Irony and Brainingitis

Eye luv Inglesh. Reeli, its thu gratest langwedge in thu werld. Itz kwite pawsiblee thee ownlee langwedge in thu werld that, azz a rool, brakes awl thu roolz.

Pherst uv awl, wii hav sew menny wheys uv righting ehvry sownd inn hour langwedge that itt izz aymayzing aniwon kan spel korektli at awl! Thair arr no roolz phour spelling! Wii mite sae thair arr, butt wii brake themm sew ophten azz two meighk thoze roolz kumpleetly unyoozabel. And thenne, wii hav such crayzi gramatikal rools that Eye amn uhtterlly konvinssed inn thugh theery uv evvulooshunn, beekuzz ownli munkeys kood havv creeayted Inglesh. Uh klassik ekzample is two kumpair thu wirdz "awks" and "boks" - thu plerralz biing "awksen" and "bokses". Aux and bawks arr vary simmyler inn thu singyoolar fourm, sew wye arr theigh sew diphrent inn thu plerral fourm? It duzzent meighk enny cents.

Butt thats Inglesh four ewe. Itz just eyeronnik that thee langwedge thu hole werld izz treyeing two lern happinz two bee thu won that izz leest sooted two thu tasc. Phiggers.

Undrstandiblee, spel chek izz havving a feeld dey with thiss, and mie breighn kynda hertz frum righting thiss whey. Eye theenk eye amn goeing two lye doun phour a wyle.

Bagpipes and Parking Tickets

I was talking to my sister and somehow we got on the topic of being/becoming evil. It was decided that she was clearly not evil enough and I, having mastered the art many years ago, offered her my help and expertise in the form of my helpful guide "How To Become An Evil Genius In 12 Easy Steps."

The guide is intended for those who have very little experience, so it is designed to gently and gradually lead the user to increasing levels of evil. Here now, I present it for all of my faithful readers to enjoy.

How To Become An Evil Genius In 12 Easy Steps

1. Call in sick for work. (note: only works if you are not actually sick)
2. Don't pay a parking ticket. (Step 1.9: Park in a handicapped space - no, two handicapped spaces at the same time)
3. Say a dirty word to someone you dislike.
4. Forward tons of chain emails to everyone you know. Repeat daily.
5. Learn to play the bagpipes, poorly.
6. Get a scar on your face.
7. Scowl at everybody, all the time.
8. Buy some kittens and some thick-soled leather boots. You know what to do.
9. Devise a plan for world domination.
10. Punch a baby.
11. Design and build a Doomsday Device.
12. Go to law school.

Skid Marks and Egg McMuffins

I like to drive.

I like road trips too. As a kid I hated them. Road trips meant having to sit still for long periods of time without being able to go to the bathroom or stretch your legs and being crammed next to your siblings who you were forced to get along with or dad would "turn this car right around!".

My first memory of road trips is of me puking up a Egg McMuffin all over the front seat of my parents' old white Carolla. To this day I refuse to eat Egg McMuffins. I avoid McDonalds like the plague anyways, but that's another topic.

Road trips were always so boring. Kids have no perception of the outside world. As kids we think that the entire world is contained within backyards and schoolyards, stuffy classrooms and candy shops. We could be driving through canyons carved thousands of years ago by colossal glaciers and we were concentrating on crushing each other around corners or that stupid little patch of light coming through the window that kept making your arm uncomfortably hot.

Now I enjoy road trips. Maybe I'm just more easily amused. I've been on a few with friends and that's always fun, but I've even done a couple by myself that I've enjoyed. I just throw on some Audioslave, pop the sunroof open and cruise. It gives you a lot of time to think and enjoy the scenery. I see a lot of places and think "I bet there's a great view from that mountain." Or I stop and grab a bite to eat in a little podunk truck stop town and think about how I'm glad I didn't grow up there, destined to flip burgers for the rest of my life wondering about the outside world that I would probably never see.

The only thing that really gets to me on road trips--the only thing that consistently interrupts my driving zen, is other drivers. Despite the fact that I enjoy the scenery and the time to think to myself, I still like to get wherever I'm going fast. I'd say my average speed on road trips is 90mph. It's ok. I've got skills: police detection skills, pothole avoidance skills, etc. What bothers me is people that don't know how to drive on a four lane highway. Naturally, I pass a lot of people. Not everybody can appreciate the gratification that comes from knocking out a five hour drive in three and a half.

I get frustrated though. I think I can comfortably say that bad drivers are a pet peeve of mine. People that stay in the left lane even though they can see you coming up on them for miles and they still don't get over to let you pass. That bugs me.

People that don't use cruise control but have some inexplicable need to be the fastest car on the road. That one really bugs me. It's just dumb. You get over to the right hand lane to let them pass, and then after they pass you they slow down after you've already gotten into the left lane again so you have to put on your brakes and interrupt the cruise control to avoid hitting them. Then you pass them in the right hand lane (because of course they won't move over) and as you're passing them they realize they've slowed down so they speed up again and pass you. Rinse and repeat.

The really bad ones are the ones that only realize that they need to move over as you're already moving over to pass them on the right side. They start moving over as you're partway in the other lane and then you both swerve left and right until you end up in different lanes. Then the other driver gives you a dirty look because fast drivers punch babies when they're not driving.

Then there's trucks.

First there's the eighteen-wheelers. Most of the time those are actually pretty courteous drivers. Occasionally, however, you get a situation where one truck tries to overtake and pass another tuck, but the difference in their speeds is like .2 mph and they're both eighty kajillion feet long and invariably this happens near the base of a long hill, so halfway through the passing process the passing truck slows down to the same speed as the other truck. By now I'm shouting encouraging words at the passing truck and hoping he blows a tire and runs off a cliff.

Next there's the guys driving these huge lifted pickups. I'm not a truck guy. Never will be. It's stupid. Trucks are stupid, especially for road trips. They get like three miles to the gallon. Even as a daily driver it's ridiculous. How often do you really haul a trailer? How often do you carry eighty cords of wood? Save some money and rent one for a day when you need it! They kill you on gas, not to mention they're already ungodly expensive to buy. When it comes to driving though, this is the one stereotype that I absolutely believe in and wholeheartedly endorse. People that drive trucks are jerks. Every single one of them. Just because your truck can run over my car doesn't mean you get to demonstrate. My car is faster than your truck but I'm not going to rub that in your face. I'll just punch your baby.

Then I'll go to McDonalds for a delicous Egg McMuffin.

Flannel and Sheep Guts

I discovered today that it is decidedly difficult to take someone seriously who is wearing pajama pants. Yes, I was the one wearing pajama pants. But that really shouldn't change anything because there aren't many people left that still take me seriously, and they will learn.

I love my pajama pants. I have a few pairs, actually. I think my favorites are my red plaid pajama pants, then the ones that have moosen (in the woodsen) all over them, and then my blue plaid/pinstripe.

It's really a strange thing, though. You can take any normal outfit that would be suitable for casual wear and just substitute pajama bottoms for regular pants and suddenly you are brazenly and insultingly casual. I went to visit some friends tonight and I decided to wear pajama bottoms. It's Sunday. They're good friends. I was comfortable. Still, upon opening the door my friend immediately looked at my pajamas and gave me one of those "oh boy" looks. I thought, "Come on! They're still pants! You should be happy I'm wearing any at all!"

There are two major types of pajama decoration. One is to have small cute furry animals or dump trucks or dump trucks running over cute furry animals, and the other is plaid. It's like, either way they have to loudly declare "Hey! We're not real pants!" Just in case you were wondering. That way people can immediately identify you as a slob from across the grocery store and scowl at you while shielding their young.

I blame the Scottish. Bear with me here. Have you ever noticed that a strikingly large percentage of pajama bottoms are plaid? It's true! Scottish people must be lazy slobs. They have to be. Why else would pajama pants be so closely tied with the image of laziness? If you want further proof just remember--they invented golf--statistically the number one enemy of corporate efficiency. And who else could have made haggis?

"What's fer dinner, lassie?"

"Uhh, sheep guts.... and oatmeal."

"All out'uh supplies 'an too tired t'go t'market again?"

"Aye."

Then again, I think some people just have pajama envy. They look at you and long for comfortable pajamas and a steaming cup of hot cocoa. The realization that such comfort is so far from reach is a slap in the face and makes them so agitated that they have no choice but to take it out on you. I know. The world can be so cruel sometimes. Just remember: Love is a highway, baby.

Oh and just in case anyone is taking me even remotely seriously right now, you should know: I'm wearing pajamas.

Parsnips and Meat Mallets

Have you ever watched Iron Chef? I did. Today, in fact. I guess it was actually "Iron Chef America," which is quite possibly different from plain old "Iron Chef." I must've thought to myself like eight separate times "Ok guys, this is a cooking show." It's ridiculous. They start the show by announcing the challenger like he's a heavyweight boxer and then they show him walking up to the host of the show along some dimly lit path that's covered in rolling smoke, and then when they announce the secret ingredient the host guy goes so crazy over it he somehow manages to karate chop himself in the eye.

It's like Emeril meets Mortal Combat, complete with bad techno music and sharp objects. After the judges made their final decision I half expected to hear a loud voice yell "FINISH HIM!" and see the Iron Chef tear his opponent apart with a cheese grater and garlic press as the Sous Chefs on both sides engage in an all-out brawl, wielding pepper grinders and meat mallets.

And then there's the announcers. I'm not sure where they find these people but I think they should put them back. They announce every movement of every chef on the floor like they'd just saved a human baby from a runaway bus. "By the Beard Of Zeus! Is he making a balsamic reduction with lemon zest and brown sugar?! I can't believe it! HE IS! I mean, I've seen some risky things attempted in my time, but THIS HAS GOT TO TAKE THE CAKE!"

And the sad thing is, you know that somewhere there's a middle aged balding man sitting on a couch in his parents' basement with an Iron Chef t-shirt covering half his belly, cradling a bowl of popcorn who just sat up, spilling his popcorn onto the floor and yelling at the TV "IS HE INSANE?!?!"

Oh, and for some reason, Lincoln markets heavily to viewers of the food channel. I'm not really sure why, or what market they're trying to reach here. I probably saw upwards of ten commercials for Lincoln vehicles in the time that I was watching the food channel. Do people who like to cook have more money? Do hungry people drive Lincoln? Maybe it's fat people they're trying to target. Lincolns are usually pretty big cars. Or maybe it's because buying a Lincoln is just about as dumb as karate chopping yourself in the eye. Yeah, let's go with that.

Summer Days and Happy Meals

Well, the muse has struck me again. Yes, that's right--I got hit by a truck that was transporting an old 1950's era juke box.

Ok, not really. I started writing another song. I think I should start recording them before I forget them. That is why I bought all this expensive recording equipment, right? And then of course there's all the neat software I pira.... purchased legally from a legal software distributor who sells completely legal copies of expensive professional recording software. Ehem...

I wanted to write something that had the same feel and sound of the innocence and playfulness of Frank Sinatra or Harry Connick Jr. I played around with my guitar for about an hour and ended up writing most of the song. I still need to finish it up, but at this point it's just lyrics that need to be completed. I'm pretty happy with it.

I'll go months without writing anything, and then suddenly I'll want to write a song and I'll do it. That's why I'm not sure if I could ever be a professional songwriter or musician (aside from the obvious lack of talent and good looks). I don't think I'd write good songs if I was under a deadline or pressured to write something to finish off the album so we could ship it out as soon as possible. I think that's why most bands' second albums suck. The first one is great because it's their first big push and it's got the whole heart and soul of the entire band in it. After they make it big with that first album they tend to kick their heels up a bit and write stuff just because they know people will buy it based off the success of the first album and the quicker they can spit out the second album the bigger the payoff will be because all the hype is still hot from the first one.

Of course, that's if the band even writes their own music. So many musicians these days aren't even so much musicians as simply performers. A name and an image to go with the certain style of music that the record label decides to pair with a team of writers. Is there nothing pure and sacred anymore?

Oh, and on an almost totally unrelated note but still sort of related - what the heck has happened to all the bowl games? Honestly! I don't know what these big corporations are thinking by spending (presumably) millions of dollars to change the name of the bowl game to something that nobody wants to say anymore. When I heard "Gaylord Hotels Music City Bowl" I thought it was some millionaire's pointed jab at all the other stupid names for bowl games. I was horribly let down to realise it was not. Now we just identify the bowl game by who is playing and ignore the name. Does it really pay for itself, Mr. Gaylord? Do you really get more business from it? Or is it just so all your millionaire friends can be jealous and say "Ooh, I want a bowl game." I think it's retarded. That, and the fact that there's eighty kajillion bowl games now. It wasn't too long ago that it used to mean something when your favorite team went to a bowl game. Instead of bowl games they should rename them to "Yet Another Corporately Funded Chance to Watch Your Favorite Team Play Football At Some Other Stadium Against Some Other Team That Probably Isn't Very Good Either." Though you'd probalby have to stick a "The McDonald's" in front of that.

My family was moving out of the San Fransisco area when Candlestick Park was renamed 3com Park. That was a dark day for humanity. I mean, honestly--have some dignity. God bless America to stop whoring itself out to the almighty dollar.

Laziness and Lamborghinis

Sometimes I wonder if being so... trying to find a better way to say it than "not serious"... relaxed? carefree? irresponsible? that was harsh... I think not serious is the best way to say it. Sometimes I wonder whether being so not serious is a good thing or a bad thing. Oftentimes I look at my more serious friends and I think to myself, "Man, I'm glad I'm not like that." Now these are my friends, so I'm glad they're like that. It works for them. I just don't think I could do it--which is probably why I don't. In fact, sometimes I think my friends are glad I'm not like that too.

I'm not completely un-serious. I get pretty serious about some things, just not everything, and arguably not enough things. Maybe. Now I'm being really indecisive. That's not really like me. Maybe it's because it's late. Maybe it's because my style of writing is such that I just type whatever thoughts I'm having without really having much direction or revision. Maybe that's what my life is like. Wow. That was profound and meaningful. Worrying about the future and dwelling on the past just slows you down. Maybe carefree was a good way to describe it. No. Not true. I care about a lot of things. I want to have a family eventually. I'd like to not be a lonely old bachelor forever, destined to sit on a rocking chair on my front porch chewing sunflower seeds while cradling a shotgun in my lap and yelling at children who are happier than me. Man. That was kind of depressing. I don't even like chewing sunflower seeds.

I think having money would be fun too. Then again, who doesn't? Not that I'd be willing to sell my soul for it. It'd just be nice. Working in the car biz really beat that out of me--that super strong desire and ambition of being super rich. I'm not sure I want that anymore after seeing what it does to so many people who get it--to one degree or another. Maybe that's just because they were all rich car guys and car guys are... well... some are good. Some.

If I stopped thinking would I stop typing? My fingers are on autopilot now, just typing whatever I'm thinking. Scary. Weird. Tired. Yeah, that last one was about me. Maybe some of the others apply too. Oh well.

They say that when you're tired enough it's like being drunk. Maybe I should have put that at the beginning of the post. Maybe all of this would have made more sense. I said maybe a lot tonight. Does that mean everything I've written should be ignored or cast aside as pure and unfounded speculation? Eh, maybe.

Gummy Bears and Mathgibra

The day started by waking up both traditionally and ridiculously early. Okay, so 6:30 in the morning probably isn't that ridiculous, but it sure feels like it. I'm sure we're not the only family that has this tradition, but my older sister and I started waking up early on Christmas mornings many many moons ago.

Back when it first started we would get up as quietly as we could and sneak downstairs, trying very hard not to wake up Mom and Dad in order to unpack our stockings and have a preview of the year's take. After taking a little while to ooh and aah at all the goodies we would carefully repack our stockings and creep back up to bed, where, without fail we would each lie sleeplessly for the next hour or two until we thought it was an appropriate time to wake our parents. Usually that was about 6:30, but we had to start giving them a break eventually and we moved it up to 7:00. Back then we would wake up really early, sometimes as early as 4:30 or 5:00. Eventually, after realizing the futility of trying to sleep again, we just didn't go back to bed afterwards. Instead we just stayed up until it was time to bang on our parents' door. That got really boring, so we started waking up later and later. Now, we're all old enough that sleeping in would really be nice, but for the sake of tradition we woke up early this morning.

Recently, we started another Christmas morning tradition. Suudsu. It's basically gummy bears in skim milk. Don't question it. It just is. Admittedly, however, it has evolved some over time. Three years ago it was gummy bears in skim milk. Last year it was gummy bears in chocolate milk, and this year it was gummy bears in hot chocolate. We determined that this year we have reached Suudsu Zen. It's great. The gummy bears melt a bit and flavor the hot chocolate, and when you eat the gummy bears themselves they're all soft and chewy. Mmmmm.... and of course, you have to use Haribo gummy bears. Officially, if you asked me anywhere other than on this blog, I would undoubtedly deny even the very existence of any other type or brand of gummy bears.

In mathematical terms it's a very simple equation, really. Haribo = gummy bears = joy.

Or in simplified terms: Haribo = joy.

If I were more of a math geek I would probably construct some kind of equation involving the Greek letter sigma. That way I could feel superior to everyone that a) doesn't know what it means or b) has already forgotten what it means due to the fact that only .2% of everyone that's forced to learn advanced calculus is ever placed in a situation where they have to use it without the aid of a computer on a regular basis. It's ok. I'm not bitter about math. I love calculus. Really. I just think they should find a better name for it other than "calculus". May I suggest a few alternatives. I think "Sir Isaac Newton's Practical Joke" would be good. Or maybe "Manna for Masochists". Ooh, how about "Incomprehensible Gibberish Whose Conclusions Are Probably Just Made Up"?

So if anyone happens to be reading this blog that has enough influence in the mathematical world (probably imaginary) to enact such a change I would urge you to consider it -- or at least submit it to a panel of your peers so they can write lots of stuff on a blackboard that no one but mathematicians can understand and fill it with lots of Greek letters.

MΣ = TiRΣ)

MΣ(r^2)y Q, where Q = Christmas

Accusations and Elipticals

When I go to the gym I like to watch the news. It's just about the only time I ever do. Men are notorious for being bad at multi-tasking, but this is something I'm actually very proud of. I exercise, listen to music, and watch the news -- all at the same time. Beat that, Soccer Mom.

Occasionally, I even let my mind wander (I know, I'm good). I think about a lot of random things. Have you ever stopped yourself mid-thought and thought to yourself, "Man, this is random. What started all this?"? OK, maybe it's just me. Well, after many careful observations I've come to some startling conclusions.

Due to the accusatory nature of my hypotheses it is only politically correct of me to attempt to keep the identity of the organization anonymous. As such, I will refer to said organization in this post only as "The Gym", though it is possible that through descriptions provided you may deduce the identity on your own.

When I get on the treadmill I always get on the one right in front of the TV playing Fox News. I know, I know. Paint me red. I've already told you that I plan to join the military, so if you haven't picked up on my political preference yet then maybe you should be reading something else. Something with pictures. In fact, try this. In my version of the story the Alligators would have eaten the wiener dogs and the last page would show the girl crying in a messy room.

As I was saying, when I get on the treadmills I watch Fox News. When I use the elliptical machines I have to watch CNN. No ellipticals in front of Fox... That got me thinking. Are the TVs positioned based on intensive market research? Are Conservatives less willing to use an elliptical machine because it's relatively new and based upon "questionable" research? Do Liberals reject the established and traditionally accepted staple of exercise because it's not hip and different enough? Or could there be something more sinister at work here...

My next observation was even more shocking. There are probably around one hundred aerobics machines at The Gym. The machines are organized in multiple rows and two columns, divided by a central walkway. As such, the TVs are similarly organized. The interesting thing is how the rows are organized. The order goes like this: a row of TVs, then a row of treadmills, followed by a row of elliptical machines. Rinse and repeat. This pattern holds true on all rows but the one that shows Fox News. No ellipticals there.

So what does all this mean? Are Conservative Treadmillers intentionally getting the prime TV viewing real estate, and, therefore, preferential treatment? Are Liberal Ellipticallers being treated as second class citizens? The implications are mind blowing.

The first thought, of course, is that there is an extremist right wing conspiracy at work in our nations The Gyms. Too easy. No, it's much more convoluted than that. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Think about it -- what better way to gain sympathy and support for your cause then to paint the opposition as being more extremist than you are? That's right. Now you're beginning to understand. So what if a few of your own have to suffer in order to gain the majority support of The Middle? I know, it's sick, but the evidence is overwhelming.

Though I confess that I side more often than not with the Conservatives, I would like to believe that I'm a very moderate political thinker. I know that everyone says that, but I have proof. I use both the treadmill and the elliptical.

So what are we to do in light of recent revelations and overwhelming evidence that an extremist political movement utilizing questionable methods is operating unseen among us? Should we demand that further investigation be conducted to see just how deep the conspiracy goes? Should we boycott all the The Gyms across the country? Should we demand equal treatment of both treadmill and elliptical users?

As for me, I'd just be happy if they put an elliptical near the Fox News TV. Behind the treadmill.

EZ Cheeze and Pocket Change

I talked to someone from the Utah National Guard today. That was pretty cool. Got all my questions answered. Questions like "When I go into Military Intelligence I can be like James Bond, right?" and "So you guys are, like, going to pay for everything for the rest of my life, right?"... Well, that was an eye opening experience. I found out that James Bond is actually British. No dice there. He didn't say anything to the second question so I think that's a yes. So overall it seems like a pretty good gig. I'm just a little hurt that I can't join MI6.

On a completely unrelated and somewhat random note: Ocean's 11 has got to be one of the greatest movies ever made. I wish I had Jazz music playing in the background of my life. Then everything I did would seem that much cooler. Imagine if I had cool Ocean's 11 background music and the movie guy with the super deep voice narrating... whoa.