Friday, July 28, 2006

So I'm doing this MySpace gig right? And I get a message in my inbox there from a little fellow (I'm saying little fellow because his picture was of a 7 year old boy) who wants to be my friend. Now maybe I'm reading into this a little too much, but are the child predator police trying to lure me into a trap? Now I'm not a child predator and I definitely don't play one on TV, but does my profile warrant me as a child predator in any way, shape or form? At which point did I state on my profile or homepage that I enjoyed being around little children? This could just be the funniest thing ever since those that know me know I don't like little kids at all. They cry, they drool, they have snot all over themselves, they talk obsessively and they cry some more. Mothers out there feel free to take offense, but deep down you know my assessment of little kids is correct. In any event honestly, would I really be into the kiddies if MySpace is showing all the nice sexy ads with the fly girls posing all pretty and trash-like? Not that I go for trash-like fly girls that like to pose.

In other news that would only happen in England read about this article and speculate all you want!

News of the Weird reported in 1996 on the eccentric, but legitimate contracts sold by British insurance executive Simon Burgess, e.g., the policy that would pay the then-equivalent of about $160,000 in the event the insured were abducted by an alien, with double indemnity if the insured were also impregnated (and since alien powers are unknown, male pregnancy was covered, as well). In June 2006, three sisters in Scotland revealed that they are renewing their 6-year-old policy from Burgess that would pay them the equivalent of about $1.84 million in the event any of them gives birth to Jesus Christ (should he return), to cover the cost of raising him. [BBC News, 6-22-06]

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Why is it that when you have less than one of something, that something becomes plural? What do I mean? Well if you have 2 apples sitting on your desk, the apples is plural (you have MORE than 1) with an ‘s.’ This is obviously correct. If you have one apple down your pants, the apple is singular, because, well you only have a single apple (and I am talking apples here, not nuts). But if suddenly you discover that you have 0.5 apples up your sleeve, you are back to using the plural form, apples. Why? Physically you have less than one apple, but Grammar says you do not (apparently Grammar ain’t no math wiz (but that’s okay because Math don’t know squat ‘bout grammar.). To throw a nice little monkey wrench in the mix, if you rephrase your statement to say you have half an apple in your eye (which may cause you significant pain and inflammation) you’re back to using the singular for of apple, but only because you placed the single identifier (an) in front of the word apple. If you only have 0.159 apples baked in a pie (which I don’t think would taste very good for an apple pie), who is going to want to say, “My pie only uses one hundred fifty nine thousandths of an apple!” when you can say, “point one five nine” instead? Most people can't even do that kind of math!

Monday, July 24, 2006

I know you’ve all done it before. I think sometimes I may actually do it too much. What is it? Laughing when you are not supposed to. I can’t tell you how many I have sat in meetings at The Workplace and tried to the best of my ability to control my laughter; one time in particular occurred a number of months ago when a rep from IBM came to train us programmers on DB2 databases. Don’t get me wrong, the guy knew more about the topic than probably Einstein did about Relativity but he was hilarious as all get out! The kicker was that he didn’t even try to be funny, he just was! I definitely just sat there in my seat at times with a big old smile on my goofy looking face trying to turn away to hide my body spasms. Why do we do this? Even worse are the “laugher fits” that I get from time to time. Usually they end up with me on the floor rolling around (that’s where we get the Instant Message acronym you know? ROFLMAO (Rolling on floor laughing my a** off. IMers never use this term literally of course). Laughing fits can be evidence of multiple things ranging from Marijuana overdose, to drunkenness, to Bipolar Disorder. Now I’m not telling you this to make you think that I have issues. Of course not! I am letting you know that I don’t mean to laugh at you intentionally (most of the time) and if any of you other readers out there have this problem, just know that help is available! Thank goodness for wikiHow!

So while you might see my laughing as rude I just find myself laughing at life and how I see things.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Will the heat and humidity around here ever end? I want winter back, as well as my desire to wear long sleeve t-shirts, which could very well be the best piece of clothing ever invented!

July 13, 2006

Okay so here is your chance to poke a little fun. Last night I went to a concert with three buddies from camp. Now before I speak about whom I saw, just let it be known that I still maintain that I am a 25 year old, straight male. Okay, the jig is up. I went to go see Kelly Clarkson in concert last night. My manhood aside it was quite a fun evening. Rooney, the band that opened for her (who happened to be from California by the way and I still don’t care), was not as good. In fact I thought they stunk and wanted them off the stage. When the band sang the song S-s-s-s-shake It and I actually saw people in the crowd dancing around I was quite amazed; mostly because there was no alcohol being sold within 10 miles and like I said before, they stunk.

So moving on. Once Kelly took the stage the concert was really quite good. Never mind the screaming 12-year-old girls all over the place, or the occasional rain that made us wet, or the super bright lights that shined right in our eyes. Concerts are really about music anyway right? That and an American Idol who is willing to come out and play in the rain with the rest of the crowd. I took some heat from my campers (I think most of them were jealous anyway), but in the end it was a great evening (the Dave & Buster’s rap up plus the hour straight of listening to O-zone’s Numa Numa song definitely made the end just dog on right). Plus my Mutant Eye is all gone so I’m one happy camper, er counselor.

Monday, July 17, 2006

So I just got home from camp yesterday and it had been an amazing two weeks as always. It’s funny, every year at the end of camp I say I am never going back, yet when I see that application in the mail I can’t help but fill it out. I did keep notes on my two week there since internet access is a little hard to come by in Stony Brook, Long Island. Ergo, the next couple of posts will be recaps of days at camp. I’m thinking this will be a little different and yet a little fun.

July 11, 2006

So I woke up this morning with what I am calling “Mutant Eye.” I had absolutely no idea what was going on. When I woke up my left eye felt a little strange so I took a glance in the mirror and here the whole bottom area of skin under my eye was swollen and flabby. I could feel skin meeting together like a double chin. This of course drooped the lower eyelid a little causing my left eye to appear bigger than my right. All this together helped me coin the term Mutant Eye. My eye itself wasn’t red, gunky or anything like that so I ruled Red Eye out. The only other symptom I noticed was a slight tenderness at the base of my eye. And of course, like a giant pimple, I thought the whole world was looking at it. By mid-afternoon I had discovered the cause of Mutant Eye. Turns out I had a nice little white pimple just on the inside of my lower eyelid. How in the crap does one get such a thing? I didn’t even think something like that was possible! Of course being the skin OCD that I am I had to pop the darn thing. This is where things get a little gross so if you’re squeamish, turn away. The little bugger popped quite easily with a nice flood of white gunk flowing from its center. I quickly washed my eye out so the deadly toxins wouldn’t blind me (actually the whole thing kind of freaked me out and I had to make sure there was nothing left in my eye) and if you’ve ever tried to do that in a public restroom you know that is NOT an easy feat. Anyway, by dinner time my Mutant Eye had been vanquished and I was once again back to my normal symmetrical eye-self. The eyelid pimple just about rivals the inside--the--nostril pimple. Have you ever had one of those mothers?