This article was inspired by SheWonHeWon.com, a new photoblog where you vote for who got the short end of the stick in a relationship. Check it out!

The social universe has an unspoken balance in place that ensures that life makes sense. We hang out with people as cool as we are, we date within our acceptable range, and people that are born into wealth and status run our countries. When some son of a bitch tries to upset that balance, bad things happen. Remember the French Revolution? That happened because one of Quasimodo’s descendants landed a smoking-hot art model. The Civil War? Some mustachioed sea donkey from the North decided she wanted to date a studly land owner from Alabama.  Name any natural disaster and it can be traced back to some fugly idiot not following the rules of romance. If you mess with the balance, the universe compensates with blood.

Despite this delicate equilibrium, matchmaking is never perfect. Occasionally it is so uneven that it elicits a deep sense of injustice from our communal soul, sort of like any time Keanu Reeves gets another acting gig. You know something isn’t right. You can feel it. Someone is getting something they don’t deserve.

So, you walking dumpster, how do you make things right once you have a hottie in your white-knuckled, kill-me-to-take-it grip? How do you cope with dating someone that is hotter than you? Grab your Moleskine and take a seat, my child. We have much to discuss. Read the full story

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TTM Readers: This is an article that I wrote for www.gapersblock.com As our readerbase doesn’t really overlap very well, they allowed me the opportunity to post it on TTM as well. You can see the original article with all its comments here, on Gaper’s Block.

Hey there Chicagoans. Go ahead and pause all your Kazaa, Limewire, and BitTorrent downloads for a second. I want the page to load quickly as this is something you’re going to want to read.

If you haven’t heard yet, it’s “illegal” to download music online without “paying” for it. It’s hard to believe, but being a fan isn’t accepted as legal payment anymore. They call it “piracy,” and the consequences for it can be very, very dire. Therefore, I’ve compiled a list of other crimes that I suggest you look into before you decide to download “Sweet Child of Mine” or “Poker Face.”

First, let’s look at the fines in the only two music piracy trials that have taken place to date. The first is the case of Jammie Thomas, a single mother of four from Minnesota. She downloaded 24 songs off of Kazaa. A jury of her peers decided that she owed the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) almost $2 million for her crimes, a ruling which the Obama Administration recently told a federal judge was constitutionally sound. The second is the case of Joel Tenenbaum, a young grad student at Boston University. He downloaded 30 songs and was slapped with a fine of $675,000. If the verdicts stand both will file for bankruptcy. Read the full story

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So there you are, innocently battering pedestrians with a bus in Grand Theft Auto when you hear that dreaded, menacing sound; a warning of sorts, it’s the closest thing to a rattlesnake’s “chchchchchch” that mankind has yet evolved. The hair on your arms stands on end, your body tenses, your butt cheeks clench, and your palms begin to sweat. You feel your toes begin to push down on the ground slightly, ready to run (instinctively you opt for the “flight” over the “fight” because you’re a pansy). You try to ignore it, but it just gets louder and louder, unwilling to bear your charade of ignorance. Finally, the sound reaches a volume and tone that elicits your response, a reflex aimed at self-preservation.

“Schnuckums!? Are you listening to me?”

“Uh…” You say, your voice waivering. “Yeah babe, I hear you.”

“Are you ready?” the predator bellows, baiting the prey.

“Ready for what… beautiful?” You reply, hoping that somehow the interrogative will provide you an escape while tossing in the compliment at the end to ease the delivery, like the flavoring those bastards put in NyQuil.

“Don’t even try that crap on me. Get off your ass. We’re going shopping.” The snare tightens around your feet. You’ve been caught. Resistance is now futile.

Now that you’ve been reduced to the status of indentured servant, there are a few things you must remember in order to survive. The full moon that is a monthly sale has turned your once kind, sweet girlfriend into a vicious, bloodthirsty monster. A wereshopper, if you will. Like a lycanthrope, but much more subtle in its preferred murderous methods.  You’re about to venture into a dark, dangerous place. Stick with me, and you’ll be stronger, more courageous, and not single when it’s over. Welcome to the jungle.

Read the full story

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Dear Neighbor,

When I moved over here to Apartment 7, I had high hopes for our relationship. My last neighbor and I… We had some disagreements. You see, my last neighbor had two giant, horrible dobermans who loved to greet me every day like two hell hounds screaming for my soul.  In addition to being driven to blind rage by my very presence, they also had a very nasty habit of leaving bear-sized stool next to the section of the fence that bordered my back door. This made my “welcome home” a combination of pant-piss inducing velociraptor roars and upchuck-inspiring Jabba the Hutt dumps. By the time I got inside my house after work, I badly needed a change of pants, some mouthwash, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder counseling.

Then I moved here, to Apartment 7. You’re over there in Apartment 8. On the other side is Apartment 6. I thought to myself, “Man, this is just a cozy, bitchless community, isn’t it?” My eyes shone brightly, then. That light is gone, and let me tell you why. You have a dog, but that’s not the reason.  Don’t get me wrong here, I love dogs. I just think having a dog in an apartment or a small, cramped back yard forces that poor animal to get its jollies off by making me scream expletives and drop food items I just f’ing purchased. That is a crime, but that is not the crime with which we should concern ourselves now. No, the other one is far more confounding. Read the full story

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The world is a dark, mean, ugly place. If you ever have any doubts of that, just watch The Hills. It’s a show about beautiful rich people that MTV decided to make famous. Truly, there is no such thing as real justice. And that’s especially true with you, neoliberal kid.  Your heart is bleeding and you plan on drowning all the world’s bad dreams in your justicey lifeforce. I shouldn’t say drowning – that’s violent. You’re just going to talk about it until all the world’s problems get irritated and leave. That’s more fitting. While the rest of us simply accept/ignore the darker things in life, you wear them around your neck like a big, heavy, depressing necklace. But perhaps sometimes you’re not sure about how you direct the blood that is inevitably gushing out of your heart. Don’t cry. I’m here to help.

Step One: Wear the Correct Name Tag
Are you a neoliberal or a social democrat? Or are you just a democrat? Or are you a socialist? I’d avoid calling yourself just a “democrat”; that just makes you sound like an old timer. You’re more conscious than that. Your democracy needs an adjective. And you probably shouldn’t say “socialist” either. Sarah Palin would likely show up at your house and call all your friends terrorists. It really doesn’t matter which one of the other two you choose, though. They both sound cutting edge. Read the full story

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