"They were all straight thuggin' it."
Ah, yes. Here we have Edd's favorite phrase, "straight thuggin' it." He says this all the time. It comes up in a conversation somewhat like this:
Edd - Man, we got so much work today.
Me - Yeah?
Edd - Yep. I've been straight thuggin' it all year, and now I have all this work to do. It's just not righteous.
"Thuggin' it," you see, is the act of completely slacking off in school. By not doing your assigned homework, you are thuggin'. By not paying attention in class, you are thuggin'. Apparently, too, according to Edd, if one has been thuggin', it is not fair for a teacher to assign a bunch of work. Yes. That's right. Work of any sort should not be assigned in school. One should be able to slack off all year round. (This, I assume, is the reason that Edd is currently failing two classes.)
March 8, 2007
March 7, 2007
Your daily dose of Edd, Part VII
I've decided that I don't like the new dictionary-esque format for the daily dose. It just doesn't look good. So, I'm going back to the old format.
"One guy would get rattle snaked and then it's all over."
Here we have yet another example of how Edd manages to use nouns in place of verbs. At one point a few weeks ago, we were talking about video games that we used to play back in the days of Windows 3.1. Games such as Chip's Challenge, Ski Free, and Rodent's Revenge all came up. If you haven't guessed already, the above phrase was used in regards to the oh-so-universally-played Oregon Trail. Yes. You know it well. Everyone, I think, has played the game, and the fear of Dysentery is one to which we all can relate.
We were discussing the various ways in which one could lose the game, when the "demise-inducing" (you get two Eddisms today!) rattle snakes came up. You would be minding your own business, only a river crossing away from completing the game when the pesky reptiles would move in for the kill. Your mom would get bitten first. You'd bury her, be sad, but move on. You'd think, "I've already had to endure one snake bite. They can't be coming around again any time soon." Of course, this was an ignorant thought. They'd always come back. The game was over.
Now, most normal English speakers would describe this sort of chain of events somewhat like, "One passenger would get bitten by a rattle snake and then they would attack in droves. The game would be lost at that point." Edd, however, prefers to utilize a far more simplistic version of English. "One guy would get rattle snaked and then it's all over."
*I am aware of the fact that "snaked" is a verb. However, when used as Edd does, the application is not correct. To use the verb correctly, one must use it in a sentence like, "He snaked his way through the garden." A rattle snake cannot "snake" someone. Therefore, it is not possible for a rattle snake to have "snaked" a person.
"One guy would get rattle snaked and then it's all over."
Here we have yet another example of how Edd manages to use nouns in place of verbs. At one point a few weeks ago, we were talking about video games that we used to play back in the days of Windows 3.1. Games such as Chip's Challenge, Ski Free, and Rodent's Revenge all came up. If you haven't guessed already, the above phrase was used in regards to the oh-so-universally-played Oregon Trail. Yes. You know it well. Everyone, I think, has played the game, and the fear of Dysentery is one to which we all can relate.
We were discussing the various ways in which one could lose the game, when the "demise-inducing" (you get two Eddisms today!) rattle snakes came up. You would be minding your own business, only a river crossing away from completing the game when the pesky reptiles would move in for the kill. Your mom would get bitten first. You'd bury her, be sad, but move on. You'd think, "I've already had to endure one snake bite. They can't be coming around again any time soon." Of course, this was an ignorant thought. They'd always come back. The game was over.
Now, most normal English speakers would describe this sort of chain of events somewhat like, "One passenger would get bitten by a rattle snake and then they would attack in droves. The game would be lost at that point." Edd, however, prefers to utilize a far more simplistic version of English. "One guy would get rattle snaked and then it's all over."
*I am aware of the fact that "snaked" is a verb. However, when used as Edd does, the application is not correct. To use the verb correctly, one must use it in a sentence like, "He snaked his way through the garden." A rattle snake cannot "snake" someone. Therefore, it is not possible for a rattle snake to have "snaked" a person.
March 6, 2007
They say the third time's the charm
Apparently I am not just her boss. I also fill the role of her granddaughter's school. Yep, she called again. I wasn't able to understand much of the message due to the woman's overly thick Southern accent, but I was able to gather that Kim--her name is Kim, not Jean...oops--wanted the school to allow her granddaughter to ride home on the bus today. It looks as if somebody is not getting home today!
I am beginning to wonder whether or not Kim has my phone number on speed-dial. Of course, that can't explain the fact that she has now left me messages intended for two different people, but it's a thought. I guess my number could be programmed under every possible speed-dial key. Then again, she does have a granddaughter. I guess it is safe to assume that she is a little more advanced in age. That, combined with the fact that she lives in North Carolina (she has a very distinctive accent), leads me to believe that Ms. Kim is of little mental capacity*.
Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to answer the phone one time when she calls (so far, she has only called very early in the morning or during classes), and be able to set her straight. For now, though, Kim provides me with a bit of entertainment every couple of days. In fact, I quite enjoy attempting to decipher her messages.
On a slightly unrelated note, aren't noses weird? I overheard someone exclaiming to another person how much she liked the other's nose, and though that somewhat odd. I've never found noses to be that attractive. In fact, they seem, like ears, to be after-the-fact additions to the human physique. Try staring at a nose for a small length of time, and I am confident that you will understand. That is all.
*I am not implying that the elderly are any less intelligent that young people. In that thought, I was putting more emphasis on the fact that she was from the back woods of the South--the delirious, half-mad, rather stupid mother in law of the United States, if you will.
I am beginning to wonder whether or not Kim has my phone number on speed-dial. Of course, that can't explain the fact that she has now left me messages intended for two different people, but it's a thought. I guess my number could be programmed under every possible speed-dial key. Then again, she does have a granddaughter. I guess it is safe to assume that she is a little more advanced in age. That, combined with the fact that she lives in North Carolina (she has a very distinctive accent), leads me to believe that Ms. Kim is of little mental capacity*.
Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to answer the phone one time when she calls (so far, she has only called very early in the morning or during classes), and be able to set her straight. For now, though, Kim provides me with a bit of entertainment every couple of days. In fact, I quite enjoy attempting to decipher her messages.
On a slightly unrelated note, aren't noses weird? I overheard someone exclaiming to another person how much she liked the other's nose, and though that somewhat odd. I've never found noses to be that attractive. In fact, they seem, like ears, to be after-the-fact additions to the human physique. Try staring at a nose for a small length of time, and I am confident that you will understand. That is all.
*I am not implying that the elderly are any less intelligent that young people. In that thought, I was putting more emphasis on the fact that she was from the back woods of the South--the delirious, half-mad, rather stupid mother in law of the United States, if you will.
Your daily dose of Edd, Part VI
Edd, as you know, has a habit of using nouns in the place of verbs. He normally does this by adding "ed" or "ing" to the end of a perfectly good noun. Today's Eddism--err, dose--is just such a word. He used this for the first time last night in his explanation of where his Pop-Tarts had been hidden.
drawered [drawr ed] -
nivc. The act of being (forcibly) placed in a drawer; to have hidden something in a drawer.
(Note - "nivc" means "noun in verb's clothing.")
drawered [drawr ed] -
nivc. The act of being (forcibly) placed in a drawer; to have hidden something in a drawer.
(Note - "nivc" means "noun in verb's clothing.")
March 5, 2007
Your daily dose of Edd, Part V
I am going to try a slightly different format for today's dose. Instead of the usual phrase, then context, then discussion, you will get a sort of dictionary entry. (This will be quite convenient if you are keeping a dictionary entitled The English Language, Edd Style.) If you don't like it, I'll go back to the old version, but for now--at least for this week--I am going to stick with this new form.
Today I'll be introducing you to a term that has (luckily) found its way out of Edd's vocabulary. For a time, though, it was uttered at least twenty-five times a day. The term is "tool silencer," and it requires two definitions. The first, "tool," is a common slang term that the Urban Dictionary defines as:
tool [tool] -
n. A poser; someone who does things simply to show off.
Now that you understand that, here is the meaning of the oh-so-annoying term "tool silencer" as according to Edd:
tool silencer [tool sahy-luh n-ser] -
n. A piece of music (usually played by a guitarist) that reveals to the tools in the audience how much they suck.
Yes. He really did use that term to describe pieces of music. Apparently The Barber of Seville arranged for two guitars is a huge tool silencer. Who would've thought.
Today I'll be introducing you to a term that has (luckily) found its way out of Edd's vocabulary. For a time, though, it was uttered at least twenty-five times a day. The term is "tool silencer," and it requires two definitions. The first, "tool," is a common slang term that the Urban Dictionary defines as:
tool [tool] -
n. A poser; someone who does things simply to show off.
Now that you understand that, here is the meaning of the oh-so-annoying term "tool silencer" as according to Edd:
tool silencer [tool sahy-luh n-ser] -
n. A piece of music (usually played by a guitarist) that reveals to the tools in the audience how much they suck.
Yes. He really did use that term to describe pieces of music. Apparently The Barber of Seville arranged for two guitars is a huge tool silencer. Who would've thought.
Top ten alternate endings of Disney movies
All movies produced by Disney, as we know, have happy endings. Characters always make morally correct decisions, and everyone lives happily ever after. What if the endings of the more popular Disney movies had been different? Following are the top ten alternate endings to some of these movies. Enjoy!
10) Hercules - Instead of living on Earth with Megara (Meg), Hercules chooses to rejoin his family on mount Olympus.
9) Sleeping Beauty - Sleeping Beauty decides to go back to sleep.
8) Bambi - It is revealed that, in fact, it was not a hunter who was responsible for the death of Bambi's mother. In reality, Bambi was behind the assassination.
7) The Little Mermaid - After eluding the French chef for the entirety of the movie, Sebastian is made into a delicious meal.
6) Pocahontas - Grandmother Willow gets uprooted during a terrible hurricane.
5) Pinocchio - Yep. You guessed it. Pinocchio doesn't turn into a real boy. Instead, he is used as scrap wood for a construction project.
4) Mary Poppins - Ms. Poppins doesn't leave the children. Instead, she lives with them, all the while feeling terrible about her inability to help other in-need children. She drinks herself into a coma.
3) Blackbeard's Ghost - The little old ladies lose the inn. Also, Steve and Blackbeard are forced to live with each other for the remainder of Steve's life.
2) The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes - In the alternate version, this film is only about fifteen minutes long. Dexter Riley dies after receiving the shock from the computer.
And the number one alternate ending is...
1) The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Quasimodo slips and falls from the bell tower during a routine bell ringing.
10) Hercules - Instead of living on Earth with Megara (Meg), Hercules chooses to rejoin his family on mount Olympus.
9) Sleeping Beauty - Sleeping Beauty decides to go back to sleep.
8) Bambi - It is revealed that, in fact, it was not a hunter who was responsible for the death of Bambi's mother. In reality, Bambi was behind the assassination.
7) The Little Mermaid - After eluding the French chef for the entirety of the movie, Sebastian is made into a delicious meal.
6) Pocahontas - Grandmother Willow gets uprooted during a terrible hurricane.
5) Pinocchio - Yep. You guessed it. Pinocchio doesn't turn into a real boy. Instead, he is used as scrap wood for a construction project.
4) Mary Poppins - Ms. Poppins doesn't leave the children. Instead, she lives with them, all the while feeling terrible about her inability to help other in-need children. She drinks herself into a coma.
3) Blackbeard's Ghost - The little old ladies lose the inn. Also, Steve and Blackbeard are forced to live with each other for the remainder of Steve's life.
2) The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes - In the alternate version, this film is only about fifteen minutes long. Dexter Riley dies after receiving the shock from the computer.
And the number one alternate ending is...
1) The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Quasimodo slips and falls from the bell tower during a routine bell ringing.
March 4, 2007
You guarantee what?
Yesterday I saw a Quizno's advertisement on tv, and it struck me as kind of odd. Most companies offer guarantees in the form of "100% satisfaction, or you money back...guaranteed!" In the case of Quizno's, however, they offer something far less useful. At the end of the ad from yesterday, instead of offering customers their money back, the following offer was made:
100% satisfaction guaranteed or get another sub for FREE!
Now, I ask you, if I don't like a sandwich after trying it at Quizno's, why in the world would I want another one? On most occasions, if I dislike something, I try to avoid whatever it is in the future. How many of you, for instance, have tried Marmite and thought, "wow, this is truly awful," and then proceeded to ask yourself where you can get another jar for free? No one? Really?
Seems to me that most people who go into Quizno's and dislike the food would just like their money back. When offered another free sub instead, I foresee unhappy customers simply saying, "No thanks!" and leaving the store. Ooooh! That must be the whole idea behind the guarantee! A promise to customers that nobody will ever bother to collect on. What a brilliant way to save money! Quizno's has it all figured out. Way to go!
100% satisfaction guaranteed or get another sub for FREE!
Now, I ask you, if I don't like a sandwich after trying it at Quizno's, why in the world would I want another one? On most occasions, if I dislike something, I try to avoid whatever it is in the future. How many of you, for instance, have tried Marmite and thought, "wow, this is truly awful," and then proceeded to ask yourself where you can get another jar for free? No one? Really?
Seems to me that most people who go into Quizno's and dislike the food would just like their money back. When offered another free sub instead, I foresee unhappy customers simply saying, "No thanks!" and leaving the store. Ooooh! That must be the whole idea behind the guarantee! A promise to customers that nobody will ever bother to collect on. What a brilliant way to save money! Quizno's has it all figured out. Way to go!
March 3, 2007
No, really, you have the wrong number
She called back. This is the third time! I erased the second message by accident, but here is a rough reproduction of the latest message.
Yes Lory, this is Jean. I was calling, Mr. Jornigan has called me, and needs some insight on the situation of the stock that was changed. He's wantin' to know if 582's gon' be pickin' them up in the mornin'. Christina's father and herself went back up to the school this afternoon, and he's got some questions that need to be answered. If you could please call him? Thank you.
I wonder if she is ever going to figure out that she is leaving messages on the wrong machine. I think it is kind of funny, but I'm sure she's going to get into some trouble if it keeps up. Oh well.
Also, I'm not going to be posting anything from Edd on the weekends, so keep a look out for your next dose on Monday.
Yes Lory, this is Jean. I was calling, Mr. Jornigan has called me, and needs some insight on the situation of the stock that was changed. He's wantin' to know if 582's gon' be pickin' them up in the mornin'. Christina's father and herself went back up to the school this afternoon, and he's got some questions that need to be answered. If you could please call him? Thank you.
I wonder if she is ever going to figure out that she is leaving messages on the wrong machine. I think it is kind of funny, but I'm sure she's going to get into some trouble if it keeps up. Oh well.
Also, I'm not going to be posting anything from Edd on the weekends, so keep a look out for your next dose on Monday.
March 2, 2007
Your daily dose of Edd, Part IV
"Man, I'm straight hungry. You want to roll dinner style?"
This is one of the most prevalent phrases in Edd's vocabulary. He says this at about 4:45pm each afternoon to one of his guitar buddies when he wants to go get some dinner in the cafeteria. There are only two kinds of occasions in which I won't hear this. The first is when Edd is at home. The second is when he goes out to eat dinner.
Now, what gets me the most about this phrase is the "dinner style" part of it. Edd makes it his mission to use the word "style" in conjunction with every other word known (or unknown) to the English language. As you saw two days ago, it works with the word "bell," and he has been heard to say such things as "homework style," "sparknotes style," and even "Swedish fish style." In fact, I think that Edd manages to work "style" (not in any good sense of the word) into his vocabulary even more than the word "straight." To give you a clear understanding of how often he really does use the word, allow me to present you with an analogy. "Style" is to Edd's vocabulary as "like" is to Valspeak. (Yes, "Valspeak" is really a word. I looked it up. You should too if you don't know what it means. You're welcome for enlightening you.)
This is one of the most prevalent phrases in Edd's vocabulary. He says this at about 4:45pm each afternoon to one of his guitar buddies when he wants to go get some dinner in the cafeteria. There are only two kinds of occasions in which I won't hear this. The first is when Edd is at home. The second is when he goes out to eat dinner.
Now, what gets me the most about this phrase is the "dinner style" part of it. Edd makes it his mission to use the word "style" in conjunction with every other word known (or unknown) to the English language. As you saw two days ago, it works with the word "bell," and he has been heard to say such things as "homework style," "sparknotes style," and even "Swedish fish style." In fact, I think that Edd manages to work "style" (not in any good sense of the word) into his vocabulary even more than the word "straight." To give you a clear understanding of how often he really does use the word, allow me to present you with an analogy. "Style" is to Edd's vocabulary as "like" is to Valspeak. (Yes, "Valspeak" is really a word. I looked it up. You should too if you don't know what it means. You're welcome for enlightening you.)
We want your money, but only if you believe
Something rather strange happened to me yesterday. I was on the way to my room with a large package under my arm, when two sixty(ish) year old people approached me--one man and one woman. They were wearing the kind of clothing that one usually sees on psychologists or, perhaps, painters. The man had on a sort of poncho and some very loose pants (that looked as if they were made of canvas), and the woman had on a purple dress that came straight out of the sixties.
They handed me a small booklet with the title of Yoga (and some subtitle I can't recall), and explained that they were trying to raise awareness of the "true" spirit of Yoga. Then, while the woman still had her hand on the book, she asked me if I would be willing to contribute a small amount of money for their cause, and added, as a sort of passing question, "You do believe in God, don't you?"
This question struck me as rather uncalled for and out of place. The way it was interjected into the conversation, one sided as it was, seemed to imply that they didn't want to be asking for money from a person who did not believe in God. What convinced me more of the fact that they thought this way was how much more persistent in their asking they were after I answered "yes" to their question. I didn't have any money, nor would I have given it to them if I did. It just felt really strange and uncomfortable talking to two human beings who only wanted money from a believer. All of the atheists out there, it seems, are going to have a hard time purchasing things with money. Maybe clam shells still count as currency.
They handed me a small booklet with the title of Yoga (and some subtitle I can't recall), and explained that they were trying to raise awareness of the "true" spirit of Yoga. Then, while the woman still had her hand on the book, she asked me if I would be willing to contribute a small amount of money for their cause, and added, as a sort of passing question, "You do believe in God, don't you?"
This question struck me as rather uncalled for and out of place. The way it was interjected into the conversation, one sided as it was, seemed to imply that they didn't want to be asking for money from a person who did not believe in God. What convinced me more of the fact that they thought this way was how much more persistent in their asking they were after I answered "yes" to their question. I didn't have any money, nor would I have given it to them if I did. It just felt really strange and uncomfortable talking to two human beings who only wanted money from a believer. All of the atheists out there, it seems, are going to have a hard time purchasing things with money. Maybe clam shells still count as currency.
March 1, 2007
Your daily dose of Edd, Part III
"Man, yo! That guy's a bomb-ass flutist!"
This one here is hot of the presses! The first time I heard Edd utter this phrase was around 10:45pm last night as I was busy working on some homework for Music Lit. We were having a conversation about how well a flutist had performed earlier in the day, when Edd tried to convince us that an incoming conductor (who is a former flute player) is a far better flutist than the current flute teacher. To help the case of this incoming guy, Edd claimed that he was a "bomb-ass flutist."
Now, I really cannot comment on the technical qualities of a particular flute player, as I don't listen to flute music all that often (honestly, it sort of makes my head hurt--same goes for all wind music). But, come on! Bomb-ass?! Wouldn't a simple, "he's awesome!" suffice? One of Edd's fortes, I have discovered, is an annoying, albeit creative, use of descriptive phrases. There is never a short supply of quirky ways to describe a person's good or bad qualities. These types of phrases come in a constant stream whenever some sort of video game is being played (especially if it is an online multiplayer first-person shooter). When Edd most likely gets on his computer tonight to play Day of Defeat or Mario, I'll be sure to make note of a few such phrases and present you with them tomorrow.
This one here is hot of the presses! The first time I heard Edd utter this phrase was around 10:45pm last night as I was busy working on some homework for Music Lit. We were having a conversation about how well a flutist had performed earlier in the day, when Edd tried to convince us that an incoming conductor (who is a former flute player) is a far better flutist than the current flute teacher. To help the case of this incoming guy, Edd claimed that he was a "bomb-ass flutist."
Now, I really cannot comment on the technical qualities of a particular flute player, as I don't listen to flute music all that often (honestly, it sort of makes my head hurt--same goes for all wind music). But, come on! Bomb-ass?! Wouldn't a simple, "he's awesome!" suffice? One of Edd's fortes, I have discovered, is an annoying, albeit creative, use of descriptive phrases. There is never a short supply of quirky ways to describe a person's good or bad qualities. These types of phrases come in a constant stream whenever some sort of video game is being played (especially if it is an online multiplayer first-person shooter). When Edd most likely gets on his computer tonight to play Day of Defeat or Mario, I'll be sure to make note of a few such phrases and present you with them tomorrow.
February 28, 2007
The world's worst television shows
Before I begin, I must admit that this post is really centered around tv shows here in the United States. I cannot say that I have seen too many shows from other countries, but I am very confident that my choices for the two worst tv shows in the world would rank high on everybody's list of things to avoid watching.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, allow me to announce the first of my two choices. The Wiggles is one of the most ridiculous shows on tv. If you don't know what it is, the show airs on Nick, Jr and is, of course, geared towards children. The show is centered around a "band" from Australia that is composed of four grown men named Sam, Murray, Jeff, and Anthony. These guys dress up in all sorts of outfits and sing songs in very high-pitched voices. They pretend to be on pirate ships, on golf courses, and in the pool, among other things, and always sing about how happy they are (or, in contrast, how the giant shark in the ocean is a big fat meanie). I am aware that television shows for children are meant to be on the silly side and that complex plots are not to be expected, but this show goes overboard. To watch these four, thirty(ish) year old men prance around in flamboyant costumes and sing as if they really mean what they say, is simply mind blowing. I really hope that they get paid a great deal of money, because the mere idea that they degrade themselves in that manner out of the pure goodness of their hearts makes me a little bit sick.
Second on my list is a show that I know all of you have seen at least once. Most Extreme Elimination Challenge, which now airs on SpikeTV, is one of the most annoying things I have come across in my entire life. Sure, the show is a tiny bit funny the first time you see it, but this is mainly due to how incredibly ridiculous the entire concept is. Ok, I admit that the show has pulled a few chuckles from me, but honestly, how many times can one watch an adult attempt to jump over a Styrofoam fish over a pool of oil? Shows like this really exemplify the words of H. L. Mencken, "Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public." The fact that this show can keep thousands upon thousands of people entertained day in and day out speaks volumes about how truly starved for culture much of us are. If any of you really do like this show, please engage in some sort of pain inducing practice each time you are tempted to turn on the tv. I promise, it is for your own good.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, allow me to announce the first of my two choices. The Wiggles is one of the most ridiculous shows on tv. If you don't know what it is, the show airs on Nick, Jr and is, of course, geared towards children. The show is centered around a "band" from Australia that is composed of four grown men named Sam, Murray, Jeff, and Anthony. These guys dress up in all sorts of outfits and sing songs in very high-pitched voices. They pretend to be on pirate ships, on golf courses, and in the pool, among other things, and always sing about how happy they are (or, in contrast, how the giant shark in the ocean is a big fat meanie). I am aware that television shows for children are meant to be on the silly side and that complex plots are not to be expected, but this show goes overboard. To watch these four, thirty(ish) year old men prance around in flamboyant costumes and sing as if they really mean what they say, is simply mind blowing. I really hope that they get paid a great deal of money, because the mere idea that they degrade themselves in that manner out of the pure goodness of their hearts makes me a little bit sick.
Second on my list is a show that I know all of you have seen at least once. Most Extreme Elimination Challenge, which now airs on SpikeTV, is one of the most annoying things I have come across in my entire life. Sure, the show is a tiny bit funny the first time you see it, but this is mainly due to how incredibly ridiculous the entire concept is. Ok, I admit that the show has pulled a few chuckles from me, but honestly, how many times can one watch an adult attempt to jump over a Styrofoam fish over a pool of oil? Shows like this really exemplify the words of H. L. Mencken, "Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public." The fact that this show can keep thousands upon thousands of people entertained day in and day out speaks volumes about how truly starved for culture much of us are. If any of you really do like this show, please engage in some sort of pain inducing practice each time you are tempted to turn on the tv. I promise, it is for your own good.
Your daily dose of Edd, Part II
"Hey man. We should dirty ride bell style!"
This phrase, or a variation thereof, pops up in Edd's vocabulary at least twice a week. He will say this at around 11:30am when he is getting hungry and wants to go get some food off campus.
First thing to note here are the words "dirty ride". As nearly anyone who has attended a boarding school knows, there are relatively strict (and annoying) rules as to when, how, and with whom one is allowed to leave campus. Here at NCSA, one must sign out with the front desk any time he or she is planning on leaving campus, and must sign back in within two hours of the expected return time. When leaving campus in a car, problems arise all the time. If the driver does not have their full license, the staff here will not allow more than one person to ride in the car (even if said driver has a license without a passenger restriction). Also, if the driver is not on a list that your parents have provided, the staff has to call your parents to get permission for you to leave in a car. These rules cause much in the way of delay and many times, students prefer to just leave campus in a car without signing out. The phrase "dirty ride" was coined by Edd to mean just that--riding in a car off campus without permission (sorry to disappoint, no sexual connotation at all). To indicate where my roommate would like to eat while in the act of "dirty riding", he adds the name of a restaurant, followed by the word "style".
In the case of the above quote, Edd is indicating that he would like to ride in a car without permission and go get some food from Taco Bell. A very wonderful use of language, isn't it? (Please note the marked sardonicism.)
This phrase, or a variation thereof, pops up in Edd's vocabulary at least twice a week. He will say this at around 11:30am when he is getting hungry and wants to go get some food off campus.
First thing to note here are the words "dirty ride". As nearly anyone who has attended a boarding school knows, there are relatively strict (and annoying) rules as to when, how, and with whom one is allowed to leave campus. Here at NCSA, one must sign out with the front desk any time he or she is planning on leaving campus, and must sign back in within two hours of the expected return time. When leaving campus in a car, problems arise all the time. If the driver does not have their full license, the staff here will not allow more than one person to ride in the car (even if said driver has a license without a passenger restriction). Also, if the driver is not on a list that your parents have provided, the staff has to call your parents to get permission for you to leave in a car. These rules cause much in the way of delay and many times, students prefer to just leave campus in a car without signing out. The phrase "dirty ride" was coined by Edd to mean just that--riding in a car off campus without permission (sorry to disappoint, no sexual connotation at all). To indicate where my roommate would like to eat while in the act of "dirty riding", he adds the name of a restaurant, followed by the word "style".
In the case of the above quote, Edd is indicating that he would like to ride in a car without permission and go get some food from Taco Bell. A very wonderful use of language, isn't it? (Please note the marked sardonicism.)
February 27, 2007
Your daily dose of Edd, Part I
Welcome to your first daily dose of Edd! I will, in all likelihood, be posting something my roommate says every day (hence the "daily" in "your daily dose of Edd"). The posts will be organized as such:
1) Quote from Edd.
2) Context in which said quote was (or can be) used.
3) Why I find the quote to be so annoying or ridiculous.
Are you ready? Well, grab a glass of water, and prepare to take your prescribed dosage of Edd! (Please do not consume on an empty stomach. Your daily dose of Edd should not be taken with alcohol. Take at most one dose a day. Not recommended for children two or younger.)
"Dude! He straight demised my shit! No way!"
While playing Mario Kart 64 on his computer the other day, Edd was commenting on how treacherous one particular portion of the course was. He explained that the area in question was surely to be one's demise, even going so far as to name the ravine "demiseville". The trouble spot was easily avoided by Edd during lap one, and was narrowly avoided on lap two. Going into the third lap, Edd was in a great position to win the race (and the Star Cup!). Knowing that Yoshi was on his tail, Edd was extremely careful whilst navigating each turn, but lost focus for just a moment as "demiseville" approached. Seizing the opportunity to strike, Yoshi bumped into Edd--he was playing as Toad--and knocked him into the ravine. Oh, no! At this point, the race was lost, and Edd exclaimed the above quote in his utter frustration.
I chose this quotation from the oh-so-wise Edd in order to best describe how he uses nouns instead of verbs on any possible occasion. (We won't get to his overwhelming usage of the word "straight" today.) I've never met a person who can completely ignore the laws of grammar as thoroughly as my roommate does. He frequently uses phrases such as, "Man, we should dinner it." For some reason, however, when he yelled that a video game character had "demised his shit," I could not contain my laughter. (Of course, I told him that I was laughing at how unfair the situation was). Can you imagine if everyone spoke as he does? What would happen to such great words as run, eat, jump, scream, lose, fight, play, drink, etcetera? A language void of verbs would be on par with ice cream absent any carbs. Sure, it sounds like a good idea. Try eating that ice cream though, and telling me that it is not just overpriced ice. Really. Go ahead.
(Yes. I now know that I am no great craftsman of metaphors.)
1) Quote from Edd.
2) Context in which said quote was (or can be) used.
3) Why I find the quote to be so annoying or ridiculous.
Are you ready? Well, grab a glass of water, and prepare to take your prescribed dosage of Edd! (Please do not consume on an empty stomach. Your daily dose of Edd should not be taken with alcohol. Take at most one dose a day. Not recommended for children two or younger.)
"Dude! He straight demised my shit! No way!"
While playing Mario Kart 64 on his computer the other day, Edd was commenting on how treacherous one particular portion of the course was. He explained that the area in question was surely to be one's demise, even going so far as to name the ravine "demiseville". The trouble spot was easily avoided by Edd during lap one, and was narrowly avoided on lap two. Going into the third lap, Edd was in a great position to win the race (and the Star Cup!). Knowing that Yoshi was on his tail, Edd was extremely careful whilst navigating each turn, but lost focus for just a moment as "demiseville" approached. Seizing the opportunity to strike, Yoshi bumped into Edd--he was playing as Toad--and knocked him into the ravine. Oh, no! At this point, the race was lost, and Edd exclaimed the above quote in his utter frustration.
I chose this quotation from the oh-so-wise Edd in order to best describe how he uses nouns instead of verbs on any possible occasion. (We won't get to his overwhelming usage of the word "straight" today.) I've never met a person who can completely ignore the laws of grammar as thoroughly as my roommate does. He frequently uses phrases such as, "Man, we should dinner it." For some reason, however, when he yelled that a video game character had "demised his shit," I could not contain my laughter. (Of course, I told him that I was laughing at how unfair the situation was). Can you imagine if everyone spoke as he does? What would happen to such great words as run, eat, jump, scream, lose, fight, play, drink, etcetera? A language void of verbs would be on par with ice cream absent any carbs. Sure, it sounds like a good idea. Try eating that ice cream though, and telling me that it is not just overpriced ice. Really. Go ahead.
(Yes. I now know that I am no great craftsman of metaphors.)
You have not reached the voicemail of whom you intended
When I got back up to school on Sunday night, I still had a huge amount of homework to do. In fact, I still had some homework to do that was supposed to be turned in last Friday. Because I am such a wonderful student, I sat down at my computer around 12:30am (on Monday) to begin the work.
All of the homework was for English class. I had four reading journal entries for Crime and Punishment to complete, as well as entire part of that book to begin. After a healthy mix of procrastination and work, I finally finished all the work at about 2:30am, and got ready for bed. I set my alarm for 8:15am (my first class is at 9:10am!), and closed my eyes. At 5:45am, my phone rang. I was so pissed off, that I didn't even bother to look at who it was calling me. I tried to press the silence button to no avail, so I just threw my phone on the ground--that did the trick!
After waking up to my alarm that morning and taking a shower, I decided to check on who had disturbed my oh-so-deep sleep. The number was marked unavailable, but the person had left a message. Please allow me to recreate, to the best of my ability, the entirety of the message. (*Note, the message was left in an exceedingly thick and annoying Southern accent.)
Hey Lori, its Jean. I hate to do it, shit, but I reckon I got to add one more day at least. Uh, my granddaughter's woke up sick this mornin' and I'm still not feelin' totally the way up to par. So, I guess I might better take at least one more day. I was s'posed to sign that time sheet with Cherie today but, would you let her know I'm not g'be able to be in. I don't know what I need to do or what have you, but I guess I might better try to go on and, uh, be out one more day. Hopefully she'll be better tomorrow. You have a good day, now.
Looks like somebody is going to be in some trouble with their boss today, ha ha! I swear that if their number had been left, I would have called Jean back to inform her of the mistake, but, alas! I guess there are two lessons you should take away from this. First, it is a bad move to wake me up before 7:00am under any circumstances. Ok, fine, if you are presently bleeding to death, then it is acceptable to call at 6:15am--but no earlier! Secondly, if you are going to call your boss to let him or her know that you will be absent from work, make sure you listen to the voice and message on the machine in which you plan on placing your trust. If you call a number, and get the following message:
Hi. This is Logan. I'm not here right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you as soon as possible.
You are most likely leaving me a message.
Up later today, the first "Daily Eddism". (I realize now that "Eddism" is actually a real philosophy. Therefore, the title of this series will henceforth be changed to, "Daily Dose of Ed".)
All of the homework was for English class. I had four reading journal entries for Crime and Punishment to complete, as well as entire part of that book to begin. After a healthy mix of procrastination and work, I finally finished all the work at about 2:30am, and got ready for bed. I set my alarm for 8:15am (my first class is at 9:10am!), and closed my eyes. At 5:45am, my phone rang. I was so pissed off, that I didn't even bother to look at who it was calling me. I tried to press the silence button to no avail, so I just threw my phone on the ground--that did the trick!
After waking up to my alarm that morning and taking a shower, I decided to check on who had disturbed my oh-so-deep sleep. The number was marked unavailable, but the person had left a message. Please allow me to recreate, to the best of my ability, the entirety of the message. (*Note, the message was left in an exceedingly thick and annoying Southern accent.)
Hey Lori, its Jean. I hate to do it, shit, but I reckon I got to add one more day at least. Uh, my granddaughter's woke up sick this mornin' and I'm still not feelin' totally the way up to par. So, I guess I might better take at least one more day. I was s'posed to sign that time sheet with Cherie today but, would you let her know I'm not g'be able to be in. I don't know what I need to do or what have you, but I guess I might better try to go on and, uh, be out one more day. Hopefully she'll be better tomorrow. You have a good day, now.
Looks like somebody is going to be in some trouble with their boss today, ha ha! I swear that if their number had been left, I would have called Jean back to inform her of the mistake, but, alas! I guess there are two lessons you should take away from this. First, it is a bad move to wake me up before 7:00am under any circumstances. Ok, fine, if you are presently bleeding to death, then it is acceptable to call at 6:15am--but no earlier! Secondly, if you are going to call your boss to let him or her know that you will be absent from work, make sure you listen to the voice and message on the machine in which you plan on placing your trust. If you call a number, and get the following message:
Hi. This is Logan. I'm not here right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you as soon as possible.
You are most likely leaving me a message.
Up later today, the first "Daily Eddism". (I realize now that "Eddism" is actually a real philosophy. Therefore, the title of this series will henceforth be changed to, "Daily Dose of Ed".)
February 26, 2007
A quickie for the whetting of thy appetite
Hi all. I am not posting anything of real significance tonight due to a large amount of homework, but I did just want to pop by to say hello and let you know what is to come tomorrow.
As I am sure most of you have noticed by now, my attempt at a serial novel failed. I may return to it in the future, but for now will be substituting it with another project, which I feel you will enjoy. For those of you who attend NCSA, you know who my roommate is. For everyone else, allow me to provide you with a bit of an introduction. His name is Edd, and he tends to make up words all day long. Most of the time, these made-up tidbits are simply annoying, but on the rare occasion, they are funny (in a did-he-actually-just-say-that sort of way). So, beginning tomorrow, I will be starting a new project, affectionately titled "Daily Eddism". Each day, I will post a word or phrase that Edd has made up, and talk about it for a bit. (Oh, and do not fret! I will also be making an additional post each day unrelated to my roommate. For those of you fortunate enough to have a faculty for mathematics, that means that I will be making two posts every day! Yipee!)
That is all for now. I'll catch you tomorrow.
As I am sure most of you have noticed by now, my attempt at a serial novel failed. I may return to it in the future, but for now will be substituting it with another project, which I feel you will enjoy. For those of you who attend NCSA, you know who my roommate is. For everyone else, allow me to provide you with a bit of an introduction. His name is Edd, and he tends to make up words all day long. Most of the time, these made-up tidbits are simply annoying, but on the rare occasion, they are funny (in a did-he-actually-just-say-that sort of way). So, beginning tomorrow, I will be starting a new project, affectionately titled "Daily Eddism". Each day, I will post a word or phrase that Edd has made up, and talk about it for a bit. (Oh, and do not fret! I will also be making an additional post each day unrelated to my roommate. For those of you fortunate enough to have a faculty for mathematics, that means that I will be making two posts every day! Yipee!)
That is all for now. I'll catch you tomorrow.
They came, they were drawn, they laid an egg
Today marked the end of the Daily Monster series. Monster No. 100 was posted this morning, and a wonderful monster it was! I hope you all noticed the viola music that Stefan included! Yesterday he asked me if I would quickly write something to be used with the animation of his final monster, and what you heard on the video was a result of his challenge. Of course, I do know that it is not my best playing, nor brilliant music by any account, but I am pretty proud of it, and extremely excited that Stefan gave me such a wonderful opportunity.
Following is Monster No. 100's story. Tomorrow I will resume posting on different subject matter. Hope you like it!
Monsters, as we all know, are a very rare sight to behold. Their population, while not yet small enough to be classified as "endangered" is on the decline. The very rare glimpses that are afforded the lucky human are few and far between, and the idea of encountering one every day is extraordinarily far fetched. Yet, somehow, the last few months have proved miraculous, and we lucky few have seen one hundred of these rarities. They are a sight to behold, indeed! While it is has been fun to view monster after monster, we all knew it would only be a matter of time before we had seen them all. One hundred days later, and the fears of many have been realized! There is, however, hope! The birth of a new monster brings with it the promise of a grand future. The monster population as we now know it will grow at a rate of one monster per week. How exciting this is! While an era of daily monster sightings has come to a close, we humans know that it won't be long before the next one makes an appearance.
We shall be waiting, little one.
Following is Monster No. 100's story. Tomorrow I will resume posting on different subject matter. Hope you like it!
Monsters, as we all know, are a very rare sight to behold. Their population, while not yet small enough to be classified as "endangered" is on the decline. The very rare glimpses that are afforded the lucky human are few and far between, and the idea of encountering one every day is extraordinarily far fetched. Yet, somehow, the last few months have proved miraculous, and we lucky few have seen one hundred of these rarities. They are a sight to behold, indeed! While it is has been fun to view monster after monster, we all knew it would only be a matter of time before we had seen them all. One hundred days later, and the fears of many have been realized! There is, however, hope! The birth of a new monster brings with it the promise of a grand future. The monster population as we now know it will grow at a rate of one monster per week. How exciting this is! While an era of daily monster sightings has come to a close, we humans know that it won't be long before the next one makes an appearance.
We shall be waiting, little one.
February 24, 2007
It's red, blue, and green, and can fit in your pocket!
Right again! Now's the time for my story about Monster No. 99. As per usual, watch the video first. Also, make sure you check out the video for Monster No. 100 tomorrow for an extra special surprise! (Thanks again Stefan!)
In the Super Secret Monster Top Secret Service Agency--the SSMTSSA for short--is constantly trying to develop new ways of transportation for members of the Monster Military. The newest development is an attachment to a ten year old project, named simply "The Suit." The Suit is a large Trojan Horse of sorts. It is a fake monster shell in which three agents can comfortably stay for several weeks while on any number of assignments. The one problem in the past was with transportation. Since the suit is roughly as tall as the Empire State Building (after all, it is a comfortable place to stay!), it is a feat and a half to simply move it a few feet. The newest attachment for The Suit, Shuttle-Head 256 attempts to solve some mobility issues. Agents can now make their way upstairs to the control room and blast off. After this, any of the two hundred retro-fitted Suits is a suitable landing site. Surveillance capabilities have increased ten fold, and all that is left to do is somehow make The Suit smaller. Plans for suitMINI are in the works, and it should be available within the next year in three fantastic colors.
In the Super Secret Monster Top Secret Service Agency--the SSMTSSA for short--is constantly trying to develop new ways of transportation for members of the Monster Military. The newest development is an attachment to a ten year old project, named simply "The Suit." The Suit is a large Trojan Horse of sorts. It is a fake monster shell in which three agents can comfortably stay for several weeks while on any number of assignments. The one problem in the past was with transportation. Since the suit is roughly as tall as the Empire State Building (after all, it is a comfortable place to stay!), it is a feat and a half to simply move it a few feet. The newest attachment for The Suit, Shuttle-Head 256 attempts to solve some mobility issues. Agents can now make their way upstairs to the control room and blast off. After this, any of the two hundred retro-fitted Suits is a suitable landing site. Surveillance capabilities have increased ten fold, and all that is left to do is somehow make The Suit smaller. Plans for suitMINI are in the works, and it should be available within the next year in three fantastic colors.
February 23, 2007
Careful, or your groove may just get stuck
Yes, you guessed it. Today is time for the story of monster no. 98. Watch his video, and then read my story. (I promise after all 100 monsters are done, I will get back to posting other things!)
Everybody knows that the coolest monsters have terrible hygiene. In the monster equivalent of our human colleges, moldiness is a trait similar to being completely ripped. As is probably evident by the large amount of extra dirty growth sprouting from the back of Monster No. 98's (Marcus) head, he is one cool dude. This amount of dirtiness can only result in a very large amount of itching. However, the scratching motion most humans are used to seeing performed by Monster No. 98 is not in attempts to quell any itching. In fact, it is really his signature dance move. Back in Monster College--Marcus received a fine arts degree there--this guy was known for keeping the dance floor alive. He danced nearly every night for hours, and only used one move...the back scratch slide. After moving that way for so long, the move became engraved in his very being, and he can hardly go two minutes without getting his groove on. Good thing it is still an extraordinarily hip move!
Everybody knows that the coolest monsters have terrible hygiene. In the monster equivalent of our human colleges, moldiness is a trait similar to being completely ripped. As is probably evident by the large amount of extra dirty growth sprouting from the back of Monster No. 98's (Marcus) head, he is one cool dude. This amount of dirtiness can only result in a very large amount of itching. However, the scratching motion most humans are used to seeing performed by Monster No. 98 is not in attempts to quell any itching. In fact, it is really his signature dance move. Back in Monster College--Marcus received a fine arts degree there--this guy was known for keeping the dance floor alive. He danced nearly every night for hours, and only used one move...the back scratch slide. After moving that way for so long, the move became engraved in his very being, and he can hardly go two minutes without getting his groove on. Good thing it is still an extraordinarily hip move!
February 22, 2007
The world's worst inventions
I woke up this morning at 8:15am as usual. I then grabbed my towel, shampoo, and room key and made the long trek down to the showers. After finishing with that, I came back to my room, and as per my normal routine, put some deodorant on, got dressed, fixed--in the most loose sense of the word--my hair, and was ready to brush my teeth. I picked up my toothbrush, ran some water, let said water heat up, got my toothbrush wet, and picked up my tube of minty flavored toothpaste. Instead of easily moving on with the next step, I was met by a most frustrating problem. The cap on my toothpaste would not budge from its place. No amount of twisting would help. I actually had to run some very hot water over the cap for several minutes until the hardened goo would loosen.
Now, pardon my asking, but who had the brilliant idea to put screw caps onto toothpaste tubes?! As nearly everybody who brushes their teeth with any regularity knows, there is no avoiding the occasional spill over after putting toothpaste on one's toothbrush. In the case of flip-cap tubes, this is not so much a problem. Even if any of the stuff dries and hardens, a flip-cap can easily be reopened. Not so with a screw cap! No sir. With each day of spillage, excess toothpaste gets worked into every single thread in the cap, and by the time you have been oh-so-hygienically brushing your teeth for a month, the cap has a death grip on your toothpaste tube. At 8:30am (or, God forbid, earlier!), the last thing one wants to do is wrestle with an inanimate object. It just isn't a fun thing to do. Therefore, screw-on toothpaste caps qualify, in my book, as the worst invention of all time.
If you noticed, the title of this post is "The world's worst inventions". (Notice the plural form of the noun "invention".) I would not leave you hanging with only one moronic invention, wondering why I had added an "s" to the end of a perfectly good word. So, what is this other "worst" invention? Roll-up projector screens! Who the hell came up with that idea? (I am, of course, speaking of the manual roll-up screens, not the automated one. The person who came up with those is alright in my book.) I can just imagine the roll-up projector screen inventor making his pitch to some office supply company. "So, the basic idea is, you hang a big white piece of paper in front of a wall. Then, you roll it up, around a dowel. How do you get it down? I'm glad you asked. You simply pull it down. And, how do you get it back up? Easy! Just pull it down! Sounds counter intuitive, doesn't it? I promise, it works great!"
In all honesty, I think that the person who came up with that brilliant idea was just looking for a way to completely embarrass young students who were already nervous enough, having to go up to the board and write something. Add in a five minute attempt at rolling up the projector screen, and you have a therapy session waiting to happen.
The excruciatingly sad thing here is that the inventors of both things are raking in tons and tons of dough. I guess, though, that even they are made to suffer through the use of these things.
Now, pardon my asking, but who had the brilliant idea to put screw caps onto toothpaste tubes?! As nearly everybody who brushes their teeth with any regularity knows, there is no avoiding the occasional spill over after putting toothpaste on one's toothbrush. In the case of flip-cap tubes, this is not so much a problem. Even if any of the stuff dries and hardens, a flip-cap can easily be reopened. Not so with a screw cap! No sir. With each day of spillage, excess toothpaste gets worked into every single thread in the cap, and by the time you have been oh-so-hygienically brushing your teeth for a month, the cap has a death grip on your toothpaste tube. At 8:30am (or, God forbid, earlier!), the last thing one wants to do is wrestle with an inanimate object. It just isn't a fun thing to do. Therefore, screw-on toothpaste caps qualify, in my book, as the worst invention of all time.
If you noticed, the title of this post is "The world's worst inventions". (Notice the plural form of the noun "invention".) I would not leave you hanging with only one moronic invention, wondering why I had added an "s" to the end of a perfectly good word. So, what is this other "worst" invention? Roll-up projector screens! Who the hell came up with that idea? (I am, of course, speaking of the manual roll-up screens, not the automated one. The person who came up with those is alright in my book.) I can just imagine the roll-up projector screen inventor making his pitch to some office supply company. "So, the basic idea is, you hang a big white piece of paper in front of a wall. Then, you roll it up, around a dowel. How do you get it down? I'm glad you asked. You simply pull it down. And, how do you get it back up? Easy! Just pull it down! Sounds counter intuitive, doesn't it? I promise, it works great!"
In all honesty, I think that the person who came up with that brilliant idea was just looking for a way to completely embarrass young students who were already nervous enough, having to go up to the board and write something. Add in a five minute attempt at rolling up the projector screen, and you have a therapy session waiting to happen.
The excruciatingly sad thing here is that the inventors of both things are raking in tons and tons of dough. I guess, though, that even they are made to suffer through the use of these things.
How Robert became so damn sexy
Stefan has posted the 97th monster in his series, and I decided to write a short story about it as well. Make sure you watch the video on the Daily Monster website before reading this story, as it will then make much more sense. So, without any further ado, the story of monster no. 97:
It was a normal Tuesday afternoon when the explosion sounded. The cloud that formed above the Red Shoe Testing Facilites was visible for miles. Witnesses described the boom as something similar to a small earth quake, and store windows even shattered as far away as downtown Heelsville. The details are rather sketchy, but what seems to have happened is this. A new intern was busy testing the sexy factor of a new shoe coating that would, hopefully, revolutionize the products of Red Shoe, Inc. The testing procedure involved painting a bit of the black--and very volitile!--liquid on a piece of paper while counting the number of times the testing monkey (aptly named Narcisimus) said "Ooo-la-la!" from his cage. All was going well--there had been a record forty-five exlamaitions from the primate in the first minute and a hlaf--when the intern, Robert, made a crucial mistake. Whithout noticing, he had spilled a drop of the sexy solution on the floor, and was presently about to step directly on it! (Everyone knows that Red Shoe Sexy Solution is only stable when completely dry.) This, of course, resulted in a resounding BOOM! The roof of the testing facility was blown clean off, and Robert would receive the brunt of the blast. His face became covered in sexy solution, and because of the heat, it dried as it was splattering him. This resulted in not only his face being covered in the unremovable substance, but also in his hair being drenched as well. And, because his right leg was the first thing to come in contact with the explosion, he lost it as well. Now, in the history of lab mishaps, the receiver of disfiguration usually has an axe to grind, and winds up in a sour mood for the remainder of his or her life (most likely making it his mission to seek revenge upon completely unrelated persons as Spiderman, Superman, Batman, and Captain Planet). However, in the case of Robert, he was pleased with his new look. Because Red Shoe's Sexy Solution had been designed to raise the sexiness level of whatever it coated by 700%, Rovert was in high spirits. Hopping around on his single leg caused him no bother, and he would live out the rest of his days as one of the most popular scientists in the world. Of course, he did acquire the unfortunate nickname of "Monster No. 97" but he was able to brush this off, as his sexiness level easily won over any critics.
It was a normal Tuesday afternoon when the explosion sounded. The cloud that formed above the Red Shoe Testing Facilites was visible for miles. Witnesses described the boom as something similar to a small earth quake, and store windows even shattered as far away as downtown Heelsville. The details are rather sketchy, but what seems to have happened is this. A new intern was busy testing the sexy factor of a new shoe coating that would, hopefully, revolutionize the products of Red Shoe, Inc. The testing procedure involved painting a bit of the black--and very volitile!--liquid on a piece of paper while counting the number of times the testing monkey (aptly named Narcisimus) said "Ooo-la-la!" from his cage. All was going well--there had been a record forty-five exlamaitions from the primate in the first minute and a hlaf--when the intern, Robert, made a crucial mistake. Whithout noticing, he had spilled a drop of the sexy solution on the floor, and was presently about to step directly on it! (Everyone knows that Red Shoe Sexy Solution is only stable when completely dry.) This, of course, resulted in a resounding BOOM! The roof of the testing facility was blown clean off, and Robert would receive the brunt of the blast. His face became covered in sexy solution, and because of the heat, it dried as it was splattering him. This resulted in not only his face being covered in the unremovable substance, but also in his hair being drenched as well. And, because his right leg was the first thing to come in contact with the explosion, he lost it as well. Now, in the history of lab mishaps, the receiver of disfiguration usually has an axe to grind, and winds up in a sour mood for the remainder of his or her life (most likely making it his mission to seek revenge upon completely unrelated persons as Spiderman, Superman, Batman, and Captain Planet). However, in the case of Robert, he was pleased with his new look. Because Red Shoe's Sexy Solution had been designed to raise the sexiness level of whatever it coated by 700%, Rovert was in high spirits. Hopping around on his single leg caused him no bother, and he would live out the rest of his days as one of the most popular scientists in the world. Of course, he did acquire the unfortunate nickname of "Monster No. 97" but he was able to brush this off, as his sexiness level easily won over any critics.
February 21, 2007
The monster formerly known as Tod
As you have no doubt noticed, I have added two links to the "Other Things To Read" section of my blog. "Random Reflections" is full of fantastic and witty writing, and is a blog you should not hesitate to read. "Daily Monster" is, for those of you not in the know, a very cool site. Each day, a time-lapsed recording is made of the creation of a monster, and readers are encouraged to write a story about a particular day's new creature. Check out both these great sites.
Anyway, today I decided to write a story about monster no. 96. I posted it on the Daily Monster site, but will reprint it here. Now, I know that the writing is not all that grand, and the story is lacking in brilliance, but it is my first go at this type of thing. I'll be writing a new one for monster no. 97 tomorrow, and monster no. 98 after that. But, until then, here is the story of how monster no. 96 (formerly known as Tod) came to be so grumpy. Hope you like it (or are at least mildly entertained).
There are very few who look forward to the prospect of public speaking. Until a few years ago, monster no. 96 was a member of that group. He used to speak at all sorts of events, from high school graduation ceremonies to baseball games. Even the most nerve-racking types of speaking engagements, such as the ones in front of a group of people while standing in one's underwear didn't bother monster no. 96 (whose real name is actually Tod) in the least. However, during one routine speech concerning meal-time etiquette at a summer camp for teens, Tod was met with one of the most embarrassing situations one can imagine. While in front of the group of already heckling sixteen year olds, something began to happen to Tod's face. His mouth began to open wider, and wider, and wider, uncontrollably so, until finally his upper lip was where the bridge of his nose normally was--it had, of course, fallen off by this point--and his lower lip was at the level of his no longer distinguishable Adam's apple. As if that weren't bad enough, while the large, coarse hairs began to sprout from the back of his throat, Tod's back began to split down the middle and bursted into two puny looking bat wings. Amidst the laughter and camera flashes, Tod was able to fly away, but never again would he regain his former jolly demeanor. He would acquire the name "Monster No. 96" and would never again be seen or heard speaking publicly again.
Anyway, today I decided to write a story about monster no. 96. I posted it on the Daily Monster site, but will reprint it here. Now, I know that the writing is not all that grand, and the story is lacking in brilliance, but it is my first go at this type of thing. I'll be writing a new one for monster no. 97 tomorrow, and monster no. 98 after that. But, until then, here is the story of how monster no. 96 (formerly known as Tod) came to be so grumpy. Hope you like it (or are at least mildly entertained).
There are very few who look forward to the prospect of public speaking. Until a few years ago, monster no. 96 was a member of that group. He used to speak at all sorts of events, from high school graduation ceremonies to baseball games. Even the most nerve-racking types of speaking engagements, such as the ones in front of a group of people while standing in one's underwear didn't bother monster no. 96 (whose real name is actually Tod) in the least. However, during one routine speech concerning meal-time etiquette at a summer camp for teens, Tod was met with one of the most embarrassing situations one can imagine. While in front of the group of already heckling sixteen year olds, something began to happen to Tod's face. His mouth began to open wider, and wider, and wider, uncontrollably so, until finally his upper lip was where the bridge of his nose normally was--it had, of course, fallen off by this point--and his lower lip was at the level of his no longer distinguishable Adam's apple. As if that weren't bad enough, while the large, coarse hairs began to sprout from the back of his throat, Tod's back began to split down the middle and bursted into two puny looking bat wings. Amidst the laughter and camera flashes, Tod was able to fly away, but never again would he regain his former jolly demeanor. He would acquire the name "Monster No. 96" and would never again be seen or heard speaking publicly again.
February 20, 2007
The oddity that is time
Ok, so first of all, I'm sorry. I completely lied, and didn't post again last night. I really did have plans to, but my roommate turned on Taxi Driver and I couldn't resist watching it.
Anyway, over the last few weeks, I have begun to realize how much I am going to miss NCSA when I leave at the end of the year. I realize that I complain day in and day out about how annoying the high school life staff is and how awfully similar to a prison this school truly is, but this complaining does not mean that I dislike being here. When I first got here at the beginning of the year, it was great to see everyone again, and it felt like my senior year in high school was going to be a slow, yet fun one. Well, here it is, two or three weeks before the end of winter term, and I don't feel like I have been at school for more that a couple of weeks.
What is really strange, though, is that as much as I want the year to slow down, I constantly catch myself watching the clock during every class and counting down the days until the weekend arrives. In every class, on every day of the week, week in and week out, I half-listen to the teacher and half think about how much I wish it were Friday instead of Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday. When I get these oh-so-frequent thoughts, they don't seem at all out of place or in direct contrast to my feelings with respect to my time left at the school of the arts.
Time is such a weird thing. It is a steady, forward moving stream that doesn't slow or quicken. It can be shrunken down to the size of a watch, yet is far more expansive and complex than can ever be understood. Why then, does time always feel as if it is moving contrary to how one desires? In English at 1:48pm, time moves at less-than-quarter-pace. But, when I'm just sitting in the snack bar, laughing with people, the minutes tick by faster that seems possible.
Such an abstract thing as time shouldn't be able to cause so much concern. It's not something tangible, and the only way of measuring it is by assigning to it an arbitrary, circular order. The big ideas, like death and existence don't really concern me in the least. How then is it that simply thinking about time always makes me sad?
I'm going to miss it here so incredibly much when the year has ended. I just hope that it doesn't continue to go by so fast.
Damn, I wish it were Saturday.
Anyway, over the last few weeks, I have begun to realize how much I am going to miss NCSA when I leave at the end of the year. I realize that I complain day in and day out about how annoying the high school life staff is and how awfully similar to a prison this school truly is, but this complaining does not mean that I dislike being here. When I first got here at the beginning of the year, it was great to see everyone again, and it felt like my senior year in high school was going to be a slow, yet fun one. Well, here it is, two or three weeks before the end of winter term, and I don't feel like I have been at school for more that a couple of weeks.
What is really strange, though, is that as much as I want the year to slow down, I constantly catch myself watching the clock during every class and counting down the days until the weekend arrives. In every class, on every day of the week, week in and week out, I half-listen to the teacher and half think about how much I wish it were Friday instead of Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday. When I get these oh-so-frequent thoughts, they don't seem at all out of place or in direct contrast to my feelings with respect to my time left at the school of the arts.
Time is such a weird thing. It is a steady, forward moving stream that doesn't slow or quicken. It can be shrunken down to the size of a watch, yet is far more expansive and complex than can ever be understood. Why then, does time always feel as if it is moving contrary to how one desires? In English at 1:48pm, time moves at less-than-quarter-pace. But, when I'm just sitting in the snack bar, laughing with people, the minutes tick by faster that seems possible.
Such an abstract thing as time shouldn't be able to cause so much concern. It's not something tangible, and the only way of measuring it is by assigning to it an arbitrary, circular order. The big ideas, like death and existence don't really concern me in the least. How then is it that simply thinking about time always makes me sad?
I'm going to miss it here so incredibly much when the year has ended. I just hope that it doesn't continue to go by so fast.
Damn, I wish it were Saturday.
February 19, 2007
There is life in me yet
Well hello there. Yes, I am still alive! (I just know all five of you were worried.) I'm sorry that I've been so lax in posting, and I promise that I'll be better from now on. I've just been a bit busy lately, and posting was last on my list of things to do.
Anyway, I'm going to go now. I just wanted to make known that fact that I will finally post something of substance later tonight. I promise! Oh! Also, check out this video Alex and I made as a project for English class:
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead!
That's all for now. (Oh, and just in case you don't know me, I am the one who is wearing the black coat and the long-sleeved blue shirt.)
Anyway, I'm going to go now. I just wanted to make known that fact that I will finally post something of substance later tonight. I promise! Oh! Also, check out this video Alex and I made as a project for English class:
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead!
That's all for now. (Oh, and just in case you don't know me, I am the one who is wearing the black coat and the long-sleeved blue shirt.)
February 3, 2007
Ecstasy, thy name is muffin!
After finally going to sleep at 5:00am this morning, I slept until 2 o'clock in the afternoon. -Doink Doink. (*That, of course, would be the Law & Order sound.*)
Shower! Warm water. Ahhh. Wake up! Dry off. Get dressed--no, not those socks. Open window-how cold? Sweater...my only friend!
Ohhhh. Hungry. Must eat. Cafeteria closed! Oh no!
What to do, what to do? Snack Bar time? Ok. Fine. Pickle Jar it is.
What to get, what to get? BLT? No. Cheese Sticks? Don't think so.
Pour the diet pepsi. Think, think. Aha! Blueberry muffin! Sara Lee, you are so beautiful to me-e-e..can't you see-e-e? It is everything I hope(d) for! Everything I nee-e-ed(ed)!
Open wrapper--don't forget a napkin--take off paper. Top or bottom first? Top-no bottom-no top-no bottom! Bottom! Yum.
Oh muffin! How wonderful you are!
Shower! Warm water. Ahhh. Wake up! Dry off. Get dressed--no, not those socks. Open window-how cold? Sweater...my only friend!
Ohhhh. Hungry. Must eat. Cafeteria closed! Oh no!
What to do, what to do? Snack Bar time? Ok. Fine. Pickle Jar it is.
What to get, what to get? BLT? No. Cheese Sticks? Don't think so.
Pour the diet pepsi. Think, think. Aha! Blueberry muffin! Sara Lee, you are so beautiful to me-e-e..can't you see-e-e? It is everything I hope(d) for! Everything I nee-e-ed(ed)!
Open wrapper--don't forget a napkin--take off paper. Top or bottom first? Top-no bottom-no top-no bottom! Bottom! Yum.
Oh muffin! How wonderful you are!
Sweet and gooey,
Yes you are.
I could put you in a car.
Sweet and gooey,
Yes you be.
I could put you on TV.
Soft and squishy
Like a mouse,
I could put you in my house.
You always do
Catch my eye.
I could put you in the sky.
On a clown or
In a tree,
You would go well with some brie.
Muffin muffin
You're so yummy,
I'd like to put you in my tummy!
Yes you are.
I could put you in a car.
Sweet and gooey,
Yes you be.
I could put you on TV.
Soft and squishy
Like a mouse,
I could put you in my house.
You always do
Catch my eye.
I could put you in the sky.
On a clown or
In a tree,
You would go well with some brie.
Muffin muffin
You're so yummy,
I'd like to put you in my tummy!
(I'll be awaiting my Pulitzer Prize, thank you.)
January 31, 2007
Lucky numbers 8, 9, 10, 31, 32, 33
*Spoiler Alert: The following post has no sense of continuity whatsoever.
I live in Pinehurst, NC, and my dad just got a job in Connecticut. He's leaving this coming Monday to start working up there, and my family and I will follow at the end of the school year. Seeing as I spend most of my time up in Winston-Salem, and I will likely not be home on the weekends that my dad comes back to visit, we decided that it would be good to spend some time together today.
Wednesday's are always light days as far as my class schedule goes; in fact, I only have one hour in which I am required to be somewhere. So, today at 3:30 in the afternoon, my dad came and picked me up at school. We went to Barnes & Noble for a little while, drove around a bit, spent some time at REI pretending that we are outdoors kind of people, and ate dinner at the fabulous P.F. Chang's Chinese Bistro. It was delicious. Thanks for asking.
For the first time in, well, a long time, my dad and I got along quite well. We didn't get into a single argument, and I think we actually laughed on more than one occasion. By the time dinner was over it was about 9:00, and all that was left to do was open our fortune cookies and get back to NCSA.
My dad's fortune cookie was something stupid. I think it was along the lines of:
I live in Pinehurst, NC, and my dad just got a job in Connecticut. He's leaving this coming Monday to start working up there, and my family and I will follow at the end of the school year. Seeing as I spend most of my time up in Winston-Salem, and I will likely not be home on the weekends that my dad comes back to visit, we decided that it would be good to spend some time together today.
Wednesday's are always light days as far as my class schedule goes; in fact, I only have one hour in which I am required to be somewhere. So, today at 3:30 in the afternoon, my dad came and picked me up at school. We went to Barnes & Noble for a little while, drove around a bit, spent some time at REI pretending that we are outdoors kind of people, and ate dinner at the fabulous P.F. Chang's Chinese Bistro. It was delicious. Thanks for asking.
For the first time in, well, a long time, my dad and I got along quite well. We didn't get into a single argument, and I think we actually laughed on more than one occasion. By the time dinner was over it was about 9:00, and all that was left to do was open our fortune cookies and get back to NCSA.
My dad's fortune cookie was something stupid. I think it was along the lines of:
Spicy food tastes good.
That's right. I'm not kidding. Mine, although not quite as useless, proved just as funny:
Enjoy life! It is better to be happy than wise.
Hmm. It all makes sense now! Stupid people have it all figured out! Be a dip shit...it doesn't matter! As long as you're happy, who cares?! Live life to the fullest, and don't worry if you can't speak or write legibly.
Oh. A tidbit for all of you who don't want to be happy morons--Chuan means "ship" in Chinese.
Oh. A tidbit for all of you who don't want to be happy morons--Chuan means "ship" in Chinese.
January 30, 2007
Something serial this way comes
I've always enjoyed writing, and on numerous occasions, have attempted to write either short stories or books. Needless to say, those kinds of projects have failed miserably, usually because I lose interest in a story after 1500 words or so. Because of this, and due to the fact that I really want to start and finish either a short story or a small book, I am going to try something interesting. Every Tuesday, instead of posting some strange thought here, I am going to post an installment in a sort of serial novel.
Now, this could work out wonderfully or fail miserably, but I really want to try it. I have no idea where the story is going to go, nor what it is going to be about, and I am most definitely not going to sit around and think about what to write for the next week. (Oh, and it won't have a title yet either.) Instead, I am just going to sit down for about thirty minutes every Tuesday (or Wednesday, depending on the week) and write a portion of a story. So, without any more procrastinating on my part, here is the first installment in my serial novel.
Serial Novel, Part I, 1/30/07
The room in which he found himself was not normal by any standard of measurement. Of first note, the ceiling looked similar to the waves of corrugated cardboard, and seemed as if, at any moment, it would allow the pounding rain outside to come crashing through. The walls, painted an awful shade of mustard, didn't come together in any pattern at all. Corners could be found every few feet and, instead of the customary four, this room consisted of at least fifteen or twenty of these intersections. Tables and chairs were scattered around the floor with no apparent regularity, and judging by the amount of dust making its home on their flatter surfaces, no one had set foot inside the room for years.
Having expected a much more lively scene than the one he now found himself a part of, Tom took a moment to collect his thoughts. Looking around the oddly designed room, he trained his eyes on a small end table cluttered with various dust-covered photographs, and began to slowly make his way towards it. With every step, a newly formed dust cloud grew larger until, half-way to the table, Tom had to pause and take a deep breath from his inhaler. His newly diagnosed asthma was minor, but proved a nuisance on several occasions.
After regaining his normal breathing pattern, Tom continued to the table and began to brush off the photographs. Careful not to inhale too much, he waited for the dust to again settle before taking a closer look at the, now he counted, eleven pictures. The first two didn't tell him anything, but the third was astounding enough to produce a sudden gasp in the man.
In the picture Tom now held in his slightly trembling hands, there was a little girl of no more than ten years old smiling. She sat on a tire swing while a man stood behind her in the shadow of an enormous oak tree. There were piles of leaves in the background, and the visible branch of the oak tree was completely bare. The very beginning of winter.
A tear formed in Tom's eye as he folded up, and placed into his overcoat pocket, the picture of his daughter.
Now, this could work out wonderfully or fail miserably, but I really want to try it. I have no idea where the story is going to go, nor what it is going to be about, and I am most definitely not going to sit around and think about what to write for the next week. (Oh, and it won't have a title yet either.) Instead, I am just going to sit down for about thirty minutes every Tuesday (or Wednesday, depending on the week) and write a portion of a story. So, without any more procrastinating on my part, here is the first installment in my serial novel.
Serial Novel, Part I, 1/30/07
The room in which he found himself was not normal by any standard of measurement. Of first note, the ceiling looked similar to the waves of corrugated cardboard, and seemed as if, at any moment, it would allow the pounding rain outside to come crashing through. The walls, painted an awful shade of mustard, didn't come together in any pattern at all. Corners could be found every few feet and, instead of the customary four, this room consisted of at least fifteen or twenty of these intersections. Tables and chairs were scattered around the floor with no apparent regularity, and judging by the amount of dust making its home on their flatter surfaces, no one had set foot inside the room for years.
Having expected a much more lively scene than the one he now found himself a part of, Tom took a moment to collect his thoughts. Looking around the oddly designed room, he trained his eyes on a small end table cluttered with various dust-covered photographs, and began to slowly make his way towards it. With every step, a newly formed dust cloud grew larger until, half-way to the table, Tom had to pause and take a deep breath from his inhaler. His newly diagnosed asthma was minor, but proved a nuisance on several occasions.
After regaining his normal breathing pattern, Tom continued to the table and began to brush off the photographs. Careful not to inhale too much, he waited for the dust to again settle before taking a closer look at the, now he counted, eleven pictures. The first two didn't tell him anything, but the third was astounding enough to produce a sudden gasp in the man.
In the picture Tom now held in his slightly trembling hands, there was a little girl of no more than ten years old smiling. She sat on a tire swing while a man stood behind her in the shadow of an enormous oak tree. There were piles of leaves in the background, and the visible branch of the oak tree was completely bare. The very beginning of winter.
A tear formed in Tom's eye as he folded up, and placed into his overcoat pocket, the picture of his daughter.
January 29, 2007
We don't get too many of your kind here
Everyone who has gone to high school has no doubt read Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. What you may not know is that this fabulous book's author is an extremely reclusive woman in her mid-eighties living in Alabama. Once a year, a contest is held statewide, and one lucky Alabama high school student has the chance to meet with Ms. Lee in a one-on-one setting.
Yesterday on the way back up to NCSA from the cultural black hole that is Pinehurst, I was listening to NPR when a piece concerning the Alabama "To Kill a Mockingbird Essay Contest" was aired. The meat of this report was an interview with last year's winner, a seventeen year old girl who had the unmistakable accent of an entire life living in the deep South. Her winning essay was about an experience she had as a Sophomore whilst playing the role of Scout in a two-school production of To Kill a Mockingbird. The production, which was a joint effort between the winner's (nearly) all-white high school and another (entirely) all-black high school, was so successful that even the hermit-like Harper Lee came out in public--surrounded by security guards--to watch the performance.
The interview on NPR was centered around the essay contest winner, Regan, and her co-star Roman, who portrayed Tom Robinson in the production. During this interview, a very interesting statement was made, almost in unison, by both Regan and Roman. Regan, who attends a white high school and Roman, who attends a (much poorer) black high school both stated that until their production of To Kill a Mockingbird, neither had spoken to, much less seen a person of each other's race.
This, needless to say, completely blew me away. The idea that a white seventeen year old had never seen or spoken to a black person until her junior year in high school is staggering. The existence of two high schools, both attended by single-race student bodies and mere miles apart, is something that simply should not occur today.
I drove in the car, aghast, for a few more minutes, until I came to a somewhat heartbreaking realization. Even I, a middle-class white eighteen year old from a multi-religious, multi-cultural household, remember a time when I had never come in contact with an African American. In fact, I distinctly recall not having a single black student in any of my classes until sixth grade! Of course, now-a-days, I am completely tolerant to people of all races, religions, etc., but I think that this is a lucky thing. No wonder there is so much race related hate in this world. There is still a huge divide between all races, but especially between the black and white communities in this country. And, now that I think about it, in my hometown of Pinehurst, I can't remember a single time where I have seen an African American on the streets of the Village of Pinehurst. Not one. Only in downtown Southern Pines, a much poorer town next door to Pinehurst, does one run into a multi-racial group.
I sincerely hope that by the time I have children, it will be an odd thing for a young child not to have interaction with children of different racial backgrounds. Now though, finding out that there are still high schools of completely singular-race student bodies, I am not too optimistic.
Yesterday on the way back up to NCSA from the cultural black hole that is Pinehurst, I was listening to NPR when a piece concerning the Alabama "To Kill a Mockingbird Essay Contest" was aired. The meat of this report was an interview with last year's winner, a seventeen year old girl who had the unmistakable accent of an entire life living in the deep South. Her winning essay was about an experience she had as a Sophomore whilst playing the role of Scout in a two-school production of To Kill a Mockingbird. The production, which was a joint effort between the winner's (nearly) all-white high school and another (entirely) all-black high school, was so successful that even the hermit-like Harper Lee came out in public--surrounded by security guards--to watch the performance.
The interview on NPR was centered around the essay contest winner, Regan, and her co-star Roman, who portrayed Tom Robinson in the production. During this interview, a very interesting statement was made, almost in unison, by both Regan and Roman. Regan, who attends a white high school and Roman, who attends a (much poorer) black high school both stated that until their production of To Kill a Mockingbird, neither had spoken to, much less seen a person of each other's race.
This, needless to say, completely blew me away. The idea that a white seventeen year old had never seen or spoken to a black person until her junior year in high school is staggering. The existence of two high schools, both attended by single-race student bodies and mere miles apart, is something that simply should not occur today.
I drove in the car, aghast, for a few more minutes, until I came to a somewhat heartbreaking realization. Even I, a middle-class white eighteen year old from a multi-religious, multi-cultural household, remember a time when I had never come in contact with an African American. In fact, I distinctly recall not having a single black student in any of my classes until sixth grade! Of course, now-a-days, I am completely tolerant to people of all races, religions, etc., but I think that this is a lucky thing. No wonder there is so much race related hate in this world. There is still a huge divide between all races, but especially between the black and white communities in this country. And, now that I think about it, in my hometown of Pinehurst, I can't remember a single time where I have seen an African American on the streets of the Village of Pinehurst. Not one. Only in downtown Southern Pines, a much poorer town next door to Pinehurst, does one run into a multi-racial group.
I sincerely hope that by the time I have children, it will be an odd thing for a young child not to have interaction with children of different racial backgrounds. Now though, finding out that there are still high schools of completely singular-race student bodies, I am not too optimistic.
January 28, 2007
Oh the people you'll meet
Ever since I was old enough to express anger at the stupidity of others, I have been told it takes all kinds to make the world to go 'round. If someone cuts in front of you in line at McDonald's, it is not an appropriate response to punch them on the shoulder and yell, "Hey, ass hole! Look around! I was here first!" When dealing with someone working at Wal-Mart, you must be patient with their blatant lack of IQ points. Ordering from a catalog customer service representative, must be done in a clear voice with beautiful enunciation. You must do this without question or comment. After all, their stupidity is what makes the Earth not fall out of orbit. If we didn't have all the ignorant and inconsiderate people living amongst us, life as we know it may just cease to exist!
What a load of bull shit. There's no empirical proof that if all these sorts of people who make it their missions in life to cut you off on the road and make your every-day shopping experience a living hell were to simply disappear or, better yet, spontaneously vaporize, anything bad would happen. No. I'm on to you Mom! I think the next time someone decides to go twenty-three in a forty-five mph zone, I'm going to tap their bumper slightly. I highly doubt the Earth will stop spinning on the spot. I guess if it does though, you'll know to whom it's necessary to bitch.
What a load of bull shit. There's no empirical proof that if all these sorts of people who make it their missions in life to cut you off on the road and make your every-day shopping experience a living hell were to simply disappear or, better yet, spontaneously vaporize, anything bad would happen. No. I'm on to you Mom! I think the next time someone decides to go twenty-three in a forty-five mph zone, I'm going to tap their bumper slightly. I highly doubt the Earth will stop spinning on the spot. I guess if it does though, you'll know to whom it's necessary to bitch.
January 27, 2007
It's never too early to spread the word
This morning I went to pick up some cream cheese at Harris Teeter, and one of the most incredible things happened to me--in the sense that the word "incredible" means "funny". As I was walking from my car (that I had to park eight miles away, since eight o'clock on Saturday morning is apparently prime time for grocery shopping), I saw one of those tables set up out front that Girls Scouts usually use to sell their boxes of orgasm-inducers. At this table, though, there were no prepubescent girls clad in beige. This table was surrounded by a gaggle of post-sixty year old women wearing their Sunday best a day early. From where I was parked, I couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but every once in a while, a sort of yelp would emerge from one of the women.
As I got closer to the table, it became clear what this was all about. The yelps I heard from further away were actually some of the women asking loudly, "Have you accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior?" On the table were what looked like little Jesus dolls wrapped in plastic, and behind the whole mess was a big sign for one of the Christ Churches (First, Second, Fourteenth?). I, a person who has no intention of ever accepting a dead man as his "savior", was thinking of the best way to tell this group of bible-toters that, in fact, Jesus has already come back, but I thought he was just some hobo when he knocked on my door (no doubt looking for some water to turn in to wine), so I hit him over the head with a statue of Buddha and now he's in the freezer in my garage, when I noticed something that threw me completely off.
The Jesus dolls on the table were actually the Jesus equivalent of chocolate bunnies! Now I had an entirely new mission...I wanted some free chocolate! I walked over to the largest person behind the table, knowing that she must be the one in charge, and told her that I was having some trouble with my faith lately, and that maybe a chocolate Jesus would help. The problem, I continued to explain, was that I only had enough money to buy some bread for my starving brother and sister (I had messed up my hair on the way over to the table as a convincer), and I simply couldn't afford the $5 price tag that came with the Jesus chocolate. This nice and fooled woman handed me, out of the goodness of her heart--not, she said, for another get-into-heaven-free pass--a free chocolate Jesus.
I said thank you, and walked towards the wonderfully secular sliding door of Harris Teeter, and opened up my new treat. Immediately biting off the head (where else does one begin?), I became disappointed and confused. (Oh, and strangely, I stubbed my toe at that same moment...must not have been paying attention to where I was walking!) The Jesus was hollow damn it! Who skimps on a chocolate image of Jesus?! Of course bunnies would be hollow--bunnies are stupid! Jesus though? He's supposed to be the damned son (maybe not the best choice of words) of God! At least have the decency to make him out of solid chocolate!
Mark my words. That is the last time I ever accept food from a group of people promoting Jesus. If there is going to be no effort put into making a quality chocolate idol of the "Lord and Savior", I shouldn't be expected to even consider accepting the dead version of that chocolate man as anything but a dead guy.
Oh, and just and case any of you were worried...I did get the cream cheese. Its expiration date doesn't arrive for another whole week! Be afraid English muffins. Be very afraid.
As I got closer to the table, it became clear what this was all about. The yelps I heard from further away were actually some of the women asking loudly, "Have you accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior?" On the table were what looked like little Jesus dolls wrapped in plastic, and behind the whole mess was a big sign for one of the Christ Churches (First, Second, Fourteenth?). I, a person who has no intention of ever accepting a dead man as his "savior", was thinking of the best way to tell this group of bible-toters that, in fact, Jesus has already come back, but I thought he was just some hobo when he knocked on my door (no doubt looking for some water to turn in to wine), so I hit him over the head with a statue of Buddha and now he's in the freezer in my garage, when I noticed something that threw me completely off.
The Jesus dolls on the table were actually the Jesus equivalent of chocolate bunnies! Now I had an entirely new mission...I wanted some free chocolate! I walked over to the largest person behind the table, knowing that she must be the one in charge, and told her that I was having some trouble with my faith lately, and that maybe a chocolate Jesus would help. The problem, I continued to explain, was that I only had enough money to buy some bread for my starving brother and sister (I had messed up my hair on the way over to the table as a convincer), and I simply couldn't afford the $5 price tag that came with the Jesus chocolate. This nice and fooled woman handed me, out of the goodness of her heart--not, she said, for another get-into-heaven-free pass--a free chocolate Jesus.
I said thank you, and walked towards the wonderfully secular sliding door of Harris Teeter, and opened up my new treat. Immediately biting off the head (where else does one begin?), I became disappointed and confused. (Oh, and strangely, I stubbed my toe at that same moment...must not have been paying attention to where I was walking!) The Jesus was hollow damn it! Who skimps on a chocolate image of Jesus?! Of course bunnies would be hollow--bunnies are stupid! Jesus though? He's supposed to be the damned son (maybe not the best choice of words) of God! At least have the decency to make him out of solid chocolate!
Mark my words. That is the last time I ever accept food from a group of people promoting Jesus. If there is going to be no effort put into making a quality chocolate idol of the "Lord and Savior", I shouldn't be expected to even consider accepting the dead version of that chocolate man as anything but a dead guy.
Oh, and just and case any of you were worried...I did get the cream cheese. Its expiration date doesn't arrive for another whole week! Be afraid English muffins. Be very afraid.
January 25, 2007
The first in a series of musings...
Hi. So, I'm guessing that the first thought that crossed your mind when you got here is, "What the hell does the title mean?" I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh. Promise? OK. Well, last summer, I had a Ravitch Procedure performed on me to fix my rather deformed chest wall. Basically, the nice doctors removed all the cartilage and some of the bone from ten of my ribs so that my chest didn't stick out anymore. Although I still don't have all my ribs back (seven months later!), they will eventually-within the year, they say-be back to normal. No...I'm not telling you this for pity points. I just wanted to shed some light onto the relatively obscure title of my blog.
Ok. Now that I have gotten that off my chest (gah!), I'll explain to all of you faithful readers-ok, the what I assume to be future faithful readers-what exactly this blog will be about. I have managed to avoid both MySpace and FaceBook with much pride, as I think they are both extraordinarily stupid methods of communication. However, I really enjoy to write, and usually have tons of thoughts on my mind. So, I figured that getting myself a blog wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. This blog will most likely have no discernible theme at all, and I'll be posting with no predetermined frequency. I do know that I will be most often posting directly after something pisses me off. It should at least be a bit funny to read the rantings of an uber-nerd.
Anyway, this is all for now. I am currently in the process of learning German on my own so that I don't act the completely stupid American when I get to Switzerland in September, so I am going to go ahead and do a lesson now in hopes that I will be done before my roommate gets back to the room and starts playing music.
Ok. Now that I have gotten that off my chest (gah!), I'll explain to all of you faithful readers-ok, the what I assume to be future faithful readers-what exactly this blog will be about. I have managed to avoid both MySpace and FaceBook with much pride, as I think they are both extraordinarily stupid methods of communication. However, I really enjoy to write, and usually have tons of thoughts on my mind. So, I figured that getting myself a blog wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. This blog will most likely have no discernible theme at all, and I'll be posting with no predetermined frequency. I do know that I will be most often posting directly after something pisses me off. It should at least be a bit funny to read the rantings of an uber-nerd.
Anyway, this is all for now. I am currently in the process of learning German on my own so that I don't act the completely stupid American when I get to Switzerland in September, so I am going to go ahead and do a lesson now in hopes that I will be done before my roommate gets back to the room and starts playing music.
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