Nerves!

Hello, readers. All two of you.

I close on the house Friday morning and I'm awash in phone calls, faxes, moving plans etc. And chewing my fingernails to the bone. I'm sure everything is going to go fine but that doesn't mean I can't be a little nervous, right?

I'll try to get some sort of epic post up next week.

The Great Conversationalist

This happened a long time ago, but it gets brought up every once in a while and every time it's just as funny. Although, the hilarity probably won't translate very well into a written story and it'll end up being something that I have to explain away with the standard "you had to be there" answer. But I'm telling it anyway.

Hound Dogs has absolutely fantastic pizza. Yes, I just linked to myspace. I feel awful about it but it's the only sort of official site I could find for the place. And I should let you know that I'm pretty sure me linking to myspace is in the Book of Revelation as one of the signs of the end of the world. So you may want to get to the grocery store and stock up on milk and bread and toaster strudels. Maybe a tub or two of cookie dough. I don't know.

And although it's not related to the story, let me also state that part of the entire Hound Dogs experience is the...uhm....ambiance. And by ambiance I mean dirty, dingy tables and loud, usually terrible music coming from the attached bar and bathrooms that make you want to put on a biohazard suit before you enter (which, in turn, makes the reason for entering much more difficult to accomplish) and excessively tattooed/pierced waitresses and generally AWFUL service. You've been warned.

Anyway, it used to be a place that we frequented. One night I was there with M2M and her husband except I'm pretty sure they weren't married yet. I don't think they were engaged yet either. So just dating. And we're sitting there talking about who knows what. Which is what we always do. Talk and talk and talk some more. So Future-Husband is making some sort of point that he feels is important. And as he finishes this point he turns to me as if to say, "What do you have to contribute on this subject? I'm very interested in your opinion."

Now, the thing about my digestive system is, it's very funny. Great comic timing, wonderful improvisational skills. It even did a stint at Second City back in 2000. And because great quantities of Dr. Pepper had been consumed that night, my digestive system had collected large amounts of gas that needed to be expunged. Was it hoarding all of this gas for just such an opportunity? Who can say, really? All we know is that the opportunity was presented and it was taken with no hesitation.

So he turns to me expecting a response and I turn to him and oblige with great enthusiasm. A great big enthusiastic belch directly into his face. Immature? Maybe. Unbelievably funny? Without question. What exactly made it so funny? I'm not even sure. Part of it was the fact that his girlfriend found it to be ridiculously hilarious. So her laughing made me laugh harder and my laughing made her laugh harder and so on. Five minutes later we're holding our sides and crying because the laughter hasn't stopped. But what made it so damn funny was the fact that he did NOT find it funny. At all. Throughout the entire thing he just had a look on his face that said I AM EXTREMELY IRRITATED. THIS IS NOT FUNNY STOP WITH YOUR IDIOT LAUGHING. And of course, we couldn't because that look made it even more funny.

So while I am capable of throwing words like "disingenuous" into everyday conversation, I'm just as skilled at making a quality bodily function joke.

I believe the word is "versatile."

Finely Aged

In the bathroom this morning and I hear my phone ring. Wondering who would be calling me this early in the morning and go check it and see I've missed a call from Mom. She's left a message. Why is my Mom calling me this early? Is someone sick? In an accident? Worse?

Listen to the message. Mom, singing "Happy Birthday" into my voicemail.

Oh. My birthday. I guess it is. Thanks for the panic attack, Mom!

So, what do I want for my birthday? I. WANT. MORE. MONEH. I have a Paypal account. You can give me some of that internet moneh.

If you don't get the joke, go watch the Canada On Strike episode of South Park. Hilarity.

And Ah Never Even Gradgeeated!

So, T just graduated from OSU law school. (Whooptee-doo!) His parents were in town and a big group of people went out to dinner. I think there were 12 people there at one long table and I sat at one end while T and his parents sat at the other. So there was very little interaction throughout the night.

So at some point I engaged T in a conversation that naturally, since it was being carried on from one end of the table to the other, everyone heard. Long story short (like my brother-in-law, HEY-OHHHH!), I was telling him about the ludicrous reasoning that OSU's president gave for being against a playoff in college football. In giving my opinion, I used the word "disingenuous" to describe the esteemed president's statement. And then everyone at the table reacted with shock and awe that I used such a word, as if I am typically a blubbering, monosyllabic Neanderthal incapable of stringing more than two words together to communicate. I really didn't see what all the fuss was about as I thought that the word was particularly apropos (another one!) for making the point I was trying to make. In fact, I can't really think of another word to use in its place except for maybe "bullshit" which, considering my company at the time, wasn't a viable option.

The point is that this was really the only thing T's parents heard me say the entire night. I'm fairly certain that I didn't actually speak directly to them at all. Well, apparently, I made quite the impression. They told T how impressed they were with me and commented on what a well-spoken young man I am. And I'm still amused by the fact that they came to this conclusion after hearing me basically speak a single sentence.

Now, I'm certainly not going to discourage such an accurate, well-formed opinion. T's parents are clearly very good judges of character. But I can't help but wonder how impressed they'd be if they heard my choice of language during a particularly competitive video game. Or while I'm watching my hockey team lose. Or while I'm driving. Hmmmm?

Speed Kills

So as summer approaches, it's pretty much a certainty that we will see $4/gallon gas prices. Hell, maybe some of you are already seeing it. And of course, along with the rise in prices is the matching rise in complaining about those prices. Bitching about gas prices has taken its rightful place in Americana alongside baseball, moms and apple pie.

Although, that statement could probably be clarified. The reality is that bitching without actually doing something about the problem has become part of our birthright. And that's less of an American quality than it is a quality of humanity. Humans love to bitch about their myriad inconveniences but that's as much work as they are willing to do to foster any change in regards to those inconveniences.

Nowhere does this apply better than the issue of gas prices. The truth of the matter is that as high as prices are and as much complaining as we do about them, prices still haven't reached that mythical point where Americans will substantially change their driving habits.

Exhibit A is the number of people that still insist on driving behemoth SUVs when they have absolutely no practical need for them.

Exhibit B is the issue of speed. The sweet spot for fuel efficiency is between 55 and 60 mph. And fuel efficiency drops the higher you get above 60 mph. So here's the question: how many of you are willing to drive 55 mph when the speed limit (in Ohio) is 65 mph? Anyone? Yeah, me neither. I don't know that I'd ever be able to bring myself to drive 10 mph below the limit. It just isn't in my DNA. Plus, on some roads (I-670, the Autobahn of Central Ohio) driving 55 mph would be putting your life in danger. But over the last 4 or 5 days I've been doing something that I don't typically do: actually following the speed limit.

Historically, I am a 5-10 mph over-the-limit driver with the occasional 15 mph over thrown in for good measure. But my thinking has been that even if I'm not getting the ideal efficiency of driving 55, I can still get some savings by reducing my speed. Every little bit helps, right?

So what have I learned from this little experiment? That people who actually follow the speed limit are in a very small minority. I'm getting passed like crazy. Especially by people driving those idiotic SUVs. And as I see car after car fly by me, I can't help but wonder...what the hell is the big hurry? Even though I have a history of treating speed limits as friendly suggestions, I've never been stupid enough to say that the reason I speed is so I can get to my destination quicker. My reason is simple. I LIKE GOING FAST. There is no other reason. I like passing other people. Is it ego? Testosterone? Who knows? It just feels good. But saving time is not a valid reason.

You're very rarely going to be driving more than 40 miles in the Central Ohio area. Assuming you can drive the whole 40 miles at top speed (which you obviously can't), driving 75 mph will save you a whole 8 minutes over driving 60 mph. That's it! 8 minutes! Yes, obviously, over long distances the time savings is more significant. But the large portion of our lives are probably spent within a 20 mile radius and speeding does not provide a material time savings.

Now, will all of this information stop your neighbor from driving their GMC Envoy 70 mph to work tomorrow? Probably not. And will they then bitch to you about how much it cost them to fill it up? It's very likely. But those complaints then have about the same weight as those of people who complain about the government but don't vote.

Bottom line, until you're willing to make some changes in your life to mitigate the effects of rising fuel costs...don't come crying to me.

The Invisible Man

Layer Cake is a pretty good movie.

This post is not about that movie.

This post is about watching that movie with your best friends one night. Then, a mere five nights later, one of those friends turns to you and says, "Have you ever seen Layer Cake?"

I think that my blank stare was really the only answer I could have given.

How could I possibly have an ego with friends like these?

What's My Age Again?

I've never been someone who has put very much thought into aging. I've never seen it as something to get too worked up about. It's going to happen, it happens to everyone and there's no sense in worrying about it. And there's nothing that says I have to act differently as I age. I'm required to grow old but I'm certainly not required to grow up.

Last year I turned thirty. It wasn't a big deal. Went out with friends, had a nice dinner, etc. But it wasn't any more momentous than any other birthday. I turn thirty-one in a couple of weeks and I have to admit, it's weirding me out a little bit. Not that the specific age signifies anything important. But I have now reached the point where I am in my thirties (cue the dramatic squirrel music).

I know it seems silly, but it sounds different to me. In my thirties just sounds...I don't know, older. Like I should have a house, wife, 2.5 kids and a family dog (although as a Mormon, in my thirties probably means I should have 5-7 kids by now).

It seems like some people have this specific plan laid out for how their entire lives are going to go. You know, certain milestones have to occur by a certain age. Marriage, first kid, tenth kid, etc. I'm sorry but those people are WEIRD. I've never had anything more than the vaguest of guesses as to how my life was going to go. And it's a good thing because even those vague guesses have been completely off.

So as I head into my thirties, if I have any preconceived notions as to how they're going to go, I suppose I should just trash them because they'll probably be just as unpredictable as my twenties. And that's fine. That's what makes the whole thing interesting, you know?

I know this guy whose life has pretty much followed the exact Mormon life blueprint. Married with two kids, all before age 25. And sometimes I wonder if he had the opportunity to go back, would he do it the same way? Not that he's extremely unhappy or anything. I have no doubt that he loves his wife and kids. But I just get the impression from him that sometimes he looks around at his life and says, "How the hell did this happen?"

I guess the point is that it's a good thing I never paid any attention to following the blueprint. Because even though my life may not be where I imagined it would, its probably right where it needs to be.

mommy omg im retrded

Since the title of this blog is currently "Things I Hate", I figure I should make a post about something I hate, no?

Sidebar: The title of the blog is currently up for debate. I'll consider all suggestions. "The Angry Mormon" is one I've tossed around in my head. I think it fits. I don't know. Like I said, suggestions are welcome.

Anyway, back to the hating.

You may or may not be aware of this story. If not, skim it real quick. It's actually pretty cool. Amazing that the girl was able to hide under her blanket while a burglar sat on the bed right next to her. And I love that the mom just drove up and rammed their car.

But the one thing that really stood out to me in this story (and this is probably pretty insightful as to my personality) wasn't the impressive acts of this mother and daughter. No, no. It was the horrific text message that this girl sent to her mother to inform her that thieves were in their home while she was alone sick.

"Mommy omg im scard i thnk were being robd im hiding help me!"

Do you have these certain things that just make you inordinately angry? Like, the severity of your reaction is way, way, WAY above and beyond the severity of the actual offense? I do. In fact, I have a LOT of those things. That's...sort of the point of this blog.

I feel like the eighty year old man on his front porch yelling at the neighborhood kids to get off his lawn when I say this. But texting and instant messaging shorthand makes me INSANE. Punch-someone-in-the-neck insane. I can't stand it. There is absolutely no good reason why a person can't take the extra split second it takes to hit the damn period key. Improper punctuation and spelling are the bane of my existence in the electronic world. I'm not talking about the occasional typo. That happens. (Had to throw that in there in case I make a typo in this post). I'm talking about the shortening of words into absolute gibberish. "Ur" does not equal "your" or even "you're". It never has and it never will.

I know what you're going to say next. "But shortening words lets me text faster and that's important at certain times...like when I'm driving!"

My response is this: Stop texting while you're driving, you damn jackass! Is that going to be your excuse when you end up t-boning me at some intersection and turn me into a quadriplegic? I swear, if I see someone texting while driving I want to run them into a bridge abutment.

If I had gotten a text like that from my daughter that our house was being robbed, I'm pretty certain my only response would have been, "I'm sorry, was that English? You're what? We're being what? Is that all one sentence?"

I'm not kidding. If one of my kids sent me a text or instant message that said:

"omg dad! i need ur help i took sum heroin im supr sic i need sum1 2 take me 2 the hosptl!!!11"

I'm pretty sure I'd be way more pissed off about the formatting of the message than the actual content. I think my response would be something along the lines of, "Sorry, kid. I'd love to help but I'm afraid that I'm not fluent in moron."



As I prepare to post this, the thought occurs to me that I'm getting ready to tell a bunch of my friends about something that is immensely annoying to me, some of whom have my phone number and are capable of sending me text messages. Do I really want to do this? Oh, well.

Another Waste of Interweb Bandwidth

Why blog, you may ask? Why, indeed.

Am I arrogant enough to think that others will actually care about anything I have to say about any given topic? No.

Do I even think that anything I have to say about any given topic will be particularly meaningful or deep? Of course not.

One thought that's motivating this is that my best friends are scattering across the country and I'm thinking that the majority of our interaction is going to move online. I'm hoping that posting whatever random thoughts enter my head on a given day will spur some conversating among us. This isn't the first time something like this has happened to me. I've lived in the same area for coming up on 10 years. I've had several groups of friends that, after a couple of years, moved on to different things and places. Inevitably, we fail to keep in touch and I've lost track of them. I don't want that to happen.

So, will I even stick with this for longer than a minute? Probably not. Is it going to be worth your time reading this? Probably not.

But, as a certain friend recently said, I can be pretty damn funny.

C*** Block

I'll get a proper intro post up later, but I found this text conversation that just occurred sufficiently funny to post.

Friend that I'll call T: [name redacted] just added me on Facebook!!! This is the rekindling of our beautiful relationship! Things are going to get hot! Touchdown baby!

(note: I apologize for the overabundance of exclamation points. This is a direct quote)

Me: Just try to remember who was there before you. And I'm not talking about her husband.

T: Ha ha. You cured me! That was amazing!

Me: I have a gift.