Friday, November 28, 2008

Joe vs. the Vaccum

It's a really big boost to the self-esteem when I fix the vaccum cleaner. I'm not at all that handy, but the vaccum and I have come to an understanding, so whenever it gets fritzy, I can fix it, and suddenly I feel like Mr. Big Shot Handyman Husband.

If only I could turn this proclivity into a sense for cars. I wish I had the time or know-how to take mine apart, see how it all works, and then put it back together. I'll bet I'd treat it very differently.

All for now.

Yon Rennaissance Festival

Sweet maiden of the spit,
grant now I woo
that I might sup upon suckling pig
this noon.

No, the Rennaissance Festival is *not* very Rennaissance-y, especially when the majority of people there are either in very bad cosutmes, wildly inconsistent costumes, or no costumes at all. Still, the folks that put it on work very hard to make it look and sound good, and it is muddy, which is pretty Rennaissance-y. And most people are too poor to afford the food, which is VERY Rennaissance-y.

It's the getting out that presents a problem. FM 1774 is, to put it mildly, unequipped for the mass exodus at the end of the day. Since they've taken to following Disney World's lead on the way they run parts of the park (bathrooms get an A++), I would suggest they hire a park manager from Disney who knows something about how they handle their parking / traffic situation. I think some people would even be okay with parking (hell, they're paying for everything else) if there was a shuttle that ran from 1488 & 1774 to the park and back. Law enforcement would probably like it. You could still have special on-site parking for groups, camping, guest artists, and employees, and then you'd have a sizeable increase in acreage for expansion.

Just a thought. Of course, I'm not too sure about my event management skills lately.

All for now.


Continuous Christmas favorites are back on Sunny 99.1 FM, which means I'm going to be hearing a lot more of Delilah, the DJ who cares about you:

I like to imagine Delilah broadcasts her show from beside a cozy fire on a bearskin rug, while sipping hot chocolate petting her eight pound persian cat, Snoofles, all while on the other side of the glass, her producers are trying to convince her of how bad the fire, animal fibers, and hot liquids are for their radio equipment. But Delilah cares not.

To change the subject completely, I have some serious concerns about my washing machine, but I know so little about how washing machines work that I have not fixed it. If anyone knows why a washer would try to travel across the room on spin cycle by violently shaking itself, please let me know.

In other news, I had my first Puerto Rican Thanksgiving yesterday, and I found it to be very, very tasty. If you're wondering what it's like, it is very much like a regular thanksgiving, but with yucca and far fewer vegetables. My plan for future years is to introduce my tropical in-laws to more colorful side dishes for the sake of everyone's hearts and bowels, both of which are hurting from an overabundance of starch right now.

Finally, it's Rosie's birthday this week. I have no idea when she was born exactly, since we adopted her at ten weeks and she was born in a ditch somewhere, but according to our vet, she was born in the last week of November 2005. If you know or love my three-year old dog, she has told me she'll be accepting lots of attention in lieu of monetary gifts.

All for now.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Magilla Gorilla Suit

If you can keep me up about 1 1/2 - 2 hours past when I normally go to bed, I acheive this state of punchiness where I get really weird. Even for me.

At that point, in my mind, I will probably think that I'm on fire, spewing comedy gold from every orifice (but especially my mouth), when in fact, I'm probably just tired enough that I think everything is a little funny, and my random access memory banks become hil-ar-ious.

This is how the Magilla Gorilla Suit came into being.

The Magilla Gorilla Suit is my theory that if you own a ridiculous costume, you can wear it to get out of doing things you don't want to do, particularly as it involves immersing yourself into social situations where you'd feel uncomfortable, as in, "Gee, I'd love to go out to the bar with you tonight, but I'm wearing a Magilla Gorilla Suit, so what'cha gonna do?" After a while, you don't even need to wear the suit anymore if you master the art. People will know when you say you're in a Magilla Gorilla Suit, you would rather stay home, eat kettle corn, and watch Scrubs re-runs.

Doesn't make any sense? I'm not a bit surprised. I came up with this at like, 1:30 a.m. in the morning. I cannot be responsible for what I say at that time of night.

All for now.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Fancy Pants?

I don't think I have any fancy pants.

Curse you, radio.

The voice of Skeletor on He-Man was pure insanity. I'm more intimidated by my own bowel movements.

I mean, what if you were blind? Wouldn't you find it odd that He-Man regularly beat the crap out of a clearly senile old man?

Anyway, if you can only listen to something, and not see it, it changes so much.

That's part of the reason that the baseball legends of the 1920's & 30's loom so large, because they were brought to life by the old radio sportscasters. We never saw them except in still images (unless you lived in one of the eight cities that had baseball in that time, in which case nothing was going to impress you anyhow), and by then we already imagined them as Yetis and Yak-men and whatnot.

I'm really tired right now, and I'm pretty sure I'm not making sense.

Finally, behold!

Bring me He-Man! Or change me. Use the special talc I got from Luby's that smells like powdered sugar.
All for now.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Only Most of This Post is About Baseball

First, a follow-up to MMMMMMMMMMM-eme!: perhaps unsurprisingly, none of the six random people I tagged for passing along the meme chose to honor their calling...

(wait, did he say "...?" He did!)


Turns out Mimi on the Breach was tagged by someone else and did a slightly bastardized version of the meme. However, since my request clearly came first, I am claiming sole credit for Mimi's continuance of the meme. Anyone who cares to argue the point with me can go to the special hell that Shepherd Book says is reserved for child molestors and people who talk at the theatre.

Glad that's over. Now we can talk about


I'm not sure if it was always this way, but MLB's Most Valuable Player Awards have become so obfuscated by the bickering between sportswriters over the meaning of the term that for the last two years, one of their choices have been inexplicable. (See Jimmy Rollins, 2007)

Now, I won't even begin to get into what "valuable" means, and how comparing NL Winner Albert Pujols to AL Winner Dustin Pedroia would be pointless and stupid. Alls I'm sayin' is that everyone's going to get awful squeamish when Pujols eats Pedroia in a single gulp when the two get together to accept their awards, presumably at either The White House or Disneyworld.

Pujols (damn it, here I go) is an unkillable, unstoppable baseball monster, while Pedroia is a average-below average height, affable-looking sort of guy who is remarkable for his ability to play baseball in today's world of atomic supermen. Regardless, when David Ortiz occasionally (albeit mistakenly) uses you for a bat, it says something about a normal human's place in professional competitive sports these days.

Dustin Pedroia would be a remarkable candidate for the Most Valuable Human Playing Baseball award, since his main competition is David Eckstein and Grady Sizemore (and I still probably would've voted for Grady), but replace Human Playing Baseball with the more ambiguous "player" monniker, and now all of those man-giants who play baseball because the mythological evils of yore have either gone into hiding or been vanquished now qualify for the award. It's like giving Iolaus the MVP because he fought the Hydra alongside Heracles and he didn't die.

Dustin Pedroia should get a species of butterfly named after him.

All for now.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Today's Posting is About My Wife

Yesterday, I did something serendipitous. I wrote two blogs, one about the NBC sitcom The Office, and the second about the (recently) defunct Well, curious gentleman I am, particularly when it comes to mourning, I decided to digest everything I could about FJM, it's history, etc, and that inevitably led me to

BARNEY STINSON: Wait for it...

Wikipedia: the online encyclopedia anyone can edit. And, according to Wikipedia: The Online Encyclopedia Anyone Can Edit, the primary poster at is none other than Michael Schur, a writer for The Office and the guy who plays Dwight's cousin Mose, under the guise of Fremulon Insurance employee Ken Tremendous. Did I know this yesterday? I did not. It's just one of the many wonderful things you can learn on WIKIPEDIA: THE ONLINE ENCYCLOPEDIA ANYONE CAN EDIT.

Seriously, yo. They've got street cred, quality control, and all that business now. Not like the time they told me Billy Dee Williams had died (still haven't lived that one down completely).

In closing, I would like to address the title of this post. Psyche. Hope you read the whole thing, sweetie.

All for now.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Oh. Wow.

I just read that http://www.firejoemorgan/ has decided to end its' run. I'm still reeling from the reaction, so I'm not going to be able to properly eulogize them now, but in case you didn't know them...

Fire Joe Morgan was a closed forum written by three guys, primarily (maybe totally) who went by the names Ken Tremendous, Dak, and Junior. Their cause was to point out the totally illogical and ridiculous in sports journalism, particularly as it applied to baseball, and particularly as it applied to a handful of the most terrible broadcasters / columnists covering the sport today: Joe Morgan, Tim McCarver, Bill Plaschke, Mike Celzic, Buzz Bissinger, and more. They were fantastic.

Here are some of my favorite posts of theirs:

More on this when I have the ability to process it.

All for now.

Regarding Tonight's Episode of "The Office"

When are they going to introduce the new HR rep? I have the feeling, as is the way with sitcoms, that Toby will eventually come back, but it seems weird to have gone two weeks without even a mention of it.

All for now.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Ever See a Man Say Goodbye to a Pair of Shoes Before?

Short blog tonight, as I am wiped from conferencing all day (which takes a staminia similar to forensics tournaments), but I wanted to take a moment to comment on the title of my last post in contrast with its' subject matter.

I don't necessarily believe that post titles and the subject of the post have to have anything to do with each other, but I usually try to create a loose connection, at least. I almost always try to make my title a quotation.

Of those quotations, the first eight seasons of The Simpsons will almost lead the pack when it comes to where I choose those quotes. Those episodes were first run during age 10 - 18 for me, a time when I rarely missed an episode. I've moved on since then, but the memories of those shows endure, and those seasons (particularly 3 - 7) hold up very well.

As such, here is a list of Simpsons quotation blog titles I will use in the future and their likely subjects:

1. "We Like Roy" - to be used the next time I (inevitably) gush about Roy Oswalt.

2. "I Can't Let That Happen, I Won't Let That Happen, and I Can't Let That Happen" - probably will be about me realizing it is my destiny to kill someone for the good of humanity, though not in a John Wilkes Booth way, and more in a man in white from The Stand sort of way.

3. "Moldy? Old? I'm Going to Get Something to Eat!" - could be any number of possibilities, but will likely concern my dogs' dietary habits.

4. "I'm Cold and There Are Wolves After Me" - For the next time my wife goes out of town on a business trip, leaving me alone with the dogs.

Wait, what's that, you say? You didn't know I had a wife? Well, let me shed some light on the subject. I have been married to a wonderful woman for almost two years now. She hates that I don't write about her on this blog, but what she doesn't understand is that I rarely write about things that are part of my everyday life; I'm much more event-based. More often than not, I write about things I need to get off my chest, and my wife is such a steady constant in my life (and I'm not a big believer in pda) that I honestly never think to write that much about her (though I have in the past on my old blog and will again, trust me, because something is bound to happen that I need to write about). Anyway, if you see someone writing "You Suck!" anonymously on this blog, chances are I'm sleeping with her.

5. "I Think He Should Have to Take a Different Oath!" - this title will be attached to a blog about something political that I find unfair.

6. "Itchy's a Jerk" - reserved for a post wherein I discuss my confusion at the appeal of a film start of some sort.

7. "It's a Big Country" - For when it comes to my father and smoking.

8. "Bake 'em Away, Toys" - for a blog that questions law enforcement and their overzealousness.

9. "Okay, Econosave, You Just Made the List!" - when a product makes me mad (and you know it will).

10. "Bees Are on the What Now?" - Many things confuse me. Any one of them could find themselves at the mercy of this title.

So, did I say short blog? I meant regular sized blog. Must eat and rest now. Let me know if you have any quotations you want me to use as a blog title.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Television! Teacher - Mother - Secret Lover...

There's a theory that we cry at happy endings because deep down in our psyche, we know such things to be impossible, causing us to envy the fantasy. Allow me to digress:

The morning that Princess Diana died, I woke up early to the sound of the television in the living room of our house. I stumbled blearily in from my room, and found my mother, coffee in hand, sitting close to the television, bathed in the blue of its' light. She normally woke up early, so this was no surprise, but I could tell by her body language that she was paralyzed as though something really major was happening to her right then and there. The only thing she managed to say to me after I had stared at her for a few seconds was, "she's dead," as though I should know exactly who she was.

Ever since then, I've associated the look of someone washed in only the blue light of a television with bad news, or sadness. It always seemed to me to be a very lonely image, something Edward Hopper would've painted today if he were alive to see television become the monster of unifying influence, precursor to the iPhone and internet.

Tuesday night, I caught sight of my reflection in our bedroom mirror as I sat up in bed watching the television. I looked just like my mother had that morning when one of the symbols of her generation died. Only, for me, one of the symbols of my generation was just being born. And I no longer associated the image of a single person, enraptured by the images playing out before him, with sadness. This time, we were unified in hope. If I was on the edge of my seat, it was only because I couldn't believe that you could assemble 240,000 people in Grant Park on that night for that purpose and have enough security to keep it all from going horribly wrong in an instant.

In both cases, what we were seeing on television in no way could destroy or save our lives. We as human beings long for that kind of drama, and so we apply it to ourselves. But for the first time, there was a happy ending to a story, and my tears were not envious. My tears were regretful that such happy endings, while not impossible, are so rare, and that the high, the elation of what were experiencing would be gone so quickly as the reality of the road ahead set in. It should not be diminished, I thought, before realizing there was one thing for me to hold on to: that thanks to this night, my associative memory has replaced an indelible image of tragedy with one of hope.

All for now.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

The Circus is Falling Down on it's Knees

It takes a lot of energy to read the paper online recently. I love reading the paper, and I have often felt like the transfer of newspapers to the internet has been one of the things that has kept me from turning into a rhesus monkey.

However, the ability to comment on news stories that are published online is perhaps one of the worst things that has happened to the news industry, in my opinion. For reasons ranging from the amateur pop-psychologists who weigh in on Dear Abby articles to the amateur Elizabeth Hasslebecks who litter every non-editorial article written about the election with evidence of their fear and ignorance, article commenting has given readers an easy way to vomit their opinion out and move on.

Let me be perfectly clear - I love every opinion out there for the sake of it being an opinion, no matter how apparently idiotic. I may not agree with you, but I appreciate the aesthetic of evident thought. On the other hand, I feel like the act of self expression should require an effort. No matter how much we tend towards things that are easy and convenient, we are ultimately more satisfied by a challenge. The act of accomplishment, in constant little doses and occasional big doses, satisfies us at our core in ways we don't even realize. One way that we rarely think about is how we assign the term "worth" to such efforts. We frequently rate our efforts on whether or not they were "worth it."

Well, these instant newspaper comments cost maybe a penny or ha'pence, so yeah, to you, depositing a sentence of out-of-context vitrol is worth it because it requires zero effort. On the other hand, writing a blog or a letter requires more time, more thought, maybe some careful editing and revising, so it's definitely worth more to us. You pick and choose the opinions you elect to broadcast publicly because they are the ones that matter most to you, and you take the time to make it's presentation accessible because you want people to read it and consider it carefully.

I anticipate people will say that this is the same argument a lot of legitimate journalists make against bloggers. One crucial difference, though: a blog is an outlet that does not have the filter of a choosy editor. The chasm between instant comments and blogs are more pronounced, however. Instant comments are like vandalism - carelessly tossed off on a surface that doesn't really belong to them in the first place. This blogspace, this address, I own, and you have no obligation to visit if you don't like what you're reading.

Finally, I just want to say that I know there's no going back and I'm really fine with that, what with my fervent support of the first amendment and all. It's just that I'm all nostalgic for the time when I could read an article in a newspaper and not instantly see what a bunch of jackasses thought about it.

All for now.

P.S. Go vote, or I'll send my colonial sheriff after you.