This is Illuminati

Say goodbye to this blog

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 14:54:00 +0000

The other day I commented that I might be done with This is Illuminati. Everyone voiced their opinion on the subject and basically told me if I stopped blogging here they would hate me forever (so drastic).

So, I started thinking about this blogs, chrisilluminati.com which sat doing nothing, my other projects and random places I blog and thought "if I could only condense them into one easy place."

So I did.

Introducing, the new chrisilluminati.com. It's got everything! A new title! My blogs! My other projects! A banner of me being a jackass! Who could ask for anything more!!!!!!

So blogger is now gone, I am over on the .com. So here is the official housecleaning bidness;

If you subscribe via email, click here to get updates from the new blog.
If you subscribe via RSS feeder, click here.
If you subscribe to a newspaper, seriously, are you 80?

So, this will be the last update here on blogger. Shed a tear. Pour a 40 for the fallen homie that is This is Illuminati.

See you on the .com!

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I live to fight Monday

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 16:22:00 +0000

Judges ruled. Illuminati wins the Death Match 4-2.

Fight resumes Monday. Be here. But there to vote. So here, but there.

Who is lost? (Hand raised)

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When the boss brings his dog to work

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 13:36:00 +0000

I am writing a new blog. Maui just read my last one.

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The ideas just come to me....

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 20:13:00 +0000

I think the girls from Real Chance at Love should get a show with the fellas from G's to Gents.

There is no premise. No point. No missions. No host or eliminations. No housekeeper.

Just daily drop offs of booze and hashish.

Live for two months with cameras. Just like the Real World without the tokens.

A social experiment.

If the public needs a "winner" in order to watch, the last girl to come out NOT pregnant or STD-infected gets a surprise $10K. (They must have also entered the house that way.)

"A real chance at a G (for Gonorrhea)"

Get me Vh1 on the blower.

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Happy Pancake Day

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 16:38:00 +0000

Now this is a holiday I can make love to (with my mouth of course). I love me some hot, delicious, buttery, flip-floppy pancakes. So scrumptious. So good for you. Perhaps the world's most perfect food. The second best thing you can do with butter and syrup. The first is, of course, bathe in it.

Happy Pancake Day.

Now try not to crave them the rest of the day.

You.

Are.

Welcome.

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I am living in purgatory

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 14:46:00 +0000

So the death match ended in a tie. Not sure what is going to happen. Waiting to hear back.

In the meantime, check out my Oscars recap over on the main pBurbs blogs page. Good for a chuckle early in the AM.

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My version of those annoying Christmas cards/Let's brag letters

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 02:37:00 +0000

Can't write because I'm on a sugar crash. Donuts and baked goods. So I am going to just randomly babble....

- I've been meaning to explain this for some time but haven't had the time/energy. The wife is out of the fitness competition. Her training partner threw in the towel because she is planning a wedding, in a wedding, starting a new job and celebrated a Steelers Super Bowl. She didn't have the time. The wife didn't want to do it alone. I don't blame her. Our cupboards are once again full.

- The deathmatch runs until Sunday. As of this posting I was ahead by 1%. If you voted for me, thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you didn't have a chance there is still time. Go here. Win or lose it's been a great experience. It proved to me that I am not as bad at fiction as I thought, I just need time and a million rewrites.

- Gadjunk.com is coming along nicely. I hope I can stick with it. I am also taking toy donations. A friend is sending me a box of old Pez Dispensers.

- Work is going well but I've been given the task of revitalizing some pretty dismal blogs. I am still doing shopping & gift but I also have the Shore guide (which I think won't be bad once in season) and the awful Custom Rides and Investing and Insurance guides. There are several things in life that I know nothing about. I know even less about cars and investing. This could end up being a train wreck. Should be a hoot.

- Then we have this blog. I just don't know what to do. It's just there. I don't have the time to post as much as I'd like and I feel like just calling it quits. Then I think about all the cool people I've met doing it and the funny stories I've been able to share and I don't know where they would all fit in my daily writing. I just don't know.

Well, always leave on a high note.

High.

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Where have you had sex?

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 17:34:00 +0000

There is a camera in your face. The person says "I've never had sex at work."

You must reply.

Two options...

Now you can say..."I've never had sex at work."

You could be telling the truth. Or you could be lying because you have had sex at work. Three times this week alone.

You could be honest and say..."Yes, I've had sex at work."

Hear that noise? Elephant in the room.

Watch and observe...

Check out more on the Sundance channel.

So. Have you ever?

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Vote for me in the Death Match

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 14:29:00 +0000

Don't waste your time here.

GO VOTE FOR ME IN THE DEATH MATCH!!!!

Click here to read and vote.

WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!!!!!!

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Great Moments in Chris-Tory: Dr. Doo-little

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 21:11:00 +0000

Taking the cat to the vet causes more anxiety than going to the doctor.

Getting him in the cage. Listening to him wail for the twenty minute car ride. Watching as he hyperventilates and claws at the door with a 'why the hell are you doing this to me?' face.

It kills me because he doesn't understand. I can't explain. It isn't for lack of trying. I talk to him. I tell him it's almost over. We are almost there. I'll give you some treats when we get home.

The wife told me if I sing to him in a high pitched voice he calms down. Bull. Shit.

The vet visit is the same routine.

Oh, what a cutie.
Stephen? What an interesting name.
I love the pink carrier.

To which I reply:

Yes he is.
Wife named him.
She bought it.

A quick exam, a thermometer up the crack, couple of shots and the cat and I (pink case and all) are back in the car and headed home. Just another twenty minute crying session and the morning goes off without much of a hitch.

I smell a hitch. Actually I smell something. Probably not a hitch.

I looked down to make sure I didn't step in anything on the walk to the car. Clean.

He is panting. He is hyperventilating. He is rolling around in his own shit.

This means that the trauma of the vet is the least terrible experience of the morning. Probably much worse than the car ride, thermometer up the ass, two shots, or embarrassment of a pink carrier case. Now it's bath time.

This is the kind of experience that changes a normally mild mannered animal into an incredibly irritable beast.

I am talking about me.

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20 signs this is your first time in a gym

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 02:13:00 +0000

Written at the gym. On an iPod Touch. While going 2.1 on a treadmill.

1.) Wrong lockerroom.
2.) Nice clipboard.
3.) You are using that machine wrong and you are going to hurt either yourself or someone in the general vicinity.
4.) That T-shirt from an athletic event twenty years prior means little now. Except that you don't buy new clothes very often.
5.) That machine isn't working the muscle you think it is (but at least you are using it correctly).
6.) You've just been engaged by the gym jabberjaw. He/she will now talk to until you stop coming in June.
7.) Those Swiss balls aren't for bouncing.
8.) Unless you are a hand model or plan on doing olympic lifting in your first week you can leave the gloves in the lockeroom.
9.) People will notice you when you reek of a.) sweat or b.) perfume. This is the only place we'd rather you reek of sweat.
10.) The company who made those shorts called to admit they are horrendously out of style.
11.) Those are post workout shakes and they don't come with sprinkles.
12.)Is that a walkman!?!
13.) Hey big fella, there are other body parts to work besides chest and biceps.

14.) You don't have to slowly approach a machine. It's not an animal that will freak and run. And no matter how long you stand and stare at it you aren't going to figure it out until you sit down and try it.
15.) It's a little early to be showing off the gun arsenal Rambo. Sleeves.
16.) Ok, let me explain exactly what is acceptable and unacceptable behavior in front of the mirror.
17.) Hey naked hairy nuts. You are going to fit right in.
18.) Those are sweet headphones did you get them at air traffic controller school?

19.) Yes, I am typing a blog on a treadmill but I am the kind of gym douche we will discuss at a different time.

20.) Stop watching and just come over and ask . I was new once too.

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Shhh....Top secret

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 18:17:00 +0000

New blog I am working on. Still in the infancy stages. I want to keep it up but it all depends on time and if I run of crap in my garage.

Check out Gadjunk: Because you never grew out of it.

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My thing against makeovers

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 16:35:00 +0000

Some people need help when it comes to fashion. The hard part is for people to admit something is past the point of "in-style." Clothes should come with an expiration date. Best if worn by summer 2010 or until someone points and giggles.

The opposite of "out of style" is "painfully trying to be in style with cheap knock-offs."

I work with painfully trying. She doesn't have Uggs, she has Emus. Her jeans are a bit too stone washed. She is usually one of the 'black slacks gang', you know the girls that wear those black pants every day but with a different top like they are tricking someone. I see the soup stain from Monday sister.

As much as I want someone to take her TJ Maxx charge card away I am whole-heartedly against makeovers.

Stacy was a sweet girl. She wasn't unattractive but she didn't try to be attractive. She was smart, funny, and liked sports. We were friends at work. I actually got her the job because she responded to a classified ad and I knew her from school. Her brother and I went all 12 years together. (To school. Not dating. He broke up with me in 5th grade. ) There was something wrong with her though. Few friends, ton of jobs since college, lived with parents and she was 28. Couldn't put my finger on the problem.

So then because she was a nosy person, our manager decided Stacy needed to break out of her shell. She needed a makeover. Manager agreed to pay for it because Stacy made a crap wage. She got the whole nine; new hair, make-up, new clothes, a waxing in places I don't want to discuss, and everything on the menu. I was at work for the big reveal. She looked great. I'd never guess it was the same person.

She looked amazing but incredibly uncomfortable by the new look and sudden attention.

We never saw Stacy again. She called out the next day and every day after until eventually we had to fire her for never showing up. She didn't just call out though. She would call at 5 a.m. and leave messages on the work machine about "letting everyone down" and she would sob into the phone and mumble and call three or four times. The messages were really disturbing.

Stacy had depression. She'd been battling it for years. The make-over sent her into a tailspin. It's been a couple years and I occasionally contemplate sending Stacy an email. I am curious how she is doing but I also don't want to know if things have gotten worse.

Maybe stone-washed jeans aren't so bad.

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What's Swedish for unaccommodating?

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 03:45:00 +0000

The wife and I bought almost an entire office set last week from Ikea.

I say almost because we thought we bought an entire desk but we only bought the bottom. In the box we didn't know we needed was the top of the desk. There was no sign saying 'make sure you grab both fucking boxes, you are going to want a surface for your monitor.'

Nope.

Why does Ikea have employees? They don't help you pick out the furniture. You walk around the store with a paper and mini-pencil like you are scoring a game of Putt-Putt. They don't help you get the products off the shelves. They don't help you get the heavy cart to the front of the store. They don't help you lift the boxes into the car or maneuver them so they fit.

The blue shirts are there to take your money and make meatballs. Because I couldn't tell you how many other furniture stores I've shopped in and thought 'I can't decide if this couch is right for me. Let me get some hot meat boulders on a toothpick and mull this decision over'

Ikea; Swedish for common sense. Meaning you should have some and shop elsewhere.

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Steelers victory turns grown man into 7th grade cheerleader

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 19:38:00 +0000

Text message exchange after Super Bowl:

Me: Congrats
Him: OMG!

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Why can't we all give a point to the sky?

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 12:34:00 +0000

I looked up to the mega-screen on the gym wall. ESPN News.

College basketball player, on a team I didn't care to guess as to it's state of origin, hits an easy free throw and points to the sky.

We can all agree that sometimes life is effected by an 'unworldly entity.' Luck. Fate. Man in the clouds or otherwise. I am not going to discuss what is high above. For some, it's THE God. Other think it's A God. To some it's just infinite sky.

The point to the sky is a sports staple. So why don't we point to the sky in daily life? For everything good that happens, let's show a little respect to the forces of nature working for us.

I now insist the following little moments in life get a point to the heavens....

...the one beer in the fridge you didn't know was there.
...she gets home right after your daily visit to Captain Stabbin.com.
....exact change.
....waking up sans hangover.
....making it to the bathroom in time. (Yes, poopies.)
..... free ride. When you are already late. (Wait. Isn't that ironic? Don't you think.)
...your mom called, but not to complain.
....that opening, between the second and third shirt buttons, showing just enough cleavage/bra. Gets you through that meeting. Am I right fellas? Fist bump. Now point.
....you did hit the toilet in the dark (this point to the sky doesn't come until next morning.)
...that driver sped past the cop hiding behind that bush MUCH faster, but not as buzzed, as you did.
...you actually, thankfully, only hit 'reply all.'
...no one else at the event/party/wedding is wearing the same dress.
...pull. Slowly. Look down. Condom is still in one piece. Both of you point to the sky. WITH YOUR FINGER!
...that person at the bar. The one night stand. They don't recognize you.
...that little two cheek sneak wasn't as loud or aromatic as you thought it would be (unless it's just stuck in the seat cushion....waiting).
....the ability to un...unfollow, unfriend, or unsubscribe.
...orgasming after her.
...making him think you orgasmed.

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I'm just a simple man....

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 14:19:00 +0000

I like my meat cooked medium, my pillow soft and saliva free and my comics funny.

Two things wrong with this cartoon. The first glaring problem is that it's not funny. Now, maybe..."didn't you read my blog, your wife and I performed coitus on the evening prior with great success." I might have chuckled. At least given a 'tee hee.' I didn't even smirk.

And the word 'I've'. I have fired you yesterday? Do these guys work at Medieval Times? Now, I realize the process of spell checking this comic must be PAINSTAKING so I won't get too worked up.

I long for the days of a delicious Nancy and Sluggo or the drunken chicanery of an Andy Capp. I am afraid those days have long since...

Oh wait.

He fired him ON HIS BLOG! I get it.

Oh, Christ I think I just peed a little. That is rich!

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Let the deathmatch.......BEGIN!!! (almost)

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 15:37:00 +0000

Last week, I did a little tease about some big news professionally etc. Real jerk move. Anyway, I can talk about it now because it's officially underway.

I submitted a short story to a literary magazine called Broken Pencil for their annual fiction contest called the Death Match. (DUNT DUNT DUNNNNNNNNNNNN) I didn't really know how well it would do, considering fiction is my achilles heal in writing.

Well, I was one of the 8 finalists chosen to fight to the death. While my story is doing the fighting, I will be watching like a nervous mom on the first day of swim lessons. Please don't drown little story! At least make it to the edge and kick for a while!

The contest begins today BUT (big but, like my aunt that enjoys KFC, huge huge but) my story does not go live until February 16th. I will remind everyone when that happens, but until then, I encourage everyone to head over to the Death Match main page and check out the other stories fighting to the death.

Wish me luck. Hopefully I come out of this as the last story alive, kicking and paddling around in the water and laughing at my comrades at the bottom of the pool.

Touching image, no?

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Celebrating a Dear Illuminati milestone

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 20:09:00 +0000

I've been stealing Dear Abby's letters for a year now. Time flies when talking to crazy people.

It's actually been really fun. Hopefully I can do it for many more years to come.

I put together a 'best of' to celebrate the big day.

Click here to read Dear Illuminati turning 1.

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And now a Public Service Announcement

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 14:51:00 +0000

I am not sure you've heard the warnings. Let me do my part to help society.

On February 17th, all TV's will switch to digital.

What does this mean?

On Febraury 17th, your TV will melt. A bolt of electricity will hit the rabbit ears on your television. It will jump up, spin in the air, yell "IT'S SHOWTIME AT THE APOLLO!" and disintegrate right in front of your eyes. It will freak you the hell out.

What can you do about this? Nothing. You are powerless. You can only hope the television god's show you mercy and continue to send quality programs like Matlock and the Dog Whisperer into your home.

Don't jump on your rotary dial phone and call your local town officer. Don't notify the town crier. It's useless.

This is all your fault anyway. You had that coupon for half off cable installation back in 1976.

You chose shag carpets.

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In honor of National Squirrel Appreciation Day...

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 20:31:00 +0000

I wrote this.

Nuts.

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Great Moments in Chris-tory: Learning about myself through the eyes of others

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 16:48:00 +0000

My parents aren't quite sure what I do. They never have been. I've explained every job to them countless times but they just hear certain words.

When I was selling drug and alcohol prevention curriculum for middle school children my father told people I 'sold drugs to kids.'

They get that I am a writer but they aren't sure exactly what I write about. So they just tell people I am a writer. When people ask what I write they don't know how to answer. My dad pretends he can't hear. He gets out of everything with that move.

This is all because they never read my work. They aren't really familiar with my style or choice of subject matter. They are scared of the internet and all of my work so far has been online. They know my writing is out there, and that people read and enjoy my work. Extent of their fanhood.

I confessed to my mom that I was working on a book. Something she has been begging me to do for years. To older people...

Book=Instant Success.

Meaning she can brag about it to all her friends. Anyone can work on the interwebs, but to get a book published means you are a person that people want to read. Again, they don't comprehend the reach of the internet. One of my articles can be read by millions of people in a day. A book could sit on a shelf for years. It escapes their thinking.

So, my admission of being an aspiring author was met with a huge hug of encouragement, and of course, the motherly advice that comes even when she doesn't have a clue what the hell she is talking about. After 31 years, advice is on auto-pilot. Kicks in whenever I am attempting something new.

"Chris" she began, looking me dead in the eye like this was the most important thing she would ever pass on to me, "you are a good writer. You have to remember, though, to keep it light. You have a good sense of humor. Use it."

There goes my entire manuscript on cold fusion.

Click here for other 'Great moments in Chris-tory.'

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What a difference a week makes

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 14:27:00 +0000

Last Monday, I was miserable. Absolutely in a funk. For several reasons.

Yesterday ranks in the top 10 of "greatest days of my life". It was that good.

What made it so wonderful? I realized no matter how down in the dumps I sunk, I still had all of my faithful readers.

Kidding. You guys suck.

I have a couple things cooking professionally that I will let everyone know about as soon as I have everything confirmed.

And I do appreciate you all. It's called tough love. Watch some Dr. Phil for craps sake.

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I am following you and I can't stop

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 19:49:00 +0000

I just didn't have it this week. Distracted. No focus. I went to the library today to get some writing done.

Actually I went to the library because I refuse to sign up for internet access there. I can't sit down at my laptop without a hundred different things clamoring for my attention.

Mostly Twitter.

Lying. It's all Twitter.

I signed up to use it as a networking tool. Build a new audience for my blog. Instead I spend hours postings responses to any and all 140 character ramblings. To compound the distraction, I downloaded the TweetDeck application on Monday, which notifies me whenever anyone I am following tweets.

A black box pops up in the top right corner of my screen. I have to click. I have to. I HAVE to. Suppose they say something incredibly profound or link to an article that changes my life? 10 ways to bring instant traffic to my blog. The 7 deadly mistakes in new marriages. How my diet is affecting my web presence. Whhhhaaaattt Circuit City done? No way.

There goes one right now.

@wilw is making lunch and enjoying tea.

MUST. REFRAIN. FROM. ASKING. what's for lunch? I love your blog.

ARGH! I blew it! Stupid.

Twitter has infiltrated all my means of communication. With every email and text I wonder if I am going to go over the character limit. I shorten words when speaking. I ask people for suggestions on how to abbreviate my thoughts. I start every answer to a question with an @.

@Illuminatiwife. Breakfast?hmm.diner?dying for omelet. egg whites. yolks= bad. Look. http://tinyurl.com.infoyoumustknownow.

It's changed the way I get information. The plane crash into the Hudson on Thursday. I found out about it on Twitter. Someone I am following watched it unfold from their apartment window. Gave updates. Screw Wolf Blitzer I've got @onaNYhigh.

Then there is the....

Black box! What's the last book I read? GLAD YOU ASKED!

I'll finish this post later.....

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What did I do to deserve this?

cilluminati@gmail.com (Illuminati) — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 17:02:00 +0000

Hey. It's me. Asterisk. How's everyone doing? Good, glad to hear.

So, let's get straight to it. Why is it every time someone cheats in sports, or does anything immoral, or there is something in the past that needs further explaining, I have to be associated with it?

Bonds' and his records.
Any Van Halen album with Gary Cherone.
Patriots and Spygate.
Any DeNiro movie after and including Rocky and Bullwinkle.
Now the Phillies deserve an asterisk for Romero?

What the fudge did I do to piss everyone off so much? I don't deserve this. I am the 'little star.' I've been around FOREVER! What about the @. He was nothing until email came along. Now he is Mr. Popular. I was one of the originals of the computer age.

I am A List. I am on the telephone! Only so many spots on a touchpad and I am one of them. Pretty impressive if you ask me. If it weren't for me you couldn't even check your voicemail. Remember that. I disappear and all your precious messages are stuck in a wasteland. You will never get the results of that herpes test.

So, please. leave me out of all this from now on. Go pick on the ampersand for a while.

A**holes.

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