Reunion

This is the sad version of a happy story.

Last week, I was walking through Long Beach Airport when I noticed a guy from a news station standing around with a pretty hefty duty camera. Being the nosy person that I am, I protruded further into this environment to see what kind of hub-bub was brewing. I came to get to listening to a woman who says she was there with her daughter, thirty years of age, who was about to greet her biological father for the very first time. She went on to explain that his flight would be arriving from Oregon shortly, and that they will actually be getting married after being apart for many years. The families that they have been raising separately will be united at last.

A great story, warranting a news station, to be certain. I expressed my congratulations and joy for the woman and mused over the situation in my head for a bit. Having always been a fool, it does not surprise me that I then exited the scene to go wait at my own gate to board my plane... MY OWN DIGITAL SLR IN TOTE. I am working towards a degree in photojournalism. CLEARLY I should have waited for that embrace to ensue! How lovely that would have been to capture photographically! Me, oh, my.

To make a short story long, I sat at my gate for close to an hour. No iPod. No book. Just staring at randos like a damn fool. Bored. Should have been snapping up great shots of two related strangers cryin' hysterically, wrapping their strange arms around each others strange backs. I didn't even realize my mistake until I was actually on the plane. Just a fool. On a plane. Bein' a fool. Forever.

Luckily, me missing out doesn't make it any less meaningful for them. Watch the video and read the story here.

Public Displays of Affection

"Really? We're at a corn maze! Leave me alone!"

That's all I have to say about that.

To sleep: perchance to dream

"If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awake - Aye, what then?" --Samuel Taylor Coleridge


Sleep is so very elusive. It's crazy how something so important can be so difficult to obtain. Like nice guys or jeans that fit well. I know all three of those things are hanging out together somewhere laughing at me. At all of us! But that's neither here nor there.

As it happens, this blog was born several years ago to loving parents, Insomnia and Boredom. My freshman year, I would stay up until around 0500 every night. Rarely did such a night involve homework. Usually it involved nothing productive whatsoever... unless writing this qualifies as productivity... Unlikely. Anyhow, my brain simply did not want to rest until the night was nearly over. Then, all of a sudden, I got a job that allowed me to work graveyard shifts. Ever since, I have been making money for doing exactly what I did that first semester: Nothing. Brilliant.

These days, sleep eludes me other reasons. I live in a four (4) bedroom house with EIGHT (8) other people. This situation, as you may have guessed, is not conducive to falling or staying asleep.

Example: We have a piano.

My room is right above it.


*Face-palm.*

Being the lightest sleeper known to human-kind doesn't help a lick. (I once woke up because my roommate was twirling her hair too loudly. What does that even MEAN?) All that to say, I get most of my REM when they're on the radio.

This totally SUCKS because who would argue that dreaming is quite possibly the coolest thing ever? Luckily, on the rare occasion that Mr. Sandman decides to be a nice guy and crawl out of the woodwork where the rest of them are hiding, I remember my dreams. I've documented the ones I found most significant (read: f*%#ing creepy) in the link up there. ^ I am letting you read through those at your discretion for one easy installment of $FREE.99. Must be your lucky day...

I've been told that my dreams are incredibly bizarre. But I say, "compared to WHAT?" They seem more like accurate representations of a bizarre reality. After perusing through a few, one might realize they sound kinda similar to some of the anecdotes mentioned in this blog. To me, the waking world appears equally crazy if not craziER than my brain activity while dozing. I should seriously start carrying around a totem. 

Even though they seem to accurately capture the feelings of absolute insanity that I am overcome with in the waking world, there is something so surreally spiritual and, for lack of a better word, trippy, about dreaming. I mean... I don't understand how sleeping isn't putting the psychedelic hallucinogen people out of business. Honestly.

"I know I'm awake but it feels like I'm in a dream."
-- In Bruges

There is always something to say. Doesn't mean it should be said.

No matter what

I've often wondered why people care more about animals than people. I mean, I'm sure as a whole, this isn't true. But doesn't it seem like people get more emotional whenever animals are involved? I feel like I've cried more watching stuff like Old Yeller, Milo & Otis, and Homeward Bound than My Sister's Keeper or The Notebook.

I know a man who did not cry at his own father's funeral or when he was forced to kick his son out of the house, but did when he put his dog down.

Is it because animals love you no matter what?

Failbook

You've probably visited Failbook. I love the site but it wasn't until today that I encountered a Facebook interaction worthy of it for myself. Behold, my first ever Failbook submission. I hope it gets published. In all likelihood, it won't, and I'll forget about it. Which is why I want to share it here, for posterity. 

That is all.

Would YOU have a drink with you?

Julia Styles shares a drink with Julia Styles.

  


This commercial provokes my thoughts.

"Would you have a drink with you?"

Weh-heh-ell! That's something to think about. But I cannot answer the question without first asking a series of seemingly related yet equally unnecessary ones. As a student in the fine field of journalism, I must whip out the WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHEN, WHY, and HOWs:






Who is going to pay the tab-- me or me?
Who is going to believe me when I tell them about this later?
What am I going to talk about with myself?
What should I both wear?
Where am I going to go?
When is this little date going to go down?
When should we conclude this creepy rendezvous?
Why should I attempt such an unusual out of body experience?
How will I get back into one body afterwards?
 
Nevermind. This question is obviously way too involved for any one person to figure out by themselves. It's actually almost outrageous enough to be something that I could only discuss with another me... over drinks.
 
I'll give you a good question. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck would chuck wood? Riddle me that, Stoli Vodka.
 
I win. You can put it on the booooard...YES!
 
Despite this victory, in the grand scheme of things, the score is still something like
 
Carsten- 1
Vodka- 1,485
 
 
 
But that's neither here nor th-- Oh, forget it. I need a drink.*




*Please resist the urge to conclude that this post was written after or during the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol. Everything written here was done so under wholly sober conditions. Believe it. Don't believe it. It's your life.

Run, sentence! Run!

Who doesn't love a good run-on sentence every now and then? Nobody I know. I'm starting a collection. Here's a recent favourite of mine:

"So the other day my chiropractor shoved his hand up my mouth and readjusted my brain because my eyes were popping out of their sockets and now I can concentrate better." --My sister

I told her that her chiropractor was surely being facetious. She told me nobody ever believes this story. Do you blame them? Where I'm from, throats travel from north to south, rendering the act of shoving a hand UP a mouth blatantly mythological, or, at the very least, pretty ding-dang-dong dangerous.

But that's neither here nor there. Next run-on: 

"Somebody wrote 'honk if you're horny' on our car after we got married but only one person honked because I accidentally cut them off because there was so much freaking paint on our windows." --A coworker

I told him that that was one of the best run-ons I'd ever heard. He told me that run-ons are his literary strength. Also, that his wife's spiritual gifts are cooking and bocce ball.


Liz Danzico on Merlin Mann on Anne Lamott on Haruki Murakami on great sentences:

"I couldn’t really place the sentence on my great sentences list because while it’s mostly grammatically sound and includes words and punctuation, it did not meet my own requirements of having a large foam cowboy hat, nor was it about how broccoli looks like little trees, nor did it create a fort made of sofa cushions in which I could enjoy the sentences included in my proper list of great sentences."

A Trip Down Memory Lane

When I was younger I watched too many movies. Well, not too many movies per se; just the same movies too often.

One Christmas Eve, I watched Dr. Seuss's "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" (the cartoon version) nine, I repeat: nine times in a row. ALONE! After the ninth time, I went and asked my mother how the deuce the narrator had so much stamina to repeat the same story to me over and over again. How did he do it so perfectly and with such consistency? I was legitimately impressed. This was a large part of the reason why I watched it so many times in a row. I was waiting for him to mess up. (Then what, I don't know.)

How is this "woman" not HORRIFYING?

Well, Mom told me that the narrator had merely read a script. Once. ONCE! And that I was simply replaying the same prerecorded story over and over. Suddenly, the world of film became way less magical to me.

When I was even younger than that, circa three or four, (back when film was still magical) I watched The Little Mermaid every single day for at least a year. This is not an exaggeration. Consequently, I developed a deep fear of the antagonist, Ursula aka "The Sea Witch." Every night before going to bed, I would beg my parents to thoroughly check my closet to make sure she wasn't lurking around in there. For some reason, unbeknownst to me to this day, they decided to tell me:

"Carst, don't be afraid of the Sea Witch. She is a sea creature. She can't come into your room. She has to stay in water!"

Great... so.... now instead of telling me the truth (that she was fictional) you've just given me cause for concern when approaching water. Awesome.

The murderous Mr. McGregor
chasing sweet and innocent Peter Cottontail.

Similarly, I really enjoyed the cartoon version of "Peter Cottontail"-- the story about the rabbits who lived in the garden of a grouchy old man named Mr. McGregor. I was terrified- I'm talking scared shitless- of Mr. McGregor. I was convinced that he was going to attempt to murder me with a garden hoe in the middle of the night while I slept. Mom would tell me I had nothing to be afraid of, for Mr. McGregor only chased rabbits around with garden hoes in attempts to murder them. But he wouldn't do that to me, because I'm not a rabbit.

SWEET, MOM! Why couldn't you have just told me that Mr. McGregor was FICTIONAL instead of verifying that I'm NOT a rabbit?

So that is the story of why I suffered traumatic years of avoidable anxiety surrounding visiting large bodies of water or becoming a rabbit.

Insane Aussie Grandmum+Cellulite+Full Bus of Horrified Onlookers=One Memorable Ride

One lovely night in Sydney, I was sitting on the 461 bus en route to downtown from the Inner West suburbs where I was living. It's not a very long ride; maybe 25 minutes or so; a ride I had taken many, many times, though none stands out to me like this one.

On this bus ride, I am accompanied by my friend and fellow American, Sarah, whom you may remember from previous posts. We are sitting in the very last row of seats, having a jovial time, anticipating the fun that would surely ensue at the party we are on our way to. But why should we wait for the party for the fun to start? Isn't life really about the journey and not the destination?

Yes.

And so, we meet our entertainment.

A twenty something enters the scene (bus). She is with her toddler-sized daughter, clad entirely in pink, complete with leash. Twenty Something's own mother, (the tot's grandmum) is also with them.

Upon noticing that Sarah's and my knees are about her height, Leash toddles over to us and embraces them (the knees) fervently. We do not find this especially strange or uncomfortable until Grandmum encourages Leash to sit on our laps. Somehow, we employ our body language to convey that we prefer Leash and her leash keep their distance. Leash begins flopping around like a fish out of water, rolling around under the seats. The leash is now completely superfluous. It is not securing Leash to anything whatsoever. Twenty Something and Grandmum don't seem to mind, though. Something else has caught their attention.

"You better get rid of that!" Grandmum screeches in our direction.

Sarah and I look at each other, startled.

"Get rid of what?"

Grandmum gestures to my exposed thigh. I am wearing a pair of shorts which is neither incredibly revealing nor horribly conservative.

"That cellulite!"

It is at this point that every passenger with a bottom jaw introduces it to the floor of the bus.

“Excuse me?” I reply.

“Look at your legs! That’s horrible! You need to get rid of that!” she barks on.

“MUM!” Twenty Something exclaims, embarrassed as can be at her mother's shameless declaration.

It's bad enough being insulted. Imagine being insulted by someone with an Australian accent about something you were completely unaware of about yourself, on a bus filled to capacity. At the time of these happenings, I don't even know what cellulite looks like. But that's neither here nor there. Cellulite or no cellulite, there are several things wrong with this scenario:

Good ol' 461

#1) The way I am sitting reveals nothing short of an average thigh. Nothing to be admired, but nothing to scorn.

#2) Even if I am the fattest person Grandmum has ever encountered, (which, at 65 kg, I am assuredly not) her behaviour is far from appropriate.

"What are you talking about???" I ask, urgently. "I don't see any cellulite...." (True as this statement was, like I said, I wouldn't have known what to look for.)

I look at Sarah for any shred of confirmation that my legs are not the epitome of all things hideous. She confirms.

Grandmum continues, “Well you have it and it's right there!”

Her hand makes contact with my thigh so as to better show me the "problem area." I abruptly inform her that I neither approve of such contact, nor such degrading remarks, regardless of their alleged accuracy.

Twenty Something pleads again for her mum to behave. Leash is still tumbling about among the other riders, every one of which is observing the Cellulite Showdown. Leash is probably the only being on board who is not paying attention. And that includes the driver.

Twenty Something pleads now for Grandmum to grab Leash's leash, as Leash is getting even bouncier, and Grandmum is much closer to her. Grandmum does not comply. She is far too engrossed (no pun intended) in something much more threatening than her granddaughter's potential head-trauma: the aesthetically displeasurable nature of a stranger's legs.

"Look at her legs!" Grandmum instructs Twenty Something.

Twenty Something follows her mother's lead, forgets about Leash, and focuses on my thigh. She appears to mull it over. Cellulite or no cellulite? That is the question. For a split second, I swear she wants to agree with Grandmum, but Leash needs rescuing, and Twenty Something abandons the thought of my thunderous thighs. I almost react as if I can't believe she would leave me hanging like this after all we've been through with her insane mum on this crowded bus.

Sarah and I think this can't possibly get any more bizarre. Then Grandmum sits down on the floor and begins demonstrating butt and leg exercises to me.

"This is the kind of thing you need to be doing! It's the only thing that works!"

Though this sounds comedic, I can assure you, she's quite serious and quite angry with me for not "keeping myself in shape." She is sincerely concerned for my condition. 

I must mention now that throughout this whole ordeal, though I am highly offended, I am also highly amused. I've never been more insulted, laughed harder, or felt more compelled to work out in my life. What an absurd assortment of feelings. Although, not surprisingly, I am now somewhat self-conscious about my legs.

Finally, the bus arrives at the three strange females’ stop and Twenty Something and Leash promptly make their escape. Grandmum isn't done with me, though. The driver is highly annoyed and waits impatiently with the door open for her to exit.

She growls at me again: “How old are you anyway?? I’m 47 and I’ve got better legs than you do! Look at this!” She smacks her ass in my direction. Twenty Something is watching from outside, horrified.

"MUM!!!!!! GET OFF THE BUS!!!"

She finally leaves, albeit reluctantly.

I feel like this family should invest in another leash.

This event took the cake for the most socially unacceptable spectacle I had ever witnessed. But then a few weeks later, we ran into some people having sex outside near Town Hall. And that's that.

Starr

Starr

The last night time thought I had to my recollection:

I "woke up" (if you can really call it that) with an incredible sense of urgency surrounding the idea of getting in contact with my parents' German Shepherd, Starr. I felt bad because I hadn't seen or talked to (???) her in a while. I decided the best way to remedy the situation would be by texting her immediately.

It was at this point that I kind of groggily realized that this was an absolutely ridiculous idea. For one thing, she does not have opposable thumbs. For another thing, she does not have her own cell phone. Lastly, I'm not even that fond of her.

She has since been put down, so now I feel kinda bad about that last part. :\

The List

I want to talk about picking up chicks. I want to talk about this because so many guys seem to need help.

I shall now impart an inspiring anecdote.

One evening this summer, a girlfriend and I were sitting at Plymouth, a rooftop bar in Chicago. There happened to be a Cubs/Phillies game on TV which was both convenient and coincidental, me being from Chicago and Sarah, from Philly.

It was also quite convenient that our bartender was absolutely gorgeous. All I remember about him was that he was 28, born and raised in the city, and his name started with "J." But none of that is important. What is important is that he was stunning (even before I ingested several Long Islands), and more importantly, clever.

"Are you a Cubs fan?" he flirted, handing me the first drink.

"Yeah."

"Are you single?"

He did not miss a beat. Two thumbs up. This comedic timing was wonderful.

I laughed. "Yeah."

He produced a long piece of paper from his wallet that unfolded several times.

"How many of these other things are you?"

He handed me the rather involved handwritten list of qualities:

Attractive
Cubs fan
Priorities straight
Wants kids
Healthy
Fit
Nonsmoker
Doesn't do drugs
Good in bed*** (This one was starred, circled, bolded, and underlined.)
Positive attitude
Funny
Intelligent
Likes to go out
Confident
Athletic
Goal-oriented
Spiritual
Kind
Comfortable with herself
Honest
Trusting
Clean
Conscientious

As Sarah and I were cracking up at the ingenuity displayed before us, the female bartender came over to see what all the fuss was about. Naturally, she thought it was adorable too.

“You ACTUALLY have a LIST? A PHYSICAL list? And you CARRY it on you?”

“J” explained that this was absolutely necessary because he needed to start cutting to the chase and stop wading through the bullshit of dating relationships. If I remember correctly, I believe he had recently gotten his heart pwned by a woman. But that’s neither here nor there. This “list” was too hilarious. Every female that now surrounded “J” at the bar was highly impressed and intrigued.

I handed him back the paper.

“Well, so how many?” he joked.

I laughed again and reminded him that I was just visiting from California, but that I knew this tactic would yield desirable results for him eventually.

"Oh, I see,” he said. “So the real reason is that you don't date black guys."

"No, no, no,” I assured him. “The real reason is I don't date 28 year olds."

But the point is, if I did, I would.

Sarah and I abandoned the baseball game and "J" to meet up with another friend, but his forthrightness and wit did leave an impression. I mean, here I am, months later, still telling this story...

Hint: Try this, guys. You'd be surprised.

No Shave November

Happy November.

For many men*, today marks the first day of a whole month of uninterrupted facial hair growth;

the aptly named "No Shave November".

I hereby dedicate this post to beards everywhere lest we forget:

Any man who ever mattered had facial hair.

stevetrottier.com

Am I right or am I right? Look at this man's badass beard. Sweet mother of nature. Who cares who he is or what he's done? Look at that mother friggen beard.

*Females are asked not to participate in No Shave November when culturally applicable. Please.

Student-itis

I am a college senior. The majority of my friends have senioritis this year. I have been suffering from senioritis since approximately first grade. Now that I find myself in my actual senior year, I can't say I'm very overloaded with work. I'm currently taking two classes at a community college for a total of 3.5 units. One of them is badminton and the other is Fundamentals of Art. Oh yeah, and I'm taking an online class called "Historic Christian Belief" which I have six months to complete at my own pace. Obviously this is not a stressful situation.

This being said, I am ridiculously grateful that I have enough time to work as often as I do. I am so very thankful to not have to worry about classes and homework and professors and group projects and all that garbage that everybody else is always complaining about.

This extra time allows me to keep my schedule clear for complaining about all kinds of different things! As a reader of this blog, I'm sure you have noticed this.

Three cheers for part-timing and half-assing through life.

Kinda

The other day I was getting out of my car to go play badminton at a community college. I need to stress that I was wearing a T-Shirt and sweatpants, I had no make-up on, and my hair was thrown up in a gross bun.

A guy my age rode up to me on a bike.

"Can you spare like a dollar?"

"No, sorry."

"You don't even have no change or nothin'?"

"No. That's why I parked out here on the street. I don't even have any money to put into the permit dispenser on campus."

"Oh, alright."

He started to ride off and then circled back.

"You look nice, by the way."

"What?"

I had heard him. But, what?

"You look nice..."

He paused.

"...kinda."



I rolled my eyes and he rolled away.


Lesson #1:
Never try buttering someone up if they've already told you they don't have what you want.

Lesson #2: 
Never compliment a female when she obviously looks like crap.

Lesson #3:
NEVER END ANY KIND OF COMPLIMENT WITH "KINDA."

Ovary Action

I can't say or hear "over reaction" without visualizing ovaries picketing for a cause.

Tut tut... Looks like danger.

It's been raining a lot here in Southern California. For some reason, this is incredibly important to most people. You might be asking yourself, why, Carsten? Why is rain such a big deal?

I'm sorry that I cannot answer that question for you. I have no bloody clue why it is such a big deal.

Being from Chicagoland, I find the average Californian's reaction to rain to elicit within me an equal mixture of amusement and infuriation.

Will someone please explain to me how rain necessitates driving 15 miles an hour under the speed limit? I solemnly swear that you are not going to hydroplane at 25 mph. Based on the way they operate their vehicles, people out here seem to equate droplets of water falling from the sky with something far more dangerous. Like balls of fire. Or gorillas.

I have assembled a diagram to help those in need learn when it is appropriate to freak out about falling objects.

Somebody once asked me why I was going to wear sandals when it was raining. Why the hell wouldn't I? In case they get wet??? I don't understand! Your shoes are going to get far soggier than my sandals. Oy, vey.

The following dialogue is a representation of the kinds of conversations I've overheard countless times:

Rain-o-phobe #1: I can't believe it's raining. This sucks.
Rain-o-phobe #2: I know! There goes our movie plans!
Rain-o-phobe #1: Hopefully it will clear up by tomorrow.
Rain-o-phobe #2: Yeah, or else this whole weekend is ruined!

Even if you are deathly afraid of water, it is still highly possible for you to safely make it from your indoor location to another indoor location via the comfortable environment of your own automobile.

My Facebook newsfeed blows up with rain related statuses. In fact, it seems like those types of statuses are just as, if not more, numerous than the amount of earthquake related ones that I'm bombarded with after a quake. Really.

Rain is a part of nature. It's naturally occurring. You are also a part of nature. Please proceed with your life.

Hey, Red.

Yesterday, I dreamt that I saw a middle-aged Australian couple holding hands and walking down the street. I had to do a double-take, though, because I noticed that there was actually a third, much shorter, ghost-like person also holding onto them. Just then, the ghost-person turned into a regular person; a little ginger boy. I wanted to hold someone's hand too, so I approached him, but his hand was frightfully cold. When I asked him why, he responded angerly:


"You'd be cold too if you didn't have a soul!"


Then I woke up.


I love gingers. I really do. But my subconscious thinks it's a comedian.

A feeble attempt to make up for my many years of cynicism

I was on the phone with my cousin, Vic, the other day when she brought something peculiar to my attention.

"You know what I've realized?" she started. "It's amazing how people cooperate."

I immediately attempted to cite examples to the contrary, but was unable to articulate any single one due to the multitudes that came to mind. What was she SAYING? People don't COOPERATE! What an absurd suggestion! Doesn't she ever read the news? Bloody imbeciles are running amok every which way! Just think, for example, about the slathering of abhorrent miscreants who, by some miracle, possess drivers licenses and congregate on America's roadways daily. That, to me, seems like the very antithesis to anything even remotely resembling the concept of "cooperation".

But I digress...

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She said this idea occurred to her while sitting on a plane, watching some people politely interacting and others keeping to themselves entirely.

"I mean there are tons of opportunities to misbehave but most people don't!"

[Please pause a moment to soak in the irony of the picture below in which Vic herself is clearly misbehaving.]

When I really think about it (and I mean really, really) I guess I agree with her. Even despite the worldwide idiocy epidemic, it seems that somehow society seems to function at a pretty consistent state of normality thanks to common courtesy. After all, isn't it really only the rarity in which stupidity reigns supreme that even makes it noteworthy? I'd like to think that ridiculous behaviour stands out because it's not the norm, even though I am often tempted to think otherwise. I recently stumbled upon a quote that sums up my point quite nicely:

“I tell people that if it’s in the news, don’t worry about it. The very definition of ‘news’ is ‘something that hardly ever happens.’ It’s when something isn’t in the news, when it’s so common that it’s no longer news — car crashes, domestic violence — that you should start worrying.” ~Bruce Schneier

THIS GIVES ME HOPE. 

BUT... will this new-found hope be enough to negate the fact that I lose a little more faith in humanity with each trip in my car? Or will the masses' preposterous displays of asininity and self-centered thinking (both of which I am also guilty) continue to eat away at my soul?


Fortunately for me, that decision is in my hands.

After all, "as stupid and vicious as men are, this is a lovely day." -- Kurt Vonnegut

Wow.

This infuriates me.

All I've Ever Wanted

"There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it." -- Oscar Wilde


I ask you to seriously ruminate over this question:

What would your life would be like right now if you had gotten everything you've ever wanted?

Personally, I can't even fully comprehend how much my life would suck if this were the case. Everything I've ever wanted?  Let's consider the ways this would have royally screwed me over:

• My career path would be a hot mess. I mean, when I was little, I wanted to be everything from a marine biologist to a "famous movie producer". How would that work? I suppose I'd be producing a lot of films about sea creatures. Highly impractical and overdone.

• My love life would resemble that of a polygamist's. Considering the fact that most young girls hear wedding bells every time their little crushes walk into the room, I'd have husbands galore. Handfuls of husbands! Maybe numbering into the thousands! (Joke?) More than unnecessary, this would be traumatic and exhausting.

• My residing location would require teleportation. I've wanted to live in a lot places. If I could, I'd live in them all SIMULTANEOUSLY! However, due to the fact that my body is bound by something called TIME, this is unlikely to happen. In this case, getting what I want would actually require the laws of physics to collapse at my every whim.

In all seriousness, the reason I ask this question is because I think that thinking about what we want is awfully important.

What we want becomes what we do.

And it's hard for me to think of many things that are more important than our actions.

I urge you to take part in this thought experiment for yourself if you feel so inclined. I know that it has helped me to appreciate what I have and how I've come to be where I am now.

Thank God for not getting everything we want.

The iPhoneless: We do what we can to get by.

So iPhones are all the rage. I mean, everyone has one. Don't you? I don't. My dad does. He says he needs it for business. (He's a high school gym teacher.... ????) But that's neither here nor there.

What's both here and there is this:

The novelty of the iPhone is stealing the thunder of some other shining stars of inventions.

Must I remind you of....

• DUCT TAPE??? It holds things to other things.

• TOILETS??? Highly... HIGHLY under-celebrated.

• STEERING WHEELS?????? You can buy colorful covers for those TOO, you know!

• The "H" key??? Ow would you feel if everyting you read looked like tis because tere was no suc ting as the [letter that alpabetically proceeds "i"] key???
  
  
  

• STONES?!?!?

 

http://www.walyou.com/blog/2008/10/14/funny-iphone-3g-facts/

I don't know who the masterminds behind these things are. It's a shame their lives have not been more emphatically recognized considering all the benefits we have reaped from them.

I have theorized about the possibility that I am merely bitter because my lifestyle is not conducive to being an iPhone owner, and here's why:

1) I am broke.

2) I am prone to dropping delicate electronics.

3) I am not near patient enough to wait in a curiously long line to procure one.

And even if the above three things weren't true:

4) I have palmar hyperhidrosis to an extent that renders me physically unable to operate a touch screen on any level. 

Basically, the essence of this post can be captured in a single sentence: I, the sweaty-handed/iPhoneless loser covet yours.

The End.

Name Game

I think. I think. I think we have too many people in the world with the same names.

So why don't those with "upcoming babies," as one friend of mine puts it, start branching out?

I'll help you. :) Here is a collection of words that could make for beautiful names... if only they weren't... disgusting.

No, but seriously. Think outside the box for a second and think about how these names sound/look. Try to imagine these words apart from their meanings.

Allergy
Anorexia
Chlamydia
Chlorine
Diarrhea
Gonorrhea
Leukemia
Marijuana
Nausea
Papilloma
Vaseline


For the record, I would never ever name any of my children anything like these "suggestions". I'm just being weird. If you or anyone you know is named something creepy, by all means, let me know, because I would like to personally provide those parents with kudos.



Go to http://www.howmanyofme.com/ and find out how many of YOU there are.

Night Time Thoughts

"I keep this notepad by my bed in the middle of the night, and I write down these ideas when I'm half asleep, and they never make any sense. ... And then I wake up, and I have these little notes that say things like, 'make everybody be twins' and 'electric toilet.' Those are not good ideas." -- Tina Fey in "Baby Mama"


First of all, this is one of the funniest movies ever. Second of all, this part of the film thrilled me because I like to keep track of my own "night-time thoughts". Deciphering them the next day is usually a challenge, but never a disappointment.


Here they are:


"Spherical wafers with chocolate in the middle."

When I awoke with this idea, I was so incredibly excited. However, I was discouraged in the daytime by friends when they informed me that such a thing already exists, and that I'd been enjoying the ones that most candy/chocolate companies already produce for years.


"Maybe God is hiding in the sun."

Absurd, yet worth looking into.


"Einige Dingen alte Leute nicht sehen wenn sie zu alte sind."

Not exactly sure why, but I wrote this one in German. At the time, it made perfect sense to do so. In English it says, "Old people not being able to see certain objects when they're too old." Let me clarify. This does not mean their vision gets worse. No, what I meant by this was that certain objects (books, chairs, what have you) become entirely invisible to people after a certain age. Like, cloak-status. Why? I couldn't tell you.


"Bean bag chairs shaped like sushi."

This one never made it to written form, as my friends were nearby when I awoke from a brief nap, and I was able to allow my stupidity to more easily be communicated through speech. In my head, these chairs were in an IKEA magazine, perhaps with some nice Japanese children sitting on them.


"Run For Your Life"

This was meant to be reminiscent of the "Realy for Life" fundraiser put on by the American Cancer Society. The twist in "Run For Your Life" is that amputees participate in a race and the winners are awarded with prosthetic limbs!


"If you picked up two ants, one in each hand, while they were in the middle of a conversation, and then pulled your hands as far apart as you could, could they still hear each other?"

With a notepad nowhere near my bed, this one got texted to me by myself in the middle of the night. In the morning, I read it, but since I don't have myself saved in my contact list, I was highly confused for a few moments as to who would text me something so ridiculous at such an odd hour. Again, I think the question is worthy of consideration, however brief.


"What if everybody's head was a giant egg and you could crack them to make giant omelettes?"

Courtesy of Sarah Garber. She texted this to me with the preface, "I think I just had a night time thought..."


"A drink made of blended strawberries and tennis balls."

Courtesy of Eddie Schmidt. This would assuredly be the world's most atrocious smoothie.



I hope you enjoyed this edition of "Night Time Thoughts" and please always keep a pen and paper near your bed!

And feel free to submit your own so that I can add them to this outrageous list.

World Traveller

Once, while living in Sydney, I watched the movie "Cool Runnings."

Do you know what this means?

It means that I, a European-American, was viewing a film about Jamaicans bob-sledding in Canada, in Australia.

This still stands as the single most culturally confusing activity I have ever engaged in.

Turning Over A New Proverbial Leaf

"Watch where you're going, jackass!"

"Alright, smartass, you'll get what's coming to you."

"I know socks don't have a label telling you to avoid drying them in the microwave, but that doesn't make you any less of a dumbass."

Do you find yourself or your loved ones making comments like these more often than you would like?

When fashioning a degrading remark, it seems it has become fairly common-place to choose a word that may or may not be derogatory as a stand-alone, and simply attach "ass" to the end of it.

We can do better than that, everyone.

From a purely creative standpoint, our verbal scuffles often leave something to be desired. That is why, as we begin this new year, I propose we encourage one another to fling around more intelligent, interesting, and all around more insulting insults. I have been collecting more sophisticated ones for some time. Below you will find a list of a few I have selected to share with you. Try them on the next abominable individual you encounter. If you're feeling up to it, you can even try them on a remotely tolerable person who merely dabbles in jagbaggery. But please, do not do yourself, nor your insulted, the disservice of using the drab vernacular we have become accustomed to. Rather, provide them with an even greater blow to their intelligence by calling them words they have never been called before!


"Abortion"

It's not just for dead fetuses anymore. Contrary to popular belief, there's even more use for this word apart from its usual place in conversations of the controversial persuasion. Its secondary definition is "any malformed or monstrous person, thing, etc." Perfect. If you find yourself in a run-in with someone who is uncontroversially detestable, hurl this word at him.


"Morpion"

A morpion is a louse. Luckily, for the insulter, it sounds an awful lot like "scorpion." This renders it even more fun to say. For an extra kick, you could perhaps combine the two ideas and refer to your insulted as a "lousy scorpion." You should probably just stick with "morpion" for the first several times, though, to keep things simple.


"Trichina"

The dictionary defines it as a "small slender parasitic nematode worm (Trichinella spiralis) that infests the intestines of various mammals and whose larvae move through the bloodstream, becoming encysted in muscles." But who cares what the dictionary says? What matters is that it rhymes with "vagina" and that's all you need to know. Use this word sparingly.


I hope you have learned a thing or two about a thing or two and I look forward to hearing how these work out for you. More to come.


Happy insulting!

01/01/10

Life is full of contradictions. New Year's Day is a great example of this. People run around wishing each other a "Happy New Year," when, in reality, a decent amount of those people actually dread January 1st. Why? Because they make the rash decision to participate in a whimsical (read "mythical") phenomenon known as "New Year's Resolutions."

I suppose self-inflicted guilt is trendy or something. Maybe assigning a specific start date for things we should have already been doing makes us feel like we're really getting a break until New Year's - just in case the past twenty, thirty, or forty years weren't enough of a procrastination.

Maybe we never decided to lose that weight, take that class, or spend more time with our families because the timing was all wrong back in 2009. Yeah, man. The timing. The weather! The prices. The... the... load of crap.

Whatever. Two-thousand ten's gonna be different. Better! I mean, we've got new calendars now! There's no stopping us.

Maybe I'm just a sarcastic bitch* and New Year's resolutions aren't masochistic or idealistic at all. But that's neither here nor there.

What is both here and there, is this:

I resolve to have no resolutions other than the one contained within this very sentence.



And I am going to rock that resolution to the ground.






*This suggestion contains a high concentration of potential accuracy.