Meatball is four and a half years old now, and as such, is very much under construction.
One thing he's discovered is the concept of lying. He lies to get what he wants, he lies to get out of trouble, and he lies to avoid doing things. Fortunately, he sucks badly at it.
Ever watch a little kid lie? It's adorable.
They start fidgeting and saying "ummmm" a lot while they make up stuff. With Meatball, it's especially adorable because he has a ridiculously active imagination. If you don't stop him, his lies will quickly depart from the realistic.
Me: "Didn't I tell you to put your shoes on ten minutes ago?"
Him: "I didn't put on my shoes because they are made of lava and they burn my feet."
Anyway, as cute as it is, I have to at least act angry about it so that he learns to stop. This especially involves checking up on him a lot and making sure that he actually did what he claims he's done. Nowhere is this worse than when it comes to wiping his butt. Meatball has decided that he is not interested in wiping. Kids like to exert their independence at times and do things "their way" and this is the battle he has chosen to wage.
Lucky me.
We've developed a routine lately. Whenever he goes potty, it's my job to look in the toilet afterwards and visually verify that there is some used toilet paper in there. Who knew that being a parent was so glamorous?
So a couple of nights ago he was on the potty, dropping the kids off at the pool, and I heard a flush. "There goes the evidence," I thought to myself. Figuring that he flushed as part of a plan to act like he wiped, I was prepared to confront him.
I got to the entrance of the bathroom.
Me: "Did you wipe?"
Him: "Yes"
Me: "Are you sure? Don't lie to me, I don't want to have to get mad at you."
Him: "I wiped my tush Daddy, I'm not lying."
Me: "Ok, you better be telling me the truth. Don't forget to wash your hands."
I'd said my piece, so I figured the conversation was over. Satisfied, I went over to my bad and sat down. Little did I know what was about to happen.
Meatball followed me into the bedroom after washing his hands. "Daddy, I really did wipe my tush this time. I promise." I tell him that I believe him.
Then the unthinkable happened.
In a single deft movement, he proceeded to turn around, drop his pants and bend over. When I say bend over, I mean he could have kissed his own ankles. Reaching back and spreading his cheeks for me, just to avoid any confusion, he repeats "See Daddy, my tush is clean. See Daddy, look!"
I can't remember that last time I wanted to run away that bad. Of course, I couldn't, so I adopted a tone that hopefully suggested that this sort of thing happens all the time. "Yep, good job son. You did a great job. Now pull your pants back up. Please"
In a weird sort of way, I feel like he won a battle that he might not have even realized he fought. His victory? I haven't bugged him again about wiping since that moment.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Why Is This Necessary?
A question occurred to me yesterday while standing in line at the grocery store.
What sort of lifestyle must a person be living that they would need to purchase a travel-sized bottle of KY lubricant? Does a woman keep it in her purse next to the condoms? Does a guy keep it in his glove box in case he needs to lube-up while he's on the go?
I'm having trouble understanding the situation where the travel-sized is preferred because the standard sized KY Jelly would be too cumbersome. It must exist or they wouldn't be selling this stuff at the register of every grocery store in the Atlanta area.
What sort of lifestyle must a person be living that they would need to purchase a travel-sized bottle of KY lubricant? Does a woman keep it in her purse next to the condoms? Does a guy keep it in his glove box in case he needs to lube-up while he's on the go?
I'm having trouble understanding the situation where the travel-sized is preferred because the standard sized KY Jelly would be too cumbersome. It must exist or they wouldn't be selling this stuff at the register of every grocery store in the Atlanta area.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
May I Have Your Attention Please?
I've decided to make a big announcement.
Ever since I was a little kid, I'm really like oreo cookies. Couldn't get enough of them. I would sit down and eat a whole poud of them, get sick, and then want to do it again the next day. As far as I was concerned, there was not a more delicious food in existence.
All that has changed recently though, I've decided that I like Vienna Fingers better. They taste even better, and eating a bag of them doesn't even make my tummy hurt. I just thought that everybody should know my feelings on this subject.
In other news, I just warmed up a microwave burrito, and, when I got back to my desk, I realized that I used two paper plates instead of just one. I feel kind of bad for that because I'm harming the environment with my trash twice as much as necessary.
(Oh, and I'm going to be a daddy again.)
Ever since I was a little kid, I'm really like oreo cookies. Couldn't get enough of them. I would sit down and eat a whole poud of them, get sick, and then want to do it again the next day. As far as I was concerned, there was not a more delicious food in existence.
All that has changed recently though, I've decided that I like Vienna Fingers better. They taste even better, and eating a bag of them doesn't even make my tummy hurt. I just thought that everybody should know my feelings on this subject.
In other news, I just warmed up a microwave burrito, and, when I got back to my desk, I realized that I used two paper plates instead of just one. I feel kind of bad for that because I'm harming the environment with my trash twice as much as necessary.
(Oh, and I'm going to be a daddy again.)
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Why I'm Thankful
Today is Thanksgiving which means that there are probably a hundred people blogging today about what they are thankful for. To them I say, me too! me too! What makes you other bloggers better than me anyway?
Actually, since most of them have more than 3 readers, they would probably have a good response to that. Still, I can hold my head up high knowing that I could have a few hundred readers if I really wanted. Indeed, I did have a few hundred readers before I abruptly left myspace and came here. Hmmmm, it seems like I'm off on a tangent at this point. I digress...
I should probably mention at this point that I have had a few beers and very little sleep, so my thoughts are a bit more random. Attention span has not been my friend.
So what was I talking about anyway? Oh, yeah, things I am thankful for.
1. Family
Family is what people are supposed to say here, so I'm certainly not going to be the only schmuck who forgets to mention mine. Plus, its holidays like Thanksgiving that remind us of just how lovable our families can be.
My family has discovered a new game today. We have a gaggle of sugared up kids running around the house, and each of us has taken the position that the kids are somebody else's problem. I think I've said the phrase, "Go see your grandfather downstairs, I think he has candy." at least five times today. It's still working, but not as well as it did at first. I can tell that the kids are suspicious, but they aren't yet willing to take the risk of not going just in case it turns out to be true this one time.
2. Shnoogs
I know that she technically falls under the category of family, but my wife deserves special mention since there is a chance that she might read this. Plus, she’s wonderful. Without a doubt, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m extremely thankful to God for putting her in my life. Plus she’s really hot and she doesn’t even know it. I don’t just mean hot like the cute cashier at your grocery store. This chick is smoking hot. It makes me ache.
3. Friends
I haven’t talked to a single on of my friends today. In fact, I haven’t talked to any of them in a few weeks. This is the first time I’ve been online this week. This isn’t abnormal behavior for me. I’m just grateful that they still talk to me whenever I feel like dragging myself out of my hermit hole.
4. Beer
I’m grateful for beer. A little too grateful I think. Quite frankly, I haven’t been grateful for beer in a few months, and I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the taste of a good brew.
Ask me tomorrow if I still feel the same way though.
5. God
This one should be first and foremost. I know that without God, the other things wouldn’t even be possible. He’s our provider, protector, and Father. He loves us unconditionally in a way that no person ever could. For that love, I am thankful.
6. Asian People
Specifically, I’m thankful for the Chinese for inventing Kung Fu which eventually turned into Karate after the Japanese adapted it. Also the Japanese for invading Korea and influencing the traditional Korean martial arts systems which eventually culminated in modern day Ho Am Tae Kwon Do. It’s rapidly become my favorite martial art to study.
I’m sure that the Japanese probably made the Korean’s life a living hell during the occupation, but their pain sure makes my Wednesday afternoons a lot more fun.
7. Jamaican People
This one deserves a double thank you. First, for the Shnoogs, who happens to be both Jamaican and an awesome lover. Second, and more importantly, I’d like to thank the Jamaican people for oxtail. I could eat my weight in that stuff.
8. Häagen-Dazs and Baileys
Finally, I’d like to thank the fine folks at Häagen-Dazs and Baileys for teaming up and bringing us the best tasting junk food ever created. This may be the only thing on the planet that rivals a yummy plate of oxtail.
Actually, since most of them have more than 3 readers, they would probably have a good response to that. Still, I can hold my head up high knowing that I could have a few hundred readers if I really wanted. Indeed, I did have a few hundred readers before I abruptly left myspace and came here. Hmmmm, it seems like I'm off on a tangent at this point. I digress...
I should probably mention at this point that I have had a few beers and very little sleep, so my thoughts are a bit more random. Attention span has not been my friend.
So what was I talking about anyway? Oh, yeah, things I am thankful for.
1. Family
Family is what people are supposed to say here, so I'm certainly not going to be the only schmuck who forgets to mention mine. Plus, its holidays like Thanksgiving that remind us of just how lovable our families can be.
My family has discovered a new game today. We have a gaggle of sugared up kids running around the house, and each of us has taken the position that the kids are somebody else's problem. I think I've said the phrase, "Go see your grandfather downstairs, I think he has candy." at least five times today. It's still working, but not as well as it did at first. I can tell that the kids are suspicious, but they aren't yet willing to take the risk of not going just in case it turns out to be true this one time.
2. Shnoogs
I know that she technically falls under the category of family, but my wife deserves special mention since there is a chance that she might read this. Plus, she’s wonderful. Without a doubt, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m extremely thankful to God for putting her in my life. Plus she’s really hot and she doesn’t even know it. I don’t just mean hot like the cute cashier at your grocery store. This chick is smoking hot. It makes me ache.
3. Friends
I haven’t talked to a single on of my friends today. In fact, I haven’t talked to any of them in a few weeks. This is the first time I’ve been online this week. This isn’t abnormal behavior for me. I’m just grateful that they still talk to me whenever I feel like dragging myself out of my hermit hole.
4. Beer
I’m grateful for beer. A little too grateful I think. Quite frankly, I haven’t been grateful for beer in a few months, and I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the taste of a good brew.
Ask me tomorrow if I still feel the same way though.
5. God
This one should be first and foremost. I know that without God, the other things wouldn’t even be possible. He’s our provider, protector, and Father. He loves us unconditionally in a way that no person ever could. For that love, I am thankful.
6. Asian People
Specifically, I’m thankful for the Chinese for inventing Kung Fu which eventually turned into Karate after the Japanese adapted it. Also the Japanese for invading Korea and influencing the traditional Korean martial arts systems which eventually culminated in modern day Ho Am Tae Kwon Do. It’s rapidly become my favorite martial art to study.
I’m sure that the Japanese probably made the Korean’s life a living hell during the occupation, but their pain sure makes my Wednesday afternoons a lot more fun.
7. Jamaican People
This one deserves a double thank you. First, for the Shnoogs, who happens to be both Jamaican and an awesome lover. Second, and more importantly, I’d like to thank the Jamaican people for oxtail. I could eat my weight in that stuff.
8. Häagen-Dazs and Baileys
Finally, I’d like to thank the fine folks at Häagen-Dazs and Baileys for teaming up and bringing us the best tasting junk food ever created. This may be the only thing on the planet that rivals a yummy plate of oxtail.
Friday, November 10, 2006
My Morning
My morning routine as of late is pretty standard. I wake up at the last possible moment, take a shower, get the kids dressed, rush out the door, drop Meatball off at school, (Shnoogs takes Munchkin), and go to work.
So this morning, I woke up about ten minutes late. As a result, Meatball had to eat his breakfast in the car on the way to school. Fortunately, we are well stocked with convenient food for just such an occasion, so while I dressed the kids, Shnoogs heated up breakfast.
We make a good team.
She filled a plastic container with some strips of French toast and a little container of syrup and sent us on our way. I proceeded to drive to school while Meatball ate. Life was good.
He managed to finish his breakfast just as we arrived. I checked him in, got back in my car, turned on some loud music, and off I went. This was just one of those mornings where things were clicking perfectly. There was little traffic and the sunrise was shaping up to be beautiful.
At some point during the drive, I decided that I'd like to call Shnoogs and see how her morning was progressing.
I'm a safe driver. While I do have a cell phone, I was conscientious enough to get one of those hands-free earbud things so that I could talk and play with the radio while still keeping a hand on the wheel.
I pulled the ear bud from the center console only to discover that the wire was all tangled up. Managing to get the end of the wire with the ear bud itself untangled fairly quickly, I tossed that end towards the passenger seat to straighten the wire out while I worked on the side that plugs into the phone.
I was able to untangle this side quickly as well, so without fanfare, I plugged it into the phone and grabbed the other end, shoving it into my ear.
That's when I realized that the ear bud must have landed in the syrup container when I tossed it aside.
There's nothing like a good earful of maple syrup to wake you up in the morning.
So this morning, I woke up about ten minutes late. As a result, Meatball had to eat his breakfast in the car on the way to school. Fortunately, we are well stocked with convenient food for just such an occasion, so while I dressed the kids, Shnoogs heated up breakfast.
We make a good team.
She filled a plastic container with some strips of French toast and a little container of syrup and sent us on our way. I proceeded to drive to school while Meatball ate. Life was good.
He managed to finish his breakfast just as we arrived. I checked him in, got back in my car, turned on some loud music, and off I went. This was just one of those mornings where things were clicking perfectly. There was little traffic and the sunrise was shaping up to be beautiful.
At some point during the drive, I decided that I'd like to call Shnoogs and see how her morning was progressing.
I'm a safe driver. While I do have a cell phone, I was conscientious enough to get one of those hands-free earbud things so that I could talk and play with the radio while still keeping a hand on the wheel.
I pulled the ear bud from the center console only to discover that the wire was all tangled up. Managing to get the end of the wire with the ear bud itself untangled fairly quickly, I tossed that end towards the passenger seat to straighten the wire out while I worked on the side that plugs into the phone.
I was able to untangle this side quickly as well, so without fanfare, I plugged it into the phone and grabbed the other end, shoving it into my ear.
That's when I realized that the ear bud must have landed in the syrup container when I tossed it aside.
There's nothing like a good earful of maple syrup to wake you up in the morning.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Random Bits
Out of the mouths of babes
Yesterday, Munchkin had a homework assignment where he was supposed to scramble his spelling words, and then give them to somebody else to unscramble. So he sits down at the table and goes about writing down each word with the letters scrambled, and, when he finishes, he looks at his mom and says "I'm going to give this to Daddy to figure out because you're too smart and you will figure it out too quickly"
Gee, thanks son.
-------------------------------------------
Last night, Angel and I were just finishing tucking the kids in when she announced that she'd be right back because she had to pee. As soon as she left, Meatball (the 4 year old) looked at me very seriously and said "does mommy have a penis now?"
I gave him a hug and explained that, while girls are sans penis, they do have a hole to pee out of. It just doesn't stick out like a boy's does.
He thought about this for a few seconds and asked "does she pee out of her tush and pretend like she's pooping?"
I'm going to miss his innocence in the years to come.
-------------------------------------------
Personal hygiene
I know a few people who think it's sick to shave the pubic area. "What are you, some kind of pedophile? You must secretly want to have sex with 12 year old girls." they will say. Oddly though, they see nothing inappropriate about shaving their legs and armpits.
-------------------------------------------
Parenting
There was a diaper commercial on TV last night that included this line: "It stops leaks and at a lower cost than other, more expensive brands." Wow! Ya think?
-------------------------------------------
Being a parent is so much easier now than it was a generation ago. These days, all parents have to do is whatever their kids tell them to do.
Yesterday, Munchkin had a homework assignment where he was supposed to scramble his spelling words, and then give them to somebody else to unscramble. So he sits down at the table and goes about writing down each word with the letters scrambled, and, when he finishes, he looks at his mom and says "I'm going to give this to Daddy to figure out because you're too smart and you will figure it out too quickly"
Gee, thanks son.
-------------------------------------------
Last night, Angel and I were just finishing tucking the kids in when she announced that she'd be right back because she had to pee. As soon as she left, Meatball (the 4 year old) looked at me very seriously and said "does mommy have a penis now?"
I gave him a hug and explained that, while girls are sans penis, they do have a hole to pee out of. It just doesn't stick out like a boy's does.
He thought about this for a few seconds and asked "does she pee out of her tush and pretend like she's pooping?"
I'm going to miss his innocence in the years to come.
-------------------------------------------
Personal hygiene
I know a few people who think it's sick to shave the pubic area. "What are you, some kind of pedophile? You must secretly want to have sex with 12 year old girls." they will say. Oddly though, they see nothing inappropriate about shaving their legs and armpits.
-------------------------------------------
Parenting
There was a diaper commercial on TV last night that included this line: "It stops leaks and at a lower cost than other, more expensive brands." Wow! Ya think?
-------------------------------------------
Being a parent is so much easier now than it was a generation ago. These days, all parents have to do is whatever their kids tell them to do.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Editor's Note
Since I've just started my blog back up, I'll be spending the week or two posting old entries until I get caught up. I'm working on some original content on the side, so I'll start getting that stuff posted immediately after I get caught up on my older writing.
What's that? Yes? You in the back wearing the rediculous orange cardigan.
Yeah, I know my old writing sucks, but you see, I have to do it this way. I'm compulsively methodical, and to do it any other way would prevent me from sleeping at night.
Yes, I understand your concerns. Look, the way I see it, you have three choices.
1. You can grit your teeth and read through my bad writing to my current which is also bad, but perhaps slightly funnier.
2. You could also, just check out and come back in a couple of weeks.
C. Of course, your third choice is to leave now and never return, but then you will never know what you missed out on. Will you?
What's that? Yes? You in the back wearing the rediculous orange cardigan.
Yeah, I know my old writing sucks, but you see, I have to do it this way. I'm compulsively methodical, and to do it any other way would prevent me from sleeping at night.
Yes, I understand your concerns. Look, the way I see it, you have three choices.
1. You can grit your teeth and read through my bad writing to my current which is also bad, but perhaps slightly funnier.
2. You could also, just check out and come back in a couple of weeks.
C. Of course, your third choice is to leave now and never return, but then you will never know what you missed out on. Will you?
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Bathroom Adventures, part 3
Bathroom Mishap #3
I was at JC Penny's shopping a while back when I decided to run into the restroom to do what I do.
While I'm doing my business, this other guy comes in to use the stall next to me to do his business. Just as he startes to go, his cell phone rings and would you believe that he answers it? Here's the side of the conversation that I was able to hear.
"Hey Jeff"
"What's up?"
"You'll never guess what I'm holding in my hand right now"
"seriously, guess"
"Nope"
"That's not it either"
"I'll give you a hint, it's bigger and longer than that"
"It's not THAT long. Well, almost"
(then I flush my toilet)
"That's it, you guessed it. Did the flush give it away?"
"Yeah, all right, I'll talk to you later"
I was at JC Penny's shopping a while back when I decided to run into the restroom to do what I do.
While I'm doing my business, this other guy comes in to use the stall next to me to do his business. Just as he startes to go, his cell phone rings and would you believe that he answers it? Here's the side of the conversation that I was able to hear.
"Hey Jeff"
"What's up?"
"You'll never guess what I'm holding in my hand right now"
"seriously, guess"
"Nope"
"That's not it either"
"I'll give you a hint, it's bigger and longer than that"
"It's not THAT long. Well, almost"
(then I flush my toilet)
"That's it, you guessed it. Did the flush give it away?"
"Yeah, all right, I'll talk to you later"
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Bathroom Adventures, part 2
Bathroom Mishap #2
I'm was sitting in my cubicle on a day that seemed like any other day, doing my normal day to day activities. (Mainly reading blogs and clicking Alt-Tab whenever my boss walks by.) I had drank rather copious amounts of coffee and hot cocoa that morning, and was feeling the inevitable effects of beverage consumption. So I made the trek to the bathroom to take care of it.
It's worth noting that the bathroom in this building designed so that you have to walk by the sinks in order to get to the toilets. As I walk in and passed the sinks, an elderly gentleman that I've seen around the building before finishes his business and starts walking towards the sinks. We ackknowledge each other with a nod and go about our respective business.
So I finish peeing and walk over to the sinks where he is still washing his hands. That's when it happened. Just as I square up to the counter, he makes eye contact with me in the mirror and, with one deft movement, he yanks his pants down to his knees. I was dumbfounded. My brain did a quick search through my memories to see if I had anything to train me for this situation, but came back blank. The guy proceeds to just stand there and hold eye contact with me through the mirror.
I did manage to yell out "What the hell, dude?!?" before bolting from the bathroom. It wasn't until days latter that witty remarks started popping into my brain. Every time I pass this guy in the halls now, he just stares at me, and I still have no real response. I just give him my best "what is wrong with you look" and the spend the rest of the day trying to get the image of his old man, pale, flabby thighs out of my mind.
I'm was sitting in my cubicle on a day that seemed like any other day, doing my normal day to day activities. (Mainly reading blogs and clicking Alt-Tab whenever my boss walks by.) I had drank rather copious amounts of coffee and hot cocoa that morning, and was feeling the inevitable effects of beverage consumption. So I made the trek to the bathroom to take care of it.
It's worth noting that the bathroom in this building designed so that you have to walk by the sinks in order to get to the toilets. As I walk in and passed the sinks, an elderly gentleman that I've seen around the building before finishes his business and starts walking towards the sinks. We ackknowledge each other with a nod and go about our respective business.
So I finish peeing and walk over to the sinks where he is still washing his hands. That's when it happened. Just as I square up to the counter, he makes eye contact with me in the mirror and, with one deft movement, he yanks his pants down to his knees. I was dumbfounded. My brain did a quick search through my memories to see if I had anything to train me for this situation, but came back blank. The guy proceeds to just stand there and hold eye contact with me through the mirror.
I did manage to yell out "What the hell, dude?!?" before bolting from the bathroom. It wasn't until days latter that witty remarks started popping into my brain. Every time I pass this guy in the halls now, he just stares at me, and I still have no real response. I just give him my best "what is wrong with you look" and the spend the rest of the day trying to get the image of his old man, pale, flabby thighs out of my mind.
Bathroom Adventures, part 1
The more I get into blogging, the more I find myself keeping an eye out for anything in life that's worth writing about. Sometimes it's the little things, like the wedding ring blog, that inspire me. Other times, inspiration comes in the form of an 18 year old wrestler trying to beat the crap out of me.
Unfortunately, this past week, my inspiration came to me in the bathroom where I had mishaps, not one, but two times.
Bathroom Mishap #1
I have the world's smallest bladder. Traveling with me is a huge inconvenience. However, because God has a sense of humor, He also saw fit to bless me with a high metabolism and a nearly unquenchable thirst. It's a vicious cycle. I drink constantly, but the stuff goes through me at record speed ending up at my bladder which has a permanent No Vacancy sign up.
Well, lately, I've developed a habit. I grab a coke as I'm leaving work and drink it on the ride home. I have a fairly long commute, 30 miles or so, which means it takes me about an hour and fifteen minutes to drive home. This, as far as I can tell, is EXACTLY how long it takes for a coca-cola to work it's way through my digestive system and start pummeling my bladder to death. (I feel the urge by 30 minutes, but I'm crossing my legs by the one hour mark.)
So on Thursday, I grabbed my coke and left work. Instead of going home, I had to pick up my oldest son from Tae Kwon Do that day. I left at 5:00 though, and his class ended at 6:30, so I should have had plenty of time.
Only, as I tried to leave the office park, something was obviously wrong. The cars were backed up for a half mile. I'd seen this before, and I knew that if I sat in this line, I was going to be late picking up my son, so I made a u-turn and headed for the back entrance.
No luck, this one is worse than the front entrance. Crap! Well, nothing to do but sit and wait.
So I waited...and waited...and waited. It took me 37 minutes to get out of the complex and onto 141 where the cause for the traffic became apparent. The powers that be decided that rush-hour was the perfect time to close a lane for resurfacing. (For non-Atliens, 141 is the main road through Atlanta's largest business district. It's legendary for it's traffic.)
Tension Mounts
Great, I'm now officially going to be late picking the kid up, and I have to pee a little bit. Oh well, I'll just have to hold it and pee at the do-jang. I don't want to be late. Unfortunately, traffic didn't really get much better for the rest of the ride home.
By the time I was getting close to home, I was in dire straits. It's amazing what happens to your thought process when you have to pee really really badly. I was sitting there behind a line of cars, not moving, and wondering if I could make use of the coke can I had emptied an hour before. It truly seemed like a viable option.
Unfortunately, a couple of minutes from the school, I hit the point of no return. I could no longer care less that I was late for picking up my son. If I didn't go right then, I was definitely going to wet myself.
The Promised Land
That's when I looked up and saw a Kroger.
I pulled into the parking space, jumped out of the car, and literally sprinted to the back of the store, where, to my horror, the bathroom was closed for cleaning. Two Mexican guys were in there with a big floor cleaning machine. Soap bubbles were two inches high off the ground. The guy working the machine had his back to me, and couldn't see me, the other guy stopped me at the door.
He only spoke Spanish, but from his gestures, it was pretty clear that I was NOT welcome to use the bathroom at this time. At the same time, I knew there was no way I was going to make it out of the store dry, let alone to my car and off to another bathroom.
So I knocked on the door of the girl's room. "Is anybody in here?" "Yes" came a voice. Crap!
So I looked at the dude at the door, and a terrible realization came over me. I'm 6'4" and this guy is maybe 5'3". Screw it! I pushed him out of the way, locked myself into the stall, and had what would turn out to be one of two great pisses that day. It didn't feel like it was ever going to stop, and to be honest, it felt so great that I didn't want it to. Even writing about it now sends chills up my spine.
The Chase Scene
I opened the door of the stall a much happier man, only to come face to face with the little guy I had pushed out of the way and his coworker. They were obviously not happy. REALLY unhappy.
I muttered an apology and edged past them out of the bathroom to a cacophony of yelling in Spanish. I couldn't understand much of it, but I got the gist. I tried to be nice and wipe my feet on a mop just outside the bathroom door, but that only made my shoes dirtier causing my retreat to be marked with nasty brown footprints.
What followed was a brisk walk speed chase through the greeting card aisle with me muttering apologies and them yelling loudly and gesturing to the floor. Of course, since it was 6:30 in the afternoon, the store was full of people picking up stuff on their way home. All activity ceased as I made my way past the registers and through the exit, my antagonizers in tow.
Fortunately, they didn't follow me all the way to my car, because I was beginning to wonder what my obituary would have said about the reason for my murder.
UPDATE:
I forgot to mention the real humdinger. When I got home, I told Shnoogs about what had happened, and she happily pointed out that the store had another set of bathrooms at the front.
Doh!
Unfortunately, this past week, my inspiration came to me in the bathroom where I had mishaps, not one, but two times.
Bathroom Mishap #1
I have the world's smallest bladder. Traveling with me is a huge inconvenience. However, because God has a sense of humor, He also saw fit to bless me with a high metabolism and a nearly unquenchable thirst. It's a vicious cycle. I drink constantly, but the stuff goes through me at record speed ending up at my bladder which has a permanent No Vacancy sign up.
Well, lately, I've developed a habit. I grab a coke as I'm leaving work and drink it on the ride home. I have a fairly long commute, 30 miles or so, which means it takes me about an hour and fifteen minutes to drive home. This, as far as I can tell, is EXACTLY how long it takes for a coca-cola to work it's way through my digestive system and start pummeling my bladder to death. (I feel the urge by 30 minutes, but I'm crossing my legs by the one hour mark.)
So on Thursday, I grabbed my coke and left work. Instead of going home, I had to pick up my oldest son from Tae Kwon Do that day. I left at 5:00 though, and his class ended at 6:30, so I should have had plenty of time.
Only, as I tried to leave the office park, something was obviously wrong. The cars were backed up for a half mile. I'd seen this before, and I knew that if I sat in this line, I was going to be late picking up my son, so I made a u-turn and headed for the back entrance.
No luck, this one is worse than the front entrance. Crap! Well, nothing to do but sit and wait.
So I waited...and waited...and waited. It took me 37 minutes to get out of the complex and onto 141 where the cause for the traffic became apparent. The powers that be decided that rush-hour was the perfect time to close a lane for resurfacing. (For non-Atliens, 141 is the main road through Atlanta's largest business district. It's legendary for it's traffic.)
Tension Mounts
Great, I'm now officially going to be late picking the kid up, and I have to pee a little bit. Oh well, I'll just have to hold it and pee at the do-jang. I don't want to be late. Unfortunately, traffic didn't really get much better for the rest of the ride home.
By the time I was getting close to home, I was in dire straits. It's amazing what happens to your thought process when you have to pee really really badly. I was sitting there behind a line of cars, not moving, and wondering if I could make use of the coke can I had emptied an hour before. It truly seemed like a viable option.
Unfortunately, a couple of minutes from the school, I hit the point of no return. I could no longer care less that I was late for picking up my son. If I didn't go right then, I was definitely going to wet myself.
The Promised Land
That's when I looked up and saw a Kroger.
I pulled into the parking space, jumped out of the car, and literally sprinted to the back of the store, where, to my horror, the bathroom was closed for cleaning. Two Mexican guys were in there with a big floor cleaning machine. Soap bubbles were two inches high off the ground. The guy working the machine had his back to me, and couldn't see me, the other guy stopped me at the door.
He only spoke Spanish, but from his gestures, it was pretty clear that I was NOT welcome to use the bathroom at this time. At the same time, I knew there was no way I was going to make it out of the store dry, let alone to my car and off to another bathroom.
So I knocked on the door of the girl's room. "Is anybody in here?" "Yes" came a voice. Crap!
So I looked at the dude at the door, and a terrible realization came over me. I'm 6'4" and this guy is maybe 5'3". Screw it! I pushed him out of the way, locked myself into the stall, and had what would turn out to be one of two great pisses that day. It didn't feel like it was ever going to stop, and to be honest, it felt so great that I didn't want it to. Even writing about it now sends chills up my spine.
The Chase Scene
I opened the door of the stall a much happier man, only to come face to face with the little guy I had pushed out of the way and his coworker. They were obviously not happy. REALLY unhappy.
I muttered an apology and edged past them out of the bathroom to a cacophony of yelling in Spanish. I couldn't understand much of it, but I got the gist. I tried to be nice and wipe my feet on a mop just outside the bathroom door, but that only made my shoes dirtier causing my retreat to be marked with nasty brown footprints.
What followed was a brisk walk speed chase through the greeting card aisle with me muttering apologies and them yelling loudly and gesturing to the floor. Of course, since it was 6:30 in the afternoon, the store was full of people picking up stuff on their way home. All activity ceased as I made my way past the registers and through the exit, my antagonizers in tow.
Fortunately, they didn't follow me all the way to my car, because I was beginning to wonder what my obituary would have said about the reason for my murder.
UPDATE:
I forgot to mention the real humdinger. When I got home, I told Shnoogs about what had happened, and she happily pointed out that the store had another set of bathrooms at the front.
Doh!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
I Guess I'm Not So Old After All
The Setup
As I drove to the school, my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my scalp. Am I crazy? I haven't had a real full contact fight in five years now. I decided to put some Van Morrison on the radio to calm me down. Unlike most people, I fight better when I'm relaxed.
I get to the school later than I meant to, so I rush through the introductions. I meet the trainers and a coach, although I've already forgotten their names. I tell my competitor good luck, and find a spot on the floor to start stretching and warming up. I've already starting analyzing my opponent. He's 8 inches shorter than me, a significantly more muscular. He also looks scared. As I'm stretching, I start thinking about how I got myself into this situation.
The History
Three weeks ago, my chief instructor, Mr. Piccolo asked me if I was interested in a full contact match. We'd go up to six rounds. A friend of his at another school was training an 18 year old kid with a lot of potential. They wanted to set up a fight with somebody with some ring experience for training purposes and, for whatever reason, my name came up.
I've only done light contact sparring for the last five years, and the idea of a real fight was exciting.
***
So here I am, jumping rope and shadow sparring, trying to get my body warmed up. In about 30 minutes, a teenager is going to try to knock me out. Oddly, I don't feel nervous, just eager to get started.
***
My instructor seems oddly confident. He's holding pads for me now, but he doesn't seem interested in a pep talk. So I ask him what my plan should be.
I'm told that he was an all state wrestler in high school, so he's going to be dangerous on the ground. He doesn't have any Jiu Jitsu training though. Most of his ground fighting has centered around getting pins (as opposed to locks) so use that to my advantage, and be aggressive. I'm also told that my striking is likely to be more effective than his, so try to keep him on his feet as much as possible.
Gotcha!
The Action
It's time to get started now, so we step into the ring. We warmed up in separate rooms, so this is the first chance I've really had to size him up. I notice that he has trouble holding eye contact. Good, if I can keep him intimated, then that gives me a significant advantage.
Round 1
The first round starts. We're off to a standard beginning. We're both throwing some jabs and fakes in an effort to gauge each other. Two things jump out at me right away. He's keeping his guard low, more like a wrestler than a boxer, and his left arm is quicker than his right.
An idea occurs to me. I throw a two punch combination to his stomach. He blocks them, but that's what I was hoping for. Let's get those hands just a little bit lower. I fake a front kick to his stomach. He goes to block, but I abort the kick. I can see that he's uncomfortable. He's dying to take me down to the mat. I need to soften him up a bit before he does that if I'm going to win this.
Then I see my opportunity when he throws a combination towards my head. I avoid his punches, but I notice that he's leaning forward when he finishes the combination. He's putting way too much weight on that front leg.
I need him to do that again. I move around a bit, toying with him. I land a round kick to his ribs, and manage to follow it up a second later with a hard side kick into his upper arm. His whole arm has to be throbbing after that one.
He's getting nervous. He knows that he isn't going to win this fight standing up. Then he does it again. He comes at me with another flurry of punches, and as he starts leaning forward, I let him have it with the hardest round kick I can throw. It felt like his thigh was going to absorb my shin for a moment. His right arm (the same one I kicked earlier) drops at the moment of impact. I see the opening, and I unload on him. I manage to land 3 consecutive punches to his face, and as he stumbles throw a side kick into his stomach in an attempt to knock the wind out of him.
He hits the floor, and just lays there for a very long four seconds, before getting back up to his feet. The round is over though. I feel pretty good. He did manage to land a couple of punches, but nothing that I'm going to feel tomorrow.
Break
As I'm sitting, my instructor gives me a warning. "Expect him to try to take you to the mat quickly this round." He's a man of few words, Mr. Piccolo.
Round Two
Round two starts. I notice that he's favoring his other leg now. I also notice that his hands are back up where they should have been in the first place. Oh well, at least I took advantage while I could.
I decide to be aggressive now. I'm feeling confident. I don't want to wrestle though, and I have a reach advantage, so I decide to try to keep him at bay as much as possible.
So I concentrate on throwing kicks. I'm setting them up with hand techniques, but the kicks are where my real advantage lies here. I have to be careful though, I don't want to tire myself out. So I throw another couple of side kicks towards his ribs. His defense is a lot tighter now, and I'm having trouble finding an opening that will allow me to explode on him.
Oops
That's when I make a mistake. I try to fake a side kick to get him to back up, but I telegraphed it. He rushes me when I'm off balance, and lands a punch to my head and another to my body. I manage to block a third punch to the body, but I'm forced to clinch with him to stop the onslaught. Not good.
I try to shift and make a little room to get an uppercut or a knee in, but I've got to be careful. I'd rather not end up on the ground yet. I lower my center of gravity and get one leg behind his. He's not going to take me down easily at least. I decide to drive my knee into his hurt thigh a couple of times. That seemed to give me a little room so I do it a few more times. His grip loosens slightly so I bring my knee up into his ribs as hard as I can given the limited operating space. He retaliates by punching me in the ribs a few times.
Phew!
It's enough to make him let go, however, and I manage to push him off of me, with another kick to the thigh for his troubles.
I have got to be more careful. Still, I didn't end up on my back, so I'm feeling pretty good about how that exchange went.
We square off again. I need to end this quickly. I throw a back fist, that he dodges, but I continue my rotation and land another kick to his thigh. He retreats, so I follow. I start attacking his head. He blocks the first few, but he's back on his heals, so he's unable to counter effectively. I keep throwing punches, this is it, the fight could end right here.
I alternate throwing punches to his head and body, and I can see that he's losing it. I'm trying to both daze him, and knock the wind out of him. Finally, just as he looks like he's getting his balance, I grab him.
I feel a lot better about taking this fight to the ground now. I grab his leg, and he lands on his back before he even knows what is happening to him. I manage to get side mount on him quickly and grab on to his wrist. He tries to roll, and get his leg between mine, but it's too late. I grab my own wrist with my other hand, and twist my leg over his head.
I need to move quickly before he can catch his breath. I execute the Kimura and twist his arm back. He taps. It's over.
The Courtesy
I get up and offer him a hand to help him up. "You ok, man? That was a tough fight." I say. He says he's fine and acknowledges that it was a good fight, but he's pissed. I can't blame him really. It really wasn't that close of a fight.
The Conclusion
The obligatory honorifics are done now, and I'm sitting with Mr. Piccolo drinking some gatorade. He's telling me that I did a good job, and I'm telling him that it's all because of his training. Both of our butts are full of smoke.
I feel great though. There's something primal about a good fight, especially when you win. I wonder how sore I'll be tomorrow.
The End
As I drove to the school, my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my scalp. Am I crazy? I haven't had a real full contact fight in five years now. I decided to put some Van Morrison on the radio to calm me down. Unlike most people, I fight better when I'm relaxed.
I get to the school later than I meant to, so I rush through the introductions. I meet the trainers and a coach, although I've already forgotten their names. I tell my competitor good luck, and find a spot on the floor to start stretching and warming up. I've already starting analyzing my opponent. He's 8 inches shorter than me, a significantly more muscular. He also looks scared. As I'm stretching, I start thinking about how I got myself into this situation.
The History
Three weeks ago, my chief instructor, Mr. Piccolo asked me if I was interested in a full contact match. We'd go up to six rounds. A friend of his at another school was training an 18 year old kid with a lot of potential. They wanted to set up a fight with somebody with some ring experience for training purposes and, for whatever reason, my name came up.
I've only done light contact sparring for the last five years, and the idea of a real fight was exciting.
***
So here I am, jumping rope and shadow sparring, trying to get my body warmed up. In about 30 minutes, a teenager is going to try to knock me out. Oddly, I don't feel nervous, just eager to get started.
***
My instructor seems oddly confident. He's holding pads for me now, but he doesn't seem interested in a pep talk. So I ask him what my plan should be.
I'm told that he was an all state wrestler in high school, so he's going to be dangerous on the ground. He doesn't have any Jiu Jitsu training though. Most of his ground fighting has centered around getting pins (as opposed to locks) so use that to my advantage, and be aggressive. I'm also told that my striking is likely to be more effective than his, so try to keep him on his feet as much as possible.
Gotcha!
The Action
It's time to get started now, so we step into the ring. We warmed up in separate rooms, so this is the first chance I've really had to size him up. I notice that he has trouble holding eye contact. Good, if I can keep him intimated, then that gives me a significant advantage.
Round 1
The first round starts. We're off to a standard beginning. We're both throwing some jabs and fakes in an effort to gauge each other. Two things jump out at me right away. He's keeping his guard low, more like a wrestler than a boxer, and his left arm is quicker than his right.
An idea occurs to me. I throw a two punch combination to his stomach. He blocks them, but that's what I was hoping for. Let's get those hands just a little bit lower. I fake a front kick to his stomach. He goes to block, but I abort the kick. I can see that he's uncomfortable. He's dying to take me down to the mat. I need to soften him up a bit before he does that if I'm going to win this.
Then I see my opportunity when he throws a combination towards my head. I avoid his punches, but I notice that he's leaning forward when he finishes the combination. He's putting way too much weight on that front leg.
I need him to do that again. I move around a bit, toying with him. I land a round kick to his ribs, and manage to follow it up a second later with a hard side kick into his upper arm. His whole arm has to be throbbing after that one.
He's getting nervous. He knows that he isn't going to win this fight standing up. Then he does it again. He comes at me with another flurry of punches, and as he starts leaning forward, I let him have it with the hardest round kick I can throw. It felt like his thigh was going to absorb my shin for a moment. His right arm (the same one I kicked earlier) drops at the moment of impact. I see the opening, and I unload on him. I manage to land 3 consecutive punches to his face, and as he stumbles throw a side kick into his stomach in an attempt to knock the wind out of him.
He hits the floor, and just lays there for a very long four seconds, before getting back up to his feet. The round is over though. I feel pretty good. He did manage to land a couple of punches, but nothing that I'm going to feel tomorrow.
Break
As I'm sitting, my instructor gives me a warning. "Expect him to try to take you to the mat quickly this round." He's a man of few words, Mr. Piccolo.
Round Two
Round two starts. I notice that he's favoring his other leg now. I also notice that his hands are back up where they should have been in the first place. Oh well, at least I took advantage while I could.
I decide to be aggressive now. I'm feeling confident. I don't want to wrestle though, and I have a reach advantage, so I decide to try to keep him at bay as much as possible.
So I concentrate on throwing kicks. I'm setting them up with hand techniques, but the kicks are where my real advantage lies here. I have to be careful though, I don't want to tire myself out. So I throw another couple of side kicks towards his ribs. His defense is a lot tighter now, and I'm having trouble finding an opening that will allow me to explode on him.
Oops
That's when I make a mistake. I try to fake a side kick to get him to back up, but I telegraphed it. He rushes me when I'm off balance, and lands a punch to my head and another to my body. I manage to block a third punch to the body, but I'm forced to clinch with him to stop the onslaught. Not good.
I try to shift and make a little room to get an uppercut or a knee in, but I've got to be careful. I'd rather not end up on the ground yet. I lower my center of gravity and get one leg behind his. He's not going to take me down easily at least. I decide to drive my knee into his hurt thigh a couple of times. That seemed to give me a little room so I do it a few more times. His grip loosens slightly so I bring my knee up into his ribs as hard as I can given the limited operating space. He retaliates by punching me in the ribs a few times.
Phew!
It's enough to make him let go, however, and I manage to push him off of me, with another kick to the thigh for his troubles.
I have got to be more careful. Still, I didn't end up on my back, so I'm feeling pretty good about how that exchange went.
We square off again. I need to end this quickly. I throw a back fist, that he dodges, but I continue my rotation and land another kick to his thigh. He retreats, so I follow. I start attacking his head. He blocks the first few, but he's back on his heals, so he's unable to counter effectively. I keep throwing punches, this is it, the fight could end right here.
I alternate throwing punches to his head and body, and I can see that he's losing it. I'm trying to both daze him, and knock the wind out of him. Finally, just as he looks like he's getting his balance, I grab him.
I feel a lot better about taking this fight to the ground now. I grab his leg, and he lands on his back before he even knows what is happening to him. I manage to get side mount on him quickly and grab on to his wrist. He tries to roll, and get his leg between mine, but it's too late. I grab my own wrist with my other hand, and twist my leg over his head.
I need to move quickly before he can catch his breath. I execute the Kimura and twist his arm back. He taps. It's over.
The Courtesy
I get up and offer him a hand to help him up. "You ok, man? That was a tough fight." I say. He says he's fine and acknowledges that it was a good fight, but he's pissed. I can't blame him really. It really wasn't that close of a fight.
The Conclusion
The obligatory honorifics are done now, and I'm sitting with Mr. Piccolo drinking some gatorade. He's telling me that I did a good job, and I'm telling him that it's all because of his training. Both of our butts are full of smoke.
I feel great though. There's something primal about a good fight, especially when you win. I wonder how sore I'll be tomorrow.
The End
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Randoms Thoughts and Advice About Life
Today, I just feel like jotting down some random thoughts.
I have a friend that I met online. We were chatting once about maybe meeting in person over lunch. Then she said, "Wait. You're not a rapist are you?" If you stop and think about this question, it seems to be based on the assumption that, even if I'm a rapist, lying about it is something that would just be too evil for me to do.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
This stuff is just plain awesome.
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The secret to a long lasting relationship, is to never be the perfect guy. Women like fixer-uppers. The real reason that women chase bad boys and ignore the nice guys is that the nice guys don't require work. Guys, if you want to keep your woman interested, find the balance betwen "needs work" and "hopeless".
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The secret to a long lasting relationship is to always make your man feel like a winner. Men's egos are insanely sensitive and they need regular stroking (the egos I mean, pervs). Even if you're Britney and he's K-Fed, make him think that you couldn't be successful without him. It won't be that hard to do, men are gullible when it comes to this stuff.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Want to find out if that cute guy/girl at the end of the bar is interested? Here's the trick. First, adopt *almost* the exact same pose as them. Then make eye contact and smile. Finally, change your pose. If they change their pose to match yours, you're in. (This trick also works in the boardroom.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
It's common knowledge that once a guy gets into a woman's "friend zone" he will never be romantically involved with that woman. It's also common knowledge that a woman knows if she's interested in a guy a few seconds after meeting him. Neither of these "facts" are actually true.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
If you were a nerd in school, and you've blossomed since then, go to your high school reunions. Trust me on this. Nothing makes you feel better than shooting down men/women who wouldn't have given you the time of day back in school.
I have a friend that I met online. We were chatting once about maybe meeting in person over lunch. Then she said, "Wait. You're not a rapist are you?" If you stop and think about this question, it seems to be based on the assumption that, even if I'm a rapist, lying about it is something that would just be too evil for me to do.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
This stuff is just plain awesome.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The secret to a long lasting relationship, is to never be the perfect guy. Women like fixer-uppers. The real reason that women chase bad boys and ignore the nice guys is that the nice guys don't require work. Guys, if you want to keep your woman interested, find the balance betwen "needs work" and "hopeless".
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The secret to a long lasting relationship is to always make your man feel like a winner. Men's egos are insanely sensitive and they need regular stroking (the egos I mean, pervs). Even if you're Britney and he's K-Fed, make him think that you couldn't be successful without him. It won't be that hard to do, men are gullible when it comes to this stuff.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Want to find out if that cute guy/girl at the end of the bar is interested? Here's the trick. First, adopt *almost* the exact same pose as them. Then make eye contact and smile. Finally, change your pose. If they change their pose to match yours, you're in. (This trick also works in the boardroom.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
It's common knowledge that once a guy gets into a woman's "friend zone" he will never be romantically involved with that woman. It's also common knowledge that a woman knows if she's interested in a guy a few seconds after meeting him. Neither of these "facts" are actually true.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
If you were a nerd in school, and you've blossomed since then, go to your high school reunions. Trust me on this. Nothing makes you feel better than shooting down men/women who wouldn't have given you the time of day back in school.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Why Ladies, Why?
I have a question for all of the women who are in, or ever have been, in a long term relationship. Show of hands. When it comes to long-term relationships, how many of you think that men are idiots? Ok, thank you. I was just checking.
If anybody wants confirmation about how women really see us just ask any married women. She'll regale you with hours of stories about how much of a bum her husband was before she "trained" him.
(When she met him, he probably only had one piece of furniture, an inflatable couch. He would sit on it, feet propped up on a pile of empty pizza boxes, and watch TV while he ate potato chips off of his bare stomach. Now that she's come into his life though, there is soap in every bathroom, and he's even learned to cook a few things that don't come with directions on the side of the box.)
I know it's been said too many times, but this is yet another example of how men are like dogs. Dogs love to chase things, like cars for example, but once they actually catch them, they have no idea what to do next. A lot of guys are really good at chasing women, but when it comes to long-term cohabitation, we just aren't ready for that sort of thing.
Now I'm firmly aware that, as a guy, it is actually to our advantage to let our women train us. A woman training a man is like a dog peeing on a tree. She's leaving her mark. I actually have more theories on this, but I'm risking getting way off topic here, so I'll save it for another blog on another day.
Suffice to say that men would still be wearing animal furs and living in caves if not for women. It took a woman to look at the cave and say "We need a house. These granite walls don't match the new coffee table."
Now, I said all that so I can ask this question
Since women know that men are relationship morons, why do they continue to expect us to have sudden flashes of genius like insight?
Subtlety
Why do you insist on tactics such as subtlety? Men aren't subtle. We're idiots remember? Just come out and say it. Nothing sucks more than, while running late in the morning, hearing You know, I was really hoping to be with you last night. I wore that blue shirt you like, I was hoping youd notice. WHAT?!? Why didnt you say something LAST NIGHT woman? So does this mean that every time you wear the blue shirt from now on, Im going to get some? If so, Id be happy to give all of your other shirts to charity.
Silent Treatment
This one is just too wrong for words. Inevitably we say something that upsets you. But of course, you cant just tell us at the time. Nope. That would be too easy. The game comes when, hours after the fact, we suddenly notice that youre being quieter than usual. The usual ritual then ensues.
Him: "Is everything ok?"
Her: *shrug*
Him: "You seem quieter than usual"
Her: *shrug*
Him: "Did I do something wrong?"
Her: "No"
Him: "What did I do?"
Her: "Nothing, its fine"
Of course, at this point, every guy does the same thing. They act like everything is fine. She did say it was fine after all. (except the amateurs, they go buy flowers). Its a weird sort of peacefulness that ensues at that point. On the one hand, the guy is not getting nagged or asked to do stuff, which is nice. On the other hand, its really just the calm before the storm. Eventually, she is going to tell you whats wrong, and it isnt going to be pleasant. My tactic is to enjoy the silence, but occasionally make an attempt to find out whats wrong. At least that way it looks like you care.
If anybody wants confirmation about how women really see us just ask any married women. She'll regale you with hours of stories about how much of a bum her husband was before she "trained" him.
(When she met him, he probably only had one piece of furniture, an inflatable couch. He would sit on it, feet propped up on a pile of empty pizza boxes, and watch TV while he ate potato chips off of his bare stomach. Now that she's come into his life though, there is soap in every bathroom, and he's even learned to cook a few things that don't come with directions on the side of the box.)
I know it's been said too many times, but this is yet another example of how men are like dogs. Dogs love to chase things, like cars for example, but once they actually catch them, they have no idea what to do next. A lot of guys are really good at chasing women, but when it comes to long-term cohabitation, we just aren't ready for that sort of thing.
Now I'm firmly aware that, as a guy, it is actually to our advantage to let our women train us. A woman training a man is like a dog peeing on a tree. She's leaving her mark. I actually have more theories on this, but I'm risking getting way off topic here, so I'll save it for another blog on another day.
Suffice to say that men would still be wearing animal furs and living in caves if not for women. It took a woman to look at the cave and say "We need a house. These granite walls don't match the new coffee table."
Now, I said all that so I can ask this question
Since women know that men are relationship morons, why do they continue to expect us to have sudden flashes of genius like insight?
Subtlety
Why do you insist on tactics such as subtlety? Men aren't subtle. We're idiots remember? Just come out and say it. Nothing sucks more than, while running late in the morning, hearing You know, I was really hoping to be with you last night. I wore that blue shirt you like, I was hoping youd notice. WHAT?!? Why didnt you say something LAST NIGHT woman? So does this mean that every time you wear the blue shirt from now on, Im going to get some? If so, Id be happy to give all of your other shirts to charity.
Silent Treatment
This one is just too wrong for words. Inevitably we say something that upsets you. But of course, you cant just tell us at the time. Nope. That would be too easy. The game comes when, hours after the fact, we suddenly notice that youre being quieter than usual. The usual ritual then ensues.
Him: "Is everything ok?"
Her: *shrug*
Him: "You seem quieter than usual"
Her: *shrug*
Him: "Did I do something wrong?"
Her: "No"
Him: "What did I do?"
Her: "Nothing, its fine"
Of course, at this point, every guy does the same thing. They act like everything is fine. She did say it was fine after all. (except the amateurs, they go buy flowers). Its a weird sort of peacefulness that ensues at that point. On the one hand, the guy is not getting nagged or asked to do stuff, which is nice. On the other hand, its really just the calm before the storm. Eventually, she is going to tell you whats wrong, and it isnt going to be pleasant. My tactic is to enjoy the silence, but occasionally make an attempt to find out whats wrong. At least that way it looks like you care.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
The time I almost hooked up with Tony Braxton
Back in the mid-90's I used to be a "front-end supervisor" at a grocery store called Kroger. This particular Kroger was in a posh suburb of Atlanta, Alpharetta, that, at the time, was the hip suburb for celebrities and athletes to live. As a result, we used to get a lot of big named people coming through the store.
Usually, when one of the more popular celebrities came through, word spread pretty quickly through the staff. Management encouraged this because they, of course, wanted us to suck up to them as much as humanly possible. Since most of us were teenagers, we did too.
"Can I carry your bags sir?"
"Can I find you some fresher milk in the back sir?"
"Can I wipe your bum sir?"
Some of them hated this, and some loved the power. We just wanted an excuse to talk to them.
Hummina Hummina!
I'm not usually one to just walk up to and hit on a woman. Don't get me wrong, I'm a shameless flirt, but I tend to stick with innocent flirtation. I don't tend to "pursue" a girl until I get to know her on a basic friendship level first.
That being said, one day I was walking through the detergent aisle when I passed this chick that was, to put it mildly, the hottest woman I had ever seen in real life. She was wearing a sweatshirt, but you would have thought that she was dressed in shining platinum based on her radiance. We made eye contact, I smiled, she smiled back, and I started mentally planning out our (immediate) future together.
Give me a minute...
...
...OK I'm back.
I walked to the front of the store, and one of the baggers immediately came to tell me something.
"Guess who's in the store."
"Who?"
"Toni Braxton"
"Oh hell"
Yes, dear readers, the woman buying the cleaning supplies was Ms. Braxton.
Figure 1.
Game On...
So I made with the busy work for a while. Until, after what seemed like forever, Ms. Braxton got in line.
I'm not proud of what I did next. Well, I sort of am. She was the 3rd customer in that line. Seeing the opportunity, I did what will probably go down as my most evil act on this planet. I walked over to the register, and told the cashier that it was his break time. Now!
"Don't worry though, I'll run your register until you get back."
...And My Game Is Tight!
Next, I reached up and turned off the light, for the register. Yep, no more customers would be joining the line after her.
I got the next two customers through the register, slowly and made sure that I gave, and received another smile from her before I began. She was only buying four items; I was going to have to work quickly.
[Now, dear readers, let us pause for a moment to contemplate what the idiotic teenager in our story is about to do...
Here we have Eric, a tall, lanky, and acne prone grocery store worker and college student about to hit on Toni freakin' Braxton. Not the soon to be lounge singer Toni Braxton either. Nope, this is the just released a multi-platinum album, "Breath Again" and "Another Sad Love Song" Toni Braxton. Yes, exactly]
I decided to feign ignorance.
e: "Hi, I haven't ever seen you shopping here before"
t: "I travel a lot, so I rarely get time to shop"
e: "That's too bad" (feigned sad look)
t: "What do you mean?"
e: "We smiled at each other in the aisle. You have one of the prettiest smiles I've ever seen. It would have been nice to get to see it more often."
[The rumors are true. George Lucas did, in fact, consult me before writing Anakin Skywalker's "more smooth than sand" pickup line.]
t: "Thank you. That was very nice of you to say" (her eyes had the classic "oh hell" look)
[Here it comes folks, the money shot, are you ready?]
e: "Well, since you won't get to come into the store much, maybe I could get your number and call you some time."
[That sound you just heard was a million pimps all committing suicide.]
t: "I don't think I should do that, but I promise to say Hi next time I'm here" (followed by a smile with the mouth, but not the eyes)
Much to my surprise, but nobody else's, I never did see her come back to the store.
There was some residual benefit though. All the guys I worked with thought I was some sort of hero after that. At the very least, I gained a reputation as a guy with massive cajones.
Usually, when one of the more popular celebrities came through, word spread pretty quickly through the staff. Management encouraged this because they, of course, wanted us to suck up to them as much as humanly possible. Since most of us were teenagers, we did too.
"Can I carry your bags sir?"
"Can I find you some fresher milk in the back sir?"
"Can I wipe your bum sir?"
Some of them hated this, and some loved the power. We just wanted an excuse to talk to them.
Hummina Hummina!
I'm not usually one to just walk up to and hit on a woman. Don't get me wrong, I'm a shameless flirt, but I tend to stick with innocent flirtation. I don't tend to "pursue" a girl until I get to know her on a basic friendship level first.
That being said, one day I was walking through the detergent aisle when I passed this chick that was, to put it mildly, the hottest woman I had ever seen in real life. She was wearing a sweatshirt, but you would have thought that she was dressed in shining platinum based on her radiance. We made eye contact, I smiled, she smiled back, and I started mentally planning out our (immediate) future together.
Give me a minute...
...
...OK I'm back.
I walked to the front of the store, and one of the baggers immediately came to tell me something.
"Guess who's in the store."
"Who?"
"Toni Braxton"
"Oh hell"
Yes, dear readers, the woman buying the cleaning supplies was Ms. Braxton.
Figure 1.
Game On...
So I made with the busy work for a while. Until, after what seemed like forever, Ms. Braxton got in line.
I'm not proud of what I did next. Well, I sort of am. She was the 3rd customer in that line. Seeing the opportunity, I did what will probably go down as my most evil act on this planet. I walked over to the register, and told the cashier that it was his break time. Now!
"Don't worry though, I'll run your register until you get back."
...And My Game Is Tight!
Next, I reached up and turned off the light, for the register. Yep, no more customers would be joining the line after her.
I got the next two customers through the register, slowly and made sure that I gave, and received another smile from her before I began. She was only buying four items; I was going to have to work quickly.
[Now, dear readers, let us pause for a moment to contemplate what the idiotic teenager in our story is about to do...
Here we have Eric, a tall, lanky, and acne prone grocery store worker and college student about to hit on Toni freakin' Braxton. Not the soon to be lounge singer Toni Braxton either. Nope, this is the just released a multi-platinum album, "Breath Again" and "Another Sad Love Song" Toni Braxton. Yes, exactly]
I decided to feign ignorance.
e: "Hi, I haven't ever seen you shopping here before"
t: "I travel a lot, so I rarely get time to shop"
e: "That's too bad" (feigned sad look)
t: "What do you mean?"
e: "We smiled at each other in the aisle. You have one of the prettiest smiles I've ever seen. It would have been nice to get to see it more often."
[The rumors are true. George Lucas did, in fact, consult me before writing Anakin Skywalker's "more smooth than sand" pickup line.]
t: "Thank you. That was very nice of you to say" (her eyes had the classic "oh hell" look)
[Here it comes folks, the money shot, are you ready?]
e: "Well, since you won't get to come into the store much, maybe I could get your number and call you some time."
[That sound you just heard was a million pimps all committing suicide.]
t: "I don't think I should do that, but I promise to say Hi next time I'm here" (followed by a smile with the mouth, but not the eyes)
Much to my surprise, but nobody else's, I never did see her come back to the store.
There was some residual benefit though. All the guys I worked with thought I was some sort of hero after that. At the very least, I gained a reputation as a guy with massive cajones.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Naked chicks on the internet
Normally I wouldn't do this sort of thing, but I'm in the mood today. I just hope you all still respect me in the morning.
Anyway, check out these chicks. They're unbelievable!
Click here to see the naked chicks
Anyway, check out these chicks. They're unbelievable!
Click here to see the naked chicks
Monday, May 22, 2006
The $5 wedding ring dillema
I tend to be of the opinion that I'm extremely normal. You know, the standard that all others should be judged by. Every once in a while, I notice something that is different about me, however, which causes me to question this belief.
The Background:
I lost my wedding ring a couple of years ago. I was making salmon one night, and I took it off so I wouldn't get raw fish bits in the cracks and crevices of the ring. I was sure that I put it down on the counter, but I've never seen it again.
Eh well, no big deal I guess. I didn't really give it much of a second thought until recently. For some reason, lately, I've really wanted to have a wedding ring. Maybe it's because Shnoogs and I are in a good place. Maybe because I've had a decline in the number of women flirting with me, so I need a wedding ring to help me look more attractive. Who knows?
The Foreground:
So I bought a ring on ebay two weeks ago. Unfortunately, it didn't fit. I had used a string to measure my ring size, and I was off by a size and a half. So I placed a bid on another one today after getting a more accurate measurement done. The auction doesn't end for 6 more days, but I'm hopeful.
Now here's where the question lies...
The ring I bought two weeks ago was $4.99 plus shipping. It was made of stainless steel, which is much more durable than gold (and machine washable). The one I bid on today is currently going for 99 cents, although the buy it now price is $4.99 also. It's a plain band, made of onyx. (I looked on wikipedia. Onyx is also surprisingly durable).
I don't know if it's relevant, but the ring that I lost was a gold ring worth ~$200.
Ok, here's where the question really lies...
The Question:
Is this weird?
It seems to me that it makes more sense to buy $5 ring that is every bit as attractive as a $200. In fact, it makes so much sense to me that I can't figure out why I'm the only one I know who is doing it. Wouldn't spending more just be inneficient?
Do most people feel that the cost of the ring = the quality of the love? I know a lot of big spenders who have gotten a divorce, so this doesn't seem to hold water.
Are most people brainwashed by the jewelry industry? Probably not. I'm not such a strong personality that I would be the ONLY one to break the mental chains.
Seriously, can somebody please tell me if I am just hopelessly clueless? Would you be pissed of your significant other was wearing a $5 wedding ring?
The Background:
I lost my wedding ring a couple of years ago. I was making salmon one night, and I took it off so I wouldn't get raw fish bits in the cracks and crevices of the ring. I was sure that I put it down on the counter, but I've never seen it again.
Eh well, no big deal I guess. I didn't really give it much of a second thought until recently. For some reason, lately, I've really wanted to have a wedding ring. Maybe it's because Shnoogs and I are in a good place. Maybe because I've had a decline in the number of women flirting with me, so I need a wedding ring to help me look more attractive. Who knows?
The Foreground:
So I bought a ring on ebay two weeks ago. Unfortunately, it didn't fit. I had used a string to measure my ring size, and I was off by a size and a half. So I placed a bid on another one today after getting a more accurate measurement done. The auction doesn't end for 6 more days, but I'm hopeful.
Now here's where the question lies...
The ring I bought two weeks ago was $4.99 plus shipping. It was made of stainless steel, which is much more durable than gold (and machine washable). The one I bid on today is currently going for 99 cents, although the buy it now price is $4.99 also. It's a plain band, made of onyx. (I looked on wikipedia. Onyx is also surprisingly durable).
I don't know if it's relevant, but the ring that I lost was a gold ring worth ~$200.
Ok, here's where the question really lies...
The Question:
Is this weird?
It seems to me that it makes more sense to buy $5 ring that is every bit as attractive as a $200. In fact, it makes so much sense to me that I can't figure out why I'm the only one I know who is doing it. Wouldn't spending more just be inneficient?
Do most people feel that the cost of the ring = the quality of the love? I know a lot of big spenders who have gotten a divorce, so this doesn't seem to hold water.
Are most people brainwashed by the jewelry industry? Probably not. I'm not such a strong personality that I would be the ONLY one to break the mental chains.
Seriously, can somebody please tell me if I am just hopelessly clueless? Would you be pissed of your significant other was wearing a $5 wedding ring?
Friday, May 19, 2006
Don't feed the idiots
Shnoogs and I are an interracial couple. We don't actually like each other all that much, but we're both extremely trendy, and since I've run out of places to pierce and ink, I thought that dating somebody with a darker complexion was the next logical step towards displaying my hipness. We're actually even cooler than typical interracial couples because, in addition to the difference in pigmentation, she isn't even a US citizen. (Double bonus points.)
For reasons that I still don't understand, this leads to a seemingly endless number of questions regarding how we deal with the pressures of being an interracial couple (in the racist south).*
*The "racist south" part is typically only added by Californians. As far as I can tell, people from California have developed their entire understanding of the south from watching Dukes of Hazzard and Deliverance.
So after being asked variations of this question daily for the last 10 years, I've decided to just write them down along with my answers. Next time I'm asked, I can just direct them here. This serves a dual purpose. In addition to relieving me from the task of making up a new sarcastic answer every time, I might also be able to get my blog readership up over the 2 people mark.
These are actual questions I have been asked and answers that I have given over the last few years.
So here goes...
Q: Does anybody ever say anything about, well you know, her being *black*? (with the word "black" whispered)
A: Nope, we've been together for 10 years now and you're the first person that has ever mentioned it.
Q: I know exactly what you must go through, my sister is dating a black guy. (yes, I know it's not technically a question, but it still warrants a response)
A: Really? I haven't seen them at the meetings. On which night do they attend?
Q: Do your parents ever say anything about, well you know? (what's the deal with all the "well you knows". She's black, not dying)
A: Fortunately, my parents don't know yet. Thanks to the miracle of science that is Michael Jackson makeup, we've managed to avoid THAT particular argument.
Q: Do her parents ever say anything about you being white? (it's a-ok to mention me being white. I feel cheated. I want to be a "well you know" too.)
A: They had a problem with it at first, but once they realized that I loves me some collard greens and pigs feet, the culture shock just disappeared.
Q: Does her [extended] family ever say anything about you being white?
A: Not at all. Since I've a very courteous person, I make sure to exclusively use MTV hip-hop slang around them in order to make them more comfortable.
Q: You must be really well hung to be able to compete with black men and get a black woman. (somebody seriously said this to me)
A: This doesn't really warrant a response. Just a nod and a knowing wink.
Q: Are your children beautiful? Interracial children are always so beautiful.
A: That's a myth actually. We had children, but they were butt-ugly, so we sold them and adopted some beautiful Latin kids. So far, nobody has noticed.
Q: Your wife is Jamaican. I bet you guys smoke a lot of ganja.
A: That's the American way to get high. Jamaican people actually powderize the weed and snort it. You should try it, the high is spectacular.
Q: When did you first realize that you only date black women? (people love to make assumptions)
A: What?!? She's what?!? [feigned panic] Oh Crap! Oh Crap! My parents are going to fricking kill me. Why the hell didn't you mention that before?!?
(For the record, I'm going to divorce her the minute that either Salma Hayek or Jessica Biel finally start returning my calls. She has the same standing rule regarding Shamar Moore and Henry Simmons)
Q: Do any of your neighbors have any problems with the black-white thing?
A: Yes, almost all of them do, but fortunately, once the crosses burn to the ground, the ashes make wonderful fertilizer. We have the best lawn in the subdivision.
Q: How do you keep from being discriminated against when you two are out together?
A: I make sure that Shnoogs always walks at least 10 steps behind me and that she never makes eye contact with anybody. This preserves the traditional southern social structure and avoids conflict. She is permitted to speak when spoken to, however, provided that I give prior approval of any of her opinions.
(I threw that last one in just for the Californians)
For reasons that I still don't understand, this leads to a seemingly endless number of questions regarding how we deal with the pressures of being an interracial couple (in the racist south).*
*The "racist south" part is typically only added by Californians. As far as I can tell, people from California have developed their entire understanding of the south from watching Dukes of Hazzard and Deliverance.
So after being asked variations of this question daily for the last 10 years, I've decided to just write them down along with my answers. Next time I'm asked, I can just direct them here. This serves a dual purpose. In addition to relieving me from the task of making up a new sarcastic answer every time, I might also be able to get my blog readership up over the 2 people mark.
These are actual questions I have been asked and answers that I have given over the last few years.
So here goes...
Q: Does anybody ever say anything about, well you know, her being *black*? (with the word "black" whispered)
A: Nope, we've been together for 10 years now and you're the first person that has ever mentioned it.
Q: I know exactly what you must go through, my sister is dating a black guy. (yes, I know it's not technically a question, but it still warrants a response)
A: Really? I haven't seen them at the meetings. On which night do they attend?
Q: Do your parents ever say anything about, well you know? (what's the deal with all the "well you knows". She's black, not dying)
A: Fortunately, my parents don't know yet. Thanks to the miracle of science that is Michael Jackson makeup, we've managed to avoid THAT particular argument.
Q: Do her parents ever say anything about you being white? (it's a-ok to mention me being white. I feel cheated. I want to be a "well you know" too.)
A: They had a problem with it at first, but once they realized that I loves me some collard greens and pigs feet, the culture shock just disappeared.
Q: Does her [extended] family ever say anything about you being white?
A: Not at all. Since I've a very courteous person, I make sure to exclusively use MTV hip-hop slang around them in order to make them more comfortable.
Q: You must be really well hung to be able to compete with black men and get a black woman. (somebody seriously said this to me)
A: This doesn't really warrant a response. Just a nod and a knowing wink.
Q: Are your children beautiful? Interracial children are always so beautiful.
A: That's a myth actually. We had children, but they were butt-ugly, so we sold them and adopted some beautiful Latin kids. So far, nobody has noticed.
Q: Your wife is Jamaican. I bet you guys smoke a lot of ganja.
A: That's the American way to get high. Jamaican people actually powderize the weed and snort it. You should try it, the high is spectacular.
Q: When did you first realize that you only date black women? (people love to make assumptions)
A: What?!? She's what?!? [feigned panic] Oh Crap! Oh Crap! My parents are going to fricking kill me. Why the hell didn't you mention that before?!?
(For the record, I'm going to divorce her the minute that either Salma Hayek or Jessica Biel finally start returning my calls. She has the same standing rule regarding Shamar Moore and Henry Simmons)
Q: Do any of your neighbors have any problems with the black-white thing?
A: Yes, almost all of them do, but fortunately, once the crosses burn to the ground, the ashes make wonderful fertilizer. We have the best lawn in the subdivision.
Q: How do you keep from being discriminated against when you two are out together?
A: I make sure that Shnoogs always walks at least 10 steps behind me and that she never makes eye contact with anybody. This preserves the traditional southern social structure and avoids conflict. She is permitted to speak when spoken to, however, provided that I give prior approval of any of her opinions.
(I threw that last one in just for the Californians)
Thursday, May 18, 2006
These lips don't lie
Sometimes, when the level of boredom is just right, I retreat into the world of on-line quizzes. I've always suspected that these things are written by some guy like me with a great deal of time and very little to do. (I have a lot to do, actually, but none of it is fun, so I'm avoiding it.) Obviously this particular quiz was written by an expert that could rival Dr. Ruth herself.
Part Passionate Kisser
The mere touch of your lips is enough to send a wave of ecstasy over anybody. People line up for blocks, camping out for weeks at a time, just to sample a taste of your lips, and, once they do, no other kisser will ever be good enough for them again. Your kisses are destined to end human suffering due to their incredible healing powers.
Part Expert Kisser
You've been known to cause intense multiple orgasms with your kisses. You wield your tounge better than a master artist wielding a paint brush. One day, all of humanity will unite with the solitary goal of erecting a monument to celebrate the power of your kiss.
Part Passionate Kisser
Part Expert Kisser
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
The great turkey run of 1994
Much like my idol Randall
I used to work in a crappy video store. The goings on of which can constitute another bog on another day. The relevant point in this case is that I lived about a mile from the store, and, being sans automobile, I used to walk to and from work.
Here's a picture of the path I would typically take.
| |
| |
| |
| |
|=| | |
-----------------------------------------------------------------
(very busy road)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
|*|*************************************(end)
|*|
|*|
(Ph34r my mad text art skillz)
It's pretty simple really. I lived off the main road, and the store was on the main road. So I walked to the main road, turned right, and walked some more. Note the little square towards the top-center of the picture. That's the turkey house.
We're almost done setting the scene. Bear with me just a little bit longer.
The turkey house was called that because it was a little house with a very big, non-fenced yard. Every year, the owner would raise a couple dozen turkeys which would subsequently disappear in late November.
The very busy road was one of those roads that, during rush hour, doesn't move. I regularly would walk to my destination faster than the commuters could drive there.
Something that used to amuse me was the way that the turkeys would wander up to the cars during rush hour. Since the cars weren't moving, there was no real fear of becoming road kill, so the turkeys would just come up to the windows and look in. The children in the cars would wave and smile while the parents rolled up the windows. Occasionally, a motorcycle would end up in front of the house and hilarity would ensue.
For those who don't know, turkeys are both evil and stupid. Now stop to think about that combination for a minute.
Stupidity, in and of itself, is generally harmless, and quite amusing. It can be dangerous, no doubt, but that danger lies in it's inherent incompetence. Look at your local government for a great example of this. Go try to start a business, and you will be amazed at the incredible incompetence you will encounter.
Evil, by itself, is manageable. While evil is typically more dangerous than stupidity, at least evil can be defeated. Even Freddy Krueger knew to pick his battles and when to simply give up and run away.
Combine the two though, and you have one of the most annoying forces imaginable. You have, ladies and gentlemen, the turkey. A bird that is not only evil to it's very core, but too stupid to realize when a fight is futile.
So the motorcyclist would be stopped in traffic on the very busy road in front of the turkey house, when some of the turkeys would decide that this trespass on their territory cannot go unpunished. They would approach, timidly at first, closer, closer, and then ATTACK!
They'd nip and beak the poor biker to bits. I was late to work more than once because I'd stopped to enjoy the show. No amount of swatting at the stupid birds would get them to stop.
Picture for a moment, a big hairy biker guy, yelling and swatting and kicking at a small group (flock?) of turkeys that are pecking him in the legs. I wish I had written some of the more imaginative swear words down. The turkeys would always win in the end. The defeated motorcyclist would speed away on the shoulder of the road, fist shaking, engine roaring.
The turkeys, emboldened by their victory, would go back to trying to intimidate the drivers of the cars.
Example of an unprovoked attack.
....
Then one day, it happened. I was on my way to work, and the side of the road I usually walked on was being dug up to bury wires of some sort. I realized, to my horror, that I was going to have to walk on the turkey side.
Here's some more text art showing the path I would have to take that day. Feel free to print it up and frame it.
| |
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| |
|=| | |
************************************|*|******
-----------------------------------------------------------------
* (very busy road) *
-----------------------------------------------------------------
|*| **********(end)
|*|
|*|
As I approached the turkey house, I noticed that there weren't any turkeys. It was just after Halloween, so perhaps they had already been disappeared, I thought to myself. My dread quickly turned to elation.
Until I got closer that is. When I was still about 30 yards away, I looked up, and saw a single turkey head looking at me from behind a shrub on the corner of the house. I kept walking. Now, about 15 yards away, two turkeys were looking at me, and gobbling, while at the same time, a terrible noise was coming from the far side of the house. I could hear feathers ruffling, a scratching sound, and A LOT of gobbling. In retrospect, it's possible that my mind was making it seem louder than it really was. Either way, I was nervous. I'm not exactly a big tough hairy biker after all.
I resolved myself to not show fear. Maybe they can sense fear, after all. If I come across as the alpha male, they they'll leave me alone. So I kept walking. I got to the front of the house without incident. That's right, fear me! I am alpha male, and you are just a stupid turkey.
My bravery melted though when I looked up, and there they were. Twenty something birds, staring at me. My eyes locked onto the eyes of the closest bird. I kept walking, it started walking towards me. I sped it, it sped up. I started to jog a little, it broke into a sprint!
F*****************************CK! I yelled as I ran faster than I have ever run in my life. At least 10 of them were on my tail as I sprinted like hell past the line of gridlocked cars, determined to not get mauled by a flock of turkeys.
By the way, turkeys can freaking run man.
I managed to get far enough away that they stopped chasing me. No bites or pecks or whatever they do when they catch you. Although, I did manage to twist an ankle pretty badly.
Once I got across the side street to the right of the turkey house, I stopped. It was clear that I was no longer in their territory. They simply loitered around, gobbling at me, about 20 yards away.
For some reason, maybe it was the adrenaline, I got mad.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but I started throwing rocks at the turkeys. F*CK YOU Turkey! I yelled as I threw rock after rock.
I'll never forget the look on the face of the lady in the car next to me at that moment. After about the 5th rock, I looked at the gridlocked car next to me, and there was this woman, with a look on her face that spoke of both horror and disappointment, watching me throw rocks at the turkeys. I guess she hadn't seen me get almost killed.
I felt so ashamed in that moment.
So, with shoulders slumped, and a newly acquired limp, I continued my walk to the video store.
Epilogue:
The worst part was that I spent the next 6 months as "the guy who ran from the turkeys". Since we were the only video store in a heavily residential area, a good number of the people gridlocked on the very busy road were customers. And of course, they told their friends, who told their friends, etc...
The high school boys in particular loved to bring it up. "You almost got beat down by turkeys" "HAA HAA, you're scared of birds"
Of course, the lady from the car came in a few weeks later too, because life is cruel like that:
"Aren't you the guy who was throwing rocks at the turkeys?"
"Yeah, well they..."
"How old are you? 18?"
"19 actually. See the thing is..."
"I can't believe that you would do that"
"But they..."
"It's very immature, kids could have been watching"
"You don't understand..."
"I hope you never have kids of your own"
*sigh* "yes maam"
Eventually, I quit the video store, and the legend faded in people's memories. The area has changed. The video store is gone now. I wonder if the turkey house is still there.
I used to work in a crappy video store. The goings on of which can constitute another bog on another day. The relevant point in this case is that I lived about a mile from the store, and, being sans automobile, I used to walk to and from work.
Here's a picture of the path I would typically take.
| |
| |
| |
| |
|=| | |
-----------------------------------------------------------------
(very busy road)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
|*|*************************************(end)
|*|
|*|
(Ph34r my mad text art skillz)
It's pretty simple really. I lived off the main road, and the store was on the main road. So I walked to the main road, turned right, and walked some more. Note the little square towards the top-center of the picture. That's the turkey house.
We're almost done setting the scene. Bear with me just a little bit longer.
The turkey house was called that because it was a little house with a very big, non-fenced yard. Every year, the owner would raise a couple dozen turkeys which would subsequently disappear in late November.
The very busy road was one of those roads that, during rush hour, doesn't move. I regularly would walk to my destination faster than the commuters could drive there.
Something that used to amuse me was the way that the turkeys would wander up to the cars during rush hour. Since the cars weren't moving, there was no real fear of becoming road kill, so the turkeys would just come up to the windows and look in. The children in the cars would wave and smile while the parents rolled up the windows. Occasionally, a motorcycle would end up in front of the house and hilarity would ensue.
For those who don't know, turkeys are both evil and stupid. Now stop to think about that combination for a minute.
Stupidity, in and of itself, is generally harmless, and quite amusing. It can be dangerous, no doubt, but that danger lies in it's inherent incompetence. Look at your local government for a great example of this. Go try to start a business, and you will be amazed at the incredible incompetence you will encounter.
Evil, by itself, is manageable. While evil is typically more dangerous than stupidity, at least evil can be defeated. Even Freddy Krueger knew to pick his battles and when to simply give up and run away.
Combine the two though, and you have one of the most annoying forces imaginable. You have, ladies and gentlemen, the turkey. A bird that is not only evil to it's very core, but too stupid to realize when a fight is futile.
So the motorcyclist would be stopped in traffic on the very busy road in front of the turkey house, when some of the turkeys would decide that this trespass on their territory cannot go unpunished. They would approach, timidly at first, closer, closer, and then ATTACK!
They'd nip and beak the poor biker to bits. I was late to work more than once because I'd stopped to enjoy the show. No amount of swatting at the stupid birds would get them to stop.
Picture for a moment, a big hairy biker guy, yelling and swatting and kicking at a small group (flock?) of turkeys that are pecking him in the legs. I wish I had written some of the more imaginative swear words down. The turkeys would always win in the end. The defeated motorcyclist would speed away on the shoulder of the road, fist shaking, engine roaring.
The turkeys, emboldened by their victory, would go back to trying to intimidate the drivers of the cars.
Example of an unprovoked attack.
....
Then one day, it happened. I was on my way to work, and the side of the road I usually walked on was being dug up to bury wires of some sort. I realized, to my horror, that I was going to have to walk on the turkey side.
Here's some more text art showing the path I would have to take that day. Feel free to print it up and frame it.
| |
| |
| |
|=| | |
************************************|*|******
-----------------------------------------------------------------
* (very busy road) *
-----------------------------------------------------------------
|*| **********(end)
|*|
|*|
As I approached the turkey house, I noticed that there weren't any turkeys. It was just after Halloween, so perhaps they had already been disappeared, I thought to myself. My dread quickly turned to elation.
Until I got closer that is. When I was still about 30 yards away, I looked up, and saw a single turkey head looking at me from behind a shrub on the corner of the house. I kept walking. Now, about 15 yards away, two turkeys were looking at me, and gobbling, while at the same time, a terrible noise was coming from the far side of the house. I could hear feathers ruffling, a scratching sound, and A LOT of gobbling. In retrospect, it's possible that my mind was making it seem louder than it really was. Either way, I was nervous. I'm not exactly a big tough hairy biker after all.
I resolved myself to not show fear. Maybe they can sense fear, after all. If I come across as the alpha male, they they'll leave me alone. So I kept walking. I got to the front of the house without incident. That's right, fear me! I am alpha male, and you are just a stupid turkey.
My bravery melted though when I looked up, and there they were. Twenty something birds, staring at me. My eyes locked onto the eyes of the closest bird. I kept walking, it started walking towards me. I sped it, it sped up. I started to jog a little, it broke into a sprint!
F*****************************CK! I yelled as I ran faster than I have ever run in my life. At least 10 of them were on my tail as I sprinted like hell past the line of gridlocked cars, determined to not get mauled by a flock of turkeys.
By the way, turkeys can freaking run man.
I managed to get far enough away that they stopped chasing me. No bites or pecks or whatever they do when they catch you. Although, I did manage to twist an ankle pretty badly.
Once I got across the side street to the right of the turkey house, I stopped. It was clear that I was no longer in their territory. They simply loitered around, gobbling at me, about 20 yards away.
For some reason, maybe it was the adrenaline, I got mad.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but I started throwing rocks at the turkeys. F*CK YOU Turkey! I yelled as I threw rock after rock.
I'll never forget the look on the face of the lady in the car next to me at that moment. After about the 5th rock, I looked at the gridlocked car next to me, and there was this woman, with a look on her face that spoke of both horror and disappointment, watching me throw rocks at the turkeys. I guess she hadn't seen me get almost killed.
I felt so ashamed in that moment.
So, with shoulders slumped, and a newly acquired limp, I continued my walk to the video store.
Epilogue:
The worst part was that I spent the next 6 months as "the guy who ran from the turkeys". Since we were the only video store in a heavily residential area, a good number of the people gridlocked on the very busy road were customers. And of course, they told their friends, who told their friends, etc...
The high school boys in particular loved to bring it up. "You almost got beat down by turkeys" "HAA HAA, you're scared of birds"
Of course, the lady from the car came in a few weeks later too, because life is cruel like that:
"Aren't you the guy who was throwing rocks at the turkeys?"
"Yeah, well they..."
"How old are you? 18?"
"19 actually. See the thing is..."
"I can't believe that you would do that"
"But they..."
"It's very immature, kids could have been watching"
"You don't understand..."
"I hope you never have kids of your own"
*sigh* "yes maam"
Eventually, I quit the video store, and the legend faded in people's memories. The area has changed. The video store is gone now. I wonder if the turkey house is still there.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Dream Interpreter Wanted: Apply Within
This is the dream I had on Saturday night...
It started out normally enough. Shnoogs, Big Boy, Muncheechee Rodriguez, and I drove to my parents' house to stay for the weekend.
note: The version of my parents' house that always appears in my dream is a little odd. It's located on the same lot as their house, but it's haunted. It's three stories tall, sometimes four, and each floor is increasingly more evil. The second floor, for example, might have scary apparitions showing up, or poltergeist type activities, while the top floor typically has me being attacked by demons while practicing amazing bladder control. (Not movie demons either, the truly scary kinds that can only appear in dreams.)
Anyway, so we get to the house, and nobody is home. It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, it's 75 degrees, and there's cold beer in the fridge.
So I grab a beer and go sit outside on the porch. From this point one, I don't know what happens to everybody else. I'm all alone. I'm sitting outside watching the birds fly around. Only the birds start getting increasingly scary. The sparrows are steadily being replaced by ravens. Also, the nice white puffy clouds are becoming dark storm clouds. I also notice it's getting colder.
Even though there's no wind, the house starts to make those creaking noises that old houses occasionally make. They're barely audible at first, but they are becoming increasingly louder.
Now, even though I'm dreaming, some part of me starts to become aware of what's going to happen next. (I've dreamed about this house before after all. In fact, all of my scary dreams for years now have taken place either in this house, or at my own.)
Since I know what's going to happen, I'm starting to become nervous. I'm also trying very hard not to look up. I know that the upper floors of the house are going to be scary looking, and, quite frankly, I don't want to get involved.
So I go back inside.
Only, the inside has changed now. It's darker, and the living room has suddenly become a two story room. I never had a chance really. The house itself changed, practically forcing me to look up towards the darker second story.
So I quickly looked away, trying to avert my eyes, and I end up looking into a mirror on the wall next to me. That's when I see her, Samara Morgan, the demon child from The Ring.
She reaches out for me, but I run away. (Fortunately, I'm not stuck in one of those nightmares where my feet won't work.)
I run into the kitchen, where, curiously, the sink is filling with water. I go to turn it off, and Samara reaches for me from the reflection in the water.
So I run away again, and end up going...upstairs. *gulp* She reaches for me again from the mirror in the hallway, then again from the reflection in a window. I'm running up an impossibly high staircase, and she keeps taking jabs at me from any reflective surface. I'm dodging the normal ghosts and monsters that dwell in this house, paying them little mind really, in an effort to escape Samara. Finally, I make it to the roof.
There's nowhere for me to run, but, there aren't any reflective surfaces around either. I'm safe, I think. Still, she could crawl out of a mirror and come after me, so I better keep moving.
I jump off the roof into a trees branches and start crawling down. I dare to look at the house, and I can see her, glaring at me, from the reflection in a window. I get to the driveway, and run to my car. There she is, crawling out of the windshield. Crap!
So I take off running down the street. I don't know if she's following me, and I don't care. I keep running until I get to the IGA. There's people in there, maybe I'll be safe.
So I go inside, and everything seems ok for a second. Beach people are just milling about and buying groceries. Nobody seems tense or nervous. I glance into my reflection in the ice cream cooler window. No demon child.
All of a sudden, I really really have to take a dump. (I don't know. It's a dream for Pete's sake) So I find a bathroom and ... quick check in the mirror ... safe ... walk into the stall to do my business.
When all of a sudden, Samara kancho's me. I kid you not. I feel actual penetration. I jump up, and there she is, reaching out of the reflection of the toilet water, fingers together, and giving this scary demonic laugh. She starts climbing out of the toilet, and I can't get away. The door to the stall is closed, my pants are around my ankles.
...and that's when I woke up.
Now if anybody is reading, I have to ask this question. What in the hell was that?
I wonder what Sigmund Freud would say about a dream where I get chased, and then anally probed, by an 8 year old demon child.
Sheesh
It started out normally enough. Shnoogs, Big Boy, Muncheechee Rodriguez, and I drove to my parents' house to stay for the weekend.
note: The version of my parents' house that always appears in my dream is a little odd. It's located on the same lot as their house, but it's haunted. It's three stories tall, sometimes four, and each floor is increasingly more evil. The second floor, for example, might have scary apparitions showing up, or poltergeist type activities, while the top floor typically has me being attacked by demons while practicing amazing bladder control. (Not movie demons either, the truly scary kinds that can only appear in dreams.)
Anyway, so we get to the house, and nobody is home. It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, it's 75 degrees, and there's cold beer in the fridge.
So I grab a beer and go sit outside on the porch. From this point one, I don't know what happens to everybody else. I'm all alone. I'm sitting outside watching the birds fly around. Only the birds start getting increasingly scary. The sparrows are steadily being replaced by ravens. Also, the nice white puffy clouds are becoming dark storm clouds. I also notice it's getting colder.
Even though there's no wind, the house starts to make those creaking noises that old houses occasionally make. They're barely audible at first, but they are becoming increasingly louder.
Now, even though I'm dreaming, some part of me starts to become aware of what's going to happen next. (I've dreamed about this house before after all. In fact, all of my scary dreams for years now have taken place either in this house, or at my own.)
Since I know what's going to happen, I'm starting to become nervous. I'm also trying very hard not to look up. I know that the upper floors of the house are going to be scary looking, and, quite frankly, I don't want to get involved.
So I go back inside.
Only, the inside has changed now. It's darker, and the living room has suddenly become a two story room. I never had a chance really. The house itself changed, practically forcing me to look up towards the darker second story.
So I quickly looked away, trying to avert my eyes, and I end up looking into a mirror on the wall next to me. That's when I see her, Samara Morgan, the demon child from The Ring.
She reaches out for me, but I run away. (Fortunately, I'm not stuck in one of those nightmares where my feet won't work.)
I run into the kitchen, where, curiously, the sink is filling with water. I go to turn it off, and Samara reaches for me from the reflection in the water.
So I run away again, and end up going...upstairs. *gulp* She reaches for me again from the mirror in the hallway, then again from the reflection in a window. I'm running up an impossibly high staircase, and she keeps taking jabs at me from any reflective surface. I'm dodging the normal ghosts and monsters that dwell in this house, paying them little mind really, in an effort to escape Samara. Finally, I make it to the roof.
There's nowhere for me to run, but, there aren't any reflective surfaces around either. I'm safe, I think. Still, she could crawl out of a mirror and come after me, so I better keep moving.
I jump off the roof into a trees branches and start crawling down. I dare to look at the house, and I can see her, glaring at me, from the reflection in a window. I get to the driveway, and run to my car. There she is, crawling out of the windshield. Crap!
So I take off running down the street. I don't know if she's following me, and I don't care. I keep running until I get to the IGA. There's people in there, maybe I'll be safe.
So I go inside, and everything seems ok for a second. Beach people are just milling about and buying groceries. Nobody seems tense or nervous. I glance into my reflection in the ice cream cooler window. No demon child.
All of a sudden, I really really have to take a dump. (I don't know. It's a dream for Pete's sake) So I find a bathroom and ... quick check in the mirror ... safe ... walk into the stall to do my business.
When all of a sudden, Samara kancho's me. I kid you not. I feel actual penetration. I jump up, and there she is, reaching out of the reflection of the toilet water, fingers together, and giving this scary demonic laugh. She starts climbing out of the toilet, and I can't get away. The door to the stall is closed, my pants are around my ankles.
...and that's when I woke up.
Now if anybody is reading, I have to ask this question. What in the hell was that?
I wonder what Sigmund Freud would say about a dream where I get chased, and then anally probed, by an 8 year old demon child.
Sheesh
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
The Thousand Years of Pain technique
I was feeling all inspired to write something today, but then a friend of mine sent me this Wikipedia article. It's way more interesting than my normal rambling so I decided to post it instead.
Wikipedia Entry
Kancho
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Kancho (?????, kancho?) is a game or trick often played in Japan by young school-aged children; it is performed by clasping the hands together so the index fingers are pointing out and attempting to insert them into someone's anal region when the victim is not looking. It is similar in spirit to the wedgie or a goosing in North America.
It has been popular in Japan for years but has recently become popularised in other countries by the anime Naruto, where it has been called the Thousand Years of Pain/Death technique. It is also known in South Korea as "ttong chim", "ddong chim" or "dong chim" (?? in Hangul) and in the Philippines as "tumbong", the Filipino word for rectum. In Japan, there is a gameshow where a celebrity routinely kanchos random people.
In certain countries, the act of kancho may be illegal and considered sexual harassment, or even sexual assault, although children are given more leniency. In the USA a child at school performing the act would probably receive counselling, detention, suspension, and/or a parent-teacher conference; for an adult the act would likely result in an arrest. While the practice is known in South Korea, there have been cases where adults performing it have been arrested. However, in Japan it is considered a childish prank rather than a criminal act.
The word is sometimes used by English speakers in Japan who have some knowledge of Japanese language in a prank as a light form of hazing aimed at people who have recently come to Japan. When asking for the bill at a resturant in Japan (one way of asking for the bill in Japanese is "kanjo kudasai" or "Please give me the bill") the victim is told to say, "Kancho kudasai!" or "Please give me a kancho!" which usually results in hysterical laughter by the waiter.
Kancho is also the name of a brand of chocolate-filled biscuits produced by Lotte Confectionaries.
[edit]
Etymology
The word is a slang adoption of the Japanese word for an enema (??, kancho?). In accordance with widespread practice, the word is generally written in katakana when used in its slang sense, and in kanji when used of enemas in the medical sense.
To me, the most wonderful aspect of this is the game show angle. How awesome must a culture be to have a game show that features two handed anal attacks? It's mind boggling. Between this and the video game Boong-Ga Boong-Ga (here and here) it's looking like digital-rectal probing makes up a large portion of the entertainment interests in Japan and Korea.
Pretty soon, I'm going to have the option of creating my own Hyung (i.e. Kata/Form/Pattern) for Tae Kwon Do. I wonder if there's a way to integrate the devestating "Thousand Years of Pain technique" into that form. Nah, it would never work of course. It would be much better to have the element of surprise.
I'll have to use it during a sparring match instead.
I have to wonder what it would take to get these sorts of gameshows in the U.S. Maybe something with a similar format to Candid Camera or Punk'd. There could even be crossover potential. For example, a well timed kancho would be a huge rating booster during the season finale of American Idol.
I urge anybody who reads this to write to their local television stations begging for a kancho related television show. Since I'm pretty sure I only have one reader, I'll need that reader to write hundreds of times using different colored pens and different names on each letter. It would probably help to drive around and mail them from different zip codes too.
Thank you for your support.
Wikipedia Entry
Kancho
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Kancho (?????, kancho?) is a game or trick often played in Japan by young school-aged children; it is performed by clasping the hands together so the index fingers are pointing out and attempting to insert them into someone's anal region when the victim is not looking. It is similar in spirit to the wedgie or a goosing in North America.
It has been popular in Japan for years but has recently become popularised in other countries by the anime Naruto, where it has been called the Thousand Years of Pain/Death technique. It is also known in South Korea as "ttong chim", "ddong chim" or "dong chim" (?? in Hangul) and in the Philippines as "tumbong", the Filipino word for rectum. In Japan, there is a gameshow where a celebrity routinely kanchos random people.
In certain countries, the act of kancho may be illegal and considered sexual harassment, or even sexual assault, although children are given more leniency. In the USA a child at school performing the act would probably receive counselling, detention, suspension, and/or a parent-teacher conference; for an adult the act would likely result in an arrest. While the practice is known in South Korea, there have been cases where adults performing it have been arrested. However, in Japan it is considered a childish prank rather than a criminal act.
The word is sometimes used by English speakers in Japan who have some knowledge of Japanese language in a prank as a light form of hazing aimed at people who have recently come to Japan. When asking for the bill at a resturant in Japan (one way of asking for the bill in Japanese is "kanjo kudasai" or "Please give me the bill") the victim is told to say, "Kancho kudasai!" or "Please give me a kancho!" which usually results in hysterical laughter by the waiter.
Kancho is also the name of a brand of chocolate-filled biscuits produced by Lotte Confectionaries.
[edit]
Etymology
The word is a slang adoption of the Japanese word for an enema (??, kancho?). In accordance with widespread practice, the word is generally written in katakana when used in its slang sense, and in kanji when used of enemas in the medical sense.
To me, the most wonderful aspect of this is the game show angle. How awesome must a culture be to have a game show that features two handed anal attacks? It's mind boggling. Between this and the video game Boong-Ga Boong-Ga (here and here) it's looking like digital-rectal probing makes up a large portion of the entertainment interests in Japan and Korea.
Pretty soon, I'm going to have the option of creating my own Hyung (i.e. Kata/Form/Pattern) for Tae Kwon Do. I wonder if there's a way to integrate the devestating "Thousand Years of Pain technique" into that form. Nah, it would never work of course. It would be much better to have the element of surprise.
I'll have to use it during a sparring match instead.
I have to wonder what it would take to get these sorts of gameshows in the U.S. Maybe something with a similar format to Candid Camera or Punk'd. There could even be crossover potential. For example, a well timed kancho would be a huge rating booster during the season finale of American Idol.
I urge anybody who reads this to write to their local television stations begging for a kancho related television show. Since I'm pretty sure I only have one reader, I'll need that reader to write hundreds of times using different colored pens and different names on each letter. It would probably help to drive around and mail them from different zip codes too.
Thank you for your support.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Stinky soap and hippies
I recently had to stop wearing deodorant on a regular basis. My current brand seems to have the unfortunate side effect of making my armpits itch mercilessly. Unfortunately, I bought it at a warehouse club, so I have two more rather large sticks of it under the sink, and, as of yet, I've been unable to mount the courage necessary to buy a different brand until I've used up the stockpile that I currently possess.
I'm hoping that the stuff will evaporate on its own, thereby relieving me of the momentous decision of wasting a perfectly useful stick of deodorant.
But I digress. My deodorant woes let me to make a few important discoveries.
For one, I have a terrible BO problem. I'd never noticed it before, thanks to the fine folks at Mennen, but I really do. A couple of days after I stopped wearing deodorant, I woke up one morning to a horrible stench. It was a Saturday, and both of my children had already joined Shnoogs and me in bed. They enjoy watching cartoons in our room in the mornings. "Good morning Daddy!" Munchee said as he came over to give me a hug. As he drew near though, he crinkled up his little nose and said "You smell bad. Why do you smell so bad?"
There was no denying it though, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why I smelled. I am usually the type who takes two showers every day. I like to take on in the morning before work, and then I take one after working out at night.
I decided not to dwell on it though. I simply took a shower.
Unfortunately, this was the beginning of a pattern. Every day, I would wake up funky. I was beginning to think that something was seriously wrong with me. I was showering regularly and everything, but to no avail.
Then, one day, I figured it out.
One night, I ran out of soap in the shower, so I opted to use the kids' bath soap instead. I pilfered Shnoogs' mesh ball shower thingy and proceeded to give myself a good scrubbing.
The next morning, when I woke up, I smelled great. It was one of the happiest mornings of my life. I went downstairs and offered an armpit to Shnoogs. "Smell this" I said. She refused of course, but I was persistent. Eventually, even she agreed that I didn't small "that bad".
Being a methodically scientific person that I am, I had to verify the results of course. I kept using the baby soap, and much to my delight, I kept smelling great.
This got me to thinking; maybe the hippies have been right all along. It stands to reason that the baby soap is less powerful that the bar soap I had been using, and yet I smelled better. Perhaps, if I stopped using soap entirely, I would eventually smell so great that I would be able to hypnotize people like Dracula. It made sense in a way. Most people practically never wash their backs, but when was the last time you noticed somebody's back odor?
So for the week or so, I didn't use any soap at all in the shower (with the exception of one or two body parts which I won't mention).
Turns out, the hippies were wrong. I definitely had started to develop an odor by the end of the week. I mentioned this to a few of my hippier friends, and they informed me that, while cutting back on my personal hygiene was a great thing, and that it would bring me closer to nature, the brainwashed society we live in today wasn't ready to accept atypical bathing habits.
Also, for good measure, I should douse myself regularly in patchouli oil so that nobody could tell how natural I smelled.
In retrospect, none of this should have come as a surprise. I remember various hippies that my parents knew when I was growing up, and while none of them smelled good enough to hypnotize anybody, there certainly was a strong patchouli odor most of the time.
Still, I'm fascinated by the idea that washing regularly with bar soap (which in my case, was also 1/4 moisturizer) can actually make a person smell worse. Maybe your body compensates for the lack of dirt by secreting more oil?
I guess it makes sense from an evolutionary standpoint. When God created Adam and Eve, there is no mention in the Bible of him also hooking them up them with a lifetime supply of Lever 2000. For thousands of years, people pretty much only got clean when it either rained or they found a river to splash around in. (I wonder if ancient people used a lot of patchouli oil.)
Of course, other than the French, nobody would dream of doing that today, but I guess there is such a thing as too much washing. All things in moderation, right?
I'm hoping that the stuff will evaporate on its own, thereby relieving me of the momentous decision of wasting a perfectly useful stick of deodorant.
But I digress. My deodorant woes let me to make a few important discoveries.
For one, I have a terrible BO problem. I'd never noticed it before, thanks to the fine folks at Mennen, but I really do. A couple of days after I stopped wearing deodorant, I woke up one morning to a horrible stench. It was a Saturday, and both of my children had already joined Shnoogs and me in bed. They enjoy watching cartoons in our room in the mornings. "Good morning Daddy!" Munchee said as he came over to give me a hug. As he drew near though, he crinkled up his little nose and said "You smell bad. Why do you smell so bad?"
There was no denying it though, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why I smelled. I am usually the type who takes two showers every day. I like to take on in the morning before work, and then I take one after working out at night.
I decided not to dwell on it though. I simply took a shower.
Unfortunately, this was the beginning of a pattern. Every day, I would wake up funky. I was beginning to think that something was seriously wrong with me. I was showering regularly and everything, but to no avail.
Then, one day, I figured it out.
One night, I ran out of soap in the shower, so I opted to use the kids' bath soap instead. I pilfered Shnoogs' mesh ball shower thingy and proceeded to give myself a good scrubbing.
The next morning, when I woke up, I smelled great. It was one of the happiest mornings of my life. I went downstairs and offered an armpit to Shnoogs. "Smell this" I said. She refused of course, but I was persistent. Eventually, even she agreed that I didn't small "that bad".
Being a methodically scientific person that I am, I had to verify the results of course. I kept using the baby soap, and much to my delight, I kept smelling great.
This got me to thinking; maybe the hippies have been right all along. It stands to reason that the baby soap is less powerful that the bar soap I had been using, and yet I smelled better. Perhaps, if I stopped using soap entirely, I would eventually smell so great that I would be able to hypnotize people like Dracula. It made sense in a way. Most people practically never wash their backs, but when was the last time you noticed somebody's back odor?
So for the week or so, I didn't use any soap at all in the shower (with the exception of one or two body parts which I won't mention).
Turns out, the hippies were wrong. I definitely had started to develop an odor by the end of the week. I mentioned this to a few of my hippier friends, and they informed me that, while cutting back on my personal hygiene was a great thing, and that it would bring me closer to nature, the brainwashed society we live in today wasn't ready to accept atypical bathing habits.
Also, for good measure, I should douse myself regularly in patchouli oil so that nobody could tell how natural I smelled.
In retrospect, none of this should have come as a surprise. I remember various hippies that my parents knew when I was growing up, and while none of them smelled good enough to hypnotize anybody, there certainly was a strong patchouli odor most of the time.
Still, I'm fascinated by the idea that washing regularly with bar soap (which in my case, was also 1/4 moisturizer) can actually make a person smell worse. Maybe your body compensates for the lack of dirt by secreting more oil?
I guess it makes sense from an evolutionary standpoint. When God created Adam and Eve, there is no mention in the Bible of him also hooking them up them with a lifetime supply of Lever 2000. For thousands of years, people pretty much only got clean when it either rained or they found a river to splash around in. (I wonder if ancient people used a lot of patchouli oil.)
Of course, other than the French, nobody would dream of doing that today, but I guess there is such a thing as too much washing. All things in moderation, right?
Monday, March 20, 2006
Dilbert is a documentary, not a comic
Scott Adams is a genius. I've been a corporate cubicle jockey for six years now, and every year I could swear that he works for the same company I do. His comics just hit so close to home it's amazing.
Or maybe there's a flip side. Maybe, the cubicle life is so inherently ridiculous that the jokes just write themselves. It seems like, no matter which former place of employment I think about, no matter which manager, no matter which project, there's a plethora of Dilbert jokes sitting there writing themselves.
For example, let's look, say, three days back...
Background
First, I need to set the stage. My job is that of the mighty Quality Assurance Analyst. In a nutshell, I review the programs that computer programmers create, and I tell them where they've messed up. It's a delicate job that involves stroking egos the size of Buicks while pointing out the shortcomings of others. Then, once I've found all the mistakes, and they've been fixed, I ship the program off to our customers who lavish us with praise and money.
(At least, on paper, that's what I do. The actual job is much less glamorous, but I'll save that for another time.)
The particular piece of software I'm currently testing is, in effect, a specialized search engine. Our customer gives us the data to search on, and we provide the software that actually does the searching.
Thursday
Right, so now that you have the background, I can get on with it.
I got to work on Thursday feeling pretty good about life. The sun was shining, birds were singing, it was like I was living in a Disney movie except that my parents had not been horribly killed.
I got to work, and checked my email only to discover that the customer had logged 35 bugs against the software we had released to them on Monday. "Crap!" I thought to myself. Then I added "This sucks" just for good measure. Attached to the list of defects was a scathing letter accusing us of not even testing our software before sending it out. This had all been forwarded to me via email by my boss who had also added a comment or two of her own asking me how I missed so many bugs.
With my ego in tatters, I started the process of logging each of these bugs into our internal bug-tracking system so that the developers could start fixing them. In my mind, I started trying to figure out what could have gone so horribly wrong.
I opened the first ticket. They noticed a really obvious error that I somehow missed. I mentally flogged myself as I logged it. One down, 34 to go. This was gonna be a long morning.
I opened the second one. "Wait a minute! This isn't my defect." This defect involves a misspelling in the data that they sent us. They made this mistake, not me. (whoohoo) "At least I don't have to type this up." I thought to myself.
I opened the third one, another misspelling in their data. Fourth, fifth, sixth, theirs, theirs, theirs. To make a long story short, thirty four of the thirty five defects were not my fault. Testing their data is the job of their staff, not me.
So my company lost a half-day of my productivity while I went through these, and no doubt, somebody on my client's side lost three days finding and logging them in the first place, but none of that matters because, for the most part, none of it was my fault.
It made for a good chuckle, and I thoroughly enjoyed being able to go back to my boss and point out that the customer is logging defects against themselves.
The most difficult part was writing a diplomatic email back to the customer explaining that, while they have every right to be annoyed, they should redirect that annoyance internally. Fortunately, that job didn't fall on me.
Or maybe there's a flip side. Maybe, the cubicle life is so inherently ridiculous that the jokes just write themselves. It seems like, no matter which former place of employment I think about, no matter which manager, no matter which project, there's a plethora of Dilbert jokes sitting there writing themselves.
For example, let's look, say, three days back...
Background
First, I need to set the stage. My job is that of the mighty Quality Assurance Analyst. In a nutshell, I review the programs that computer programmers create, and I tell them where they've messed up. It's a delicate job that involves stroking egos the size of Buicks while pointing out the shortcomings of others. Then, once I've found all the mistakes, and they've been fixed, I ship the program off to our customers who lavish us with praise and money.
(At least, on paper, that's what I do. The actual job is much less glamorous, but I'll save that for another time.)
The particular piece of software I'm currently testing is, in effect, a specialized search engine. Our customer gives us the data to search on, and we provide the software that actually does the searching.
Thursday
Right, so now that you have the background, I can get on with it.
I got to work on Thursday feeling pretty good about life. The sun was shining, birds were singing, it was like I was living in a Disney movie except that my parents had not been horribly killed.
I got to work, and checked my email only to discover that the customer had logged 35 bugs against the software we had released to them on Monday. "Crap!" I thought to myself. Then I added "This sucks" just for good measure. Attached to the list of defects was a scathing letter accusing us of not even testing our software before sending it out. This had all been forwarded to me via email by my boss who had also added a comment or two of her own asking me how I missed so many bugs.
With my ego in tatters, I started the process of logging each of these bugs into our internal bug-tracking system so that the developers could start fixing them. In my mind, I started trying to figure out what could have gone so horribly wrong.
I opened the first ticket. They noticed a really obvious error that I somehow missed. I mentally flogged myself as I logged it. One down, 34 to go. This was gonna be a long morning.
I opened the second one. "Wait a minute! This isn't my defect." This defect involves a misspelling in the data that they sent us. They made this mistake, not me. (whoohoo) "At least I don't have to type this up." I thought to myself.
I opened the third one, another misspelling in their data. Fourth, fifth, sixth, theirs, theirs, theirs. To make a long story short, thirty four of the thirty five defects were not my fault. Testing their data is the job of their staff, not me.
So my company lost a half-day of my productivity while I went through these, and no doubt, somebody on my client's side lost three days finding and logging them in the first place, but none of that matters because, for the most part, none of it was my fault.
It made for a good chuckle, and I thoroughly enjoyed being able to go back to my boss and point out that the customer is logging defects against themselves.
The most difficult part was writing a diplomatic email back to the customer explaining that, while they have every right to be annoyed, they should redirect that annoyance internally. Fortunately, that job didn't fall on me.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Mature wisdom
(Wow, my first blog entry ever. I don't expect anybody to read this of course, but today I feel like getting stuff of my chest, and it's easier to talk to a computer than a person.)
I was not a good student
I'm one of those people that has a small number of extremely intense interests, obsessions really, and for the most part, I've had the same obsessions since I was a small child. This isn't a bad thing, in my opinion, but it put me firmly at odds with the indoctrination style wisdom as recited by my teachers and counselors growing up.
Children are supposed to be outgoing, well rounded, and obedient (I wish). I on the other hand, was anti-social, narrowly focused, and inherently suspicious of every authority figure.
Of course, it was made clear to me that something was wrong with me, and I must conform to the way right-thinking-people think and feel.
(I suspect that every child deviates from the norm in some way and is told to knock it off by the powers that be)
Antisocial?
I'm not actually antisocial; I just like to have time to think quietly to myself now and then (to play out my thoughts to some sort of conclusion). My mind is constantly thinking about exactly two things. One of those things, of course, is the world around me. I'm thinking thoughts such as, "stop at this red light" or "the neighbor's dog crapped in my lawn again".
The other part of my mind is given to daydreaming. I can almost never seem to stop daydreaming. I find a lot of comfort in daydreaming though. Sometimes I'm just making up stories or putting myself in outlandish scenarios. It probably sounds cheesy, but I'm a grown man who likes to fantasize about fighting off packs of ninjas or piloting an intergalactic spaceship. Sometimes it's a sexual fantasy. Sometimes, it's just reliving past experiences. Either way, it's an endless source of entertainment, and frustration.
The thing is, when I tune out and start day dreaming, I really really tune out. You could stand next to me jumping up and down and calling my name, and I may not hear you for a few minutes.
Here's the catch. I can often put the part of my mind that is keeping track of my immediate surroundings on autopilot, a trance-like-state if you will. Especially the thing going on at the moment is a routine part of my life. It's common for me to drive to work (a 90 minute drive on most days), and not remember anything at all about the drive between the driveway and the parking lot.
I can vividly recall every detail of the 7th episode of the Star Wars trilogy that I made up in my head during the drive though.
(Ok I'm rambling here, good thing nobody is reading this.)
The point is that I was labeled anti-social as a kid because I enjoy spending some of my time alone with my thoughts. In fact, sometimes I have to spend time alone with my thoughts or I become unpleasant. As long as my life has a lot of routine in it, I'm ok. I can put the routine stuff on autopilot, and indulge my imagination. As a kid, that was easy, after all, what's more routine than public school?
As a student, this caused me to either ace, or almost flunk every class depending on whether or not it was a subject I was interested in. If it was a boring topic, I didn't make it two minutes before I was off in la-la land. This can be particularly embarrassing in business meetings when somebody asks me a question only to realize I haven't heard a word anybody said in two hours. (Autopilot was engaged though so I've been nodding along and occasionally even making a comment or two. I just didn't realize it.)
Aside: The autopilot gets me into a lot of trouble at home. I've been known to have a twenty minute conversation with the wife and/or kids that the active part of my brain didn't pay attention to a word of. Unfortunately, I never realize this has happened until it's too late and Shnoogs is annoyed. Who knows what sort of things I've agreed to?
As an adult, it's not so easy. I've got two kids, and a wife. I have a job that doesn't involve the exact same routine every day. All in all, it provides very little time to turn inward.
I'm not sure why, but I have noticed that if I don't get time alone, or life doesn't have enough routine to it, I quickly start feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. This can then be expressed as irritability, anger, or I just whine a lot. Either way, I'm really annoying.
Loophole
There is a way to stifle the daydreams though. Like I mentioned earlier, I have a small number of very intense interests. I have four, in fact: Video games, athletic competition, reading, and breaking stuff. Whenever I am involved in any of these activities, I'm focused like a laser beam. All other thoughts stop. There is nothing else going on in the world other than me and the task at hand. I reach a meditative like peace. A trance, if you will.
My job involves my breaking stuff fetish. (I'm trying to be clever here, but failing. By breaking stuff, I actually mean "taking stuff apart to see how it works"). I test software for a living, and when I'm really busy, it's not uncommon for me to look at the clock and realize I've been going for 6 or 7 hours straight. "Dang! Its 3:00, and I thought it was still 10:00 or so. I should probably walk around or eat lunch or something" I tell myself, then, I dismiss those thoughts and get back to work. I sure hope my boss never finds out I'm having fun.
(Wow, look how smoothly I went from the anti-social aspect to the narrowly focused aspect of my personality flaws.)
Anyway, taking stuff apart really is fun. I always feel like, by figuring out how it works, I'm delving into the mind(s) of the designer(s) of whatever it is I'm breaking. I'm fascinated at some of the amazingly innovative ideas some people have. Creative people are simply incredible, and I want to learn as much as possible about how their minds work.
Athletic competition is fun for a similar reason. When you are competing against somebody, you can study them in an environment that's different from any other. People are primal when they're competing in a sport. They have to act and react, no time for second guessing. It's the closest people ever come to being completely themselves.
Wait a minute; I'm noticing a theme here. I read books for the same reason, to learn about the creativity of the author, to get into their head, and to admire their genius.
Hmmmm, now that I think about it, I actually only have two interests. I enjoy video games and studying people.
I went back and read the opening paragraph or two of this entry, and I realized that I've been constructing this like a term paper in high school. I had a thesis statement with three main points, and I've, so far, proceeded to discuss two of those points (anti-social, narrowly focused). I guess I should move onto my distrust of authority figures, and then wrap this up with some sort of conclusion.
Authority
It's actually not that I have a problem with authority. Authority is a necessary element to society. Without it, we have anarchy. I just don't recognize the authorities that I'm supposed to. To me, to be considered a legitimate authority, you have to prove yourself to be a more capable person than me. Also, I don't see any person as an all-in-one authority. (God is not a person, duh!)
Being a teacher, manager, police officer, politician, etc... doesn't put you on a higher level than anybody else unless you earn the respect that has been appointed to you.
For example, my wife is not, by conventional standards, and authority figure over anybody except our children. However, I consider her an authority figure anyway. She has earned my respect by, among other things, proving that she has an extremely sharp mind that can cut through any spin you want to throw at her. You can take an idea and put as much of your personal opinion into it as you want, and she'll see right through you. There's no fooling that woman. She'll observe the relevant facts, discount the rest, and present you with a mind-bogglingly rational and well thought out conclusion.
She's also one of the most creative people I know. On an average day, she'll come up with three or four business ideas that could make a person wealthy. People wrack their brains for years to come up with a good-creative-never-been-done-before idea, and she insults them by flinging them out without a second thought. If you want to be successful, take a drive through the city with Shnoogs sometime, and just write down what she says. The woman is brilliant.
I can think of a lot more things that I respect about her, but I'll save that for later.
Suffice to say that, in the areas of character, strength, creativity, self sacrifice, raw intelligence, Shnoogs is more of an authority figure than any societally appointed authority I've ever known. Similar things could be said about quite a few other people I know. There are plenty of people that are an authority of some sort in my eyes who I am happy to have to set an example for me.
Of course, this is what also causes me to be a lousy student and a troublesome employee. Currently, I have a boss who knows my job and our business leaps and bounds better than me. This convenience allows things to run smoothly. I respect her.
The vast majority of my educators didn't fall into this category though. I'm sorry, but blindly following some lesson plan and reciting a text book is not worthy of respect. If I read the same text book, and experience the same lesson plan, then doesn't that make us equals? Occasionally, you come across a teacher who is much more than that. Having a math teacher who is actually a brilliant mathematician or a history teacher who has a real grasp of the intricate interworkings of history can be an experience you remember for the rest of your life. It's easy to tell the difference too, just ask a question that isn't covered in the text book. You can even ask outside of class so you don't come across as a trouble maker.
The Grand Conclusion
In conclusion, this was a way for me to let off steam. I'm rambling, somewhat pointlessly, and will likely delete this instead of posting it. I'm a bit embarrassed at how long it's gotten.
I've basically decided to have a go at organizing my thoughts via written word instead of via sitting home alone thinking them. I haven't had a chance to sit home alone in a pretty long time, and I don't want to become unpleasant, so let's see if this works. On the positive side, it allows me to think my thoughts even while being distracted from time to time. On the negative side, typing is sooooo slow. I can't type as fast as I can think, so my thoughts keep getting lost in the shuffle. I suspect this is just a big long ramble.
CUT!
The Grand Conclusion
(take 2)
ACTION!
The thing that inspired all this is a struggle that I've been dealing with. I think it's the same struggle everybody deals with at some point. As an adolescent, I truly believed that something was wrong with me. If I could only be more social, have more popular interests, etc... then I would be ok. I would trick myself into being like I was told I was supposed to be. In short, I was a miserable insecure fraud.
Once I entered the "real world", those sorts of influences largely went away. Suddenly I started having radical thoughts about being myself. Maybe it isn't so bad to be an introvert.
IBM changed my life
As I mentioned, before, I like to take stuff apart and see how it works. Well, what could be more fun to take apart than the most complex machine we have, the computer. So, that's what I do, I dissect computer software for a living. This isn't all that noteworthy except that it put me right into the middle of an entire industry run by introverted, narrowly focused people who have problems with authority and enjoy escapism.
Holy Crap! There are thousands, of people just like me.
I'm not a freak after all. I can be myself, pursue my interests, and make a pretty good living off of it. More importantly, I can stop second guessing myself, and confidently say that those people who told me to change as a kid were idiots. They meant well, but they couldn't see outside of their own little philosophy.
Ah, but it's more complicated than that. What about my kids? How can I teach them that they can be themselves? I have to admit that, pretending to be socially acceptable as a child did get me out of quite a few confrontations with bullies once I learned how to play the game. There were a lot of kids who didn't play the game so well and spent their entire childhoods as a target.
Well, as it turns out, I've developed a plan for that too.
I was not a good student
I'm one of those people that has a small number of extremely intense interests, obsessions really, and for the most part, I've had the same obsessions since I was a small child. This isn't a bad thing, in my opinion, but it put me firmly at odds with the indoctrination style wisdom as recited by my teachers and counselors growing up.
Children are supposed to be outgoing, well rounded, and obedient (I wish). I on the other hand, was anti-social, narrowly focused, and inherently suspicious of every authority figure.
Of course, it was made clear to me that something was wrong with me, and I must conform to the way right-thinking-people think and feel.
(I suspect that every child deviates from the norm in some way and is told to knock it off by the powers that be)
Antisocial?
I'm not actually antisocial; I just like to have time to think quietly to myself now and then (to play out my thoughts to some sort of conclusion). My mind is constantly thinking about exactly two things. One of those things, of course, is the world around me. I'm thinking thoughts such as, "stop at this red light" or "the neighbor's dog crapped in my lawn again".
The other part of my mind is given to daydreaming. I can almost never seem to stop daydreaming. I find a lot of comfort in daydreaming though. Sometimes I'm just making up stories or putting myself in outlandish scenarios. It probably sounds cheesy, but I'm a grown man who likes to fantasize about fighting off packs of ninjas or piloting an intergalactic spaceship. Sometimes it's a sexual fantasy. Sometimes, it's just reliving past experiences. Either way, it's an endless source of entertainment, and frustration.
The thing is, when I tune out and start day dreaming, I really really tune out. You could stand next to me jumping up and down and calling my name, and I may not hear you for a few minutes.
Here's the catch. I can often put the part of my mind that is keeping track of my immediate surroundings on autopilot, a trance-like-state if you will. Especially the thing going on at the moment is a routine part of my life. It's common for me to drive to work (a 90 minute drive on most days), and not remember anything at all about the drive between the driveway and the parking lot.
I can vividly recall every detail of the 7th episode of the Star Wars trilogy that I made up in my head during the drive though.
(Ok I'm rambling here, good thing nobody is reading this.)
The point is that I was labeled anti-social as a kid because I enjoy spending some of my time alone with my thoughts. In fact, sometimes I have to spend time alone with my thoughts or I become unpleasant. As long as my life has a lot of routine in it, I'm ok. I can put the routine stuff on autopilot, and indulge my imagination. As a kid, that was easy, after all, what's more routine than public school?
As a student, this caused me to either ace, or almost flunk every class depending on whether or not it was a subject I was interested in. If it was a boring topic, I didn't make it two minutes before I was off in la-la land. This can be particularly embarrassing in business meetings when somebody asks me a question only to realize I haven't heard a word anybody said in two hours. (Autopilot was engaged though so I've been nodding along and occasionally even making a comment or two. I just didn't realize it.)
Aside: The autopilot gets me into a lot of trouble at home. I've been known to have a twenty minute conversation with the wife and/or kids that the active part of my brain didn't pay attention to a word of. Unfortunately, I never realize this has happened until it's too late and Shnoogs is annoyed. Who knows what sort of things I've agreed to?
As an adult, it's not so easy. I've got two kids, and a wife. I have a job that doesn't involve the exact same routine every day. All in all, it provides very little time to turn inward.
I'm not sure why, but I have noticed that if I don't get time alone, or life doesn't have enough routine to it, I quickly start feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. This can then be expressed as irritability, anger, or I just whine a lot. Either way, I'm really annoying.
Loophole
There is a way to stifle the daydreams though. Like I mentioned earlier, I have a small number of very intense interests. I have four, in fact: Video games, athletic competition, reading, and breaking stuff. Whenever I am involved in any of these activities, I'm focused like a laser beam. All other thoughts stop. There is nothing else going on in the world other than me and the task at hand. I reach a meditative like peace. A trance, if you will.
My job involves my breaking stuff fetish. (I'm trying to be clever here, but failing. By breaking stuff, I actually mean "taking stuff apart to see how it works"). I test software for a living, and when I'm really busy, it's not uncommon for me to look at the clock and realize I've been going for 6 or 7 hours straight. "Dang! Its 3:00, and I thought it was still 10:00 or so. I should probably walk around or eat lunch or something" I tell myself, then, I dismiss those thoughts and get back to work. I sure hope my boss never finds out I'm having fun.
(Wow, look how smoothly I went from the anti-social aspect to the narrowly focused aspect of my personality flaws.)
Anyway, taking stuff apart really is fun. I always feel like, by figuring out how it works, I'm delving into the mind(s) of the designer(s) of whatever it is I'm breaking. I'm fascinated at some of the amazingly innovative ideas some people have. Creative people are simply incredible, and I want to learn as much as possible about how their minds work.
Athletic competition is fun for a similar reason. When you are competing against somebody, you can study them in an environment that's different from any other. People are primal when they're competing in a sport. They have to act and react, no time for second guessing. It's the closest people ever come to being completely themselves.
Wait a minute; I'm noticing a theme here. I read books for the same reason, to learn about the creativity of the author, to get into their head, and to admire their genius.
Hmmmm, now that I think about it, I actually only have two interests. I enjoy video games and studying people.
I went back and read the opening paragraph or two of this entry, and I realized that I've been constructing this like a term paper in high school. I had a thesis statement with three main points, and I've, so far, proceeded to discuss two of those points (anti-social, narrowly focused). I guess I should move onto my distrust of authority figures, and then wrap this up with some sort of conclusion.
Authority
It's actually not that I have a problem with authority. Authority is a necessary element to society. Without it, we have anarchy. I just don't recognize the authorities that I'm supposed to. To me, to be considered a legitimate authority, you have to prove yourself to be a more capable person than me. Also, I don't see any person as an all-in-one authority. (God is not a person, duh!)
Being a teacher, manager, police officer, politician, etc... doesn't put you on a higher level than anybody else unless you earn the respect that has been appointed to you.
For example, my wife is not, by conventional standards, and authority figure over anybody except our children. However, I consider her an authority figure anyway. She has earned my respect by, among other things, proving that she has an extremely sharp mind that can cut through any spin you want to throw at her. You can take an idea and put as much of your personal opinion into it as you want, and she'll see right through you. There's no fooling that woman. She'll observe the relevant facts, discount the rest, and present you with a mind-bogglingly rational and well thought out conclusion.
She's also one of the most creative people I know. On an average day, she'll come up with three or four business ideas that could make a person wealthy. People wrack their brains for years to come up with a good-creative-never-been-done-before idea, and she insults them by flinging them out without a second thought. If you want to be successful, take a drive through the city with Shnoogs sometime, and just write down what she says. The woman is brilliant.
I can think of a lot more things that I respect about her, but I'll save that for later.
Suffice to say that, in the areas of character, strength, creativity, self sacrifice, raw intelligence, Shnoogs is more of an authority figure than any societally appointed authority I've ever known. Similar things could be said about quite a few other people I know. There are plenty of people that are an authority of some sort in my eyes who I am happy to have to set an example for me.
Of course, this is what also causes me to be a lousy student and a troublesome employee. Currently, I have a boss who knows my job and our business leaps and bounds better than me. This convenience allows things to run smoothly. I respect her.
The vast majority of my educators didn't fall into this category though. I'm sorry, but blindly following some lesson plan and reciting a text book is not worthy of respect. If I read the same text book, and experience the same lesson plan, then doesn't that make us equals? Occasionally, you come across a teacher who is much more than that. Having a math teacher who is actually a brilliant mathematician or a history teacher who has a real grasp of the intricate interworkings of history can be an experience you remember for the rest of your life. It's easy to tell the difference too, just ask a question that isn't covered in the text book. You can even ask outside of class so you don't come across as a trouble maker.
The Grand Conclusion
In conclusion, this was a way for me to let off steam. I'm rambling, somewhat pointlessly, and will likely delete this instead of posting it. I'm a bit embarrassed at how long it's gotten.
I've basically decided to have a go at organizing my thoughts via written word instead of via sitting home alone thinking them. I haven't had a chance to sit home alone in a pretty long time, and I don't want to become unpleasant, so let's see if this works. On the positive side, it allows me to think my thoughts even while being distracted from time to time. On the negative side, typing is sooooo slow. I can't type as fast as I can think, so my thoughts keep getting lost in the shuffle. I suspect this is just a big long ramble.
CUT!
The Grand Conclusion
(take 2)
ACTION!
The thing that inspired all this is a struggle that I've been dealing with. I think it's the same struggle everybody deals with at some point. As an adolescent, I truly believed that something was wrong with me. If I could only be more social, have more popular interests, etc... then I would be ok. I would trick myself into being like I was told I was supposed to be. In short, I was a miserable insecure fraud.
Once I entered the "real world", those sorts of influences largely went away. Suddenly I started having radical thoughts about being myself. Maybe it isn't so bad to be an introvert.
IBM changed my life
As I mentioned, before, I like to take stuff apart and see how it works. Well, what could be more fun to take apart than the most complex machine we have, the computer. So, that's what I do, I dissect computer software for a living. This isn't all that noteworthy except that it put me right into the middle of an entire industry run by introverted, narrowly focused people who have problems with authority and enjoy escapism.
Holy Crap! There are thousands, of people just like me.
I'm not a freak after all. I can be myself, pursue my interests, and make a pretty good living off of it. More importantly, I can stop second guessing myself, and confidently say that those people who told me to change as a kid were idiots. They meant well, but they couldn't see outside of their own little philosophy.
Ah, but it's more complicated than that. What about my kids? How can I teach them that they can be themselves? I have to admit that, pretending to be socially acceptable as a child did get me out of quite a few confrontations with bullies once I learned how to play the game. There were a lot of kids who didn't play the game so well and spent their entire childhoods as a target.
Well, as it turns out, I've developed a plan for that too.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Job Interview Question
You are driving along in your car on a wild, stormy night. You pass
by a bus stop, and you see three people waiting for the bus:
1. An old lady who looks as if she is about to die.
2. An old friend who once saved your life.
3. The perfect man (or) woman you have been dreaming about.
Which one would you choose to offer a ride to, knowing that there could only be one passenger in your car.
(Think before you continue reading. This is a moral/ethical dilemma that was once actually used as part of a job application.)
You could pick up the old lady, because she is going to die, and thus you should save her first; or you could take the old friend because he once saved your life, and this would be the perfect chance to pay him back. However, you may never be able to find your perfect dream lover again.
The candidate who was hired (out of 200 applicants) had no trouble coming up with his answer.
He simply answered: "I would give the car keys to my old friend, and let him take the lady to the hospital. I would stay behind and wait for the bus with the woman of my dreams."
Never forget to "Think Outside of the Box."
by a bus stop, and you see three people waiting for the bus:
1. An old lady who looks as if she is about to die.
2. An old friend who once saved your life.
3. The perfect man (or) woman you have been dreaming about.
Which one would you choose to offer a ride to, knowing that there could only be one passenger in your car.
(Think before you continue reading. This is a moral/ethical dilemma that was once actually used as part of a job application.)
You could pick up the old lady, because she is going to die, and thus you should save her first; or you could take the old friend because he once saved your life, and this would be the perfect chance to pay him back. However, you may never be able to find your perfect dream lover again.
The candidate who was hired (out of 200 applicants) had no trouble coming up with his answer.
He simply answered: "I would give the car keys to my old friend, and let him take the lady to the hospital. I would stay behind and wait for the bus with the woman of my dreams."
Never forget to "Think Outside of the Box."
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