"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!

meeting of the minds

I'd comment but I'm laughing too hard.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

A short little something

It's different but it's also the same.

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!"