Monday, February 27, 2006

Things Only My Brother Will Understand

It is my brother's birthday today. I won't tell you how old he is, but he is three years younger than me and I am 36. (I'll wait while you do the math.) So, in honor of the brain that we seem to share, I thought I would post a list of things that he and I shared growing up. Some of you might recognize a few of these. I hope the randomness makes you smile.

Happy Birthday, Bud. I love you like a brother.

Now, speaking of blowjobs!

I don’t have any phony dog poo.

Have a popover, froggie!

New in town, eh?

We’re all out of caboodles. I’ve got a caboodle kit; you build your own caboodle.

Now I’m watching Fro-Fro-Froofie the Dog.

And you ain’t Baxter? No, I’m not Hawley.

Ahh…root’s kicking in.

Shut your festering gob you tit!

Ruthlessly; "I wonder where Ruth is."

Man that FDS really stings!

My stuck is foot!

It doesn't matter to Jesus.

I, also, am not a pussy.

Bullshit, Klaus! You give your own love to Wilhelm, I'm going to find Rebekah!

Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana.

Don’t tell Mom about your new girlfriend.

Using the whole fist there Doc?

Back een bowl?

If I had to describe my reaction in one word, that word would be "What the fuck?"

If you get an outfit you can be a cowboy too.

That's got to hurt Bob. Thank you Captain Obvious.

You shouldn't hang me on a hook Johnny. My mother hung me on a hook once. Once.


Random Fact: My brother was born in Honduras, C.A. and had dual citizenship for the better part of his life.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Houdini in Fur

I believe that God (Or whatever you call the creation deity or theory, you believe in.) put domesticated animals on this planet in order to keep us humans from thinking we are all such hot shit humble.

We see these wee creatures and think “There’s no way they’ll survive without my love and care to protect them. And in return they’ll worship me and give me unconditional love.” Or something to that effect. I know that is how I would up with my furry menagerie.

Now, as you can see, I have plenty of evidence at hand, and under foot, to base my “research” on, in order to support the theory that we aren’t as smart as we think we are.

As I stated, it begins with humans and our egotistical thought that these animals couldn’t survive without us. Well, I have a little secret for you; They managed to survive without us for eons. No, really! We all used to live outside, under the stars. Then we discovered caves and decided that being dry in the rainy season was a plus. Then we discovered empty caves and found that staying dry while not getting eaten by the cave’s occupant, was far better!

Then we started choosing certain animals that we liked (And didn’t eat us.) and began bringing them into the caves with us. Then we had to discover doors, because the ungrateful little bastards kept going back to their own homes!

Which brings us, more or less, to the present. Dogs seem to have taken to the idea of domestication a little better than cats. (I blame the Egyptians and their cat worship phase. Spoiled them for the rest of time.) But even dogs try to escape, all animals do. Or, failing escape, they try to make us wish they would leave. Well, at least three out of my four do. I don’t think I even need to point to the extreme example of Sigfried and Roy to make this point.

It has even gotten worse recently. I live in Tempe, AZ, where the temperature has been in the upper 70’s and we are in the midst of a record long dry spell. I have been keeping the windows open because it has been so nice at night. I came home the other night to see a cat sitting on my doorstep. As I came closer, I thought to myself, “That cat looks very much like Loki.” And with good reason, it was the furry little booger! So he sees me coming and starts meowing pitifully and bumping the door with his head. It turns out he had knocked the screen loose and had escaped. As soon as I opened the door, he streaked inside and disappeared under the bed. 10 minutes later he is has come outside again to check things out. Which means that now I can’t leave the door open when I takes the dogs out.

So, I now have a routine every time I come home: First, I walk the dogs. Second I make sure that everyone has fresh food and water so that I can distract them long enough that I can eat in peace. Then I walk the apartment to see what has been knocked over, trodden upon, chewed on, peed on, disturbed, molested or, on rare occasions, puked on. The most common thing muttered during this circuit is “Goddam cats!” To which Tadji just looks at me as if to say, “Hey, none of these other freeloaders was my idea, okay? That was all you.”

See, they try to lull you into a false sense of peace before the next attempt by looking really cute, and by curling up next to you, or on you, to sleep. They are just waiting for you to drop your guard so they can strike! I am sure they plot all day while I am gone. There may be a poltergeist in cahoots with them. I am still trying to prove that, but I am convinced that they must have some sort of supernatural assistance. They have no opposable thumbs and they can’t get everywhere they have gotten things from.

So, in this struggle of man against nature, I accept that some higher power is reminding me that I am not so high up the food chain that I can’t be tripped up (Sometimes literally.) by these supposed “domestic creatures.”

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put the dogs out. I’m still not sure where the cats even got that tiny flamethrower.


Random Fact: “There is no rule 6.”

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Idol Minds

I have not watched American Idol before this season. Sure, I knew what the premise was and could even name a few of the contestants, being inundated with commercials between the shows that I wanted to watch. I can even name a few of the people that have won.

There is a woman that I used to work with that would have to get home in order to watch, and she would refuse to answer her phone while the show was on. I used to tease her and tell her that she was too young to be so obsessed with Clay Aiken.

Now I kind of understand her ardor, though.

After watching one of the horrendous singers in an audition show I watched the rest of the show, waiting for more of the car crash singers. I have been watching as many episodes as I can this season and can actually name several of the contestants. And since I am bad with names anyway, this is far more impressive than it sounds.

I haven’t reached the point of actually calling to vote yet, but I feel the temptation.

Pray for me.


Random Fact: William Hung has THREE albums out. What is wrong with people?

Saturday, February 18, 2006

The Tax on People Who Don't Understand Statistics

Tonight’s Power Ball lottery is up to an estimated 360 million dollars. That’s 360 followed by six, count ‘em six zeros! ($360,000,000) I have never had anything that had that many zeros in it. Not even my old college transcripts.

Of course, as people gather in the glow of the CRTs around the office to discuss the dream lives they would have if they won all that money, someone will invariably say, “First, I’d pay off all my bills.” My co-workers and I have decided that this is pretty well B.S.

Let’s say you lose half of the money to taxes, that still leaves you with 180 million dollars. Sports stars aside, who could really spend that much money? You could afford to hire someone to call you creditors and tell them to go to hell. You will never need credit again!

In fact, one of the doctors I work with came up with an even better plan. He said that he would drive his credit as bad as it could go, then go into a Ferrari dealership to try to buy a car. After they reviewed his credit application and turned him down, he would then say, “How about this suitcase full of cash? Will you take that?” He’s a genius!

I am still not buying tickets. I blow enough money on pointless stuff anyway, but at least I get something out of it. I have talked to people who have spent literally hundreds of dollars figuring that if they win it was a good investment. They could take that money and bury it in a hole and have almost the same chance of winning. They say you can’t win if you don’t play. But you also won’t blow the rent money or the car payment if you don’t play either.

Unless you blow it all on CDs.


Random Fact: Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

If I Only Had a Life

I used to think that the game The Sims should more aptly be named “Get a Life.” With the expansion pack of “Go Outside and Talk to Real People.” I have to admit that I was a bit prejudiced in this view, never having played the game myself. Now that I have played it a little, and watched it being played I have to admit that I need a life.

Granted, the person who was showing me the game is a mental patient, who is living in a group home with other mental patients who are much older and less independently functional than he is. I can understand how he uses the game to be able to do things that he will never be able to do in his real life. And I do have to admit that I was entertained by the fact that all of the women in his game are dressed in underwear or bathing suits. He has created his own little imaginary harem.

And I am not casting aspersions on the, apparently, millions of people who have bought and enjoyed this game. I am in no way implying that they function on the same level as a mentally ill person. Well, maybe a little I am.

I admit to playing my share of video games. Maybe not that well, but I like to play. I have taken the role of a fighter pilot, a striker for Arsenal, a medieval knight, Indiana Jones, a blue hedgehog and the son of Death to name a few. But this is SO different from making a video version of myself to have the same goals as my real life. Why should I sit in front of a screen trying to find a job, a roommate, an apartment, etc. when these are things that I have already done in real life?

The odds that I shall one day pilot a star fighter against an alien armada are much greater than me finding a girlfriend and buying a pinball machine. (Those of you about to make a comment on the odds of me finding a girlfriend, SHUT IT!)

Now, the only thing more pathetic than playing a game that simulates life is to watch someone else play! (As the Penny Arcade Folks so aptly put it here.) It is a special kind of wrong to have your goal in life be to wait for your turn to try to achieve goals for life. Really. I am shaking my head as I type this.

Now, I am off to build Lego starships and have my little Lego Obi Wan Kenobi decimate the little Lego Darth Maul.


Random Fact: “It’s either 6:15, or Mickey has a hard on!”

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

I Can Feel My Brain Shrinking

So I was watching Jerry Springer the other day and I had a few questions. Besides “Why the hell am I watching Jerry Springer?” that is.

First, “Do these people get that Jerry is making fun of them?” I am thinking no, since they are on the show in the first place. They aren’t a bus full of brain surgeons, that’s for sure. I actually have a little more respect for Jerry, because he actually seems to get that he is parading the shallow end of the gene pool past us on a daily basis.

Next, “Who is having sex with these people?” I mean really, there are people here with as many children from as many different women as I have had sex with in my whole life! (I’m not posting that number, my mother reads this.) Even the most ignorant of folks have to realize that these people are not remotely close to attractive. (Although a woman with no teeth does have one advantage.)

Then, “How do they get people to go on this show?” I get that they have people calling in and wanting to be on the show, but if I were to get a call from the Jerry Springer show, (Or any of it’s brethren.) I would immediately assume that my girlfriend/wife is either cheating on me, or is a man. So how do they get the unknowing people on this show? I am guessing it has to be piles of money. Big ones.

Lastly, “How am I ever going to get this hour of my life back?”

At least I was reading during the commercials.


Random Fact: There used to be cartoons on T.V. every Saturday morning. On every channel.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Eggs on the Rocks

My father has always taught me some of the most important lessons in my life. Or if not taught them to me, but he has given me the information to learn the lesson. I have already posted the framed sayings that he gave me, which is just one example. I’d like to tell you another one that has come back to my mind recently.

I don’t recall the exact details of the situation, but at some point I was talking to my dad about some boss or supervisor or something. It was some situation that I felt that I was right and this other person was wrong. (And if you know me, you know how I like to be right.) While I don’t remember the exact details of why I was upset, I will never forget what my father said to me.

He told me “If you drop a rock on an egg, the egg will break. But if you drop an egg on a rock, the egg will break. The important thing to know is when you are the rock and when you are the egg.”

Recently I have been having troubles with the medical director at my work. I’m not writing to gripe about work, though. (I do that enough while I am at work.)

The point is, the more things I go through in my life, the more times I realize that I was given a pretty good set of tools by my dad. And I know that he got them from his father, who was also a wise man. All of the influences that I have had, from all the male figures in my family, have taught me to deal with problems with a certain wisdom and sense of humor.

The older I get and the more people I meet, the more I appreciate just how lucky I am to have been brought up the way I was. There are a lot of people out there with no common sense at all, and who rarely seem to think of others above themselves.

So anyway, I am off to see if I can find a way to be the rock instead of the egg.


Random Fact: Until President Kennedy was killed, it wasn’t a federal crime to assassinate the President.