It started with the opening ceremony. The fireworks were cool, but the parade of nations left me flat. Short of commenting on the outfits as if we all worked for the back page of People magazine, it was Zzzz viewing. For the most part, that’s the way I fele about the competitive events too. I can sit through 14-inning baseball games, welterweight fights between unknowns and hours of wrestling – a sport that’s not even real. But when it comes to the Olympics, they get a gold medal for taking away my interest.

Far from ethnocentric, I’m not turned off by the U.N. flag-rallies. It has nothing to do with people speaking in foreign tongues. Honestly, I can’t exactly place my finger on why I’m disinterest. It could be…

THE ANNOUNCERS. There are a smattering of former athletes, but many of the voices covering the games are ‘generic journalists.’ People who like to constantly remind me that there’s tension between Russia and Georgia and that so-and-so once lived in a car (who hasn’t).

THE COVERAGE. Professional sports have a cadence, giving the game a measured predictability. You may not know what is coming next, but you usually can spot an opportune time for a bathroom break. With so many concurrent events, NBC has a difficult (if not no-win) challenge of keeping viewers abreast of the latest happenings. The result is the network weaving back and forth between events, taking away from the tension that makes sporting a beautiful thing.

THE ATHLETES. In all fairness, it’s difficult to care when you’re ‘meeting’ the players for the first time. This forces you to pick someone to root for by country, appearance, or by random – all weak excuses to care. Bottom line: it’s hard to invest in a stranger.

I’m also bored of hearing about Beijing. I get it; the air quality sucks, the stadiums were expensive to build, the people are great, bla bla bla.

I also don’t understand why every news program shipped their anchors away. Whether the headlines are being read from a prompter from Studio D in Newark or from the Cloud o’ Smog, I could care less. There’s no need for news to be repeated ‘on location.’

If you think the Olympic games are all guts, glory and glee – good for you. All I see are dollar signs. Color me jaded, but I can’t wait for the event to end. May the next four years take their time.

In no particular order…

- New sports stadiums that, no matter how you slice it, are being paid for by taxpayers and fans.

- Radio ads that rely on a song or jingle to drill their message into your head. Two current examples include J.G. Wentworth and Cars 4 Kids.

- Spam headlines. What makes anyone think that an e-mail with the subject “Fergie Chips Tooth” OR “Kelsey Grammer Has Heart Attack” will lure me to hit the open button?

- My barber. What’s so hard about straight lines?

- Active, millionaire movie actors taking voice over jobs from voice professionals. Morgan Freeman might have a great voice, but other people need to eat too.

- When my wife tells her friends, ‘Andrew says hi.’ No, I didn’t. Stop making me look like such a nice guy.

- Social networks with seven registered users.

- 70-year-old men telling me that blogging is becoming an essential business tool.

- Blog widgets that promise to make you money.

- The fact that in 2008, I still physically have to be somewhere to sign for a delivery.

- People crawling out of the woodwork after years of silence.

- Game bundles that sell me accessories and games that I don’t want or need.

- Bloggers that complain without offering solutions. (Whoops! My bad!)

Tim Russert, God-fearing family man

Bo Diddley, father of rock n’ roll

I don’t doubt that these people were extraordinary human beings who made sizable contributions to society. Out of respect for their loved ones, they deserve to be posthumously honored. However, what I can’t stand is hearing other people sing their praises. People who never met the deceased. People who are fair-weather fans. People who never watched Meet the Press, saw Carlin’s stand-up act or heard the track ‘Bo Diddley.’

I overheard someone the other day commenting that ‘losing him (Tim Russert), is like losing a brother.’

Are you kidding me? That guy has obviously never lost a brother.

Famous people get something that no one else gets – they are truly immortal. We can enjoy their works forever. They remain ageless, as we choose to remember them the way we want to. Sure, you’ll always have the memories and images of your loved ones that pass over, but it’s not the same as the eternal life spawned by celebrity.

Let’s be nice about death. But not stupid. There has to be something between remorse and the Celebrity Dead Pool, no?

I go to work to work.

No, that’s not a line from a Dr. Seuss book, it’s how I really feel. I’ve had jobs that loaded conference rooms with pool tables, installed soda fountains in the kitchen and put pinball machines in the hallway. These so-called perks didn’t phase me at all. In fact most people became numb to them after a few weeks on the job.

You might not want to admit it, but I ask that you say it with me:

We go to work to work.

And that’s why I make a request. A demand!

STOP SENDING ME E-MAILS WITH PICTURES OF THE GOOGLEPLEX – I DON’T CARE.

Seriously. Whether the coffee tables are made out of a fish tank or every employee is issued a solar-powered motorized bike to navigate the ‘campus,’ the reality is, these folks still have jobs to do. They still have micromanaging bosses. Annoying commutes. Coworkers with bad breath. Etc.

Also, many of these e-mails are several years old. Check the expiration date before you eat the yogurt, friends.

So save yourself time and stop forwarding these ridiculous e-mails. It’s not like your boss is going to receive it and decide that you are too good to sit in a tiny cubicle under a fluorescent light. Your office cafeteria won’t add a sashimi chef to the payroll.

Keep your dinosaur skeleton replicas, dear employer. Just add some more coinage to my check.

Copying other people’s blogs, and posting the content on your own blog, does not make you an authority on a given subject. In fact, you shouldn’t even consider yourself a blogger.

If you’re a chronic Ctrl + C / Ctrl + V kind of guy, there’s a good chance you think I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth. After all, you’re kind enough to attribute the story to the blogger. Or, if you’re super generous,you’ll only copy half of a story, sending people to my blog to read the rest.

If my wife cooks dinner, and I move the steak from the stove to my plate, it doesn’t give me the right to claim myself an Iron Chef. Even if I add salt.

Imagine if you will, that Pepsi decided to sell Coke. Oh, it’s in a Pepsi can, just filled to the brim with Coke. If you look closely at the bottom of the can it tells you that it’s Coke inside.

One more comparison for these blog leechers.

Here in New York, how would the New York Times feel if the Daily News started to publish their stories – without permission – in there entirely. Even with proper attribution, it’s illegal and would never fly.

Tell me why we give these so-called self-proclaimed bloggers, who are nothing more than human content aggregators, the license to steal. The Internet might be the Wild Wild West, with enforcement impractical. However, I urge you, dear readers, to take the law into your own hands. Do not give these copy and pasters your business. Just go to Google and research the topic you’re interested. Cause at the end of the day, that’s all these bloggin’ wannabes are doing.

If you’re going to take the bulk of my post, I don’t want your click-throughs. I hope other authentic bloggers agree.

It’s called creativity. Go find some.

Is anyone still pressured by a hard sell? You know the type.

“Just sign on the dotted line. These could be gone by tomorrow! Prices are going up.”

Many industries still employ these irritating tactics, yet I tend to believe that Generation X, Y and everyone in between is more likely to take action with a soft sell.

Sorry Annoying Salesperson Guy, things that I want, sell themselves. You see, I operate on instinct; not just with what I’m buying, but with you. And my Spidey Sense tells me all you are about is making this month’s sales quota.

For some strange reason, salesfolks employ their full-court press routine when BIG purchases are at stake – cars, homes, life insurance and so on. However, these are usually the types of investments that the buyer will have thoroughly researched. They are also personal in nature. The last thing I want to think about when my car breaks down, my home goes up in flames, or my heart gives out, is that some slick-talking charlatan with an associates degree convinced me of what was good for me.

I’m confident that most JOAB readers will agree. But a single question remains: Who the hell still buys from these people?

Clearly, someone is still driving commissions. But why? Are you scared to say no? Desperate to just get away from this creep? Getting filibustered to death?

These might be the same folks who fall prey to Nigerian refugees looking to wire money to your bank account. Or perhaps they are waiting by the mailbox for their “miracle” pills to arrive.

Or maybe, we’re finally experiencing a true societal renaissance: The death of the salesman.

Somebody please shed some light.

He’s making a list and checking it twice, and we’re not talking about Santa Claus.

The most read list this of 2007 will clearly be The Juice List, sorry kids.

It should come to no surprise to many of you that we made the cut.
Yes, Jack of All Blogs admits to the use of anabolic steroids, human growth hormones and lots of Red Bull.

How else did you expect us to take this blog to the next level?

Former Senator George J. Mitchell, who was commissioned by Major League Baseball to conduct an investigation into MLB drug use, finally unveiled his 409-page report after much hype. A bit long and a bit late if you ask us.

We applaud the use of tax-payer dollars to help effort this investigation. Why create jobs or cut the murder rate when you can point fingers at professional athletes?

Players on the list include Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Andy Pettitte and at least one representative from every single one of the 30 major league teams.

People often ask how can we stop this “cheating.” I don’t need the 409 pages or the 20 recommendations Mitchell has outlined. I have the solution:

STOP CARING ABOUT GROWN MEN PLAYING A GAME AND DON’T WATCH

Eleven words and this snarky blogger just solved an American epidemic. I’m tired of hearing that we can’t punish players since these acts were committed before certain rules were in place. That’s all BS. They knowingly bent the rules to gain an advantage, thus creating a culture that is already engrained in our world’s children, teens and adults.

Do you understand how long it’s going to take to undo this mess?

This blogger is going to hold players, teams, owners and the league accountable by tuning out the game I’ve loved for many, many years.

I hope you’ll do the same. The only way to get them to change is to take the money out of their pockets.

And for the record, JOAB never lets anyone inject him in the butt. Ever.

The power of the Internet will amaze me until the day I die. It can make nobodies somebodies and turn winners into losers overnight. If Andy Warhol knew that there would be a World Wide Web he probably would’ve guaranteed everyone 30 minutes of fame.

Sadly, the power to become “famous on the net” moves past videos involving two girls and one cup or hurdling cubicle walls. Last week in Nebraska here in America there was a tragic mall massacre that left nine people dead and several others badly injured. The gunman, whose name we won’t even mention, premeditated the crime – knowing that the demonic action would plant his name and image around the world.

Unfortunately, he was right.

This poor excuse of a human being was the ultimate loser. An angry coward. Rather then spend another second evoking his highly-forgettable name, let’s talk about the greater problem.

As wide-spread use of the Internet continues to grow, and more and more people recognize its power to spread their gospel, the danger increases for average citizens like you and me. Like the people working and shopping in that Omaha mall.

Here’s what I propose. And this applies for all that plan and execute a crime with the intention and hope of using the Internet as a suicide note.

You get erased. Permanently. Forever.

The sicko will have their name and image removed from the Internet. Anything they’ve ever posted, written or drew. GONE.

I know it’s wishful thinking. But think about it: What do we gain as a society from the so-called ‘insight.’ There are no clues and there’s no way to stop the madness. In their sick and twisted minds these criminals become notorious. Famous. And they have us to thank for the fame.

Some of you are probably crying, “How dare you, Andrew! The Internet is meant to be free and unregulated.”

Go explain that to the families of the victims.

Who’s with me?

Numbers. Magical, aren’t they? Not really. But for some reason, when it comes to blog post titles, they magically produce readers, better than any Copperfield magic trick ever could.

The entire thing baffles me.

Let’s look at two fake blog titles and you tell me which one you would click on.

17 Ways to Be Happy
vs.
The Secret to Happiness

I’m willing to bet my Jack of All Blogs paycheck that the first one would receive the majority of clicks. Think about how stupid that is. Why would you want to do something 17 ways when you can do it once? It goes against Web logic. We want things fast. Immediate gratification. Yet, rather then take the easiest route possible, we need lengthy laundry lists that in many cases are jammed with filler.

If a blog writer is going to do the research so the reader doesn’t have to, just cut to the chase and give me the solution. I don’t need 9 Ways to Get the Smell of Garlic Off My Hands. I need the ONE that will do the trick.

Anyone can make a list. But not everyone has the editorial know-how to write balanced reviews and make analytical decisions. Even if it’s not a “knowledge” issue it might be a balls issue. As in, having the intestinal fortitude to go on the record with strong thoughts and opinions. I know it’s a trick that works, but c’mon bloggers – it’s time we find the next “click trap.”

I’m not saying that numbers don’t make for attention-grabbing headlines. But are we as readers so gullible that a simple numeric will pull us in every time?

11 Ways to Unclog a Toilet
6 Must-Have Writing Utensils
17 Stars Under 30 Born in April

These are stories that should attract ZERO interest. But the addition of a mere number would surely lure in readers.

Take a look at the front page of Digg or Mixx or Thoof – or the social news site of your choice. Odds are, their home pages are jammed with more numbers than Steven Hawking could handle.

In fact, since numbers are everywhere in blog titles, I’m going to start only clicking on word-only headlines. Since they are the exception, not the rule, they’re starting to stick out more than ever before.

There weren’t 53 reasons you needed to read this. In fact, there probably wasn’t even one.

Get that candy ready, neighbors, cause I’m gonna knock on your door dressed as my favorite thing: a blog. And don’t you dare ask me what I’m supposed to be. The Feedburner chicklet painted on my forehead should give it away.

Try and hand me some Smarties or some other sugary junk that you only bought because it was on sale and watch what happens. I’ll ask for the “trick” instead of the “treat” and you’ll be stumped. You see, most homeowners never take the time to plan in case a costumed kid actually requests the “trick.” I call for a revolution. One that calls for kids turning down junk and asking for fun!

Back to my costume. It’s pretty dope.

I’ve gone with the two-column WordPress. You know the type. It’s the one that bloggers promising to make you rich rely on. The left side of my body is pretty generic. A lot of text talking about how I’m the man and how you want to be just like me. There are a few images flush left and some random embedded media (three YouTube videos, two Scribd documents and Twitter updates). The latest Twitter reads, “Begging for candy, preferably Twizzlers.”

In case I happen to ring your bell and you’re still confused as to what I am, take a look at my left arm. Google AdSense, everywhere. Actually, it’s on my feet too. A blogger’s got to make money right? I’m thinking of adding TextLinkAds and Kontera contextual ads next year. We’ll see.

The right side of my body is blinking, just like any “make money” blog worth its salt in the blogosphere. You see, I have stacked widgets everywhere: head to toe. I need to know who’s visited my blog and from where – and I need to make that information public for the world to see. You also need to be aware of what awards I’ve won (Blogger of the Day, woo hoo!) and every single network I’m affiliated with. Let’s not forget, buried all the way on the bottom, much to their chagrin, the BlogRush widget!

The costume would not be complete without me begging for comments. Since it is a holiday and I’m so happy, I’m going to hold a little comment contest (since that area is so barren!). Leave a comment on my back and I’ll give you a chance to win the candy you gave me back! Sweet! Blog about my costume, and you’ll be entered twice!

Any guy can be Michael Myers, Freddy or Jason. Any girl can dress like a witchy whore. And any kid can be Dora or a pirate. But it takes a special person, like me, to dress up as something I truly love.

Somewhere between you dropping three pennies and a Tootsie Roll into my plastic pumpkin I will ask you to subscribe. You will. Yet when I check my stats on Sunday morning, you’ll be gone.

All I ask is that the kid down the block doesn’t show up at the Halloween party in the same costume. That would just suck. Have a safe and happy Halloween and get your own damn costume. Oh, and keep your Smarties to yourself.