Man In Black

Anyone ever heard of the web site MyHeritage.com, which allows you to upload a photo of yourself and then uses facial-recognition software to tell you who you look like? Well, if not, you have now. And it is gloriously hysterical.

So I upload a photo figuring, hey, why not see what celebs I look like? After all, whenever people play that game where they say who would play you in a movie, they have a hard time coming up with someone to play me (before eventually settling on Jack Black, but that is a rant for another time).

The software goes about its business, I fill out the quick registration form, and bam: here come my results. Boy, was I in for a surprise. Not just because Jack Black wasn't in any of the results (Suck it, anyone who ever said Jack Black would play me in a movie!) but because four of the top five results were black men!

Here, in order, were the top five matches:

1. Laurence Fishburne, who personally I liked better when he used to call himself Larry. Pretentious bastard!

2. Jamie Foxx, who has too many Xs in his name.

3. Joschka Fisher. First white guy alert! Of course, I have no idea who the fuck this guy is, but a quick Google search told me that apparently, he is the former Vice Chancellor of Germany. Ohhhhhhkay.

4. Will Smith. Well, I have been known to occasionally get jiggy with it. But only occasionally.

5. Jesse L. Martin, the black guy who was Jerry Orbach's partner on Law & Order.

Now, I'm no expert, but maybe, just maybe, this facial-recognition software is flawed. Sure, the aforementioned guys are talented and handsome just like me (except the German dude -- he was a little freaky), but that just can't be right. Either that, or I need to have a serious talk with my parents about my ancestral lineage.

Either way, I'm cool with it. As Fishburne's character, Furious Styles, said in Boyz n the Hood, "Can't afford to be afraid of our own people anymore, man."

Tag Hag

I remember one time in elementary school, maybe third grade, when I was sitting on the side of this rolling-pin-type slide on the playground. Somehow I lost my balance and ended up falling backwards to the ground. All I really remember about it is having a teacher over me asking if I was okay. That, and how my head and ass inexplicably hurt (sort of like Paris Hilton after a night on the town).

You know what I did next? I got the fuck up and went back to class when recess was over. Why? Because I'm not a total pussy. Oh, and because that's just what kids did back then. Fall down, get up. Scrape a knee, put a band-aid on it. In my entire childhood, I don't remember a single kid suffering a fatal or even near-fatal wound from horseplay.

Yet now everyone thinks they should ban the game of tag, the latest nix on fun and games coming from a suburb of Boston. Soon, kids will be going to school in padded suits and helmets and then only to sit behind their desks without moving all day.

We complain that our country's kids are all fat and lazy, yet the one thing they like to run around and do is off limits. But, hey, I guess it makes sense. I mean, if kids played tag, they might fall down, break their necks and die, and then they'd never get the chance to grow up and have an eating disorder that would allow them to achieve that lovely bag-of-antlers look that is so popular these days.

Don't get me wrong. Tag is about the dumbest game ever. Run, chase, tag, run, avoid being tagged, get tagged, run, chase, tag, run, ... well you get the idea. Seriously, it's not that much fun.

When I was younger, we also used to play a game called Suicide, in which you'd bounce a tennis ball or racquetball off a brick wall and everyone would try to catch it. If you dropped an attempt to catch, you'd have to run and touch the wall before someone pegged you with the ball, or you were out. Yes, pegged. As in hit with a ball thrown as hard as possible. As I recall, no one died from that either. (And being that it's called Suicide, you'd think it'd be more deadly.) Now that was fun!

As it stands, cigarettes, booze, speeding city buses and a sex with the aforementioned Ms. Hilton all have a better chance of offing me at this point than any stupid playground game ever did. And that's not even counting that time I fell of the slide just because I'm a moron.

Call me crazy, but someone needs to put a stop to the safety madness. People, only you can save the game of tag. You're it.