Just Dance!

I like it when my Canadian electrofunk duos only use analog synthasizers.  Enjoy the following Chromeo video if you dare.

Also, I think you might freak out over the following roller skating video.  I get dizzy just thinking about it.

Run for Your Life!

One day when I was a missionary in Finland, I went from door to door in the beautiful town of Nastola, just to the east of Lahti where I was working.  You may not know this, but in Finland you often enter a house from the backyard.  Observe the picture below:

One day, I went up to this one house.  The people at the house were enjoying the nice summer weather and drinking a 40 of liquor.  The man there said: "What's up guys?" and we replied "The usual".  I'd never met these people before.
With him at the table were two women who faces looked as if they'd been drinking and smoking (in confined spaces) for the past forty years.  One of them springs up, makes herself "presentable" (complies with legal standards of decency) and slaps the other woman palm-down in the face, yelling "I've got dibs!"
At this point my companion and I realize "Oh man, these women are crazy and are going after us!"  We both started running for our lives as they chased after us, shouting: "Come here, boys, come here boys" while shaking themselves suggestively.
Fortunately, they were in such poor health that they never got closer than thirty feet to us.  And we probably could have fended them off.  But the sight of the women shaking at me suggestively will remain with me forever, burned into my memory.

Fremdschämen Part II

So, in an effort to ruin any future chance I have of becoming a politician or noted public figure, I thought I'd continue my series on embarrassing things that I have done/have happened to me.  This installment takes me to the halcyon days of middle school...
I went to middle school in Fresno, where the District, in its infinite wisdom, made every middle schooler wear uniforms.  So, one day in March I was in the library before school, reading a Mary Higgins Clark mystery (yes, even then I had the reading tastes of a 60-year-old housewife) and rocking the polo/shorts combo.  The chair was a somewhat worn, decrepit wicker chair that had wood poking my butt.
Time for class came, and I went to computers and algebra.  I put my backpack in the locker in preparation for PE.  I walked down the hall, thinking I owned the place.
Then I heard laughing behind me.
And more laughing.
Like 30 or so people laughing at me.
A dude came up to me and said: "Hey Chad, your pants have a massive hole in the butt!  They can see your tighty whiteys."  So I did the smartest thing I could think of and ran down the hall with my hands covering my butt.  Unsuccessfully, of course. I think it just served to draw more attention to me.
I ran into an empty classroom (a sub was there watching things) and grabbed a sweater to cover my massive hole.  I then had to go to the office to get a replacement pair of shorts for the day.
What did I learn? Nothing other than to avoid ratty old wicker chairs as they might just ruin my day.
Was this tragic?  Yes, it probably scarred me for life.

An EPIC Excursion

To test the facilities, EPIC went to the site of the event.  Here are some of the highlights of the venue, taken by Tim Hart.
Me riding dirty on the horse.
Me trying to skate
Overall I think this will be a successful event.  We're having up to 64 people there.

All Dressed Up with Nowhere to Go

So, I came dressed up special for work because I had an important meeting I'd been preparing for during the last month.  I even wore my favorite ugly sweater.  Unfortunately, the meeting got cancelled and I got dressed up for nothing.  Oh well.  My boss and I have a deal that for every time I wear a shirt and tie, I get to wear a wife beater and sweat pants to work.

Fremdschaemen

In the German language, never short of words for embarrasment and humiliation, there's a word that means the feeling of shame that you feel for someone else who's doing something embarrassing and stupid.  It's called fremdschaemen, and it is one of my new favorite words.  It describes Michael Scott from the Office so well.  So, to celebrate my learning a new word, I thought I'd start a new series on my blog about moments where I'm sure in their heart of hearts others have felt Fremdscham (noun version) for me.
Yup, I'm going to tell you some of my most embarrassing stories because, well, I would like to kill any chance I have of being a politician or respectable private citizen.  Don't worry, though, as I'll post some of my favorite Youtube videos at the end of each post in this series.
So, for the first story...
One day, when I was eight or nine, my four siblings and I were watching a rerun of Who's the Boss? on television.  At one point, sassy grandma Mona yelled at the family, who were harassing her: "You're giving me PMS!"

Sassy Grandma Mona

So, sexually enlightened and educated child as was, I thought that this was a good phrase to use.  I mean, a hilarious woman on television used it, so why can't I?  So, soon thereafter - 20 minutes? - my wonderful siblings pushed my buttons because, well, my buttons were/are so easy to push.  Getting mad, I yelled at them: "Stop it! You're giving me PMS."  The older siblings among them started busting up laughing.  I think one of my siblings actually told my parents, who also started laughing.  Boy was I mad.  But fortunately, my siblings didn't bring this up again.  Maybe they had compassion.  Or grew tired of the joke.  Or they felt such a profound feeling of Fremdscham that they repressed it from their memories.
I'm guessing it was the latter.
And now for a wonderful Youtube video.  Please forgive the small bits of Finnish at the beginning:

Stache Attack!!

This Monday morning I cam to work sporting my shiny $5 haircut.  I had let it grow out for a few months because, frankly, I was too lazy and busy to get one (it certainly wasn't about the money).  One of my co-workers said quite honestly too me: "You look much better with the clean cut look.  You're head's small, and it looked kinda funny with the long hair."
Alas, my small, narrow head has shut the door on another fashion possibility: long hair.  My dream of joining an 80s hair band was crushed in one fell swoop.  He was right, though, but it hurt nonetheless.
Let me tell you of another male fashion accessory that is now closed to me: mustaches.  Yup, I can't grow a mustache.  Observe this photo from my long hair days (prior to the mullet):

As you can see, the beard is full, but the mustache is quite lacking.  I guess I'll never aspire to this man's mustachioed greatness:

That's candidate Ben Wirtschafter, running for judge in Yuba County, America's meth capital (we gotta be #1 in something).   Just look at the volume, the color, and the pizzazz of that mustache!  I can't grow anything that awesome.  And think of what I could do with a sucker like that: meet women at the local church ice cream social, serve sarsaparilla at the local tavern, sell used cars, and shine at the local discotheque.  No, I suppose I'm condemned to the life of a shaven upper lip.
I mean, Trebek looks fine without the stache, right?