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Brain Flatulence

I am obsessed with examining minor menial tasks and how people perform them. Lately, I have been busting academia nuts into spoonfuls of A+ wordage. In the process of writing my essays, I have noticed there are times in which my mind sputters and I absent mindedly write the same word twice.

An example: “They call me DJ Oriental because I lay down down crazy tracks.”

I thought this tantalizing incident to be of interest only to myself, but after further debation and observation…I am not the only one suffering from this brain flatulence. It is a prevalent phenomenon that appears to be only privy to those who are aboard the key; or those who use a keyboard. I have yet to read a handwritten document that demonstrates these traits. Then again, if it doesn’t have the all powerful red squiggly line under it, I assume everything is hunky-dory. All hail the red squiggly line!

The part that is most intriguing is what occurs during that short circuiting. Where does our mind go during the brevity of the moment? Are life’s greatest mysteries solved in the blink of an eye? Well, that is a little farfetched…for everyone else that is. I, myself, am quite capable of such measures, but just as capable of forgetting them in the same breath, or blink. My attention to analogies is short, it is like the…I am sure for that instant I have stopped wondering what’s in a wonder ball and have no longer pondered over the locality of the beef. If only I could recapture my epiphanies I could make the world a bett…well, no, that’s a lie; it would probably be the same.

There appear to be different types of mind blips. They can be quite frightening too. It is one thing when they occur in the privacy of my own home, but what about when they happen while driving? I experience these on an almost daily basis. I will be driving and enter a daze only to snap out of it a few minutes later. In the process of that daze I am to recall point F and point K, but you see (or should I say U C. Heh heh) I am not able to recollect the mid section. Who knows how many people I have slaughtered or even worse how many stops signs I have bypassed. Hm, come to think of it, I always snap out of my stupor due to oddly placed speed bumps. In my defense, who places a speed bump in the middle of a crosswalk?

I know I am not the only one to have these blips, absent mindedness, stupors, dazes, brain flatulence. How has it affected you? Do you ever think, “I hope no law enforcement shows up at my door or I receive a ticket in the mail?” Or maybe it’s more simplistic for you, and you only have to worry about grammar Nazis.

Or maybe I am the only one experiencing this and people are only agreeing with me that they too are suffering from said issue so that I may maintain my last strain of sanity.


Merging Idea

I’ve been engrossed in absent minded automobile steering during my exstintsive. (You see what I did there? To save internet space I conducted a merger of extensive and stint…Hm, although, now, this explanation of such Tom Foolery negates my initial purpose. Pooey.)  I have been incorporating the aforementioned activity to alleviate the contention that is circumnavigating the vessels of my mind.

Is this an effective strategy?

After heavy scrutinization I have established a concluded concurment. The strategy is effective given proper auditory balance. In layman’s terms that means: do not listen to melancholy melodies sad songs. To achieve happiness one has to want it. The band that puts me right in the head (Am I ever truly right in the head?) is Vampire Weekend. Even their glumified songs sound chipper. And so I just tune in, turn off, drop out, drop in, switch off, switch on and explode.

Explode you say? No. I type it apple-slice; get with it.

Anyhow, I have noticed explosions of road rage. Actually, I am unsure if what I do would be consider road rage. Perhaps it dons no classification. I question this so because during the act of, typed road rage, I am lacking true anger and aggression. Let me explain…

When performing the activity, I have this need to adhere to my code of driving. Rule #34 states that if driving on a two lane road and a merger is approaching that I should speed past the car in the opposite lane so that I am not forced to suffer sitting behind one more car. So I try to speed past them in attempt to secure the first place position. Usually I am successful in my expeditions, but I never quite think it through.

So what happens? I get to drive slowly behind the semi that is now directly in front of me.

I suppose I live for the instantaneous high. Unlike others I know, who drive like EMT’s juiced on coffee and smoothie kicks, my driving is pretty sane, so I thoroughly enjoy these little victories. Also, if you ever saw my car, you would realize that speeding or being a dare-devil is not in the CARds.

Here is one song from Vampire Weekend. I like the meaning.

Flagging You Down

We identify ourselves by that which hangs on a pole.

Flags. Not strippers.

These simple things that flap ferociously in the atmospheric conditions that are presented by mother earth; we associate ourselves with its identity.

Once again, flags. Not strippers.

I have seen quite a few flags, the one I do not understand is the Confederate flag.

The Confederate flag represents the Confederacy. You know, those mid-19th century democratic folks who receded from the Union in order to protect their way of life. Well, when put like that, it does not sound half bad. It even sounds patriotic until you realize they are protecting the institution of slavery.

So it befuddles me so when I see someone waving a Confederate flag. Are people aware of the contention that flag contains? It is supporting the southern antebellum lifestyle.

This makes it a little more difficult to argue against the Confederate flag.

No, no, no…Do not get overwrought when I question if you are a racist. You should firmly be aware of the adumbration the flag carries. You may be a supporter of the southern activities of today, and that is fine. You just need to find a flag that recognizes that and not that you are a racist hillbilly.

So because of the Confederate flag wavers, I have placed an order for a swastika flag.

You see how you jumped to the assumption that I was anti-Semitic? By Confederate flag logic, I am just a supporter of Germany. That would not fly with the swastika flag (pun intended) and it should not for the Confederate flag.

I would like to add to this topic that I would love to time travel to the 1860s.

You may not ask me why, but I will tell you anyway.

I would like to go back to 1862 and walk into a Confederate meeting. I would take the stand and announce to them that I was from the future. I would then state that their party, the Democrats, would elect the first “colored” president of the United States. Congratulations.

I am assuming I would have to then pull a John Wilkes Booth and hightail it out of there. Hopefully without breaking my leg, or being shot by a castrated man.

Quite Lovely

My horn is as active as ever and I never get tired of tooting it myself. I know my last blog doted on about my 50-blog celebration, and I thought what better way to follow it up than with further rapturous praise for me?

Now then, let’s begin.

I would prefer to denote my blog as humorous. That is the call of judgment I proclaim.

That may be up for debation.

Yes, I said, er, typed debation. I know it is not an official word by Webster’s standards, but that did not prevent Shakespeare from blabbering forth with mumble-jumbles. The word has power. There is a certain strength behind it. An “umph.” It is erectifying. It is a stiff hard word that you can insert into your daily vocabulary.  And so I use it here. And I may use it elsewhere. That too, is up for debation.

There is one term I can call my blog and know that I am not the only one who concurs with the statement. And that is: my blog is lovely.

I pieced together my own picture for the award. It’s my award afterall.

This past week I was nominated for the One Lovely Blog Award by EndlessEncounters. A long time follow, who I thank for the nomination. Now people will begin ogling over the boggling blogging awards I have toggling on my cyberspace shelving. (I don’t know if that sentence makes sense. Is it is sentsense?  Regardless, we shall roll with thine’s own choice of words once more.)

The rules for this award are like the other two hundred and thirty-seven awards. List forty-six things about yourself and nominate twenty-two other bloggers. Easy enough.

Forty-two things about me:

  1. My top three favorite Disney movies are Aladdin, Lion King, and Hercules.
  2. My favorite video game of all time is Zelda: Ocarina of Time (Nintendo 64).
  3. My favorite animal is the moose.
  4. I wear axe body spray and have received more compliments from it than any expensive cologne I have ever purchased.
  5. I initially grew my beard to impress someone. I liked it, so I kept it.
  6. Someone told me I was white on the outside and black on the inside. So I downed a quart of bleach in hopes of keeping me all one color. Okay. Not true.


…. (incoherent text)


46.          I mumble.

Nominated Bloggers (I am promoting people I am new to following)

1. 25ToFly – A cool laid back woman. She has a strange infatuation with M&M’s and popcorn, but I can forgive her for such tomfoolery. We also started a long distance band. She is the drummer. We are called: The Inepts.

2. Boomie Bol – A good contributor to the WordPress world. She writes some interesting short stories and poems. She is a dabbler. Worth a look-see-read.

… (mumble mumble)

… (mumble mumble)

22. gorJessWorld – I very recently began following her blog. So far so good. If it is anything like Bobby’s world, I am going to enjoy it.

I apologize to nineteen other people I mumbled over…Wait, who am I kidding? No I don’t.

The Big 5-0

This post is the big 5-0. In the human cycle, it would be subjected the caducity of life. Even if fifty is the new forty, this blog would be predicated as over the hill. Fortunately, this is a blog. Its hilly elevated excursion is only in its infancy. The first fifty can equate to my inaugural speech. Fifty posts may be a smidgen too long for an inaugural speech, but I am taking a page out of President William Henry Harrison’s book. Well, minus the death only a month later. And as the grandson of William Henry Harrison and the twenty-third president of the United States, Benjamin Harrison said, “Great blogs never go out, they go on.” And yes, he said blogs. He was an avant-garde. But enough about old dead white guys.

Before I continue, let’s commence our flashback portion of this post. Yes, it seems every monumental post number requires a flashback. You know, so my new followers can witness my sagacity and my veterans can reminisce in it. Here are four of my favorite posts that received no affection:

Backspaced – An interesting idea about the backspace button.

Taintalizing – Three thoughts. Titillating as always.

In With the Old; Out With the New – Breasts, Ice Cream, and Cheetahs. It’s got it all.

I Hear the Train A’Coming – The double B’s…Bathroom and Bowling.

Now then, I was going to create a video blog to commemorate this day and show my appreciation to those who have supported this blog, but I’m not. I believe that written word holds more power than that which is verbally mentioned. And I am not in a position to create a meaningful video. So here is my thank you speech.

This is going to be difficult. It is hard to thank everyone when I am loved by so many (Hey now, don’t burst my bubble).

The most important honors go to someone special who, without her encouragement, my blog would still be sorted among status updates and 140 character stories. That person is Rachelle. Thanks for supplying me with ideas and assisting me along my path back towards creative writing.

I would also like to thank those who have been avid readers of my blog and contributed towards it in the fashion of comments and likes. If I had a quarter for every comment you have left me I would be able to retire…In like, never. You see, $37.50 worth of comments over a six month span is pitiful. That’s alright, you guys are still a-okay in my book. I say that, but I am now observing you lot of commenter’s and expect improvements. The material I produce is gold fools. Wait, no, it is fool’s gold.  Forget it, let me just begin the thanking.

Thanks to:

Brother Jon  – A Mormon with a great sense of humor. Not that Mormon’s aren’t usually funny; I just needed an opening line. He has been a consistent supporter of my blog for the longest. His blog is equally entertaining and varies on subject matter.

RandomDeviations – She has been MIA for the past month and a half, but I will still give her a shout-out. Maybe she will return to the blogging scene, who knows.

Mooselicker – An awkward cat with outside ideas. I like it. He is not afraid to get smacked upside of the head in a game of playground foursquare because it lets him think outside the box. A solid contributor and reader of my blog.

xoEvelynOrtizHasSpoken – She is my number one commenter to this point. Thanks for reading and seeing the genius I see in me as well. Ha.

NyParrot – A relatively new follower, she is quickly moving up my commenter ranks and has interesting takes of her own.

Those listed above are my top commenter’s. If you do not see yourself on the list, know that you are not, but I hope for you to be soon and I still thank you for taking ten minutes of your time to better yourself by reading my material.

Uh-oh, there goes the music. I think it is time for me to wrap this up.

And what better way to wrap something up, than with a rap. Here is my attempt at rapping with my original content. Now you’ll know why I just write.


On my search for the fountain of youth, I stumbled upon Kombucha. It is commonly referred to as an elixir. Kombucha is a food supplement prepared from a symbiotic colony of yeast and bacteria that is added to tea for its alleged health benefits. Basically it a mushroom soaked in tea. Appealing right?

Now, I am not a fan of mushrooms or tea, but maybe when the two come together the lights will dim and the soft melodic voice of Marvin Gaye singing “Let’s Get It On” will penetrate the mixture. It can’t be all bad, right? I know someone who is a dedicated kombucha drinker and swears by its health advantages. I value this person’s opinion, so I am willing to test this drink. Here goes nothing.

(Apparently it is all about the pomegranate flavor, but I could not find that one so we will be evaluating Gingerberry.)

Alright so my day is almost complete. Here is my experience with Gingerberry Kombucha.

I awoke at 8:00 AM and consumed half of my kombucha drink. It was surprisingly tasty. It has a vinegar odor and taste to it, but it just reminded me of Easter and sunburns. The flavor is similar to that of a weak white wine. I read stories that people often felt a little buzz from the product. I did not receive that kick. My kombucha is the Enlightened variety. I think I need to bump it up and get the 21+ version because I am missing out.

When I left to work at 9:00 AM I felt a little energy serge, but I believe I fell victim to the placebo effect. Nonetheless my stomach did not begin its morning growling ritual at 11:00 AM, which was a definite plus. I had lunch at 12:30 PM and I devoured the second half of the kombucha. I was a little hesitant to drink the bottom portion because that is where the “culture” is found. I’ll hate all day on this culture. It’s the chunky stuff at the bottom of the kombucha. I set aside my hesitancy and drank the rest. The second half of my workday went by smoothly. I did not suffer from that downward spike that lunch usually produces. I left work with plenty of energy and a Broken Bells whistle (which they played at my work). Coincidentally the person who is pro-Kombucha also introduced me to Broken Bells. Strangely compelling…

Overall as Tony the Tiger says, ::crickets chirping:: Tony the Tigers dead. He is not saying anything. I will attest to the value of kombucha. Good product. I may be investing more into it in the near future.

On a sidenote:

I feel like there is not enough funny material in this post. Here, this should help.

Not helping? Can’t say I did not try. You could say that I did not try hard enough, but shh…on that one.

You’re Absolutely Left

It is said that roughly ten percent of the world population is left-handed. I am proud to be part of that ten percent (I would really love to be in the one percent economically speaking). I take pride in my left-handed ability. Why not? It is rare and has a multitude of advantages.

1)      Lefties have high IQs (Although didn’t Rainman score 87 on IQ? So much for knowledge.)

2)      Lefties make more money than righties. (If only…right?)

3)      Lefties have better underwater vision. (I am not sure if I believe this one…)

4)      Lefties are better at multitasking. (Not to be sexist, but I believe this is a gender thing.)

5)      Lefties tend to have better memories. (What was this blog about again?)

6)      Lefties are better at video games. (There we go! Agree.)

7)      Lefties recover better from strokes. (That is always comforting.)

8)      Lefties are more visual and artistic (Concur. We are amazing.)

9)      Lefties learn to drive quicker. (Sure, why not. I’ll take it.)

It is not always  convivial and merry. There are certain impediments to the left-handed gift. I will not reverberate case records that document the benefits and encumbrances of handedness. That would be too logical and time consuming. Instead, I will share a serving of my own experiences; my personal discrepancies.

As a young lad, I wore a lot of cowboy boots. That was all I wore until I was about five. My style was impeccable. I was blonde, with big heavy glasses, a blue shirt (with awesome marshmallow art on it), grey sweatpants, and cowboy boots. Not only was my style impeccable, I was the epitome of IT. Now, I did not know then what I know now. I stuck with cowboy boots to avoid tying shoes. I was horrible at it. My parents would teach me the tricks. A bunny here a hole there, a loopity loop here and a flick of the wrist there, and we have a knot. Yeah. I was not getting it. Then my grandma, who is also left-handed, taught me and I learned. Now, I am not sure how the right and left handed ways differ, but there is something to it. I know I am knot retarded.

Then there are scissors. Arts and crafts turned out like sharts and laughs. My cutting lines were jagged, if existing at all. Cheap right-handed scissors and left hand precision cutting was an evil combination. I have received my fair share of  strange looks in school by asking my neighbor to cut my design out for me. They just do not understand. There is a positive to this though. I learned that if you have a left-handed suicidal friend, and they are attempting to end their life with scissors, they are not serious about dying because those things won’t cut.

There is one true way to spot a left-hander (when they aren’t involved in handed activities). Check the side of their palm for ink or lead smears. I mention this as a hindrance because some left-handers hate turning in smeared papers. Not me. I believe it gives the paper some flare. A three-dimensional look if you will. It is also a reminder that left-handers push and right-handers pull. While right-handers are constantly pulling through life, left-handers are pushing on through to the other side.

Albeit our pushing does not produce award winning calligraphy. That is a problem, but it is not our fault. Do you see what we write on? Have you seen a left-handed desk? What’s going on there? Are only oompa loompas and munchkins left-handed? It is as if they ran out of supplies and used scrap material to piece these tiny rickety desks together. They figure it looks functional, and hell, only ten percent of the world is left handed. This has restricted our penmanship to penboyship.

I recognize my left-handedness as a unique trait and something that separates me from others. I do have one confession though. I am not a complete left-hander. I play sports and guitar right-handed. I believe I naturally developed that instinct in sports, but I was told to switch with guitar. I always imagine how much better I could have been. Nevertheless I still consider myself left-handed. I have overcome the trials and tribulations. We are not only different, we are better. We are never wrong. Left-handers are right! Wait a tic…Oh, well. Left-Handers Unite!

Original Facebook Status:

Are left handed people generally shorter? Left handed desks are so much smaller than right handed desks.

Medical Emergency


Distant Whispers. “We’re losing him! 700 volts!”


I don’t know what I am writing. Is 700 volts too much? I get my medical education from House, so I am only familiar with illnesses that affect one in a billion. Beyond that I am not a medical whiz by any standard. Yes, I do have my CPR certification, but breaking a person’s ribs can only cure so much. I am more like the Fonz in that sense. If it can be healed by punching, allow me to offer up my services.

I am no threat to the nursing or medical practitioner field.  I have heard tales from nurses and EMT’s. Bottles in anuses is not my glass of milk. I am good off those experiences. I know it has even managed to ruin apple juice for one person. Apple juice people! A sweet yumified drink. Ruined because its pigmentation is too close to urine. The only thing worse would probably be some hot apple cider. The warmth brings forth reality, if you know what I mean. Let’s hope cranberry juice does not suffer the same fate.

I am not even the person you want to call in case of an emergency.I deal in WORDS not WOUNDS. So give me a phone, I can call 9-1-1, but you better hope the ambulance is quicker than your blood. If the person is yelling on the ground for help, I’ll just look over and whisper, “Sorry, I’m on the phone.” I’ll give that curtsy smile, scrunch of the face, shrug of the shoulders, and point at the phone that is commonly motioned to in this situation. Someone has to call 9-1-1 right? Hopefully my future wife will be experienced in this field or else our children will be in pickle (which a delicious and underappreciated fruit and also a troubling situation).

While I stay clear of the medical field, I do have one regret. I have a deep passion for helping people. If you know me, you know that I am one of the most empathizing beings you will ever encounter. I am heavily invested in helping people who suffer from somnambulism. This is more commonly referred to as sleep walking. Unfortunately, I fear that I will never have the opportunity to work with these individuals. If I was given such an opportunity, I would cherish it…I would be going human tipping all night.

Original Facebook Status Update:

I would love to work at a medical center for sleep walkers. I’d be going human tipping aallll night.

And They’re Off!

Yesterday was the Preakness. I placed five dollars on I’ll Have Another to Win/Place/Show and I placed a fiver on Cozzetti to win for my longshot. Since I am writing this in advance I would like to assume I am the winner, but as of my time the victor and the defeated have yet to be determined. It is almost as if I am a late night talk show host; except not. . .

Recently I attended the Golden Gate Fields Horse Racing in Berkeley, California. I arrived with forty dollars; I left with six and some change. After successfully choosing the winner (Perfect Feat), my luck diminished. Out of the next eight races, only one of my horses managed to finish above fourth place. Too bad horse racing does not offer a booby prize, because many of my choices managed to finish dead last. Alas, you cannot be too disappointed with your losses when there are dollar beers and hot dogs only feet away. Horse racing has never increased my blood flow, but I have to say, attending a horse racing event did preak my interest. To me, it is all about the naming of a horse. If I had a horse it would be named On Paste to Race or Tomorrows Glue.

My general concern with racing has decreased immensely in current years. I use to be an avid NASCAR fan. I started as a fan of Ernie Irvin, switched to Dale Jarrett, and since then I have been in limbo as to where my allegiance lies. What makes matters worse is that the drivers are constantly changing sponsors and numbers. I cannot keep pace with the cars. Am I going for the Viagra car? It seems to driving hard and fitting through the holes. Am I the Jack Daniels car this week? (Remember, drinking and driving is unsafe, but thinking about drinking while driving is completely fine.) Or am I 5 Hour Energy? Hopefully 5 Hour Energy, because given the length of these races, I am going to need it.

Lately I have been focused on more personal races. I size up an individual on the sidewalk and the race begins. I always win. Yes, this may be contingent on the fact that they are not aware they are in a race, but that does not minimize the strength of my furious power-walking. I have a Dale Earnhardt mentality when I race too. I bump people off the sidewalk, slow down in front of them and prevent them from walking by, and on rare occasions I barely hit something and die. Too soon?

I not only race mammals, but I also challenge arachnids. I hate those eight-legged freaks, and will optimize any opportunity given to atomize them. There is a spider on my backyard gate that is resilient in its approach to spinning a web in that particular region. So the race amounts to: can it spin faster than I can destroy? Sometimes I will let it spin an entire web and then I will open up the gate and break through it like I just reached the finish line of a casual walking race. Yep. Sometimes it’s the small things in life.

Resurrecting a Wave of Ideas

I started writing blogs on Myspace back in 2006. It was an efficient platform for my purposes. I wanted to mutter ideas and only be heard by those contiguous to me. Myspace even had a section for blogs; it worked perfect.

Then Facebook materialized.

Unlike many, I was hesitant to board another social networking ship. I felt comfortable shooting the shit on the poop deck of Myspace. I turned an eye-patch to the sinking of my vessel, but could not shut my eye to the Facebook voyage. One by one I saw life boats drop and people row to the safety that Facebook could provide. I recognized my ideas were falling on deaf ears. No really, I would drop a manuscript of ideas on a deaf person’s head while they slept. It was becoming obviously evident that I needed to abandon ship. And so I did.

Facebook lifted my life boat from the choppy waves of the social networking world and gave me a simplistic, but comforting lifestyle. I was given the basics, which is all one truly needs. That is, unless you blog. Joining Facebook became one of the prevalent hindrances in my blogging succession. I wasted ingenious thought on one status update for a meager chuckle.

No longer will that be. I am going to attempt to clear that despicable damnation from my record. I have a list of antiquated status updates that I am going to flip into blogs. Not knowing the full length of my thought during these intervals of time in which I created said status update, I will still try to piece together my initial intuition on the subject matter and strike gold in its wake. In other words, I will take my one-two sentence status update and turn it into a 300+ word blog. I have a list of twenty-five that I will be using. I might use all twenty-five, I may not. What is important is that I have ideas and they will be here shortly. This is just the introduction. So I hope you are looking forward to my past. It’s on the horizon.