The Purse Blueprint

C.D. bought a new purse over the weekend. She was so excited about it and couldn’t stop telling me about all the cool features it had. The thing she was most excited about was the large number of pockets to put things in. So, as she is showing off the purse she starts looking for her glasses. She searches and searches but can’t find them in the purse anywhere. As she is visibly frustrated at having lost them already, I comment that maybe she needs a blueprint for her purse…sort of categorizing what is in each pocket. She said that would be great and she could keep it in her purse and pull it out when she has lost something. I said that if she puts it in her purse, then she just may very well lose the blueprint too. Then she would need a blueprint to find the blueprint!

Side Bar: My Dad lost his glasses once, searched everywhere for them. I finally asked him what he was looking for and he told me his glasses. I looked right at him and calmly replied, "Do you mean the ones on your head?"

Calling Yourself on the Phone

C.D. and J.P. were talking at lunch about taking pictures of each other to put in their phones. That way, for example, when J.P. calls C.D. his picture will pop up and she will know it is him. Think of it as a fancy caller ID for cell phones.

As I sat there and listened to them, it occurred to me how weird it would be to get a call on your cell phone, to look down, and see your own picture staring back at you. I wonder…would I have the courage to answer?

The Last Octopus

I tried octopus once in Greece. We went to a really nice seafood restaurant, the kind of restaurant where parts of the fish are still on it when the meal comes out. You know like cooked fish with the head and tail still on it. Well, one of the dishes that was served was octopus tentacles. I thought it looked safe, so I cut me off a piece and ate it. On the way down one of the suction cups…well…sucked to the inside of my throat. So, there I am choking on this octopus tentacle, and I can’t get it to go up or down. That stupid suction cup just wouldn’t let go. I started to panic, and I broke into a sweat. I just knew I was going to have to be driven to the emergency room to have it removed. Chalk up yet another freak accident that happened to me in my lifetime. I started shoving all kinds of things down my throat in an attempt to dislodge it…bread, fish, shrimp, anything. I was too embarrassed to admit what was happening, but then again nobody was looking my way anyway. Most likely I would have just ended up turning blue before anyone noticed something was wrong. My manly pride told myself that even that was preferable to admitting that I had been outsmarted by an octopus suction cup. When it finally broke free, I gasped a huge breath and vowed then and there never to eat octopus again. Stupid suction cup.

The Color of the Sky

I have had several people comment about the posts on my blog. There are several variations but the general idea is usually, “Where do you come up with this stuff? It is so random and weird.” A guy in school used to say the same thing about me, but he always phrased it as, “What color is the sky in your world because you are obviously seeing something different from us?” I would calmly reply, “Red.”

I prefer to think of myself as living in a different world from everyone else. A world where my posts are perfectly normal and everyone else’s thinking is weird.

The Phantom Wife

I have been at this job for four months now. In all that time my wife has failed to make an appearance here. I am sure that everyone here is starting to wonder if she really exists at all. They are probably thinking that I made her up to fit in and be cool. That could explain the pictures that I have of only her on my desk…never us together. And the stories I spin of three weddings in two countries is a bit far-fetched to believe. I mean, really, who gets married three times? My wedding ring doesn’t even look like a typical wedding ring, and even if it did I could have just bought it to make the story more believable. And everything is explained so perfectly how she is off doing a PhD in another state, she could be there a while, she is too busy to take vacations.

I am sure people want to believe me, but after so long I sense they are starting to wonder if I am not just the best liar they have ever met. Perhaps they wonder if I didn’t fabricate my whole life. Can anything I say be believed?

Typing With Underwear

I was talking to C.D. today about learning to type. She is still one of those hen-pecker typists. I was telling her about the first typing class I took in grade school. In order to keep us from looking at the keys on the computer the teacher decided to cover them up. The question is how do you cover the keys and still allow room for the students to be able to get their hands on the keys to type?

Well, some intelligent person came up with the bright idea to use men’s boxer shorts…putting the waist around the keyboard and allowing the students to stick their hands up the legs to type. I have to admit that it was pretty successful until some inventive student figured out that he could look through the opening in the crotch and see the keyboard. The idea spread like wildfire and the next thing you know everyone is holding the crotch flap open with their thumbs and henpecking their way through the class.

For every great idea you can find someone that can find a way to abuse its power.

Tai-Bo in Small Places

I had the big idea to get in shape so I decided to get me a Tai-Bo DVD. That way I could embarrass myself in my own home. I really enjoyed the setup of the moves and the intensity of the workout. I actually had fun working out…for a while. I soon learned the difficulties of doing such space-intensive exercises in such a space-deficient location.

It isn’t so fun when you kick the side of the entertainment system or punch an unsuspecting lamp. It is downright painful when you get your leg tangled up in a dining room chair, thanks to a wayward front kick, or hit your head on a moving ceiling fan trying to get some height on your spinning roundhouse kick. My wife lost more than one glass figurine when they toppled off the top of a bookcase and smashed to the floor. They were unfortunately dislodged when I slammed into the bookcase, having lost my balance on a combination move. However, I think the low point of the whole experience had to be when I flipped myself over the arm of the couch and landed head-first on the tile floor…twice.

Needless to say that after I regained consciousness I promptly destroyed that DVD so it could never do harm again!

The Mysterious Meeting

Yesterday I went to C & J’s Barbeque to meet someone for lunch. I just wish I had known who I was supposed to meet. I kept walking around the whole time asking everyone if they were the one. I got a lot of “what is wrong with you, weirdo” looks, but I made a few friends too. Not to mention that I was able to snag a few pickles from peoples’ plates while I was talking to them. So, I guess you could say I sort of ate with everyone in the restaurant. When I finally figured out who I was supposed to eat with it was time for me to go back to work. I should probably try to plan things better in the future.

Stalked by a Killer Crawfish

Yesterday after the rain the streets in my trailer park were flooded. As I trudged through the shallowest portions of the “lake” to the garbage dumpster, I came across a small animal shooting through the water. I stopped long enough to see what looked like a miniature lobster swimming across the street. I guess the large amount of rain had forced the crawfish out of his muddy burrows to the surface. I didn’t want the poor thing to get caught, and possibly killed, in the middle of the street so I tried directing his swimming back toward the grass. Unfortunately, he got caught in a current by the gutter and started tumbling swiftly down the street. I lost sight of him as he barrel-rolled through the water off into oblivion.

I didn’t give it another thought until I was driving to work this morning. As I reached the end of the street there sitting in the middle of the road was a crawfish. It is hard to say, but he looked just like the crawfish I had seen yesterday. Could he be stalking me? Could he be mad at me for sending him into the furious rapids of the “river” by the gutter? He DID have an evil glint in his eye as he shook his tiny pincer in my direction. Shall I be attacked in my sleep one night, snuffed out by that same tiny pincer holding my nostrils closed? Or was it my imagination fueled by my unconscious guilt? If this is my last blog post, then you will have your answer. Someone please give the following picture to the police so they have a composite of the killer.

A Single Moment of Patheticism

Do you know a single defining moment when you realize that you are completely pathetic? Well, I would like to share one with you. I was in the bathroom washing my hands. I dried off on the paper towel, thoroughly getting every nook, every cranny – because I am obsessive like that – and then wadded the paper towel up. Now in the bathroom the trash can was only about two inches from my feet. Acting all cool like I was some basketball superstar I go to do my best “Air” Jordan impression, attempting to slam the paper towel in the trash can only to miss. All I could do was watch in horror as it splatted against the floor six inches wide right.

How is that possible? How do you miss by six inches when you were only two inches away to begin with? That means that it had to travel…let’s see…well…carry the one…almost eight inches to go the two inches I intended in the first place. The only thing worse than that is when you do something this pathetic and someone is watching.

I know you all have stories like that, so let’s hear your best pathetic moments.

Raindrop Lullabies

It is raining hard today. The drops are so big that it sounds like a hundred little kids running on the roof, or maybe a theater erupting in ovation after a grand symphonic or theatrical performance. The clouds are so thick that they have blocked out the sun and cast the world outside into an unnatural darkness. Thunder rumbles across the sky in slow, deep tones, announcing the presence of a great storm.

It is a great day to be home, sitting by the window, and reading a book. The rain lulling you into a peaceful slumber, making your eyes heavier with each passing moment. You fight it determined to keep reading, but slowly, slowly you give in and let the rhythmic lullabies of the rain pull you into a world of dreams. Your head tilts to rest gently on the window. You can feel the cool glass pressed against your cheek and the subtle vibrations as the raindrops hit the window outside. Your half-read book drops to the floor as your fingers slowly relax and release their hold. You unconsciously pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your warm blanket around you, and drift into a wonderful sleep.

Fruit Fly Disorder

I came across an interesting blog post this morning. It is perhaps the best definition of what I affectionately call my Fruit Fly Disorder (being that I have the attention span of a fruit fly) that I have ever come across. Here is the post:

“Lack of Focus

Does anyone else out there suffer from a lack of focus? That seems to be my main hurdle right now, personally and professionally. I am interested in almost everything, which turns out to be my gift and my curse (props to Jay-Z and Peter Parker). I start on many things, but finish few. I feel like the creative equivalent of the Chicago Cubs - I start out strong but by the end everyone wonders what the hell happened.

I don't remember being this way when I was a kid. I would start a project and spend hours on it, concentrating each night until I got it done. I made cardboard spaceships for my Transformers, drew hundreds of dinosaurs on rolls of newsprint, and wrote short stories by the binder.

Of course, I also had zero responsibility and no significant distractions. Today my free time after work is split among working out, cleaning, fixing meals, etc. Jessica and I also had odd work schedules sometimes, and so our time together can get pretty erratic.

I'm also still searching for that “one thing” that I love to do. I would love nothing more than to strive for perfection in some arena, but I have no idea what that is. Writing is my strongest suit, but I love the visual aspects of design and film and would like to delve into those deeper. Without a clear vision, though, it's hard to get started. My ideas are all dressed up with no place to go. To quote Filter's “Best Things” – ‘I've got a green light yeah, but I'm going nowhere.’”


To read the entire blog, go here:
http://www.garmana.com/blogs/mark/index.php

Lunch with Friends

I was at lunch today with some friends. One of the guys had on a shirt that said “Athletic Supporter” on it. It was supposed to indicate that he had supported the athletics program either with his time or with his money. I just had to laugh at the dual meaning it could have.

We got to talking at lunch about watching movies at the theater for the “big screen” effect and the awesome sound system. One of the guys at the table piped up and started bragging about his twelve speaker, theater quality, surround sound system at his house. He said it would blow your hair back. Then he said that he just wished he had a better television. Come to find out he has the system hooked up to a dinky, 10-inch TV. So much for bragging rights.

The Lady in My Picture Frame

I have several pictures of my wife on my desk at the office. C.D. commented that there were none of my wife and I together. She said that it almost looked like I was just stalking this innocent lady. I told her that I really didn’t know who the lady was. I just kept buying these frames with the same model in them because I thought she was pretty.

Old Downtown Bryan

I took a walk through old downtown Bryan yesterday. I didn’t have anything especially to do at lunch and it was a beautiful day outside. So, I got a portable sandwich and set off on my trek. They are currently in the process of revitalizing old downtown, but the old, quaint feel of the buildings and surroundings is still prevalent. There are such a myriad of little shops lined along the streets from furniture places to restaurants to art galleries to guitar shops. Each shop is different. Each has its own feel. In all the years I have been in this area I have never taken the time to just admire the beauty of old downtown Bryan.

One of My Greatest Accomplishments

One of my greatest accomplishments was finding and marrying my wife. Being her husband has taught me responsibility, patience, love, planning and organization, and how to consider and care for another person's feelings.

Of course it has also made me fatter, forced me to grow up, and reduced my ability to decide on places to eat out as well.

Colliding Birds

C.D. was telling me that she and her husband agree on just about everything. I told her that she is the prime example of “birds of a feather flock together.” But that doesn’t apply to my wife and me. No, we are the prime example of “opposites attract.”

About the only thing we can really agree on is that Rocky Road ice cream is good.

What Turns on My Nose

It is Spring and there are a million things blooming…a million scents in the air. So it only seems natural that I would start thinking about scents I like and scents I don’t. I decided to grace you with a list of scents I like.

1. Baking cookies
2. Laundry right out of the dryer
3. Potpourried carpets
4. The smell of the air near the sea
5. Fresh cut cedar
6. Fresh baked bread
7. Cooking hamburgers
8. Willow trees
9. Sweat and perfume
10. Shampooed hair when someone tosses their hair
11. Leather
12. The smell of the air during or right after a lightning storm
13. Matches right after they are blown out
14. Bacon
15. Cinnamon buns

I would be curious to know what turns on other people’s olfactory mechanisms. So, post a comment and share what scents you like.

Oscar the Tempermental Server

I was fascinated today to learn that our servers up here at work have a theme. Apparently we are sporting the solar system theme. We have machines with names like MARS or EARTH. It is funny to me how people interject organization and groupings onto totally unrelated things. What does the solar system have to do with a computer network?

How fascinating it would be to have a computer network with names from Sesame Street or X-Men.

“Error: Cookie Monster has detected that your computer has cookies disabled. Please enable cookies on your machine to log onto Cookie Monster.”

“Error: Bert is currently not responding. Consequently, Ernie isn’t either.”

“Error: Wolverine is down at the moment, undergoing repairs on his endoskeleton. Connection should resume momentarily.”

“Error: Storm is a little under the weather today, so connection might be splotchy.”

James Bond and the Two-Way Mirror

C.D. was telling me about this friend of hers that refused to try on clothes in public changing rooms because he was convinced that the mirrors in them were actually double-sided mirrors. He was sure that there were cameras on the other side taking his picture and selling it on the black market or posting it on the Internet in China. As I pondered this thought I realized that I would have had a totally different reaction to this information. I would be strutting my stuff in there, flexing and posing, making funny faces, giving the audience the best show I could. I might even bust out with a few impressions or accents or pick-up lines.

I can see the person running the interrogation-and-third-degree counter at the front of the changing rooms getting worried and calling in the fire department because I had been in there for hours. Then the fire department breaks down the door only to find me standing in my underwear, flexing my muscles, and offering in my best British accent to buy myself a drink.

Barrel-Rolls and Flying Dogs

Yesterday I went jogging in the park. I came across a dog named Ginger who was frolicking around in circles just chasing imaginary creatures and enjoying the sunshine. Suddenly she thrust all four feet to the side and rolled over on her back. Then she proceeded to scratch her back in that twisting squirming manner, feet straight up in the air, in which dogs seem so able and happy to find themselves. Unfortunately Ginger’s violent scratching got her too close to the edge of a hill and she ended up barrel-rolling all the way down it just like we used to do when we were kids. When she got to the bottom she flipped back over on her feet, a huge smile playing across her face, raced to the top of the hill, and proceeded to roll down the hill again. I guess little kids aren’t the only ones that enjoy a good barrel-roll.

I then rounded the curve and was passed by two girls jogging with their miniature dachshund. He was doing his best to stay up with them, moving his feet so fast that it almost seemed like every other step was actually missing the pavement. His ears were blown back flat against his head and his tongue was flapping out to the side like a flag. It is unfortunate that despite all these efforts that he was, in fact, covering very little ground.

The Art of a Programmer

It is sad to watch people using my programs and viewing them merely as utilities to accomplish a task. In the basest, most grotesque way I suppose that is really what they are, but to me they are works of art. I see and appreciate the hours of sweat and tears that went into creating this something out of nothing. I marvel at the layer after layer of “paint” that harmonize and co-exist so that this “piece” comes together in perfect flow. I see the living, breathing beast that lurks behind the scenes slaving away to make the user’s life that much easier. I know every letter, every nuance, every dark and forgotten corner of the program. And when they get sick, I know exactly how to fix them so they get all better. I am not God, and I will never know what it feels like to control the power of creation. The closest I could ever get is watching one of my programs come to life and feeling the pride and joy of knowing that I created it. It is at those moments that I marvel at the skills that God has placed in my hands. Too often I take them for granted, shrugging off the gifts as nothing all that special. But when it all comes together in that one almost-perfect masterpiece, I realize how beautiful and wondrous those skills and the process really are. I see the fruit of my labors, little works of art, not just a utility to accomplish a task.

The Life of a Programmer

I am sitting here staring at the screen watching my program, which takes a combined time of 20 minutes to run, get all the way to the 18th minute before it decides to crash. I robotically try to decipher the error message, which becomes increasingly more difficult when the computer starts getting an attitude and spits out messages like "You screwed it up again, IDIOT! Failure at Module: 42342413442343143432413463452345# Now try to figure out what that means, Genius!" But I am a programmer and I don't know the meaning of the word defeat. So, I change some small thing like a semi-colon or comma, and decide that surely that was enough to throw off Module: 42342413442343143432413463452345#, and I start it up for another test run. Invariably, 18 minutes later I am greeted by another warm, encouraging message from my computer like, "Please don't breed, with you in the world we are already over our quota for morons. Failure at code line 3.825. Muah, Ha, Ha, Ha [Best Demonic Laugh]!" However, never deterred and never once pondering why I decided to become a programmer in the first place, I press on. I decide to make a big change this time and attack a period or maybe a question mark. I then confidently sit back, grinning from ear to ear, and run another test...slightly smirking at having bested this infernal machine. This time it DOES NOT stop at minute 18...nor does it stop at minute 20, or even minute 75. Actually, I lost track of time when I fell over asleep onto my keyboard, it was the spark created by my drool hitting the power source of the keyboard that jarred me awake. Apparently, I have an infinite loop now...which requires me to manually stop the program...but at least the computer doesn't get the last word this time. I spend the next hour and a half fading in and out of consciousness as I try to read over the 2.7 million lines of code that make up this program, making corrections here and there, but ultimately deciding that I have had enough and thinking that nobody will really notice the remaining issues if I throw in some dazzling graphics. So, here I sit again watching the program attempt to get through another test run. Did you know that if you put your finger tips together while keeping your hands as far apart as possible, and put your thumbs up to your nose while looking through the space made by your pinky and ring finger, that it feels like you are viewing the world down a tree lined street? Five minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes, and 20 minutes later, SUCCESS! Just as long as nobody expects those numbers to add up exactly.

I'm With Stupid

You know some days I am really tempted to go back to school and get my Master’s degree. My brilliant wife is really starting to show me up. I can’t use my measly bachelor’s degree to compete with her bachelor’s, two masters, and soon-to-be PhD. I am really getting tired of everyone thinking I am the stupid one because she looks better on paper. They all give her that sympathetic look, you know the one where they are proud of her taking pity on the less fortunate and bringing herself down to my level so I wouldn’t live my life alone as a pathetic loser. I tried a couple of times to win support for my smartiness, but the “I was the valedictorian of my eighth grade class” card sort of loses its “awe effect” in about the first two minutes following eighth grade graduation.

A Half Eaten Basket of Stale Chips

I was sitting in a restaurant and thinking how funny it would be if you took the dishes from a restaurant, put them in a to-go box, and gave them to someone for a wedding gift. You could get them all kinds of stuff: silverware, dip bowls, chip baskets, dinner platters, glasses, bread baskets, cutting boards, etc. I guess the only thing that really would be more tacky than that is if you didn’t wash them before you gave them to them. “What the heck is this…a half eaten basket of stale chips and a bowl full of hardened cheese dip?”

Insatiable Curiosity

When most people talk or communicate they do so of specific things or happenings in their lives. They talk of work or people. Not too many just talk about random and untraceable thought patterns. Pondering things like stupid clichés in the English language or patterns in human nature. Why is that? Why do we get so caught up in our lives and stop asking "Why?" Little kids are amazing because they are so curious. They have this insatiable curiosity that leads them to constantly explore the world around them. But as they grow up they lose that quality and slowly fall into a rut. Everyone ought to have something in their lives that fills them with insatiable curiosity. Something that they can never get enough of. What fills you with an insatiable curiosity?

For me it is reading books...I can never read enough or fast enough to satisfy myself. There are never enough books as I pour through them like water. I love to depart this world for a while and enter into a realm of fantasy or mystery or romance or horror. To be an observer of someone else's life. To know more than the character, shouting at them to let them in on the info., and then sighing in frustration when time and time again they ignore my warnings. The stories allow you to view and experience your own reality in a whole new way. You can't help but look at the world differently. Sometimes I find myself reading two or three books at the same time...and I still can't get enough.

The Spit Bubble Violation

I spit on myself today. I was just sitting at my desk and it flew out. I was so appalled that I just sat there staring my hand in total disbelief. I am not exactly sure how or why it happened, but it was gross nonetheless. I finally pulled myself together and wiped that small insignificant bubble off my hand, but the damage was done. I felt so violated. I felt so unloved and disrespected. That someone could treat me with such a lack of humanity. I don’t know if I will ever be able to forgive myself for making me feel this way.

The Struggling Millionaires

Do you remember when a million dollars was a lot of money? Do you remember when there were relatively few millionaires in the world? Now we have lots of billionaires walking around, and an average annual salary of $100,000 or more is not even so uncommon. Prices are on the rise along with our salaries, so we really aren’t any better off. Isn’t it funny to think that one day we might all be making a million dollars a year and still be struggling to pay the bills each month?

Negative Motivation

I am sitting at work today, and I have negative motivation to actually do my job. I know that most people have zero motivation when they don’t feel like doing things, but I pretty much have less than that. In fact I have so little motivation that I am actually considering undoing some of the things I did yesterday.

On Call...24/7

My wife called me for “tech support” today. Seems she was trying to install her scanner on her new laptop and the software she had was out-of-date. So as usual I have to try to fix the problem 900 miles away over the phone. I am used to it by now, because I get these kinds of calls all the time. Most times I can work my way through it, but usually it is a frustrating process.

I think it is funny that people always call me with tech questions like that. I usually can’t call them for anything. I can’t exactly call my wife up and say, “Hey dear, I am having this genetic problem. Do you think you can help me with it over the phone?” I am sure she would just tell me I was born with it and there is nothing anyone can do for me.

Miserable Bliss

Have you ever heard the term “miserable bliss?” It is usually what I say to describe how I feel right after Thanksgiving dinner, or after eating my wife’s cooking, or after having dessert anyway even though I was full after the meal. It is what usually comes right before that usual pose of unbuttoning the pants, getting into the most horizontal position you can, rubbing your belly, and groaning. And yet as miserable as you feel it was still an extreme delight to get to that point. Given the chance to do it all again you probably would still gorge yourself and end up in the exact position you find yourself in now. That is miserable bliss.

Only Hers...

I went to get coffee with I.S. and B.M. today. I.S. was telling us about this boss he had who was 32 but still had a thing for college age girls. B.M. laughed and said, "Don't we all." It was a total guy moment. Men trying to put on airs with other men to throw their testosterone around. So, I piped up and said that I have a thing for college ladies, especially those in grad school at the University of Missouri. B.M. just rolled his eyes and said, "yeah, yeah." For those of you that don't know it my wife is a grad student at the University of Missouri.

I don't need to put on airs, I love my wife. I don't want other women. I guess my macho level just flat-lined, but I don't care. Even if I don't mean it, it is a betrayal to say it. I want her to know I am faithful, and I want everyone else to know it too. I love being only hers.

Cell Phones Are For Kids

I really hate call waiting on my cell phone. I call someone and end up getting their voice mail. While I am leaving an obnoxious message about getting their voice mail, they end up calling me back. So, now I have to hang up with the voice mail and answer the other line, but the button to accomplish this task is the same button in both instances. So, I hit the hang up/answer button and end up hanging up both calls! Then we go into the annoying “User is Busy” loop as I try to call the person back and they try to call me back at the same time.

Today I think I even managed to hang up on myself. I am pretty sure that both calls were still active, but I disconnected from myself. A little voice came on the line telling me that the person at my own phone number was unavailable due to the fact that he hung up on himself, and that I should wait a while to try again…preferably when I learn to actually use the cell phone properly. Needless to say that I was not boasting a lot of self-confidence after this message. I would say that the message in and of itself was degrading enough without the added “MORON” yelled at the end of it.

There Are Signs Everywhere

I came into work today and was overcome by the sense of something different. I think the human mind is fascinating in that respect. We get so complacent in our routines that we fail to notice repeated things on a daily basis, but as soon as one of those things is taken away our mind is a whirlwind of thought. Something was different and although I couldn’t say with exact certainty what it was, I knew something had changed. The other amazing thing is that it totally messed me up. I couldn’t function. Even now after I have finally figured out what it was I am still feeling the affects fading all too slowly.

Across the parking lot from us is a church. The church had signs situated along certain parking spaces that said, “These Spots Reserved on Sunday for Our Less Mobile Senior Members.” I park in front of these signs everyday, but today they are gone. True, the church is actually abandoned, having moved their congregation to another location, but still. The least they could have done was consult me so that I could have had time to prepare my mind and thus bypass the affects caused by having my world suddenly turned upside-down.

I Smell Like Pancakes

I used to tell people that I smelled like certain foods. It would go something like, “I smell like tacos today” or “I smell like pizza tonight.” I didn’t mean that I ACTUALLY had some odor of food that was pervading from my body. It wasn’t even some foodinal aroma attached to my clothes. It was my way of telling them what I felt like eating. When faced with indecision, sometimes I could smell things on the wind and it would inspire me. So, I guess you could say that “I smell like pancakes for breakfast” was just a shortened form of “I smell pancakes and that sounds good for breakfast.” I don’t know what made me think to write that today. I think it was when a colleague asked me what I felt like for lunch and I thought about saying, “I smell like Mexican food today.”

If I had Jedi Powers...

The topic of today’s entry is what would you do with Jedi powers? I mean we see the Jedi in the movies using their powers at moments of great need, but what do they do with them on a daily basis. So, I thought about what I could do with my powers in my day-to-day life.

I could use the force to bring things to me so I don’t have to get up, like getting the remote control from across the room when I leave it over there. I could use it to allow me to drink my water or eat my snacks without having to stop typing at my computer. I could use it to type at my computer, so I could just sit and drink my water or eat my snacks. I could sit in the park and produce sudden gusts of “wind” to throw the birds off when they are flying. I could move cars out of the way when I get stuck in traffic in the morning.

I could use Jedi mind tricks to convince my boss to give me a promotion. I could use them at Thanksgiving to convince my brother that he doesn’t really want the last piece of pumpkin pie. I could use them on salespeople to get them to stop feeding me crap when I want to buy something. I could use them to convince my wife that she really doesn’t want to buy another purse after all.

I could use the power of Empathy to finally know what my wife is really thinking and feeling. I could use it to understand what people are going through when something terrible happens, so I know best how to comfort them.

I could use Force Stealth to render myself invisible, and well…maybe we shouldn’t delve too deeply into what I could do if I was invisible. Maybe you should just use your imagination.

So what would you do?

The Disappearing Ear

B.M. has a coffee mug with the famous self-portrait of Van Gogh on it. As the mug gets hot Van Gogh’s ear disappears. I tried to explain to him the disparity with the idea since Van Gogh painted his portrait from the side with his good ear. So, you would never see the bad ear actually disappearing as the mug suggests because it is never visible to begin with.

The bottom of the mug is just as funny, and it is even funnier that B.M. never thought to look on the bottom of it. On the bottom of the mug it says “The Unemployed Philosopher’s Guild…For best results use other side.”

Toes and Chicken Pot Pies

Last night I dreamed I was in China with my boss. We were at a dinner party and for some reason he was giving people a scientific explanation about my toes sticking through the ends of my socks. I am not quite sure what this means exactly. I have heard that dreams hold meanings to our unconscious minds. I wonder if it means that I shouldn’t eat chicken pot pies for dinner anymore. Maybe it means I need to cut my toenails. Or perhaps it means something more. Maybe it is the secret of life revealed to me in a dream and I have only to figure it out to unlock its secrets and save humanity as we know it! Probably not. I am going with the chicken pot pie theory.

Ponkapog Papers

Last night I was reading the “Ponkapog Papers” by Thomas Bailey Aldrich. The section I am reading at the moment is called “Leaves on a Notebook,” and could only be what I would characterize as an early blog. It is random comments and musings on life written presumably on scraps of paper as Mr. Aldrich traveled through his every day existence. I am fascinated by this literay work because of its parallelism with my own mind or at least how I am striving to wire my own mind…catching everything, experiencing life at every turn, and writing it down in random spurts that only make sense to me.

Read the "Ponkapog Papers" on-line.

JAVA in German

I wonder if there are programming languages written in other languages, like JAVA in German. You know where the “for loops” would be “fuer loops” instead. I think it would be awfully conceited of us to make everyone learn English in order to be able to use and understand certain programming languages. On the flip side it would make for a more standard program. There would be no compatibility issues or conversions needed between different programs. On the flip side of that it might be no different than going between different programming languages like JAVA to C++. I guess the world may never know how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop. Or at least I won’t because I have no ambition to pursue this idea further than here in this blog.

George in Any Language

I found out today that B.M.'s middle name is “Jurgis” [Pronounced Yur-gis]. I immediately found this fascinating and asked him if it meant “George.” He told me that it did in fact mean “George” in Lithuanian, and was amazed that I knew this. I told him that it sounded like the Greek form of “George” which is “Georgios” [Pronounced Yee-or-gos]. This happens to be my brother-in-law’s name, so I am intimately familiar with its pronunciation.

Margarita

Did you know that "margarita" is Spanish for "Daisy"? When you think about it it makes perfect sense. A margarita has a yellow-green center of liquid framed by a white circle of salt. I imagine that if you looked straight down at it that it would look just like a daisy.

Pocket Hair Live in Concert!

I have an addition to the Pocket Hair post. I was discussing the reality of starting a band with B.M. and I.S., and I realized that I would need musicians, singers, and song writers first. Basically I have none of the components to start a band at the moment except for the name. I started to imagine a movie script where a so-called band gets touted as the next big thing. They do all sorts of promotional stunts with them, like photo shoots, magazine spreads, picture signings, and talk shows, but the band never actually releases any music. The phenomenon would be purely spread by word of mouth and accentuated by the fact that everybody wants to be in the “KNOW” crowd. After a little while the band could break up, citing irreconcilable differences. They could then start the circus over again several years later with a reunion tour or something.

The Bald Monks

I noticed last night that my kneecaps are completely bald. The hair runs down my thigh, abruptly stops at my kneecap, and then picks up again on the other side. I assume that can be attributed to my pants rubbing on that same spot day after day, but it just struck me as odd. I would say it was more how the scene looked like two monks kneeling at the end of my legs with their heads bowed in prayer.

Pocket Hair?

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk and I noticed that my pocket had hair growing out of it. Well, it wasn’t real hair, but it looked like hair nonetheless. It was actually the frayed edges of the fabric on the inside of the pocket starting to stick up out of the pocket. It was so intriguing that I shared the notion with B.M. He was so intrigued that he insisted that I let him take a picture of it. This sparked off a whole conversation at lunch, and I ended up wondering if anyone else had seen the same phenomenon and thought it looked like pocket hair. I further wondered if anyone had a website about it. So, for fun I looked up http://www.pockethair.com/. Amazingly enough it wasn’t taken yet. I started to ponder the possibilities. That would be a great name for a blog spot. It could contain my random thoughts about nothing important. I.S. suggested that I could start a band called Pocket Hair, and that could be our official website. Can you imagine what an untapped goldmine that is?

So, here I am setting up the above mentioned blog spot. And to whatever weary traveler that might happen to come across this blog, I bid you welcome. I consider it a success if it does nothing more than entertain you for a few minutes.