Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Cell Phones
What do Warren Buffet, Russian billionaire Mikhail Prokhorov, Tavis Smiley and the Muted Guerrilla's own John Duffy have in common? That's right, they all scorn cellphone usage.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Dinner (For Schmucks) & A Movie
Friday the 13th. The lore surrounding Friday the Thirteenth undoubtedly originated in vintage 1980’s horror movies. They forever linked the hockey mask to the chainsaw to certain unspeakable death. While perhaps there’s more to this spooky date than that, I offer my contribution to the litany of Friday the Thirteenth horrors, which also takes place at the movies:
Every now and then, my wife and I go out on something resembling a date. We’ll make plans a few days in advance. We’ll get kind-of, sort-of dressed up for a date-like dinner and then see a date-like movie. And so it was this past Friday that we had a fancy dinner at Pizza Hut and saw the highly-romantic movie, Dinner for Schmucks.
Dinner was everything that Pizza Hut has to offer and the movie was good enough, and we headed home happily unaware that tragedy had already struck. For at some point over the course of the evening, our camera was stolen. Yep, cue the organ music and B-movie scream. It had been in my wife’s purse, which was left in the car for most of the evening. I must not have locked the car at some point.
I can’t underscore enough how much it sucks. Yes, it’s just a camera, but I truly feel like a Schmuck. In fact, after the initial shock, I spent some time trying to figure out how I felt. For a long time, I couldn’t get past just feeling bad. I wasn’t angry or vengeful, which is what I would have guessed. It was more like disrespected, but disrespected in a way that “who would do such a thing?!?” doesn’t even come close to characterizing. Without my knowledge, some random guy came into my car, went through my stuff, and stole pictures of my life. I feel like I need to give my car a shower.
So unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of the evening, or of the past two weeks. Truth is, I haven’t included any pictures in a long time, for which, I will blame my intern Jeff. Soon though, I hope to include pictures again, as we just bought two cameras online, one of which is identical to the one we lost. They are both used and priced well below their market price. I can’t help but wonder if we aren’t buying some poor schmuck’s stolen camera. There’s even a chance that we just bought the one we had stolen. I’ll have to check for pictures of a Kings of Leon concert.
So, let this be a lesson to anyone who goes on a date on Friday the Thirteenth! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-haaaaa!
Every now and then, my wife and I go out on something resembling a date. We’ll make plans a few days in advance. We’ll get kind-of, sort-of dressed up for a date-like dinner and then see a date-like movie. And so it was this past Friday that we had a fancy dinner at Pizza Hut and saw the highly-romantic movie, Dinner for Schmucks.
Dinner was everything that Pizza Hut has to offer and the movie was good enough, and we headed home happily unaware that tragedy had already struck. For at some point over the course of the evening, our camera was stolen. Yep, cue the organ music and B-movie scream. It had been in my wife’s purse, which was left in the car for most of the evening. I must not have locked the car at some point.
I can’t underscore enough how much it sucks. Yes, it’s just a camera, but I truly feel like a Schmuck. In fact, after the initial shock, I spent some time trying to figure out how I felt. For a long time, I couldn’t get past just feeling bad. I wasn’t angry or vengeful, which is what I would have guessed. It was more like disrespected, but disrespected in a way that “who would do such a thing?!?” doesn’t even come close to characterizing. Without my knowledge, some random guy came into my car, went through my stuff, and stole pictures of my life. I feel like I need to give my car a shower.
So unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of the evening, or of the past two weeks. Truth is, I haven’t included any pictures in a long time, for which, I will blame my intern Jeff. Soon though, I hope to include pictures again, as we just bought two cameras online, one of which is identical to the one we lost. They are both used and priced well below their market price. I can’t help but wonder if we aren’t buying some poor schmuck’s stolen camera. There’s even a chance that we just bought the one we had stolen. I’ll have to check for pictures of a Kings of Leon concert.
So, let this be a lesson to anyone who goes on a date on Friday the Thirteenth! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-haaaaa!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Twiddling Thumbs
I turned thirty a few months ago. I’m getting old. It’s very sad. Already, I’m showing signs of getting old. My knee hurts, my back aches, my memory is fading. I’ve got a hip that pops when I walk and creaks when I stop. My balance is starting to give and I keep hitting my head or bumping into walls and doors and people. There are other tell-tale signs too. For instance, did I mention my memory is fading? (Aahh… you knew it was coming.)
For my thirtieth birthday though, I got tickets to a rock concert, Kings of Leon. As my wife said, “I knew they’d be good, but I wasn’t expecting them to be true rock stars.” To me, they were simply awesome. While a few favorites definitely stuck out, all the songs were great, start to finish.
Throughout the show, while I was happily singing along and occasionally making fun of how short my wife is, I was struck by how many people were twiddling their thumbs rapidly into a cellphone. Maybe the world has changed more than I’d like to admit, but I remember the good old days when all you could do with a cellphone is talk with it… five years ago. The last thing I would want to be doing at a rock concert with pretty hefty ticket prices is LOLing or OMGing or updating my Facebook status. What happened to just enjoying the show?
I really sound like an old grump, don’t I? In my defense, I am thirty now. And it seems like I’m one of the few thirty-year olds who generally does not carry around a cellphone. I used to and I imagine someday I will again, but I’ve found that most of the time I was using it to ask my wife questions like “Did you need salted or unsalted butter?” Sure, it might be best to ask the question and get the answer, but there’s a certain freedom in rolling the dice and hoping you’re right.
A cellphone would definitely come in handy, however, if say my car broke down or something, but part of me secretly looks forward to that happening. It would be like Problem Solving 101: What To Do When…. Don’t get me wrong, it would suck figuring it out and I would probably curse myself for not having a cellphone, but I’d get to fully experience that level of suck, like people did way back when… ten years ago. And just like people should have been fully experiencing Kings of Leon at the show.
Of course, I spent a portion of my time at the show enviously watching people with their glowing cellphones, pondering how best to incorporate them into my blog. Sure, I was listening and enjoying myself, but I've got fans of my own to please... you! Perhaps there's not such a big difference between those with cellphones and those without after all, and like the star-bellied Sneetches, maybe I'll learn to get my nose out the air.
For my thirtieth birthday though, I got tickets to a rock concert, Kings of Leon. As my wife said, “I knew they’d be good, but I wasn’t expecting them to be true rock stars.” To me, they were simply awesome. While a few favorites definitely stuck out, all the songs were great, start to finish.
Throughout the show, while I was happily singing along and occasionally making fun of how short my wife is, I was struck by how many people were twiddling their thumbs rapidly into a cellphone. Maybe the world has changed more than I’d like to admit, but I remember the good old days when all you could do with a cellphone is talk with it… five years ago. The last thing I would want to be doing at a rock concert with pretty hefty ticket prices is LOLing or OMGing or updating my Facebook status. What happened to just enjoying the show?
I really sound like an old grump, don’t I? In my defense, I am thirty now. And it seems like I’m one of the few thirty-year olds who generally does not carry around a cellphone. I used to and I imagine someday I will again, but I’ve found that most of the time I was using it to ask my wife questions like “Did you need salted or unsalted butter?” Sure, it might be best to ask the question and get the answer, but there’s a certain freedom in rolling the dice and hoping you’re right.
A cellphone would definitely come in handy, however, if say my car broke down or something, but part of me secretly looks forward to that happening. It would be like Problem Solving 101: What To Do When…. Don’t get me wrong, it would suck figuring it out and I would probably curse myself for not having a cellphone, but I’d get to fully experience that level of suck, like people did way back when… ten years ago. And just like people should have been fully experiencing Kings of Leon at the show.
Of course, I spent a portion of my time at the show enviously watching people with their glowing cellphones, pondering how best to incorporate them into my blog. Sure, I was listening and enjoying myself, but I've got fans of my own to please... you! Perhaps there's not such a big difference between those with cellphones and those without after all, and like the star-bellied Sneetches, maybe I'll learn to get my nose out the air.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
All Dogs Go... Somewhere
The dog ran off. I’m not a dog owner, but if I was it would undoubtedly run off. It’s not that dogs hate me – in fact, quite the opposite, they’re usually drawn to me. I think it has something to do with my aura that only dogs can see, or maybe it’s the fact that I whistle inaudibly all the time in a tone that only dogs can hear, or maybe, just maybe, it’s my personal hygiene and I stink such that only dogs can smell.
Actually, my guess is that they can sense that I need protection. They see me and they think, “I’ve got my work cut out for me with this one.” As I said though, they would undoubtedly run off, but it would undoubtedly be when I wasn’t there. I would go to work for the day and a few hours later the dog would start to worry, “where’d that boy run off to this time!” Another hour or two later and the dog would resolutely set off on a heroic search and rescue mission. For all it knows, I could be anywhere!
This week my wife and I have been house-sitting, and well, the dog ran off. Soon after we arrived one day after work, we were back in the car, hollering out the window. We knew immediately that it was no use. We were on a dirt road in the middle of rolling farmland, the dog could be anywhere.
After a bit, we tried to convince ourselves that it was best if we stayed at the house and waited for her to return on her own. Dogs are smart, I remember thinking. But we both shared the same feeling of dread. It didn’t feel like the dog was on her way back home.
My wife had put out a few calls to folks around the area but nobody had seen anything. Then the phone rang. Somebody who was in town visiting had seen a dog on the road a few miles up. Back in the car, we drove almost four miles before we slowed down to crawl and began to yell her name out the window. It was pretty far away, but it was all that we had to go on. We drove another mile like this without any luck before we turned around and continued searching as we drove back to the house.
Near the end of the street, about the place we had slowed down, I thought I saw something in the woods. I stopped the car to watch it. It wasn’t moving. I knew it wasn’t a dog, but I had to double check. I turned the car around and quickly confirmed it was not a dog. About to turn around again, my wife told me to go a bit further, more out of safety than anything else as it was on a blind turn. About halfway down the stretch of road that we had already searched, I turned around. It was almost dark. Our search was getting pointless.
A few houses down a woman had come out of her home. While I don’t suspect she recognized my wife, she had been one of my wife’s teachers growing up. My wife did the talking, and her response went something like this, “You know, we saw a dog a while back….” At this point she looked over our car into the large field across the street. “Oh wait,” she said pointing to the fence about a hundred feet off the road, “is that your dog?” As we thanked her she said, “I’m not sure why I came outside, but now I’m glad I did.”
She was scared to the point that it took a long time for her to recognize us. And she limped on both front legs because she had run the pads of her paws raw. But she was alive, which was a huge relief.
While I might be tempted to roll my eyes and say, “Always in the last place you look,” I’m beginning to wonder if there’s not more to it than that. I’ve been mentioning my faith in the abundance, and along with that I may have some belief in the Universe, and I think this story is that in a nutshell. One coincidence after another allowed that dog to be found. The visitor from out of town happened to be driving by just then, I turned around to double check what I knew wasn’t a dog and it led to my wife seeing someone she hasn’t seen in twenty years.
It makes me wonder. Maybe all this happened for a reason. Maybe the Universe is trying to tell me something. Maybe I’m suppose to get a dog. And name it The Universe. Then I could be the Master of the Universe, just like He-Man! Of course, then you'd hear me say, "Well, The Universe ran off again." And then I would have to set off on a heroic mission to rescue The Universe! I could see it now...
Unfortunately, I'd also have to mean it when I said, "No digging The Universe!" which I'd have trouble with, ya dig?
Actually, my guess is that they can sense that I need protection. They see me and they think, “I’ve got my work cut out for me with this one.” As I said though, they would undoubtedly run off, but it would undoubtedly be when I wasn’t there. I would go to work for the day and a few hours later the dog would start to worry, “where’d that boy run off to this time!” Another hour or two later and the dog would resolutely set off on a heroic search and rescue mission. For all it knows, I could be anywhere!
This week my wife and I have been house-sitting, and well, the dog ran off. Soon after we arrived one day after work, we were back in the car, hollering out the window. We knew immediately that it was no use. We were on a dirt road in the middle of rolling farmland, the dog could be anywhere.
After a bit, we tried to convince ourselves that it was best if we stayed at the house and waited for her to return on her own. Dogs are smart, I remember thinking. But we both shared the same feeling of dread. It didn’t feel like the dog was on her way back home.
My wife had put out a few calls to folks around the area but nobody had seen anything. Then the phone rang. Somebody who was in town visiting had seen a dog on the road a few miles up. Back in the car, we drove almost four miles before we slowed down to crawl and began to yell her name out the window. It was pretty far away, but it was all that we had to go on. We drove another mile like this without any luck before we turned around and continued searching as we drove back to the house.
Near the end of the street, about the place we had slowed down, I thought I saw something in the woods. I stopped the car to watch it. It wasn’t moving. I knew it wasn’t a dog, but I had to double check. I turned the car around and quickly confirmed it was not a dog. About to turn around again, my wife told me to go a bit further, more out of safety than anything else as it was on a blind turn. About halfway down the stretch of road that we had already searched, I turned around. It was almost dark. Our search was getting pointless.
A few houses down a woman had come out of her home. While I don’t suspect she recognized my wife, she had been one of my wife’s teachers growing up. My wife did the talking, and her response went something like this, “You know, we saw a dog a while back….” At this point she looked over our car into the large field across the street. “Oh wait,” she said pointing to the fence about a hundred feet off the road, “is that your dog?” As we thanked her she said, “I’m not sure why I came outside, but now I’m glad I did.”
She was scared to the point that it took a long time for her to recognize us. And she limped on both front legs because she had run the pads of her paws raw. But she was alive, which was a huge relief.
While I might be tempted to roll my eyes and say, “Always in the last place you look,” I’m beginning to wonder if there’s not more to it than that. I’ve been mentioning my faith in the abundance, and along with that I may have some belief in the Universe, and I think this story is that in a nutshell. One coincidence after another allowed that dog to be found. The visitor from out of town happened to be driving by just then, I turned around to double check what I knew wasn’t a dog and it led to my wife seeing someone she hasn’t seen in twenty years.
It makes me wonder. Maybe all this happened for a reason. Maybe the Universe is trying to tell me something. Maybe I’m suppose to get a dog. And name it The Universe. Then I could be the Master of the Universe, just like He-Man! Of course, then you'd hear me say, "Well, The Universe ran off again." And then I would have to set off on a heroic mission to rescue The Universe! I could see it now...
Unfortunately, I'd also have to mean it when I said, "No digging The Universe!" which I'd have trouble with, ya dig?
Thursday, August 05, 2010
A Better Me
After another slight break in blogging (I’m definitely not winning over any fans this way), I am going to attempt to weave together a few stories, so please bear with me.
I think I’m well on my way to attaining enlightenment. Right now I’m at the “I want to be a better person” stage. Next up, becoming a better person. Then, in no time at all, attaining enlightenment. After that, I will burst into flames.
I’ve tried visualizing and reciting affirmations along these lines with help from a CD, but the speaker’s soft and pleasant voice usually just puts me to sleep. However, a few weeks ago in deciding between two weekend adventures away from my wife, neither of which I can really afford, a soft and pleasant voice in the back of my head reminded me that “I have Faith in the Abundance.” Twenty minutes later, I had committed to both.
I survived the first weekend a couple weeks ago, and now, I can report that I have survived the second weekend, a wedding in Florida . I was able to take a few days off of work beforehand to see my sister along the way, which gave me some justification for driving instead of flying.
On a map, it doesn’t look so bad. I live in Northern Virginia, so I’d have to drive through a lot of Virginia , North Carolina , South Carolina , a small part of Georgia , and a small part of Florida . With a stop at my sister’s in North Carolina , I’d get to break up that state going down to the wedding, and South Carolina looked so small compared to the states around it. All in all, I was thinking North Carolina would suck on the way back, but Virginia looked the most daunting, and by then I’d be in the home stretch.
Point is, I was wrong. South Carolina is enormous. And that small section of Georgia I think is even bigger. The way down, two 6 hour drives, wasn’t so bad. Not only did I have a destination, but the mile markers that line the highway were counting down so I knew how far it was to the state line. On the way back, it was anybody’s guess. (Although, the South of the Border place on the Carolina divide with their love of billboards was helpful. “Hey, Amigo, only 216 miles to South of the Border!” It’s bad when “216 miles” is of some comfort.)
Anyways, the wedding was a lot of fun and I’m glad I made it. It was the right decision and in a way I think I’m a better person because of it.
So, back to becoming a better person, I’ve turned to a book to be my guide of sorts, It’s a Meaningful Life, It Just Takes Practice. It’s a great read. Each five- or six-page chapter makes you think about stuff and look at yourself differently, and more often than not, it leaves you challenging yourself to do this small thing or that little thing, all in the name of becoming a better person. For me, it’s become something of a daily shot in the arm.
On Sunday night, after 12 long hours racing up the East coast, my daily shot in the arm encouraged me essentially to be more personable and treat everyone like friends, singling out people like telemarketers and cashiers who have a lot of interactions but are usually overlooked. On Monday, after driving 24 hours in one long weekend, I returned to work with this still fresh in my mind, and on my lunch break, I had my first chance to put it into practice at the local pharmacy.
While I’ve been advised not to share the literally-blood-dripping details, I feel comfortable saying that after so much time in the car, my first attempt at greeting a cashier with all due compassion was with a tube of Preparation H in hand, ironically another first for me.
Needless to say, my first attempt did not go over too well, and in fact, for most of this week my path to being a better person has hit a few rough patches – one in particular comes to mind. But I’m pretty sure that sooner than later along this path of mine, I’ll see a sign up ahead that reads, “Hey, Amigo, only 216 miles to being a better person!” and that will provide at least some comfort.
I think I’m well on my way to attaining enlightenment. Right now I’m at the “I want to be a better person” stage. Next up, becoming a better person. Then, in no time at all, attaining enlightenment. After that, I will burst into flames.
I’ve tried visualizing and reciting affirmations along these lines with help from a CD, but the speaker’s soft and pleasant voice usually just puts me to sleep. However, a few weeks ago in deciding between two weekend adventures away from my wife, neither of which I can really afford, a soft and pleasant voice in the back of my head reminded me that “I have Faith in the Abundance.” Twenty minutes later, I had committed to both.
I survived the first weekend a couple weeks ago, and now, I can report that I have survived the second weekend, a wedding in Florida . I was able to take a few days off of work beforehand to see my sister along the way, which gave me some justification for driving instead of flying.
On a map, it doesn’t look so bad. I live in Northern Virginia, so I’d have to drive through a lot of Virginia , North Carolina , South Carolina , a small part of Georgia , and a small part of Florida . With a stop at my sister’s in North Carolina , I’d get to break up that state going down to the wedding, and South Carolina looked so small compared to the states around it. All in all, I was thinking North Carolina would suck on the way back, but Virginia looked the most daunting, and by then I’d be in the home stretch.
Point is, I was wrong. South Carolina is enormous. And that small section of Georgia I think is even bigger. The way down, two 6 hour drives, wasn’t so bad. Not only did I have a destination, but the mile markers that line the highway were counting down so I knew how far it was to the state line. On the way back, it was anybody’s guess. (Although, the South of the Border place on the Carolina divide with their love of billboards was helpful. “Hey, Amigo, only 216 miles to South of the Border!” It’s bad when “216 miles” is of some comfort.)
Anyways, the wedding was a lot of fun and I’m glad I made it. It was the right decision and in a way I think I’m a better person because of it.
So, back to becoming a better person, I’ve turned to a book to be my guide of sorts, It’s a Meaningful Life, It Just Takes Practice. It’s a great read. Each five- or six-page chapter makes you think about stuff and look at yourself differently, and more often than not, it leaves you challenging yourself to do this small thing or that little thing, all in the name of becoming a better person. For me, it’s become something of a daily shot in the arm.
On Sunday night, after 12 long hours racing up the East coast, my daily shot in the arm encouraged me essentially to be more personable and treat everyone like friends, singling out people like telemarketers and cashiers who have a lot of interactions but are usually overlooked. On Monday, after driving 24 hours in one long weekend, I returned to work with this still fresh in my mind, and on my lunch break, I had my first chance to put it into practice at the local pharmacy.
While I’ve been advised not to share the literally-blood-dripping details, I feel comfortable saying that after so much time in the car, my first attempt at greeting a cashier with all due compassion was with a tube of Preparation H in hand, ironically another first for me.
Needless to say, my first attempt did not go over too well, and in fact, for most of this week my path to being a better person has hit a few rough patches – one in particular comes to mind. But I’m pretty sure that sooner than later along this path of mine, I’ll see a sign up ahead that reads, “Hey, Amigo, only 216 miles to being a better person!” and that will provide at least some comfort.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Yeah to Carrots
In the past, I’ve sung the praises of one particularly orange vegetable. Recently, I’ve included carrots as part of my regular diet.
My lunch has felt a bit incomplete for a while now. It used to include the nutty flavors of a wholesome granola bar, but that ended shortly after my CostCo membership ran-out. So, for several months, it’s been pretty lonely for my Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich (today’s, by the way, was particularly good), with just a can of Diet Pepsi to share an entire lunch box.
While the link at the top wants all to scream out, "Yes To Carrots(!)," I wasn't too excited. It took some convincing from my wife, but eventually I said, "Yeah" to Carrots. And I'm glad I did. Carrots have made a nice addition, and now I’m eating them by the boatloads. Not only are they good, they’re good for you. In particular, they’re supposed to improve your eyesight. And as I’ve learned recently, my eyesight needs some improving.
Of course, some might argue that my hearing, memory, heart health, muscle mass, joint pain, body fat, and overall personal hygiene needs some improving, but that’s why I eat the Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich.
My lunch has felt a bit incomplete for a while now. It used to include the nutty flavors of a wholesome granola bar, but that ended shortly after my CostCo membership ran-out. So, for several months, it’s been pretty lonely for my Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich (today’s, by the way, was particularly good), with just a can of Diet Pepsi to share an entire lunch box.
While the link at the top wants all to scream out, "Yes To Carrots(!)," I wasn't too excited. It took some convincing from my wife, but eventually I said, "Yeah" to Carrots. And I'm glad I did. Carrots have made a nice addition, and now I’m eating them by the boatloads. Not only are they good, they’re good for you. In particular, they’re supposed to improve your eyesight. And as I’ve learned recently, my eyesight needs some improving.
Of course, some might argue that my hearing, memory, heart health, muscle mass, joint pain, body fat, and overall personal hygiene needs some improving, but that’s why I eat the Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
With the Good Comes the Bad
Today was one of those days when the planets aligned, God smiled down, and everything seemed to go my way. I left a bit late for work today, but all the lights turned green as I approached. I said all the right things at all the right times. I turned in all of my big projects at work. My questions to the boss were somehow more insightful, my jokes to coworkers were definitely funnier, and my random encounters with the general public were all meaningful and memorable to everyone involved. Yes, in a word today was magical.
When I got home, I discovered my zipper was down.
Upon reflection, I realized that I had not been to the bathroom all day. I had roamed the office with an uncharacteristic confidence, spent some time speaking with my boss and my boss’s boss in her office, chatted casually with the casual chatters whose chatter I usually avoid, and all-in-all had myself a pretty social day… all the while with my zipper down.
I’m not too clear on philosophical debate or mystical beliefs, but I cannot help but wonder if the two are connected somehow. Recently, I have come to think that I have faith in the abundance – you like that confidence? I’m not quite sure what it is supposed to mean, but to me it is simply that there is enough out there for everyone. There is enough good for everyone to be good or enough wealth for everyone to be wealthy… that sort of thing.
But then my zipper was down, and that can’t be good.
When I got home, I discovered my zipper was down.
Upon reflection, I realized that I had not been to the bathroom all day. I had roamed the office with an uncharacteristic confidence, spent some time speaking with my boss and my boss’s boss in her office, chatted casually with the casual chatters whose chatter I usually avoid, and all-in-all had myself a pretty social day… all the while with my zipper down.
I’m not too clear on philosophical debate or mystical beliefs, but I cannot help but wonder if the two are connected somehow. Recently, I have come to think that I have faith in the abundance – you like that confidence? I’m not quite sure what it is supposed to mean, but to me it is simply that there is enough out there for everyone. There is enough good for everyone to be good or enough wealth for everyone to be wealthy… that sort of thing.
But then my zipper was down, and that can’t be good.
Monday, July 19, 2010
I blame Lady Gaga.
Something terrible has happened. This morning I woke up singing a painfully catchy song that I undoubtedly heard on Hot 99.5. I don’t remember which one it was, because after an hour or so of it bouncing through my head, I forced myself to sing something else. The first song I thought of was another painfully catchy song that I heard on Hot 99.5, so after another hour or so, I had to find a new song, and now, after two or three more songs, I have a terrible headache.
I blame Lady Gaga, whose silly songs started my listening to Hot 99.5 a few months ago. Now regrettably, it’s the radio station I listen to most often and with one annoyingly catchy song after another, I can sing most of their playlist. I think it’s supposed to be a Top 40 station, but from what I can tell, 95% of the time they’re playing one of about a dozen or so songs.
Of all the songs, my favorite line, by far, has to be “Baby, you the whole package/Plus you pay your taxes,” which pretty much sums up most of the songs. Actually, that’s one of the better songs.
I’m sure complaints about music haven’t changed too much over the years, but with the songs out today, it makes me wonder if I listened to the same message growing up as folks would today. I don’t know what the answer to that is, but either way I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter, art imitating life and whatnot.
I’m also pretty sure that “I want to be a billionaire so friggin’ bad/I’d buy all of the things I never had.” Of course, once I bought all that stuff, I’m pretty sure I’d just want different stuff, when all I really need is just a new pair of shoes and maybe something for this headache I’ve got. Or maybe all I need is just to turn off the radio for awhile.
I blame Lady Gaga, whose silly songs started my listening to Hot 99.5 a few months ago. Now regrettably, it’s the radio station I listen to most often and with one annoyingly catchy song after another, I can sing most of their playlist. I think it’s supposed to be a Top 40 station, but from what I can tell, 95% of the time they’re playing one of about a dozen or so songs.
Of all the songs, my favorite line, by far, has to be “Baby, you the whole package/Plus you pay your taxes,” which pretty much sums up most of the songs. Actually, that’s one of the better songs.
I’m sure complaints about music haven’t changed too much over the years, but with the songs out today, it makes me wonder if I listened to the same message growing up as folks would today. I don’t know what the answer to that is, but either way I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter, art imitating life and whatnot.
I’m also pretty sure that “I want to be a billionaire so friggin’ bad/I’d buy all of the things I never had.” Of course, once I bought all that stuff, I’m pretty sure I’d just want different stuff, when all I really need is just a new pair of shoes and maybe something for this headache I’ve got. Or maybe all I need is just to turn off the radio for awhile.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Weekend Dinner
I’ve fallen into a downward pattern of not living in the moment. I’ll do something over the weekend and then decide to write about it come Tuesday or Wednesday. I blame my intern Jeff… I’m not asking him to reinvent the wheel here, just find a better layout for the blog.
I have just posted something that I wrote in the moment and set the time stamp closer to that moment, but I’m afraid it might reveal a bit too much about what happens in my head at any given moment. I have quite a few of these posts that I write and write and write and then realize that they make very little sense, so I never post them and then they sit in limbo waiting to be posted. I feel sort of bad for them, but they’re usually the type that you’re right in feeling bad for.
Anyways, starting over based on this weekend, which included realizing that I didn’t want to be in downtown Philadelphia:
I enjoy going out to eat. I do this far too often, but it still feels like such a treat every time. This weekend, however, I got a real treat, a fancy meal at a fancy restaurant.
The place was just a steakhouse, but the $60 meal included steak and seafood, salad and sides, and the option of crème brulee among other stuff for dessert. I don’t even know what crème brulee is! The steak and seafood were absurdly good. The salad, too. My side, a baked potato the size of a football, looked amazing, but I couldn’t eat it as I was stuffed. The desserts, as a table, we graciously declined, so I still don’t know what crème brulee is.
All in all, despite the extreme excess, what a treat! As I’ve said, I enjoy going out to eat, and I always enjoy my cheeseburger or chicken sandwich with fries and a coke. I’ve all but stopped eating fast food nonsense in place of the dining experience. After this weekend, I’m left wondering if I shouldn’t go a step further. Maybe I should hold off on the mediocre outings and save up for really nice meals once or twice a year. I would probably save money in the long run, and it almost certainly would be a healthier decision.
Right now, I’m stuck on the “but what would I do?” argument. Going out to eat is like entertainment! There are probably thousands of answers, but for some reason, my mind just can’t think of any. Maybe I’m just hungry… I think a bite out somewhere may help.
I have just posted something that I wrote in the moment and set the time stamp closer to that moment, but I’m afraid it might reveal a bit too much about what happens in my head at any given moment. I have quite a few of these posts that I write and write and write and then realize that they make very little sense, so I never post them and then they sit in limbo waiting to be posted. I feel sort of bad for them, but they’re usually the type that you’re right in feeling bad for.
Anyways, starting over based on this weekend, which included realizing that I didn’t want to be in downtown Philadelphia:
I enjoy going out to eat. I do this far too often, but it still feels like such a treat every time. This weekend, however, I got a real treat, a fancy meal at a fancy restaurant.
The place was just a steakhouse, but the $60 meal included steak and seafood, salad and sides, and the option of crème brulee among other stuff for dessert. I don’t even know what crème brulee is! The steak and seafood were absurdly good. The salad, too. My side, a baked potato the size of a football, looked amazing, but I couldn’t eat it as I was stuffed. The desserts, as a table, we graciously declined, so I still don’t know what crème brulee is.
All in all, despite the extreme excess, what a treat! As I’ve said, I enjoy going out to eat, and I always enjoy my cheeseburger or chicken sandwich with fries and a coke. I’ve all but stopped eating fast food nonsense in place of the dining experience. After this weekend, I’m left wondering if I shouldn’t go a step further. Maybe I should hold off on the mediocre outings and save up for really nice meals once or twice a year. I would probably save money in the long run, and it almost certainly would be a healthier decision.
Right now, I’m stuck on the “but what would I do?” argument. Going out to eat is like entertainment! There are probably thousands of answers, but for some reason, my mind just can’t think of any. Maybe I’m just hungry… I think a bite out somewhere may help.
Friday, July 09, 2010
Striking It Rich, or Just Striking Out
Today, my fate stared at me in the face, and I stared back.
It all started as I was getting gas. As soon as I opened my car door, there they were, two perfectly shiny pennies staring at me from the cement below, both with the familiar image of Abraham Lincoln winking at me. Both heads-up, and at a gas station no less. One lottery ticket would be in my near future. Make that one 42-million-dollar lottery ticket.
As I started up the gas pump, I realized I didn’t have any dollar bills on me. This is a rare event for me, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I scrounged through the shadows of my car hoping to find a stray dollar bill. I know there was one back there recently, I had used it as a bookmark. But alas, my search came up empty.
Then I saw the pile of change in my center console. Could I? My mind wondered deviously. Should I? I’ve never used coins to buy a lottery ticket and something about it just doesn’t sound right. Lottery tickets should be a passive activity, not a last-ditch, every-last-nickel event. I quickly threw decorum to the wind and counted up my change. A couple quarters, a few dimes, throw in a couple nickels, yep… a full dollar.
I finished up with the gas and left my car to go purchase my fortune. Then disaster struck. A third penny lay on the ground before the door. The light caught it just so that I knew from ten feet away that it showed the stately pillars of tails-up.
Time slowed. My mind raced as I approached the dream-killing penny. I reasoned that I found two good pennies so I’m still up overall, but I knew I was only fooling myself. I tried to doubt the power of the penny but realized that would be a bit hollow as it was a penny that started this. I briefly considered going around the store to the other door, perhaps I would have had I not been so close.
In the end, I bent down and, per my usual routine, flipped the upside down penny over and then picked it up and put it in my pocket. Create your own luck, I always say. But it just didn’t feel right this time.
I knew right away too. I would not be getting a lottery ticket. Not today. While this realization was devastating in and of itself, the timing of the realization now left me with bigger issues as I stood in a tiny convenience with nothing in particular to buy. I looked around and settled on…
The sixteen ounce can of Diet Pepsi.
That’s right… Today, twelve ounces wasn’t going to cut it. I needed each and every one of those extra four ounces and credit them with getting me through the day.
It all started as I was getting gas. As soon as I opened my car door, there they were, two perfectly shiny pennies staring at me from the cement below, both with the familiar image of Abraham Lincoln winking at me. Both heads-up, and at a gas station no less. One lottery ticket would be in my near future. Make that one 42-million-dollar lottery ticket.
As I started up the gas pump, I realized I didn’t have any dollar bills on me. This is a rare event for me, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I scrounged through the shadows of my car hoping to find a stray dollar bill. I know there was one back there recently, I had used it as a bookmark. But alas, my search came up empty.
Then I saw the pile of change in my center console. Could I? My mind wondered deviously. Should I? I’ve never used coins to buy a lottery ticket and something about it just doesn’t sound right. Lottery tickets should be a passive activity, not a last-ditch, every-last-nickel event. I quickly threw decorum to the wind and counted up my change. A couple quarters, a few dimes, throw in a couple nickels, yep… a full dollar.
I finished up with the gas and left my car to go purchase my fortune. Then disaster struck. A third penny lay on the ground before the door. The light caught it just so that I knew from ten feet away that it showed the stately pillars of tails-up.
Time slowed. My mind raced as I approached the dream-killing penny. I reasoned that I found two good pennies so I’m still up overall, but I knew I was only fooling myself. I tried to doubt the power of the penny but realized that would be a bit hollow as it was a penny that started this. I briefly considered going around the store to the other door, perhaps I would have had I not been so close.
In the end, I bent down and, per my usual routine, flipped the upside down penny over and then picked it up and put it in my pocket. Create your own luck, I always say. But it just didn’t feel right this time.
I knew right away too. I would not be getting a lottery ticket. Not today. While this realization was devastating in and of itself, the timing of the realization now left me with bigger issues as I stood in a tiny convenience with nothing in particular to buy. I looked around and settled on…
The sixteen ounce can of Diet Pepsi.
That’s right… Today, twelve ounces wasn’t going to cut it. I needed each and every one of those extra four ounces and credit them with getting me through the day.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Haircuts
You know that you needed a haircut when afterwards people you normally never talk to comment on your hair. “Yep, got the summer cut!” I told one such person today. To another I quipped, “Oh, you like it? My ears certainly do!” After a few similar comments my response devolved into more of an Eeyore-esque admission, “Well, I suppose it was time.”
It definitely was time. I had so much hair I had started brushing it! I had stopped using the good shampoo simply because I didn’t want to waste the copious amounts needed to get a good lather. The hair-behind-the-ear-tuck had become my fidget of choice. My hair had gotten so long that I now have a tan line from where my hair used to be. It was definitely time.
There’s something strange about haircuts that always gives me something to talk about. Maybe it has to do with the twenty minutes of staring at yourself in the mirror… all the while having a five minute conversation with a stranger stretched out over the full amount of time. As painful as that is, I still prefer it to the newer type places where they have a big screen showing ESPN and they face you to it like you’re some sort of incapacitated drooler - “Look, it’s your favorite show!” – while you’re left to wonder what’s happening on that head of yours. Poor choice of words, perhaps, but you know what I’m talking about.
There are also the places that offer the big reveal at the end. I guess the ESPN places fit into this category too, but here, I mean the places that turn you towards the people waiting. It’s like being put on display, high up on the hair dresser chair. I feel like I should smile and approvingly cast down towards the audience below as if to say, “This! This is what you have to look forward to! Patience has its rewards.”
Then when they’re done they slowly spin you around for the big reveal, "So, what do you think?" I always feel obligated to say it looks great even if I don't think it does. I figure they're the professional not me. I don't want to offend such a skilled artisan by criticizing the fruits of their labor. Plus, it's just hair. Double plus, what would I say? "Oh, this just isn't right at all."
Even if you’ve gotten to watch yourself the whole time, there is still the big Ta-Da moment, I suppose. This is when they hold the mirror up so you can see the back. Recently, I've used this brief moment every couple of months to check up on my bald spot. I'm pretty sure the hairdresser isn't expecting the look of horror on my face as I'm frantically searching the mirror in their hand, but that's what they get.
They usually jump in with "You like it?" before I've actually had a chance to look, so I have to praise them for the unknown. But as I walk out into the fresh summer air, my ears definitely like it and it's then that I first think to myself, "Yeah, I suppose it was time."
It definitely was time. I had so much hair I had started brushing it! I had stopped using the good shampoo simply because I didn’t want to waste the copious amounts needed to get a good lather. The hair-behind-the-ear-tuck had become my fidget of choice. My hair had gotten so long that I now have a tan line from where my hair used to be. It was definitely time.
There’s something strange about haircuts that always gives me something to talk about. Maybe it has to do with the twenty minutes of staring at yourself in the mirror… all the while having a five minute conversation with a stranger stretched out over the full amount of time. As painful as that is, I still prefer it to the newer type places where they have a big screen showing ESPN and they face you to it like you’re some sort of incapacitated drooler - “Look, it’s your favorite show!” – while you’re left to wonder what’s happening on that head of yours. Poor choice of words, perhaps, but you know what I’m talking about.
There are also the places that offer the big reveal at the end. I guess the ESPN places fit into this category too, but here, I mean the places that turn you towards the people waiting. It’s like being put on display, high up on the hair dresser chair. I feel like I should smile and approvingly cast down towards the audience below as if to say, “This! This is what you have to look forward to! Patience has its rewards.”
Then when they’re done they slowly spin you around for the big reveal, "So, what do you think?" I always feel obligated to say it looks great even if I don't think it does. I figure they're the professional not me. I don't want to offend such a skilled artisan by criticizing the fruits of their labor. Plus, it's just hair. Double plus, what would I say? "Oh, this just isn't right at all."
Even if you’ve gotten to watch yourself the whole time, there is still the big Ta-Da moment, I suppose. This is when they hold the mirror up so you can see the back. Recently, I've used this brief moment every couple of months to check up on my bald spot. I'm pretty sure the hairdresser isn't expecting the look of horror on my face as I'm frantically searching the mirror in their hand, but that's what they get.
They usually jump in with "You like it?" before I've actually had a chance to look, so I have to praise them for the unknown. But as I walk out into the fresh summer air, my ears definitely like it and it's then that I first think to myself, "Yeah, I suppose it was time."
Monday, July 05, 2010
The Other Side of the Tracks
This weekend, Tiff and I Independently declared that No Longer would we be Held Under the Tyranny of National Holidays and that Our Freedom should Be Duly Exercised in accordance with our Life, Liberty and particularly this weekend, our Pursuit of Happiness. Yes, this weekend, rather than neighborhood parades and evening sparklers, Tiff and I returned to the Charles Town Racetrack to whist the day away betting on horses.
This weekend in Charles Town, West Virginia, however, the horses were not the main attraction. Neither was the Fourth of July. Or even a rare three-day weekend. This weekend, Charles Town Races and Slots became the Hollywood Casino in Charles Town. Table games galore! Fun? Yes. Good Clean Fun? No.
I’ve been doubting my original claim that Horse Racing is Good Clean Fun pretty much since I wrote it. The atmosphere has everything that I would look for in Good Clean Fun: Old-timey folks doing old-timey things, Leisurely activities that scream of yesteryear, Admiration for outdoorsy-types… yeah, maybe a bit of city-folk-in-the-country feel. However, it does involve gambling, but I think my mixed feelings originally stem from the enormous building attached to it filled with glowing slot machines.
Now, with poker and craps, blackjack and roulette, and all those crazy Asian card games, the Norman Rockwell image of Charles Town, WV has lost its apple pie charm to the temptations of Sin City. Yep, Charles Town has just wandered to the other side of the tracks.
They seem to have gotten off to a poor start too. The poker tables are just below the grandstand, or between the racetrack seats and the bathrooms, so that you have to walk alllll the way around. The poker tables weren't open either, much to the ire of many, many people. "I drove two hours to play poker and only 8 tables are going to open!" There aren't too many table game tables either and the result was, at 3 in the afternoon, the lowest limit was $50 dollars! $50 dollars just to play!!
It didn't drive people away though as they were packed full. One man I saw following an employee kept repeating, "That's it? That's all the tables?" The poor lady just repeated "Yes sir. All the tables are behind you," clearly annoyed by the common question.
All in all, it was extremely disappointing, and it will probably be awhile before I venture back to the racetrack again.
This weekend in Charles Town, West Virginia, however, the horses were not the main attraction. Neither was the Fourth of July. Or even a rare three-day weekend. This weekend, Charles Town Races and Slots became the Hollywood Casino in Charles Town. Table games galore! Fun? Yes. Good Clean Fun? No.
I’ve been doubting my original claim that Horse Racing is Good Clean Fun pretty much since I wrote it. The atmosphere has everything that I would look for in Good Clean Fun: Old-timey folks doing old-timey things, Leisurely activities that scream of yesteryear, Admiration for outdoorsy-types… yeah, maybe a bit of city-folk-in-the-country feel. However, it does involve gambling, but I think my mixed feelings originally stem from the enormous building attached to it filled with glowing slot machines.
Now, with poker and craps, blackjack and roulette, and all those crazy Asian card games, the Norman Rockwell image of Charles Town, WV has lost its apple pie charm to the temptations of Sin City. Yep, Charles Town has just wandered to the other side of the tracks.
They seem to have gotten off to a poor start too. The poker tables are just below the grandstand, or between the racetrack seats and the bathrooms, so that you have to walk alllll the way around. The poker tables weren't open either, much to the ire of many, many people. "I drove two hours to play poker and only 8 tables are going to open!" There aren't too many table game tables either and the result was, at 3 in the afternoon, the lowest limit was $50 dollars! $50 dollars just to play!!
It didn't drive people away though as they were packed full. One man I saw following an employee kept repeating, "That's it? That's all the tables?" The poor lady just repeated "Yes sir. All the tables are behind you," clearly annoyed by the common question.
All in all, it was extremely disappointing, and it will probably be awhile before I venture back to the racetrack again.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
The World Cup and My Wife
The exciting run the US had is sadly over and I’m having a hard time rooting for another team. Oh, if only I had some connection to Paraguay ! For those who care, I’m now behind the Netherlands , who will undoubtedly lose tomorrow. My basis for supporting the Netherlands at this point is because they wear orange. Orange looks nice on a green field.
While the US was ultimately somewhat of a disappointment, their adventure wasn’t without some benefit. Lots of people revealed themselves as being somewhere on the soccer fan ladder, most significantly, my wife. It was amazing… she got it! The final score of their final game was 2-1, and she was just as gripped by the suspense and drama of the event as I was!
Interestingly, once Tiff learned who the players were – names, faces and numbers – everything changed. She was attached to them and could root for the team through the players. Before the end of the first round, she knew the whole team, even the third string goalie! She would even make appropriate comments like, "Dempsey's taking a beating!" "C'mon Carlos!" and "Jozy! Oh, so close!"
I’ve been trying to transfer some of that enthusiasm to DC United, but it hasn’t quite stuck just yet. Tiff’s still caught up with the national team players, so much so that Benny Feilhaber is still the background on our computer.
We'll get 'em next time, Benny 22.
While the US was ultimately somewhat of a disappointment, their adventure wasn’t without some benefit. Lots of people revealed themselves as being somewhere on the soccer fan ladder, most significantly, my wife. It was amazing… she got it! The final score of their final game was 2-1, and she was just as gripped by the suspense and drama of the event as I was!
Interestingly, once Tiff learned who the players were – names, faces and numbers – everything changed. She was attached to them and could root for the team through the players. Before the end of the first round, she knew the whole team, even the third string goalie! She would even make appropriate comments like, "Dempsey's taking a beating!" "C'mon Carlos!" and "Jozy! Oh, so close!"
I’ve been trying to transfer some of that enthusiasm to DC United, but it hasn’t quite stuck just yet. Tiff’s still caught up with the national team players, so much so that Benny Feilhaber is still the background on our computer.
We'll get 'em next time, Benny 22.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Rock, Paper, World Cup
All I've thought about for a week now is the World Cup. So I have a couple of things to say. First off, the US stood strong against the English, which is awesome. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but I think they’ll win it all. And after the World Cup, they’ll trade in their ball for a bat and win the World Series. Then the World Series of Poker. Then they’ll arm themselves with pistols and take over the world. At that point, only a few can honestly say they were supporters way back when. I will be one of them.
More importantly, with the US only playing about once a week, I need to find some other nations to root for, and I think I’ve got it: North Korea . A bunch of reports are now claiming that their supporters in South Africa are actually just hired Chinese actors. It’s pure silliness, even if it is true, but I love it. It makes me want to hire some fans for myself. I think a supporters group might help me get through the day.
“You can do it!” they would cheer when my work phone would ring. “Oh no!” they would share my agony as another stack of papers is piled on my desk. As my work got monotonous and slow, they would belt out chants to show their support, "Oleeeee Ole Ole Oleeee!" And everyday would end with a standing ovation; I would acknowledge my fans with a raised clap of the hands, then I would remove my shirt and toss it to them as a souvenir. It would be great.
What I like about them even more is something that I’ve only heard once, from a commentator during their game against Brazil . Being on the wrong side of the world diplomacy issues, the players haven’t been exposed to things we take for granted now-a-days. Ipods, cell phones, video games - even television as a form of entertainment is new to them, and while they’ve had some exposure to them they still spend their free time in the same old ways. Namely, Rock, Paper, Scissors. A game they play with such passion and vitriol that games devolve into fits of laughter or chaos.
Rock, Paper, Scissors… I love it. I wish I could be entertained with such basic Good Clean Fun as a game of Rock, Paper Scissors. Maybe all that government censorship and lack of access to this and that has a few upsides to it after all.
After the World Cup though, the US Men’s National Team will destroy North Korea in Rock, Paper, Scissors on their way to world domination.
More importantly, with the US only playing about once a week, I need to find some other nations to root for, and I think I’ve got it: North Korea . A bunch of reports are now claiming that their supporters in South Africa are actually just hired Chinese actors. It’s pure silliness, even if it is true, but I love it. It makes me want to hire some fans for myself. I think a supporters group might help me get through the day.
“You can do it!” they would cheer when my work phone would ring. “Oh no!” they would share my agony as another stack of papers is piled on my desk. As my work got monotonous and slow, they would belt out chants to show their support, "Oleeeee Ole Ole Oleeee!" And everyday would end with a standing ovation; I would acknowledge my fans with a raised clap of the hands, then I would remove my shirt and toss it to them as a souvenir. It would be great.
What I like about them even more is something that I’ve only heard once, from a commentator during their game against Brazil . Being on the wrong side of the world diplomacy issues, the players haven’t been exposed to things we take for granted now-a-days. Ipods, cell phones, video games - even television as a form of entertainment is new to them, and while they’ve had some exposure to them they still spend their free time in the same old ways. Namely, Rock, Paper, Scissors. A game they play with such passion and vitriol that games devolve into fits of laughter or chaos.
Rock, Paper, Scissors… I love it. I wish I could be entertained with such basic Good Clean Fun as a game of Rock, Paper Scissors. Maybe all that government censorship and lack of access to this and that has a few upsides to it after all.
After the World Cup though, the US Men’s National Team will destroy North Korea in Rock, Paper, Scissors on their way to world domination.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Wiggling Bubble
There’s something bubbling up from the abyss. Yep, bubbles are bubbling up in the quiet lake that will someday have a plaque that reads “John Duffy Ate Lunch Here Often,” rising to the surface in little groups.
I’d never noticed this before, but the roof of the boat house being worked on yesterday, I explored a different area as I ate my apple. The water was very still and the bubbles were pretty easy to spot through the murky water. One had to watch for them though as there was no way to know where the next group would be, but once I spotted them I kind of enjoyed watching the final few feet of their rise to open air. They sort of wiggle their way up.
I have no idea what’s down there though. I have no idea what creates the bubbles. I doubt that there are people or animals down there seeing who can hold their breath the longest. Do fish have gas? And if so, they must have had quite the meal to make that many bubbles. Maybe there are plants down there that create oxygen? I don’t know.
Or maybe the lake is on some geological mystery spot and the Earth is releasing some sort of revitalizing potion that draws me to it five days a week. The lake, perhaps, is calling out to me… with wiggling bubbles.
"There’s something bubbling up from the abyss.” With an opening like that I feel like I should be writing about the Gulf Oil Spill, but I’m not. I’m clearly not fit for true reporting. If I were, I would have gotten to the bottom of all those bubbles. I would have contacts to know who to ask and where to get the scoop, and I would have probably uncovered that the bubbles were from some factory’s pipes buried deep underneath and slowly emitting cadmium and thalagathum, poisoning our waterways.
Sadly, it would not, in fact, be Earth’s revitalizing potion specifically crafted by Mother Nature for me and only me. Ignorance, they say, is bliss. Now, as for that plaque, I prefer bronze.
I’d never noticed this before, but the roof of the boat house being worked on yesterday, I explored a different area as I ate my apple. The water was very still and the bubbles were pretty easy to spot through the murky water. One had to watch for them though as there was no way to know where the next group would be, but once I spotted them I kind of enjoyed watching the final few feet of their rise to open air. They sort of wiggle their way up.
I have no idea what’s down there though. I have no idea what creates the bubbles. I doubt that there are people or animals down there seeing who can hold their breath the longest. Do fish have gas? And if so, they must have had quite the meal to make that many bubbles. Maybe there are plants down there that create oxygen? I don’t know.
Or maybe the lake is on some geological mystery spot and the Earth is releasing some sort of revitalizing potion that draws me to it five days a week. The lake, perhaps, is calling out to me… with wiggling bubbles.
"There’s something bubbling up from the abyss.” With an opening like that I feel like I should be writing about the Gulf Oil Spill, but I’m not. I’m clearly not fit for true reporting. If I were, I would have gotten to the bottom of all those bubbles. I would have contacts to know who to ask and where to get the scoop, and I would have probably uncovered that the bubbles were from some factory’s pipes buried deep underneath and slowly emitting cadmium and thalagathum, poisoning our waterways.
Sadly, it would not, in fact, be Earth’s revitalizing potion specifically crafted by Mother Nature for me and only me. Ignorance, they say, is bliss. Now, as for that plaque, I prefer bronze.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
World Cup on My Mind
I’ve been a little slow writing this week as my audience is on vacation. (Dad, I hope you’re enjoying Maine). Plus, all of my energy is focused on the quickly approaching World Cup.
I’ve spent the past couple years climbing through the ranks of soccer fan. For a long time, I was on the level of Mild Interest. Then with the purchase of FIFA 2008 for Playstation2, I shot through the lower levels of Casual Observer, Soccer Enthusiast, and Fairweather Fan, and now am somewhere between Soccer Loyalist and I-Call-It-Football Fan.
Unfortunately, I’ve had to sit through a pretty rough start for my hometown team, DC United. I would say that I’ve remained much more optimistic than most DCU fans, and as a result I’ve been sadly disappointed 8 out of 11 games this year. A few key players are healthy again, so things are looking up. Plus the ESPN game on Thursday is in passionate Seattle , so it should be fun to watch.
Things are looking beyond up elsewhere though, with the World Cup kicking off on Friday. It’s just a little exciting. The US begin on Saturday against England and I’m just as curious to see how they do as I am excited to watch it. I’ve been watching over a year of qualifying and this is it. It should be fun.
I’m also excited to see the other teams too, even though I don’t know much about any of them. I think that if I watch as much of the games as I would like to, I may have to move up another notch or two of fandom. I’ll have to control my viewing some though as I could be dangerously close to Outright Hooligan.
I’ve spent the past couple years climbing through the ranks of soccer fan. For a long time, I was on the level of Mild Interest. Then with the purchase of FIFA 2008 for Playstation2, I shot through the lower levels of Casual Observer, Soccer Enthusiast, and Fairweather Fan, and now am somewhere between Soccer Loyalist and I-Call-It-Football Fan.
Unfortunately, I’ve had to sit through a pretty rough start for my hometown team, DC United. I would say that I’ve remained much more optimistic than most DCU fans, and as a result I’ve been sadly disappointed 8 out of 11 games this year. A few key players are healthy again, so things are looking up. Plus the ESPN game on Thursday is in passionate Seattle , so it should be fun to watch.
Things are looking beyond up elsewhere though, with the World Cup kicking off on Friday. It’s just a little exciting. The US begin on Saturday against England and I’m just as curious to see how they do as I am excited to watch it. I’ve been watching over a year of qualifying and this is it. It should be fun.
I’m also excited to see the other teams too, even though I don’t know much about any of them. I think that if I watch as much of the games as I would like to, I may have to move up another notch or two of fandom. I’ll have to control my viewing some though as I could be dangerously close to Outright Hooligan.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
A Carnival Moment
The Carnival came to a nearby small town this weekend. I knew this would be the perfect setting for a follow-up to my hit YouTube video Coin Pusher and some good clean fun. Truthfully, with all this hub-bub, I was just excited to try the coin pusher again.
The drive was a bit longer than expected, but Tiff and I were still excited when we arrived. We knew going in that this was just a carnival and not the County Fair, so there wasn't going to be the award-winning animals or the art contests or the demolition derby or the like. What we did not know was that Just The Carnival was going to be so... so... what it was.
We were on a mission to find the coin pushers and the dime-toss, a game Tiff remembers from her childhood. As we entered we headed towards a permanent wooden tent with the sin, Dime-Toss on it, a reasonable place to begin. The structure was empty, but more than that it appeared abandoned, like an old home with nobody living there, slowly taken over by vines. If I was a Building Inspector or Fire Marshall or whoever, I would have condemned the Dime-Toss Tent right then and there.
With our high hopes having taken a pretty big blow, we continued on. We knew pretty quickly that the coin pusher that we sought out was not there, but we gave the freak show - I mean carnival - a walk through. There was the One-Ton Man, asleep at the entrance of a rickety-old ride. There was the Tattooed Man, who was also dressed in greasy leather, manning another carnival attraction. After walking past several trying to get me to "Win the Lady a Prize!" the Tattooed Man stuck out with the line "I'll give you a prize whether you win or not." And I'm pretty sure I saw a few Bearded Ladies milling about in the crowd... they must have been on break.
Anyways, the most telling line of the hot and humid day, however, came from my wife when we got back in the car to leave. "Ah, good. The car's still nice and cool."
The drive was a bit longer than expected, but Tiff and I were still excited when we arrived. We knew going in that this was just a carnival and not the County Fair, so there wasn't going to be the award-winning animals or the art contests or the demolition derby or the like. What we did not know was that Just The Carnival was going to be so... so... what it was.
We were on a mission to find the coin pushers and the dime-toss, a game Tiff remembers from her childhood. As we entered we headed towards a permanent wooden tent with the sin, Dime-Toss on it, a reasonable place to begin. The structure was empty, but more than that it appeared abandoned, like an old home with nobody living there, slowly taken over by vines. If I was a Building Inspector or Fire Marshall or whoever, I would have condemned the Dime-Toss Tent right then and there.
With our high hopes having taken a pretty big blow, we continued on. We knew pretty quickly that the coin pusher that we sought out was not there, but we gave the freak show - I mean carnival - a walk through. There was the One-Ton Man, asleep at the entrance of a rickety-old ride. There was the Tattooed Man, who was also dressed in greasy leather, manning another carnival attraction. After walking past several trying to get me to "Win the Lady a Prize!" the Tattooed Man stuck out with the line "I'll give you a prize whether you win or not." And I'm pretty sure I saw a few Bearded Ladies milling about in the crowd... they must have been on break.
Anyways, the most telling line of the hot and humid day, however, came from my wife when we got back in the car to leave. "Ah, good. The car's still nice and cool."
Friday, June 04, 2010
A Friday Miracle
Today, I witnessed a miracle. An act of God. A sign of the benevolence of the Heavens. Behold, the awesome powers from above! Today, my lunch made itself.
I've fallen into the routine of making my Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich at night. It's great this way, because I can just grab it out of the refrigerator along with a can of pop and an apple, toss in an ice pack, and run out the door on my way to being a few minutes late to work.
(I normally don't call it 'pop' but I thought it adds to the overall hurried image I was creating. I grew up in Atlanta, so anything fizzy and non-alcoholic was called either coke or sprite depending on the color. I've grown to like a certain diet competitor, so I feel weird calling it coke. And soda sounds like I'm trying to hard. I outta just say the heck with it and stick to water, but that's for another day. Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, I was conveying a sense of urgency...)
This morning it dawned on me as Tiff was about to leave for work - she leaves before me - so I said to myself aloud, "Oh, I have to make my lunch!" So I sprang out of bed and did bathroom stuff in record time. I washed myself good enough and grabbed the first outfit I could reach and rushed downstairs to slap together my lunch.
It was then that I saw it. The sunlight broke through the window illuminating a packed lunch, the perfectly proportioned Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich inside a tupperware, cut in half even! Day of days! I zipped up the lunchbox and headed out with a smile, trying to hold back the tear in my eye.
I made a few lights along the way and got to work three minutes early today.
At lunch, as I beheld the awesome power from above, I savored every bite. There really is something special about eating food that someone else prepared.
I've fallen into the routine of making my Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich at night. It's great this way, because I can just grab it out of the refrigerator along with a can of pop and an apple, toss in an ice pack, and run out the door on my way to being a few minutes late to work.
(I normally don't call it 'pop' but I thought it adds to the overall hurried image I was creating. I grew up in Atlanta, so anything fizzy and non-alcoholic was called either coke or sprite depending on the color. I've grown to like a certain diet competitor, so I feel weird calling it coke. And soda sounds like I'm trying to hard. I outta just say the heck with it and stick to water, but that's for another day. Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, I was conveying a sense of urgency...)
This morning it dawned on me as Tiff was about to leave for work - she leaves before me - so I said to myself aloud, "Oh, I have to make my lunch!" So I sprang out of bed and did bathroom stuff in record time. I washed myself good enough and grabbed the first outfit I could reach and rushed downstairs to slap together my lunch.
It was then that I saw it. The sunlight broke through the window illuminating a packed lunch, the perfectly proportioned Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich inside a tupperware, cut in half even! Day of days! I zipped up the lunchbox and headed out with a smile, trying to hold back the tear in my eye.
I made a few lights along the way and got to work three minutes early today.
At lunch, as I beheld the awesome power from above, I savored every bite. There really is something special about eating food that someone else prepared.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
A New Disciplined Approach
My intern Jeff appears to be hard at work trying to revamp the blog – with extra stress on “appears to be.” Meanwhile, I’ve been growing a few new ideas for the blog. I’ve been in a whatever’s-on-my-mind-when-I’m-writing path since the beginning and I think maybe it’s time I implement a bit of discipline here at the Muted Guerrilla.
An appropriate place to start is with a schedule. Here’s what I’m thinking: Mondays will be posts about my weekend and should include the next great web-sensation video featuring me. Tuesdays will be reserved for posts about my greatness. Wednesdays will feature self-deprecating posts to lessen the reader’s awe of me while increasing the reader’s appreciation of me for my humility. Wednesday posts however would always have an underlying message reinforcing my own greatness. Thursday will be Promotion Day, where I hype some facet of my life that could earn me money via the reader. Fridays would be current events. Usually this would detail what I had for lunch accompanied by maybe what I thought about during lunch. (Another great Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich!)
Any day of the week would be appropriate to write about DC United.
This would require a bit more work on my part, but it could be an exciting challenge. And as the blog grew and my fame spread throughout the land, I could devote more time to it and introduce more and more regular features. For instance, I could add a Tuesday afternoon look at the weather. A Sunday afternoon Home Improvement update could work. Wednesday morning I could post about the commute and any thoughts therein. And of course all this would eventually lead to a “Saturday Post from the Archives” where I could repost some of the old greats.
Yep, the sky's the limit. I just need a little more dedication, a bit more discipline. Unfortunately, my record of discipline isn't so great... I can't even get my intern Jeff to pick up the pace on redesigning this blog!
An appropriate place to start is with a schedule. Here’s what I’m thinking: Mondays will be posts about my weekend and should include the next great web-sensation video featuring me. Tuesdays will be reserved for posts about my greatness. Wednesdays will feature self-deprecating posts to lessen the reader’s awe of me while increasing the reader’s appreciation of me for my humility. Wednesday posts however would always have an underlying message reinforcing my own greatness. Thursday will be Promotion Day, where I hype some facet of my life that could earn me money via the reader. Fridays would be current events. Usually this would detail what I had for lunch accompanied by maybe what I thought about during lunch. (Another great Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich!)
Any day of the week would be appropriate to write about DC United.
This would require a bit more work on my part, but it could be an exciting challenge. And as the blog grew and my fame spread throughout the land, I could devote more time to it and introduce more and more regular features. For instance, I could add a Tuesday afternoon look at the weather. A Sunday afternoon Home Improvement update could work. Wednesday morning I could post about the commute and any thoughts therein. And of course all this would eventually lead to a “Saturday Post from the Archives” where I could repost some of the old greats.
Yep, the sky's the limit. I just need a little more dedication, a bit more discipline. Unfortunately, my record of discipline isn't so great... I can't even get my intern Jeff to pick up the pace on redesigning this blog!
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Me & The DMV
This morning I went to the DMV. The DMV here really pushes its online presence and after today, I understand why. Unfortunately for me, I had let my license expire, so I couldn’t renew over the internet. Also unfortunately, an expired license is not a good thing, so I had to get it renewed quickly.
The office opened at 8, and while I was expecting to have to wait, I was not expecting the line to be so deep when I arrived at 7:45. The parking lot was nearly full and the sidewalk was overloaded. At around 9 o’clock, I finally got to the front of the line (to get a ticket to wait further) and was told I didn’t have everything I need. I headed home to grab my passport, which says nothing about me living in Virginia , and headed back to wait in line again. At least, I had no where important to be.
The line was only about half as long, but I was going to have to wait in it again. Not long after I arrived, an old man arrived. He had his thin white hair combed neatly in place and his face was covered by a handful of liver spots. His striped shirt was tucked severely into his striped pants that looked more like pajama pants than dress pants. His pants were, you guessed it, pulled up to his chest.
The young man in front of me offered to switch spots in line with him that the old man accepted with a smile and then joked “I don’t look that old do I?” I offered to switch spots with him myself and the two of us talked for a brief minute. I told him this was my second time waiting in line, and he told me he always brings everything he might need with him to the DMV and raised a tidy little stack of papers. I would have enjoyed talking to him longer, but the young security guard offered to usher him to the front of the line. Senior citizen privilege I guess. I think he was more surprised than anyone. You know those senior citizens, too… always in a rush to get stuff done.
I got to the front of the line where I got my ticket, B38, and camped out by the far wall. I spotted the old man chatting with someone in the seats. I kept my eye on him and watched him struggle to stand when his number was called. He laughed aloud at himself for this and again when his number was repeated over the loud speaker because it took him a minute to get there. I watched him quickly go through the transaction at the teller.
Like me, it appeared he was just renewing his license. I was stunned, however, when this old man removed his glasses before his eye exam. Admittedly, this gave me hope, as I had my glasses in my pocket, trying to quickly strengthen and adjust my eyes so that I too could pass without the aid of eyeglasses. No such luck though, as I waited patiently looking through the machine for my teller to flash the numbers before I realized that I just couldn’t see the numbers that were up there.
Then my teller convinced me that I had filled out the form wrong by reversing the numbers in my street address. The numbers above my front door. The numbers on all my mail. The numbers at which I live. She convinced me that I did not know my own address, and now I’m getting a license made with the wrong address. This is true. In her defense, my old license that I got when I moved, only a year ago, had the wrong address on it, which would be my fault.
So to recap: let’s compare the old man at the DMV and me. Which one did not have all the necessary paperwork the first time through? Which one apparently has better eyesight? Which one presumably knows where he lives? Which one is not easily influenced or corrected into making the wrong choice? And, who got bumped to the front of the line?
I’m waiting for my chance to skip to the front of the line, unfortunately that could take fifty-some years. I have a feeling though the wait is much better than that of the DMV.
The office opened at 8, and while I was expecting to have to wait, I was not expecting the line to be so deep when I arrived at 7:45. The parking lot was nearly full and the sidewalk was overloaded. At around 9 o’clock, I finally got to the front of the line (to get a ticket to wait further) and was told I didn’t have everything I need. I headed home to grab my passport, which says nothing about me living in Virginia , and headed back to wait in line again. At least, I had no where important to be.
The line was only about half as long, but I was going to have to wait in it again. Not long after I arrived, an old man arrived. He had his thin white hair combed neatly in place and his face was covered by a handful of liver spots. His striped shirt was tucked severely into his striped pants that looked more like pajama pants than dress pants. His pants were, you guessed it, pulled up to his chest.
The young man in front of me offered to switch spots in line with him that the old man accepted with a smile and then joked “I don’t look that old do I?” I offered to switch spots with him myself and the two of us talked for a brief minute. I told him this was my second time waiting in line, and he told me he always brings everything he might need with him to the DMV and raised a tidy little stack of papers. I would have enjoyed talking to him longer, but the young security guard offered to usher him to the front of the line. Senior citizen privilege I guess. I think he was more surprised than anyone. You know those senior citizens, too… always in a rush to get stuff done.
I got to the front of the line where I got my ticket, B38, and camped out by the far wall. I spotted the old man chatting with someone in the seats. I kept my eye on him and watched him struggle to stand when his number was called. He laughed aloud at himself for this and again when his number was repeated over the loud speaker because it took him a minute to get there. I watched him quickly go through the transaction at the teller.
Like me, it appeared he was just renewing his license. I was stunned, however, when this old man removed his glasses before his eye exam. Admittedly, this gave me hope, as I had my glasses in my pocket, trying to quickly strengthen and adjust my eyes so that I too could pass without the aid of eyeglasses. No such luck though, as I waited patiently looking through the machine for my teller to flash the numbers before I realized that I just couldn’t see the numbers that were up there.
Then my teller convinced me that I had filled out the form wrong by reversing the numbers in my street address. The numbers above my front door. The numbers on all my mail. The numbers at which I live. She convinced me that I did not know my own address, and now I’m getting a license made with the wrong address. This is true. In her defense, my old license that I got when I moved, only a year ago, had the wrong address on it, which would be my fault.
So to recap: let’s compare the old man at the DMV and me. Which one did not have all the necessary paperwork the first time through? Which one apparently has better eyesight? Which one presumably knows where he lives? Which one is not easily influenced or corrected into making the wrong choice? And, who got bumped to the front of the line?
I’m waiting for my chance to skip to the front of the line, unfortunately that could take fifty-some years. I have a feeling though the wait is much better than that of the DMV.
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