Customer Disservice

What do you get when you take customer service, subtract the service and ignore the customer?

I recently had one of those customer service experiences that had little to do with customers and nothing to do with service. We are about two months into our first experience with limited (15 GB/month) high-speed internet service. Since we have only had unlimited usage before, I had no idea how much we would need. The cable company representative said the average household doesn’t go above 15, and since it is an extra fee for more I decided to start there.

After the first full month and several phone calls to figure out how to track our usage, I found out we had used 81 GB in a month. Not to worry – we could continue at this rate for only an extra $100/month. Ouch. That was not going to work. Even if I had to pay some sort of early cancellation fee it would be cheaper to try and find a service provider offering unlimited usage. I found one (Verizon), but at a speed of about 1/3 what we are currently getting. However, I figured it was better to have a slower connection and be able to use what we need.

So, I gave Verizon a call. The Verizon rep. (I’ll call him Gary) took about five minutes to collect my name, phone number, email address, home address, sock size and political affiliation just to tell me what services they had to offer in my area (the same services I found online in about one minute using only my home address). He confirmed that it was unlimited service, but said it had to be bundled with a home phone line. Normally this would not have surprised me except for the fact that their web page said they had the bundled service available or the option to get only internet for a slightly increased price over what you would pay with an existing Verizon phone line. When I brought this to Gary’s attention, he conceded that they did in fact offer the stand-alone service, but it wasn’t a good option since it used packet switching technology. Perhaps this explanation would have thwarted the unwary layman, but for the technologically informed, we know this is how the internet itself is structured. Hence, bundled or not it uses packet switching.

I didn’t want to be on the phone longer than necessary, so I decided to give Gary a free pass on this one. I explained that I did not need the phone line since I used Voice over Internet Provider (VoIP) and had already prepaid for two years of service. Consequently, the internet only option came out cheaper. He queried how much a month I was spending on the VoIP – I told him, reminding him that I had already prepaid. He countered telling me that for only a few more dollars a month I could get the bundled service from Verizon to include home phone line and internet service.

Now it all made sense, all I had to do was pay more money for an unnecessary service and my life would be complete. Was this guy formerly a televangelist or did he only speak telemarketer? Since I didn’t need to be saved that particular morning, I decided to let that one slide too and moved on to the more important subject at hand. He had quoted a price for the internet service about $15 more a month that that listed online. Had I misread something? I asked Gary (you’d think I would have know better). He assured me that over the phone they had the best pricing available. Did he even hear me? How then did he explain the pricing discrepancy? He didn’t. He simply said that I could contact my local Verizon branch but it would probably cost me a little bit more if I took that route.

Now don’t take me for one of those “the customer is always right” cultists, but I do believe that customer service should involve some measure of human dignity and common sense. Please do not treat me like a misinformed Californian tourist asking a prepubescent convenience store clerk which highway will get me to Hawaii quickest. But if you do, be forewarned I have a blog, and am not afraid to use it! Someday someone somewhere just might read about your incompetence. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Opinion o⋅pin⋅ion /əˈpɪnyən/ [uh-pin-yuhn]

Have you ever met one of those people who have an opinion about everything? I find it interesting how their opinions are quite obviously the only acceptable ones and how dare you or anyone else feel differently! They have a favorite sports teams – which might be having a rough year, but are still the best because of a dozen detailed (while logically flimsy) arguments. In fact, it would be unpatriotic to like any other sports teams. And speaking of patriotism they know just how to stop the war in Iraq in a month or two with little to no negative side effects, and the war on terror might be a little more complicated so it would likely take them six months or so to wrap up. Yes, if the military and government would only listen to their enlightened ideas the national deficit would be resolved in a year or two and the energy crisis would be over next month. You heard right – next month. After all, the technology already exists to power our vehicles and homes using animal feces and carbon dioxide, but the oil companies have thus far successfully bought-off and/or otherwise silenced all with knowledge of this valuable technology.
Now while these people are subject matter experts on nearly every facet of life, they do not claim to be know-it-alls. No, they will most humbly admit that their expertise is lacking in certain areas, but not to worry, those are the trivialities of life, not worthy of the true devotion of their mental prowess.

If you have not yet had the pleasure of engaging in fine conversation with one of these individuals, consider the following advice:

• Nod and smile, but whatever you do don’t verbally agree or disagree with anything they say



• If circumstances force you to speak, don’t bother trying to discuss anything of value – stick to safe topics that shouldn’t burn more than an hour or so of your time like whether it is best to use a #2 pencil or a pen when taking a test, or whether it would hurt more to fall ten feet onto a concrete surface face first or feet first



• Be wary of using impromptu excuses to get out of the discussion – such a simple statement as “well, I’ve got to run” could very well lead into a lengthy discussion on how you are not likely to be running anywhere, but rather walking or driving and how the English language has been perverted over the years – likely a result of illegal immigration (which they’ll get to in a moment



• While tempting, it isn’t a good idea to fake narcolepsy as this is time consuming to do properly and will likely result in your new acquaintance accompanying you to the hospital where he or she will edify you with a lengthy monologue on how to fix our broken health care system

Perhaps the best advice I can offer is to stay mentally strong. Regardless of your opinion of their opinions, if you can keep silent and endure, the discomfort will last only for a short time until they move on for another more talkative victim. Just remember that as my high school English teacher used to say, “Opinions are like armpits. Everyone has a couple, and they usually stink.”

And they call him a doctor...

This post which I have just carelessly spewed forth was inspired by my wife's post here. I love you honey.


I secretly believe that while some dentists may actually enjoy dentistry (all the others are likely just sadists), the one common thing they all delight in is making their patients look downright foolish. I mean come on folks think about this one. The dentist has quite a view once you’re all gussied up and ready for your semi-annual torture session… you have to sit in an oddly shaped chair that somehow seems to pull your pant legs up to make it look like you are wearing high-waters, and you have to hold your legs at awkward angles to keep them from slipping of the vinyl covered “foot rest.” Next they place a man-sized bib around your neck and give you some oversized sun glasses that would put even Groucho Marx to shame. Then they lean you back just far enough in the chair that an uncomfortable amount of blood courses to your head, but not so far as to make you lose consciousness (you will see why this delicate balance is so important in a moment). At this point the dentist and his assistant/accomplice begin to warm up their routine with a few subtle jabs such as the classic, “are you comfortable?” line. Once sufficiently warmed up, the interrogation light is turned on and the real verbal abuse begins (reference comment about the importance of retaining patient consciousness). The dentist will likely amuse himself by asking you questions such as the following:

“So, do you brush three times a day?”

“Do you consume a lot of candy or sugary drinks?”

“When was the last time you flossed?”

“Do you even know what floss looks like? Ha ha, just kidding.” (No, actually he’s not kidding at all. Don’t fool yourself into thinking he has compassionate feelings like other humans. It will only make the rest harder to bear.)


After the dentist tires of verbal play, he will move on to the next act in his sadistic show, the one where he gets to use all his fancy toys. This act opens with yet another blow to your pride in which the dentist shoves whatever is close at hand into your mouth…cotton pads, rubber wedges, metal tooth spacers, sheets of latex, etc. This adds a chipmunk effect to your ensemble. As a side note, it is a little known fact that dentists play Tetris while prepping for patients to perfect their mouth stuffing skills. Now pause for a moment if you will and picture yourself from the dentist’s vantage point. It’s probably only the desire for you to naively return someday for another round of torture that keeps him from popping a bright red clown nose on you right then and there. Of course if he did he would probably say it was the latest technology breakthrough in helping patients avoid the nasty smell of their own rotting teeth burning as they are being drilled away in order to expose the sensitive nerve (a procedure which is done so they can spray it with high velocity water followed by cold air to give you that bone chilling zingy pain in your mouth).

As far as the physical torture is concerned, I will not go into detail about the sharp shiny objects thrust repeatedly into your mouth with the occasional “accidental” slippage and subsequent puncture of the tongue or gums. No, that is all explained away by the dental cult as necessary discomfort in order to achieve optimal dental health.

Ultimately the dentist will find some excuse to inject you multiple times in your mouth’s most sensitive areas until the left side of your face is numb enough to feel like someone has injected it with a pound of gelatin, but not quite numb enough to actually absolve you of the pain he is about to inflict while stabbing, chipping, drilling and sawing away at what used to be known as your pearly whites. Not wanting to miss any opportunity to degrade you to the maximum extent possible the dentist will use this time to make small talk with you. And you, having been taught from a young impressionable age that it is impolite not to respond when someone asks you a question, will inevitably attempt to answer. Of course you will sound like a walrus with laryngitis and occasionally choke on your own spit in the process, but hey, no one wants to be rude.

Of course the best part of the devil’s, er… I mean dentist’s day is when he gets to tell you that you need to make another appointment to take care of the rest of your sorely neglected teeth. Oh, and don’t forget to see the cashier on your way out. They’d be more than happy to help you. :)

What? I thought this blog was dead.

Welcome back

You probably don't care, but I'll tell you anyway (that way you will know that I am still alive)... The missile badge is back. Yes, that is a happy thing.

http://www.af.mil/news/story.asp?id=123101809

Everything you didn’t know you needed to know about Easter Candy

First let me say that no, this is not an advertisement for Cadbury or any other candy company. Rather, this is an all inclusive list of the ancient secret plans for Easter candy purchase and consumption used by the Pharaohs and other Demi-Gods which ensured their continued power and health throughout the coming year. Okay, that’s a complete fabrication. It’s just a list of stuff you should know about the proper way to go into insulin shock this Easter, grouped by product type for your perusing pleasure.

Cadbury Mini Eggs
Always purchase in bulk. Avoid the dark chocolate and stick with the milk chocolate. If you crave dark chocolate look for something without a candy coating like Dove chocolates. Use enough self control to squirrel some eggs away for those desperate cravings you’ll get throughout the coming months as you go through classic Cadbury Mini Egg withdrawal symptoms. You will be doing your family and society at large a huge favor. Stimulate the economy by buying more stuff and spare the world from your personal Mr. Hyde who has gone a week without his Cadbury Mini Egg fix.

Cadbury Mini Eggs may be eaten by nibbling off the shell and attacking the inner chocolaty goodness in any manner you please. Other favored eating styles include lightly sucking the candy to nothingness and savoring every moment of the experience, or just chewing ravenously so you can be finished with the current mouthful in the same time as it takes you to move your hand from your mouth down to the open prepositioned 5 lb bag sitting next to you and back to your mouth.

Cadbury Eggs (full size)
Go ahead and buy one or two. While far too rich to eat in succession like their solid chocolate miniature counterparts, a basket of Easter candy would be sorely lacking without this decadent treat.

Peeps
Peeps are an Easter novelty food and not necessarily a WOW candy. Buy them because it is the only time you can eat something that looks like a colorful, small, furry, cuddly, harmless creature without any pang of guilt (other than regretting the subsequent and inevitable blood sugar crash).

The best way to consume this unwary confection is to pop the critters in the microwave and watch them grow. Be careful not to leave them in too long, which can cause undue work from messy melting and/or explosions. Nuke them only long enough for them to roughly double or triple in size, cracking and expanding in a most satisfactory manner. As an added note, don’t make the mistake of roasting them over an open flame as the sugar coating will burn and entirely ruin the experience for you. (Unless of course you just like the idea of torturing innocent little marshmallow creatures and burning them at the stake – you sicko.)

Jelly Beans
Don’t go with cheap nasty stuff. Why? Well, because it’s cheap and nasty. Just don’t go there. If you’re looking for something refreshingly fruity, try Starburst brand jelly beans. If you want to pay a bit more, Jelly Belly brand jelly beans contain a wide variety of scrumptious flavors.

Chocolate Easter Bunny
Chocolate Easter Bunnies present somewhat of a dilemma. While young children will certainly appreciate them (they are chocolate after all), the resultant mess including likely clothing stains is not worth it. Older kids are a maybe. Boys are a good bet as they will probably enjoy biting off the ears first, laughing, and then viciously decapitating the poor earless fellow in one mammoth bite. As far as adults are concerned, unless they are a Easter enthusiast/purist, they will likely enjoy other candies more than a solid chocolate bunny that will stare at them forlornly while they nibble away at it on and off for days on end. Some might even question the concept of a chocolate bunny. Why does the Easter Bunny do this anyway? Santa’s in on this scheme too you know. But where’s my chocolate tooth fairy? Melted under my pillow when I was younger? Too many unanswered questions here my friend. Too many secrets.

Easter Colored M&Ms
Actually, forget what color they are – buy M&Ms. Heck, throw in the 1 lb bag of red and green colored M&Ms you got from the after Christmas sale for $1.19. Sure the Easter Bunny might be offended, but Santa will be pleased; and lets face it Santa brings more gifts.

Random Candy
While off-season M&Ms are fine, don’t be fooled into thinking Easter is a dumping ground for all your leftover Halloween, Valentines Day, Christmas, and random piñata leftovers. After all, NO ONE wants to wake up Easter morning and find Circus Peanuts in their basket, or those generic black and orange wrapped Halloween taffies that taste oddly of peanut butter and threaten to tear your fillings out with each bite.

Seasonal Crap Candy
Avoid this bunch of constant disappointments. You know what I’m talking about, the generic brand of chocolate with mystery crunch inside that tastes like it is one part chocolate, seven parts wax and two parts soap. Or the pastel colored gum drops that don’t even taste as good as the sugar cubes people feed horses. Yes, they may be cheap, but don’t go there. Trust me on this one, don’t be that guy.

Once There was a Snowman...

So, the unthinkable yet amazing happened this week -- the temperature rose above freezing! Granted, this did have some unfortunate side effects such as the melting of our once proud sentinel of a snowman into something... well, something less than he used to be.

When I arrived home after work to find this morphed snow sculpture standing in the middle of my front yard, I wasn't sure just what to do. Do I pretend that I don't notice anything odd so as to not make anyone think I am a perv? Do other people see what I see in which case I should go smash it to the ground right away? What would I say to console my betrayed and devastated children should they catch me trampling the snowman they gleefully helped me build just a few days before? What to do? Ignore or flatten? Then a third option popped into my mind releasing all thoughts of destruction and denial – photograph and blog. The sunshine will take care of the rest.

From personal experience…

Three foods to avoid in your world travels:

Relleno – rice soaked in pigs blood and deep fried to a burnt crisp inside cow intestine.
Acrid taste, but went down reasonably well. It’s the aftertaste you have to watch out for -- it was truly awful and didn’t go away for a full 24 hours.

Mystery Soup. Since I don’t know the “official” name for this dish, let’s just call it Mystery Soup à la boiled cubed cow hoof. It’s the texture coupled with a vivid imagination that gets you on this one. You see, the cubes are rather large and boiled to a rubbery jelly consistency. The combined result is nothing less than a culinary atrocity. The rubbery quality of the cube makes it impossible to bite, chew, or squish into smaller more manageable pieces (think of trying to chew a large chunk of latex). Meanwhile, the jelly-like property allows it to ooze around inside your mouth, coating all interior surfaces with a layer of foul tasting slime. To me, the experience was similar to trying to eat a very large slug with supernatural powers that allowed it to resist all attempts at dental masticating, all the while squishing from one corner of the mouth to the other, laughing at your vain effort and leaving behind its signature “snail trails.” Surprisingly I have not yet reached the worst part. Swallowing. At some point, you will reach the inevitable conclusion that there is no way (short of being lucky enough to have had green kryptonite fillings put in your teeth instead of the standard silver or white) to whittle down the slimy hoof chunk. Unfortunately, it is just large enough to trigger your gag reflex on the way down (like you needed more incentive to puke – you’re eating a deceased cow’s foot for goodness sake – do you even know where that thing has been?!) as you forcefully swallow it… again and again and again… until it finally clears your throat. Ugh. I was in a cold sweat by the time I finished my bowl of Mystery Soup.

Fried cutting of pigskin. Not to be confused with pork rinds, this delicacy (that’s what we call something most people find repulsive, right?) is a two-faced monstrosity like something Homer might have written about in the lliad…

“The monster, spawned in the very depths of Hades, rose from the festering lake of oil and reared its legendary two-faced head. One side beguiled the unwary adventurer with its gooey soft texture of boiled fat, dripping as though wounded from battle – an easy mark for the kill. Yet, the opposite face, separated by a layer of skin tough like the leather of a well cured shield, showed no such weakness. Coarse hairs, stiffened from the creatures time spent in the boiling cauldron that had helped transform it to this hideous state, protruded at disgusting angles, threatening to tear apart the throat of anyone who dared to do it battle.”

Nasty smell, hideous to look at, terrible to taste, and worse to swallow. Ouch. Yuck. Enough said.

Because I'm feeling Lazy. That's why.

Another link.

Less effort required on my part here folks, so I'm not feeling too bad about the whole deal.

This one is like those Energizer Bunny commercials where they start off showing a preview for the first show you have seen in a long time that actually looks like it might have promise, and then it happens -- the annoying bunny pops up with his "I'm cooler than you and I know it" sunglasses, endlessly beating on that cursed drum to signal the end of your fantasy. Ah well, at some level you must have known it was too good to be true anyway.

Along those lines, while the link below will take you to an outstanding movie trailer, be forewarned that there is no movie. Just the trailer. Actually, since the trailer is the movie, I guess there really is a movie. It's just very short... and looks like a trailer... for a movie... that doesn't exist. I think you get my point -- just go see for yourself. Then laugh. Laughing is good. Ha Ha. Ha.

http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1770138

Random Thought Time

This random thought does not come to you from me, but from another source entirely -- the 2007 Miss Teen USA pageant. No, thought is too strong a word… perhaps open mouthed vocalizations of a mild brain spasm. Yeah, that seems more appropriate. If you don’t know what I’m talking about or haven’t seen Miss South Carolina in all her oratory glory, follow the link below. Viewer Beware: your IQ may drop a point or two during the video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OY8plOGLVeg

Life's Interludes

Due to inspection preparation at work, I have been working long hours (12-17 hour days) recently, so it was no surprise when I arrived home after midnight a week or so ago to find everyone sleeping. Nikki often waits up for me, but I had encouraged her to go to bed at a decent hour that night in order to get some much needed rest. As I quietly opened the front door (well, as quiet as you can open a door with hinges complaining about being worked in sub-zero temperatures), all I could think about was how wonderfully warm it was in the house. You see, the drive from work to home or vice versa is just long enough to freeze an average size humanoid to the core, but not quite long enough to allow the overwhelmed heater to do anything much more than blow super cooled air directly at your forehead so you don’t miss out on the fun of having an instant brain-freeze to accompany the rhythmic convulsing of your hypothermic body. Granted, we had not yet reached the -50 degree temperatures of late. In fact, in retrospect it was really rather balmy at -11 °F. Nonetheless, at the time it can truly be said that I felt cold. But I digress.

Upon closing the door, I pleasantly noted that it only took one forceful slam to fully engage the latch; as it often takes three or four tries before the door will stay fully shut and not just pretend to be completely shut and still open and close an inch or so when the wind or something else gives it a push or tug—much to the dismay of a disoriented and sleepy me who gets ejected from bed to “go find out who is trying to break into the house” (and do what I ask when someday I find the boogey-man crowbarring his way into my home? Stand there in my pajamas and stupidly stare at him, hoping that the red in my eyes is mistaken for anger and the drool escaping from my lethargic mouth identified as rabid foaming? Yes, he may very well run for his life, but it will more likely be the overwhelming smell of poopy diapers in the trash and potty training children’s “incidents” that cause him to flee than the less-than-intimidating figure he will find stumbling about in the dark entryway vainly attempting to secure the domicile so he can just go back to bed).

Now, while I am sure you are on the edge of your seat eagerly anticipating what menial task I will describe in detail next, due to the fact that it is getting late and what small portion of conscious grey matter I have left is desperately trying to communicate the fact to me that I am rambling incoherently, I will finally get to the point.

After I shut the door and turned on the light in the kitchen I was greeted with the odd sight of a milky white substance pooling out from under the portable dishwasher. Since this was not the usual state of things, I decided to investigate. I carefully rolled the dishwasher aside, revealing a much larger pool of the liquid which I quickly and correctly identified as milk (the milky white color being my first clue, and the empty soymilk container the second clue).

Something else peaked my interest at this point. First, it did not appear that the puddle (perhaps more appropriately regarded as small pond where geese flying south for the winter might have stopped to rest for a time) was comprised entirely of soymilk – it being too white and unscented for vanilla soymilk alone. And second, why were there two lids floating about instead of just one? Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that the second lid belonged to a gallon jug of skim milk which, much to my dismay, was not to be found in the fridge where it belonged nor anywhere in the kitchen for that matter. This mystery was short lived however as I discovered a second scene of the crime at the top of the stairs in front of my bedroom.

An empty milk jug sat unassumingly on the floor accompanied by a lidless sippy cup, which surprisingly was quite full of milk. It all became clear now. Bun had woken up at some point and likely requested a sippy of milk. His sleep deprived mother was apparently unresponsive to his middle-of-the-night-two-year-old needs, and the thirsty toddler decided to take matters into his own hands. Unfortunately, while he is a master of dragging drinks of choice from the fridge and removing sippy cup lids, he is still a novice drink pourer and sippy cup lid emplacer. I can just imagine the poor fellow first spilling milk about and sloshing through it in his footed pajamas until exhausting the source and then trying again with a second container. At some point, he probably got enough liquid in the sippy to satisfy him and I’m sure at that point he capped it only to have the lid pop off as he tried to get a drink—subsequently drenching his upper half. Somewhere in this process, he carted the milk jug upstairs and took another shot at quenching his thirst.

Sadly though, I believe that he never did get so much as a sip; evidenced by the fact that I found a full, lidless sippy in the bedroom doorway and an exhausted and thoroughly drenched Bun lying undressed down to the diaper on my bed. My heart went out to him as I noticed his disheveled state and that he had even tried to clean up some of the mess with the kitchen towel (which now lay soaked next to the sippy and jug upstairs). Do not fear, for this story does have a happy ending. Before calling FEMA and starting the cleanup effort, I retrieved the surviving sippy of milk, topped it with a clean lid and offered the drink to a grateful Bun.

I was amazed to realize that while the carpet sloshed under my feet and my blankets, sheets, pillow and bed were dripping wet, my dear wife lay sleeping perfectly contentedly a mere foot or so away from the Bun and his chaos. Five full-sized towels, one diaper, one set of pajamas, one new pillow and pillowcase, and several cloth diapers later I decided most of the damage had been contained and I could safely get a few hours of sleep before my alarm went off at 6 a.m. to start another adventure filled day in the land of inspection-prep and fatherhood.

I am grateful for these interludes to “normal” or routine life that help me remember that we are here on Earth to learn and grow. Even when we try and fail and try again until all our efforts are exhausted and we can not go on and it seems no one can help us, at the right moment the Lord will come along to help us clean up those messes we started to fix but hadn’t the power to finish alone.

Now you can call me Master Dakrat... but I prefer you don't

I just turned in the final papers for my last class. Whew.

One thing down, eighty billion to go.

Hey! Who put this stuff on my blog?

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.