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.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
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.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Intramural Half-Success
I'm officially reclaiming all pride that I once lost while slapping my face on stage. I think I have a legal right to do this, because the band team scored 29 points in our intramural basketball game yesterday. Who cares that the other team scored 61. That's of no importance. Somehow, 16 points managed to drop for me. I think it was mostly because I was playing like Allen Iverson, only without tattoos and blackness, and with a propensity for listening to classical music. Other than that we're basically the same guy. Needless to say, yesterday was a moral victory for us, and it's probably as close as we're going to get to a win.
I was waiting in the checkout line at K-Mart a few days ago in order to purchase a birthday card for my mother. I was hoping to get in and out very quickly. Unfortunately, as is my usual retail luck, I got stuck behind a moron. This idiot decided to purchase a $1.49 bag of plastic Easter eggs. Okay, that's cool, Easter's on Sunday. However, the item was marked 25% off and did not scan as such. Thus, the woman threw a fit and decided that she had to get her measly 37 CENT discount. The cashier had to call 3 different "managers" over to fix the problem. By my watch, I had to wait in line for 9 1/2 frigging minutes to buy a birthday card. Afterwards, I tried to brainstorm things that I could buy for 37 cents. So far, I haven't come up with anything. I hope the government somehow manages to raise taxes to the effect that the woman will lose her 37 cents.
My internet homepage is one of those customizable gigs from Google. Everybody should get one of these things, since they are pretty much the greatest thing of all time. Mine tells me useful stuff like the weather, top news stories, and how many days I have left until I graduate. It also contains all my bookmarks, a word (or three) of the day, and a quote of the day. However, the best feature by far is the "How to's" that are posted each day. They come from this thing called Wikihow, which is somehow related to Wikipedia, one of my favorite time-wasters. Anyhow, there was a "how to" on my homepage the other day that really piqued my interest. It's title: "How to defeat a MySpace Addiction." I've been a MySpace user for a number of months now, mostly because I find it humorous to read others' profiles and laugh at them. Wow, that really makes me sound like a bad person. Some of my friends have told me that MySpace is only for emo people, but I don't think that's true. There's also a lot of lesbians, as evidenced by that hottest profile thing they do. According to my less knowledgeable friends, Facebook is the place to be. I have one of those too, but haven't found an article yet on how to defeat my addiction to it. I don't think I'm really addicted though. I usually only check them once or twice a day, and I actually know most of the people I'm friends with. So eat that, you virtual friend community dissenters!
And with that, I'm off to check my email (for the 43rd time today).
I was waiting in the checkout line at K-Mart a few days ago in order to purchase a birthday card for my mother. I was hoping to get in and out very quickly. Unfortunately, as is my usual retail luck, I got stuck behind a moron. This idiot decided to purchase a $1.49 bag of plastic Easter eggs. Okay, that's cool, Easter's on Sunday. However, the item was marked 25% off and did not scan as such. Thus, the woman threw a fit and decided that she had to get her measly 37 CENT discount. The cashier had to call 3 different "managers" over to fix the problem. By my watch, I had to wait in line for 9 1/2 frigging minutes to buy a birthday card. Afterwards, I tried to brainstorm things that I could buy for 37 cents. So far, I haven't come up with anything. I hope the government somehow manages to raise taxes to the effect that the woman will lose her 37 cents.
My internet homepage is one of those customizable gigs from Google. Everybody should get one of these things, since they are pretty much the greatest thing of all time. Mine tells me useful stuff like the weather, top news stories, and how many days I have left until I graduate. It also contains all my bookmarks, a word (or three) of the day, and a quote of the day. However, the best feature by far is the "How to's" that are posted each day. They come from this thing called Wikihow, which is somehow related to Wikipedia, one of my favorite time-wasters. Anyhow, there was a "how to" on my homepage the other day that really piqued my interest. It's title: "How to defeat a MySpace Addiction." I've been a MySpace user for a number of months now, mostly because I find it humorous to read others' profiles and laugh at them. Wow, that really makes me sound like a bad person. Some of my friends have told me that MySpace is only for emo people, but I don't think that's true. There's also a lot of lesbians, as evidenced by that hottest profile thing they do. According to my less knowledgeable friends, Facebook is the place to be. I have one of those too, but haven't found an article yet on how to defeat my addiction to it. I don't think I'm really addicted though. I usually only check them once or twice a day, and I actually know most of the people I'm friends with. So eat that, you virtual friend community dissenters!
And with that, I'm off to check my email (for the 43rd time today).
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Six Flagsploitation
The physics team, in all of our oh-so-lovable nerdliness, traveled to Six Flags in Atlanta on Friday for "Physics Day." Okay, so it wasn't actually physics day, but we had something important to do at school (intramurals baby) on the actual day, so we had to make up our own. That's just the American way.
I have to say that if some strange alien race came to observe our society, the first place I would take them would be an amusement park, because these places show exactly how our society works.
Marketing is the name of the game at an amusement park, and these guys are simply brilliant. They've now had the foresight to build concession stands in the middle of lines for rides. Unfortunately, the cheapest item for purchase is a 99 cent "cup of cheese," because there really is nothing better for quenching your undying thirst than 3 ounces worth of nachotastic goodness. While we were standing in line, we realized that the roller coaster has to be considered man's greatest achievement. The fact that we have built a machine solely to scare the piss out of ourselves, and that we pay millions of dollars collectively each year to ride it, just speaks volumes about how dumb we really are.
I paid 13 dollars for my lunch. Just re-reading that sentence makes me want to throw-up (which I surprisingly did not do even after riding 6 rides). It was barbecue and it was decent, but it was not worth 13 dollars. This would be an excellent example of a monopoly for our alien visitors, in order that they might prepare themselves for the next time they are forced into upgrading their Windows operating system.
While standing in line for the Batman ride, we experienced what millions of livestock around the world experience near the end of their lives. There must have been at least 500 people crammed into a building, with narrow stalls defining the walking paths. You would have to feel sorry for people subjected to this, except for the fact that we all chose to be there. After seeing this, our alien friends would likely consider us idiots and an easy target for their impending takeover. Still, despite all of this and the fact that water cost 3 frigging dollars, I still enjoyed myself. My logic has officially surrendered.
I found this video a while back at poker night, but never got around to posting it on here. I'm not sure if any of you are familiar with the Isuzu Gemini, a 1980s era crapmobile, but this incredible montage of commercials will make you want one. I'm not kidding. Isuzu Gemini > Your Geo Metro
I have to say that if some strange alien race came to observe our society, the first place I would take them would be an amusement park, because these places show exactly how our society works.
Marketing is the name of the game at an amusement park, and these guys are simply brilliant. They've now had the foresight to build concession stands in the middle of lines for rides. Unfortunately, the cheapest item for purchase is a 99 cent "cup of cheese," because there really is nothing better for quenching your undying thirst than 3 ounces worth of nachotastic goodness. While we were standing in line, we realized that the roller coaster has to be considered man's greatest achievement. The fact that we have built a machine solely to scare the piss out of ourselves, and that we pay millions of dollars collectively each year to ride it, just speaks volumes about how dumb we really are.
I paid 13 dollars for my lunch. Just re-reading that sentence makes me want to throw-up (which I surprisingly did not do even after riding 6 rides). It was barbecue and it was decent, but it was not worth 13 dollars. This would be an excellent example of a monopoly for our alien visitors, in order that they might prepare themselves for the next time they are forced into upgrading their Windows operating system.
While standing in line for the Batman ride, we experienced what millions of livestock around the world experience near the end of their lives. There must have been at least 500 people crammed into a building, with narrow stalls defining the walking paths. You would have to feel sorry for people subjected to this, except for the fact that we all chose to be there. After seeing this, our alien friends would likely consider us idiots and an easy target for their impending takeover. Still, despite all of this and the fact that water cost 3 frigging dollars, I still enjoyed myself. My logic has officially surrendered.
I found this video a while back at poker night, but never got around to posting it on here. I'm not sure if any of you are familiar with the Isuzu Gemini, a 1980s era crapmobile, but this incredible montage of commercials will make you want one. I'm not kidding. Isuzu Gemini > Your Geo Metro
Sunday, March 26, 2006
The Game of Life
The streak had to end at some point. Last night, for the first time in a good work-week, I did something other than sit at home. I had 3 of my compatriots over for cards and general revelry last night. So, technically, I didn't leave the house, but I did engage in activity. So I think it's fair to say that the streak is really over. Plus, I don't really care about the streak anyway. Records are lame and are just made to be broken anyway.
I think it's fair for me to introduce the cast of characters first. Of course you've got me, the high school guy who has a bunch of college friends, and has a goatee. That's basically all you need to know. Stephen arrived next, and he's your typical short guy, which basically means that he can't ride as many carnival rides as us normal folks. Tom and Zach got lost on the way to my house, and were arguing like an old married couple while I tried to give them directions over the phone. This is amusing because they actually are roommates, and also because I'm going to live with them next year. The good news is that three people can't be married, so I think I'm safe.
After a quick game of Spades in which Tom and I got served, we decided on a whim to play the game of Life. This game hadn't been pulled out of it's box since at least 1998, only 13 years after it's original date of manufacture! I discovered that Life is perhaps the most ironic game on the face of the Earth. Tom and I ended up with careers as journalists, earning a mediocre salary and sleeping in the backs of cars. We still fared better than Zach, who got one of those "liberal arts degrees" and Stephen, who was working at McDonald's. All went for the best, though, as Tom and I quickly inherited money and/or discovered uranium. Stephen was living the hard life with his limited salary and propensity for buying horses and houses and whatnot. Stephen discovered that one could gamble on the spinning of the wheel, and quickly became an addict. He piled up a huge debt but somehow managed to pay it all off, possibly through prostitution. Zach was the enigma, somehow not making money and landing on all of the "pay" spaces, yet he managed to stay out of debt.
I thought I had a great chance to win, but then I realized that kids were worth money and that I was shooting blanks. I still amassed a net worth of 2.4 million, only to succomb to Tom's 2.5 million. Unfortunately, Zach managed to beat us all when he went for broke and bet it all on a number. I'm still not sure how he won.
So what does this game say about society? First off, if you want to get rich, journalism is totally the way to go. Also, it doesn't hurt to discover uranium. Secondly, poor people (i.e. Stephen) really do have gambling problems and just generally suck at managing money. However, the most important lesson is that the middle class guy with 4 bosses (Zach) will somehow kick the crap out of all of us someday. I haven't gotten to that part in my life yet, so it's difficult to predict how that's all going to play out.
You can call us losers if you want, but the game of Life is definitely going down with us to Auburn next year, so that we can crush the dreams of as many of our friends as humanly possible!
I think it's fair for me to introduce the cast of characters first. Of course you've got me, the high school guy who has a bunch of college friends, and has a goatee. That's basically all you need to know. Stephen arrived next, and he's your typical short guy, which basically means that he can't ride as many carnival rides as us normal folks. Tom and Zach got lost on the way to my house, and were arguing like an old married couple while I tried to give them directions over the phone. This is amusing because they actually are roommates, and also because I'm going to live with them next year. The good news is that three people can't be married, so I think I'm safe.
After a quick game of Spades in which Tom and I got served, we decided on a whim to play the game of Life. This game hadn't been pulled out of it's box since at least 1998, only 13 years after it's original date of manufacture! I discovered that Life is perhaps the most ironic game on the face of the Earth. Tom and I ended up with careers as journalists, earning a mediocre salary and sleeping in the backs of cars. We still fared better than Zach, who got one of those "liberal arts degrees" and Stephen, who was working at McDonald's. All went for the best, though, as Tom and I quickly inherited money and/or discovered uranium. Stephen was living the hard life with his limited salary and propensity for buying horses and houses and whatnot. Stephen discovered that one could gamble on the spinning of the wheel, and quickly became an addict. He piled up a huge debt but somehow managed to pay it all off, possibly through prostitution. Zach was the enigma, somehow not making money and landing on all of the "pay" spaces, yet he managed to stay out of debt.
I thought I had a great chance to win, but then I realized that kids were worth money and that I was shooting blanks. I still amassed a net worth of 2.4 million, only to succomb to Tom's 2.5 million. Unfortunately, Zach managed to beat us all when he went for broke and bet it all on a number. I'm still not sure how he won.
So what does this game say about society? First off, if you want to get rich, journalism is totally the way to go. Also, it doesn't hurt to discover uranium. Secondly, poor people (i.e. Stephen) really do have gambling problems and just generally suck at managing money. However, the most important lesson is that the middle class guy with 4 bosses (Zach) will somehow kick the crap out of all of us someday. I haven't gotten to that part in my life yet, so it's difficult to predict how that's all going to play out.
You can call us losers if you want, but the game of Life is definitely going down with us to Auburn next year, so that we can crush the dreams of as many of our friends as humanly possible!
Friday, March 24, 2006
5 Days of Pure Fun
It's official: I have now officially sat at home for 5 straight days. Okay, technically it's 5 nights, but that's the real point anyway. If it wasn't for basketball on TV, I would likely have gone insane by now, but instead I'm just incredibly bored. There have at least been some incredible basketball games on, with Boston College-Villanova at the forefront in my mind. It's amusing to hear how many ways the announcers can refer to the ball. I heard one say that a team needed to do a better job of "squeezing the orange" tonight, and it took me a good five minutes to figure out that he was referring to holding onto the ball. These guys are brilliant. I also got to see Greg Gumbel rip on Clark Kellogg not once, but twice, for saying that a team had not "shotten" the ball well. It's not uncommon for guys to rip on their buddies in front of each other, but on national TV? That takes some serious testicular fortitude.
A friend and I went for a basketball tune-up at our local gym today, and for once the public facility was actually open to the public. I find it maddening that the place closes every day at 3 o'clock, precisely the time we get out of school. Usually, even when they are open they have some stupid garbage going on there like dog shows. I just love how public facilities are always open to the public. On an equally unexciting note, my body's exercise age is still hovering strong at 54. Now my back has gotten in on the action with my legs. I can only hope that I will somehow miraculously develop both endurance and an immunity to pain before intramurals start.
There are many reasons why I like to make fun of south Alabama. Mostly it's because I live in Alabama to begin with, and everybody needs somebody to make fun of (although Mississippi does a good job of filling that void most of the time.) However, this video just confirms all of my negative stereotypes about our neighbors to the south. These morons apparently think that there is a leprechaun in their town. I have a problem with this. A leprechaun would never come to Alabama, possibly the least friendly place on earth for short Irish people with red hair. If I was a leprechaun, I would probably go somewhere like Notre Dame, or, duh, Ireland. Unless the leprechauns are really just trying to take over the world by planting themselves in rural southern towns. Yeah, that sounds reasonable enough. Did I mention that leprechauns also DON'T EXIST??? I tend to agree with the wise old woman in the video, that the leprechaun is in fact just a crackhead.
Well, I'm about to go to sleep at 11:00 on a Friday night. This is a frightening and new experience for me. I hope I never have to do it again...
A friend and I went for a basketball tune-up at our local gym today, and for once the public facility was actually open to the public. I find it maddening that the place closes every day at 3 o'clock, precisely the time we get out of school. Usually, even when they are open they have some stupid garbage going on there like dog shows. I just love how public facilities are always open to the public. On an equally unexciting note, my body's exercise age is still hovering strong at 54. Now my back has gotten in on the action with my legs. I can only hope that I will somehow miraculously develop both endurance and an immunity to pain before intramurals start.
There are many reasons why I like to make fun of south Alabama. Mostly it's because I live in Alabama to begin with, and everybody needs somebody to make fun of (although Mississippi does a good job of filling that void most of the time.) However, this video just confirms all of my negative stereotypes about our neighbors to the south. These morons apparently think that there is a leprechaun in their town. I have a problem with this. A leprechaun would never come to Alabama, possibly the least friendly place on earth for short Irish people with red hair. If I was a leprechaun, I would probably go somewhere like Notre Dame, or, duh, Ireland. Unless the leprechauns are really just trying to take over the world by planting themselves in rural southern towns. Yeah, that sounds reasonable enough. Did I mention that leprechauns also DON'T EXIST??? I tend to agree with the wise old woman in the video, that the leprechaun is in fact just a crackhead.
Well, I'm about to go to sleep at 11:00 on a Friday night. This is a frightening and new experience for me. I hope I never have to do it again...
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Big Chicken
I saw something on TV tonight that I think ranks right up there as one of the funniest things of all time. It's called the "Big Buckin Chicken," and I think it's some sort of advertisement for Burger King. Go watch it now. What does the fact that I think this is funny say about me? I'm slightly worried.
Today marks the 4th day that I have managed to sit at home and not have a life. It's almost become a game now, trying to see how long I can stave off human contact. I wrote a bunch of letters today to send out to engineering firms that probably won't hire me as an intern this summer, but I did finally learn the mysteries of mail merge on Microsoft Word. I love how they took something seemingly simple and turned it into a 450 step process. We have an industry term for that - it's called user friendliness.
I took my first bike ride in about two weeks this morning, and I have a couple of complaints. Apparently mother nature didn't get the memo that it's Spring Break and also the fourth week of March. At the time of my ride this morning, the outside temperature was a brisk 41 degrees. I shouldn't have to wear a heavy jacket, gloves, and one of those gay knit hats to take a bike ride. That's just plain communist. I'm also incredibly out of shape, even after just two weeks. I like to think that your body has two ages - your actual age and your exercise age. My exercise age is sitting at right about 54 right now. My legs feel like someone beat them with a hammer repeatedly for twenty minutes. This is not a good thing, considering that intramurals start on Tuesday. You should all look forward to reading about the band team's impending doom. It's going to be grand.
Speaking of intramurals, I went and shot some basketball this afternoon. That was a big mistake. I might have hit 20 percent of my shots, and that's being generous. I started blaming it on stuff like the wind and the 40 degree temperatures, but I think it might actually be the fact that I'm not black. Did anyone else watch J.J. Redick suck it up tonight? There goes my hopes of white people ever being able to be good at basketball again. I promise I'm not racist, I'm just realistic. There's a huge difference.
Well, here's to seeing if I can make it 5 straight days without fun tomorrow. I'm seriously close to rolling coins...
Today marks the 4th day that I have managed to sit at home and not have a life. It's almost become a game now, trying to see how long I can stave off human contact. I wrote a bunch of letters today to send out to engineering firms that probably won't hire me as an intern this summer, but I did finally learn the mysteries of mail merge on Microsoft Word. I love how they took something seemingly simple and turned it into a 450 step process. We have an industry term for that - it's called user friendliness.
I took my first bike ride in about two weeks this morning, and I have a couple of complaints. Apparently mother nature didn't get the memo that it's Spring Break and also the fourth week of March. At the time of my ride this morning, the outside temperature was a brisk 41 degrees. I shouldn't have to wear a heavy jacket, gloves, and one of those gay knit hats to take a bike ride. That's just plain communist. I'm also incredibly out of shape, even after just two weeks. I like to think that your body has two ages - your actual age and your exercise age. My exercise age is sitting at right about 54 right now. My legs feel like someone beat them with a hammer repeatedly for twenty minutes. This is not a good thing, considering that intramurals start on Tuesday. You should all look forward to reading about the band team's impending doom. It's going to be grand.
Speaking of intramurals, I went and shot some basketball this afternoon. That was a big mistake. I might have hit 20 percent of my shots, and that's being generous. I started blaming it on stuff like the wind and the 40 degree temperatures, but I think it might actually be the fact that I'm not black. Did anyone else watch J.J. Redick suck it up tonight? There goes my hopes of white people ever being able to be good at basketball again. I promise I'm not racist, I'm just realistic. There's a huge difference.
Well, here's to seeing if I can make it 5 straight days without fun tomorrow. I'm seriously close to rolling coins...
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Mulching It
My parents dragged me out of bed this morning at the ungodly hour of 11 AM to help them spread mulch outside. Needless to say, this was the first thing on my list of fun spring break activities. This year's edition of mulch-spreading was a lot more fun than usual, since we switched to a new kind. We now have red mulch instead of standard mulch-colored mulch. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of difference it makes.
This marks the 3rd consecutive day of spring break that I have failed to do anything. Sitting on my butt at home is starting to get old. I wish all of my friends didn't have "lives," and that they would be open to hanging out with their vacationally-challenged buddies. Alas, I have resorted to typing a blog entry to amuse myself.
My parents did take me out to dinner tonight, which is always nice. The original plan was to go to Copeland's, home of the best steak I have ever had. Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to agree with me, and Copeland's is now no longer in business. Thus, we ended up going to this Italian restaurant I had never heard of. The food was pretty good. I had veal, mostly because I like the thought of killing baby cows, but also because it tastes good. I found it most amusing that the waiters who were supposed to be Italian guys were using epithets like "y'all", but I guess that's just the kind of stuff that makes the South fun.
Now I must be off on my quest to find a way to get out of the house, before I decide to start rolling coins for fun...
This marks the 3rd consecutive day of spring break that I have failed to do anything. Sitting on my butt at home is starting to get old. I wish all of my friends didn't have "lives," and that they would be open to hanging out with their vacationally-challenged buddies. Alas, I have resorted to typing a blog entry to amuse myself.
My parents did take me out to dinner tonight, which is always nice. The original plan was to go to Copeland's, home of the best steak I have ever had. Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to agree with me, and Copeland's is now no longer in business. Thus, we ended up going to this Italian restaurant I had never heard of. The food was pretty good. I had veal, mostly because I like the thought of killing baby cows, but also because it tastes good. I found it most amusing that the waiters who were supposed to be Italian guys were using epithets like "y'all", but I guess that's just the kind of stuff that makes the South fun.
Now I must be off on my quest to find a way to get out of the house, before I decide to start rolling coins for fun...
New Site = Tasty Goodness
Some of you may remember reading idiotic ramblings in a school newspaper at some point in your life. Well, I write just such articles for The Raider's Digest, the Decatur High School newspaper. They are witty, emotionally powerful, and perhaps the greatest pieces of literature America has even encountered. However, I only get to publish my social commentaries on an infrequent basis, thus I think it would be beneficial to society if there was a way for me to float my thoughts more often. What's this? Blogger would allow me to communicate with you, the general morons ..err.. public, instantaneously. I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
So let's dive right into it. I'm sitting here typing this while listening to a live internet stream of public radio classical music. Does that make me a bad person? Let me give you several reasons why I don't think so. First, Classical music is infinitely better than rap, because I have never heard of a piece of classical music that involved killing bitches. Second, the voices of the people that host these shows are perhaps the most soothing sounds on the face of the Earth. It's everything I can do to stay awake right now, although that might be since it's 12:07 in the morning. Finally, where else can you hear a harpsichord? Do you even know what that is? What is the purpose of a harpsichord? Was the piano just not good enough? Okay, I'm done.
I've decided that my family has a religious aversion to vacations. I calculated yesterday and realized that I haven't been to the beach in at least 7 years. That's a long time, considering it's only 6 hours away. At this point, my parents are a lot more excited about putting away every cent they can for retirement than taking a trip to the beach. I think I will be able to totally understand that when I'm in my fifties. Maybe not going on vacation is a good thing. Family vacations are perhaps the most awkward thing on the face of the earth. You'd think that it wouldn't be that hard to spend time with people you live with all the time. However, when you're shut in a hotel room with them for a week, that delicate family balance quickly descends into an argument over someone rolling around too much and making too much noise for others to be able to sleep. I think I'm glad I'm bored out of my mind at home.
Finally, I think I can officially claim the title of cult hero at this point. I am now known the world over for my unusual and utterly useless talent. I went over to a friend's house to study the other night and his whole family ended up sitting and staring at me while I played my face. The friend's sister told me it was the coolest thing she had ever seen. Earlier that evening, I had gone to my former middle school to watch the school play that my mother was directing. Several current students saw me and immediately recognized me as "that face-slapping guy." Mind you, these aren't even people who saw me in the talent show. I'm not sure if being famous for hitting yourself in the face is a good thing, but it sure is damn funny. I'm still trying to figure out if I can turn this into a career. Unfortunately, right now the Magic 8-Ball of Life is saying something along the lines of "You are a stupid idiot. You can't slap yourself in the face and make money. Go cry in the corner." Thus, I shall go do precisely that...
So let's dive right into it. I'm sitting here typing this while listening to a live internet stream of public radio classical music. Does that make me a bad person? Let me give you several reasons why I don't think so. First, Classical music is infinitely better than rap, because I have never heard of a piece of classical music that involved killing bitches. Second, the voices of the people that host these shows are perhaps the most soothing sounds on the face of the Earth. It's everything I can do to stay awake right now, although that might be since it's 12:07 in the morning. Finally, where else can you hear a harpsichord? Do you even know what that is? What is the purpose of a harpsichord? Was the piano just not good enough? Okay, I'm done.
I've decided that my family has a religious aversion to vacations. I calculated yesterday and realized that I haven't been to the beach in at least 7 years. That's a long time, considering it's only 6 hours away. At this point, my parents are a lot more excited about putting away every cent they can for retirement than taking a trip to the beach. I think I will be able to totally understand that when I'm in my fifties. Maybe not going on vacation is a good thing. Family vacations are perhaps the most awkward thing on the face of the earth. You'd think that it wouldn't be that hard to spend time with people you live with all the time. However, when you're shut in a hotel room with them for a week, that delicate family balance quickly descends into an argument over someone rolling around too much and making too much noise for others to be able to sleep. I think I'm glad I'm bored out of my mind at home.
Finally, I think I can officially claim the title of cult hero at this point. I am now known the world over for my unusual and utterly useless talent. I went over to a friend's house to study the other night and his whole family ended up sitting and staring at me while I played my face. The friend's sister told me it was the coolest thing she had ever seen. Earlier that evening, I had gone to my former middle school to watch the school play that my mother was directing. Several current students saw me and immediately recognized me as "that face-slapping guy." Mind you, these aren't even people who saw me in the talent show. I'm not sure if being famous for hitting yourself in the face is a good thing, but it sure is damn funny. I'm still trying to figure out if I can turn this into a career. Unfortunately, right now the Magic 8-Ball of Life is saying something along the lines of "You are a stupid idiot. You can't slap yourself in the face and make money. Go cry in the corner." Thus, I shall go do precisely that...
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