Thursday, March 24, 2011

Episode 1 - Stuff and Nonsense

"Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe" - Jabberwocky

But who am I to judge? If I was a tove in the prime of my life reduced to living in a wabe, I'd probably be gyring and gimbling a fair amount too. There was one particularly pathetic little tove, (we'll call him Ishmael) living in the most dangerous part of the forest, who had to share a habitat with the likes of the Jubjub bird, a Bandersnatch, and a psychotic, wild-eyed teenager wielding a sword. But that was all after Frabjous Day. The real story begins long before the frabjoulity of F-day; it begins at a time in Ishmael's life that was almost as sad, desperate, and pointless as the aforementioned. It begins here.

Fast-rewind to T-minus 2 years before F-Day. Ishmael can't stand his job, but keeps forgetting to file a Midlife Crisis vacation request. He had once been prematurely gray, but he's now prematurely bald. And worst of all, Ishmael's wife just recently discovered that his "wiffle ball league" doesn't actually "exist" and is, in fact, just an cover for him to spend time at the neighborhood pub, The Tulgey Tarts.

Ishmael's only friend in the world is a dragon-like creature, J. Edward Wellkey, with whom he shares an unlikely friendship consisting mainly of bi-weekly seances held with the primary objective of getting stock tips from the world beyond. So far, the only person they'd been able to contact was an individual who wasn't taking the whole "dead" thing very well. The advice they received was incredibly obscene and had much more to do with self-inflicted pain and embarrassment than stock futures. When the two friends weren't lighting incense candles and holding hands in a very no-homo sort of way, Ishmael and Edward would spend the day walking along the beach. Sometimes they took bets on which celestial object would win control of the sky. Other times, they listened quietly in hopes of hearing the mysterious Walrus recite. But most often of all, the pair would sit on the beach for hours just smoking marijuana and writing limericks such as these:

Ishmael's limerick:
There was once found a platter of tarts
In care of the brave knave of hearts.
His own mouth he fed,
Then "Off with his head!"
He now rests in peace in two parts.

And Edward's:
There once was a man from a place,
Who existed as matter in space.
He lived during time,
And enjoyed a nice rhyme,
Although occasionally he wrote in free verse.

Coming soon: Episode 2 - "In One Auditory Canal..." or "When I Was Your Age"

Friday, March 18, 2011

"Yes sir, Mr. Eastwood"

Could it be caused by the bumper crop of four-leaf clovers this year? Does it have to do with global warming? Is it possibly because the Sacred Shrine of Bearded Women has been rebuilt in an undisclosed basement in southern Philly? Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, and whatever the weak electromagnetic forces that brought it about, luck is in the air.

This morning I called into the radio station of MIX 105.1 (known better to the Romans as 1009 CV.I) with the goal of being the fifteenth caller . I was caller numbers 3, 11, and magic number 15. I enlisted in the game of Battle of the Genders. My goal was simple: to answer multiple-choice questions from female pop culture whilst my female opponent answered questions concerning the chromosomally advantaged sex.

The questions asked were unrelated to the answers so I'll provide only the latter here: Gucci. Jessica Simpson. Domenica. I got the first two questions correct using a complicated Nash equilibrium strategy known as random guessing. I missed the third question when my opponent started using witchcraft and sorcery. Lastly, I stated my name and correctly identified gold's counterpart to win the tie-breaker and thus, the game.

Now on an unknown Thursday at 8 PM at the Bob Carr, my sweetheart and I are to watch Wicked as performed by a 1000 mile displaced Broadway cast. I hope to bring home a Munchkin. I think that they're free with admission. Or something like that.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Irish Drinking Blog

If I was more interested in spending the holiday behind bars, I would don a pair of snazzy gloves and practice fierce finger aerobics on the scores of students walking barefacedly around campus without any hint of green vesture. It seems that anyone you ask will claim to be half or one quarter Irish, German, or some equally impressive ethnicity such as Icelandic. However as soon as a holiday involving colorful commitment to tradition arises, most individuals cry about conformity and just grab the nearest clean shirt they can find. It's a shame. A shameful shame.

To make matters worse, if you confront one of these confirmed rebels and question them concerning shades of jade, emerald, and lime, they will do one of three appalling grotesque things. They may threaten physical harm in exchange for the violation of their personal space. They may grin coyly and ask you exactly how certain you are that they aren't wearing anything of the desired hue. Or lastly, they may be a hopeless, loveless, desperate fool who all too eagerly suggests that you apply the prescribed punishment as much as you desire.

Patriotism is a dying dream. Mel Gibson seems to be the last person to really espouse this holy purpose made famous by his last minute 360 turn and lunge. You know someone is cool when they can make a violent piercing of a fellow actor's stomach translate into love for country. Unfortunately Gibby was not wearing green at the time, so the event must be chalked up to another Hollywood distortion of a painfully disappointing reality.

Happy St. Patty's Day, to the lepers and leprechauns alike.
Drinks all around.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Where is the love...

Beauty permeates every fiber of every particle of nature. There is so much potential for happiness for every person in every place at every moment. So why is there no peace on a personal or global scale? Simply put: self-love. Life is one giant prisoner's dilemma. We could all obtain great happiness simultaneously had we sufficient respect for others, however a purely dominant strategy seems to be the only game theory inherent in human nature.

In a perfect world, everyone would skip along merrily, holding hands, cloning unicorns, and doing other unspeakably naive things. But soon after this utopia forms, the most intelligent (or greediest) person will notice that they could be ever so slightly happier by taking more than their fair amount of time at the unicorn-cloning machine. The rest of the less de-evolved individuals soon follow suit, until government, and therefore welfare, is invented to redistribute the unicorn supply. Unicorn unions are created and demand equal rights for the hornies (or as they like to be called: individuals with aesthetically gifted foreheads). The final blow to happiness comes when the uni-union lobbies for the nation to abandon the unicorn horn standard, and instead back paper money with fairy dust. This obviously creates problems as the world's wealthiest citizens develop a nasty habit of floating into space whilst muttering quietly to themselves about the second bar on the right and straight shots all morning.

I said all that to say this: if we become more interested in society than ourselves, something nice might happen. But perhaps not. It's hard to tell.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Free WiFi

Something that irks me: Substandard internet connections.

The internet is a cruel mistress. Sort of like fate, the sea, and the last 3 bowls of chili at a family reunion. There is always just enough of a connection to allow you to listen to the first 8 seconds of a song, read the first 4 status updates on facebook, or check your 2 most recent (and ironically, least important) e-mails.

It's enough to make you violently wring the neck of a small dingo, yet not quite enough to make you actually go out and find the dingo in question.

And so here we are in a sad period of time, known deceptively as the 21st century, spending our day alongside an unsanitary number of dingos, humming quietly to ourselves the first few words of the week's most popular song.

This being said, I am offering a reward of $0.05 US to anyone who will bring me the head of either Al Gore or his long-deceased female alter ego Maria Von Trapp.

PS. The reward will be doubled if the head of either individual is still connected to a body.