Mambo Number 5

A quality of music that I love is that a song can take you back to a particular reference in time. For instance, "Missing You" by John Waite takes me back to a point in time, but I'll leave that story to my brother to tell. The basic plot is that he thinks Doug Himmelberg and me are jackasses and he wishes we would die. He's probably right and I wish we had been a bit more sensitive, but teenage boys are basically jackasses.

Anyway, I digress. Where does Lou Bega's Mambo Number 5 take me? To a football game between Air Force and Wyoming in about 1999. I heard that song in a million different places (who didn't?!?), but that is where it takes me. My daughter was just starting to become a young lady, and had the mouth to remind us of it every 2 seconds. My boys were, well, still boys. They weren't worried about being "cool". If I was running and they were at the bus stop, they would have waved. (Unlike yesterday.)

So, Mambo Number 5 may not be the greatest musical piece ever written, but it is in the rotation on my iPod for when I go running. And whenever it comes on, I have a time machine set to 1999 for 4 minutes. Heady stuff.

The Anti-Chain Letter

I hate chain letters. Hate them with a passion and I haven't passed one forward in like forever. They vary from ridiculous to just plain sappy. (And they are used only to build up mailing list for mass marketers.) My favorite one of all time was the one where if you passed it on, Microsoft would check out all the names on the list and give everyone $1,000. Of course, no one stopped to do the math. I did. There are about 270 million people in the US. If even only half got in on the email, that would be $135 billion dollars. The total market capitalization of Microsoft is around $100 billion.

And then there are the sappy ones. Yes, there are good causes to give money to. Yes, we all have a million friends that we should think of more often. Yes, I want to help that little doggie in the window. No, I don't want to read about it every two seconds in my email. I reserve that for my porn offers. Gotta have priorities...

Anyway, so as retaliation, I think I should start one that implores people not to give in and take part in chain emails. The penalty would be that if you don't forward this to 1000 people, the internet will fail and everyone will get a case of the heebie jeebies for 2 hours. Of course, this would be against all of my principles. But if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times:

Irony is delicious!

Fabian Update

Fabian Basabe is still a douche. Actually, my first attempt at a google bomb is now up to 14, if you search for: Fabian Basabe douche. I'm so proud. Hopefully this entry will move me up to single digits and then I can merrily go on about my business.

Bambi on Steroids

I went running this week on the campus of Rochester Institute of Technology. And once again, I was scared shitless by their deer. They all took off running, except the buck. It all happened pretty quick, but I think he was about a three pointer. Like a good platoon leader, he was covering the flank while the rest retreated. It was a bit disconcerting. How would it look if I died at 5:30 in the morning, gored by Bambi?

He finally took off too, but I was a little pissed. I think he needed to be put in his place and I spent the next mile mulling over my options. Only two seemed to be worthwhile.

1. Hold an annual lottery and let the winner shoot a deer on campus. There could be a pageant and maybe a 5K Run. Basically, a good time for everyone.
2. Introduce mountain lions to the campus. WINNER!

I'm a big fan of option number 2 and I don't say that lightly. I gave a lot of thought to whether I would rather be in fight to the death with Bambi or a mountain lion. I have a cat at home and I have totally kicked its ass before. I'm sure a mountain lion is basically the same.

But Bambi, I bet he'd cut you in a second and laugh about it over a shot of tequila with all his deer buddies. Bastard.

Biggest Douche

There is an episode of South Park where they declare that John Edwards, the psychic, is the Universe's biggest douche. Well, I think it is time for this year's nominations. Leading my list is Fabian Basabe, hands down. Have you seen Cattle Drive - Filthy Rich? Fabian Basabe is a douche. Let me repeat that. Fabian Basabe is a douche. I'm basically saying that Fabian Basabe is a douche so that I will be the top Google hit for "Fabian Basabe douche".

Well, that, and he is a douche. Have you seen such a big crybaby? If the final episode shows the cowboys stomping his whiny ass in the ground, it will be Christmas in September. Today he talked about the nanny he got fired because he didn't want to eat his vegetables. I hope it was actually for something else, because I would hate to think that this poor person lost their job because Fabian Basabe hates carrots. What a douche!

Does anyone have a nomination that is a bigger douche than Fabian Basabe? I didn't think so.

Overheard

Actual conversation of two people who don't know each other, killing time at the airport.
(Scene: Richmond and Syracuse flights are flying out of the same gate at Dulles.)

Man 1: You flying to Richmond or Syracuse?
Man 2: Syracuse, NY.
Man 1: I use to live in New York. I should know where that is. Is it in the south part of the city?
Man 2: It is in the north part of the state.
Man 1: **confused look**
Man 2: Way up north...near Lake Ontario.
Man 1: **Less confused, but still clearly clueless**
Man 2: Up near Canada.
Man 1: Ohhhh....so it isn't very close to the city?

Correct!!!

TP = Total Perfection

I don't remember learning how to use toilet paper. I don't remember teaching my son to use toilet paper. It is one of those activities that I'm sure has parental influence, but I'm sure that the methodology develops and moves to its own tangents.

I was shocked to find out that some people are scrunchers. Sounds like there is a lot of potential for things getting messy that way. Myself, I'm a folder. Started as an eight-square folder. Worked out nicely. Eight folds perfectly into four. Four folds perfectly into two and two folds into one. One perfect, balanced, even square of ass-wiping perfection. And it is nice and thick to avoid any seepeage. If Bounty had a quicker-picker-upper of toilet paper, I'd be first in line.

But eight seems so wasteful. Besides, as I get older it is a pain to count out 8 perfect squares every time I eat a bran muffin. So today I will share my folding secrets for every number.

More than eight: Divide into two even parts to avoid excessive use of toilet paper. See rules below.
8: Perfection. No need to expand on the explanation above.
7: Fold three over the other four. Four folds into two. And two folds into one.
6: Fold in half. You will then have three. Follow directions for three.
5: Fold two squares over the other three. Follow the directions for three.
4: Fold in half to two. Fold in half to ONE PERFECT SQUARE!!!3: Fold the outside squares over the middle square.

One final piece of advice. Organization is important. I like to prefold while I'm in the process of "doing business". My first is usually a 7 or 8....its all about seepage. Then my follow-ups are sixes or fives.

I hope this helps. By the way, the toilet paper should ALWAYS roll over the top. Are you people crazy?

X Marks the Spot

I run in Waterloo, NY, the birthplace of Memorial Day. It is a quiet rural community and I love to run there. The sidewalks are the kind that have a strip of land on one side and a yard on the other. Safe, quiet. Or so you would think.

I'm not sure what it means, but on one particular square of concrete, there is a big X. The first time I saw it, thoughts of Road Runner came crashing into my head. Was this some sort of target? Was Wile E Coyote hatching some master plan.? Would I get hit instead of the Road Runner? I ran around it.

I still do. Last week's episode of Weeds on Showtime had a case of soda fall through the roof. Funny, but I didn't think much about it. Until this morning, that is. As I ran around my X in the middle of NY, I was pretty sure that if I hadn't dodged it, a case of soda would have fallen on me.

On the other hand, what if buried treasure.......

Hearts

I play hearts on my computers. If you have a boring ass job, I bet you play it too. (My condolences to people who work at Fascist companies that remove the games form their image. I won;t mention any names, but Suntrust sucks.)

My Hearts world is interesting. I have actually assigned personalities to the names of the other players. Michelle sits across from me and is basically good-hearted, but not a very good card player. She never is the one to stop my shot at the moon and rarely hands my the queen.

Ben is a bit wild. Sometimes he lays down, but at others he is a bit of a thorn in my side. Generally we get along well, but he can be a bit moody. I try to give him an occasional drink to loosen him up, but never too much. He can be mean drunk.

And then there is Pauline. A cool customer. When I have to eat the queen, Pauline has served it up about 75% of the time. Intelligent. Sneaky. Cold-blooded. My nemesis. I have to keep an eye on her.

I might be taking it a bit too far. I hold grudges. Pauline gave me the queen this morning and I actually spent the next couple of hands trying to make sure that she got the queen despite the fact that she already had the most points. I should have been trying to give it to Ben since I was only ahead by about 10. But Ben was in a good mood and I didn't want to ruin it. Besides, Pauline was being a bitch.

If she isn't careful, I'm going to erase her name and invite Fred to start sitting in.