Spring=Global Cooling

Spring.  What a misleading word for such a muddled and ambiguous time of year.  In the spring it's not always particularly warm, and it rains a lot.  I like rain.  But it's not warm rain.  It's cold rain, and for a couple of days this May at least, it was snow.  I mean, it didn't stick, but it was not as pleasant as some springs I remember back in the day.  Before global cooling.

That's right friends.  Sound the alarm.  This is our new crusade.  Global cooling.  If it weren't for all of our potato, fast-food eating and overall flatulence and gas guzzling, we would be even closer to the precipice of the next ice age.  But, fortunately, the more greenhouse gas we can contribute, the better.  That's the only thing saving us from a catastrophic global freeze.  

Solar activity has been at a near standstill for several months now, and if it continues much longer, we're in deep doo doo.  So I encourage you all to drive more, burn mountains of tires in your backyard, start a cattle farm and eat more potatoes and fast food.  At least then, just maybe spring will have a little more bounce in it.  Maybe, just maybe it will be a pleasant 70 degree day, rather than 30s and 40s and overcast with a chance of snow.  If you aren't worried about global cooling, you hate the environment.  End of story.

My Mom IS "THE Best"

There is a time and place for subjectivity. This blog is one such place. But today I will be anything but subjective. I'll just be honest. My mom is the best mom who has ever lived and will ever live. Don't argue. It's just the way it is. You might think to yourselves that your mom is better, but if we are in the 'truth zone,' or the land of objectivity, you know in your heart that you're wrong, and I'm right. Sorry, that's life. Some people just get nicer things, a better life, or in my case, the best mom.



Why is she the best? Well, I could make a long list like everyone else does on mother's day, but for a mom who has already attained perfection, there is little I could say or do that would make it any more real and glorious to have her around. The words I could write and the words I could say would not do the reality that is my mom justice. Let me just allow you all to be jealous. Imagine if you will, a utopian world and a perfect family. My mom would be the head of that family. That's right. Happy mother's day mom.

I want a dog.

I've thought about this for years now. It has been pent up inside of me for longer than I can remember (and it's not an admission about being anything other than straight). I want a dog. All my life I have been able to have pets. I've had lizards, fish, birds, crustaceans, anemones, turtles, frogs, toads, and insects. I've had them all. I used to catch them in the creek by my house in Virginia, or buy them and make elaborate zoo-like enclosures with all of my allowance and landscaping money. But you know what initially caused me to have all of these exotic pets? It was because my mom was allergic to dogs. Somehow however, she allowed us to have a cat even though she's allergic to them, but her claim was that a cat doesn't need as much socialization as a dog. Which, in part, is true. However, it was tough. I mean you just don't get the same thrill and fun time playing with a 4 1/2 foot Savannah Monitor lizard or a Russian tortoise. A dog is man's best friend and no reptile or fish will be able to replace him.

All that being said, I've been thinking more about the prospect of owning a dog now that I am getting close to graduating from college and moving out on my own. However, I am sort of on my own, 2,000 miles away from the family, so I've been thinking, "Why not now?" Well, it just so happens that my rental agreement doesn't permit me to have pets, and if that weren't enough, my room mate Kevin claims that he "hates dogs." How can you 'hate' dogs? How can you hate anything? To hate, you have to have loved or cared for that which you hate in some way, and felt betrayed. Somehow I think it's more shallow than that for my room mate. I think he just wants to hate dogs to piss me off. And guess what? It's working. But, on a more positive note, the agreement I signed with my landlord expired and I haven't signed a new one. I still have a rental agreement, but it does not have anything on it that says I can't have a pet. And, what's more, we've been baby-sitting a neighbor's beta for a while now. Beta's are so close to dogs.



I'm really considering it. I've always wanted a bulldog.




It would serve as a good foot rest, door mat and a calm companion inside the house. But then I also like the idea of an active dog that can catch frisbees, outrun me from time to time and that I can wrestle with. Bulldogs don't strike me as that kind of dog. So I think maybe I should get two dogs. The bulldog for my down time and work around the house (of course he can play outside too), and maybe an australian shepherd or blue heeler for my more intense outtings.



I don't know. Maybe two dogs is too much. Maybe I should stick with one. I just don't know. I've never had a dog, so the whole dog world is new to me. I do know that having two would give them more companionship when I have to travel, or go to work, but still, I just don't know. Thoughts?

The Secret Agent Mutes

I love mutes. They're so quiet it makes me think they might be secret agents. They lurk around and just blankly stare at you (probably sucking your soul and life juice). I think they are going to take over the world. The quiet people are secretly, subversively taking over. They seem harmless enough, lingering at the punch bowl at parties and only saying their name from time to time when someone asks them for it (all the while they read it off their name tag). They are so clever. They have us all fooled.



As for those people who find the need to talk, and frequently do so, they piss me off. They are do-nothings. They blab like the world cares about them, their problems and their occasional ideas. The mutes and quiet people will get them though. And soon. But, it worries me a little bit. I am not a quiet person. I am not a mute. But, maybe I can blend in to their secret underground culture by breaking my jaw. That's a good plan. Shhh. Don't speak.

Living the Emo life

I am trying to limit my posting to 3-4 times a week, but sometimes I just really need to do it out of schedule. And, it helps when I think I have a good topic. Some of you might like it anyway. I'd like to delve into women's fashion for a moment. Wait, it's not what you think. I'm talking about women's fashion for men. That's right. I'm sure you've seen them, strutting their stuff down the street in women's country club shoes (keds and other canvas loafers) and sporting women's pants. So as not to appear straight up transvestite, the term to describe the pants is "skinny pants." That sounds so much better. I mean isn't that what all real men are really concerned with? Their skinniness?

To be honest and frank, as is my custom, I must attest to the fact that I have not yet experienced the supposed feminine joy of wearing skinny pants. They just look way to comfortable. And for me, with my svelt girlish figure it would just make me another piece of eye candy for those who prescribe to the emaciated Ethiopian refugee Abercrombie and J Crew models' look. And, I'm sure the pants would make my butt look big.

But as for the black nail polish, eye shadow and whiney music; I'm all for it. I look sexy in dark hues and tears. And, so does anyone with a lot of emotional baggage, or feigned baggage. In fact, you can feign baggage so much easier when you look like a cross between scarecrow, Edwards Scissorhands and Marilyn Manson.

I prefer Charles. But that is neither here nor there. And then you can scream your heart out to Fall Out Boy and lurk behind graffiti plastered back alley walls waiting for your friends to come hang out so you can talk about how horrible your day was. It's a dream life really. Ah, to live the Emo dream.

Hillary and Barack: Get 'R Done.

To be honest I don't really want to write this. And, I'm sorry I have to put you through more of the same. Well, perhaps I can shake the monkeys in this barrel one more time just to placate the system and appease divine justice. I am of course speaking of Hillary and Barack. They are just the most fun thing to watch since Mork and Mindy. They jab at one another, question each other's legitimacy, ride in the back of red pick up trucks, kiss babies, look amicable and somehow still remain the most divisive enemies. It's just so much fun. And by 'fun' I mean not fun. It's code.

Hillary is a wench. Barack is a panderer (not to be confused with Panda bear, although that would be funny). Think of it, the first woman President and the first Panda bear President. It would do wonders for conservation and Chinese relations. But on another note they blather on like people actually care. And, from the polls it seems that some people do.

At this point I know a lot of people who just want them to figure it out and stop wasting our time. Seriously, I would like to read the news without some stupid report about Hillary's new crush on Rush Limbaugh or Obama's pastor bringing about a new black Nazi movement. They both are not qualified to run the country, with little to no executive experience, and they think the biggest way to solve our problems is to expand the size and scope of government without bringing efficiency and accountability. Therefore, anything they say to me at least is hogwash. Or perhaps, worse, like the beard policy at BYU. And I will have none of it. Just tell them to shut up and get on with the whole 'General Election' thing. McCain's got it in the bag. Now they just need to pick whether it's going to be the wanna be Latina who hates NAFTA or the milk chocolate yuppie who appeals to Hollywood and Oprah.

Running to nowhere

For those of you who truly know me, or even for those who only know me superficially, you may be well aware that I absolutely love cardio. Yes. Running is soooo fun. I love it. And, for those of you who actually nodded your heads in agreement, Thou knowest me not. Running for the sake of running has never really inspired me to do it consistently or in any real way. However, if I were to find an attractive running partner I might be obliged to take up the practice. But, bear in mind that whoever asks me to run with them is basically saying: "Let's date. I am into you."


Not all cardio however, is pointless. One example is ultimate frisbee. It is a game that you can win. You can interact with friends. You can jump, run routes, high five, give 'good games' to people. Ah yes. Ultimate. But, following the same logic, soccer, baseball (to an extent), basketball, surfing, football and other games are meaningful and get that heart going in a good way. All of them involve running (yes even surfing-you can run to the edge of the water). So why then just run? Well some of you might say that you can 'just run' by yourself and it's harder to organize a game of anything. Excuses, excuses. Running sucks by itself. If someone wants to run with me, that's one thing, but by myself I'd rather eat sand or shuck corn. Part of it could be because I have a bum knee that aches for days after any sort of substantial long distance running. Nah.

Australia the Beautiful

While I was visiting the San Diego Zoo, I came upon a shocking sight. I'm sure you've all seen pigeons. They all live in big cities of America, are relatives of doves, but are about as dirty as rats (if not more so). In fact, they are called rats of the sky. Now, it caught me by surprise when I saw what pigeons look like in Australia:



All I could do was be envious. Man, why don't we get cool pigeons that don't smell like trash and look like something found between the cheeks of an elephant?



But, if that were all, I think I could cope. But they've got Koalas down there. They spend 20 hours of their day sleeping and the other 4 eating or cohabiting with other Koalas. Oh to be a Koala! We could keep them as pets. All we'd have to do is give them eucalyptus and they could babysit the kids while we go out for the day, or the weekend.



Oh, and then there are the Australian beaches and women. And the surfing....just let me go there. I'll renounce my citizenship (not really). But live wouldn't be half bad if I were Crocodile Dundee.

Rock my Twittering socks sicko

Two phrases that I see on facebook statuses that are stupid and make no sense: 'Twittering' and 'Rock my socks'.

Let's start with twittering. Twittering is something I am pretty sure only birds or fairies do. So if you're not a bird or a fairy, you probably shouldn't be twittering. Maybe you haven't seen this status on facebook, but I have a few podcaster friends who put it up all the time. But, it's not as if twittering serves any purpose. This is how it's generally written: "Ho Chi Min is twittering: I left my iron on my shirt and now it's burnt." That's stupid. I really do not know what else to say about it.


Now for 'Rock my socks.' First off, I don't want to send the wrong message. I like rocks, and I do like a nice new pair of socks. However, there has yet to be any event in my life that has 'rocked my socks.' It sounds like it would have to be some erotic foot fantasy involving high voltage AC/DC and cotton tube sock love. And, unfortunately I have not yet had the pleasure. There are so many other phrases that make sense and are better. Let's use them like: Blow my mind (among other things), or, instead of twittering, Joe is deliberating, or is not a bird and therefore cannot twitter, but if he were it would sound quite mannish and funny. Food for thought.

The Natural Man

You would think that giving in to the 'Natural Man' would be allowing oneself to be beholden by some sort of absolutely repulsive animalistic carnality. And, perhaps, to a point, you are right. However, the natural man has his moments. When the natural man for example, is confronted by a horrible injustice or belligerent person they lash out with wrath, ferocity and powerful vengeance.

This is the most rudimentary form of justice: Revenge. However, it is not a methodical, deliberate, evil act, but an eye for an eye, damages for damages approach. And, despite what some may think, it is deliciously satisfying in the immediate, and perhaps long-term (it obviously depends on the case and the approach).

Another thing the natural man is good at is eating. However, the more appropriate word might be devouring. A natural man has an unquenchable appetite for flesh. He is a voracious, carnivorous fiend. There is no satiating his quest to gorge all in his path, be it cow, truck, dog, raw steel, boulders or reams and reams of carpet. However, he generally tends to eat the more edible things.

The natural man also is amazingly good at athletics. He can beat cheetahs, superman, smurfs and gummi bears at their best events. He can swim for days, fight for hours, and do bicycle kicks consecutively for weeks on end. He is a beast. Similar to the Brazilian soccer star Ronaldinho Gaucho or the French climber: Spiderman (who free hands the world's tallest buildings).

Let's give the natural man some credit, and maybe, from time to time, let him come out to play.