I just saw a commercial for the U.S. Army that claimed "There is nothing stronger than an Army soldier."

That's ridiculous. Your average army soldier is stronger than me, sure, but not stronger than anything. An elephant, for instance. You can pick anyone in the U.S. Army and put that person up against an average elephant in a weight-lifting competition, and I will put my money on the elephant every time.

I have not been here for a year and a half, and my, things sure have changed. For instance, Blogger is now apparently part of Google.

I am not really here, though. Just picking up my stuff and updating my forwarding address.

About that: a little while ago I ran into Lindsay Patross, and old friend who is very into the weblogging thing. She told me that she was working on bringing Metblogs to Pittsburgh along with some other people. She was taking care of all the stuff I didn't have any interest in doing, like getting it paid for. I decided to hitch my wagon to that star, and when Metroblogging Pittsburgh came through the internet birth canal (as you might recall, the internet is a "series of tubes") I got back into the weblog game.

The last time I was here I directed people to my MySpace weblog, but screw that. I never updated it because no one ever looked at it, and people without accounts were not allowed to look at it, which is crap. On the Metblogs I can be pretty sure that at least the other people who write there read what I write. Plus, I got to go to the symphony for free.

I will be doing all weblog-type writing there for the time being. Officially only things that are explicitly Pittsburgh-centric are supposed to be written about over there, but I am pushing the envelope on that. If anyone ever pushes back, I might return here.

Until then, bye-bye, Blogger. Your interface is much better than it used to be, but it ain't Movable Type.

I have not posted here in a long time. In fact, I gave up blogging. I may now be getting back into it. If so, see MySpace for future bloggings. There was no good reason to switch, I suppose, except that the new method will allow everyone to see how I look at the end of a hard night of black-tie partying. Good bye, old Science of Non Compos Menticism, hello new worlds.

Yeah, I'm a Pirates fan. Nonetheless, go Sox. It's always good to see the Yankees get their asses handed to them. I hope Boston takes it, no wonder who they end up facing, but it is enough, I think, to see them beat the pants off the biggest bastards in baseball.

Go Sox.

Where have I been? Well, out and about. Those of you out there who are annoyed by my extremely light blogging of late might want to go to their favorite Pittsburgh area coffeeshop, the Warhol Museum, or some other such spot and pick up The Front, a new Pittsburgh weekly tabloid (theoretically: actually it seems to come out every two weeks)which includes a column, by me, that will tell you how to become a journalist in a few easy steps. You may be saying, "But Mac, you aren't a journalist at all." Shut up, you. I'm published in The Front, ain't I? Those who still can't get enough of me should come by the Super Duper Deek Magazine Political Issue Release Party tomorrow. Not only am I in it, giving an account of my political career, but there will be a showing of "Outfoxed," a movie that apparantly has numerous nasty things to say about Rupert Murdoch. Also, there will be a panel discussion with Bill Peduto and several stars of Pittsburgh's sex, booze and sports journalism underbelly.

Still can't get enough? E-mail me, and we'll go have a drink sometime.

One more thing: If you like to write nonfiction, and have something decent, why not send it to Collision Magazine? There are paltry cash prizes, and I can promise you that whatever you send, I and several others will read. Please, while poems are OK, refrain from poems about teardrops or emptiness. I have had just about enough of those.

Welcome, federal agents!

Someone from the United States Department of Justice came by the ol' weblog today. I don't think I've done anything illegal (or at least not federal crimes), but I haven't had a chance to go through the whole PATRIOT act yet, so if I disappear again, it might be because I am lazy, like the last time...

Or...

I hear letters and care packages are much appreciated at Guantanamo.

I have a letter in the Pitt News today. Not only that, I am the hottest curmudgeon ever, according to the lovely Ms. Getz. Score!

This means, apart from the letter I sent to The Amazing Spider-man when I was 10, all of my letters to editors have been published. Among them are this one, and this one. A few others (mostly to the Pitt News) are not, as far as I can tell, available online.

Also, here are some other letters to the editor of the Post-Gazette, including one written by (I shit you not) Harry Choder.

For those of you who can't get enough Mac Booker, here is a website about a Mac Booker who isn't me.

The best Sally Kalson line in quite some time:

It has come to this, I thought: I actually miss Muzak. And so, another frontier of sensory overload is breached, not with a bang but with Wolf Blitzer. Not that I mind the guy per se, but if I wanted to ride the elevator with him repeatedly, I'd do it the old-fashioned way: I'd stalk him.

From the P-G.

This is a big story in the local section on how lots of Jews don't make it out to the Synagogue for the high holidays. It is only mentioned in passing, but apparently one of the reasons is that you have to buy tickets, and they are expensive and hard to get.

WHaty the hell is that? They better not try to pull this shit on the Catholics: that would be my cue to cut church attendance from 3 visits per year to zero. I don't care how guilty my grandmother makes me feel.

I know what you're saying: this weblog doesn't publish bad poetry! What's going on? Well, the answer is that I need this poem, and every other metod of printing it has failed. Thus, I'm putting it here so I can print it elsewhere.

And, yes, I did write the damned thing.

I lived on a couch

I had a bed that
Had wheels

And a floor that
Sloped to the middle of the room

And a stereo that
Caught fire

And a couch that
Was found on the street

But that wasn't the couch that
I lived on.

Say hello to my little friend

and

I dream on two bright eyes

The couch that
I lived on

Had cushions that
swallowed you

Had a loveseat that
Matched, light blue

And had that
Same smell

The smell that
I had too

The odor that
Tasted like weed and Yeungling.

Shomer fucking shabbas, dude

and

Jeremy's smoking crack today

Head in the stain that
I vomited

Hips in the stain that
I pissed

The pipe that
We named after the Johnny Cash song

I was in the Green Lantern down in Natchez one night

With the forty ounces that
Just said

Slow brewed for a minimum of smooth flavor

And the slogan that
We stole from the movies

Fuck it, dude.

Let's go bowling.