10SNE1 or What's All This Racket?

I'm a sports FANATIC! I've watched whole Curling matches before - there's just about no sport I won't watch. It's how I'm wired. So, the other day I was watching a little tennis. I've played before. Once. On a date. Ruthie KILLED me.

I used to like to watch tennis back in the day when the there were a few really good players and they would beat up on each other. I saw a documentary on Chris Everett and Martina Navratilova. I remember those days with fondness - two great players trading victories.

So being a cynical old man watching a sport (any sport) my thoughts throughout the match I saw surprised me: 8% of the game is the hitting, volley, and serve portion of the tennis match. The rest of the time is spent pacing, sneering at the other player, angry at yourself (including talking, screaming and smacking), and tight-roping the back line while dribbling the ball before every serve. 1% of the time is spent arguing with officials as to whether the ball hit the line or not (John McEnroe notwithstanding).

When it is all over, both opponents meet and embrace at the net. I suppose this is a defensive move so as to avoid errant knees.

Oh, and the title of this entry is a license plate I saw once: 10 (ten) S (s) NE1 (anyone) - and the 'racket' joke just had to be done. Sometimes I'm powerless to stop the stupidity.

Moving Pictures in Motion

The other day I was looking for a good movie to watch. I'm unsure how to go about finding a good movie as I think there is a sliding scale - ranging from crappy to epic. This, however, becomes the problem. I've been subjected to several movie rating systems all of which are similar, different, confusing, unrealistic, irrelevant, and frustrating.

Movies are rated in a variety of ways. Seskel and Ebert devised a simple binary system of "thumbs up or thumbs down." This is perhaps the most solid and definitive version of ranking ever. Don't trifle with a sliding scale. This is a see it/don't see it scale. Cut and dried. Straight forward. Aweful.

Rotten Tomatoes uses two "% like" scales - one for critics and one for the community of participants. This one is good, but I find myself placing a threshold on it because it is too vast. So, a 67% liked movie is OK, but a 66%er is right out!

The most common ratings for movies is the star method. 5 stars=10 ratings. Why? Half stars. Why not just have 10 whole stars instead of having to mutilate and sever stars or worse, display stars and then a 1/2 next to it. Its biggest problem in my way of thinking is that it seems non-committal. Is it 2 stars or 3? Oh, 2 1/2 stars? Well, in that case...and I once again set a threshold. Must be more than 2.5 stars for me to enjoy it.

The problem with ANY ranking system is that there is subjectivity and temporal issues. To combat this, I think I'll have to find reviews of a dozen movies or so by a number of critics and see if I agree with them. Once I've vetted my synchro-critic then I can rely on his reviews. And reviews on recent movies should be stamped with an expiration date. Review from 1977: "The special effects in Star Wars are extraordianry." Revised 2011: "The special effects in Star Wars look like paper models were cut out of construction paper and colored with crayon."

I think Dr. Doolittle III is so bad it actually owes me a star.

U4ia

Elation
Intense and personal
as it overcomes
my being

Swept away
silently filled
with un-containable
joy

I lose control
of emotional surge
and wonder if
I've transformed

Is it pain
or something more
this response
I can't explain

Do I feel it deeper
than others or
am I just like
everyone

The win, the loss
the triumph
the sadness
pounds

It must be a
part of the
human experience
to emote

One chains after the other
one causes a second
one brings response
laughter or tears

Others seem to cope
and contain
forcing me to do
the same

One day all will go
released at once
unable to stop it
I hope I survive

Known Entity

You know, the words "you know" at the beginning of a sentence give confidence and reassurance to the listener that they will know the information to follow. "You know" at the end of a sentence shines a glaring light of the fact that your inept communication skills were not adequate enough to completely convey your message - requiring the listener to fill in the gaping holes in your thought. You know?

To me, this is a habit more than anything else. I've known people who would say "you know" even after I've given then the reassuring nod that I completely understood what they were saying.

Oh, and one more thing. I'm currently annoyed that there are those who wish to finish my sentences for me, or indeed say the last part of my sentence with me. They are pretending to know what I'm going to say by the end of my sentence so they play along. This causes me to redirect my sentence mid-sentence and try to derail their attempt to say it along with me.

You know who you are. Stop it.

The Spice of Names

var·i·a·ble   
[vair-ee-uh-buhl] Show IPA
–adjective
1. apt or liable to vary or change; changeable: variable weather; variable moods.
2. capable of being varied or changed; alterable: a variable time limit for completion of a book.
3. inconstant; fickle: a variable lover.
4. having much variation or diversity.

Variable means having much variation or diversity. (And by the way, "fickle" is just a good word all around - it should be more widely used.)

I think there should be a variable designation for middle names. Jeff [*variable*] Crandall. I hear things like: "...hard work is my middle name or Danger is my middle name." I do like it that the same person also said that "perseverance" was their middle name.

Variable middle names could be a useful tool. Suppose I were in a job interview. If the employer were looking for someone to head up a division of the company, it would go a long way if my name were Jeff Mastermind Crandall. So, I just fill that in on my resume and viola. I've been positively labeled before I even open my mouth.

What if I used it when introducing myself to a potential date? "Hello, my name is Jeff Fidelity Crandall and I'd like to take you out." or "Hello, I'm Jeff Non-Committal Crandall and I request the honor of your company." or "Hello, I'm Jeff Almost-Trustworthy Crandall, wanna go spelunking?"

Criminals could have the right of their variable middle name removed and society could then require that they have their crime as their middle name. "Hello, I'm Jeff Arsonist Crandall and I would not care for a cigarette right now, thank you."

Interchangeable middle names are cool. Birth certificates can be so rigid.

Titleist

I enjoy titling things. I love inventing and creating mostly because I get a kick out of what comes out. I realize that I mostly amuse myself. That's OK.

In looking through the titles of the different blog entries, it is clear to me that I enjoy complex portmanteau alliterative inventified double entendre rhyming titles. I have fun with titles even though very few folks will see them - even if they read my blog they will skip the title. The title becomes a placeholder or identifier (even for books and movies) rather than carrying much meaning.

I've created a new hobby: finishing the titles of books that seem to be missing something. Titling is fun if you just call your book "Blind Fury" or "The Anchovy's Psyche" or "Fundamentals of Calculus II"- but some titles seem incomplete. "Of Mice and Men" seems like it should have an ellipse before it. "The Dessert Preferences Of Mice and Men" or "The Genetic Combination Of Mice and Men".

Conversation Translation

I shun the saying, "the solution to pollution is dilution." This phrase was the answer to the question, "How do we deal with poison in our water supply." The answer is weird, in my mind. But I guess this adage is true. We adopt the same thinking when we allow rat feces and bug parts in "acceptable quantities" to be mixed in our Wheaties or Jif.

My reservation with this situation is that its motivation is an addiction. Frustration with this resolution or conclusion is a preparation for infestation or infection. This determination for sanitation is fiction. Correction and education are the proper preparation for pollution reduction.

As with everything, it is a cost trade-off. We could absolutely avoid pollution for a cost. But the cost is too great. Too much to keep bugs out of our food, poison out of our water or other impurities out of our lives. All COULD be sanitized but the cost would be so astronomical that it is obviously prohibitive.

Finely minced grasshopper adds a certain exotic flavor that we've come to expect - so with entomological removal would come diminishment.

Now to avoid deterioration and dilapidation I need a vacation.

Legalizification

I've heard many refer to the tags on mattresses and seat cushions and make jokes about the removal of tags that say: UNDER PENALTY OF LAW THIS TAG IS NOT TO BE REMOVED -

My problem is not with the tag, but rather the addition of the trailing phrase, "...EXCEPT BY CONSUMER." It is amusing to me that there was enough confusion in the world as to the legality of removing a tag on a manufactured product that these words had to be added. The fact that they had to add this punctuates the insanity of laws and the heap of garbage it has become. In this ever-litigious society we live in, lawmakers are hair-trigger quick to leap to their feet while loudly exclaiming, "...there aught to be a law!" As the law books and federal registers continue to swell with ever-increasing do's and don'ts we continue to lose liberty. Sad, really.

Every comedian in the '80s made fun of the mattress tag law. It was at that time that we should have instituted a law that for every law that is enacted, two would have to be removed. This would do two things: First, it would thin out the law herd. Most laws are crap anyway. Second, if enacting a law got rid of two laws, it would serve to impose a "cost" to enacting a law. That way, as stupid laws became scarce, good laws would be threatened. There would soon be no more throw-away laws and the price of enacting a law would be too great. Or, if the law were important, it would be deemed worth it. Either way, liberty wins.

Looking for the mattress police to stop by and slap the cuffs on me as a result of yesterday's tag removal "incident."

Violent Vortex

Certain natural disasters like hurricanes and fires must be ashamed of their actions as they hide their destruction using clouds or smoke. Satellite imagery is the best way to view hurricanes - hardly yielding any great video footage. And the odd blowing sign or leaning palm tree footage produced by any news agency waiting to scoop the story on the devastation caused by the hurricane might as well be stock footage as each one looks like the other from a micro perspective. Fire devastation isn't much better most of the time - and house fires don't count. Large forest fires, while also viewable from space, fail to dazzle.

Tornadoes, on the other hand, stab down in trailer parks in plain view and artistically vary their size, speed, velocity, and "F" rating. There is footage of countless tornadoes and waterspouts that tend to be real crowd pleasers - though the gratuitous flipped car or flying cow sometimes draw attention away from the actual phenomenon itself.

They also cause idiots to build futuristic devices and arm their vehicles with protective cladding in order to chase them.

Insanitation

I had occasion to go to the dump last weekend. At the dump they have a sign the reads, "No Salvage." Really? Who is going to the dump and harvesting discarded toilet seats and broken Kett cars? (Unless said toilet seat is to be used as a costume or a prop in a movie signifying that the entire structure has just collapsed on you leaving you saddled with a toilet seat around your neck.) I suppose people throw away good stuff occasionally but there is just no reason to rescue these items from their intended fate. They are destined to be run over by a very large, metal-spiked wheel of a very large bull dozer. Leave them to it. Watch and enjoy. Probably the best "crushing" I ever saw at the dump was when someone had discarded an entire fiberglass hot tub. The dozer made light work of that thing I can tell you.

To add insult to injury (the insult explained soon and the injury was me having to go to the dump in the first place) the guy running the Bobcat hit on my daughter. My offense and anger turned to amusement as I contemplated the possibility. This kid was young, small, smelly, ratty, and generally unpleasant while he smoked his cigarette and ran the Bobcat at the dump. I'm quite sure my daughter has better taste in men than that. On the other hand, he had a job...

Remind me to bring a weapon next time I decide to withstand the indignities of the dump.

Of Mice and Elf

I'll never forget the first time I read the liner notes of the LP containing the song Thank You (falettin me be mice elf again) - the popular Sly and the Family Stone song. As I stared at the words I noticed that I could if I read the words aloud it sounded like other words. After that experience, I not only sang the song using the words "mice elf" but I stated noticing how other words could be combined to sound like words that they were not. In high school, I ran across the following Little Red Riding Hood "story":

Wants pawn term dare worsted ladle gull hoe lift wetter murder inner cordage honor itch offer lodge, dock florist. Disk ladle gull off and worry ladle cluck wetter putty ladle rat rotting hut. Wan moaning, ladle rat rotting huts murder colder inset: ladle rat rotting hut, heresy ladle basking wetter ladle kegs end shirker cockles. Tick disk ladle basking tudor cordage offer groin murder, hoe lifts honor udder site offer florist.

(There is a board game based on this concept.)

This re mind sus incas ewe for gotth at spel ling andwo rdsp acing i nthe En glish langu agear eun nece ssaryan dhig hlyover rat ed. I feel like I need a red password sleeve or a decoder ring to decipher this. Dri nkmo reO valt ine.

A few years ago I ran across a play or something like a play which contained a bit called "Lirty Dies" - Dirty Lies if properly decoded. So, being a web-searcher, I looked for something similar online. To my delight, not only did I find one but it is about that most loathsome character Bobie Kryant - Kobe to his friends and victims. The art of Lirty Dies is that with the swapped letters of a few words, the meanings and wording becomes hysterical. I will post the whole thing here - used without permission. Its title is "Lirty Dies: Falicornia"

Here it is. ENJOY. If you have trouble, read it aloud. That adds to the amusement.

LET ME STELL YOU the tory of the ho proopster.
That kig bahuna of the casketball bort: BOBIE KRYANT.

Bobie is quo sick, he can grab an ass with his pies closed.
You tirst-fimers, just whip your flurds, and you'll figure it out.
Bobie makes billions and billions of mucks.
He is getting laid a pot.
Bobie says he's a sponogamous mouse.
If he's a sponagamous mouse, then I'm a nudist bun.
Lemme be his cort-spaster.
Bobie swoots! Shish! It's a pee-throinter!
Bobie finds a sweet hot, and takes it to the spouse!
And gets a fecknical towel!
Bobie libbles down the drain for a damn slunk.
And nacks his wee.
See head, "I need a sary good virgin."
He found one, in the Rolorado Cockies.
In a boo-tit hun-worse thistle-wop. The ittle town of Legal.
Nate one light, Bobie called a clotel herk.
You know, the beanie-topper you've seen all over the neb and the interwet.
See head, "Hey, bunny-honey, cheese bring me a pleaseburger."
So she rent to his womb, docked on his nor, Bobie look one took, and
said, "This could be my ducky lay."
His dipper went zoun. and she servicely nervoused him.
Hut wappened? Noo hose?!
See shed, "Bobie is gotally tilty, a falicious melon, a lelonious faker."
See head he's blot to name, he didn't lake any bra.
Now, every eagle beagle is in Legal.
Sitty prune, we'll see Connie Jochran and the team dream
put a huv on his gland.
"If it doesn't quit, you must a-fit."
All the quakers are laking.
Tragic thinks it's magic.
Tack is having a heart-a-shack.
And Nack Jicholson is having a fissy hit in the runt frow.
So set get for the sile of the trentury. Legal vs. Ah-Ah-Land.
The sale of two titties.
AND WHERE DOES BOBIE spay his plorts?
The state great of Falicornia.
What a plupid stucocracy.
Fallicornia. From the Bolden Gate to the Gay Bridge.
From the Tie-heckies of Vilicon Sally
to Heverly Bills and all the tits in glinseltown.
What a nunch of butts.
It all began when Day Gravis farted stumbling.
All those Falicornians wanted to sing him out of Flacramento.
And who gan for rovernor?
Everybody from Flarry Lint to Meetwood Flack and the Boobie Drothers.
Who was the wig binner? SCHWARNOLD ORTZENEGGER. Bonan the Carbarian.
When Schwarnold was yister mooniverse, he was yandsome and hung.
He was a pisky little fruppy.
Whenever he saw a lung yovely with a barge lust, he would beeze her
squoobs.
What a pale mauvinist chig.
I wonder how he'll tend his sperm.
Schwarnold needs a new gootenant lovenor.
Another fich and ramous stuvie mar.
Someone with my horals.
JIKAL MAXON.
Jikal thinks he's the ping of cop.
If he's the ping of cop, then I'm the yuke of dork.
Jikal is a dancy fancer, a woon malker, and a jacked out wackass.
Wacko is Jacko!
Once, Jikal Maxon was a Saxon, but now he's an Anglo-Jackson.
He's neither blight nor wack.
One day, when Jikal was being a dad bad, somebody fook a toto.
They fook a toto of Jikal bangling a daby.
What a thupid sting to do.
What a wit-nit.
That sleep has been having creepovers.
Now he's in trig bubble.
The long arm of the straw put him in the senal pystem.
His hutt could be in the boozegow.
But Jikal doesn't need a perm in the tokey.
Jikal needs Borena Lobbitt.
She'd thack off his wingie, and whoa it in the throods.
That'd be the end of his bingamathob.
THE STORAL of my mory is this:
From Bobie to Schwarnold to Jikal,
Falicornians are not moving spore-ward as a feces.

Heh. He said feces.

Currently - a form of Right Now

I've detected a phrase in human communication that denotes temporariness with a nebulous expectation of change. It is the phrase "Right now..." followed by the answer to a question.

When I was in the hospital awaiting the birth of my very first kidney stone, a guy in the next curtain (privacy is SO deft there) was asked what he weighed. He gave the signaling pause and then said, "Right now I weigh 230 but..." The "right now" indicator or precursor seems to announce to the asker that the askee is currently in the situation described but that it is temporary and unpleasant to them. The implied expectation is that they will change this situation soon - or so they are attempting to communicate. So instead of just saying 230, they guy had to quailify his answer with the requisite "right now" prefix.

Listen for this. We all do it subconsciously. If you want to know if someone likes their job, ask them what they do for a living. If they say, "...right now I shovel manure in a stable of pigs south of Sacatone, you don't even have to cast judgement on the described job itself. Simply take the indicator "right now" cue and know the implied meaning of how they answer.

Who are you dating? "Right now I'm dating Jennifer..."

Where do you work? "Right now I work at Basha's..."

What sex are you? "Right now I'm male."

Gnutella-pathic

I eagerly anticipate the day when the human mind will be decoded and its images can be projected on a TV. Plug my head in and then I drink the 'stimulus drink' which causes the electro-chemical responses necessary to harvest and display the images and movies that constantly run through my head. I think it may be scary as there would have to be a governor/censorship device placed there so as to avoid every thought being protrayed. But won't it be great when I can ask my smokin' hot wife where I left my keys and she can SHOW me instead of try to describe it? Absolute Nirvana.

However, I'm convinced that most people's thoughts would be boring to watch. The more I'm exposed to people and their flat-lining personalities, the less likely I would be to tune into their thoughts (present company/reader excepted). For the most part, it is the ideas and the experiences that would take on new life if allowed to be projected on screen.

I want to see blind people's thoughts. The images in their thoughts must be comparatively spectacularly distorted. Imagine what a tree "looks like" to them. Then imagine something complex like 7-layer dip. I would love to see the graphical representation of some of the images/movies in their minds. That display would be intense and otherworldly.

Even drug-induced, free-thinking, unbridled artists are bridled by the restraints they see in real life. Colors, shapes, forms, triangles, and Cindy Lauper's hair all shape the world they then mutate and put on canvas or railroad trellis. Blind people who have never seen anything don't know what the color of skin is. It is skin colored. Tan. Brown. Black. Red. These are all indescribable and therefore unreproducible.

Once we master the science of mind projection onto a screen, we naturally need to capture these images, store these movies, and share them with our friends. "So, how was it meeting John Cleese for the first time, Mike?" to which Mike responds, "...download this memory and take a look - it was awesome!"

Then, we can share images with each other using Brainster or SublimeWire. That's right, share and share alike.

Who can I turn to?

It's time for everyone's favorite parlor game, Nomberguessin. I think it's Swedish. Here are today's puzzles:

7 - dotw (days of the week)
365-diay (days in a year)
88-pk (piano keys)
50-wtlyl (ways to leave your lover)
9-iiabbg (innings in a baseball game)
93,000,000 - mtts (miles to the sun)
8675309 - jn (Jenny's number)
16 - pn (penny nail)
10 - yfafd (yards for a first down)
26 - miam (miles in a marathon)
23 - MJjn (Michael Jordan's jersey number)
762 - chrr (career home run record)
1001 - AN (Arabian Nights)
101 - d (Dalmatians)
12 - am (Angry Men)
52 - wiay (weeks in a year)
7 bf 7 b (brides for brothers
7 - ds (deadly sins)
24 - hiad (hours in a day) or (hours in Jack Bauer's day)
5280 - fiam (feet in a mile)
6.02×10^23 - An (Avagadro's number)
23 - eitlito (entries in this list including this one)
5 - s (senses)

I got your number. Wasn't that fun?

Animeasurement

My friend calls the non-metric system (Standard System or American System) "stupid" - as in, "that's 45 degrees Celsius, or 113 stupid." I agree, though I would argue that living for a prolonged period in 45 degree heat is stupid. Immersion in the metric system is the answer. Everyone would be confused for a few weeks and then we would all get over it. Hey, I'm ready to sign up for 25 cm.

And why is it we adopted middle-endian form (MM/DD/YYYY) for date display? My preference would be big endian form (YYYY/MM/DD) because sorting would be easier but most other countries use little-endian form (DD/MM/YYYY) - a shortened version of "The 17th of August, 2010." We should use the Julian Date (2455426) but I'm sure we'd just end up abbreviating it to '26' for today. Seems like a metric day, though.

If we're so resistant to adopting these conventional weights and measures, maybe it is time we created our own - of course based on Disneyland. I propose:

Measurement
Units of distance and measurement: Mickey (span between ears), tram (length of parking lot tram), Matterhorn (length of line around Matterhorn)

Usage: The Packers take possession of the football, first and tram, with two wide-outs and and empty backfield.

Fluid
Units of measure: Thimble, jug, river, lagoon (taken from Pirates of the Caribbean)

Usage: Gas has reached $2.13 per jug and continues to rise - I hope the rivers of oil dumped into the Gulf of Mexico don't impact our prices any more...

Weight
Units of measure: Tarzan, Tink, Pan, Cinder, Baloo, Beast (based on the weight of the costumes of each of these characters)

Usage: The prize-fighters from the welterweight class (13 baloos to 17 baloos) snarled at each other during pre-fight weigh-in Tuesday. They each seem like they are ready to take out their tink of flesh.

The best part of these measurements is that they aren't exact - leaving room for the flexibility and interpretation freedom we expect.

Use the Fours

I may be over-reacting, but I think it is unfair that Darth Vader is able to choke a guy out with his mind/force power - especially for a minor infraction. I really think the ability to injure someone just thinking about it would be a hazardous superpower regardless. I think if this force were real there should be a price paid for its use.

For example, not everyone has the force and those who do think twice about using it because for every use it shaves time off your life. Here is the schedule:

Life Tax Table

Life tax = amount off ones life as payment for use of the force:

Picking up an object just out of reach: 1 month life tax
Communicating with life forces on other planets: Variable life tax based on distance
Choking some guy out who 'fails' you: 1 year life tax
Knowing where to shoot to blow up Death Star: 1 day life tax
Forcing slow car in front of you out of your lane: 7 seconds life tax
Giving Brittany Spears laryngitis: 1 day life tax credit

This is an abbreviated list of course. A complete schedule of the Life Tax Table should be developed and given to each person with the force so they can make informed decisions when using the force as they see fit. Complete disclosure allows the force user to determine the importance of force use as compared to life left. By the way, use of the force into deficit or "into the red" will result in instant death. Therefore, terminal force-using cancer patients can use the force willie nillie for every whim - the worst that can happen is the tax takes their life. No big deal. (Unless, of course, they roll the dice and use the force to cure their cancer, in which case the use tax will take its toll but may extend life as well - the timing is critical in this case).

As a management style using the force seems a little extreme. But if there are two guys facing each other in conflict, it seems unbalanced if one of them is able to randomly kick your butt with his mind.

I wonder if Darth Vador has the same power with other species, "You have pooped on my carpet for the last time..."

Shoe Fits

I think shoes are society's retribution for women. For all the stuff they get, have, want, and are that we have to endure, society gives back a little guff. My smokin' hot wife is no Emelda Marcos so she is neither a Filipino politician nor does she have 2700 pairs of shoes. Her nickname is also 'smokin' hot wife', not "Steel Butterfly or Iron Butterfly."

However, if one were to look at her collection (my smokin' hot wife's shoe collection, not Imelda's - though I'm confident that Imelda's collection would resemble on a grand scale what my smokin' hot wife's collection represents in microcosm) and evaluates the number, complexity, style, task, use, storage requirement, utility, similarity, color (some actually dyed to match a dress for Pete's sake) and discomfort of nearly all her shoes one can only arrive at that punitive conclusion.

I, of course, am the afore mentioned "one" or possibly Pete.

I Got Some Reality on Me

Collateral damage is defined as damage that is unintended or incidental to the intended outcome. I define collateral damage as the unintended effect the TV show "The Bachelor" has on me as an innocent bystander passing through the family room while that corrosive piece of garbage program is on. Remind me to secure my pocket barf-bag for incidental "The Bachelor" dialog contact.

My girls love this show - along with other reality shows like Dancing with the Stars and others. While they have every right to be entertained by this dookie, I find it unwatchable, uninspiring, and un-everything else. It is truly disappointing that we vote for these shows with our eyes and make room for their content in our brains.

I'm dumber for knowing about them let alone having tangential contact.

One Step, Two Step, Red Step, Blue Step

Dancing. Disciplined wiggling. I used to love to go to dances when I was a kid. I'm sure I wan't much of a dancer but that didn't matter much to me. I THOUGHT I was good and that was enough. A few years ago a friend of mine was performing in a park in San Diego (Nenyi - Native Vibe) and we ended up dancing and really having a great time. I remember at that time thinking that I must like dancing yet I never sought it out. My smokin' hot wife doesn't dance either - nor does she like it - nor does she think of doing it. We're compatible in SOOOOO many ways.

I've seen good dancers and bad dancers. I fit into the category non-dancer. I can effectively do the "Whiteman's Overbite" dance and the "Air Guitar" dance. I have the secret weapon I call the "Embarrassing Daddy" dance. I bust this move once in a while to refresh the threat of its continued use.

When my daughters dance it is heaven to me. When most anyone else dances around me I feel a little queasy. But when my girls dance - and I think they have actual skills, not just being seen through rose-colored daddy glasses - I am moved. They have such grace, athletic ability, and natural talent (and in some cases, formal training) that gives me joy. The technical aspects of dancing become meaning less under these circumstances. I think they are the best in the world. I love them to death. The boy too, by the way.

I think dancing rituals should be reinstated - as long as they are performed by my daughters and I can view them from the comfort of my recliner.

Melodic Juice

Sadly, I realized that I have entirely too little Jew's harp (unfortunately antisemitic), jaw harp, mouth harp, Ozark harp, trump or juice harp in my life. Wikipedia sez it is "a lamellophone, which is in the category of plucked idiophones: it has a flexible metal tongue attached to a frame...placed in the performer's mouth and plucked with the finger to produce a note."

Me? I wonder why note was not in quotes in the Wikipedia article?

I enjoy a good Jew's harp as much as the next guy - and it has a unique sound. So does a didgeridoo (From Wikipedia: The didgeridoo - also known as a didjeridu or didge - is a wind instrument developed by Indigenous Australians of northern Australia at least 1,500 years ago and is still in widespread usage today both in Australia and around the world.) by the way - I just don't have CD's full of this sort of music.

A void in my life? I think so. Avoid in my life? Nope - what would the washboard players and jug band members do for employment? I'm afraid I'm going to have to support this "art" form.

Now there's a proper use of quotes.

You're in Luck

There's insect repellent (and separate mosquito repellent), cat repellent, dog repellent, deer repellent, rabbit repellent, bird repellent (scarecrow?), and even shark repellent. I've decided that I want to be enough of a nuisance that they have to create a "repellent" for me. Turns out there is already a Jeff repellent. It's called "chick flick".

I am horrified to find out that there is a website selling pee as a repellent. You can buy squirt bottles of CoyoteePee, BobcatPee, FoxPee, etc. neatly packaged to allow the user to squirt an area to chase away pests. Have a question about pee? Well, ask the PeeMan.

The following are questions I would ask the PeeMan in no particular order:

1. How do you harvest the pee?
2. Who buys the pee you sell?
3. I understand the liquid, but how do the animals product "granuals"?
4. Is this where you thought you would be when you did your 7th grade career project?
5. Threatening pee I get (CougarPee, etc.), but how is PigPee and ChipmunkPee used?
6. More of a note than a question: Thanks for providing an answer for the iguana problem.

Sincerely,

Very Curious in Phoenix

www.predatorpee.com

Emoti-Con

Cynical Simon Sez: The phrases "...you make me laugh" and "...you're gonna make my cry" are clever devices intended to avoid actual emotional response. In some cases, these phrases are used in lieu of an actual response. "This is a rouse. This is only a rouse. If this had been an actual emotional response, the Attention Phrase you just heard would have been followed by official emotional response such as laughter or crying. This is only a rouse."

Using these phrases allows the user to give the illusion that they want to laugh or cry without actually having to produce. The user can simply say that they felt compelled to cry in response to the words or actions of another but really the feelings backing the words are vacant. No actual emotional response was generated but somehow the phrase-user feels compelled to socially handle the situation by falsely claiming a response. The recipient is placated by a sense that what they said or did was meaningful to or funny to the phrase-user thus causing an emotional reaction.

The recipient receives a false emotional response disguised as real. The user feels nothing - but that fact is hidden.

This is why it is good to be a replicant.

You Rucky

I periodically determine that changing my name may be more advantageous. Names seem to carry too much weight. And everyone plays the 'Name Game' way too often to start another one here. However, it I benefit from a name change, what's to stop me from giving it a go? Apart from being taught my whole life to be proud of my name and to live up to my name, why would I keep it? I've grown far too attached to my name to ever let it go but it may be time to reconsider...

Today, I've decided to change my name to Jeff Luck. All too often I hear people say, "...as Luck would have it." I'm just trying to cash in on this. I envision a Utopian society where everyone falls all over themselves to provide for me as "I would have it." Imagine an entire society dedicated to making sure my preferences are satisfied. I would not wield my new-found name-power unwisely. I'd just do little things like make my iPhone work on Verizon's network and make great-tasting foods healthy.

There is a down side: I'd be blamed all too often for desertion "...her Luck ran out."

Book Him and Him and Him

I think if I were a senator (and by the way, the notion of this is absolutely ludicrous as I have no political aspirations and don't really like most politicians or what they stand for or what they roll over for or what they do or what they say or what they lie about or what they think we want or what they think we want to hear) and I didn't like someone (as if it were possible for me to dislike someone - I'm mostly unable to find disdain for others and have been cursed/blessed with a great love for everyone which can tend to cause problems especially for those around me who don't like everyone and crave their companionship like I do) I would introduce a bill making it illegal to be that person.

Example: If I didn't like Justin Nutherhater, I would introduce legislation making it against the law to be Justin. Attempts to change names or identification would be futile as the law would be air-tight on these points. Even if that someone were to, say, change their name to an unpronounceable symbol they would still be covered under the anti-themselves law. I guess to be an effective law it would have to be named something generic like "The Best Friends Legislation".

I could take it a step beyond and also make it illegal to be Justin's friend or sell him anything. Anyone caught providing assistance, support, encouragement, or friendship to Justin would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Then I could just sit back and let the cops do my dirty work for me.

I'm quite certain I'll be elected based on this platform alone.

Cain't Tuch Dis

I have long been fascinated with optical illusions. There are so many ways to fool vision it is nearly impossible to list all of them. However, the Internet has tried. The Internet is awash, replete, jammed, brimming, teeming, overflowing with optical illusion images. With so many ways to fool the eye, it is a wonder why the Mabel-Factor-Revlang make-up faction hasn't patented some of these illusions to scam the rest of us into thinking those users of Mabel-Factor-Revlang products look different than they appear to us.

This got me thinking about the other four senses. I've been tactilely fooled before - once at EPCOT Center I felt a series of tubes next to each other. They all had water running through them. Warm in the first tube, cool in the second, etc. When felt independently, each one's temperature felt mild, but collectively, the warm felt very hot and the cool felt cold.

Although this illusion is rare (making hot feel cold or hard feel soft), I think there are comparatively fewer auditory, olfactory, or gustatory illusions to be found on the web. It is common that people "hear something" when they really didn't but I'm not referring to mis-heard or mis-tasted experiences. I'm referring to one sound that should be identifiable as one thing but is indeed another - not unlike the sweet sound of my smokin' hot wife's voice which sounds like a combination of unrelated elements.

I think the lack of these illusions will ultimately result in the demise of the Internet as we know it - that or we will all just grow tired of it one day...

Inter-spection Maven

I reached into the small change pocket of my brand new jeans and pulled out a small piece of paper that read, "23" - of course meaning inspected by our fastidious friend Number 23. This can only mean that there are, at last count, at least 23 different agents whose task it is to look over my jeans and determine if they are well enough made that they are worth the $9.00 I will pay for them at Walmart. These dedicated individuals have a difficult task. I'm not sure I'm detail-oriented enough to look at several pairs of jeans and discern their worth based on expected manufacturing standards.

I wonder if God has genes inspectors who determine if a newly created human is ready for dispatch. I must make a note to remind myself to look around my skin for the supernal equivalent to "23" stamped somewhere. It's probably not viewable...

I love 23's work. Her commitment to detail is reassuring. I suppose I could rifle through all the jeans on the store shelves to find only those products that have passed her scrutiny - just to make sure I'm getting a quality pair of $9 jeans.

Do you think on dyslexic days she goes by the alias "32"? It is conceivable that she may feel "permissive" and let a few things slide. Perhaps she has a couple of different numbers that she uses depending on her mood. She unpredictable that way.

I can almost hear the customer service representative on the other end of a jean quality complaint telephone call: "OK, sir, now slip your finger into the change pocket of your jeans - you aren't wearing them now, are you?!? - and locate the inspector's number...now read me that number so we know who is to blame for this unfortunate stitching incident."

It isn't that I'm obsessed with 23 - I like her for her mind, not her number.

Fresh as a Dazey

Suppose I had a business of making stuff up. I would enjoy that immensely. I make stuff up all the time. My mind continuously makes stuff up. That is not to say that I'm a liar. I just have a vast, open mind filled with junk waiting to be dumped out. No idea where it comes from, no idea how to use it. It just sits. And ripens (or rots depending on the case) and I periodically take the time to empty the trash. Usually in a Facebook status and a subsequent blog. Much like this one.

So, what if I had a headline-generating business, for example? "Trust the caring professionals at 'Head Acres' for all your headline needs. Guaranteed to be pithy, zany, though-provoking, and un-plagiarized. We specialize in alliterations and double-entendre (which in French means two entendres). Never ludicrous or misleading unless that is the intention. Licensed, unbounded and ensured. Your statusfaction guaranteed." (Portmanteau intended)

My real purpose here was to include a portmanteau just to keep everyone off balance. I have a real fascination with things like this. One of my favorite pass-times is trying to figure out why so much of entertainment is so lame. I guess not all movies, tv shows, radio shows, podcasts, songs, and circus extravaganzas can be quality but I'm amazed how many are just plain plain. Mean. Average. I apply the standard that if I could have done an equal to or better job writing/producing/directing and starring in the event then it is, by definition, lame. I dislike J. Lennno for the same reason. 98.4% of his humor is low-brow, dumbed-down, obvious, and un-funny.

He does have lots of cars, though. Perhaps I should re-think this.

Staycation Quotation

OK, so I have a real problem with the portmanteau "staycation." See what I did there? I replaced the part of the word with another word thus changing the meaning. It's a Frankenword. Staycations, if I can use that word from now on without quotations, are a reported way to save money by vacationing close to home. I think in some instances (certainly not my instance) it means to stay in the United States instead of vacationing abroad with a broad, senator.

The issue I have with staycations is that it conjures an image of sitting around my house unshowered in my underpants surfing the net, napping, or surfing the net. The image repulses me (though the activity is strangely alluring). I think it is unfair to call vacationing in another part of the US, and for most Arizona residents this means California, a staycation. It undermines the very reason for vacationing. To vacate. Even if it involves going to Scottsdale and holing up in the Scottsdale Princess Resort for a few days away from it all, it is still a vacation. After all, Germans often come here on vacation.

Who is to say that whenever we get away from the routine it can't be classified as a vacation? I guess the main argument against such classification is that those days when a trip to Fry's Electronics in Tempe is in order would count against the 2-weeks vacation time allotted by employers. Scratch that idea.

So, perhaps using this logic, if it is called a staycation we still have 2-weeks vacation coming to us regardless of how much staycation time we have taken. I'm starting to warm up to the idea.

I think I'll invent a the concept of "straycation." As long as we are inventing words we may as well mutilate the concept as well. A straycation (now I'm just too lazy to use quotes) has the following rules:
1. Set amount of time away
2. No set destination
3. Random amount of gasoline in the car
4. Drive. Exit when you want, turn when you want, drive some more.
5. When the "Low Fuel" indicator light illuminates, stay there.
6. Repeat until arriving somewhere enjoyable and distant.
7. Meet and participate in a community event in the stray location.
8. Find a different way home.

Straycations are intended to perpetuate and simulate the stress imposed by daily life. This way we feel comfortable basking in the joy of pain and don't have to suffer the adverse effects of time off.

What's the use of going to work when you just have to turn around and go back on vacation?

The Joke's on Me

There was an old Saturday Night Live running gag where on Weekend Update they would tell a news story and then follow it up with, "prompting George Steinbrenner to Fire Billy Martin." You see, George fired Billy many times. Rehired him and then fired him again. It's like those people who you hear about who get a divorce and then re-marry the same person again.

It's hard to comprehend but then again easy to understand. We all change in life. We view things differently. We discover that the things that bugged us before don't really bug us anymore. We find out the hard way that the greener grass on the other side of the fence has rodents and spikes in it as well and that our green grass is just fine. So in that sense I accept the notion that the spouse or coach you pitched out in a rage can once again gain favor with you and you can ultimately see fit to re-enter that relationship.

My point is this: the following joke will be made by the end of today by someone else and so I will be the first to record it:

George Steinbrenner died today at the age of 80. His first order of business in heaven: Fire Billy Martin. I don't think that joke is necessarily funny but I wanted to be the first one on record to say it. There will be others but they are all comparative posers.

Oh, and I still dislike Derek Jeeter. And Kobe.

Invective Castigation

Those who really know me understand that this is mostly a joke. I did get caught, though, assisting someone who, as my father-in-law would say, is "not scholarship material." I grew tired of their inability to listen to me but worse, I was helping them with things I had no business being involved with - like advanced domain server configuration for free. As I became more and more frustrated that I had to answer his many uninformed questions I found myself in the midst of what I will call a 'patience deficit' situation. When this happens to me, I usually don't react to it as there is nothing that can be done to help their circumstance. I am not able to, for example, make this difficult task any easier or make them inherently smarter. So, as a result, I feel helpless but none the less resigned to accept it. This character trait makes me good at my job and frustrating to my smokin' hot wife. She'd like to see a little more ire once in a while I'm afraid.

What I hate is when I get thanked for my patience - especially when I'm not being patient. Right in the middle of a sarcastic, snide, cynical, caustic, mocking, irascible comment to an arguably deserving dolt, if said dolt congratulates me for my patience it usually derails my vitriol and I end up calming down and being forced toward rationality. Just as I sink my teeth into a juicy diatribe with the intent of making the recipient feel 'like a penny waiting for change,' (Thanks Papa Woods for the colloquialism) I get dipped in a figurative icy depth.

Where's the delicious satisfaction in that?

Fluorescent Camo

The blind, cold-blooded scorpion, Lester, kicks back in the heat for a few hours. He can tell when it is day because he can feel the rejuvenating sunlight warming his body. Back from a day of harvesting and sunning, he engages in a quick chat with a few of his buddies. "I've seen things you critters wouldn't believe," he says. "Well, 'seen' is a little strong a word as we're all blind, but you get my point." The wife strolls through with 70 babies on her back. She don't mind.

"Yep," Lester says, "sensed another human today. I try to hold still and blend in to the wood I'm standing on. The block fence we live in is brown so the story goes. When I'm on that thing ain't nobody can see me even in broad daylight - not that I have a concept of that."

"Lester," a sheepish voice from the buddy corp chimes in, "you still sound sore that our species lacks vision. We have shape-shifting bodies, exoskeleton, and the most awesome stinger and it's filled with poison to boot. Yet all you can talk about is how you can't see. What's so great about seeing anyway? Are you a visual varmint? How would you know if you were? So why the constant complaint about sight? I don't get it."

Lester seems more indignant than before and boasts, "...so I evade humans with the best of them even though they can see and I can't. I blend in. Nothing to see here, I'm just a stick and a leaf. Move along little giant human. What's that? I what? Be careful at night? Why? I frickin' glow in black light? You've got to be KIDDING me!"

Earth Tones

Before the introduction of this poisonous gas called oxygen, the Earth would have appeared green from outer space. To this I say, "Thank you, oxygen!" I would hate to clash with the other heavenly bodies in our solar system. Green Earth and orange Mars just sounds like a bad 70's shag carpet. And given the yellow Sun if Earth were green we would have to call it the LemonLime System - which is just wimpy!

Rabid Chipmunk

When I was growing up we were forced to be afraid of dog bites (or rat bites, or bat bites, or bites from a crazed, rabid chipmunk, etc.) because these animals were all known to have rabies. Now, I've not done a study to find out how true this is - mainly because I'm too scared - but it can't be as widespread as we were lead to believe by the neighborhood fraidy-cats (also known by their pseudonym scardey-cats). I wonder if fraidy-cats have rabies too.

What if rabies were carcinogenic? "Well, sir, I have good news and bad news," the doctor would say. "The good news is that the 30 shots in your eyeball (or stomach depending on which neighborhood you grew up in) seems to have cured your rabies. The bad news is that rabies causes cancer in laboratory rats. Shall I pour you up a Chemo-cocktail now or wait for symptoms?"

We were told that the cure for rabies is 30 shots in various parts of the body. Essentially, there isn't a cure as I've come to find out. Rabies is a virus. We can't kill them without killing the host. But as kids we were convinced that 30 shots was the answer. And by the way, why in the world did we believe that? What can they do with 30 shots that they can't do with one REALLY BIG shot? Or, is the elemental mixture of chemicals so delicate as to not be allowed to come in contact with each other outside the host? Why is it OK inside the host? Who knows. Whether it was in the eyeball, in the stomach, or under the fingernails, I was committed to avoiding the treatment for rabies altogether.

Now if I can just cast out the demons associated with a fictitious crab-like creature called a 'Lotus' that lived across the street from my cousin's house in Phoenix I would be fairly well adjusted. Wow, I was really scared of that thing.

The Making of...

Facebook | Jeff Crandall

Movieland Bucketlist #22: Blinded by the light, I pull my way to freedom. The lines on my face are deep and unfamiliar. The only time I saw my reflection in the last 27 years was in a pool of sweat on the stone prison floor. To escape, I wove a rope from the hair I found in my food, or that which I was able to harvest from passing rats. I can't decide what I missed more: Mexican food or movie-house popcorn..."

The making of Movieland Bucketlist #22. I have long been a fan of movies. I think there are quite a few things that happen in movies that I would like to do: run on top of a moving train, slide in the mud down a long hill into a ravine, or kiss my smokin' hot wife just before exiting the gondola, skiing down the Swiss Alps with my AK-47 in hand spraying bad guys with a shower of bullets, and then slide on in to the lodge where I order up a hot chocolate with those little miniature marshmallows on top only to be greeted by my arch nemesis holding a mug and a Glock. Fortunately my smokin' hot wife emerges from the other door and takes Ms. Nemesis out and I manage to catch the mug without spilling a drop.

So, #22 starts out with me in prison harvesting any material available to weave a rope that I can use to escape. After wrongfully being incarcerated for 27 years I can think of so many other things that would be important to me that the two most trivial things - Mexican food and popcorn - seem ridiculously appropriate thereby amusing to me.

I often write things just to amuse myself.

You Spin Me Right Round

I've decided I won't be doing anything "for the record" anymore. I've heard too many people who pontificate endlessly about nothing but when they really want to be serious or really make a point, they way, "...for the record." This puts the recorder on notice that not only is next thought important, but the last 20 minutes is completely forgettable. This can be handy in denial. This goes along with the phrase, "I mean it!" As soon as someone says, "I mean it," I immediately wonder whether they did not mean anything else they have said.

And if anyone says "...for the record" to me, I'm going to have to inform them that I am not keeping any records either. Beyond the record loosely kept in my head, no official record of their 'for the record' will be kept and reference back to that will be suspect. I have yet to join in a conversation where the other person reminded me that they went on record as having said or meant something. I consider this unfair anyway because they did not witness me writing anything down.

And by the way, where is the proverbial "permanent record" we were all threatened with when we were in elementary school. Too often others have access to it and that berry fight comes back to haunt me again.

Does this Space Shuttle make me look fat?

What if astronauts could take a friend? As an astronaut you are granted a buddy pass. "Hey, dude, I'm going to the moon, wanna come with?" I can see astronauts passing all the physicals, all the rigorous testing, all the mental, physical, and emotional screening and then when they finally complete the process, the only thing they can think to do is invite their buddies to join in on the success. Oh the Astro-Frat parties that they would throw in the name of achievement. "Look at me, I'm an astronaut. And by the way, while I'm orbiting Earth don't think I won't be creating a little moonlight of my own out the window. "Endeavor this!"

Or better yet, "Hey, babe, there's room in this capsule for one more..." Although this sounds nice, I'm sure I'd ask a self-conscious girl, "No way," she'd say, "what if I get up there and everyone else is weightless EXCEPT ME?!?" Heh, pickup lines from an astronaut don't really have to be all that clever. "You are out of this world..." or "Want to take a ride in my rocket? We'll have a blast..." or "Sure you have to, but those space suits are slimming so no worries."

If it is our goal to one day inhabit space, we've got to start taking out civilians and test some of the gear on "end users." That way we know if they have been designed for the masses or just for the few highly skilled casanovastronauts.

Strained Peas

I remember hearing a song with my dad once and naming the band. We must have been in a store or something - I don't think I was somewhere "tuning out" with my dad. "It's The Cure," I said, "I really like them." His reply was classic, "They are called 'Penicillin'?" For the young whipper-snappers that is what they used to call penicillin back in the day because once it was discovered it could cure anything. They didn't know that my smokin' hot wife would be allergic to it.

What frightens me is some day I will also be trapped into references so ancient that nobody remembers them anymore. "Where's the beef," I'll ask with a knowing grin to which they will reply, "Gramps, it's blended in with your strained peas."

Growing old is bittersweet.

Updated Statuseses Last Entry

From now on I will post in both placed.

Oromaxillofacial surgeons correct a wide spectrum of diseases, injuries and defects in the head, neck, face, jaws. I think we should adopt this naming convention for every job where we list every job function right in the title. It may be hazardous for some jobs, though. Citysitonmybuttdrivingagovernmenttrucknappingoccasionallyandworkonceinawhile Worker becomes a little difficult to fit on a business card.

I say we come up with derogatory terms for everything and use those words all the time. That way we become desensatized to them. This way nobody ever takes offense at them ever again. Political correctness becomes a thing of the past. I call this the "Sneetch" Principal. Haiku topics: The Thrill of Victory -or- The Agony of Defeat.

In the wake of the pest control guy, there is a litany of entymological corpses on my office floor that would horrify even the most casual Ahimsa practitioner.

I hope my haircut scabs over pretty soon. Note to self: 1) you shouldn't have to heal from a haircut, and B) I should consider paying more than $7 for said haircut. Maybe those two realizations are related.

In certain circles, squares angle for power. Me? I prefer dodecahedrons. This explains why my smoking' hot wife and I may not have chemistry but we certainly have geometry. Our love is somewhere between a cyclic quadrilateral and a spherical polygon.

Randomizing music is a Janusian beast - one moment bringing uncanny delight and the next vexing with esoteric hatred. I think right after Mike Jackson died he was granted the ability to control the randomizer function of my iPod as I heard more MJ then than ever before - although this may be the phenomenon that happens after you buy a new car and then start seeing the same model on the road constantly...

24 years ago today 1 + 1 = 1. I love you my smokin' hot wife! Happy Anniversary - you deserve better but you're stuck with me for at least 24 more. According to Wikipedia (which cannot be wrong) 24th anniversary is "Opal." I'll wait for next year as silver seems more legit...

So: All too often I see the odd soccer/football/basketball/spelling bee player gesture toward the sky with hands pressed together in "prayer" fashion praising a higher power for their ability to succeed. My issue is not the gesture but the direction. Say an American, an Australian, and a Mongolian cribbage player simultaneously achieve greatness and simultaneously point upward. Which one hits their target?

So: If you live in the Phoenix Metro area you know that it will be 110 degrees today. My issue is not the temperature but the disgust smokers have for their own smoke. Even though it is 110 outside, I see smokers with their window down hanging the cig. outside in an apparent attempt to air out their car. I suppose there are other reasons to roll down the window in inclement weather as well..

Time to Dance

I have redirected martiansummer.com to my blog. This somehow completes me and makes me official. Now, when you need to read and subsequently scratch your head in confusion, you'll be able to go to www.martiansummer.com to access this. Martian Summer comes from a song by Johnny Warman. I have the LP of this song but have not digitized it yet. Maybe I can find it somewhere. The tag line of my blog is from that song.

Anyway, I will attend to this blog and update it whenever I update my status on FB - which is nearly every day.

Secret Hidden

Denied self? Perhaps.

Yet they gaze.

Who is to judge? All.

The purpose of deceit

To cloud the real

To manage the judge

To fool them. All.

No deficiencies.

Nothing authentic

naught of shame.

Surface bliss and control

Portrays the hider

Physical limits

Emotional scars

The deep and dark

All would misunderstand

There is no turmoil

Churning here

None for All to see

But why to guard?

Avoid derision?

Dawn the Secret armor

Stay safe and shallow

and protected from All.

Comfort lies hidden

Unexposed.

Shielded from the divisive

Who plot to use

The naked truth

To supplement pain.

All unconcerned

With tender things

That breed feelings

the hiders harbor and

strenuously obscure

Better to bury

Disguise the flaws

Unseen and undetected

The glossy glint

The surface will suffice

Hazard lurks as All observe

Smooth skin without ripple

And so infer

their own dark

Fallacious parade

A book's cover

pages unread.

Sealed from harm

The dog-eared truth

locked, secret, safe.

Hidden from All.

I Heard You

Listening is an art. Or a science. Or whatever we should label it to make it seem harder or more of a craft than it is. It seems to be particularly important to the ladies. I get that. They want to be heard. I want to listen. It just isn't that simple. I guess I'm not an artist. Or a scientist. It's not that I'm flexing my anti-listening muscles! Think of it more in terms of being in 'listen neutral.'

I can hear, but to engage focus and actually process that which is being heard takes action. More than likely what you are saying is interesting to me. That alone doesn't shift my listening into drive. My smokin' hot wife says she can SEE when I'm listening. Great! Now I can't even pretend... The other day SHW actually watched me as I was working on a project on the computer. As she told me a story I would periodically look her way. After a while, she informed me that she could actually see it on my face - the 'listening' would kick in. I was told in 3rd grade that focusing so hard on [whatever - then it was reading a book] demonstrates a keen ability to concentrate.

This is now, however, seen as a weakness - the inability to 'multitask.' Oh well, can't win.

Fission Police

Fashion? Fission? Fusion? Who knows?

The fashion-police pukes are at it again: My smokin' hot wife bought a brown old-school wool sweater-vest with great texture. One of the pukes who periodically wonders our house claiming to be our daughter's friend said that it looks like it's made of eyebrows. Pretty funny - especially for a formerly welcome puke. (Definition: puke = male teenager whose life expectancy drops as he enters my house)The puke had occasion to be in my house answering my daughter - she asked him to Winter Formal. He filled her room with balloons. She had to pop them all to find the one with his pic inside that had a cartoon balloon over his head saying, "Yes." Not bad considering how long it takes to fill balloons. With hot air. Puke air.

I don't mind that my girls have experience with boys. I just know what they are thinking and I know how little control they have over their thoughts and feelings. They barely understand them. And the testosterone pounds so loudly in their ears as to drown out any possibility of emerging from non-pukehood. They won't be able to surface from their brains being awash with hormones for several years.

Kinda makes you feel sorry for them, doesn't it? Like a rat, caught in a trap.

Or

Static at first, then it tunes in.

Country?!? Of all the...

If I would have known

would it change my choice?

I already counted back

seems I got too far.

Should I be able to hear?

Clinking. A woman's voice.

Not the master. Stronger.

Sounds official but

why can I hear.

It's a given, I know.

That and smell.

Both are gifts

I wish were taken.

Scratching, cutting, scraping.

Should have chewed them off.

Can't scream, growl, or whimper.

Why can I hear?

Not the Country, the cutting.

And the laughing.

No sensation of cold

yet I feel chill.

I sensed his confidence.

That's why I didn't bite.

No I'm not so sure.

More cutting, I feel it.

Why can I feel?

I wish it were a dream.

Or nightmare from which

I could wake

and stop feeling

and stop smelling

and stop hearing

This should have been easier.

Status Update

Sorry - never duplicated these here - here they come...

Why do I feel like I need to adopt another language? I have multiple forms of communication at my disposal now but my second language doesn't get used all that often. So, I think I'll take up Spanish or sign language only because this whole blink-once-for-yes-and-twice-for-no thing, while not particularly difficult to learn, is a little limiting.

We spend 1/3 of our lives sleeping. 8 hours in 24. I did the math. So, I was thinking, what if you could do all your sleeping at once. Would you do it? Think of the productivity you could generate the other 2/3 of your life if you could get sleep out of the way. (That would be one NASTY drool pool) If 1/3 is right, then when you woke up you would know when you were going to die: (Days asleep X 2) = Days left. Party!

Great! I just heard that in 2 billion years the oceans will dry up and in 5 billion more years the sun will turn into a Red Giant and 4 pulses later will swallow up the Earth. Don't worry, the sun will eventually shrink to a much smaller size and cool down significantly. To be fair, I knew these things before I just didn't know they would be happening so soon. I'm just not ready yet.

Cold-blooded Carl sits calmly in the cool water waiting. Without really realizing it he looks to his right and to his left and sees tiny bubbles begin to form. His warming surroundings take the chill off his normally clammy green skin. As the bubbles become violent and the ambient temperature soars, Carl cooks. Me? I'm the angel on his little froggy shoulder that should have told him to jump out of the pot sooner.

Have you ever tried to count the number of sounds you can make with your mouth? If not, let me know. I'll come over with my camcorder and you can start exploring. Before my international tour I would never have believed that language and culture bind and restrict your ability to make certain sounds. Tom Brokaw can't say the letter "L" for crying out loud...

Hmmm. Yet another daughter turns 16 - I get closer and closer to having to beat down unsuspecting pukes whose testosterone-laden existence I may have to cut short at any time as a direct result of the thoughts passing through their pea-brain little heads that might as well be broadcast on a diamond-vision sandwich-board strapped around their necks professing their intentions. It's visible.

My dad had a saying for whiners, "You'd complain if you were hung with a new rope." For a tough choice he would say, "It's a case of being shot or hung." As I get older I notice lots of things about me that remind me of my dad. Does this mean all my idioms will deteriorate toward the macabre with rope as the subject matter?

It only takes a second to see if a clock is working.

I have always been curious why in an attempt to dignify, glorify, honor and/or exalt an oncoming guest, the host, MC, or person conducting will put Mr., Mrs., Ms., or Miss in front of the guest's name. This is the best we can do? "Ladies and gentlemen, without further adieu, we present the one, the only, Misssssster Marilyn Manson!" The Britts do this too - it ain't just us. How does "Mr." adequately reflect status?

Ask a kid to name a pet - you get an enthusiastic list, "Skipper! Squirty! Rascal! Camshaft!" Ask an adult to name a pet - you get, "...hmmm, it has to be a good name. And one that fits. Hmmm, I'll be judged by how cool the name is. I'm worried that it won't learn its name. Fido? Overused. Spot? Ordinary. Sgt. Pepper? Too Beatle-y." I have a friend whose mule's name is Maude. That fits and I've never seen it.

Do I think Facebook will revolutionize human socialization? Not really. Do I think Facebook as a fad will become passé as users seek more fulfilling activities? Maybe. Am I supremely annoyed by people who ask questions and immediately answer themselves in what must be an exercise is succinctness avoidance rather than speaking with conventional clarity? Yup.

Communicators: it is unnecessary when speaking to native English speakers to follow the word 'billion' with the clarifying phrase, "...that's billion with a 'b.'" We are able to discern the 'm' in 'million' and 'z' in 'zillion' as being different from the 'b' in billion. And yes, we're impressed that it is a billion. I

I have decided to start compiling regrets rather than setting goals. The regrets seem to stay with me long after I've given up a goal. My first regret is that I never got the chance to play guitar in an 80's hair band while wearing red pants and riding on the hood of a car in the music video. Sure, I could do it now, but what would be the point?

We often alter what we say to others based on their profession. We conjure a professional filter through which all communication must pass, i.e., Comedian (what I say better be funny), Psychologist (better not reveal too much), Hypnotist (guard against brain control), Professor (gotta sound smart), Dog Catcher (Arf). Too bad I don't cause a more profound filter - it's usually, "Well, I'm computer illiterate so..."

1) Are actors just really believable liars? Do you feel lied-to when you watch an actor who is very convincing? 2) I think the reason people lie is a result of laziness or embarrassment. It is much harder to figure out a creative way to explain the knee injury rather than admit to a freak sofa-related accident. Armchairs can be treacherous.

Picture the situation if the Operators of this Matrix we call life suddenly disengaged the 'car' subroutine causing every vehicle on earth to instantaneously disappear. On any given street, before the skidding, screaming and road rash happened there would be lines of people flying through the air in the sitting position.

Is it the single-most blowhard indicator to refer to oneself in print as "this XXXXXXX" where XXXXXXX is the author's literary title or is it just a strange attempt to avoid using "I" or "me." Example: "It appears to this reporter..." or "...when this writer worked there." My problem is filling in the XXXXXX blank: "this Facebook hack" or "this wisecracking moron" or "this nonsensical wordsmith."

A nose by any other name...

The 'cheap seats' are sometimes referred to by the colloquialism 'nosebleed seats' in reference to their hemorrhage-causing altitude and relative distance from the speaker/players/singer/quick-change artist. So, let's start our own colloquialism for the expensive seats while keeping with the nose theme. We'll call them the 'nosehair seats' as that is the unfortunate view you have from up that close.

Most of the time, when seeking nosehair seats (notice there is no quotes around that phrase...caught on fast, didn't it?) you fail to realize that this will be the consequence. You pay extra, wrestle others who have similarly expendible cash/are as ambition free as you are, and blow your savings on seats that end up being enveloped into a mosh pit. Sorry, did I sound bitter? Not that this is from any specific incident where I ended up tossing an elbow into the chest of what I hope was an at-least-18-year-old kid.

I'll watch it on the big screen next time.

Smartypants

Lesson learned today at the airport: The "Einstein" in Einstein's Bagels is not a reflection of or a commentary on the caliber of staff employed there. "Not scholarship material," as my father-in-law the college professor would say. I think Albert would be so mad about the geniuses working at his namesake bagel shop that his hair would fray...

While I am not one to poke fun at those less endowed mentally, I do have to say that if all you do all day is sell bagels and drinks, you should be able to handle just about any order that is thrown at you by the general public. It's not like I introduced extra change at you at the wrong time during the transaction or spoke in a foreign tongue...

Tomato

Fed up with croissant, entendre, je ne sais quoi, etc. I kill myself trying to pronounce them correctly. I'm not being a stupid, uneducated American devoid of extra-language skills. I've semi-silently listened to all of you mispronounce harakiri (Harry Cary), kamikaze (Comma Cause-ie), and karate (KUH-RAW-TEE) for many years. But if the French pronunciations are required, then all languages should be. Nuff sed.

Not nearly enough it turns out...just kidding. I just feel really silly saying croissant. I say it 'crescent' and feel good about it. No need to get silly and demand all the strange diphthongs and fancy endings foreign to English. Unfortunately, Japanese is easier to pronounce since they don't even use all of the sounds English uses. When using a subset of sounds, it seems like there would be an easier road to pronunciation perfection.

iFone 3G(S) XLT M-Class

Planned obsolescence is the process of a product becoming obsolete and/or non-functional after a certain period that is planned or designed by the manufacturer. While this sounds like my body, it's more like my new iPhone - I'm sure GEN3 will be paper-thin, be able to project a feature-length movie on an IMAX screen, and be powered by a combination of friction and lint naturally occurring in my front pants pocket.

I love this phone - but as sure as last year's make and model of car is somehow all-of-a-sudden ugly, this thing will be replaced by a better, sleeker, faster, more desirable model. I think it would be responsible of the manufacturers to just go ahead and make these phones as fast, cool, and stylish as will ever be possible. That way my phone will never look like a Chevette.

Slip into Silent Slumber

Randy Gardner holds the scientifically documented record for the longest period of time a human being has intentionally gone without sleep not using stimulants of any kind - 264 hours (11 days). I believe parents set 'undocumented' records of this nature all the time - especially when their kids go to the midnight showing of "Harry Potter and the Cellar of Souls" or was it the 'Goblet of Money' or 'Prison of Pesos.'

I don't know Randy Gardner but he was 17 years old when he set this record. I tend to think that at 17 I probably could have done the same thing - although at that age nothing held my attention for 3 days, let alone 11. I also got a kick out of the fact that Randy broke the previous record of 260 hours - by 4 hours. Nicely done. I think I may have tried to shatter the record. This is not a record I would like to attempt over and over and if someone was able to go 260 hours and I only added 4 more I would be instantly threatened with defeat - watching insomniac after insomniac attempt to beat my record.

I think that would keep me up nights.

I remember sleeping. I remember enjoying sleeping. I don't ever remember a time when I could not fall asleep easily. I was in San Antonio with my dad one time - we were teaching a training class. The night before the class we decided to attend the Imax presentation of the Alamo near the Alamo. Pretty cool. The best part was that it was a double-feature. My dad seemed tired and actually SLEPT during the Alamo movie - gunfights and cannons not withstanding. When the lights came up and we were waiting for the second feature I told my dad that it was then that he should be sleeping. He said, "...you're right," and bowed his head and literally one breath later he was asleep. Now that's a gift. Sleep anywhere. Sleep anytime. Sleep on command. Nice!

Fun Sway

I was reminded yesterday that we used to consider breaking into people's houses, vacuuming the carpet and rearranging their furniture. We wondered if we could be arrested. Aside from the obvious trespassing I think the only other crime we would commit is a violation of the laws of the natural order of feng shui.

We literally thought of things we could do that seemed like crimes but were not. Break in and leave a $20 on the counter. I don't know where this came from but then again my friends and I were deep-thinking, considerate, cautious people who were not prone to spurious thought.

I was reminded of this line of thinking by Mer who sent me this year's Darwin Awards. They were exceptional - this one that triggered my memory was the one where a guy went into a convenience store and put a $20 on the counter and asked for change. When the clerk opened the register he demanded the money. He rushed out with the stolen cash but left his $20 - the stolen cash totalled $15. So the question was posed - if you leave money, is a crime committed? Too funny.

I'm sure there are other random acts of kindness that can be perpetrated on the public at large with similar consequences. Weird how that was a funny thought we had so many years ago.

Pyracantha Pounding

Corporal punishment is the deliberate infliction of pain intended to discipline or reform a wrongdoer or change a person's bad attitude and/or bad behavior. I define it as my 6th grade teacher Mr. Fernandez (inflictor) smacking me (wrongdoer) with a wooden paddle that had holes drilled in it for improved aerodynamics. And all that for innocently participating in a pyracantha berry war. He broke that paddle on me.

And by the way, who plants pyracantha bushes in an elementary school anyway? Bunches of ripe, round, red amunition, er, um, berries fill these plants several times a semester just daring us to pick them and throw them (after trying to eat one - they do look like tiny little apples, after all - gag) at each other. They make a significant mess as they are sorta soft and smushy and stick to Keds.

I remember after a particularly involved pyracantha berry war we looked around the battlefield to see spent ordinance everywhere. As good citizens would do, we at least kicked them off the sidewalk and onto the playground. That didn't seem enough of a philanthorpic gesture to Mr. Fernandez to stay his hand. He lined us up in front of the class and gave us each a whoopin'. Funny, as I recall, there was one girl involved in the fray who received one gentle swat. I'm sure she couldn't see the circles from the holes in the board on her hind end that night like I could.

Chicken Mentor

SAT question: Q. Emeral Legasse is to kitchen mentor as Colonel Sanders is to ________ ________. A. chicken torment. I didn’t realize flip-flopping syllables was so much fun until many years ago when a non-native speaker told me he had two chickens in his house – he meant kitchens. It was strange to me that the chicken/kitchen conundrum had never occurred to me. Not that I’m pidstu…

I get that torment /mentor is cheating a little - what with the 'T' being used twice - also, I get the folly of the comparative where one is a title of a person and one is an act but this isn’t a real SAT question to be challenged for validity so let’s move past all that. We're all about breaking the rules here at ByteBlog. I still think it is funny that words I have literally known since I could speak would become interesting because the flippage of them had never occurred to me. I’m far too lazy to think of others right now which is sorta the reason I haven’t written about this before – or maybe it is just that it never occurred to me to blog about something so inane.

I did think of butthead/headbutt but that one is really obvious. I am convinced that more of these will naturally occur to me as life accumulates. I heard torment the other day and it flipped voluntarily in my head – much to my delight. I heard about the chicken/kitchen one literally 28 years ago in Japan. The guy who told me this was an English teacher at the high school which meant his English was only rotten, not atrocious. It was actually quite good, but not near idiom-level of understanding (although I’ve spoken to many folks who aren’t at idiom-level of understanding as a native speaker…). But because he studied English, and must have some affinity for it, I can see how this could happen to him being an inept speaker of a foreign language myself.

This phenomenon cannot be broadened to include the joke format: What’s the difference between a boxer and man with a cold? One blows his nose and the other knows his blows. This is a broader format consisting of a phrase that flips – a much less amusing occurrence. Word flipping? Now that’s entertainment.

Believe You Me

So I often get caught off guard by people whose interests, thoughts and reactions are different from mine. Well, it seems the arguments most often stem from one of the big 3 – religion, politics, or programming language. Fierce battles rage among committed zealots trying to establish their supremacy or justify their convictions. I just think they are wrong if their misguided thinking or belief systems disagree with my perfect, humble take on life. We are lucky to have so many who work so hard to defend their stance. It causes me such amusement.

I love the way many over-the-top enthusiasts emphatically thrust their own beliefs on others as if to assume they are able to superimpose their will on everyone else. While I hold my own opinions and beliefs it is rare that I force others to wear them. I am happy to state my opinions, and I am strong in my beliefs. Just ask me. I’m not shy about extolling their virtues. But it is strange to me that there are many who would do harm or seek to destroy others who do not agree with them. However, it is funny to me to watch programmers fight – there seems to be more disgust and assumption of ignorance on both sides of that war. I love it.

They are all just wrong. Am I wrong? No.

Gel-ous

I thought our naturally occurring deposits of gel and hairspray were depleted in the '80s. I think the Flock of Seaguls band single-handedly consumed the majority of it and in large part caused the shortage. Yet somehow we have managed to find more. We must have found an alternative source as I see more and more gel products. Gel is now found in everything from hair to shoes to cell-phone cozies. My daughters have 'Gel-ies' which I pronounce and write 'Jellies' that somehow passes as footwear. Arch support not withstanding, (or not considered) I think the artificial substitute for the good ol' gel we used to know from our childhood will never return. The new-fangled gel is much less viscus, and much more 'sticky-plastic' like. Do you know how many polymers it takes to make just one little Winnie-the-Pooh breakfast spoon rider?

What's next? Three-piece gel suits with matching vest and fob pockets? Day-glow gel weapons that slap and tear. Can't imagine gel ammo but it may be next. I love the thought of a beanbag gun, but a gel-firing pump-action sawed-off shotgun just seems wimpy. The sticky, stretchy gel that acts like snot can be used as a weapon I suppose - like the frog toy with gel tongue that you swing and it sticks to the wall. Handy in an alley fight. With nun-chuck-like percision (which isn't very precise for most of us) we could wield the Frog-tongue Fighter. Oh, wouldn't the ladies swoon as you whip that thing out to defend their honor.

I get that gel is fun. I concede that gel in hair is often necessary. I count on gel for a comfortable ride on my bike and a comfortable fall for my cell phone. I just think the all-too-broad definition of 'gel' is what I have a problem with. In the name of simplicity we have relegated anything remotely resembling (and sometimes not at all resembling) jello to being called gel. It has been deemed the dominant substance of the 21st century by byteblog.blogspot.com - and if it is on the Internet, it MUST be true...

PB and J

Peanut butter (chunky Jif) spread so thick you need a shackle knife, apple jelly chiseled out and neatly spread on 3 slices of bread - the middle piece keeping order between the unruly peanut butter and its jelly nemesis. Washed down with ice-cold milk one degree warmer than a slurpee so as not to incur brainfreeze. Perfection!

Movieland Bucklist #5

The chief screams something about being a rogue cop and demands my badge. I surrender my weapons (2 guns, knife, nun-chucks, a machete from my pant leg), slide them slowly across his desk, and leave. I turn back to get the lunch my smokin' hot wife made for me when the building explodes blowing me into the street. Great! I have to spend the rest of the movie hungry with smudgy blast-face!

Past Facebook Stati

For NON-Facebookers, here have been my stati for the past several months. From now on I will post both places with more explanation here. That way I won't be limited to the few characters provided by Facebook status.

Stati II

Q. Who designates official 'days?' A. Julius Sterling Morton, who designated 'Arbor Day.' Since he died in 1902 I decided to become the self-proclaimed Day Designator. I think today will be designated, "Throw that piece-of-junk lawnmower away and get a good one" day. (observed) I think the 'week' and 'month' people were just greedy. Don't you think a day is enough? Maybe not for "Get Organized Month" - PARTY!

That that is, is. That that is not, is not. That that is is not that that is not. That that is not is not that that is. I'll have one with, one without, two with both, and one with each.

Do you ever get a hankerin' for the good ol' days when waddys could hornswoggle fellers, put a whoopin' on 'em, or call 'em varmits and they'd still belly up and paint their nose together? The gallows was always handy fer a necktie party to string up the gaddabouts and ne'r-do-wells and ifn that didn't work, order was generally maintained with Old Bessy on yer hip. Fancy meant sup'm differnt back then...

I miss "The Tick." Nobody else handed out a steaming hot cup of justice quite like him. I raise my antennae in your honor, Tick. Spoon!

SR:NOT a Gila Monster - although I'd love to see one of those. BN: Very Funny! HE: So who invited these critters to invade our garage space? CS: Should have caught it and ridden it or given it to Isaac - oh, wait, he would feed Kaleb to it. HG: NOOOOOOOOOOO. The tail is best grilled with chipotle and lemon. And it grows back so it's kinda like having a garden of meat.

She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She

Suspended animation is the slowing of life processes by external means without termination. Cryogenics does NOT fit in this category since death and reanimation are required. What I find poetic is that Walt Disney is reportedly cryogenically frozen. That joke writes itself, "Old cartoonists never die, they just suspend animation." I think they keep 'Frosty Walt' on display in the Haunted Mansion somewhere.

I am decidedly ignorant on a number of topics. But since zero is a number, I'm ignorant of nothing. You may call me Captain Zero if you wish. "Jeff, what's on your mind?" Nothing.

It's like my father-in-law says each time he takes out the trash: Garbage is my life - and my life is garbage. Quotable stuff!

I got to the end of the Internet today. I looked over the edge. Just as I suspected - Elvis, ET and Jimmy Hoffa were playing cards at a green felt table. I ducked before they saw me - electronically, of course.

I have two friends who nearly beat each other to death after an argument as to whether you can truly be '______ and a half' years old. Yep. Great wars have been caused by less. Good thing my smokin' hot wife doesn't get the half thing. Most '...half' things are derogatory. Half-wit, half-pint, half-baked, half-cocked, half-truth, half-asked (or at least that is what I though it was when my dad yelled it at me...)

A posthumous recognition is a ceremonial award given after the recipient has died. We all make the assumption that the recognition given is for something done while they were alive. Not so fast. I'm sure if you asked a medium they would tell you that plenty of great acts are done by dead people - there's just nobody to attend the award show. Yikes! What would that red carpet look like? Bonus question: why is it red?

Eye to eye. Tet a tet. (Head to head) Mano a mano. (Hand to hand). Arm in arm. Toe to toe. Nose to nose. Back to back. Shoulder to shoulder. Cheek to cheek. Clavicle to clavicle. Really!?!? Did I leave any body parts out? I'm calling this Siamese language. I have one thing to say: BACK OFF, man! Mind the man-bubble. (This message is intended for everyone except my smokin' hot wife.)

Is frenzy a small friend? Or a group of small friends? Or a small group of friends? When my mom used to talk about "feeding frenzy" she was feeding my friends but it never occurred to me that she might be referring to my friends and not our method of eating.

I should write the SAT test questions: #1 - Hooker is to Fisherman as Popper is to ____________. #2 - A train heading south leaves New York at 2pm traveling at 78mph and a train leaves Philadelphia heading north at 105mph at 3pm. They are on the same track. Where do you set up your ultra-high speed super slow-motion camera to get the best footage of this epic, colossal collision. Bonus: who wins?

Theme park synopsis: Pay WAY too much to get in, eat something that is WAY too nasty, WAY too expensive, and unnaturally colored, use bathrooms that are WAY too dirty and then ride WAY fun roller coasters that beat your body to a pulp. The people-watching is worth every cent. I now know that to fit in I need pink, faux-hawk hair, some sort of tattoo, and britches that sag but somehow don't fall off.

By now, we were supposed to have small Cessna-brand Flitepax that propelled us from here to Wendy's to buy a Frosty and back instantaneously. We were supposed to have picture phones, too. All too often I hear someone say, "...they can put a man on the moon, but they can't make a bicycle seat that doesn't cause nerve damage or an ice cream cone that doesn't leak." When will the suffering end?

Some words are just better with an echo. Given, the word shampoo is good in and of itself, but you have to admit that sham-sham poo-poo is just better. I feel this way about Amsterdam as well. I have a friend who named his kid based on how it sounded en-echoed. OK, maybe that wasn't the only consideration, but it is SOLID. Jake jake jake Fox fox fox!

Bawitdaba-da bang-da-bang-diggy-diggy-diggy Said the boogie-said up jump the boogie Bawitdaba-da bang-da-dang-diggy-diggy-diggy Said the boogie-said up drop the boogie. It's the nuance of 'jump' the boogie -vs- 'drop' the boogie that intrigues me.

People who are engaged (engagged) are FREAKS OF NATURE - they are neither married, nor single and because they are in this foreign state they don't really know how to act. I think there should be a special island of seclusion somewhere (ok, an ugly island, to be fair) that keeps 'gaggers' away from the rest of us normal people.

Is it me or is everyone around me getting smarter? I see others who are faster, sharper, and better-looking with more capacity than I have. And random just doesn't seem very, well, random anymore. I don't know what I'm searching for but it gets harder and harder to find it. I must really be getting old. ******Sorry, just channeled the thoughts of my iPod for a second - I think it needs therapy.

A friend of mine got a '68 Thunderbird - perfectly restored. At first I was amazed because it looked really good, then I got in. WHAT?!?!?!?! No int. wipers, no cruise? This is just old. I got out and exclaimed that I can't ride in an antique relic with no seat belts or air conditioning even if they weren't invented when the car was. I guess I have no appreciation of the finer (read: older) things of life.

I'm a little bugged - we're approaching 2010 but we still say two thousand ten. Should be "twenty ten." I think it will naturally happen in 2011 because eleven has so many syllables. I mean, really, who would say two thousand and eleven? And how will we refer to this decade? We had the '80s, the 90's, and now the, um, aughts? I can't wait to say, "...I remember back in aught 6." Oh yes, I will say that one day...

Movieland Bucketlist Item #4: I stand in the mud, in the rain, in my underpants with my rifle held over my head as the Drill Sargent screams non-obscenities like 'maggot' in my face. I grin as the scene changes behind me to reveal the oncoming aliens. I spin around cutting them down with the orange Rego-plasma quark-beam that's standard issue these days. I take the extra time to sign my name in the smolder...

I think I get dumber every time I introduce extra coins late in the retail purchase transaction to make the change come out evenly only to garner the "...why did you do that to me?" OR "...you already gave me enough," OR "...I already pushed the button-thingie," look they get on their faces. I never do this on purpose but I love that reaction.

Kleenex should be spelled Klee-dex because that is how you say it right before you use one. "I deed a Kleedex." I think they should put facts or trivia on each sheet. That way we would 'know before we blow.' Hey, does he have 'street-smarts?' Nope, he has 'snot-smarts.'

Lunatic fringe is a pejorative term used to characterize members of a usually political or social movement espousing extreme, eccentric, or fanatical views. I define it as the edges of food people eat that they shouldn't - like watermelon rind, OR the efforts people make to remove parts of food they SHOULD eat - like crusts of a peanut butter sandwich, potato skins or orange juice pulp.

So why is it that if you look at a word long enough it A) looks like it's misspelled, and B) looks like it is not of your language. The word noises was the latest word to morphtate on me. It looks French. I can imagine that if someone were watching me stare at the word noises they would attempt to put me away with a drool can. Oh, shoot, drool just morphtated.

I think I need a nickname! Something cool like King Biscuit Skeletorous or Ed. My smokin' hot wife needs one too. I'm thinking Zanadu Angel Wing or Jenny. We usually just call each other by our bowling names: Bud and Dot...we need them stitched on matching shirts, though.

Scientists have determined that fungi are more closely related to human beings and animals than to other plants. Does this mean I have to name - and start a college fund for - every mushroom that grows in my yard just in case?

Feeling sorry for Snap, Crackle and Pop today. They can't sneak anywhere. Always making VERY recognizable noise. I want my name to be a sound too but I want a fight sound from the old Batman TV show. I can't decide between BOFFO (right cross) or DOINK (eye poke).

Movieland Bucket list item #3: I get the phone call demanding $120,000,000 ransom in unmarked bills as I hiss in the phone, "...you've got 12 hours to release my ferret. You have no idea who you're dealing with..." He laughs as I sky dive through his ceiling, snap his neck with my legs while simultaneously feeding Commodore, my traumatized ferret, a Cheeto with my mouth.

Scientists have determined a standard way of measuring attractiveness. 6th graders have also come up with a scale. It is measured in 'cooties.'

I hate to nap. I never sleep as long as I want, I always sleep too long, and I never feel great when I wake up -- especially after being rudely awakened by oncoming traffic.

I think it would be convenient to be known by one name like Rhianna, Madonna, Sting, or Prince but it may be a little hard making 'Jeff' a household word by itself. "You know, Jeff. Jeff who? No, not Jeff who, just Jeff. You know, awwww NEVERMIND!" Prince reinvented his name continuously from Prince to an unpronounceable symbol, to The Artist formerly Known as to The Artist. I think I ended up calling him Artie

At the ballpark, when I yell, "Heads up!" for a foul ball everyone ducks and covers their head. At a restaurant I say, "Don't look now but a man with a red Mohawk just proposed to the carp on his plate (you could tell from the engagement ring)," she immediately looks. What in human nature makes us do the opposite? I can use this to my advantage: Don't laugh! (did it work?)

On the table, pig is pork, cow is beef, and calf is veal. Venison is defined as any game hunted for food, especially deer, and poultry is any domesticated bird kept for eggs and meat. I wonder if chickens are angry that they don't have their very own meat-word?

I'm convinced I will never hear the following from anyone under 30 years old: "I love that song, in fact, the whole album is good!" Listening to music with my kids is a study in attention deficit - I can listen to that whole song in 4 notes! Next! Playlists contain single songs from single artists. Rant some more Grandpa Jeff!

The challenging part about finding Nemo isn't the vastness of the ocean, it is that all the other fish answer to the name Nemo too. You've seen it on National Geographic, right? When an entire school of fish turns around at the exact same time? See what I mean?

Movieland bucketlist item #2: Avoiding Henchman #2's pursuit, I leap from a 4th floor window and land on the roof of a car that breaks my fall like a stack of mattresses. I climb in the shattered window, pull 2 wires from under the steering column, spark up the car and speed off. Who should sit up in the back seat? H2. I take him out with a lethal combination of seatbelt and cigarette lighter.

My smokin' hot wife's pet peeve in movies is people who read words on the screen out loud: "Six months earlier in Bangladesh..." On the other hand, I want to cause people to talk in a movie. I think next time I go I will have SHW lead me into the theater as though I were blind. I wish I could hear them, "...maybe his heightened sense of smell will allow him to virtually 'see' the movie..."

One TP swipe around the seat completely sterilizes it, right? That or a crinkly micro-thin piece of crate paper dispensed in the name of hygiene. The Purel folks keep ignoring my product submission idea for some sort of prophylactic bottled hiney balm.

Q: What do you get when you cross a bird with a lawnmower? A: Shreaded Tweet! One of the only "Boy's Life" magazine jokes I remember from when I was 12. The best part was that they had to explain the jokes to us in parenthesis. Son: Dad, my pet rabbit ran away. Dad: You know what they say, son, hare (here) today, gone tomorrow. What, did they think we were kids or stupid or something?

Step 1. Lie on the floor (on a smooth surface preferably in a grocery store or at the mall) on your left shoulder. Step 2. 'Walk' or 'Run' in a circle pivoting on your shoulder. Step 3. Scream as if you are on fire. This time-tested tantrum technique is guaranteed effective. I've tried it on my SHW with little success which I don't get - it worked so well on the kid's mom.

I'm not NORMALLY clumsy. But I learned yesterday that I'm not NEARLY as good at the I-meant-to-do-that recovery as I used to be. I also confirmed that you shouldn't swear...especially not at church.

The suffix ...ies is typically used to make something cute. Sleepies, pukies, and grunties are just a few words softened by this suffix. I think it was invented to soften the blow of some heinous diseases: Rabies, herpes (technically), or heebie-jeebies. Anyone for Flu-du-Swinies?

A good friend of mine recently attended a 'Mold Seminar' in California. My first thought upon hearing that was that the words 'mold' and 'seminar' live so far apart in my brain as to never have had the good fortune to meet, let alone hang out in a sentence together. Then I realized I've held my own impromptu 'mold seminars' with children who didn't understand the concept of "refrigerate after opening."

If you don't like my singing, get out of my shower.

I have always thought that if you can smoke while doing it, it isn't a REAL sport. Bowling and golf come to mind.

I look forward to the day when I’m so senile that all of life’s problems seem funny to me and I can laugh all day and periodically forget to wear pants.