Yeah, my bracket's toast, but so's yours so what's it to you?! (And if Mulder know what's good for him--and 8:30 p.m. Friday is evidence that he does--he'll keep his distance.)

Have you ever wondered what the video for a techno remix of Hooked on a Feeling as performed by David Hasselhoff would look like? Wonder no more.

Come down from your Hasselhoff-induced high with this video of Bjork beating up a reporter. (Both links courtesy of KROQ.)

My job is going well in all aspects except for one, one which periodically makes me daydream about quitting and temping between now and law school. That aspect is Ed. Ed is my office-mate and quasi-boss. I guess technically he's my supervisor but not my manager. Why do I know that? Because Ed once spent ten minutes explaining the distinction between "supervisor" and "manager" to our (undisputed) boss Doug. Ed is capable of semantic feats that boggle my mind, and I wrote an application essay describing myself as "Semantics Boy". It's unbelievable.

Now, I should say that 80-90% of the time, I get along with Ed just fine. In a different context we may have been friends, and hell, for all I know he thinks we are. We're both grad school refugees, and we can talk about certain common intellectual interests at length.

But there are a few problems.

Problem 1: The Bell Curve. At some point, Ed read this book. At some later point, I happened to mention that I had read about the history of eugenics during grad school. At every subsequent point, which is about 6 months now, The Bell Curve (a book I haven't read, and don't plan to read) has come up in conversation an average of four times a week.
Problem 2: Jeff Stryker, and porn more generally. I've watched my share of adult entertainment in my life (and possibly yours and someone else's), but I don't want to talk about the subject with a queenie 50-something guy who is way into Jeff Stryker.
Problem 3: the temper. Ed's temper is almost always directed at Ed/Ed's own problems. That's a good thing. But here's the thing. I'm very much a Type-B personality--I don't snap, I'm even keeled when sports aren't involved, and I generally take things in stride. Ed has a stroke if it takes him two seconds too long to find a pencil, and he wears it all over his face. He gets red-faced and has horrifically pained expressions at the slightest thing, sometimes accompanied by storming out of the room. Ed's stress level is so high, he gives me stress. I remember a Beetle Bailey cartoon one time where someone explained that Sarge isn't the type to get a heart attack, he's just a carrier. Ditto Ed.
Problem 3A: that hand thing. Ed's stress freak-outs (which happen approximately on the half hour on average) are often accompanied by this hand gesture that is so odd I can't describe it except to say that I always get the distinct impression that if I punched him in the face at the right moment, I'd earn a star punch. Yes, I work with 50-something, gay, chain-smoking Bald Bull.
Problem 4: the condescension. There's a lot of it. Ed starts by assuming you know everything he knows. As soon as that's proven even slightly wrong, he assumes that you know absolutely nothing at all. There's no in between.

I'm sure there's more, but my venting is losing momentum. I'm sure I'll have new fodder by tomorrow afternoon though. Ugh.