Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
A Quarter-Century of Chaos

Apparently, while I'm not as old as dirt in general, I am now older than some layers of strata found in the earth.

Mel is rather enjoying herself as she calls me, "Old man!"

In response, I've had to cup a hand next to ear and mutter, "Eh? What was that? You're not insulting me again, are you? That's the way it is with youngsters today! No respect, and no sense of resposibility. Why in my day [insert walking-naked-in-snow-uphill-both-ways rant], and what were we talking about again?"

Personally, I'm rather amazed I can even recall how old I am. And no, I'm not going senile. This is what happens when you inherit genetics from your parents that make you look about 5 years younger than you really are, and your parents exploit said genetics to get better deals at restaurants.

For the longest time, since my sister and I both looked about 12 or 13 even though we were roughly 15-16 years old, my parents would look at the Kids' Menu at restaurants and see if there were any decent deals. If there were, they'd be, "Great! This looks pretty good, and we can save money! You both are 12 today!" So we'd get the Kids' Menu.

Other times, they would frown and remark, "Well, this one's not so good, so you can be over 13 today." And thusly my sister and I were allowed to be as old as we were. After a few years about this, we were the ones walking into the restaurants asking, "And how old are we today?"

You can well imagine what jumping back and forth with your age does to a kid. As a result, I regularly lose track of how old I am (or am supposed to be), and need friends and family to remind me of my age.

With any luck, this year will prove easier to recall than others past, since it's a bit of a milestone. Just think: I've been on this earth for 25 years now...and it's a miracle I haven't either managed to accidentally get myself killed, or cause the world to implode. Here's to life's little victories!

Today's Pondering: if you're only as old as you feel, then what is the age for insanity?





posted by Phillip at 8:25 AM

 
Chaos FM

So here I am working on my little bit of nowhere, listening to Tom Servo & Crow T Robot's fleshoriffic song Boobular Tubular!, followed almost immediately by R.E.M. singing Furry Happy Monsters with a bunch of Muppet monsters. I've also just managed to crack my elbow against the side of a chair and loose all feeling in my hand.

It's been a strange night.

Then again, the Arrogant Worms' blasphelicious Jesus' Brother Bob just came on. ("Hey, Bob!" / "Hey, Judas.")

Of course, it's been an overall strange day, so it seems only fitting that the evening be this way. Though I'd prefer the strangeness to be without the inability to feel my fingers no matter how hard I wiggle them. What sort of strange things have transpired today?

Well, in a Mulberry Street-esque recounting, let me tell you what I bore witness to. As I was idling about at the kiosk, I saw a man. He was a modern man, a new-millennium professional with his business suit, slick sunglasses and a wristwatch that no doubt cost a lot more than my "PH33R MY L33T NeKK1D SK1LLZ!" Megatokyo boxers. Yes indeed, this man looked every bit the cutting edge of the new and distinguished century.

A shame his hair was trapped in the 1980's and refusing to let go. Ah, the mullet: it is simply amazing to see the power it can still hold over those with lesser minds...or no fashion sense.

Then onto my lunch break, which is meant to be a relaxing time. A time where I should be able to eat, relax and take a refreshing breath away from work. Instead it became something my therapist will no doubt rue once I start ranting about it without showing any signs of stopping. I'm quite certain that my sheer, stunned disbelief is the only reason I haven't already regressed the memory.

The lesson of the day could very well be: Walmart is not as safe as their corporate propaganda would have you believe.

As I was pricing some presents for friends & family, nature called and like an insistent telemarketer I could not put this call on hold. So to the Mens' Room I go. Now I've apparently a bit of a reputation for being able to move very silently and "sneak up" on people who never know I'm there until I'm right behind them. It seems that my stealth mode was on as I stepped into the Mens' Room...and I wish it hadn't.

There I am in front of the urinal...when I hear a curious noise coming from one of the toilet stalls behind me. It's rhythmic. It's rapid. It can only be described as the word: "Fap." Those of you familiar with the online strip Sexy Losers are already screaming and planning to write me harsh Emails about how unnecessary it was for me to share this with all of you. But hey, the way I figure it, if I'm going to hell, I'm taking you all down with me!

The "Fap", as it's known, is the sound effect for someone enjoying their own company way too much. Now I don't ask for much when I go into a family-oriented store like Walmart: just a little courtesy from employees if I have a question or two; products that are properly priced; and the knowledge that if I need to use the facilities, there's not going to be some guy in the stall wanking off!

Alas, I was unable to leave the restroom with the loud shout of, "For God's sake, keep it in your pants, you bloody wanker!" in as best a mock-Irish accent as I could. Someone walked into the Mens' Room with louder foosteps than I'd had, since the fapping stopped. I escaped while I could, my bladder still full, and decided that the Mens' Rooms in Sears would be much safer. And I was right.

So Today's Lesson could also be: don't use stealth mode when entering a Walmart restroom, or else that "fap" can be both a verb and a noun. But instead of dwelling on that unpleasant reason for me sooner or later developing an extreme phobia of Walmart, I think I'll sit back and groove to the sounds of Marvin Suggs and his Muppaphones, followed by Tim Curry's brilliant rendition of Sweet Transvestite.

Today's Lesson: ladybugs who drop dead and land on your muffin without you noticing taste a lot like a bad walnut. No wonder people cover these things with chocolate first before eating them.


posted by Phillip at 6:19 PM

 
Brought To You By W.K.R.P.'s Flying Turkeys!

Thanksgiving in the U.S. has shown me many new and strange things. Such as: unusually happy & cheerful border guards (not that it's a bad thing, and I am rather hopeful to encounter such an uncommon thing more often than not); a woman grocery shopping for turkey in her pyjamas, housecoat and slippers; and Mel eating more voraciously than me.

I'm not sure whether to be proud or frightened by the fact that my saucy wench, notorious for grazing on food at best, packed away the equivalent of two meals in a single sitting, and still had more than enough room for dessert. I'm beginning to think she eats all this food and then stores it for the remaining winter, like a bear or a squirrel.

(That earned me a tongue being stuck in my general direction from her too. But it is admittedly better and less painful than a pillow.)

But now after 3 days off, 16 hours of round-trip driving, and 2 more days of slow recovery amidst work shifts, I have returned. I think there was supposed to be some trumpetting fanfare somewhere around here, but I might have left the procession in my other pants.

Speaking of pants, the film's resident costume designer/screenwriter/assistant director/jill-of-all-trades has informed me that she has finished my costume for the big medieval dance sequence. I have pants now. Glorious!

Today's Lesson: it's probably a good idea to make new additions to this little bit of nowhere when my brain is not on auto-pilot.


posted by Phillip at 7:33 PM