Misusing Big Words

Misusing eCards is back!

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 10:58:00 +0000

Ever since we somehow got hacked several months back, our Misusing eCards site has been down. Well, thank your lucky stars, because it's back: misusingecards.blogspot.com. Head on over to send inappropriate ecards to all of your favorite people for birthdays, anniversaries, an assortment of holidays, and coming very soon, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Surfing the Oregon Coast

noreply@blogger.com (Cherie Michiko) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 00:39:00 +0000

The sun was shining, the sky clear, the waves beautiful and snow was visible on the mountain tops. Though I was skeptic at first, surfing in Oregon is such a beautiful experience.

I've surfed in Hawaii where the waves can sometimes "belong" to certain people and where learning to surf is something that is only truly tolerable by all if you are under the age of 16. Learning at 21 was not such a welcoming experience even for someone born and raised on Oahu. Dirty looks would always be directed towards me and crowded beaches made it an even more nerve racking experience as I dreaded running over, into, or worse yet, dropping in on some other experienced rider's wave. But the beautiful warm water and sunshine is something that I cannot help but miss when I head to the coast to attempt surfing in Oregon.

Cold water surfing is something that I have not experienced before. Making a day trip of surfing is another aspect somewhat foreign to me. The drive to the coast (as ye Oregonians like to call the beach) is about 2 hours from downtown Portland. You must bring with you: warm clothes for the hike (yes, hike) down to the coast, sneakers for the trail through the forest (yes, forest), wetsuit (I'll get into this later), change of clothes (preferably warmer clothes as the temperature will probably drop while your having fun in the "sun"), and of course, sausages.

The hike down and the bringing of food is something pretty familiar to me (although not really for surfing) but the donning of the wetsuit has been a learned and embracing experience. My first wetsuit experience was supernatural. Though putting on the skin-tight, almost unitardian garment posed much delicate difficulty, the end results were fabulous. I pranced around and struck many a pose, uber proud of myself for getting it on in one piece and feeling much like a superhero. But how can you not? Wearing a full length skin tight garment to act as a shield from the elements would make any who sport it feel extraordinary... almost invincible. No need to worry about losing your swimsuit top, or popping out from an embarrassing spill with a major wedgie, I've got my wetsuit.

Surprisingly, not only did my wetsuit look and feel amazing, it really made the frigid Oregon waters seem not so frigid. Yes, some water seeps in through the zipper and sometimes through the arm and leg holes when a wave hits, but it warms up pretty fast... and there's also the option to pee in it which supposedly warms things up a bit for you, but I wouldn't recommend it. I farted in mine once and getting rid of the gas bubble that accumulated in the buttocks area was quite uncomfortable... let's just say that the only real means of air escaping or coming in is through the neck hole. I can't imagine what happens to the pee after you've peed. Yuck.

Bonfires along the coast are legal in Oregon, making your surf experience just that much better. After a long day of driving, shimmying into a wetsuit, and surfing all day, what could be better than warming up next to a fire and roasting sausages to feed that huge appetite you've built up all day? I could probably think of something, but I can't say right now. All I know is how marvelous it is to share my waist-deep, whitewash riding experiences around a campfire with my friends before making the journey back home. To rad*.

So, if you're ever down for a new adventure, are near a body of water, and may not be in the most tropical of places, I would give surfing a try. Although it may be lacking the sunshine and the warm tropical waters, every new experience (though different and somewhat daunting at first) has its unique qualities that make it worthwhile and original. I don't really feel like I can really compare surfing in Hawaii to surfing in Oregon. They both encompass totally different adventures, each with its own distinct attributes.

*Back in the early '90s, East Coasters believed Californians used the term "to rad" to mean "totally radical". Although this is unknown for certain, it is used as an expression of elation here.

The Program

noreply@blogger.com (Cherie Michiko) — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 07:23:00 +0000

I have been released.

After nine months of fulfilling commitments and obeying orders, The Program (a.k.a. graduate school) has dismissed me. I have been waiting for this time to come, aching for my freedom, and now it has arrived. For one week, I have been able to wake up when I please, eat what I want, drink and sleep whenever and however I wish. But The Program still looms like a constipated storm cloud over my right shoulder. Not my left one because that's where my conscience resides.

I thought I would make good use of this free time by catching up with my bills, cleaning my apartment, exercising a little, and maybe even go surfing, but the truth is I do not know what to do with myself.

It's like I've escaped from prison. I find myself paranoid that around any corner lies an unfinished commitment or assignment with the potential to drag me back to the Basement of Neuberger Hall and condemn me to another sentence of grueling clinical work, unsatisfied clients, and 20-page papers (single-spaced).

Maybe if The Program and I had completely severed ties, I would feel more at ease with my spare time, but the truth is I have only been excused for a few weeks. To some, I am one of the lucky ones to have gotten part of my summer off and to slip away from its clutches, but in reality, I have traded two solid weeks of changing adult diapers to get on part-time status with The Program. It will not be satisfied without something in return. It owns and consumes me. Almost like a really, really, really, bad boyfriend.

So cautiously, I will celebrate my temporary release from school and pay my humble respects changing dirty diapers with a smile on my face and a giggle in my voice. After all, it's better than being locked in a basement.

Golf Lessons and Post Traumatic Stress

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Thu, 29 May 2008 22:14:00 +0000

When I was about 8 years old, my grandparents signed my brother and me up for golf lessons at their country club. At 8 years old, I didn't know a thing about golf (this was before Tiger Woods made it cool and before golf video games were any good), but I had seen it played, and I can't say I was chomping at the bit to try it. Nonetheless, grandma and grandpa signed us up as a gift, and since pretty much anything that grandma and grandpa gave us turned out to be good, such as money, candy, and other things our parents didn't want us to have, we figured this golf thing could be a sweet deal. And that's not even factoring in the notion of having a big club that we can hit something with, which, when you're 8 years old, having any kind of weapon is pretty much the greatest thing in the world, right behind getting sugary cereal for breakfast.

So the first lesson rolls around and our teacher is this blond haired blue eyed yacht club type complete with sweater over his back, too much gel in his hair and too much snob in his voice. Of course, at 8 years old you don't recognize the specific personal touches that make someone a tool, but no matter your age, you still get that creeped-out feeling up your spine.

Once the brigade of polo-shirted children congregated, our teacher (I don't remember his name, but based on his appearance, it was probably Chad) starts teaching. Most of that part of the lesson was hideously boring, due in part to it not involving hitting anything with my club/weapon, but mostly due to Chad being about as exciting as watching old people playing Scrabble. Luckily, I was about as impatient then as I am now, so I went ahead and started putting while Chad was still instructing. Needless to say, Chad got mad. It's fortunate, then, that my young mind was overcome with a feeling I would only later identify as an utter lack of respect for anything Chad said or did.

Fast forward to sometime later when Chad is no longer mad. Chad brings us all to the driving range, where he gives a very precise, very detailed 5 minute lesson on how to drive a golf ball at the driving range. We then proceed to haul off and whack our balls as hard as we can in a way that is neither precise nor detailed. Naturally, it was my favorite part of the lesson.

After a lot of head shaking and heavy sighs on Chad's part, we left the driving range and got to take a ride on the golf carts. Despite numerous pleas and begging from a gaggle of Evil Kneivel-inspired children, Chad didn't try to hit any big jumps. This, I'm sad to say, lowered his coolness rating even further; at this point, the only thing staving off the mutiny was his allowing us extra time on the driving range, since we were all clearly so entertained by our ineptitude. He finally stopped at the end of the range, I suppose to teach us something. I couldn't tell you what that something was, because half of the kids ran through the trees and found a suburban jungle that would be perfect for exploring.

Our expedition party waded into the thick reeds, swinging our golf clubs like marauders with machetes, looking for crocodiles to wrestle, or savages to decapitate, or ancient Mayan ruins to ransack (despite the fact that, at 8 years old, I had no clue what a Mayan or a ruin was). Suddenly, and without warning, one of the kids started screaming and running back toward the protection of Chad and his repulsive cologne (judging from his character, it was probably Ralph Lauren, or something made by some other guy with two first names, one of those being a girl’s). The rest of us wondered if there weren't actually crocodiles or savages afoot, and we suddenly questioned the safety of our imaginary safari. One by one, shouts of panic echoed through the suburban jungle, and before I had a chance to ask anyone what was going on,another child ran by me, his face puffed out as though he had gone through some experimental plastic surgery involving marshmallows. Through the slit of an eye, I could see pure terror as he screamed
"Bees!"

All at once I started running, not even knowing which direction, just trying to escape this near invisible enemy. All around me I could hear other kids--good, decent kids, with families and their whole futures ahead of them--cut down in the prime of their lives by the owners of the incessant buzzing. Swatting at myself everywhere I felt anything, I finally made it out alive, breathing heavily, stinging all over, and thanking sweet merciful Jesus for a chance to continue my existence for at least one more day.

We lost a lot of good kids out there; I tried so hard to block out the events of that day, but you can only run away from your memories for so long.

I eventually tried golfing again, and to my surprise found that I enjoyed it. That is, enjoyed it when I wasn't being attacked by a pack of vicious yellow jackets. And when I didn't have to put up with Chad.

What a loser.

The Selfish Hippie says "You've got baggage!"

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Tue, 20 May 2008 05:21:00 +0000

There’s a lot of bad juju going around these days about plastic bags. One article I read even said America was the worst offender in terms of using too many plastic bottles and bags. Those providing comments point out that plastic is a byproduct of oil production. And yet still others disagree with that.

Of course, you all know my thoughts on this by now. I don’t really buy into bad juju without some substantial proof or a good reason. And since we’ve got people arguing over the basic fact of where plastic comes from, it doesn’t look we’ll be getting any good proof anytime soon, so here’s the good reason.

Using more plastic will cost you money. Not in the traditional sense of having to pay for plastic bags (although some ultra-hippie places like the pacific northwest are heading down that road. No, I’m talking opportunity cost. Many grocery stores give anywhere from 3-10 cents back for each bag that you bring in, and often they still come out ahead because they no longer have to pay the costs of supplying those plastic bags. So, if you bought 4 reusable bags (about $1-2 each at the grocery store) and used them each grocery trip (about 4 bags worth of food every week), they’re pretty much paid for within a year, then you start earning money on them. Sure, it’s pennies on the dollar, but those are pennies you didn’t have before. (N.B. Since I don't shop at Ralph's, Albertson's has said they give you 5 cents for each bag used.)

Not convinced? I can see that. But as companies focus more on cutting costs, I wouldn’t be surprised if more stores start charging for plastic bag use, and then the savings will start skyrocketing. In the meantime, go ahead and use plastic bags, but reuse them too. Here’s a few ways to do that.

Personally, I don't do any of those except the small trash can plan. Those plastic grocery bags make a mean trash can liner, and I have such a small can anyway because I barely throw anything away (I reuse everything I possibly can to get my money's worth). They're also good as a carrying case that you don't care about not getting back, such as when you’re bringing a six-pack to the Saturday night festivities. Because let’s be honest: three hours and three sheets to the wind later, you’re not going to remember to take your bag with you when you go home.

I forget things all over the place. That’s one of the reasons I don't allow myself to buy fancy sunglasses or have children. I've definitely lost a few duffel bags and backpacks in my life. Plastic bags are perfect because I don't care if I forget them.

And don’t even get me starting on buying bottled water. If you live in America, quit being a damn pansy and drink the tap. It’s safe, I promise. I can’t vouch for any other countries, though all the ones I’ve been to except Mexico I’ve drank the tap with no problems.

So, maybe plastic isn’t as bad as some of the bad juju says it is. I tend to agree with George Carlin (video here) in that since plastic came from the Earth, it probably thinks of plastic as one of its children. Nevertheless, the best reason not to use it is a good reason for doing most things: to save money.

And as we all know, that’s what the selfish hippie is all about: Saving Money While Saving the World.

Bono and the Mystery of the Rock'n'Roll Bathroom

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Sun, 18 May 2008 05:20:00 +0000

I’m on the pot when I hear it. And no, I don’t mean I’ve been smoking the crazy reefer, I mean I’m actually in the bathroom, doing my business, when a slightly echoing version of U2’s “Stuck in a Moment” drifts into my bathroom.

A few things come immediately to mind: Is my phone ringing? No, I don’t have that song as a ringtone. Perhaps a car with an exceptionally loud radio is driving by outside? Unlikely, but I suppose possible. Am I so focused on completing “the task at hand” that I’m humming to myself? No way, I only did that once, and it wasn’t U2, it was Raffi.

Clearly, this will need some further investigating.

I finish up, flush it down, wash my hands and turn around, and it’s gone. I don’t hear anything anymore, and now I’m wondering if I ever actually heard anything in the first place. I take a few steps back into the bathroom, and there it is again, very low in volume but definitely present. Is the ghost of Bono still haunting me? I consider this briefly before remembering he is still alive and has never haunted me in the past.

I put my canine-like hearing to the test, and “sniff out” where the noise is coming from, only to find, after a few seconds of twisting and turning my head at various heights and precarious locations that U2 is piping out of the toilet, still “Stuck in a Moment.” It takes me another few moments to realize that the toilet itself isn’t playing Dublin-based alt-rock. Rather, I’m getting the leftover scraps from my apartment neighbor’s stereo. It seems I've got a neighbor who is an aspiring apartment DJ.

Surreal, yes, but I don’t mind it. Since that day, I’ve enjoyed some great classic tunes while evacuating. The Stones’ “Satisfaction,” Bowie’s “Major Tom,” even Cash’s “Ring of Fire,” and all of them seemed, somehow, to have something to say about their accompanying bowel movements. God only knows whether “Ring of Fire” affected the burning feeling I experienced or it was just coincidental.

Either way, I’m glad we haven’t had any Iron Maiden bathroom excursions yet. I have a feeling that would require some extensive cleanup. (In case you're interested, here's the complete "number 2" playlist. Enjoy.)

Grasp the knowledge of the universe with the click of a mouse

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Thu, 15 May 2008 06:03:00 +0000

By the power of ~~Grayskull~~ the internet, I now know EVERYTHING.

Okay, maybe not, but I feel as though I have the capability to know everything (except perhaps, some security-related information, heavily guarded by the government or corporations).

The other day, I wanted to make dinner, but I only had garbanzo beans, garlic, green beans, and a package of bacon. So I went over to allrecipes.com and searched by ingredients and found an easy minestrone soup. It's no apartment gourmet, but it'll do.

Last month was my first time doing taxes when I actually had money to be taxed on, so when I didn’t know what the heck was going on, I surfed the net. First of all, I figured I should know a little about what taxes I had to pay and why, and howstuffworks.com was helpful in that regard. Then, I wanted to see how to pay as little as possible, so I asked my friends at wikihow.com for some info on that. After that, I’m basically an expert.

Okay, maybe not, but I think I definitely could be if I wanted to, just by cruising the web and spending a million hours of my life sorting through complicated tax codes.

Since that didn’t sound too fun, the last thing I decided I wanted to know was economics. After all, we’re supposedly in a recession, so why does everything keep costing me more money? I headed back to howstuffworks.com to refresh my memory on how the economy works in general. After the crash course, I checked out some lectures by MIT professors at the MIT Open Courseware site. And just like that, I’m an economical genius.

Okay, maybe not, but if I could read as fast as I could click, and if I could slow time down at will, maybe I would have the time and ability to become one.

I’m convinced that, by the power of ~~Grayskull~~ the internet, and with a little hard work, anyone can gain at least a passing knowledge of any topic, and with a little more time and effort, could have a commanding grasp of any subject matter. Now, if only there was a way to download information directly from the internet into my mind… but I guess that’s something to look forward to in the future.

The Selfish Hippie teaches you how to read

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Tue, 13 May 2008 04:50:00 +0000

Since it’s sunny and warm year-round in Los Angeles, I had to go to my home town of Sacramento (where it was a pleasant high-70’s/low-80’s this weekend, but edging close to 100 this week) to figure out that we’re coming into summer. That can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but this selfish hippie will be engaging in an activity dreaded by high school students everywhere: summer reading.

So, since we’ll be doing some book-learnin’ this summer, I thought I’d offer a few tips to save your cash and spare some paper in the process. You know, in the spirit of “being green” and “sustainability” and all that junk.

There’s a magical world of free stuff
It’s called the Library! Not only do libraries stock the newest book releases, but they are getting better and better at having great selections of DVDs and CDs as well. I can’t remember the last time I paid for a movie rental because the library always seems to have at least one movie I would like to watch. Also, with the invention of this cool thing that I like to call “the internet,” libraries have gotten super easy to use.

For example, libraries may differ from county to county, state to state, but it seems the majority of them have some sort of “place a hold” system where you can reserve a copy of the book you want to read, and if it’s not available, the library will find the next available copy from any library in the system, send it to your preferred home library, and notify you when it’s available for pickup. For most books, this is a couple of weeks at most, just enough time to read another book. I usually order another book as soon as I pickup the one that just arrived, so I’m on a nice laddered book delivery system to keep me constantly entertained. (If you’re in the LA area, check out our library.)

There’s ANOTHER magical world of MORE free stuff
Websites are popping up like whack-a-moles these days with free books you can download. Whether it be Project Gutenberg, Google Books, or Wowio, there are tons of free downloadable books available by just Googling “free books”

Not into words? There are free audiobooks, too. Try LibriVox for quantity and selection or Simply Audiobooks for quality.

For every book you buy, sell one first
For those times you really feel the need to purchase a book, here’s a good rule to live by. Take a look at your bookshelf, right now. Count how many books you’ve read on there. Now, count how many of those you’ve read more than once. I’ll bet you’ve got a single digit number. Unless you’re a literature maniac or teacher, you probably won’t be reading most of your books more than once, so you really don’t need to keep them other than to look smarter because you have so many books on your bookshelf.

So, next time you are desperate to purchase a book, sell one of yours first. Amazon.com marketplace is good, as is Half.com. Something I’ve tinkered with but haven’t actually used it fully yet is swaptree.com (here's a good explanation of it). Basically, you fill out a profile of the books you have and the books you want, and it will allow you to trade one of yours for one you want with someone else on the site. Oh, and it works with DVDs and CDs too. Very community-like, which all you budding selfish hippies should love.

College is the best time to experiment
This is especially true when it comes to books. With college textbooks costing two arms and two legs these days, anytime you can get one free online, from a library, or at least used off Amazon or Half.com is good for the pocketbook. And if you don’t want to bother buying used then selling those books again 6 months later, you could try renting them. It probably ends up costing more, but might be a little bit less work.

So, when you're not busy reading the glorious words of the selfish hippie, enjoy some free summer reading. And until next time, keep saving money while saving the world.

My favorite teacher: Television!

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Fri, 09 May 2008 18:35:00 +0000

Sometimes I think everything I need to know in life I can learn from TV.

One thing I'll never understand is the intricate workings of the minds of TV characters. For example, the other day I sat and enjoyed a fine episode of season 1 (the only good season) of "The O.C." The driving force behind this entire series is the abundance of secrets that the characters keep and then ultimately end up revealing, either purposefully or accidentally. In this particular episode, Kirsten and Sandy (her husband, a man, in case you hadn't figured that out from the extremely masculine name) have found out a secret about Sandy's mother, The Nana.

In the midst of their discussion, cue Seth, their son, who wanders into the kitchen and nonchalantly asks "What's going on?" Any fool and his cousin can see that there is no agenda behind this question. The tone of voice, the demeanor during delivery, and the sheer commonality of such phrasing as "What's going on" clearly indicates that Seth has no idea his parents are talking about anything deep, meaningful, or secretive. It's merely another greeting. But, since we're in the land of TV and, as I've already pointed out, TV characters minds seem to work differently than the rest of ours, Kirsten and Sandy both immediately and simultaneously utter "Nothing."

Now, let's go back and examine the mistake they made there. No, never mind, let's not, because there's nothing to examine. When someone asks you "What's going on," you should automatically respond "Not too much, yourself?" or "Oh, just the normal business of life" or "I've just killed twelve people and am planning to buy the Galapagos Islands" or any of the other 2,873,951 variations on that response that would cleverly avoid any and all suspicion. Yet time after time I see these characters make the same mistake, barking out "Nothing" in such a tone that even if nothing actually was going on, a non-English-speaking toddler would become suspicious.

Perhaps TV is like a great, free life coach. We can all learn from the mistakes of TV characters; both big (getting your wife's sister pregnant while on your honeymoon cruise) and small (blurting a suspicious "nothing" when something, clearly, is up).

Get your Mother's Day and Graduation e-cards now!

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Tue, 06 May 2008 16:33:00 +0000

If you missed our Valentine's Day extravaganza of e-cards, never fear! Our sister site, www.misusingecards.com, has a brand new batch of cards specially tailored for Mother's Day and Graduation. Show that special loved one you're thinking about them with some simple kind words...

And don't be afraid to check out some of the other e-cards available at www.misusingecards.com. We've got your birthdays, anniversaries, thank yous, and many others covered!

You're still here? Go, go, go! www.misusingecards.com.

More money- and world-saving tips from the Selfish Hippie

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Mon, 05 May 2008 19:15:00 +0000

I've been getting a little off-track lately with crusades and Canadians and stories of solar-powered stegosaurs, so let's get back to the basics. Here's a random smattering of tips and tricks to help you live out the code of the Selfish Hippie: save money while saving the world.

What a Crock!
For Christmas last year, I asked for a crock pot for purely lazy reasons. After a few somewhat disgusting stews, I've had some good times making some delicious meals that take about a half an hour of work and that make so much I can live off the leftovers for up to two weeks. Imagine my delight, then, when I read about how good crock pots are for your energy bill. Bingo! So, as long as you can avoid any mishaps like burning pork shoulder and making your whole apartment smell like roast pig (yes, it does happen), then the crock pot can be your favorite method of cooking like it is mine.

Toothbrush Tricks
According to my dentist, old toothbrushes should be changed for new ones every 2 months. According to about.com, it's 3 months. Either way, that's 4-6 toothbrushes per year. So the first tip, while it's not necessarily hippie, is to stock up when prices are down. For example, I caught a toothbrush sale a month ago where they were 50 cents apiece. Needless to say, I won't need to buy another toothbrush for a few years. Now that you're stocked up, let me lay some hippie speak on you: after you're done using that toothbrush on the hard to reach places in your mouth, toss it in the dishwasher to clean it and then use it for those hard to reach places in the home. Window tracks, tile grout, and many other things that you can blackmail a child/roommate/girlfriend into cleaning are prime candidates for the toothbrush trick. If you're not into cleaning, they're also great for all sorts of craft and woodworking projects. Be creative.

Water Worriers vs. Water Warriors
Water can be a major sinkhole on your bills. Luckily, there are all kinds of ways to use less water, do less work, and save more time and money. If you're not down with the whole "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down," mentality for bathroom energy efficiency, here's a few other tips on how to save water. (And no, you don't have to buy into the doom-and-gloom apocalyptic shpeal at the beginning of that article, but you can still profit from their tricks.)

Free Money Reminder
In case you missed my song and dance about this new site called Revolution Money Exchange, check out that previous post. Basically, this site is like PayPal but without credit cards. Instead, you send money directly from your checking account to another. They are completely secure and legitimate, and it's actually run by one of the guys from AOL (but it's not total rubbish like AOL). And, even cooler, extended until May 15, they're giving away $25 just for signing up. If you click on the green button on the right and sign up as my referral, I'll get a $10 referral bonus, which I'll then split with you. So basically, you're coming away with $30 for doing almost nothing. I already spent most of mine on booze and women, then wasted the rest of it. Oh, and the service they provide is pretty cool, so it'd be worth using even if they didn't pay you to.

Do you feel like you're becoming a selfish hippie? Have some tricks or tips you'd like to share with the community? Leave them in the comments, or e-mail me at mark@misusingbigwords.com. Until then, keep saving money while saving the world.

A letter to another devoted friend

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Thu, 01 May 2008 05:26:00 +0000

We've spent so many years together, and I feel like I know every part of you. I feel your gentle curves, your rough edges, and sometimes I can even tell you're feeling extra sensitive today. But mostly, I'm just glad I have you with me, because without you, Teeth, how could I chew my food, or open difficult packaging, or bite my nails?

Yes, there are many things to love about you, Teeth. For instance, you're so cute when you get cold and make that little chattering noise. And you know the ladies always get a laugh. Of course, then you help me be more attractive by showing everyone how white and clean you are. Do I ponder whether or not your love for being white is a little racist? Sure I do, but in the end, I'm okay with it if you are.

Despite all the good times though, Teeth, we've had some tough times, too. Remember that summer, back in high school? Of course you do. God, there was so much blood. And I was so worried about you; of course, you must have been much more worried than me, weren't you, Teeth? But we fought through the pain of the surgery, and the separation anxiety of being without your brothers, the wisdom teeth. It was agony for awhile, but we were there for each other then just like we always will be. And it helps knowing that I got to keep the remains of those little wisdom teeth. (Or at least I think I still have them, stashed in that box in my closet... no wait, they're in the filing cabinet... wait, that can't be right...)

Our special times together at morning and at night, me brushing you softly and you feeling great and clean... well, those are some of my best memories of us together. One of my favorite things about you, Teeth, is how you keep that extra buildup of food and junk in between lower right molars 6 & 7. You know that I always feel like I've uncovered an amazing treasure when I dig out a fingernail-sized chunk of carrot during flossing, and knowing that about me shows me that you care.

So, for all those reasons and more, Teeth, let's stick together forever. Or at least until I'm really old and I have to replace you with new, fake teeth. Sorry in advance for that.

Don't Put an "End" to Your Anger

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 18:15:00 +0000

Click... and she's gone. I hung up the phone with righteous indignation, but sadly, nobody could tell. After all, how can you press a button angrily?

Thus, after a lot of soul searching, I’ve decided I want a flip phone. It’s not the convenience or smaller size I seek. No, it’s the ability to snap it shut with an audible "CLAP."

Part of the appeal of land lines is that back in the day of home telephones, if I was justifiably incensed with the person on the other line, I could slam the phone down with a flourish, cursing the heavens in my rage. And if I was really on edge, I could pick it up and slam it down a few more times.

Now, imagine we're in the world of cellular phones (I shouldn't think this would take too much imagination) and you want to express your fury at your calling partner. How will they ever know they've upset you if you just push the "End" button with malice in your heart and in your button-pushing thumb?

Okay, sure, the person on the other line can't actually hear a difference in hang-up methods, you say. Well, I say it doesn't matter. Can the person in the 18-wheeler that just cut you off on the higway hear you when you insult his mother? No, probably not, but that's not the point. The point is let the anger flow out, let the juice loose, so to speak. Cursing out an ignorant driver and vehemently hanging up a telephone both achieve that purpose.

So here's where we bring it full circle. Since land lines are going the way of Betamax and HD DVD, we will have no choice but to be using cell phones in the coming years. And since many cell phones only have "Send" and "End" buttons, trying to express your rage through pressing extra hard on the "End" button just won't do.

No, the flip phone is different. You can snap that baby shut as hard as you like, and it gives off more satisfying "CLAPs" the harder it shuts. And possibly the best part is that nobody knows it’s happening except you. This is the passive aggressive person’s answer to irritating phone calls, and I love it. And let's be honest: we all know that the person on the other line, even if they can't hear, knows what's happening, and is crying themselves to sleep at night because of it.

Well, I like to think so at least.

In case you didn't know, you look hideous

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 22:25:00 +0000

“Wow, you look terrible.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but you do look pretty awful.”

Thanks everyone. Tell me how you really feel.

Have you ever noticed how, when you tell someone you are not feeling well, no matter if they don’t even know you at all, you’ll inevitably hear one of those phrases? Why is that?

I’ve always found it odd that people feel like they can pick on someone just for having a cold. Except between mortal enemies or best friends, you don’t often hear one person tell another directly to their face, “Oh my goodness, you don’t look good at all.” Is this an evolutionary thing? Do we prey on the ill and the weakened because our instincts drive us to do so?

Perhaps this is just an excuse. Maybe these comments have been brewing in the minds of others, and once those words come out of your mouth—“Yeah, I think I’m coming down with something,”—it’s just a matter of time before someone tells you “Yeah, I can tell. You look like hell.” And maybe that’s just something the person has wanted to tell you for a long time, and now, in your time of illness, they can get away with it scot-free.

So what can you do? I say be grateful. Thank the germs that infested your body for allowing your friends and acquaintances to finally get some angst off their chest. Because let’s face it, when you’re all better, you’re both going to pretend like it never happened. And if you still feel raw about it, just wait and hope their time to be sick comes soon. To speed up the process, you can even “accidentally” sneeze or cough on them.

Then, when it happens, enjoy it. “Hey! Are you sick? Because your appearance is downright appalling!”

Selfish Hippies in the late Jurassic period

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 17:55:00 +0000

We could learn something from the dinosaurs. Well, something besides how best to eat a human in two bites.

I was in the Natural History Museum in Mesa, AZ, not far from Phoenix, and I saw something peculiar. Actually, I saw more than one peculiar thing, but I’m not even going to get started on feathered dinosaurs. No, the peculiar thing I saw was a description of a stegosaurus that said the plates on their back were thought to soak up heat in the cold seasons and give off heat in the warm seasons to help regulate the body temperature. And even though this idea is apparently heavily debated in the scientific community, it got me thinking.

If the dinosaurs were using solar energy, couldn’t we be using it, too?

Ever since I got a solar-powered calculator for school many years ago, I’ve always wondered why we couldn’t use the same technology to power our cars or our houses or our world. Since then, I’ve realized some of that may be flights of fancy: after all, if you are working outside and some clouds come in, with a calculator all you would lose is the ability to do big-numbered math problems, but with a solar-powered car, when the solar power goes away you may be stuck out in the middle of Middle America, with no civilization within a thousand miles.

But the idea is still sound. I still don’t understand why people are getting government funding for these “biofuels” like ethanol when we could spend a few extra bucks today to make a fleet of electric cars, then another few bucks to cover every rooftop in any sunny city with solar panels so that we could have power to charge those electric cars. Heck, we could even just cover a bunch of the desert with solar panels. That exact idea was suggested on an episode of the West Wing a few years back. The only major problem was manufacturing enough solar panels. Bust out a good tax incentive and I’m sure we’d see plenty of innovation and rapid manufacturing.

The main point behind all of this business is that I don’t get why we’re freaking out about saving the world and conserving energy when we’ve got a sun that’s crazy hot and that doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon, constantly providing enough energy to power the country, or the world. Let the government go a little bit deeper into debt today and we’ll be reaping the rewards in cashmoney savings for years.

Do we really want to be looked at as stupider than the dinosaurs or Transformers? Let’s take a cue from the solar-powered stegosaurus, start thinking large scheme and long term, and keep saving money while saving the world.

PS Happy Earth Day, everybody.

My "New" Couch

noreply@blogger.com (Cherie Michiko) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 07:53:00 +0000

There is a street in Portland: Couch Street.

Now, to any reader, this may read as a furniture item that one sits on, usually found in the living room area of a home. This is not the pronunciation of this particular street, however. Couch Street is pronounced as one would pronounce the word, "cooch" as in the slang of an anatomical female body part or the first part of the baby talk, "COOCHie COOCHie coo."

Now, this has no relation to my story, but I thought that since I was on the topic of couches, I might bring this little fact to your attention, dear Reader.

I recently got a new couch. Well, not a new couch, but a used couch... which I found on the side of the street right outside my apartment. I know the following of this couch: 1. It was not sitting out on the side of the street for more than 5 hours, 2. It's previous owner was moving and was thus getting rid of it, 3. It is extremely heavy.

Since the true detailed history of this newest edition to my apartment is really unknown, it has sat for a long time in quarantine in my living room undergoing many tests to determine if it is something that I really and truly will keep for use. So far, it has passed the bug test, the smell test and the comfort test. And to my very great surprise, I have found that it has been reupholstered. The old upholstering of this couch can still be seen through small tears in the faux leather exterior which is comforting to me because this tells me that the previous owner of this couch was thoughtful enough in preservation to reupholster this piece.

This led me to think about why I am so tentative to sit on it. If I were at a friend of a friend of a friend's house and I saw this couch and was invited to sit on it, I totally would. I would not scrub it down with soap and water and have another go at it with Clorox disinfectant wipes prior to planting my tushi, yet this is just what I have done with this couch. Why is this?

Now, I was looking into buying a cheap used couch from Goodwill, so why does finding a couch on the side of the street make me less tempted to sit on it? I don't know, but until I find myself a nice thick couch cover, I am not sure if it will be seeing much of tushie action it deserves.

Which brings me back to Couch Street. Why would you name a street "Couch" and have it pronounced "cooch?"

Let's all laugh at France!

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 23:59:00 +0000

Having a bad day? Feeling frustrated? Can’t wait for the weekend to arrive? Have I got a solution for you: take a moment, right now, and laugh at France.

Go ahead. Do it. It’s okay, I promise. Everyone else has already started.

Can’t do it? Well, let me help you out. We all remember good old Zinedine Zidane, the French footballer (a.k.a. soccer player) who headbutted an Italian player in the 2006 World Cup finals, got kicked out and consequently probably lost the game for France. In case you don’t remember, here’s a video. And here’s a game you can play. Even better, he almost got away with it, if not for those darned TV camera machines.

Laughing yet? No? How about this: after helping invent the word “disco,” the French are trying to bring into the mainstream a new dance called “Tecktonik.” There are even websites that will teach you how to dance like this, though I’m not sure if they help you look ridiculous enough to be taken seriously by the Tecktons.

You’re still not feeling silly? Not even a giggle? What if I were to tell you that the president of France’s new wife just had her nude picture sold at an auction. And it was a charity auction. And the money raised from it is being refused by the charity. I don’t know about you, but I always find it funny when anyone with an internet connection can look at embarrassing photos of powerful people. I find it really, really funny. (Seriously. Just ask my college roommate, who came home on more than one occasion to find a nude photo of the governator on his computer wallpaper.)

So enjoy your day. And if you know any French people, be sure to thank them for the chuckle.

My first experience with time travel

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 18:36:00 +0000

Right after he asked me the question, a cold chill ran from my neck all the way down my spine. I felt scared and excited in a way I haven’t felt since I tried sashimi for the first time. Heck, I wasn’t even that scared or excited then either.

My friend looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer his question. Visions of Star Wars flashed across my inner vision, stormtroopers and giant robots and little furry Ewoks shooting at each other with blasters, getting hit with horizontal lines of red light and dying left and right. And then, after a moment, I thought, “That sounds like fun.”

So I answered him: “Yes, let’s go play laser tag.” And that’s when I realized my life in the present had abruptly turned into the world of the future.

* * *

From friends and colleagues I’ve spoken to, it seems everyone has one of these experiences: one day you see or experience something that up until then you thought only existed in science fiction, and you feel like you’ve suddenly been tossed like a shot-put, landing 50 years ahead of the current year on the space-time continuum.

For me, that experience has happened several times, but the first, and therefore the one I remember most clearly, was when I discovered we could actually play tag with laser guns, all for only $20 per half hour. Even the name of the laser tag arena, Q-Zar, sounded like some kind of futuristic alien palace.

Everything about the game felt more like going to battle on Mars in the year 2078 than shooting light at nerds who didn’t have dates on a Saturday night. From the team briefing at the beginning to the mission of destroying the other team’s base, I felt caught in a war that wasn’t begun by me and wouldn’t end with my lasered demise. And when those 30 minutes of gut-twisting excitement and anxiety were over, we turned in our guns and vests and ended our tour of duty, but there was now an unspoken camaraderie between we few, we band of brothers.

Since my first laser tag experience, I’ve had a few other occasions where I felt sure the future had arrived: my discovery of the Internet, Y2K, and the first time I saw The Matrix. None of these have effected me as much as my first brush with the future: laser tag.

Short Pants Friday Photo Submissions Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Cherie Michiko) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 20:30:00 +0000

Amy, friend and co-creator of Short Pants Friday submits her picture from North Dakota where the skies were blue and so were her legs!

She bore herself to the elements and withstood 40-50 degree weather in this little outfit to welcome in Spring.

Spreading the word of Short Pants Friday to Presidential candidate, Barack Obama, Amy withstood the biting temperatures for over an hour. But her efforts were rewarded as she was seen by the Senator. Congratulations, Amy on your heroic efforts for this year's annual Short Pants Friday!

The Selfish Hippie realizes that Canada isn't so bad

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 16:41:00 +0000

For all the flack Canada gets, it's actually a pretty cool country.

The most recent news to come out of the "great beyond" is about money, and was rousing enough to stir this selfish hippie into writing something to get the word out. It's a topic that has weighed on me for several months now, ever since I cleaned out and organized my room. It's something that nearly every civilized country with similar currency has already taken care of, and like usual, for this progressive movement we're at the back of the pack.

It's the penny, and it makes hardly any cents, and absolutely no sense.

Canada is trying to become the next country to do away with the penny, instead just rounding prices to the nearest five cents. Before anybody starts shouting about how we'll be getting screwed out of pennies on the dollar, think about this. You might buy a hamburger for $2.98 with tax. Rounded up, it's $3, costing you an extra two cents. However, perhaps after your hamburger, you buy a milkshake for $1.97. This time, the price is rounded down to the nearest five cents to $1.95, so you save two cents. So, on average, you wouldn't lose any money and you wouldn't gain any.

It makes cents/sense. (And don't worry, I'll only make that joke a couple more times.)

I'm not the only one that thinks this; far from it. Besides several bloggers and newspersons ranting, many countries have abolished their one cent pieces because they cost more to make than they are actually worth. Consequently, there's the risk of people melting the coins down and selling the material and turning about a 170% profit. For some more information on the debate over whether or not to trash the coin, check out the wikipedia article, particularly the portion about other countries that have done away with small change.

Of course, you all know why I'm in favor of getting rid of the penny. Not only does it free up some time, energy and money for the government, as well as use fewer resources manufacturing pennies, which I would then hope (perhaps naively) they use productively in a way that benefits me somehow, but it simplifies my life and frees up a few hours every couple months that would normally be spent rolling my pennies and depositing them at the bank. Although, to be honest, I do feel that rolling coins can be a somewhat zen experience.

In the meantime, I encourage everyone to use your common sense/cents. Use your pennies as much as possible. Nobody seems to like pennies, so when you get some, keep them in your pocket, and use them the next chance you get. Push those nasty little coppers off on someone else, saving yourself time, energy and money.

After all, that's what the selfish hippie is all about: saving money while saving the world.

RIP Great TV, dead and bloodied and dying along the way

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 17:52:00 +0000

"Katie," he says, so softly it almost comes out as a whisper, but just loudly enough to wake her. And just as he vanishes, her eyes open wide, taking in all the incredible sight of a living, breathing person disappearing into thin air.

And so ends the series "Journeyman," which was not as cheesy as I made it sound but which ran for a whole 13 episodes before the hacks at NBC pulled the plug on yet another great, promising new show.

I understand that TV is a business, that stations need advertisers to pay for the shows on the air, and that if there aren't enough viewers and aren't good enough ratings, advertisers won't pay high enough prices to support the show continuing to run. I get it. I'm a capitalist, after all (though I'm also a selfish hippie, and no, those two things don't contradict each other). What I don't understand is that if TV stations are so cash-strapped that they can't even give a promising show that had a healthy supply of buzz about it, why are they still staging gimmicks like giving guest appearances to washed up spastics like Britney Spears or useless sex video stars like Paris Hilton?

Okay, sure, two guest appearances by these "celebrities" probably aren't costing the networks much because Brit and Paris want to somehow remove the stains from their tarnished dignity and image. Still, it's not the specific costs that matter as much as the poor decisions that lead to actually giving these people money to make a sitcom less funny. Let's like if I paid some illiterate sixth grader a couple bucks to write a post on here about the housing bubble and the Dow Jones; sure, it'd be funny for about two seconds as we all laughed at the kid for being an idiot, but it definitely would not be worth my $2.

So to extend the metaphor, if we hadn't given all of the sixth-grade man-children with the single digit IQs huge chunks of cash, perhaps we would still be enjoying high-end television programming and we wouldn't have such brain-meltingly bad shows like "The Hills," "Laguna Beach," or pretty much anything on Bravo.

With that in mind, here's a few shows that have been pulled off the air in recent years that, had the network execs been slightly less idiotic, perhaps could have and definitely should have been saved.

Journeyman - A fantastic show about a man who suddenly finds that he time travels, but also finds it wreaks havoc on his personal and professional life as he can't control when or where he goes. Reminiscent of my favorite book last year, "The Time Traveler's Wife," by Audrey Niffenegger.

Smith - Ray Liotta was excellent in this heist drama that looked, sounded and felt like it was a major motion picture playing one week at a time. I guess it cost a lot of money to create that look and feel, because this one only lasted three episodes.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip - Okay sure, Aaron Sorkin got lost in his own head a little bit with this hourlong dramedy about the inner workings of a sketch comedy show, but it was still better than 90% of TV.

...and my all time favorite show ever in the world...

Sports Night - Before Sorkin focused on the pretentious inner workings of a sketch comedy show, he did a two season run focused on the inner workings of a Sportscenter-esque show. This program was clever in some parts and downright hilarious in all others, but it also had more heart and emotion than most hourlong dramas, all packed into a half hour and paced within an inch of its life. If you want a life-changing experience from your television, pick up the DVDs.

What shows were your favorites that have gotten trashed before they had a chance to shine?

Me and Mis Modelos de Bikini

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 16:25:00 +0000

Sweet Lady Fortune, oh how I love thee. And Hugo Salgado, you're pretty cool too.

After a long day at the office, walking home with a splitting headache and trying to pronounce "Ich wohne mit mein Mann hier" in the bitter cold, I walked into my apartment complex and checked the mail. And hidden beneath the bills, Pennysaver and other junk mail lay a gift from the hispanic Gods: the Sports Illustrated Latino Swimsuit Edition.

Let me explain to you something. For almost a year now since I moved into my apartment, my roommates and I have received all sorts of mail addressed to previous residents of our humble abode. In fact, if we desired, we could probably have a healthy identity theft ring going just by opening all the misdirected mail. However, being upstanding young citizens, we send it back with a "Return to Sender" and go about the rest of our days as normal. That includes the issue of SI Latino we received last June, but apparently the good folks at Sports Illustrated disagreed with our assessment that Hugo no longer lived here, and decided to continue sending us their magazine anyway.

My roommates and I all dabble in a little Spanish (or "un poco Español," si quieres), so we would usually leaf through the pages of each issue and then leave it on the coffee table so that to the outside observer we might appear more multi-cultural. However, this mail mistake has not paid off quite so handsomely until today, when I pulled the issue out of the box and found Daniella Sarahyba inviting me to gaze upon her "cuerpo maravilloso."

Sadly, from my brief glances, it seems SI Latino lags far behind Sports Illustrated in terms of swimsuit issues. Where SI regular devotes nearly an entire issue to scantily clad sex objects... er, swimwear models, SI Latino has just six pages, thrown in at the back of the magazine almost as an afterthought.

Nevertheless, whether this answers any questions about cultural differences between readers of SI Latino (presumably, latinos) and readers of SI regular is not my concern. After all, we're not in the business of answering big questions, we're in the business of misusing big words.

Particle Man, a cure for cancer, and the miniature every-device

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 16:24:00 +0000

I don't mind admitting that I have a pretty healthy belief and respect for science and technology. Some people even think I give these things too much merit when I say that by the time I'm old, I won't have to worry about most of the major diseases plaguing us today—stuff like AIDS, Alzheimer's, etc. Or they tell me I'm being absurd when I say that technology will allow me to have one small Tylenol-sized pill in my ear that acts as my music device, my cell phone, my TV and almost any other portable device we use, and will be completely controlled by thoughts.

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. After all, apparently they've already cured cancer.

I come quickly to the point. For those who hadn't heard, scientists are creating something called a Large Hadron Collider, which is basically the Aston Martin of particle accelerators. They're thinking that once it's all done, they'll find the "missing link" to create a unifying scientific theory of physics, and they'll probably even be able to make black holes and study them in a controlled environment. Essentially, this will go a long way towards delivering the future I'm expecting. That is, if we don't screw it up for ourselves.

And here come the bad guys to do just that. In fact, my favorite news article comes with this appealing headline: "Particle accelerator project sued on fears it will destroy the planet." In terms of headlines, how can you get much better than that?

These particle-accelerating wildmen seem to think this thing is perfectly safe, and as far as I'm concerned, their opinion is the only one that matters to me. After all, if they make a big matter-sucking black hole, they'll be the first ones sucked in, so that's pretty good motivation not to screw up.

Short Pants Friday Photo Submissions

noreply@blogger.com (Cherie Michiko) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 20:26:00 +0000

Our first picture comes from puppy dog, Maxwell. Max is a proud child of Valerie and Roderick and is a lovely 1 1/2 year old Yellow Labrador Retriever and Something Big and Rascally mix. He puts a spin on this year's 6th Annual Short Pants Friday event by not only bearing ankles, but bearing all from the waist down, setting a sexy mood for the festive holiday. Go Maxwell!

If you have pictures of you participating in this year's Short Pants Friday, it's not too late to submit them to cherie@misusingbigwords.com for posting on the website.

For an explanation of the holiday click here.

Legalese and the Slaughter of Men

noreply@blogger.com (Mark J. Lehman) — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 16:48:00 +0000

When you hear the word "slaughter," what image comes to mind?

For me, it's cows—a steady procession of beef walking into a slaughterhouse, where something happens that involves sharp instruments and lots and lots of blood and results in my being able to order a 12 oz. rib-eye at Black Angus. I highly doubt I'm the only one that thinks of this when the word is heard.

This is the reason I'm confused about the legal term "manslaughter." Though some people think it's a silly word because it sounds like a combination of "mans" and "laughter," I think it's an absurd word the way it's currently used in our legal system. Manslaughter is either the voluntary or involuntary killing of a human, but without intent or malice, whereas murder involves intent or malice. So, murder is clearly the worse crime. But tell me, just by looking at and hearing the words murder and manslaughter, which one sounds worse?

(Admittedly, since the Merriam-Webster woman's voice is more soothing, manslaughter sounds kind of nice, but just bear with me anyway.)

Manslaughter evokes the same image as the cows, only instead of beef heading to their death, it's a line of dudes on a conveyor, chatting about the Packers game or debating the merits of Kobe vs. Lebron, all while moving slowly toward a big shiny metal machine that will kill them efficiently and without holding up the line. I personally think that sounds much worse than murder.

With this in mind, I propose a name change, and I have several possible replacement names to consider:

The Big Whoopsie - This would take the place of involuntary manslaughter, because essentially that's what it is: someone was doing something stupid and someone else died because of it. That's not just a whoopsie, that's a Big Whoopsie.

The 'Oh Shit, Man' - This would take the place of voluntary manslaughter, which is usually a crime of passion or the result of being provoked. This name comes from the phrase that would most likely be uttered after the crime has been committed by the person who committed the crime, when he or she realizes what just happened. For example: "Wait, did I just kill that guy? Oh Shit, Man."

Whether or not this knocks any sense into the heads of any of the people who have the power to change this sort of thing, the main point I hope everyone takes away from this is that the legal term "manslaughter" is an incredibly misused big word. And while we may enjoy misusing big words on a blog, there's no room for that sort of silliness in a court room.