Worst Things To Wake Up To

Well, I guess "screaming" would probably be the worst thing to wake up to. Actually, there are quite a few things I can think of that would be horrible to wake up to -- zombies, an intruder in the house, a phone ringing at 3:00 in the morning, the business end of a gun...and so on.

But this morning, I had an experience that would at least be top 15...maybe top 30. I woke up to a scrabbling noise, then searing pain across the left side of my face. I shall explain. First, the perp:

Yep...the scrabbling was this little devil bastard trying to climb onto my headboard at 5:00 in the morning. Next, the crime scene:

That's me...chillin' (like I do) on my comfy bed...chiseled, muscled arms all cradling my massive brain-cage. Finally, the crime.

So this goddamn cat (let's call him "Frenchy," because that's his goddamn name) decided that he was curious about what was on top of our headboard -- a place he has never been before. So he decided, at 5:00 in the morning, to investigate. Well, being the stupid, uncoordinated cat that he was, he failed, and (stupid claws extended), landed on my face...more specifically my eyelid...most specifically, my left lower eyelid.

Now I have a really freakish-looking puncture wound under my left eye that's going to be there for, oh, a good couple of weeks or so...becuase as anyone who has ever had a cat scratch knows, those marks refuse to go away. That's one of the main reasons why it's why I gave up "kicking the crap out of cats" 5 years ago (though, really, I can feel the old urge rising up in me again).

So, if you chance to see me, and if you chance to be curious just what exactly the red thing under my eye is. Now you know.

I Traveled About, and Found Gordon...

I tell you what...something is fishy about this new Internet Explorer. Can't quite put my finger on it...but if I were to put my finger on it, then quickly retract the finger and place it beneath my nostrils, I bet it would have a foul, fishy odor. I'd betcha' anything. Well, anything except my "comfortable boxers." I would have no joy if those were taken away from me.

Very briefly, I want to touch on this little guy: First of all...what the damn hell is he looking at (looks like the word "if" from here)? Secondly, how come he gets to have fully realized eyes, with pupils et al? If you ask me, the rims of his eyes make him look like he's wearing glasses -- I'm talking "Morpheus-type" glasses...like this "sexy" gentleman right here:

And I just can't get behind that. I mean, Mr. Orange-Cool-Guy is supposed to be the only glasses guy. Open-Mouth-Looking-Up-Guy just obfuscates the issue, in my opinion.

But there's another problem. According to the geniuses over the MySpace Emoticon Department, this guy is "blah," "determined," "dorky," "high," "nerdy," "pensive," "predatory," "stunned," and "whatevah." As opposed to this little chap: who is simply (and solely) "devious" (which I believe is a synonym for "on fire"). Personally I think this guy is far more devious: Because, dammit, what the hell are you doing in that clam shell? Get the hell out of there! Don't you stick your tongue out at me, you little bastard! Oh really? Really? That's it...I'm sending Mr. Orange Hitman after you now. You will rue the day you climbed into that damn thing, you little smart-ass.

But really, I just don't think my boy Jason here (because his name is Jason...all right?) is versatile enough to handle that range of emotions. I really don't. How can you be both "stunned" and "determined" at the same time? Or "high" and "nerdy?" That dog don't hunt, if you ask me. And I believe you just did.

So here's my plan of action: Boycot Jason. If I feel my emotions ranging toward "dorky," I will instead veer cunningly over to "exanimate," or (because, what the hell does "exanimate" mean?). If I get super-high (perhaps I'm in a plane, or climbing a ladder, or ingesting horse tranquilizers), I'll opt for the breathy indeterminate "numb," or . If I'm "stunned," then I'm probably unconsious, and would you please call my cousin Andy to come over with the smelling salts...?

All I Need Now...

So the way I see it, I'm lacking one vital component. See, I realized today that there are certain words that you cannot say to certain people, or else they will just "go off." For instance, don't you dare call Marty McFly a "chicken," or he will go crazy-hoverboard all over your manure-covered convertible. Call a woman the "b-word" (rhymes with "glitch," looks identical to the word "bitch"), and physical violence of some kind will often be the result. And there are certain ethnicities that have certain words that will provoke certain physical attacks, such as the "n-word" (rhymes with "trigger"...looks identical to...okay....not going to do that one), the "c-word," the "y-word," the "la-word," and finally the un-repeatable "word-word."

But I searched my soul, and I realized something. I don't have a trigger word. Really. There is nothing that you could call me or write at me that would provoke a "Tyler-style" beat-down. And I've been called some terrible things. This one guy said I looked like turkey poop (which I had never seen before...but I imagine it was a fairly inflammatory insult for certain sections of the population). Another young man simply called me a "slime" (which, in retrospect, was a pretty classy insult for such a young man). But I can't imagine a single word that would cause me to morph from easy-going brainiac Bruce Banner to freakish green Lou Ferrigno.

Which could only mean one thing: I've got to create my own word. It's got to be common, yet caustic. Crude, yet clever. Creative, yet cliched. Carrot, yet canteloupe. Cosby, yet Crosby. Clinical, yet cyclical. Craltifilicious yet Cinifinatorianatious! And hopefully it won't start with the letter "c."

The thing is, for most of these guys, there's a long history with the trigger-word. Marty McFly must have been called a chicken quite a bit. That bitch that cut me off last Wednesday has probably been called a bitch her whole life (probably because she is a bitch...dirty bitch). But me -- I'm without much historical verbal trauma -- heck, I don't even have a good old fashioned minority trait to fall back on (unless you consider "Lutherans With Big Noses" to be a minority category). So, for now, I'll keep it simple: "I swear to God, if one more person calls me a 'bimbo,' I'm going to break something over their skull. Probably a chair...or anything else that happens to by lying around at the time."

Bimbo. Oooh, that's good. I got chills just now that was so good. And hey, I can't believe I even have the audacity to write it myself. I mean...is this blog censored by anyone? Could they bleep out the word "bimbo" from my blog? I hope so...because looking at it on the computer screen is making me so angry that I am seriously contemplating head-butting my monitor. Seriously. Bimbo. STOP IT!!! IT'S NOT FUNNY!!! WOULD YOU CALL YOU MOM A BIMBO!? HUH??!! No! No, you wouldn't. Actually...you know....YOU KNOW WHAT!? YOU'RE the bimbo, you BIMBO!! In fact, I've got a present for you. You ready for this?!

BIMBO!!!

Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Verdana font. Orange color. Was that maybe a bit harsh? Perhaps...but dammit, I just hate it when people call me that. For reals.

iPod Shuffle Quiz...

Well, it's high time I got "pedestrian" with my blog. I've decided to play that little game where you "shuffle" your iPod, and the songs supposedly match up with the questions asked...blah-dee-blah-blah. Because I'm of the belief (that is shared by 100% of the population) that my music is the best kind of music. Anyone who doesn't share my taste in music is wrong, and if only they'd listen to such and such a song they'd change their minds about...etc.

But, since this is a bit like the whole "astrology" scam, where you fit the personal details of your life into the broad statements made about your astrological sign, I will attempt to do so for each answer by giving a bit of lyrics (because, if you've learned nothing from reading my blog entries, you know that I comment on the lyrics of songs far too frequently). Also, I may make a comment or two...or twenty. Anyhow, on with the excitement:

-- How am I feeling today?: My Poor Brain by the Foo Fighters

"Sometimes I feel I'm getting stuck
Between the handshake and the fuck"

Maybe people just don't write enough songs about being hungry.

-- Will I get far in life?: Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel

"Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way."

Well, I guess that worked pretty well...if you like the schmaltzy hippie crap.

-- How do my friends see me?: The Sound Of Settling by Death Cab for Cutie

"Our youth is fleeting
Old age is just around the bend
And I can't wait to go gray"

For a second I thought it said "And I can't wait to go gay." That would have been very telling

-- Where will I get Married?: St. Louis sound clip from "The Jerk"

"St. Louis?" "No, Navin Johnson." "Nah, do you want a lift to St. Louis?" "Oh! Okay, thanks!"

This was bound to happen. Anytime Erika or I make a mixed CD we include quotes from movies. I was going to skip over them for this quiz, but I thought it worked fairly well in this case. And besides, St. Louis is much funnier than "Poulsbo."

-- What is my best friend's theme song?: The New Year by Death Cab for Cutie

"So this is the New Year
And I have no resolutions
Or self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions"

That would have worked pretty well for the previous question too...but I'll take it...

-- What is the story of my life?: Silver Street by Ben Folds

"And the styles are moving on
It's hard for a man to stay cool."

Don't know if this totally works...but I do like Ben Folds.

-- What is/was high school like?: Stand By Your Man by Tammy Wynette

"Sometimes its hard to be a woman
Giving all your love to just one man"

Wow. I thought none of these songs were going to work perfectly. But this one did. Perfect.

-- How is today going to be?: Oh Yoko by John Lennon

"In the middle of a shave
In the middle of a shave I call your name"

Because, actually, I do need to shave later today. Perfect.

-- How can I get ahead in life?: Give Me Novacaine by Green Day

"Drain the pressure from the swelling,
The sensations overwhelming,
Give me a long kiss goodnight and everything will be alright"

Once again...a missed opportunity. If this had come one question sooner, I could have explained it away by saying that I was at the dentist earlier today (because I was).

-- What is the best thing about me?: Friendship by Tenacious D

"Friends will be friends
They're running naked in the sand"

I think my iPod is determined to make a gay out of me.

-- What is in store for this weekend?: Not the Same by Ben Folds

"You took a trip and climbed a tree
At Robert Sledge's party
And there you stayed 'till morning came
And you were not the same after that
You gave your life to Jesus Christ"

So...I'm planning on taking a hit of acid, climbing a tree, then devoting myself fully to Christianity. Sounds like fun.

-- What song describes my parents?: She's Famous Now by Reel Big Fish

"I heard her on the radio don't want to sing along, but I've got no choice
She used to be my girl but now she's famous"

Huh. Right.

-- My grandparents?: Creep by Radiohead

"I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul"

Actually, the one that came up is the Richard Cheese version, but I'll give credit to the original artist. I didn't realize that my now-deceased grandparents were so angsty.

-- How is my life going?: Pinball Wizard by The Who

"That deaf, dumb and blind kid
Sure plays a mean pinball!"

Well, I just auditioned for a part in Tommy (which is why this song is on my iPod), so maybe this means I just got cast...?

-- What song will they play at my funeral?: Fuck Her Gently by Tenacious D

"And then I'm gonna love you completely
And then I fuckin' fuck you discreetly
And then I fuckin' bone you completely
But then I'm gonna fuck you haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard!
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard"

God, I really, really, really, really hope they do play that song at my funeral.

-- How does the world see me?: Nothing Better by The Postal Service

"So just say how to make it right
And i swear I'll do my best to comply"

Once again...an angsty love song is how people see me. Brutal.

-- Will I have a happy life?: Save Me by Aimee Mann

"C'mon and save me
Why don't you save me
If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone"

So...no, then...?

-- Do people secretly lust after me?: Alphabet Town by Elliott Smith

"I know what you are
I just don't mind
I won't say you're wrong
I know what you want
And it's what i want
So let's go out"

So...yes, then?

-- How can I make myself happy?: New Way Home by the Foo Fighters

"If you could manage me
I'll try to manage you
But lately that's all I ever do"

Sweet Lord...I swear I have more than Tenacious D, The Foo Fighters, Death Cab for Cutie, and Ben Folds on my iPod. I promise.

-- What should I do with my life?: Galapogos by Smashing Pumpkins

"Too late to turn, to turn back now I'm running out of sound
And I am changing and if we died right now
This fool you love somehow is here with you"

So...nothing, then?

-- Will I ever have children?: Losing Lisa, by Ben Folds

"Black tears are falling and she won't say what I've done
She's sitting here beside me, then she is gone
Black tears are falling, falling"

Looks like I will...and the little bastard just won't...stop...crying. Stop it! What do you want!? A bottle!? Diapers?! WHAT!?!? I want to go back to BED!!!

-- What is some good advice for me?: I Ain't Mad At Cha, by 2Pac & Danny Boy

"Well guess who's movin up, this nigga's ballin' now
Bitches be callin' to get it, hookers keep fallin down
He went from nuttin' to lots, ten carots to rocks
Went from a nobody nigga' to the big, man on the block"

'Preciate the advice. R.I.P. 2Pac.

-- What is my signature dancing song?: "I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You" by Colin Hay

"I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
what is closer to the truth
but if I lived 'til I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you"

Worst...dancing...song...ever...

-- What do I think my current theme song is?: Hey Jude by The Beatles

"And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders
Well don't you know that its a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder"

Not the best theme song...but if I ever needed to give Jude Law advice, now would be the time.

-- What does everyone else think my current theme song is?: Tiny Vessels by Death Cab for Cutie

"All I see are dark grey clouds
In the distance moving closer with every hour
So when you ask 'was something wrong?'
Than I think 'You're damn right there is but we can't talk about it now.
No, we can't talk about it now.'"

Uh oh...hope Erika didn't make it this far.

-- What type of men/women do you like?: Black Cadillacs by Modest Mouse

"We named our children after towns that we've never been to. And it's true that the clouds just hung around like black Cadillacs outside a funeral."

Man, I won't lie to you. I feel a little gypped on this quiz. Maybe one or two answers worked...the rest? Bah...humbug...

Fun Times at the Seattle Beauty School

So I look at the store-front window...it's the classy "black block lettering on a white cardboard backing" type of sign. But the design wasn't that important -- the important thing was what was writ therein. "Men $10." I was (and sometimes still am) a man. I had more than $10 in cash on me at the time. Seemed a match made in heaven.

"Ten dollars?" quoth I. "That's a good price. You can't beat that with a stick" (I like to use old colloquialisms that hint at violence. I also like to quoth myself). So I go in, with images of "Frenchie" from Grease floating in my head -- poor, misbegotten teenaged ladies with an earnestness that shines through their lack of ability.

Instead, I'm greeted at the door with the scent of acrylic nail polish. But I'm not talking a little...it was as if someone had smeared a line of nail polish remover across my upper lip -- Dirty Sanchez style (if you don't get that, I refuse to explain). No problems, thinketh I (did Medieval people "thinketh?" I'd like to believe they did). I've endured several iterations of ladies that I was living with turning a sweet-smelling "vanilla tinged" bathroom into a nostril-burning, paint-mixing sweat lodge...I figure I can take a half hour of quasi-huffing for a hair trim.

Next thing to greet me -- a 40ish, 5 foot-ish, poor English speaking-ish Vietnamese woman. "You want hair-cut?" she said, with an accent closely resembling that of the good people residing in the country of Vietnam, in a way that was not even remotely stereotypical or offensive. She then grabbed an apron and said "Fifty dollah, G.I. Me cut you long time."

Okay, she didn't say that. It was more along the lines of "You sit here." Beckoning to an early-70's era barber seat -- probably on loan from an early 70's era dentist office...minus the sweet "motorized reclining action." Anyhow, I sit. Nervous now. Disappointed that I didn't see one naive woman in there with a garishly dyed hair style...but rather an entire shop full of about 20 middle-aged-to-old Asian women. And three nervous white dudes already strapped into their chairs.

As she's buttoning the hair-catching apron about me, she asks, "How you like? How you like?" I respond, trying my hardest not to come off like a condescending English-as-a-first-languager (because when I hear people talking to non-English speaking people as if they were morons, I just want to grab a hula-hoop and just hula, and hula, and hula until all the anger goes away. Y'know?). "I like it short. I mean. Shorter than it is now, but the same kind of style. Maybe, an inch or two long?" She is aghast. "An inch?! Short?! That's very short!" "Er...yeah...maybe an inch an a half? Two? Longer on top than in the back." "Oh...oh...uh...okay. Okay." She then goes about her "business."

Meaning: "she starts to cut." No small talk here. Just the steady buzz of the clippers, followed by the steady snip of the scissors. I come to find out she's in love with the comb -- it finds its way in the proceedings with both clipper and scissor. In fact, I don't think she dropped the comb the entire time she was back there working her "magic." Maybe she got it accidentally glued to her hand or something.

But work her magic she did. For about an hour. Or two. Honestly, I think she must have been snipping a millimeter at a time from my dome. Meanwhile, I'm starting to see Smurfs dancing across the table in front of me lip-synching to Beach Boys songs (or maybe that was the nail polish remover high talking. Boy I hope so...because those Smurfs really sucked -- none of them knew any of the words to Kokomo, they were just dancing around and laughing through the whole song. It was embarrassing).

Finally, pushing through hour #3 (or so...hyperbole may be afoot), she speaks for the first time since she threw the apron across me. "Is good length?" I give it the ol' run-through with the ol' fingers. It's about 7 millimeters shorter than when I walked in -- that's about 2.3 millimeters an hour, by my calculations. "Umm..." I say, really pondering whether I could stand another go around of Brainy slurring his way through California Girls. "It's...um...I don't know...if...um..."

Luckily, before I can make the decision to either cut my losses and go to a real hair salon, or suffer through another 7 millimeters or so (until the shop closed for the night) another 40-something Asian woman intervenes. She starts talking to my stylist in Vietnamese, then turns to me, "Is that a good length?" she says, using much more fluent English. "Um...it could be a little bit shorter. I think. Maybe. I don't know." I didn't want to offend stylist #1...but at the same time, $10 is a good price, but only if they actually cut the hair. Otherwise, it's basically a ticket to "Smurfs in Concert."

So stylist #2 snatches the clippers like a woman posessed, and swiftly goes at my head with them -- sans comb. It's great. The hair flies off of my head like a group of flies that was just shooed away from a person's head. Once her hack-job is complete, stylist #2 leaves so stylist #1 can tidy up. #1 timidly offers, "Sorry...I was scared to cut it so short." Ah. Great.

Finally, after another hour-or-so of touch-ups (and a surprise guest appearance by Azrael -- who did the MC Skat Kat lines with Smurfette in the song Opposites Attract. A real crowd pleaser, I must say), I scamper out. And, because I'm a sucker, I give the horrible hair-stylist-in-training a $3 tip. It was the worst pity tip ever.

I get home, and tell Erika this story. And she laughs it off...oh silly Tyler. Then we get ready for bed, and she sees the "shelf" on the back of my head. That's right, the standard "fade" up the back was apparently not being taught at the Seattle Beauty School. Instead, it was a mullet-in-training. Something along the lines of this:

Pretty bad. I think, "Meh, it'll grow out." Erika thinks otherwise, and practically drags me by my ear to a real barber to fix the mess.

And it was fixed. Thank the heavens. So take this as a cautionary tale -- there is such as thing as a "horrible haircut" for men. You might think it's easy...but take it from me (and stylist #1 & #2), it can be botched pretty easily.

Just Want To Help Out the New People...

So, to help out all of those poor lost souls who just logged on, and are amazed at all the possibilities. "What do I do now?" you must all be asking yourself. Well, I am here to help...because that's what I do. I'm a helper. A hamburger helper. So, to hamburger help you all, I have compiled a list of what makes a truly good, memorable Space. Enjoy...and learn something, for Christ's sake. Here are some things you will need:

Drunk photos of yourself, making sure that the caption clearly states that you were drunk when the picture was taken.

Loud music that you must hide somewhere at random on your profile…so that it will take at least 5 minutes to the viewer to turn it off. The more obscure the band, the better.

Who do I want to meet: Anyone who is cool, and wants to talk!!!

You need to lie about your income…because you know we all really care how much money you make.

Comments from random people thanking you for "the add," which is how you thank new friends (this should really have some kind of application in the real world, methinks).

If you're a female, you need a comment from at least 3 desperate guys on how pretty you are under each of your pictures (I'm still waiting for my first one of these, dammit).

You must love the band Cold Play. This is non-negotiable.

A background picture that makes all the text in your profile unreadable; the larger and more obscene the text, the better.

At least one picture needs a caption mentioning how sexy you look – make sure that it's impossible to tell if you're being sarcastic or not.

Dane Cook must be your friend, because Dane Cook really needs new friends.

At least one Family Guy reference is also mandatory.

If you choose not to have a drunk picture, then you must include either A) a picture of you hiking, or B) a picture of you in Europe.

If you like hip-hop music, you must misspell a lot of words and use absolutely no punctuation. If you like alternative/emo, you must type short responses in all lower-case letters. Rock/punk must include either exclamation marks or capital letters. If you like classical you've never heard of MySpace so you're not reading this right now. If you like country, you must go out and kill yourself…now.

The only TV shows you'll admit to watching is Family Guy, and maybe stuff on The Learning Channel, History Channel, or Discovery Channel. Everything else rots your brain, man…

If you have nothing better to do, pretend you're a celebrity. It's very, very, very rewarding. Again, the more obscure, the better.

<3 means "heart," even though it really looks like a sideways ice cream cone.

If you have kids, you must have pictures of them or you are a bad, bad, bad parent.

If you choose not to write captions, make sure your uploaded pictures are all group shots, so visitors get to play the "find the profile person" game. It's fun, and rewarding.

If you're artistic, make sure all the photos of you are either distorted, cloaked in shadow, or streaked with garish colors.

Make sure we all know "What kind of _____ are you?" We all want to take that test now to find out what kind of ______ we are!

If someone accepts you as their friend, be sure to leave a thoughtful comment like "hey whats up?" on their profile. They will truly appreciate it.

Guys, if you don't have a picture of you with your shirt off, you are a pussy.

Make sure your books are all things that you had to study in college or high school, because no one will respect you if you put a John Grisham novel there.

Most of all, have fun out there. It's a wacky, wacky world.

Privacy

Howdy Y'all...haven't blogged at you in a while, and I know it's been terrible for both of us. But methinks it's time to start the healing, and begin fresh anew. Hence; blog.

Now this may ruffle some feathers -- I'm treading into territory that is dangerously "un-interesting," a place I try to avoid like Hepatitis A or C. It may also offend some...and to those I say: "Hi! Would you like a candy cane?" But here goes. On with the inane.

My new least-favorite thing to see on the Internets: "This profile is set to private. This user must add you as a friend to see his/her profile." Now, let's stay frosty here -- I realize there are a few of my friends who have selected this option and I just don't know it (having added this person previously). And to those good people, I beg your collective pardons.

But here's my problem, and I will give you an example: here. Now, this is a young lady named "Lisa" who went to my high school. Say I was friends with this Lisa in high school, and I wanted to talk to her again. I'd send her a message, right? Problem is, there were about 7 or 8 Lisa's attending the 'Moor. So I try to find out if this is the one I knew, or the snotty one who'd take me on a nostalgia trip down "Pretty-Girls-Who-Ignore-You-Then-Laugh-At-You-With-Her-Friends-When-You-Walk-Away" Lane. Take a look at that picture. I can tell she has a head, that probably has hair on it. And a neat blue vest. That's about it. I'm not about to bother someone who probably doesn't want to talk to me with a message or "friend request" because, frankly, I've got a ton of knitting left to do -- this sweater is not going to kitchener stitch itself.

So I have to contact this person directly to find out these little dumb things, right? Well, here's the problem -- what if I thought I was friends with this "private" person, but they didn't feel the same way? I send a friend request, or message...and it's ignored, or deleted. I don't know about you, but for me that's a bit of a downer. Plus, it makes me feel like a weird stalker-type person.

Plus, there are people (such as this lady Lisa...whose identity I did finally figure out) that I wasn't exactly friends with, but am sorta' curious about (I went to preschool with her...so I knew of her, but rarely talked to her). For instance, why the heck is she in France? This is interesting to me. Stalking? Boy, I hope not. Lisa would be a thing of interest for about 5 minutes, before it's back to posting pictures of monkeys dressed like humans on my fiancee's page.

So here's what I propose: anyone who makes their profile "private," should be restricted from viewing the sites of people who are not their friends. Seems like a pretty fair shake, yes? If your sole intention of coming to this wonderful little MySpace website is to just talk and post things to your friends, why would you ever want to browse through strangers' profiles?

And y'know, even if there are crazies out there, it's a very simple thing to delete all their incoming messages and friend requests. If you don't entertain the crazies, most of the time they'll go away. I say this having never corresponded with a crazy before...but my gorgeous fiancee gets her fair share. And the strangers she's not interested in talking to go away if she ignores them -- more often than not there are plenty of other asparagus spears in the crazy-person's vegetable garden (sorry -- trying to avoid "fish in the sea" idiom).

Or, really, if you're totally concerned about accidentally dropping some kind personal nugget that will be posted on "stalker-freak.com" my advice would be to just not post personal information on your site. Or, heck, don't even create a site at all. I realize that's a bit like advocating abstinence-only (100% effective BLAH BLAH BLAH), but I mean...c'mon. What are you people afraid of? Honestly, if you're scared, stay away completely.

I dunno'. Maybe I'm just getting twisted around on something trivial. Maybe I've never felt the cold sting of being stalked. Maybe I'm insensitive. Maybe I'm just a moron. Maybe I'm thinking too much about this. Maybe I.........

More Like Kermit the Liar

Open Letter to Kermit "The" Frog

Dear Mr. Frog,

First of all, there are exactly three songs about rainbows: your song, that famous one in that famous movie, and finally the theme song to the show "Reading Rainbow." Secondly, only one of those songs discusses what is on the other side of said rainbow. Finally, even if there were "many songs about rainbows," it would make sense, because a rainbow is a gigantic, multi-colored arc that illogically shoots across the sky after rain. You'd think that would inspire the occasional musical ditty here and there.

In fact, I think I better question is: "Why aren't there more songs about rainbows?" I mean sugar...the powdery white substance (or brown, if you're a Rolling Stone) has at least 7 songs about it...all remarking about how sweet it is. I mean...dozens of famous artists commenting that "sugar is sweet" is far more puzzling to me than the fact that someone is amazed at the sight of a rainbow. I mean...c'mon...you rarely even see sugar most of the time -- it's usually dissolved when you ingest it.

Anyhow, I love the work you're doing…especially your in-depth reporting over at Sesame St. Keep it up...but really, I think you should leave the song-writing to people that don't have to worry about being green.

Well, While I'm at It...

Here's another piece of artistry. Sure, it doesn't have the "production values" of the MasterPark commercial...but I think it has far more heart...

Enjoy.

Jealousy

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Hey Everyone! I have suckled on the mighty teat of capitalism, and completely sold out to the man. Here's the commercial I filmed a month ago! I hope you like it. Personally, I think I look terrific in red. Anyway, here it is:

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Chain-chain, Chaaaaaaaaain...

There are one things that I love in life:

A) Furniture

B) Television shows starring "Tony Danza"

C) Monkeys dressed like humans

D) The "Back" button on the Internet Explorer web browser.

In fact, I'm so excited about the Back button, I drew this little homage:

And if you're wondering how long that took to draw, I'll tell you: a really long time. Days. Weeks. Hours. Years. Um...what other kinds of time measurement are there? Yearometers? (I'm pretty sure thats what the metric snobs out there call "years").

Point is: Back is great. It's so great that it's "grrrrrrrrreat!" I mean, where else in life does one get the chance to go backwards? Other than in a gymnasium, I can't think of a single place...which is one of the main reasons why I love this button so much. Right?

But here's the problem...and I think I've alluded to this before. When I go to blog here, any time I've finished my post and I give 'er the final "once-over" (because God knows I could never live with myself were a typo published in thsi fine waste of time). Well, because of my love affair with Mr. Back button (I'm going to give him the nickname "Backy," because it sounds really stupid), I just give Backy a gentle tap. Unfortunately, Backy and MySpace don't like each other that much, and all those brilliant words I've been typing are, when I use Backy, completely erased. Years worth of wit, wisdom, comedy, brilliance, insight, and cheddar have been washed completely away because Backy and MySpace refuse to love each other.

I really dont know how to make this any better. I've introduced MySpace to Mr. Ctrl-C, but you have to invite Ctrl-C places, or he just forgets to come. It's a sorry state of affairs...sometimes I get so sad about it that I rub lotion on my forearms...but nothing seems to help!

Chain-chain, chaaaaaaaaain...

Dance, you fool! DANCE!

Things that I have observed that have nards:

A) Your mother

B) National Agricultural Research and Development Systems

C) Nerds without spellcheck

D) Wolfman

If You Don't Have Anything nice to Say

So she says "What do you have against Jews?"

"Juice?"

"No, Jews."

"Juice?"

"No, Jews."

".......Juice?"

"NO! Jews!"

"I'm sorry, are you saying 'juice?'"

"No, I said, 'What have you got against Jews?'"

"'What have I got again juice?' What does that mean? That doesn't even make sense!"

"Jews!"

"Juice?"

"JEWS!!!"

"Oooooh. You're saying 'juice!'"

"NO! I'm saying 'Jews!' Jews! Jews! People of the Hebrew faith! Jewish people!"

"............juice?"

"Oh, now you're just doing that on purpose."

"Doing what? Juice?"

"No, you're just trying to make me mad. Well, it's not going to work."

"I honestly don't have anything against juice."

"I'm not talking about juice."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jews."

"Oh. I thought you were saying 'juice.'"

"I know."

"I don't have anything against Jews? What made you think that?"

"I'm not sure, actually. It's just...they way you look, I guess."

"I look anti-Semitic?"

"I guess."

"Well, I'm not."

"Oh. Good."

"Want to watch Dawson's Creek re-runs?"

"Sure. Here's your toast."

Super Power

If I had only one super power, it would be to have the ability to summon the a capella group "Rockapella" simply by shouting:

"DO IT ROCKAPELLA!!!"

Any time...any place.

For instance, if I were standing on the other side of a green Dutch door, something like this may happen:

Because Erika Said So

Now, I don't mean to be too "dry" here, but I have a confession to make. I am losing my hair. There. I said it. It out there in the world now, so there's nothing more I can do about it.

Now I'm sure I'll pass a young man on the street and he'll say, "Hey, I hope I never start to lose my hair like that guy."

I'll turn to him (because I have overheard his dig) and say, "Hey! Kid! You know what!?" Then I'll get all puffy and red (like a big, red, puffy dinosaur). I'll point my puffy, red finger at him, and yell, "You're the one who's losing his hair!"

Then I'll just walk away. No doubt the kid will be too stunned to even respond, because...really...how do you respond to that?

I'm sorry if that's not a good blog entry, but that's all I have right now. I had a great, 30 minute long entry that got erased by MySpace...because after I hit "Preview & Post," I saw an error that I wanted to correct and I hit the "Back" browser button instead of the "Edit" button. It was, honestly, the worst experience of my life.

What was the old blog post about, you ask? Chess. Yes. It was 30 minutes of "chess comedy." No. Seriously. I explained the joke found here.

That joke?

Bc4 Italian. Bb5 Spanish. Ba6 Belgian!

And then, through a series of hyperlinks and pictures, I explained the joke. Maybe some day I'll get up the energy to explain it again...but probably not.

Don't worry -- the punch-line of my post was that "chess isn't funny." You know what else isn't funny? Talking about something that wasn't funny.

That reminds me. I came up with a quick list (just now) of phrases that good stories should never include. If you end up uttering one of these phrases, you have just told a bad story. Guaranteed.

-- "I guess you had to be there."

-- "It was pretty funny at the time."

-- "Wait, I think I told that wrong."

-- "So...yeah...that's the story."

-- "Chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."

Let's Just Call This a Mish-Mash of Ideas

Im a big fan of people who, instead of saying "Bye," or "Goodbye" on the telephone, say "mmmmbye" or "mmmmguh-bye" when they conclude the conversation. It's classy, methinks.

How did I miss this "growing your hair shaggy hair is cool" style? Do you know how much money I would have saved from all the L.A. Looks bottles I went through in Junior High? Sucks!

I'm eagerly awaiting the day that the greased comb-over becomes the chic hairstyle for the bald dude.

Pretty soon we'll be out of "Packs" that rhyme with the word "Rat." From the research that I've done, the next "Packs" to be filled will have to be either the Scat Pack, or the Fat Pack. Good luck with those two, Hollywood.

Oh, and I recommend Vincent Gallo, Crispin Glover, and Skeet Ulrich to be the founding members of the Scat Pack. Kevin James, Jason Alexander, and Nathan Lane can take er easy as the initial members of the Fat Pack.

I think it should be an entry requirement that the Scat Pack has weird names, and the Fat Pack has normal, inoffensive names.

I'm of the opinion that every sandwich should have mayonnaise in it, somewhere. And if not mayonnaise, at least horseradish sauce.

I just learned that the Horseradish Capital of the World is Collinsville, Illinois. The Opal Capital of the World? Coober Pedy, Austrailia.

I am shocked and disgusted at what passes for "accidental nudity" nowadays. Where are the explosions? The passion? The threadbare blouses?!

You want to know a good way to make someone slack off at their job? Tell them they are getting laid off in 3 months. Bingo.

There are very few foods that I would kill a person for. One of those few: a good pork loin sandwich. With horseradish sauce.

I'm not a master of any one thing. I'm more of a person that is below-average at everything. Especially croquet.

You know what tastes awful? Sawdust.

It's not that I dislike Anthony Hopkins. Honestly! I don't even know the guy!

I mean, yes, Times New Roman may be a boring font, but its sooooooooo easy to read!

How long until we get the 5 bladed razor? I'm counting the weeks!!!

I hope I never have to utter the phrase: I'd like to speak with my lawyer first.

Shakespearean insults are very intriguing, but I'm still a huge fan of the more modern kinds. They just seem to hurt so much more. I mean, would you rather be a "Clod of wayward marl," or a "Dumb, ugly douchebag?"

I don't consider myself a racist person, but I really, really hate people born in Laos. Wait! That does make me racist, doesn't it? Damn! Well, it could be worse -- I could be Laotian.

Favorite King: King Mindaugas, founder of the Lithuanian state.

Have you ever used food to scratch your back? I imagine a "pineapple" would be the best thing to accomplish this task, followed closely by a "back-scratcher-shaped-potato."

For some reason I think the boys in the band Barenaked Ladies may have a sense of humor that is very tongue-in-cheek.

Sometimes I just want to stand up on a chair, in the middle of a crowded room, and just scream, "Goddamn it! Can everyone just relax, for Christ's Sake!??!"

For some reason I try to refrain from using the words fuck or shit but if you ask me to take the Lords name in vain? Absolutely. With relish.

And mayonnaise.

I keep getting tripped up by the fact that mayonnaise has two n's in it. That is just tricky, tricky stuff there.

Is God really going to send me to hell for saying the phrase "goddamn it"? What if the god I'm damning is Shiva? Wouldn't he want me to damn Shiva?

If doing humanitarian work is wrong, then I don't want to be right, baby!

Then again, the whole reason that I don't do humanitarian work is because I think its wrong. Oh boy, am I confused now, or what?!

All the ladies in the house say "Yeah!"

They should include matches in every sewing kit that they sell, because I cant tell you how many times I've found a stray string on a piece of clothing and thought, "Aw dammit! Hell! I need to burn that little bitch so it doesn't unravel any more." I curse a lot in my head -- but its all PG13 cursing, so it's okay.

Motherfucker.

Just a Couple of Quick Hits...

First up, another awesome headline...though this may offend some...and for that I'm ashamed...but it won't stop me:

Bears Eat Monkey; Zoo Patrons Shocked

Now, forgive me, for my voyeuristic sensibilities are going to kick in here a bit...but this is just too awesome to pass up. All y'all animal lovers better skip forward a paragraph or two...because these are the kinds of stories I treasure. Like Bluebeard treasures booty. First off, let's get a teence of perspective -- yes, it involves a killing...but no human beings were damaged at any point (other than the "shocked" patrons who had to watch a cute animal get killed by another slightly-less-cute animal), the killing was done on a "free range habitat," so it's the closest that this can get to a natural occurrence (a bear kills a monkey in the wild and we would never hear about it...but in a zoo? Unbelievable!), and I'm not going to HTML any of the "eating" pictures, even though they're out there...because the pictures are just a little too graphic for my delicate sensibilities (and by "graphic" I mean "totally sweet"). Besides, we all know this would never have happened if the monkey had bothered to become a ninja first.

Now, some notable things: first of all, it's not "Bear eats monkey," or "bears attack monkey," but "Bears eat monkey." Multiple bears single out the offending monkey, and "yummy down on that." Put aside the fact that any headline featuring the word "monkey" is automatically, by proxy, going to be totally awesome...and just think about the terror in the monkey's eyes. Because you have to know that that monkey was "just funnin'" those bears...dancing around (maybe with a cane and top-hat), maybe throwing a little poo-poo...when things turned a touch too serious. In fact, I think there's a lesson to be learned here: "If you're a monkey in a top hat, don't throw your poop at a sloth bear, because it will probably call his friends over, and they will all eat you. They hate monkey turdlets."

Now, to abruptly change the subject, I've dreamed up another thing that I'd really like to be able to say some day:

"All Right, Dude, Give Me a Reason..."

Because how bad-ass does that sound? You've got some punk in front of you (perhaps a "Sk8er Boi"), and he's mouthin' off, and you're ready to sock him in the puss (I'm trying to bring the word "puss" back...it's not going well), but he hasn't actually done anything to physically threaten you. Hence: "Give me a reason..." Hopefully, when I say this I'll be defending some woman's honor (all right, Erika...it can be you...but don't use this as an excuse to get me into a fight, dammit...there will be no "My boyfriend is going to kick your ass" stuff. Seriously...because that in itself is a reason -- I need the guy to actually "give" me a reason, hear?).

And I know, I've stolen that bit from Dane Cook...but y'know...why don't you try coming up with material for a hilarious, 39-post-long blog and see how long it takes you before you're quoting the Cook person. It's not easy...

I Really Use Ellipses Far Too Often...

Not that it's a huge problem, or anything...because that's how I think; with these nasty triple-periods that look like a mix of "cancer" and "incest." I don't know, I've tried to wean myself off of them, but I just end up being "Mr. Semi-Colon Man," and semi-colons look even worse...sort of a cross of cabbage and teenage angst.

But I've been thinking a lot today. Twice, actually...right around 5:40 PM. And I thought to myself, I thought, "Hey, Tyler," I thought, "Just what are you trying to accomplish here. What is this 'blog' all about? Do you mean to waste everyone's time here? Why do you do this...does this amuse you? Whoa! That tree looks pretty climb-able...you think you could shimmy up there? Let's do it!" Then I climbed the tree...somewhere around 5:42 PM. But I couldn't get down, so Erika had to call the fire department. They showed up, but their ladder was broken...so they just threw rocks at me until I fell onto the sidewalk. They were cool, though. One of the guys let me wear his helmet for a while...

But I didn't really know what to do when I started here...it's all a shapeless, random, "absolutely hilarious" (I'm not quoting anyone there, I've just always wanted to be described as "absolutely hilarious" by someone) mess. Some people want to tell you about how their day was going...and that's all well and good, but my days are never very interesting. Something like, "I woke up crying...then I took a shower...then I got out and started crying again...then I got back to bed and did a bunch of acid. That pretty much knocked me out for the rest of the day." No one wants to hear about my life...frankly, I don't even want to hear about it. I'm really considering just whaling on that "backspace" key until it all vanishes. But I won't...because I'm still kinda' tweaking on that acid. I'm either typing on a computer right now, or I'm under my bed fiddling with an empty bottle of Erika's "sweet smellin'" hand lotion. It's hard to separate reality from "acid reality" at this point. Forgive me.

Then there are some blogs that discuss a trip the person recently took. I tried that once...but all of my vacations just end up with me crying at some point...and I haven't been able to type out a good cry since I started this thing. Here's the closest I've come: "Bwuahaaahaa haaaaa...." I know...not very effective.

Some blogs like to make political statements. I shy away from that, because I've always seen "Talking about politics" as being the same as "Digging a hole in the back yard." I mean, it's great...it's fun...it'll get you dirty and sweaty...but in the end, you'll never be able to dig a hole deep enough to bury your guilt...or your seasonal tulip bulb...or Aaron Carter.

Finally, there are the blogs that try to be "funny." I don't prescribe to that type of blogging, because what I do is not rooted in "comedy," it's actually a desperate cry for both A) attention, and B) money.

This will be my 38th blog posting...but I still don't have a unifying theme. I mean, what if the day comes when I have to name this blog. Something like the classics "Bellowing at the Void," or "Avoiding the Noid," or "Null and Void Noid," or "Boyd Avoids Noids, while Lloyd Asks Floyd About Steroids, Hemorrhoids, and Rape."

But to name my blog? I don't think I could do it at this point. Not that I'm pretentious or anything...and I need the perfect name. But right now, it's just this mess of boring, repetitive, random japes and jibes about this, that, 'n' the other.

Oh, actually, I kinda' like that. "Japes and Jibes." Sweet. JapesAndJibes.com isn't taken yet. It's even got its own sweet acronym: JAJ. Excellent. Well, until next time, here's a fantastically long ellipses: ............................................................................................

Look! There's a book called "Japes" with boobies on it! Boobies!!!!

Annoying Promotional Materials to Follow

Hello all,

I know what you're thinking: "Oh great...another shameless promotional plug. That's just great. I ask you all for chain letters and surveys, but instead you send me promotional material. Just great."

Well, I'm sorry, but you know...Iraqi children are dying every day...so let's have a little perspective here.

Anyway, this will be fast and painless (that's what she said. OHH! Wait...that doesn't really work, does it...?). Erika and I are doing Uncle Vanya for a new theater company called the "Seattle Novyi Theatre." Here's the official press release, because I'm tired of trying to think of interesting things to say:

Seattle Novyi Theatre

Presents

Uncle Vanya

written by Anton Chekhov, translation by Larissa Akhmylovskaya, Leonid Anisimov and Carol Levin, directed by Leonid Anisimov and assistant directed by Corinne Bogan

WHEN: Friday, May 5, 2006 and Saturday May 6, 2006 @ 8pm

WHERE:
Act In Class
12301 Sandpoint Way N.E.
Seattle, WA 98125
(206) 365-0822

Seattle, Washington Seattle Novyi Theatre Presents Anton Chekhovs Uncle Vanya at Act In Class. This production is the child of an 8 week workshop with Honored Artist of Russia Leonid Anisimov. He is the artistic director of Tokyo Novyi Theatre, and the former artistic director of the Chamber Drama Theatre of Vladivostok, Russia. Mr. Anisimovs work is based on the techniques employed by K. Stanislavski during his last years at the Moscow Art Theatre in the 1930s. Over the past 8 weeks the ensemble has worked with Mr. Anisimov and Ms. Bogan, searching for their own personal truth in Chekhovs wonderful play about the summation of life, inspiration for the future, love and dreams, and how large ideas become meaningless.

Tickets can be purchased at the door, or through BrownPaperTickets.com

Seating is limited, so best to order in advance. And, if you want my honest opinion, the show is good. Damn good. So good, that it will change the way you put your pants on in the morning. You'll go "two legs at a time" you'll be so moved. And if you're not moved, well, you'll probably keep going in the single-leg fashion, but you'll dream of the "two leg" idea...and it'll haunt you...

Best Conversation...Ever...

So, I got to take off from work early tonight, because we found out today that our entire office is going to be relocated to South Carolina...minus the "people currently occupying those positions." I don't know whether to call it "downsizing," "reallocation," "realignment," or "outsourcing" but either way, it leaves me minus one day job as of October 31st.

But that's not what this blog is about. I'll save that for another day...when the odd sensation of losing my job (by October) finally subsides. On the ride home from work, I was privileged enough to overhear a conversation by two men about the good ol' days. This is an actual conversation that I recorded with a digital voice recorder that I happened to have in my bag. Guy #1 is in his late 40s or early 50s, and he's wearing work clothes and a baseball cap with some random "union" on it. Guy #2 is about the same age, in casual office attire, with thick rimmed glasses. He speaks with a heavy lisp...almost sounds like Sling Blade.

Anyhow, here is their verbatim conversation. They'd already covered how much cheaper gas was back in the 60s and the 70s. Did you know gas used to cost a quarter?! WOW!!! Anyhow, here's the tail-end of their conversation:

#1: That's true...that's all true.

#2: Just like what I'm doing now...when I said now...when you speak to other people and your speech and yourself you're telling yourself what you need to know, well I think I know what I'm talking about, what you're talkin' about.

#1: Well, there's nothing wrong with a little communication. Back at ya'.

#2: It used to be much simpler...to...to...divorce the idea of...of freedom in America...from corporate America...now its not so simple--

#1: Thats because of divorce?

(long pause, the bus rattles noisily)

#2: Corporate America has co-opted s-so...in other words, George Bush is...uh...capitalistic

#1: It's capitalistic...it's a capitalistic society.

#2: It is...well that's...y'know

#1: But capitalism has...uh...its own downfall. That's how it goes. If this country grows. You know, its still...I...I think...uh, I think I like living in this country because--

#2: No, I do too...(man #2 stands to exit the bus at his stop) But I wasn't going in...I...(shakes #1's hand) Have a good day.

#1: You too.

Something about that seemed so pure to me. So innocent. So confusing

I'll Admit It...

I'm a little nervous here...I actually come here with an "idea" of what I'm going to blog. I'm nervous, because when I'm "trying" to be interesting, I end up "tying" my shoes...which became "untied" when I "removed" them.

Nope, already off track. This is not going well. I need a cute little smiley face to cheer me. How...about....this one: Golly! Look at the little laughing guy....laughin' and laughin' and laughin'...or is that a seizure? Oh, my God...he's going into shock! We've got to move, now! You, dial 911! You! Is there a defirbrilatror on the property? Defribritator! Drefribgerator! Get it! He's coding! CLEAR! NO PULSE!!! NO PULSE!! WHERE IS THAT GODDAMN AMBULANCE?! WE'RE LOSING HIM!!! NOOOO!!!!!

Crap, I just can't help myself, can I? Damn hell. Well, here's the deep observation I was going to make, before that Goddamn seizure smiley-face got me off track again.

See, I'm a man who listens to music. As far as I can tell, I'm the only person who likes music in the entire world, which is fine with me. Some day, the rest of the world will know the true beauty of "songs." Until then, it's my cross to bear.

But, being the only person actually listening to music, I notice things. I thing this is from that new Pearl Jam song...something about Worldwide Suicides? Well, that ol' local radio stationshow "The End" decided to play that track for every-other-song they spin. Unfortunately, I don't like the song, and I didn't really know why...until now. Call it a "revelation," call it "liver cancer," call it "Colin" and put it in a pretty dress...either way, it's my idea. Now it's your idea, because you're reading this blog, and I relinquish it unto you.

I think, at a certain point, singers stop writing songs that are "personal," and start to try to teach other people how to live their lives. Pearl Jam is a good example...here are some lyrics from "Worldwide Suicide":

It's a shame to awaken, world aflame
What does it mean when the war has taken over?
It's the same every day in a hell man-made
What can be saved, and who will be left to hold her?

Okay. Now, compare that to some early PJ (I'm the only one who calls them PJ...if you call them that, you're a "copy cat," and a "dirty rat")

Just like the day...oh, like the day I heard
Daddy didnt give affection, no...
And the boy was something that mommy wouldnt wear
King Jeremy the wicked...oh, ruled his world

Now, I've never been a real huge PJ fan, but their earlier lyrics actually are personal, heartfelt, and sincere...whereas Worldwide Suicide seems a bit whiny, and didactic (I don't know what that word means...but Thesaurus.com does! And that's all that matters).

Here's another unfortunate example of sincerity and honesty gone horribly wrong. Ms. Kilcher...or, as I like to call her, "Snagglepuss:"

Dreams last for so long
Even after you're gone
I know you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you.

Forgive me, but I'm a sucker for schmaltz, and girls with big boobies. Now compare that to her latest "smash hit":

You look at me
but you're not quite sure
Am I it or could you get more
You learn cool from magazines
You learn love from Charlie Sheen

Actually, all I learn from Charlie Sheen is how to hire prostitutes, and also how to play Cribbage (double-run, bitches...double-run...). Most importantly, I don't need Jewel/Snaggle to tell me what I learn from Charlie Sheen, unless it's to tell me how we was able to spawn half a man. Quite a feat.

One more example before I leave you...and this one is sure to generate the hate mail...or "hate comments," or (even more painfully) the blithe indifference. I don't know what the word "blithe" means, but I did go to high school with a girl named Blythe. I also went to school with a girl named Jessica Simpson -- I actually had a crush on her in the 7th grade because she sat next to me in a class we had...and for no other reason than that. She used to wear a bola, and vests...but she's doing much better now.

I digress...here is that last example I promised...and I'm sorry that I know this...but I do...so shoot me, a'aight...it's not like it's tough to learn these lyrics or anything...I mean, it's not like I'm a fan...I just learned them because I thought they were stupid...really...I mean...c'mon...:

Baby I dont understand
Just why we cant be lovers
Things are getting out of hand
Trying too much, but baby we cant win
Let it go
If you want me girl, let me know
I am down, on my knees

Hee hee....did that guy from N*SYNC just say "I am down on my knees." I don't know why that's funny...I just know that...hee hee...er...hee...sorry. Not funny. Anyhow, here's some of their "later magic..." the stuff that got released shortly before they decided to part company to "pursue other projects."

Can we say the same for you?
Tired of feelin all
Around me animosity
Just worry about yours
'Cause I'ma get mine
Now people can't you see

I guess hesa did get his in the end. Now, I'm sure I'm over some "word limit," because I literally spent 2 hours writing this blog entry -- 108 of those minutes were spent replaying some of my old N*SYNC CDs (I burned them illegally! SHHH!!!), but the rest was "pure blogging heaven." Speaking of which, here's the real "Snagglepuss," in all his glory. Ahh...I love HTML script...because it's dorky...

Now what's that thing he used to say? Ah...yes. "Exit stage left, even..."< other ?pursue to company part decided they before shortly released got that stuff the magic...? ?later their of some here?s Anyhow, funny. Not hee...er...hee...sorry. that...hee know just funny...I that?s why don?t I knees.? my on down am>

I Wasn't Going to Tell Anyone This...

On Wednesday, on my way to work, I had a banana, a Coke, and a sleeve of saltine crackers for breakfast. I thought, "If I only eat a banana, it'll be too sugary...and I need to drink some kind of fluid (fluid = Coke in my world). So, why not balance it out with an entire sleeve of crackers...to absorb the acidity of the Coke and the banana."

So, I finished at about 8:30 AM. The stomach ache started at about 9:10 AM, and proceeded until about 7:30 PM that night. For all of you aspiring "sleeve of crackers for breakfasters" out there, I say...just don't do it. Or, if you do, add "shot of Pepto" to that list, and enjoy.

On to happier news. I have a new invention. We were at a friend's house recently, and he pulled out some vacuum-sealed, pre-cooked salmon that was tender, smoked, and (if I didn't hate all seafood, would have been) totally delicious.

Now, because I hate seafood, this got me to thinking; why only salmon? So, my new invention (feel free to steal this idea...I will be first in line to buy 'er) is vacuum-sealed, smoked, flavored pot roast sticks. Because who doesn't love pot roast? We've got plenty of dried, chewy, totally delicious meats to choose from...why not a tender, pre-cooked, barbecue flavored stick of beef to jam into your mouth (or, if you so desire, onto a cracker of your choosing).

I'm telling you, someone will make money off of this idea. Not I, however. I'm pretty busy with this puzzle here...so...if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to it...