Monthly Archives: March 2012
I would make a fantastic straight man in a comedy duo. I pride myself on this dynamic. My sarcastic dry humor mixed with a unique idea process can be quite effective given a germane audience. Not to be confused with a German audience, although, as long as I persistently spit while communicating, they may take pleasure in the experience as well. Anyway, I often get into little riffs at work with a few of my friendly co-workers. I use my sarcastic dry humor to poke fun, while they conversely try to do the same. It is a fun and funny way to pass the day. I have noticed though, that if a customer overhears one of our comments that they are more likely to disagree with what I have said or agree with what my co-worker said. I am accustomed to this behavior, but I began recently exploring the rationale behind it. Then it came to me. People like to go for the underdog. I do not represent that persona or give off that vibe. I take this as a sign of victory. Nobody comes to my rescue, because I am not in need of it. And since this is not an over-dramatized Hollywood production, the underdog does not make a valiant comeback. The only comeback offered in this scenario is aimed at the customer when they leave; “Come back again!”
It may sound “COCKY”, but statistics suggest that at least 50% of people are into that. Or were they into it without the “Y”? And was it that at least 50% of people want that to be into them? It’s hard to get the facts straight at times. The point is, that I may state that I am hilarious and my ideas may reinforce it, but it is not that simple. For a long period of time I went on a blog-writing hiatus. I was focused on school (which I will be continuing on with this fall) and ignored my blogs or turned to Facebook for a quicker return rate on laughs. This year, 2012, has been different. I have been shooting off more blogs (some may be blanks, for those who cannot relate to the material) and I owe it to my muse. My muse has urged me, quite silently, to write more blogs. And it is because of my muse that the entire populace can once again connect with my ideas and experience in the wonder that is I.
This is not a dream journal. That is, not normally. Although it has always been a dream (pun intended) to have a journal dedicated to the dreams I dreamt, but it will never be so. To have a dream journal one must actively remember their dreams and have the desire to write upon awakening. Since my dream retention is atrociously inferior, and the farthest thing from my drowsy-mind is to disturb my crusted eye-booger debris and exhausted body to write; it limits my ability to keep one. That is not to say that all dreams fall under this category. There are those that are worth remembering. The dreams that percolate deep and massage the creases of the brain, orchestrating a dream-reality syndication of the mind. I had one of those dreams last night. While those dreams appear surreal to the dreamer, it is often difficult to convey the same emotional intensity and excitement of a dream to an audience. Nevertheless, I will try.
Similar to the death of a hummingbird, my eyes fluttered shut until movement had been extinguished. I awoke to find myself at my family home handcuffed and awaiting President Obama’s arrival. I was ecstatic! My entire family was there to witness the occasion.
There was a knock at the door.
I jumped up and ran to the door, the handcuffs clinking together as I twisted the knob and opened it to find two secret service agents. My eyes widened as I gazed past the two men in hopes of seeing a third individual, but none were present. They informed me that the president would not be able to attend the event today. Highly disappointed, I pressed the issue for a more substantial answer, but I was not obliged in my attempt. They apologized for the inconvenience and mentioned that the president organized something special for me in his absence. My eyes widened and my pulse began to race at the same speed as my mind. The possibilities were endless. (I mean, it is the president. While we may think of him as a puppet, I am sure he is able to pull some strings too.) The two men bid me adieu and that was that.
After a short period of waiting (I am assuming. In a dream there is no downtime.) I heard my mom call me out into the front yard. The rest of my family followed me out in hopes that the “something special” would be forgone no longer. I was just about to ask my mom what she wanted when music began to play and fireworks were snap, crackle, and popping to the music. It was Disney music. Moments later, limousines pulled up and out of them came beautiful women dressed as princesses. I recognized some of them. I raised my cuffed hands and pointed at the ones I knew, laughing as they danced about and then lined up. The music quieted down and the fireworks came to a halt. I walked over and stood in front of the princesses. I scratched at my head, trying to make sense of the matter. A full-on smile crept over my face, but I was not sure why. I have never been a big princess fan. Sure, if I am at Disneyland I’ll stop in and say hello to Ariel or Jasmine, but that is the extent of my princess fandom. I began to make jokes and tried to make everyone at ease. It was a cute, but a failed effort. I was the only one who did not seem to know what was going on. I was excited at the prospect that I would be able to choose one of the women for some fantastic date. I turned to look towards my parents and said, “So do I get to, uh, choose one or something? I am confused on what I am suppose to be doing…It seems to me some details on my appropriate action have been left out. What am I suppose to…” Before I could finish my sentence the women were whisked back into the limousine and drove away.
The music began to play as the limousines rounded the corner, but it was not the same music. It was the music heard during the climax of film in which the evil-doer had the upper-hand. The limousines pulled along the curb. The girls pounded at the windows. They were now dressed in ragged clothing and chained together. The driver’s door opened slowly. Stepping out from it was Scar from Lion King (one of my favorite villains). He did a quick theatrical pace that was synchronized to the music and then drove away.
I continued to stand in amazement. I was not sure if I was supposed to act or not. Was I supposed to undertake the hero role and attack Scar? I was so entranced in what was going on I had not acted and let Scar drive away with all the women. While I stood in a state of thought, wondering if I was supposed to mane up (another pun) to Scar, the limousines rounded the block again. The music changed to a quick-paced score. The princesses leapt out of the cars and rushed into a line. One stood off to the side. She was one that I recognized. A beautiful girl with long flowing locks of chestnut, and deep captivating green eyes. She seemed to be in some type of distress. The princesses urged me to help her. I anxiously approached the woman. I lifted by linked arms over and around her, pulling us together. The music faded into the song “Kiss the Girl”. As our eyes met, I leaned in for a kiss. It felt so real. As real as any kiss I had ever felt in a dream. It was perfect. We began to twirl as our lips met. Everyone was just watching with a smile. When the kiss ended, the princesses said aloud in a pleasing voice, “So, what do you think?!” People began to applaud. The princesses took to dancing once more, fireworks displayed their finale, and then before I knew it everyone and everything was gone.
The sun was no longer shining and I was left standing in my dark front yard, trying to recover from what had happened. My arms were no longer wrapped around anyone and instead swung sadly at my waist. Where had everyone gone? The bliss I had just experienced had vanished. The fun and excitement that had filled the air, gone; my family and friends, gone; the special girl I had kissed, gone. I walked inside to find my family already asleep. That was my sign. It was like the lights coming on after a concert, the show was definitely over. I unlocked my handcuffs and plopped on my bed and once again my eyes fluttered with the same intensity as the last breathes of a hummingbird, until I was still.
It has just been one of those weeks. I assume when people use this quote that they are referring to a negative week. I suppose much of it has to do with the tone they exert into the sentence, but more often than not the quote is conveyed in a disparaging manner. In keeping with the pessimistic perspective of the quote, I will say that it has just been one of those weeks.
Writing is similar to heading towards a known destination. It calms me. Writing is acquiescent way to handle the rumbles of the world. In this informal format, even the sentences I write do not need to follow some sequential train of thought. That is because on this train, I choose the stopping stations and the terminus. So prepare for Mr. Johnson’s ride of ideas. The next stop. Los Banos.
The bathroom. No trip would be complete unless someone urinates. And nothing makes people want to use a restroom more than the act of being in one. It is an interesting concept that was brought to my attention by another uniquely observant individual. After a common argument over the reason for such behavior, we came no closer to solving this phenomenon. Her take was that when a person sees a toilet, it reacts like running water and increases the intensity of the stream that is about to be released. My take was that I believe our body suppresses the need to release the floodgates to a higher extent then we are consciously aware of. Therefore entering a bathroom and coming to the realization that I am about to make it rain gold, triggers a release in my body. This is an example of our common conversations. Neither of us are science specialists, so we tend to bullshit our way through the scientific jargon, and in the end we are usually satisfied with our efforts in attempting to argue a topic that exceeds our knowledge and agree to disagree. (Just to add to it, I believe we went on to have a conversation about the size of crackers shortly thereafter. To ease one’s troubled mind, I would like to say that while I do not remember the convo verbatim and have no official transcript, it is safe to assume I won that conversation too. Then again, I have been told not to assume.)
Next stop. Lofting Lane.
I want to join a bowling league. Once I find a stable position in which I am able to participate actively, I will look to join one. I believe I could develop into a nice bowler. People will say, “I like that bowler…That is a nice bowler!” Yes, I took the liberty of using a Shrek quote and tweaking it to my own needs, what of it? I will also use this time to make bowling shoes a fad. I’m taking those bad boys off the lanes and on the streets. They are inexpensive too. I can get a pair of bowling shoes for three dollars. While I have to continually buy bowling games to keep renting the lane, I see no restrictions on the shoe policy. It’s not like I will not return them, it will just be an unwritten extended renting agreement. Anyhow, back to bowling. It is something I would like to get involved in. Before I get too involved I want to test my bowling skills pre-prep-work on a certain person. I do not know if I will be successful in my attempt to get her on a lane, but if there is a will there is a way. Her and I. Bowling. Mana-a-mana. Other people like to play mono-e-mono, but playing with a sickness that recommends lots of rest seems to contradict one’s intentions of getting better.
Next Stop. Last stop. On a train it is called the terminus. In writing is called the conclusion. Here it is the termusion. You see what I did??? Combined two words! Yeah…I know, not witty.
This blog has helped ease the rotating wheel my hamster thoughts turn on and has brought it back to a neutral position. Not that it was in any danger at all, but this was the perfect activity to bring me to that mind of tranquility in which I can now seep into a slumber. And yeah, I know hamsters are supposed to be nocturnal, but this is my blog, my train, my world and I flip modern commonalities upside down. Yeah, that’s right. No nocturnal hamsters here, ya hurr! How’s that for crazy?
I confronted the puddle-engulfed pavement and drove to my hometown this past weekend. On my way I stopped at a rest stop and gave someone a jump-start. It successfully got his car running and he was on his way again. It’s like magic. Sometimes, when I am playing a game I get in a slump; it is like my drive has died. This happened today during a game I was engaged in so I gave myself a jump-start. It did nothing except annoy the neighbor below me and pause my game. Perhaps I should stick with head-starts.
Speaking of head-starts (yes, a smooth segue), my sisters have had one in the child-bearing department. That is only natural, seeing as I am the youngest in the family. It is okay though, I enjoy the benefits of being the uncle. You get to have all the fun while still watching them develop their distinctive personalities. And all three of my nephews have distinctive characteristics. Nick, the oldest at four, he has this crazy deep angry voice that makes him sound like Hitler giving a passionate speech. As he has gotten older, I can understand him now, but when he was little it was just angry loud gibberish and spit, which could quite easily, be equated to a Hitler speech. I call him the little Nazi. It is a term that I have slowly been phasing out, for obvious reasons, but it is cute nonetheless. Next is Isaiah, he is one and a half. Isaiah and I have had our differences. He was not too fond of me until I had extinguished all options and decided to speak to him in a creepy voice. He loved it. Since that day we have gotten along great, but he still has extremes. He is either happy or angry. I call him my velociraptor. He has a piercing cry. It is, as Dane Cook would say, the sound that makes you want to punch infants…too bad he is considered a toddler. Last, but not least, is Rey. He is only three months old and the newest edition. While he has not developed a huge personality quite yet, he does give these crazy intense looks. He mad dogs like no other. It is like he is saying, “Make me smile or I’ll kill you!” And then you make him smile and he is happy, but if you stop making him smile, he might give you the crazy eyes again.
When I went down to my hometown this weekend, I was unfortunately not able to see them all, but I did see Mad Doggin’ Rey. He and the rest of my family in town had come by for my early birthday party. In all actuality, I will be turning twenty-three on the twentieth, which is tomorrow. People are depressed about aging after twenty-one. Not me. I am living it up until twenty-five. I still brag about it to others, “Oh yeah? You’re only 22? Ha! I am older. I am going to be 23!” I still have the privilege of being able to rent a car at the age twenty-five ahead of me. That’ll be something to brag about…
In all honesty it has been a pretty low-key 23rd birthday. It has been nice nonetheless.
Tomorrow is my actual birthday. I could use a cute female paramedic to come jump-start it, but alas the response time is slow.
Most people have some knowledge about dogs. One of the most common tidbits that common folk know is that dogs have exceptional smelling. Their ability to smell can range from one thousand to ten thousand times better than that of the average human. So, you may be wondering, why am I telling you this fun fact when I have already established that it is common knowledge? Well, I was thinking, would humans share some of the same habits as a dog if they had the same sense of smell? For example, dogs smell other dogs gluteus maximus. While this would not be accepted in the human world, I wonder if we would be more tempted to smell one another’s butts. People would probably try to disguise it. Perhaps there would be many more shoe-tying throughout the day, more pens being dropped, or for the creeps it may be just deliberate butt sniffs. It is said that when a dog sniff’s the butt it can identify sex and whether or not someone is friend or foe. (In another words by smelling the asshole, they can determine if you are one.) As a human, this may be helpful. We have all had that occasional run-in with someone who we are unable to tell if IT is a male or female.
The reason this has sprung to mind is because a lady was telling me about her dogs poop devouring endeavors. It is not uncommon for dogs to eat their own poop. In fact, it has become such a problem that they have designed medication that one can orally give their dog to make their poop undesirable. If humans had the same olfactory system as dogs, would they be able to smell the left over deliciousness that they had recently parted ways via the shoot of poop? In layman’s terms, would our poop be attractive? You deuce it out and then are able to smell the left over tinge of that tuna melt you disposed of, would you be tempted?
I know there are flaws in my way of thinking, but if you were able to visualize it as I had, you too would find the concept interesting nonetheless.