Another Worthless Blog Post

Have you ever clicked that little "Next Blog" button? You know, the one that sits there at the top of the screen? Well, I have, and I now humbly present the results of my research to you in the form of a pareto chart.



My suspicions have been confirmed. Out of all the types of blogs out there, spamblogs are the most common. And 50% of blogs are what I would deem "boring" (spam + daily logs, unless you know the person, and even then, probably) Another 37% are worthless (politics, photo, fashion, religious), leaving only 13% that might have value to the general public. But, really, I don't think any of those are any good either. I'd put the "good" blogs fraction at somwhere around 0.75% Good thing all y'all blog, or it would be even lower.


It's like my friend Drew says, "Surfing on the Information Superhighway is more like rafting on the Boring River."

Death and that Fickle Dame, Fame.

So, I'm currently reading a biography of Kurt Cobain. Not for any real reason other than I thought it might be interesting. I'm not far enough in to decide how I feel about it, but for those of you who regularly read biographies (i.e. not me), do they always contain a lot of pop psychology analysis of how someone's childhood wrecked/hindered/ameliorated their adult life? If so, it's kind of annoying. Anyway, in reading this biography I have been formulating a horribly hackneyed and clichéd theory that dying or killing yourself will make you more famouser than other people. The following are a few unresearched and undocumented and sketchy case studies to "prove" my point.

Kurt Cobain Vs. Billy Corgan

VS

Believe it or not, these two used to be mentioned in the same breath as twin quasars of rock. Then look what happened. Kurt killed himself a few months after performing the best MTV Unplugged set ever (no I will not change my mind about this) and went out in a blaze of glory. Corgan, on the other hand, released a phenomenally popular bloated double album, broke up one of the best guitar bands of the 90's and is now some bald headed weirdo playing meandering electronic music. Recently, Mr. Corgan has even fallen far enough to publically pine for the reuniting of his old band, trying to get back a little of that faded glory. To sum it up: Cobain - Blaze of Glory. Corgan - Faded Glory. ALso, there have been at least 3 movies about the life and death of Kurt Cobain. There have been none about Billy Corgan. Finally, ask any "oh, my life sucks and I can only find my escape from my awful parents in music" fifteen year old who is better, Nirvana or the Smashing Pumpkins. They probably haven't even heard of the Smashing Pumpkins.

Jim Morrison Vs. Roger McGuinn

VS

Was your response the same as mine? Roger McWho?? That's because he's not dead. If you don't know, he was the lead singer of the Byrds. Who were the Byrds, you ask? A band that was also from LA but is not as famous as the Doors because Roger didn't die. Don't think the two bands are comparable? You are way overestimating the popularity the Doors had at the time. Do you know why? Exactly. Because Jim Morrison died at a young age. I wouldn't say he went out in a blaze of glory though, more like a face of hair. Number of movies made about Jim Morrison: at least 1. Movies made about Roger McGuinn: None that I know of.

Janis Joplin Vs. Grace Slick

VS

Both were standout female singers back in the sixties. Ms. Slick was actually more successful. She was maybe even a better singer, but what's your reaction when you hear her name now? "Oh, you mean that crazy old washed up hippie?" Janis Joplin, however, brings to mind a rock and/or roll life lived on the edge. Who knows though, maybe if Ms. Joplin hadn't have died she would have proceeded to record the worst song ever. Instead, she did die and left the onerous task of recording the worst song ever up to Ms. Slick, who succeeded admirably. Just try to listen to We Built This City. I can't bring myself to.

Jimi Hendrix Vs. Jeff Beck

Again, we have the "Who?" factor, as in "Who in the world is Jeff Beck?" Who cares? I mean sure, he was a good guitarist and all, but, come on, did he die by choking on his own vomit? No he did not. That means he's still around today, just another sad, aging musician who didn't know when to call it quits. And Jimi Hendrix? Who knows what he would have done? By the time he died he was already getting a little weird. Instead, he took the high road and ODed on something. Maybe he would have turned out to be another Brian Wilson. You know, an amazingly talented crazy dude who is looked at with a little respect and a lot of sympathy. Brian, you should have offed yourself. You'd be a GOD now. Like Jimi is.

Eliot "Mama" Cass Vs. Anyone Else In The Mamas And The Papas

VS

Do I even need to say anything about this? She died because of a ham sandwich. A ham sandwich, for crying out loud! I mean, it's not even a cool way to die! But because of it, she's the only one from the Mamas and the Papas anyone remembers. Behold, the power of death.




There are so many more examples, I don't have time to go into all of them. Just consider:

• Buddy Holly (Revered Early Rock God) Vs. Little Richard (Now Playing County Fairs!)

• John Bonham/Keith Moon Vs. The Drummer for the Rolling Stones. Seriously, do you even know who that is? Or the Drummer from Cream? Nobody knows that one. Ginger Rogers or something like that?

• Dimebag Darrell Vs. The Rest of Pantera. Most people don't even know who Pantera are!

• Bono Vs. Michael Stipe. Actually, neither of these guys are dead. It's just that the world would be better off without them.

• Danny Gatton Vs. Eric Clapton. Well, Clapton is and will always be more famous, which is a crying shame. Danny Gatton was the best guitarist of his generation and he couldn't even get any publicity by committing suicide. You should have heard him play, with his fingers flying across the frets as if by magic. Life's not fair I guess.
  

• Some rap dudes, but I don't know anything about rap, so I will not comment.
  

All in all, there must just be something about our society that loves the flameout, the tragic figure, the bigger-than-life death. Besides, it's so much easier to idolize someone if they die before they do anything really stupid. That's a lesson for all you wannabe musicians out there. In the immortal words of someone I'm too lazy to look up, "It's better to burn out than to fade away."

P.S. Did you know that Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Whatsisface Johnson all died at the age of 27? Weird huh?

Run! It's A Lion!!

I don't know about you, but I find this kind of absurd humor uproarious.


Cartoon courtesy of Drew.

Memory Lane Monday

Okay, I'll jump on the blogwagon...



As the brickwife posted last week, we spent a few weeks in the town of Monclova, Coahuila, Mexico. It was a very interesting, exciting and fun experience and I'll write about a few of the more exciting things we did while there.

For three weeks, we lived in a pretty nice three bedroom house in a decent neighborhood. We still had a wrought iron gate around our house, but so did everyone, so it didn't feel dangerous there. I mean, you don't go walking around alone at night, but you really shouldn't do that a lot anywhere. Around the corner from our house, on Blvd. Harold Pape (long story, but the town was basically founded by an American of that name) was a convenience store that sold 10-cent Coronas, as long as you brought the bottles back for the deposit. We frequented that store often. Another great place right around the corner was the firehouse. Every night, a van would pull up, unload some meat and cooking gear and cook up a whole lotta tacos. Tacos Bomberos, the locals called them. I don't know what the meat was, but let me tell you, those street-side tacos were some of the best tacos I've ever had. All they consisted of was meat, cebolla and cilantro and they were 50 cents each. I loved it.

But I don't have any pictures of all that stuff, so on to what I do have pictures of: Cuatrocienegas. Okay, okay, I know that this is what Maggie posted on last week, but hey, I've got more pictures! Okay, I've got pictures of the other stuff, too, I just haven't scanned them yet, so maybe next week...

So, we left Monclova, Maggie, Hozumi, and I, in the morning. We were driving a Chevy Monza, the equivalent of a Geo Metro. It may be small, but it was a real trooper. More on that later. It was a beautiful drive, as long as you looked at the scenery (rocky mountains, tall bluffs, rolling hills) and not at the abject poverty that lay among the hills. In the several towns we drove through, there were speed bumps on the main road. The whole point of these bumps was to slow you down so that the road-side bread vendors could peddle their wares. It was quite strange. After about one-and-a-half hours, we reached the town of Cuatrocienegas, went to the tourist info office and picked up a map, ate lunch at a restaurant on the town square and headed out to see the pozas (small lakes).

The first stop was Poza Azul. As you can see in the picture, it is an almost shockingly blue little thing. But don't be fooled by it's size. That middle, dark blue patch is about 75 meters deep. Hard to believe, I know. There's also supposed to be some rare, indiginous turtle that lives only near Cuatrocienegas but we couldn't get a good glimpse of one. Actually, there are hundreds of species of plants and animals that ONLY live in this weird ecosystem of natual desert lakes. Maybe the best thing about visiting Poza Azul was that we really got to try out the Monza's offroading capabilities.

There was a giant mud puddle of unknown depth across the road to the pond, so, after asking the girls to get out of the car, I went for it. Honestly, I thought we were going to get stuck, but that little Monza plowed right through it. Sweet.




After doing a little swimming at Poza De La Becerra (the little calf) we headed for the granddaddy of them all: Las Playitas. It was startlingly beautiful. That's Maggie standing in the water, looking out over the lake and the mountains. The only problem with this place is that it's hard to get to. It's about 10 miles of dirt "road" with no signs to get there. I feel kind of lucky that we found it. We even got to see some wild horses on the way in. It was cool. And the Monza handled it admirably. So admirably that I even created an advertisement for Chevy, see?

Five Years and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt?

The day of August 26th, 2000 dawned as a beautiful day in Yakima, WA. The sun was shining, yet it wasn't too hot. And inside Tieton Drive Bible Chapel, things were just starting to get busy. The wedding was at three, but there was still lots to be done leading up to it. I spent the whole morning at the church putting up yellow roses on the end of each pew. And putting up more yellow roses in vases all over the place. And putting up dead guy flowers. [Explanation: One of Maggie's sister's best friend's father was killed in an accident a week before our wedding. His funeral was the day before and there was one nice flower arrangement that matched our wedding colors. So we snatched it. With permission, of course.] I also spent a lot of time cutting the edges of the programs with those stupid frilly scrapbooking scissors.

Once everything was set up, we just did normal wedding stuff. You know, get dressed, take pictures, feel like you're going to puke, etc. To be honest, I don't remember much of the wedding after this point. I do remember that the brickfather, who was officiating, forgot to tell everyone to sit down after the brickbride walked up the aisle. That was funny. I also remember the musical number performed by a trio of girls: two cousins and one sister of Maggie's. According to Maggie's grandmother, that was the only part of the wedding that made her cry. Not because it was so beautiful, but because it was so bad. Claire, the flute player, was not aware that there is a difference between B and Bb. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

Other things about the wedding I remember:

After the ceremony, when the brickbrothers (both groomsmen) came out into the foyer, I noticed that they were just sobbing. Picture that: Two big guys (deuce, deuce and a half) bawling their eyes out.

Um, that's it.

From here on out, I will recount the rest of the wedding day and the honeymoon in picture-and-caption format! This was before the age of digital cameras, but not before the age of scanners.


That's us, kissing right after we fed each other a little bit of cake. You know, that big white thing in the picture? I wish I would have scanned a better picture of Maggie in her wedding dress because she was stunningly beautiful (you still are, too), but I didn't. Anyway, the reception was spectacular. We had it at the Doubletree in Yakima, which meant that it was real good since the banquet manager knew that it was for the daughter of her boss's boss. Also, it was not dry, which meant that a lot of people from my family's church had not experienced anything like it before (they're almost all teetotalers). Even my mom danced to Love Shack.




No, your eyes aren't fooling you, that's Maggie drinking straight out of a bottle of champagne. Cheap champagne. This was on the first day of our honeymoon. I skipped the wedding night for, ahem, obvious reasons. We planned on driving to Seattle that morning (we flew out on Wednesday morning) but instead we went to Maggie's mom's house to open our presents. How often do you get that many presents. Plus it would have been mean to the kids to leave so many unopened presents just sitting around, tempting them. Once they were opened,though, the temptation was gone. Let's be honest here, it was mostly boring stuff, right?





I'd ask you to guess where we went on our honeymoon, but if you know us and you've read very many of my posts you know the answer: Disneyland. I honestly hardly remember anything about what we did at Disneyland. I know we both bought wicked awesome hats at the Indiana Jones store, and apparently we took a picture with Mickey. Other than that, though, I'm kind of drawing a blank. I know it was fun, though.







Thanks to the brickfather-in-law, we had free hotel rooms for the entire honeymoon, including at this beautiful hotel, right on the beach in Santa Monica. We did feel a little out of place in a $350+ per night hotel. Especially when we asked at the front desk where the nearest McDonald's was. We were still poor college students, see?










That's Maggie letting the waves wash over her feet during one of our long walks on the beach at night in Santa Monica. How did I ever get to marry such a gorgeous woman?










All in all, our honeymoon was one of the best weeks of my life. Except for the part where Maggie got sick. That sucked. But other than that, it was awesome.

I love you Maggie.

Random Picture Friday

It's that time again, folks!



I think there's more than formula in that bottle, know what I mean?

Telling Stories, Part II

Today's story takes place back in August of 2001, shortly before our first wedding anniversary. It had been quite a summer. We were living in what most people would call the ghetto of Yakima, down on 7th Street and Nob Hill Blvd. We were living in a dirty old house that had been abandoned since the last tenant died, but that's not our story today. Maybe another time. The brickwife's family had been having a rough summer, too. Lots of strife and confusion and changes. So we decided to take what little money we had left after working at a cherry processing plant all summer and after paying off the moving truck that we wrecked in June and use that money to go to Disneyland with all of the brickwife's brothers and sisters.

Imagine, if you will, eight people packed into a seven seat minivan (rented for us by the brickfather-in-law). These eight people included: Mary (age 5), George (8), Peter (almost 11), Claire (12), the brickbrother (18), the bricksister-in-law (19), the brickwife (21) and me (21). So basically, we had 1 adult for each kid, and two of the kids had to share a seatbelt.

Now, imagine that the whole trip is a surprise. The kids only know that we are going to visit their aunt and uncle in San Francisco for a few days. On day one, we make the 14-hour drive down US97 and I-5 to Frisco. Of course, we stop a few times on the way to eat, once in Bend, OR and once at a rest stop in CA. The highlight of the day is that George asked if every little bridge, or even overpass, was the "Golden Bridge." He meant Golden Gate, and he apparently had no idea what it looked like.

The whole crew (sans me, who was taking the picture) at Golden Gate Park. From the left: George, Zach, Peter, Claire, Leah, Mary, Maggie.


Days two and three were spent in the company of the wonderful Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob. We touristed around SF, went to Golden Gate Park, went to the Beach, etc. And on day four, we packed the kids up to "head home." So off we went, heading due south towards LA. AND NONE OF THE KIDS NOTICED! We passed a million signs for Los Angeles, which we didn't pass on the way down, but still, not a peep from the back about it. 6 hours later, we tell them that we're staying at a hotel that night, since we don't want to drive all the way back. On the way to the hotel, we pass Six Flags, California, and the older kids look with longing at all the roller coasters as I say "Nope, no time to stop there, sorry kids." And eventually, we reach the Hilton in Costa Mesa, where we will be staying for the next 4 nights, free of charge (set up, once again, by the brickfather-in-law.)

That evening, we went across the street to McDonald's where each of us were allowed to choose two things off the dollar menu. Remember, we had almost no money. After we ate, we hit the pool for some swimming and horseplay. And finally, it was time to hit the hay. (Ooh, this next part is my favorite part) Before we go to bed, we bring all the kids into one room and tell them that we need to have a talk. They all look nervous. And then I say, "okay, kids, I have something to tell you. I know you weren't expecting to hear this, but.....WE'RE GOING TO DISNEYLAND!" And then chaos ensued. There was bed jumping, tears of joy, shouts, screams of "I don't believe it!" "Three days!!!" and "I love you!!!" Plus we got it all on videotape, though I have no idea where that tape is.

So the next day, we pile into the van again and head off for Disneyland. The first thing we do when we get there (aside from parking and purchasing tickets) is ride the Haunted Mansion. This ride scared the crap out of me when I was a kid, so of course we thought it would be fun to take the kids. The youngest wouldn't go on it, but George, the eight-year-old, would. Only once we got in there, he covered his face up with a park map for the whole ride. Now, it was hot and George was sweaty, and the ink on the map was apparently not waterproof. All this lead to George coming out of the ride with a detailed map of Disneyland on his face. Priceless.

Next, we took all the kids on Splash Mountain (maybe the best ride, ever). We got all eight of us in one boat. We got Mary on the ride by telling her it wasn't scary, and boy was she mad afterward. We bought the picture they take as you start the plunge, and I swear, I have never seen a more frightened look on anyone's face than the one Mary wore as we hurtled down the flume.

After that, things get a little blurry and we often split up, 1 "adult" going with 1 kid. So, to tell you what happened, I need to go all list-style on you again.

Mary spent the whole week singing "Dah dah dah dah dah dah dah Hollywood!" or changing the words slightly to match the ride she was on. For example, on Dumbo, she would sing "Up up up up up up up DOWN DOWN DOWN!"

The only way I could get George to go on the Matterhorn was by playfully calling it the ItDoesn'tMatterhorn.

The oldest of the children, Claire, was absolutely the worst driver on Autopia. Even Mary was better.

I learned that the Teacups are not meant for adult consumption.

The bricksister-in-law, George and Peter went on Indiana Jones about 6 times in a row by hopping from the exit line into the entrance line when no one was watching.

At Disney's California Adventure, everyone went on the Maliboomer. I had to talk George into it, and talk him down in the lead up to the action. He loved it. I hated it.

The BSIL videotaped the whole ride on California Screamin'. The best part was that she didn't know about the rocket-style launch at the very beginning, so on the tape, you get a good 5 seconds of sky.

We discovered that Soarin' Over California is a great place to cool off.

When I went on Space Mountain with George (if you haven't guessed, he and I spent a lot of time together since he is the hardest of the four to deal with and nobody else wanted to do it) he hated it. He asked if it was almost over about 3 seconds after it started.

He loved Big Thunder Mountain Raliroad, though.

No matter how grown up I am, and how much I have forsaken my geeky past, I still love Star Tours and the Star Trader shop right outside it.

So many more things happened, I'll never be able to name them all.

So, after three hectic and fun days at Disneyland, we headed home. The first day of driving brought us to Sacramento where we stayed in the Doubletree, free again. This was about 1 day after some Ukrainian immigrant went on a shooting spree and killed a bunch of people in Sacramento. Scary. That night, our last night of the trip, we had a special treat: we ate at Applebee's! We had just enough food budget left over that we could afford it. Sort of. At the end of the trip, our credit card was maxed out and our bank account was almost empty, but it was totally worth it. Besides, financial aid day wasn't too far in the future, so we were okay!


Man, I really want to go to Disneyland now.


This post has 33 links.

WAHKAAAAAA

I know that this won't mean anything to a lot of you, but I saw this picture and I just had to share it. That guy in the picture? The one laying on the ground? Taped to a chair? Yeah, I know that guy. I went to high school with him. He's a rookie in the NFL now, and it makes me laugh to see this picture. I don't think I'd call him a friend, but definitely an acquaintance, since he dated my sister-in-law for a few years.


Carolina Panthers' Micah Ross (11) dumps a cooler of ice and water on rookie Efrem Hil, top left, as fellow rookie Taylor Stubblefield, bottom, awaits his turn after the team's final practice of training camp in Spartanburg, S.C.

Poetry Thursday

Sleeping In The Forest
by Mary Oliver

I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.

The End of an Era? Or the Start of Something New?

So, the Brickwife and I are celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary this Friday. I can't believe that it's been five years! I also can't believe that I'm only 25, but I've been married for five years. No way am I letting the brickson get married when he is just 20, but that's a discussion for another time. Anyway, to commemorate this milestone, I'm going to spend the next few days telling stories about stuff that we've done over the last 5 years. When we got married, we had no clue that the next 5 years would turn out how they did. Well, except for the first two. Since we were still in college, those years turned out about like we expected.

Two quick notes: No, me telling these stories will not preempt the normal Thursday and Friday features. I know how much you all look forward to Bad Poetry and Random Pictures, so I won't rob you of that. Second, did you know that the theme for fifth anniversary presents is "wood?" How stupid is that? "Here, honey, I bought you a cord of cherry wood!" L-A-M-E.

So, on to the first story (unfortunately, this one takes place about 2 months B.D.C., before digital camera, so there are no pictures.)


If you're a regular reader of my dear wife's blog, you'll know that we spent a few weeks in Mexico back in the summer and fall of 2002. Six weeks, to be exact; three in Guadalajara and three in Monclova. Our three weeks in Guadalajara started on the eve of our second anniversary, which was celebrated in splendid fashion by going out to some random restaurant and picking up some flowers from a street vendor. Not my finest hour.

But that failure was more than made up for (I hope) by the trip we took to Puerto Vallarta the next weekend. The HR manager at the plant I was working at had all sorts of connections in the tourist industry. He got us cheap bus tickets and a discounted rate at an all-inclusive resort. And let me tell you, when they say "all-inclusive" they mean "all-inclusive." Drinks, meals, snacks, everything. It was radical, and very far removed from the bus trip. Now don't get me wrong, the bus was about as nice as you can expect a Mexican cross-country bus to be. They served us little sandwiches that tasted like preservatives, the seats reclined almost all the way, and they even showed some movies. We had the privilege of seeing The Matrix, What Planet Are You From, Swordfish, and Fools Rush In, some in English with Spanish subtitles, and others dubbed into Spanish. It's a good way to learn a language.

The resort was nice, just a few steps from the beach. And since this post is getting long, I'll now recount some of the cool things that happened in list style

We went swimming in the Pacific ocean even though the red "Don't Go Swimming!" flag was out

We got caught in a vicious, sudden rainstorm

I bought some silver and onyx jewelry from a beach vendor

We got to see a bunch of sweet looking lizards crawling around the hotel

We watched some of the Mexican World Series on Mexican ESPN. I think the Diablos Rojos won.

We went to the Hard Rock Cafe. We were, like, the only ones there.

We took a taxi into Old Town, walked the almacen and then went to a third-story semi-dive bar that had a Mexican Nirvana cover band playing.

We only saw a few guys walking around with machine guns.

We did all this in only two days.

Someday we might go back there, or we might go somewhere else in Mexico, but for two wonderful days back in 2002, there was nothing better than spending some time drinking free margaritas beside the pool with your best friend in Puerto Vallarta. Also, about two three weeks later, a huge hurricane hit Puerto Vallarta and totally messed it up. Timing is everything.

List Tuesday

Top Ten States
The states appearing in this list are all states that I have personally visited. All but Minnesota gave their consent to be named here. Minnesota doesn't really like me.

1. Washington


2. Oregon


3. California


4. Virginia


5. Idaho


6. Euphoria


7. Minnesota


8. Maryland


9. Arizona


10. New Mexico

Top One District

1. District of Columbia
   

Random Thoughts Friday

Now, don't get your hopes up. I'm not starting a whole new feature here, I'm just harnessing the power of my rapidly deteriorating brain. I'm coming down with a bad (based on what the Golden Girl has been going through) head cold, which means that my brain is not functioning at its normal high level. Instead, I can't follow one train of thought for more than a few seconds before it derails. Fortunately, this facilitates the creation of a random thought post. So, yipee!

I think that "blogosphere" is a totally apt word, since it reminds me that the world's collection of blogs makes up a huge, floating cloud of crap.

I'd rather be at Disneyland.

The Frosty may be the world's most perfect food.

I've never been to Spain. I haven't been to Oklahoma either, dammit.

Some days, I just can't figure out how I'm going to make it through. I just want it all to end.........Ha Ha Ha! I had you going there didn't I? Maybe I'll start a new feature in which I impersonate other types of bloggers. That was my self-absorbed 15 year old boy with a mean father style. I can't wait to try out celebrity photo blogging!

How come Blogspot's spell checker doesn't recognize "blog" or "blogger" or "blogging?"

Is it sad that I've spent my whole life living in, if not cities, than at least towns? Should seeing a deer or a rabbit or something really be that exciting?

Have you ever noticed that anyone that has one of those big trampolines ends up calling it "the tramp?" "Okay kids, let's all go jump on the tramp!"

The other day, we saw this really weird bug in our house. It had lots of legs, was flat and wide, and was super fast. I think it was just a centipede, but still, it's creepy.

I know it's stupid, but that Heineken commercial where the delivery guy drops a bunch of beer and then a dude in bed with some chick says "I don't know, I just feel so sad" cracks me up every time.

I think the phrase "jump the shark" has jumped the shark.

I have a fake tooth. Once, it fell out of my head and I had to go to work with a missing front tooth. I told everyone that it was knocked out while I stopped a robbery at the 7-11. This was in, like, week two of the first real job I've ever had.

I thought for a second that I'd be disappointed that the new SAT can have scores as high as 2400. Now no one will be impressed with my score anymore. Then I realized that I took that test 8 years ago, and no one ever really cared about it.

Sometimes I can't help but feel proud of myself for being smart. Oh, trust me, I am.

If you think it's a good idea to let your toddler go down an old-school swingset slide while sitting on the trailer of a big toy semi, you're wrong. It's really, really not. If you are kid thinking that it would be fun, you're wrong too.

I have a crash test dummy bobblehead sitting on my desk at work.

Remember the Crash Test Dummies? Mmmmm Mmmmm Mmmmm Mmmmmm. Once there was this girl who wouldn't go and change with the girls in the change room. How was that song ever popular?

Remember the Crash Test Dummy toys? Those things were cool. So were the M.U.S.C.L.E toys.

I hate it when it rains here in DC. At the tiniest drop of rain, everybody pulls out these giant, canopy-sized umbrellas and pokes me in the eye. I think they're doing it on purpose.

I used to live in Seattle. If you've never been there, please stop imagining it having rain pouring down all the time. That is so not the case. It's actually just six months of soul crushing drizzle from October to April. In fact, on average, it rains 7 more inches per year in DC than it does in Seattle.

How cool would it be to have a fake eye you could freak people out with?

Okay, here's an experiment for you. Put your iPod on shuffle and just listen. This is a good way to remind yourself how awesome a lot of older bands are. Like the Who. John Entwhistle, Keith Moon, and Pete Townshend are the best rhythm section ever.

Hats off to the new-age hairstyle made of bones. Hats off to the use of hats as megaphones. Speak softly, drive a Sherman Tank. Laugh hard, it's a long ways to the bank.

I've never, ever tried any drugs. I hope I'm not missing anything really cool.

No, I'm not counting alcohol as a drug. Or pseudoephedrine. Or Doritos.

Have you ever seen the movie Straw Dogs? It's really good, but kind of hard to watch. But it has Dustin Hoffman going medieval and some English dudes, so it's cool.

I wish I could be part of a blogger clique.

I wish I lived in an Ivory Tower, because I bet it would be worth a lot of money. I mean, it's ivory!

I think the term "golden parachute" is really stupid. Gold is heavy, so I don't think it would work as a parachute at all. I think the term should be cashmere parachute or something.

The time is right for dancing in the street.

All you anti-Wal-Mart protesters out there, don't you think it would be a better protest if you let Wal-Mart build a store and then just boycotted? It would be pretty embarrassing for Wal-Mart to have to close a store because nobody went to it. Oh, wait. That's right. You all are just an extremely vocal minority that try to prevent everyone else from being able to shop there.

This post has gone on just about long enough.

I think the saying "(blank) is the new black," is really fun to use with completely inappropriate things. For example "Oak trees are the new black."

Okay, on that note, this post has definitely gone on long enough.

Random Picture Friday

So, here is today's picture. I'm thinking about doing an entire post about crap like this...


These people are the reason High School Band is stupid.

Passing Around the Collection Plate

Hey! I just thought of something that I've never complained about OR called stupid since I started writing this blog: collecting things!

If you collect something, particularly unopened toys, now would be a good time to stop reading. Also, if you think I am cool and have been defending me as such to your friends, this would be an excellent place for you to stop reading.

Come on people! What a waste of money! Who are you going to impress by having a complete collection of the new Star Wars toys unopened? I used to have some, but I've since opened them all to play with. I mean, for the brickson to play with, yeah, that's it. I used to be a total dork, but I have since seen the light! It is a stupid thing to do. They will never be worth anything. They are not an investment. Stocks are an investment. Real estate is and investment. Mass produced toys in their original packaging are NOT an investment. Especially since there's about a million other people doing the exact same thing. Y'all can just spend the next 40 years ripping each other off, okay?

This seems like a good place to put in the disclaimer that this post refers to and mocks only those collectors that are over age 18. Collecting things should be a strictly childish pastime.

Here is my list of things that people collect and brief descriptions of how I feel on the subject:

New Action Figure/Collectible Toys: stupid and dorky

Old school Action Figures: Just dorky.

Shot Glasses: Unless you're an alcoholic, pointless.

Decorative Spoons: Why?

Baseball Cards: Retro Chic.

Card-based Role Playing Game Cards: Monumentally nerdy. That means you Magic: The Gathering.

Stamps: meh...

Scabs: Really, really gross. *shudder*

Midgets: Illegal, probably.

Diamonds: Supporter of death and destruction in Africa, you evil, evil person.

They Might Be Giants Albums: Totally and completely awesome!

There you go. Now how do you collectors feel? You got pwn3d! Maaaaaaan, I hate the internet and it's attendant base "language." Wait, I'm sorry internet, I love you, I really do! Don't go! Please!

Bad Poetry Thursday

Today's bad poetry is that time-honored classic, the acrostic.

Mars
by Benjamin Meals

My crazy
Aunt
Rooney
Still lives there.

Poetry Thursday

Pigtail
by Tadeusz Rozewicz

When all the women in the transport
had their heads shaved
four workmen with brooms made of birch twigs
swept up
and gathered up the hair

Behind clean glass
the stiff hair lies
of those suffocated in gas chambers
there are pins and side combs
in this hair

The hair is not shot through with light
is not parted by the breeze
is not touched by any hand
or rain or lips

In huge chests
clouds of dry hair
of those suffocated
and a faded plait
a pigtail with a ribbon
pulled at school
by naughty boys.

Anglophilia Rides Again

I'll be upfront about this; I like the English language. It's bizarre, hard to learn (for native speakers of other languages) and it's constantly changing. Now, I'll discuss some of my favorite things about it! Full disclosure: I am an engineer who also loves to read and is married to a mathematician who is also somewhat of a grammar queen. Thus I have come to appreciate how intricate our language is and how many other people (I'm looking at you, engineers) don't really know how to use it properly.

First, the size of the English language is astounding. Do you have any idea how many words you know? Me neither, but I bet it's a lot! Even people that weren't forced to take vocabulary in high school and will never, ever be able to forget those words know more than 10,000 words (total and completely bogus guess, but I bet the order of magnitude is about right). Those of us that read a lot, and are relatively good writers (do not judge this claim based on your reading of this blog. I think it sucks too.) probably have a vocabulary approaching 100,000 words. That just boggles my mind, literally sometimes as I try to recall a certain word that I know I know. Of course, in most cases, a large portion of those 100,000 words are technical-type words that will never be used in general conversation (i.e porosity, capacitance, enthalpy, etc.), but who cares! It's still a lot of words!

Second, written English can be hilarious. Most people communicate primarily by speaking and listening, which means homophones are almost impossible to distinguish in terms of spelling. The meaning is, of course, obvious by the context. The comedy comes in when people are forced to write and want to use words they have only heard. This leads to sentences like the following:

• Shortly after he woke this morning, Trevor decided to dawn his favorite Eagles jersey.
• The suburbs are full of track housing.
  
• While she was totally hammered, Matilda tried to walk threw a plate glass window.

See how funny those are? No? Well, maybe I'm just a dork. I also find it funny when my fingers are on the wrong keys when I start typing and end up with a bunch of mpmdrmdr words. My favorite pair of homophones, though, are raze and raise; the only two, to my knowledge, that are homophones AND antonyms! Too bad "raze" is hardly ever used. I guess there is also the "sanction" "sanction" pair, but that's different. I even get confused by that one. I mean they're spelled the same but have opposite meanings? WTF?

Third, it really gets on my nerves when people don't understand the meaning of words but use them anyway. Case number one: irony. Irony is a great concept, both poignant and painful. It can cause minor irritation or devastating disappointment. However, it is an entirely different concept from suckiness. I blame Alanis Morissette for this horrible bastardization of the word. Let's look at her song Ironic and see what we find! All of the following are called "ironic."

Rain on your wedding day.
Not ironic, it just sucks.

10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife.
Not ironic. What would be ironic is if you had 10,000 knives yesterday, but you needed a spoon.

A free ride, when you already paid.
How could it be a free ride if you paid? Not only is this not ironic, it doesn't even make sense!

A death row pardon, two minutes too late.
Okay, that is ironic.

Those are just a few examples from the song, which horribly mixes the ironic with the non-ironic. Here are the complete lyrics for you in case you were living in a cave 10 years ago. Finally, let me point out that there is a difference between sarcastic and ironic. Not everything that is ironic is also sarcastic. All you twenty-somethings that use these synonymously, please, please stop before MY HEAD ASPLODES! They are similar, yes, but the connotations are very different. Sarcastic has more in common with sardonic than it does ironic. Why not use sardonic more? That's a good word!

As a final note, please feel free to disagree with me completely. That's another beauty of the English language; it is constantly and rapidly changing, so who knows what tomorrow might bring. There are, however, those among us that insist on following "rules" that were originally put in place to differentiate the educated rich from the uneducated poor. When you insist on using these rules, you are helping the MAN! Come one, stick it to the man! Use "poor" grammar! Say "Where are you at?" Say "Who'd have thunk?" On the other hand, don't make yourself look like an idiot at work when you write reports and stuff. "Good" grammar still makes a favorable impression. For list of common "errors" and how to avoid them, check this out!

I really hope there aren't too many errors in this post. I'll feel really stupid, but please feel free to point them out.

Forward and Back

If you are in a good mood today and don't want to be brought down by hateful sentiments and angry screeds, please do not read this post. And especially do not read the poem at the end of this post. Already in a bad mood? Carry on.

If you have a computer and are connected in some way to the internet (hopefully not dial-up, but if so, sucks to be you) and have email, then you are familiar with the scourge of Forwarded Messages. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. I can hear you cringing in your seat as you read this and remember all the inane nonsense and FW:FW:FW:FW:RE:FW:FUNNIEST JOKE EVER messages you have pissed away your time reading. Fortunately for me, I get very few of these. I guess most people I communicate with are somewhat considerate. But let's get down to business.

The bizarre thing about forwarded emails is that, sometime, somewhere, someone actually sat down and wrote that list of 15 Ways that Men and Women are different. Actually, just writing it isn't the problem. The problem occurs when they think that everyone they know (be it in real life or over the internet) NEEDS to read their list because it is just so funny! Who are these people? Why do they do this? Are they just playing a practical joke on all of us? Are they trolling? My guess is no. They actually want to share a neverending stream of hilarity with the world. They have taken it upon themselves to ensure our amusement with doctored photos of trees, or heartstring pulling poems of love and loss. We don't want to hear it! Guess what? We don't care if we'll die a horrible death when we don't forward this chain letter to 10 of our friends. We don't want to hear about things that annoy you, or things that make you happy. Aside: You might think I am being hypocritical in saying this since I am a retarded blogger, but think again Batman! I see the similarities myself, but nobody forced you to come to this far-flung corner of the internet and read my lame posts, so just be quiet, Mr. Self-appointed Irony Finder. This applies to bloggers in general, too, not just me. It's perfectly acceptable to be self-absorbed and annoying on a blog, nobody will hear it. It's like swearing in the woods. So in order to combat this information age plague, from now on, I suggest that any time you receive a forwarded joke or poem or picture or whatever, forward it right back to the person who sent it to you. For effect, it's best to add a little text of your own like "You have got to read this!" or "When I read this I thought of you!" Obviously, there will be people with whom you should not use this approach, like family. That will just cause more problems than it solves, so please use discretion.

In keeping with this discussion of forwarded messages, I received one yesterday that I think takes the cake when it comes to being stupid, offensive, xenophobic, small-minded, and ridiculous. You may think that's a lot of heavy epithets, but hold off your judgment until you read the whole thing. The message I received is presented below, in its entirety. Well, not its entire entirety. The original also included a lot of smiley faces and other crappy clipart.

Someday, if my blog is ever listed in google, I want people who search for this poem because they think it is hilarious to be directed to my site.

Enjoy!

FW: ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT'S POEM
This can make you think.




Illegal
Immigrants
Poem


I cross ocean,
poor and broke,
Take bus,
see employment folk.

Nice man treat me
good in there,
Say I need to
see welfare.

Welfare say,
"You come no more,
We send cash
right to your door."

Welfare checks,
they make you wealthy,
Medicaid it keep
you healthy!

By and by,
I got plenty money,
Thanks to you,
American dummy.

Write to friends
in motherland,
Tell them 'come
fast as you can.'

They come in turbans
and Ford trucks,
I buy big house
with welfare bucks

They come here,
we live together,
More welfare checks,
it gets better!

Fourteen families,
they moving in,
But neighbor's patience
wearing thin.

Finally, white guy
moves away,
Now I buy his house,
and then I say,

"Find more aliens
for house to rent."
And in the yard
I put a tent.

Send for family
they just trash,
But they, too,
draw the welfare cash!

Everything is
very good,
And soon we
own the neighborhood.

We have hobby
it's called breeding,
Welfare pay
for baby feeding.

Kids need dentist?
Wife need pills?
We get free!
We got no bills!

American crazy!
He pay all year,
To keep welfare
running here.

We think America
darn good place!
Too darn good for
the white man race.

If they no like us,
they can scram,
Got lots of room in
Pakistan.





SEND THIS TO
EVERY AMERICAN
TAXPAYER YOU KNOW

List Tuesday

8 Things You Don't Want to See When You Open the Fridge
Please note: This refers to refrigerators, not the former football player called "The Fridge." I can't even imagine what you would see if you opened him. Ugh.

1. An army of ants recreating the battle of Gettysburg.


2. Tar. Lots and lots of black, sticky tar.
   


3. A talking sandwich. That would totally freak me out.


4. Eleven half-used bottles of ketchup (catsup).


5. Vomit.


6. That somebody used the last of the milk.


7. Pat Sajak.


8. Leftover beets, because that means that you actually had beets for dinner.
   

Every once in a while, I'll see someone on the Metro who is decked in out in full military resplendncy. I'm not talking a run-of-the-mill desk job uniform, I'm talking about full camouflage, pants tucked into boots, bars on their chests. The full monty. Once, a whole crew of fresh-faced young army men boarded the train at Metro Center. They were all very polite, which was refreshing and forced me to assume that they weren't from around here.

Whenever this happens, I feel a little intimidated. On my normal commute there are no reminders that I'm doing absolutely nothing to serve my country aside from paying taxes. Oh, and you government workers, you're not either. Well, maybe a few of you are. But in these instances, I'm forced to come to terms with the fact that I am nothing but a working schmuck, out to make a buck. And much bigger bucks (I assume) than these kids that are out firing guns and getting sent willy-nilly to hostile foreign nations. They have guts that I'll never have, and that makes me feel bad. I feel like I should do something. And by something, I don't mean put one of those stupid yellow ribbons on my car. And by something, I don't mean saying that if you don't support the war "You must hate our troops!" But forgive me, I am getting close to violating my NO POLITICS credo.

So, in closing, I would just like to say to you armed forces guys: Keep up the good work. And I bet chicks really dig a guy in those uniforms.