Explored Thoughts

That Smelly Ol' Factory

2006-09-06T15:29:00.001-05:00

Smell is an interesting sense to have. It is often subtle and unnoticed, like blinking, until we experience an extreme, like having sand in our eye or apple pie. Smell enhances it's sister sense, taste, by adding richness to the mere 7-8 flavors our tongues can perceive. Wikipedia even claims that without smell, a sliced apple and a sliced potato are indistinguishable.

Olfaction is also intimately tied with memory. The smell of the ocean may remind one of a fond vacation, while burning wood brings back the terrible recollection of a home burning down. Much to my wife's chagrin, my smell-memory seems to recall past girlfriends with hints of cucumber melon or specific perfumes.

The reception of smells is hard to mind-grip for me. It's much like radio transmission. I mostly comprehend the technical explanation, but I reel like a caveman studying a box-with-tiny-people-inside when I try to apply the science to practical awareness. Smelly molecules float through the air all around us, intermingling with shock jock and monotone NPR journalists.

The pleasant smell molecules are perfectly acceptable. I've yet to frown or grimace when taking in vanilla, cedar, or a fresh rain. However, the unpleasant smells are contrastingly pungent - I'll refrain from listing them.

The worst thing about repulsive smells, for me, is that I know that at some level, I am breathing into my person molecular slices of the source. It doesn't help when those disgusting parcels are mixed equally with painfully industrial "lemon" or "floral". I know what's being smuggled on the back of sharp restroom perfume. Like a prostitute wearing too much makeup, the attempt to conceal merely focuses the attention.

Sadly, by the time you recognize the invasion, it's too late. (Of smells, not hookers.)

Odd footnote: I've lately noticed that my own sneezes have an odd smell to them. It's not a putrid smell, probably closer to 'sweet' than anything. It's still unnerving and fairly ironic.

Geocaching

2006-08-22T14:03:00.001-05:00

I've recently acquired a new game/sport/hobby called "geocaching".

Geocaching.com defines it thusly:

Geocaching is an entertaining adventure game for gps users. ... The basic idea is to have individuals and organizations set up caches all over the world and share the locations of these caches on the internet. GPS users can then use the location coordinates to find the caches. Once found, a cache may provide the visitor with a wide variety of rewards. All the visitor is asked to do is if they get something they should try to leave something for the cache.

Geocaching is similar to a very large (world-wide, even) easter egg hunt. The family no longer hides the eggs - they have been replaced by complete strangers. The eggs are now less colorful and range widely in appearance and size. So far I've seen matchstick containers, ammo boxes, tupperware, plastic jugs, and 35mm film canisters.

The "wide variety of rewards" regularly consist of dollar-store junk and old dirty toys - the stuff a normal person would dump into the "10 cents" garage store box. The cache-egg must also contain something to sign, confirming you did find it. It may or may not contain a writing utensil, which means I will consistently forget to carry my own.

The veritable treasure trove of junk is not the reason I enjoy geocaching. There's something oddly fascinating about a hidden container that no one notices, but waits quietly for someone with the treasure map to locate. When you do locate the cache, you find in the logbook that many unseen others have visited the same location, unknown to you and the rest of the world. I have driven by one of these hundreds, if not thousands, of times before I was let in on the geocaching secret.

Geocaching provides more than the adventure of discovering dirty tupperware, though. It provides a reason to explore a local park, hike an unknown trail, and see parts of your world you never knew existed.

...and the sweet dollar-store toys, too.

That Useless Internet

2006-08-11T09:42:00.000-05:00

Anyone that knows me personally knows that I love the internet. It's unfathomable how much information I have absorbed online that would not be easily obtained in a strictly offline world. Sometimes I even print off random web pages, pile them up on the floor, and roll around in them Scrooge McDuck style.

I'm also close to mastering Google fu. Given a question or topic, I can generally find relevant information through carefully sculpted and refined search queries. If I'm in a restaurant and hear a song that I like, I will listen carefully for a specific phrase that I can later search for.

Therein lies one of the things I cannot easily find: sound.

A couple months ago, a friend and I were talking about a song that we remembered from high school. We only remembered some visuals from the video, the general sound of the chorus, and a few generic lyrics. I went home that night with a personal mission to find the song. I found it some time around 4:00am.

I'm stuck if I like the sound of a song but don't have any lyrics. You can't search on "That song with the quick tempo that goes 'dunna dunna dunna dunt'".

Well, you can, but you won't find the song, "Say Anything" by Shane McAnally.

Fashionless in Seattle

2006-08-07T13:06:00.000-05:00

I recently discovered a fashion blog titled, "The Sartorialist". Viewing it, I can't help but wish that I had well-worn suits and stylish jackets. Money is often an obstacle in this endeavor, as is my lack of good taste. My wife was once commanded by a salesman: "Do not let him wear tubesocks with this suit." I shook my head, but silently made a mental note.

The t-shirt-and-shorts guy in me sees the same photos and says, "That looks hot." There is a reason I don't wear sweaters, even though I think they look good on me. I'm a sweater. As in, "one who perspires", not the clothing article's version of "wooly thing that makes you perspire". Heavy clothing is fine if you're planning on standing outside during the winter, but I invariably walk inside at some point and loathe my second skin.

I wear what's comfortable. Oftentimes, this is an old t-shirt, any shorts that still have a button, and a pair of cheap flip-flops. I may have to start hiding these shirts 'Anne Frank'-style soon, as my wife squints evilly every time they adorn me. Moreso than usual.

When I Grow Up

2006-08-03T23:36:00.000-05:00

When I grow up, I want to be a photographer, artist, scientist, musician, bartender, entrepeneur, gardener, actor, chef, writer, theologian, teacher, and financial consultant.

Unfortunately, companies (and salaries) tend to frown on someone leaving after six months to pursue other ventures.

I have found some of my actual jobs vaguely interesting, but not enough to excite me. I seem to be in a career rut, but by my own choosing. My proverbial "rock" is that I am logical, intelligent, have a technological understanding, and IT jobs are easy to find. The "hard place" is that I'd rather be doing something else, as evidenced by my opening sentence, but these careers would require things that I do not currently have.

It's essentially a problem of risk, ambition, and effort. Where does someone find the perfect balance between the disasterous extremes of career mediocrity and insanity?

An Excerpt

2006-04-06T23:04:00.000-05:00

FADE IN:

INT. ED'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM - EVENING

ED paces nervously, having an inaudible conversation with himself. REGGIE watches him amusedly.

REGGIE
Are you ready for this?

ED
I don't know - I think.

Reggie frowns paternally and grabs Ed firmly by the shoulders.

REGGIE
You'll be fine. You're meeting a beautiful woman tonight.

Ed visibly blanches and closes his eyes for a few seconds.

REGGIE
(stepping back)
What was that face for?
(curious look)
Wait. You are a "girls" kinda
guy, right?

ED
(sheepishly)
I just threw up in my mouth a little.

REGGIE
(patting Ed
on the back)
Okay. That's okay.

Reggie fishes in his pockets and pulls out a stick of gum. He offers it to Ed.

REGGIE
You better chew on this in the off chance
she actually wants your mouths to
touch. No offense.

ED
(nodding)
A little taken.

Love in an Elevator

2006-03-13T08:39:00.000-06:00

American strangers do not like to cozy up to one another. We're a culture of personal space. If you don't believe me, look at the seating arrangement in a fast food restaurant. People are like fine-tuned computers, seeking the booth or table with the furthest proximity to someone they don't know.

That's why elevators are so humorous. If you remove the transportation aspect, they're really just tiny rooms. Where else would people be comfortable walking into a room and standing, completely quiet, with a group of strangers?

It's even stranger when there are only two of us in one of these rooms. I have an internal urge to dialogue with this quasi-intimate stranger, but I know that no meaningful conversation can take place before the fifth floor.

The Chicken Cold

2006-02-28T15:46:00.000-06:00

Color me lucky. I'm now a survivor of the 2006 influenza virus. You all can stop wearing the rubbery bracelets.

And yes, it was the flu. Not some cold or other wimpy virus. The flu. I can't think of any other malaise that we refer to in the singular like we do the influenza virus. No one sniffles, "I've got the cold." The doctor even warned me to be careful while I'm recovering from "the flu", because my immune system is weak, and I'm susceptible to catching "a pneumonia."

As a side: We're living in a world of technology that allows people to reshape their eyes with lasers, access the cordless internet in McDonalds, and buy seats on space shuttles, but our flu test is still painfully ramming a long Q-tip into a patient's nose before the nurse makes the patient fully aware what's about to happen?

Monday and Tuesday are a feverish blur to me. Luckily, I didn't empty my stomach as often as I remember doing in my childhood bouts with the flu. I was mainly just so tired and weak that I just wanted to sleep, but too achey and fevered to be comfortable enough to doze. I was essentially in a 24-hour toss-and-turn(-and-sweat-and-cough).

I also had a rough cough and lots of congestion. Two things I don't remember being linked with the flu. One of my clients decided today that I had a bad strain of the "chicken cold". I laughed and nodded, secretly uncertain what that meant. Later he clarified to someone else that didn't nod that, "the chicken flu was a bad version of the flu, so he has the chicken cold".

The chicken cold.

Spicy Chicken Parts

2006-02-08T17:09:00.000-06:00

There are some foods in the world that have a mysterious popularity. Some of this mystery can be ascribed to cultural differences, taste preferences, or supply, but there are others that fall outside of these simple categories. I'd like to analyze one of these food mysteries today. The sports-fan and guy-who-goes-to-Hooters-but-just-for-the-food favorite: buffalo wings.

A short research on the buffalo wing has at least explained that "buffalo" refers to the city, not the animal. "Three links in one sentence means I'm a real blog now, by the way," said the blog.

I like boneless buffalo/chicken wings, because I like chicken meat slathered with spicy sauce that I can dip in ranch or bleu cheese. I'm not a huge fan of sucking meat off of a bone. Especially when the object I'm "eating" is more bone than meat. This thought birthed the explanatory epic that follows:

The head honchos over at Tyson one day were examining the efficiency of the "Poultry Dismemberment and Mutiliation Facility" when they were shocked how long it was taking the workers and worker-bots to extrapolate meat in the "various small parts" department. They decided that the relatively small amount of meat they were getting was not worth the inordinate amount of time invested.

What would they now do with these too-small chicken parts?

Many consultants were queried and thinktanks formed to answer this troublesome question. Some preferred tossing the parts. Some responded with research of smaller workers and worker-bots to better handle the small chicken-parts. Some recommended a study to find out where these small chickens or large chickens with small parts are coming from.

The answer that stuck was the simplest: convince the consumer to suck the meat off themselves.

"Preposterous!" the executives cried. "People will never buy a package of bones with the tiniest slivers of meat hanging from them!"

"We will develop a tasty sauce, with the spicy kick to make them forget they resemble a hyena gnawing at a wildebeest already picked clean save the small scraps the well-fed lions looked over," the consultants rejoined.

"The rest", they say, "is culinary history".

Source Comment-o'-the-Day

2006-01-31T10:41:00.000-06:00

Non-coders can safely ignore this one. I just needed to document it. Pun not intended, but enjoyed and allowed to remain.

I'm plowing through a client's large PHP script to convert the output from HTML to PDF. The formatting is generally awful, with indentation all over the place and unneccessary code tossed about like an excited Shriner firing candy at a parade crowd. Sure, it's fun to watch, but you won't ever watch anything again if a piece hits you in the eye.

I digress.

Source code is the human-readable language that programmer's write that in-turn becomes a piece of software through various means. Good programmers will add comments to their source when it is unclear why they are doing something or even what they're doing at all.

Today I ran across the following helpful source comment:

//store a character in a variable.

This is similar to a movie review going this way:

//there was an actor in a plot.

Alright, back to work.

Fair Warning

2006-01-28T10:51:00.000-06:00

I've been spending far more time at a funeral home lately than anyone should possibly care to. I've been doing some development work generating some year-end reports in a small, normally-quiet room.

Unfortunately, when the room is not quiet, I'm listening to the sounds from the chapel down the hall where people are attending funeral services. This provides a predictable song list of Amazing Grace and various other hymns, with a sprinkling of contemporary music.

Now the warning. If I die and someone at my funeral sings "I Can Only Imagine" by MercyMe, I will do my best to roll my coffin off the coffin-holder, lumber/crawl up to the person holding the microphone, and bite them. If I am instead cremated, I will attempt to form a swirling cloud of menacing ash to ... induce sneezing, I suppose.

Speaking of corpse-handling, my work at a funeral home/cemetary has further convinced me that cremation is the way to go. I sit at a "desk" with a large map of the cemetary hanging above me on the wall. It appears to have a bajillion cemetary plots. These cemetary plots are not reusable, as far as I know. While I understand the sense of memorial that comes with a rock and a patch of grass, it still seems we're allotting a lot of grass for a long time.

I don't require a land purchase in conjunction with my death. Burn me up, sprinkle me into a cigar ashtray, and play Johnny Cash's rendition of "We'll Meet Again". (or face the dire consequences)

Uncomfortable in Bangladesh

2006-01-27T22:38:00.000-06:00

As a child, you are often reminded of the poor impoverished people in Africa. Leave okra on your plate? Don't you know that there are people in Africa that are starving and would love your fried greenish things?

Why doesn't anyone ever extend this logic to other wasted things?

Take a long shower? Don't you know that there are people in Egypt that are dehydrated?

Throw away a Wall Street Journal without reading it? Don't you know there are poor stock traders in New York that don't read the Weekend Edition?

Feature and Warning

2006-01-15T18:32:00.000-06:00

Printed along the top of every can of Kraft Easy Cheese is the phrase, "no need to refrigerate".

I know that most people don't need any warning against buying cheese in a can, but if they wanted one, that's it.

Would you be willing to try milk that claimed the same "feature"?

The Problem with Slacks

2006-01-13T13:00:00.000-06:00

This is the second installment in a series titled, "Things You Hang Around Your Waist".

When wearing jeans, I have no problem finding somewhere to wipe my hands. In fact, as long as the substance-to-be-wiped is not an incredible amount of blood (or other bodily fluid), mustard, grape juice, or other hard-to-treat stain, I instinctively go to the denim napkin, or denkins.

The great thing about jeans these days is that people want them to look bad. To prove my point, go to any "fashionable" store or celebrity and look at the jeans they have. Holes. Patches. Soon you'll be seeing realistic stains so I can finally wipe mustard on my denkins.

The problem with slacks is that they're supposed to look clean and sharp. Professionals do not have time to look cool with big gaping holes and shredded pockets. Now that I'm wearing slacks more often than jeans, I'm having a hard time resisting the instinct.

...and that, my friends, is likely the exact dialogue that invented the handkerchief. Unfortunately, the original inventors did not have the foresight to make the handkerchief out of denim. A denkinchief, if you will.

Stop Eating Belts

2006-01-04T22:40:00.000-06:00

I was in the bathroom the other day when inspiration hit me:

"I know what people want to read about! Bacteria!"

"Bingo!", I hear you think out loud to yourself.

When a person relieves themself in the restroom, or I suppose anywhere they choose, they must shift their clothing in some manner. When they are finished, the aforementioned clothing must be shifted back to a position that will prevent criminal charges. After the post-shift, some people choose to wash their hands.

Point: You unshifted your clothes before washing your hands. This means that some of those cooties you diligently scrub off are domiciling in your shifted clothes. Not sanitary, but you'll likely wash your clothes before wearing them again.

Now. Think about any belts that belong to one of these events. When is the last time you washed a belt?

Isn't that gross?

That Monkey Movie

2005-12-29T15:44:00.000-06:00

The Mrs. and I checked out the newest theater in town this week. We decided we were in the mood to watch something with giant gorillas in it, but sadly King Kong's single giant gorilla was all that was available.

I enjoyed some of the movie. I certainly recommend if you plan on seeing it at all, you see it in a theater environment. 'King Kong' demands to be seen with the volume cranked up just short of painful and on a screen the size of the film's starring primate.

Now, for the things I did not like about 'King Kong' (minor spoilers ahead):

The first 1/3rd of the movie in which no one was stabbed, crushed, or eaten. (snore.)
The uncircumcised worms. (You know exactly what I'm talking about if you've seen it.)
Jack Driscoll, a supposed script-writer, fights everything and everyone in the movie. He punches dinosaurs, kicks giant insects, karate chops a platoon of US soldiers, swings all over the jungle Tarzan-style with one arm and a woman hanging onto him, and even single-handedly wrestles King Kong. (He wins by putting Kong in a sleeper hold.)
The makeout scene between Kong and Ann. No one wants to see a woman covered in that much gorilla saliva.
The dog. (Enough said.)
The ending scene when they calm King Kong by giving him a very large kitten to play with. (Come on, we've all read "Koko's Kitten". Don't try to pass this off as original.)
The ending line. It started with "Nay" for crying out loud.

Again, it's worth seeing, but don't tell me I didn't warn you about the worms.

Business is Good

2005-12-18T22:45:00.000-06:00

I noticed a banner hanging on the outside of a Wendy's, a fast-food hamburger restaurant for my readers in Uzbekistan, that read "Business is Good - Now Hiring".

That's a reassuring thing to read if you do aspire to work at Wendy's - business is good, the restaurant is seeing profits, a job there should be secure.

However, I began to imagine hanging that sign outside other businesses.

Can you imagine the public outcry if that banner was hanging outside an oil refinery? Why aren't funeral homes that proud of their economic success?

Then again, it may have more to do with the type of business that is willing to hang a banner on the outside of its building.

A Christmas Essay

2005-12-11T16:44:00.000-06:00

Christmas is a wonderful time of year. You really begin to feel something stirring inside you when you hear that first Christmas song in November and realize that you will likely MICROSOFT XBOX 360 hear it and your other Christmas favorites for the next 45 days in a row.

Stores really show their holiday cheer by LEAPSTER MULTIMEDIA LEARNING PROGRAM pulling out the giant snow flakes, inflatable snow globes, and dancing Santas, as well. I know I MOTOROLA RAZR V3 never get tired of that dancing fat man. Rock on Santa Claus! Just don't keep the elves up too late!

The best part of Christmas is the way IPOD NANO people light up with a festive glow as they SONY CYBER SHOT DSC-N1 spend time with hundreds of strangers waiting in line for that unique and special gift. I'm always surprised these gatherings NIKE SASQUATCH 460 TI DRIVER don't spontaneously break out into Christmas carols!

It's about time I POLK XM RADIO RECEIVER added some more chestnuts to the fire, so until next time, save some eggnog THE SIMS COMPLETE COLLECTION FOR PC for me!

Love,

Western Culture

Wax Poetic

2005-12-05T15:48:00.001-06:00

Leaves flitter against the window,
struggling against an invisible constraint
to enter a world of Muchacos and bean burritos.

The blades of grass dance their last dance;
Knowing they will wither and die soon.
The blades of shredded lettuce lie motionless
In their shallow grave of crisp tortilla and cheese.

Outside the bitter December wind waits for me.
I am inside.
oblivious.
warm.
and dipping things in queso.

Daredevil Memorial

2005-11-28T12:15:00.000-06:00

While driving home today, I took notice of a highway standard: the roadside floral arrangement. I mean no offense to the people that place these, but I really have to acknowledge their bravery and/or stupidity.

I am not comfortable standing within ten feet of a large concrete path intended to provide a flat surface on which to roll half-ton metal machines filled with combustible fuel at breakneck speeds. Yes, that's one sentence.

The people that place these roadside floral arrangements are not only willing to park their expensive half-ton metal machine on the side of the road and get out, but to do this in a location with a history of being an innoportune exit. If I were the ghost of someone they were remembering, I'd probably be shaking my head and wincing while they were standing out there.

If I do ever happen to leave this mortal coil near a highway, please place any flowers on your table, porch, or garden instead. There's less chance that you will be crushed in those locations and I will be just as happy.

Giving Thanks

2005-11-23T21:33:00.000-06:00

When asked if my cup is half-full or half-empty my only response is that I am thankful I have a cup. -Sam Lefkowitz

The cows get a temporary pardon in the United States this weekend; It's the turkey's turn to shine.

Enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday if you're observing or enjoy the normal weekend if you're not.

Subtle Irony

2005-11-20T03:31:00.000-06:00

Just thought I'd share a clever quote I saw tonight. It gives me license to be wrong and look smart at the same time. Hesketh Pearson said:

Only educated people have the right to misquote things. Someone who reads a lot never quotes correctly, obviously because they read too much.

Delayed Eureka

2005-11-18T21:56:00.000-06:00

Sorry, I posted that last thought as I was leaving work and wasn't on top of my game. Just realized I missed a prime opportunity.

I've just coined a new phrase.

Its popularity may hinge on my dog-heater idea's usage, but I think it's catchy all the same. I may even start using it.

Let's say your friend is going to get married tomorrow. He's extremely nervous and thinking about backing out. What advice should you give?

"Slip them under the dog, man."

It's a little phrase that you can use when someone has figurative cold feet: "Slip them under the dog."

I'm not sure exactly what you're suggesting, though, in a literal sense. Might be more helpful if you could tie your advice to something the worrier could actually use.

Regardless, I believe I'll start using it. At the least it may calm someone down enough that they don't cry and make you uncomfortable.

Canis lupus familiaris calefacio

2005-11-18T16:58:00.000-06:00

People that live in colder climates and own large dogs should train their dogs from an early age to sleep at the foot of their bed. That way, if their feet are cold, they can just slip them under the dog.

I developed this amazing idea while lying in bed waiting for my feet to dethaw while a furry bundle of evil heated my shoulder. My shoulders typically don't need heating. Unfortunately he is far too small to place my feet under and far too stubborn to sleep where I instruct.

I guess what I'm saying is this: Don't buy an evil Yorkshire Terrier if you intend to implement my foot-warming technique.

Do You Like ______? Part II

2005-11-14T12:09:00.000-06:00

I didn't realize when I was writing Bueno Paja that I would be able to do a sequel. Doesn't have anything to do with straws or tex-mex, but the question I was posed: Do you like skeletons?

Just last week, as I was letting out the cutest little hell-spawn, I had a conversation with a neighbor. I don't see him or his truck often, so I don't know him at all. I give a polite, "How're ya doin'" as I walk to the mailbox. On my return, he calls me over to ask a question:

"Do you like mistletoe?"

Again, I was somewhat speechless as to how to answer this question. I thought to myself, "Surely he's talking about a local band or something." Before I could thoroughly think that line of reasoning through, I lamely responded, "Never heard of them."

"You don't know the story behind mistletoe?"

"Oh, the plant? Yeah, for like Christmas."

"Well, you can hang it over a door and get kisses. I've got some in the back of my truck if you want to break off a piece."

I really should have dropped it at this point, but I tried to redeem any possible normalcy in the conversation. I decided he must have removed the mistletoe from a tree because he is in some form of landscaping. Faking curiousity in his profession, I asked, "Isn't mistletoe a parasite?"

He responded, "Well yeah, but most people just like it for gettin' kisses." I correctly nodded and went my own way, unsure who he desired to "get kisses" from.

There are a lot of things that sound fine in the "Do you like ____" blank. Rap, coffee, trees, babies, the McRib, Ike, etc. Skeletons and mistletoe do not.

How appropriate would it be if I started a band named "Skeletons and Mistletoe"?

S&M Fan 1: Do you like "Skeletons and Mistletoe"?
S&M Fan 2: Yeah, dude, they rock!

McBumpy

2005-11-09T23:41:00.000-06:00

I'm a relatively picky eater. Texture and appearance are almost as important as taste to me. However, when it comes to cowish foods, I am easier to please.

Case in point: I will eat almost any microwaved burger out there. In fact, I don't recall a time when I have purchased a nukeable solo-burger and been dissatisfied enough to discard it before it has been devoured. I don't really have to explain this to anyone who has read Moo Please. I give the Chick-Fil-A cows nightmares.

Having said that, I have never tried a McRib. The idea scares me. They're fashioning a meat product into the form of an animal's ribcage and hoping it looks tasty. Does it really need to have artificially sculpted "bones" that are also made of meat? As far as I know, when people crave ribs, they're not hungering for the bumps in-between the slats of meat.

Perhaps I should order a McRib without the sandwich-qualifying parts, just the meat, and proceed to eat it like a real rack of ribs. I could separate the individual "ribs" and leave the meat-bones behind. Granted, my fellow McDonald's occupants will likely file me under crazy rather than witty.

If anyone out there is a die-hard McRib fan and dares challenge me to try one, I'll certainly give it a thought.

Presidential Scheduling

2005-11-08T02:02:00.000-06:00

A Glimpse into the Life of President George Walker Bush
Republican Version

5:00am President wakes and goes for a morning jog, to stay healthy. This keeps him physically and mentally fit. President Bush rescues a small kitten from a tree during his run.

6:00am President eats a sensible breakfast and prepares for a long day making important decisions. President briefly pauses in front of a mirror and contemplates his own existence and the weight of responsibility he carries.

7:00am President Bush meets with National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice to discuss current threats to freedom. The President explains to Condi which ones he believe pose the greatest risk and why. Condi thanks President Bush for his wisdom and insight.

8:00am President Bush speaks with foreign allies via telephone conference call. He calms the worries of the other leaders and confidently asserts that justice will be done. The call ends with a telephone ovation for the President's consistent and powerful leadership.

10:00am The President sits down with a bipartisan group of senators to discuss upcoming legislation. He serves as a masterful guide, both explaining his opinions and accepting compromise when needed. At the end of the meeting, the senators are invigorated and eager to work together.

12:00pm President breaks for lunch with his wife, First Lady Laura Bush.

1:00pm President takes some time out of his long and busy day to reflect, meditate, and rest. This will help him keep up his furious pace and stay alert for those who count on him.

A Glimpse into the Life of President George Walker Bush
Democrat Version

5:00am Mr. Bush drags out of bed and runs outside. The Secret Service corral him and bring him back to the White House.

6:00am George eats a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and laughs at the jokes on the box. He makes a mental note to remember those for the conference call later today. He sees a mirror and takes the opportunity to make funny faces and call himself "Mr. President" repeatedly.

7:00am Condoleezza Rice cannot find George. He is hiding because he thinks these morning talks are "boring". Condi finds Mr. Bush hiding behind the shrubs outside his office. Condi reads through the list of current threats and explains again how it can be the "middle" and "east".

8:00am George W. listens in on a conference call with foreign allies. He makes "talky" hands and silently mocks the leaders when they disagree with him. The call ends after George's Fruity Pebble jokes bomb.

10:00am Mr. Bush calls in leaders from Exxon and congratulates them on their recent profit announcements. He asks Exxon which country they want next.

12:00pm George refuses to work until he has his PB&J sandwich, with crust removed. Mr. Bush tries the Fruity Pebble jokes on his wife as she opens his Capri Sun for him. She smiles and nods.

1:00pm His hunger satisfied, George decides to take a nap instead of actually working like the rest of us.

Somewhere there's bound to be a happy medium-- between George the Chimp and President Bush the Freedom Fighter. I'm somewhere in right field when it comes to politics, but I'm not afraid to accept flaws and shortcomings of elected officials. I'm also not convinced that every liberal is commie pinko.

...and honestly, who designed the Capri Sun packaging?

Gray Matters

2005-11-04T01:25:00.000-06:00

All of this talk about memory has had me contemplating the stuff inside my head. I realized something while doing this, and am prepared to share my epiphany with you. Brace yourself friend.

Think about your brain for a few seconds. Now picture what it looks like: a big gray lumpy thing.

Isn't it intriguing that you're thinking about your own brain with your own brain? When you visualize it, you're extracting that image from an actual big gray lumpy thing. It's like flipping through your wallet to find a picture of your wallet! Well, not exactly like that unless your brain is visible, but you get the gist. Recognize that you're now thinking about retrieving an image of a brain from your brain with your brain. Trippy, huh?

The only people still interested are stoned or hungry zombies, so that's enough brain-talk for now.

Feel free to carry a picture of a wallet in your wallet as a brain conversation-starter, though. Eventually people will start thinking you're smart and captivatingly odd, like that scientist guy from Jurassic Park with the dark hair and glasses.

Neuron Pink Slips

2005-11-02T00:03:00.000-06:00

I have a problem remembering Jeff Goldblum's name. I had to go to imdb.com and do a search for "The Fly" just for the first sentence. What is it about Mr. Goldblum's name that makes it so hard to remember? Any time I try to recall his name, I dig through the pile of everything else I know about him: trademark stuttered delivery, propensity for playing the eccentrically hip scientist, turned into a large insect, etc. What I can never pin down is his name.

If my head were an office complex, and the various parts of my brain were the employees, the neuron in charge of remembering celebrity names would be worthless. I'd intercom him and ask him the name of that scientist guy in Independence Day and he wouldn't answer. I'd walk up to his cubicle and notice that he was playing Tetris. As usual. Being polite, I'd give a 'just-walking-up-and-haven't-seen-anything-yet' warning with, "Hey Neuron-342". Neuron-342 would fumble for his mouse and minimize everything but his email client. "You have the name of that actor I was needing yet?"

"Oh, no... I was, uh... well, I'm almost done, just need to tweak it a bit," he awkwardly replies. In reality, he's hoping that I'll walk away soon, because he's on level 10 and isn't sure if he paused it or just minimized. His well-placed blocks are in serious jeopardy.

At this point I typically give up and ask someone else (non-Neuron) or search for it. Why do I consistently struggle with a specific actor's name? You'd think my brain would have a headshot of Goldblum above the water cooler with his name in Sharpie by now.

Culinary Developer's Saccharin Blues

2005-10-31T01:26:00.000-06:00

I know my readerbase is composed only of the most observant members of society, so I'm merely commenting on old news. I've recently added links to two blogs I enjoy. I've added links to two tu-tus too.

The first one, "Spiritually Lonely", is written by someone I personally know, under the pseudonym "musing". They're mainly authoring the blog under a pen-name because they have seen first-hand the devastating effects of overwhelming blog-induced fame in my life. This new blog deals with the experiences of a "spiritually and intellectually lonely" Christian and the dichotomy of the church and the Church. Unravel your own theological musings here.

The second blog I recommend is "Cul de Sac Blues", by Guy Wonders. I don't know if this is Guy's real name or not. If it is his name, his parents came up with a really clever name; if it's not, someone else came up with a really clever name. Guy's prose is a witty and well-written account of the happenings in "the Sack", a Canadian cul de sac filled with ordinary but interesting people. Many cul de sac events and characters are described. One recurring topic concerns a fated house that burned down early in the blog's life which Guy has appropriately dubbed "Burning Manor". Find Burning Manor and the rest of the CDSB crew here.

Also, for those of you that got your hopes up about tu-tu content, I give you this.

Bovine Beatnik

2005-10-29T04:27:00.000-05:00

Cows are delicious
I like them in tortillas
With lettuce and cheese

Cheeseburgers fear me
They moo in desperation
Don't care; I'm hungry

Tasty white liquid
Squeezed from dangling teats
Must-have for cookies

Moo Please

2005-10-29T01:31:00.000-05:00

If I am ever asked what my favorite animal is, I answer "cow" with no hesitation. I imagine a scenario in which someone comes to me and says, "Random species of animal will be going extinct very soon. We have a way of saving one of them. Is there any species you would like to preserve?"

"Cow."

I realize that when people ask this, they're generally not curious to know which animal tastes best. Most people would answer "dog" or "horse" or something else that provides companionship or high-quality glue. I think more with my stomach: beef, milk, cheese. You see, I am a lover of these food items. My wife has even called me "the cheesman" on occasion. In my world, Tex-Mex, cheeseburgers, and a great steak trump companionship. Besides, what are you going to drink with chocolate chip cookies or Oreos if the cows dissappear?

I like chicken well enough, but prefer the red meat. Also, I am not aware of any delicious liquids that can be squeezed out of a chicken. "What about goat milk or deer meat?" I hear you ask. Yes, I acknowledge that other animals can lactate or be eaten. They're not familiar to me and honestly, have never tasted quite right. Every time I try something different, cow is the baseline comparison. I have never uttered the words, "You know, this is better than beef."

What about cows for companionship? Sure, they smell, weigh half a ton, and don't fetch, but they will mow your lawn. Plus, they can be tipped or used as transportation in a bind.

Ah, who am I kidding? I'm hungry.

Inspirational Interlude

2005-10-26T02:26:00.000-05:00

Was doing my nightly blog-surfing and came across a post that I thought was worth linking to for my enormous reader-base. All two of you.

If you don't feel like reading the entire post, I'll give you the synopsis. Special K, hereafter SK, was away from his wife and family on a business trip. He got a call from his wife informing him of a potential problem with her father's upcoming surgery. Without the need for detail, SK apologized to his customer and caught the next plane home. All because his family needed him more than his job.

The following paragraph really stood out and made me think about being a better person:

It is times like this that we all need to do what ever it is that will make us proud. That sounds selfish in a way, but really it allows me to get outside of myself and see the end of the ordeal. In each action, will I be happy with myself over the decisions that I made? If I help ease pain where I can and I act in the best interest of others then I will be proud of myself. Sometimes that will mean doing things and saying things that soothe or sometimes hurt, but always with others’ best interest in mind. I can live or die in peace with that.

Great wisdom for living a meaningful life. This of course presumes that the person finds pride in living morally and has a solid character.

I've realized over the years that I'll only sympathize if I think the cause is worthwhile. All too often I ignore the fact that others are hurt or do intensely care, and that I may have no other use but to support them.

On a somewhat-related sidenote: I'm going to wear out the "next blog" button up at the top of the page before anyone else gets to use it. I highly recommend pressing it a few times before I do and see what turns up.

Grab Bag Weakness

2005-10-24T03:36:00.000-05:00

I've recently come to terms with the fact that I have a soft-spot for exchanging my money for unknown items. Any time I see a deal that involves a company sending me a container of items that they claim to be valuable, but do not disclose the exact contents, I want.

I don't think I've made many purchases of this nature, but I'm always intrigued by the idea. It's as if I'm giving myself a gift; I can't wait to get it home and open it up to find out what goodies await. Obviously, I have to trust the company enough to know that I won't be receiving a case of Billy Ray Cyrus tapes and shampoo samples.

The latest grab bag I ordered was JR Cigars' Trick or Treat special. This is the marketing that sold me:

For $39.95, you're gonna get a bunch of good cigars and other goodies. The size of your box and the stuff you receive is dependent strictly on chance.

I trust JR Cigars. They sell cigars at good prices, and I've gotten some incredible deals from them. So I placed my order knowing I would get some great cigars at a good value. The other stuff they would throw in just added to the fun. They didn't let me down.

Now just because I know you're dying to find out what was in the box:

A bunch of cigars
Humidifying cards
Humidifying device
Canvasy jacket with the Montecristo logo embroidered on the breast
Montecristo fitted hat
Deodorant sample
Cheap cigar cutter

I was satisfied with the deal when I pulled out the huge bag of cigars. I was happy when I saw they threw in a really nice hat. I was confused when I pulled out the deodorant sample... but I was elated when I tugged on the fabric at the bottom of the box and pulled out an entire jacket.

Yes, I used the word, "elated". The jacket is mostly cotton, but it's got a very rugged canvasy feel. The collar is leather, with more cow-skin around the wrists. The package was easily worth $40.

If you're a cigar smoker who's never shopped at jrcigars.com, I highly recommend it. You'll find their prices extremely reasonable. Maybe you'll even get a jacket some day. If you're lucky.

Bueno Paja

2005-10-22T03:59:00.000-05:00

I got hungry last night at about 10:00 PM and didn't feel like a bowl of Beanie Weenies or soup, so I decided to head up to the local authentic Mexican restaurant: Taco Bueno. I stopped and placed my order at the large menu of shining tastiness, then obediently pulled up to the window. Typically, the person standing behind the hinging glass window is filling my drink or taking someone else's order or waiting to tell me the price in person so I can pay. Not this night.
I'm digging through my wallet for money and she opens the window. She then smiles and asks, "Do you like skeletons?"

This is a bizarre question to be asked. I think I can confidently state that I've ever been asked it before by anyone else. I attempted later to imagine scenarios where this question may be appropriate. Here we go, in no certain order:

Acceptable Situations in Which to Be Asked the Question, "Do you like skeletons?"

You have a skeleton tattoo.
You are a Grateful Dead fan and own the album "Skeletons From the Closet" and a friend is browsing your collection.
You are in an appropriate education program, ie. medicine, anthropology.
You tell someone that Paris Hilton would be attractive if she lost some weight.

Notice I did not include, "You have just pulled up to the drive-through window at a fast food restaurant" in that list. Now, I really messed up my chance at a witty retort. I weakly answered, "They're not my favorite." Not sure what that means exactly. I know it does mean that I'm not a skeleton-fanatic like all of those crazy skeleton-loving people out there. The question and answer should have been:

Weird Drive-Through Lady: "Do you like skeletons?"
Funnier Version of Me: "Well, I really like mine."

She informs me that they are having a promotion at Taco Bueno: every time someone purchases the far-too-large drink, they get a fun straw with a halloween-type character on it. Seeing that skeletons are "not my favorite", she asks me if I'd rather have any others and rattled off the possible options that I have forgotten. Likely wolfmen and vampires. I tried to show an obvious apathy towards my selection and replied, "I don't know... why don't you surprise me?"

Oh no! No surprising on a monumental choice like this! Weird Drive-Through Lady will not let me have my food until I choose a straw. She asks me my favorite color next.

"Blue."

"We don't have blue."

At this point, I'm really just wanting her to take my money. Oh no, we have a straw to pick out.

"We have green, yellow, red..."

"Green is fine."

So I get the ghost straw, which actually looks more like a slug than a ghost. I couldn't pinpoint a face on the thing. So I get my food now, right? Nope.

"If you want any of the other straws, you can buy them for $0.28 and collect them all."

I didn't think I'd shown enough interest in the straws up to that point to warrant a bartering session for more of them. Needless to say, her sales pitch fell on deaf ears. Rejected and finally bored with her captive, she did finally give me food.

I drove back home, unwrapped the delicious burritos, and scraped the tomatos off with a flourescent green slug watching me.

Ambitious Nose Hair

2005-10-19T20:21:00.000-05:00

I am apparently the owner and fertile ground for a very ambitious nose hair.

I'm not one of those old guys with a couple furry pom-poms firmly inserted in the nostrils; I only have one hair follicle with the amibition to leave the comfort of the nose.

The problem is that when alone, a nose hair can go unnoticed. It's a sneaky little ninja hair. I don't start noticing it until it starts curling out and touching other parts of my face. I start fidgeting with my nose a lot, and receive a lot of "stop picking your nose" comments from the wife. That's when I know it's time to pull out the scissors. (For the hair, of course.)

When I realize I need to trim my nose hair, I'm not around scissors or a mirror. It's the same way with my nails. Sure, I realize they're a little too long (ninja hair or fingernails), but I just forget at the right time.

Now, the other problem with a ninja nose hair is that it doesn't really necessitate a fancy nose hair trimmer. I just use the scissors.

Now imagine, if you haven't done this yourself, trying to stick a very sharp piece of metal inside your nose and guiding it towards the root of a ninja hair. Now try doing it while staring in the mirror, so everything you do is backwards. It's like that old Operation game where you try to perform surgery on the clown, but this time instead of hearing an annoying 'buzz' when you mess up, you bleed.

I really am a clean guy. Hopefully the personal hygiene story doesn't make that hard to believe.