There... I said it. I've always heard that admitting one's problems are the first step to recovery, so I'll admit that I have a problem when it comes to purchasing objects of sustenance. The whole experience just sucks as far as I'm concerned.
First of all, the designers of the grocery stores should be ashamed of themselves. I think they make it their goal to make the aisles as narrow as humanly possible, just to cause those "whoops, I almost just killed you with my shopping cart" moments. I hate the fact that if I stop to read the label on a can of green beans, I'm going to cause a traffic pile-up that would make Atlanta proud. The only reason I can think that they do this is so that they can shove as much crap as possible into the store, which leads right into my next problem.
I CAN NEVER FIND ANYTHING! Either I haven't figured out how things are organized, or they're organized very poorly. I'm going with the latter. There's always at least one item on my grocery list that I just give up on, because my only hope of finding it is by going down every aisle, and thus having to endure at least 20 of the aforementioned 12 cart pile-ups. When I was in Wal-Mart (the most egregious offender) the other day, I had my heart set on a can of mixed nuts. The wondrous combination that is cashews, walnuts, and salt cannot be denied. Anyway, I looked for a solid ten minutes, and all I could find was baking nuts, which looked neither salty nor delicious. So I gave up, and I'm still nutless. Well, sort of...
So, once I've not found all my items and avoided the hazards, it's time to check out and go home, right? Wrong! I have to wait for the one checkout lane out of eighteen that is actually open. And if I'm lucky enough to be at a store with self-checkout, I get the pleasure of standing behind someone with three teeth and limited reading skills who either can't figure out where the "pay now" button is or what it does, maybe both if they're Bama fans.
I guess I shouldn't say too much, though. I'm willing to admit that I'm also grocerally challenged, and I'm 12 miserable steps away from recovery...
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Bigger is Better
I realized an important phenomenon this weekend that I think applies to every college-aged male. I like to call it the "Bigger is always better" phenomenon. No we're not talking about that. Instead, every time one of use gets an idea that on its own would be pretty rational and normal, we're required to blow it way out of proportion to the point that we could never pull it off. You know what I'm talking about. Somebody mentions something like making some popcorn in the microwave, then his buddy dares him to put it in there for 10 minutes, and then it just grows exponentially from there, with the last guy suggesting that you first douse the bag with gasoline and throw it on the grill. That's just what happens with these things.
I've got a couple of really good examples of this from my experiences. One of my friends told us that he really wanted a blackboard to do his homework on. Upon being informed that you can buy panit that makes a blackboard surface, one would assume that a person would take a piece of plywood and make a blackboard out of it. Not so with us. It started small, like wanting to paint a closet. Then we decided that he should just paint his whole apartment. I have to admit that in my nerdliness, that idea sounds pretty awesome. My wildlife science-major roommate commented that if he had his walls as blackboard, they would probably be covered with animals (or critters as he refers to them). I think this is an idea that should be explored further.
Sometimes these expanding ideas actually come to fruition. After several years of attending Kiwanis pancake breakfasts, I decided that a couple pancakes no longer did it for me. Thus, when I came down to visit one time last year, my afforementioned current roommate and I had a waffle eating competition. Things got out of hand quickly, and I ended up downing 13 full sized eggos compared to his 17. Unfortunately, I only managed to keep 11 of them. Since I never learn my lesson from anything, we're doing it again this year. The Awful Waffle '07 is tentatively scheduled for March 3rd, so keep your calendars open. I think it would help me if we had a crowd there this time.
My parents were visiting this weekend, and as we were tailgating my dad tried to lower the window of this truck so we could listen to the radio. The window immediately fell off the tracks and down in to the depths of the door. I thought it was much more humorous than he did. We ended up having to go to Wal-Mart to buy some plastic sheeting and waterproof tape to cover up the window space. Ghettofying my dad's truck has to rank right on up there as one of the most unusually satisfying experiences in my life. Anyhow, the point of this story is that we had to buy a roll of plastic sheeting that was 25 X 100 feet, and we only used a very small part of it. So, like any logical person, I decided we could use the rest to make a slip 'n slide. Stay tuned for when this one actually takes place.
I've got a couple of really good examples of this from my experiences. One of my friends told us that he really wanted a blackboard to do his homework on. Upon being informed that you can buy panit that makes a blackboard surface, one would assume that a person would take a piece of plywood and make a blackboard out of it. Not so with us. It started small, like wanting to paint a closet. Then we decided that he should just paint his whole apartment. I have to admit that in my nerdliness, that idea sounds pretty awesome. My wildlife science-major roommate commented that if he had his walls as blackboard, they would probably be covered with animals (or critters as he refers to them). I think this is an idea that should be explored further.
Sometimes these expanding ideas actually come to fruition. After several years of attending Kiwanis pancake breakfasts, I decided that a couple pancakes no longer did it for me. Thus, when I came down to visit one time last year, my afforementioned current roommate and I had a waffle eating competition. Things got out of hand quickly, and I ended up downing 13 full sized eggos compared to his 17. Unfortunately, I only managed to keep 11 of them. Since I never learn my lesson from anything, we're doing it again this year. The Awful Waffle '07 is tentatively scheduled for March 3rd, so keep your calendars open. I think it would help me if we had a crowd there this time.
My parents were visiting this weekend, and as we were tailgating my dad tried to lower the window of this truck so we could listen to the radio. The window immediately fell off the tracks and down in to the depths of the door. I thought it was much more humorous than he did. We ended up having to go to Wal-Mart to buy some plastic sheeting and waterproof tape to cover up the window space. Ghettofying my dad's truck has to rank right on up there as one of the most unusually satisfying experiences in my life. Anyhow, the point of this story is that we had to buy a roll of plastic sheeting that was 25 X 100 feet, and we only used a very small part of it. So, like any logical person, I decided we could use the rest to make a slip 'n slide. Stay tuned for when this one actually takes place.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Grey's Anatomy = The Superdrug
I think I've mentioned before that I think that TV is a lot like a drug. Now I finally have proof. The other night, I was attempting to study with a friend in the Honors College basement, which just happens to have a TV in it. Before my friend arrived, I was sitting at a table, attempting to read my physics book (which, in itself, is quite a fruitless endeavour), when a girl magically appears on the couch in front of the TV. I think as I grow older my ability to observe important things, like people being in a room, is slowly escaping me. Anyhow, she says to me, "Is the TV going to bother you studying?" Of course I said no, despite the fact that it probably would, just because I'm a nice guy and I like to avoid conflict like that. Unfortunately, conflict still managed to rear its ugly head. She followed up on her previous statement with a tart, "Good, because I'm not turning off my Grey's for anybody!"
Two things greatly disturb me about this. Number one, of course, is the fact that this girl needed to watch a TV show so badly that she was willing to risk her being a decent human being. This is akin to a crackhead killing the dealer if he doesn't have the money to pay for his stuff. There should seriously be treament options for TV addicts like this. We could start with a patch, then move on to some gum, maybe even drugs you can inject to cure yourself. There could be a lot of money in this...
The second thing that bothers me is that this show has reached the point where it can be referred to as a slang term. Apparently it's too difficult to say "Grey's Anatomy" in it's entirety, so the girl referred to it not only as a singular term, but also as if she owned it! Another classic symptom of addiction, if you ask me. Cocaine has a lot of slang terms associated with it too, you know.
We need to figure out a way to supplant this massive epidemic known as network television. TV has had its time in the sun, which means it's time for a new medium. What if there was a way to use this wonderful internet to amuse one's self for hours? But wait, there is! Youtube.com is the answer to everything. Watching somebody suckerpunch one of their buddies is infinitely more entertaining than a stupid love triangle/quadrangle/whatever the hell goes on in that show. Even better, Youtube is totally legit now in America's eyes, after its big merger with Google. No company is truly American until it merges with another corporation and folks start getting canned. Cut the wheat, I say. Or is it the chaff? Oh well: when in Rome...
Two things greatly disturb me about this. Number one, of course, is the fact that this girl needed to watch a TV show so badly that she was willing to risk her being a decent human being. This is akin to a crackhead killing the dealer if he doesn't have the money to pay for his stuff. There should seriously be treament options for TV addicts like this. We could start with a patch, then move on to some gum, maybe even drugs you can inject to cure yourself. There could be a lot of money in this...
The second thing that bothers me is that this show has reached the point where it can be referred to as a slang term. Apparently it's too difficult to say "Grey's Anatomy" in it's entirety, so the girl referred to it not only as a singular term, but also as if she owned it! Another classic symptom of addiction, if you ask me. Cocaine has a lot of slang terms associated with it too, you know.
We need to figure out a way to supplant this massive epidemic known as network television. TV has had its time in the sun, which means it's time for a new medium. What if there was a way to use this wonderful internet to amuse one's self for hours? But wait, there is! Youtube.com is the answer to everything. Watching somebody suckerpunch one of their buddies is infinitely more entertaining than a stupid love triangle/quadrangle/whatever the hell goes on in that show. Even better, Youtube is totally legit now in America's eyes, after its big merger with Google. No company is truly American until it merges with another corporation and folks start getting canned. Cut the wheat, I say. Or is it the chaff? Oh well: when in Rome...
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Back At It
I realize that all two of you that read this blog have probably been saying to yourself, "Wow, now that Andy's at college I bet all kinds of crazy stuff is happening to him. I really wish I could read about it!" Well, fear not my friends, because I think it's about time I started making that dream come true.
It's pretty hard to remember all of the crazy things that have happened to me since I've arrived here, but basically I've: endured a week of hellish band camp, started classes with a bang, then subsequently realized I suck at physics more than I thought, met a lot of interesting new people, figured out that people are still pretty immature, sucked it up some more at physics, and almost died in some fireworks. That about sums it up so far. I really think that the last item deserves a little further explanation, though.
At this past Saturday's football extravaganza vs. Florida, somebody decided it would be cool to have fireworks going off while the team came out of the tunnel. That's all well and good for most of the 87,000+ people in the stadium, because everybody loves fireworks, right? Well, it totally sucked for me, because I just happen to be in the marching band, and I just happen to have a pregame spot right on top of where they decided to put the fireworks. Somebody came up to me while I was playing and said, "Oh, these are cold fireworks, don't worry about a thing." So, obviously, I pretty much started freaking out.
Now, I've had some interesting experiences with fireworks before, namely drunken friends shooting roman candles at me and each other, as well as said friends throwing packages of 500 bottle rockets into a campfire. However, the difference is that in those instances I was able to move out of the way. When you're doing pregame, you're pretty much out of luck.
I really thought that these contraptions of death a foot in front of me were just going to shoot off some mortar-shells, and that it would be over very quickly. Unfortunately, it turns out that they were the kind of fireworks that spray sparks continually. The sparks weren't exactly "cold", in fact I would describe them as quite warm. I'm pretty sure that I remember my trombone slide glowing while I was playing. The slide, by the way, was quite charred and had to be sent off for repair, if that tells you anything about the situation.
One of my fellow trombone players, who was standing a foot behind me, said he couldn't even see me inside the burning cauldron of doom. I had visions of my life passing before my eyes; all the important stuff I've done like eating 13 waffles in one sitting. I was ready to give it all up for the band. I always sort of thought that I might die on a football field in a band uniform, but I had been reasonably sure it would come at the hands of a majorette with one of those terrifying fire-batons. There was one thing I refused to do, however. That is, of course, miss notes. I played every damn note of War Eagle, twice through, while I was on fire. Because I'm definitely not about to get replaced by an alternate...
It's pretty hard to remember all of the crazy things that have happened to me since I've arrived here, but basically I've: endured a week of hellish band camp, started classes with a bang, then subsequently realized I suck at physics more than I thought, met a lot of interesting new people, figured out that people are still pretty immature, sucked it up some more at physics, and almost died in some fireworks. That about sums it up so far. I really think that the last item deserves a little further explanation, though.
At this past Saturday's football extravaganza vs. Florida, somebody decided it would be cool to have fireworks going off while the team came out of the tunnel. That's all well and good for most of the 87,000+ people in the stadium, because everybody loves fireworks, right? Well, it totally sucked for me, because I just happen to be in the marching band, and I just happen to have a pregame spot right on top of where they decided to put the fireworks. Somebody came up to me while I was playing and said, "Oh, these are cold fireworks, don't worry about a thing." So, obviously, I pretty much started freaking out.
Now, I've had some interesting experiences with fireworks before, namely drunken friends shooting roman candles at me and each other, as well as said friends throwing packages of 500 bottle rockets into a campfire. However, the difference is that in those instances I was able to move out of the way. When you're doing pregame, you're pretty much out of luck.
I really thought that these contraptions of death a foot in front of me were just going to shoot off some mortar-shells, and that it would be over very quickly. Unfortunately, it turns out that they were the kind of fireworks that spray sparks continually. The sparks weren't exactly "cold", in fact I would describe them as quite warm. I'm pretty sure that I remember my trombone slide glowing while I was playing. The slide, by the way, was quite charred and had to be sent off for repair, if that tells you anything about the situation.
One of my fellow trombone players, who was standing a foot behind me, said he couldn't even see me inside the burning cauldron of doom. I had visions of my life passing before my eyes; all the important stuff I've done like eating 13 waffles in one sitting. I was ready to give it all up for the band. I always sort of thought that I might die on a football field in a band uniform, but I had been reasonably sure it would come at the hands of a majorette with one of those terrifying fire-batons. There was one thing I refused to do, however. That is, of course, miss notes. I played every damn note of War Eagle, twice through, while I was on fire. Because I'm definitely not about to get replaced by an alternate...
Monday, May 01, 2006
Immigration Solution
Never fear, America! I've got a solution to all of our immigration worries. Since America is FUBAR, we should just let the immigrants have it. I say we start over in Mexico. That's why I propose that every white male in the USA take a trip down to Mexico City tomorrow and stage a good old fashioned protest. Over what? Who knows? Maybe we could try to take over all of their white collar jobs. The main key is that whatever we do has to be illegal so that we can try to get amnesty for it later.
It turns out that I'm going to have to pull a Michael Jordan and come out of my intramural retirement for one more game. That's right, I managed to make the all star team as the band's sole representative. I'm expecting to do a lot of bench sitting. If I do actually get in the game, however, I plan to put on a display of white man fundamental basketball like the world has never seen before. I'm talking jump stops, triple threat positions, and square to the basket lay-ups that would make Dr. Naismith himself stop and say, "Damn, look at that white dude!" Oh, where have you gone, John Stockton...
If I don't seem strange enough to you already, let me tell you that I sometimes enjoy listening to techno/new age type music (along with jazz and "classical"). At least I listen to better music than those emo freaks. Anyhow, I was listening to one of these songs tonight while doing economics, not a good combo I might add, and something really struck me. There was a girl, who sounded pretty attractive, saying things very seductively like, "You come in and revive me" and "Come set me free." My question is, where the heck are these women in real life. I have never had a female say anything like that to me. I always thought that music was supposed to reflect feelings and situations that happen in real life. I'm not saying that I want to meet one of these women, because if somebody says they want me to revive them, there's at least a 99% chance that I'm going to run away, and at least an 85% chance that I will subsequently curl up in the fetal position in fear. I'm just that kind of guy.
I know this blog hasn't been my most serious form of expression. However, I'd really like to take a moment to be that way. I read this article by Sports Illustrated's Rick Reilly the other day, and I felt like I had to do something. It seemed so simple to give $20 to save lives, and it really is. If you have a heart (which all of us do somewhere in there... even me), please go read the article and consider making a donation here.
It turns out that I'm going to have to pull a Michael Jordan and come out of my intramural retirement for one more game. That's right, I managed to make the all star team as the band's sole representative. I'm expecting to do a lot of bench sitting. If I do actually get in the game, however, I plan to put on a display of white man fundamental basketball like the world has never seen before. I'm talking jump stops, triple threat positions, and square to the basket lay-ups that would make Dr. Naismith himself stop and say, "Damn, look at that white dude!" Oh, where have you gone, John Stockton...
If I don't seem strange enough to you already, let me tell you that I sometimes enjoy listening to techno/new age type music (along with jazz and "classical"). At least I listen to better music than those emo freaks. Anyhow, I was listening to one of these songs tonight while doing economics, not a good combo I might add, and something really struck me. There was a girl, who sounded pretty attractive, saying things very seductively like, "You come in and revive me" and "Come set me free." My question is, where the heck are these women in real life. I have never had a female say anything like that to me. I always thought that music was supposed to reflect feelings and situations that happen in real life. I'm not saying that I want to meet one of these women, because if somebody says they want me to revive them, there's at least a 99% chance that I'm going to run away, and at least an 85% chance that I will subsequently curl up in the fetal position in fear. I'm just that kind of guy.
I know this blog hasn't been my most serious form of expression. However, I'd really like to take a moment to be that way. I read this article by Sports Illustrated's Rick Reilly the other day, and I felt like I had to do something. It seemed so simple to give $20 to save lives, and it really is. If you have a heart (which all of us do somewhere in there... even me), please go read the article and consider making a donation here.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Sympathy
I try to be an objective person. I pride myself on not really showing a whole lot of emotion, instead thinking about stuff logically. Unfortunately, I've had a lot of free time lately, which means I've been watching TV. I watched about 4 straight hours of Law and Order: SVU last night. Apparently I'm the last person on Earth to discover this show. Let me preface all of this by saying that I rarely watch TV, and if I do, it's mostly to watch things like the Colbert Report, so that I can have my cynisarcasm container (my brain) refilled. Unfortunately, while watching Law and Order I actually felt myself becoming emotionally involved with the characters. At one point I found myself talking out loud to the bad guy and telling him how much of a person born from unwed parentage he was. That was simply unacceptable.
I've always laughed at folks who are enslaved by the TV. Apparently there is this show called "The OC" that has roughly the same chemical composition as crack cocaine. I've never watched it, because I don't want it to be my gateway drug. Anyhow, people talk about these characters as if they are real people that they actually know. That's kinda disturbing to me. I mean, sometimes I like to talk about Coach Mose and his wisdom, but he's a real guy. In fact, he's more than a real guy, he's a legend. But I digress. I tried everything to get my feelings of sympathy to go away. I took a 15 minute bathroom break. I scavenged some month old tortilla chips from the pantry. I even tried to recite sexist Anchorman quotes. Nothing worked. I guess I might have a heart after all. We can't all be perfect.
I've been introduced to a couple of web wonders lately. First off, we all know that Chuck Norris is the man. Maybe not as much as Coach Mose, but pretty darn close. This site (refresh to continue enjoyment) is a collection of known facts about the man, the machine, the Texas Ranger. Just remember, as a friend of mine, John Paul, said, "Chuck Norris doesn't kill you. He kills your family. You kill yourself." That pretty much sums it up. Strangely enough, my sister sent me an email that contained this link. Apparently these are PTA moms that got out of control. Why wasn't open house ever like this at my schools?
I've always laughed at folks who are enslaved by the TV. Apparently there is this show called "The OC" that has roughly the same chemical composition as crack cocaine. I've never watched it, because I don't want it to be my gateway drug. Anyhow, people talk about these characters as if they are real people that they actually know. That's kinda disturbing to me. I mean, sometimes I like to talk about Coach Mose and his wisdom, but he's a real guy. In fact, he's more than a real guy, he's a legend. But I digress. I tried everything to get my feelings of sympathy to go away. I took a 15 minute bathroom break. I scavenged some month old tortilla chips from the pantry. I even tried to recite sexist Anchorman quotes. Nothing worked. I guess I might have a heart after all. We can't all be perfect.
I've been introduced to a couple of web wonders lately. First off, we all know that Chuck Norris is the man. Maybe not as much as Coach Mose, but pretty darn close. This site (refresh to continue enjoyment) is a collection of known facts about the man, the machine, the Texas Ranger. Just remember, as a friend of mine, John Paul, said, "Chuck Norris doesn't kill you. He kills your family. You kill yourself." That pretty much sums it up. Strangely enough, my sister sent me an email that contained this link. Apparently these are PTA moms that got out of control. Why wasn't open house ever like this at my schools?
Monday, April 24, 2006
Band Team = Almost Respectable
Ladies and gentlemen, my brief career as a member of the band intramural team has drawn to a close. I know this is disappointing, and that you all feel like I still had so much to give. However, I learned an important lesson from Michael Jordan, and that is that you should retire when you're on top. Since that isn't an option for me, I'm just going to retire when I'm farthest from the bottom.
The band team's tour de force performance this morning was one that will surely go down in history. We only lost by four points, and led for a good portion of the game. If we could have figured out how to strategically foul at the end of the game we might have won. It's of no consequence really. We proved our point: that we could hang with actual athletes. I'm figuring that Disney will be calling about the movie rights by the end of the week.
Even more exciting to me, however, is the fact that I finally perfected the ghetto shower today. In its infinite cheapness, Decatur High neglected to build showers in the locker rooms, thus trying to get clean after intramurals has been a real joke. I'm no stranger to bathroom complaints (i.e. lack of paper towels), but I'd be lying if I said that I'd lost sleep over this. Yeah, re-read that one again. Anyway, my compatriots and I had developed a method of cleaning involving paper towels and the bathroom sinks that was mildly effective and made me pine for those middle school PE days all over again. Unfortunately, recycled paper towels generally suck at moisture absorption. I busted out the Ghetto Shower 2.0 today. Armed with 2 washclothes and liquid soap I kept it real on my upper body. Unfortunately, all I have to show for it is the herpes from that nasty sink.
I've found yet another website of a Myspace hater. You can view it here. The ironic thing to me is that this guy who claims to be too good for Myspace obviously spent a good deal of time debunking it. Many of this guy's points are true, but he is obviously a closet goth (did I just invent that?) Upon further review of this guy's Myspace profile it is evident to me that this guy has absolutely no right to make fun of ANYBODY. First of all, he's from California and goes to school at this place called Vassar College. That's two strikes right there. Strikes 3-12 are all from one fatal mistake. Go look at the rest of this joker's pictures and check out number two. I don't even need to say anything else.
The band team's tour de force performance this morning was one that will surely go down in history. We only lost by four points, and led for a good portion of the game. If we could have figured out how to strategically foul at the end of the game we might have won. It's of no consequence really. We proved our point: that we could hang with actual athletes. I'm figuring that Disney will be calling about the movie rights by the end of the week.
Even more exciting to me, however, is the fact that I finally perfected the ghetto shower today. In its infinite cheapness, Decatur High neglected to build showers in the locker rooms, thus trying to get clean after intramurals has been a real joke. I'm no stranger to bathroom complaints (i.e. lack of paper towels), but I'd be lying if I said that I'd lost sleep over this. Yeah, re-read that one again. Anyway, my compatriots and I had developed a method of cleaning involving paper towels and the bathroom sinks that was mildly effective and made me pine for those middle school PE days all over again. Unfortunately, recycled paper towels generally suck at moisture absorption. I busted out the Ghetto Shower 2.0 today. Armed with 2 washclothes and liquid soap I kept it real on my upper body. Unfortunately, all I have to show for it is the herpes from that nasty sink.
I've found yet another website of a Myspace hater. You can view it here. The ironic thing to me is that this guy who claims to be too good for Myspace obviously spent a good deal of time debunking it. Many of this guy's points are true, but he is obviously a closet goth (did I just invent that?) Upon further review of this guy's Myspace profile it is evident to me that this guy has absolutely no right to make fun of ANYBODY. First of all, he's from California and goes to school at this place called Vassar College. That's two strikes right there. Strikes 3-12 are all from one fatal mistake. Go look at the rest of this joker's pictures and check out number two. I don't even need to say anything else.
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