Today's headlines #4

Doctors in France Perform First Partial Face Transplant
Woman desperately wanted 2nd nose to snub at the rest of the world.


Bush Again Rejects Calls for a Withdrawal Timetable in Iraq
Names “abstinence” as the only choice a Christian should make.


Bongo Stays in Power in Gabon
Citizens reelect small piece of stretched cowide running on platform of “thump” and “thwack”.


Mexico's Leader Says He'll Persevere on Migration
Vows to have entire population across US border by 2012.


TSA to allow sharp objects on planes
Institutes mandatory “mitten-wearing” policy for all passengers while in-flight.


New Orleans launches free wireless Internet network
Said a spokesperson: “now all we need is power, running water and sewage service and we’ll be good as new!”


Gregory Peck's star stolen from Walk of Fame
Inexplicably, Patrick Swayze’s remains.

The number of the least...

I have decided that “one thousand six hundred and eight” is now officially my LEAST favorite number...

That’s right, I’m making a bold proclamation. And I have a strong feeling I’ll be sticking to it. “One thousand six hundred and eight” just holds no joy for me any longer... It’s not a fair decision to make I’m sure, but all the same, from this day forth, simply mentioning “one thousand six hundred and eight” will encourage me to do nothing but mutter and shudder... as i'm doing right now...

[shudder]

Yes, even as I write this, it is painful to THINK about the number “one thousand six hundred and eight” ...much less type “one thousand six hundred and eight” ...or, god forbid, dare to speak “one thousand six hundred and eight”

Which of course means that I should probably stop repeating it over and over and over.

“One thousand six hundred and eight”

[shudder]

“One thousand six hundred and eight”

[shudder]


...


Ooooo... Do it again

“One thousand six hundred and eight”

[shudder]


“But why Flarf” you may ask, “why does this number hold itself in such ill-favor with you?”

Ok, so you probably wouldn't ask that using such a convoluted and mismatched set of words and phrases, but cut me some slack... i'm angry.

And it is a fair question, so to begin to answer it, I offer the following evidence...

In computerspeak, 1608 is the error number assigned to an inability to Create InstallDriver Instance... an inability to Create InstallDriver Instance?!?!?! That’s some pretty pure hatred right there...

It also marks the birth year of poet John Milton... the man who wrote Paradise Lost... the work that, among other things, goes into great detail about the origins of a real bad dude... THE bad dude in fact... the baddest dude of them all... no, I don't mean Darth Vader (though he's pretty fickin' badass)... I’m talking about Satan here... Lucifer... Beelzebub... The Dark Lord of all that is Oogilly Boogilly.

And I might add, it’s also the number of bed spaces for on-campus students at the University of North Florida...

Ok, so that in and of itself isn't actually a BAD thing...

But... but... how bout this one? ...in the year of the Greeks one thousand six hundred and eight (A.D. 1296--97), the victorious king came down to pass the winter in the city of BAGHDAD, and Mar Catholicus remained in MARAGHAH. And it fell out that a certain man, who was called by the name of SHENAKH EL-TAMUR (or SHAING EL-TAIMUR, or SHAKH EL-TAIMUR) came into MARAGHAH, and he cast about a report that he had with him an Edict ordering that every one who not abandon Christianity and deny his Faith should be killed.

Killed?!?!?

Hey, not that I’m the world’s leading proponent of organized religion or anything, but promoting closin’ up shop on some dude just cuz of how he gets his groove on, well that seems wrong man...

So you see what I mean?

“One thousand six hundred and eight”

[shudder]

It’s just a bad, bad number.


Oh, and it also just so happens to be the appraised cost of repairs to my six-month-old car...

Repairs that I have a $1,000 deductible on...

Repairs that are necessary due to an accident that a policeman thought was too minor (and involving so little damage) that it wasn’t even worth writing up...

Repairs that I don’t really have the funds to pay for or the inclination to undertake.



...not that I’m bitter or anything.



“One thousand six hundred and eight”

...the joy is gone.

[shudder]

Hey, I wrote a joke #1

[It helps if you imagine this being told by Mitch Hedberg... if the name doesn't ring a bell, then go google him right now... trust me, it will be funnier if you know who he is]


I do not understand people who wear puffy vests...

It’s like:

“Hey, I want a jacket that will make my torso warm... and my arms jealous.”

Random thought #24

Have you ever stared intently at something... and I mean REALLY stared... just to see if you could get it to move... or lift up... or burst into flames?


...ok, maybe it's just me.




I'd swear I almost did it the other morning... I could tell... the toaster was scared.

Varifying Newton's research...

So... I learned something new today.

There’s a reason why the Nissan Sentra only costs around $13,000... and it’s not because their accountants lack the ability to count properly.

No... I'm wagering it's because they’ve created a vehicle made solely out of balsa wood and Styrofoam.

Or at least that's what comprises the front sections, as I unfortunately discovered this morning.

Yup that’s right, at approximately 8:30am, whilst making the journey to my current place of employment, my front bumper decided to engage in a rather intimate and somewhat humiliating “bonding” experience with the back of a Honda Civic.

Ya know, I really didn’t need a blog topic this badly...

Ok, so there’s a particular on-ramp to Storrow Drive down by the BU campus here in Boston that has been the source of much acrimony for me since my commute found its way to include said on-ramp in its path. Technically, it’s a yield... but the cars already ON the main road are traditionally traveling between 55-105 mph, so really the only thing you can do is accelerate slowly and try to merge when someone looks the other way...

Or at least I THOUGHT that was the only thing you could do.

Apparently, you can also start to accelerate into the merge and then change your mind at the last minute and slam on the brakes.

Who knew?

The guy traveling in front of me sure didn’t... taken completely by surprise at the lead car's, um... "spontaniety," he was forced to slam on his brakes... luckily, he stopped just short of making contact with the offending vehicle (who then, blissfully ignorant of the carnage he was causing, took off into traffic).

I however, wasn’t so lucky.

The first car stopped... the second car stopped... the third car (yours truly), tried to stop, but instead slid forward until it’s front bumper was conducting a rather impromptu proctology screening on a surprised piece of Japanese machinery.

Did I mention it was raining this morning?

I hit the brakes... the brakes hit wet wheels... the wheels hit wet pavement, and the car hit the wet Honda.

Thankfully I resisted the urge to wet myself.

The minivan behind me had come to the conclusion that aggresive braking might be its best course of action as well, and with luck, goodwill and a little bit of physics on it's side was able to stop a few feet short of hitting my vehicle... the car behind HIM however must have been operating with a high quotient of negative karma (no pun intended), because it decided to join me in my endeavor of attempting an amateur automotive colonoscopy, and thus was busy bumping bumpers with the minivan.

[no, I have no idea why I’m so fascinated with anally-fixated automobile metaphors today]

So there we were, four cars stuck on the side of the ramp, exchanging information, and waiting for a policeman to come and tell us if we had misbehaved.

I looked around at the other cars and noticed that they didn’t seem to be all that damaged... a few scratches here and there, but all in all it didn’t look that bad... we were on an onramp after all... we really hadn’t been traveling all that fast... then of course, I saw my poor pathetic little vehicle.

Imagine if you will, what it might look like if you punched a muffin in the face...

Now, I realize muffins don’t have faces per se... and, even if you could assume that they might, you may not be able to conjure up any reason why you would be inclined to punch one in that face, but work with me here, i'm painting a metaphor...

Basically, the front of my car currently looks like someone hooked a vacuum cleaner up to the tailpipe and set it on übersuck.

The grill is all mushed in, the emblem is hanging by a (cheap) thread, and the bumper has been split in the middle, revealing the all-too-disconcerting fact that a very thin plastic coating has been giving me a false sense of security in the safety of my vehicle, when in fact, all that lies between me and certain death is a piece a generic, run of the mill, “good for packing the teevee on a long trip to Rhode Island”, Styrofoam.

Joy.

So the policeman shows up and decides that quote:

“since there’s no real damage, I’m not going to bother writing this one up,”

and tells us that we should just work it out with our respective insurance companies.

I look back at the parts of my car that appear to have just suffered a severe nervous breakdown and contemplate alerting the policeman to his subtle inaccuracies, but in light of the fact that technically I was the one doing the rear-ending (and because I have a New York Jets cap prominently displayed in my back window) I decide against it.

With a heavy sigh, and a rolling of the eyes, I climb back in my bruised vehicle and head off to work...


Now the fun begins...

The calling of the insurance company.

The filing of the paperwork.

The raising of the rates.


And of course, the open weeping at the fact that I own a 6-month-old car that probably couldn't stand up to a Vespa.

...and I have a $1,000 deductible.

Random observation #5

It seems very odd, that this, a classic symbol of anti-consumerist Holiday sentiment, is now being sold at Urban Outfitters... for $24 no less.


Of course, that that being said, it’s also kinda neat....

Random paragraph #24

After 217 days of ingesting nothing but fish sticks and warm orange juice, Frank thought he might need to shake things up... it just didn’t feel right anymore... sure, the fish sticks made him smile every time he snapped one in half with his front teeth while pretending he was a bear foraging for food in the great northwest... and let’s face it, you just couldn’t beat a tall, pulpy glass of slightly lower than room temperature OJ, but still... he wasn’t feeling that “zest” anymore. He needed something new. Something exciting. He headed into the kitchen and begin to work his magic... 4 hours later, Frank emerged with what he thought could be the perfect addition to his formidable nutritional arsenal... With great jubilation he had discovered that, when mixed in a blender (for 14 seconds on “frappe” to be precise), partially defrosted chicken nuggets, chocolate pudding mix and extra-firm, spicy cajun tofu combined to form a new substance that, while having the consistency of a slightly past date cod, and a smell that one might accurately relate to spoiled milk, tasted pretty darn close to a hearty head-cheese risotto.

Today's headlines #4

Pilot injured after plane crashes into Wal-Mart
Receives multiple cuts and abrasions... not from crash, but from encounter with smiley-faced “rollback man” busy “slashing prices.”


Ship Blasts Pirates With Sonic Weapon
Gains +3 experience, +2 magic, level 9 scimitar of Andernol


Female Amputee Completes Ironman Triathlon
Random guy named Frank claims similar achievement – spends 37th consecutive day sprawled out on barcalounger subsisting on nothing but orange glazed donuts and yoo-hoo.


Penguin evolution linked to shifting icebergs
Flightless birds apparently had no choice but to “go with the flow”.


Study: Women Expect Less When It Comes to Humor
Unrelated study shows women boast higher levels of exposure to ABC sitcom “Full House” during formative years.


Today: Chocolate lovers invade New York!
Attacks easily thwarted when unexpected warm front moves in, melting confectionary arsenal.


Two Drunken Moose Invade Home for Elderly
One of the facility’s 15 “Senior Residents” responds: “We were happy to have the company... positively lovely fellows... a little hairy though... didn’t talk much... and I think one of them might have pooped in the cafeteria.”


Tom Cruise hires new publicist to replace sister
Newly-hired Paul Bloch promises to “tone down that crazy little bugger”

Random thought #23

It's odd. When "Supernanny" Jo Frost mispronounces a word*, I actually find it endearing... but when the President of the United States does it**, it just makes me want to pretend I’m Canadian.


* "acceptable" as uh-sep-ta-bull.

** take your pick.

Insider ego trading...

I am not what you call an overly confident individual.

As one who typically eschews the conventionally sought after self-esteem mandate for a more masochistic approach to life rooted in self-doubt, self-deprecation, and self-effacement, the idea of a positive self-image is one that on the whole, is wholly foreign to me.

I say all that not to illicit sympathy or reassurance, but to give you a sound basis and frame of reference for what I am about to say...

I am much, much, much, much, much more stable and well adjusted now than I ever was as a kid.

Yes, I know, all kids are emotionally, shall we say, unstable? But trust me, at times I was quite the special case... I didn’t grasp the way the “world” worked back then... I never really understood what it would take to fit in with most of my peers... or if I did understand it, it certainly didn’t make enough sense to me for me to justify playing along (I equate this as the reason I’d be positively lousy as a salesman).

Now, this lack of understanding probably did more to fuel what would eventually become my somewhat creative personality than just about anything else, so today I am grateful and appreciative of my somewhat altered perspective, but at the time... well, let’s just say I didn't appreciate that it solidified my fate... or that any and all desperate attempts to BE cool (of which I made many) basically did nothing but reaffirm the fact that I never WOULD be cool.

As a child, you really don’t appreciate the fact that your burgeoning addiction to television and books will serve as a sound pop culture basis for dominating the “pink” category in future trivial pursuit games... when the “cool” kids are talking about clothing labels and fancy cars, your affinity for Stephen King seems more like a personality defect than an attribute.

Anyway, there IS an actual reason why I’m giving you all this setup...

You see, at the age of 11, I became the subject of a bizarre sociological experiment... one that utterly confused and degraded me, while simultaneously causing me to become a potential source of income for any lucky soul who happened to be riding my bus to school.

But first, a little background...

When I got to sixth grade, I was at a crossroads. I was just starting to develop my own impressions of things... but I hadn’t really developed an identity yet. I had discovered that girls seemed to possess the potential to be entertaining in ways that boys couldn’t, but I had yet to evolve into the suave metrosexual lady-killer that types before you now...

In short, I knew I should be starting to make things happen for myself, but I had absolutely no clue what those things should be... or how to make them happen. Most of my peers however, seemed to have everything under control (at least that’s what I thought at the time).

And they did it all the same way...

They looked the same.

They dressed the same.

They acted the same.

And I just didn’t get it.

Now... I grew up in a fairly nice neighborhood and went to one of the area’s nicer public elementary schools, so you can probably imagine what these guys were like...

Affluence had truly run amok in my community, and this crew fit the archetype to a “T”: preppy, pretty, and self-assured.

Basically, they were the Johnny Lawrences to my Daniel LaRusso.

Only I didn’t know karate...

Or date Elisabeth Shue...

Or have a little Asian man to teach me how to prune and catch flies with chopsticks.

Heck, I never even painted a fence.

But I digress...

Ok, so that's the setup... let's move on and add to the picture my older brother. 3 years my senior, and to me, an enigma. I had no clue what made him tick, but in fulfillment of the traditional “little brother” job description, I had dutifully copied his every move from the time I could walk... hey, I was the little brother... that was what you did.

As I was beginning Junior High, he was starting to make his way through High School, and I don’t know if he hadn’t seen the other kids, or if he didn’t get the memo, or if things were different once you had actually started going through puberty, but he had apparently made a conscious decision to adopt a different approach to... well, to just about everything.

Whereas the “cool” kids I was surrounded by on a daily basis were dressing in Polo shirts and listening to Wham!, he was donning concert t-shirts and suede fringe jackets, growing his hair, and buying cassettes by bands with names like Iron Maiden, Ratt and Motley Crue.

This put me in quite the precarious position.

More than anything else at the time, I wanted people to like me (or at the very least, ignore me)... I’m a people pleaser after all, and the last thing I wanted was to be ridiculed...

This simple request soon became the Holy Grail to my 11th year of life.

At first, I tried to fit in with the cool kids.

I got a few Izod shirts (not quite as good as Polo, but hopefully still acceptable enough to get through the school day unscathed) and layered them appropriately... green with yellow... red with blue... etc... and much to my amazement it appeared to work. Kids that had previously mocked and teased me for wearing what I thought were perfectly acceptable t-shirts and jeans now generally left me alone... on occasion, they even spoke to me like I was human.

Then I came home from school... where my brother caught a glimpse of me.

To say that he was less than pleased with my particular choice of wardrobe would be an underestimation on par with saying that Rosie O’Donnell likes her some Ho Hos.

He let loose a string of insults like I had never heard before, working up into quite the fervor, and going so far as to bring my Mother into the situation so he could explain to her in great detail the dangers in my becoming a “Prep.”

The next day I went back to wearing a t-shirt and jeans...

You see where this is going?

Yes, the kids at school (now having seen that I actually owned clothing they considered passable) were relentless... I got off the bus at the end of the day feeling like someone who had gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson (even though I wouldn’t have any clue who he was for another 2 years)

So the next day it was back to the collar shirts...

And back to the brotherly abuse.

And that was how it went.

Back and forth and back and forth.

Some days I wore Izod... Some days I didn’t. After a while, it got so I was picking my clothes in the morning based on who I wanted to make fun of me less...

hmmm... should I go with the obnoxious preppy rich rids, or the angst ridden older brother?

It was much fun, let me tell you...

Then, something even more strange started happening.

As I would get on the bus in the morning, about half of the “cool” kids would break into spontaneous applause, while the other half would immediately appear angered with me. Who was happy and who was mad seemed to vary by the day, but without fail, as I stepped foot up the stairs and passed the yellow line, I would be greeted by both cheers and boos. For a while I almost enjoyed it... I mean, at least SOMEONE seemed pleased with whatever I was doing...

And then the other shoe started its slow decline...

One day, as the bell was getting ready to ring at the end of the day, one of the “cool” kids pulled me aside and asked what I planned on wearing the next day. When I told him I didn’t know, he asked if I could please try to wear a t-shirt. I was perplexed to say the least, but being the schmuck that I was (and just being happy that he was showing an interest) I gleefully complied. The next day, the scenario repeated itself.

As it did the next day...

And the next.

And the next.

I’ll spare you the drama in the details of what progressed next, but remember how I mentioned earlier that I became a “potential source of income for any lucky soul who happened to be riding my bus to school”?

Yeah, well it turns out that people had begun wagering on what I would wear to school. It was a big joke that the entire bus was in on, and only after I informed some of the other kids that I was tipping off one of their compatriots on my potential wardrobe choices did it stop (inexplicably, they weren’t mad with the kid who swindled them out of their money... they were however quite mad with me for telling him what I might wear).

Yup, that's it... I layed out that big whole rambling scenerio just so I could put into context a story from my childhood that i'm only going to devote one paragraph to explaining.

Hey, it's my blog... I can do things like that.

But ya know, it’s funny how kids are sometimes...

Heck, it’s funny how adults are sometimes...

And sometimes, there doesn’t seem to be all that much difference between the two.

I don’t really know why I decided to relate this little adolescent anecdote today. It’s not a particularly painful memory or one that bothers me or anything.

And to tell the truth, I think it conjures up a pretty funny mental image.

Me, the conquering hero, striding onto the bus to cheers and boos of my adoring constituency.

That’s funny stuff!

But maybe it's only funny because now I have the hindsight of knowing that I’ve (mostly) gotten over those old insecurities...

And I know that I’m much, much, much, much, much more stable and well adjusted now than I ever was as a kid...

And of course, I also know damn well that if we ever played trivial pursuit, I would totally kick those guys’ asses in the “pink” category.

Have faith, will shuffle...

I'm not sure what amuses me more, the fact that this exists:

http://www.devoted1.com/

Or, the fact that in order to have the buttons lined up correctly, you need to invert it.

This product seems to lack intelligent design.

Ha!

Get it? Intelligent design!

OK, so it's not my best work, but still...