Wednesday, November 29, 2006

136. Ugh...I'm one of THOSE people.

My life has taken a dramatic turn since the first mate was born. It's not as dramatic as the time I didn't win the spelling bee or the time I had no money and ate rice everyday for about a week. But since the first mate joined us in the ramblings household, my whole focus has changed. Notable changes include:

  • Instead of trying to look good just in case famous people come over to the house, now my whole objective in the 'appearance' category includes: anything that doesn't get baby vomit on my nicer clothes* (*Nicer Clothes=not pijamas)
  • Instead of coming home from work and doing whatever I want, I come home from work, try to not make the first mate cry, and try to not stifle the first mate's mental and emotional progress as I am wont to do.
  • Instead of cooking real food, I boil water for the first mate's bottle.
  • Instead of using the weekend to PAR-TAY, now the weekend consists of sleeping. And don't confuse my tiredness with the baby staying up all night. He consistently sleeps nine (9) hours per night without any prompting from my wife Limpy and me or any chloroform or other barbiturates. The sleeping comes from nothing other than laziness, and the first mate makes it much easier to find an excuse to just stay home and be sleepy.
  • Last, but certainly not least, I now blog about the first mate often. 'The first mate is precious,' I say. 'The first mate is worthy of admiration by the following people:
    • Screech
    • Raven Symone
    • Mary Kate and Ashley
    • Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes
    • Jack Lalanne
    • Rachel Ray
    • Willie Wonka
    • Lionel Richie
    • Captain Jack Sparrow
    • Furbees
    • The cast of Passions
    • Dan Brown
    • Hillary Duff
    • Elvis
    • And any other famous person who has profited from my use of their name in my blog.'
So, yes, I am one of the 'my-kid-is-the-greatest' bloggers. Nothin's more funny than that. And I know funny. Here's another blatant attempt to tell you why my kid is great and also to tell you to stay away from him:

I was speaking to a guy on a plane just before thanksgiving who had been in Kathmandu. He asked me a lot about my book and plot summary and a whole bunch of other stuff. It turns out he's a documentarian and author. Imagine his horror when I told him my key to writing a successful novel included the successful use of adverbs. I told him I was going to make sure to use an adverb with every verb. He looked like he was going to sick up. I never told him I was joking, so he's probably somewhere blogging about what a moron I am.

Monday, November 27, 2006

135. Will You Please Hammy the Analgesic Cream?

Thanksgiving was uneventful.

I really mean it; nothing happened.

Nothing.

And then we ate pie.

OK, one thing happened. I obliterated my hamstring muscle while playing flag football with the friends-n-family. I was set to catch a long pass. The defender was chasing. The ball floated gently over my shoulder. I turned to run screaming, and my hamstring tore. I felt like I'd been hit with a hammer in the middle of the back of my leg.

So I started wondering why I'm the first normal person I know who's ever had a hamstring injury. The world's top athletes get them all the time. Hamstring injuries are to track athletes as groupies are to rock bands--they both lurk in the background waiting for a chance to get noticed and then they sue you. Anyway, why do normal, everyday Joes not ever experience the pulled hamstring?

It's because nobody uses their hamstring. Nobody. Well, except athletes. Nothing we normal schlubs do on a daily basis requires one to even HAVE a hamstring, let alone use it. So aparently I am an athlete. Who would have guessed?

Anyway, I searched WebMD for the term 'hamstring' to see what to do about my latest medical condition and found out our hamstrings are actually quite useful:

Ahem.

The hamstring is not one muscle, but three--kinda like the three musketeers. 'All for one and one for all' I always say. But our muscle-y musketeers serve different purposes, see. Some of the three muscles connect underneath the buttocks to pull the femur backwards (see 'power running') and the rest connect behind the knee and serve to bend the latter. (see 'best sentence ever written').

Well, the one I tore in my maniacal athletic flurry was the kind that help me with the power running, or the one that connects under my buttock. Look what I can do!:

  • Taking stairs two by two: check.
  • Eating massive amounts of turkey: check.
  • Sitting sedentarily on the couch watching football: check.
  • Jogging forty (40) feet across a busy road to attend a basketball game: no go.
  • Standing on the double yellow line for a few moments waiting for a chance to finish crossing the road: check.
  • Becoming roadkill: no go.
That's how I roll. And if you're wondering whether or not being athletic so you can experience a pulled hammy is worth it, it's not. Better to just watch others play sports and get injured.

Monday, November 20, 2006

134. Voyeur Kidding Me!

No! I'm not! But I'll get to that in a minute.

This weekend, I have been on the road again. I have also adopted a very strict diet. It's because of the goiter. Usually when I travel, I request a minifridge in my hotel room, and usually I get it. This trip was an exception.

So how does one eat on the road when one wants to eat healthy and one doesn't have a fridge? One goes to the grocery store to buy a lot of fruit and carrots and whatnot.* One usually buys lunchmeat so one can make lean healthy sandwiches on whole grain bread, but without a fridge, how does one make a sandwich?

That's where the beef jerky comes in. One thought it would be disgusting, but it's actually pretty good if one has no other option. And one had no other option. None. If one puts greens (lettuce in this case), mustard, and jerky on bread, and then carry it in your unrefrigerated bag, the moisture in the greens and mustard rehydrates the jerky and one doesn't even have to chew so much.

It's not the best option, but it's much better than eating out. And I've lost a few pounds, but that's because of the ulcers. [Boo! Hiss! get to the voyeur story!]

Okay. Okay. The voyeur.

Two years ago when I was participating in the same trade show, two men (and I use the term loosely) were snapping photos in the exhibit hall. Pictures are not too out of the ordinary at a trade show, but I noticed these guys were different. One of the guys, the internet predator looking one, walked the hall looking for pretty girls. The other one, the one with a mullet and a camera, was snapping photos of the creepy predator one whenever he would share proximity with any attractive woman. (Keep in mind these are not the type of trade shows where they actually import pretty girls to attract business. It was also not the kind of environment where people would expect that type of behavior.)

When I wised up to their act, I confronted them. They stopped taking photos of people after I told them how despicable it was, but claimed "we were only having a little fun."

Today I ran into the predator one again. He didn't have a pit crew like last time, but he was following the more attractive women around. Then he had the nerve to come up to me and ask, "Hey, remember me?" like we were old buddies or something.

I said, "Yeah, did you think I'd forget?"

Then he walked away. I guess he didn't want me to remember him. That's a point we can both agree on.

*Whatnot was listed as an ingredient on the burgers in a restaurant I went to once. I ordered water--I'm afraid of whatnot.

Friday, November 17, 2006

133. A Dolphin Named Kirby

So I haven’t blogged in a while—because what’s funnier than a torn ligament and a stay overnight in the hospital?

Actually, it’s because I’ve started to write my book. It’s a coming-of-age thriller about a teenager’s romantic failures in an increasingly difficult world. Or it’s about a dolphin named Kirby. I haven’t decided yet. I’ve started the first chapters and left the story kind of ambiguous so I could finish the plot however I want. Needless to say, when I get a moment to write, I am more inclined to work on the book so I can sell it. This blog, while intriguing, is not a money maker—I have to go with the payoff option.

So don’t think I’m not posting because I don’t like you. The book is more important (for now.)

Anyways, I thought I’d try my hand at posting a little video. This is a video I took with my phone while at a gathering of friends. I tell you, this kid has a future in slow movie action sequences and slow monster truck rallies.



You know that thing I mentioned when I was telling you about the thing I was talking about? (Click here for back story.) Well my prediction came true. None of my readers have clicked on any of my sponsors ads since I started hawking certain products I don’t want to mention for fear my advertisers will never net me any revenue again.

Hopefully my ads will start to reflect the true spirit of my site again soon. And hopefully those ads will be appealing to my loyal readers, so I’m including these key phrases in an effort to do just that:

Hostess® brand snack cakes
Colossal pansies
Mensa International
Mickey Mouse club
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen
Monique Coleman
Hip Hop MP3
Horse pucky Warning! Hilarious link.
Pooper Scoopers®
Long in the tooth
Hamburger helper
Clamato® refreshing drink (It’s made with clams AND tomatoes)
Cuy...

Monday, November 13, 2006

132. Nipper Skipper RCA

So my good friend MG has started a blog and I implore you to check it out here. The normal trial period of sustained posts of a humorous nature before one will be added to the sidebar will be foregone with MG on the strength of his longstanding funniness through the years.

He was also best man at my wedding, which means he probably wouldn't have made the guest list for any of yours. I mean, 'best man' is a fancy way of saying 'second only to the groom' which means MG was stupid's first attendant at one time. Welcome to the blog world, MG.

Anyhoo, a few things about TV:

'The Office' is the best show on TV, hands down. Steve Carell has the best delivery of any comedic actor and is the best funny character on TV since Kramer on 'Seinfeld.' Watch the last episode of the office here. Best line of last week's episode. "...the board voted last week to close the Scranton branch." "On whom's authority." "The board's."

'My Name is Earl' is almost as good, and it leads 'The Office' in, so it's got my vote. I don't feel like linking to it.

'The best new reality show is 'Heroes.' It's very realistic. My wife Limpy and I watch it every week. The character acting is good, and the story is setting up well. You don't get so lost as when you watch 'Lost' and as far as reality goes, '24' is the only reality show better than 'Heroes.' Check out the latest episode here. Saving cheerleaders is what I'm all about. All kidding aside, great show.

About the first mate:

The first mate is becoming exceptionally adept at Jedi mind tricks and is very good at making a sucker out of my wife Limpy and me. "Pick me up and hold me and smell my baby-hair" he seems to say as he peers at us with his liquid-pool eyes and his brooding lips. "I'm gonna be a quarterback when I grow up and throw for two thousand (2000) yards." He's just such a trooper. I've included a photo against my better judgment. I want you and your stalker friends to stay away from him. If you're wondering if I'm talking to you, the answer is yes. Besides, if you come around here looking to start something, the first mate will kick your trash. He's not a colossal pansy like me. Just look at the photo and admire from a distance.

The photog who took the picture here.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

131. Little Italy is for Little Lovers.

Which is my new name for San Diego's very own Little Italy. It's located downtown jammed in between the mall (which means 'bad' in Spanish) and the Harbor (which is Spanish for 'San Diego's Riviera'). Oh, and San Diego is Spanish for Saint Diego.

Anyway, I'm writing from the airport in Atlanta, through which I'm en route on my way to Missouri from San Diego. That's how I roll. San Diego was a very nice place to be stuck for a few days with the exception of a little fire alarm at my hotel last night at about 3:00 am.

Anyway, (just call this sidetrack-me-Saturdee), my hotel was right near Little Italy, so I got to sample genuine Little Italian food.

At one restaurant, I was enjoying my pre-fatty-food salad when I was paid a surprise visit from a cockroach. My waiter--who had been very laid back and masculine-ish previously--became extremely uptight a girlish when I showed it to him. Free dinner. Sweet.

At another restaurant, I ordered a pizza for carry-out (prosciutto with pepperoni), and sat down at the bar to wait for it. An elderly gentleman came to sit by me to wait for his pizza and proceeded to exclaim in a blaring, chant-like voice his surprise at seeing all the Mexicans in the place. Nevermind that I was trying to pretend he was not talking to me and that I was deaf and that possibly I was in a persistent vegetative state, he kept right on going--and in front of the mexican people who were hard at work. I couldn't get away from there fast enough and I'll consider myself lucky if my pizza only had a little saliva in it.

Tijuana style mini tacos are amazing--especially in San Diego. And it's only fitting that you buy and eat the mini tacos in Little Italy--where all your little dreams come true.

Someone found my blog by googling "nipper skipper rca."

And I want to become a sailor. Or a bell boy. Cuz sailors have a gorilla in every port and bell boys make a buttload of money--greedy little buggers...