Crank up the Asay

Word World

2013-05-15T21:13:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody! I'm having a good day, are you having a good day? Good. Cause I'm here to ruin another completely benign children's show for you.

I'm actually pretty okay with Word World. It doesn't annoy me and it's fairly effectively educational. Basically the idea is that it is a world where everything in it is made up of letters that are pressed together and then spontaneously form into whatever the word is spelling out. This includes the living beings.

The place seems to be populated only by animals, which I guess makes sense, cause seriously, trying to imagine a human made entirely out of letters is just super creepy.

The whole idea with the letters is that anything in the world can be produced at any given time provided that the characters have the right free standing letters to spell it with. All the characters here seem pretty benevolent, so we're not going to worry too much about the implications of the power they have at their hands. I doubt anybody's going to be getting the idea to put together a flamethrower anytime soon. What does worry me a little is the fact that everything is made out of the same material. Sure, get all science on me and tell me that we're all made of different arrangements of the same molecular substances or whatever, but really, those aren't big enough for us to see with our naked eye, and can't usually be arranged by us at will to be whatever we want them to be. I'm just thinking that, if I lived in this world, I'd feel a little bit uncomfortable living in or interacting with objects that were made of the exact same material as my body. I'm not going to say it's like living in a house made of body parts... but that's kind of what it's like...

Not only that, but all the characters seem to have boxes full of single letters sitting around their houses for whenever they need to make something. I'm really not saying that this is like keeping a box of arms in your closet... but really, it's a little bit like that.

The part that bothers me the most though, is that the dog (appropriately named "Dog" ) has, in his house, the Word World equivalent of a ball pit. Which in this case is a pit full entirely of free letters.

I wish I could find a better picture, but these goings on have been curiously under-documented.

Now I'm not saying that this is like diving into a pit full of various limbs and organs... but really that's kind of totally what it's like.

So in the end I just can't get totally comfortable with Word World. Just for that. Make of it what you will.

I was totally going to draw a house made of body parts to demonstrate, but then I realized that I've already done that, so I'll just refer you back to my Donald Duck and Goofy clubhouses from my Mickey Mouse Clubhouse post and leave it there.

Not to say I can't still be peer pressured though. That's up to you weirdos.

Mother's Day Musing

2013-05-09T23:28:00.000-07:00

My blog has very little place for anything that isn't dripping with the greatest amount of sarcasm that I can muster, you are all aware of this. However, since it's my blog and I can do whatever the heck I want with it, I'm going to write a completely straight bit because I feel like it.

I've posted about my mom here and there on this blog before, usually poking a bit of fun at her, cause she's a fun lady and can take it. Tonight my mom sent me a text message. It wasn't anything particularly special or significant. It was just asking where I was. I wasn't sure why she had asked, so I asked her about it and she replied that she just worries about me from time to time and wants to make sure I'm doing alright and not working myself too hard and the like. This shouldn't have been very significant, and it would have been very easy for me to smile and roll my eyes and say "I'm just fine, mom," especially since she just saw me earlier today and we live next door to one another, but something about it just struck me. My mom, with a million other things to think and worry about, still has time to worry about her grown daughter enough to send a text, even when she knows I'm fine. And, as it just so happened, I hadn't been having the best evening, and that one text was enough to remind me that there are a lot more things to feel good about than the stupid little things I was feeling down about.

I see a lot of kids out there taking their moms entirely for granted. It's usually some variation of "Ugh, my mom just doesn't understand." Sure, maybe that really is the case with some mothers, but I really don't think it's as widespread as any teenager or other free thinking youth I encounter makes it out to be. Maybe your mom understands a whole lot more than you think she does. See, everybody emerges into puberty with their own set of complex problems that they immediately think nobody could ever possibly understand. This translates to the vast majority of adolescents and often young adults feeling like their parents "just don't get it" and are probably too old fashioned to understand anyway. But I'd be willing to put money on the bet that most of the people reading this have a mom who does get it. She may not go about responding to everything in the way that you think she should, because she's a different person than you and processes things in a different way, but in all likelihood, she really does get it.

At any rate, I just wanted to tell my readers how thankful I am for my mom, Wendy, for getting it, and for being one of the strongest and wisest women I know. And, if you like my blog, you should be thanking her too, because without her nudging me, I wouldn't have nearly enough push to even update as consistently as I do. And since I know she's going to read this: I love you momma! Thanks for worrying about me; I'll try not to give you too much to worry about. Though this is me we're talking about, so don't get your hopes up. But I think you're pretty swell, and if everybody could have you for a mom, I think the world would be in great shape.

In light of Mother's Day coming up this Sunday, I figured it was a good time to post this and to challenge my readers that, if you have the privilege of being able to, to call your mom and let her know you appreciate her, regardless of whatever differences you and she may have. Chances are, she's spent at least some time today thinking and worrying about you and would really appreciate the effort. I mean, really. She's worth it.

A Journey Into the Psyche of DJ Lance

2013-04-19T10:10:00.001-07:00

A while back I did an overview of Yo Gabba Gabba where I spent a good deal of time poking holes in the premise, the characters, the execution, and just about everything else about it as well. I was convinced that I would have all my readers firmly on my side regarding my feelings on the show. Come to find out, however, that opinions about it are actually pretty split. I got quite a few comments informing me that I might not have been fair in my evaluation of it. The most vocal and well thought out of these opinions came from my friend Rachel who I suspect would probably watch Yo Gabba Gabba even if she weren't the mother of two young children, and who has the capacity to evaluate it more intelligently than should really be possible for what it is.

Among other things, Rachel seemed to think that my assessment of the situation revolving the orange-suited MC of the show, DJ Lance Rock, was not a very accurate one. See, I was going on the assumption that DJ Lance is being held there against his will by some unseen, malevolent organization, and Plex, the little yellow robot, is programmed to activate the torture device in the DJ's fuzzy orange hat if the man ever decides to misbehave.

A picture of the DJ for reference

Rachel, on the other hand, has done some thinking on this, and she is of the opinion that DJ Lance is not a victim at all, but is instead the benevolent god of the realm contained within the Yo Gabba Gabba box.

This thing

She maintains that DJ Lance watches over and guides the mentally challenged residents of Gabba Land with Plex the robot as his magic disciple to teach them to stay out of harm and to do the right thing. She urged me to reconsider my position and to try and think about it this way instead, so I obliged her and opened my mind to new ways of thinking. I did a lot of research and watched several full episodes of the show to give it a chance. And I did reach a conclusion. Just not the one she wanted me to reach.

First off, I really can't ignore that DJ Lance really looks like he's in pain. And not the pain of a loving god having to watch his creations descend in to sin and chaos either. The stakes of this show are far too low for that. I'm talking real physical pain here, which is what led me to believe that he was being tortured in the first place.

DJ Lance exists in a seemingly alternate level of reality from the others, meaning that he lives alone in a completely white space, while the rest of the cast exists entirely (at least to my knowledge) within the couple yards of cardboard diorama set up on the table in the middle of the space where DJ Lance exists. This, in combination with the fact that the DJ constantly looks frantic, pained, or disturbed but trying to hide it, leads me to one conclusion: DJ Lance is an insane man playing with his toys alone in a white padded cell.

There could be many reasons for his confinement, but I'm not here to speculate on that. It should simply be assumed that DJ Lance is somehow enough of a danger to himself or others that he had to be put away, and the only thing deemed acceptable for him to have in the room without hurting himself is his orange costume, the table, and his set of toys. You'll notice, if you look, that none of the Yo Gabba Gabba beasties really seem to have very sharp edges except for maybe Plex with his antennae, and they mostly all seem to be stuffed or made of some sort of foam.

And so every day, in a fit of psychotic hallucination mingled with loneliness, DJ Lance plays with his box full of friends and they have all the adventures portrayed in the show, learning lessons about basic human kindness, safety, and friendship. All of this is part of Lance's journey to recovery. It obviously isn't a hopeless situation. DJ Lance seems only concerned with doing good and helping his friends to be happy and safe, but there's a long way to go yet, considering that he does still seem to be imagining things like cheerfully suicidal bubbles that just looove to be popped, intimate details of each of the characters digestive tracts (the red one has three stomachs), and this thing:

Speculation is that, as DJ Lance continues to work through his issues and become stable, the Yo Gabba Gabba universe as we know it will become gradually more tame, and then slowly disappear, leaving only the table, and DJ's five motionless toys. He will then be able to return to society, reformed and functional, and live out the rest of his life very happily, provided there are no relapses.

At any rate, I think there is a lot of hope for DJ Lance, and that this weird, terrifying world he has created is a very important step on his road to full recovery. He is headed for a bright future in which he will not, in fact, bite his friends.

I wish him well.

Terribly Festive - Follow Up

2013-04-02T18:59:00.000-07:00

So hey. You guys.

You remember last time? When I mentioned that my sister had been talking about a song that contains the lyric "we shared a Christmas hug"? And how I totally thought that she was making it up? Well, we found it. And it is the best thing I have ever encountered.

A little background:
Apparently Utah Senator Orrin Hatch, when he's not doing his regular job, has a dream, and that dream is to be some manner of inspirational lyricist. So he, seemingly realizing he had the power to make this dream a reality, got in contact with sappy sentimental songwriter, Janice Kapp Perry. The two of them teamed up to make a Christmas album, and from that album emerged their collaborative opus, "The Christmas Hug". And now I am here to share that with all of you.

The Christmas Hug

Words by Orrin G. Hatch

Music by Janice Kapp Perry

Vocal by Gene Morford

We saw her through the window

Of her humble little home

The street was bright with Christmas lights

But she was all alone

She’s lived here in the neighborhood

For twenty years or more

But no one cared or no one dared

To knock upon her door

She opened up the door to us

And welcomed us inside

And though she smiled bravely

We saw tears were in her eyes

Her family was so far away

And could not come this year

The thing she needed most of all

Was suddenly quite clear

Chorus

We shared a Christmas hug

We shared some Christmas love

And felt the tender ache of loneliness depart

We shared a Christmas hug

We finally cared enough

To feel the miracle of Christmas

In our hearts

We held our simple Christmas gift

In ribbons green and red

But saw there was a greater need

And offered it instead

Our little girl ran to her arms

And hugged her tenderly

She said “there could not ever be

A sweeter gift for me”

Repeat Chorus

Christmas comes and Christmas goes

Doors will open, doors will close

So many Christmas mem’ries we hold dear

But the best of all the best

Always stands out from the rest

It’s one we will remember through the years

Repeat Chorus

A simple hug brought Christmas
To our hearts

I will not mar this glorious moment by saying much else. But, Senator Hatch, I think you'd better keep your day job.

Every Single Time...

2013-02-20T14:29:00.000-08:00

So the other day I woke up looking particularly haggard. Nothing abnormal, but it was a day when I had to deal with a lot of children (more than usual, cause the ones I nanny are already used to me looking frightening) and so I wanted to slap on a little bit of makeup so I would look less like an angry man. This is what I discovered:

Terribly Festive

2012-12-29T15:22:00.000-08:00

So. Christmas music. It sure is bad nowadays, huh? Not anything like the good old classics you remember from when you were young. Those kids these days just don't know how to write a good Christmas song, do they? I find that a lot of what people choose to gripe about over the holidays is the mass amount of terrible Christmas songs that seem to find their way onto the radio this time of year. I personally have never really been able to see why this is, because, in my family, awful Christmas songs make up one of our most beloved traditions. See, I come from a family of musicians, which I feel has given me an appreciation for what distinguishes a good song from a bad song. Of course, I also grew up in a family of smart-alecks, which gave me an appreciation for why terrible songs are hilarious. When the Christmas season rolls around, we keep the radio on as often as we can, and when one of these songs comes on we all delight in singing along as awkwardly and off key as possible. It's reached the point where I start feeling giddy whenever something like, say Justin Bieber's enchanting little tune "Under the Mistletoe"comes on the radio. I can't help but get excited and sing terribly along with it. So I'm here now, as this current holiday season comes to a close, to share with you a few of the songs that are particularly special to me and my family.

Keep in mind that the definition of what makes a 'bad' Christmas song is very specific here. Most of us agree that those novelty Christmas songs that are trying to be funny are generally nothing but annoying, but that's not the sort of bad that I'm talking about here. What I mean are the songs that don't know they're bad. The songs that, for whatever reason, think they are so very touching or influential or inspirational and just fall very short of their mark. These are the songs that I love. So, without further ado, here are the terrible Christmas songs that are very near and dear to my heart.

The first two on my list are the two I find the most tame, despite bringing out varying degrees of hate in the more cynical folk. I don't want to be too mean about them, as they are songs that a lot of very nice, intelligent people genuinely like. I'm sure a lot of these songs fall under that description. I like a lot of things unironically that are generally considered 'bad', so I'm not in the business of making people feel bad about what they enjoy. That said... "The Christmas Shoes"...

This song is a tale of a man who isn't really feeling the Christmas spirit as he is out doing some last minute shopping until he encounters a young boy out trying to buy a pair of shoes for his dying mother and learns the true meaning of Christmas. That's the general idea. Earlier this evening as I was working on this post, my father referred to this song as 'emotional blackmail'. And really, that's what it is. You can't not be moved to tears by the plight of this poverty stricken young boy and his terminally ill mother unless you are the most terrible heartless person in the world. Why, even the Grinch himself would have an extra four or five sizes added on to his tiny heart by the heartfelt sincerity of the boy's plea. And that's why I think so many people hate it so much. Because it makes them feel uncomfortable about not liking it in the first place. And that is exactly why I love it. This song is basically threatening that if you roll your eyes at its sappiness, then you will be outcast from society for hating all that is good and not understanding the meaning of Christmas. This is enough to send the people who don't like it and don't know they're being blackmailed into a frothing rage, sending them on tyrades about why they hate this song and generally stirring discontent for anyone who dares not to be moved by it. That is just pure evil genius, and I respect that. "The Christmas Shoes", you are as diabolical as you are fun to sing, and I tip my hat to you.

The second is less... smart, I think, on the whole. It is not crafty enough to be manipulative, and is, perhaps, all around more innocent than "The Christmas Shoes" but far more deeply sincere as well. The song I am referring to is "Mary, Did You Know" or, as I like to call it, the stupid question song.

I am all for keeping the real meaning of the holiday present in the music that plays on the radio during the season, but this song seems to flounder a bit, particularly due to the fact that yes, Mary DID know all these things. That's what the angel told her when he said she was going to have this baby. So as sincere and well meaning as it is, it's still a dumb question, which makes it a fun song to mercilessly mock like the excellent individual I am. Not to mention that my sister does a delightful off-key and 'heartfelt' rendition of it, complete with an awkward shimmy jerk dance that is really quite stirring.

As I said, those ones are pretty tame. It's hard, at least for me, to find any offense in sentimental little numbers meant for small town Christians. The songs that I find truly special during the Christmas season are the ones that cater to the wider mainstream. The holiday love songs; the white guilt ballads; the songs that work so hard share the very vague message of 'Christmas is neat'; these are where the real meaty goodness of bad Christmas music lies.

Here's a song that tries too hard. I've never really even been sure what it's trying too hard to do, but it is.

A song that seems to think that growing up means asking for more vague, unattainable things for Christmas, like peace on Earth and for everybody to hug and stuff. I think my favorite part of this is that the singer seems to be asking Santa for all of these things. Lady, Santa ain't know how to make any peace on Earth in his toy shop. Leave the guy alone and ask for normal things like an iPod. Quit your contemplative introspection and go out and rally for peace or hug a hobo or something yourself. Santa's a busy man. On the list of songs that are my favorite to overdramatize off key, I think this one might be the top...

Now, everybody knows that Christmas is all about spiting last year's lover by flaunting around this year's, but I think this song takes it to the next level.

Video aside (though it should not be ignored because it is one of the most hilariously overdramatic and spiteful things ever) this is the ultimate song about re-gifting. Though there are a few bewildering logistics... Like... if she gave HIS heart away to somebody else, then how did he get it back the next year to give it to somebody else? I am so full of questions here. Anyway, I really have no idea how the rest of the song besides the chorus goes, despite having listened to it several times today, because it kind of tunes itself out. I don't even have to do any work for it to fade into the background. But the chorus always comes back in with its powerfully petty message and makes this song something truly special.

But among all of these, there is no song that spews self-righteousness vaguely disguised as Christmas cheer quite like this.

My favorite part is when it zooms in on Sting looking like he doesn't want to be there during the "bitter sting of tears" line....

Written from the perspective of a bunch of rich white people who have absolutely no idea what Africa is like, "Feed The World" makes up the centerpiece of any great banquet of terrible Christmas music. Just in case you were enjoying your white suburban Christmas a little too much, Band Aid is here, straight from the 80's, to remind you that you should be feeling guilty about the things you have because people in Africa are suffering. I mean, they don't even have any giant rivers there or anything! One can only hope that, in addition to this song, all of these artists donated a significant portion of their millions to humanitarian aid, or else this song's premise falls completely flat instead of just mostly flat. And let me tell you, I just about screamed with delight when I discovered that there was a great big sparkly Glee version of this song as well, because that means the completely clueless sentiment expressed in it is still alive and well today in mainstream pop. Because sometimes we really all do need to be reminded that yes, there really are people that stupid. Also, for a real treat, come over to my parent's house some time and watch my dad jerk to this like an awkward white 80's kid.

So there's my list. I'm sure there are more out there, and I'm always on the lookout. For instance, my sister maintains that there is a song that exists somewhere that contains the lyrics "We shared a Christmas hug..." However, searches for this gem have turned up little, and so I am convinced that is is a mere urban legend. Kind of like bigfoot except for with worse writing.

Anyway, I know that Christmas is now over as are most of the holiday songs on the radio, but I want you all, next year, to try and find something different in all the awful things playing over the holidays. Don't grump and groan because the music has completely missed the spirit of the season or is just plain terrible. Think of it a different way. Because if we believe hard enough, bad Christmas music can give us all a very important gift. The gift of laughter.

And as I said before, if you happen to like any of the songs on it, please don't feel attacked. This is all just opinion. After all, I like several of the Barbie movies.

The Worst Feeling

2012-12-01T20:49:00.000-08:00

I experienced something terrible the other day.

Nobody over the age of eighteen ever really wants there to be any evidence laying around that they were once in their early teens, but, unless they kept an embarrassing diary or had a binder full of pictures of Orlando Bloom or something, it's not likely that anything is really going to turn up to haunt them when they're an adult. Now, I loosely fit under the category of what can technically be called an 'artist', which means that I spent a lot of my early teens drawing. I can't ever really bring myself to get rid of old drawings because they represent a part of my growth process. Of course, this means that I have a whooole lot of regrettable and embarrassing things from that time period that have not been destroyed. This is cringe-inducing sometimes, yes, but I can usually just accept that these things exist but can assure myself that they will never be seen and move on.

And then there was my experience from the other day... It went a little something like this:

Now, there is a slight chance that I'm still safe and that they ended up in a box in my parents currently inaccessible basement, but I quite honestly have no idea. The uncertainty is agonizing.

So I'm going to be in hiding for a while. Just to be safe.

No, I'm not overreacting.

Why I Hate RENT

2012-11-11T01:39:00.000-08:00

I don't hate a lot of things. No, really. I don't hate Justin Bieber, even with many a claim that he is somehow singlehandedly destroying pop music. I don't hate the Star Wars prequels even though they apparently suck. Heck, I don't even hate Twilight, for as much as I rag on it; it's dumb and has some awful morals, but I certainly don't hate it. That said, I have a deep, burning hatred for the musical RENT.

RENT is a rock opera -- based Puccini's opera, La Boheme -- that came out on Broadway in the mid 90's. The best I can explain it in only a few words is that it is about a group of vile, obnoxious proto-hipsters who spend outstanding amounts of time and energy trying to shock and defy 'the man'. The man in question being anyone who wants them to make a concerted effort to pay their rent and contribute to society. But no, they are 'Bohemians' and they need not bow to the whims of society, oh no. They are much too busy being troubled artists and getting into petty arguments at their best friend's funerals to comply with such outrageous standards. To get a better idea, here's a song of them telling us exactly that. I dearly wish I had the video to go along with it, but I couldn't find it, but I promise you it's a whole lot more eye-rolling when you can see it. If you're offended by swears, crude references, or annoying, entitled twenty-somethings, be warned. It's mostly the latter:

So that is RENT in a nutshell. And I hate it. You have to listen to the words because I'll admit the song is super catchy and I actually like it, but when I stop to listen to the words I immediately get back to rolling my eyes. It must be known that this attitude is kept up by most of the characters throughout the course of the show, and they are rewarded for it. Meanwhile, the only two characters I don't hate because they're not awful people, get to suffer. I call shenanigans.

If you've ever had a conversation with me about something that is wrong with society and today's youth culture, you will almost always hear me utter the phrase "And that's why I hate RENT" because that's what RENT is for me. A representation of everyone who has ever made me groan with exasperation at how smart and edgy they think they are.

My cousin and I were discussing yesterday the clock we bought at the thrift store. It has cats on it. Upon purchase, we found that it required three batteries. One to power the clock, and two to work the intensely annoying meowing sound that goes off once an hour. Of this, my cousin said "Well, I guess it takes more energy to be annoying than to be useful." I thought that was very fitting to this situation. There is so very much energy put forth by the cast of RENT into being so very very ~~annoying~~ "edgy", with the intent of making a bunch of old white people gasp in shock and clutch their pearls. That's all. That is what 'defying the mainstream' is, as far as I can gather. What they are actually accomplishing -- according to my parents who are part of the demographic that RENT is trying to horrify -- is something akin to the auditioners on American Idol who think they are really good at singing. If you've ever watched the show, you know how convinced these people are that their voices are going to impress everyone and have this big impact, when really we're all just incredibly embarrassed for them and hope they will stop and go home soon so we can just continue with our lives as normal.

Now I don't hate 'Bohemians'. I may see them as obsolete, considering there is no need for a Bohemian revolution in a world where unconventionally expressing yourself and following your dreams of being an artist, writer, musician, etc. is no longer scandalous or unorthodox. You are free to do your thing and congratulate yourself on your uniqueness as much as you want. It is when you start whining about how society should owe you something for your abject refusal to contribute to it that I immediately stop caring about what you have to say. And that is how I got to complain about RENT during the entirety of the Occupy Wall Street movement. There are better ways to combat inequality. Actually doing work instead of protesting, for instance. And I am not bashing on people who can't get jobs. I am bashing on people who wont. Like most of the cast of RENT.

Everybody wants to be unique. We were all fourteen once, and understand what it is to want to make people pay attention to us. However, most people stop begging for attention by telling everybody how edgy and anti-establishment they are after they stop being fourteen. For an example, I am going to pick on the "Scene" trend plaguing our high schools cause it's a thing I'm actually aware of and because there is at least one youth who is very dear to my heart who I would like to save from a lot of future embarrassment. A "Scene" kid is somebody who looks like this:

They spend their days pleading for attention on Facebook and Twitter, acting like they are smarter than everyone, taking pictures of themselves, and pretending to be shocking and quirky. Nobody outside of the Scene circle has ever thought they were cool, and most of them grow out of it before they can humiliate themselves in college. The rough adult equivalent of that trend is this:

A greatly toned down look but one that still screams "I never grew up, please pay attention to me." But while attention seeking teenagers can get away with not having jobs or paying rent and spending all day listening to music or snapping pictures of their hands forming hearts because they still live with their parents, adults who don't live at home do not get this luxury because they are adults.

Look. I get it. I am a writer and sometimes I even pretend to be an artist too. My entire blog is basically an elaborate front for people to notice me and think I'm cool. I would love nothing more than to just get to sit around all day and write and not have to worry about paying bills or anything just because it's what I love to do, but I can't because real life does not work that way. Until I can find a way to reliably make a living from blogging, I have to have a job. Now, I am one of the lucky ones who has a job that I like, but I've worked ones I hated too. I've had to wake up at 3 AM to work every day and I've worked two jobs at once to save up tuition and I really don't need to hear about how much you suffer because you don't feel like picking up a shift at McDonalds cause it interferes with your free spirits, cast of RENT. If you don't pay your rent, your landlord has to and they've got bills of their own to pay. Get a job. You freaking hippies.

I could rant about this forever but in interest of anybody actually caring, I'm doing my best to keep it somewhat short. To wrap up, I will make a list of things that, however abstractly, make me complain about how much I hate RENT. Please note that this is still a work in progress. After all, I still have yet to find out the names of those young hooligans who wont stay off my lawn, and don't even get me started on that Lady Gaga character... But here it is:

PETA
Tumblr

Occupy anything
California
The Kia Soul
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Anybody who un-ironically refers to the business world as 'the establishment'.

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And don't get all up on me because "RENT is about AIDS and how it affects the lives of so many and...." No. RENT is about annoying people, some of whom happen to have AIDS. Tell a story about people with AIDS who aren't insufferable and then we'll talk.

More Words That Suck

2012-10-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

Some of my readers may recall the post I wrote a while back about words that I hate in which I thought way too hard about unimportant things (which, all things considered, describes my entire blog.)

At the time that I made the list, the words I used were, for the most part, entirely devoid of context and were just awful on their own. However, I have since learned that context can make a word just as awful as the word itself being genuinely gross. It is for that reason that I feel as though I need to add two more entries to the list of Words that Suck. Here they are:

1. Lush: Adjective

(of vegetation) growing luxuriantly : lush greenery and cultivated fields. See note at profuse .

• opulent and luxurious : a hall of gleaming marble, as lush as a Byzantine church.

• (of color or music) very rich and providing great sensory pleasure

This is a word that I never particularly liked, but I also never thought particularly awful. That is before Twilight's fourth installment, Breaking Dawn, hit the shelves. I have not read the book entirely myself, but I have had the pleasure of reading the particularly horrific gory scene in which the heroine is giving birth to the demon child of her vampire husband. It is told from the perspective of the jealous best friend/spurned lover/werewolf as he watches the vampire try to spare her life after her vampire C-section by turning her into a vampire as well. And it contains this gem:

"It was like he was kissing her, brushing his lips at her throat, at her wrists, into the crease at the inside of her arm. But I could hear the lush tearing of her skin as his teeth bit through, again and again, forcing venom into her system at as many points as possible..."

Upon reading this I was overcome with a powerful urge to crawl out of my skin. Lush tearing? Eww. Gross. This scene was graphic enough as it was, what with the heroine "vomiting fountains of blood" and her spine snapping. I did not need to be able to hear the exact sound that teeth sinking into skin makes, thank you very much. I will put off my growing need for a year long shower for now and proceed to the second word.

2. Cloying: Adjective

disgust[ing] or sicken[ing] with an excess of sweetness, richness, or sentiment

I came upon this word in the lesser known title Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne. The particular instance in which this word is used for great evil is during a scene where the young Prince Maric is in the woods wrestling with one of the soldiers who had just murdered his mother, the queen, in front of him and is trying to secure the same fate for Maric. Managing to get the upper hand, Maric, frightened, desperate, and angry, begins hitting the man's head repeatedly against the root of a tree. That is where we get this special little something:

"Tears welled up in his eyes, and he choked on his words: "She was your queen and you killed her!" He slammed the head again, still harder. This time the man stopped fighting back. A cloying, meaty smell assaulted his nostrils. His hands were covered in thick, fresh blood that was not his own..."

So um... ew? This wasn't even a word I knew existed until I read it here, and then it immediately made me want to die. Is it even possible to think of a less pleasant way to invoke the smell of this man's brain juice oozing out all over a tree root? I had to put the book down for a while before the heebie jeebies calmed down.

So there is my extended list, in which I learn that context can murder a word. And now I am going to go scrub my skin with bleach for a while in hopes of being clean again. I will leave you with a couple more words that I feel deserve an honorable mention on the list as well:

Abscess
Weeping
Creamy

Put them together in different combinations for extra horror that's fun for the whole family!

The Chefs

2012-10-20T09:33:00.000-07:00

Ever since I reached the age of independence several years ago, I have shared a lot of meals. Most of these meals were from boxes. And over the course of that time, I have found that single people, particularly the college sort, revel in the idea that they are some cooking guru when it comes to making boxed foods.

So it goes like this: I will be standing beside the stove, leaning on the fridge and waiting for water to boil. Cardboard box in hand, I stand ready to pour the mac and cheese noodles within into the water as soon as it hits boiling point. As I raise the box to pour, whichever individual (be they visitor or roommate) that I happen to be sharing with steps up from behind.

"Oh, let me do it! I make the best mac and cheese." They say with confident assurance

I blink at them incredulously and say "It's in a box..."

"No, really, trust me. Everybody says so," they insist, proud and sincere. I shrug and hand over the box to them where they step forward and proceed to make this odd show of preparing the boxed macaroni. They sweep around the kitchen like they're being filmed for a cooking show, grabbing spoons to stir and artfully draining the water off to prep the pasta for its sauce. Finally it comes down to the moment of truth. I watch from the counter where I've been leaning this whole time to see what sorcery they might be working there. They stir the butter in, waiting the exact amount of time for optimum melting before adding the cheese powder, which they mix slowly and carefully. Then they add the milk. This must be where the magic happens, because, there's always an overly fancy flourish of the milk jug and a few more quick stirs, and then it is declared to be done.

I continue to stare at them as I take my bowl of entirely normal tasting mac and cheese and begin to eat as they watch, smiling happily and ask "See? Isn't that the best?"

This has happened more than once. And each time it is exactly the same as a normal recipe with the one exception being the roommate who enhanced her mac and cheese with sliced hot dogs and what I think might have been copious amounts of cayenne pepper (looking at you, Heather.)

I think this happens because the norm for any group of single adults is inability to cook (or lack of motivation, which evens out to about the same thing,) so everybody is clamoring to distinguish themselves as the one friend who can cook. While it's usually not true for the interceptors of boxed meals (except maybe in the case of Heather, who, apart from the mac and cheese, kept me from starving for a good two months,) it is important for those who truly believe their mac and cheese is somehow better than everybody else's.

I am often tempted to shoot those people down when they look at me so earnestly and ask if their boxed mac and cheese isn't the best thing I've ever tasted. I could be sarcastic. I'm good at that. I could look at them and say "Wow, Chef Boyardee! You certainly are the best adder of milk and cheese powder to noodles that I ever did see!" I could say that, but I don't. This person is single and as of yet unsure of what they want to be in life. They are lost and desperate for attention, just like me. This is all they have. And so instead I just look up at them and smile and say.

"Yeah."

The Angriest Bird

2012-10-11T21:37:00.000-07:00

So, readers. Let's talk about Angry Birds.

Angry Birds is a wildly popular touch screen game involving the launching of disgruntled looking birds at towers to destroy the mustachioed pigs within. It makes more money just by releasing an update than most people could even dream of winning in the lottery.

I have never really been much of one for playing Angry Birds, which I think legally means that I still have a life in at least a couple states. My nephews, however, would never ever stop playing Angry Birds if we didn't pry the iPod out of their hands to make them go eat and sleep. This is where most of my knowledge of them comes from. I have become intimately familiar with each of the birds as I have had their details regaled to me and been made to recreate them in crayon many many times. In general, as one who is entertained by fat cartoon birds with no limbs I am a fan of the designs of the birds and their varying levels of anger. However, over the course of my Angry Bird-ucation, one bird has stuck out to me for all the wrong reasons.

Let's talk for a moment about how supremely creepy the blue bird is.

Look at him... He's just... staring...

He clearly hasn't slept -- or blinked, for that matter -- in years and years, if ever. Why is he staring? Nobody knows. Maybe he's seen some stuff. They don't tell us. He's just staring. And where on earth are his eyebrows?

Just imagine for a second waking up in the middle of the night to see this guy staring through your window. Except since this is the bird that multiplies into more birds when launched, it would more likely be a whole bunch of them. Just... think about that for a minute.

We're getting all up on some Hitchcock nonsense now.

Sweet dreams

The Flat, The Raccoon, The Cop, and The Soul

2012-09-08T01:08:00.001-07:00

It is time now, I think, for me to regale you all with a story that has been a long time in coming. It is an epic tale that took place last summer when my family undertook the long long drive to Nebraska for my brother and his wife's graduation from smart guy medical school. It is a tale of drama, intrigue, suspense, and stupid dumb preppy rental cars that I hate. THIS is the story of the flat, the raccoon, the cop, and the Soul.

It was some time in late May, as I recall and, in a roundabout way, the whole experience was entirely my fault. You see, if I hadn't come along, my parents would have just flown to Omaha, and the entire fiasco would never have happened. However, my thirteen year old niece who inexplicably thinks I'm cool swore upon her life that she would throw an apocalyptic teenage temper tantrum if I was not allowed to tag along with my parents to come visit, and so we packed up our trusty Toyota Camry and set off on our adventure across the plains.

The drive was uneventful for most of the day. The midwest is flat. There are cows. A lot of them.

With the mountains far behind us, I began to worry that we were in danger of being sucked out into the emptiness to float back and forth across the plains in an eternal vacuum of pointlessness, however, most of the trip passed without drama. At least until about 6 PM that evening.

The first indicator that this was not going to be a normal trip was when a man in a car with a very large dog pulled level with us and started shouting incomprehensibly and gesticulating wildly at us. We hadn't cut him off or anything, and we weren't doing anything illegal, so we were not really sure as to why this man was so very angry with us. He looked absolutely livid, and my mild mannered little family could do nothing but shrink in terror and confusion until he passed.

Finally we discovered, as we stopped off for gas in West Podunkington that the man had probably been trying to inform us that our tire was almost completely flat. Good to know he was angrily looking out for us. Kind of like a... cursing redneck guardian angel.

The stop lasted longer than expected, because I swear to you, there was only one functional air pump in the entire town and until we found it, we drove around in the dead center of nowhere feeling hopelessly lost. I do distinctly remember the one thing of interest in that entire town was a sign outside a diner that said "Buy any drink and get a free straw." Of course, Dad would not stop, and so I did not get a straw.

Admittedly I am very easily swayed to the influence of lighted signs.

By the time we got back out on the road, it was dark, and we were determined to reach our destination without any more delays. That did not appear to be in the cards for us, however, because that was just about when the real excitement started...

Barreling down the highway at about 85 miles an hour, the car gave a sudden, violent swerve as Dad attempted to avoid the biggest raccoon in the known universe as it chose that moment to traipse out in front of us. Didn't swerve fast enough though, and we hit the raccoon head on with a gigantic THUNK, sending it flying back into the brush at the side of the road, and jerking us all out of our sense of calm security. Everything was alright though, for the moment. We were rattled, but the car remained in control and we continued along our way for about ten minutes more.

It was at that point when the engine started making some really funny noises, getting louder and jumpier until Dad noticed that the temperature dial on the dashboard going crazy as the engine overheated. He turned off the highway where the car promptly died, leaving us stranded on the side of the road.

It was a few minutes until a shirtless man pulled up alongside of us to help. He hopped out of his truck and swore at our engine for a good ten minutes before declaring that the raccoon had cracked our radiator completely. It was around that time that it became readily apparent that we were not going to reach our destination that night. It was also around that time when the police officer pulled off the side of the road to help.

Now I was already giggling about the whole situation. Over the years I've had extensive training in finding everything hilarious, especially stupid car related situations, so the fact that the raccoon had busted our radiator was incredibly funny to me. My parents didn't seem to quite see the humor in it all, though and I tried to help them out as best I could.

Eventually, after making a few calls, the police officer offered to drive Mom and I down the hill to check into a hotel while Dad waited for the tow guy. Now, a police car has only two available seats for people who are not being arrested, which meant that, with Mom in the front seat, I got to ride in the back where the criminals go. I was explosively excited; this evening just kept right on getting better. The officer seemed to think I might be a bit odd for being so excited about riding in the back, but I'm sure that if Mom had explained to him that me getting to ride there was the rough equivalent of allowing a five year old boy to do the same, I'm sure he'd have understood.

We ended that evening with me being far more cheerful than anybody really should be in the situation. I was in a great mood the rest of the week, really. We went through a couple different rental cars, none of which were too bad, until the time to go home arrived. Our Camry having been pronounced dead a few days before, we opted to rent a car for the long drive home. The car that we rented was a Kia Soul. I am not going to rant about the Soul again, but it suffices to say that it was dumb.

In the end, it was one of those experiences that you look back on and laugh. And in my case it was one that you laugh during as well. But one element of it has continued to be a source of curiosity for me: The raccoon. How did that raccoon manage to crack our radiator? My parents and I went through many an option of how the raccoon might have managed to damage our car as much as we damaged the raccoon, but the only conclusion we could reach was that the 'coon wasn't damaged at all by the impact, and that instead it stood up from the scene of the crash immediately after and flew away to go do whatever it is immortal raccoons do.

The lesson to be taken from this is that raccoons are jerks.

At any rate, I am thoroughly convinced that the raccoon is still very much alive and is lumbering around in the trees on that same Nebraska highway waiting to force more unwitting drivers into Kia Souls. There is no possible way it could just be a normal raccoon. It's far more likely that it is a yet unknown American legend, which will soon be terrorizing a highway near you.

Be wary, travelers.

Now, I'm no engineer, but...

2012-08-06T23:38:00.000-07:00

I just got back from camping, and I wondered that, with all these bright new innovations in camping technology that has everything you need condensed down into a tiny little pouch or case... is it maybe doable to innovate some hardcore camping equipment that is NOT impossible to get back into the case at the end of your trip?

Just a thought, cause sometimes when I'm trying to cram my giant sleeping bag back into its tiny case, I get to thinking how much I'd like to go burn down nature just so I don't have a reason to have to do it anymore.

The Poster Problem

2012-04-24T12:05:00.001-07:00

A couple weeks ago I got terribly ill with some hideous throat malady. I wont go into some of the gorier details, cause I don't want you to throw up as much as I did, but, long story short, I spend a good deal of time at the doctor's.

If you've ever been to the doctor's office for a checkup, I'm going to assume that there has been at least one point where the nurse has abandoned you for twenty minutes or so while you waited for the doctor. I'm also going to assume that, as you sat there on the crinkly paper on the examination table with silence pressing awkwardly down on you (doctor's office silences are always awkward, even when you're alone) that you became bored and started to scan your sparse surroundings for something entertaining. In my experience, this is generally when one stats to encounter the posters.

Now, usually these posters contain benign things like the pain scale (which I am not going to comment on because it has already been covered by much better bloggers,) the ingredients of cigarettes, and statistics for what demographic is most likely to have which horrible disease, but every once in a while there will be one that makes me tilt my head. See, apparently some of the folks who make posters for doctor's offices thought it would be a great idea to show comparison photos between normal organs and diseased ones. The problem word here is "photos". If you have to question why, here is an example of one that is similar to the one in my doctor's office:

I don't know about you, but I don't want any of these things in my body...

The problem with using actual pictures to show comparisons like this is that everything inside the human body looks awful and disgusting and diseased, and to the non-medically trained eye, it all looks horrible. This is why you use illustrations, otherwise your point is not very effectively made.

I know you're trying to help, medical poster making folks, but... I'm gonna say maybe go back and try again. We don't need don't really need any more reasons to throw up when we're visiting the doctor. Thanks.

The Showing

2012-03-03T22:28:00.000-08:00

My parents (with who I was living with up until recently while I got my health issues in order) are in the process of trying to sell their house. Over the course of the past few months I was home, I discovered this process to be my own personal Hell.

Now, believe it or not, the particular hellishness of the whole thing has nothing to do with sentimentality and the fact that they are selling my childhood home. It does, however, have everything to do with the house showings.

For those not familiar with the concept, a house showing is pretty much what it sounds like. Potential buyers come through with a realtor to take a look, and the owner and their family disappear for about an hour so this can go down. Oh, and the place has to be spotlessly clean. These showings are usually pretty early in the morning, and my mom -- quite eager to sell the house -- takes them very seriously. The results are as follows:

So yeah... that, except for like, twice a week for several months.

And that's why I don't live at home anymore.

The Very Best

2012-02-14T17:10:00.000-08:00

Guess what time of year it is again! The time of year where I buy like fifty of those little packs of conversation hearts and I sit on my couch and eat those suckers while I draw stupid pictures in crayon!

It took me a few years to grow up, I think, but I've finally come to terms with Valentine's Day. I think that this might be the first time that I haven't had some deep underlying feeling that the holiday is just there to mock me for being single. I think the trick to it is to reach the point where you realize you actually like being single. At any rate, Valentine's day and I are cool now. We're bros. As such, I have seen my way clear to writing a post that actually pertains to the day in question without sounding in any way resentful, so here goes:

When it comes to lovers, there have been a lot of famous and striking pairs over the ages. I don't feel like naming any of them because I don't actually care that much, but there have been a lot of them. Romeo and Juliet do not count among these, just so we're clear, and if anybody says Edward and Bella, I will find and shank you personally. Anyway, with so many notable lovers about, I feel as though there's one that doesn't often get a whole lot of notice. This is a terrible shame, because I feel as though they may very well be the greatest lovers in history. I am, of course, talking about Gomez and Morticia Addams.

First off, if you have not seen the old 1964 TV series of The Addams Family, there is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't go look it up now. Secondly, take a good long look at the people in the picture above. These are two people who are absolutely mad about each other. No matter that their general sanity was up for debate; Gomez and Morticia were blindly, deeply, passionately in love with each other. I haven't watched the show myself for a while, but, as I recall, there was not an episode that went by where they were not fawning over one another at at least one point.

The Addams were, by design, so far removed from normality that they frightened or disturbed most people. Nevertheless, they were a very close and loving family, and they were very happy with themselves and with each other. I feel like this is due largely in part to the relationship between Gomez and Morticia. They didn't care about what anybody else thought, they just cared about each other and about their family and they were much happier than most for it.

Gomez and Morticia themselves were always delightful to watch when they interacted because it was so easy to tell how very deeply enamored with each other they were.

They rarely disagreed, and when they did, they were always willing to let it go because their relationship was more important than their pride. They had the occasional misunderstanding, but it never put them off for long, and I don't recall them ever truly being at odds with one another. Not to mention that they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Gomez was the more actively affectionate of the two, but it was easy to see Morticia, in spite of her refinement, returned it just as deeply. They were deliriously happy and they made a perfect pair and a were the perfect core for their creepy, kooky, mysterious, spooky family.

Perhaps my admiration for them stems largely from the fact that when/if I ever marry, my family will be far beyond normal. Whatever the reason, I feel as though Gomez and Morticia Addams deserve a respected place in history as the greatest couple of all time, and should be held as an example to lovers everywhere.

And don't worry, I'll get back to writing silly things soon enough.

Happy Valentine's Day!

An Explanation

2012-02-12T13:51:00.000-08:00

As many of you may have noticed, there was a recent, several month long period during which I was more or less missing in action. I assure you, this does have a somewhat viable explanation which I feel as though I should probably share with you now.

It all started with a liver.

So yeah, it turns out that when your liver doesn't work, your brain doesn't either, resulting in lots and lots of getting nothing done. When we found out that this is what was occurring, my mom moved me home, got me off the medication that had been destroying my liver and got me on a regimen of herbal supplements and things to help me detox.

Detox, incidentally, is Latin for "Hell". It's also a word in Greek meaning "Everything that sucks in your body gets very much worse before it gets better."

Long story short, I pulled out of school and did absolutely nothing for months. Or at least I would have had it not been for TMM.

The Merry Mabari is a chat-based roleplaying group based on the universe of the Dragon Age games (which just so happens to be my favorite series.) Now, roleplaying is something I had long thought of as being something that only weird nerds in basements did when they wanted to pretend to be wizards. Being a weird nerd who lives upstairs, I thought myself too high and mighty for such things (even though I'm an actor and I've written fanfiction and both are just as nerdy as I'd projected roleplaying to be,) but with some poking from my cousin, I eventually decided to give it a try as something to break the horrible monotony. And so, playing as a thirty year old male archer named Lysandro, I wandered into the world of online roleplaying.

And then I never slept again.

The sleep thing is far beyond the point though. For three months at least, roleplaying was the only reason I wrote anything at all. Having someone to respond to me directly as I wrote gave me constant motivation to keep writing, if only a little bit at a time. Where writing is concerned, it's much easier to only have to develop one character rather than a whole world, so it was a good starting place when I was at my lowest point. As I did more and became attached to the character, I began writing stories to expand his world. Between that motivation, an awesome cousin, and a wonderfully amazing roleplay partner (whose character I am just as attached to as my own,) I was able to pound through that while of recovery and break through to the other side to where I could finally blog again.

I suppose the moral of this story is don't judge a book by its extremely nerdy cover, because if it hadn't been for roleplaying and my amazing partner Britt (who is one of my best bros and who is prodding me over messenger to write this as we speak) I probably wouldn't be writing this at all. I'd just have stagnated and dug myself into an even deeper pit and possibly stopped writing altogether, so, if you enjoy my blog, you have online roleplaying to thank for its continuance.

I realize this post isn't funny. I apologize, but, as it turns out, I do occasionally think serious things. At any rate, that's the reason I was gone, and also the story of how my imaginary friend Lysandro kept me from dying out as a writer. Thanks bro.

Yo Gabba Gabba

2012-02-01T22:09:00.000-08:00

Somewhere off in the darker, more sinister recesses of the land of children's programming there lurks a show; a show that has burrowed itself into my brain and merged seamlessly with my most recent nightmares. I feel like I was a bit hard on Sid the Science Kid back when I did my little piece on it, because even that, in all its rendered horror, does not even come close to the terrifying mash of pain and annoyance that is Yo Gabba Gabba.

I have seen one episode of this show in total. Even so, I feel as though the fact that I spent the entirety of that one episode with my mouth frozen open in horror qualifies me to tear it apart. But where to begin?

I suppose I should begin with the man who seemingly runs the place, DJ Lance:

This is a man who needs desperately to be put out of his misery. I am not sure who decided on his outfit. I am also not sure whether that individual should be given an award or fired immediately, but that is far beside the point. DJ Lance speaks every word and makes every move as though he is severely uncomfortable, and possibly in agonizing pain. I'm not really sure of what his job is, and I refuse to do the research into the show that would be required to find out, but all I know is that at the beginning of the show he brings in a large box full of all the other characters and then looms uncomfortably over them for the remainder of the show. Perhaps the discomfort is intentional, or perhaps that suit is some manner of torture device that forces him to do this job. I'm going to assume the latter and leave DJ Lance alone because he kind of seems like he's being held there against his will. The true offense of this show lies within DJ Lance's questionable box. With these guys:

(Minus the DJ himself, obviously)

These abominations are, from left to right: Foofa, Plex, Muno, Brobee, and Toodee...

First of all... what am I looking at? Second of all... Okay, folks. I really really try to keep things classy around here and not stoop to the lowest common denominator for my jokes (butt jokes are very classy, okay? Shut up!) but this one is something I absolutely cannot look past. The very first thing I noticed about this group of monstrosities is that most of them look like some manner of adult novelty item. Think I'm kidding? Then I invite you to take a good long hard look at this thing:

Are you feeling uncomfortable yet? Good.

Unfortunate designs aside, these characters are just... impressively, mesmerizingly awkward... Also as far as I could tell, none of them really seem to have any distinguishing traits of which to speak. They all seem to just exist simply to do things. Weird things. And sing songs. Weird songs. Like this:

For those of you wondering what in blazes you just watched, you are absolutely not alone. I spent a good long while trying to figure this one out and came up with nothing. This brings me to a few more points... The writing for instance... "Friends are our friends," huh? How long did it take you to come up with that one Shakespeare? Can't tell if the writing is lazy, or if the writers genuinely thought this was genius, but I'm kind of afraid to ask. And speaking of lazy, the puppetry is just...just... Alright, as a giant dork who is passionate about The Muppets, I find it very hard to respect creators that wont even take the time to make their full body suit puppets blink, or even move smoothly. I could rant about this for a very long time, but I wont. Yo Gabba Gabba, I am disappoint.

The one thing this show does have going for it is that they often bring in actors and such who have actual talent to appear and do... things... for... amounts of time...

Things like... whatever is occurring here...

Though this does tend to beg the question of what people with actual careers are doing there... And I mean that literally, because I have absolutely no idea of what the guests do on the show... They just kind of lurk around and do... stuff. Then presumably pick up a fat paycheck.

That's about all that I can really tell you about the show because the rest of the one and half episodes I watched were just an incomprehensible mess of I don't even know. All I remember is being bombarded with bizarre nonsense once every few minutes... Y'know... between all the even more bizarre nonsense. If you really want to know what I'm talking about, you'll just have to go watch it yourself, because I honestly could not even begin to figure out what I was watching.

Suffices to say that Yo Gabba Gabba is a show that probably shouldn't exist, and also should probably not be as popular as it is. But hey, what do I know? I may very well be missing some hidden brilliance behind this hideous pile of weird. And anyway, it's not my job to determine what's popular, so I may as well shut up about it now. Just be sure to keep in mind that this is what is shaping the minds of the upcoming generation. Do that, and then curl into a ball and weep bitterly, just as I am going to go do now.

Until next time, readers. Stay cool. And don't bite your friends.

The Crusader

2012-01-29T18:29:00.000-08:00

First off, there is an actual sort of okay reason for my being absent for so long. Explanation for that is coming. Eventually.

That aside.... Let's talk about my mother for a moment...

My mom is a crusader. A butt crusader.

...... Perhaps I should explain:
I come from a family that is notorious for being very long in the torso. This has the unfortunate effect of making it very very hard to find shirts and pants that overlap, so bending over makes for a lot of... exposure. My mother has made it her personal duty to seek out and eliminate exposed cracks whenever the family gets together. Her methods are... rather unforgiving.

As much as we (usually my sister, my niece, and I) insist that there is little we can do about the problem, she continues the ruthless crusade.

Recently, she threatened to tie a fork to a stick to make a weapon of great and terrible poking. So I threatened to make a superhero out of her.

Still tossing around names. I was thinking maybe "The Crack Crusader". Or possibly "Buttmom". Either one is just as likely to get me fired from my family.

So what's it gonna be, mom? You want to dance? Let's dance.

(I am going to be grounded forever....)

The Hate Light

2011-10-05T18:44:00.000-07:00

I've a new crackpot theory to add to my ever expanding list....
I've been aware for quite a while that, when driving, I only seem to hit every single red light on the days when I am in a particularly foul mood. I hadn't really given it much thought prior to this, but I think I figured out how red lights react so consistently with nasty moods:

Within every stop light at every intersection in the world lives a creature that feeds exclusively on hate, which metabolizes rapidly and causes the creature to give off a bright red glow. It feeds by way of a small receptor that can be opened and shut at will, and the creature is wired to a device that triggers when the receptor is closed and turns on the green light below it. As the receptor begins to open so the creature can feed again, the device turns the light yellow until the creature has begun to metabolize.
The speed at which the creature feeds is directly proportional to the amount of hate at any given intersection. If there is only a marginal amount of hate, it will feed quickly in order to absorb as much of the hate as possible before it escapes. If, however, there is a large amount of hate, or if it is coming from many different sources, the creature will slow down and savor its meal, and will burn for far longer.

Do not try to tell me that this doesn't make perfect sense.

...OH! I forgot to mention that this creature was bred by the government to function at a near-human level of intelligence. Thus it is also takes satisfaction in the increased amount of hate caused by the red light in the first place, beyond what it already gains from the initial feeding. In other words, a creature that feeds on your hate and laughs at your pain.

Here is an artist's rendition of what this creature probably looks like:

No really, you guys. Think about it.

Roommates

2011-08-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

....

And then this happened:

There is not a single thing that is not true about this story.

But really, my roommates are lovely people who give me hugs and keep the freezer stocked with popsicles, so I think we'll be okay.

So yeah...

2011-08-12T11:56:00.000-07:00

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Erin was going out of her mind trying to get organized and move to a new apartment. Then she realized she was neglecting her poor blog, so she drew some crap so that the people would be happy and she could weasel out of actually thinking about actual stuff for a while longer.

Anyway, here's a thing that happened:

Sometimes I draw things that are actually completely true. Not usually. This is why.

We interrupt this nonsense...

2011-07-18T15:20:00.000-07:00

And now a word from the writer/"artist":
(Loosely based on actual events)

Had to split it into two parts so it would upload....

Don't worry guys, Beth is watching out for you. Though it's amazing she didn't catch it sooner, considering that Grosland (our other roommate) doesn't actually build rocket ships in our living room either... At any rate, if any of my stories ever seem a bit... exaggerated, that's because they almost always are. Cause I'm a writer. And writers are liars.
Also let it be known that if you feel the need to try to find logic in nonsense and call me out on it, I WILL make an example of you. This is the lesson you all must learn to avoid the fate of my BFF Beth.

... I'm sleeping on the couch again tonight, aren't I?

Lazy post is lazy....

2011-07-15T19:07:00.000-07:00

There is nothing about this picture that is inaccurate. Except the couch. My couch is actually plaid.
Oh man, you guys.... my brain... I don't even know...

A few things:
1)Yes, I DID put on Hogwarts robes and stay up until 4 AM in the name of Harry Potter, despite being a grown woman who should know better and who had to work in the morning.
2) Yes, I actually wore Hufflepuff colors. Proudly.
3) I totally spent most of the movie sobbing outright.
4) I thought to escape actual effort with this post... I've been at it for an hour now because I can't type coherent sentences.

That is all. Real posts might happen soon...ish... maybe.

Origin of a Bad Day

2011-07-12T19:20:00.000-07:00

Been behind on things. That means you get another stupid comic. I'll post something else soon, I promise. In the meantime: