As a pacifist I am obviously never going to do anything violent, but there are moments when I come really, really close. I frequently get the urge to punch people in the teeth when they use certain words that manage to bug the living hell out of me for some unexplained reason. Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's some cosmic force pressing me into some horrible violence in the future... only time will tell. Until then can anyone please explain why these words make me want to choke the people who say them? And it doesn't matter who says them, my best friends, some random douchebag, or my own mom.
To be clear, if you are someone in my little universe that I am so clearly the center of and you say these words, I do not dislike you. Unless of course you suck, but since I don't spend a lot of time talking or even listening to people who suck let me assure you that I don't always hate the messenger (unless you use fancy as a verb) but since my minds eye is unable to visualize violence upon a word I suppose I focus momentarily on the next best thing...
But I digress.
Guesstimate is one of those words. I just hate it. And it's not the portmanteau specifically that bothers me, something about the sound of it simply causes me to bristle. Maybe it is that it sounds so damn dumb to me. Does that make me a pretentious prick? Perhaps... and an aliterative arsehole to boot.
Another one that is starting to gain some popularity is the word frenemy. It sounds like one of those words that was made up by someone trying to be cute and clever. Screw that shit. I can pass on both of those things. I get what it means, but the sound of the word on my eardrums causes indescribable agitation.
Again, I really don't hate every word that was created by jamming two others together. For example, I love brunch and not just the meal but the sound of the word is so damn soothing. I won't deny that my love for that word might be food related.
How about Reganomics? There's a word that doesn't make me want to choke anyone. I am also fairly neutral when it comes to chunnel. But say fugly in my presence and I will murder you in my mind.
Here's something interesting. I don't like the word humanzee, but I don't hate it. On the other hand Slanguage will send me right into a tizzy. The worst kind of tizzy. A worizzy if you will.
Wow, I hate that word too.
I guess I am crazy. No surprise there I suppose.
Is there a pill that will help me? Some snappy comment on my blog from a prominent wiseass?
Anything?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Ladle the Chum
Can you still boast an "opposable thumb" when all you do with it is keep it jammed up your ass?
I say no, but I have been wrong before.
I say no, but I have been wrong before.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Another True Story from S-Mart
This is an absolutely true story. I know it's true because it happened to me.
A few nights ago day while at S-Mart (the soulless retailer that employs my sorry ass) I was working in an area isolated from nearly everyone else who was working at the time. My little area had a mountain of work to do and I was a bit ornery I had been left to work it on my own, so when I noticed in the corner of my eye someone stocking on the aisle next to me I kept grinding away but felt a great sense of relief.
Some days it's nice to be on my own with just the voices in my head. Other days being alone makes me a little crazy. This might be related to the voices in my head...
But I digress.
As I went about my stocking, I walked past this person a number of times. I didn't say hello or even look at them directly (I was a bit ornery) after a while I started to feel like a dick, so I attempted some small talk but got no response. I craned my head around the aisle to see if I was being ignored or what.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered I had not been chatting up a fellow employee but the step stool I use to reach the higher shelves.
Hell of a day.
A few nights ago day while at S-Mart (the soulless retailer that employs my sorry ass) I was working in an area isolated from nearly everyone else who was working at the time. My little area had a mountain of work to do and I was a bit ornery I had been left to work it on my own, so when I noticed in the corner of my eye someone stocking on the aisle next to me I kept grinding away but felt a great sense of relief.
Some days it's nice to be on my own with just the voices in my head. Other days being alone makes me a little crazy. This might be related to the voices in my head...
But I digress.
As I went about my stocking, I walked past this person a number of times. I didn't say hello or even look at them directly (I was a bit ornery) after a while I started to feel like a dick, so I attempted some small talk but got no response. I craned my head around the aisle to see if I was being ignored or what.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered I had not been chatting up a fellow employee but the step stool I use to reach the higher shelves.
Hell of a day.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
This just makes me sad.
The following is a direct quote from the daily herald online edition.
"Payson police say a dead man found by a jogger on Monday night was likely the result of a suicide stabbing.
They identified the body of the Payson man, but did not release a name Tuesday night because family was still being notified, said Lt. Bill Wright.Early indications lead officials to believe the death was caused by self-inflicted knife wounds, but the suicide ruling is still preliminary, Wright said.
"We want to make sure we don't rush to judgement," Wright said.
A jogger found the body near 1000 W. 1550 South about 6:30 p.m. The person who died is described as between 20 and 30 years old and about 5 feet 8 inches tall with dark hair. There are no tattoos, with the only distinguishing feature being a "unibrow," Wright said.
The department has received calls of missing people from Ogden to Sandy and from within Payson."
Saturday, November 15, 2008
all mooby all the time
I'm back with another cringe inducing update on the 2der Mooby front. This was a little drum demo I put together to demonstrate a realistic drum kit sound and execution, you can even hear the snare being played by 2 sticks if you can look past the soulless computer that actually plays them.
Friday, November 14, 2008
I'm not one of you
I've been trying to keep things light around here, but I can't be quiet about this one.
I know I live in Utah, and worse than that I live in the heart of one of the most conservative and Mormon communities on the planet, but please, PLEASE don't lump me in with all the assholes who worked so hard and paid so much to shoot down gay marriage. I am not one of them. I never will be.
What really makes me sick is after spending more than 20 million dollars on their prop 8 campaign and who knows what else (ie manpower, phone calls, knocking doors, etc) the people in the LDS church are basically crying "don't persecute us" in the face of the resulting backlash.
I could choke on the hypocrisy.
It sickens me.
To all my so-called friends and family members who support persecuting gays and lesbians I'll just say "Shut the fuck up and let people live their lives."
I know I live in Utah, and worse than that I live in the heart of one of the most conservative and Mormon communities on the planet, but please, PLEASE don't lump me in with all the assholes who worked so hard and paid so much to shoot down gay marriage. I am not one of them. I never will be.
What really makes me sick is after spending more than 20 million dollars on their prop 8 campaign and who knows what else (ie manpower, phone calls, knocking doors, etc) the people in the LDS church are basically crying "don't persecute us" in the face of the resulting backlash.
I could choke on the hypocrisy.
It sickens me.
To all my so-called friends and family members who support persecuting gays and lesbians I'll just say "Shut the fuck up and let people live their lives."
Sunday, October 12, 2008
another jesus shark
Avid readers of my blog (all four of you) might remember this post a while back about a shark giving a virgin birth. I don't mean to alarm you, but it's happened again.
I have nothing to add beyond the gee whiz factor of it all...
and everything I said in the original post.
I have nothing to add beyond the gee whiz factor of it all...
and everything I said in the original post.
nothing to see here
there's a little title company I often pass as I drive about town called the "Provo Abstract Company."
For a long time I've wanted to get a job there just so when people ask me what I do at work I could tell them that much of what I do is unclear and open to interpretation.
Of course, that fits my current job description just fine.
For a long time I've wanted to get a job there just so when people ask me what I do at work I could tell them that much of what I do is unclear and open to interpretation.
Of course, that fits my current job description just fine.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
yet another real conversation
I wish this wasn't real
guy - ... and it said "Practice safe eating. Use condiments!"
girl - (huge stupid laugh) That's the funniest thing I've ever heard!
Are you fucking kidding me?
guy - ... and it said "Practice safe eating. Use condiments!"
girl - (huge stupid laugh) That's the funniest thing I've ever heard!
Are you fucking kidding me?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
someone explain this stuff to me
More and more at the grocery store I get things that come in a resealable package. I think that's great. Less time I have to spend finding a container to put crap in or messing with so-called cling wrap. But why is it that when I buy five Johnsonville Stadium Brats, I get the built in zip lock but that option isn't available on the 20 pack? Wouldn't it make more sense on the 20 pack? I've never needed it on the 5 pack.
I recently bought some socks that came with the zip lock built in. I don't get it. Are there people who go home and don't dump all of their new socks out of the bag and into their sock drawer? Am I missing out in life because I have thrown away the opportunity to keep my socks freshly sealed?
And finally, is it me or is "Aryan" the worst name you could give a little girl? I kid you not, there is a child in one of my kids classes with this name. I've never bumped into her parents while picking my own kids up from school, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they should be easy to spot in a crowd.
I recently bought some socks that came with the zip lock built in. I don't get it. Are there people who go home and don't dump all of their new socks out of the bag and into their sock drawer? Am I missing out in life because I have thrown away the opportunity to keep my socks freshly sealed?
And finally, is it me or is "Aryan" the worst name you could give a little girl? I kid you not, there is a child in one of my kids classes with this name. I've never bumped into her parents while picking my own kids up from school, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they should be easy to spot in a crowd.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
another dreaded 2der Mooby update
I've been working on this one for about 4 years now. Even though I've had a few versions available on my soundclick.com page for most of that time, it has always been missing a key element that I had desperately wanted to play with as part of this song. What you'll find here is my first attempt at "scratching." Since I don't scratch, this most recent version is the culmination of years of searching for samples that I was satisfied with and slicing them up into something that worked with what I already had, and at the same time could be a fair representation of what was in my head. It took 4 different computer programs and uncountable missteps to get to this point. This has always been one of my favorite projects, and now I'm happy to say I'm almost there.
Friday, September 12, 2008
TV is evil when it sucks
I just saw a commercial that told me to tune into this weeks America's Top Model because this episode would make history.
I was under the impression that the show already made history on a weekly basis. Every episode that airs is the moment where we can actually quantify how much dumber the world has become since the week before. We know the dumbness is increasing, because the show is still on the air.
I was under the impression that the show already made history on a weekly basis. Every episode that airs is the moment where we can actually quantify how much dumber the world has become since the week before. We know the dumbness is increasing, because the show is still on the air.
Monday, September 8, 2008
I bring this on myself
For some reason, every time I need a grocery store on Sunday, my brain blocks out the fact that there is one just a few blocks up the road. There must be a black spot in my mind when it comes to Sunday shopping since I never even consider that it is there and I end up driving a block or two more to a store that keeps pissing me off. After what happened today I'd like to think that this was the last straw, but I know next time I need relish and buns or something to knock down a kids fever or whatever might be the next best thing to the beer I can't buy on Sunday I will find myself in this same boat...
Sunday in September means I've got a few Optimators chilling in the fridge and my sweet wife will at some point start cooking the brats. That's right, it's game day and I always watch da Bears (or listen as the case often is) with a light beer buzz (not from light beer though, I don't drink that shit) and a belly full of some sort of sausage type product. Preferably Polish, but I don't mind mixing it up.
This time I found myself without a few necessities for my meal at the last minute so I hopped in the car and drove to Albertsons. That was my first mistake. I quickly rounded up what I needed and got in the line to pay and get the hell out.
To set the stage, I got in the one line where the one person who was checking was working. I skipped the self checkout line even though I could have walked right up to any one of several stations. In case you know nothing about me, I detest the self checkout craze that is the new thing in grocery stores. I don't care to take a shit on the grave of a folk hero no matter how mythical he may be, plus there are some philosophical issues that I could discuss but might derail this story so I won't at this time.
I'm the third person in line, and it's going to be a while. Not because the two people ahead of me have a lot of stuff, but the cashier happens to be one of those people that seems to be surprised and or impressed by every item he or she rings up. Annoying yes, but I'd rather be helped by a batshit human being with a pulse than a cold unfeeling, uncaring machine any day.
After 5 minutes or so, an employee taps me on the shoulder and asks if she can help me at the self checkout. I decline but she insists it will be so much faster. I'd rather not sacrifice a piece of my humanity even if it means a few more seconds or even several minutes. But she insists again and since I didn't have my pepper spray or tazer with me I gave in. This was my second mistake.
As she presses the touch screen and invites me to enter my phone number (you know, cause I don't carry around that stupid key chain with my discount club information) I feel like I have to do something to make up for this inexcusable moral comprise I've made. And before I think about whether its a good idea or not my mouth is moving and the words are coming out. This was my third, final and damning mistake.
"I hate self checkout," I say under my breath.
"Uh... what?" she says.
"I hate self checkout," louder this time.
"But you're not checking yourself out, I'm doing it."
And then it got ugly. Arms flailing, I probably spit on somebody at some point, but something snapped and I couldn't be stopped. "No, you're not helping me, you're (and here I do the air quotes) 'teaching me' so next time I'll feel comfortable doing this. I don't avoid self check out because I don't know how to do it, it's because I hate it and I think it's stupid."
After that it was a matter of me getting the hell out of there, cause I was that crazy guy in the grocery store. I immediately felt bad because I could have stood my ground and stayed in the first line but I didn't because I'm a pussy and someone was just trying to be nice. And to be honest, I wish I could have been a little more articulate. Oooh if only I could have had that last sentence I shouted back.
Conflicted now as I was leaving the store, when I saw that a cart attendant had jammed the carts he was bringing back into the store in the doors so badly that they were not only stuck but there were several people standing behind him waiting to enter the store (why they didn't just walk in the out door I don't know), I didn't hesitate to act. I grabbed the problem cart and yanked it free and helped the kid right the ship (if a ship is 6 or 7 shopping carts) and the day was saved.
By me.
Too bad I couldn't salvage my dignity, but I figure I was at least starting to make up for being a massive tool.
Then again, that jackass cart boy didn't say thanks...
Sunday in September means I've got a few Optimators chilling in the fridge and my sweet wife will at some point start cooking the brats. That's right, it's game day and I always watch da Bears (or listen as the case often is) with a light beer buzz (not from light beer though, I don't drink that shit) and a belly full of some sort of sausage type product. Preferably Polish, but I don't mind mixing it up.
This time I found myself without a few necessities for my meal at the last minute so I hopped in the car and drove to Albertsons. That was my first mistake. I quickly rounded up what I needed and got in the line to pay and get the hell out.
To set the stage, I got in the one line where the one person who was checking was working. I skipped the self checkout line even though I could have walked right up to any one of several stations. In case you know nothing about me, I detest the self checkout craze that is the new thing in grocery stores. I don't care to take a shit on the grave of a folk hero no matter how mythical he may be, plus there are some philosophical issues that I could discuss but might derail this story so I won't at this time.
I'm the third person in line, and it's going to be a while. Not because the two people ahead of me have a lot of stuff, but the cashier happens to be one of those people that seems to be surprised and or impressed by every item he or she rings up. Annoying yes, but I'd rather be helped by a batshit human being with a pulse than a cold unfeeling, uncaring machine any day.
After 5 minutes or so, an employee taps me on the shoulder and asks if she can help me at the self checkout. I decline but she insists it will be so much faster. I'd rather not sacrifice a piece of my humanity even if it means a few more seconds or even several minutes. But she insists again and since I didn't have my pepper spray or tazer with me I gave in. This was my second mistake.
As she presses the touch screen and invites me to enter my phone number (you know, cause I don't carry around that stupid key chain with my discount club information) I feel like I have to do something to make up for this inexcusable moral comprise I've made. And before I think about whether its a good idea or not my mouth is moving and the words are coming out. This was my third, final and damning mistake.
"I hate self checkout," I say under my breath.
"Uh... what?" she says.
"I hate self checkout," louder this time.
"But you're not checking yourself out, I'm doing it."
And then it got ugly. Arms flailing, I probably spit on somebody at some point, but something snapped and I couldn't be stopped. "No, you're not helping me, you're (and here I do the air quotes) 'teaching me' so next time I'll feel comfortable doing this. I don't avoid self check out because I don't know how to do it, it's because I hate it and I think it's stupid."
After that it was a matter of me getting the hell out of there, cause I was that crazy guy in the grocery store. I immediately felt bad because I could have stood my ground and stayed in the first line but I didn't because I'm a pussy and someone was just trying to be nice. And to be honest, I wish I could have been a little more articulate. Oooh if only I could have had that last sentence I shouted back.
Conflicted now as I was leaving the store, when I saw that a cart attendant had jammed the carts he was bringing back into the store in the doors so badly that they were not only stuck but there were several people standing behind him waiting to enter the store (why they didn't just walk in the out door I don't know), I didn't hesitate to act. I grabbed the problem cart and yanked it free and helped the kid right the ship (if a ship is 6 or 7 shopping carts) and the day was saved.
By me.
Too bad I couldn't salvage my dignity, but I figure I was at least starting to make up for being a massive tool.
Then again, that jackass cart boy didn't say thanks...
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
another real conversation
This is the sort of thing that makes me wish I didn't have ears. This is a convesation that took place between two employees of the S-mart that also happens to employ my sorry ass.
Guy - Hey, a bunch of us are going to get high and go see Pineapple Express. You coming with us?
Girl - uh... I don't get high.
Guy - Yeah neither do we but we got a whole case of Red Bull and we're all going to drink as much as we can before we go see the movie.
Girl - Cool!
Guy - Hey, a bunch of us are going to get high and go see Pineapple Express. You coming with us?
Girl - uh... I don't get high.
Guy - Yeah neither do we but we got a whole case of Red Bull and we're all going to drink as much as we can before we go see the movie.
Girl - Cool!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
I bask in the glow of a mega star
I was browsing through some CD's at FYE today when a I noticed a woman walk past with her son following close behind. The kid stopped on the rack opposite me, looking at whatever selection was on the other side. As I turned to leave, it occurred to me that I was mistaken. This wasn't some kid, this was Gary freakin Coleman.
Oh hell yes.
I lingered a bit to see what he and his lady were looking for. They seemed mildly impressed that the CD's were sorted by genre and then alphabetically. I couldn't tell if they were being glib with the employee that was helping them or not.
I didn't say hi or tell him what a stud he was. Gary Coleman already knows that. I simply continued browsing while an FYE associate did his best to help them locate a Kid Rock CD. I'm not even joking, that's exactly what they were looking for.
When the disc couldn't be located on the salesfloor, Gary and his lady followed the "music specialist" over to a help kiosk. As they did so, something caught Mr. Coleman's eye. He had stopped in front of a display of "hot sellers."
"Hey..." he said. "NIN? What is that?"
True story.
Best. Day. Ever.
Also, as a side note I can also tell you that he has the cutest little feet. Seriously.
Oh hell yes.
I lingered a bit to see what he and his lady were looking for. They seemed mildly impressed that the CD's were sorted by genre and then alphabetically. I couldn't tell if they were being glib with the employee that was helping them or not.
I didn't say hi or tell him what a stud he was. Gary Coleman already knows that. I simply continued browsing while an FYE associate did his best to help them locate a Kid Rock CD. I'm not even joking, that's exactly what they were looking for.
When the disc couldn't be located on the salesfloor, Gary and his lady followed the "music specialist" over to a help kiosk. As they did so, something caught Mr. Coleman's eye. He had stopped in front of a display of "hot sellers."
"Hey..." he said. "NIN? What is that?"
True story.
Best. Day. Ever.
Also, as a side note I can also tell you that he has the cutest little feet. Seriously.
Monday, August 11, 2008
I didn't need to know about this
CNN.com is reporting that scientists at Berkeley have demonstrated a material that is able to cloak three dimensional objects.
Geez that gives me heartburn. I'd say I hope that technology never falls into the wrong hands but I can't imagine there being any right hands in this situation. The horrifying possibilities are endless.
If there is a bright side to this situation, the fact that this is going on at Berkeley makes me wonder if this is less about military applications and more about some hippie scientists that can't afford to get caught smoking a fatty.
Geez that gives me heartburn. I'd say I hope that technology never falls into the wrong hands but I can't imagine there being any right hands in this situation. The horrifying possibilities are endless.
If there is a bright side to this situation, the fact that this is going on at Berkeley makes me wonder if this is less about military applications and more about some hippie scientists that can't afford to get caught smoking a fatty.
too lazy to look it up myself
Where do followers of Scientology go when they die? Cause wherever that is, those people are groovin to the sexy stylings of now deceased Mr. Isaac Hayes.
Later dude.
Later dude.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Why I love Lewis Black
Lewis Black says - "Blogging is like masturbating into a mirror and videotaping it so you can watch it later while you are masturbating."
I know this sounds silly but I can't help but wonder if he found my tapes...
I mean, how else would he know?
I know this sounds silly but I can't help but wonder if he found my tapes...
I mean, how else would he know?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
conversation with a... well I'm not really sure
This is an actual conversation (part of a greater conversation that plumbed the depths of absolute absurdity) I had with one of this single most bizarre individuals (BZ)I have met in a very long time.
BZ - So what do you do besides S-Mart?
Me - I'm a stay at home dad.
BZ - Cool. (long pause) So... do you have kids?
Me - uh (pause) yes.
BZ - That's cool. I love kids. I have a kid.
Me - (spoken with that rather frightened hope he's not serious tone) huh.
BZ - No not yet, I don't have any kids yet but I have one on the way.
Me - okay. (moving on, walking away)
BZ - Well... (following me) actually I'm not married so I don't have a kid on the way but since I am
going to have kids I kind've have a kid on the way.
Me - No, actually you don't. Not at all.
BZ - But I'm about to get married.
Me - gee I doubt it.
BZ - I know but I want to so as soon as I ask someone so whenever that is it will be like three months
later.
BZ - So what do you do besides S-Mart?
Me - I'm a stay at home dad.
BZ - Cool. (long pause) So... do you have kids?
Me - uh (pause) yes.
BZ - That's cool. I love kids. I have a kid.
Me - (spoken with that rather frightened hope he's not serious tone) huh.
BZ - No not yet, I don't have any kids yet but I have one on the way.
Me - okay. (moving on, walking away)
BZ - Well... (following me) actually I'm not married so I don't have a kid on the way but since I am
going to have kids I kind've have a kid on the way.
Me - No, actually you don't. Not at all.
BZ - But I'm about to get married.
Me - gee I doubt it.
BZ - I know but I want to so as soon as I ask someone so whenever that is it will be like three months
later.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Churchill's Down by 2der Mooby
Over the last few weeks I've been working on a ton of new stuff to help expand my little music project. This is one of several tracks that I'll soon be pushing on local clubs until they all get restraining orders. It still needs some work (I've got to fine tune some of the drum channels and fix a few issues with the fx levels) but this will at least give you the idea.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
yet another true story
I shared the story detailed in the previous post with a neighbor who as soon as they heard the french toast bit asked me if I remembered when "they wanted to rename french fries to freedom fries."
I rolled my eyes and changed the subject.
OF COURSE I REMEMBER! It just MIGHT have something to do with why I would bother telling the story in the first place. As much as I dislike people who go around explaining why everything is funny (what am I five?) I certainly don't need it in the case of my own jokes.
Sure, we've all missed a joke now and then and that's fine. We each as individuals have the capacity to ask for clarification or we can even research it for ourselves (hooray for Google! - I just made twenty-five cents) if we find it that important. In some cases we can even let apathy drive us and we simply move on with our lives. Part of the beauty of humor is not everyone gets everything. That's just how it is and how it always will be.
But there seem to be some people who think they are so much more clever than the rest of us that they spend too much time explaining every last joke or silly moment in every story, film, television show and Wierd Al hit single and that takes the fun out of everything.
Quit leaching the fun out of funny, you monsters!
I rolled my eyes and changed the subject.
OF COURSE I REMEMBER! It just MIGHT have something to do with why I would bother telling the story in the first place. As much as I dislike people who go around explaining why everything is funny (what am I five?) I certainly don't need it in the case of my own jokes.
Sure, we've all missed a joke now and then and that's fine. We each as individuals have the capacity to ask for clarification or we can even research it for ourselves (hooray for Google! - I just made twenty-five cents) if we find it that important. In some cases we can even let apathy drive us and we simply move on with our lives. Part of the beauty of humor is not everyone gets everything. That's just how it is and how it always will be.
But there seem to be some people who think they are so much more clever than the rest of us that they spend too much time explaining every last joke or silly moment in every story, film, television show and Wierd Al hit single and that takes the fun out of everything.
Quit leaching the fun out of funny, you monsters!
Friday, July 4, 2008
Happy Fourth
Hope everyone enjoys their Fourth of July. I Celebrated mine with breakfast at some place that had the audacity to serve all you can eat French Toast. For some reason I don't think Dick Cheney would approve.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
what do I really think of S-mart?
I get this question a lot since I bag on it here and I don't like talking about it in general, so let me clear it up for everyone.
If I was born in a hole and was retarded I'd think it was the greatest job in the world.
But I wasn't, and I'm not, so I don't.
If I was born in a hole and was retarded I'd think it was the greatest job in the world.
But I wasn't, and I'm not, so I don't.
Monday, June 23, 2008
goobye, ya angry f@#k!
Rest in peace Mr. George Carlin. Thanks for teaching me how to shower economically.
Asshole, armpits, crotch and teeth... and if you really want to save money you use the same brush for everything.
Asshole, armpits, crotch and teeth... and if you really want to save money you use the same brush for everything.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Morlock that I am
I don't mind it. It's what I am and I'm okay with that.
Besides, being one of those Eloi surface dwellers is overrated. Mostly in that there is a chance they will be eaten by a Morlock. I don't have that problem.
But I do often wish there was a convenient way to carry steak sauce about. It's impossible to know when one will need it (it's always such an impulsive thing) and lets face it, "be prepared" isn't exactly the motto of my kind. Since there is no way I'm going to carry a bottle of A1 steak sauce small enough to fit in my pocket and I simply refuse to wear a fanny pack I might just be SOL, know what I mean?
Life can be tough, ya know?
Besides, being one of those Eloi surface dwellers is overrated. Mostly in that there is a chance they will be eaten by a Morlock. I don't have that problem.
But I do often wish there was a convenient way to carry steak sauce about. It's impossible to know when one will need it (it's always such an impulsive thing) and lets face it, "be prepared" isn't exactly the motto of my kind. Since there is no way I'm going to carry a bottle of A1 steak sauce small enough to fit in my pocket and I simply refuse to wear a fanny pack I might just be SOL, know what I mean?
Life can be tough, ya know?
Saturday, May 24, 2008
it's a fair question
Which is worse, genuine douchiness or fake niceness?
I'm not sure but right now I'm leaning toward fake niceness as being worse.
Edit - This is a lame entry but still better than most blogs. I have had a lot of things I was going to blog about but haven't gotten around to like the time I bought gum called Fabulous Fruitini, or the time I had a near death experience due to a gummi shark with a liquid center, or the time my son asked me why we didn't name him Indiana Jones, or the time my daughter wanted to make sandwiches shaped like Bender (the robot from Futurama) so someone could finally bite his shiny metal ass, but it's too much work I suppose.
Sad, but if it wasn't you would have read it somewhere other than a glorified end note.
I'm not sure but right now I'm leaning toward fake niceness as being worse.
Edit - This is a lame entry but still better than most blogs. I have had a lot of things I was going to blog about but haven't gotten around to like the time I bought gum called Fabulous Fruitini, or the time I had a near death experience due to a gummi shark with a liquid center, or the time my son asked me why we didn't name him Indiana Jones, or the time my daughter wanted to make sandwiches shaped like Bender (the robot from Futurama) so someone could finally bite his shiny metal ass, but it's too much work I suppose.
Sad, but if it wasn't you would have read it somewhere other than a glorified end note.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
next time lock the door
I was out with my fam at a local eatery today when I realized I needed to make a business call on the porcelain telephone. For the metaphorically challenged, that means I had to use the can.
As I opened the mens room door I made two unsettling discoveries. The first was that this was one of those bathrooms that is just a sink and a toilet. No stalls. No nothing really. In and of itself that's not such a big deal except when considered alongside my second discovery, which was that this bathroom was occupied.
Luckily the guy was only drying his hands when I yanked the door open but instinctively I shut the door quickly, apologizing as I did so. It happens so fast.
"No problem, dude!" came the voice as he opened the door to step past me out into the hall. "I was done anyway."
Obviously, if that had been the end of it this wouldn't be a story for me to tell anyone let alone blog about.
As he walked past he gave me one of those buddy buddy forearm smashes (lightly, but obviously an invasion of my personal space) and said, "it's all you."
No shit, Sherlock. It better be all me.
And of course it was since I know how to lock the bathroom door.
As I opened the mens room door I made two unsettling discoveries. The first was that this was one of those bathrooms that is just a sink and a toilet. No stalls. No nothing really. In and of itself that's not such a big deal except when considered alongside my second discovery, which was that this bathroom was occupied.
Luckily the guy was only drying his hands when I yanked the door open but instinctively I shut the door quickly, apologizing as I did so. It happens so fast.
"No problem, dude!" came the voice as he opened the door to step past me out into the hall. "I was done anyway."
Obviously, if that had been the end of it this wouldn't be a story for me to tell anyone let alone blog about.
As he walked past he gave me one of those buddy buddy forearm smashes (lightly, but obviously an invasion of my personal space) and said, "it's all you."
No shit, Sherlock. It better be all me.
And of course it was since I know how to lock the bathroom door.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
euthanasia in the blog-o-sphere
City Weekly is a local publication originating north of the UC (that's Utah County for those not familiar with geography in the jello belt) that recently revealed it's list of "Utah's Best," jointly selected by writers AND readers. All I really learned from this list is that people in Utah love FOX 13 news. They love it, love it, love it.
In other words, people in Utah are dumb.
I'm not bagging on the Beehive State, there are dumb people everywhere.
The one category that blew my mind was for "best blogger" and of course Utah's best blogger was Dooce who has a huge following, lots of cute and funny little stories, has won "bloggies" and everything else you would expect.
I hold no ill will toward Dooce, she is a fine blogger. What made my brain pop were the blogs that City Weekly chose as their second and third best. Second is a blog that recaps what happens every day on the X96 morning show. The third was something that kept readers apprised of various happenings and sales in the state, I honestly didn't look at it too closely after I realized it wasn't interesting.
It smells of a cop out of massive proportions. And no, I am not feeling snubbed or anything silly like that. I am simply flabbergasted that this was the best they could come up with.
Luckily, Google's blogger has given me the tools to look into the matter personally. In the last hour I have sifted through all of the blogs (on blogger) from Provo and Springville and have decidedly discovered 3,196 solid candidates for Utah's worst blog. Maybe City Weekly was right after all. If there is something better out there, I will find it. At least I'm starting to narrow it down a bit through the process of elimination.
The search goes on, I'll let you know what I find.
In other words, people in Utah are dumb.
I'm not bagging on the Beehive State, there are dumb people everywhere.
The one category that blew my mind was for "best blogger" and of course Utah's best blogger was Dooce who has a huge following, lots of cute and funny little stories, has won "bloggies" and everything else you would expect.
I hold no ill will toward Dooce, she is a fine blogger. What made my brain pop were the blogs that City Weekly chose as their second and third best. Second is a blog that recaps what happens every day on the X96 morning show. The third was something that kept readers apprised of various happenings and sales in the state, I honestly didn't look at it too closely after I realized it wasn't interesting.
It smells of a cop out of massive proportions. And no, I am not feeling snubbed or anything silly like that. I am simply flabbergasted that this was the best they could come up with.
Luckily, Google's blogger has given me the tools to look into the matter personally. In the last hour I have sifted through all of the blogs (on blogger) from Provo and Springville and have decidedly discovered 3,196 solid candidates for Utah's worst blog. Maybe City Weekly was right after all. If there is something better out there, I will find it. At least I'm starting to narrow it down a bit through the process of elimination.
The search goes on, I'll let you know what I find.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
S-Mart is real!
Holy crap! I alway used S-mart (the retailer that employs the greatest enemy to evil who ever graced the silver screen) as a means to describe my workplace in order to soften any bad-mouthing I may or my not be doing about my actual employer. Tonight, researching some other writing I'm doing, I discovered that S-Mart is actually a chain of stores in Mexico.
I always thought I was just recycling a joke from a really cool movie but now I wonder if anyone who has passed by my blog thinks I really do work in a grocery store in Mexico.
That's just silly...
or is it?
I always thought I was just recycling a joke from a really cool movie but now I wonder if anyone who has passed by my blog thinks I really do work in a grocery store in Mexico.
That's just silly...
or is it?
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Now we really can pry the gun from his cold dead hand...
Goodbye Charlton Heston. Thanks for everything.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
kids... oy
Last night while driving my little ones to their dance class, my eight year old daughter--out of nowhere mind you--said something about how she hoped I never got shot.
"I would be so sad if you died, daddy" she tells me.
I assured her that if I died I would be sad too. She was quiet for a moment before offering "you mean like zombie sad?"
Of course, there is the other side of the coin -
Today she tells me I remind her of a seahorse. "Why do you say that?" I ask.
"Cause of your great big belly."
"I would be so sad if you died, daddy" she tells me.
I assured her that if I died I would be sad too. She was quiet for a moment before offering "you mean like zombie sad?"
Of course, there is the other side of the coin -
Today she tells me I remind her of a seahorse. "Why do you say that?" I ask.
"Cause of your great big belly."
Thursday, April 3, 2008
don't get your hopes up
Perhaps bracing for let down and fan disappointment that seems to eventually come with the anticipation of a long awaited sequel to any movie George Lucas made with the obvious exception of Howard the Duck and The Radioland Murders, Uncle G told the press that the upcoming installment in the Indiana Jones franchise is "just a movie."
Mr. Lucas, I can understand why you might have some apprehension from this new Indy adventure living up to fan expectation but you sound as if you are preparing for a backlash. Having witnessed the Star Wars prequels, I can also understand your concern and desire to not over-inflate fan expectation. But unless the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is ruled by Jar Jar Binks I wouldn't lose too much sleep over it.
edit - I think I should clarify that this movie will have to be pretty bad for me to not like it. I'm still a little concerned that George Lucas was the one who wasn't happy with the scripts for all those years. I can imagine him saying "Can we add a line where someone says they have a bad feeling about this? It's a good way for a character to convey the tone of the moment without having to spend a lot of time establishing it through other means. Then we have more money left over to render Jar Jar."
For the most part, I think I'll just be able to sit back and enjoy the show.
Mr. Lucas, I can understand why you might have some apprehension from this new Indy adventure living up to fan expectation but you sound as if you are preparing for a backlash. Having witnessed the Star Wars prequels, I can also understand your concern and desire to not over-inflate fan expectation. But unless the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is ruled by Jar Jar Binks I wouldn't lose too much sleep over it.
edit - I think I should clarify that this movie will have to be pretty bad for me to not like it. I'm still a little concerned that George Lucas was the one who wasn't happy with the scripts for all those years. I can imagine him saying "Can we add a line where someone says they have a bad feeling about this? It's a good way for a character to convey the tone of the moment without having to spend a lot of time establishing it through other means. Then we have more money left over to render Jar Jar."
For the most part, I think I'll just be able to sit back and enjoy the show.
when you got nothing, beat the dead horse.
Ever wish you could pick who you lived next to?
If I could fill my complex with the people I wanted to live near any time you'd visit me you might catch a glimpse of Crispin Glover, the Jim Rose Circus Side Show, Chuck Norris, someone who is always cooking pretzels, a dude with a monster truck but not a mullet, a dude with a mullet that monster truck guy and I can give shit to (and run over his car... oops we didn't see you there while cruising around in this monster truck, these massive tires create some wicked large blind spots), Al Roker, Al Green, Al Franken (I seem to be stuck in some sort of creative loop), Flash Van Shatner (small claims attorney), and of course Yale President Richard Levin.
That's right, Rick. I bet you thought I forgot. There you are pretending to be so caught up in how you've been President of Yale for 15 years and sharing your thoughts on China when we all know you are really just waiting for me to post on my blog so you can give me shit. In retrospect it was probably a mistake to give you my home phone number. I can sense you stretching your dialing finger as I type this. If only there were some device I could procure that would tell me exactly who was calling when the phone rings so I could avoid another Ivy League beatdown...
But Mr. Levin, if we were neighbors you could save yourself some money in long distance charges by walking right to my door and punching me in the face. That would be awesome. Then later, after I put some ice on my nose and the swelling of my eye went down, we could stand out by fence wearing flip flops and smoking cigars while exchanging witty repartee with the good folks walking to and from the corner liquor store.
Just a thought.
If I could fill my complex with the people I wanted to live near any time you'd visit me you might catch a glimpse of Crispin Glover, the Jim Rose Circus Side Show, Chuck Norris, someone who is always cooking pretzels, a dude with a monster truck but not a mullet, a dude with a mullet that monster truck guy and I can give shit to (and run over his car... oops we didn't see you there while cruising around in this monster truck, these massive tires create some wicked large blind spots), Al Roker, Al Green, Al Franken (I seem to be stuck in some sort of creative loop), Flash Van Shatner (small claims attorney), and of course Yale President Richard Levin.
That's right, Rick. I bet you thought I forgot. There you are pretending to be so caught up in how you've been President of Yale for 15 years and sharing your thoughts on China when we all know you are really just waiting for me to post on my blog so you can give me shit. In retrospect it was probably a mistake to give you my home phone number. I can sense you stretching your dialing finger as I type this. If only there were some device I could procure that would tell me exactly who was calling when the phone rings so I could avoid another Ivy League beatdown...
But Mr. Levin, if we were neighbors you could save yourself some money in long distance charges by walking right to my door and punching me in the face. That would be awesome. Then later, after I put some ice on my nose and the swelling of my eye went down, we could stand out by fence wearing flip flops and smoking cigars while exchanging witty repartee with the good folks walking to and from the corner liquor store.
Just a thought.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
"this will make a great blog entry"
Those are the words that spun through my mind as I sat in the dentist chair today, inhaling as much nitrous oxide as I could draw through my nose in a single breath... although now, several hours later I can not even vaguely remember what it was that would have made such a compelling blog entry... not that its going to stop me from rambling on about the incident anyway.
One thing I find interesting about nitrous oxide is that it isn't used in place of anything at the dentist, but simply a means to enhance the relaxation factor of a patient.
Today, as the apparatus was strapped over my nose my first thought was that I was doing something horribly wrong and possibly illegal. It may sound silly but I felt incredibly guilty. Was I pulling one over on my dental professionals? What ever went down I could not let on that I was enjoying it. By "enjoying it" I mean the gas, not the visit to the chair.
About 5 minutes after "the gas" had started flowing I could feel my finger tips getting tingly and I kept noticing how tense I was in my neck. I would let it droop a little more into the chair before realizing I was still too tense and needed to relax some more. After ten minutes I couldn't have been settled any deeper into that chair if I had been traveling at 800 g's through space and time. And that was when my cover was nearly blown.
The radio playing in the office started blasting that Michael Jackson song from so long ago, you know the one about how "it don't matter if you're black or white" and I started laughing out loud. I panicked thinking that I was about to lose my gas privileges but covered it nicely by admitting (quite truthfully for that matter) that I always laugh when I hear that song.
And no, it's not because I'm a racist who is misguided enough to believe it actually does matter what color you are. That is preposterous. I pretty much laugh at any song where Michael Jackson is belting out the lyrics... except for maybe ABC, cause that song rules and anyone who doesn't think so is a bitch.
But by then I didn't care about anything because I was drifting on clouds imaging what a great blog entry this was going to make. I was at the dentist for a cleaning. A deep cleaning, which I soon discovered is far less pleasant than the cleanings of my youth which were by far the least traumatic of all dental appointments. Imagine my surprise when I walked away feeling like I'd been punched in the side of the face.
First I got numbed up locally before the dentist came in to really deaden my face. When the good Doctor arrived I was reminded of the scene from Planet Terror where the anesthesiologist talks about her three little friends in the form of three different colors of needles.
While he (the dentist that is) was getting me all numbed up I kept thinking I absolutely had to make some joke about how nice it would be to get all numbed up while standing in line at the DMV... God, I'm glad I didn't actually make that joke. Although it would be nice to get some sort of shot when you get your number that reads 8,326 and the loudspeaker announces "now serving number 2!"
But I digress.
After a while I also noticed how slowly my thoughts were rolling through my head. They were coming out at the speed of a dot-matrix printout. I remember thinking to myself at one point "wow, my thoughts are really slow" and before that entire string of words completed itself inside my brain, someone had walked into the room where I was having my work done and carried out a fairly lengthy conversation with the hygienist that was working on my teeth. It was as if I was stuck in the slow lane of the fourth dimension.
Perhaps this blog entry blows chunks but at least I didn't blog about blowing chunks... although I suppose I can make no promises for the future except that you probably know I won't ever do it.
Many of you may be aware I have a weak stomach and despite the fact that I have several entertaining stories about worshiping the porcelain god, the thought of even relating them makes me want to vomit... excuse me!
One thing I find interesting about nitrous oxide is that it isn't used in place of anything at the dentist, but simply a means to enhance the relaxation factor of a patient.
Today, as the apparatus was strapped over my nose my first thought was that I was doing something horribly wrong and possibly illegal. It may sound silly but I felt incredibly guilty. Was I pulling one over on my dental professionals? What ever went down I could not let on that I was enjoying it. By "enjoying it" I mean the gas, not the visit to the chair.
About 5 minutes after "the gas" had started flowing I could feel my finger tips getting tingly and I kept noticing how tense I was in my neck. I would let it droop a little more into the chair before realizing I was still too tense and needed to relax some more. After ten minutes I couldn't have been settled any deeper into that chair if I had been traveling at 800 g's through space and time. And that was when my cover was nearly blown.
The radio playing in the office started blasting that Michael Jackson song from so long ago, you know the one about how "it don't matter if you're black or white" and I started laughing out loud. I panicked thinking that I was about to lose my gas privileges but covered it nicely by admitting (quite truthfully for that matter) that I always laugh when I hear that song.
And no, it's not because I'm a racist who is misguided enough to believe it actually does matter what color you are. That is preposterous. I pretty much laugh at any song where Michael Jackson is belting out the lyrics... except for maybe ABC, cause that song rules and anyone who doesn't think so is a bitch.
But by then I didn't care about anything because I was drifting on clouds imaging what a great blog entry this was going to make. I was at the dentist for a cleaning. A deep cleaning, which I soon discovered is far less pleasant than the cleanings of my youth which were by far the least traumatic of all dental appointments. Imagine my surprise when I walked away feeling like I'd been punched in the side of the face.
First I got numbed up locally before the dentist came in to really deaden my face. When the good Doctor arrived I was reminded of the scene from Planet Terror where the anesthesiologist talks about her three little friends in the form of three different colors of needles.
While he (the dentist that is) was getting me all numbed up I kept thinking I absolutely had to make some joke about how nice it would be to get all numbed up while standing in line at the DMV... God, I'm glad I didn't actually make that joke. Although it would be nice to get some sort of shot when you get your number that reads 8,326 and the loudspeaker announces "now serving number 2!"
But I digress.
After a while I also noticed how slowly my thoughts were rolling through my head. They were coming out at the speed of a dot-matrix printout. I remember thinking to myself at one point "wow, my thoughts are really slow" and before that entire string of words completed itself inside my brain, someone had walked into the room where I was having my work done and carried out a fairly lengthy conversation with the hygienist that was working on my teeth. It was as if I was stuck in the slow lane of the fourth dimension.
Perhaps this blog entry blows chunks but at least I didn't blog about blowing chunks... although I suppose I can make no promises for the future except that you probably know I won't ever do it.
Many of you may be aware I have a weak stomach and despite the fact that I have several entertaining stories about worshiping the porcelain god, the thought of even relating them makes me want to vomit... excuse me!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
one mystery of the universe revealed
Ever wonder what happened to all that sawdust from your high school wood shop that wasn't used to soak up vomit?
I used to wonder but now I know. You might know too if you've ever paid less than two dollars for a one pound bag of corn chips.
I used to wonder but now I know. You might know too if you've ever paid less than two dollars for a one pound bag of corn chips.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
YouTube Saturday
Last year my wife got tickets to Muse for my birthday. I had heard they were amazing live but nothing could have prepared me for a show that was ultimately one of the coolest things I have ever witnessed that did not feature Bruce Campbell. This is one of those rare bands who seem to write music for the specific purpose of playing it live. Some bands don't sound quite right live compared to the over-produced tracks they put on the airwaves but not these guys. This will sound like bragging, but I really believe that if you haven't heard them live then you haven't heard Muse. The night was a little surreal considering that the lead singer for the band that opened was Juliet Lewis. That's right, she has a band. That part if the evening was a little odd...
But I digress.
The last song Muse played was a little ditty called "Stockholm Syndrome." As far as I'm concerned, this six or seven minutes alone was worth the price of admission.
Why do I even bring any of this up at all?
I haven't really had more than an hour of sleep over the last two and a half days (and I mean one hour total) and today is the second time I've taken a sleeping pill to get some rest but for whatever reason, the little blue friend of mine (in pill-shaped form) that has never let me down is failing me the second day in a row.
And I digress even farther.
The bottom line is that I've tried to take my mind off things by watching some YouTube and after poking around a bit, I hit on this performance from 2004. I can only warn you that it doesn't do much justice to the live experience but I really wanted to post something that was not only upbeat, but kicks ass.
I'm sure I'll be back soon enough to my ranting and raving about life, the universe, and cheese fries quicker than something that happens really fast. But for the time being... for this morning, I give you Muse playing one of the finest entries in their kick-ass repertoire.
But I digress.
The last song Muse played was a little ditty called "Stockholm Syndrome." As far as I'm concerned, this six or seven minutes alone was worth the price of admission.
Why do I even bring any of this up at all?
I haven't really had more than an hour of sleep over the last two and a half days (and I mean one hour total) and today is the second time I've taken a sleeping pill to get some rest but for whatever reason, the little blue friend of mine (in pill-shaped form) that has never let me down is failing me the second day in a row.
And I digress even farther.
The bottom line is that I've tried to take my mind off things by watching some YouTube and after poking around a bit, I hit on this performance from 2004. I can only warn you that it doesn't do much justice to the live experience but I really wanted to post something that was not only upbeat, but kicks ass.
I'm sure I'll be back soon enough to my ranting and raving about life, the universe, and cheese fries quicker than something that happens really fast. But for the time being... for this morning, I give you Muse playing one of the finest entries in their kick-ass repertoire.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Big Twilight News!
If you don't know, Twilight is a book that was written by some local BYU grad about a young girl who falls in love with a vampire. The book is all the rage with girls of all ages who live in Utah and apparently some other people like it too because they're making it into a movie!!!!
The big news is over at Dark Horizons they're reporting a bunch of people who I've never heard of are going to be in this movie adaptation I'll never see and don't give a shit about.
Aren't you glad I passed that on?
If I seem a little bitter today you'll have to forgive me, the geniuses in charge of S-Mart decided it was a good idea to turn our lights down to 25% while us overnight schmucks are on the clock. It's like working in a sea of gray which really is the last thing I need. The good news is that management is no longer dimmer than our fluorescent bulbs... but who knows how long that will last?
The big news is over at Dark Horizons they're reporting a bunch of people who I've never heard of are going to be in this movie adaptation I'll never see and don't give a shit about.
Aren't you glad I passed that on?
If I seem a little bitter today you'll have to forgive me, the geniuses in charge of S-Mart decided it was a good idea to turn our lights down to 25% while us overnight schmucks are on the clock. It's like working in a sea of gray which really is the last thing I need. The good news is that management is no longer dimmer than our fluorescent bulbs... but who knows how long that will last?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Ralph Nader - Enemy of the People
Big Ralph has announced he is running for president... again.
How do you spell megalomaniac-dipshit-muthafucker?
Don't be a douche bag Ralph, you've done more to hurt this country than help it over the last eight years, and you only seem to come out of your hole every four years or so... seems to be based on some sort of cycle. Just go away, keep your mouth shut, and play some backgammon or something so I'll be able to remember you for the decent things you might have done in your life for the love of god.
How do you spell megalomaniac-dipshit-muthafucker?
Don't be a douche bag Ralph, you've done more to hurt this country than help it over the last eight years, and you only seem to come out of your hole every four years or so... seems to be based on some sort of cycle. Just go away, keep your mouth shut, and play some backgammon or something so I'll be able to remember you for the decent things you might have done in your life for the love of god.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
put the sharp thing away
A lot is made about chimps that are able to utilize primitive tools, yet we never hear about the one's that pick up a stick and promptly poke themselves in the eye. Surprisingly, it happens enough there is a class distinction for this. Scientists generally refer to them as middle management, I just call them boss.
Is it time we find a word to replace "superiors" in the work place? There's a universal question for ya.
Is it time we find a word to replace "superiors" in the work place? There's a universal question for ya.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
little people, big annoyance
Big shock for those who know me, my family is short. Last night we were out at dinner for my dad's birthday and while my pop was away from the table getting some more food, some strange (and by strange I mean unfamiliar) woman appeared and said something to the effect that she had just spoken to my dad and that she had told him she had two daughters and one was shorter than the other and the taller referred to the other as a midget "and that was just mean!"
She went on and on while my mom, my sister, and I sat stunned that some strange (and by strange I mean someone who makes other people uncomfortable by their inherent weirdness) woman was interrupting what had to that point been a nice little evening out. My mom did her best to nod and smile and even interject an "oh wow" or "that's great" when appropriate and normally I would do the same (tis a talent of mine) but this woman was so strange (and by strange I mean her presence and intrusive conversation had me scanning the room for people who might have some pepper spray handy) that I lost all patience with her and began thinking I should get up and get more food myself (what can I say? Pop loves the buffets and it was his birthday).
Sadly, the geography of the situation left me in a position that getting up and navigating past her would have been comparable to the Persian Army trying to get through the Spartans in the Pass of Thermopylae. In other words, I could have done it eventually but would have sustained heavy and disproportional losses in the process.
Trapped, I sat and waited it out, but not before I heard about this womans goats, a deformed baby goat that was fixed by a vet so it could walk and survive, and something about her boxers (her puppies not unmentionables... mercifully). Even the people around us were starting to notice. There was a large Polynesian gentleman about 10 feet away who watched in horror as the diatribe played out. He flashed me a look of pity before trying to make himself as invisible as could, lest this woman see him and have something to tell him too.
Finally it was over and she walked away as she pumped her hand in the air saying "hooray for little people!"
I don't need a pat on the back. I have plenty of shortcomings (pardon the pun) but none are involved with my size really. Same with the rest of family, except for my big brother, he was the tall one so he was always in charge of reaching stuff and putting away the glasses that went on the top shelf.
I feel I should have stopped that lady and told I was impressed that she could dress herself or any number of other things that came to mind, but you can't waste pithy comments and witty comebacks on dumb people. And I'm sorry, if a person thinks anyone in my family needs a pep talk because of our size they are clearly of the ilk that they can't be called stupid because that would be an insult to stupid people.
So fine, hooray for little people.
Boo for people who interrupt a nice family dinner with talk of goats and dogs.
She went on and on while my mom, my sister, and I sat stunned that some strange (and by strange I mean someone who makes other people uncomfortable by their inherent weirdness) woman was interrupting what had to that point been a nice little evening out. My mom did her best to nod and smile and even interject an "oh wow" or "that's great" when appropriate and normally I would do the same (tis a talent of mine) but this woman was so strange (and by strange I mean her presence and intrusive conversation had me scanning the room for people who might have some pepper spray handy) that I lost all patience with her and began thinking I should get up and get more food myself (what can I say? Pop loves the buffets and it was his birthday).
Sadly, the geography of the situation left me in a position that getting up and navigating past her would have been comparable to the Persian Army trying to get through the Spartans in the Pass of Thermopylae. In other words, I could have done it eventually but would have sustained heavy and disproportional losses in the process.
Trapped, I sat and waited it out, but not before I heard about this womans goats, a deformed baby goat that was fixed by a vet so it could walk and survive, and something about her boxers (her puppies not unmentionables... mercifully). Even the people around us were starting to notice. There was a large Polynesian gentleman about 10 feet away who watched in horror as the diatribe played out. He flashed me a look of pity before trying to make himself as invisible as could, lest this woman see him and have something to tell him too.
Finally it was over and she walked away as she pumped her hand in the air saying "hooray for little people!"
I don't need a pat on the back. I have plenty of shortcomings (pardon the pun) but none are involved with my size really. Same with the rest of family, except for my big brother, he was the tall one so he was always in charge of reaching stuff and putting away the glasses that went on the top shelf.
I feel I should have stopped that lady and told I was impressed that she could dress herself or any number of other things that came to mind, but you can't waste pithy comments and witty comebacks on dumb people. And I'm sorry, if a person thinks anyone in my family needs a pep talk because of our size they are clearly of the ilk that they can't be called stupid because that would be an insult to stupid people.
So fine, hooray for little people.
Boo for people who interrupt a nice family dinner with talk of goats and dogs.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
Haunted Kitchen
I woke up in a slouched yet comfy position on the couch in my living room. Between weird work hours and being under the weather I had drifted off in front of the TV sometime after 5pm and slept for several hours. As I got to my feet I noticed my five year old son was being carried up the stairs by my wife wrapped in his beloved blanket and my daughter (who is seven) sat on the floor watching Spongebob, the only real thought in my mind was getting myself a drink of water.
Making the short walk to the sink in the kitchen (just a few feet mind you) my brain slowly began processing the information I had so far gathered into as much sense as a groggy thirsty man can comprehend at such a moment.
It was dark (must be night)
I had slept through dinner (blasphemy!)
The kids were being put to bed (rapture!)
I stopped in the middle of the kitchen and surveyed the table, two small plates each bearing some a partially and or mostly eaten corn dog.
One of them was only half eaten (it's food on a stick!)
As anyone who has witnessed my figure can attest, I am not the kind of guy who is going to let food go to waste. Before filling a glass with cool water from the tap to aid my post-nap drymouth and pervasive thirst I consumed the last of the half-eaten corn dog in two or three bites.
Half-eaten and cold corn dog (I've had worse...)
I washed it down with a glass of water and turned to the trash bin to dispose of the stick. Sitting next to the can was the now empty carton corn dogs. No more dinner on a stick. I made a mental note to buy more when we went shopping next. The kids like them and as I had only recently discovered, they make a better than bad post-nap snack.
Settling myself back on the couch, I noticed my daughter was no longer sitting in front of the television. Excellent. She must have gone to bed.
As I grabbed the remote to change the channel, I hear a shriek, "Daddy!"
It was my daughter in the kitchen. I rushed to find her standing at the table in front of her tiny (and empty) plate. The little one stabbed my heart with those sad little eyes as she told me, "The kitchen is haunted and a ghost ate my corn dog!"
"Uh... yeah, sure... a ghost. Let me make you another one..." Turning to the freezer to set things right I was reminded by a flash in the corner of my eye of a white and blue box sitting next to the trash bin. No more dinner on a stick.
"Doh!"
Making the short walk to the sink in the kitchen (just a few feet mind you) my brain slowly began processing the information I had so far gathered into as much sense as a groggy thirsty man can comprehend at such a moment.
It was dark (must be night)
I had slept through dinner (blasphemy!)
The kids were being put to bed (rapture!)
I stopped in the middle of the kitchen and surveyed the table, two small plates each bearing some a partially and or mostly eaten corn dog.
One of them was only half eaten (it's food on a stick!)
As anyone who has witnessed my figure can attest, I am not the kind of guy who is going to let food go to waste. Before filling a glass with cool water from the tap to aid my post-nap drymouth and pervasive thirst I consumed the last of the half-eaten corn dog in two or three bites.
Half-eaten and cold corn dog (I've had worse...)
I washed it down with a glass of water and turned to the trash bin to dispose of the stick. Sitting next to the can was the now empty carton corn dogs. No more dinner on a stick. I made a mental note to buy more when we went shopping next. The kids like them and as I had only recently discovered, they make a better than bad post-nap snack.
Settling myself back on the couch, I noticed my daughter was no longer sitting in front of the television. Excellent. She must have gone to bed.
As I grabbed the remote to change the channel, I hear a shriek, "Daddy!"
It was my daughter in the kitchen. I rushed to find her standing at the table in front of her tiny (and empty) plate. The little one stabbed my heart with those sad little eyes as she told me, "The kitchen is haunted and a ghost ate my corn dog!"
"Uh... yeah, sure... a ghost. Let me make you another one..." Turning to the freezer to set things right I was reminded by a flash in the corner of my eye of a white and blue box sitting next to the trash bin. No more dinner on a stick.
"Doh!"
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