Keep Your Friends Close

A number of friends and I are in the same hotel.

I like to fuck around with my friends, so after seeing Drag Me to Hell tonight (ok movie, laughs, scares without gore, very telegraphed ending) I stopped by Target and picked up a package of the largest tighty whiteys they sold.

I decorated the drawers with a Hershey bar and some lemon-lime Gatorade.

I wrote a friend’s name on the waistband, and placed said drawers in the communal laundry area. I ensured that both the Hershey stripe and the name were prominently displayed.

So glad I have these friends o’mine.

She Leaves the House Like That

While in DC, I took a tour of Washington’s grist mill. Turns out making hooch was one of the many past times of the father of our country…along with lying to the French.

Rock on General.

Anyhoo, during the tour, I had a small question, possibly ‘did Washington sell growlers?’, but I forget. I approached one of the mill personnel in period dress (not being a history buff, I assume this is the period after the revolution). She wore a plain dress down to her feet and a frilly bonnet. It was white, not blue.

I asked my question.

“I don’t work here, Sir.” The twenty-ish woman replied. Her pale cheeks flushed a bit.

With no clever phrases springing to mind, I tipped my hat (I was hatless) and walked away silently.

Why the hell would some crazy Amish/Mennonite type girl be coming to a distillery anyway?

Those crazy Amish.

Bacon, A Haiku

Crispy strips of flesh
Perfection in form of swine
I miss you so much

Weaselnomics

    I was very excited to learn that Michael Jackson is performing again, and apparently so were a lot of other people. I think as a society, we can take this as a positive sign. Our public shunning of this great entertainer is over, and he can once again sit at his throne, and enjoy the fruits of his position. I’ve never read the enormously popular Freakonomics , but I’ve gotten the gist from a number of devotees. It sounds like a bunch of correlation studies, based on data other than outright falsehoods.
    

    While skimming the news today, I also learned that the population of homeless children may be greater than previously thought. The linked article mentions Katrina (the hurricane, not the stupid girl who spilled milk on me in 4th grade…idiot) as a likely cause.

    

    However, allow me to present a differing theory. Micheal Jackson moved to Bahrain in about 2005. In the interim it would seem the number of children, without homes, has increased. Clearly the King of Pop really was the thin black white pale line protecting our nation’s youth from abject poverty. His invitations to children, and financial contributions to their families kept the economy afloat.

    

    Sure, if you sleep over at Michael’s, you may experience some…unpleasantness, but you get a roof and a bed. You also get to ride a fuckin’ zebra or giraffe. A chimpanzee makes you chocolate chip waffles for breakfast. The man had his own damn theme park and you could’ve ridden as much as you wanted, provided you were willing to spend a few awkward minutes, that you never have to admit to anyone else, with Mr. Jackson.

    

    Our short sighted society told Michael we didn’t want him playing with our children. At night. In bed.

    

    We were fools. 

    

    Now his majesty punishes our youth.

Ninja Movies are for Douches

    As far back as junior high I remember fanboys jizzing themselves after every crapfest of a ninja movie came out. They’d buy throwing stars and nunchuks, enroll at David Deaton, preparing themselves for the life of the ninja.

    

    I never got the thrill.

    

    Sure, I like general badassery as much as the next guy. But come on, even at 12, I was like, seriously? Even if I don’t roll my eyes at the magical sneaking prowess of the ninja, what with the amazing ability they have to climb sheer walls a’la Peter Parker style…I can’t get over the fighting.

    

    A. Why is it in every damn movie there is a ‘bad’ ninja that the ‘good’ ninja has to fight. Usually, the bad ninja has an army of bad ninjas who are in fact, bad ninjas. These bad ninjas all suck balls, because the good ninja plows through them, with darts, and arrows, and a host of weaponry obsolete for 500 years. Leading me into point B.

    

    B. If ninjas are so damn smart and innovative, how come they haven’t adopted the gun? If a ninja came at me with a sword I’d shoot him. If I recognized that sissy ninja costume with the footed pajamas and the slit between the big toe and the other, lesser toes…I’d pop a cap right in his scrotum, man-law be damned.

    

    C. They never show hooters. With all the fighting, ninja movies never seem to have nude women. A theme common in all karate movies, but especially ninja titles. Ninjas it seems are gay or chaste. Probably mostly gay, as in all the flashback scenes it’s a bunch of dudes hanging together on some remote mountain top in China. That’s probably how the ninjas learn stealth. Sneaking from one erotic ninja on ninja rendezvous to the other.

        

    Ninjas in general are sneaky little douches. I hate them.

Christian Science Monitor…I Don’t Know What You Are.

    I’ll admit I don’t read Christian Science Monitor. Is a left wing publication? Right wing? I don’t know.

    

    I will admit that the picture associated with this article on fighting in hockey made me laugh…awkwardly. Why? Because pictured are two black men fighting in the NHL. Honestly. I’ve seen a fair number of hockey games. I bet I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen two black players present on both benches, let alone on the ice.

    

    So I wonder editorially, are they saying,”Look Canadians- Black, White, and Inuit play this sport.” or are they saying, “Look, Black Guys Fighting.”

    

    I don’t really care. It just seems odd. No one thinks twice in Football, Basketball, and Baseball to see a black athlete. However the same can’t be said for Hockey and NASCAR. I believe you have to go through great pains to find a photo of two non-white players duking it out.

    

    I’m not calling the CSM racist. Just seems odd.

Weird Science

    The science isn’t really that weird. This post from Time discusses ovary transplants. The times they are a-changin. In the old days if you had old, dried up ovaries you just sucked it up and moved on. Now, you just get new ones. 

    

    Should you get new ovaries…are the kids yours? I suppose definitely in the legal sense. But biologically?  What if you suspected a baby switcheroo mistake in the maternity ward? A simple DNA test wouldn’t really do the trick would it? Sure, there’s paternal DNA…but what if the mom is a slutty whore? That baby could be anybodies.

    

    I get that a bunch of things have to go wrong in that scenario, such as you’d probably need TWO whorish women giving birth about the same time as well as a sloppy hospital staff. But you know, stuff like that happens.

    

    Babies are cute though. I can’t blame anyone for wanting to get one. One huge difference between the sexes I guess. A woman will use someone else’s ovary if that’s what it takes. Men? I think most guys would forgo a ball transplant. Honestly, having some other dude’s nuts in your sack? That’s kinda gay.

Watchmen

    I think the movie was ok. I tried not to build up too much in my mind. It’s not an Oscar nominee, but it is a solid film making effort.

    I’d give it 3.25 stars out of 4. However, because Snyder put so much material in there, I would bet I might revise this up on a second viewing. 

Kids Are Harsh Critics

    Good parents read to their kids when they are small (the kids, not the parents). I say this because, I am a parent and I read to my kid from very early on. I’ve always enjoyed reading, so when I talked to my kid I created ‘voices’ for each character, in an attempt to increase her enjoyment.

    The problem is twofold.

    One, kids will want the same book over and over and over. In fact, I could probably recite the entirety of Is Your Mama a Llama if I were asked. I read it that many times. (Seriously, when she cried in the car, I would recite it to her while driving).

    Two, I could never remember the voices, but my kid could. Sort of. That is to say, she knew I was doing it wrong, but could not tell me how to do it right.

    Come to think of it…maybe it has nothing to do with being a kid. Maybe it’s because she’s female. This warrants further investigation. Check back later.

I Didn’t Wear a Helmet or a Drool Towel…

    A recent comment on my Facebook page reminded me of a painful childhood experience. In Kindergarten, our teacher Mrs. Schleicher made a bulletin board to track our achievement at learning to tie our shoes. As you learned, she drew a little shoe, wrote your name on it, and posted it.

    Some kids already knew, so they made the board quickly. As days and weeks passed, the board filled up. Eventually missing only one name.

    F. Weasel.

    Seasons changed, and at some point she took down the board having given up hope that I would ever accomplish this task. I’m sure she surmised I was doomed to walk the world in loafers, and forsake all sports that required laces. Perhaps I could learn to swim, if not tie.

 

    Somehow through hard work and patience, I managed to figure it out before the school year was over.

    Mrs. Schleicher partitioned off the existing bulletin board and put a shoe up with my name on it.

    As teachers go, she kicked ass.