Things that make you say, “Huh?”

I was at a thrift store a short time ago looking for a computer desk (no luck there by the way) and ran across one of those oddities of life in this world that makes you stop and ask yourself the age old philosophical question, “Huh?”

“Huh?” is often mistakenly confused with its close relatives “What the…?” (or simply “Wha?”) and “Eh?” However, the latter two more aptly describe circumstances in which one is not sure what they have encountered and/or just heard about. “Huh?” is best reserved for times when one is quite certain they have a firm grasp on the reality and facts of the situation, but their mind fumbles futilely to conjure up any logical or reasonable explanation for why the item exists, deed was done, words were spoken, etc. Consider Caffeine Free Diet Coke for example: No caffeine, no sugar, aspartame aftertaste, yet people still buy it… huh?

Back to my original story – The item in question which produced the “huh?” response that day was a Marlboro two-piece running suit. Just how many packs of cigarettes do you have to smoke to earn enough Marlboro points to send in for your very own Marlboro two-piece running suit? Or if you don’t earn it and simply purchase it, does the Marlboro Company actually have that many fiercely loyal customers who are also addicted to running? I can just imagine the monthly meeting for the local chapter of Marlboro Runners.


Frank: “All right everyone, let’s make this quick. We only have the smokers’ lounge reserved for the next ten minutes and then we have to head back outside near the picnic table for the duration of the meeting. It’s 20 below out there so let’s do our best to wrap this up in the first ten minutes. Okay, first item on the agenda: thank you to everyone who showed up for last month’s run. It was a grueling quarter mile, but thanks to Jimmy, and the well planned smoking breaks every twenty minutes, the time seemed to just fly by. Also, I’m pleased to announce that Earl had a new personal best time – mainly because he forgot his oxygen tank at home and didn’t have its weight dragging him down like usual; but a personal best nonetheless. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, we’ll be accepting donations at the back as you leave for a small thank you gift for the emergency medical technicians who revived Earl at the finish line. We thought we lost you for a minute there, Earl!”

Earl: wheeze

Frank: “Okay, next subject. For safety reasons it was suggested and accepted unanimously that this month’s run consist of two laps around the hospital block. Since we can’t smoke directly in front of the building, please ensure all cigarettes are properly extinguished for the thirty feet before and after the main entrance. Yes, Dale, that means you too.”

Earl: wheeze

Frank: “No, Earl, I still haven’t been able to get any of the local medical supply centers to sponsor us and provide free oxygen tank recharging. However, the manager at Simon’s Brewery did say he might consider giving me a call sometime about our request for donations to fund the purchase of the latest Marlboro running suits.”

Earl: wheeze

Frank: “Yes, Earl, the top-of-the line ones that come with the oxygen backpack and cigarette holster as standard equipment.”

Earl: wheeze

Frank: “Sorry, Earl, we don’t have time to go into that now. Jimmy just finished his second pack which means our time is up for today. Please be generous with your donations on the way out. Everyone have a good week and remember the Marlboro Runners’ Motto: ‘Just breath through the pain…as best you can.’”

Free TV Anyone?

Five Minutes for Mom is giving away a free TV in conjunction with Best Buy. Hey, you've got better odds than the lottery. Check it out at the link below... or don't, then I'll have a better chance of winning. You choose.

http://www.5minutesformom.com/2032/insignia-37inch-flat-panel-lcd-hdtv-contest/

Random Thoughts

Ten reasons why cats have it good:

10. You get to act aloof all the time unless you want something, and everyone accepts that’s just the way it is

9. If you don’t like your caretakers you can simply leave and find others

8. You always land on your feet

7. You don’t have to worry about what to wear

6. Climbing is a cinch

5. If you get stuck up a tree the firefighters will come rescue you and put you in the arms of someone who will baby you for a while because of all your suffering

4. You’re not a dog

3. Paws – padded for stealth, clawed for action

2. Rodents aren’t an infestation, they’re free roaming appetizers

1. Catnaps

Online Quizzes

Online quizzes. There are so many online quizzes nowadays that claim to test everything from your IQ to what kind of Superhero you are to what vegetable you were in a former life to the quantity and color of mucus likely to be discharged with your next sneeze. Well, since it is apparent that no self-respecting blog can survive without a personalized quiz, I have come up with one of my own. Be forewarned that if you don’t forward this quiz to 124 of your closest nieces before the clock chimes midnight on the eve of your next birthday, you will be one year older without having heeded this warning.


QUIZ: What Type of Animal Lover Are you?
Select the answer below that BEST reflects yourself.

1. What is your preferred type of pet?
a. Dog
b. Cat
c. Rodent
d. Bird
e. Fish
f. Reptile/Amphibian
g. Other


2. How many pets do you own?
a. None
b. 1-2
c. 2-5
d. 5-10
e. More than 10


3. Where do you usually get your pets?
a. Only from the finest breeder
b. Well reputed pet stores
c. Classified ads, but only with proper papers
d. They followed me home and I kept them
e. That’s none of your business… You’re not a cop are you?
f. I already told you -- no pets here

4. Do you have names for all your pets?
a. Yes
b. No


5. What kind of names do you give your pets?
a. Descriptive, such as Fluffy, Gordo, Wiggles and Stinkslikesourmilk
b. Human names, such as Alice, Frank, Bob, George and Rodrigo
c. Titled names, such as Mr. Doodles, Senior Frenchie and Little Miss Poopsie
d. Traditional names, such as Rover and Spot
e. Creatively challenged names, such as dog, cat, snake, fish and heyyou
f. I still don’t have any pets
g. I have pets but don’t name them – it creates too close a bond and might be difficult to do what is necessary should my food storage ever run out while I am holed up in my basement waiting for the inevitable zombie uprising to end


6. In an emergency evacuation, if you had to choose exclusively between taking your pet(s) along or leaving them behind and saving personal memorabilia such as scrapbooks, photos, home videos, etc., which would you take?
a. Pets
b. Irreplaceable memorabilia
c. Someone else's pets
d. Someone else's memorabilia

7. How do you dispose of pets that have… um… passed on?
a. Full funeral with guests, songs and speakers
b. Small family gathering in the back yard
c. Facilities, such as vet or cremation
d. Brown box, big hole, done deal
e. Interring the earthly shell would interrupt the cycle of life – I leave them where they lie so the beauty of nature can take its course and renew life once again
f. Passed on? What are you talking about? My parents always told me my pets just “ran away” – although I did always wonder how goldie fish made it back to the ocean from Nebraska…


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If you answered all of the questions thoughtfully before reading the answers, you are the kind of animal lover that likes to take pointless quizzes that don’t tell you anything at all about anything at all except that you wasted valuable minutes of your life that you can never get back.



If you answered all of the questions quickly without giving them much if any thought, you are the kind of animal lover that is mildly interested in what might be interesting about this quiz… or you are just bored.



If you only read the questions and answers without bothering to make any selections, you are the kind of animal lover that doesn’t believe this quiz can tell you what kind of an animal lover you are but are curious enough to read on anyway.



If you didn’t take the quiz and just skipped right to the answers, you are the kind of animal lover that doesn’t like quizzes but somewhere deep down inside is hoping that there will be something worthwhile somewhere else in this blog.



If you read this just so you could make fun of those pathetic animal lovers out there, you are the kind of animal lover that is really more of an animal hater.



If you stopped reading as soon as you saw the word quiz, you are the kind of animal lover that didn’t read this sentence.

Too cliché or not too cliché -- that is the question.

Earlier today I was pondering the saying, “healthy as a horse.” For most of my life, I thought it was just another nonsensical cliché like “I slept like a baby” (I do not consider waking up every hour or so throughout the night the epitome of a good night’s sleep). I figured this was the case because horses get shot if they even break a leg, which doesn’t seem very healthy to me. Then it hit me – the missing link I had overlooked all these years: A live horse is a very healthy horse because otherwise he would be dead. Hence, “healthy as a horse” actually does connote good health. Chalk a point up for solving one of life’s small mysteries. Now if I could just figure out why you park on a driveway and drive on a parkway…

Odd Humor

I have at times been told that I have a very odd sense of humor, but humor is a very odd sort of thing. It often means laughing at something that doesn’t make sense; which makes sense since the unexpectedness of its illogic is what oft times makes us laugh. Hence humor is not an odd sort of thing at all; implying the only odd sense of humor would be to have none at all. And since having no sense of humor means not laughing at something that doesn’t make sense, which is perfectly normal, the odd people must be those who have a sense of humor at all. This of course confuses the whole issue of what an odd odd sense of humor is and what an odd normal sense of humor is. Is it normal if it is normally odd or odd if it is oddly normal, or vice versa? Yet perhaps the simplest explanation is in fact not to be found in the examination of the aspects of humor, but in the reiteration of the phrase: I have a very odd sense of humor.

Leave From Absence

Yes you read it right. But is it really just all in your head? Is there actually a new post here, or are you just imagining it. Perhaps it is something impossible, like a picture you look at that makes sense at first but not a few seconds later...

Maybe if you stare really hard, everything will become clearer...

Then again, if you click on a picture and it opens into a new page and stare at the center for a minute or so, that might expose the true state of things...

But then again, maybe this never happened. Maybe I never did post something here. Maybe you never even visited this blog today to wonder whether or not something that may or may not be here is in fact here or if you are imagining it or just daydreaming about imagining what might happen if you imagined it.


Then again maybe not
not that it is not maybe that is the
the question at hand
hand it to you to figure it out
out of whatever you think may be
be hidden between the lines
lines that are hidden in plain view
view that you might see
see if you look beyond what is visible
visible if you look beyond what you see
see you soon or maybe later
later if my leave from absence is shortened a bit
bit sooner if it is extended
extended beyond what it is now
now I must go -- go if I was ever here now

Food for Thought

Cows are not pretty animals. The beast’s hygiene is far from perfect—mulling about in mud, stepping in piles of steaming refuse from yesterday’s lunch, playing host to a myriad of flies, and even chewing their cud. Cud—the word alone has a grueling ring to it, don’t you think? I am sure you can understand why the thought of eating their hooves did not appeal to me. Yes, the hooves—the cow’s respective toe-nails; the extremity that holds dirty little dark secrets within its crevices as tightly as we do skeletons in the closet. Even assuming the skeletons can be cleared out, and the closet dusted for cobwebs, how do you prepare such an area for dining? You don’t, would be my heartfelt suggestion.

People who insist on this form of torture boil the hooves in a steaming cauldron of water. Boiling causes the hoof to take on an oily sheen and rubber-like quality. Eating rubbery hoof is like chewing a mix between abandoned retread from the highway and some sort of animal fat—greasy, stinky, and difficult to grind into smaller pieces. Since you cannot break the monstrosity into miniature demons, you are forced to swallow the nightmare whole. Swallowing a sizable piece inevitably induces the gag reflex at the back of the throat, and awakens vivid childhood memories of choking on marbles and slimy spit wads you inhaled while preparing to shoot. As the squishy intruder oozes down your throat and into your stomach, you get the distinct feeling that it will come out much the same way in the end. At this point, you feel a need to smile and show courteous gratitude to your eager-to-please hostess, and would do so were it not for the mountain of hoof still lying on your plate and jiggling like disturbed Jell-O. Jell-O—Did I mention that both Jell-O and marshmallows are made of cow hooves? Just add sugar and voilà—dessert! It’s amazing what a spoonful (or nine or ten) of sugar can do to make the cow hoof go down in a more desirable way.

Division of Air and Space Forces

In a prepared statement released this morning, General T. Michael Moseley, Chief of Staff of the U.S. Air Force, announced that due to the increased use of space assets and need for specially trained space operators; by the year 2015 the Air Force will divide into two distinct entities: the Air Force, and a separate Space Force. This will bring the total number of U.S. armed services to four (Air Force, Army, Navy and Space Force). The U.S. Space Force will maintain a close relationship with the Air Force (and other services) as one of its primary missions will be intelligence gathering in support of joint warfighting efforts around the globe. Creating a new armed service will ensure space programs are adequately funded and allow for the development of a specialized space cadre who are experts in orbital mechanics and the other particularities related to operating in the space environment. Prospective candidates for officership in the Space Force will be affectionately known as “Space Cadets.” The official uniform design (click here to see the official artist’s rendering) has also been released to the public, and the Air Force is taking bids for the contract. Production is expected to begin in 2014 so as to allow for a full compliment of uniform items by the 1 January 2015 implementation date.

Cell Phones: Parasites or Appendages?

I think my cell phone may have become an appendage. For work purposes I am required to keep my cell phone on my person at all times and even shut off the shower to take a phone call if necessary. Days “off,” weekends, holidays, 2 a.m.; it doesn’t matter, I have to answer the cell phone when a call comes through. Now constantly carrying a cell phone isn’t a rarity nowadays, so you might be asking yourself, “how could it be like an appendage?” For those skeptics, I ask you to consider the following points:

1. Day-to-day I take it for granted that my cell phone will be on my person. Carrying it with me is nearly as unconscious as remembering to bring my left leg with me each morning.

2. If I do happen to misplace my cell phone I run around frantically searching for it as I would a severed finger so that it may be surgically reattached at the soonest possible moment.

3. When I am forced to leave my phone behind for whatever reason (e.g. when I am in a classified environment where no cell phones are allowed and I have forwarded my calls to a landline), I often have phantom cell phone vibrations and pat around my clothing for a bit looking for my cell phone before remembering it is no longer attached. This is akin to the stories people tell of having lost a leg in a freak ping-pong tournament accident and later having phantom itches in said missing appendage.

It is clear to me that my cell phone has in fact become an appendage of sorts. I guess this is my first step toward becoming a cyborg. Next I need a set of those glasses that have the miniature screens inside them and connect to the internet. Then I’ll build myself a spaceship shaped like a cube and run around “collecting” others to assimilate… oh wait, I think that’s been done already (was that Star Trek or Microsoft, or both?).

Ten Novel Things to do when it’s Freezing (literally) Outside

Make Money
Find a lamppost and stick your tongue to it. Next start screaming (as best you can with your tongue frozen to a lamppost) “Hwelf Mee! Hwelf Mee!” When a few thrill seekers finally show up to see what the commotion is all about, tear yourself away quickly so as to do maximum damage to your tongue (profuse bleeding is optimal). Have a friend with camera in hand ready to snap a few shots of the horrific sight and get names, addresses and phone numbers from witnesses to the travesty. Finally, backed by photos and eye-witnesses, sue the lamppost manufacturer for not inventing a compound that when thoroughly frozen still does not allow an unwary passerby’s tongue to become frozen to the exterior.

Do Scientific Research
Crack an egg on the sidewalk to see if it will cook once summer rolls around.

Impress Others with Your Mental Prowess
Attempt the winter equivalent of fire walking and brave the trek from your front door to the mailbox or trashcan in bare feet. You may find it helpful to think about being somewhere else like Hawaii, Texas, or even the Amazon (No, this won’t make you warmer, but frankly it’s just depressing to be really cold and still thinking about places like the North Pole, Alaska and Dakratland).

Make Fun of those Who Think They Have Mental Prowess
Watch television from inside the comfort of your apartment while thinking about your significant other who is outside walking in bare feet to the mailbox, and chuckle a bit (giggling is authorized for females only).

Remember the Good Ol’ Times, Back in the Day
Celebrate your grandfather’s birthday by walking to school/work in the snow with no shoes… uphill both ways. (Be wary of neighbors who may call the police thinking you’ve finally gone nuts.)

Do Something for the Neighborhood
Get a clipboard, pen and official looking hat (just the brim has to look semi-official as you can obscure the rest with the hood of your coat). Next, go door to door telling residents that you are sorry to inform them that due to increased demand the rate for natural gas will double starting next month. When they complain or start to question your legitimacy, politely tell them that you understand their concerns and unfortunately there is nothing you can do. Advise them to write their congressman (or woman, as the case may be) if they have any issues with the price increase.

Give Others Reason to Question your Sanity
Sit on your porch reading a Harry Potter novel with sunglasses and a Hawaiian T-Shirt. Invite passersby to join you for a glass of ice-cold lemonade.

Get Free Food
Google for anyone having a Wedding that day and crash it with the excuse that your car died and you can’t go back out into the cold… and by the way, will the friends and family luncheon start anytime soon?

Discover Hidden Talents
Tie your dogs to a sled and tell them to “mush.” See what happens next – do they have what it takes to compete in the World Cup dogsledding championship?

Save the World
First, using up all the snow in your yard, build the biggest snow fort you can and stockpile snowballs. Second, post a sign that reads, “The End is Near! Are you Ready?” Third, send a petition door to door pleading for all concerned parties to donate snow to the cause of ringing the neighborhood with a gigantic snow wall. Finally, don an authoritative looking hat and while feverishly popping up and down from inside your snow fort, cry out in doomsday tones, “The Eskimos are coming! The Eskimos are coming!” Pause every now and again to huddle in a corner and rock back and forth while crying, “Oh no, please not again…not again…why me? Why me?”

Why Nuclear Weapons are Fun

It’s -50º F outside and even the snowmen are shivering. The wind is blowing hard enough to viciously sting any small amount of skin you hazard to expose in order to see and breathe through the flying ice flakes. But the weather isn’t what’s on your mind right now. In fact, you couldn’t see the blizzard or hear the wind howling across the frozen tundra even if you wanted. No, you and your crew partner are stationed 60 feet underground behind two eight-ton blast doors in a nuclear hardened launch control center (LCC). There you sit, in a concrete capsule suspended from the ceiling by four mammoth shock isolators which are designed to help you survive a cold-war era “near miss” from an incoming enemy missile. For the next 24 hours the two of you will busy yourselves inspecting equipment, processing exercise messages from higher headquarters, troubleshooting faults, and monitoring the security and well-being of the 10-50 Minuteman III Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles (ICBMs) under your care and control.

Each ICBM in your arsenal is capable of carrying up to three thermonuclear warheads capable of inflicting terrible damage. Your mission is to defend the United States with safe, secure ICBMs ready to immediately put bombs on target. Day to day, this translates into working to maintain them in a constant state of readiness so as to deter any hostile forces who might hope to attack the United States or our allies and catch us unprepared to respond. However, should the need arise (heaven forbid) and you are issued the command to launch – you must be prepared in an instant to employ the most powerful weapon the U.S. has in its arsenal.

Understandably, the job comes with its share of stress. In order to alleviate some of this tension, allow me to suggest some harmless practical jokes you can play should you ever find yourself “pulling alert” in an LCC.


Frozen Footwear
When it is your crew partner’s turn for crew rest (to sleep), gather their socks together, wet them and squeeze out as much of the water as possible before tossing them in the freezer. Just before waking them, remove the now rigid items from the freezer and return them to the place you found them. As a warning, make sure to do this only after you have finished your own sleep shift. With enough forethought, you could even buy some absolutely ridiculous looking socks before alert and offer them in place of the frozen ones. If you don’t mind delayed gratification, you can also try a different twist. This time after gathering their socks, powder the insides with Kool-Aid flavoring. Since the socks are black and the powder doesn’t change color until wetted, it won’t be until after arriving at home that the unwary soul finds their feet have turned a bright shade of red… or green, or blue, or yellow…

Number Mix
This one’s always good for a cheap laugh. Switch around the numbers on the dial pad for the phone – nothing too obvious, but something simple like reversing the order. Your intended victim may notice the discrepancy right away, but will still fumble around a bit before dialing the right number or having to replace them to their original locations.

Exploding Snakes
Get some of those gag snakes that squish down rather flat and then “explode” out of their container when opened. These are endlessly entertaining and can be hid in places like the air regeneration unit, the emergency escape breathing apparatus container, or in that unobtrusive can marked “Chocolate Chip Cookies,” which you know will get opened while you are sleeping.

“Moving LCC”
This one is an urban legend among missileers (those who pull missile alert duty), but could be pulled off with the right kind of coordination. Invite someone new to the facility but not a missileer (such as a new security forces member) down to the LCC for a quick tour. After closing the blast door behind them and beginning the tour, have your crew partner initiate an alarm and printer test from at the console. This will set off a set of audible and visual alarms while printing out a test sheet on the printer. Express concern about the alarms and run to check the printout with your crew partner. Explain to the visitor that you have just received an urgent message from headquarters which must be delivered immediately to another capsule.

Next begin strapping into your chairs (which are equipped with a four-point restraining system to keep you from being bounced around too much following a nuclear detonation) and tell him or her to sit down and hold on to something. Tell them that the LCC is on rails and in emergencies like this can travel through an underground tunnel to reach other predetermined locations throughout the missile field. Next close your emergency water shutoff valve (ESOV) which will make a satisfyingly loud “whump” sound. This is the cue for the person you have secreted outside the capsule to start pushing on the capsule, causing it to rock slightly back and forth (remember it is suspended from the ceiling). After doing this for a short time and pretending to track your movement on the computer screen, open the ESOVs again. This will produce a loud “whoosh” somewhat akin to air brakes.

Finally, tell the visitor that since you are not allowed to leave the capsule while on duty (which is true); you need them to run the message back topside (ground level) and give it to the flight security controller. Unbeknownst to the victim, while he was “touring” the LCC, the personnel topside were busy switching places from the day to night personnel and moving enough around site (including vehicles) to make it look like a different location (the fact that the buildings are all the same and the landscape is all flat is very helpful for this ruse). If all goes according to plan, the wide-eyed messenger will deliver the printout topside, and may even ask if he can get someone to give him a ride back to his station.

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Hopefully these hints will help to jumpstart your creative juices; and who knows, you might be the next one to come up with a prank that will enter the realm of urban legends among those who work with nuclear weapons.

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How to Have April Fool’s Fun without Crossing the Line

According to The Columbia Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition, April Fool’s Day or All Fools Day is a, holiday of uncertain origin, known for practical joking and celebrated on the first of April. Prior to the adoption of the Gregorian calendar in 1564, the date was observed as New Year's Day by cultures as varied as the Roman and the Hindu. The holiday is considered to be related to the festival of the vernal equinox, which occurs on Mar. 21. The English gave April Fool's Day its first widespread celebration during the 18th cent.”

You were born with a funny bone – two in fact. This fine and noble holiday is the perfect opportunity to put them to good use. After all, the question in your mind should not be whether or not to partake in the abundant festivities on April 1st and bask in its glorious mirth; but what prank you will perform and for whom you will devote such effort. Will your tomfoolery be of legendary caliber and inspire thousands of pranksters for years to come, or will you settle for one of the tried and true methods sure to bring a grimace to someone else’s face and a smile to yours?

Whatever direction you choose, be wary of straying off the pathway of humor and into the wastelands of cheesiness where you can languish for months without ever provoking a chuckle, a smirk or even a pity laugh. Worse yet, there are those who once upon an April Fool’s embarked on the blessed quest to earn the coveted of all responses – the belly laugh – only to find they had unintentionally, but irrevocably crossed the point of no-return into that land of “just not funny and in fact rather cruel.” Yes crusaders, heed the lesson to be learned from the unfortunate plight of one shunned by fellow comedian and potential fool alike – do not cross the line.


The Five Laws of the Joke

1. Consider well thy audience and prank accordingly.
2. Limitest thou the damage collateral.
3. Remember, cheesiness never was funniness.
4. Temper thine infliction of pain; for whilst discomfort of the temporary variety is well suited, anguish and humiliation for life are discouraged indeed.
5. Cause not thy victim to incur difficulty financial.
6. Understandest thou the principle of “what goes around comes around,” and with cheery heart taketh as thou givest.

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I once read, “some people are like slinkies; not good for much, yet you can’t help but smile when you see them tumble down the stairs.”

Another Reason I’m Glad I Married Young

Today Nikki accompanied me to work for a lunch/fundraiser my squadron was sponsoring. She later commented about the unusual amount of men growing facial hair (mustaches to be exact). I explained that it is all part of “March Madness.” The tradition being that one grows a mustache and awards are given out at the end of the month to individuals with the best this-or-that growth.

She simply replied, “Oh.” Then asked, “So are you going to try and grow one?” At which point she burst out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, which I am sure woke at least one of our sleeping children.

Now, it’s not really my fault I can’t grow decent-looking facial hair (I blame it on being one small part Native American). Besides, I remind myself that Photoshop has helped me come to terms with the fact that even had I the ability to grow hair at the manliest rate possible, doing so would only make me look like a feral gerbil had taken up residence immediately below my nose.

Instead of communicating any of this to my loving wife (who at this point was still trembling enough from fits of laughter that she was very obviously trying to keep from peeing herself), I simply sighed and left it at that. After all, I had rather expected some such reaction from her, and considered myself fortunate that while she was on the subject of hair she didn’t take the opportunity to poke fun (as she often does) at the fact that my hairline is slowly receding. Yes, my hair is going the way of the dinosaur; retreating into the ether, never to be seen from again. Dinosaurs – no one is sure what happened to them, why they left, or how many there were to begin with (in fact, some people refuse to be convinced they ever existed at all). The only hard fact we have is that they are nowhere to be found now (unless you count some of their so-called “distant relatives,” but that’s like saying the increased growth in nose and ear hair we men get as we age makes up in some way for the lack of it up on top).

The bright side, and moral, of this story is that I have a wife to laugh at me. You see, she will not leave me for lack of hair. Nevertheless, I remain unconvinced that she would have been interested enough to marry me were I already in this downward spiral of uncontrollable molting. Yes, young men of the world, get married now while you still have a mane worthy of actually paying a professional to cut. If you wait until the day you step off the barber’s chair and look down at your cuttings only to realize the removal of such an embarrassingly small mass isn’t worth the $10 plus tip you are about to fork over; well, it just might be too late.

Works for me Wednesday - Super Glue

Nikki has introduced me to the world of Works for me Wednesday (WFMW) hosted at Rocks in my Dryer. While the acronym may sound like that of an obscure radio station, it seems like a neat idea to share about something that has had a positive impact (no matter the size) in your life. Hence, this WFMW post about the wonders of super glue.

While it is just an urban legend that super glue developed as an accidental solution to wounds in WWII, I have found that it is in fact most useful to me in a variety of bodily-mending ways. Consider the following:

A dab of super glue will reinforce a torn finger or toenail so that you stop catching it on everything and yelping for no obvious reason to passersby. One dab is usually all it takes until the nail grows out far enough to trim properly. And yes, by “trim” I mean hone down to appropriate shortness in a very manly fashion.

A thin line of super glue will close a cut and amazingly stop the pain as well (yes guys, I know you can handle the pain from a wimpy cut, but it’s equally manly to say, “yeah, I just threw some hydrogen peroxide in there and watched it bubble for a minute then slapped some super glue on – good as new).

If you are living with cracked heels due to poor maintenance, dry climate, or genetic reasons, super glue will mend together even the jagged Grand Canyon style crevices of the foot world.

I’m sure there are countless other ways to employ this wonderful compound, which is as universally handy as duct tape. Like the ancient Chinese proverb states, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it; and if duct tape or super glue can’t fix it, it ain’t broke.”

Insatiable

The word for the day is insatiable. Simply stated it means impossible to satisfy. However, be not beguiled by the ease of definition, for this is no simple word. Indeed, it is one of those magnificent words which when said leaves an air of mystery and unspoken challenge in the air. Say it with me, ĭn-sā'shə-bəl. Its delicious sound caresses the roof of your mouth before lazily sliding from between your barely parted lips. In one moment it complements those of great power and focus, and in the next it slanders those of weak character or evil disposition.

The thought-provoking prowess of this word, when employed, will cause any but the most naïve to pause and ponder the veracity of the statement which it compliments, as well as the judgment of its speaker. Yes my friend, you would do well to be wary of the insatiable.

Five Random Things About Me

Okay, I have been tagged by Nikki to list 5 totally random things about me that most people probably don’t know. So here goes… oh, and as a side note, I will not be “tagging” anyone else for this task – I don’t have enough friends to lose one or two this way.

1. During college I took a fencing class and near the end of the semester entered an area tournament in which I won third place.

2. I have an irrational fear of sharks (even though I have never been in the ocean, and was only on a beach once in my life). Sure, statistically I am more likely to get struck by a bolt of lightning on a clear day then get attacked by a shark; but the lightning isn’t sentient – it doesn’t care if it zaps me or the next-tallest thing around. Sharks on the other hand want to see if I taste good. What if I taste good?

3. I once played the role of a vicar in a theater production and spent most of the play running around in a pair of boxers and a wife-beater after an imposter clubbed me and stole my clothes – oh, and I wore black socks. Mustn’t forget the near knee-length black socks.

4. In my dreams if I fall off a tall building or cliff or some other such structure or am forced to jump for whatever reason, all I have to do is close my eyes and I will land safely at the bottom. This is quite handy for example when trying to evade the fearsome sharks that have somehow swam up to the top of an unmarked thirty-story building just to see whether or not you taste good.

5. While I have not yet found any grey hairs on my head, I do have one solitary grey nose hair that comes to visit every so often. The left nostril, if you really must know. And yes, that’s my left not yours. I have no idea how many grey nose-hairs you have in your left nostril, so why would you even think that was an option?

The Life and Times of a 3 year-old

Tic-tac anyone?

G., my 3 year-old daughter, begs and begs for cuddles to fall asleep each night. Now what is wrong with honoring this innocent request you ask? Well, in truth there is absolutely nothing at all wrong with it – in fact it is wonderful. I would love to lay next to her every night and stare at her little face as her eyes flutter shut and her breathing slows to a calm melodic rhythm. Her peaceful sleeping countenance helps me remember what a sweet little girl she really is and all the crazy “terrible threes” moments from the day fade away into meaningless moments of the past. However, I also have five-year and seventeen-month-old sons who clamor just as loudly for my nighttime attention.

But I digress – this story is not about how to best divide ones attention and sleep-quota among three little ones; it is about one particular night just after I lay my head down next to G.’s on her pillow. My wonderful wife, Nikki, and I had just abandoned a much needed alone time on the couch to talk and eat raw vegetables dipped in tasty green onion dip (but not before munching a carrot or two). This said, as I looked at G., a disconcerted expression contorted her face. She waved her hand in front of her face in a manner that made me think she had hurt a finger and was about to ask for me to “kiss it better,” when she very seriously said, “Daddy, your air is yucky.” Hmmm… time to brush my teeth.


Now where did I put those tweezers...

Yesterday G. once again became disturbed when she looked up from where she sat in my lap reading books and observed, “Ooh daddy, you have hair in your nose – that so yucky.”


The Disciplinarian

While I am not a pushover when it comes to disciplining my children, it is no secret that no one can put the fear of disobedience into them like my wife. Well, earlier today when G. was supposed to be napping, she snuck downstairs in hopes that we had forgotten it was naptime and she could resume playing like it had never happened. Since this certainly wasn’t the case, I scolded her for getting out of bed and told her to go back to her room. She planted her little feet and stubbornly told me that she had no intentions of doing any such thing. At that same moment Nikki glanced in G.’s bedroom in passing and not seeing the little sleeping lump she expected, called “G.?” Hearing this downstairs, G.’s resolve instantly dissolved as a wave of realization and trepidation swept across her face. She literally jumped at me trying to clamber into my arms as she desperately cried out, “Daddy, take me to my room! Take me to my room!” I can only imagine what fate she thought would befall her should her mother discover her escape.

To bite or not to bite -- That is the question

Today I gave G. a piece of spicy jalapeño cheese, warning her that it was “hot cheese,” but she was welcome to try it. After taking a bite and chewing it up she made a small rasping sound in the back of her throat and politely returned what remained of her slice to the plate. I asked her if she was done with it, to which she replied, “Yes. It is very much not good.” I glanced at Nikki who was trying to hide her quiet chuckling. Once composed, she asked G. if she wanted more cheese. “No,” G. replied. “It’s too hot. I have to wait for it to cool off.”

The reality of perceived truth

Isn’t it interesting that aside from a few basic truths, other facts do not affect us or are not important to us until we become aware of them. Even at the moment we learn of them, it is not the concrete absolutes of their being that affect us, but how we perceive them to be in our minds. Our perception, so far as we are concerned, is identical to the reality of the situation. Since this reality is dependent on and varies from person to person; perception is indeed reality. Consider a woman who believes they have one donut left in the cupboard which they plan to happily devour after lunch. They are infused by a sense of contentment in their perceived donut ownership. However, the fact of the matter is that said donut was eaten earlier by the woman’s husband (whose perceived sense of well-being may decline dramatically after lunch).

Interestingly the facts changed earlier when the woman’s donut account went from one to zero, while her perception – her reality – maintained a one donut balance. Further, after lunch when she realizes that her unwary husband consumed the delectable treat, her reality (or perception thereof) will change from one donut ownership to donut bankrupt causing a discernable and negative change in her sense of contentment and stability, while the reality of the matter (zero donuts to zero donuts) made no change whatsoever in that moment.

If you remain unconvinced of my argument think on the following examples:

• The moment a person dies vs. the moment in which a loved one learns of the death
• The moment a person’s vehicle is burnt and destroyed by a freak gasoline fight accident vs. the moment in which they discover the tragedy
• The moment a person loses their entire family fortune in the stock market vs. the moment in which they try to buy a diamond engagement ring for their potential fiancé and subsequently learn that their purchase is denied due to the fact that they have no money and everything is about to be repossessed down to and including their vintage record copy of “It’s a Small World” personally autographed by the Sherman brothers themselves.
  

I rest my case.

Local Area Activities

Pictured above are the winners from last year's Local City Dakrat Hunting Competition -- the prize animal came in at 230.6 grams.

Legal Notice: Local City Dakrat Hunting Competition entrants are not discriminated against based on age, sex, race, religion, political affiliation, or size.

Frozen Wonderland

While Dakratland may be cold enough to make a snowman wish he could travel South for the Winter, the frigid weather can at times create masterpieces of wonder and beauty as pictured below in the aftermath of freezing fog (pretty to look at, not to drive in).

Aw Bloody...

As a happy return from vacation welcome, we noticed that the wall outlet our freezer was plugged into had also taken a vacation. What clued us in to this fact? Well, the CSI-like blood trail originating from beneath the appliance was a good hint, but there's nothing better to satisfy the question than the smell of fetid meet wafting from the warmed metalic insides of a chest freezer. Yummy. I had to refreeze the items inside just so I could stand the smell long enough to remove the offending articles -- except for the final bits which were stubbornly frozen in the bloody mess (pun intended), and weren't loosened even after pounding on them with a hammer. As a side note, it feels a little evil to pound repeatedly and furiously on a chunk of flesh while small blood flecks spatter your hands and face. Alas, after digging to the bottom of the freezer I realized that it was ruined since I would not be able to clean the blood that had oozed into the fine cracks where the metal met at the bottom and sides.

Happy Halloween

In the midnight hour of All Hallows Eve,
When the spirits and creatures are stirring,
The piercing howl of the Jack-O-Wolf,
Calls all to terrified silence.

Five Guaranteed Steps to Overcome Procrastination Forever

[Blog Forthcoming]

Of the most pleasant sounds ever heard,
Silence is the one most oft reveared.

"Hello darkness, my old friend,

Ive come to talk with you again,

Because a vision softly creeping,

Left its seeds while I was sleeping,

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence."

Everyone is a Critic

WARNING: This post contains SPOILERS for the movie THE LAKE HOUSE. Do not read if you have not seen the show and do not wish to have the ending revealed prematurely!

Disclaimer: Yes it is a chick flick, and yes it is a remake (Il Mare is the Korean original).

First, let me say that Keanu Reeves has not ever and will likely never be a good actor. That said, I am inclined to acknowledge that he was slightly more tolerable in this movie than in Sweet November (119 minutes of my life that I will never get back). In order to keep this short, I will ignore the many minor things that annoyed me and rant about the one major issue – the ending.

I was hopeful that at least in the last moments of this film I could walk away with the life lesson that in an ordinary world, even one with possessed mailboxes and a somewhat creepy dog, bad things can happen without a “happily ever after ending.” But no, just when I was filled with dark hope, Mickey Mouse must’ve poked one of the writers in the ribs and said, “He he – hey, you can’t end a movie like that! Look at The Little Mermaid – wow the original sure was depressing. Who would want to see a show like that? You’d better throw in some singing wildlife and dancing flowers or at least let the main characters get together and messily kiss all over each other.” And that is what they did. Bleh. Yes that is my official rating. On a scale of “Get outta my way, I gotta retch” to “I have truly been enlightened and feel I am now able to transcend the bounds of this earthly experience,” I give The Lake House one-and-a-half blehs.

The Erosion of Irony

I heard a song on the radio today that I couldn’t get out of my head, not because of the catchy tune, rather because of the artist’s choice of lyrics. “Ironic,” a song by Alanis Morrisette, talks about a series of misfortunes which ruin otherwise memorable and/or life-changing events. Such careless use of language is distasteful in general, and as is specifically illustrated in this case has led to the quiet demise of a once strong and literarily gratifying word.

Indeed, the concept of irony has been so diluted over the years that a recent edition of one dictionary lists its third definition as: “coincidental; unexpected.” (In an effort to maintain the dignity of said publication for those who may esteem it as one worthy of such, I refrain from naming it here.) My dear friends and readers, events, however ill-timed they may be, do not merit the label of such a grand word as ironic. Irony is in fact not coincidence, but “the use of words to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning;” or in experience, an “incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.” (see The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition). This is not to be confused with sarcasm which lacks the wit and subtlety of irony.

Rain on your wedding day is not ironic – disappointing perhaps, but not ironic. A ninety-eight year old winning the lottery and dying the next day is not ironic. Honestly, it would be more surprising to learn the old man’s heart had survived the shock and that he lived. Alanis should be ashamed of what she has done here. An entire generation of school children will now grow into adulthood without a proper understanding of or respect for the irony in their lives. She has cheapened a precious commodity and sold it to the world as a thing of naught. For shame, Alanis. For shame!

However, Alanis may not be solely to blame. Indeed, her parents should share the burden of having instilled in her a misunderstood preoccupation with irony. You see, the very name “Alanis” is a form of Alana which is the feminine form of Alan, the meaning of which is not known for certain, though it possibly means either “little rock” or “handsome” in Breton. Hey, anyone might be confused if they tried to figure out why their parents thought they were a handsome, yet feminine little rock. Or maybe just a feminine little rock, or a girly sort of handsome…

A Bedtime Story

Hungry and unable to find a good block of wood to chew on at home, a termite walked down to his local hardware store where he could usually find a wide selection of fine woods on which to dine. However, upon arriving at the store he discovered the lumber section had been eliminated to make room for a new line of aluminum siding and pink flamingo lawn ornaments. Disappointed, but undeterred he continued down the street to a large bookstore. Although unfinished wood was his preference, in times of desperation like this in the past he had been known to nibble on a bookshelf or even take a bite or two out of any blank pages he could find in a book. (He was always careful to avoid the inked pages because they left a simply intolerable aftertaste.)

Much to his dismay, the wooden bookshelves he remembered were gone and long rows of unpalatable metal shelving now stood in their place. Maybe his plan-B snacking hadn’t been quite so infrequent after all. By this time the termite was downright starving and desperate enough to eat that fake pressed wood stuff sold at discount stores if he had to. Fortunately, the shelves still held good old-fashioned books. Relieved that at least these had not been replaced with books on tape or CD or some such other indigestible nonsense, he picked a promising looking antique book (paper products always tasted better aged) and began to wriggle his way inside.

It was dark and cozy inside, and although the air was heavy with the scent of ink, he soon found an acceptably clean page and settled himself down for a much needed snack. But just as he was about to take his first bite, he heard a voice say, “Hello there lad. Now just what might you be doing here?” Mouth still half open, the termite slowly looked around to see who was talking to him. Near the bind of the book, he noticed a large set of eyes blinking at him questioningly.

“Um, hello,” replied the termite nervously. “Who are you?”

“I, dear boy, am a bookworm. And more to the point, I like my reading material kept intact.”

The termite didn’t know what to do. Obviously this bookworm fellow already knew he was up to no good. Well, the termite hesitated, perhaps he could just leave this book and find a different one that was unoccupied. Or he could just stay and chat, acting like he had never intended to do anything else. But no, he decided; he was far too hungry to go searching for anything else to eat and was resolved to stay and munch regardless of what this second-class caterpillar wanted. He said as much to the bookworm, who it turned out was not the scrawny scholarly type he had imagined, but the very large, fit type. In the end, the battle of wits turned into a shoving contest in which the termite was unceremoniously ejected from the book by his much larger competitor.

Stomach grumbling with hunger and cheeks red with anger, the termite was just about to launch himself back into the book for round two when a rather obese gentleman picked up said book and walked away with in the direction of the checkout counter. Upon reaching the clerk the man inquired as to how much the book cost (of course this came across to the bookworm as unintelligible babble as he was quite snugly closed between the third and fourth pages, and the termite hadn’t the slightest idea what was being said because he had never bothered to learn any of the peculiar human languages).

The clerk responded with what must have been some obscene amount of money, as it caused the man holding the book to gasp and clutch his chest in pain. Apparently, the oft-named “sticker shock” was just too much for the man’s overworked heart which finally gave up, sending him into a decidedly lethal case of cardiac arrest. In the course of struggling for his last seconds of life, the man forgot quite entirely about the pricey commodity in his hand and carelessly allowed it to fall to the slightly dirty floor beneath his feet.

Now it was neither the fall, nor the unsanitary condition of his landing that particularly worried the bookworm. Rather, it was the very recently deceased human whose body was moving toward him with increasing speed that caused him a spot of indigestion. Fortunately, his concern didn’t have time to take hold (which might have caused him the discomfort of an ulcer or at the very least bad gas for the rest of the evening); since in another instant there was a solid whump and pages three and four (as well as a few on either side) became quite thoroughly ruined by what would later be described by one insect reporter as, “the most horrific and disturbing end he had seen in all his thirty-two days.”

Needless to say, the termite was unsettled by the turn of events, but at the same time relieved that he had narrowly escaped sharing the same fate. In fact, he realized he had learned a valuable life lesson that day. Indeed, he now knew without a doubt that it is better to have shoved and lost than never to have shoved at all.

Lost zzzzzz's

Sleep deprived – everything is blurry.
My headache hurts my head.
Too tired to wipe the drool;
Not enough energy to close my mouth.

Deprived of sleep – cannot seem to function.
My eyelids won’t obey.
Drunken with the desire to rest;
Mind numb from lack of it.

This isn’t a haiku – it’s not a poem.
Brain has to work to rhyme.
This might not even make sense;
I won’t remember it anyway.

The Power of Priceless Junk

It’s just what you never knew you needed but must have because it’s such a great deal. It speaks to you at a level no one else can truly understand. “Youuu need me,” it says in that suave foreign accent you can’t quite place but reminds you of somewhere sunny with an ocean view where everyone is wealthy and trim. Why do you need the three-slotted thingamajigger with optional whingding-a-ma-bopper? You finally purged the last item from your home, which could have been this one’s long lost twin, at your latest garage sale escapade. (You were asking for a dollar, but ultimately threw it in as a freebee to close the deal on a $2 sale of bird-watching binoculars you bought at a second-hand store a decade ago just in case you might ever need to use them… which you never did.) Well, you certainly didn’t set off to buy this item when you went shopping this morning, but this price is just too good to pass up.

You might conceivably need this sometime in the future, and it definitely won’t be this inexpensive then. No, most certainly not. If you don’t buy it now you will have to pay double or triple later. What if you can’t afford it then? What if aliens invade town tomorrow and take your favorite pet gerbil hostage, demanding one thingamajigger with optional whingding-a-ma-bopper for his safe return? What then, huh? Yes, you’ll be sorry you didn’t buy it today. Who knows, the item might even be sold out by then. If that’s the case, you may as well just kiss the little furry critter goodbye. Come on, isn’t the life of your rodent friend worth more than the meager price being asked for this one-of-a-kind item? “But of course I am,” injects the thingamajigger into your thoughts. “I am invaluable to you. You cannot resist me. Buy me.”

So you buy the thingamajigger with optional whingding-a-ma-bopper. No, you buy two (in case one gets lost or broken and you won’t be able to replace it later for this cheap). Sadly, you have succumbed to the wooing of the worthless soon-to-be-clutter. No one was there to remind you of the following facts: It’s on clearance for a reason – no one in their right mind would buy it. It’s at a rock-bottom price for a reason – no one in their right mind would buy it. It’s still sitting on the shelf even after being on rock-bottom-clearance price for a reason – no one in their right mind would buy it. Oh ye of muddled brain. Now you have to go buy the whatchamacallit container (on sale today only) to store your new stuff until that far-off imaginary day when it will suddenly and magically become useful.

"I will live with you forever... under your bed, in your closet, in the back of a drawer; invading wherever and whatever I wish. There is nothing you can do to stop me. You are under my power. You are mine. Do not even try to escape me. Resistance is futile. After all, you paid good money for me. Mu hu ha ha ha!"

Modern Education

Lately my two-year-old daughter (G.) has decided that it is perfectly acceptable to scale her gate at night and tumble, flop, or otherwise awkwardly land on the outside in order to escape bedtime. You see bedtime lives only in her room, and once free of this unforgiving taskmaster that demands all her time she can run, play, giggle, and harass siblings as she sees fit.

Well tonight, after thinking I had the girl well on her way to sleepyland, I was lying next to my four-year-old son (Pookie) when the otherwise pacified boy suddenly said, “come on in, G.” And yes, there she was standing at his gate (having made an apparently uneventful and silent dismount from her gate). At this point I returned her to her bedroom, and sensing a long night of “musical rooms” ahead for me, I went downstairs to enlist the help of my caring wife. She was busy with something at the moment so we talked and it was five or ten minutes before she ascended the stairs to assist with the situation. Very shortly thereafter, she thumped for me to come to her.

You see, like the cave-men of old, we use a rudimentary thumping system in our home to signal each other when it would be ineffective or inopportune to call out. It consists of pounding on the floor or wall with a knuckle, fist, foot or some other relatively solid bony appendage in a rhythmic pattern – thump, thump thump thump thump; thump thump. I interpreted this particular thumping to be somewhere above the lazily thumped, “hey, come on up when you have a minute sometime in the near future;” but well below the heart-stopping and wall rumbling thumps of, “get your sorry *** up here NOW before I have to punish you in a way that the mere memory of which will cause you to wake up at night in a cold sweat and panic for weeks to come.” But I digress, back to the story.

When I located my wife at the epicenter of the thumpage, she was standing outside Ethan’s room looking in with a mixture of mild exasperation and poorly-hid amusement. When I inquired as to why I had been summoned, she simply pointed to the far end of the room and turned on the overhead light to facilitate my viewing of the intended area. There, against the wall looking not at all ashamed sat G. and Pookie to either side of a two-foot by two-foot section of wall which had been cleanly stripped of all paint, roughly forming the shape of an imperial storm trooper’s helmet. At first I stared in disbelief, unsure that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me this late at night. Then I was surprised to discover that I wasn’t even mad, just curious as to how in the world they had managed to accomplish such a task.

Naturally, it was my duty as a responsible father to explain to my wayward children why such an act was unwelcome and should not be repeated in the future. During the course of my impromptu lecture, I asked them why they had stripped the wall of its green paint, leaving an unsightly white void in the middle of his wall. In response, Pookie turned to me and said simply, “I taught G. how to do it. Daddy, I’m a teacher.” I wasn’t sure weather to be upset about the vandalism, frustrated that he didn’t feel sorry at all, or just pleased that he was filling his role as big brother and passing useful bits of knowledge on to his little sister. However, I think all that matters in the end is that my kids are finally sleeping. Ah, the incomparable joy of sleeping children.

The Inevitable is an Unstoppable Force

November is not far off now. October is even closer.

Cold days await us. Overly cold nights will haunt us. Dakratland days are short in Winter. Dakratland nights overshadow the world of day. Everything is frozen in place. No, not the missileers. They must work to keep our country safe.

------------------------------

Nothing is of value except that which is worth something.
On every deserted island lives no man.
Contemporary is relative to one's perspective only.
Other than nothing everything else sure is something.
Many men have suffered in pain.
Munchies are useful for those times when your tongue is hungry but your stomach isn't.
Every dog has his day; but then again they can't tell anyone about it, so what's the point?
Never spit into the wind - you're likely to insult it.
Ten 'till, but not fifty past... why?

------------------------------

No One Can Overlook Many Moldy Eggs Near Them.

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How long did it take you to figure out the word puzzle... or are you still trying?

Weird Words

Jargon:
1. Nonsensical, incoherent, or meaningless talk.
2. A hybrid language or dialect; a pidgin.
3. The specialized or technical language of a trade, profession, or similar group.
4. Speech or writing having unusual or pretentious vocabulary, convoluted phrasing, and vague meaning.


What an odd concept jargon is. It refers both to highly specialized speech used within a narrow field (such as legal jargon) and absolutely meaningless babble. That’s like having only one word to mean overly stuffed and starving. But think about the similarities for a moment.

If “muncheed” meant either you were starving and needed something to munch, or you were completely stuffed and all munched out, no one would know what you were trying to communicate. Isn’t the same true for jargon? Start using the elitist technical jargon of lawyerese and people will have the same reaction. They won’t know if you are trying to wow them with your depth of knowledge or are experiencing a psychomotor seizure, which can cause staring, mental confusion, uncoordinated and random movement, incoherent speech and behavior outbursts (hmmm… still kind of sounds like some lawyers, doesn’t it?).

Okay, maybe jargon is aptly named describing two opposite ends of the speech spectrum, but why do we need five different words for any one thing anyway? Maybe those guys who make the big bucks off of writing, publishing, and selling thesauruses are responsible for this phenomenon. Whenever the royalties start to slow they come up with a bunch of new words to mean old things and publish them in the word power section of Reader’s Digest. All the unwary subscribers who subsequently score 3 out of 10 and are ashamed at the lack of their word prowess and decide to purchase the latest edition of Roget’s Thesaurus.

Or perhaps prideful but intellectually challenged citizens are to blame. Whenever they cannot think of something sufficiently proper sounding or intellectual they just make something up and it catches on until it is eventually incorporated into the English language. (And before you ask, yes politicians are included in this category… and most men who at one time or another in their life tried to impress a woman with their insightful theory on the hot topic of the day which they know absolutely nothing about.)

The most likely culprit, however are those literary folks like novelists and poets. I can see it now – the poet is up against a deadline and it is two o’clock in the morning. He must find something that goes well with presumptuous and means beautiful. Let’s see – pretty? No. Beautiful? No, all wrong. Argh! There just isn’t a word that works. Unless… Hmmm, what about pulchritudinous? Ah yes, perfect!

And so another useless word is born.

Deep Thoughts from a Shallow Mind

If you had to describe water to someone who had never experienced the sensation of “wet,” how would you describe it?

Why are oranges called oranges and apples aren’t called reds? What a silly question. You may as well ask why an orange isn’t called a round, or why we drive on parkways and park on driveways or how babies are made or why all good dogs go to heaven but nothing is mentioned about cats who were once worshiped as gods or why… Wait – I’ve lost my train of thought. And why is it a train of thought anyway and not a convoy or…

Desk Job

Paperwork is like baby poop. It always stinks. You can’t just ignore it and hope it will go away on its own. There’s often too much to handle without making a mess of it. And it usually shows up at the most inopportune time. Finally, even when it’s taken care of properly, you aren’t rewarded with a sense of completion, fulfillment, or even relief. All you get is that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you will have to deal with it again soon… very soon.

The No Way Win In or Out

Have you ever noticed how some people phrase a request so that your only two options are accepting the request, or looking incompetent and lazy? It doesn’t seem quite that way at first, but upon momentary reflection you realize that the superficial compliment they used to get your attention was no more than the proverbial bait snaring you into a choice between frying pan and fire. When the package is considered as a whole it must be given the grudging respect due a masterful piece of malicious, deceitful and entrapping art.

Confused? Consider the following example:

Larry: “Bob, I just wanted to let you know that you are the smartest, most helpful person that I know.”

**At this point you are simply a dim-witted fish staring at a juicy worm dangling in the water right in front of your face. How did it get there? Why isn’t it sinking or rising? What is that sharp metallic object protruding from its middle? You don’t know. You don’t care. You just aren’t that nimble in the noggin. You, my soon-to be fried friend are just a dumb fish. SWIM FOR YOUR LIFE NOW OR YOU ARE DEAD! Alas, your school of fish flunked out of English and mind reading. Come to think of it you flunked out of every subject but swimming and swallowing anything that looked edible (too bad recess and lunch period weren’t graded).**

Bob: “Gee thanks Larry.”

Bob has just made a fatal mistake. A thoroughly barbed hook now protrudes from his unwary upper lip. You see, by accepting the compliment, Bob has just confirmed that he is indeed very smart and helpful – an admission that Larry will prey on momentarily. Unfortunately, had Bob been astute enough to recognize the trap and denied the compliment, he would have appeared quarrelsome, ungrateful, and even unkind. Ultimately, this would lead him to feel guilty and that he “owes one” to Larry. He will subsequently ask what he can do to make it up to him. Aha! Hook line and sinker. Dead fish stink Bob. Dead fish stink.

Indeed, Bob’s only hope for escape, however small that chance might be, would have been to feign a sudden fit of projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhea, run to the bathroom to freshen up while dragging a branch to conceal his tracks and wading upstream through any rivers he happens to come across along the way, and finally entering the witness protection program and moving to Vancouver where he will spend the rest of his life as a little-known actor who is only cast in small theatrical productions where he plays a manic-depressive eunuch.

However, Bob did accept the compliment, so our tragic tale continues. Larry now has complete power over Bob, having engineered a situation in which Bob (factually or not) is admittedly smarter than poor little Larry (who of course sees himself as far too incompetent to perform such an important – and grueling – task as that which he will now pawn off on Bob). Further, Bob is also reportedly kind, meaning that he couldn’t possibly turn down his friend in his time of dire need. Larry moves in for the killing blow.

Larry: “Hey, Bob, come to think of it since you’re here I sure could use your help with something…” [Detestable, tiring, or time-consuming task is inserted here and sugar-coated with puppy-dog eyes and an innocent smile (practiced to perfection)]

Why, you might ask, can Larry get away with this con time and time again to one person after another? The answer is simple, my friend. Dead fish tell no tales.

Thorns without Roses

Due to recent warm weather, I have had a chance to get out and work in my yard. One particular target of interest was a set of thorn bushes under my kitchen window. Now I understand planting rose bushes which just happen to also produce thorns, or falling victim to vagabond weeds that are thorny in nature; but why would anyone in their right mind intentionally plant a bush that produces just thorns? Was it to keep away small neighborhood children? Were they having a problem with people standing at the kitchen window making doe-eyes and salivating or weirdoes doing those obnoxious open-mouth puff faces against the glass? Perhaps they were just masochists and enjoyed getting torn to shreds whenever they turned on the outside water faucet. Whatever the case, I cared little for previous owners’ desire to grow the thorny monstrosities and/or apathy in removing them.

Unfortunately, as I live on base, any changes to landscaping must be approved by the housing office. Additionally, I have heard from numerous sources that removing bushes, trees, etc. from your yard is never authorized. However, I also realized that dead vegetation could and should be removed. Further, I was privy to the fact that that the housing office kept no record of what shrubbery does or does not exist on any given property. Since it was early in the season and the thorn bushes still appeared lifeless (they were dead to me already), I decided to act swiftly. I pulled on a pair of heavy-duty work gloves and retrieved a finely honed shovel from the dark recesses of my garage. I contemplated wearing a hooded jacket and sunglasses to disguise my identity, but ultimately decided against it doing any good since my name is prominently displayed next to the front door.

So, with instrument of destruction in hand, I dug, chopped and hacked the beasts (all the while hearing faint eeeet eeet eeet eeet sounds reminiscent of Psycho in my head). In the end, I came out of the encounter with multiple scratches and three imbedded thorns which required a needle to remove. My nemeses however lay roots-up on the curb waiting for the garbage man to take them to that great big compost pile in the sky (or the other place that I feel has been set aside especially for demon thorn bushes). I had won the battle and the war. Now once I heal my victory will be complete.

Road Trip

I recently traveled from my Dakratland home to visit family in Utah. Instead of spending a night or two in hotels along the way, my wife and I decided to drive straight through, stopping only occasionally for restroom breaks and to switch drivers. As a veteran stay-awaker, I feel it my duty to share some lessons learned with those who plan to embark on similar trips in the future. Hence, this post.

The following are some techniques for staying awake while at the wheel: (no, not you – the guy in the car next to you who is laughing his head off while you struggle futilely with your leaded eyelids and perma-yawn.)

The Smackdown – While keeping one hand firmly on the wheel in the 11 or 1 o’clock position (depending on which hand is on the wheel), raise your free hand in the air and rapidly swing it back and forth in a fishtail motion ensuring that each pass slaps smartly against alternating cheeks producing an audible smacking sound. If it doesn’t hurt, you’re not doing it right.

The Bladder Bust – Drink any combination of non-alcoholic beverages in large quantities until you begin to feel a faint strain within your bladder region. Now tighten your lap belt until it is completely impossible to ignore the urge to relieve yourself. Hold this position until your eyeballs are floating and you begin to sweat urine. Once the inevitable cramping becomes unbearable, find a restroom, tree, bush, or empty soda bottle (this option not recommended for drivers of the female persuasion) and appropriately drain and dispose of your excess liquid storage. Now find a new drink (no, not the once empty soda bottle!) and begin again at the first step.

The Eye Popper – Open your eyes as wide as possible while stretching your face in an elongated fashion to pull the skin downward more effectively. Once you have reached maximum openness, place a hand over your mouth to stifle the inevitable yawn. Note: once the yawn is complete, your hand will be in perfect position for transition to The Smackdown.

The Sing-Song Shout – Disclaimer: this method is best used when traveling alone as prolonged or sudden use may trigger other vehicle occupants to complain, scream in terror or agony, lose their lunch, or throw feces. This technique is most effective when the “singer” selects a song to which he or she knows only a few of the lyrics and cannot sing on key. The art is simple enough in that one must draw an unnecessarily large amount of air into the lungs and expel it in a forceful fashion while intoning something faintly resembling the last song they heard on the radio… only louder. Much louder.

The Passenger Assault – This method may be employed in various manners. I will list two of the most common. First, upon realizing that you are nodding off, very slightly swerve back and forth once within your lane of traffic. This is the secret code for the passenger riding shotgun to flutter their eyes open and ask, “Are you all right? Do you need me to drive?” In the thirty seconds or so that it takes to assure them that you feel fine you will wake up enough to continue driving safely for at least another sixty or seventy seconds. Repeat process as often as necessary.

The second version is to be used only under more dire circumstances and only if the driver is CPR certified. (This requirement may be waved if your vehicle is equipped with an AED device. Check with your vehicle manufacturer and health professional for details.) As with the first technique, you begin with the swerve, only this time pass one set of wheels over the uneven road surface just outside your lane of traffic. This will produce a vibration which can be felt by all occupants as well as a satisfying bvvrrroooom sound. Anyone of driving age in the vehicle will simultaneously scream and flail about for something to grasp in a white knuckled grip; and if the passenger riding shotgun is female and the driver male, she will initiate a version of the Smackdown technique on him which will trigger a small dose of awakening adrenalin in his system. If the driver survives the ensuing onslaught, and successfully retains his or her position, it is not recommended that they attempt this a second time within a three hour period of time. Multiple doses within too short a time span may result in shortness of breath, profuse sweating, heart arrhythmia, grey hair, emotional or physical scarring, death threats, and/or divorce.

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Stay tuned for posts on how to deal with three small children strapped in the back of your van for twenty-six hours (without duct tape or bloodshed), and how to tell the difference between the pretzel you just dropped in the dark and the unidentified and frankly unsanitary object you retrieved to pop in your mouth.

Did I just say that out loud?

Have you ever had one of those moments when you were thinking something less than pleasant and realize the person next to you is giving you a funny look? Generally when you query them as to whether or not you had just said aloud what you were thinking, they respond in the affirmative. Oops. I had a similar experience today. Maybe it was the headache or the sleep depravation or the frustration of dealing via email with finicky professors who are never satisfied or the stress of trying to learn a new massive additional duty at work, or a combination of everything… whatever the reason – I slipped.

My wife and I had been trying to troubleshoot our five month old Lexmark printer for two days because it wasn’t printing in black. The automatic ink level indicator indicated that I still had 80% of the cartridge left – as well it should since we had used it very little and this was the second ink cartridge and was practically new. Consequently, lack of ink as a problem didn’t cross my mind. However, after exhausting all other possibilities I pulled out the cartridge and shook it a bit. There was a liquid sloshing around inside which I naively assumed to be ink. After examining my hand though I saw small water droplets and found they had come from the cartridge (I didn’t know they did that sort of a thing…). Anyway, the ink was gone.

That was it – I’d had it with this company. The first cartridge ran out within weeks of getting the printer and now this one too. Sure, I would understand if we typed in white lettering on a black background and printed in triplicate every time, but this was not the case at all. It was venting time. Lexmark was stealing customers’ money, and they needed to know someone had caught on to their evil plan. To this end, I sent them the email below; including my name, address, email address, etc.

Disclaimer: For those of you who know me, I am not usually this vehement when I feel wronged… or at least I do not express myself quite so bluntly. Anyway, I sent it off to cyberspace never land en route to Lexmark customer service. Only after reading what I had sent a while later did I start to feel a twinge of guilt. Oh well – I’m over it now.

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Email to Lexmark customer service
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I have owned a Lexmark X4270 for about five months now, and have noticed a very disturbing trend. I have no qualms with the printer per se, but the ink. Specifically, the black ink runs out well before I think it should. My printer has already gone through two ink cartridges and is now working on a third. I doubt that I’ve printed even 100 pages in the time I have owned the printer, and those were nothing but text – no ink guzzling graphics or anything. I am extremely dissatisfied with Lexmark. The price you charge for so little ink is outrageous. I feel like I’ve been sold a bottle of snake oil claiming to cure cancer, but only making me sick to my stomach.

It’s unfortunate to see that such a well known brand name as Lexmark would stoop to making money in this shady manner at the expense of their customers. I’m sorry to say that I used to think well of your company and even recommended your products to many people while working for a major computer company. Now I know better and will advise anyone in the market to stay away from the Lexmark money pit. I feel it is my moral obligation to do so. Maybe someday you will realize what a mistake it is you have made and attempt to better serve those who might become loyal customers. Until that day, I can only hope most people are smarter than I was to get entangled in your web of deceit for profit.

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...Did I just say that out loud?

Dakratisms

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it -- if duct tape can’t fix it, it ain’t broke.

Paper cuts are a tree’s way of getting the last laugh.

Sharing your opinion is often a losing proposition -- You’re asked to give your two cents worth, but only get a penny for your thoughts. It just doesn’t make cents.

You don't know what you have until you've got it.

Chocolate chip cookies ARE the silver lining.

Why isn’t the “wrong side of the bed to wake up on” removed at the factory? You’d think at the very least that sort of thing would come with a warning label.

Some things just shouldn’t be considered lucky. The rabbit that lost his foot wasn’t lucky, so why is his appendage? The horse that threw a shoe wasn’t lucky, so why is the hunk of metal? And a four-leaf clover… well, come on -- it’s a mutant. We don’t go around looking for six fingered people and say, “hey, gimme six my lucky man!”

Reality shows are to television programming as dregs are to hot chocolate.

AOL is a virus and must be dealt with as such.

If it’s really true that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, I wish Bill Gates would sue me for all I’m worth… and win.

If you find the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, check your sprinkler system.

The man who first said, “Well, if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you,” was likely the same guy who first picked up a rabbit’s bloody stump and thought, “hey, it’s my lucky day!” I find it comforting to think that he probably didn’t live long enough to propagate.

It’s not a question of whether the glass is half full or half empty -- it’s a matter of whether or not the contents are potable.

If you are what you eat, why doesn’t feeding lots of sugar to kids improve their temperament?

And lastly, if you remember nothing else, maybe you have amnesia.

"I was late because... my dog ate my homework?"

I was sitting in a pre-pre-departure briefing (that’s the briefing I have to attend just before the pre-departure briefing which I have before I depart) a couple of days ago in preparation to dispatch out to the field (pull alert). My squadron commander was in the room giving us sound pieces of advice when his phone rang. He promptly answered it, and to pass the time, the rest of us began quiet chit-chat about what alert had in store for us and gave each other a hard time about anything that came to mind (one of a missileer’s primary duties is to find creative new ways to poke fun at fellow missileers).

My squadron commander was only on the phone a couple of minutes when, in closing, I overheard him say, “I’ll send him home now.” I didn’t think much of this comment until he turned to me and said, “Dan, go home.” Now, a squadron commander doesn’t just turn to a missileer going on alert that day and tell him or her to go home unless something dire has happened, such as noticing in passing that the person has developed a sudden case of profuse bleeding from all major arteries in the body and there aren’t enough tourniquets at hand to stem the flow at least until they can get back from alert. Since I felt altogether rather well that particular morning, I was a bit stunned by what my commander had just said, and responded, “ah…yes sir.” Was I in some kind of major trouble? Was I getting kicked out of the Air Force? Obviously this was connected to the phone call – had someone discovered my deepest darkest secret that was so well hidden I didn’t even know about it, and had just now tipped off the authorities?

By this time my squadron commander felt it appropriate to expound on his reasoning (and you thought dramatic pauses only happen in the movies). In a rather monotone voice, he said, “It’s something about your wife and breathing. If she isn’t at home, look for the ambulance.” Oh. Okay. So, no blood? That’s good I guess. Well, off I go then – good bye folks. I’m off to see whether or not my wife is dead. You all have a good day now.

To make a long story short, when I arrived at home and parked a safe distance from the police car, ambulance, and rescue fire truck (all with lights flashing); I learned that, although she had eaten it many times before, my wife had apparently developed a sudden and severe allergy to kiwi; which upon ingestion attempted to close her airway and finish her off as a parting gift for being so rudely peeled, sliced, and munched. After a few injections, some oxygen, and an ambulance ride to the ER, I was assured that she would be fine so long as she didn’t bother the little green fruit again.

Now I just have to deal with my coworkers who kid me about having their wives call 911 so they too can get out of alert.

A Theory on Time Travel

For those of you out there who are skeptics of time travel, carefully consider the following. If I count out loud at exact one second intervals, I am able to propel time forward by one second for every number I count. For example, if I count to three in this manner, I have successfully transported myself into the future three full seconds from the time I began.

If then I have this power over forward motion, it stands to reason that I hold this same power over reverse motion. Hence, all that is required to travel into the past is to count aloud backward at exact one second intervals. If one wishes to go back in time a full minute, he or she must simply begin at a count of sixty and count backward until reaching one, and voila – one minute into the past.

Although the theory is perfectly sound, practical tests have been less than convincing. The problem lies in the fact that as one begins the count backward, at the exact moment he or she reaches the next number down (one second having elapsed), the subject is transported in time back exactly one second and arrives right where he or she began; thus negating both the forward second and the backward, resulting in a net time of zero. Since in that zero moment, the test subject had not yet begun, it is impossible to continue the downward sequence (after all that would be skipping numbers). The only thing he or she can do is begin at the start (note that I do not say begin again because in the zero moment they had never started before).

This is further complicated by the fact that the individual has no memory of having started (again, because they have not done so), and therefore may become stuck in this loop until they ultimately decide not to begin at all. There is no real way to record how long a person has been stuck in a loop like this, since time is for all intensive purposes paused, but energy is nonetheless expended at a rate equal to the effort it takes to count one number. Consequently, one can hypothesize that whenever you feel suddenly tired or exhausted for no apparent reason, it is most likely because you have tried to transport yourself into the past and became stuck in one of these space-time loops for an indefinite period of time. This also explains why people die at times without any apparent cause. I believe it also explains phenomenon such as the depletion of the ozone layer and the existence of Chihuahuas.

As a disclaimer, I warn the wary reader – Do not to try this at home.

Two cowboys walk into a bar...

Recently my wife and I were traveling with our kids back from a town about two hours away from where we live when our son expressed a sincere and urgent desire to use the bathroom. As he is only four years old, and “accidents happen” we took his plea with the utmost sincerity. Unfortunately, we were still about fifteen minutes from home and the only place we could find to stop was a gas station/convenience store/bar/lounge/café. My wife offered to take him in while I waited in the vehicle with our other two children. However, I had certain reservations about entering such an establishment in what my wife referred to as a “podunk trailer town.” When I suggested that our squirming child could possibly hold out for a little longer, my wife intuited that the gist of my argument lay in the establishment itself rather than simply wanting to continue on home. Her quirky reply before she left the van with my eldest son: “What? Are you afraid I’ll come out with three more kids, a dog, and a country song?” I had no recourse left but to laugh.