Friday, February 22, 2008

"No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You to Teach Chemistry!"


So...I have a story.
But first, some background information:

My biochemistry teacher is Middle-eastern. I say this not only because I have no idea what country he's from, but more importantly because it's pertinent to my story; he has a very thick Arabic accent. Now, this is not an issue in itself. After two months in his class, I can understand him pretty well.

But there are some issues. For instance, we all learned on the first day of class that he drops some syllables and adds plurals. The most noticeable, and I know this will sound like an exaggeration, he pronounces "Organisms" as "Orgasms".

Blatantly. There is no hearing anything else.

That was humorous for a day or two. But then, when we started getting into compounds and reactions, a new villain emerged. I mean that more than metaphorically.

Now, you know how in all the James Bond movies the villain always calls him "Mr. Bond", and always with that cocky, very deep accent. The one that is never spoken with an American "ah" in "Bond", but a very timpanic, almost "Bohnd" type way. Well...you guessed it, that's how my professor says "bond". So when he says things like "Breaking the bond", or "having a double bond", I instantly picture him in a long, white suit, plotting world destruction.

Today, we have a new development.

In continuation of discussing functional groups of organic compounds (ethers, carboxylic acids, etc.), we came to talking about esters. Specifically, you guessed it, Ester Bonds. Which, in a heavy, foreboding accent...sounds distinctively like "Mister Bond".

In conclusion, for the next 20 minutes, I had to restrain my front row, easily noticed smile whenever he said "Mister Bond". I was like a fourth-grader in Sex-Ed class, chuckling whenever "penis" is uttered.

It was ridiculous, and when you think about it, not even really that funny. But in a world where people joke about crazy "Wouldn't it be funny if..." ideas, this one is filed under "So strange it has to be true."

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

"Dann the Man!"


There are some things that bother you a lot.
Not like "Jesus Christ, I have to rip someone's head off and eat the brains", but more a "Here we go again, this is really annoying, and I've heard it a million times."

It may be the phrase "Someone's got a case of the Mondays", or "Hey, you dropped your pocket!", or even that wonderful (groan) response when you ask someone what day it is, and they say "All day!"
For me...it would be "Hey! Dann the man!"

"Dann's the man!"
"Thanks, Dann the Man!"

Good god. It's annoying as shit. And I'm talking about some really annoying shit. Like shit that goes on Jerry Springer wearing a tube top and screaming at it's mom kinda thing.

I suppose it comes from people believing that if they make a comment, they assume that they are original. Like the whole "Office Space" Michael Bolton thing. Everyone who asks assumes that person has NEVER heard it before.
Well, let me put that little idea to rest. Everyone (save for immediate family) calls me "Dann the Man." And it drives me nuts. There. Said. Done.

Like the picture? I Image-Googled "stress", and that picture came up. Symbolism.


I don't know how.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

"It Would Be Beyond My Power to Do That."


We've all had those dreams. Especially when you've had too much to drink, way too close to bedtime.

I'm talking about the "For-some-goddamn-reason-I-can't-pee-no-matter-how-hard-I-try" dreams.

Everyone I talk to has a unique version, ranging from "There's only one toilet in existence, and it's in the middle of a public room full of everyone I know" (Sarah), to "There's no such thing as toilets, and I have to find a secluded room, raise my leg up and pee in the sink" (Me).

Now I don't know about you guys, but whenever I have these dreams, it's like I'm not even really in control of my actions. It feels like a FPS (First-Person Shooter). I can see where I'm going and what I'm doing, but I'm just sort of watching it happen. Then comes the horrid realization that "Holy Shit! Toilets were never invented!", and I find myself streaking from bathroom to bathroom, bum-rushing the stalls, and each one leads to nothing. It plays out in stages, and each empty stall feels like a Commodore 64 "Spiderman" moment:



"I don't how to 'Pee'".
"...It would be beyond my power to do that."

DAMMIT!

"I don't know how to 'dammit'".

SHUT UP! Climb the elevator shaft! Fuckin' punch Sandman! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'YOU'RE IN LIMBO'?

Anyway, after running around through several rooms, all with the same empty stalls, and no urinals, and long loadtimes, I creep up to the sink and start peeing. Of course, as soon as I start, 4 people walk into the room, pointing and laughing.
...But enough about high school. It was scarring enough back then.
That's all I really had to say.

Load "ghostbusters" ,8,1 run
[SYNTAX ERROR]

List

IRON CROWN
MYCROFT MEWS
GATEWAY TO APSHAI
BERSERK
JUMPMAN
POPEYE
Q-BERT
GHOSTBUSTER
MINER 2049ER
HEIST

"Ohh!"

Load "Jumpman" ,8,1 run.

Sweet.

Friday, February 15, 2008

"I'm Insane With Anger!"


Blogger is having issues. It's decided to uninvent spaces. Apparently they no longer exist. As you may have noticed from some of my posts, the sentences all mash together, and they go on for eternity, tugging your eyelids while reeking of Joseph Conrad.

I just wanted to let my audience (all three of you) that this is no fault of mine. I am grammatically viable, and my keyboard does indeed have an [enter] key.

That is all. Please join us here again the next time something pisses me off.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Savings, Sans Fascism


So yesterday, Joy and I decided to go to CostCo, just to see if we could look around, and possibly get a membership, if it was worth the 50 bucks a year to save a bit on things like soymilk, toilet paper, pet food, and all that other stuff you frequently buy that cost a first-born each.

We decided we'd look around the entire warehouse first, before we made any decisions.
...we made it about 10 feet into the warehouse before we had pretty much made up our mind.

Their soymilk, which came in 12 quarter-gallon cartons (shelf stable for a year), was equivalent to 3 of the 2 half-gallon packs we buy at Whole Foods.
At 6 bucks a pop, the total for that much at Whole Foods would be $18.
At CostCo...$10.

36-roll packs of toilet paper were $17.
A 12-roll pack at Whole Foods is $12.

Dog food came in 40 lb. bags for $18.
Ours from Whole Foods is a 7 lb. bag for $10.

Now, I'm not dissing Whole Foods. I love that store. It's the only place I will buy food from as far as conventional supermarkets go. But there are the same, if not very similar brands of items that are literally half price for twice as much in most cases.

There was a pack of Veggie Burgers (less sodium than Boca, and twice the size) which had 14 to a pack (Boca has 4) and the pack was $10. A normal 4-pack
Boca Burger box is usually $4.59 or so.

Organic Baby Spinach at Whole Foods is 7.99/lb.
CostCo....$3.99.

We filled up our cart on that first trip with all the above items and more, totally $159, and that included our $50 year membership.
Think of it this way...on the soymilk alone, we saved $8 per crate, and we bought 2 crates. $16 saved...the membership is almost half paid for in the first trip.
I couldn't have been in a better mood after that. I feel like this is one the things that Joy and I really needed to do to save ourselves a decent amount of money, in preparation for the tough years ahead.

Plus, we don't even have to feel bad about it, because they aren't owned by fascist, low-paying, union-busting, benefit-scalping pigs like Walmart.

...and that's One to Grow On.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

The Vat of The Plague Fiend!

So...
Like clockwork, as usual every winter, I am quickly developing yet another case of Bronchitis.

It sucks.

The pain, the agony, the coughing, the sore throat, the little spanish children---wait. Nevermind.

It's funny the way it hits you. It always begins with a sore throat, which then progresses into a cough. Then in just sits for 2 days like that.

Then, one morning, you wake up realizing there's an elephant sitting on your chest. A metaphorical elephant, but damn he's a doozie.

I wonder if it's the Smallfertys who get this the most, due to asthma (sic)?

Hypochondria?
Nah. I grew out of that. While others grew into it (sic, again).

Whatever the reason my alvaeoli have become a cheese factory is beyond me, but it gives me something to write about that isn't insulting.

And as they used to say on Nickelodeon, "That's One to Grow on."

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

"I Need a Larger IV for My Coffee", and Other Great Hits




The time has come to admit my addiction.

To coffee? Well yes, that too---but I meant my caffeine addiction.

I know, I know. Almost everyone says "Oh, god I need caffeine", or "I'm gonna need some pop to keep me awake". Everyone says stuff like that. Unfortunately, it runs a bit deep than that with me.

I used to drink pop all the time. Diet Pepsi at least. But regardless, it was all the time. Now, this went on for awhile, and I had time when I weaned myself off to water (for the marathon, mostly), then had a little bit of pop at a restaurant, then I jumped right back on the wagon.

Now those who know me well enough know that I get headaches. Like...every 20 minutes. All day long. I've had them since I was about 15 years old, and no amount of sleep, exercise, weight loss, stress-management or even relaxation will fix it. Ibuprofen works sometimes, but would prefer not to entrust my eternal well-being to a pill. At least, not for another 50 years or so.

However, when I don't have caffeine, I get really bad headaches. Worse than my day-to-day ones. I feel very irritable and achy, and then I get coffee to fix it. Usually, that works, too.

I've since practically given up pop. I've only had it twice in the last month that I can recall, but my dependence on coffee has nearly tripled.

I've been trying to decaf myself over that last week or so, but it's not working very well.

You know how Sarah says that Low-fat Oreos are not the same as the original? That they don't taste the same? I never really knew what she meant, but now I do. Decaf just doesn't have the same flavor or richness. I think that's it. It seems thinner, and doesn't coat your mouth the same way. I'm sure I'm imagining this.
But what do we do?

Pop has too much sugar, as well as other horrific chemicals.
Juice has way too much sugar, and it's mostly empty calories.
I drink soy milk, but you can't have 17 glasses a day.

Just drink only water? I mean, yeah, it's good for you....but you need variety. Otherwise it's like a dog who eats the same food, day after day. I mean, my dog eats the same food everyday, and then he whines all day. Is he whining because he wants to play? I thought so. Maybe he's whining because he wants a pizza, an orange, or a simple helping of "Anything but that brown, crunchy shit."

I don't know. I'm trying.
Now I know how crackheads feel.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

The Elevator Incident






I know we all have had our elevator moments. It's inevitable. You're there, trapped, sometimes for several minutes at a time, with total strangers. They may be completely normal, or they may be fruitcakes who just stabbed their Aunt Gert with a breadknife. You can't really tell.
I recently had my own moment. It wasn't as crazy as I'm making the above sound, but awkwardness abound, it bears repeating. Now before we begin, there are a few things one must bear in mind.

1. I think logically.
2. I am an atheist. (See above)
3. I believe in being kind to strangers.

I was on my way back from my lunch break a few days ago, having just sat down to read a few chapters of "The Gun Seller", and have a bagel. I head down to the East elevators, and press the "Up" button. I notice two elderly people, a man and a woman, coming up next to me, waiting for the same elevator.
I think nothing of it, casually glancing at random things (I'm a little awkward in 'small-talk, try to act casual' situations), when the older guy starts to talk to me.
"You workin' tonight?" He asked.
"Yep." I said, trying to keep it simple.
"You gettin' tired, yet?"
What do you say to this question? Smaller talk. "Oh, I'm always tired." I said, trying to get a smirk out while simultaneously vomiting up all that cheese. The lady just stood there, waiting for the elevator.
"Well here," He said casually, reaching into his coat. "I'd like you to read this when you get a chance." He pulls out a yellow, folded pamphlet, which (silly me) I believe at first to be some sort of charity or social brochure.

Nope. It's about God.

The front held a large clock face, with the entire clock greyed-out, save for the five minute-interval from 11 to 12. The caption at the bottom read "This could be the last five minutes of your life!"

I swallowed. In fact, I believe I swallowed a small truck.

I tried to think of a way to remain polite, while at the same time refusing the damn thing. He went back to waiting with his sister/wife/friend, while I stood there staring at this damn pamphlet. I thought I could just throw it away...but then what? He would get the satisfaction of thinking he's converted another person to the ways of the sheep, and I am once again put off by people trying to push their religion off onto me, thinking it's some sort of right they have. There had to be a way to meld the two into a nice fluffy torte.

Four more years go by.

Think, dammit.

Finally, the bell dings, and the three of us clammer onto the elevator. I go off to the side like I usually do, not because of awkwardness, but because I believe in giving people their personal space when I'm stuck in a refridgerator with them. Once again, He strikes up a conversation.

"So...you going home soon?"
"Nope." I said. "I still have 3 hours to go." I still remained cordial, although I realized I was just going to have to go for it.
"Well, please make sure you read that when you get a chance."

NOW! DO IT NOW!

"Actually, Sir" I began, "I'm an Atheist." I stopped for only a nanosecond or so, letting it sink in enough for him to realize what I said, but not enough to let his sales pitch start up again. "So I'm going to let you have this back." I handed it back to him.

He suddenly gets very offended, and suddenly I'm his insolent grandson. "Well...it won't hurt you to read it!" He says, sounding like this had never happened to him before.
I'd come this far. I had to finish it.

"Sir," I said again, "I'm not to insult you by throwing it away as soon as I get off the elevator."
The doors opened. Thank Dog for that.
I get off, and take two steps out, toward the hallway. He starts following me out, and his mother/daughter/friend-in-law, who up until now I would've thought to be mute, speaks up.

"Charles, this isn't our floor, yet."

"I know," He says feverishly. "We can get back on again." She stays on the elevator, holding the door open. A few more people come over, hoping to get on this elevator that is now claimed for Britain.

As I walk, I notice that the guy I'm orienting to my unit from the HR office, has also come back from lunch, and he is still standing in the small room next to the elevators. Maybe he took the nearby stairs, I don't know. But he was standing there, so I guess he was a viable candidate. The old man, still in a tiff, comes up to Adam (the new guy) and says "Excuse me, Sir. Could you read this when you get a chance?" He then steps back onto the elevator with his niece/stepsister/cousin, and the doors close.

Adam stands there, holding the pamphlet, then looks up at me like he just witnessed a UFO abduction.

"Tag." I said. "You're It."

I relayed the story to him as we walked back to the unit, and we spend the next hour or so reading the pamphlet, and laughing at every other sentence. As we suspected, it was all fear-tactics.

Because you know, Athiests have WMDs.

That's the story. I could say much, much more. But when all is said and done, everyone knows my opinion. Some people are destined to blindly follow whatever their previous generation told them to, and with the end coming ever closer, they need to believe that they didn't go through it all for nothing. The human mind can't contemplate Oblivion. It gets freaked out. So what should we do? Invent God, of course.

That's a good follow up to the Zeitgeist movie I posted earlier. There's a nice ten-minute lesson in the documentary about all the gods and myths from other cultures (Roman, Greek, Hindu, Islamic, you name it) who all have similar, if not the exact same life story, background, and supposed "all knowing, glorious power" that Jesus had. Most of these were around long before Jesus' time, and oddly enough, most of them (according to legend) were born on December 25th.

But as with every religion, Yours is right, and the other 35,000 are wrong.