Thursday, December 11, 2008
I have always found this to be an exciting and original genera of literature myself. All those totally original stories about a unlikely heroine on the planes, fighting for survival, overcoming hardship and triumphing in the end! Remember? That one book? About the struggling family? No, not that one, it was just like it, but the names were different, and the family was eaten by wolves, not killed by Indians... But it ended happy.
Clearly I am being sarcastic (What a surprise!)
Anyway, here is my idea for a new series in "Realistic Mormon Fiction" - (That's actually believable)
Book #1. "Divine Secrets of the 34-D Sisterhood" - A group of middle relief society sisters get breast augmentations and soon find out their new additions give them a strange power over every man they know. Now they must decide if they will use this new, strange power for good, or evil. Join these adventurous sisters as they embark on this journey of spontaneous growth & self discovery. You will experience the joy that comes with each timid look of restrained amazement, and the heartache that every disapproving glare brings.
Book #2. "Weirded Out" - The side story of everyone who didn't get a boob job.
Book #3. "Still Weirded Out" - Taking place 1 year after the original 34-D story, this final chapter in the "34-D" series explores the ways in which various ward members and friends have chosen to deal with their conflicted feelings regarding the "Sisterhood". Haled as the "darker" & "more gritty" of the 3 books, "Still Weirded" takes an unflinching look at both sides of the "Augmentation Argument".
Sunday, November 30, 2008
What are you really thankful for? What is something in your life that has never let you down, made you mad, or caused you stress?
Today I found a paper with two crudely drawn pictures on it. One was lobster, the other was a pickle. I asked my 4 year-old why he had drawn those two things and he responded very matter of factly "They told us to draw what we were thankful for, so I drew a pickle and a lobster."
"Of course!" I thought, "It makes perfect sense." Pickles have no natural enemies and the lobster he was referring to is stuffed and therefore harmless.
This really made me reevaluate what I am truly grateful for. What are the things in my life that are simple, good and purely beneficial, with no drawbacks or compromises? I offer the following list:
1. Ankle Socks - I love these little guys! They protect my feet from my shoes and don't ever fall down or bunch up.
2. Q-Tips - "Hello, my name is Shea... And I am a Q-Tip-Aholic" Everyday after I shower, I use my beloved Q-tips. In fact, sometimes I will shower just so I can use a Q-Tip. Here's another confession. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I will just get up and clean out my ears for no reason at all, other than I love how it feels to clean my ears. You think I'm crazy? Well maybe you are just repressed!
3. Sneezing - Sneezing is like a free 1 second, natural high. If you don't know what I am talking about, chances are that you aren't allowing yourself a full uninhibited sneeze. Forget about being politically correct! Next time you have to sneeze, just let-r'-rip! You'll thank me later.
4.My Blankie - Here me now world! I am 28 years old and I have a blankie! (Really it is more of a quilt but you get the point) It was a Christmas present from my grandmother when I was 18. And I have slept with it nearly every night since and I LOVE it. I literally love my precious blanket. If my house was burning down, I would run back inside, risking my life, to save my blankie. Just like those lame scenes from the movies. Fire Cheif - "Okay!, that's everyone! The building could come down any second!" Me-"Wait, what about my blanket! I've got to save my Bbblllaannkket..." (my voice trails off as I run back into the burning building). In this daydream, the story either ends with me emerging triuphantly from the crumbling building after an impossible amount of time inside the blaze, with the blanket in my arms, or with the firefighters finding us dead the next morning, curled up together, with some sort of melted metal between us, shaped like a heart.
P.S. I would love to hear what you are really greatful for. Please don't be afraid to share, we are are all friends here.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I had to admit he had a pretty solid plan and I was wondering about becoming an Indian myself, but then I remembered something else, so I asked him about having white skin, and how that would effect his plans to become an Indian. He really thought about it and said "Well, you don't have to have brown skin to be an Indian. I thought his over, and knowing it could become an issue in the future I suggested to him that maybe, being an Indian, was more of a state of mind, rather than some clearly defined biological or genetic "fact". He readily agreed and that is where the conversation ended. And though I was uncomfortable with the idea at first, I think I have really come to respect his decision.
I think as parents we have a tendency to take it personal when our children choose a path in life, that is different than our own. But then I have to remember when I was young, and I decided I wanted to be a lion, in a circus. "Oh, that's nonsense!" they told me. "It can't be done." Well, my spirit was crushed, and gave up that dream, and I have regretted it everyday since. So when my son, my own flesh and blood, looked me in the eyes and said "I am going to be an Indian!" I knew I couldn't be responsible for crushing that dream.
Monday, October 27, 2008
In case you live in a hole, or have been out of the country for the last month, let me bring you up to speed. It was "Deer Huntin'" season in Utah!
I myself was actually a former hunter in another life, before I got too busy with work and school. But I plan to return at some point... Maybe.
When you are on the outside looking in, this whole fiasco looks quite a bit different. The hunt loses a lot of its glamor once you haven't participated in a while. For instance. I always loved the thrill of the hunt. Which in my case meant driving around for hours on end, or sitting at the edge of a field in sub-zero temps waiting for even a glimpse of a raggedy 2-point that weighed as much a large dog. Really the only thrill was the 4 seconds of intervening time between when I first saw the 2-point and when I shot the two point. But it always seemed worth it.
Now however, when I think of this same scenario, I not only have to take into account all the waiting, driving, soda, BS and the final culmination of the kill, but also the gutting, skinning, butchering, and then eating of this meat that is basically sage-brush flavored and dry as a bone. Is any of this sounding familiar?
So, I guess you can see why I put a maybe on my plans to start hunting again.
I have also noticed another phenomenon that I never caught onto, even when I was a might hunter myself. This would be the tradition of wearing your hunting clothes during the week leading up to the actual hunt.
It was like Tuesday or Wednesday of the opening weekend and I started noticing everybody with the 4-wheelers already packed up, towing their tent trailers around and inexplicably wearing their hunter-orange. I can only assume that all of this was to broadcast to the world "I am a Hunter!" What other explanation could there be? I mean, do football players wear their pads and helmet for days, leading up to a game? Do rock climbers walk around wearing their harness with a rope slung over their shoulder? "What's up dude, I'm going climbing in a few days". And yet, hunters find in necessary to dawn their hideous orange sweaters, their dorky hunting caps with the ear flaps and their giant blood-smeared boots. So here's to you, super excited hunter-man. It looks like your going hunting? Good luck, in 4 days!.
(There is one guy I want to exclude from my mockery. That is the guy wearing the full coverall suit of orange. This guy does not have time to decide between a vest, a coat, a hat, etc. "To heck with it" he says, "I am here to kill dear, not look good"... You wear that bad-boy all year if you need to buddy. I think there are few (too few?) people, even among the hardest of the hard-core hunters, that are willing to step into a pair of blaze orange coveralls, zip it up, and head out the door into public view.)
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The other day I was sitting at home and I got the most random phone call… It was “1995” calling, and they wanted their check-books back.? Well, I thanked them for their time but explained that I had stopped making purchases with checks during the Clinton Administration.
It was fitting that I would get such a phone call, because earlier that week I had been rushing to leave town and got stuck behind a lady who apparently didn’t know the rest of us had stopped using checks at the store 13 years ago.
I have to admit that these occurrences are becoming increasingly rare. But regardless of happening less often, they are still equally painful. Let me walk you thought the scenario:
You line up behind a woman at the supermarket. (almost inevitably in her late 40’s to early 50’s) As her items are being scanned she watches patiently, making sure that all prices reflect the coupons she has provided the 16 year-old manning the register. When the total is tallied and the payment requested, she reaches into her purse for what you hope is a card of some sort… Anything made of plastic.
There is a tense moment and then the ultimate let down as you see her retrieve the dreaded check-book. Aaawwwee! An audible grown goes up from the entire line, (not to mention the cashier) as they all know what is coming next.
She takes out the book and gingerly places the carbon copy page between the first and next check. She carefully inspects the total and starts to write it out, “Sixty – five - dollars – and - forty seven/one hundredths.” Then she writes the numbers out, dates the check, signs it, (but not before noting in the lower left corner what the check was for “G-r-o-c-e-r-i-e-s”. Then she begins the tedious process of ripping the check from the check-book. If successful in this, she must then write her home phone number and driver’s her license number down on the top of the check, so they can track her if she is a fraud. Finally, if all has gone according to plan (average time 4 min, 30 seconds), she turns to the back pages and subtracts the newly spent amount from the total balance still left in the account.
By the time this is all done, half her groceries are rotten. (All of my groceries are rotten). The cashier is exhausted and the store is closing. Luckily, I step up and am able to pay for my g-r-o-c-e-r-i-e-s is 2.7 seconds, leave the store and check my balance online when get home (average time, 34 seconds).
Live in the now people!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Now, I understand that this post might be offensive to some people, and that this might be a touchy subject. But frankly, so is dying in a fiery auto accident. (At least for me) I would not even approach this subject if, as the title suggests, it wasn't happening all the time.
At this point I am starting to believe there must be some sort of Gov. cover-up or something, because I seem to be the only person that considers this a problem in our society. And because I am the only one who ever complains about it, I am forced to choose between two unthinkable conclusions.
Scenario #1 - Even though everybody has frequent near-death experiences courtesy of age-ed drivers, the government is working to suppress this information... But why?!?
Scenario #2(I think this one in the most likely) - The elderly have banded together and are deliberately and systematically targeting me, and only me, with these slow moving attempts on my life. Again I ask, "Why?"
I guess the reasons why are essentially irrelevant. What is important is that it is happening people! Fortunately, I am like the one-eyed man in the land of the blind. Try as they might, I always see them coming. "Missed me again grandpa!!!" I yell, shaking my fist out an opened window, as I narrowly escape with my life.
I am writing this as a sort of final will and testament, you know, if something were to happen to me. In the mean time, I am asking for your help. Your silence can't save you. This is not a problem that is going away. Think of your children man! YOUR CHILDREN!!! What will their future be like? Some day the very old will rule this country. And in that day, you will have to look back and say "if only we had listened to Shea". (Rhyming not intended).
Monday, September 29, 2008
"Probably around like, 300 Dude." (Around "300" is code for 250)
"Yea, I know."
"How often you benchin' dude?"
"3 times a week bro, I mean dude."
The preceding was an actual conversation that I made up to illustrate how bench-press heroes think and operate. What exactly is a bench-press hero? Let me elaborate, dude.
There are two categories of bench-press hero or BPH. The first is the hardcore BPH. He lifts 3 times a week, and can be found exclusively on the bench-press. Typically he is benching more than he should be, without a spotter, which results in him being pinned under the bar a lot and squealing for help, followed by statements like "I thought it had it dude, I repped that like 10 times yesterday!" The hardcore BPH also does all sorts of weird bench variations that have absolutely no scientific foundation, because he usually made them up himself. He enjoys asking everyone else what they bench - dude, and offers unsolicited advise on how to improve your bench-press performance... Thanks, but no thanks dude.
The second category of BPH only lifts once or twice a month. He is also unfamiliar with any other machine besides the bench-press. His routine consists of doing a set and then standing up and checking himself out in the mirror for 5 minutes, then repeat. This sort of BPH is convinced that his rigorous, bi-monthly program is secretly making him huge. He can definitely see a difference after each set. And he wonders why the hardcore BPH is spending 3 days a week for the same imaginary results.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Imagine one day you are going about you business in the house whistling a merry tune or singing a song you made up about your lust for Edward. “La la la, Oh Edward! Won’t you make me your vampire bride! Won’t you teach me your ways of undead love and then… I would start to fantasize about mortal men. Tra la la - la la…” While you are singing and dancing with an imaginary Edward, you happen across your husband, who is clearly engrossed in a book. Not only that, but he is completely oblivious to your presence and couldn’t care less that you are singing about Edward. So you approach him and ask what he is reading, only to get the following response.
“Oh, it is just a book about this really hot 17 year-old girl. In fact, it is about a whole gaggle of smokin’ hot teenage chicks and the men who lust after them. But the girls only look like teenagers, but really they are immortal, and are secretly like 100. You would like it honey, they are just full of passion and burning desire! Oh, and by the way, I think I am in love with main character, even though she is not real and I am a married adult.”
There, you see! It’s not so harmless when the shoe is on the other foot is it? You just consider that next time you’re trying to explain to your husband why you are infatuated with a minor. Or at least don’t act surprised the next time you catch him checking out high schoolers a the mall.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
I am so sick of hearing how great horses are! “Oh, horses are sooo great!” “I just love horses” “Horses run sooo fast!” “Horses are so pretty” “Don’t turn that horse into glue!” “There better not be any horse meat in this dog food!” Blah blah blah… What about the other members of the horse family? Or have you forgotten about the loyal donkey, the noble mule, or the exotic zebra? What about these black sheep of the equine kingdom?
Let me ask you a question? When it comes time pull a plow, which would you rather have, a horse or a mule? If you said a mule, you’re in luck. If you said horse, you better be asking for two or three buddy, because a mule will out pull a stupid horse any day.
What if you are headed into the heart of the Grand Canyon! Horse or donkey? Again, if you picked the horse, I hope you are also packing a shovel, because you are going to need it when and if you reach the bottom…. To bury your freakin’ horse!
Now I know what you are saying: “Oh, but what about herding cattle?” What about herding cattle? Has there ever been an issue with the cows, outrunning the horses? If the issue is needing an animal that can run fast, why don’t we saddle up an ostridge? And if speed is the only thing that makes a horse superior to other equine, then let me ask you this question Mr. Ed. What are you running from punk? Huh? Because let me tell you something. If someone wants to start some trouble with a mule or a donkey, that mule isn’t going anywhere baby. He is going to stand right there like “Yea that’s right, I am sterile. Do you got somthin’ to say about it?... I didn’t think so.” And donkeys are even worse. A donkey is not afraid of anything but running. Donkeys are the like samurai of the animal kingdom. They would rather die standing then live running.
Last but not least, let’s talk about the rugged zebra. You tell me the last time a horse got attacked by a crocodile, a cheetah, a lion? Any horse still able to walk would be for getting the heck out of Dodge (or Africa in this case). But not the reckless zebra, oh no, they are thrill seekers, they prefer danger to the comfort of the sedentary life.
So just consider that next time you feel like praising some horse like that sell-out “Big Brown”. “Big Brown” my foot! Big Brown Tool is more like it. Run if you must, but you will be running alone.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
One of our loyal readers has requested that I do a post on Sara Palin. So I will give it a go, but all I can do is my best.
Who is this "Sara Palin" everyone keeps talking about? Lets start from the beginning... Sara was born in Tennessee, on top of one of the local mountains. Despite living in Alaska, she is very clear that she loves TN and considers it, "the greatest state in the land of the free". Sarah grew up in the woods of TN and was familiar with her surroundings and claims that she knew every tree near her home. Stories have been circulating about her being a bear hunter, but she dismisses these as just that "stories".
Sarah is well educated, and has several areas of expertise, including : challenging corruption, oil exploration, economic reform, and last but not least, "Ingin' Fightin'".
So what exactly fascinates us about Sara? Well, she is easy on the eyes, at least when compared to other female politicians, who I normally like to described as "human jerky". She wears hip glasses and actually has long hair instead of the classic, man-lady power-due. But what of her political views? Where does she really stand on the issues? Just what does Sara Palin stand for?
I think if Sara were here, she would say she stands for America! She stands for conservative values and traditions! She stands for rich, voluminous Auburn hair, with some highlights and tons of body. But above all she stands for you and me friend!
One last note on Sara Palin and her pregnant daughter. Would everyone that is pretending that this actually matters, in any way regarding political issues, please shut your dirty mouth! Especially those of you who blindly defended Willy Clinton during his "60's era" like, free-lovin' romp through 2 terms. That's right, so just put that in you liberal pipe and smoke it!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Now don't get me wrong, I am sure the Republican "GOP" Convention was not any different. So mark my words Republicans, you will get yours. Oh yes, you will get yours. I may not have watched your convention, but I am banking it didn't take long for somebody to slip up and say exactly what every other filthy rich industrialist in the room was thinking about Obama. "But he's poor!, he's from a single parent household!... And he's Black!" Then some old southern lady, with a big hat and a fancy fan will be so horrified at the thought, that she will just pass out, like in the movies.
P.S. If you actually know something about politics, and want to set me and other readers straight; just save your breath preacher-man. I have no quarrel with you.
Monday, September 8, 2008
I love a good haiku. That's right - a good old haiku.
If you don't know what a haiku is, let me bring you up to speed.
A haiku is a style of Japanese poetry that consists of three lines, having 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables respectively, and none of these line really rhymes.
I know I am weird, but I think this form of poetry is so funny. It is so simple and basically stupid that I can't help but throw out a haiku now and then. Here is a sample of my haiku skills. I wrote these in class on Saturday. They were all relevant topics at the time.
My laptop just crashed
I paid a nerd to fix it
Norton is a scam.
Fall is coming on
Change thy hue oh shaky leaf!
Soon you will be dead.
The Portly Child
Huffing and puffing
This slope mocks my every step
Curse my soft, pear shape
Is this your cheese sir?
It is as poison to me
This milk, curd and whey.
*Please submit your own haiku or two in the comment section. It is a liberating experience.
If enough people submit, we can make a contest out of it.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
As you all know, there is no end to stupid commercials. Basically every other ad that you see suggests that the owner of that particular company has an idiot son, who needed a job, so they put him in charge of advertising. But something you don't notice as often are decent commercials that have terrible sales pitches or messages. An example of this is the Budweiser commercial that has been airing during the Olympics. This ad has an original song meant to appeal to the average working man and includes lyrics like, "This is who I am" "This is what I stand for" and my favorite "This is what I believe in, when the day is done." That is fantastic! If someone were to ask one of my friends or relatives, "Hey tell me a little bit about Shea." I would want them to reply, "Oh, he stands for beer, and actually his is beer, and at the end of the day, what he believes in, is beer... Particularly Budweiser."
Now going back to the commercial. Of course this new theme song is being played along with a video of happy people, all engaged in good clean American fun. When in reality, it should be a video of some guy in a wife-beater, (you guessed it)... beating his wife, losing his job, or maybe getting arrested. All with that great Budweiser anthem blaring in the background... This is Budweiser!, This is Budweiser!, This is Budweiser!, King of beers!!!
I always pay attention to these sorts of advertisements and tend to notice when there is a glaring example of just such stupidity. This week, I think I found the worst one ever. It was a radio spot for a water-softener company, which featured an actor, talking about why he had decided to purchase a water-softener. He was moving through the standard lingo and sales pitches about soft water, healthy skin and so on. Then they took it a step too far into the realm of pure ridiculousness, when the guy suggested a major reason he decided to go with soft water, was to save money on soap! Save money on soap? SAVE MONEY ON SOAP!!! That is like saving your used toothpicks, to save money on fire wood! Let's see, if a water-softener runs $1,500 installed, and a bar of soap runs $.50 cents on average, and you use one bar a week, that would equal about 26 dollars a year in back breaking soap expenses. Now, if you could save half of that with this new, incredible water-softener, you would be racking up $12.50 a year in savings! That's over a dollar a month! That means the water-softener will pay for itself in just 120 years! What are you going to do with all that extra cheddar floating around!?!?! I don't know about you, but i am going to buy another water-softener!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Life just gets more and more complicated as you grow older. At some point I think you reach the pinnacle of complication (just before retirement) and then you are able to start slowing down again.
Right now, my 1 year old is on the extreme end of the spectrum. I realized this on Sunday when he was looking through an animal book and announcing excitedly that every animal was a “Doggy!” This is how reality looks for a one-year-old: If it has four legs, it’s a doggy. If it swims under water, it’s a fishy. If it’s flying, it’s a birdie. Most women are mommy. Most men are daddy. Anything that does not fall into these broad categories can simply be identified by the sound it makes. There are quack-quacks and honk-honks, monkeys are commonly known as ooh-oohhs. “No-no” is the sound that mommies and daddies make.
Beyond that, there are just a few other situations that unique to toddler communication. Such as: If you’re done with your food, you can just throw it on the floor. If you can’t throw, just rub it in your hair. (This is the toddler equivalent to putting your napkin across your plate) If you like another kid, try poking out their right eye, but if you don’t like them…. you guessed it… it is proper toddler etiquette to poke them in the left eye. Other acceptable forms of showing affection or distain include, clawing, scratching, and in extreme cases, biting. Biting can also be a way for toddlers to teach adults and other children valuable life lessons like, “If you are stupid enough to put you finger in someone’s mouth, don't be surprised when they bite it.”
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
I hope everyone was able to see the men’s 4x100 swim relay on Sunday. If not, you missed a classic example of why I love the Olympics. Any last second effort to take the gold is sweet. But when that last second surge also means beating the French and steeling their world record at the same time, well, I almost wept.
Now if you missed the match-up and the back-story, I now what you are thinking. “Wait a minute, the French were actually in contention for something at the Olympics?” I know! I was surprised as you were! The average person does not even know the French have an Olympic team. But they do! They are just usually more dominant in lesser known events like: snail eating, wine tasting, cheese-smelling (& smelling-like-cheese). They also hold several speed records in the events that involve surrendering, and they are the reigning “Ungrateful-that-you-saved us-from-the-Germans-twice” competition.
I have to tell you, when I heard the French had been talking trash about “Smashing” the Americans, I thought “Well good for France, manning up a little, talking a little jive and then getting whooped, rather than just getting whooped and saying nothing.” But then I heard that the French were actually the favorites to win the relay. This was shocking to me. And of course a long, sarcastic list of things I would expect them to be the favorites in came to mind. (But I won’t list them here, “Favored to show no heart in the finals” or here “Most likely to give in to terrorist demands”).
Regardless of what the commentators had to say, I just could not see the U.S. losing in anything, to the French. I didn’t care if the French were allowed to use jet-skis in the relay! Apparently my new hero Jason Lezak felt the same way as he ran down France’s #1 swimmer (whose name I have already forgotten), from behind, against all odds. And that is what I love about the Olympics and being an American; the fact that an unknown swimmer from the U.S., can out swim France’s finest just because he feels like it. That’s American know-how baby! Jason Lesak, my hat is off to you. And if you ever visit Cedar City Utah, dinner is on me.
And to all my French, former-readers; I bid you adieu and bon voyage, until the next time we are saving you from a foreign invader.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Kids are liars. Anybody with children knows its true. And the only reason that we know they are lying because we remember all the lies we told as kids. I mean kids lie constantly, they are always telling lies. Rarely do they say anything that is true. "My tummy is full", "Yes I washed my hands", "I’ll tell you if I’m going to throw up". Lie, lie, lie! Like when your kid looks you straight in the face and explains how it was the family dog that drew anatomically correct stick figures in red crayon on the living-room wall. This may be a lie to you, but not to your child, he probably really believes what he is telling you! In his mind this explanation makes perfect sense. You give this kid a lie detector and he’s going to pass it every time! And really this is a fascinating phenomenon that we’ve yet to fully explain. Science can’t explain it people. The military has been trying for years to crack the "lying-kid code" and tap into its unlimited power.
In fact during WWII our government was working on ways to keep kids in that “child like” state until adult hood, and then turn them into spies and stuff, because it would be impossible to tell whether or not they were lying. This is true, they split all the kids up into groups called like: “Politicians ” “Attorneys” “Sales Persons”, and started honing their lying skills. But then the Cold War ended and the whole program went belly up, and they just cut bait and released these kids back into the general population.
You can imagine it must have been total pandemonium when it all hit the fan. There was one guy shredding documents, another opening the cages and shooing all these A-moral kids out of the building with a broom “Just let them go, just let them go!”. “Move it people, move it!, we’ve got to make it look like this never happened!”. “Hopefully they will just blend in”.
After that they erased the memories of everyone involved. That is why right now there are hundreds of defense lawyers wondering why they get that sad, lonely feeling when they are at the zoo. Their wives ask “What is it honey? Is something wrong?” “I, I don’t know Christine. There’s something about these cages, something familiar… something from a long-long time ago. But never mind that Christine, have I ever told you how I am willing to do anything, and I mean anything, to make a buck. For some reason lying has always come easy to me”.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Everyone has mutant powers. It's true, the problem is just that everybody we know has at least one or two of several basic powers. Like some people might have the mutant power of annoying people to death, but this power is basically useless here, because the same amount of people also have the mutant power of withstanding the really annoying people. By the time we reach annoyance levels that would normally be fatal, the two mutants have exhausted all their powers and canceled each other out. Seriously, mark my words, if they ever find life on other planets the aliens will be freaking out. They will be like, “You mean to tell me the there are people on your planet who talk and talk for hours at a time?” (Because on their planet that is like being able to breath under water or something) Then you’d be like “Oh yea that’s nothing, I’ve got all sorts of mutant powers. Like, I can eat my weight in potato chips in the course of just one of our earth years. I have the power to zone out my wife and 3 kids while I watch ESPN. Yea, it’s like they don’t even exist. Basically I make them disappear. I could go on and on.” Right now there some guy reading this getting all excited that this might really be true. Maybe he is even starting to hope that aliens really will invade. That guy is thinking to himself. “On what planet would a paralyzing fear of rejection be considered a super power?” Relax brother. All of this is just speculation. So do what you can now to move out of your mom’s basement. That’s never going to be a good thing. (Though I guess technically you actually are a mutant.)
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
This entire practice is so contrary to everything I stand for and believe in. Not on a spiritual level mind you, but on a "not begging strangers to buy my crap" level.
Here is the bottom line for me. If I want some-thing, what ever it is.... I will go and buy it. If I want it and I haven't purchased it yet, that means I can't afford it. So when people come to my house and I open the door and it is clear that they are selling something, I already know I don't want it, or I don't need it, or I can't afford it. Even if they are selling some new, one of a kind item I've never heard about, I don't even know it exists yet, so I'm never going to miss it. And I'm better off not even knowing it's for sale.
I mean am I completely off base here? I mean are you ever just sitting at home on your couch wishing you had some frozen cookie-dough, or a more powerful vacuum, or 400 more channels of cable, and you feel completely helpless because "Where am I going to get cookie dough?" That stuff is not for sale anywhere I know of. There certainly don't seem to be any entire cooperations dedicated to its mass production and distribution (I'm obviously being sarcastic). Oh but wait, this cheer-leader wants sell me some sort of special cookie dough. At least it must be special because she wants $14.00 for like a handful of it. I'm looking at this girl, with a half eaten tube of Betty-Crocker chocolate chip cookie dough in my hand, that was like a buck fifty at Smith's and she knows she has met her match. That's right young lady, cooperate America and the Industrial Revolution beat you to it! Come back 50 years ago and maybe we'll talk.
Then there is the guy who as soon as you open the door says "Don't worry, I'm not trying to sell you anything." Oh really? Well are you here to tell me about someone who is selling something? Or are you here to tell me where I could buy a particular product if I felt so inclined? If that is the case my friend, just let me tell you up front. I got cheap, delicious cookie dough in the fridge, I have a fantastic vacuum in the closet and I don't watch much TV. So unless you are here looking to buy any of those items from me, just keep on movin'.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
In case you were wondering why I had not been posting for the last several days, I was on vacation baby!
This past week I discovered the joy of cruising! Oh if only a younger more health conscious version of myself could have seen me go, he would have been horrified. But luckily, the newer, fatter, whiter, hairier version of me was able to enjoy every minute.
If I were my old self, writing a blog about my new self, (on the cruise) it would probably go something like this:
This week I was on a cruise were I encountered very few, if any attractive people. Among this throng of people, who eat too much and wear too little, one man in particular seemed to embody what cruising is all about.
The most striking characteristic of this person, who we will refer to as "Cruisin' Shea" were his chicken-like legs. Pencil thin and brilliant white, they were a sight to behold. Lucky for him, they were the perfect camouflage in the more crowded areas of the boat. From the waist down he was almost indistinguishable from most other cruisers (this includes the female cruisers from Europe).
Remember that scene from Tommy Boy with Chris Farley and David Spade, where David Spade's character tells Tommy boy that he can actually hear him getting fatter? Well, there was a point in the cruise when I could actually see Cruisin' Shea getting fatter, one steak, one pile of garlic potatoes, one fist-full of candy at a time. Had I been closer, I'm sure the sound would have been deafening.
I next saw Cruisin' Shea cheering and clapping like a developmentally-delayed 6-year-old at Sea World during the Shamu show. Nor did he show any signs of being an adult as he skipped and bounded from one attraction to another. "Oooh look at the dolphins! Look! Look! a stingray...Wow. I want to do this, I want to do that, come one, come on. Look at me! Take a picture!"
Okay, back to me being the present me.
Actually I have to admit the old me is pretty good at this blogging stuff (for a developmentally-delayed 17 year old.) But don't you worry about him. I have it on good authority that he turns out to be a fine person with a lot going for him (for a developmentally-delayed 28-year-old that is).
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Yesterday I was at the gym getting huge, when I realized I was going to need to make some additions to my customized gym rules that I posted earlier. Allow me to explain how I knew this.
So there I am, minding my own business, not looking at my wife every 30 second to see if she was checking me out, when I all of a sudden noticed something a little strange… One of the prettiest pretty boys that works out around my same schedule was standing off to the side of me, making small talk with another “fancy lad” and I sort of did a double take. I was looking at him and thinking like, what is wrong with this picture? Then it hit me and I was like, is… is that an outfit he’s wearing?…. And it was an outfit! A real weightlifting outfit! Well this was just unprecedented. I don’t think I had ever seen anyone (any male) no matter how pretty or vain actually wearing a honest to goodness outfit to the gym before. Girls can wear all the outfits they want, but for man to wear an outfit? The reality here is that he would have to plan for it and purchase it one piece at a time.
Now I know there are skeptics out there saying, “what makes you the authority on outfits?” or “how could you tell it really was an outfit?” Well smart-A I will tell you how I know it was in fact, an outfit!
First of all he was wearing shorts that were white with green highlights, now how many of you even own shorts with green on them? The shorts also had some blue, just enough to match the thick headband he was wearing around his spiked up hair…. That’s right, I am not making any of this up… A Blue Thick Head Band + Spiked Hair. Does anyone wear a thick headband of any color to the gym? Anyways back to my story. He was also wearing a green cutoff that matched the shorts EXACTLY.
So to recap: Blue head band, bright green cutoff t-shirt and shorts that serve as the core of the whole get-up… Not enough for you? Still doubting me? Well you forgot about one little detail….. His shoes! Isn’t there a saying that “shoes complete the outfit?” Well guess what color his shoes were? That’s right… White, with Bright Green Highlights. I don’t know about you, but I have never even seen white shoes with green highlights. Are you going to stand there and tell me that all of this was just a coincidence? Well then you my friend are in what those of us in the Mental Health profession call “Outfit Denial”.
But for those of you who are not deniers of the truth, I submit this additional rule for the Gym: Rule #6 Anyone wanting to claim the status of “male” on their gym membership, will be asked to refrain from wearing “Outfits” to workout in.*
(*If you have to ask if what you’re wearing qualifies as an outfit, it is an outfit!)
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Today I was on my way to work and I saw that the Renaissance Fair was in town… Oh Joy of Joys!. For those of you who don’t know what a Renaissance Fair is, let me explain it in plain terms. The “Ren Fair” (as the die-hards call it) is sort of like a carnival, but without any rides, and all the carnies are dressed like Medieval peasants, warriors, knights, princesses, kings, etc. Either way the basic principle is the same… Travel from town to town, fair to fair, basically camping out, not showering for days on end, surviving mainly on stick-mounted-foods such as corn-dogs and candied-apples.
The whole carnie lifestyle is just the first issue that I have with these Ren Fair people. The other is the fact that they are in a Renaissance Fair! Don’t be fooled, this is not some eloquent theme related to Shakespeare or any other form of high-art. This is exactly how they trick you into coming into the fair in the first place. Imagine a young mother with her children in tow, excited about providing her kids with a little culture. She goes to the fair expecting to see Maypole dances and hear music from the lute and lire. Maybe she can buy some tarts or crumpets for her wee little ones. But soon she will realize that this so-called Renaissance Fair consists of nothing more than 25 broadsword vendors, 10 armor makers and endless hand made jewelry booths, all of which are selling incense to cover up the smell of marijuana that is being bought, sold and consumed at an alarming rate. (Lets not forget about the corn-dog/candied-apple stand!) Then she also notices that every person there is dressed in Medieval garb (to say they are “dressed up” or "dressed like" would imply that they have normal clothes somewhere, that they usually wear, which sadly is not the case). Just before she leaves she might also unwittingly discover that none of these sweaty, poorly kept people are wearing any sort of undergarments. (No undergarments in Medieval times you know). If only she had known this before buying tickets to the cartwheel contest... Goooo!!!P.S. Check out the freakin' centaur at the top of this post. Ten bucks says he made that suit himself. Ten more says he's been wearing it since just before his divorce. But hey, a centaur's gotta do, what a centaur's gotta do right!
(Originally I referred to the pic above as a "minotaur" but one of our readers pointed out that it was actually a centaur. There is a difference and ignoring it would be the medieval equivalent of modern day bigotry)