Brought to You by the Moron School of Driving
Lesson 1: Slick Parking Lots
First and foremost, when dealing with icy weather conditions, your initial responsibility will be to disembark from whatever location you inhabited while the weather was changing from fair to fowl. Be this a home, apartment, brothel, nightclub, cardboard box, or any random rock out from which you may have crawled…you will undoubtedly have to move from the previously stated location to whatever mode of transportation you are using to get around (e.g. car, truck, wagon, roller skate(s), horse and buggy, ad nauseum). For sake of example, the remainder of this article will assume that said mode of transportation is a sizeable family vehicle.
Upon leaving your location and stepping out into the cold, cold parking lot, make certain that you do not slip on the slick ice that has likely placed itself between yourself and your vehicle. Unless, of course, you are disembarking from a nightclub or other financially sound establishment, in which case you may feel free to slip, slide, and reel across their carelessly untreated parking lot, as there are financial gains to be made in doing so. However, if you are the owner/renter of the location you are leaving, be mindful of your step because ice is harder than bones, and you could end up “broke” in more ways than one. (Especially true of morons.)
Once you have successfully engineered your way to your vehicle, be certain to start the ignition right away, without giving your fuel line a chance to warm up. (If you’re a true moron, you likely don’t have time for that anyway, as you would never be so foolish as to give yourself extra time in wintery weather.) Once the car is started, be sure to rev the hell out of the engine -- it is a Moron School of Driving fact that doing this will help your car and/or heater to warm up much, much faster. After giving the gas pedal a few hard stomps, throw that stick into gear and GO, BABY, GO!
Likely you will encounter a stop or two in your venture toward the street or roadway. In this case, make certain to LOCK UP YOUR BRAKES. Repeat. LOCK UP YOUR BREAKS. This will ensure a proper skid across the pavement , which is loads of fun and leaves really cool tire marks in the ice/slush. It’s just like carving your name into the desk at school, except that it is accompanied by a really nifty “swooshing” sound.
Finally, when exiting the parking lot and entering the roadway, make sure to push the accelerator all the way to the floor to ensure that you can successfully outrun the sole driver in the oncoming lane. Nobody likes a slouch, so get with the program and move your ass.
Lesson 2: On the Road
Now that you have masterfully made your way into commuter traffic, you must ensure that proper driving etiquette be followed at all times:
(a) Signal a turn either well in advance (approximately one mile prior to your designated turn) or immediately before (less than five feet), and make sure to announce your turn by repeating the “Break-Lock-Swoosh-Sound” maneuver discussed in Lesson 1. This will ensure that any nearby drivers will be aware of your presence and make room for your actions. Once you have completed your turn and/or lane change, be mindful to leave your turn signal on a while longer to notify drivers of your original location, in the event that you should have to return to it with unannounced promptness.
(b) Share your driving experience with others. This can be done by way that modern and necessary invention: the cellular telephone. The Moron School of Driving recommends that you be on the phone at all times when on the road, to ensure that you never travel alone. This is also convenient in the event of a mishap, as the person on the other end can signal for help to meet you should things go awry. Now, while you could opt to utilize a hands-free attachment on your phone, such as an earbud, bluetooth earpiece, or other device, most Moron School of Driving graduates find these to be a put-off and pretentious. Nobody likes a smartypants, after all, and employing the use of these newfangled items is like telling the world you’re too hoity-toity to be a “hands on” individual. Therefore, when at all possible, holding your cellular telephone in your hand while driving is the moron-approved manner of sharing your driving experience. It also makes you look really cool and important to other drivers on the road!
(c) When coming upon notably large patches of ice, be sure to first depress your accelerator to the floorboard as much as possible and then, upon reaching the ice patch, lock up your breaks (again, as mentioned in Lesson 1 and previously in Lesson 2). This will enable you to “skate” across said patch of ice with the same grace and class as Tonya Harding (ah, the epitome of elegance). If you should happen to be surrounded by other drivers during your “lock-skate” action, do not fret. The other drivers’ vehicles are equipped with steering wheels and brakes for that very reason. Upon noting that you are a graduate of the Moron School of Driving, they will make certain to move out of your way and grant you plenty of space on the road. Note: Patch Skating, as we so lovingly refer to it, will be covered in even greater detail in Lesson 3: Bridges and Overpasses, so please be sure to read on.
(d) Fishtailing. This most highly entertaining maneuver is fun for both yourself and the other drivers who share the road with you. Who doesn’t enjoy a little adrenaline-pumping adventure now and then, right? Everyone does, silly! Of course they do! And what better way to ensure everyone has a great time in transit than to fishtail your way across any ice-covered roads. It’s like an amusement park in the seat of your very own car! Hey, if it’s good enough for fish, then who says it’s not good enough for you, too. And once the other drivers witness what a grand time you’re having at the wheel, it’s all but certain that they will jump in and join the fun as well. Before you know it, everyone around you will be slip-sliding around, having the grandest time, and you’ll be the one to thank for it all. What a way to spread the cheer.
(e) Skidding is a common experience in slick-roadway driving, especially if you have followed the instructions in letter “d” above. However, the Moron Driving School will be the first to tell you that a skid can quickly go from fun to frightening if you’re not careful and fail to follow the moron-approved instructions provided here. First and foremost, when entering into a skid, made sure to TURN AWAY from the direction of the skid. Repeat. TURN AWAY FROM the DIRECTION of the SKID. No one wants to go the wrong direction, and the same is true when the rear of your car moves in opposition to the front of your car. Step two is to LOCK ‘EM UP. Lock your breaks so that your wheels stop turning. This will not stop them from moving across the ice, but it will ensure that you are no longer responsible for where they go after that. (Keep that last statement in mind, should your auto insurance provider request details of your actions at any time.) If all else fails, you may end up facing the other direction. If that should be the case, you’ll likely be worn out from your escapades and need to head back home for a little unwinding time. Go ahead. Call your boss, or whoever else may be awaiting your arrival, and inform them of the situation (making sure to use proper hand-to-ear phone etiquette) as you return home for the day.
Lesson 3: Bridges and Overpasses
This is always the most highly sought after section of our winter-weather driving section, as it provides you with plenty of “gusto” to get you over that overpass. Following the Moron School of Driving’s recommended actions will leave others in both wonder and awe of your mastery of vehicular movement on the roads.
Most importantly, when coming upon an iced-over bridge or overpass, remember the fundamental law of inertia: an object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. The greater the momentum, however, the less likely that any outside force will impede your progress. Therefore, you should make certain to tackle these suspended concrete appendages with courage and plenty of speed.
Since most bridges tend to be straight in nature, feel free to gun your engine as much as possible prior to entering in order to ensure that you can skate efficiently across it without interruption. (Any questions on this method should be referred back to the previous sections of Lesson 2 regarding Patch-Skating.) It is unlikely that you will find use for your brakes while crossing bridges, but if you should find need to do so, make sure to LOCK ‘EM UP, pressing the brake pedal firmly to the floorboard as quickly and with as much force as possible.
Overpasses are much more fun for moron drivers, as they have a tendency to curve and swing about much like the tail of a contented cat. They also have the added attraction of altitude, which sometimes makes a moron driver feel as though they are soaring through the air in an airplane! Oh, the joy! However, since overpasses tend to begin low and rise quite rapidly, make sure to accelerate well in advance and then slam on your brakes just prior to entering the overpass…this is one time when you want to slow down and enjoy the ride. Once you are established on the overpass, follow an alternating process of speeding up and slowing down so that you neither impede upon the enjoyment/progress of other drivers, nor end the pleasant experience too quickly. The stop and go technique is also believed to provide morons with better traction, which is handy on those sharp curves. As you near the bottom of the overpass, keep in mind that, while the ride may be over for you, it’s just beginning for other drivers behind you. You should probably slam your brake pedal to remind them to utilize the stop and go technique, as well. So, out of courtesy, go ahead and LOCK ‘EM UP one last time.
Should you find yourself rubbing bumpers with the guardrail, don’t fret. It’s there to protect you from falling. Feel free to slide along any guardrails you encounter along your travels, employing them much like training wheels, whenever necessary. Should you tire from one guardrail, jerk your steering wheel sharply in the opposite direction and move to the other side. This enables drivers to enjoy these protective barriers without wearing one out faster than the other. You can rest assured that your local Departments of Transportation appreciate your courtesy in proper guardrail usage.
Conclusion
Now that you have been thoroughly instructed on moron driver safety during winter weather conditions, you should be fully prepared to hit the road hard. Should you come across any encounters not previously mentioned in this course, or should you forget these lengthy lessons, here is a quick and simple way to remember how to handle any situation: GUN IT - AND LOCK ‘EM UP. This technique is sure to help anyone, regardless of experience level, master the Moron Method of Driving.
Moron School of Driving graduates, be sure to check back with us soon for our next lesson on driving on wet and/or flooded roads. This lesson will be available this spring.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
You Probably Think This Post is About You...
(File under "Installment No. 3")
I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but it did. Let there be no mistake on that...it DID happen. Now, as to whether or not it happened suddenly -- a sort of wake up and there it is kind of thing -- or whether a slow progression...that is debatable. But, let us all rest assured IT DID HAPPEN.
"What happened?" you ask?
I'll tell you.
The entire world has lost its collective mind.
Now, I don't mean that statement to be taken lightly. This is no jest .... oh no, indeed. I assure you that I am entirely serious and sober on this one, if not also a little enraged. Something has transpired over an indeterminable amount of time that has changed the very core of humanity, itself (if it can even still be addressed by that title).
Take for example the increased number of wreckless drivers on the road. They have begun to multiply like roaches. People jetting along at well over 80 mph, swerving in and out of busy traffic, cutting off other motorists and, more often than not, nearly clipping a bumper or two in the process. If you haven't noticed the recent rise in such incidents, then you need to pull your head out of your ass, get off your f---ing cell phone, and start actually watching the road. (And if that last sentence applies to you, you're a dimwit.)
Have people lost track of just how deadly such dangerous traffic pursuits can be? Or are they so self-enamored and unconscious of the needs of anyone other than their own selfish selves that they simply cannot value safety and the lives of other human beings? Chances are, I don't care why.... why doesn't matter. What does matter is the fact that the same selfish prick who nearly clipped my front bumper yesterday while playing "car tag" with another out of control speeder is soon going to learn just how painful momentum can be. At 80 to 90 mph on a busy freeway, there really won't be a need to call an ambulance if you slam that overpriced "five star safety rating" vehicle into another....call the fricking coroner and tell him to bring a garbage bag and a shovel.
Hey, Speed Racer, I don't give a shit if your life is so worthless that you don't mind dying on the highway, but I'd rather that you end your miserable existence in the privacy of your own home with a shotgun where you can keep me the hell out of it. You hate life? Fine. Don't take it out on me. And DON'T...I repeat...DON'T EVER put the life of myself or anyone I love on the line because you feel the "need for speed". Because, Mario Andretti Wannabe, I can promise you this right now: if your wrecklessness ever brings harm to anyone I care about, you'd better die upon impact, because if you don't, you're definitely going to wish you had.
Furthermore, for those of you with overpriced luxury cars who think that your time is so much more important than everyone else's to the point that you can drive on the shoulders, cut people off, fail to yield when signs instruct you to do so, break traffic rules, speed, and generally fuck up the commute of everyone else on the road....KISS OFF, A--HOLES! I don't care who you are or how f---ing much money you paid for your car....you're still nobody. You're not even worth the over-inflated price tag of your vehicle. Driving a [insert obnoxious vanity brand here] does not make you better than anyone else, so quit acting under the assumption that you "own" the road. Oh, and to the obnoxious older woman in the Benz who broke at least for traffic laws just to get five spaces ahead at the light on the access road for Main St. in Grapevine, that means YOU! You suck! If I were a cop I would have impounded your car for that wreckless act of driving treachery. AND I would have revoked your license indefinitely. I don't care where you were going NOR how late the accident [caused by another careless jackass in a hurry, no doubt] on 121 may have made you, your time is still NOT more valuable than anyone else's.
Of course, I'd have sat on my horn to tell you just what I thought of your (again) wreckless act of driving treachery, but chances are there's someone else on the road who'd likely shoot me. Drivers are getting more and more dangerous, and by that I mean they're arming themselves to the teeth. Are people really so out of control that they will (again) end someone's life over a traffic incident? Give me a f---ing break!!! That's not only ridiculous, it's inexcusable. Every life has value, granted some lowlife rotten evil-hearted worthless twisted warts (e.g. Charles Carl Roberts IV) may be unfit to co-exist in society with other people -- any people, actually. But that doesn't mean he should be shot in the head for cutting someone off or honking his horn at a stop sign. (Granted some people may consider cases like Mr. Roberts' debatable...and I won't delve into that discussion here.)
School shootings, while we're on the subject. Again, Mr. Roberts, what the hell was going on there? NOBODY saw this coming? NOBODY had a damned CLUE that he was on the verge of breaking? COME ON! I've seen less bullshit while standing smack-dab in the middle of a manure factory. Acquaintances stated he was troubled. End of story. Anyone close to him who did nothing to get him to a safe location where he could not harm anyone is guilty of negligence and should be considered an accessory to the crime. As for WHY he did what he did....I don't care. I don't want to understand anyone who could commit such a deranged act, especially one that was so obviously premeditated. There IS no LOGIC to it, people! Therefore, you simply CANNOT make sense of it. Quit trying to understand the motive behind the crime. I don't care WHY killers kill. When this society quits making excuses for criminals and the acts they commit, chances are our justice system will be a lot more effective.
I don't regret that we no longer have a chance to study Roberts' mind to figure out what drove him to this point. Neither do I regret that he will never see his own children again. I only regret that Roberts wasn't put down by a police gun squad before he had a chance to harm those innocent girls.
And for those of you out there who may be screaming "foul" or "hypocrisy".... SCREW YOU. It's because of YOUR bleeding hearts that crimes like these aren't punished to the fullest extent. Likely you weren't held enough by your parents as a child. Or maybe you had one too many ass beatings and it's left you mentally or emotionally scarred. Once again, I don't care. But crimes should be punished. And I guaran-frickin'-tee that if Charles Carl Roberts had survived his self-inflicted injuries, there'd be a long line of you anti-corporal punishment morons picketing for his rights to be understood as a "victim". You people make me sick. Showing greater support for criminals than for the real victims. Someday you'll all learn. Oh yes. And we'll see then whose rights you're scribbling up signs and banners for, now won't we?
I could go on and on, but the point is to say merely that we (as humans all inhabiting this tiny blue planet) are on the verge of catastrophe. We are nearing the point of no return, and if something is not done to turn the tide soon, then [to quote the Phantom of Music] "disaster beyond your imagination will occur."
There is far too much aggression in this world and, unfortunately, it is perhaps the most contagious disease we face. Anger spreads faster than wildfire and it is tearing our world apart. It's almost the perfect model for a conspiracy theorist: Infiltrators seek to destroy country from within by turning its own people against each other. Sounds eerily possible, hmm? Regardless, I fear that everyone is and will continue to be touched by this disease. This epidemic that has already spun out of control.
Perhaps we all need to go back to a more archaic mode of thinking and remind ourselves daily:
The world is changing for the worse. I refuse to let it change me, as well.
Start with yourself and make changes to be:
- less selfish
- less aggressive
- less hateful
- less jealous
- less petty
- less ignorant
- less unaware
- less vain
Otherwise, the world is already lost to us.
I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but it did. Let there be no mistake on that...it DID happen. Now, as to whether or not it happened suddenly -- a sort of wake up and there it is kind of thing -- or whether a slow progression...that is debatable. But, let us all rest assured IT DID HAPPEN.
"What happened?" you ask?
I'll tell you.
The entire world has lost its collective mind.
Now, I don't mean that statement to be taken lightly. This is no jest .... oh no, indeed. I assure you that I am entirely serious and sober on this one, if not also a little enraged. Something has transpired over an indeterminable amount of time that has changed the very core of humanity, itself (if it can even still be addressed by that title).
Take for example the increased number of wreckless drivers on the road. They have begun to multiply like roaches. People jetting along at well over 80 mph, swerving in and out of busy traffic, cutting off other motorists and, more often than not, nearly clipping a bumper or two in the process. If you haven't noticed the recent rise in such incidents, then you need to pull your head out of your ass, get off your f---ing cell phone, and start actually watching the road. (And if that last sentence applies to you, you're a dimwit.)
Have people lost track of just how deadly such dangerous traffic pursuits can be? Or are they so self-enamored and unconscious of the needs of anyone other than their own selfish selves that they simply cannot value safety and the lives of other human beings? Chances are, I don't care why.... why doesn't matter. What does matter is the fact that the same selfish prick who nearly clipped my front bumper yesterday while playing "car tag" with another out of control speeder is soon going to learn just how painful momentum can be. At 80 to 90 mph on a busy freeway, there really won't be a need to call an ambulance if you slam that overpriced "five star safety rating" vehicle into another....call the fricking coroner and tell him to bring a garbage bag and a shovel.
Hey, Speed Racer, I don't give a shit if your life is so worthless that you don't mind dying on the highway, but I'd rather that you end your miserable existence in the privacy of your own home with a shotgun where you can keep me the hell out of it. You hate life? Fine. Don't take it out on me. And DON'T...I repeat...DON'T EVER put the life of myself or anyone I love on the line because you feel the "need for speed". Because, Mario Andretti Wannabe, I can promise you this right now: if your wrecklessness ever brings harm to anyone I care about, you'd better die upon impact, because if you don't, you're definitely going to wish you had.
Furthermore, for those of you with overpriced luxury cars who think that your time is so much more important than everyone else's to the point that you can drive on the shoulders, cut people off, fail to yield when signs instruct you to do so, break traffic rules, speed, and generally fuck up the commute of everyone else on the road....KISS OFF, A--HOLES! I don't care who you are or how f---ing much money you paid for your car....you're still nobody. You're not even worth the over-inflated price tag of your vehicle. Driving a [insert obnoxious vanity brand here] does not make you better than anyone else, so quit acting under the assumption that you "own" the road. Oh, and to the obnoxious older woman in the Benz who broke at least for traffic laws just to get five spaces ahead at the light on the access road for Main St. in Grapevine, that means YOU! You suck! If I were a cop I would have impounded your car for that wreckless act of driving treachery. AND I would have revoked your license indefinitely. I don't care where you were going NOR how late the accident [caused by another careless jackass in a hurry, no doubt] on 121 may have made you, your time is still NOT more valuable than anyone else's.
Of course, I'd have sat on my horn to tell you just what I thought of your (again) wreckless act of driving treachery, but chances are there's someone else on the road who'd likely shoot me. Drivers are getting more and more dangerous, and by that I mean they're arming themselves to the teeth. Are people really so out of control that they will (again) end someone's life over a traffic incident? Give me a f---ing break!!! That's not only ridiculous, it's inexcusable. Every life has value, granted some lowlife rotten evil-hearted worthless twisted warts (e.g. Charles Carl Roberts IV) may be unfit to co-exist in society with other people -- any people, actually. But that doesn't mean he should be shot in the head for cutting someone off or honking his horn at a stop sign. (Granted some people may consider cases like Mr. Roberts' debatable...and I won't delve into that discussion here.)
School shootings, while we're on the subject. Again, Mr. Roberts, what the hell was going on there? NOBODY saw this coming? NOBODY had a damned CLUE that he was on the verge of breaking? COME ON! I've seen less bullshit while standing smack-dab in the middle of a manure factory. Acquaintances stated he was troubled. End of story. Anyone close to him who did nothing to get him to a safe location where he could not harm anyone is guilty of negligence and should be considered an accessory to the crime. As for WHY he did what he did....I don't care. I don't want to understand anyone who could commit such a deranged act, especially one that was so obviously premeditated. There IS no LOGIC to it, people! Therefore, you simply CANNOT make sense of it. Quit trying to understand the motive behind the crime. I don't care WHY killers kill. When this society quits making excuses for criminals and the acts they commit, chances are our justice system will be a lot more effective.
I don't regret that we no longer have a chance to study Roberts' mind to figure out what drove him to this point. Neither do I regret that he will never see his own children again. I only regret that Roberts wasn't put down by a police gun squad before he had a chance to harm those innocent girls.
And for those of you out there who may be screaming "foul" or "hypocrisy".... SCREW YOU. It's because of YOUR bleeding hearts that crimes like these aren't punished to the fullest extent. Likely you weren't held enough by your parents as a child. Or maybe you had one too many ass beatings and it's left you mentally or emotionally scarred. Once again, I don't care. But crimes should be punished. And I guaran-frickin'-tee that if Charles Carl Roberts had survived his self-inflicted injuries, there'd be a long line of you anti-corporal punishment morons picketing for his rights to be understood as a "victim". You people make me sick. Showing greater support for criminals than for the real victims. Someday you'll all learn. Oh yes. And we'll see then whose rights you're scribbling up signs and banners for, now won't we?
I could go on and on, but the point is to say merely that we (as humans all inhabiting this tiny blue planet) are on the verge of catastrophe. We are nearing the point of no return, and if something is not done to turn the tide soon, then [to quote the Phantom of Music] "disaster beyond your imagination will occur."
There is far too much aggression in this world and, unfortunately, it is perhaps the most contagious disease we face. Anger spreads faster than wildfire and it is tearing our world apart. It's almost the perfect model for a conspiracy theorist: Infiltrators seek to destroy country from within by turning its own people against each other. Sounds eerily possible, hmm? Regardless, I fear that everyone is and will continue to be touched by this disease. This epidemic that has already spun out of control.
Perhaps we all need to go back to a more archaic mode of thinking and remind ourselves daily:
The world is changing for the worse. I refuse to let it change me, as well.
Start with yourself and make changes to be:
- less selfish
- less aggressive
- less hateful
- less jealous
- less petty
- less ignorant
- less unaware
- less vain
Otherwise, the world is already lost to us.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Taking Sides....
There are at least two sides to everything....
For example:
A coin has both a heads side and a tails side.
A teeter-totter has an upside and a downside.
A piece of fabric has a right side and a wrong side.
(The same goes for a political debate.)
A nail file has a smooth side and a rough side.
Underwear has a front side and a back side.
The force has a dark side and a light side.
A battery has a positive side and a negative side.
A Mini Wheat has a frosted side and a plain side.
When you put all that together you get....
....well....nothing really.
For example:
A coin has both a heads side and a tails side.
A teeter-totter has an upside and a downside.
A piece of fabric has a right side and a wrong side.
(The same goes for a political debate.)
A nail file has a smooth side and a rough side.
Underwear has a front side and a back side.
The force has a dark side and a light side.
A battery has a positive side and a negative side.
A Mini Wheat has a frosted side and a plain side.
When you put all that together you get....
....well....nothing really.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Installment No. 2 (My Thoughts on Mountains)
You know, I've most certainly never had anything against mountains. Really. It's true. I find them fascinating geological features that are simultaneously awe-inspiring and thought-provoking, noting that they often disclose clues to just how the world as we know it came into being. I love them more than key lime pie and roller skates. Blanket them with snow and I love them even more...raking them right up there with the old-fashioned Elmer's Paste that used to come in a jar with the little plastic dipstick applicator. Mountains rock (no pun intended, heh heh). And now that we've established my basic feelings on these enormous landmark features, let me state the following: If you want mountains, head on over to Colorado or the Appalachians, because I sure am damn tired of seeing them around here.
What is this, you say? Have I finally truly gone off the deep end? Am I so far off the beaten path now that even the bread crumb trail I left behind has been consumed by crows? HA! Hardly the case. Feel free to read on for clarification...
As you all well know, I live in Texas...DFW to be exact. And as any local can tell you, there aren't supposed to be mountains here. In fact, there aren't supposed to be ANY geological features that would be considered as more than simple molehills. There may be a few notably deep creek beds and some pretty impressive terrain [hills and elevations] around some of the (man-made) lakes that dapple the area map, but I can assure you, without any lack of certainty, that there aren't supposed to be any damned mountains 'round here. Call up Dr. Breyer, my old Intro to Geology Professor and he can confirm these statements.
So where are these mountains of which I speak, you ask? Heh, they're everywhere. Just recently, I was befuddled by a situation in which a few persons with whom I have an acquaintance pointed to one of the local molehills and declared, "Why, thar be a mountain!" Believe it. It's true. And the ruckus created by this statement ended up wasting countless hours contacting the local Land Management organization to have said molehill measured, surveyed, documented, rated, and ultimately proclaimed as, indeed, nothing but a molehill. Countless hours wasted. Time and effort which could have been spent doing something a) necessary, b) more entertaining, c) pointless but fun. But NO-O-O-O. Instead said time was spent with the geologic survey team disproving a statement made both in haste and heat of passion.
So...What can we learn from this? That mountains are great. I love 'em to pieces. But in order to prevent detracting from the awe-inspiring beauty and grandeur of true mountains, let's not race about, pointing our fingers and shouting, making mountains out of molehills, when everyone knows better. If ya wanna see mountains, baby, get your John-Denver-lovin'-Aspenglow-mountain-mama-ass to Colorado, West Virginia, or the Great Smokey Mts. in Kentucky. I've got maps, should you need direction.
Thank you.
What is this, you say? Have I finally truly gone off the deep end? Am I so far off the beaten path now that even the bread crumb trail I left behind has been consumed by crows? HA! Hardly the case. Feel free to read on for clarification...
As you all well know, I live in Texas...DFW to be exact. And as any local can tell you, there aren't supposed to be mountains here. In fact, there aren't supposed to be ANY geological features that would be considered as more than simple molehills. There may be a few notably deep creek beds and some pretty impressive terrain [hills and elevations] around some of the (man-made) lakes that dapple the area map, but I can assure you, without any lack of certainty, that there aren't supposed to be any damned mountains 'round here. Call up Dr. Breyer, my old Intro to Geology Professor and he can confirm these statements.
So where are these mountains of which I speak, you ask? Heh, they're everywhere. Just recently, I was befuddled by a situation in which a few persons with whom I have an acquaintance pointed to one of the local molehills and declared, "Why, thar be a mountain!" Believe it. It's true. And the ruckus created by this statement ended up wasting countless hours contacting the local Land Management organization to have said molehill measured, surveyed, documented, rated, and ultimately proclaimed as, indeed, nothing but a molehill. Countless hours wasted. Time and effort which could have been spent doing something a) necessary, b) more entertaining, c) pointless but fun. But NO-O-O-O. Instead said time was spent with the geologic survey team disproving a statement made both in haste and heat of passion.
So...What can we learn from this? That mountains are great. I love 'em to pieces. But in order to prevent detracting from the awe-inspiring beauty and grandeur of true mountains, let's not race about, pointing our fingers and shouting, making mountains out of molehills, when everyone knows better. If ya wanna see mountains, baby, get your John-Denver-lovin'-Aspenglow-mountain-mama-ass to Colorado, West Virginia, or the Great Smokey Mts. in Kentucky. I've got maps, should you need direction.
Thank you.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Installment No. 1
I've noticed a few things since my last post so very long ago. Should you desire to offer me your patience, I would gladly share these simple observations with you, my cherished reader and friend, [your name here].
First off, on the topic of blogging. It's not a way of life, people. Nor is it a religion, path to enlightenment, treatment for the overly mundane....neither is it a way to achieve super cool-dom. It's a web log. Dammit. And that's all. So, those of you who gallivant here and there, bragging about your BLOG and converting this new addition to the English vocabulary into verb conjugations every which way but loose...GET A LIFE! It's a web log. An outlet for those who wish to inform/rant/entertain/keep in touch. Blog ownership does not a cool dude make. The ability to inform/rant/entertain/ad nauseum, however, DOES. As is true with most aspects of our waking world, it's the contents--not the packaging--that makes something fabulous. (Those of you spending a small/large fortune on cosmetic surgery take note.) So, if you think that you're hip or cool just because you have a blog, you might want to consider moving out of your parents' house (you thirty-something freeloaders), getting your own job, and using that money to buy yourselves a clue.
That having been said, what's the deal with advertisement messages being left on blogs now? Here's a message to all those whacked out morons who use blog message space to advertise to otherwise disinterested individuals:
If I was interested in your cheap, lame-ass, boring as hell, scam-you-and-leave-you-broke websites, I'd have already looked them up. The fact that I haven't should automatically inform you that I'd be more interested in sewing up the holes in my old athletic socks while watching re-runs of Laverne and Shirley than checking out your pathetic, advertised websites. Quit wasting my time and energy posting your "I read your blog and found it inquisitive*...You might like my website as well...please click here to view my website..." responses to my posts. INQUISITIVE?!?! What the hell? Does that fool even know what the f**k that word means? Given the context and usage, I daresay he does NOT. Honestly, if you're going to try to con me into viewing your porn-related, virus-infected, identity-theft-motivated website...at least get a fricking education first! JEEZ! At least that way I might feel tempted to nibble on the bait left behind by an intellectual wizard who wants to rip me off or offend me. Got it people?
[sigh]
All that ranting is a bit taxing, really. But I'm hardly finished. (Those of you who haven't eaten recently, you might want to take a break and grab some chips or something to keep up your strength. This could take a while.)
Gas prices. They're out of control. And I'm fed up. So here's a message to all the fat-cat gas company CEO's: If you want us all to switch over to electric cars, just keep jacking up the gas prices, assholes. Better yet, I'm just going to quit driving altogether. How about I start up my own scam website (I can get some tips from the turds who posted replies to my blogs), grow my own vegetables, and raise chickens in the yard so that I never have to leave my home again. No more driving....and that means no more of my money in your already over-stuffed pockets. WAKE UP! You're screwing up the economy!!! Here's a simple, cost-effective solution: We, the consumer, grab the gas company CEOs by their balls (literally) and squeeze until their eyes tear up. When they beg for relief, we tell them the following: "Doesn't feel good, does it? Neither does three dollars a gallon! Drop the prices and we'll both feel better."
...This appears as though it is going to take a while, so I've made an executive decision to break it down into installments. Consider this edition "Installment no. 1" and look for future installments to come. (Kind of gives you something to look forward to, now doesn't it? Kind of like paying taxes or getting an enema.) In all honesty, I've decided to break it up for several reasons.
1) I've got a lot to say. It's been a while. So long, in fact, that it took me several tries to recall my access information just to log in and post this horrific message. Installments will give me the encouragement I need to get back into the swing of updating this monstrosity on a regular basis.
2) Nothing sucks more than endless ramblings that go on and on and on....without a break. Plus, installments are a great method for increasing reader anticipation. "Oooh, I wonder what's coming up. Egad! The anticipation is killing me!" You get the point.
3) I actually have a life. And I need to get back to it, rather than slouching over my laptop. (I suggest you do the same, by the way. Get out and soak up some sunlight, you pale, soft, expressionless, fishbelly-complected blog-reader. Go ahead. It'll be good for you.)
First off, on the topic of blogging. It's not a way of life, people. Nor is it a religion, path to enlightenment, treatment for the overly mundane....neither is it a way to achieve super cool-dom. It's a web log. Dammit. And that's all. So, those of you who gallivant here and there, bragging about your BLOG and converting this new addition to the English vocabulary into verb conjugations every which way but loose...GET A LIFE! It's a web log. An outlet for those who wish to inform/rant/entertain/keep in touch. Blog ownership does not a cool dude make. The ability to inform/rant/entertain/ad nauseum, however, DOES. As is true with most aspects of our waking world, it's the contents--not the packaging--that makes something fabulous. (Those of you spending a small/large fortune on cosmetic surgery take note.) So, if you think that you're hip or cool just because you have a blog, you might want to consider moving out of your parents' house (you thirty-something freeloaders), getting your own job, and using that money to buy yourselves a clue.
That having been said, what's the deal with advertisement messages being left on blogs now? Here's a message to all those whacked out morons who use blog message space to advertise to otherwise disinterested individuals:
If I was interested in your cheap, lame-ass, boring as hell, scam-you-and-leave-you-broke websites, I'd have already looked them up. The fact that I haven't should automatically inform you that I'd be more interested in sewing up the holes in my old athletic socks while watching re-runs of Laverne and Shirley than checking out your pathetic, advertised websites. Quit wasting my time and energy posting your "I read your blog and found it inquisitive*...You might like my website as well...please click here to view my website..." responses to my posts. INQUISITIVE?!?! What the hell? Does that fool even know what the f**k that word means? Given the context and usage, I daresay he does NOT. Honestly, if you're going to try to con me into viewing your porn-related, virus-infected, identity-theft-motivated website...at least get a fricking education first! JEEZ! At least that way I might feel tempted to nibble on the bait left behind by an intellectual wizard who wants to rip me off or offend me. Got it people?
[sigh]
All that ranting is a bit taxing, really. But I'm hardly finished. (Those of you who haven't eaten recently, you might want to take a break and grab some chips or something to keep up your strength. This could take a while.)
Gas prices. They're out of control. And I'm fed up. So here's a message to all the fat-cat gas company CEO's: If you want us all to switch over to electric cars, just keep jacking up the gas prices, assholes. Better yet, I'm just going to quit driving altogether. How about I start up my own scam website (I can get some tips from the turds who posted replies to my blogs), grow my own vegetables, and raise chickens in the yard so that I never have to leave my home again. No more driving....and that means no more of my money in your already over-stuffed pockets. WAKE UP! You're screwing up the economy!!! Here's a simple, cost-effective solution: We, the consumer, grab the gas company CEOs by their balls (literally) and squeeze until their eyes tear up. When they beg for relief, we tell them the following: "Doesn't feel good, does it? Neither does three dollars a gallon! Drop the prices and we'll both feel better."
...This appears as though it is going to take a while, so I've made an executive decision to break it down into installments. Consider this edition "Installment no. 1" and look for future installments to come. (Kind of gives you something to look forward to, now doesn't it? Kind of like paying taxes or getting an enema.) In all honesty, I've decided to break it up for several reasons.
1) I've got a lot to say. It's been a while. So long, in fact, that it took me several tries to recall my access information just to log in and post this horrific message. Installments will give me the encouragement I need to get back into the swing of updating this monstrosity on a regular basis.
2) Nothing sucks more than endless ramblings that go on and on and on....without a break. Plus, installments are a great method for increasing reader anticipation. "Oooh, I wonder what's coming up. Egad! The anticipation is killing me!" You get the point.
3) I actually have a life. And I need to get back to it, rather than slouching over my laptop. (I suggest you do the same, by the way. Get out and soak up some sunlight, you pale, soft, expressionless, fishbelly-complected blog-reader. Go ahead. It'll be good for you.)
Monday, September 05, 2005
Katrina
Now, I'm not the most innately attuned person when it comes to media and current events. The news upsets me and therefore I tend not to watch it if I can possibly avoid it. I was aware of the hurricane coming ashore. I was aware that it had totally devastated southern Louisiana. I was NOT, however, aware that it would touch me personally (although common sense should have told me otherwise).
I work in a public assistance program that grants food assistance and nutritional education to needy families. Now and then I am granted an opportunity to truly make a difference in the lives of others, but for the most part it is a job. It's work. Yet, on August 31st, that all changed.
As flood victims from southern Louisiana made their exodus into Texas, many of them opted to head north of Houston to the Dallas/Fort Worth area. And, but by the grace of God, many of them ended up in my office. None of us saw it coming. Our supervisors were literally stunned when we contacted them, asking what the protocol was to be for serving the needs of these suddenly uprooted people who lost everything they owned to floodwaters. They quickly became a priority and we did everything we could to accommodate them quickly and with as much compassion as possible. (And for the record, I've never been prouder of my coworkers than during this period.)
There is no way to sit with the victims from New Orleans and Baton Rouge and listen to them relate their personal accounts of survival and struggle without being moved emotionally. Typically my job is to assess people's nutritional needs and educate them in the most time-efficient manner possible, but sometimes a person's greatest need is not to be made aware of the nutritional benefits of fruits and vegetables as part of a healthy diet. Sometimes they just need to be heard. And so that's what I did. I listened. I set my forms and paperwork aside, leaned forward in my chair, and lent a compassionate ear as they at last had a chance to recount their overwhelming experiences with another human being.
In the past few days, I listened to a mother lament that everything she had struggled to provide for her family was lost in a heartbeat. I listened to a couple vent their frustrations over how little help they received from Mississippi and Arkansas before finally arriving here in Texas. I listened as another couple mourned the news they recently heard that their suburb on the outskirts of New Orleans would never be rebuilt. And then there was the father of two small children.....whose tale touched my heart so deeply that I actually had an emotional breakdown after he left.
He said, "You see things like this happen on TV and it's always somewhere else. Like it's not real, you know." I agreed. Who wouldn't? And he continued, "But when I jumped down in that cold water from the roof of my house, it was very real." He'd spent hours trying to get in touch with his wife, leaving her several messages on her cell phone and praying that she would call him back and let him know that she and their two children were alright and where he could find them. Frightened and frustrated, he was moved to action. Certain that she would have taken the kids and fled to her mother's house, he was determined to search for them there. Five miles away. And all five miles were underwater. "I jumped in the water and started swimming because I didn't know what else to do. A couple of times I was hugging trees to keep from being swept away...the water was moving so fast. I swam two and a half miles before I saw some guys in a boat, and I begged them. I told them, 'Please! I gotta find my wife and kids!' And they turned their boat around and took me the rest of the way to my mother-in-law's house."
He was obviously overwhelmed as he relived the events. I was overwhelmed listening to him. But by the grace of God was he sitting in my office and sharing this account with me, and I don't think I've ever been more moved by the words of another. Nor have I ever been more grateful that I have the opportunity to help people. I took this job for exactly that reason -- to help people. To be there in their time of need. And what he needed at that time was to be heard. I'll never forget him. Nor his two beautiful daughters, whose faces haunt my memory every now and then when I least expect it. God bless them all.
I'm proud of the efforts my home state of Texas has undergone to accommodate the needs of Katrina's many victims. In fact, I've never been prouder. Several former Louisianans informed me that they intended to settle down here in their new home state, due mainly to the degree to which we have offered friendly, helpful hands. And I'm glad they're here. And to our neighbors who continue to flee the devastation in southern Louisiana in search of help, I say, "Welcome to Texas. Come on over. We're here for you."
I work in a public assistance program that grants food assistance and nutritional education to needy families. Now and then I am granted an opportunity to truly make a difference in the lives of others, but for the most part it is a job. It's work. Yet, on August 31st, that all changed.
As flood victims from southern Louisiana made their exodus into Texas, many of them opted to head north of Houston to the Dallas/Fort Worth area. And, but by the grace of God, many of them ended up in my office. None of us saw it coming. Our supervisors were literally stunned when we contacted them, asking what the protocol was to be for serving the needs of these suddenly uprooted people who lost everything they owned to floodwaters. They quickly became a priority and we did everything we could to accommodate them quickly and with as much compassion as possible. (And for the record, I've never been prouder of my coworkers than during this period.)
There is no way to sit with the victims from New Orleans and Baton Rouge and listen to them relate their personal accounts of survival and struggle without being moved emotionally. Typically my job is to assess people's nutritional needs and educate them in the most time-efficient manner possible, but sometimes a person's greatest need is not to be made aware of the nutritional benefits of fruits and vegetables as part of a healthy diet. Sometimes they just need to be heard. And so that's what I did. I listened. I set my forms and paperwork aside, leaned forward in my chair, and lent a compassionate ear as they at last had a chance to recount their overwhelming experiences with another human being.
In the past few days, I listened to a mother lament that everything she had struggled to provide for her family was lost in a heartbeat. I listened to a couple vent their frustrations over how little help they received from Mississippi and Arkansas before finally arriving here in Texas. I listened as another couple mourned the news they recently heard that their suburb on the outskirts of New Orleans would never be rebuilt. And then there was the father of two small children.....whose tale touched my heart so deeply that I actually had an emotional breakdown after he left.
He said, "You see things like this happen on TV and it's always somewhere else. Like it's not real, you know." I agreed. Who wouldn't? And he continued, "But when I jumped down in that cold water from the roof of my house, it was very real." He'd spent hours trying to get in touch with his wife, leaving her several messages on her cell phone and praying that she would call him back and let him know that she and their two children were alright and where he could find them. Frightened and frustrated, he was moved to action. Certain that she would have taken the kids and fled to her mother's house, he was determined to search for them there. Five miles away. And all five miles were underwater. "I jumped in the water and started swimming because I didn't know what else to do. A couple of times I was hugging trees to keep from being swept away...the water was moving so fast. I swam two and a half miles before I saw some guys in a boat, and I begged them. I told them, 'Please! I gotta find my wife and kids!' And they turned their boat around and took me the rest of the way to my mother-in-law's house."
He was obviously overwhelmed as he relived the events. I was overwhelmed listening to him. But by the grace of God was he sitting in my office and sharing this account with me, and I don't think I've ever been more moved by the words of another. Nor have I ever been more grateful that I have the opportunity to help people. I took this job for exactly that reason -- to help people. To be there in their time of need. And what he needed at that time was to be heard. I'll never forget him. Nor his two beautiful daughters, whose faces haunt my memory every now and then when I least expect it. God bless them all.
I'm proud of the efforts my home state of Texas has undergone to accommodate the needs of Katrina's many victims. In fact, I've never been prouder. Several former Louisianans informed me that they intended to settle down here in their new home state, due mainly to the degree to which we have offered friendly, helpful hands. And I'm glad they're here. And to our neighbors who continue to flee the devastation in southern Louisiana in search of help, I say, "Welcome to Texas. Come on over. We're here for you."
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Fill'er Up!
Have you ever really listened to a conversation between two people? I mean REALLY listened to them? If you have, then I would imagine you’ve heard what I tend to refer to as “conversation fillers”. These would likely be best described as inane, random responses generated by one or more parties in a conversation to either fill up dead air space or indicate that the interested parties are, in fact, listening but unable to think of appropriate responses to what they’ve just heard. Many of the more common “fillers” include such phrases as:
“Really? How interesting.”
“You don’t say.”
“How about that?”
“The hell you say!”
“Well, there ya go.”
“I done seen it all.”
“I tell you what.”
(Those last two fillers are most commonly used among us redneck folk, they are. Ayuh. I tell you what.)
I use them all the time.
In fact, I use them so often that someone (probably the only person who truly bothers to listen to my excessive ramblings, god bless him) thought to point this out to me. I was astounded. Mind you, it was not that said fact was brought to my attention that left me bewildered, but that this revelation carried indisputable truth. Heavy, man, that’s really heavy. And then I wondered: Am I the only person who does this? So I took it upon myself (as I’m prone to do) to determine just how often “fillers” are applied to everyday conversations.
Here’s what I learned:
Everyone does it. Some do it more than others. Some manage to do so with dignity, while others cast decorum aside, leaving it (decorum) to drift and bob aimlessly like so much flotsam on the sea. Astounding, isn’t it?
This recent epiphany led me to make a decision for the benefit of all mankind -- or at least those who are in need of original, cunning, and skillful responses to ensure that those with whom they are engaged in insightful conversation might be assured that their statements have not gone unattended. I have devised a list of simple, easy to use phrases that can be inserted into a conversation whenever the following occur: a) you‘re too sleep deprived to follow what‘s being said [applicable to most conversations with your boss], b) you‘re too shnockered to respond clearly [useful when returning to work after a lunchtime drinking binge], or c) what you just heard shocked the hell out of you and your brain has shut down completely [very handy when you‘ve just been fired for reason “b“]. So far I've come up with the following:
1) Has anyone seen my keys?
2) Great! Now say that again backwards!
3) My cat likes Swanson’s chicken broth.
4) I wonder what Santa would have to say about that...
5) Fascinating, Jim. Spock, what do you think about that?
6) Someone must have spiked the punchbowl.
7) Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you're our only hope.
8) Just your name, rank, and serial number, please.
9) Oooooh-eeeeee-ooh-ah-ah-ding-dang-walla-walla-bing-bang.
10) You don't say. No, really. Don’t say it at all.
Use them at will. And, just for shits and giggles, let me know how things turn out...
“Really? How interesting.”
“You don’t say.”
“How about that?”
“The hell you say!”
“Well, there ya go.”
“I done seen it all.”
“I tell you what.”
(Those last two fillers are most commonly used among us redneck folk, they are. Ayuh. I tell you what.)
I use them all the time.
In fact, I use them so often that someone (probably the only person who truly bothers to listen to my excessive ramblings, god bless him) thought to point this out to me. I was astounded. Mind you, it was not that said fact was brought to my attention that left me bewildered, but that this revelation carried indisputable truth. Heavy, man, that’s really heavy. And then I wondered: Am I the only person who does this? So I took it upon myself (as I’m prone to do) to determine just how often “fillers” are applied to everyday conversations.
Here’s what I learned:
Everyone does it. Some do it more than others. Some manage to do so with dignity, while others cast decorum aside, leaving it (decorum) to drift and bob aimlessly like so much flotsam on the sea. Astounding, isn’t it?
This recent epiphany led me to make a decision for the benefit of all mankind -- or at least those who are in need of original, cunning, and skillful responses to ensure that those with whom they are engaged in insightful conversation might be assured that their statements have not gone unattended. I have devised a list of simple, easy to use phrases that can be inserted into a conversation whenever the following occur: a) you‘re too sleep deprived to follow what‘s being said [applicable to most conversations with your boss], b) you‘re too shnockered to respond clearly [useful when returning to work after a lunchtime drinking binge], or c) what you just heard shocked the hell out of you and your brain has shut down completely [very handy when you‘ve just been fired for reason “b“]. So far I've come up with the following:
1) Has anyone seen my keys?
2) Great! Now say that again backwards!
3) My cat likes Swanson’s chicken broth.
4) I wonder what Santa would have to say about that...
5) Fascinating, Jim. Spock, what do you think about that?
6) Someone must have spiked the punchbowl.
7) Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you're our only hope.
8) Just your name, rank, and serial number, please.
9) Oooooh-eeeeee-ooh-ah-ah-ding-dang-walla-walla-bing-bang.
10) You don't say. No, really. Don’t say it at all.
Use them at will. And, just for shits and giggles, let me know how things turn out...
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Diggity Dank!
“Language is a virus from outer space.” —William S. Burroughs
The English language is dead. That’s right, people…you heard me: English as we once knew it has kicked the bucket. Right now as you read this, the language we all used to grumble about studying as children is pushing up daisies and feeding worms. Why, you may ask? Because we, the people, have killed it.
Ah, ‘tis but with a sense of remorse that I fondly recall the days of yore when noble were our tongues and lofty was our daily verbiage. The spoken word raised us up from morbid sacks of water and clay, heavy of brow and dragging our knuckles across the ground, to creatures of enlightenment and insight. And who would have thought that we would regress back to our most humble beginnings in such a short time? Not I.
The memorable and lyrical compositions of such literary masters as Walt Whitman and Edgar Allen Poe (…Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”) have recently been replaced with such nonsensical babble as: "I jammed the roscoe in his button and said, 'Close your yap, bo, or I squirt metal.'" (I would reference this quote if I knew the original source, but I rather fear that the author in question would fare far better if he remained anonymous.) In short, the crap that drips from our tongues, pens, and keyboards is naught but a shabby collection of nonsense and monosyllabic goo. And it’s a wonder that anyone can make sense of anything we say.
Take, for example, the phrase: shit a cold, purple Twinkie. What the hell does that mean? Guesses, anyone? Well, according to the Online Slang Dictionary (which you can happily peruse at this site: http://www.ocf.berkeley.edu/~wrader/slang/index.html), it means “to react with extreme or irrational distress or composure”. I would have never figured it out on my own. Thank god for the internet! Or how about the phrase: get crunk with someone. Ghastly, isn’t it? I shiver. Apparently it means to approach someone in a hostile manner, yet I daresay that the phrase, alone, is enough to send me running in the opposite direction. And should someone carrying a gatt in their grape smugglers get crunk with you, you’re in some pretty deep shit. In fact, you might even lay cable right then and there. Man, that’s really kumfumbled, isn’t it?
I don’t suppose there’s much hope for the resurrection of our language as it was spoken so long ago. And there’s hardly any point in me getting my bitch on about it, as I’m much more prone to marinate instead of napalming my opinions on the rest of society. Not to mention that I’d only come off looking like a wazzock. Perhaps I’m just going off the deep end about nothing and need more distractions in my life. Maybe I’ll just race off to the packie to stock up on enough junkst to make me talk to Ralph on the big white telephone. Or I just might get spun, go bogart some jacks and take off on a wild spree to get my boo some new bling-bling. Better yet, I rather imagine I could just insituate myself in a bumping sausage party and get my swerve on with a couple of diesels. Now that would be diggity dank, if you ask me!
The English language is dead. That’s right, people…you heard me: English as we once knew it has kicked the bucket. Right now as you read this, the language we all used to grumble about studying as children is pushing up daisies and feeding worms. Why, you may ask? Because we, the people, have killed it.
Ah, ‘tis but with a sense of remorse that I fondly recall the days of yore when noble were our tongues and lofty was our daily verbiage. The spoken word raised us up from morbid sacks of water and clay, heavy of brow and dragging our knuckles across the ground, to creatures of enlightenment and insight. And who would have thought that we would regress back to our most humble beginnings in such a short time? Not I.
The memorable and lyrical compositions of such literary masters as Walt Whitman and Edgar Allen Poe (…Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”) have recently been replaced with such nonsensical babble as: "I jammed the roscoe in his button and said, 'Close your yap, bo, or I squirt metal.'" (I would reference this quote if I knew the original source, but I rather fear that the author in question would fare far better if he remained anonymous.) In short, the crap that drips from our tongues, pens, and keyboards is naught but a shabby collection of nonsense and monosyllabic goo. And it’s a wonder that anyone can make sense of anything we say.
Take, for example, the phrase: shit a cold, purple Twinkie. What the hell does that mean? Guesses, anyone? Well, according to the Online Slang Dictionary (which you can happily peruse at this site: http://www.ocf.berkeley.edu/~wrader/slang/index.html), it means “to react with extreme or irrational distress or composure”. I would have never figured it out on my own. Thank god for the internet! Or how about the phrase: get crunk with someone. Ghastly, isn’t it? I shiver. Apparently it means to approach someone in a hostile manner, yet I daresay that the phrase, alone, is enough to send me running in the opposite direction. And should someone carrying a gatt in their grape smugglers get crunk with you, you’re in some pretty deep shit. In fact, you might even lay cable right then and there. Man, that’s really kumfumbled, isn’t it?
I don’t suppose there’s much hope for the resurrection of our language as it was spoken so long ago. And there’s hardly any point in me getting my bitch on about it, as I’m much more prone to marinate instead of napalming my opinions on the rest of society. Not to mention that I’d only come off looking like a wazzock. Perhaps I’m just going off the deep end about nothing and need more distractions in my life. Maybe I’ll just race off to the packie to stock up on enough junkst to make me talk to Ralph on the big white telephone. Or I just might get spun, go bogart some jacks and take off on a wild spree to get my boo some new bling-bling. Better yet, I rather imagine I could just insituate myself in a bumping sausage party and get my swerve on with a couple of diesels. Now that would be diggity dank, if you ask me!
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Rules to Live By: A Baker's Dozen
The following is a brief compilation of thirteen lessons, or observations if you will, that I have discovered (often the hard way, mind you) during my ever so brief journeys through this world of ours. Perhaps you may benefit from them, find them vaguely amusing, or merely consider them fodder to further the argument that I, indeed, am suitable to be committed. (And by that I mean given permanent residence in the room with the fluffy, padded walls.)
1) Corsets are remarkably uncomfortable items of wardrobe, yet they seem to provide handy places for the storage of small items (i.e. a lighter, a five dollar bill, a phone number scratched on a scrap of paper, a hair clip, etc.).
2) Avoid drinking excessive quantities of wine on an empty stomach. Or after large quantities of soda. It's just not pretty. You may laugh about it later, but it's still not pretty.
3) When the phone company says they are going to cut-off your service because you haven’t paid your phone bill in a couple of months….they actually mean it. (Really. They’re not kidding. Trust me on this one.)
4) Never let people know just how much you really know. That way, when you do something well, they’ll be pleasantly surprised.
5) Patience is a virtue…..as is silence.
6) Don’t ever try to outsmart kids. They’re smarter than we are. They’ll figure you out every time.
7) If you’re going to give your cat a pill, make sure to wear some sort of protective clothing on your hands and arms. I highly recommend a good pair of industrial rubber gloves. They’re strong AND durable.
8) Humor at the expense of others is okay, provided that they never really get the joke in the first place.
9) Don’t try to fix your computer unless you really know what you’re doing, because in the long run you’ll only manage to screw things up more and then have to ask someone who actually knows a thing or two about computers to fix it.
10) Cops have no sense of humor. (Actually some do, but most of them don’t….so don’t try. It’ll only make things worse.)
11) Comfortable shoes. Comfortable shoes. Comfortable shoes.
12) Chocolate covered espresso beans are NOT candy. Eating too many of them will mess you up.
13) Never threaten your boss with offers from other employers who would a) compensate you better for your work, b) more value your input, or c) recognize you for the industrious wonder that you truly are…unless you already have your next job lined up. (I’ve never tried this personally, but I’ve heard some morbidly funny stories…)
1) Corsets are remarkably uncomfortable items of wardrobe, yet they seem to provide handy places for the storage of small items (i.e. a lighter, a five dollar bill, a phone number scratched on a scrap of paper, a hair clip, etc.).
2) Avoid drinking excessive quantities of wine on an empty stomach. Or after large quantities of soda. It's just not pretty. You may laugh about it later, but it's still not pretty.
3) When the phone company says they are going to cut-off your service because you haven’t paid your phone bill in a couple of months….they actually mean it. (Really. They’re not kidding. Trust me on this one.)
4) Never let people know just how much you really know. That way, when you do something well, they’ll be pleasantly surprised.
5) Patience is a virtue…..as is silence.
6) Don’t ever try to outsmart kids. They’re smarter than we are. They’ll figure you out every time.
7) If you’re going to give your cat a pill, make sure to wear some sort of protective clothing on your hands and arms. I highly recommend a good pair of industrial rubber gloves. They’re strong AND durable.
8) Humor at the expense of others is okay, provided that they never really get the joke in the first place.
9) Don’t try to fix your computer unless you really know what you’re doing, because in the long run you’ll only manage to screw things up more and then have to ask someone who actually knows a thing or two about computers to fix it.
10) Cops have no sense of humor. (Actually some do, but most of them don’t….so don’t try. It’ll only make things worse.)
11) Comfortable shoes. Comfortable shoes. Comfortable shoes.
12) Chocolate covered espresso beans are NOT candy. Eating too many of them will mess you up.
13) Never threaten your boss with offers from other employers who would a) compensate you better for your work, b) more value your input, or c) recognize you for the industrious wonder that you truly are…unless you already have your next job lined up. (I’ve never tried this personally, but I’ve heard some morbidly funny stories…)
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Eulogy to Scarborough Faire
The Faire is over….the Faire is over….the Faire is over!
First and foremost, allow me to declare (once more, and this time for the record) that Musketeers are, without question, my favorite part of any faire-going experience. There’s just something about men dashing about in thirty pounds of blue velvet -- accompanied ever so beautifully by long, flowing plumage that flutters in even the slightest breeze -- that leaves me practically convulsing with outright, wanton lust! Then again, maybe it’s the well-groomed mustaches and goatees adorning features so perfectly chiseled that I would wonder if my eyes were gazing upon works of art rather than mankind, itself. Or perhaps it’s the titillating sound of jingling spurs across the way, directing my attentions toward the object(s) of my desire. Who knows? And does it even matter? Nay, say I! For, much like the merit of a wondrous sunset that begs to be watched in awe, it’s really impossible to explain. I simply adore them. Ah, I can almost smell the delectable scent of testosterone even now as I recall their presence. Simply delightful!
However, one might ponder whether my fascination with these glorious French soldiers has anything to do with the fact that my current, and decidedly droll, existence is somewhat male-deficient. In my present occupation I work exclusively with women. And hardly do I bemoan said fact, as the merits of sisterhood are never lost on me. Yet, in every life there is room for balance. Work with women….play with men. (Already does my mother’s audible groan at such a blatant comment echo across my subconscious. Sorry mom.) And therefore one of my primary intentions in racing out to Scarborough Faire each weekend has everything to do with getting a hefty dosage of Vitamin M. (The “M” stands for men, for those of you who are slow on the uptake.) And, although those with intimate knowledge of these velvet-clad wonders would declare with some outrage that Cavaliers and/or Musketeers tend to hog the mirror more than their courtly (or wenchy, whatever the case may be) escorts, they are hardly lacking in testosterone. So what if they adorn themselves with more lace than I did on my wedding night. They’re still indisputably masculine! And wonderfully so!
Of course, you may be sitting there wondering silently to yourself whether or not I only attend Renaissance festivals for the sole purpose of acting up with gorgeous Frenchmen. Again I declare nay, my good friends! For there are so many other wondrous attributes to faire life, including but not limited to splendid entertainment, tasty chilled beverages (wine being my personal preference), talented merchants and artisans, and, last but certainly not least, camaraderie that is without compare. If you would indulge me for a moment, I would like to elaborate a bit more on that last attribute.
There’s something to be said about friendships made and maintained at Renaissance festivals, and therefore I feel the need to say it. The opening weekend of just about any faire can be likened somewhat to the first day of school after summer vacation. We’ve all experienced it: that giddy apprehension as you gaze about in search of faces you remember, as well as the subtle curiosity of the so-called “new kids” in homeroom. Old bonds are reinforced, accompanied by handshakes and hugs and maybe a few lingering kisses here and there. And new ones are forged quickly as faire virgins are welcomed into the fold, initiated into the herd with bottom-spanking ceremonies performed by candlelight under a full moon. No…wait…that’s something else altogether. Pardon the digression.
Nevertheless, these friendships are strengthened by the common experience of roaming through a carefully constructed village in historical (and often uncomfortable…have you ever tried to sneeze in a bodice? Egad!) clothing in weather conditions that are often counterproductive to one’s own physical comfort. Illogical, you say? Why, yes it is. But who said fun had to be founded in logic? Nonetheless, it is through sharing these experiences that we grow closer to one another. Laughing, playing, cavorting about like overgrown children, and looking after each other when the mercury nears triple digits. The camaraderie is real. The concern for another’s well-being is real. And the degree to which my faire friendships warm and comfort my heart, even in my bleakest hours, is as real as the nose on your face. (Assuming you’re not status-post rhinoplasty, that is.)
Are these ties cut as each season draws to a close, you may ask? Hardly. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology we keep in touch even with those who hail from the farthest corners of the globe. (Like Austin, a whole three hour drive from here.) Internet forums (which I’ve taken a little heat of late for waiting too long to join…sorry guys, I’m on it…I really am), long distance calling plans, snail mail, and, ever so thankfully, the slowly falling prices of gasoline all help us to keep in touch with one another. Because without these beloved friends, I likely would wither and fade much like the ivy plant in my kitchen. I value them (the friends, not so much the ivy) as the gifts they truly are. As a matter of fact, on closing day as the sun was skimming across the treetops along the horizon and the gates were being pulled shut, something was said to me which I shall remember forever: "We expect you to keep in touch….You’re hanging with the right people now….We’re the kinds of friends you lean on." God bless the two darlings who uttered such valued phrases to me! I love the hell out of them!
So, the faire is over. And I grieve. But I shall carry with me such fond memories as to fuel my escape-from-reality-moments for quite some time to come. And are we keeping in touch as we promised? You better believe it! I always keeps me promises, mate. And if any of these godsends should happen onto this blog of nonsensical musings (God help them if they made it to the end of this infernal post), I’ll see you at the party. Oh yeah, and I’ll be wearing my toga!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
