Okay!

Here's a sentence from the lecture text of the most recent lesson in an art class I'm taking right now (the preceding is a complex prepositional phrase). The professor writes the lectures herself:

In a sense the Modernist artist sees them self as a shaman, an individual with special powers and vision.

Okay! So the moral here is that most things aren't nearly as difficult as you'd think, including being a college art professor. You can do it! If she can, you can, too! Shoot for the stars!

Cheerleading is the worst.

Well, maybe cheerleading's not the worst, but it's certainly not the best. I think it could be argued that dedicated mothers are the best, or an act of kindness done for a stranger in need. But not cheerleading. It's not great.

Protege.

What ever happened to calling someone a "protege"? That word seems to have been acceptably replaced with "mentee", which is a word that not only sounds silly, but is not even recognized as a word by the spell-checking software built into this blogging site! So if that's not the measure of perfection, I don't know what is. My main point here is that "mentee" is a ridiculous word. If you are mentoring someone, that person is your protege. Not your mentee. "Mentee" is just not a good word.

 

See? It's terribly confusing.

Attention:

Don't try to yawn and drink water at the same time. I almost drowned myself just now.

The prostate.

The prostate. Mysterious, elusive and, frankly, terrifying. From what I can gather, the prostate is closely associated with cancer and similarly difficult issues. The warnings surrounding maintenance of a healthy prostate abound. It just seems like a lot of trouble. So the big question I have about the prostate is: how do I avoid getting one?

Most of the prostate-related billboards I see depict handsome, fit men in their sixties jogging near mountains or trees. So if these are the guys with problematic prostates, I guess I should stop exercising while I'm still young. Sure, it would be nice to be active in my later years, but how high a price am I willing to pay? No thanks. You can have your prostates and your jogging, older guys. Have fun lugging that ticking time bomb around.

Poor sucker's sitting on a volcano and

he doesn't even know it. Just jogging

and grinning like an idiot, while the

pressure builds and builds...

Romantically linked.

I just read a blog post by a writer for NBA.com which focused on basketball players whose anomalous career statistics have earned them ignominy among, well, mostly just writers for NBA.com. The article concludes by noting that one player who committed five personal fouls in just under three minutes of game play does have some redeeming events in his life to fall back on. Career highlights are listed, including winning a league championship. But the final item on the list of positives working in this player's favor is this:

He’s been romantically linked to the 2006 Miss Universe, Zuleyka Rivera, for cryin’ out loud.

In following the web link the writer provides, readers are transferred to this image:

A beautiful lady, no? Well, since the main point of beauty pageants is physical objectification (I know that there are talent competitions, and probing questions about world hunger, but let's all be adults about this), I've decided to go one step further and help you focus on Miss Universe 2006's face:

So okay. Now here's my suggested rewrite of that last sentence of the NBA.com blog post:

He’s been romantically linked to the 2006 Miss Universe, Zuleyka Rivera, for cryin’ out loud, shown here looking like a drunk monster.

Dolphins.

Unmatched.

He was purpose-driven. Some say he was a man unique to his generation, unmatched for centuries. All agree that his was a life destined to be extraordinary...for he transcended time and space to wipe a booger under his parents' couch.

Nerve damage.

In a recent Yahoo! Answers query, a user posted concerns that a cold had advanced to the stage of ear infection, a concern that was exacerbated by the user's physician explaining that the user probably had nerve damage and needed to go on medication. So naturally, the user sought a second opinion from anybody with an internet connection. Most of the answers the user received on Yahoo! recommended Sudafed (which my future brother-in-law apparently uses to make meth) or self-administered neck massage, but one respondent had a more extreme view of the situation:

Lebo Hfrnk:

 

Sorry, but yo are totally screwed,

Your ear will never go back to normal.
In fact, soon the pressure will build in your head and your will start hearing voices and then you will go insane and probably either commit suicide or else get run over by a Mack truck while you are wandering around on the freeway babbling like an idiot.

If you think that answer is surprising, look at the image I found of the user who submitted it:

"Your ear will never go back to normal."

Lebo Hfrnk, 1863 - 2012

Dog harness.

Below are some highlights from Reuters' recent story about a Texas high school homecoming dance tradition:

It's the homecoming mum, and it has come a long way since parents of today's teens were in high school.

Back then, it was a real chrysanthemum flower given by a boy to his date, similar to a corsage given for a prom.

Today, they are mammoth, over-the-top splays of silk chrysanthemums festooned with flowing ribbons, plush animals and an array of colorful trinkets that have spawned competition among girls to see whose is the biggest, and therefore, best.

Technology has made it possible for mums to be outfitted with colorful LED lights and connections for iPods or CD players, adding splash with audio and visual capabilities.

With so many features, a mum can cost up to $500.

The tradition of the mum involves an exchange between a boy and girl who go to homecoming together. The boy presents a girl with a mum that she wears attached to a cord around her neck.

The girl presents her date with a mum attached to an elastic garter that he wears on the upper part of one arm.

Sidney Heath [...] recently received the crown jewel of [...] mums. A front and back mum sandwiches her body and is attached to a dog harness for strength and comfort.

Let me repeat that last part: "A front and back mum sandwiches her body and is attached to a dog harness for strength and comfort." I hope that I can raise my daughter in a way that instills her with the conviction that if it requires her to don an apparatus designed for a dog, then it is probably not worth doing in the first place. What self-respecting girl answers her door, and when the boy standing there offers her a dog harness to wear, cheerfully replies, "Wow, okay! Thank you so much!"

You know in the alien invasion movies, how there's always some ambiguity concerning why the aliens are attacking Earth, and some vague explanation involving their thirst for our planet's natural resources is jammed in there to keep the story moving? Well, what they don't tell you is that in the aliens' war council, when they were trying to decide whether or not our race was intelligent enough to merit mercy, they looked at the homecoming dance mum tradition and immediately concluded that it wasn't. "An intelligent race wouldn't do something like that," they decided, "we can proceed with clear consciences."

Finally, did you know that the girl who received the biggest homecoming mum in South Carolina state history has her very own video on YouTube? It's true! And here it is!

Missing out.

Dan: "We've been over this, Phyllis. I don't want to go through a whole song and dance with you."
Phyllis: "Wait, I've been missing out on songs and dances?!"

Insects.

You know that thing people always say about how many spiders we eat in our sleep every year? I'm okay with that.

I know that insects are going to be crawling on me while I'm asleep, walking around and exploring. That's fine with me. I figure it's inevitable so I might as well welcome it, and them, to my bed. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do, guys!

The one thing that I ask is that everyone be cool, and don't do anything gross. Don't bite me excessively or lay eggs on me or anything. Let's all just do our best to maintain a comfortable relationship.

Mika.

Mika liked to sit on Grandpa's lap when he was visiting. I think it was his ability to hold perfectly still that appealed to her. She would try to sit on other people's laps as well, but those people would either be too fidgety for her to ever get settled, or (and this was worse for everyone involved) they would hold still long enough for Mika to get comfortable, and then they would move, causing her to start awake suddenly in a fit of growling and biting. She would heave herself up, grumbling, and go look for a vacant pillow or Grandpa.

Unfortunately, Grandpa was never around at bedtime. Mika liked to sleep with me and Pat, on one of our beds, probably because we three all smelled about the same. But she would beat us to bed, and had a keen sense of positioning on the mattress. Whichever brother was lucky enough to have been chosen as Mika's sleeping companion for the night would arrive at his bedside to find her sound asleep in the direct center of his blanket. This made it impossible to pull back the covers without rousing her and creating an ugly situation.

We eventually got wise enough to never make our beds, so that Mika couldn't pin our covers down (yes, Mom, that is why we didn't make our beds). But her instinctive drive to sleep right in the middle of the bed remained unaffected by our clever planning. So then it was simply a matter of easing ourselves into bed around Mika without disturbing her. There were two basic methods for completing this delicate operation. One was to pick a side of the dog, and then resign yourself to an uncomfortable night of trying to sleep on half of a twin mattress.

The other method, for the bolder young man, was to carefully slide yourself down with one leg on either side of the dog, straddling her, until you were settled. It should be obvious why this maneuver required a bold operator, but I will expound for the sake of thoroughness. To be far enough under the covers to lay down on the bed, you had to slide down until Mika's slumbering form was nestled right against your crotch. This meant that your movements had to be delicate to the point of steely-eyed precision. If you could move nimbly enough, you could set yourself up for a night of relative comfort, since you could at least occupy the full width of your mattress. You could not, however, move at all without disturbing Mika. If you attempted the approach too quickly or haphazardly, you sealed your fate. Mika would spring up maliciously, legs flailing, and claw and bite confusedly in the dark under the blanket, until one of the bed's two occupants was ejected onto the floor. Then whoever had been thrown from the bed faced the choice of either trying to climb back in next to someone with whom there were now a lot of angry feelings, or slinking off into the dark house to sleep somewhere else.

Moving her while she was sleeping was one of a few things for which Mika had little tolerance. Another of those things was toddlers. She had a child alarm zone that extended in a five-foot radius from her, and when it was breached, she would start to whine. Not the high, pitiful whine that you hear from most dogs - this was lower-pitched, a moaning, groaning, very nervous sound deep in her throat. It gave the impression that she knew she would be forced to bite if the child got too close to her, and that she had no control over the reaction. And she was apparently very worried about the inevitability of all of this. Smart kids would therefore take the strange, ominous noise eminating from the tiny dog as a portent of attack, and rightly back away. But most kids got their fingers nipped.

A tough customer.

You know how a person can be labeled as "a tough customer"? I think I figured out where that comes from, just now. Here's part of the transcript from my online chat with a Comcast customer service representative today. No names have been changed, because no one was innocent:

Guest: Very good. My final question is about a charge on my bill. $50 for "Failed CHSI Sik". What is that?

Emmanuel: I see, that means that it was supposed to be self installation (where you plug your equipment yourself) and what happens is that that didn't work out, and the tech would need to go to your house to install it instead, is it clear?

Guest: But I did exactly what Comcast told me to do over the phone, and it didn't work. It ended up being an equipment problem. Why should I pay for a problem with Comcast's equipment?

Emmanuel: I definitely understand, Dan. I apologize for any inconvenience, however, for that, you can call our hotline at 1-800-934-6489, to inquire about that, would that be fine?

Guest: What will they tell me?

Emmanuel: The reason why we have to send a technician, and what we can do about it, Dan.

Guest: I know why a technician was sent. My concern is that Comcast thinks I should have to pay for it. I pay a monthly bill, which secures my access to internet. The technician was sent to fix a problem with Comcast's equipment that was inhibiting my ability to access the internet. The technician fixed a problem that was caused by Comcast's equipment, not by me. If I had caused the problem, I'd be happy to pay for it.

Emmanuel: I definitely understand, Dan. I apologize, but that would be the policy for our failed installation and the previous rep should have told you that. I deeply apologize for that.

Guest: So the policy for YOUR failed installation is to have ME pay for it?

Emmanuel: For that concern, may I please refer you to our Hotline at 1-800-934-6489.

Guest: So if I crash my car, can I send the bill to Comcast?

Emmanuel: No, that would be inappropriate.

Guest: Yes, you are right. But how is that any more inappropriate than me paying for Comcast's failed installation of equipment?

Emmanuel: I understand, I highly suggest that you call us so that we can handle your concern, as I specialize in Transfer of service and Upgrades only, Dan.

Guest: Okay. Thanks for your help. Happy holidays!

Emmanuel: You too! I definitely understand you point there, Dan. As much as I want to waive that fee, I am limited to my restrictions.

Emmanuel: Thank you so much for your time.

Emmanuel: May I know if there is anything else that I can assist you with?

Guest: I understand. No, I think I'm good for now. Take care.

There should be a saying where you call a really patient person "a good customer service rep". That doesn't quite roll off the tongue like "a tough customer" does, but it's at least something to give recognition to a valuable trait.

I'm going to call Comcast now. But I think I should prepare myself for the inevitability of paying them those $50. That's okay. What else is Christmas about, if not paying Comcast an extra $50?



UPDATE:

I got $25 out of them. Turns out it is an "applicable fee" (I liked that wording), but I was supposed to have been advised about it before it was charged, and I wasn't. So chalk one up for the little guy.

Art begets art.

There is a very (insert adjective) painting hanging in a hallway of the building I work in. Sometimes, on my way to the bathroom, I'll stop and stare at it for as long as five, six seconds. It so moves me that today I actually wrote a poem about it. Please keep an open mind.

Radio Shack, or The Spiritless Soul Is Only Tethered By The Dearest Secret Hopes One Clings To While Pining For The Fleeting Days Of Youth

Hi. You’re home, finally. Did you

See my text asking if you could

Grab some triple-A batteries at

Radio Shack on your way home?

Apparently not.

I’m fine, I’m just tired. Yes, they

Gave me trouble! You say selling

Insurance is frustrating, try keeping

Two eggs warm while the people

Inside of them won’t hold still for

More than fifteen seconds at a time.

Metaphor.

Really, I’m fine. I just need to eat.

I haven’t had anything but nectar

All day.

You know, we’re never going to

Lose weight if we keep building

Our nests so close to huge flowers.

Also, I could do without our big,

Gawky neighbor sitting there

Staring at me all day.  

Imagery.

I'm sorry it's not a great picture. I asked the curator of the office park

if I could take it down to photograph it without the glare, and he said,

"No, it has to stay behind the glass, so it doesn't get stolen."

And the manager, too.

Tonight is our agency holiday party. That means I'll be spending three hours this evening trying to convince a constant stream of adults with excited children to stand in an astoundingly long registration line instead of just bolting for the arcade and the roller rink, which will be their natural instinct. My fellow employees and I were instructed to either eat dinner before the event, or we could buy food (yes, they're going to let us buy food!) at the event venue. Being familiar with both the prices and quality of this venue's food, I immediately began planning to find food somewhere off-site.

I Googled McDonald's restaurants near the venue (does that tell you how bad the venue's food is? Because it should), and found one just about a mile down the street. So I think that's my place. However, I did the responsible thing and read the Google user reviews for that particular restaurant, and was very troubled to read:

"All the employees n, manager 2 never smile bored people ...I never back"

If I am understanding this comment correctly, this McDonald's is not a fun place to work. Not only that, but  the employees' stupor somehow is passed to the customers, making the entire experience so awful that they are vowing never to return. At least, I think that's what this guy is saying. I won't get a chance to ask him tonight, though, because he never back. I noticed that he did rate the establishment's decor as "very good", though.

To prove I did my due diligence, I will quickly dissect the other two Google user reviews for this McDonald's:

1. User Luis Montanez rated the food, decor and service as "poor to fair", adding "Service sucks." He did, however, note that he liked "Karina young gal." So that's weird. Here is a picture of Luis.

 "Food hmmm good" wrote Luis, in a Google

user review for a different McDonald's.

According to his Google user profile, he is a frequent patron of a variety of restaurants, and as of last month was "Going to register for school" at The Barber School in Midvale, Utah. The internet is a ridiculous place.

2. User "A Google user" gave the restaurant a "good" overall rating, and liked "Food, I told them to make that s*** right or my husband who is in the air force would beat the s*** out of him." I hope I run into this lady tonight, because she sounds lovely. As does her husband.

Suburban bear trap.

A suburban bear trap is when you leave a soiled diaper open and face up on the floor, where someone walking by can step on it.

The great dessert.

The following is an excerpt from a post on an online discussion board for an environmental policy class I'm taking. The discussion was centered around Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire - specifically, what aspects of the novel affected the way class members view the environment:

"Abbey seriously opened my eyes to the value of the great dessert we live in."

If I could choose to live in any dessert, I think I might go with apple pie. I like the variety of climate it offers. In the winter, I could burrow down into the pie filling and hibernate, kept warm and fully sustained by the apples and sugary goop. Then in the summer, to escape the heat, I could climb up to the outer edge of the crust, and enjoy the breeze coming through the window whose windowsill my pie was perched upon to cool. And since we're talking about value, I could slice my pie up, and rent out the slices I wasn't living in to help cover my mortgage. I've got this.

That guy.

You know how some people are relentlessly fastidious about spelling, grammar and punctuation, even on homemade "lost cat" signs and fourth graders' homework assignments? That's me. I'm that guy. Don't believe me? Ask my wife. She will probably react to your query the same way she reacts when we walk past a notice that says "please enter through side door's" and I freak out.

It is a gift, and a curse. The gift part is the sense of intellectual superiority that I carry around with me, everywhere I go. The curse part is the potential that sense of intellectual superiority has to damage my relationships. But I did not choose this burden. You think I want to cringe when I read a text message that says "we r still @ home. well drive there 2gther"? (Yes, I do want to cringe when I read that, actually.) But someone has to be the guy whose friends slowly lose the desire to correspond with him. And I have shouldered that load, and shall continue to do so. So you're welcome.

Leviticus 12:3

If you're attending a bris, it's probably a bad idea to shout out, at the last possible moment, "Cut him!" I don't know very much about that culture, but I imagine that sort of thing would be considered rude, or at least distracting.