- Perhaps the true Lemming Line is accepting that Lemmings exist without ever actually have seen one.
- Don't cry over spilled milk, unless the milk is at full boil and spilled into your lap.
- Debate and talk about it all you want, but the best advice for getting a date is .... "Be good-looking"
- If your NASCAR dinner-plate collection costs more than your entire kid's wardrobe, your kids will end up in jail.
T-Shirts:
- "I Can Name All 48 States"
- "I Am Wealthy And Successful, And Wearing This T-Shirt Instead of Buying A Rolex Only Further Demonstrates My Impressive Frugality"
- "In That Brief Eye-Contact, You Were Both Judged And Catalogued"
- "Wearing This T-Shirt Has Completely Ruined My Chances With You, Hasn't It?"
- "I Am Bruce Jenner"
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Romance in a Mass-Produced Envelope: The History of Valentine's Day
It could be the most important decision of your life. You stand there, pale and sweating, your eyes besieged by the endless aisles of red-satin boxes and cheaply-made plastic flower bouquets. Should you go with chocolate, or is that "so 2007"? Should there be roses, tulips, or carnations....hmmmm, which one of those is for funerals? And didn't a commercial just inform you that you are completely worthless unless you buy some sort of chain with a series of pretty rocks attached? My GOD, What do you do?
You begin to convince yourself that a nice set of fishing lures will last longer, AND have the added benefit of creating quality time for the two of you. Yeah, that's right - fishing lures! But wait, something is telling you..yes, there is definitely a distinct part of your primitive brain that is actually resisting this new theory. Your face flushes, your hands twitch, your feet begin sweating with frustrated vigor.
"Wait a minute!" you exclaim, "What has led me to this loathsome circumstance? What monstrous alchemy of human mechanism evolved itself into these wretched circumstances? Whose idea WAS this, Anyway!!'
Well, noble explorer of bath-stores and cheap seasonal holiday carts, here are some highlights from the bounteous and scented history of Valentine's Day:
- The ancient world often associated mid-February with fertility. The Roman holiday of Lupercalia was held on February 15 to purify new life and increase fertility. The Greek Month of Gamelion was dedicated to the blessed marriage of Zeus and Hera (without swan references, of course).
- 23,019 BC Gogak the Hog-Killer was the first to romance his potential mate by picking flowers. Although poisonous and resulting in an embarrassing rash, the flowers were appreciated and spun the phrase "It's the almost-thought that kind-of counts"
- 100 AD Valentinius of Alexandria was born. An early Bishop of Rome, Valentinius believed that the marriage chamber was actually important, causing numerous huffs and puffs and an occasional fainting.
- 496 Pope Gelasius I declared the "Feast of St. Valentine", referring to an earlier martyred saint (different than Valentinius) whose birth and death are not confirmed. Little is known about this early saint, although it may be a priest who was executed in the 3rd century by Cladius II. Incidentally, no cards were sent.
- 1382 Chaucer writes the first recorded correlation of Valentine's day with romantic love in his "Parlement of Foules". It is possible that the traditions of modern Valentines Day did not exist before Chaucer's writing, but rather started to come into their own around this time.
- Earliest surviving Valentine was a poem written by Charles the Duke of Orleans to his wife in 1415. Of course, being imprisoned in the Tower of London tends to bring out the romantic in you.
- English settlers bring the concept of Valentines day to North America in the 19th century. Hundreds of chocolate executives gathered in a dark room to laugh maniacally and rub their hands together (with actual organ music playing in the background).
- The first mass-production of Valentine cards began after 1847 by Esther Howland of Worchester, Massachusetts, whose father owned a stationary store.
- 1891 first case of "Valentine Insomnia", as New Jersey third-grader Herbert Bard debated whether Susy from school loved him based on the size of a mandatory Valentine card. Also first recorded case of broken heart by "cooties".
- 1929 In a sweeping gesture of romance, ol' softy Al Capone guns down seven members of a rival gang, forever known as the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
- As television and mass production sink deeply into the American psyche during the 20th century, Valentine's Day becomes increasingly associated with gifts and the gift-card industry. Some husbands claim this is good, as they can sum up all their love in one convenient, logical gesture. Other's claim this is bad because now they have to remember their anniversary AND Valentine's day. Two whole days? "What is this," they claim, "some kind of cruel joke?"
- 1980's The Diamond Industry begins actively courting the American public to associate Valentine's Day with their product. Although they aren't edible, diamonds are generally considered "interesting to look at", so the plan, of course, works.
- 2007 Valentine's Day is a worldwide phenomenon. For many, it is a day of love, generosity, and appreciation. Sappy? Yes, but heartfelt....and in the end that is all that matters.
- 2008 Sushi executives gather in secret chamber to plot their new wave of association advertisements. Coming soon: "Sushi: Because Romance is in the Guts"
Well, there you have it. Now quit being a wimp and buy something. And make it nice, will ya? Ol' St. Valentine is watching!
You begin to convince yourself that a nice set of fishing lures will last longer, AND have the added benefit of creating quality time for the two of you. Yeah, that's right - fishing lures! But wait, something is telling you..yes, there is definitely a distinct part of your primitive brain that is actually resisting this new theory. Your face flushes, your hands twitch, your feet begin sweating with frustrated vigor.
"Wait a minute!" you exclaim, "What has led me to this loathsome circumstance? What monstrous alchemy of human mechanism evolved itself into these wretched circumstances? Whose idea WAS this, Anyway!!'
Well, noble explorer of bath-stores and cheap seasonal holiday carts, here are some highlights from the bounteous and scented history of Valentine's Day:
- The ancient world often associated mid-February with fertility. The Roman holiday of Lupercalia was held on February 15 to purify new life and increase fertility. The Greek Month of Gamelion was dedicated to the blessed marriage of Zeus and Hera (without swan references, of course).
- 23,019 BC Gogak the Hog-Killer was the first to romance his potential mate by picking flowers. Although poisonous and resulting in an embarrassing rash, the flowers were appreciated and spun the phrase "It's the almost-thought that kind-of counts"
- 100 AD Valentinius of Alexandria was born. An early Bishop of Rome, Valentinius believed that the marriage chamber was actually important, causing numerous huffs and puffs and an occasional fainting.
- 496 Pope Gelasius I declared the "Feast of St. Valentine", referring to an earlier martyred saint (different than Valentinius) whose birth and death are not confirmed. Little is known about this early saint, although it may be a priest who was executed in the 3rd century by Cladius II. Incidentally, no cards were sent.
- 1382 Chaucer writes the first recorded correlation of Valentine's day with romantic love in his "Parlement of Foules". It is possible that the traditions of modern Valentines Day did not exist before Chaucer's writing, but rather started to come into their own around this time.
- Earliest surviving Valentine was a poem written by Charles the Duke of Orleans to his wife in 1415. Of course, being imprisoned in the Tower of London tends to bring out the romantic in you.
- English settlers bring the concept of Valentines day to North America in the 19th century. Hundreds of chocolate executives gathered in a dark room to laugh maniacally and rub their hands together (with actual organ music playing in the background).
- The first mass-production of Valentine cards began after 1847 by Esther Howland of Worchester, Massachusetts, whose father owned a stationary store.
- 1891 first case of "Valentine Insomnia", as New Jersey third-grader Herbert Bard debated whether Susy from school loved him based on the size of a mandatory Valentine card. Also first recorded case of broken heart by "cooties".
- 1929 In a sweeping gesture of romance, ol' softy Al Capone guns down seven members of a rival gang, forever known as the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.
- As television and mass production sink deeply into the American psyche during the 20th century, Valentine's Day becomes increasingly associated with gifts and the gift-card industry. Some husbands claim this is good, as they can sum up all their love in one convenient, logical gesture. Other's claim this is bad because now they have to remember their anniversary AND Valentine's day. Two whole days? "What is this," they claim, "some kind of cruel joke?"
- 1980's The Diamond Industry begins actively courting the American public to associate Valentine's Day with their product. Although they aren't edible, diamonds are generally considered "interesting to look at", so the plan, of course, works.
- 2007 Valentine's Day is a worldwide phenomenon. For many, it is a day of love, generosity, and appreciation. Sappy? Yes, but heartfelt....and in the end that is all that matters.
- 2008 Sushi executives gather in secret chamber to plot their new wave of association advertisements. Coming soon: "Sushi: Because Romance is in the Guts"
Well, there you have it. Now quit being a wimp and buy something. And make it nice, will ya? Ol' St. Valentine is watching!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Florida Holiday
I went down to Florida this last week, and it was, of course, lots of fun (seminole war chant). I went on a couple adventures, and here are some pics. Wait a minute, was that introduction to quick? I apologize to all long intro enthusiasts out there (longintroists).
This is the Dora Canal. It is so beautiful you instantly want to become a landscape painter, complete with beret. The pic on the right is a nice little gator. He was a modernist writer, as it turned out.
Here is a cottonmouth. Beautiful and poisonous, like many things in life. Look closely, it is there. Closer...closer...whoa, not that close (laughter from audience, appreciative claps)! On the right is your basic Egret. Just sitting there, hanging out. I tried to talk to him, but he was far to cool for mundane conversation.
If you don't think the root system of a Bald Cypress tree is cool, you need to be slapped immediately. I went fishing, and caught me some fish (you have to say that out loud in a redneck accent, btw). Did I wade in the water? Only the gators will tell.
Florida has some of the prettiest sunsets. I kinda like this picture.
Who is that? Is that Macy and Bailey? Is that who that is? Isabuddabudadoba? A bubbadooodabuubabuuuuba?
That's all, folks!
This is the Dora Canal. It is so beautiful you instantly want to become a landscape painter, complete with beret. The pic on the right is a nice little gator. He was a modernist writer, as it turned out.
Here is a cottonmouth. Beautiful and poisonous, like many things in life. Look closely, it is there. Closer...closer...whoa, not that close (laughter from audience, appreciative claps)! On the right is your basic Egret. Just sitting there, hanging out. I tried to talk to him, but he was far to cool for mundane conversation.
If you don't think the root system of a Bald Cypress tree is cool, you need to be slapped immediately. I went fishing, and caught me some fish (you have to say that out loud in a redneck accent, btw). Did I wade in the water? Only the gators will tell.
Florida has some of the prettiest sunsets. I kinda like this picture.
Who is that? Is that Macy and Bailey? Is that who that is? Isabuddabudadoba? A bubbadooodabuubabuuuuba?
That's all, folks!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The Pronging of Helen Wagenstein
Here is a short story I wrote. Disclaimer: This is for humor only and not to be taken seriously
It was 2:15 in the afternoon, and Barry "Balls Out" Wagenstein was frustrated.
"Where are the GODDAMN onions, Helen?!" He roared, the smoke from his Fleshmaster 3000 custom grill billowing thick and fast.
"They are right next to you, moron!" Hissed Helen, holding a tray of deviled eggs.
The guests at the Wagenstein's annual barbecue stuffed themselves with various grades of charred meat, washed down by beer and second rate soda knock-offs. The barbecue and all it's inhabitants, if airlifted and planted in any other backyard in North America, would easily be indistinguishable from most local barbecues, and any reasonable person would go for hours before realizing something was amiss. Yes, there were dogs playing, yes, there were medicated children splashing in the Sears model Atlantis above-ground pool ($1,900 after discount), and yes, there were plenty of Spiderman arm-floaters.
Barry looked down and saw the onion slices. He grabbed them and slapped them one-by-one on his "Turbo-Burgers", making sure no eye-contact was made which would have acknowledged Helen's victory.
14 meters to the northeast corner, a trio of housewives gathered, their hair and sunglasses matching their shoes perfectly. Their conversation was so mundane and recycled it is impossible to record and relate with any sort of meaning or greater subtext, and any attempt to do so would result in immediate dismissal and possible nausea.
Five feet out from the pool to the southwest, Arnold stood with his wife. They were new, and had spent the last 25 minutes talking to the Schultzes about the home-owners association. This ended, however, when Susan Schultze (A name which her parents cringed upon when hearing of the wedding 7 years ago), gave her husband "The code", meaning it was time to politely move on. Susan and her husband had the code worked out years ago, and they delighted in the "suburban hipness" having a code brought them. Years later, when Susan's husband was dying, he told her he let the code slip at work, and all that time the other couples knew exactly what Susan was doing when she did it.
"That's why I never won Best-Fruit-Salad at the company block party" she speculated as her husband's body relaxed and went limp.
Barry flipped row number two, making sure the black scrapings didn't separate from the meat. In his mind, this was the key, and he'd be DAMNED if he let the separation happen. Helen walked by, of course, at this exact moment of speculation. Unknown to her, this would turn out to be the defining moment of her life.
"Why do you do that? Everytime. Why?" Squatted Helen, folding her arms.
"Just let it go, Helen." said Barry in his best 'scary-calm' voice.
"It is so gross. I don't understand. Why do you keep those scrapings on the meat?"
Barry fidgeted with his prong poker. His face began to swell. Helen was undaunted.
"Tell me right now!" yelled Helen "You think you are some sort of Chef or something. It's ridiculous. You and that stupid grill!"
Barry wiped the sweat off his forehead.
"I'm warning you Helen, you have no idea. Don't be a fool."
Helen's face warmed as she relished in the attack. This felt so good. It was like crying at a romance movie, only more fulfilling.
"You are ruining everyones meal. They all hate it, they just don't say. I'll say it though. You....Barry Wagenstein....are a TERRIBLE GRILLER!"
At that moment Barry howled in a frenzied cry so deep and primeval the entire barbecue stood motionless. His yell was vibrant, powerful, emotional, and people couldn't help but notice a bizarre connection with it, as if some long-lost genetic code had suddenly been awakened.
Barry lunged out with his prong, poking Helen hard in the right side of her gut. In an instant, a massive swell of air bellowed out of the puncture, vibrating and farting like a giant Balloon blown up and released. Her body shriveled and collapsed, jetting upward from the force of the air and twirling higher and higher like a rogue leaf. Within moments, she disappeared into the sky, never to be seen again.
Barry looked out at the crowd, their stunned silence unable to move or grasp what had actually taken place. Someones cellphone rang, which they promptly flung into the pool.
"So," said Barry calmly "Who would like some Turbo-burgers".
A line formed by the grill, and the silent pact was made. No one would ever speak of this, and it would be completely erased from the annals of human history.
- end
It was 2:15 in the afternoon, and Barry "Balls Out" Wagenstein was frustrated.
"Where are the GODDAMN onions, Helen?!" He roared, the smoke from his Fleshmaster 3000 custom grill billowing thick and fast.
"They are right next to you, moron!" Hissed Helen, holding a tray of deviled eggs.
The guests at the Wagenstein's annual barbecue stuffed themselves with various grades of charred meat, washed down by beer and second rate soda knock-offs. The barbecue and all it's inhabitants, if airlifted and planted in any other backyard in North America, would easily be indistinguishable from most local barbecues, and any reasonable person would go for hours before realizing something was amiss. Yes, there were dogs playing, yes, there were medicated children splashing in the Sears model Atlantis above-ground pool ($1,900 after discount), and yes, there were plenty of Spiderman arm-floaters.
Barry looked down and saw the onion slices. He grabbed them and slapped them one-by-one on his "Turbo-Burgers", making sure no eye-contact was made which would have acknowledged Helen's victory.
14 meters to the northeast corner, a trio of housewives gathered, their hair and sunglasses matching their shoes perfectly. Their conversation was so mundane and recycled it is impossible to record and relate with any sort of meaning or greater subtext, and any attempt to do so would result in immediate dismissal and possible nausea.
Five feet out from the pool to the southwest, Arnold stood with his wife. They were new, and had spent the last 25 minutes talking to the Schultzes about the home-owners association. This ended, however, when Susan Schultze (A name which her parents cringed upon when hearing of the wedding 7 years ago), gave her husband "The code", meaning it was time to politely move on. Susan and her husband had the code worked out years ago, and they delighted in the "suburban hipness" having a code brought them. Years later, when Susan's husband was dying, he told her he let the code slip at work, and all that time the other couples knew exactly what Susan was doing when she did it.
"That's why I never won Best-Fruit-Salad at the company block party" she speculated as her husband's body relaxed and went limp.
Barry flipped row number two, making sure the black scrapings didn't separate from the meat. In his mind, this was the key, and he'd be DAMNED if he let the separation happen. Helen walked by, of course, at this exact moment of speculation. Unknown to her, this would turn out to be the defining moment of her life.
"Why do you do that? Everytime. Why?" Squatted Helen, folding her arms.
"Just let it go, Helen." said Barry in his best 'scary-calm' voice.
"It is so gross. I don't understand. Why do you keep those scrapings on the meat?"
Barry fidgeted with his prong poker. His face began to swell. Helen was undaunted.
"Tell me right now!" yelled Helen "You think you are some sort of Chef or something. It's ridiculous. You and that stupid grill!"
Barry wiped the sweat off his forehead.
"I'm warning you Helen, you have no idea. Don't be a fool."
Helen's face warmed as she relished in the attack. This felt so good. It was like crying at a romance movie, only more fulfilling.
"You are ruining everyones meal. They all hate it, they just don't say. I'll say it though. You....Barry Wagenstein....are a TERRIBLE GRILLER!"
At that moment Barry howled in a frenzied cry so deep and primeval the entire barbecue stood motionless. His yell was vibrant, powerful, emotional, and people couldn't help but notice a bizarre connection with it, as if some long-lost genetic code had suddenly been awakened.
Barry lunged out with his prong, poking Helen hard in the right side of her gut. In an instant, a massive swell of air bellowed out of the puncture, vibrating and farting like a giant Balloon blown up and released. Her body shriveled and collapsed, jetting upward from the force of the air and twirling higher and higher like a rogue leaf. Within moments, she disappeared into the sky, never to be seen again.
Barry looked out at the crowd, their stunned silence unable to move or grasp what had actually taken place. Someones cellphone rang, which they promptly flung into the pool.
"So," said Barry calmly "Who would like some Turbo-burgers".
A line formed by the grill, and the silent pact was made. No one would ever speak of this, and it would be completely erased from the annals of human history.
- end
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Weekend Adventures
That's right, I've been off exploring again. The area is beautiful, and there are all kinds of cool things hanging about. Besides the natural beauty, a striking aspect is the number of well preserved old houses - Victorian, antebellum, log cabins - you name it. Many of these homes stand guard over vast stretches of rolling pasture at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains, happily unaware of what century it is. At any rate, here are some pics from this weekend:
The Natural Chimneys, near my house. They are formed when sink holes of limestone corrode out. There are also caves at their feet, which I bought a flashlight to go exploring in.
We had an ice-storm this weekend - bad for the power company but undeniably beautiful. The first pic is going up to the top of the Appalachian ridge on a cool old dirt road. The second is at endless caverns, which was closed. Why? Ice storm.
View from the top of the Chimneys. At the second picture - if you look closely - is evidence of a new and vicious monster in town.
This kind of view is all over the place. I'm going to charge admission for my visitors!
Well, that's all for now. You fellas be good!
The Natural Chimneys, near my house. They are formed when sink holes of limestone corrode out. There are also caves at their feet, which I bought a flashlight to go exploring in.
We had an ice-storm this weekend - bad for the power company but undeniably beautiful. The first pic is going up to the top of the Appalachian ridge on a cool old dirt road. The second is at endless caverns, which was closed. Why? Ice storm.
View from the top of the Chimneys. At the second picture - if you look closely - is evidence of a new and vicious monster in town.
This kind of view is all over the place. I'm going to charge admission for my visitors!
Well, that's all for now. You fellas be good!
Monday, December 10, 2007
More Adventures
Been running around the area some more to see what kind of stuff I can find, and found some pretty cool things - here are some pics. I also am putting up for the first time (drumroll) a video clip. It is of a Bluegrass festival I went to on Saturday. So without further - what's that word again?
An old Confederate fort in the mountains, and a beautiful creek.
Some guy actually created a foam replica of Stonehenge around here. Hilarious!
View from the Valley and Ridge mountains, and a random waterfall.
Here are Grand Caverns. About 20 minutes from my house.
And here is the clip of the Bluegrass festival.
Okay, there are some pics. Now all I need is a pointer.
An old Confederate fort in the mountains, and a beautiful creek.
Some guy actually created a foam replica of Stonehenge around here. Hilarious!
A Natural bridge. It is huge! And an Indian village out in the woods. So cool.
View from the Valley and Ridge mountains, and a random waterfall.
Here are Grand Caverns. About 20 minutes from my house.
This is supposed to be the oldest Arbor Vitea tree in the world. And apparently, this is what Mr. Cat thinks treadmills are for.
I am particularly proud of this picture. The mist formed a "waterfall" out of the trees.
I am particularly proud of this picture. The mist formed a "waterfall" out of the trees.
And here is the clip of the Bluegrass festival.
Okay, there are some pics. Now all I need is a pointer.
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