I kinda like the way you dot your Js

My Aunt, Delirious, learned how to analyze people's handwriting as a hobby. I've always been curious to know what my handwriting would say about me, but only recently got around to asking her to do it. I sent her a sample, and this is what she wrote back as her interpretation.

[Minnow],

As a practice of mine, I always tell people to remember that I am not an expert, and handwriting analysis is just a hobby of mine. I am only looking at one sample of your writing, so if I see one occurrence of something, I write what I see. But if I had more samples, I might find that was a fluke. So I will just write what I see, but take it with a grain of salt. :) I prefer to analyze cursive rather than printing, so that's where I'm spending the bulk of my efforts. Most men print, so it's difficult to get them to write cursive for me. :)

--First of all, your handwriting shows that you are a six year old child*. (Just kidding, had to throw that one in.) :)

--What I notice first about your handwriting is that you are very open to others, but I don't get the feeling that you need a lot of relationships. You do give time to your friendships, but I think you would be fine alone too.

--The next trait I notice is one that I share with you. You seem to be a selective learner. You will stretch to learn, but only if it's something that you are interested in**.

--You are someone who values tradition.

--You are able to organize your time well. You don't over-schedule yourself.

--You seem to be able to see projects through to completion***.

--Your cursive shows a slight tendency to have a negative attitude. It could also be interpreted as being a little depressed. I'll let you pick which one**** it is. ;)

--Your handwriting shows that you accept your mother's influence in your life more than your father's. It could be interpreted that he simply wasn't around when you were growing up. Either way, his influence is absent in your handwriting.

--You don't appear to be someone who is overly concerned with their looks. You seem pretty confident in that area.

--You seem pretty outgoing, not what I would consider an introvert by any means.

--You are someone who is detail oriented. It's not extreme, but you do pay attention to details.

--You are someone who is willing to take risks. Once again, it isn't showing up as extreme, but you aren't afraid to pursue something new.

--It appears that in public you tend to be private about your personal life. You are selective about who you will allow to get close, and maybe are afraid of getting hurt.

--You don't seem to have a sharp temper. You wouldn't fly off the handle at someone*****.

--Your writing shows that you aren't really a worldly person in the monetary sense. You don't seem overly concerned about wealth.

--Your energy level seems normal and consistent.

There was one more thing that I saw, but I don't know what it means. If I find out, I'll let you know. Basically overall, nothing weird shows up in your handwriting. You aren't a serial killer****** or anything like that . :)

Love, [Delirious]








*She requested that I write in cursive, so I did, but in the writing sample I sent her I joked that it was so sloppy (since I never write in cursive) that it would probably come back and say I was a six year old child.

**True dat.

***With the apparent exception being my dissertation.

****I pick both.

*****Except my kids. Or my ex-wife.

******Yet.

Oh boy, find out what's up with me

Here are several statements that may or may not be true about things I've done in my life. Treat it like a True/False test and see how well you perform.

1. I offered to give a guy ten dollars if he ate a perch that had been preserved in formaldehyde. Even though he did, and then had to get his stomach pumped at the hospital, I never paid up.

2. Went joyriding with a friend when he wrecked the car that we'd "borrowed", and even though the owners knew I was involved, they never said anything to my parents.

3. I married a seventeen year old girl.

4. Once accepted $100 to take a girl on a date. The money covered "operating costs" and a little extra for my trouble.

5. Went on a collecting trip, but forgot to pack the drugs I use to euthanize fish. I ended up "euthanizing" a few mountain whitefish by bashing their heads against some rocks along the river bank.

6. I once got into a scuffle with a drunk referee after a basketball game.

7. I induced a rainbow trout to spooge all over my arm. (A failed attempt at human/fish hybridization?)

8. I was the unknowing mastermind of a criminal ring in my time working for a certain shipping company whose colors are brown and brown.

I've got ten miles to go on a nine mile road

Well I can't cope, but I'm no dope

I've been tagged by Delirious to tell six quirky things about me. I'll play along, but I'm not tagging anyone else. What can I say? The Shallows is where Memes come to die.

1. I've had insomnia after every break up. The time period for which I experience it is proportional to the length of time I was in the relationship (i.e., I couldn't sleep well for several months after my divorce, but only for a week or so when I broke up with my last girlfriend).

2. I tend to be an impulse buyer. That said, I've wanted an ipod for years, but have never been able to justify spending the money to get one, even though I've spent as much (if not more) money on more ridiculous things over that time span.

3. My bladder is such that I rarely have to get up in the middle of the night to take a piss.

4. I every new type of candy bar that I see, so that I can try it at least once. My latest favorite is the Reese's Crunch Bar.

5. My feet have to be covered in order for me to be able to fall asleep, even if they're the only part of my body that is.

6. I don't consider myself to be sexist, but I find misogynistic songs to be hilarious (but only when the band is doing it to be funny*, unlike many rap songs).





*For example: Ween - Piss Up A Rope; Cracker - Ain't Gonna Suck Itself; Ben Folds - Bitches Ain't Shit

Babe we both had dry spells, hard times in bad lands, I'm a good man for ya', I'm a good man

Las Vegas has an event called First Friday where artists display their work to the public on the first Friday of every month. Last week I was invited to go with some friends, but declined because I didn't think I'd be up to walking around in a crowd. One of the people that did go was telling me a little about last week's experience. He really liked it (it was his first time going) and even bought some prints. He mentioned that he saw a lot of original paintings that were several hundred dollars apiece.

Somehow, we got talking about our trip to Sedona, and I brought up the price of a bronze statue we had seen there. It was really cool. It also cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $45,000.

Me: Well, it was cool and all, but I wouldn't buy something like that. Especially for that price. Even if I had the money. I'm not exactly a statue-in-the-yard type of guy.

Friend: What type of guy are you, exactly?

I gave him some answers, some of which are repeated below along with some others I came up with for you to read. You know, In case you're wondering the same thing.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm a bites-his-fingernails-when-they-get-too-long-or-uneven-or-when-he's-nervous type of guy.

I'm a hey-everybody-listen-to-this-awesome-music-and-like-it type of guy.

I'm a misses-living-in-an-area-where-it-snows-until-he-hears-stories-about-his-parents-driving-through-storms-and-passing-thirty-plus-accidents-on-the-icy-roads type of guy.

I'm a too-chicken-to-make-the-first-move-on-a-girl-unless-there-is-good-indication-that-such-a-move-would-not-be-rejected type of guy.

I'm a hurry-up-and-open-a-manuscript-draft-when-he-hears-his-advisor-coming-down-the-hall-so-that-it-looks-like-he's-been-working-instead-of-blogging-IMing-or-wasting-time-on-myspace-in-case-his-advisor-pokes-his-head-in-to-see-how-things-are-going type of guy.

I'm a washes-hands-immediately-after-touching-an-animal type of guy.

I'm a trims-his-nails-with-the-scissors-on-his-Swiss-army-knife type of guy.

I'm a turn-his-cell-phone-off-at-night-in-order-to-save-the-battery-and-not-be-woken-up-by-a-call-in-the-middle-of-the-night type of guy.

I'm a willing-to-drop-an-F-bomb-in-order-to-make-a-joke-funnier type of guy.

I'm an eats-Hershey's-kisses-when-he-takes-percocet type of guy.

I'm a likes-to-take-pictures-but-never-prints-them-up-and-frames-them type of guy.

I'm a would-rather-drive-eight-hours-to-Lake-Tahoe-to-play-in-the-snow-than-drive-an-hour-to-Mt.-Charleston-to-do-the-same-thing type of guy.

I'm a could-be-a-great-cook-if-he-wanted-to-but-instead-only-uses-his-kitchen-skills-to-make-desserts type of guy.

I'm a not-afraid-of-heights-but-is-scared-of-snakes type of guy.

I'm an I-don't-drink-but-will-hang-out-with-and-act-just-as-drunk-as-you-while-you're-drinking-short-of-vomiting*-or-sleeping-with-an-ugly-chick type of guy.

I'm a recycle-every-scrap-of-paper-yet-enjoys-shooting-glass-ornaments-in-the-desert-with-his-dad's-rifle type of guy.

I'm a when-simultaneously-hit-with-a-case-of-diarrhea-and-vomit-will-always-choose-to-crap-in-the-toilet-and-puke-on-the-floor-rather-than-puke-in-the-toilet-and-crap-on-the-floor-because-vomit-is-more-appealing-to-clean-up-than-crap** type of guy***.

I'm a thinks-he's-funny-even-if-nobody-else-seems-to-agree type of guy.





*Unless, of course, we are playing a drinking game and I have to eat a bite of chocolate every time I would normally have to take a drink, in which case all bets are off, and I will vomit multiple times throughout the night. I still won't sleep with an ugly chick though.

**No matter how runny it is.

***Unlike some people I know.

Stick shifts and safety belts and bucket seats have all got to go

The first time I used the heater in my car was when I was mountain biking at Brian Head about a month ago (no, it wasn't this sort of trip either). Until that point, I'd been running the air conditioner instead. It turns out that's what people do during the summer here in Sin City. Anyway, once the hot air was blowing, I was very displeased to detect an odor not much different from poor people smell.

"Great!" I thought to myself. "My car's heater stinks. How am I going to make it through the winter if I have to smell that for three months?"

"Wait," another part of my brain interjected. "It's probably just because the heater hasn't been used for so long. Maybe there was just some stale air in the vents."

Well, that wasn't it. I've smelled it every time I've even turned the air conditioner off and just had the vent blowing. It seems that the second part of my brain is stupid. The problem is, when I ask anybody else who rides in my car about it, they claim that they don't smell anything.

Initially I chalked this up to my super sensory abilities (Now would be a good time to tell you that I have extraordinary senses: I can smell things no one else can smell, and I once heard a bat fly into a mist net from approximately thirty yards away), or my turbo nose, as Flieswithoutwings used to call it.

Well, I haven't had to use the heater yet (our temperatures are still in the 80s), but I know the time is getting close, and I've been dreading it. I spent the last few weeks trying to figure out what I was going to do with my smelly car. I've purchased different kinds of air fresheners, all to no avail. I've been thinking about taking it in and having all the filters replaced to see if that helped. If it didn't, I was going to either have to gut the car and replace everything, or trade it in on something different.

So, you can imagine my relief when I realized that the smell was coming from my sunglasses. Or rather, my sunglass case. Apparently the case got a lot of sweat on it during the mountain biking trip, and the stale sweat has been permeating the air in my car for the last several weeks. Understandably, the smell is especially strong when I first take my sunglasses out of the case and put them on. Hence the reason I'm the only one who can smell it. (But I do still have a turbo nose.)

I'm just glad I can wash the sunglass case rather than having to go out and buy a new car.

I've got a bad idea tonight, I've got a Halloweenhead

Trick-or-Treater: Hey Mister, what are you supposed to be?
Me: A bear in a suit, kid. I'm just a bear in a suit.

In case you're wondering what goes on in a day of the life of a bear in a suit, well, you're in luck. It pretty much consists of what you'd expect from a bear. You know, the usual stuff, like scratching:



Blogging:


Teaching:


Playing video poker:


Shooting pool:


And of course, shedding some light onto an age old question:

Now you're the only one here who can tell me if it's true that you love me, and I love me

In celebration of my 550th post I've decided to list 55 random things about me. Why 55? Because I can't think of 550. Why do this for my 550th post? I've been meaning to do it for a while (starting with my 300th post, then my 400th, then my 500th, but I never paid close enough attention to where I was at until I passed those "milestones").

Honestly, this might be my 551st post, but I'm too lazy to count up all my saved drafts and subtract them from my total to find out exactly where I stand. That's right, I said saved drafts. That means that some of this mindless drivel has actually been thought about for more than twenty seconds. Hard to believe, I know.

And now, on to the list:
1. I was born on the highway
2. In the back seat of a car
3. My grandmother's car
4. I was delivered by my father
5. Under a streetlight along an on-ramp outside of Parowan, UT
6. The third streetlight to be exact
7. There's no monument there
8. Yet
9. The first thing I tasted when I came into this world was the grime on my dad's finger when he had to reach down my throat and pull something out in order for me to breathe
10. I've been trying to get the taste out ever since so I eat a lot of sweets
11. I prefer to eat cake in a bowl with milk poured over the top
12. My life pretty much revolves around fish
13. I study fish
14. I like to fish
15. But I only like to flyfish
16. Any other kind of fishing is too boring for me
17. I don't like to eat fish
18. Especially not sushi
19. I enjoy driving
20. But not when I'm hitting deer
21. I've hit five deer
22. I only killed two of them
23. One of those was a spotted fawn
24. After running over it, I dragged its body to the side of the road
25. My dad saw it there later, and correctly assumed that it was my doing
26. That was when I lived in the mountains
27. Everyone hit deer there
28. I've lived in Vegas nearly five years.
29. I still can't get used to seeing slot machines in gas stations
30. Or in grocery stores
31. Or seeing transvestites playing them at 3 a.m.
32. I cut my nails with the scissors on my Swiss Army knife key chain
33. When I don't trim my nails, I end up biting them
34. At least with my fingernails
35. Toenails? Not so much
36. I eat a lot of candy
37. I haven't been to a dentist since I moved to Vegas
38. The last two statements do not bode well for my dental health
39. I can't urinate in a crowded bathroom
40. I think it might have something to do with stage fright
41. That's also why I could never star in a porno
42. Well, that and the fact that I'd be done in less than two minutes
43. I'm pretty sure that nobody wants to watch a two minute porno
44. I've never seen a porno
45. Unless you count the stuff they were showing at the Of Montreal concert
46. You know, the gay porn
47. But I didn't exactly watch that
48. I just averted my eyes until it was safe to look toward the stage again
49. I want to get a pilot's license
50. I tell everyone I'm 6' 4"
51. I'm really only 6' 3 3/4"
52. I snore
53. I also talk in my sleep
54. Or so I've been told
55. I've been too busy snoring and talking in my sleep to notice

So there you go. You now know 55 more things about me than you needed, or wanted, to.

They'd never make a movie if everything was great

In case you're interested, here's the story of how I came into this world. (If you're not, you don't need to read the rest of this because it has to do with the last part of the story.)

When I was in Kindergarten, we would always form two lines to go to recess. I remember one day the lines were made up of those who had flown before, and those who hadn't. The ones who had flown got to leave the room first*. I didn't know the last part of the story then (the part where I'd flown on life flight on the very first day of my life). To think, had I known that, I could have made it to the playground about 30 seconds sooner that day.

I remember telling my mom about it when I got home from school that day. She told me the story then. I remember being upset that I could have been in the first line after all. Oh, missed opportunities.




* As if they weren't already privileged enough!

I've hiked and hiked and wandered too, but I ain't seen any candy

I told one of my friends the reasons why I'd never be able to pull off pedophilia. Like most people, he thought it was funny because it's true. Yesterday he got this picture in an email and immediately thought of me. I'm flattered.

I don't know where the picture* originally came from, so I can't give credit where it's due, but it looks like something that would come from this site. At any rate, it made me laugh really hard.

The scary thing is, I'd probably take the chance.

I mean, hey, how many chances do have to get free** candy?




*but I totally need to get a van like that

**excluding Halloween

She said, "Suicide's easy. What happened to the revolution?"

[When we last saw our hero, he was being told that he shouldn't think about things such as suicide note etiquette - If you don't want to be bored to death, stop reading now]

The truth is, I have suicidal thoughts a lot. I'm not saying this as a cry for help, or because I want any sympathy, it's just a simple statement of fact, a part of who I am. I go through periods where I think about suicide several times a day. In fact, last week I was having them once or twice an hour the entire time I was awake, for the entire week. That's the worst it's been for a while, but even during my good periods I rarely make it an entire week without it crossing my mind.

Usually, the thoughts are just a flicker in the back of my mind about what it would feel like to do something so drastic, or how much of a mess it would leave and what it would look like. But that's it. Just a flicker, then they're gone. The only time I seriously entertained the idea was a few weeks after my ex-wife and I separated. It was a particularly rough time for me and I just wanted it to end.

Instead I went and got help.

I've been this way for almost as long as I can remember, or at least since fifth grade. I remember climbing the big tree in front of our house and thinking about what it would be like to dive headfirst onto the driveway. I concluded that it wouldn't feel very good. I'm guessing that it's not normal for a child to think about things like that, but I'm not really qualified to say what is normal and what isn't. All I know is what's normal for me, and having suicidal thoughts seems to fit that category. The odd thing is, for all the complaining I do, there's nothing about my life that's really all that bad. I had no reason to feel that way as a child, and I don't have any reason to feel that way now. I just do.

I debated for a long time whether I should write about this or not. Eventually I decided that I should. I see enough weird stuff that people type into Google that directs them to this blog, and maybe this could be something that allows someone to see that it's ok to have such thoughts. Just because you have them doesn't mean you have to act on them. No matter how dark things seem, they'll always get better. Always. It breaks my heart every time I go to Post Secret and see a card that says something along the lines of "By the time you get this card, I'll no longer be alive." I just wish I could reach out to those people and help them somehow. Make them see that things will get better. Just like my family and friends did for me when I was at my worst.

You know I'd even learn to cut my throat if I thought I could fit in

About a week ago, a friend's brother came to town for the weekend. They spent the first few nights doing some of the more typical "Vegas" things such as cruising around in a limo to see the sights, seeing one of the shows on the strip, etc. By Saturday night they just wanted to take it easy, especially since his brother's flight was early Sunday morning, so they decided on having a little get together at my friend's house that night.

Now, for a completely different subject that ties in later in this paragraph, I have a pair of shorts that I like to wear on days when I'm not planning on seeing anyone. I've had them for a while, and there's an atrocious rip under one of the back pockets, so my ass basically hangs out, but I can't bring myself to throw them away. I had them on that morning because I was supposed to meet my friend and his brother at the pool earlier in the day and figured it wouldn't matter because I would just be changing into my bathing suit then. I thought I would just shower and change between the pool and his house so I could show up looking somewhat presentable. At least that was the plan.

The complicating factor for the day was that I nearly forgot about a meeting I was supposed to go to at noon. I didn't remember about the meeting until after I'd left the house to grab a few things from the office. I went straight to the meeting from the office, even though I was wearing my assless shorts (hey, at least they're not leather chaps). The meeting ran long, so by the time I'd finished there and called my friend, he and his brother were leaving the pool. He told me that the gathering at his house was still on and that I should show up around 7. I told him I would.

Of course, then I decided to do a favor for another friend, then she and I started talking about stuff and next thing I knew it was past time for me to have been at my friend's house. I still hadn't showered or changed clothes, the first of which I was able to take care of at my friend's house before we left (I even used some of her spray on deodorant), but the assless shorts were still on. I decided that it didn't really matter, so we just went to the party. Sure I didn't get there until 2 1/2 hours after I said I would, but that's just how I roll. I'm a lot like Paris Hilton in that respect.

While at the party I made some comment about the huge hole in the back of my shorts. My friend's brother replied, "You know what else is wrong with those shorts? They're denim." Another guy added, "Yeah. That's so 1990's."

I want to make it clear that I only have a few pairs of denim shorts, but not all of them are old and ratty. In fact, I believe I bought a few as recently as last summer. I really didn't know that they were officially "out of style" until that night last week.

Now I know I'm fucking old.

Would you like some sweeties little girl? Come a little closer.

Me: You know why I wouldn't make a good pedophile?

Friend: Why's that?

Me: Because I'd end up eating all the candy and wouldn't have anything left over to bribe the kids with.

Friend: You know what else would make you bad?

Me: What?

Friend: You'd get them into the van and then sit and wait for them to make the first move.

Open up my eager eyes

Let me tell you some of what's been going on behind the scenes here in The Shallows. A few weeks ago I happened to notice a comment that someone had recently left on a post in the archives. It was from a former student who revealed that she had a crush on me when I was her TA a few years ago (and still does).

You might think that's great. However, she chose to remain anonymous, and despite my best detective work using the clues I have, I've been unable to crack the case. (I may need to get some pointers on detective work from The Slackmistress and Mr. Boy).

The other night my roommate walked in while I was trying (unsuccessfully) to follow the clues. When I explained to him what I was doing he just laughed and wished me luck.

His son overheard us talking and chimed in:

Roommate's Son: Wait, a girl likes you?
Roomate: That's what he just said.
Roomate's Son: Wow, she must be desperate*.
Roommate: Even better!

A few minutes later:

Roommate: By the way, did [son] tell you he got hit on today?
Me (to the son): You did?
Roommate's Son: BY A GUY!!!
Me: AH HAHAHAHAHAHA
Roommate's Son: Well, actually, I'm not sure if he was really hitting on me. Does it count when someone tells you that you're cute?
Me: Oh, that definitely counts.

The question is, if you knew that someone had a crush on you, would you want to find out who that person is? I'm always torn. There's the part that really wants to know, but there's also a part that's afraid of the awkwardness that could result if the feeling isn't mutual. The second part is what prevents me from divulging when I have crushes on girls (which is almost always).**






*I probably would have said the same thing to him.

**More on this later

Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies

One of my friends bought her boyfriend a Nintendo Wii for Valentine's Day. I've gone over to their house a couple of times in the past week to play it. It's a lot of fun, and I have to say that I applaud Nintendo's effort to whip all the little fat American kids into shape. The system is really cool, and I even felt a little sore the day after I played it for the first time. Kind of pathetic, but you try boxing with your friends in Wii life (iwl; as opposed to in real life, or irl) and see if the same doesn't happen to you.

One of the things you do before you start playing the Wii is create a character (a mii). It's cool because you can make your character resemble your looks very closely. I'm pretty sure that anyone who knows me could see my character on the TV screen and recognize that it's me. Anyway, since my friend knew that I was coming over, she started to create my character for me, but once I arrived let me finish it. I made a few changes, but for the most part she was spot on. One change that I made was the eye color. When she saw me do that she said, "Oh, you have green eyes, not blue. I'm such a bad friend."

Now, in her defense, most people don't get a good look at my eyes because usually what they're seeing looks like this:



Furthermore, I don't define friendship as being able to remember the color of one's eyes. It's one of those details that I rarely pay attention to. I probably couldn't even tell you what color half my friends' eyes are. Maybe I'm the bad friend.

The last time anyone mentioned anything about my eyes was the last time I had lunch with the girl I had a huge crush on (I say "had" even though if I saw her today it would probably come back to the present tense). She told me that I had pretty eyes, but that is far from true. For one thing, I have a pinguicula on each eye. Not the carnivorous plants of the same name mind you, but a yellowish bump that forms on the white of the eye. Those are unnoticable by most people, but they're there nonetheless. The most glaring part about my eyes (lame pun intended) is that they are the color of cow manure, hence making it impossible for my eyes to be considered "pretty."

Good morning how are you I'm Dr. Worm.

One of the benefits of being a grad student is that you are allowed to check books out from the library for a semester at a time. Then, at the end of the semester when it's due, you can just check it out for another few months if you need to. One drawback to that is that it's a lot of time in which something can be misplaced.

I've had one book for the better part of a year. I use it regularly, and should probably just buy my own copy, but as they say, why buy the cow when you get the milk for free? (oh, that's not what that saying pertains to? hmmm, I'm confused.) Anyway, while I was working on the written portion of my comps (not to be confused with Mein Kampf), I'd come across a few other books that had been cited and appeared to be useful sources for me to use, so, I checked those out as well. Then, sometime in early January I took everything back to the library.

Or so I thought.

I got a letter from the library saying that the cow, I mean the book, was overdue. Knowing that I had returned it a few weeks prior to the letter, I went to the circulation desk and filled out some paperwork to have them extensively search the library so that they could find it.

Nothing came up.

I got another letter telling me that they had searched for it but couldn't find anything. They told me I should once again search my house, car, etc. just in case I had misplaced it. They also said that if it didn't turn up then I was going to have to pay a replacement fee. That made me upset. I went back to the library and told them that it hardly seemed fair that I was going to have to pay to replace a book that they had lost. They weren't very sympathetic. After all, they probably hear excuses for this kind of thing all the time, but this time it was me. I'm never wrong. I stopped short of telling them they were incompetent, but it was definitely implied.

Another week went by and I found the book. It was tucked into my laptop case from when I flew to Massachussetts for my friends' wedding. Rather than swallow my pride and admit that I was wrong, I was going to just pay the fine and keep the book. Unfortunately, I'm broke right now and can't afford to do that. Plus, they add a $35 processing fee to the overall cost of the book. I figure if I buy it myself I should pay the cost of the book and no more. So, I took it back this morning.

When I turned it in I did what anyone in my situation would have done. I lied and told them that my mother had borrowed it without asking.

and the silver chauffeur says that it's all in your head

I took a few minutes out of my extremely busy day (of doing absolutely nothing) yesterday to wash my car. That's not terribly exciting you say? You're absolutely right, but it needed it. Badly. I haven't washed it in nearly two months even though it should have been done as soon as I came back from visiting my family for Christmas. It's funny how driving through a couple of snow storms can really dirty things up.

There are multiple reasons why I haven't washed it. First, I've been busy. Second, every time it crossed my mind it was too cold to do it. Third, and probably most important, I wanted to leave it dirty.

You see, I have a friend who is a bit of a perfectionist. If you move a pencil on his desk while he is gone, he will straighten it as soon as he returns. He usually doesn't even realize that he's doing it. He likes things to be clean. He needs things to be clean. He needed my car to be clean and he wasn't afraid to make that clear. The crazy thing was that I already knew that my car was dirty. I didn't need him to tell me that.

If you want your stuff to be in order, that's fine. If you want my stuff to be in order, that's fine too. If you come and move my stuff around so that it fits your idea of what is acceptable, that's not fine (and yes, he has taken it upon himself to straighten out my things on multiple occasions). If it pains you too much to ride around in my dirty car, well, maybe I'm going to cause you some pain.

I was actually thinking about washing my car on the way home that day, but since he felt so strongly that something needed to be said, I left it dirty. I did this simply because I knew it was killing him not to bring it up again. Finally, a few weeks later he told me that I should wash it so that the salt wouldn't start eroding the paint, but he wasn't really worried about that, he just wanted all to be right in his world. I still didn't clean it. At least not until yesterday. But that was because I wanted it done.

Don't ever mistake me for someone who isn't petty and juvenile, for I will do things (or not do them) simply out of spite.

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New days new guns blue haze dead sons x-rays I won't be lonely tonight

This morning I awoke at five o'clock and felt a huge wave of relief when I realized that I had in fact passed my comprehensive exam (contrast that with yesterday when I awoke at the same time and immediately began dry heaving because I was so nervous about taking it). I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't.*

As I was lying there staring at the ceiling, I remembered that I still hadn't told some of my friends the good news. I sent a text message to my friend that recently moved to Boston in order to let him know (after all, he's the only one who would have been awake at that time because of the time difference).

His response: Congrats! Did u just get in from a wild night of hookers & coke?

I wish!

The truth is, I didn't do anything to celebrate. Nothing at all. In fact, I went back to work almost immediately. I'd arranged for a friend of mine to cover my labs in case things went badly again, but since they didn't, and since I was done plenty of time before my class began, I told her not to worry about it. That may have been a mistake, because I was completely spent by the time I got home, but I've become such a loser that I really didn't have any desire to go out anyway.

I'm not quite sure when it happened, but I now realize that I'm a workaholic. I've been awake for nearly three hours, and I feel like I need to go do something productive. I'm not going to. I'm not doing anything work related until Monday. I promised myself that. Now I just need to go find something to do in the meantime. For starters I think I'll go catch a matinee.




* I knew I should have taken some muscle relaxers before going to bed.

Take your feet off of that dictionary please. Who do you think you are?*

So, in search of further validation, I too went to the dictionary for the exact definition of 'good' (Take that hoity-toity Christians. You're not the only ones who know how to use a dictionary [does anyone really know how to spell hoity-toity?]). It turns out there are 31 definitions of the word, not just the one that was listed on the "Smart Card."

Here are the ones that I'm going to go ahead and say apply to me:

1. satisfactory in quality, quantity, or degree of high quality
2. excellent well-behaved genuine
3. not counterfeit
4. not spoiled or tainted
5. (of the complexion) smooth; free from blemish
6. sufficient or ample
7. satisfactory for the purpose conforming to rules of grammar, usage, etc.;
8. correct
9. full (this one only applies after meals)
10. loyal
11. fairly large or great
12. free from precipitation or cloudiness
13. fertile

Go ahead, pick one and use it in a sentence. I'll go first:

Is that Native Minnow in the fridge still good?

*and no, I'm not above using cheesy lyrics from children's songs that Japanese teenagers like to listen to in order to have a title that matches the post

If there is a hell I'll see you there

I came across this card the other day as I crossed campus:


Of course, I had to try it out. You know, to get validation that I am a "good" person. Imagine my surprise when I placed my thumb on it for 15 seconds and nothing happened. It didn't turn green. Was there something wrong with the card? Worse, is there something wrong with me? I read the back and found out that yes, there is something wrong with me.

"Sorry . . . you're just like the rest of us. The dictionary says "good" is to be "morally excellent." Let's check the standard - the Ten Commandments, to see how far we fall short"

Here are the questions the card then asks, along with my answers:

Is God first in your life? No. It turns out that I'm extremely selfish and I pretty much come first in my life. I'd argue that anyone that says anything different is full of crap.

Do you love Him with all your "heart, soul, mind and strength?" I guess not. How else would I have time to eat, sleep, work, etc.

Have you made a god to suit yourself? I pretty much just worship myself. But I don't offer any burnt sacrifices or anything.

Have you used God's name in vain? Well, I haven't used His first name, if that's what you mean.

Have you kept the Sabbath holy? I don't suppose there's anything holy about watching football all day, baking a cake and giving my blog a make over. That's how I spent this past Sabbath. Ok, so maybe the cake came out divine. Does that count?

Have you always honored your parents? All except that one time that I knocked my girlfriend up and had to get married. Oh, and probably every time I've ever argued with them or gone against their wishes.

Have you hated anyone, and therefore committed murder in your heart? Well, there was that one time when a guy pissed me off so I caused a near fatal car accident with my mind powers.

Have you looked with lust and therefore commited adultery in your heart? Not in the past five minutes.

Have you lied (including fibs), stolen (the value is irrelevant), or coveted other people's possessions? Yes (I could be lying right now, would you know?), yes (I steal eggs from my roommate almost every time I bake) and yes (ipods, laptops, cars, pretty much anything that I don't already have).

Great. I'm screwed! And until I saw this card I actually thought I was a decent human being. Stupid evangelical Christians and their stupid guilt trips.