Sharpie Doodles

Interesting Hat Facts

2008-06-05T00:26:00.003-04:00

Interesting Fact: The sushi guy at publix knows my face and tells me I have a cool hat every time I see him. When I don't wear my hat, he asks me why I'm not wearing it.

Conclusion: This probably means I've been eating to much sushi lately. Also, that sushi guy is cool!

Interesting Fact: Black people and Asian people compliment my hat at least once a week. White people don't seem to care one way or the other.

Conclusion: Black people and Asian people are much cooler than white people. Myself excluded, of course.

Interesting Fact: Kelley Davenport is the only white person to ever directly compliment my hat.

Conclusion: Kelley Davenport is actually a black man or an Asian man.

Interesting Fact: My white family does not like my hat very much

Conclusion: I'm adopted.

Interesting Fact: I've now had that hat longer than I've ever had any pair of shoes, rented apartment or house, car, or girlfriend.

Conclusion: It's a good hat.

Take it where you can find it, that's my motto. A good hat will get you a long way in life. Keep the sun out of your eyes, keep the rain off your head, and get you compliments from people on the street in Atlanta.

"Cool hat, my brutha!"

How to Be Smooth

2008-06-04T21:46:00.003-04:00

Young men. Attend my lessons.

1) Kiss'n in the Rain

Every woman secretly desires to be kissed totally and completely and randomly in the middle of a rain storm. True Fact. Unfortunately, this is a very hard situation to set up. Solution? Grocery store produce sections. I think you'll find they have extremely reliable rainstorms complete with thunder. So the next time you and your lady are walking through the grocery store, pull aside a friendly worker and get him to tell you when the next rainstorm is. Maneuver your woman down the produce section, and at the first peal of thunder, grab her face and stick it under the mist. Then, reward her with your sweet lov'n kisses. It can't fail!

2) Cheese is Good

I think we can all agree that the single most important thing you could ever do to impress a woman is to have a good Halloween costume. Now some guys (your standard college Bro) are going to go as vampires, boxers, or just drunken idiots (does this count as a costume? One wonders) Fellas! This is not how to win the eye of the ladies! You want something that women find irresistible. That's why this Halloween, ditch the tired old costumes and go as Cheesecake Man! Failing that, try dressing as a Really Good Deal on Shoes that I Can Wear Dressing Up or Dressing Down and Girl of Course You Can Borrow Them Sometime! It can't fail!

3) SHOUT IT OUT

NOTHING ATTRACTS WOMEN LIKE CONFIDENCE! NOTHING SAYS CONFIDENCE LIKE NEEDLESS SHOUTING! SHOUT IN ALL OCCASIONS AND YOU CAN'T GO WRONG! FUNERALS, HOSPITALS, LIBRARIES, OR WHEN MEETING HER FOLKS!

Of course, there are times to be subtle. Try whispering in intimate settings like boxing matches, rock concerts, and nascar events.

4) Nothing Says Hottie Like Somebody Likely to Crash His Car!

Women are attracted to guys who are dangerous and reckless. (Why? I have no clue. Sharpie Doodles sound off, why is this so? Go!) Anyway, chances are if you are reading this you are not, in fact, reckless and dangerous. No sweat! Clumsiness and laziness can, with a little hard work and some luck, easily be mistaken for recklessness and dangerousness. Helpful Hint: Get a motorcycle. Don't worry about learning how to drive it...what you are interested in is crashing it! Make sure to lay it down on the way to your wanna be lady's house one evening and then reap the rewards!

5) Nice Guys Finish First...In Their Dreams!

Every now and then there is a guy who actually sees women as more than "hot", a guy who goes out of his way to see women for who they really are, who is attracted to them for their intelligence, wit, and charm. A guy who was raised to treat women with respect, open doors for them, and so on.

DO NOT BE THIS GUY.

This guy is not the guy to be. This guy gets ignored.

Instead, treat women as objects*! Chat them up uncomfortably in bars and clubs. Date them for a few weeks and then push them to cross physical lines! Cheat on them! Be jealous! Be controlling! Then, break up with them.

Sure, they will go crying to their girlfriends and regret the day they ever met you. But will they REALLY regret it? Not really, because next time they will date somebody just like you! Huzzah!

With these five simple steps, you too can be as smooth as...something...really smooth.

--A--

FOOTNOTES-*Somebody out there is bound to not really get this. Satire, folks, satire! Guys...don't treat women like objects. Women...don't complain about getting treated like objects and then go around hiding your intelligence behind booze.

P.S. I'm back, by the way. Sorry for the long absence. It's been a not so great couple of weeks. So it goes.

Cookouts

2008-05-26T19:27:00.003-04:00

Sometimes it makes me sick that it was only after my family moved all the way across the continent that I realized how important it is to put them in front of everything but God. Oh how I rue all those misspent hours of the last four years...precious time home from school spent blowing off my family for things that never had a prayer of lasting. Learn the lessons well, children.

Spending holidays with friends and the four or five families that have "adopted" me is great, but sometimes it only makes me more homesick, if you can use that word to describe a place that you've only been to twice.

I'm stuck in that bizarre twenty something land where your house is just a place you go to sleep and (occasionally) eat. Home is different from house.

I suppose home is where your family is.

I guess that's why it's always around holidays that I start looking out to the horizon and daydreaming about saving up some money and just...taking a walk up to Maine.

Long weekends give me itchy feet.

But I've rolled my dice here in Newnan, happily and without regret. Holiday blues will pass away, my life has a purpose and I'm more blessed than most people in the sense that, for now at least, I know what that purpose is.

In the meantime, I have been blessed with more fantastic friends than any one (twentysomething) man deserves.

All that had nothing to do with Memorial day, but I found myself with a few moments and thought I would ruminate for a bit.

So anyway, happy memorial day folks. I've just returned from a day of grilling and eating and laughing, and now I'm off to spend an evening of the same.

--A--

Like, Totally, LOL

2008-05-24T23:09:00.000-04:00

Like so yeah theres a new whats taht called again oh yeah lol a book theres a new book out called the dumbest gnearation.

Like its ab out how the digital culture has stinted my gnerations vocbulary and overall ability to function and a whole lot of other things like isnt that crazy lol rotfl jk jk hah hah

it talks a lot about how my geneartion communicates (or doesn't! lol) and how we dont even really know how to use words to get emotions across anymore isnt that dumb :-)

anyway here is the link i havent whats that word oh yeah read it yet but i plan on it as soon as it comes into that big place with all the books oh yeah library lol lol jk

im not an idiot just dumb enough not to realize im dumb lol

Link: http://www.amazon.com/Dumbest-Generation-Stupefies-Americans-Jeopardizes/dp/1585426393

A Letter to Samsung

2008-05-24T22:17:00.005-04:00

Dear Samsung,

As a customer of Verizon, I have used your phones for several years now.

My first Samsung phone was a simple affair, light grey with a black and white screen. It was about the size of a small avacado. I dropped it into a puddle of water during a thunderstorm. I only noticed it had vanished a few hours later, and by the time I located it large vehicles had obviously run over it. It had, of course, also been marinating in a street puddle for three hours.

It was dead.

My second phone was slightly more advanced, with a flip up screen and, lo and behold, color! That phone served me well for several years until I dropped it into a bowl of boiling hot ramen noodles while helping my best friend through a difficult time in his life. He was in the middle of saying "I'm really glad you are here for me right no--" and that's when it slipped out of my hands and right into the Original Oriental flavor.

Possibly I could have saved it had I taken prompt action, but instead of immediatly removing the phone from the boiling liquid, I threw my hands up into the air and screamed, "Ahhhhh Tim! I dropped you in the Ramen!"

That phone was also dead.

After the Ramen incident I walked into Verizon and said "Give me the cheapest phone you have." They obliged and the model I left with is the very same phone that I left on the hood of my car this evening as I pulled out of the QuickTrip parking lot and onto a major highway.

A few hours later I began to look for my phone and could not find it. I went through a process no doubt familiar to many of your customers...using a friend's phone to call it, searching my house, my car, my driveway. Finally I retraced my steps, first to Eckards (where I had stopped to buy a razor and shaving cream) and then to QuickTrip, where I spied my phone laying in the intersection.

Oddly enough, this phone was not dead.

And this is the purpose of this letter, Samsung.

At first, things didn't look good. As I dodged traffic and approached the abandoned cellular, I noticed that there were several loose bits of plastic surrounding it, as well as some larger things that we'll just call "chunks" for the sake of easy identification.

In fact the phone looked as it had endured not only a fall from my Jeep's hood at fifteen miles an hour, but several close encounters with SUV's and perhaps at least one jacked up F-350. And possibly a dinosaur.

I draw this conclusion because that is precisely what I witnessed about ten seconds before I was able to snatch my phone out of the road. It was run over. In front of my very eyes. (By an SUV, not a dinosaur)

But, Samsung, you have made my day. The cheapest phone in the Verizon store survived it's ordeal and aside from looking as if a gorilla chewed on it for a few days, it actually works fine.

My theory is that it works fine precisely BECAUSE it was the cheapest phone in the Verizon store. My phone doesn't have a very good camera, an MP3 player, the ability to download things, I can't play games on it, etc. Less things to break means harder to break in my book.

And so it is that my ongoing poverty actually contributed to my happiness today. Had my crappy (I'm sure you will, in this instance, excuse the slight, Samsung) old phone been an I-phone like I wake up every day of my life and wish it was...then I would have had a pretty terrible end to a genuinely splendid day. And then I would have felt guilty about being upset about my cell phone of all things when I have so much to be happy about.

Thank you, Samsung, for keeping me grounded. Sure, I-phones will get the babes*. But can they survive being run over by every person who leaves quicktrip between 8:30 and 10:15 in Newnan on a Saturday night? I think not.

Your Loyal Customer,
Andrew Steven Marshall
Dabbler, Dilettante, Hobbiest, and User of Repetitious Words

FOOTNOTE: *The Editors would like to point out that there has never been a recorded instance of an I-phone helping anyone "get the babes." Nor has there ever been a recorded instance of wolves killing and eating a human being, but then again who would be left to record it, right? The views expressed in this blog are not the views of Apple, I-Phone, Google, Blogger, Samsung, Verizon, Viacom, Time-Warner, Universal Pictures, Five Guys Burgers, John McCain, Barack Obama, The Clintons, Douglas Adams, or Jean Valjean.

Thank you.

It Ain't the Years, Honey. It's the Mileage.

2008-05-21T00:18:00.002-04:00

The time is 12:19 A.M. In exactly twenty four hours, the trailers will be ending, and the opening credits of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull will begin.

That is all.

Housekeeping

2008-05-16T23:43:00.002-04:00

Some Housekeeping:

Thanks to everybody who sent me an e-mail or responded to the sound off post. There are at least twenty of you out there...so cool beans! Sharpie Doodles shall continue. Thanks for reading guys.

Congrats to my good friend Nick Ramey...now the official Web content editor thingy mcgummy something or the other for 11 alive news! Good job Nick, you deserved a break, my friend.

I've got a lot of other friends going through some hard times right now. Keep'n you all in my prayers guys. You know who you are.

This summer is shaping up to be quite interesting. I'm hoping to improve ten fold upon last summer. Last summer had it's moments, yes, I had some good times. High lights include finding Community Christian Church (changed my life), getting this laptop (which has turned out to be the most massively useful and versatile tool I've ever used, good graduation gift Mom and Dad!), living with the Coffman's, and starting in heavily on photography for the first time.

Low lights include the Jeep breaking down six times, living off a box of goldfish crackers and mooched dinners for two weeks, and coping with a serious dose of post college "what the crap am I doing with my life" depression.

What does this summer hold? Plenty of good times, to be sure. Maybe some great times. Undoubtedly some bad times, but nothing I can't handle. I'll probably stick my foot in my mouth on at least a dozen occasions. See some good movies. Hang out with old friends, make some new ones. Hear some good music, take some good pictures. Build a kayak, maybe, or a canoe. Mountain biking. Camping. Working. Sleeping. Making extensive use of the brand new library that just got built right down the street from me. Cookouts. Fires. Slip N Slides. Family. Savannah. Delightfully Awkward situations, conversations, and occasions.

It's gonna be good folks.

Stick around. Life's absurdities are never ending. How can someone ever run out of things to write about?

19th Century Mountaineering

2008-05-16T23:40:00.003-04:00

Spring Break!

2008-05-16T18:19:00.003-04:00

Nothing Quite so Comforting

2008-05-14T01:31:00.002-04:00

Our country shouldn't become bi-lingual because we've ALWAYS spoken English in this country.
Oops!

--A--

Sound Off

2008-05-14T00:38:00.003-04:00

Coming up on four months of Sharpie Doodles, folks.

Hard to believe, huh? Relationships have come and gone, somewhere there is a baby that was conceived at the exact minute I made my first post, and that baby is now halfway finished baking.

So I'm a little curious as to what the readership of Sharpie Doodles is. I know for a fact that Nick and Adam are still readers. I think that Bill and Kelley and Simon and maybe some of the Martins are, as well as perhaps Albright. But Kelley doesn't really count because he only reads the short ones, and those are few and far between. And I know that at least six people subscribe to to it via e-mail. (but don't worry, I don't know who)

Who else is out there? If you read this (even only occasionally) leave me a message and say howdy. I'd like to know who I'm talking to out there, if anyone at all. If you aren't comfortable leaving a public post, there is the option to make your comment private, or send me an e-mail at andrew.marshall.3@gmail.com

Also, if you are one of those "core" group of readers that I mentioned above, I'd love to get a message from you as well. Thanks for checking in on this every now and then. It's nice to be read.

Love to hear from you guys. Again, if there is anyone out there.

Not that I'm going to stop if it is only Nick and Adam. I'm having way to much fun vomiting my mind out into the interweb once or twice a week.

--A--

It's not often I make two posts in the same night. Don't forget to look below this for the night's first post.

Scream'n Eagle Oil Testosterone Landslide Yeah!

2008-05-13T21:35:00.004-04:00

I was in Kroger* the other day, killing time and waiting to hang out with some friends I was meeting there. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had run out of soap that morning, so I wandered over to the soap and shampoo isle to engage in that most hallowed of masculine traditions: choosing a body wash based purely upon the overly testosteroned product names.

Does it disturb anyone else that if you were to compare Sports drinks with male bodywashes/deoderants purely by their names, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference?

Point in case: Mountain Rush--Something that Micheal Jordon drinks? Or something you rub under your armpits?

Avalanche Blast--Something to quench your thirst, or something you spray on yourself in a haze of cloying scent until nobody wants to be within ten feet of you...regardless of your pre torn, pre sweat stained backwards turned UGA baseball cap and tight pink polo shirt.

Glacial Rip--Something bright blue? Or something....bright....blue. Hmmmmm....

So now we find more similarities. Energy drinks and male deodorants/body washes/body sprays are both very often bright blue. Why is that, do you think? Curiouser and Curiouser.

Ladies, don't think you are off the hook. Thirty seconds in a Bath and Body works is enough to prove that female scent nomenclatures are just as silly.

Cucumber Melon? What? That scent smells NOTHING like a cucumber, OR a melon, just as much as "Glacial Rip" smells nothing like a glacial rip...whatever the heck that even is.

Which is actually fine with me...if I'm smooch'n** on a lady, I don't really want her to smell like a cucumber. Or a watermelon, come to think of it.

Anyway, I've gotten way off track here. I eventually chose "After Hours" mostly because I liked the smell, but also because it got me thinking. I'm sure the name "After Hours" was chosen to bring to mind all sorts of imagery like dark clubs and flashing lights and bumping and grinding and, eventually, careless and meaningless sex.

However, that isn't really what it called to mind to me, mostly because my "after hours" hours are nothing like that. So I got the body wash but made a mental note to take stock of myself next time I found myself in an "after hours" situation to see what I was like.

Two days later I was in Kroger again. I realized it was almost midnight...After Hours! I took stock of myself.

So this is me After Hours: Clad fabulously in a t-shirt that says, against all odds, "My baby got stole by a bear holding a shark"***. Unshaven, hair that looks as if I used it to mop a floor, holding a package of fig newtons in one hand and a discount mothers day cookie cake with the words "Shop-A-Holic" icing sprayed onto it in the other. Wearing a green bathing suit with white flowers. Sandals on my feet, over black socks that are mismatched.

One black sock had the Grinch on it.

The other, Christmas penguins.

Andrew: After Hours.

Please, ladies, please. There's only so much Andrew to go around.

--A--

FOOTNOTES:

*I've realized, with a certain amount of trepidation, that some of my more bizzare thinking occures in grocery stores. I think it must be because grocery shopping requires the perfect amount of concentration: not enough to demand my full attention but too much to allow for really important thinking. The result is...well, things like this.
**The way I phrased that makes it seem as if smooch'n is something that occurs on a regular basis in my life. I think you only have to look at my illustration to realize that this is not the case.
***My Baby Got Stole By a Bear Holding a Shark is my favorite T-shirt right now.

One Last Way To Pander Votes

2008-05-07T16:16:00.002-04:00

I've made phone calls.

I've used word of mouth.

I've made a facebook group.

I've sent e-mails.

This is my last remaining method of communication to get your vote. I'm just going to copy and past my shpeel into my blog, and I'll be done. If you already know about this, ignore it and move on. If this is news to you...go to the site and give me your honest opinion!

The Schpeel

Hey everybody! One of my photographs has been chosen for the "daily dozen" feature on the National Geographic Magazine website.

One of the magazine's photo editors chooses twelve photographs every day for display on the website. At the end of the month two of the featured photographs will be selected for publication in the magazine.

Which is a long way of saying this: I'm currently competing with 300 other photographers to have my photograph published in NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.

Wickity What? Yeah.

To view and vote for my picture, do this. Follow this link to the national geographic magazine website.

http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/

On the left hand side of the screen is a link to the "your shot" feature. Click on it to view the daily dozen. My photograph is in the May 7th grouping. It is a black and white photograph of fallen leaves, a spider web, and dewdrops.

Elsewhere on the site is a featured called "the voting machine" There you can vote for my photograph. I'm not sure if the voting affects if I am chosen for publication or not, but it can't hurt! Please only vote once, and you don't have to give me a ten, give me whatever you feel like I deserve in comparison to the other pictures. (There are some truly amazing photographs in there!) I'm not trying to rig this in any way, I just want all my friends to get the chance to vote.

Thanks guys. I'll keep you updated.

--A--

Fun Ways to Play With Your Food in Public

2008-05-06T22:10:00.003-04:00

At Chik-Fil-A, the worker bees have to say "my pleasure" any time you say thank you. Take advantage of this by saying "thank you" at least twelve times in every sentence, always pausing significantly and raising one eyebrow as you wait for the inevitable response.

Another option is to say "thank you" once at the end of the transaction. When the worker bee says "my pleasure", remove a french fry from the box and reach across the counter with it, brushing them lightly across the lips with the fry. Eat the fry, then stare deep into the workers eyes. Pause, and then, in a low, rough voice, say "No. No.....it was mine."

When eating out with friends or co-workers, refuse to order, saying that you don't eat anything that was ever alive. When everyone else's food arives, bring out a zip lock bag of beef jerky and begin eating it. When your friends and co-workers question you, explain that the meat came from a clown, and you don't really consider such things to be "alive".

Order spaghetti at every opportunity. Suck the sauce off of each spaghetti noodle one by one, loudly. Place the clean noodles on the side of your plate and leave them there. At the end of the meal, offer them to a friend, or ask the waiter for a to go box.

Scrape the head off of beer and put it on your plate. Suck it up through a straw. Order another beer.

Pick out a random woman and "food flirt" with her using non-sexy food items like scalding hot coffee and fried macaroni and cheese.

Mix everything on your plate into one big pile, and then try to separate it again.

On a first date, excuse yourself to the restroom. After washing your hands, make sure they are totally dry. Return to the table and immediately grab your date's hands. Begin a conversation about how disgusting the bathroom was.

Ask for the wine list at Brusters. Become upset when they think you are joking.

Have a loud conversation about how you don't believe in tipping every time the waitress comes near you.

Dress in tight fitting, all black clothes and stand next to the host or hostess at Ruby Tuesdays. Try to intercept people walking in the door.

2008-05-03T17:56:00.000-04:00

I don't know. I'm just as lost as you guys.

--A--

If I were a song AND a commercial...

2008-04-29T00:35:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I get a little down. Feel a little low. And then I just think about how awesome just about EVERYTHING is.

If I were a song, AND a commercial....

...this is what I would be.

Check it out.

Vegans and Dinosaur Products

2008-04-27T17:06:00.002-04:00

This is actually true. I removed and sold a kidney to the gas station attendant so I could fill up my tank of gas. It's okay, you can live with only one kidney. I don't know what I'm going to to tomorrow though...

But thinking about gasoline so much got me wondering...why are Vegans allowed to use gasoline?

...follow me here.

Gasoline is made from crude oil.

Crude oil is, among other things, basically the decomposed juice from billions of dead plants and *GASP* animals.

Vegans don't consume anything made from animals.

Vegans drive cars.

I don't know, you tell me.

I think if we could convince the Vegans to stop using gasoline (and they should, to really be Vegans!) then there would be a little more gasoline left for the rest of us. And the more we put off finding alternative energy sources, the better.

After all, there are baby seals to consider. (See Previous Post)

--A--

I Don't Feel Sorry About Killing Things That Wouldn't Feel Sorry About Killing Me

2008-04-25T18:01:00.008-04:00

I feel like a person has two choices in this life: Be on the side of the baby seals, or be on the side of the Polar Bears.

Everybody says we are killing polar bears with global warming. Okay, maybe that is true and maybe it isn't, the science is actually not as conclusive as you would think. But that isn't the point. The point is that Polar Bears eat baby seals. You think the seals are happy about that? I bet seals are ALL FOR global warming. Seals, especially baby seals, probably hop up and down in fuzzy, incredibly adorable glee every time another SUV rolls off the assembly line.

I personally think that Polar Bears can fend for themselves. Anything that would GLADLY rip my face off and eat it doesn't need my help.

So, pick a side, ladies and gents. Who are you going to support this election season? The candidate who could chase you down at thirty miles an hour on icy terrain and rip your head off with one swipe of his massive paw...

Or are you going to support this little fella...

I think you'll make the right decision.

Contest

2008-04-24T00:56:00.003-04:00

My Dear, Lovely, Friendly Readers,

It's time for the first annual Sharpie Doodles "Things that Make Me Angry or That I Don't Get or That I Find Very Strange" submission contest!

Got something that makes you angry?

Got something that you don't get?

Got something that you find very strange?

Submit it to Sharpie Doodles and I will write a post and draw a comic about it! What fun for all!

But wait, you say, how is this a contest? Is there a winner? Is there a prize?

No.

But I'm calling it a contest anyway.

And.....

.....

GO!

Wiki Hows

2008-04-23T17:27:00.006-04:00

Wiki Hows

How to Get Beautiful Women to be Attracted to You.

Step One: DO NOT work a sedentary job in Public Television, being exposed to no light other than neon bulbs and LCD screens.
Step Two: DO NOT eat fast food.
Step Three:DO NOT make the fact that you are really enjoying the John Adams biography the topic of every conversation.
Step Four: Enjoy a fulfilling and non stop dating life!

How to Write an Annoying Blog Post or Facebook Note

Step One: Be a teenager
Step Two: Feel ways about stuff.
Step Three: Express your emotions in hackneyed metaphors and badly structured whines about things which surely no one else has ever experienced, interspersed with mind blowing (to you) revelations as to the nature of life, the world, and human nature, such thoughts the likes of which you can't believe no one else has ever thought of.
Step Four: Enjoy comments from your equally brilliant friends about how smart you are.

How to Get People to State the Obvious

Step One: grow facial hair.
Step Two: Shave.
Step Three: Listen to people walk up to you and say "You Shaved!"

How to Make Yourself Feel Like a Schmuck

Step One: Think about how hard you believe your life is.
Step Two: Think about the fact that your life is easier than 99% of everyone else's life on the planet and that YOU didn't have to dig through a garbage heap in your bare feet for dinner last night.
Step Three: Think about the fact that you really don't let this simple knowledge make you grateful for every single day that you draw breath on this planet.

How to Destroy the Lighthearted Tone of a Blog Post

Step One: See above.

How to Get Andrew Marshall to Make Instant and Unfair Judgements About You at First Glance.

Step One: have blonde hair, wear really big sunglasses, and drive a late model car that your parents bought you. Complain about the car.
Step Two: wear shell necklaces, tight fitting polo shirts, leather flip flops, and have a shaggy haircut under a precariously perched, pre-frayed baseball hat with a store logo on it. Play Halo 3 badly.
Step Three: Quote Jon Stewart as your source for all political, social, and economic information.
Step Four: Enjoy as Andrew finds himself powerless to be a good Christian and attempts to ridicule you in conversation without you even knowing.

How to Break Writers Block and Make a Long Over Due Post

Step One: Become fascinated by Wiki How.
Step Two: Become inspired by Wiki How.
Step Three: Rip Off Wiki How.

My Very Exciting Magic Carpet Just Sailed Under Nine Palace Elephants

2008-04-17T22:59:00.007-04:00

First of all, Simon, Nick, Adam, Dawn, Albright...thanks for commenting on the Gore Porn post. It's nice to know that A) At least five people read this and B) you guys agree with me. Adam, feel free to rant whenever you want. That goes for everybody. Just don't make it too angsty. Remember, it's the Sharpie Doodles way.

On to the post!

So. Remember a few years ago when a bunch of astronomers got together and said, "Hey guess what folks? Pluto isn't a planet anymore. What's more, Pluto has NEVER been a planet. We've just been classifying it wrong."

Sure, Andrew, we remember. It was kind of a big deal. A bunch of stupid people were, for some unknown reason, very upset about it.

Okay, so remember when those same astronomers said "Hey, we've changed our minds, Pluto is back to being a planet (a dwarf planet, to be exact) but the thing is, since we've included Pluto we also have to include these two other things floating around in our solar system that are Dwarf Planet sized. They are Ceris and Eris. "

No? Don't remember that? Neither do I. I only found out about it recently, and you'd be amazed at how far I had to dig around to verify it. Yeah, it's a pretty odd thing considering how big a stink was raised when we dropped down to eight planets in the solar system...that practically NOBODY knows that there are now eleven planets to be remembered. I have a theory about why this is. It goes something like this.
Now, before anybody comments on that, let me just say that I like Obama. And I find the democratic process this year incredibly fascinating. But there is, occasionally, some other news worth reporting, that's all I'm saying. I think we need to get over ourselves a bit.

Anyway, National Geographic had a contest and some little ten year old girl from Montana came up with a new device to remember the additions. I made it the title of my post today and I must say, it beats the crap out of "My Very Excellent Mother Just Sent Us Nine Pizzas." Anytime you have magic carpets sailing under elephants in palaces, you've got an A in my book. Good job little girl.

But my thoughts have been running towards the trend of space lately. I'm still thinking a lot about black holes.

I've been doing my best to live like the world is going to end, and for the most part I've been successful. There are TWO conversations I can think of that I would want to have before the world ends...and I'm just trying to figure out if they are actually worth having for the sake of my little intellectual experiment.

Anyway, here are two more little doodles. I've been pretty prolific these last few days, I've only just now had time to sit down and do some scanning.

My favorite thing somebody said to me recently..."You went to art school and your drawings look like THIS?"

Yes. Yes indeed.

*Side Note* I feel like nobody got my Tremors joke in the last post. It makes me sad.

2008-04-12T23:35:00.002-04:00

Me and the boys took a much needed vacation this weekend. We headed out to the town of Perfection, Nevada. We climbed the water tower, shopped at the general store, jumped on a pogo stick, and flirted with moderately beautiful geology grad students.

Here is a photo from our trip.

A Good Time Was Had By All!

Warning, No Doodles in This Post : A Rare Sharpie Doodles Rant

2008-04-11T11:07:00.006-04:00

Hello my darlings!

First, some news. I've installed an "email subscription tool" to this blog. Yes, you can now have Sharpie Doodles delivered right to your door, rose bushes, sidewalk, or through your front window (speaking, of course, in Internet terms) Look for the subscription tool on the left hand side of the window. It will ask you to enter your e-mail and then badda boom! You no longer have to spend the 15 extra seconds actually coming to the blog to read it. Ain't technology great! Special thanks to Kelley for sending me that link.

Now, Kelley, I must apologize because this post might be a little long winded. In fact, you might just want to stop reading now because there ain't gonna be any pretty pictures to look at either.

Okay, here we go. It's a Rant, yes, and not very funny, but please read it. It means a lot to me.

Spring is here and Summer fast approaches, dear readers, and that means lots of things. Baseball, cookouts, mowing the grass, sunburns, 200% humidity, shame and embarrassment at various beaches and lakes...

...but it also means movies. Lots of em, new ones out every week, and, here's the thing, most of them will be pure escapist entertainment.

Which is totally fine with me. Yes, I'm a cinema snob but not near as much of one as nearly everybody I went to school with, and I'm certainly not as much of a snob as your average newspaper movie critic. I love movies that make me think, that make me question, that I don't know how to feel about...but the summer movie season is what it is and I roll with it joyfully. I plan on happily crunching my extra butter popcorn, scarfing down my peanut M&M's, and slurping my medium (twenty five cents will take you up to a large, sir) cherry coke while Christian Bale kicks butt in the Dark Knight and Harrison Ford relives his glory days in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

I'll see the action movies because they are fun and I'll see the monster movies and thrillers because they are also fun. I like to watch things explode and I like to root for the good guy and I really, really like to watch Batman save the day.

I don't like to see people getting tortured.

But apparently, most of America does.

I'm talking about movies like Saw and Hostel of course. Those are the most well known examples but there are others, countless others. If you haven't seem them here is the basic plot.

1) People get captured by a sadistic madman.
2) People are realistically tortured for an hour and a half. There is much screaming.
3) People mostly die. One person may or may not escape. Sadistic Madman remains on the loose.
4) The end.

Movies like these aren't escapist entertainment. Pirates III is escapist entertainment. It may have sucked by crimminy, but at least it was harmless and fun suck.

No, movies like Saw and Hostel aren't entertainment. I don't even want to call them movies. Lets just refer to them by what they really are, shall we? Pornography.

Gore Porn.

Pornography doesn't have a plot. It doesn't have a story. Any story that porn does have is just a thin excuse to witness an act. In the case of gore porn, the act is torture.

Pornography doesn't have subtlety. It holds nothing back, it strips an act down to it's most base nature. Violence in cinema is a hot topic these days, but if you pay attention to most action movies, they don't really show you everything. Not like Gore Porn does. And if they DO show you everything, it is usually to make a point. Take No Country for Old Men. An extremely graphic movie. Very violent. But the violence in that movie was used as a tool by the Coen Brothers to make a statement about how violence affects humanity, how greed affects violence, etc...

The violence in Gore Porn IS the point. It's there just for you to watch and "enjoy" and that's it.

In pornography there are no consequences for the act being witnessed. The same in Gore Porn. This is one of the most disturbing trends to me...the sadistic madman always gets away with it.
Again, don't try to argue me into a corner here. I'm not saying that movies where the villain gets away with stuff are bad. To the contrary, I think those type of endings make for great storytelling. But that's just the thing. STORYTELLING. In an actual movie, when the villain gets away with things it's for story reasons. He faces consequences. He is changed in some way good or bad by what he has done. Or he isn't changed and WE as the audience are changed by wondering why HE hasn't been changed...etc.

In Gore Porn the only reason the madman lives is so there can be more Gore Porn.

And there will be, oh yes, there will. Because our culture has taken to this specific brand of pornography, hasn't it? After all, there are FOUR Saw movies to date. TWO Hostel movies. Dozens and dozens of stand alone films in the last three years alone. Why? Because Gore Porn makes a CRAP TON of money. You have no idea. You really don't.

So, where do we stand so far? Gore Porn has no value as cinema. It doesn't make you think, it doesn't touch your emotions (except perhaps disgust, if you are lucky) and it doesn't tell a good story. Which leads me to believe that the only reason that people see it is for escapist entertainment.

Wait a second. Millions and millions of people in America watch torture every year as escapist entertainment?

Yup. There isn't any way around it. And what's worse is THEY TAKE THEIR KIDS TO IT. You know it's true. Go to any ten o'clock showing of any R rated movie and I will give you a cookie if there isn't a five year old somewhere in those rows of stadium seats.

And then we wonder why we have a group elementary school children plot to kill their teacher with duck tape, rope, knives, and blunt objects because she reprimended one of them during class. They brought this stuff to SCHOOL ya'll. They were going to do it. Tie her up and kill her. Not across the country. Not in Detroit. Here. In an Atlanta suburb.

Here.

Here.

I'm ashamed.

I'm ashamed of my generation, a generation that profligates the making of Gore Porn by it's very insensitivity and apathy and unwillingness to speak out against it. We are a generation of causes. Global warming, yes. Darfur, sure. Gay rights, okay. But does anybody care that we are losing our very humanity ticket by every loving movie ticket?

I'm ashamed of my generation, a generation that profligates the making of Gore Porn by GOING TO SEE IT TIME AND TIME AGAIN. Hollywood makes Gore Porn because Gore Porn makes money. Period. I'm infuriated when I see one of these movies listed on someone's "Favorites" on the Facebook or Myspace or whatever. If you are not disturbed by the images in Gore Porn, you should be worried. Something is broken inside of you. You have a problem.

You are the problem.

I'm ashamed of my nation. Gore Porn is only the latest apparition of a greater problem, our society's complete loss of sensitivity: to beauty, to art, to violence, to the basic tenants of what it means to be human.

I'm ashamed of my species. We have such capacity for evil. It is a part of us. But I believe, I HAVE to believe, that our capacity for good far exceeds that.

But I feel like we aren't trying very hard. Not very hard at all.

I'm ashamed. Just so damn ashamed of us all.

What a waste.

An End of the World Update (and some other items)

2008-04-08T21:42:00.004-04:00

Lots of interesting things going on lately. You might remember my interest in a certain particle accelerator in Switzerland and how that machine has an intsy bintsy teeny tiny chance of ending the world in May.

Absurd, right? Yes. But apparently there is a cult holed up in a bunker somewhere in Russia...WHO ALSO THINK THAT THE WORLD WILL END IN MAY. And the crazy thing is, apparently they came to this conclusion for religious reasons, not because of anything having to do with black holes and irresponsible scientists.

Creepy, no?

A girl was born in India recently. She had two faces on the same head. The name for this particular affliction is craniofacial duplication.

You hear about all these 15 year old cheerleaders who lured a peer to a house, savagely beat her for thirty minutes while some boys played "lookout", and video taped the whole thing to put on Youtube and Myspace? First the elementary school children plotting to kill their teacher with a steak knife and duct tape, and now this. WHAT IN THE CRUNCHITY CRISPITY CRAP IS GOING ON? Sometimes I really feel like things are going backwards, you know? If it wasn't for IBC Rootbeer, I'd write civilization off as a total loss.

On an entirely unrelated topic, here's a doodle.
This is actually a pretty accurate copy of my real Publix receipt from yesterday. I have a real problem, this certainly isn't the first time I've spent more money on books at the grocery store than I have on groceries.

Here's another doodle, what I call "The Mr. Darcy Theory".

As my good friend Derek said after looking at this doodle, "Well, at least part two is true!"

Well that's it for now. More coming soon.

--A--

Things Never Get Less Awkward

2008-04-05T04:56:00.002-04:00

Pocket Sandwich

2008-04-03T22:54:00.001-04:00

A brief struggle in my own head this afternoon.

Black Holes

2008-04-02T01:35:00.006-04:00

Good morning, friendly readers. It's another late night (early morning) for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is this: since about three forty five this afternoon I've been a tad preoccupied with the thought that the world might end in about a month.

If your brain is of a sciency bent, you listen to NPR, or you read National Geographic, then you've probably heard about this huge thingamagumy called the Large Hadron Collider they are building out at CERN, an underground particle physics lab in Switzerland.

Basically this thing is a huge 17 mile wide device ten years in the making. Its sole purpose is to slam particles of matter together at incredible speeds so that scientists can...well, watch it happen I guess. Which is all groovy. I was down with it. I'm always up for some particle physics in action. But then I heard a scientist on NPR today talking about how one of the experiments they would be doing out there is using the LHC to create miniature black holes.

Okay, so obviously I'm not a scientist. Not even close. And this guy had lots of good scientific reasons why they wouldn't destroy the world by creating black holes under the ground in Geneva. But sometimes things just feel like a bad idea, don't they? Doesn't this just sound like we are asking for trouble as a species?
I can't help but get the sensation sometimes that one day a highly advanced alien civilization will come across our little smoking carcass of a planet and say "well, what the crap were they expecting? They starting screwing around with black holes!"

That all being said, I'm more irritated by all this than genuinely concerned. Is there a chance that some Swedish scientist will flip a switch and suck all of humanity into a lump the size of a grapefruit? Yes. But, mathematically speaking, there is ALWAYS a chance of that happening. There is a chance I'll die from choking on a gopher tortoise tomorrow, there is a chance I'll slip on yogurt and get my face stuck in the garbage disposal. These are fears that we all must live with.

No, what really irks me is that the world might end while I'm at work, of all places. And it might happen so quickly! I imagine it would be something like this.
So on my drive home today I got to thinking...maybe I should live the next month as if the world really is going to end. Worst case scenario: the Swiss beat the one in a hundred million trillion cazillion odds and kill us all, in which case I've told everybody in my life everything they need to hear and lived a satisfying final month. Best case scenario: I tell everybody in my life everything they need to hear, live a satisfying and fulfilling month, and some scientists get to watch an extremely expensive machine smash little bits of stuff into other little bits of stuff at high velocity with absolutely no ill effects.

Heck, maybe we should ALL be living like the end was near ALL the time. As hallmarky as it sounds...it might not be a bad way to go through life.

So I'm going to try it. If I say weird things, act in a strange way, tell you that I love you, tell you that I don't, or say or do anything out of the ordinary, don't worry. Don't fret.

It's only because the world is ending.

Possibly.

--A--

Two Drawings, assorted randimosity of my weekend, and my Dad is cool.

2008-03-31T22:08:00.007-04:00

I had an extremely hectic but totally satisfying weekend, the highlight of which was Dylan Coffman's little league baseball game. Dawn Coffman was out of town and Bill brought me in off the bench to help him watch the other three hooligans while he cheered Dylan on in his second ball game ever. I did some truly inspired child wrangling which included but was not limited to: pushing children in swings, playing tag, doling out snacks (popcorn, cheesesticks, and Capri Suns), racing, swinging kids around by the arms, picking up kids and "flying" them, mediating minor sibling disputes, and ALMOST catching little Will as he slipped off the wet bleachers and smashed his head with an unpleasant hollow banging sound.

Don't worry, he recovered quickly.

After the game we all went back to the Coffman's place for dinner, where the kids treated me like a long lost family member and I was presented with this picture drawn by Sarah Beth.

That's me with the crazy hair, obviously. That's what I like about kid drawings, they so often cut to the heart of things. It does hurt a little bit to know that my UHS is recognizable even to a five (six?) year old. I've been trying to hide it for so long...

Also this is yet another drawing by a Coffman child that features me in a canoe, which brings my heart great happiness. If only I had time to canoe as much as they THINK I do...

Dawn and Bill treated me to a delicious dinner of baked spaghetti, bread, salad, and other deliciousness. Thanks guys. It was an awesome evening. Your kids almost make me want some of my own, like, right now.

Almost.

Speaking of drawings and family, this one was inspired by a telephone conversation with my Dad.

If you've been looking for someone to occasionally blame for the content of this blog, you can pretty much point at my Dad as the origins of my twisted sense of humor. As proof, I offer these extremely strange article where he was interviewed.

http://www.whatsuppub.com/showArticle.asp?articleId=5266

Thanks Dad, for being the bizarre, twisted, amazing person that you are. I hope to one day half the father that you've been to me.

--A--

*NOTE* I've been feeling a little family oriented lately. Can you tell? Future posts will include cartoons inspired by or dealing with other members of my immediate family. So don't get jealous, Mom, Ben, and Megan. Your spotlight is coming!

The SPICY Baconator

2008-03-27T23:52:00.003-04:00

Yes. They've improved the Baconator with Pepper Jack cheese, a spicy sauce, and jalapeños. Now the blasted thing is even more tasty and more destructive to one's sensitive internal organs. Curse you Dave Thomas! *NOTE* Click on the picture to view it larger in another window. This might help reading the text.

Some Random Doodles

2008-03-27T00:00:00.006-04:00

I had a few minutes today and I scribbled some things down on a few sticky notes. I should probably upload these a day at a time so I have some stuff to post about, but whatever.

*Note. These are not done with Sharpie so they are not, in fact, sharpie doodles. But they are close.

Midnight Pasta

2008-03-24T23:56:00.003-04:00

I can't get to sleep. Lot of things on my mind lately. So I'm making spaghetti. As an intellectual excercise, I'm giving myself the time that it takes my noodles to boil to write a relevant post and draw a picture for it.

Starting now. 11:58. Go!

There were a lot of strange things in the news today but I can't remember any of them, so I guess they aren't really worth talking about.

What with one thing and the other, romance has been on my mind a lot lately.

Gah! Blather! I just wasted a good six minutes whining about stuff nobody cares about. I deleted it. Drivel.

Oh wait! I have a shocking resemblance to novelist and satirist Kurt Vonnegut! Or rather in sixty years I WILL look just like he looked when he was 80. This was pointed out to me by a girl I see maybe once every two months in the parking lot of a Chik-Fil-A that I randomly decided to go to. Now how is that for strange. Had I sat at a stoplight earlier in the day for twenty seconds more, that conversation would never have happened and I wouldn't be writing this right now. Sometimes the world just astounds me.

Water is boiling and noodles have been broken and added! Time grows short!

Somehow there are NO forks at my house. Zero. I know when I moved in here with Tim we had some. Ten at least. Now there are zero. Okay, well I know where one is. It's down in my room, dirty from the LAST time I made spaghetti. (I'm a single guy, okay! Geez.) But other than that...zero forks.

I have to draw something fast. The noodles might already be ready because I have no way to check them...they keep sliding off the spoons!

*He rushes downstairs, grabs pad and marker out of backpack, and draws furiously*

Done!

Not my finest attempt at art, but it will have to do. Plus, I really think this might be what is going on.

I just realized no spoons either. I'm going to have to eat this spaghetti with two knives like dysfunctional chopsticks.

This has been a strange post. I apologize. Time's up.

12:14 Time to eat!

NOTE: Ten minutes elapsed while I scanned this picture in and spellchecked. Everything else is true.

2008-03-22T12:24:00.003-04:00

I got this card from the Coffman kids for my birthday this year. It is, without a doubt, the greatest card I've ever gotten.

That's me there in the hat. Apparently I'm in a canoe with all the kids.

No reason to put this up, I just saw it in my room and wanted to share the awesomeness.

--A--

Syndromes

2008-03-20T17:04:00.003-04:00

The first day of spring is here! Go, go on my friends, go outside! Fall in love, water flowers in your gardens, pick out shapes in the clouds, all that jazz.

Or, stay inside and read my blog! Huzzah!

Okay, so today’s topic is syndromes. Namely this: I have a new favorite one! Up until today, my favorite medical syndrome of all time was *Restless Leg Syndrome. But thanks to a little browsing on **GoogleTrends yesterday, I now have a new favorite. Yup. You guessed it. Uncombable Hair Syndrome.

This is a real thing, people, a medically proven ailment suffered by a small percentage of human beings. Basically, it’s a slight deformation of the hair shape and follicles that makes the hair slightly rougher and super sticky uppidy. In other words, uncombable. Don’t believe me? That’s cool. I have done my research and if you are too lazy to do yours, it’s no problem of mine.

So my research into UHS got me thinking: what other personal problems can be written off to strange genetics?

How about UTTTGCS (Youtigeeks): Unable To Talk To Girls Comfortably Syndrome—affects millions of young men across the country. This regrettable condition relegates these sad, greasy young men to having conversations with the opposite sex entirely on the Internet. Treatment: as of yet undiscovered.

And then of course there is CSOHS (Seesohs): Compulsive Sniffing Of Highlighters Syndrome. This terrible ailment is much more widespread, with it’s only serious side affect being some people with brightly colored nostrils.

Got any more strange ailments? I’d love to hear them.

Enjoy the first day of spring, my lovelies. Until next time, as the dolphins of Dinotopia say, Breath Deep. Seek Peace.

--A--

FOOTNOTES:

*Restless Leg Syndrome is a real thing. I guess. If you have RLS and I have offended you, I’m sorry. But not sorry enough to not think the commercials are funny. As a person who can barely even speak without jumping and jiving all over the place and who can’t get to sleep unless I’m totally, physically exhausted, I have little pity for you.

**Google Trends is a fascinating thing. You can look at all the data for the top 100 Google searches for that HOUR, as well as compare those results with related searches and so on. It can be quite instructive to see what the country is googling at the moment, and it brings up some interesting questions. For instance…Why is “Mr. Rodgers” the 65^th most Googled thing from twelve o’clock this afternoon? And what is “Sweater Day”? And how are the two related? I’m not going to tell you…but you can find out at www.google.com/trends

THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEKEND AND A HOW TO TELL IF YOU AREN’T GETTING ENOUGH SLEEP.

2008-03-18T17:29:00.002-04:00

(If you don’t care about my life, and I don't blame you if you don't, skip the first two paragraphs and go to "How to tell If you Aren't Getting Enough Sleep)

Well my weekend turned out to contain everything I thought it would times ten. In accordance with Sharpie Doodles tradition, I won’t bore you with details that you don’t care about but instead give you the broad strokes: I got some things straightened out and reestablished an important friendship, I watched Smokey the Bear watch a forest fire, I drove through hail in a soft top jeep, I shared a chocolate brownie cake thingy with two lovely ladies on Pi Day, I sent an e-mail to a woman in Brazil whom I’ve never met before, and six separate people told me I needed a new pair of cowboy boots.

So let me just address this issue right now: I’m not getting a new pair of cowboy boots. I like the pair that I have. They fit me. They are scuffed. They are scratched. They are wearing a bit thin. Some might say a little too thin…a sentiment I’ll grudgingly agree with. But these boots are special. They are my year in review. They have been worn down as I’ve been built up. They are reminders of my family in Texas, my time in Savannah, my move to Atlanta, the rebuilding of Andrew Marshall. These boots have the dust and muck and soil of three amazing cities ingrained into their worn leather and paper thin soles, even the money I bought them with has special significance, and they ain’t going anywhere until they fall off of my feet. If that means I have to use gaffers tape to keep them together…so be it. (It’s kind of a specialty of mine…I’ve become fairly adept at keeping things from falling apart using cable ties, twisties, and gaffers tape. Mostly it’s a skill built up from years of owning terrible cars and being very poor.)

So. Anyway. On to the actual post.

WAYS TO TELL THAT YOU AREN’T GETTING ENOUGH SLEEP

Numbah Ones: Your toothbrush is still wet from the night before.

Numbah Twos: In a similar vein…you can still taste your toothpaste from the night before.

Numbah Threes: Eye goo and crusties do not have time to accumulate.

Numbah Fours: You starting making lists entitled “Ways to Tell That You Aren’t Getting Enough Sleep”.

Numbah Fives: Co-workers begin to assume that A: there has been a death in your family, B: You’ve started taking drugs C: Aliens have taken over your brain or D: All of the above.

Numbah Sixes: You find the intentional misspelling of the word “number” to be the height of Swiftian witticism.

Numbah Sevens: All of your fantasies begin to involve a tribe of beautiful young Amazons capturing you while on a safari in Africa, taking you back to their village, throwing you down on a huge, soft, king sized bed, tucking you in gently, kissing you on the forehead, and singing lullabies to you as you drift slowly into slumber.

Numbah Eights: You begin repeating yourself.

Numbah Nines: You wake up one morning and realize that you were getting more nighttime snooze when you unloaded trucks at Target OVERNIGHT.

Numbah Tens: You know there MUST be ten ways to tell that you aren’t getting enough sleep, but you just can’t think of number ten, so you resort to cheap tricks to fill the slot.

--A--

The Best of Times.

2008-03-16T17:02:00.006-04:00

There are times of the year when my spirit soars.

One such time is the leading edge of April, the very cusp of spring where everything in the world seems to hesitate with breathless anticipation, a fragrant riot of green bursting forth from every crack and crevice of creation. Then there's the finale of fall; the air crisp and heavy with the smell of approaching winter, a few rusty brown and yellow leaves still clinging hopefully to the bare scratched knuckles of the hardwoods, only to be blown off by the autumn wind to meet a final crunchy, satisfying end in the middle of a laughing child's oft rebuilt mound of jumping leaves.

Frosty, grey winter days spent indoors watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" and drinking hot chocolate.

Soft summer nights overflowing with stars and stolen kisses and whispers, broken hearts and tears unthought of, undreamed of, unmentioned.

Beautiful, bittersweet, bountiful times; each of them carving out a special place in the increasingly crowded corridors of my heart.

But even the most cherished autumn, even the liveliest spring and most haunting winter will never hold a candle to the greatest season of all. The fifth season. The special time of the year that we are currently occupying, wrenchingly short, incredibly sweet.

Yes. You guessed it. Girl Scout Cookie Season.

Oh Thin Mints! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways! Your scent, hovering sprite like above the green of your cardboard carton is a delightful tease, hinting at wonders to come. Your silky, milky chocolate skin is a vision in ebony; black and mysterious. Your delicate crunch is a promise fufilled; demure and delectable. Your chocolate graham interior is an exercise in taste bud titillation...scrumptually sumptuous.

And above it all, floating angelic like the final glowing notes of a master symphony in an empty concert hall...is the mint. Thin as promised, no more than a good dream half remembered, gone before breakfast but still living somewhere deep in the murky electricity of the mind, perhaps to be recalled days, weeks, years later in an elevator or on the interstate or while walking the dog, bringing with it a rush of nostalgia and a slow, growing, crooked smile that no one else understands.

To taste heaven in a cookie! Ah...Canaan revealed!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I like Thin Mints. A lot.

I don't have a problem. I have a passion. And my passion just happens to arrive in a green box with a carefully chosen ethnically diverse mix of rope climbing girl scouts on it. So be it.

--A--

Pi Day!

2008-03-14T15:26:00.003-04:00

Happy Pi Day everyone!

If if I have time later I'll do a post about pie/pi.

But in the meantime, this is a pretty sweet picture of, well...everything that makes Pi Day awesome.

Updates and Stuffs!

2008-03-14T11:22:00.003-04:00

Hello my dumplings!

No great stories for now, but several brief items and updates on previous posts. Sorry postings have been sparse lately, but never fear! I should have some good stuff soon. This weekend is shaping up to be quite interesting; chock full of events likely to spark interesting thoughts: a bluegrass festival/control burn shoot that may or may not happen depending on the rain, one last quality time hangout with my old (brand new?) friends Carolyn and Megan before they head back to UGA, and a late night waffle house dinner loaded with potential for resumption as well as redemption and hope and of course, hash browns. Also this weekend Shelby begins teaching me a programming language…because we’re going to re-invent the way that video games are played and we both thought that we didn’t already have enough to do (Him with his full time job, wife, child, house, etc…and me with my two jobs and various other pursuits). Those of you with whom I’ve already spoken of Orb Quest (it’s sort of a comedic venture into the gaming world. Ex. There are no Orbs in Orb Quest)…the time is drawing nigh. That sucker is getting made.

So, in the meantime, here are a few housekeeping items to hold you over until the next interesting thought arrives in my brain.

First off, the female readers of this blog have raised great public outcry concerning my thoughts about the apparent uselessness of cotton balls. Apparently the puffy little things have more of a use than as snowmen or clouds glued to construction paper: they seem to be an essential tool for makeup removal. Who knew? Okay, so about half the population of the world knew, but I didn’t until just now, and I’m willing to bet a lot of my fellow men didn’t know either, so there you go. I’ve helped society.

This strange bit of news out of Kansas is worth a look:

http://www.kctv5.com/news/15573118/detail.html

That’s the thing about the internet. It’s even harder than it used to be to pretend that the world is basically a sane, rational, well ordered place. Kudos to Caitlynne and her sis for dredging that up out of the Midwest.

Other interesting factoid out of the headlines of the last few days …1 in 4 young women has a sexually transmitted disease. Frolic at your own risk. Suddenly my complaints about the difficulties of abstinence seem a little (more) silly, huh? I’d like to see the numbers on STD’s in young men. Do we have any reason to think they would be any different? If so, why?

Something equally as disturbing? It cost the government one point seven cents to manufacture a penny.

--A--

Cute Baby, Ugly Baby...what's the difference? It Still Has Disturbingly Cute Toes.

2008-03-10T17:56:00.005-04:00

I have baby blindness, apparently.

You know how some people are color blind and can’t tell the difference between red and green? I have a similar problem with other colors. I also have this problem with babies.

First, the colors. I have difficulty distinguishing between navy blue, charcoal, and black, as well as between some shades of green and brown. As practically every item of clothing I own is one of these colors, this little problem has been the endless frustration of nearly every woman I’ve ever dated, as well as my mother. Imagine a scenerio in which I’ve been asked to wear the green shirt with the brown pants, and out I emerge from my room in the BROWN shirt with the GREEN pants, and suddenly whomever I’m dating at the time thinks I’ve done this on purpose just to frustrate her. (Granted, this is a fair assumption. Something twisted in my personality enjoys intentionally misunderstanding my girlfriends. It’s almost like my way of flirting. Some people tickle. I pretend to think you meant THIS when you actually meant THAT. Lets face it folks. I’m a strange fella. My dad calls it “strategic incompetence” and it’s how he gets out of doing the laundry sometimes.)

Anyway, when people ask me what my favorite color is, I always say green AND brown, because, really, to me, they pretty much ARE the same color. At least certain tones of them are.

I have the same problem with babies. To most men and ALL women, babies can be divided into two categories. The first category, and by far the largest, is the “cute” babies. Lets face it, we are genetically programmed to think babies are cute. That’s because if a lion tries to eat one or an Emu tries to kick one or if anyone from a reality TV show tries to come within fifty feet of one, our genetic programming will kick in and we’ll drop everything to try and save it, even if it isn’t ours. So…cute babies is category number one.

Category number two is, naturally enough, ugly babies.

Most people will look at a baby and say “oh! That baby is so cute!” and they will genuinely mean it. Or they can look at a baby and say “oh! That baby is so cute!” and NOT genuinely mean it because what they really think is that that baby might as well have just stayed in the oven and baked a little while longer…cause that sucker ain't done.

So that is most people. I, on the other hand, am completely incapable of distinguishing ugly babies from cute babies. Not that I’m saying I can’t distinguish physical features. I’m perfectly capable of telling my friend Tracy’s baby from my friend Ashley’s baby. But what I couldn’t tell you is which of those two babies was cute or which was ugly. It’s the brown shirt/green pants dilemma all over again.

Fortunately, human nature provides me with a way out of this problem. Because while there is usually SOMEONE around who doesn’t mind telling me that I’ve managed to wear one black sock with one navy blue sock*, there isn’t anyone with the "huevos rancheros**" to correct me if I accidentally call an ugly baby cute. It’s just one of those little white lies that everybody tells to keep life running smoothly…the all too necessary grease between the cogs of human interaction. All I have to do is give all babies the benefit of the doubt and call them all “cute” and nobody ever calls me on it. After all, that’s what everybody does anyway, right? The only difference is, I actually mean it, cause I don’t know any better.

All this discussion of little white lies reminds me of the summer I decided I was going to stop telling them. Period. Just to see what happened. It was an adventure, maybe I’ll write about it soon. But for now, and until next time, my dear friends, my neighborly readers...adios.

--A--

FOOTNOTES

*I solved this problem by not bothering to match ANY of my socks, no matter the color, style, or degree of disinigration. I will frequently wear one navy blue dress sock with one short ankle white gym sock. If you swing that far along the sock matching pendulum, past mismatching and straight on into pure chaos, people just look the other way and pretend not to notice. Hey Kids! Want to really make people uncomfortable?! Walk into the Banana Republic with mismatched socks pulled all the way up under plastic flip flops and tell the attractive salesgirl that you like your style but you are looking for something a little less dignified. It's buckets of fun!

**A traditional Mexican brunch of of fried eggs, salsa, and refried beans served warm over a tortillia. What were you thinking? Geez.

WORD OF THE DAY

Ablation

Dictionaries Are Your Friends, Children!

2008-03-09T17:38:00.003-04:00

This is an old doodle (three, four months?) but it still goes with my post from a few days ago. I just got my scanner working so each new post will be accompanied by a new doodle! Huzzah!

Your life just got a trillion percent better.

Word of the Day (part two)

2008-03-08T20:46:00.000-05:00

Sub-surface exhalation.

dig on it, baby.

Word of the Day

2008-03-08T03:03:00.001-05:00

My insomnia is wicked tonight.

Word of the Morning!

Fluvial Geomorphology--the study of why rivers flow the way they do. Neat, huh?

--A--

Maiwage…Maiwage is Whut Brings Us Toogethu…Towday.

2008-03-08T02:37:00.003-05:00

You ever have one of those months where it feels like everyone you know is getting married, engaged, or pregnant?

Yeah? EVERY month feels like that?

Yeah, me too. You’d think we’d run out of unmarried friends, wouldn’t you, at the rate this is going.

I guess I’m just in that time frame in my life…where a lot of people I know found their soul mate during their last two years of college, and now they are just going to town, baby. Booking it down that aisle! Bring on the nuptials!

Not that I’m (that) jealous. I’m a romantic, after all, and I’m uber happy for you. I’ll come to your wedding with a smile on the inside and outside, I’ll take pictures if you want me too, I’ll fail at dancing the electric slide for the zillionth time and I’ll eat all the sausage balls while I’m doing it. I’ll hug your grandmother and shake hands with your brother and, by golly, I will completely refrain from telling your mother that there is a fifty percent chance this whole dealie will end in a bitter divorce in less than ten years.

Hey, so I’m a CYNICAL romantic. As far as I’m concerned, cynicism is just another facet of romanticism.

Which is to say again that I’m not jealous. At least, I’m not jealous of the FACT that you are getting married. Was it really a year and a half ago that I actually thought I was ready for marriage? That I was actually BUYING A RING!? What in the crispity chrunchity crap was I thinking?

I’m really not ready for that kind of…life altering, soul binding, cleaving* of a man and a woman into one person. If you are, then more power to you. Let the flowers be chosen and the thematic colors be agonized over.

No, what really irks me, what gets my goat, what I AM jealous about…well…lets just be clear, blunt, and come right out and say it without resorting to silly metaphors.

Yes, I’m talking about The Horizontal Hokie Pokie.

Lord help me, I’m abstinent until marriage, a virgin by choice, and boy, does it get on my nerves sometimes. Okay, so mostly I’m fine with it. Obviously, I wouldn’t have made it this far into my adulthood if I didn’t feel like it was the right thing for me to be doing. (Or NOT doing, if you will, ay gov’ner, say no more, say no more)

But I’ll tell ya…never do I get more irritated by it than at a wedding. At a wedding, sex is the obese elephant in the room, stepping on toes and bumping into you at the bar and not giving a damn either way. It’s the unspoken promise. The bride and the groom are headed for a night of fun, and here’s the kicker…so is almost everyone else in the place. Cause weddings get people frisky, don’t they? A little nostalgia perhaps…a little anticipation of the future, a little dancing, some champagne…conditions, as the man says, are perfect. And don’t forget about that silly old elephant, spiking the punch and spraying magical good juju into the air with his trunk.

Yes, weddings are but the warm up to the real party for most people. But what about that one percent of folks who are that increasingly rare combination of A) not married and B) choosing to remain abstinent until marriage…

Well, we get to go home, sort through the pictures we took at YOUR wedding, have a rootbeer, eat the last crumbly sausage ball we stole from the reception, climb into our hammock, and read until we fall asleep, and our last thought as murky darkness slides in is that if we meet the girl of our dreams TOMORROW that we wouldn't be ready for marriage, so it MIGHT, it MIGHT be a year and a half until we get let into your fun little club.

Okay, like I said…most of the time I’m fine with my life choices. I don’t need encouragement. I don’t need “hang in theres”. I’m not going to break and I’m not going to bend. I’ll make it.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I feel I have every right to complain. God gives me a physical body that basically exists to eat, sleep, and have sex, and then says “Ah ah ah ah…not yet, sucka fool! Not till you’re married!” And I say “What? Don’t sleep until I’m married…that sounds bad but I think I can make it—“ and then God interrupts and says “I’m not talking about SLEEP you blinkin idiot, I’m talking about SEX!” And I say, “Sex? ONE OF THE THREE PRIMARY DRIVES OF ALL LIVING CREATURES, that is what I can’t do until I’m married?” And God says, “yeah man.” And I say “Oh…well that sucks!” And God says, “Deal with it man. I’m God.” And I say, “True enough, true enough, you have a point.” And God says “umm…yeah. I usually do. But I tell you what. You’re free to look at as many sunsets as you want. How awesome is that? I’ll even throw in sunrises and mountains and paintings by Monet and all that.” And I say “That’s pretty freak’n awesome, God, I’ll admit. But what about the people who aren’t married and having sex? They get to look at sunsets and Monet paintings too.” And God says, “Look, you’re kinda missing the point, man…don’t you think?” **

And so on…

For more information regarding my thoughts about God’s sense of humor, see my earlier post concerning yogurt, mouthwash, and Paulie Shore.

Anyway, I forgot where I was going with all this…so I guess I’m done for this post. Here’s one last fun fact before I go. I just found out today that my parents read this blog. So, Dad, and especially Mom, I’m sorry you just had to read my rant about my sexual frustrations. Look on the bright side. At least I’m able to humorously complain about success as opposed to sorrowfully rue failure.

Enjoy your evenings, folks. It's the hammock for me.

--A--

Footnotes
*Fun Vocabulary Fact! The verb “cleave” has two definitions that are the total opposite of each other! Have Fun with Dictionaries, Kids!
**For some reason, God went from being a gansta to a cockney brit to a hippie in three sentences. Don't ask me. I just write what I feel.

A Dancing Fool is Thrice the Fool He Normally Is

2008-03-03T17:21:00.000-05:00

There are places that I feel completely at ease. Self assured. Confident.

Behind a camera, for instance, or in front of a computer screen. In the woods, walking up a mountain. In a canoe, paddling downstream.

Then there are places where I feel the opposite. Less like a fish out of water and more like a fish in Jello…the difference being that a fish in Jello feels like he SHOULD know what to do, that he COULD swim through this water-ish mess if only he could figure out the correct methods. Poor fishy…he just doesn’t realize that there is nothing he can do, there just isn’t any way he can comprehend his situation. And so he continues flopping about uselessly on the dance floor…er…in the jello. Yes. The jello. Not the dance floor.

Okay, fine, yes, the dance floor. The modern style of dancing to rap music is the strawberry jello to my puzzled fish. It is completely beyond my abilities to comprehend, physically and mentally. Granted, I haven’t really tried all that hard…And I’ve only ever attempted the feat five, maybe six times in my life. (Four proms, one bar, one club, the club attempt being just this weekend)

Having once again failed spectacularly to do what would appear, at first glance, to be an easy task (stand there and sway back and forth to the “music”) I realized that I had to do something. After all, I find it likely that I’ll wind up on a dance floor a few more times in my life, and I like to at least APPEAR competent even if I’m not.

So I’ve given it some thought, and based on my previous experience I’ve come up with a battle plan to, if not impress on the dance floor, at least blend in. Some little white lies for little white guys, if you will. Feel free to take notes. This plan might work for you!

NUMERO UNO: Pat the Invisible Tall Guy on the Top of His Invisible Head

This is one of my favorite dance moves. You know the one I’m talking about…where everybody in the club suddenly raises one hand, palm down, and bounces that hand up and down slightly. The key here is to DO IT WHEN EVERYBODY ELSE DOES. Pay close attention to the music…usually it’s on some kind of beat or shouted lyric. (Ex. “What we gonna do to women? Objectify! Objectify!” What! What! Sweaty Balls!)

NUMERO DOS: Sniff Your Own Armpit

Similar in nature to NUMERO UNO, except for now both hands are raised, the eyes are closed, and the head is twisted around to one side or the other. This move has the advantage of not having to be used in conjunction with anyone else, as well as that it gives you something to do with your awkward hands.

NUMERO TRES: Make Em Laugh

Become the Comic Relief. If you are funny, start trying to make people laugh and stop trying to actually dance. If you are not naturally funny, and you are twenty one…then drink. Once you have become the comic relief, all the pressures of actually dancing well evaporate. SPECIAL TIP: Start out with cheesy dance moves like the Fishing Line or the Water Sprinkler, then feel free to add your own. Try the Sitting in Traffic, or the always amusing Getting Your Car Oil Changed…how about the classy Microwaving a Pot Pie…the sky is the limit. **NOTE** Hey Kids! Don’t Drink Unless You Are 21! Scruff McGruff will take a bite out of your face and send you straight to the emergency room for stitches and twenty rabies shots to the stomach!

NUMERO CUATRO: Minimize Your Impact

Go get drinks for other people. Escort people to the bar. Go get some fresh air. Engage a bouncer in a political discussion because you are “interested in people” All these things make you look like a nice guy and minimize your time to seriously mess up on the dance floor. KEY NOTE: Do not avoid the dance floor entirely. That defeats the purpose of going and worries the people who invited you. Instead, space out your “breaks” strategically.

NUMERO CINCO: Move Your Mouth More Than Your Body

Chances are you don’t know the words to whatever is playing. (I’m assuming this based on the fact that you have made it this far into this entry) Not a problem, my friend. The decibel level in any given club is level with the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport runway. Nobody can hear you anyway. Simply mouth along as best you can, or at the very least, mumble “watermelon, watermelon, rhutebegah, rhutebegah”. Take it from an old drama geek…it works.

NUMERO SEIS: Apologize Once…Then Do Your Thing.

It might be wise to admit your lack of dancing ability upfront to the group…ONCE. Then don’t mention it again. This covers your basis and lets people know what to expect if you blow numeros UNO through CINCO and pleasantly surprises people if you manage to get it right.

Well, that’s my plan. Remember, the goal is not to dance well. A fish, after all, can never swim through jello. But he might, with some sly tactics, manage to LOOK as if he COULD. And that might be just enough to win the girl/impress the date/ please the friends…or achieve whatever it is you’ve set out to do by dragging your flabby white butt out onto the dance floor.

Happy grooving!

Today's Lesson

2008-02-28T20:51:00.002-05:00

Today's Lesson is...Don't Be a Flipp'n Moron with your Cell Phone.

I'll eleborate.

Imagine you are having a delicate, intense, incredibly painfull conversation with someone.

Now imagine that after you get off the phone with that person, you call your Mom to talk to her about the conversation. The phone rings and rings and finally goes to voicemail, except it isn't voicemail, because your Mom hasn't bothered to make one. A pre-recorded voice reads off a telephone number and then you get to leave your message.

It doesn't cross your mind at this point that the person you just finished talking to ALSO has this kind of voicemail.

So you leave your message on your Mom's phone, giving rough details of this delicate, painfull conversation and throwing in a few personal observations about the situation for good measure. You hang up and go about your day.

Later, your phone rings. It is the person whom you had the delicate conversation with. You answer, surprised, because this person and you are trying to get some things figured out by not talking for a while.

"Hello?" you say.

"You know that message you left your mom was actually on my phone", says the person, cutting right to the chase.

...

Your brain says several words that aren't very nice, but your mouth manages, after a long, deliciously awkward silence, to say "Oh."

"I just thought you should know," says the person. "So you could actually leave her one."

For the sake of privacy, I'll leave the conversation there and come back to you and today's lesson.

Dear friends, valued readers...don't be a complete imbicile with your cell phone like your friend Andrew. It only leads to terrible, terrible things.

The Baconator

2008-02-28T20:24:00.002-05:00

Consider the Baconator combo meal from Wendy's.

Half a pound of beef in the form of two patties (fresh, never frozen), piled high with six, count em six strips of hickory smoked bacon. Glued together with two slices of American cheese and topped off with ketchup and mayonaise. Slammed down in between two buns and served with fries and a Frosty. So grotesque...so overdone...so needless...so American it ought to squirt red white and blue juice.

See it well, dear friends. It will prove to be my undoing.

What is it about this particular hamburger that holds me powerless? Why can't I refuse it! I'm never satisfied after eating one, I always feel fat and greasy and slightly troubled by the amount of animal (pig AND cow) that I just consumed.

It has to be something about the Baconator's bold faced unashamedness. It is brashy. It is sassy. It is what it is, and it knows it, and I know it, and I love it and hate it for this...and the Baconator knows this too.

I'll be on my way somewhere, usually on my way to work number two from work number one, and I'll pass by Wendy's. Upon first glimpse of that red pigtailed sign, my olfactory senses immediatly ramp up into overdrive. My mouth begins watering. My hands shake. Already the Baconator pulls me in like some sort of freshly grilled black hole, my imagination sends me fantasy after delectable fantasy, and before I know it I'm standing in line.

"But all is not lost!", I groan, knowing that all indeed is. "I may be at Wendy's but at least I can get a wrap!"

But I have no intention of doing such a thing. The lady behind the counter knows it, I know it, Dave Thomas in heavenly Frosty Palace knows it.

I order the Baconator.

Here's the point where things begin to get really messed up. Yes, I've now ordered a hamburger that has a very real chance of striking me dead of heart attack immediatly upon consumption. Yes. But I could still be marginally healthy. Dave Thomas (smart Dave, cagey Dave) has also given me the option of getting WATER and a FRUIT CUP instead of a Frosty and Fries.

Dave knows I won't do this. (crafty Dave, oh so clever Dave!) Because I've already ordered a sandwhich called THE BACONATOR. What's the point of getting a fruit cup! I'll most likely be dead before the fourth bite, I might as well ENJOY my death as much as possible.

And so I happily hammer the final two nails into my congestive heart failure coffin.

Because the Baconator is a momentary happiness. All joy in the eating vanishes with the last bite. I finish a Baconator with the same kind of guilt and self loathing that I imagine drug addicts and ciggerette smokers feel after falling off the wagon.

But a Frosty and Fries...that is a road towards obiesity that I will joyfully skip down at every opportunity.

Today's Unger Report

2008-02-25T17:57:00.001-05:00

Check this out...a sort of Swiftian commentary on celebrity babies.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=19338301

Oh Brother

2008-02-25T16:12:00.002-05:00

I don't have much to say right now. It was a tough weekend. I've got all sorts of ruminations but I've made it a point in this blog not to get too introspective...nor am I feeling particularly funny at the moment. Soon enough my mind will return to the strange places it likes to go, I can no more stop it than I could stop breathing. But for now, for today, I'll stick with this: it's a fine, fine thing in life to have a brother.

Also, I've learned a valuable lesson concerning hammocks and too much alchohal.

2008-02-22T17:37:00.003-05:00

So, a work related item today.

While researching for an upcoming show on “Animal Architects”, I came across this interesting passage on a website about beavers.

“Wildlife rehabilitators find beavers to be gentle, reasoning beings who enjoy playing practical jokes.”

Really? Practical jokes, huh? One can imagine that beaver practical jokes might get out of hand rather quickly. After all, practical jokes have a way of escalating…it’s easy to see how two beavers could start out rubber banding sink spray handles and dipping paws into warm water and end up knocking trees down on each other and sabotaging dams, resulting in death and widespread flooding downstream. Entire families of rabbits and chipmunks piling onto floating shreds of bark, desperately chirping to each other as Mama Chipmunk gives up her space on the bark for all her little babies…all because Chip the Beaver was getting back at Woody the Beaver because Woody let all the air out of Chip’s tires while Chip was on a date.

Lesson of the day—Practical jokes aren’t really that funny…even when you’re a beaver. Especially when you’re a beaver. The consequences are just too significant.

Also, today is George Washington’s Birthday. It’s time to celebrate it with those most time honored of GWB celebrations. So come on, people! Lets go chop down some cherry trees! Lets wear ivory dentures and drink red wine, thus giving root to the myth of “wooden teeth”. Lets lead some Revolutions, baby!

Aight, I’m spending the evening playing Halo 3 all night long in joint celebration of me, my brother, and Derek Phillips birthday. Huzzah!

The Existance of Yogurt Proves that God Exists

2008-02-20T17:49:00.000-05:00

Today, in my usual fashion, I swished with mouthwash and spat into the sink, only to have a small stream of caustic alcohol bounce (in complete denial of physics) directly back up into my eye. I jerked backwards in surprise and pain and hit my head on the shelf right behind me.

This sort of thing happens to me a lot more often than one would think possible, which I take as continued proof that:

1) There is a God and

2) He has a sense of humor but

3) That sense of humor is kind of a nasty one, and not near as goofy as people like to think because

4) Although certain kinds of people like to point to things in the natural world like llamas and platypi and Paulie Shore and say “Wowzers, look at Paulie Shore riding a llama and wearing a with a platypus on his head like a hat! God has such a goofy sense of humor”…

5) …I find it much more accurate to point at things in the human condition such as

6) “the early stages of puberty”, which, as British comedian Eddie Izzard says, happens to be the time in a persons life where he/she cares most about attracting the opposite sex AND SIMULTANEOUSLY the time in a persons life where his/her body becomes as greasy, pimply, smelly, uncoordinated, awkward, and disgusting as it will ever be…and

7) “yogurt” which is basically bacteria cultures that we are EATING ALIVE ladies and gentlemen…and I want to know who came up with such a concept and why in the world people don’t storm yogurt production facilities across the country demanding an end to yogurt consumption, even if it does occasionally taste like blueberries and help with yeast infections (or so I’ve been told by several people who are, in fact, actual girls) …so in conclusion

8) It is my belief that the Good Lord’s sense of humor is much more caustic and sarcastic that goofy, and yes indeed, I have used the examples of puberty and yogurt to make my rather flimsy argument.

Tomorrow I’m going to write about hamburgers.

Brain Fluff

2008-02-19T16:13:00.004-05:00

SOMETHING THAT IS FLUFFY:

Andrew Marshall's hair at this moment.

OTHER THINGS THAT ARE FLUFFY:

St. Bernard Puppies.
Kittens.
Hobbits.
Dandilions.
Clouds.
Cotton Balls.

ASSOCIATION:

Andrew Marshall = St. Bernard Puppies/Kittens/Hobbits/Dandilions/Clouds/Cotton Balls.

GOOD RESULT:

Andrew Marshall is often cuddled by the kind of people who like to cuddle St. Bernard Puppies or kittens. Very often this includes attractive women. (Although it does also include other sorts of people...nothing is gained without sacrifice, friendly readers.)

BAD RESULT:

Andrew Marshall is also often:

Given rabies vacinations and forced to take heartworm medication once a month.

Made to journey across Mordor to destroy the One Ring.

Blown on while people make wishes.

Stared at by young lovers on picknicks. ( I see a hippo! No, it looks like a giraffe to me! You know what I see? What? An engagment ring. Will you marry me and then divorce me four years from now after we have a child? Of course, of course, a thousand times yes!)

Glued to construction paper by second graders during Christmas to make snowmen. (or what ever else people use cotton balls for)

TANGENT:

In fact...are cotton balls used for anything but arts and crafts projects in the second grade? I find it hard to believe that the cotton ball industry could sustain itself based soley on a cotton ball's easy adaptability into two dimensional clouds and snowmen on a construction paper background.
But perhaps. Perhaps.

CONCLUSION:

Andrew Marshall is at least as awesome as a cotton ball.

Banana Vanisha fee fi fo Fanisha...Banisha!

2008-02-18T17:28:00.002-05:00

Bananas could be gone from the United States in ten years or less.

For the reasons why, check this out: http://www.npr.org/templates/rundowns/rundown.php?prgId=13

But for now, just assume that what I say is true and that soon (historically speaking, that is) the importing of bananas into the United States and Europe will cease.

So, Dear Reader, lets imagine a forthcoming America. An America fifty years in the future where multiple generations of people have NEVER eaten a Banana. What would be different? What would be the consequences? Would they be good or bad? Here's what I came up with on the way home from work today. The significance of these consequences is measured in my patented "BANANA’0’VANISHA CONSEQUENCE CANICA" scale.

1) The time honored “slip on a banana peel” joke would fall by the wayside. BANANA’0’VANISHA CONSEQUENCE CANICA METER: Not terribly significant.

2) The banana split ice cream Sunday would be no more. BANANA’0’VANISHA CONSEQUENCE CANICA METER: Hugely Significant.

3) The banana as a phallic symbol would become irrelevant. BANANA’0’VANISHA CONSEQUENCE CANICA METER: Bad for pornographers and experimental filmmakers, irrelevant to everyone else.

4) Grandmother’s homemade banana pudding would cease to be made in small southern kitchens across the nation…or at least it would cease to be made with fresh bananas. BANANA’0’VANISHA CONSEQUENCE CANICA METER: Of National Importance.

5) Artificial banana flavoring would most likely stick around, and the word “banana” as it applies to flavor would also remain as a useless artifact of culture. (another example of this is the “record scratch” sound still used in television and movies, even though the current generation of young media consumers know it only as a sound that signifies “something stopping suddenly” and have no idea where it originated from.) BANANA’0’VANISHA CONSEQUENCE CANICA METER: Interesting to sociologists and dorks like me, but not really to anybody else.

What other impact would the vanishing of Bananas from the U.S. eventually have? Any ideas, Friends and Neighbors?