No Work Is Good Work

I have recently begun searching for a job.

It's made me think about work and jobs in general--why do we get them, how do you pick the right one, etc.

There are some people out there who enjoy working, and who actually love their jobs. I'm not sure what traumatic even occurred in their childhood, but my heart truly goes out to them.

And then there are those of us who only work out of necessity--we want "money" so we can buy "things" and not have to "eat from other people's garbage" or "steal our clothes from hobos" or "fight a nestful of rats for a corner to sleep in."

My motivation to engage in labor in order to receive currency to exchange for goods and services began in high school. Up until that point, I made my way by on allowance. which meant making a twenty dollar bill last as looooong as possible--which isn't very long for a kid with a Coca-Cola addiction. Even at 50 cents a pop, buying up soda for a weekend could cost a good 3 bucks--do that 4 weekends a month, thats 12 bucks, only leaving about 8 to spend for the rest of the month. Let me put it this way--I had an extensive collection of pre-owned CD's for a good portion of my youth.

I worked my early high school summers lifeguarding at the neighborhood pool. This wasn't really a job--it was more like what most kids would do anyway--sitting at the pool for 6 hours--but getting paid for it. Sure, sure, we had to "make sure kids and old people didn't drown."

But the beauty of my neighborhood was this: 99% of all kids in the hood were on swim team starting at age 5. See, my neighborhood was undefeated in swim team from a few years before I joined at age 6, and for a couple years after I quit at age 17. This doens't just mean that we won the finals every season, it means that we never lost a meet in all of those years.

Let me make 2 things clear:

1) I'm not trying to impress you with this information--I don't expect you to gasp or ask for an autograph or anything--I'm just trying to explain why lifeguarding was an easy job. I'm not one of those guys strutting around, living in the past of his former glory days back when the ol' neighborhood swim team was the shit. Its not like I still have my old cap and speedo from when I was 12, and put them on late at night and admire myself in the mirror. Let's say for the sake of argument that I do actually do that--which I'm not necessarily admitting to--it wouldn't be because I am reveling in the former glory of my old swim team--it would be because I am bored and I like the snugness.

Which brings me to point 2): I am not claiming to have contributed in any way to the team's undefeated dynasty. Although I was a proficient (I might even go so far as to say strong) swimmer, I sucked as a swimming competitor. Swim meets were every saturday morning beginning at 8am and going until roughly 3pm. And, as I mentioned before, nearly every kid in the neighborhood was there. Thus, for me, swim meets were social time--gettin to hang out with all of your friends for 7 hours with very little parental supervision--it was fun, man!

Besides that, the snack bar at swim meets ROCKED. They had all kinds of soda and basically every kind of candy a young kid could dream of. I have vivid memories of buying 3-5 blowpops and a giant pixie stick, and creating what amounted to a sugar addict's version of fun dip--pour some of the giant pixie stick in your hand, roll the blow pop in it, and enjoy. I had some dizzing sugar rushes back then.

Now what the coaches didn't tell us (actually, they did, I just didn't listen), was that sugar weighs you down when you are swimming competetively, not to mention makes you crash. The amount I had every meet . . . well, let's just say there were a couple of incidents where I blacked out, went nuts and started swimming the corkscrew stroke (where you shift between freestyle and backstroke--i.e. not a real stroke at all) horizontally across all the lanes. Those were crazy times.

Anyway, my point was that due to the almost cult-like participation of the neighborhood kids in swim team, lifeguarding at the pool was an easy summer job. Sure, we may have lost a kid here or there, but nobody is perfect. When you are lounged back in the lifeguard chair and you have just put on some sun screen and you are dozing off cause you have been sitting in the sun for nearly 4 hours straight with no water, the last thing you feel like doing is standing up, blowing your whistle 2 times, and diving into the pool just to drag the kid out of the middle of the deep end to the side so he can "breathe" again. It's really too much to ask of a person.

Okay, okay, that didn't actually happen, unless it happened while I was napping on the stand--I can't account for that time, but I don't really recall hearing a lot of screaming and commotion around me when I was sleeping, and I'm sure that someone would have woke me up if someone was actually drowning.

But, however, although, nonetheless, despite that, that's not to say that lifeguarding at my neighborhood pool, i.e. the easiest job known to man, wasn't somehow difficult for some people. One day, after having made head lifeguard (boo ya!), I was sitting the stand, taking my 15 minute shift of watching the pool, desperately yearning for the 45 minute break that followed. As I was sitting, I noticed one of the other guards walking towards the pump room, in the side of the building that adjoined the pool.

Nothing out of the ordinary there--typically at the end of the day, which it was, someone needed to fill the chlorinators in the pump room with cholorine tablets. I thought, great, she is actually putting her book down (which she normally spent all day every day reading, and would have continued while on the stand if I didn't remind her that there were lives depending on her keeping an eye on the water for 15 minutes) showing some initiative and not making me do all the work.

Something odd then happened. I saw her struggling to open the door. Now, sometimes, the door to the pump room was locked. This seemed to take her a while to figure out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her go back into the guard room for a minute or 2, and then emerge with what I assumed was the key. Good--problem solved. I resumed watching the kids play in the pool.

About 5 minutes later, I saw her again go back into the guard room. I thought, "maybe she forgot to grab the latex gloves we are supposed to wear when filling the chlorinators." I was a little concerned, though, when I saw her come out of the guard room with a hammer.

At this point, my interest was piqued. Keeping one eye on the pool, I glanced to the side to see what this other lifeguard was doing. My concern spiked considerably when I saw her hitting the pump room door handle with the hammer. However, there was nothing I could do, since there was only me and her there and I needed to be on the stand.

I was about to yell over to her when I saw her drop the hammer on the ground in frustration, march over to the chair, throw her hands up in defeat and mutter angrily, "I give up." I cautiously inquired, "what do you mean?" She replied, "Well the door was locked, and the key wouldn't turn, so I got the hammer to try and make the key turn, but it broke off in the lock."

I was utterly speechless.

Whatever your beliefs are on the whole evolution vs. creationism debate, it's fairly indisputed that most animals with semi-developed brains have mastered tool use. Monkeys, that's a given. But even an octopus can figure out opening a jar when there is food inside. Psychology tests have shown that even pigeons can figure out moving a box around a cage so as to push a button that results in being fed.

Normally, I am a pretty understanding person, but using a hammer to turn a key that wont turn just seemed a little . . . .what's the word I'm looking for. . . . developmentally regressive (dum-dum).

I told her to get on the stand, and went to investigate the situation. sure enough, I saw the hammer lying on the ground, and the top of the key right next to it. In the lock was the tooth-ed part of the key. "Ok," I thought, "try to be fair. I can see how a person might . . . have so much trouble . . . turning a key. . . that they end up thinking a . . . hammer will make it properly turn." But something seemed odd to me--the lock has never stuck before, never given anyone any trouble when turning a key. So, just to play devil's advocate, I reached out and tried the door knob.

It opened right away and I was staring into the pump room. See, the reason the key wouldn't turn was because the door was ALREADY UNLOCKED. So when this guard had trouble opening the door, instead of telling me, instead of trying the handle to see if it's already unlocked, she went straight to "I know--I'll get a hammer to force this key to turn." I never made her fill the chlorinators again, which may have been her secret goal all along.

So, lifeguarding isn't for everyone, especially when it involves . . . opening unlocked doors.

Now, I feel kind of bad ripping on this 18 year old girl who wanted nothing more than to sit and read her book all day at the pool and not be bothered, and, to her credit, never bothered anyone else. And, despite my success as a lifeguard, which entailed sitting in a chair by the pool, I'm not exactly Rico Suave when it come to job skills. So, to be fair, I'm going to tell a story of my own occupational incompetence to even the field and bring myself down off the pedestal some might have placed me on.

When I turned 18 in September 2002, I wanted to get a tattoo. Scratch that--I wanted one before I was 18, but 18 was the first time it became a possibility. My parents, of course, really didn't want me to get one. This, in turn, made me want it more (the mind is a strange thing, huh?) Anyway, unless I wanted to wait until the next summer till the pool opened (in Colorado, the pools generally close during the winter because the kids get hurt trying to jump off the diving board and landing on 3 feet of solid ice), this meant getting a job during the school year. I was disgusted, but necessity (getting a tattoo) sometimes motivates us to take desperate measures.

I had only worked at a pool, so I wasn't quite sure where to begin finding another job. So, I decided to drive to Starbucks to ask for an application. When I parked, tho, I noticed a new building being built next to Starbucks. As I walked by, the 2 men standing there asked me if I needed work (no, don't worry, this story isn't going to end up with me turning tricks in a dark alley). I said sure, and they handed me a job application. "Maybe you can be a waiter." The one guy said. "What's the name of the restaurant?" I asked. "Cheesey Jane's Hamburgers."

So, I ended up becoming a waiter at Cheesy Janes, a new restaurant in the neighborhood that apparantly was so desparate for a wait-staff that they had dudes standing on the corner hustling high school kids. I had no experience being a waiter, but I figured "how hard can it be?"

That question was answered my very first day on the job.

See, because the restaurant was new, the owner thought it would be a good idea to have a "soft opening". For those of you who haven't seen Ocean's 13, a soft-opening is where a place of business has a practice run of sorts--simulating being open without actually having paying customers there. But, in order to get the illusion up of having customers, the owner typically, as in this case, has friends, family, and investors come.

Now, I got placed serving the table with one of the owner's friends and investors and his wife, kids, and what appeared to be either grandparents or horribly aged older sibblings. I know this because the owner pulled me aside and said "make sure to be very careful getting everything right at that table."

Everything started off strong--I took the drink orders and filled them up so as to give everyone a minute to contemplate which burger to get. That's as far as I got, though, because when I was carrying the tray full of drinks back to the table, I tripped on my shoelace, stumbled, and poured the entire drink order onto the shirt, lap, and head of the friend/investor's wife.

I didn't get fired, but I didn't exactly get the shifts I requested after that either.

That was pretty much the beginning of my working life. However, like I said, I work so I can get things, and I ended up getting my tattoo a few months later. Much to the dismay of my parents, who thought I wasn't actually going to go through with it. Needless to say, they were thrilled. . . . no, wait, thrilled isn't the word I was looking for. What is it? Ah yes, surprised/infuriated when they called me one weekend when I was in Breckenridge with friends, and I said upon answering the phone, "Sorry I can't talk now, I'm getting my tattoo." Then I hung up, showed the artist which cross I wanted, and rolled up my sleeve.

I guess that's what my parents get for making me get a job.

Don't work too hard!

Mikee P

Helen Keller Did Not, In Fact, "Talk With Her Hips"

I was recently listening to the song "Don't Trust Me" by 3OH!3.

I really enjoy this song--it has a catchy chorus and it's upbeat. There was one lyric, however, that gave me pause--"Shush girl/shut your lips/do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips."

I wasn't given pause because the lyric was inappropriate because it makes fun of Helen Keller per se; I, for whatever reason, find Helen Keller jokes to be funny. No, I was more bothered by the gross inaccuracy of the image the lyric invokes--do the Helen Keller . . . .and talk with your . . . hips.

Did I miss something?

I am admittedly no history buff, but I'm pretty sure that Hel (I would have called her Hel if I had known her personally. I think that she wouldn't have minded because she wouldn't really have heard me say it--you know, cause she was deaf) did not in fact "talk with her hips". From what I recall learning about Helen Keller in 2nd grade, she mostly communicated with American Sign Language, angry incoherent grunts, and, later in life, really loud and somewhat distorted spoken English. I don't remember ever hearing that she ever tried to communicate with her hips in any way.

And for good reason. I mean, can a person really effectively communicate solely using his or her hips? It seems like doing so constrains a person to a very limited range of motion--jerks to the left or right, the more fluid rolling seen in Hula and Middle-Eastern belly-dancing, and of course the more straightforward thrusting motion (which, we can all agree, really only communicates one thing--I'll give you a hint--it rhymes with shmexshmual shmintercourse).

But really, given the range of human expression, I don't think Anne Sullivan (Hel's interpreter and teacher), or anyone else for that matter, would have advised that she try to "talk with her hips". I mean, she would have only been able to say a few things, and most of them would have been erotic in nature. And I don't think I am entirely out of line when I say that Hel engaging in naughty dances makes us all throw up a little in our mouths.

So why did 3OH!3 allude to Hel talking with her hips when they really meant "shut your mouth, biddy, and dance?"

I was only able to come up with a couple of reasons.

1) They are telling the "girl" in the song to "shush" and "shut your lips". I guess when Sean Foreman and Nathaniel Motte were writing the song, the first person they could think of who "shushed their lips" was Hel. And then they needed a "high class rhyme" (as they self-describe in their official website) to go along with the word "lips," and they thought of "hips". Thus, the lyric was born. I think it is a fairly common artistic move to take the first thing that works and just run with it--they probably never thought that anyone would pay that much attention to it.

I personally think that if they had dug a little deeper into their minds, they could have come up with something besides a well respected historic figure like Hel to discuss "talking with your hips." The hokey-pokey comes to mind and actually makes more sense--that whole dance revolves around "turn[ing] it all aroud" with one's hips.

2) They knew exactly what they were doing and wanted to put the image of Helen Keller, a blind-deaf chick, dancing provocatively with her hips in order to be "edgy." If this was the case, that's fine by me, but again, it's just so inaccurate that it borders on making little-to-no sense.

I am not trying to rip on 3OH!3--like I said, I love the song, and I'm from the 3-0-3 myself, Colorado, what-what! I find it actually to be part of a bigger trend in modern music--equating dancing with physical or mental disabilities, or other nonsensical yet catchy images.

3 band/artists come to mind that have done this as well--The Black-Eyed Peas in their song "Let's Get Retarded" Busta Rhymes in his song "Break Ya Neck" and Outkast in their song "Hey Ya!" The images invoked in each of these songs shares the same inaccuracy as "doing the Helen Keller and talking with your hips."

"Let's Get Retarded" does this around the middle of the song, when the Fergie and the gang advise the listener to "bob your head like epilepsy". I know a little bit more about epilepsy than I do about the life of my good friend Hel, but not much. I don't have it, and I don't know anyone personally that suffers from this disorder. However, I am fairly confident that the "bobbing" that one's head goes through during an epileptic seizure is in no way graceful and/or consistent so as to constitute a dance move that anyone would want to emulate. It seems more like a frantic jerking and shaking motion that occurs, and the seize-ee, from what I understand, typically falls to the ground convulsing violently. Why would the Black Eyed Peas advice their listeners to engage in a move like that? Can you imagine if the entire dance floor took this advice and began shaking their body uncontrollably and all fell to the ground? It just seems dangerous.

Busta Rhyme's lyric is even more dangerous and inaccurate. He raps in the chourus, "break ya neck ni***/break ya neck ni***/break ya neck ni***/bang your head until you start to break ya neck ni*** . . . " etc. Here, the problem with this dance move should be obvious right away. Bang your head until you start to break ya neck. Again, I acknowledge my shortcomings as a physician, but I think that breaking one's neck is a singular and discreet action--I don't think that you start to break it.

Unless Busta is suggesting that the listener only bang his/her head hard and long enough so as to create a small hairline fracture instead of a clean break. If this is the case, then it seems really inadvisable that the listener keep banging their head and risk spinal severence and possible paralysis. And of course, it stands to reason that a dance-floor full of people who all bang their heads so hard as to create a full vertebrae fracture would result in mass injury, and lose a lot of business for the club playing the song--all of the dancers would be quadripalegic or dead, and there would probably be a lot of lawsuits filed.

Finally, Outkast suggests in the song "Hey Ya!" that the listeners "shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it like a polaroid picture." I have heard mixed accounts on this, but I think the convententional wisdom is that you are not supposed to shake your polaroid picutres as it can actually damage the image and, thus, ruin your picture; rather, you are supposed to let them sit until they fully develop. So if you take the literal meaning of the lyric, Outkast, when telling you to "shake it like a polaroid picutre" is in fact telling you to sit still and do nothing until you fully develop. All philosophical interpretations aside, I do not think that this is what Andre and Big Boi had in mind, and again would lead to some awkward movements on the dance floor--it would be a room full of silent meditators.

Even if the listeners were ill-informed and did "shake it" in the manner that they aren't supposed to shake polaroids, it leads to a very limited and decidedly unimpressive result. The dance would consist of shaking only one of one's hands at the wrist, back and forth, for about 3 minutes. This would resemble the "dice" dance, a-la the movie "Knocked Up", and could have painful inadvertent consequences for the dancer, such as carpal tunnel syndrome.

I guess what I am saying with this, is that song-writers should take a minute to consider the images and potential dance moves that their lyrics might invoke. And it goes without saying that, as dancers and listeners, we should really be careful in not taking these lyrics literally and attempting to follow their instructions.

I think Hel said it best with her famous call for caution when analyzing the subtleties inherent in musical lyrics, and really, all forms of art, "Hmmfrrrrrpp; Ggggg, NNNNHHHRRRRRRRR!"

Be careful on the dance floor out there, everyone.

Mikee P

3OH!3's official website: http://3oh3music.com/news. The song "Don't Trust Me": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlTE5j7aEf0.

Check them out--they are actually a really good band and I enjoy their music thoroughly.

Black-Eyed Peas "Let's Get Retarded": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4c1L2Y8D8Zs.

Busta Rhymes "Break Ya Neck": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GrghtXWfVYM.

Outkast "Hey Ya!": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvIw5ZqC1ms.

I actually love all of these artists and these songs, but I just happened to find the lyrics in question interesting.

Express Your Individuality Via Coke

Sorry it's been a while, whoever you are, but I've been out of town. I'm back now, and I have a lot to say, as we all always have a lot of time to kill. Anyway, read on, as what you are about to read will literally blow your taste buds' asses off.

Now, I have to start by saying, the Coke v. Pepsi battle was long ago decided.

Coke, is always has been, and always will be, superior to Pepsi in every way. (Dr. Pepper is a close 2nd to Coke, and cool because it's indie).

First and foremost, Coke simply tastes better. It is crisper and less overwhelmingly sweet. If you're one of those weirdos that requires more than mere drinkability in your soda, consider some of the following true facts.

-Coke is recognized by most businesses as the superior product and what their customers would want. It is served at most of the best fast food restaurants--McDonald's, Chick-Fil-A, Wendy's, Del Taco, Carl's Jr., Papa John's, Chipotle (only Pizza Hut and Taco Bell have yet to see the light, though I'm sure they are probably just locked into an exclusive contract with Pepsi that they recklessly and mistakenly made in the haste of the early stages of their business openings and would and will switch as soon as they possibly can). Likewise, most movie theaters acknowledge that it is a much better compliment to one of the best inventions to ever grace mankind, movie theater popcorn (a notably unfortunate dissenter is AMC).

-Consider the fact that the product name "Coke" is synonymous with the product "soda." You can order a Coke at any restaurant and be understood to mean you want a carbonated sweetened beverage--some places might ask "what kind?" signaling their acknowledgement that you might be using the best brand name to refer to the entire range of the product. The superior product always becomes the synonymous term with a type of product--Band-Aid is just one brand name for the product "small sticky wound dressing," yet everyone calls small sticky wound dressings "Band-Aids." When was the last time you heard a paper-cut victim screaming "dammit, I need a Cur-Aid!" or "ah shit, I'm bleeding--quick, grab me a Safeway generic brand small sticky wound dressing!"

-Coke invented Santa Claus as we know him by giving him the red suit in one of their early add compaigns. (http://www.thecoca-colacompany.com/heritage/cokelore_santa.html). On the flip-side, Pepsi set Michael Jackson's hair on fire, possibly contributing to his pain-pill addiction (http://www.rollingstone.com/rockdaily/index.php/2009/07/15/michael-jackson-pepsi-ad-footage-unearthed-from-1984-shoot/).

-Coke's image is short, sweet, and happy--it is, always has been, and only need be "the real thing." Much to the contrary, Pepsi seems to be caught in a perpetual identity crisis--it is constantly changing its look, slogan, and target audience. The most notable and apt example of this came in the 80's when Pepsi attempted to boost its popularity by claiming to be "the choice of a new generation." The marketing directors forgot to mention, however, that the new generation it was referring to was Gen-X, notoriously known to be moody, self-absorbed, jaded, whiney, angsty, entitled assholes (I say this knowing that I am a part of this group).

In short, Coke not only tastes better than Pepsi, it is more widely acknowledged by businesses to be the preference of its customers, its superiority has led to its universal equation with the product, it creates rather than destroys beloved public icons, and its image is happier and more laid back than its rivals.

Anyway, my point was in beginning this post, was to bring yet another reason why Coke is the superior product--its invention and utilization of the prototype fast-food soda fountain, called "Coca-Cola Freestyle," which not only makes it possible, but encourages you, me, and everyone else to express our individuality via soda selection.

This development is so amazingly exciting that I literally did a spit-take of a big mouthful of Coke when I read about it--I am currently using a friend's laptop because the Coke I spit out in my excitement made roughly 1/3 of my keyboard sticky.

You can get all the pertinent information here, http://fastfood.freedomblogging.com/2009/07/21/video-coca-cola-freestyle-demo-how-it-works/29053/, but I'm so pumped about this that I have to tell you a little about it because I know theres some of you who won't click on the link and will therefore miss out on the best experience of your life (depending on how sad and empty your life is).

Basically, it works like this--the Coke-Freestyle is a computerized soda fountain with a single-nozzle and a touch screen. Using the touch screen, each customer can select ANY combination of ANY flavor of ANY Coke product (and ANY flavor of Powerade as an alternative) in ANY amount in their 12-24 oz beverage cups to enjoy whilst dining. It also offers coffee, teas, water, etc. If you have ever enjoyed a "Suicide" at a restaurant as a kid or older, you know how awesome this is (a "suicide" is where you take your cup and fill it with a little bit of every option at the soda fountain--sounds odd, but tastes like an orgy in your mouth. Figuratively speaking).

The Coke-Freestyle takes the concept of the "suicide" to the next level--you can have 3 measures of Coke, 2 fingers of Blue Powerade, a splash of diet Cherry Coke Zero, and top it off with a hint of Peppermint SleepyTime Tea. Or you can stick with a standard tall drink of Diet Coke. Thus, Coke-Freestyle makes it possible for everyone to find their perfect soda cocktail to wash down their double cheeseburgers with no pickles.

The bad news: Coke-Freestyle is currently only being used in select fast food restaurants in Atlanta and Orange County. If you are lucky enough to be in one of those areas, PLEASE try it out and let me know how it is. If not, you, like me, will have to wait till around 2010.

The good news: despite offering tasty range of choices, the average wait time at the fountain is only a few seconds longer than current fountains.

Everyone is allowed, nay, encouraged to explore and test the bounds of their own tastes, inventiveness, and gusto, and in so doing, find a perfect expression of their personality via soda. It's instant self-definition in a cup. Not even Willy Wonka could have come up with something so simple yet so beautiful.

The only thing that one is limited by is one's own imagination. Choke on that, Pepsi.

This is MikeeP saying,

Things Go Better With Coke

MORE TO COME SOON!

My Greatest Fear

Giant Squid, hands down.

What's that? You're laughing? You ever hear of a little guy called Captain Nemo, or Jack Sparrow, or Sperm Whales, or Samuel L. Jackson's character from the movie Sphere? Those guys are all terrifed of giant squid as well. Who's laughing now?

Some of you might think that living every day in mortal fear of being attacked by a giant squid is irrational, even silly. Some of you might roll your eyes because you think it is very unlikely to be pulled into the depths of the ocean by one of these gargantuan nautical beasts, and therefore it's hardly worth even giving it AH thought, let alone many thoughts that would necessitate an entire fear. Even more of you might scoff because you think giant squid are a "myth," relics of the rumors spread around by sailors in the days of yore (yore=~1600-1800). Well, in the words of the great Kenny Powers (Easbound and Down), listen up you beautiful bitches, I'm about to bitch-slap you with some truth.

Giant squids are not only as real as they are horrifying, they are everyone's problem. Don't believe me? This story was recently shared with by via link by my 2 of my good friends, separately, as they are both aware of my fear. They take the majority view of poking fun at my terror, and I believe they shared this with me in jest.

http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=D99FNF0O0&show_article=1

Jumbo squid invade San Diego shores, spook divers

After reading the ensuing story, however, I proceeded to defecate myself.

For those of you who were too lazy to click on the link, read the headline next to the picture. For those of you who are too lazy to do that, let me give you a quick summary of the story. There are squid, in San Diego that are attacking swimmers and divers for no apparant reason except that they enjoy attacking people.

Consider this "hypothetical" scenario, which is all too real for many San Diegans. . . San Diego-ites . . .whatever the hell they call themselves. You are swimming at the beach with your friends, sharing a few brewskis, a few laughs, havin a nice little Sunday-Funday, and you get a little too far off shore. Or you go on what you think is going to be a delightful little shore dive, you strap on your tank and mask, hop in and kick around for a while, admiring the enchanting underwater forests of kelp. All of a sudden BAM! A 10 foot squid comes out of nowhere and clamps onto your FACE with its 10, count 'em 10, tentacles!

Some of you skeptics out there might be thinking, "oh, it's ok, it's not like it's a shark, I'll just peel the tentacles off of me, the squid will realize it's made a mistake, we'll have a laugh together and we will swim out separate ways in peace and I will continue staring at some kelp, maybe even gather some to take home and grind into some shampoo or eat in an exotic homemade salad."

EHHHH. Wrong again, suckafish! These squids tentacles, if not ghastly enough on their own, are filled with thousands of little suction cups. Oh, did I mention that each little suction cup is filled with tiny razor-sharp razor things that will tear the shit out of you. Why? No big reason, just so the squid can more easily devour your flesh in its huge, also-razor sharp hideous beak-mouth. Or, just to cut you up cause the squid is a sadistic sociopath and it makes it feel like a bigger cepholapod to cut up its victims. Maybe their fathers didn't love them enough. Who knows? Who cares?

The truth is that there are roving gangs of squid terrorizing San Diego as we speak. Who's to say they will stop there--why not Huntington Beach, Manhattan Beach, Malibu, San Francisco BAY? Ponder that for a minute. Not so hilarious or irrational now, is it?

Some of you might still be skeptical, thinking, "ok, I'm still not that worried about a 10 foot squid, even if it fucks people up for fun." We'll I'm about to drop a bomb on your complacent, blissfully ignorant world now, so you might want to duck and cover if you are near a school desk.

They have found not one, but multiple GIANT squid out there as well. Check out this link: http://www.cryptomundo.com/wp-content/ap_squid_061222.jpg.

What's that? You want a little scale by which to judge that crackin? Here you go: http://www.extremescience.com/images/giant-squid.jpg. That squid, caught by Japanese scientists, was roughly 40 feet long, and was not even fully grown.

Here's another image that haunts my dream:

This squid is just a toddler, according to reports. Do you want a moody, self-absorbed creature of this size swimming below you and decide to play with you? Have you ever seen a toddler get mad at one of its toys? I rest my case there.

Giant squid, or Architeuthis hartingii (which is Latin for "holy fucking shit that's the scariest thing I've ever seen!") can grow up to about 60 feet, according to science. They fight WHALES for fun.

As if that wasn't enough, there are even bigger squid out there, whose technical scientific name is COLASSAL SQUID. These make the giant squid look like a bunch of pansy bitches at a massive 8o feet! They have 8 arms and 2 longer tentalces, each inch of which can grow to over 10 inches (think about it). Their eyes can be up to a FOOT in diameter. How would you like to be swimming and see THAT looking at you? That would make the T-Rex eye from that scene in Jurassic Park look like a kitten's peeper.

I don't know about you, but that makes me whimper like a dog in a Chinese restaurant, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Compare my "irrational" fear of giant squid to the most common fear for people, speaking in front of a crowd. While arguably frightening in its own right, speaking in front of a crowd is not going to grab you with a 30 foot tentacle, pulvarize you and chomp on you with a beak the size of an elephant's torso. You don't walk into an assembly as a key-note speaker carrying a harpoon, I'll tell you that much (unless, of course, you are giving a lecture about the history and development of the harpoon, but then it's more for educational rather than protective purposes).

I hope this has knocked some sense into you poo-poo'ers out there. Giant squid are a real, terrifying thing, and I will take my fear to the grave. As for me, I'm going to go change my pants and put down the rubber sheets before I go to sleep tonight.

Mikee P

The New What It Is (suckafish!)

I thought about whether I should address the sudden, drastic and possibly awkward changes that I made to the blog, or if I should have just continued writing as if nothing was new.

On the one hand, I don't know if many people even read this, and thus if anyone would notice or care, save a select few. That would seem to point in the direction of not taking the time to acknowledge the changes, and would suggest that I am just doing it because I am bored or because I need to somehow explain myself to, well, myself.

On the other hand, there are, I hope, at least a few people who read this blog semi-regularly. For those who do, coming to the blog and seeing a new title, 2 new pictures, a profile, and about 10 new apps on the side might be a little bit like having a good friend who you see every day, and one day you go over and see them and they've shaved their head, gotten a nosejob and braces, tattooed an eagle on their face and gotten those contacts that make your eyes look like cat-eyes. And they just start talking to you as if there's nothing new or different.

To me, that would be a little awkward, might kind of make you go "huh," so I decided that I would post this short little acknowledgement. "What It Is" is now called "What It Is, Sukafish?!". The concept is the same, it's about random things, random stories and interesting ways to waste time, but as I am a new blogger, I wasn't fully aware of all the cababilities/gadgets you can add to your blog to make it (hopefully) more interesting/interractive.

I first started this blog knowing that I wanted to blog, and that was about it. I knew I was probably going to make it about the random things I have done, seen, observed, etc. After about a 2 week trial run, I feel like I'm starting to close in on a little bit more of a focused theme.

I thought about what I enjoy in a blog/website. When I am sitting in the law school library for hours, or just rounding hour 2 of a 3 hour lecture, what do I crave the most? The answer is obvious--something that is funny or interesting enough to hold my attention for a while to take my attention off the mind-numbingly boring crap that is being spewed at me.

Thus, the new and improved What It Is blog. It still features random stories and shares good movies, books, songs, links. However, I'd like to draw your attention to the new features of What It Is, Sukafish?!

First of all, you will note the pictures. The first one is a dead blowfish that me and my friends found on a beach while in La Paz, Mexico. This one one of the most memorable, fun trips I can recall, but that is another story for another time. Anyway, it's not like it died with the sunglasses on--this isn't Weekend at Bernie's. We put the glasses on the fish. Why? Good question. I guess we thought it would be funny. And it was, at least to us.

The purpose of the addition of this picture to What It Is is four-fold: 1) I changed the name to What It Is Sukafish!? and it's one of the only pictures of a fish that I have. "Sukafish" is a saying that was coined by my brother Toogie (not his real name in case you were horrifed at my parents) and his best friend who is our brotha from anotha motha (and father), who I will call Booget (he knows why). If you want to know why, it's because one summer me him and Toogie were all working doing oddjobs for my grandma, Nans at her place of work. What we didn't realize was that the work entailed scrubbing stacks and stacks of chairs with cleaning chemicals in a small confined closet with little-to-no ventilation. The ensuing 8 hours a day of fumes led us to come up with some really weird shit which we found hilarious at the time, one of which being the term "Booget." As I recall, booget is a homonym whose dual meanings are "a fried fish nugget (like a chicken nugget, but fish)", and "a slang term referring to Laotians (people from Laos)". It's not meant to be a derrogatory term, but rather merely a descriptive one--we were young, and bored--I think I speak for all of us when I say we have absolutely nothing against Laotians or the country of Laos--I daresay I know hardly anything about this country or its people save that it is in Southeast Asia near Vietnam and Cambodia. Feel free to enlighten me if you know more.

Anyway, Toogie and Booget coined the term "Sukafish" when playing a videogame. It is a general term whose meaning is closest to that of "sucka!" that you can insert at the end of any sentance to add a little sass/pizazz. Example: "How was work today?" "It was fine . . . SUKAFISH!" or "Who did you vote for?" "If you must know, I voted for Obama . . . . SUCKAFISH!" You get the idea. I added Sukafish to the title because it is a term that is near and dear to me, and it gives the blog some attitude, which I felt it needed. And now you all know about the term, "sukafish!" and can use it as you see fit--I know Toogie's goal was to have it spread around the globe.

2) reason 2 for the fish picture. As I said before, the picture was taken in La Paz, during spring break of sophomore year of college--one of my favorite trips. It's one of my favorite because of all the memories (and lackthereof, in some instances). It serves as a reminder to all of us that life is made up of memories, and you need to remember the good times, the good friends, and all the fun you have because, in the end, I believe that is what is important.

3) On a similar vein, the fish picture is symbolic of this blog--it takes something relatively uninteresting/commonplace, like a dead fish, and makes it hilarious/titilating (by adding sunglasses). I'm not saying that you need to add sunglasses to everything to make it more interesting, but the point I'm trying to make here is that this blog is all about taking relatively commonplace, everyday experiences and finding/creating the humor or significance in them. Not everyone is going to walk on the fucking moon--especially since there hasn't been a manned mission there since 1972. Most of us will be pretty successful (some you, extremely) and not famous outside of our local bowling alleys. But there is great humor and significance in each of our lives--you just have to look for it.

4) Finally, and again semi-related, I want to blog to be a reminder not to take things too seriously. The fish is dead, but it can still be funny if you put sunglasses on it--again, I cite Weekend at Bernie's. Obviously, there are some things that are very important to take seriously, like open-heart surgery, the economic crisis facing the US and the world, and giant squid attacks.

But just because there are serious things out there doesn't mean you have to be serious all the time. I'm happiest when I'm not having to be serious, and I think a lot of people feel the same. That is why so many people love reading FML or watching "Leave Britney Alone" or seeing Bruno. Who doesn't browse funny websites or play mindless online games when theyre in class or at work or landing a Boeing 747? Exaclty.

Thus, this blog will both serve as a means of distraction in-and-of-itself, but it will also be featuring what I consider to be great means of distraction that I want you to know about as well, so that you don't have to sit and fret all day long about how California's budget cuts 12 billion in funding to such essential services as public education and Medi-Cal, and really only pushes the problem down the road and might culminate in the entire state government collapsing. You can still fret about this, but take 5 minutes off. Listen to this song from Monty Python's Life of Brian, sung by a man who is being crucified next to Brian, who is mistaken for Jesus--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHPOzQzk9Qo, it pretty much sums it up.

Wow, I really wrote a lot more about the fish picture than I thought I would--I guess that's the English/psychology major/law student in me--I basically have been trained my entire academic life to find meaning in the smallest, stupidest thing and ramble about it for pages and pages.

Anyway, another new picture is the Mikee P picture. For those of you who might be a little slow, this is me. I don't remember what I am staring at, but it looks like it was intriguing/confusing. Anyway, thought it might be good to put a name with the face.

You might also notice that I have added the "subscribe" feature. If you do this, What It Is, Sukafish?! will show up on your homepage, like igoogle or yahoo home. Each new post will have a link, so that you don't have to always search the blog or wait for me to notify you of an update.

I also added a little "about me" section, in case you wanted to know more about yours truly (me, to the lay-person). If you feel like you know too much already, too bad, because you've only seen the tip of the iceberg, SUKAFISH! Below that, is the archive, as always, where you can search for old posts, in case you missed one or stumbled upon this later on and want to read more. Below that is a "search this blog" feature, which should be pretty self-explanatory to all of you who speak English. At the very bottom of the right-column is a cool feature that I discovered and added in the spirit of this blog's dedication to distraction: How Are People Wasting Their Time? It is a link to the most watched youtube videos--thus, you should be getting to watch some pretty interesting stuff, and you might have a few more things to shoot the shit about with friends/co-workers/therapists/pet parrots.

At the very bottom of the blog, below all of the posts, I have added a permanent and hopefully ever-growing list of my favorite websites on which to waste time/be entertained. On there right now is

hulu.com, where you can watch select movies/tv shows for free, such as It's Always Sunny in Philedelphia, The Simpsons, SNL, and a variety of movies.

IMDB.com is a database of every movie ever made, cross-referenced by actor, director, writer, etc. Basically, if you want to know anything about any movie, or see what your favorite actor has acted in their career, use IMDB.

Addicting Games is a website dedicated to fun, easy, and often mindless games you can play online for free. I recommend Pac Xon or Monster Evolution to start--both are great if you still need to pay some attention to whatever you are doing, but want something to occupy that ADHD side of you while doing it--great for class, customer service calls, and driving a semi-truck.

The Onion, if you don't already know, is a hilarious fake news source--I consider it to be the greatest source of modern satire in existence. Literally everything in each edition is laugh-out-loud hilarious and spot-on. In addition to fake newspaper articles, there are fake radio feeds and fake TV news stories. You could spend days on this site and never stop laughing. Give it a shot.

Slate Magazine is kind of like the Onion, but real news. It is real news written by funny people in a funny way--read it if you like being actually informed and up-to-date but are looking to an alternative to the horribly bland standard news sites out there.

Funny Or Die is a website similar to youtube created by Will Ferrell and Adam McKay--it features hilarious videos. I recommend the Landlord and Good Cop, Baby Cop to get started.

Finally, the Fail Blog, as I have mentioned in previous posts, is an incredibly simple and funny site. It features pictures and captions of things that have "failed" at what they attempt to do. It is hard to describe, but worth your time, so check it out.

Anyway, this was a lot longer post than I intended--and to think I wasn't even going to mention the changes at all. I hope the re-vamped look and content of What It Is, Sukafish?! make it even more enjoyable and help to facilitate your need to distract yourself when life is getting to boring or heavy.

As I have stated before, I would love it if you readers would share similar websites, videos, new movies or artists, and/or stories with me and the other readers--another hope I have is that this site can become a forum of great entertainment and time-wasting, and as I have said before, I am always on the lookout for new and funny/distracting things.

So, let me leave you all now to contemplate the changes that have taken place here at What It Is, Sukafish?!. Just like when Mount Rushmore was re-carved to add in Teddy Roosevelt's face over the lesser-accomplished Millard Fillmore's (I think they had to ship in extra granite from Italy), it's the same basic idea, but much more improved and worth visiting.

Take it easy, everyone. Try not to get too focused in life.

Mikee P

Also, please note the important change in the blog's URL: it is now http://whatitissuckafish.blogspot.com/, no longer whatitis916.blogspot.com. Please pass this on.

When An Old Lady Screams F*$% You, You Best Get Out The Way

One day when I was 4 years old, I was out playing in the backyard. I'm not saying there was only one day when I was 4 when I did this, I'm just focusing on one particular day here. I don't remember exactly what I was playing--probably getting into some typical 4 year old mischief like climbing the trees, kicking the soccer ball around or playing "tease the rattlesnake," where you and a group of others take turns trying to provoke a rattlesnake until the point of striking. There were a lot of rattlesnakes around my yard, which kind of makes me wonder why my parents let us play out there alone at age 4 while they were at work all day. No one ever got bit, though which was really lucky, or it could have had to do with the fact that I think they were earthworms and not rattlesnakes. I always get the two mixed up. . . which one do you eat?

Anyway, I was out there harassing rattlesnakes or earthworms, or whatever, and my dad called me over, and told me to sit down and listen. "Son, you're gonna see a lot of things in your life. You're not always going to know what to do, and I can't always be there to hold your hand and tell you how to handle every situation. But there's one thing I can tell you--when and old lady screams F*#@ you, you best get the %&@# out of her way."

After I stopped crying my dad let me get back to playing in the yard, and I never really thought about that day until a couple of weeks ago.

When I'm not living anywhere else, which is most of the time, I live in San Francisco. For those of you who also live in San Francisco, my "neighbs" if you will (shout out here to my original Neighb, who is now also living in San Francisco and my actual Neighb as well), you are likely aware of the 47/49 line Muni buses that travel up and down Van Ness. These buses run the same course from Fisherman's Wharf pretty much all the way to Mission-ish, and then the split off--but for a good chunk of the route, they are interchangeable and so it doesn't matter which one you catch. And as with most of the Muni lines, you get quite an eclectic bunch of fellow passengers when you choose this bus as your means of getting from point A to point B.

This is often one of the joys of public transportation, if you are into the whole people-watching thing, or the whole reflecting-on-how-much-of-an-amazing-testament-it-is-to-the-American-Melting-Pot-that-so-many-different-people-can-coexist-in-such-a-small-area thing, or the whole being-smashed-between-the-short-loud-woman-on-the-cell-phone-and-the-huge-bald-dude-with-B.O.-for-20-blocks thing (I personally enjoy the third one the most--uh . . . ah . . . I mean . . . ).

Anyway, before you get the wrong idea (I don't actually have a bus fetish), back to the wise words that my good old dad had the foresight to pass onto me when I was just a youngster and couldn't appreciate until 20 years later.

One day, I was walking to the bus. Just to clarify again, there wasn't just one day that I was walking to the bus--this happens every day, I'm just focusing on one day in particular here. I was walking to the bus, and I got to the bus stop.

The end.

Ok, just kidding. That would be one of the worst stories ever, and I do mean ever. I mean it has a beginning, technically a middle, and an end, but man, otherwise it just blows. Where's the antagonist? Where's the rising action and the climax? Where is the character development? No, I wouldn't waste your time with that kind of bush-league crap-story. Please forgive me and read on.

So I got to the bus stop, and, as is my custom, I checked that little screen that tells you when the next bus is coming. I forget what it said, I know it was between 5 and 99 minutes, probably more in the ball park of 7 to 11 mins if you forced me to narrow it down. Now, I don't know about you, but I do NOT like waiting at a bus stop for more than 3 minutes tops, especially if I'm only riding it say, 10-15 blocks. At that point, I can usually walk to the place where I am headed and either beat the bus I was waiting for, or get there right at the same time.

And at least walking, you get some exercise and feel productive, can I get an amen? I know there are many of you who would heartily, and possibly violently, disagree with me. And I see your point--it is kind of stupid to try to walk all that way when the bus is clearly on the way, and you don't get there any faster, and you could be sitting rather than walking. But for some reason, to me it just feels like I'm acomplishing something by walking, even if it literally does nothing in the way of saving time. Maybe I should take that as I sign that I need to lead a significantly more productive life, and do whatever version of that I think I should.

If it at all makes it seem less stupid, I usually take it on a stop-by-stop basis, re-evaluating how close the bus is each time--if it is very close, I will actually give in and just wait. This method can backfire, though, if you are cutting it close (like I tend to do) and the bus actually passes you when you are between stops, come to a halt at the stop 20 feet ahead of you, and pulls away right before you are close enough to try to make it. Then, it's like, who has 2 thumbs and feels like a total jack-ass? This guy!

So on this particular day, I saw the bus at my normal stop was 7 minutes away, and I started walking to the next bus stop. I was listening to my ipod and it was early in the day, so by the time made it to the next stop, I was kind of spacing out, probably reminiscing about harassing rattlesnakes and resisting the urge to bust out into the Stand Still and Pump Both Fists Dance to the song I was listening to. By the time I made it to the stop, I was in my own world, barely aware of what was going on around me.

That made my surprise all the more palpable when I heard someone scream "F$@#!!!" at the top of their lungs a single time. No sentance, no string of expletives, just a single F-bomb so loud I heard it over the Eve 6 blasting in my headphones.

I looked around the bus stop, but no one was there but a little old lady sitting on one of the fold-out seats clutching a cane, her little old legs dangling above the cement as they were too short to reach all the way. I remember thinking there was no way that bellowing F&#$ came out of that sweet little 80 year old bat's mouth--it must have been someone from an apartment above that I didn't see.

I shrugged it off as the bus pulled up and we both got ready to board. What you need to know here that buses in San Francisco have the ability to "kneel", i.e. lower hydraulically so that people with disabilities have an easier time boarding. Generally, the driver will do this upon request or when it is blatatntly obvious that the person needs help.

I hopped on first, cause who wants to wait on the curb for an old lady with a cane to get on before you? Now, either the bus was too crowded, or he was in a hurry and not paying total attention, or something, but for whatever reason, the driver just didn't see this lady's cane and the fact that she needed a little extra help getting on. I was about to point it out to him when all of a sudden this tiny, frail, elderly woman screams "Lower the F&%#ing bus you f&$#ing asshole! I need to get on!"

I am not joking or exaggerating this part. Everyone on the bus kind of stopped and looked up at the front, wondering if they actually just heard our driver get shut down by an old bag with a cane. The driver, stunned as everyone else, kind of tried to sputter a pseudo-friendly comment to brush off the insult, like "Hey, sorry, darlin, you know all you got to do is ask."

"I shouldn't have to ask, I'm an old lady," the woman retorted, climbing onto the bus and grabbing an empty seat that had been vactated by a grown man in a suit fearing her wrath and fleeing her path. Most of the time, the story would end there--we would all have been shocked, but laughed about it when we got to work/school and told everyone this minor incident that occurred. But it wasn't over yet, not by a damn sight.

This old lady must have been pissed at this driver or, possibly, she was actually trying to provoke him because she just sat there for 3 blocks saying "you're a F%#@in asshole," over and over again to the driver. Now, I usually get a huge kick out of an unusual and absurd situation like an old lady cussing out a bus driver, so I paused my ipod and paid attention, but I don't think anyone saw what happened next coming.

There was another old lady sitting across from Old-Lady-F-Bomb, and she must have a son that's a bus driver or something because she got really pissed at the cursing old lady, and she said "You need to shut the F%#$ up."

Not phased in the slightest, the first old lady turns on the second one and screams her loudest "Fu@# you!" yet at her. And, not to be outdone by the first old lady with a dirty mouth, the second came back with a hearty "No, F$@% you!"

At this point, I think no one on the bus knew whether to burst out laughing or jump in the middle and try to break up what would have turned out as the slowest rumble in the world. Seriously, what would you have done? Finally, the driver decided he'd had enough of trying to get a grip on the cognitive dissonance of sweet-looking old ladies screaming some heavy-duty profanity, and threw the first old lady off the bus at the next stop.

Not literally--that would have really topped the story off to have seen a fiesty elderly lady get thrown from a moving bus.

In the eerie calm that followed the F-bomb-dropping-old-ladys-ejection, I thought back to that fateful day 20 years earlier that my dad had uttered those words and had to wonder--what the holy hell had happened to him to make me warn me about these situations?

Meditate on that.

Mikee P

Random Stuff:

If you havent seen it yet, check out The Fail Blog at http://failblog.org/. Seriously good time waster at work, and there are some that will make you laugh out loud.

The Best Eve 6 Song, "Anytime," which can be heard here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QwcFu9Kewo. (For more on this band, please refer to my balanced and neutral evaluation in the blog post "Sucks to Be White and Love Dancing" http://whatitissuckafish.blogspot.com/2009/07/sucks-to-be-white-and-love-dancing.html).

Old But Classic Will Ferrell Clip: When he is "The Architect" from the 2003 MTV Movie Awards Introduction--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra5-H9ZBS1U&feature=related. A great line, "Ergo . . . concordantly . . . vis a vis. . . you know what, I have no idea what I am saying. I just thought it would make me sound cool."

Another one of my comedic heros, Chris Farley, in my favorite clip of all time: http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?mkt=en-us&tab=soapbox&vid=aec9c00f-a642-459a-9140-4b63f831f251. I miss him.

Everyone's favorite angry old lady--the Wedding Crasher's grandma. She doesn't hold a candle to the one on the bus, though. http://www.entertonement.com/clips/fjxmnzglfq--I-can-do-it-myself-asshole.

Again, please feel free to share random stuff with me. I love a good laugh and a good timewaster.

With Your Powers Combined, An Inconvenient Hilarity

I know there are those of you out there that think global warming is not a laughing matter. I'm here to tell you it is.

There's multiple reasons why, if you really think about it. I'm sure if most of you stopped and thought about global warming, you'd be able to come up with 2 or 3 reasons why its hilarious. I'm sure some of you are laughing about it right now, on the inside, and a few of the naughtiest of you are actually chuckling out loud.

Let me just say something to you Gaia-haters out there who did laugh out loud at your own sick imaginings of why global warming might be a laughing matter:

Gaia, or to the lay-person, "Mother Earth" is weeping right now because of your actions. If you don't even know who that is, then you are a bastard who probably goes around spraying 2 cans of Pam/spray paint/Redding's Whipped Cream at a time straight up into the air just for the fun of it. You probably drive a Hummer with twin-chainsaws on either side through entire square-miles of the rainforest, chopping down trees and running over all kinds of peacocks, insects, and disease-curing fungi, all the while pumping hundreds upon hundreds of grams per kilometer of Co2 emissions into the atmosphere. You probably get some kind of sick satisfaction from hiding all of the Fair Trade coffee at Starbucks way back behind the other coffees so that no one will buy them even if they want to.

You probably even eat non-compostable food like twinkies that you keep in custom-made single-serving styrofoam containers, which you throw into local creeks or playgrounds after you are done consuming your death-snack like a jackass instead of recycling them like everyone knows you should.

(Disclaimer: Don't actually try to recycle styrofoam containers. It's not that I care at all--I just don't want to be held responsible for the severe emotional distress you will likely suffer after you try this and a hippie or wannabe-hippie sternly lectures you for 10 minutes about how they can't believe you don't know what you can or cannot recycle. This lecture also has a high likelihood of leading to severe boredom, as it digresses into a self-righteous rant--not even necessarily to you anymore, but just anyone who will or will not listen--about how they cannot believe there are people out there who don't recycle at all! With all we know about global warming, they will say, how could a person not recycle? It just goes to show what a nation of consumers we are, and we don't even realize it.

At this point, in the lecture, you most likely will zone out, or actually fall asleep--this can lead to additional physical as well as emotional trauma, especially if you were standing, walking, sitting with dangerous tools or animals in your hands, or driving a vehicle--though, I really don't know how or why you were trying to recycle anything whilst driving. The point is, you will be very sorry you tried to recycle styrofoam, and probably will regret even opening that twinkie, and I don't want you coming back and blaming me).

Which reminds me of what I was yelling about (you might not have even been aware I was raising my voice since you are only reading this, but trust me, I was yelling), if you are opening the twinkie and trying to recycle styrofoam, you are one of those bastards who doesn't know who Mother Earth (or Gaia, as she is more affectionately known by I have no idea who, but probably anyone who clings to ancient Greek mythology) is.

Gaia is a hot Native-American-ish woman with a gold headband a la Wonder Woman who sometimes shows up when Captain Planet needs additional help battling such villians as Hoggish Greedly, Sly Sludge, or Captain Pollution--his grotesque, pollution-powered foil. If you don't know what I am talking about, you probably didn't grow up in the late 80s/early 90s, and you missed out on one hell of a quality cartoon. Here is a link you can click to find out more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Planet. This should clear up any confusion.

So back to why global warming can be funny.

I just unwittingly (or was it?) mentioned one reason I came up with--it gives us an excuse to revisit the show Captain Planet, and all of its campy gloriousness. This show was as hilarious as it was uninformative.

I think it really confused the hell out of kids, "so . . . let me get this straight. . . . if we all touch rings together and say one of the ancient 4 elements (and the lamest-ass possible 5th one--Heart? Give me a break) out loud, a giant green man will appear and kick the crap out of unnecessarily evil bad-guys who gratuitously pollute the Earth just for shits and giggles?" No amount of public service announcements at the end of episodes designed to give kids practical avenues for saving the planet could undo the knot of whimsical bull-plop that each episode itself created. If anything, it probably directly and significantly made the problem worse because kids sat inside all saturday morning watching this show and eating twinkies out of disposable styrofoam containers and, instead of recycling them, waited around for the styrofoam to turn into a pollution-monster so Captain Planet could show up and smite it.

Also, I don't want to get started on that Heart kid (the 5th Planeteer with the "awesome" power of "heart"), but I can't help it. Heart is probably the least badass 5th element they could have added. Think of how suh-weet the other ones are--earth, wind, fire, and water. Each one could seriously wreck your proverbial shit on its own, let alone all combined. Even only combining 3 elements--Earth Wind and Fire, could create a seriously groovy song. (Such as, Let's Groove).

But heart. Love--really? That's your weapon? What, does the kid act all into the bad guys and then stop calling them for no reason so they feel bad about themselves? I guess in the hands of an immature teenage girl, love can be a formidable power, but it hardly stacks up to the sheer destructive force of a tonrado or a rock-bashing.

They also made the Heart-kid (or as he's known on the show, Ma-Ti) about as lame as he could possibly be. He's a 12 year old Brazillian that telepathically communicates with animals--sounds like a semi-decent Disney movie plot, but a pretty unimpressive Pollution-Battling Warrior. Maybe, maybe, Heart would be tight if he did something crazy and heart-related, like he actually ate the hearts of his enemies, or even performed risky and unncessary heart-surgeries on them under the guise of being a 3rd-world doctor.

But no, we are stuck with the whiney twerp who just goes around feeling empathetic towards everyone, including his enemies, and petting his damn monkey-friend. Not only must this bug the crap out of the tougher, more useful Planeteers, I bet that monkey probably carries around all kinds of fleas and lice and ebola, which is irritating and dangerous to everyone involved.

I guess Captain Planet getting ebola from the pet Capuchin of the weakest member of his own team would really be a tragically ludicrous way for him to be defeated, and would thus be a global-warming situation that would warrant laughter.

Another obvious reason why global warming can be hilarious is that it gives us a chance to listen Al Gore's astute and often well-timed acerbic witticisms in such films as An Inconvenient Truth. I've heard of dry humor, but this guy takes the jokes, Sham-Wow's em, salts em, bakes them for 18 hours in a kiln, places them into ziplock sealed bags and salts em again before dishing em out--I'm talkin' dry!

Anyway, if you are interested in 2 visual representations that offer drastically different approaches to solving the hilarious crisis of global warming--one that highlights the effectiveness of seemingly minor acts of individual responsibility like checking your tires' air pressure frequently, buying products with less packaging, and changing light bulbs, and another that emphasizes the lesser-taken route of enlisting in a coderie of multi-cultural ring-possessing teenagers that can summon metallic green super heros to battle pollution-bent foes--then check out Captain Planet and the Planeteers and An Inconvenient Truth, respectively.

Either way, it will help your chances of scoring with the hottest Earth-spirit you and I have ever seen, Gaia.

In conclusion, let's all try to live in harmony with the ozone. Recall the age-old motto of our 1960s bretheren, Shave the Whales--all that hair can be used to help the lagging wig industry--and remember, THE POWER IS YOURS!

Mikee P

If you are actually interested in doing what you can to stop global warming, here is a simple yet the only truly effective method--stop doing anything--consume no more energy, and create no more waste--don't even die ever because your body will have to be decomposed. Since that's probably impractical for most of you, here is what others have suggested: http://www.climatecrisis.net/takeaction/whatyoucando/.

Theme-Appropriate Quote:

Hippie: You can't, like, own property man.

Professor Farnsworth: I can. But that's because I'm not a penniless hippie.

(Futurama, "The Problem with Popplars")

Al Gore (after the universe imploded): "I don't know where we are, but I know dang sure where we aren't--the universe."

(Futurama, "Anthology of Interest I" voice actually performed by Vice President Al Gore--what did I tell you--humor as dry as a 68 year old Miami sunbather's skin, right?)

An Inconvenient Truth: http://www.climatecrisis.net/

Captain Planet: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Planet_and_the_Planeteers

Gaia: http://thatissophat.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/captainplanet7.jpg

Futurama: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Futurama

My Pups Are Like The Forrest Gumps of The Dog World Without All the Acomplishments

I am a fan of dogs.

I don't want to get into the whole dogs vs. cats make-better-pets debate. Everyone has their preferences, some like having happy, playful best friends, others prefer desperately pining for just one hint of affection from cold, reclusive, borderline-emotionally-abusive snobs. Let's leave it as "to each his/her/sher (trying to include everyone) own", and my "own" in this category, is a resounding "dogs." I figure pets is one area where you can take the liberty of not having to do/say/feed the right thing all the time.

Being a dog-owner also teaches you the important life lesson of loving and caring for something even when it is a total idiot. This may come in handy in life to a lot of us, and it's probably good to have had some practice.

Hence my pups. They are 7 year old Shelties. For those of you that aren't familiar with this particular breed, "Sheltie" stands for Shetland Sheepdogs. They are called that because they are originally bred from a land called Shet and they are dumber than sheep. Basically, they are like midget Lassies, except when Timmy is trapped in a well, instead of going to his parents and barking directions to save him, they stand at the edge of the well looking down at him, panting with blank stares on their faces, or they get distracted and chase squirrels until they collapse from exhaustion. Or in my dogs' case, they get too close and fall down into the well with Timmy.

I got these two pups when I was a senior in high school. Earlier that year, our family's first pup, also a Sheltie that my siblings and I named Lassie in an especially ingenious moment of 8, 4 and 2 year old inventiveness, had to be put to sleep due to kidney failure. It was actually very sad--Lassie was our first real pet and she was a great dog. She was extremely fat though--I have a picture of her sitting where she looks like a furry Jabba the Hutt. We had Lassie cremated after she died--the vet had to give us a bigger than normal box to hold all of her ashes because she was so big--making what I felt was a fairly rude comment when she tossed the box on the table like a losing hand in poker, something to the effect of "we had to steal a box from the dumpster outside pottery barn in order to fit these ashes of your fat dog. Maybe if you take better care of your next pet, it won't engorge itself to the point of ruining its kidneys and our job wont be as hard." It was 7 years ago, and I was fairly grief-stricken, so this recollection may be slightly askew. I know I hated that vet though. Anyway, we still have the box--we keep it near our fireplace and have changed Lassie's name to "Ashy".

Our 2 new pups--though they really aren't "new" anymore--are also great dogs. Their names are Sydney and Shabazz (I got to name one of them, but I won't tell which one). Let me describe them to you. They are brother and sister, born from the same litter. Sydney is skinny--she weighs about 15 pounds, and her ears point straight up--she basically looks like a fox. She is fast and "smart"--definitely the leader of the pair--but is neurotic as hell. Picture a combination of Woody Allen, Paul Giomatti and the Rainman on speed, and you've got Sydney. Despite originally being a bit-standoffish, she is pretty affectionate now, as long as you don't grab and move her left forepaw--then she'll snap in your face.

Shabazz is quite on the opposite end of the spectrum in every way. He's twice as big as Syd--he weighs 30 pounds. We think he got so fat because when he was a pup, he broke his front paw, and couldn't run around with Syd for 6 weeks. Instead, he started eating her food along with his whenever she freaked out and chased a squirrel along the backyard fence, which is literally always, and he hasn't stopped to this day. He, unlike Syd, is on the simpler side, but this makes him loveable--he is kind of like a lot of Chris Farley characters, but not as insane. He is not neurotic at all--he's always happy and in a good mood, and he always comes up to you wherever you're sitting and sits right next to you and leans against you. This move may be equally motivated by a need to support all of his excess fat in addition to the love factor, but it's still sweet when he does it.

I love both of these pups to death. But that doesn't change the fact that they exhibit borderline-retarded behavior on an hourly basis.

Let me give you an example. Unlike Lassie (remember, the old dead dog?--who when you threw a toy at her, let it hit her in the face and laid down because she was so fat and lazy), Syd and Baz love to play. But they play like they have brain damage.

Shabazz will bring you a ball, or chew toy, and drop it at your feet. So far, normal dog behavior. But when you pick it up and throw it, he just stands there barking at you for 5 minutes, and you have to point and say "go get it! go get it!" around 50 times before he actually turns and retreives the ball. After the first toss, you're ready to say "to hell with this" and be done. And then he comes back and drops it again, acting all confused why you are over it so soon. Because I have to spend 5 minutes explaining to you what you need to do to keep playing EVERY TIME I throw the ball, that's why, you moron! It's a little exhausting.

Sydney's idea of "playing" is running around on the furniture and periodically stopping to watch as you play this remedial version of fetch with Shabazz. She gets so freakin excited, but she refuses to participate--not that there's much to participate in. What's even weirder is if both dogs are outside and you begin playing fetch with Baz, Sydney will run inside to run around and watch you play through the windows. Issues?

But those are not the only moronic things they do. They bark at weird shit. Every dog does this to a degree, but this is some wicked stuff. At some point in their lives, they must have gotten conditioned to bark at aerosol can spray sounds, like when my mom cooks and sprays Pam, they go apeshit. But it's carried over into imaginary spraying--if you hold your index finger like you are mimicking spraying a can and go "ttssssss", they bark their asses off! Why? Because they are re-re's, that's why.

They also have weird tics when it comes to going on walks. Whenever you say "do you wanna go on a walk?" or even just the word "walk," they go F-in nuts. Especially Shabazz. They run up to you, bark, jump on you--they get so excited that they knock the leashes out of your hands when you try to put them on. And you have to be careful when Bazzie jumps on you, its a lot of weight and he's been known to throw people off-balance, or in the case of some old ladies, knock them flat on their asses. This is of course hilarious to everyone watching, but it gets old after the 7th of so time you say "oh--let me help you with your walker" and they go even more insane and knock her down again.

They've even taken it to the next level--and this part is actually fairly smart on their end. If you say anything that rhymes with "do you wanna go on a walk", like "do you wish you could talk?" or "do you want to draw with chalk?", or "do you want me to shoot my Glock?" or "do you like Kirk better than Spock?" they do the same thing and go nuts and basically won't stop until you take them on a walk. Even weirder is they've figured out that we usually wear work-out related clothes when we take them on walks. So if you ever go upstairs and change into workout clothes and come back down--for any reason--Shabazz starts barking, then Sydney joins in and you either have to give in and walk them, or disappoint them and feel like an a-hole.

And the shit doesn't stop when you get out of the house either. Shabazz, in his infinite stupidity, insists on holding his leash in his mouth and growling at you until you reach the bottom of our cul-de-sac. Then he just drops it and ignores it like he completely forgot about it for the rest of the time. Sydney isn't much better. Neurotic as ever, she freaks out unless she walks to the right of everybody and up on the sidewalk. If you hold her on the left, she will walk/jump around you, Shabazz, and anyone else in order to get all the way to the right, which of course often ends up entagling everyone in the leashes, forcing us to stop and straighten it all out. Everything is fine until the next 10 feet where it all happens again. It's easy to imagine that, whenever they bark, they are saying in a slow, monotone Southern accent, "stupid is as stupid duz." Unfortunately in their case, they duz a lot of stupid.

For all of their Gump-esque qualities, you can't help but love Sydney and Shabazz. They are super friendly, always happy to see everyone, and they are loyal as hell. One of the things I miss most about being home is sitting on the couch watching a show, and Syd will just hop up, curl up next to me and fall asleep--they both usually end up following you to your bedroom and sleeping on your bed too. They also howl if you howl--they get a kick out of it too--it's really fun when we annoy my mom by howling quietly enough so that only the pups can hear, but then they start and it drives my mom crazy. What I love about them is that they love to play, and they are never in a bad mood. Towards people. Dogs are another story man--they F-in HATE other dogs.

Despite their incessant idiocy, these pups are sweet, affectionate, always fun to be around, and love their owners as much as we love them--basically awesome all-around. Think about that the next time you are dangling a string above your cat for 20 minutes begging for some kind of response while it lounges out and acts like you're not even there, SUCKA!

Hope you guys make it through the Friday without starting a riot in the office like I'm about to. Keep your eyes open for this weekends papers in case I do! I'll do the same.

In the words of Billy Zane in his best role of his career, "It's a walk-off! It's a walk-off."

Random Stuff:

Incredibly funny and little-known movie: The Foot Fist Way. I will most likely be dedicating a blog post to this movie's brilliance in the near future. Decide for Yourself:

Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JQVul-k7Bc&feature=PlayList&p=F7171761FDE7B991&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=15

Best Quotes Compilation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pjji2srrIeg

Great song you should check out: "Life & Debt" by the Blue Scholars. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9TikTT4F058