I recently got a new cell phone, as the old one couldn’t hold a battery charge for more than about five minutes. Every time I turned it on, the display would read “Please kill me.” Not being rich enough for an iPhone, I settled on just another standard cell, nothing fancy, make and receive phone calls, send a text message if I have a lot of extra time and money to waste.

Of course, any time you get a new phone number, you invariably get quite a few wrong numbers from people trying to call whoever had that number before you. It happens. I’ve gotten over a dozen now, people who admittedly don’t know any better but are nevertheless wasting my pay-as-you-go minutes and getting on my nerves. The weird thing is, every call has been for a different person. I’ve gotten calls for Sarah, Debbie, Steven, Mark, and several others. And I’m left to wonder: Is my new number just that close to a lot of other numbers and very easy to misdial? Or worse yet, is it like The Ring and the number is cursed and anyone who has it dies within a month, killed by a tiny little wet girl who crawls out of the screen and stabs you in the ear?

Shoulda got the iPhone…

1 Comment »

If you ever find yourself cleaning countertops with Clorox brand pre-moistened disinfectant wipes with bleach, don’t immediately use the same hand, without thinking, to rub your nose. Unless you want to play that timeless party game, Faint or Puke.

3 Comments »

Why are things “old-fashioned” yet “newfangled?” You never hear about “new-fashioned” stuff or “oldfangled” items. What is “fangled,” anyway? “Yeah, we’ve been fangling stuff like this for years, but this is the newfangled way of doing it. Lotta progress in this here fangle procedure, that’s for sure.”

I’m just looking for a little consistency, that’s all.

2 Comments »

So, I’m surfing around the Web today, and I see one of many ads for Obama, exhorting me to vote for him. Fine as far as it goes, but this one attempts to engage me by asking if I’ve voted yet. Then it has three radio buttons I can click with different answers: Yes, No, I’m Not Sure.

“I’m not sure”?

How exactly would that come about? “I tell ya, I had a lot going on that day. Had to pick up the dry cleaning, get the groceries, drop the kids off at soccer practice… I might have stopped off at a voting center, stood in line, signed in, entered the voting booth, and made a selection for president, but damned if I can remember for sure. Like I said, lot going on.”

Guess we’re going after the former Bush voters.

3 Comments »

I got thinking about pierced ears the other day. I know, it’s a weird thing to consider, they’re so ubiquitous. Women have them. Men have them. Hell, I’ve seen newborn infants with them. Very commonplace. But, realize, at some point in history, someone had to say, “Hey, I know what let’s do. Why don’t you get something really sharp and jab a hole in this soft, tender part of my ear? Then we’ll cram something in there—metal hoop, boar tusk, monkey bone, something—and see what happens.” And someone else agreed to help with this. Alcohol had to have been involved.

Not only that, but other people saw it and thought, damn, that’s a pretty neat idea! I want holes punched in my flesh, too! Of course, some brave soul saw this happening and decided, that’s fine and all, but why stop with squishy ear parts? Drill a hole in my nose! And my lips. Tongue, cheek, eyebrow, wang… go nuts. Swiss cheese me. And then one enterprising individual realized, against all logic, that people would actually pay good money to have someone hammer a sharp object through their body and then fill it with something. So he could not only get a hammering fee, but then could also sell them the trinkets to put in the hole he just made. And that’s pretty much where we are today.

I’m just saying, it seems like one of those things that if you stop to really think about it, you find yourself asking, “Yeah, what’d I do that for?”

No comments »

It’s either an hour earlier or later than I think it is. I have no idea the name of the town I’m in and only a partial idea of the name of the hotel. I’m surrounded by suitcases and I’m not sure which one contains my socks. I spent last night in a bed that was far too soft and the morning in a shower that was far too small. We spent roughly eight hours in the car yesterday, stopping only for gas and a quick, unsatisfying dinner. Soon we’ll corral all our luggage (and don’t ever ignore that the root of that word is “lug”), wrestle it back into the car, and drive for another eight hours, hopefully arriving at our final destination.

If getting there is half the fun, I never want to see the other half.

No comments »

Sounds like David “I’m Not Mulder, Dammit!” Duchovny has checked himself into rehab to combat sex addiction. Wow, a guy who’s addicted to sex. I think I personally know at least eighty-five guys who would fit that definition.

No comments »

I went to an air show over the weekend and, man, was it disappointing. Just a mix of nitrogen and oxygen, little argon, some carbon dioxide, few other trace gasses, all swirling aimlessly around. Wasn’t really much of a show, to be honest.

No comments »

“Pepcid stops heartburn before it starts.” “Let’s stop teen drinking before it starts.” “With proper diet, you can stop high blood pressure before it starts.” I utterly loathe this phrase, this idea of “stop X before it starts.” Call me nitpicky if you want, but it’s a pointless, mean-nothing phrase that is inherently impossible. You simply cannot physically stop something that hasn’t already started. Can’t do it. Stopping implies an arrest in motion, so if there’s no motion, there’s no stopping.

Think of it this way: Your car’s out in the driveway right now, right? Stop it before it starts. Go on. It’s not running, not moving, but go stop it. See? Short of yanking out the alternator, I don’t know what you could do. And even that isn’t stopping it before it starts, it’s preventing it from happening, which is what all these other “stop it before it starts” people actually mean.

So, please, just stop it.

No comments »

I’m sure you’ve heard about this by now. The Norwegian government has knighted a penguin. This is utterly true. Had a full ceremony and everything, with honor guard (who had to feel supremely stupid doing this), some guy playing bagpipes, the little tap-you-on-the-shoulder-with-the-sword thing, the whole deal. So there’s a penguin waddling around Norway with the title of “Sir.”

And I can’t help but think, for the other folks who have attained the honor of knighthood for actually doing something, this has to tarnish that just a little.

“To you, Olaf Norwegianperson, for valorous service on the field of battle, defending your regiment armed only with a sharpened stick against a full battalion, I confer upon you the title of Knighthood.”
“Thank you, sir. It is an honor.”
“And to you, Niles Olav, for being a flightless aquatic bird—”
“Hold up, what?”

I hear next week they’re going to give a Dukedom to a capybara.

No comments »