird, funny little show.
This show was on Fridays, so I'd watch it at my girlfriend's. It was on after this atrocious reality show, the one where the girl has to figure out, out of all these guys she's living with, which ones are gay and which are straight. Yes, I know, quality television for mouth-breathers. Why they paired the two shows up, I have no idea. Guess they were trying to appeal to the ellusive cultured intellectual/Faulknerian idiot man child demographic.
But that changed last week when they moved it to Thursday. I thought this was a grand idea, because they moved it to eight, when I have nothing to else to watch because all that's on is CSI and The Apprentice. CSI I'm mostly apathetic to. The Apprentice I hate with a passion. For one thing, it has Donald Trump and that dead animal carcass he wears on his head on it. It also has a group of people that aren't the least bit entertaining competing to get a job working for Donald Trump. Yippee, sign me up for that crap.
Ok, I'm back from my tangent.
As I was saying, they moved Wonderfalls to Thursdays last week, where I assumed it would stay. I assumed wrong, because Fox cancelled the show a couple weeks ago. After four episodes. And now I, your humble blog writer, am left with no purpose to my life.
There's a couple things that bother me about this. The first thing is the fact that creativity and intelligence appear to be things people are not the least bit interested in on television anymore. Nobody wants to watch Wonderfalls or Arrested Development or Scrubs or Ed or Angel or Futurama or Alias or any of the other really great shows that nobody cares about but me. All those shows have themes and intelligence and subtle humor. But they don't have laugh tracks and food fights and people getting kicked in the balls. That's what people really want. Who wants to think when they're watching television? Turn on Hope and Faith or According to Jim, kick back, relax, have a brewski and stab yourself in the head rapidly with a pointed stick. That there's quality entertainment.
The other thing that bugs me is that I really have nothing better to do tonight then whine about how there's nothing on television. Good Lord, did I ever have a life?
Screw it, though. Yeah, I've got nothing better to do besides watch television. That's why I watch a lot of it. So why the hell don't television networks cater to me? Why doesn't anyone ask my opinion when they're shoving American Idol and CSI and CSI: Miami down my goddamn throat? If I didn't have cable, I would honestly have to kill someone. And you don't want that. I could kill anyone. Could be you. Could be a loved one.
That's why I implore you, my potential victim, to write to Fox and ABC and those other two networks and tell them, hey, your shows suck. Every single one of them. Stop showing them. Put something on that doesn't suck. Maybe more shows like The Simpsons. That would be pretty cool.
So, yeah, I miss Wonderfalls. I'd boycott Fox, maybe television in general, but we all now that's probably not going to work out. I am a television junkie, and I can never stop watching. Ever. So do your part and make sure that the television that I watch is at least good for my brain. I'm a growing boy, and I need funny, intelligent shows to make me a funny, intelligent person. Anyone who's ever read this blog should be able to tell you that I am sadly lacking in both of these qualities. So get off your ass. I need you. Together, we can make my life better. Can't you see how important that is?
I don't really have an ending for this. You know what was a pretty good movie? Howard the Duck.
-Erik Hagen
/Try telling the chicken to build a fort. It's hilarious.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

A Desperate Cry For Attention

2004-04-04T23:38:00.000-07:00

Ok, you can stop emailing me. Seriously. You’re annoying me.
I’ll tell you what’s going on. It’s nothing worth getting worked up about, I swear. But if you're wondering why I changed my name to Olaf, or what I 've got against people from Belgium, or why the word "abbreviation" is so frikking long, I'll do my best to enlighten you. I’ve got the answers if you’ve got the questions, and a couple other things to talk about tonight. So join me, won’t you? It’d be ever so sweet of you.
Ok, here goes:
1. I wasn’t fired. I can’t be fired. I’m not paid. So, here I still am. Trust me, at some point down the line, I will do or say something that will not only have me removed from this website, but possibly from the Internet and society at large as well. But that day is at least a couple weeks off still, so for today, enjoy!
2. Olaf Lipros is a figment of my imagination. Yeah, big surprise. I have a hard time believing anyone could have taken this odd little fellow seriously, but just in case you did, here’s a fun activity for you to do at home. Write that name out on a slip of paper. Now rearrange the letters. See, it spells out something else. Now, look at the day “Olaf” put up his first blog. Pretty funny, huh? Ok, yeah, it isn’t. But I thought it would be at the time.
3. I apologize if I offended anyone who happens to be Belgian. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t know how Belgians speak/write/think/exist, so I created some sort of strange hybrid of broken English, netspeak, and lots and lots of smilies. Viola, instant Belgian. But I wasn’t intentionally picking on anyone, so I apologize if anyone was offended. For what it’s worth, I happen to like Belgian waffles a good deal. So hey, that’s something, right?
4. I just happened to find out that the email address I put up at the end (olafl@hotmail.com) is someone else’s real address. Please stop emailing him as well, if you already were. He has no idea what you’re talking about. If he ever finds out who I am, however, he may come to my house and throttle me. Assuming he’s a violent man, but I couldn’t say. I’ve never met the guy. I just posted his email address for all the world to see.
5. I don’t really have a fifth thing to say, but I’m starting to like putting numbers in front of my paragraphs. Looks so organized and professional. For once in my life, everything has order. Whoopee!!
Ok, that’s enough about that. Some other things I wanted to talk about. I had been planning to write a blog tomorrow on the tenth anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s suicide. Speaking as a child of the Nineties, it’s a day I still remember pretty well, and one I have a hard time believing was ten years ago. But there’s been enough written about it lately, including a full-issue flogging-of-the-corpse in Spin’s last issue, so I really don’t want to add to that, small as my contribution may be. I’ll just say that the world has sorely missed him for the last ten years.
And that, if there was any real justice in the world, his spawn of Satan wife would have gone in his place.
The last thing I got for tonight is this Audrey Seiler nonsense. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, follow this link: http://www.cnn.com/2004/US/Midwest/04/02/missing.student/index.html. If you’re too lazy to do that, I’ll sum it up: girl disappears last week, general public laments her loss, locals begin searching for her, girl is found a couple days ago, general public rejoices, police search for suspect, no one is found, all kinds of holes develop in girl’s story, girl is found to have faked her own kidnaping, general public becomes enraged.
The whole thing is easily the most bizarre thing I’ve read about it quite a while. Right off the heels of Dru Sjodin, it was nice to see them actually find someone. Too bad the only person she needed rescuing from is herself. But that’s all details, right?
Now I have no idea why this girl did what she did. I think she’s the only one who knows that at the moment, but I’m sure we’ll all find out in the next couple days or so. But I don’t know if it’s right to condemn the girl quite yet. Lord knows everyone else is already, judging by some of the feedback I’ve been reading. But I would say, first of all, she’s just a kid. Lighten up. Kids do dumb things. I myself was considering faking my own kidnaping a couple weeks ago to get a week off work. Problem is, I don’t think anyone would miss me. I’m not nearly cute enough.
One other thing, they caught her on tape buying rope, duct tape, a knife, and cough syrup. I get the first three things, kind of. But cough syrup? What was she going to do with that? I guess it was kind of cold out. No sense catching cold while you’re holding yourself hostage.
I’m sure I had a point to make about this, but damned if I can remember what it was. Maybe it’s just hold off on making judgements until all the facts are laid out. If she was just trying to get out of finals or something else similarly stupid, then judge her how you will. But there might be some issues we aren’t aware of yet, ones that probably should be dealt with.
So that’s it for now. Again, sorry about the joke. April Fools and all. Come to think of it, maybe this fake kidnaping stuff was all just an April Fools joke gone too far. Wouldn’t that be funny?
Of course, considering the source, I might be the last person fit to make that judgement.
-Erik Hagen
/Whatever happened to that underground Six Flags they were talking about? They start that yet?BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

he11o everyone!!!!111

2004-04-01T21:51:00.000-08:00

gr33tings!!111! :D :D :Di am olaf and this s my blogging!i am verry happy to be doiong this!!1
like i m saying, my nam is olaf lipros, and i m being invited to be doong the blogging by the bismark tribune. i am applying 2 the link on the bottem and they r accepting it. :)
i m told i m replcing sum1 else, and erick haugen, who is doing this blogging be4 i m. they r tellin me
that they r receeving complaints from the people aboot his sweering and bad attitud.. :angry:they r not being happy wit him and they are offering the blogging to me and i m very happy :D :D
i will be telling u that i m from belgium and i m on xchange. i luv being here very much very i m 16 years old i hav 2 bruthers and 3 sisters who i m misssing vere much :(. but i liek it much here i m very happy :laugh: :laugh:
i liek the cooking, adore sharp knives, read and internet a lot. i m very busy most days with the skool. i try very hard and m picking up on things quikly. they r telling me ido a good job i try very hard.
:hehe:
i lik the chating rooms very much while interneting, this is kinding like the chating rooms xcept i can not be talking to others but more m writing to all the kind peple. i m hoping u will lik me very much and we will be talking on the comments. i will anser them all i swer i will be very takative becase i m hoping to be making many many new frends wit this!!1! :rolleyes: :rolleyes:u r all my frends now.
i m saying hi! to all of my frends from the century the skool i m going to. i m saying hi! to cris and jill and hank they r my frends and they are kewl. they hav taut me very much and i m happy 2 know them.
i m telling jok it is verrry funnne. what is brown and stiky?? u guss? it is a stik!!:laugh: do u get it??
that is all i m thinking f now so i will stop. but i will be talking very much in the futur so watch 4 me i m the kewl guy :cool: plese plese post on my blogging so we r being frends from now on!1!1 :laugh: :laugh: :laugh: :laugh: :hehe: :doze: :satisfied:
bye 4 now!!
olaf lipros
olafl@hotmail.com
/it is being the 1st alredy!11!

Skimming the Cream Off My Brain.

2004-03-23T00:00:00.000-08:00

This part of the blog is what is generally known as the "teaser." The purpose of the "teaser" is to entice the reader (i.e. you) to read the blog in full by clicking on the "more" link. This is accomplished by writing a winning introduction, perhaps an unfinished thought, the beginning of a joke, or a cliffhanger of some sort. A succesful teaser gives the indication that, if the reader (i.e. still you) does not click on the link, they will be missing out on something important.
Consider yourself teased.
I've got nothing specific to write about, so here's a whole bunch of things.
Work's going well enough, I suppose. Except for the part where I turn something in and it comes back to me with all the good stuff crossed out, ending up with an ad that's about as exciting as a paper bag filled with oatmeal. Not the greatest analogy, I know, but bear with me. I'm slowly having the life drained out of me.
Actually, I'm feeling better about it today than I can remember in a while. I feel like, once I figure out what I'm doing (and what I can get away with) that I'm going to excel. Or totally suck. I'm relatively sure it'll be one or the other.
Mediocrity is an option I'm looking into, as well.
On a related note, I was in the Tribune yesterday (Sunday). Not going to tell you where, but I'll give a Nichts Prize to the first reader that can find me. I'll give you a hint: It's not in the obituaries. I hope.
Second hint: I may have been arrested.
If you've been reading the other blogs on this site, you know that the gay marriage issue seems to be causing all sorts of rifts amongst your friendly blogging staff. (Blogging staff. Tell me that isn't the stupidest phrase you've ever heard.) I'm sure you're all eager to hear my own position, so here, in front of the world and the three people who actually visit this site, I would like to declare that...
...you know what. Neh.
So, I bought the Looney Tunes Golden Collection DVD set over the weekend. Stop your laughing. Anyone who doesn't admit to loving Looney Tunes is either a damned dirty liar or possibly retarted. Anyway, it's filled with all sorts of cartooney goodness: 56 shorts, bunch of documentaries, all kinds of background info, commentaries. Shazam. It's made for some good viewing thus far.
Still haven't heard anything back about the fate of my novel (For the uninitiated, or if you just haven't been paying attention, or if you simply don't care: wrote a novel, entered it in a contest, winner gets published). I was told originally they would announce the results in March. That got pushed back to May. Now it stands at mid-June. So, here I sit, waiting, still unpubished, still unrich.
Once the thing does get published, you can definitely kiss my ass goodbye. I'll be off to the Bahamas to waste my life away, one pina colata at a time. And, yes, I will forget all about the little people, almost instantly. That's just how it goes. Deal with it.
Just kidding. You know I love you.
I think that's enough. Starting to get stupid in the head. I'm tired and I don't want to be typing no more. Time to go get me a little shut-eye. I suggest you do the same. Assuming you have to get up in the morning. If you don't, then by all means, stay up. Have a party. What do I care?
So, um. Yeah. Good night.
Erik Hagen
/Teaser = All Hype, No Delivery. Sucker.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

Some Bizarre Realization

2004-03-11T22:09:00.000-08:00

When Lewis walked into the apartment, the first thing he saw was Bill staring off into space. Nothing new. But he seemed more intent at it today, in a way that troubled Lewis. Not a lot, mind you. Just enough for him to say something about it.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked him as he threw his keys on the table.
"I'm trying to make the lamp disappear," Bill answered, without even a hint of sarcasm.
"Alright, sounds reasonable." Lewis crossed over around the coffee table and fell into the armchair. "Once you're done with that, you could work on that sculpture you never finished. I'd have no problem getting rid of that piece of crap."
"Shut up. I'm concentrating," Bill replied.
Lewis grabbed the lighter out of his pocket, lit a cigarette. For a while, he flicked through the TV channels, trying to forget what the mental patient in his living room was doing. Sure, he thought, he pays half the rent, but is it really worth it? Surely he could cohabitat with just about anyone else in this city. Maybe a blonde. Maybe two blondes. That'd be pretty cool.
"Come on, would you knock it off? You're freaking me out."
Bill kept staring through the lamp, his concentration remaining unbroken for a minute, before he started to speak.
"I can't. I have to prove something."
Oh, here we go, Lewis thought. This should be good. "Ok, I'll bite. What are you proving, your dominance over inanimate objects?"
"I figured out I was God today."
"Of course you did." If this had come from anybody else, Lewis might've been worried. But, considering the source, he just took another drag from his cigarette and changed the channel again.
"Well, not really God, per se, but just the same. I realized that the only person I can really prove exists is myself."
"You can prove this?"
"Yes. Yes, I can, because I can think, I can reason, but I can't prove that anyone else is capable of doing either of those things because the world only exists in my head. As far as I know, everybody I've ever met was a figment of my imagination."
Ok, now he was just getting weird. "You wanna run that by me again?"
"Certainly," Bill replied, "Everything I've ever experienced in my life has been self-contained. Everything I see, hear, feel, it all is just my brain telling me that these things are happening. For all I know, it's all a lie. But if everything's a lie, then everyone and everything I've ever encountered in my life has been nothing but an illusion. That means the world doesn't really exist, only I do. Thus, everything in this apartment and everything outside of it only exists because I deem it so."
"Makes sense, in some strange idiotic way," Lewis said, momentarily forgetting the television remote and diverting his attention to his bizarre friend. "But what's that got to do with the lamp?"
"If the world only exists in my head, than theoretically I should be able to control my surroundings. Thus, the only way to prove my theory is to make the lamp disappear. Once that's gone, I can begin my existence as an omnipotent deity in a world of my own creation."
Lewis leaned over and stabbed his cigarette into the ash tray on the table. "All right then," he said, "Good luck with that. If it's all right with you, I'm going to go in my room and try to get back the last five minutes of my life somehow."
"Uhh," Bill said without looking up. Lewis passed by him into the hallway, stopped and looked back.
"You know something, I think you might have smoked away some necessary parts of your cerebrum in the last couple years. You do know that right?"
"I'm aware."
"Good." Lewis walked down the hallway, dragging his hand along the wall. Surely, he thought, there had to better place to be on a Friday night than putting up with this.
And then, Lewis walked into his room, closed the door behind him, and, for the moment, completely disappeared from existence.

This Moment is So Much Bigger Than Me...[sob].

2004-03-01T00:08:00.000-08:00

It's Oscar night, I've got nothing to do, so I'm trying something new. Get ready for my first ever Oscars column. I'm going through real-time and typing my thoughts. So read along and pretend you're watching with me. And that you brought chips and salsa. And that I'm enjoying the chips and salsa with you. Even though I don't like salsa all that much.
Getting a late start because I was washing the dishes. Hope you understand. If I don't wash the dishes, then I have nothing to eat my food off of. I just can't have that.
7:38 - Good Lord, I'm tired of Billy Crystal hosting every Oscars. His song number gets more and more tired every time he does it. Hey, I've got a good idea. I'll turn "A Few of My Favorite Things" into a song about Lord of the Rings! Get it? It rhymes! Get some new schtick, Crystal.
7:46 - Will this song never end? God, whatever I did I'm sorry. Please end my suffering.
7:47 - Michael Dougas is wearing sunglasses. Indoors. I think it's so people won't notice that his eye sockets have started decaying.
7:48 - Best Supporting Actor time. I'm picking Tim Robbins. Could be Alec Baldwin, but I think it'll be Robbins.
7:51 - I was right. I love Tim Robbins. Seems like one of the nicest guys you could ever meet that I'll likely never meet. I'm glad he won anyway.
7:55 - Jason Biggs is doing Diet Pepsi commercials. Martin Schorcschszi(sp?) is doing American Express. I'm drinking an ice cold Coca Cola, but nobody's paying me a dime for it. Life is unfair.
7:59 - Angelina Jolie is looking especially fetching tonight. Too bad she's totally stone cold nuts.
8:02 - Robin Williams is demonstrating his usual maybe-if-I-keep-talking-nonstop-eventually-I'll-say-something-funny comedy technique. As usual, it didn't work. Best Animated Film? Finding Nemo. Anything else and I'll turn off the television and go to bed.
8:05 - I'm happy to announce that I'm staying up.
8:07 - They did a replay of Tim Robbins winning his award. My mother got confused and thought they were doing it all over again. She's funny when she has no idea what's going on.
8:14 - We are now deep into the technical awards. I am currently seeing if I can get my pupils up behind my eyelids so I can do that cool-looking "white eyes" look.
8:15 - The good news is that I can. The bad news is now I can't get them to go back to where they were.
8:16 - I think I can see my brain.
8:18 - Ok, my eyeballs fixed themselves just in time for Best Supporting Actress. I'm betting on Renee Zellweger, though I'm hoping for Holly Hunter. Couldn't tell you why.
8:21 - 3 for 3. I should be wagering on these things.
8:25 - Tribute time for Bob Hope. I have many fond memories of watching his Christmas with the Troops specials in my youth. He was a great man, a funny man. He is missed.
8:31 - Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller do the "One guy wears a wacky costume, other guy doesn't, hilarity ensues" gag for the 12,367th time. I finish my Coke and wonder if I should upgrade to Gunness. If only it wasn't Sunday.
8:35 - Jackasses play off the winners for Best Live Action Short Film for not being celebrities. Like I said, jackasses.
8:38 - Liv Tyler appears to be a librarian now. Good for her.
8:40 - Sting lulls me into a gentle sleep.
8:43 - Elvis Costello rocks me awake with the sheer power of his awesomeness. That's how awesome he is. He's the Anti-Sting.
8:46 - Pearl Jam got robbed. They had a great song on "Big Fish" called "Man of the Hour." Nominated for a Golden Globe. Nominated for a Critic's Choice Award. But no Oscar nomination. Academy bastards.
8:54 - You know what would make this show not last so long? If we didn't get Billy Crystal skits every five minutes. Just give out the awards and shut up.
8:55 - I thought Sean Penn didn't show up for these things. Hypocrite.
9:00 - Jennifer Garner, I love you. Please marry me. My girlfriend said it would be all right. Really.
9:01 - I am a sad little man.
9:07 - Blake Edwards and Jim Carrey. Good times, my friends. Good times.
9:11 - "Oscar winner Julia Roberts." For some reason, that always make me laugh when I hear it.
9:15 - Bill Murray is a genius. Please let him win tonight.
9:16 - Sophia Coppola is all kinds of cute. If any of you are wondering what my girlfriend looks like, picture Sophia Coppola. Take away the humongous nose and horse teeth. Leave the cute. She kind of looks like that.
9:23 - Lord of the Rings is winning a lot tonight. I'm not complaining. I'm just saying.
9:43 - It's official. I'm bored.
9:46 - Gregory Peck tribute. If you've never seen "To Kill a Mockingbird," please do. I haven't, but I really should. The book is incredible.
9:49 - I love when they have the reel with all the people who passed away in the last year, and then it's like a contest to see who gets the most claps. That's what an actor's life comes down to, hoping you get a bunch of other actors to clap for you for seven seconds.
10:12 - Yup. Definitely bored.
10:15 - Jack Black and Will Ferrell. Things are picking up.
10:17 - Best song. I'm going to bet on Who Gives a Crap.
10:18 - I was right. Annie Lennox.
10:20 - I see Charlize Theron is back to her usual weight of 75 pounds.
10:23 - Uma, Jude Law. Jude Law, Uma.
10:29 - Best Adapted Screenplay. Since writing is my thing, I've been looking forward to the Screenplay awards. I'm gonna say LOTR.
10:30 - Damn, I'm good.
10:32 - Hey, it's Spiderman. Is he strong, listen, bud. How the hell should I know?
10:33 - I think I'm getting tired.
10:34 - Best Original Screenplay - Hoping for Sophia, Lost in Translation. Hope I'm right.
10:35 - I am. Shweet.
10:42 - Best Director. Peter Jackson. I'm sure of it.
10:43 - Peter Jackson. Boy, even when he dresses up, he still looks like he just got out of bed.
10:45 - Best Actress. Charlize Theron. And then Adrian Brody will shove his tongue down her throat.
10:47 - First part, right. Second part, not so much.
10:57 - Best Actor. Bill Murray. Please, please, please, please, please. (I'll settle for Johnny Depp).
11:00 - Crap.
11:03- Best Picture. I'm kind of annoyed by that last award, so pardon the lack of enthusiasm. That said, Lord of the Rings. Easy.
11:05 - Clean sweep. Richly deserved, I might add.That's it. Going to bed. I'd thank some people, but I didn't win anything. Oh, well. Maybe next year. Bye!
-Erik Hagen
/Just happy to be nominated.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

This Lane is Closed.

2004-02-26T23:44:00.000-08:00

I'm back. You might have missed me. You might not have. I don't really know. If you did, sorry. I missed you too, as much as one man can miss people he writes about his life to over the computer for no discernable reason besides the big ol' smile it puts on his face.Yeah, I know, this opening is long and not terribly funny, but do me a favor and keep reading any way. You'll thank me for it. Or not.
I haven't done this in awhile. I apologize. It's been a hell of a week, as you can probably imagine. I moved back to Bismarck this last Saturday. I am now temporarily residing at my folks' house. 25-years-old, and still living with my parents. Cool guy, huh? It's all right for now, though. I just need to save up some money for a while, pay off the credit cards I maxed out in school, get enough money for a down payment on a car, and then I'll worry about finding an apartment.
Nice to see I got this all planned out, huh?
Work is alright so far. It's taking a while to get used to sitting around on my can all day in front of a computer screen. It's also strange not having old people asking me where the coffee filters are (at least not yet). I find it difficult to come to terms with the fact that I now get paid to write. I'm not writing anything I really want to write, but I get paid well to do it. At least I'm moving in the right direction.
I mentioned the last time that I would say some things about what I'll miss at K-mart. And I do miss some things about that crappy job. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot more things that I don't miss. I don't miss having my hours cut in half after the holidays. I don't miss working till twelve at night before the holidays. I don't miss the menial wages, and the non-existent benefits, the stupid red vests and the patronizing looks I got just because I was some minimum-wage pogue. And I don't miss that sinking feeling I used to get in the pit of my stomach that I was going to be doing that job for the rest of my life.
Yeah, it's true, I didn't like working at K-mart. But I never regretted it either. I did it because I had to. I did it because I needed food on the table while I was working my way through college. It paid the bills, and for that I'm grateful. And even though I didn't get respect from everyone that came in that store, I did get treated kindly by at least some of the customers I dealt with. I'm grateful to every single one of them, and if I helped them out even a little bit, then I did my job, and I'm satisfied.
When it all comes down to it, though, the only thing that I really miss is the people that I worked with. I don't think any of them ever liked working at K-mart any more than I did. Some of them downright loathed it. But they all did it, and most of them did it well. They all, in their own ways, made it easier to be there. And I wanted to thank them for that. I doubt any of them read this, but it's not important. It's just something that needs to be said.
So thank you to Nadan, Dan, Sam, Lindsay, Mike, Mikey, Josh, David, Nick, Jenn, Jeanie, Jennifer, Rachel, Bonnie, Jim, Dick, Rod, Justin, Gary, Dennis, Angela, Kim, Nancy, Lindy, Karen, Christine, Don, Toph, Wendy, Kevin, and anyone else I'm forgetting. I'm glad to have met you all, and I'll miss you.
So that's it. Good-bye K-mart. Good-bye Fargo. Hello Bismarck. Hello Kranzler Kingsley. I'm thankful for this new opportunity. But I'm also thankful for the ones I left behind. Bye for now.
-Erik Hagen
/[insert witty phrase of some sort here]
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

Blue Light Special

2004-02-18T14:00:00.000-08:00

Today is my last day working for Kmart. In honor of that (and also in lieu of the fact I can no longer be fired for talking about these kinds of things), I am celebrating by counting down the five stupidest customers I had to deal with.
Yeah, that's right. You heard me.
WARNING: If you are highly offended by me calling people stupid, then this column isn’t for you. If you have ever done moderately foolish at a retail store, you probably aren’t going to like this very much at all. In fact, maybe everyone should just skip this one altogether. It’s really just for me. So maybe I’ll just tell you a quick joke, and you can chuckle, and go back to surfing www.fark.com or whatever your own personal favorite website may be.
A man visits his doctor with an apple stuck in his mouth, a celery stuck in each ear and a carrot stuck up each nostril. He mumbles 'Doc, I'm just not feeling well.' Doctor replies, 'Well, maybe you're not eating right.'
Yuk yuk yuk. Oh, har har. WOOOoooo.
Ok, consider yourselves warned.
5. Couple of short but good ones to start off with. Once I was asked by an older couple where we had our screws and nails at. I told them they were in the very last aisle, next to the wall, in the direction they were going. They thanked me and I left. A couple minutes later, I come upon them looking diligently in the third aisle from the wall, where we have bathroom supplies. They see me and say they can’t find the screws. I say, I’m sorry, I must have misspoken, they’re in the last aisle near the wall. They say oh no, they knew that’s what I had said, they just didn’t feel like walking all the way down, so they thought they’d look in this aisle.
4. A lady walks up to me and asks if we have parrot food. I say we do and walk her over to the pet food aisle, happily pointing right to it. She picks up the food, looks at it carefully, and asks if we have any food for real parrots. As opposed to the food for imaginary parrots she had in her hand. I think a little while, put the parrot food back and hand her cockatiel food. She leaves pleased. I don’t have the heart to tell her she is not, in fact, raising a parrot.
3. During Christmas time, I’m walking by the seasonal department. All of a sudden, I’m stopped by a very insistent, very impatient lady. That’s all right, I think. It’s the holidays, people are at the end of their ropes. I put on my fake smile and follow her. She walks into the aisle and picks up a glass jar, with Santa and his reindeer painted on the sides. She turns it around a couple times and looks at me expectantly. I have no idea what she wants. Suddenly, she blurts out, “What do I do with this?”I had a good answer to that question, but I kept it to myself.
2. When I first started at the company, the only department I was trained in was Pantry, where groceries and cleaning supplies are sold. That didn’t stop one lady from walking all the way over to Pantry, getting my attention and dragging me all the way over to Automotive. She pointed at the hubcaps and asked me which kind she needed. I hemmed and hawed, told her it depended on her car and the size of her wheel. More than likely, I told her, if she just had a regular car, she probably just needed a 13” or 14”, but it all depended. She says, if she buys these now, we can just see if they fit while I put them on her car. I say, well, I've never put hubcaps on a car before, and I wouldn't be able to even if I knew how, being that I’d have to leave the store to do it. It was a Sunday, I told her, so our Penski auto shop was closed, otherwise they could do it. I suggested she could come back tomorrow, and they could do it for her. She immediately became indignant, and said she’d go to Wal-mart, where they would be more than happy to put her hubcaps on for her. As I walk away, I start laughing, not out loud, just kind of a nervous habit. Unfortunately, I run right into her again in the next aisle. She sees me laughing at her, and insists, with fire in her eyes, that she is being completely serious. I, unfortunately, react by laughing even harder. She stomps out of the store, presumably to repeat the entire scene once more down at Wal-mart.
1. And now, what you've been waiting for, number one. As I was working in Pantry one day, I was approached by an older man. This poor old guy, I don’t know if he had a lisp or was missing his teeth, but he kept asking if we had any "peeshes." I politely asked him to repeat what he said. He says, "You know, peeshes, peeshes." I assume he’s looking for peaches. I tell him, we don’t carry fresh fruit, but we do have canned peaches, which I show him. This doesn’t seem to satisfy him, and he walks away from me without a word. I try not to let it bother me, and start to walk off. All of a sudden, I hear the guy behind me yell out, “What do you call theesh!!” I turn around and he’s standing in front of the frozen pizzas. I say, oh, pizzas, I thought you were saying peaches. He says, “No, not peeses, peeshes, peeshes!!”
And that’s my Kmart career in a nutshell. Tonight, I turn in my red vest, my discount card, and walk gently into that good night. I think I’ll make this posting into a two-parter, and share with you all the things I'll miss about working at Kmart next time. Until then, I’ll just let you digest all that I’ve shared with you today. The next time you’re at Kmart, take a moment to stop and look around. Somewhere, someplace, at any time, someone is doing something stupid and possibly annoying. And, take it from me, it’s a lot of fun to watch. Not so much fun to deal with, but a helluva lot of fun to be a witness to.
-Erik Hagen
/I'm just shopping at the K-mart. Everybody's in the way. I'm just shopping at the K-mart. Everybody seems to say. Ahahahahahahahahahahahah....
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

The Big News.

2004-02-11T23:46:00.000-08:00

It's come to my attention that, for the most part, most people who visit the site will only read as far as this teaser, so if I have anything important to say, I should say it here.
I got a job. I'm moving back to Bismarck.
That is all. Thank you.
Hey, you're still reading. Perhaps I underestimated you.
It's true. I mentioned last time I had interviewed for a job at an advertising agency in town. Well, now I work there. You're looking at Bismarck's newest copywriter. Well, actually you're not looking at him, but you're reading the stuff that he's writing. You know what I mean. The point is, I'm a copywriter.
If you'd asked me a year ago what I'd be doing out of college, I doubt I would have said I'd be working in advertising. More likely, I would've said, "Who are you, and why are you asking me what I'll be doing in a year? Please get out of my house." But that's what I'm doing. I now work in the fast-paced world of advertising. Now I have to get some slick suits, with power ties, maybe print up some business cards. I need some Gucci shoes. And hair gel. Lots and lots of hair gel. And maybe some sunglasses, the ones that cost $300, the kind that you wear all the time. Hot damn, take a look at me now, world. I'm a big man! A BIG MAN!!
Ok, I got a little carried away there, and I'm sorry.
If you can't tell, I'm excited. And also scared as hell. Really, really, just absolutely terrified. This is what the experts like to call a "transitional period." I've been living in Fargo for the last two-and-a-half years. It's not the greatest town. Most of the time, the air smells funny. People drive like they're half retarted. But I've grown attached. And I will miss this town. I guess you never know. I may be back one day. Maybe sooner rather than later.
But for now, I'm coming home.
-Erik Hagen
/a man with something on his mind. And he's not afraid to write about it.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

2004-02-01T18:10:00.000-08:00

It's Super Bowl Sunday!! Who's ready for some football? Huh? Who's with me? Come on, say it with me. Everyone! On the count of three. One. Two. Three.".....eh..."Man, that was invigorating!
At last, the long-storied rivalry between the New England Patriots and the Carolina Panthers will come to a head this evening. Who hasn't been waiting for this game? Seriously. I couldn't be any more excited.
That would've been a good spot to insert one of them "smiley" things, preferably one rolling his eyes, or winking, something to indicate I'm being sarcastic, but I don't like the little creeps and I don't want to use them, so I won't. You can't make me. :P Oh, crap.
Back from my little tangent. The game. Can't say I'm on pins and needles waiting for the stupid thing, but I'll watch. I always do. The commercials should be good.
Speaking of commercials, I have two off-shoots on that subject. One is that I had a job interview with an advertising firm this last week. I won't mention the place by name, on the off chance that my legions of readers may delude their e-mail inbox with demands that they hire me. I know, you all say you won't do it, but then I go ahead and tell you, and you all grab your pitchforks and torches and march on down to the place, like you always do. That's a chance I just can't take. So just keep your fingers crossed for me and we'll see what happens.
Second thing is all the hub-bub over the MoveOn.org ad not being played during the Super Bowl tonight. If you haven't heard, CBS refuses to show an anti-Bush ad during the game even though MoveOn.org is willing to fork over the cash needed. A lot of liberals are up in arms about it, calling it censorship and catering to the Right and what not. Personally, I could care less. It's their game, they can show whatever they want to. And if they think it's more important to show two women wrestling in wet cement over beer, who am I to argue? Some causes are just more important, right?
This is turning out to be a very sarcastic column.
Getting back to football, I should probably mention that I am a disgruntled Vikings fan myself. You would think that this year would've been the final nail in the coffin, but I really wasn't all that upset during the Arizona game. Yes, they collapsed, only the second team to start 6-0 and not make the playoffs, totally had the game in control up until they choked (and how) in the end. But, come on. It's the Vikings. Sucking is the only thing they're really good at. So, I look forward to many, many more years of having my hopes built up, only to have them killed in a horrific, bloody, agonizing, screaming death. Go, Vikes!
That's it. I've got at least five or six more hours of watching something I supposedly don't care about, so, uh, I'm gonna go do that. My pick: I'm hoping Carolina, but it'll be the Patriots. By a lot. Enjoy the game, I'll enjoy the commercials. Talk to you next time, whenever next time might be.
-Erik Hagen
/Can't wait for the Simpsons Mastercard ad.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

2004-01-29T02:20:00.000-08:00

It's cold. It's cold. It's cold. It's cold. It's cold.It is way too frickin cold.
Did I mention that it's cold?
It's time for all of us to admit, right now, that we, as North Dakotans, live in an area of the country that is not suitable for habitation by human beings. As I write this, it is 25 degrees below zero here in Fargo. That is not right. It is an emergency situation. If it happened in any other state (except possibly Alaska, New Hampshire or Minnesota), people would be forcasting the apocalypse. But not here. Oh, no. We don't even bat an eyelash here. January 28th? Check. 25 degrees below zero? Check. Just your typical winter.
What in the hell is the matter with us?
It's true. I don't have anything better to write about other than the weather. But, good Lord, it's cold.
This morning, I got up at 7:30 to go to work at eight. I go out to start my car at the usual time, about 7:55, because I'm a Viking and I like to live dangerously. I had my car plugged in all night. One would think I'd be all right. One would be absolutely mistaken. Ruh Ruh Ruh, my car says. I'm pretty sure he was trying to find just the right way to tell me how much he hates my guts but, being that it's Absolute Zero outside, all he can do is stutter. So I go next door, get my neighbor to give me a jump. Saints be praised, it works. So I get to work about 8:30, somewhat confused that nobody ever called me to find out where the hell I was. I ponder this fact all the way into work. I ponder it all the way up to the schedule, which I latch my pearly whites upon, and see that I'm not scheduled to work until 4:30.
4:30.
So I do what any reasonable human being would do: I lower my head and run into the wall about three or four times. Why, you ask? Because it just feels so good when I stop. I grab my things, I head for the door, I go straight home, and I go back to bed. I know that they say you shouldn't sleep when you have a concussion, as I probably did after caving in my skull like I did, but like I said, I'm a Viking.
So that's my day.
On a more serious note, I just wanted to send along my thoughts to fellow TriBlogger Diane Livingston and her husband Bruce. I encourage everyone else to do the same, and send some positive energy their way.
And I, for one, am also going to direct some positive energy at the sun in the hopes that my car will start tomorrow.
-Erik Hagen
/Where the wind blows, nothing grows, and the state tree is the telephone pole.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

Reality is Highly Overrated.

2004-01-21T02:14:00.000-08:00

I’ve been noticing a disturbing trend in reality television these days.Now you may be saying, “Erik, hasn’t reality television always, in some shape or form, contained elements that some may deem disturbing or off-putting?” Or perhaps you’re saying, “Isn’t what is truly disturbing about reality television the awful things which mirror that which exists within our own private lives?” Or, just maybe, you’re saying, “Why am I talking to my computer monitor? Do I really expect it to answer back? Where did I put my medication?”
What was my point again? Oh, yeah, reality television.
The thing that bothers me about the current glut of reality shows is the new crop highlighting the young and the wealthy. Now, I have no problem with young people, besides the fact that I hate children. And teenagers. And people my age. Ok, fine, I hate young people. But what I really don’t care for are the rich. Now I know what you’re saying, “You’re just jealous. You wish you were rich.” Again, I must point out that you are talking to yourself. But you have a point. I don’t envy the wealthy. Honestly, I don’t. I envy their money. I have no reason to envy the people who have it. Which brings me to my point.
These reality shows, in particular “The Simple Life,” “Rich Girls,” “The Osbournes,” and “Newlyweds,” sell us a very conflicted message. On one hand, we’re supposed to be laughing at them for being so completely inept. Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie don’t have enough brain cells between them to rub together. Those two twits on “Rich Girls” couldn’t keep themselves alive for five minutes if their parents weren’t hiring people to do it for them. Kelly and Jack Osbourne live in some fantasy world where both actually believe they have some form of talent, besides being Ozzy’s offspring. Jessica Simpson is, well, she’s retarded. And we, the unwashed masses, are supposed to sit back and laugh and laugh at their foibles, like we’re in on some big joke they are not privy to. All that money, and they can’t afford a clue. What a riot!
But then, at the same time, these shows want us to also desire what these people have. Watch the ads for “Rich Girls” on MTV (“Get a first-hand look at their super-fabulous life when MTV follows two of the wealthiest teens on the planet to see how they spend their mountains of money.”) Listen to the stereotypical wistful hillbilly narrator on “The Simple Life” pine on how rich and beautiful and privileged the girls are. What am I, the perplexed viewer, to think? Am I supposed to despise or idolize these people?
Well, I can only speak for myself when I say, if this is the price of being wealthy, then I’m all for quitting my job tomorrow on the off chance that somehow, someway, I might actually become successful at it and turn into a brainless pile of cow turds. Better yet, why the hell would I even want to watch these people on my television set every week? If you were to ever meet Paris Hilton in the street, or share a beer with Jessica Simpson, in fifteen minutes you’d be really, really curious to see how hard you could bounce their heads off of the wall. So why would you want to spend thirty minutes watching them living their stupid lives? Don’t put yourself through these things, people. On a side note, why on earth is Nicole Richie even rich to begin with? She’s Lionel Richie’s kid. That’s not enough. He hasn’t sold a record since the Reagan administration. Where is her money coming from?The only thing that these “Lifestyles of the Rich and Mouth-Breathing” shows has convinced me is that, once the poor rise up to slaughter their affluent oppressors, it should take two or three days tops. If they can’t even figure out how to make a burrito without having a nervous breakdown, there’s no way they’re going to be able to defend themselves. Until then, I guess I’ll just have to keep suffering these untalented cretins until the next fad in reality television comes along, at which point I can start making fun of that. Don’t pity the rich, folks, pity the cynics like myself. After all, the cycle never ends for us.
-Erik Hagen/You are here in reality.BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

A Brief Foray Into Politics

2004-01-13T23:04:00.000-08:00

So I shook Howard Dean’s hand last week.He has one of those annoying handshakes, more like a pinch than a firm grasp. You know the kind. Too much emphasis on the thumb. Go to your local doctor’s office and shake his hand. It was just like that. A total physician’s handshake.But I’m getting ahead of myself.

If you didn’t hear, Howard Dean stopped by Fargo for a campaign stop, trying to rally some support for the local caucus on February 3. I’ve been following Dean’s campaign since the beginning, so I decided to go with my brother and a couple of his friends. A good time was had by all.
The event started promptly at 5:30 at the Radisson ballroom. We showed up early, about 5:00 or so, which turned out to be a good thing because the place was packed. They figured the attendance at somewhere between 500 and 600, all crowded into one tiny ballroom. Compare that to Dick Gephardt, who was in town a while ago and drew a whole 80 people. No offense to Gephardt, but I think at this point, I have about as much chance of being elected President as he does. Anyway, they give you all the free crap when you come in: buttons, stickers, bumper stickers, a couple pamphlets. What can I say, I like free junk. Doesn’t matter what it is, just as long as I don’t have to pay for it.
Dean took the stage at about 5:30. He was supposed to talk for only ten minutes, then take questions. Of course, that ended up being about half an hour. I don’t blame the guy. If he had only ten minutes worth of things to say, then he probably shouldn’t be running for President. So he spoke for a while, outlined his campaign. Dean is a very good speaker, equal parts eloquence and confidence, knowledgeable about the issues with a sharp sense of humor. It’s easy to see why his supporters are so passionate about the man. The guy sitting next to me likened him to FDR, in that Roosevelt was the first politician to use the radio to his advantage, while Dean is the first to really utilize the Internet. There’s no underestimating how much that Internet connection means to Dean’s campaign; it is the one thing that he is better at than any other candidate, including Bush. And, because he is so tapped into the Internet (which, by the way, you’re reading right now, but I’m sure you knew that already), that makes him the most attractive candidate for young people. All you had to do to know how connected Dean is with the young was look around at Dean’s audience. I would say at least a third of the people there were either my age (25) or younger. That says a lot about Dean.
After his speech, Dean took questions from the audience. All told, the whole thing took about an hour. And then, after he was done, he stuck around and answered questions on a one-on-one basis, posed for pictures, and shook hands, including my aforementioned hand pinching incident. I can’t speak for everyone in that room last week, but I think he’s safely secured my vote. I’ll leave you with this: When he wrapped up his speech, he maintained that it’s not enough to vote Dubya out of office. What we also need to do is vote someone into office who deserves to be there, someone who can do a better job. I can’t say for sure that Howard Dean is that person. But I would like to see him get the chance to be that man. I think he’ll do all right.
And I’d also like to be able to say that I shook the President’s hand. Even if he does have an annoying handshake.
-Erik Hagen
/What kind of a mother names their son Howard?
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

Things I'm Thinking While Watching "Saturday Night Live."

2004-01-04T01:22:00.000-08:00

It's Saturday night. I've got no plans. I'm still recovering from a severe case of Post-Christmas Letdown. I haven't slept much in the last few days. My apartment is a frosty 64 degrees. My left hand is twitching for no explicable reason. Might as well update the old blog. And maybe turn up the heat a little.
I'm watching Saturday Night Live. I'm not sure why. I really cannot stand this show anymore. Watching Jimmy Fallon and Horatio Sanz giggling like two twelve-year-olds through every sketch makes me want to reconsider the whole "renouncing my Amish heritage" thing. I'd gladly trade in my television set for my old butter churn at this point.
One of the things I got this Christmas was the third season of Mr. Show with Bob and David on DVD. I think that has a lot to do with my current disdain for SNL. If you've never seen Mr. Show, but you sit through this crap every week, you have no idea what you're missing. Go grab some culture.
I'm wondering at this point if it would be easier to just move out of my apartment as opposed to cleaning it. A small controlled ground fire might also do the trick. I'm going to look into that. Better clear it with the landlord first.
Kelly Ripa is the host this week. I think it's a repeat. The only times I ever get to see Regis and Kelly is when I'm working the morning shift at work and I'm on my break. Otherwise I sleep right through it every single morning all the way to my usual noon wake-up. I can tell you this: I like Kelly Ripa a lot more than I liked Kathie Lee Gifford, but that's kind of like saying I preferred that one time I got punched really hard in the nose to the time I was kneed savagely in the groin.
That Andre 3000 of Outkast, he's a little bit out there. Just for the record, though, you really shouldn't shake it, shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture, as shaking the Polaroid picture damages picture quality. Rather, you should instead stick it in your pocket, or in any other warm area with temperatures over 55 degrees Fahrenheit to aid in the development process, like a Polaroid picture. I will concede, however, that what is cooler than cool is indeed ice cold.
I've gotta say it. Tina Fey is attractive. That is all.
Man, I wish I had something to do.
Right now, Horatio Sanz has been doing a Jimmy Buffet impression for the last fifteen minutes. Why, I couldn't tell you. Jimmy Fallon seemed to think it was funny, so hey, good for him.
If you've waited for this blog patiently for the past two weeks, I sincerely apologize. I'm sure I'll think of something better to write about real soon.
Hey, a sketch about cow farting. I'm happy I stayed home for this. It's times like this I really wish I could find the remote control. Or hadn't drank up all the beer over New Year's. Or could withstand heavy blows to the head without severe future consequences.
Alright, enough of this stream-of-consciousness, I'm-not-clever-enough-to-think-of-anything-better-to-write-about, hey-I-found-the-remote-under-a-pile-of-unwashed-laundry-now-I-can-watch-Cartoon-Network tomfoolery. I'm going to find something better to waste my life on. You do the same. Till next time, Faithful Reader.
-Erik Hagen
/I miss Will Ferrell so much.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

Today's the day.

2003-12-23T12:06:00.000-08:00

It’s kind of an big day today, so I’m trying to play things serious. Bare with me, I’ll get back to the usual idiotic ramblings next week. For now, I’ve got something important to talk about.
Today is the anniversary of me and Jessy’s first date. It was three years ago today that I picked her up at work (she was working at Hallmark at the time, I worked at Maxwell’s, so we worked right next door to each other at the mall; that was convenient), and followed her home so we could drop off her car. We went to Perkin’s for supper. I have no idea what I ate, I was more concerned with just being able to keep some food down. Throwing up on the first date is never a good thing. After supper, we went to see “The Family Man,” with Nic Cage. I just recently saw this movie on television, and it really is a godawful piece of crap with an ending that made me want to put a brick through my television, but three years ago, I never even noticed. When we went in, I had gotten a large soda to drink. She didn’t get anything, so I thought I’d get two straws, in case she wanted to share mine. She never noticed, so I just ended up drinking the thing twice as fast with double barrel straws. Anyway, after the movie, I had no idea where to go so we just drove around for a while. I think we ended up at Denny’s and had hot chocolate or something. After that, I dropped her off at her place, drove home and tried to fall asleep without thinking about the stupid things I said or the dumb jokes I made. I didn’t succeed.
So it’s been three years.
Before I ever got into a serious relationship, I always figured I would be one of those types of boyfriends, the ones who write up little poems on the back of napkins, and send flowers every other day for no reason. I always thought I’d be better at this. But the truth of the matter is, you have a tendency of taking things for granted after awhile. You forget to say things that you should say, forget to do things that you should do more often. And every now and then, it bothers you. You want her to know how much she means to you, and how you don’t know what you’d do without her, but you don’t know what to do about it. So you go on a public forum, much like this one, and you tell the whole world (or the seven people who actually read this) everything you want to tell her.Jessy, I love you more than I ever thought I could love any human being. A wise man said, “If you love somebody, set them free,... If someone loves you, don't f*** up.” I have no idea how I’ve made it three years without screwing things up, but if you’ll let me, I’ll gladly go another three years, or thirty years, or even three hundred. But, as much as this day means to me, to you, to us, every day we’ve been together has meant exactly the same to me.
It’s meant everything to me. You mean everything to me.
Merry Christmas, everybody. We'll do this again after the holidays.
-Erik Hagen
/hanging on for dear life
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

When I was a kid, how magic it seemed.

2003-12-15T14:27:00.000-08:00

Now would be a good time for a Christmas story, like something from my childhood, or about my plans for the season, or the magic of the holidays. That sounds like fun, doesn't it? Go grab a cup of egg nog, I will too, and I will regale you with tidings of Christmas cheer. Is that mistletoe I see? You know what that means. Oh, what a magical season. Joy to the world!Or maybe I'll just tell you about my job. Merry Christmas!!
I don’t know if I mentioned it yet, but I currently work in retail. I shouldn’t mention names here, but said store in question has recently, due to some sort of mid-life crisis, started referring to itself in commercials as “the K.” Figure it out. Anyway, working in retail around this time of year isn’t a lot of fun. In fact, it isn’t fun at all. Not one little bit. Not at all. None of it. No fun. None.If it’s alright with you, I’d like to regale you with a few of my pet peeves, the things that have been annoying me of late:
1. Holiday music. Did you know that there’s actually only about seven or eight Christmas songs that have ever been written? I didn’t know that pre-retail. But I know it now because I’ve heard it for myself. Because they play those same seven or eight songs over and over again, just performed by different artists. There’s “Jingle Bells,” by Christina Aguilera, “Frosty the Snowman” by Willy Nelson, “Jingle Bell Rock” by seemingly everyone. I’m fairly certain that being exposed to Christmas music non-stop for eight hours a day is some sort of psychological torture. I’m thinking of contacting the Humane Society.
2. Christmas cheer. It doesn’t exist, or at least not as much as it should. I’ve gotten a few people so far this season who are filled with Christmas cheer, all warm and bubbly, really nice and friendly and make sure to wish me a very Merry Christmas. And I appreciate these folks. In fact, I think I love them. The problem is, those people are few and far between. Most people in my store don’t want to be there. In fact, they’d rather be anywhere else but shopping. But since they have to be there, they walk up and down the aisles, the living dead. Let’s face it, folks. Christmas shopping is not fun. Because of that, the only real fun thing about Christmas is the actual day, when everything is done and you can enjoy the whole thing in the peace of your own house. Until then, I’m just trying to get you through, in and out of my store as quickly as possible. You’ll thank me, believe me.
3. Working till midnight. That’s right. We don’t close until midnight every night until Christmas Eve. That means tonight, as you tuck yourself into your warm, comfortable bed, I am still working, still selling under-priced merchandise to people who, for some reason, actually want to be shopping at 11:30 at night. All I ask is that you think of me, think of me as you enjoy your night, and know that if, late at night, you suddenly develop an urge to buy Corn Flakes, three for five dollars, I will be there for you. Oh, yes, I’ll be there for you.
That’s just a small sampling of my pain. If I could tell everyone just one thing this holiday season, it would be this: Don’t let the season get the best of you. I know shopping sucks. I know it’s hard finding people to help you, there’s other shoppers everywhere, all the toys your kid wants are sold out, the tree that was on sale is all sold out, and time is very quickly running out. But just be cool. Just let things slide. It’s Christmas. This all goes so fast every year, and we all spend the whole season getting stressed out about it, and then, once it’s all over, we miss it. Try to enjoy yourself. You still have ten days to enjoy the Christmas season. Let all your troubles fall away, and enjoy every day you have left.That’s all for now. Thanks for reading, I really do appreciate it. Next time, it’ll be next time. Until then. Merry Christmas.
-Erik Hagen
/Feliz Navidad is an evil, evil song.
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

Adventures in the Literary World

2003-12-09T18:33:00.000-08:00

Welcome back. I’m feeling unusually productive, so here’s my second post already. In my last post/blog/entry/installment/whatever, I mentioned something about a book. I don’t think I mentioned that my life’s aspiration is to be an author when I grow up (if I grow up), so this last week, I finished my first book. Here’s the story.
I started work on my book about this time last year. I ended up working on it for a class I was taking at the time, Advanced Creative Writing. This class was my capstone course, so the book was my one big project for the class. In the five months I was in class, I finished eight out of the eventual twelve chapters; not bad, but not really all that great. Anyway, at the end of the class, I kind of abandoned the project over the summer, mostly because I was tired of looking at the stupid thing.
So fast-forward to this past September. I had been working as an intern at New Rivers Press, a local book press here in Moorhead. Around mid-September, I found out about a contest New Rivers puts on every year, the Many Voices Project (aka the MVP contest). What the MVP is is a contest for emerging writers who can submit their manuscripts for the ultimate prize: publication. So, of course, when I found out about said contest, I thought to myself, “Self, you almost have a book, why not enter it?” So I dedicated myself to finishing the novel by November 30, the final day for submission.
The month of September passes, I don’t think I even once looked at the thing once. After all, I’ve got two more months. Plenty of time.
The month of October passes. I think I worked on the book a couple times, maybe added a few sentences here and there. Still have only eight of twelve chapters completed. No big deal. I’m busy planning trick or treating and frolicking amidst the newly fallen leaves. I still have a month left. Plenty of time.
So now it’s November. Every spare minute I have I’m thinking, “You should be working on the book.” Of course, just because I’m thinking about it, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m doing anything about it, because I’m not.
Middle of November arrives. Like any other writer, I’ve pushed myself completely to the last minute. So I start working on the last few chapters. One by one, I eventually get them done. Everything’s moving along quite nicely. Only problem, Thanksgiving is approaching, so things are going to be tight.
November 26, day before Thanksgiving. All but one of the chapters are done, so I just need to finish that one last chapter, and then proofread and revise the whole thing. I’m also headed home for Bismarck from Fargo with my brother Kelly, who also goes to school at MSUM. So I’m doing the revising in the car on the way home. Seems like it should work out fine, right? Nope. We get a flat about thirty miles out of Bismarck. It’s cold. It’s dark. It takes us a while to change it. It finally gets done. We hop back in the car, and the engine promptly dies. So we wait another half-hour for AAA to come jump start the car. Fortunately, a passing motorist stops and helps us out before AAA ever shows up. All told, I’ve lost two hours of valuable time, standing by Interstate 94 in the middle of the winter.
November 27, Thanksgiving. Spent the day with my dysfunctional family. Brought along the manuscript to do some proofreading, but accomplished nothing. Ate a lot of turkey, though.
November 28. In the morning, I finish the final chapter. All that’s left is proofreading. Spend the second half of the day having yet another Thanksgiving meal with the other half of my dysfunctional family. End of the day, book still not totally finished.
November 29. Rules of the contest say the book has to be postmarked by November 30. Problem is, November 30 is a Sunday, so this is the last day. I wake up early and go over the whole thing. It’s done. Just got to mail the stupid thing. Call the Post Office and find out their last delivery is at 6:00. I need to mail them two copies of the manuscript, so I start printing the thing out on my folks’ computer. Printer runs out of ink halfway throught the second printing. So I gather together what I have and rush with my father to Bismarck to his law office (he’s a paralegal). At the office, we use the copier to copy the missing pages for the second copy. Get everything together, get it all bundled up and ready for mailing. Fortunately, the office has their own scale for postage, so it gets postmarked right there: November 29, 2003. The thing’s finally ready to be mailed. So we rush it to the Post Office and it is dropped off at approximately 4:30 p.m. with an hour and a half to spare.
It’s fun being a writer.
I’ll find out in March if the book wins or not. The book’s called “Head-noise,” and I’m excessively proud of the thing. I’d tell you what it’s about, but my fingers hurt so I’m going to go take a nap. Till next time.
-Erik Hagen
/King of Procrastination
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com

On the Subject of Me.

2003-12-03T12:49:00.000-08:00

I’d like to tell you a bit about myself, if you have a moment.
My name is Erik Hagen, Erik spelled with a “k”, at the end, not the beginning, or else it’d be Keric, which it’s not. I’m 25-years-old, going on 26, going on, I don’t know, 52 or so. I was born and raised 20 miles north of Bismarck, in a town I’d rather not mention by name (look on a map, you’ll figure it out). At the moment, I am not currently residing in Bismarck; rather, I am coming to you courtesy of the city of Fargo. For the last two years, I have been attending Minnesota State University Moorhead (MSUM for short) in the pursuit of my English degree. In a couple of weeks, December 19 at 2:00 p.m. to be exact, I will be graduating. It’s at the Fargo Civic Auditorium if you’re interested in coming. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No pressure. I know you’re busy. Anyway, I’m in the process of moving back to Bismarck as we speak, mostly because Bismarck is the city where my longtime girlfriend resides. She has been very patient for the last two years maintaining a 200-mile relationship, but, to tell you the truth, I think she’s become quite sick of it as of late, so Bismarck, here I come. In order to come back, first I need to find someplace to work, so if you’re reading this and you need a semi-motivated English major to do some menial tasks for you for (preferably) obscenely high wages, I’m your man. In the meantime, I’ll be writing this blog that the fine folks at the Bismarck Tribune have allotted to me. So yay for me.
Speaking of blogs, though, do me a favor and say the word out loud. Blog. Blog. Not exactly the type of noise you expected to be coming out of your mouth today, is it? Blog. Blog. Blog. It shouldn’t be a word.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a big fan of linear progression, so just try to keep up. It’s for the best.
The last thing I’ll mention is that I have a lovely family: a mother, a father, a sister and a twin brother, whose names I won’t mention because you haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’ll get to that in a later installment. Other things you can expect to read about include other random observations on my part: politics, entertainment, random gibberish, probably an unnecessary amount of things you’ll find grossly offensive. So you can look forward to that. For next time, I’d like to tell you about the book I just finished writing. It’s called…well, I’ll save it for next time. For now, thanks for reading, and I certainly hope we can remain friends.
-Erik Hagen
/spelled with a “k”
BlueRedGrey@hotmail.com