Sir Mix-A-Lot was Knighted for his Work Promoting Women's Rights

Baby got back!

So, we have this new fancy-shmancy type of trash can in my home in California (the best state) that opens when you wave your hand in front of it or even walk by it.
This enforces the "he-who-tops-it-off-drops-it-off" rule.
But the batteries don't work right. Or I don't know how to wave my hand correctly.
So I've found the only way I know how to open the kitchen trash can lid:

The title of this blog entry pretty much gives it away.

So I have to back into the trash can to get it to open, then turn quickly, and deposit the trash in the can before the lid closes.

I use quick, inconspicuous dance steps to get the job done right.
It's really sad.

Kissing Kousins

So I am now watching MoTab's (Morm. Tab. Choir) Christmas special on PBS with Sissel, the Norweigan singer. Then I realized something: If Swedish and Danish had a baby, it would be Norweigan.

So then I got to thinking: where do other places/ people potentially come from?

Canada is an easy one: Canada is America's sister that was raised by a stern British nanny- the kind that uses a switch when you're naughty.

Florida is also a slam-dunk example: a marriage of New York and Alabama. Florida obviously has identity issues.

New Jersey is New York's red-headed step child from its later relationship with Connecticut.

California has produced five different states: Arizona, New Mexico, Oregon, Nevada (please pronounce it right), and Wisconsin.

Arizona had a brief marriage to Florida in the 1990s from which it produced Missouri. Canada is currently raising Washington, which is Oregon and Vermont's love child.

I now have a long list of state's I can't live in. I'm working on making it longer.

Please send any hate mail to:

Chad Can Plan ; 1120 Main Street ; Cool Town, USA 867-5309

Missouri and Tennessee on a date (below)

Saruman! Saruman! Saruman!

I am sitting in Las Vegas's McCarran Airport with an ETA 12 hours later than what I originally expected. With a free night in a Super 8 motel, $10 of meal vouchers left, and a free flight anywhere in the lower 48 states. Ah, I love flight cancellations and overbooked flights. And I love free wireless connections in the airport peppered with a very jetlagged and sleep-deprived the Chad.
I am back in my beloved Western United States. "East is least, West is best" is what I remind myself everyday on the East Coast.
You know what the greatest thing is about the West? It's not the people (people are equally cool everywhere, just in a different way). It's not the food (same everywhere, though with Carl's Junior and Rally's and Dreyer's). It's not the climate (though I really like the climate in the West better).
It's the lack of trees.
I know, I am officially evil.
I like trees. I like how they provide shade.
But all things in moderation. I mean, they're everywhere in Florida. And they make everything dark. And you can't see far into them.
So what do they have to hide?
I'm suspicious.
So I am reminded of Lord of the Rings and Saruman, who felled many a tree, and the orks and Uruk-hai, who shouted his name, encouraging deforestation.
So I shout with my Middle Earth brethren:
Saruman! Saruman! Saruman!

Chad Can Plan for Hobbits

There is a wonderful world called Hobbitville at 1895 S 1300 E in Salt Lake City.

It's home to hobbits.

Or should I say "Little People" You know who I am talking about.

It is a magical subdivision where little people can live in peace. It is shielded from view by large fences and magical landscaping so you can't see through it.

Big people can only come into the entry/parking area which is guarded by a very tall person ("giant") and taxidermied stuffed chipmunk/pigeon creations. Or so my sources say.

The residences-where only some people go- has small cottages where the little people live. It also has a pond and a bridge. If you intrude into the area, the little people get stones and may throw them at you, or they may try to cast spells (verbatim what my source said- I kid you not). This subdivision has existed for a while, and apparently they have interbred a lot.

I suggest leaving the little people alone. They've suffered enough at our hands.

Mental map that a source drew for me:

This place's existence has been confirmed by 4 eye witnesses

Be Somebody!

I promise a real post in a couple days. But let me tell you, this morsel will quench your Chad Can Plan thirst. I especially like and recommend the comment entitled "It's 'T' Time."

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/6300183556/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

Chad Can't Blog

To show solidarity with my Hollywood writer brothers and sisters, this will be the last post until the strike ends.

OR until I'm done with my book critique paper, whichever's first.

Advice

Here's some advice that I have recently discovered.

Before you marry someone, get the following info (and no I am not married):
1. Name
2. Where they're from
3. Birthday and age

The following are scams:
1. Organic food
2. Ethanol
3. Canada
4. Comeback tours

If you think your food needs an extra umph, trying one of the following ingredients:
1. Fat
2. Sugar
3. Milk
4. Salt

Don't vacation in the following places:
1. Cuba
2. Syria
3. Libya
4. Missouri (It's still not a state)

If you want something to do, call:
(559) 767-2676

If I grow out my hair just a little bit longer, I think I can get my hair feathered. Then, glam shots! Anyone got black ribbed turtlenecks?
Glam shot of our Secretary of State

Tazzies on the Town

Scientists are trying to bring back this animal, the Tazzie Tiger, which went extinct in the early 1900s. They apparently have enough DNA to clone it by using a tiger or some other feline as a surrogate parent. So I thought to myself- who would I bring back from the grave if I could? I propose the following celebrities/ personalities.

Edgar Allen Poe- His poems were so amazing, and he died tragically young. And he liked nature. I think that for bringing Poe back he would have to: A) recite his poems at a party of mine for Halloween or the Winter Solstice, B) Accompany me on shopping trips to freak out the other customers, and C) Accompany me on double dates with a girl that I choose for him. I think because he's kinda creepy and married his cousin, it would make me look really good.


Chester A. Arthur- Mainly because of his amazing mustache, his cool mutton chops, and his snazzy suit. Plus, you could go up to him and say: "Wow! It's Chester A. Arthur! We hardly knew ye!"

Mary Shelley- the author of Frankenstein. She could help me with A) finding corpse parts B) Assembling them into a monster, and C) Writing the great American novel (Although she's British, she would give me perspective).


Cher. I don't have a picture of her, but that's not really the point. I am really indifferent towards her music, but I'm not indifferent towards her Fresno-ness. She briefly attended Fresno High (she never graduated). But I take pride in the fact that she is a celebrity and from my home town and has A) never been in prison, B) doesn't belong in prison C) doesn't look or smell like she belongs in prison (Unlike K Fed), D) hasn't played someone who works in prison (Mayor Bubba excluded- he was more of celebrity), and E) hasn't been on Star Trek Voyager (like a certain Fresnan).

Not all of us are like Dick Clark, who took a thirty-year break from aging. Do I want the same kind of eternally young treatment? Maybe in a few years. I'm not quite at the peak of my pre-botox perfection.

Freemasons Make Good BBQ

But they don't know how to advertise well.

That is just one of the things I have come to realize while I've been here in Florida.

The Freemasons hosted a $6 BBQ, and so my freemason co-worker invited me along. They roasted the chicken on cherrywood and used a good type of sauce. Boy, those freemasons must have good marinades as one of their little secrets!

Back in the day, they used to think that Mormons had horns. It makes sense. What else would explain our devilish good looks?

There are things called chiggers. They like to hide in the grass and in the Spanish moss that hangs from the trees. I am afraid of my little chigger buddies because they like to burrow into your skin and make you itch. Ouch! Everytime I walk under a tree I am so scared to have them brush into my hair, causing me to shave off my hair, cover my head in nail polish, and wait for the ouch to go away.

On Monday, I tried not to make any comments in my classes because I'm like Hermione Granger, raising my hand awkwardly before anyone else. I figured if I sit on my hands like I had to do in kindergarten everytime I get the urge to make a comment, I could do it. But 2 and 1/2 hours into the 6 hours of classes, I fell off the bandwagon. But where's my intervention?

Spanish Moss- the home of chiggers

A Bimberly by Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet

I was shown this website a while back. It is amazing. I am asking all of you who read this to comment on which name is your favorite and should be adopted by more people. I honestly think this site could be for any state--there are crazy names everywhere--but I only know of one for Utah. My favorite is Bimberly.

http://wesclark.com/ubn/

I Love You Wikipedia

Dear Wikipedia,

Thank you for helping me at work on Friday. You were there when my education failed me.

Love,

The Chad, who can plan

Announcement

This is a very boring announcement to say that anyone may make a posting on this blog, regardless of their status as a blogger. I thought you'd all sleep easier now.

Things Dreams are Made of...

Because of my background in languages, I've had dreams in weird languages. Once I had a dream in German, Finnish, and English. Everything was subtitled, but I couldn't read the subtitles (oddly enough).
In another, I saw ladybugs spelling out words in German on a paisley background. Very sixties.
In yet another, I was in the US, but everything looked like Finland, and everyone was Japanese.
In another dream, I was German Chancellor Helmut Kohl (my fourth favorite chancellor) and was meeting officials in German. Even my dreams are boring.
But not this one I had the other day.
It was scary. Scarier and worse than the dreams above.
I was speaking with a Southern accent.
I had to force myself to speak that way, and it wasn't my real accent, but I was talking with a drawl nonetheless.
I don't know why I so fear gaining a Southern accent. Maybe it's because I want to retain my 85% Californianess. Maybe it's out of sheer west-coast snobbery. But I was very scared that I will stop speaking like my Golden State compatriots.
On a lighter note, the following link (hopefully) will link you to a very funny but scary video that potentially could help my Finnish.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCgrG35-3js
Thanks Brad for the link.

Toblerone TV

I know some people who live in Switzerland, so I figured that I'd start watching the tv broadcasts over the internet in German from Switzerland. The only problem: Swiss German is ugly. To put it more precisely, German's linguistic red-headed stepchild.

German's red-headed step-child.

'Nuff said.

They didn't have too much to say about Switzerland that was shocking- cow prices high, young people getting beat up- at least there was nothing about Election 2008.

I got a hold of one of the election poster's in the Swiss election. Some clown wants to kick out criminal aliens. I figured I'd probably be kicked out (If I were there and not in Florida) if it gets passed- some just can't handle the flava.

If I see anything I find interesting, I'll let you know.

Caption: Chad as a black sheep getting kicked out of Switzerland.

TV is fun for Chad

So me and two colleagues in my program were highlighted in the Colbert Report. They guy in the orange is not me, but I am the guy on the end of the bench. In any case, I was highlighted on the show. Follow the link and go to the Word of the Day "Solitarity".
http://www.comedycentral.com/shows/the_colbert_report/index.jhtml
If the video changes, you may have to search in the archives.

It's a Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy World

The following article is from the Gainesville Sun, Gainesville's local newspaper. I was about 2 feet from where the guy was initially taken down onto the ground, at which point I moved to about eight or ten feet away. You can see me move to the end of the bench in the video. I warn you, it is a little disturbing.
http://gainesvillesun.com/article/20070917/NEWS/70917016/1002/NEWS

Feral is Fun!

So my Growth Management class professor (and no, it is not a class about that special time in your life) mentioned feral cats, which are in fact my second favorite class of feral animals (feral goats are naturally my favorite). I found it rather odd considering that my neighborhood is undergoing its own special brand of feralization. Essentially, feral cats are taking over my neighborhood. Twice I have had to swerve to avoid hitting them. I suppose there must have been a dozen or so of them. Where do they come from and why are they here?

I know enough about evolution and biology, &c., so I can wager a guess as to how their numbers have increased. What is to be done about those feral cats? Or should they be here at all?

Pros of feral cats in the neighborhood:

Control of the lizard population. Potential minion pool. A ball of catnip + yarn + fresca = a memorable Saturday night. One of the cats reminds me of Dame Judi Dench (For its sake I hope it's not a tom).

Cons of the exploding feral cat population:

Potential accident from the swerving to avoid them. Vicious attacks from the leader cats. Feline AIDs, the #1 killer of cats. Pain associated with seeing cats fight: Why can't they all just get along?

I have narrowed my options down to four top choices:

1. Calling animal control. 2. Feeding the cats, thus building up an army of minion cats. 3. Giving the cats the Bob Barker treatment. 4. Getting in contact with Alf.

Where do the cats come from and why are they here? I suppose that is the existential question those feral cats are asking themselves right now.

Chad the Springfielder

I thought you might like me as a Simpsonized character. Here I am. Does this really capture me well?

Thanks, Nama

No, Sorry I Can't Have that- I'm a Freegan

This week I saw something about Freegans on the BBC news telecast BBC World News (yes, even my news choices are proper and British). Freegans are, for the lack of a better word, dumpster divers. The cheapest people in the world. And hence I salute you.

Freegans get their food from the dumpster instead of from the supermarket like us "normals." It's almost like a sport to them. They do it out of "political reasons" to "make a point."They get really excited when they find stuff that is valuable. Apparently, half of the food that is thrown out is perfectly edible. Would a dumpster change that? No way, say the freegans.

Fusing recommendations from the BBC and my extensive experience dumpster diving (I did go with a master freegan one time at a dumpster in back of a Domino's), I present to you my tips for a safe and pleasant freegan experience.

1. Supermarkets, restaurants, and rich condominiums are the best places to go.

2. Avoid needles or any sharp objects.

3. You know if it is bad if it: a) smells bad or b) tastes bad.

4. Gloves are preferable but not required.

5. If you find an unopened bag, you still need to inspect it before you eat it.

My freegan experience, if you may know, did not end up with my eating the food. The people who actually got the pizza out of the dumpster distributed it to people's doorsteps. One of my old roommates told me it tasted pretty good, if a bit luke warm.

I'll need to remember that this is all for "political reasons" to "help save the world." I do have a date coming up some time soon.

Caption: Me, with another former roommate and master freegan. I have covered his face with the Union Jack to protect his identity until he chooses, in his own time, to reveal himself.

Link to the Freegan story (text): http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/6933744.stm

Question

Yesterday I learned the name of the person who has been living in my apartment for the past week. The problem is, however, I have seen this guy several times a day. Does it make me a bad person that it took me so long to find out his name?

Go, NOAA!

Tomorrow marks the beginning of the hard-core hurricane season here in Florida (the normal-core season began in May). I don't know about you, but I am pumped. And to celebrate this fortuitous event, my first hurricane season in Florida, I will keep track of the storms that head toward Florida. Each day that a storm is on its way toward Florida, I will record its storm category as points and add up the total at the end of the season. Ten extra points if the hurricane makes landfall in the state. So, for example, if Hurricane Eugenia is a category 3 for 5 days and a category 1 for 4, the total is 3*5+1*4+(E=MC2). 19 points. At the end of the season I will compare scores and take the winning hurricane out to dinner.

Oh, this reminds me of church on Sunday. We had the combined Sunday meeting with all together. The topic was food storage/ plinko. That's right-they did the Price is Right to food storage. They gave people food and stuff if they got things right. I did discover, from everyone's wild and crazy behavior (I'm understating it) that the drug trade does move through Florida, too (and maybe starts here from Columbia). I participated in the revelry, too, but I get the wiggles real easy and have to sit on my hands at church to keep myself reverent. I think in the future I should volunteer to be the reverent child. It'll be fun because I can give everyone self-righteous stares and make them feel ashamed. I love my job.

Monkey(s)

I was informed by my brother that I should actually get a helper monkey, maybe even two. One should be called Smoking Joe Frazier. He didn't specifiy the potential second monkey's name, but I think "On My Back: With a Vengence" would be a good name. On My Back, because it's a nice play on words, and With a Vengence to stay with the naming guidelines I outlined below.

There are numerous advantages to helper monkeys, particularly if they can change their own diapers (or help change each others' diapers). I've always wanted minions, and city planners really don't have minions as a rule. My monkeys/minions could wash my clothes, feed me, and collect brains from cadavers (this is a requirement to be called a minion). In addition, I should teach them how to use an ATM and roller skates (for nights at the roller rink).

PeTA and I

So I think I might get a pet. And by thinking, I mean that I will obsess over it for about a week and then go back to the idea in a year or so.

I know I can't get a cat or a dog. I doubt my landlord would be OK with that, and I just don't have the time for the love required of dog ownership. I don't think I want a cat until I know how to train a cat to use a toilet, like on t.v., or to do my bidding. I'm contented right now with being the cool uncle to my sister's Boston terriers.

So I've settled on a small animal. Lizards, hamsters, mice, guinea pigs, or gerbils all come to mind. I even thought of a tarantula, but spiders creep me out unless, of course, the spider can pull its weight by stealing things or performing amusing tricks.

I've looked into getting a hobbit, but I don't think they export them from New Zealand. Because of the diseases there, really.

In any case, I have a naming philosophy for pets.

Option 1: Your pet's name has to be the exact opposite of you. A jock, for example, would have a Pomeranian named Mr. Squiggles. I could have a Great Dane named BoFlex.

Option 2: Your pet's name has to be the exact opposite of its own qualities. A Chihuahua would have to be G.I. Joe, or a German Shepherd would have to be called Pussywillow.

Option 3: State Capitals or State Names. Indiana, like the movie franchise Indiana Jones, is the most famous fictional example. Sacramento is a good name for a Minx cat.

Option 4: Add the name "Smokey" "Magic" or "Dusty" to any name whatsoever. I met a cat named Smokey Joe, and I believe that this philosophy really works.

Please let me know what you think about what I should get. I mainly want cheap, not disgusting, and fun to play, cuddle, or make mischief with.

And always remember to have your pet spayed or neutered.

I now present to you, after a long delay, a new entry with a new feature:

Random Love From The Chad

Here are some things that I have learned since I have been here in the Deep South:

The Deep South isn't really Southern. If you'll notice on a globe, it's actually in the Northern Hemisphere, along with Mexico, America, America Jr., and Rand McNally.

The Deep South is, however, deep. Deep Fried. Mmmm Mmmm Good. I went to my first Southern BBQ place yesterday and I have to tell you, I mean y'all, that it is delicious.

Humidity also isn't that bad. To give a comparison, it's less pleasant than a John Tesh concert, but more so than a trip to the dentist.

People do have accents here. Southern ones, too. But it seems like each person has their own accent, some have the deep throaty drawl (like they just got up), some have the chain smoker goodness, while others have the I-can-rastle-an-alligator slurr. The latter category is the funnest.

Soylent green is actually people mixed with soy. Hence the name and the bad taste.

Great Britain doesn't actually exist. Whenever you see it, go there, or think about it, you're really dealing with the same studio in Idaho where they faked the Moon Landing 38 years ago this Saturday. Why else would the flag be waving, hmmm?

Cheese and wine, not peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, get better with age.

π is equal to 3.14. You will never need to know the rest of the number.

And here's a picture of something you may enjoy. I certainly know I do:

My Confession to California

Dear California,

It's been a good 23 years as a legal resident of your state. We've really had good times, and I will always consider myself a Californian at heart. Who knows, I may even come back to enjoy your bountiful treasures. But things have changed because I have someone else.

Her name is Florida, and I'm going there, well, because of money. It's nothing personal. She just offered me more money for school than you did. I don't think I'll ever feel about Florida like I do about you. But my opportunities and my life are headed in her direction. It's not you, it's me.

But I'll always remember the good times we had. Like those wonderful years in high school where I was really, really awkward. Or the sunny days that, well, I've never had any where else. Or the lack of swarms of mosquitoes and large bugs. I don't know if Florida could ever really offer that.

But please remember all the good times we've had.

Sincerely,

Chad Can Plan

Plain Language

There were many words that confused me as a child because they weren't what they sounded like.

Take butterfly, for instance. It isn't really a fly. It isn't really butter. And it tastes icky (I'd like a second opinion though). Why did we name this insect after something it's not?

Or euthanasia. I thought to myself: "They're young. They're sexy. They're hip. They're Asian. What Chinese person doesn't look fondly on their euthanasia?" And then I found out what euthanasia was. So I changed my opinion of the matter.

Or buttermilk. It doesn't taste like butter or milk. I know this because I performed this experiment as a 9 year-old. I took milk and, well, Molly McButter because I somehow thought it work better than regular butter (powder dissolves better than solid butter does, as you may know). The result was, well, disappointing. And gagging. It was 10 years before I tried the real thing.

The same principle holds true for making orange julius from milk and powdered Tang. I learned the hard way.

Crossing the Boundary

So there's this whole immigration debate. Now I know that you don't like to talk politics, and I only do so when I feel particularly frisky, but living with an official in the immigration service (aka dad) I don't really know if it's politics or the family business. That said, I thought I'd present my plan for a point system to allow immigration to the USA.

You need 75 points out of a 100 to enter. There are four categories, with 25 points each. I prefer the holistic approach, which focuses on different aspects of the individual.

Category #1: Awesomeness. This requires the applicant to prove if he or she is cool enough. Men must prove the ability to grow a really awesome mustache. Points are given for fullness, form, and pizazz. If the man cannot grow a mustache, implants and/or prosthetics are permitted. Women are generally awesome anyways, but I think they should be given something like how well they can make an omelet or change a flat tire.

Category #2: Smartness. All applicants must be able to spell the states and the District of Columbia, in descending alphabetical order á la Drop Dead Gorgeous. One half-point will be given for each correct answer (you don't have to do Missouri- it's not really a state).

Category #3: Family ties/ Skills. This was a controversial part of the process, but I decided to give 50% for having a cool family member already in the USA (like someone with mad nun chuck skills or a pony) and 50% for having a valuable skill such as lion taming, pie baking, or a PhD.

Category #4: Obstacle course. We're talking potato sack races, tug-o-war, relay races with sponges, water, and buckets, or something from Double Dare (slime, anyone?). Points are awarded for how well you did in the race, with extra points given if you can humiliate an opponent in the process.

I thought I'd take the test (well, theoretically at least). I would give myself 24 points for the mustache (see left). I'd also get 20 points for the smartness (it helps because I did take several geography courses) and 20 points for being a city planner (we're cool, you know). The obstacle course would be hard. I'm only giving myself 10 points, because I couldn't handle any monkey bars, and I never really mastered the jungle gym. That leaves me with 74 points and a problem...

Maybe Canada will let me in. I hear their obstacle course is a lot easier.

Planning My Next Move

With only two and a half weeks to go till I move to Florida, I thought I'd make a list of travel plans, you know, some things I should do or have ready for the trip.

1. First Aid Kit for the Flight. $16 at the pharmacy. The best one I found has a glow stick with it. You never know when a 747 Jumbo Jet could become a hard-core rave, and you'd definitely not want to be without a glow stick (see diagram below).

2. Prison Story for the bus trip. Although buses aren't part of the equation, at least at this stage, I figured I should have a prison story handy just in case. I'm having a hard time deciding between tax evasion, or serial arsonist. I'm guessing arsonist because that requires less thought in making it elaborate and interesting. "You see, I just got so mad, that I had to torch my ex-wife's Honda..." "It's just the government getting you down, man."

3. Alligator repellant. I think I can make one out of duct tape, blankets, a garbage bag, and a pool net. That's what I used to capture and release a bird out of my living room with, so I think if I just use a heavier-duty trash bag, it'll work.

If you think of anything else I'll need, hurry quick and tell me because Florida's coming in just a couple weeks.

Unibrow Eunice

I'd like you to meet Eunice.

She's special to me because she helps me illustrate an important point:

Sin is like a unibrow. You know it's ugly, everyone else knows it's ugly, but until you do something about it, until you pluck it off, it's going to be with you 24/7.

And while plucking it out is painful, its rewards are endless.

I plan on using Eunice in talks, lessons, interviews, parole hearings, and nursery. She's so in-your-face and direct that there's no forgetting her message.

And she fits really nicely on a 24" by 18" blue felt board.

To set the record straight

In the interest of full disclosure, I thought I would add that I thought my coworker who called me Carl was actually two different people- I think he alternates between glasses and contacts. Oh, and I thought his name was Rick or Tom, but turned out to be something different. Ooops!

A Chad By Any Other Name...

My week-long adventure ended yesterday.
Yup. I broke the news to my coworker yesterday that my name was, in fact, not Carl but Chad. He had been calling me Carl for the past week and a half and, well, I didn't have the heart to break it to him that my name is Chad.
It actually happened rather gradually. He first called me Carl, and I thought he was talking to someone else. The second time, I thought he might be talking to me, but I wasn't quite sure. The third time-the clincher-he said, "Good Morning Carl," and I knew he was speaking directly to my soul. But he had passed the corner too fast for me to correct him, and I wanted so desperately in my heart to yell out: "I'm Chad, but thank you anyways." But it was too late. The rest of the time, well, I just let it slide. What's wrong with being a Carl? Carl Weathers, Carl Rove, Carlton from "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" (well, half way there), and Carl the Great (AKA Charlemagne). But I knew that I had to be true to myself. So yesterday, when we sat down to lunch, he said: "Good afternoon, Carl." I just had to break it to him gently.
"You know, uh, my name's actually Chad."
"Then why did you let me call you Carl for so long?"
Despite the fact that I wanted to lie and say that I have an imaginary friend named Carl he was supposedly talking to who likes comic books and comes to work with me, I had to face up and tell him the truth:
"You were gone so fast, that, I, um um um, didn't have time to correct you."
He accepted this explanation, and everyone was content.

But oh, to be Carl again....

Why I'm Not a Military Man

Yesterday I went paintballing with my coworkers. Yes, I'm as surprised as you are. I actually had a very fun time. But I realized that I would make a horrible soldier. Amazingly, I didn't a) soil myself, b) cry a lot, or c) surrender like,

well, you know.

Most of the time, I hid behind rocks and trees. I even walked across the fields in the open at times. The reason I won't make a good soldier is that I didn't know what to do when I got shot. I basically just stood there and got hit. Nope, I didn't run for cover, nor did I fire back. I just stood there like a deer in headlights. I think that would make me a bad soldier.

So when it comes to it, I wouldn't hesitate to volunteer for the army if my country needed me. But would my country want me? Probably not.

Dramatization of me

playing paintball

Things that Go Bump in the Day

Well, in order to set the background for my next post, I thought I'd like to reveal to you my hidden secret. Ok here it goes:

I'm afraid of almost everything.

Yup, that's right. Pretty much everything. George Washington, the open ocean, cardboard, Maury Povich, and the Fonz all give me the heebie jeebies. That's not even to mention my black cat Squishy, unknown dogs, and especially flying objects both unidentified and identified. In fact, the only things that don't give me the willies are things that often make other people's flesh crawl. Namely,

Clowns. Know your enemy, and know it well.

Not Without My Baby 4

So the thought came to me today that I should chuck this whole city planning thing and become an actor. Why? I really can't say other than that it's not a crime to impersonate an actor while I guess it is to impersonate a city planner.

I think I'll get started doing something small, like a made-for-cable-tv-movie. I've basically narrowed it down to two networks: LMN (Lifetime Movie Network) and G4 (The Nerd Channel). I think that I'll pick the lowest common denominator and go with LMN. Now you may be questioning my masculinity going for such a choice (and you're right to do so), but I'd just like to say that during my 3 1/2 weeks of unemployment I did some things I'm not proud of, like spending 15 minutes watching LMN. Please Don't Judge Me.

So I thought I'd start with something very small and low-budgety, like Not Without My Baby 4, the saga of a woman to get her baby back AT ALL COSTS. Two possible roles come to mind for me: bumbling East German official, or delivery truck driver. I especially like the delivery truck driver option because I could use footage of me as a delivery truck driver in my possible life as a professional delivery truck driver. In any case, the movie would have to feature me doing an awkward who-on-earth-would-say-that-in-real-life kind of line like: "All will be well if we follow the leader's plan." After dangerous encounters and glamourous headshots, the movie would end with an amazing song by an 80's big hair band and the credits rolling over a tropical sunset.

I really haven't thought how I'd pursue my career from there. Possibly I would have the option to star in Double Mint gum commercials with my real-life twin Mickey Rooney, or I would have to (Grrrrrr) become a VJ on MT2. Wish me luck everybody.

Quotes that Show why I love the Simpsons

I thought I'd share some of my favorite Simpson's quotes because, well, our nice large HD TV broke after 4 1/2 years. Enjoy!

"It will be a cold day in heck before I recognize Missour-ah!" Grandpa Simpson in response to why his flag only has 49 stars.

"Freemasons run the country." The germs on Wayland Smither's face when Mr. Burns runs the casino.

Ralph Wiggum: "Daddy, these rubber pants are hot."
Chief Wiggum: "You'll wear 'em till you learn son."

Homer: "Twenty Dollars?! But I wanted a peanut!"
Homer's Brain: "Twenty dollars can buy many peanuts."
Homer: "Explain how."
Homer's Brain: "Money can be exchanged for goods and services."

Lisa: "They say I'm pretty smart."
Madam Wu: "And they said Tibet was pretty independent."
(From the episode where the Simpsons go to China)

Hodgepodge of Fun

Some thoughts came to me today. Some very deep thoughts about life.

Like today, I was driving down Fresno Street (in Fresno, CA) and saw a bank, who's name was Rabobank.
On first sight, however, it looked like Robobank. I thought of RoboTellers, RoboLenders, and RoboATMs. Then, my mind drifted to the Saturday Night Live Commercial where a man is selling robot insurance to a group of senior citizens. His voice warns potential victims of the cold, steel arms that could attack them when they least expect it. I'm scared.

I also saw the video for the winner of the German version of American Idol, A.K.A. Deutschland Sucht den Superstar (Germany Seeks the SuperStar). His name is Mark, and he did what no man I know has ever done: Grown a goatee and a flavor-saver patch-like thing at the same time, grown out the flavor-saver patch to, say, four inches, and given it blond highlights. Brilliant. I would like to know what the ladies out there have to say about this feat of cosmetology.

I also discovered that the secret ingredient is love--and butter.

For those of you who would like to view the flavor-saver-like thing in all its glory, here is the very long link to it. Please enjoy in moderation.
http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.theclix.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/markmedlock.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.theclix.com/2007/05/06/gefuhlskonig-mark-medlock-ist-neuer-superstar-und-jetzt/&h=350&w=233&sz=39&hl=en&start=51&tbnid=qmhapMZEKjwdpM:&tbnh=120&tbnw=80&prev=/images%3Fq%3D%2522Mark%2BMedlock%2522%26start%3D40%26gbv%3D2%26ndsp%3D20%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN

I'm Fixin' to Write A Blogpost

Hey, y'all. Since I'll be moving to a college town in the South ( Gainesville, FL), I thought I'd check out some of the slang down there in Dixie. So I did a Google search and came up with this website (http://littlerock.about.com/cs/southernlife/a/aasouthslang.htm). I thought that, for your amusement, I would take the slang, ignore the definitions, and tell y'all what I think they should mean based on their sound. For the real definitions, see the website above. Enjoy!

Cattywampus- A ceremony in which a cat is doused with water and ridiculed with harsh sarcasm, followed by catnip-induced fun all around. This is generally only performed by Uncle Billy every time he gets into the "cough syrup."

Frog Gig- Musical performance with violins, accordians, well-trained frogs and other swamp creatures.

Grab a Root- A trip to the grocery store before a long haul in the ol' big rig.

Piddlin'- **This definition cannot be displayed as the mere mention of it has been banned in Britain**

Pokeweed- Tobacco/tobackie, of the normal and wacky varieties.

Scarce as Hen's Teeth- Phrase that indicates anger or low intelligence: "Why, his wits are as scarce as hen's teeth," or "His patience is as scarce as hen's teeth right now. You'd best not bother 'im."

Washateria- This is a business establishment where a laundromat has been combined with a cafeteria. Despite its functionality and potential use a community center, it never really got out of the just-written-down-on-a-cocktail-napkin planning stage.

Yeens- Confused, as in "Why, I don't know what's wrong with the old Cadillac. I'm simply in the yeens about the whole matter."

I'm Smoking HOT

The other day I found out that the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) is coming out with new rules for ratings. We're in for a large round of changes. Namely, that any movie that glamorizes smoking will receive an automatic R rating because of inappropriate content. Never mind that people actually, *gasp*, smoke in public places no lessall the time. I was frankly taken aback at this because, well, who doesn't love the fresh scent of tobacco and stale booze in bus depots, casinos, and tattoo parlors? Nevertheless, people will still try to express their love of tobacco in movies and television. The following is my prediction of specific scenarios where tobacco use will occur on the big and little screen:

* Chewing tobacco. I can picture a celebrity, say [Insert name of a famous, wild and partying 20-something here] chewing a nice wad of tobacco and spitting it out, getting her nice dress covered in brown, yummy chaw juice. This naturally leads to...

* Spittoons everywhere. They have such a nice retro 1870s look to them. I bet you could find some at a flea market in Kentucky or West Virginia. Imagine your favorite crime or mob drama with grandpa's old spittoon in it.

* Snuff. Sure, you may deplore the damage it does to, well, everything above your navel, but it's not a cigarette, so it won't warrant an 'R' rating. Plus, you can rediscover the joys of 1640s-science in smearing a chunky brown carcinogen on your gums or inhaling it into a bodily orifice.

Seriously, folks. Don't smoke- not only because smoking causes cancer, but because it'll warrant you an R.

The plant in question. Photo courtesy of the USDA.

Three Wishes

The other day, someone asked me what I thought about the weather here in Fresno. Naturally, the topic soon turned to what I'd do with three wishes, should I ever be granted any. Now, some people want crazy things like money, the ability to fly, or fame and fortune. That's fine and dandy for some, but I think it's rather impractical. I thought I'd let y'all know what I'd do with three wishes.

For starters, I really only need two.

Wish #1: Teleportation Powers. Because flying takes too long. Let's face it, if you wanted to, say, feed a kangaroo in Australia for lunchtime, you'd have to fly all the way there and back. And let's face it, that would just take too long. Teleportation gives you all the benefits of flying without the hastle of dodging planes, bugs, and mountains. Okay, you may not have the thrill of flying, but you'd get there faster and could even bring a friend. And you play some really cool pranks- Peekaboo anyone?

Wish #2: A crime-fighting tiger. One that would let me ride and pet it, and one that would have the temperament of a well-trained German shepherd. Think of it: not only would I have a tiger, but the tiger would benefit the community by stopping criminals. Plus, the tiger would let me ride it with my locks of man-beautiful hair flapping in the wind (Is there really any other way to ride a tiger?). The following is an artist's/my rendering in a JPEG of what the tiger would look like.

I'd technically have one wish left, but I don't think I'd really need it because my first two wishes are so cool. Now, you may be think that I should use my last wish to end world poverty or bring world peace, but I think you're being selfish and should get your own three wishes.

Howdy Y'all

Hey, I thought I'd make a blog to keep in touch with people and share my insights. For example, today I moved back to California for a couple months after three years in Utah. The biggest difference I've noticed so far is that milk tastes a lot better here. It's creamier, it's sassier, it's-well-Californianer. My remaining weeks in California will involve tasting every brand of milk and every variety (fat free, 1%, etc.) to scientifically confirm whether this is true. I'll keep y'all posted when any breaking news occurs.