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