Well, Christmas is just around the corner...

I have heard it said that you can find anything you might want to purchase on eBay. Sure, that's great, but the items you don't hear about are the pieces of trivia that noone bids on. What happens to these items that garner no consumer interest whatsoever? Are they doomed to join Charlie-in-the-Box on the Island of Misfit Toys? With the holiday shopping season approaching, I figured now might be a good time to examine some of the auction items that have received no bids whatsoever. Who knows, this could help a valued reader find a gift for a loved one. I hope you have your credit cards ready.

(Please note: all product titles are listed exactly as they appear on eBay. Typos may be present, but such errors might add into the product's mystique.)


Authentic PUG Fur
This item hits somewhat close to home. I know a member of the pug family pretty well. In my experiences with this canine, fur has not been hard to come by. These dogs shed at a rate that makes one wonder how they don't go completely hairless upon their fourth tail-chasing session of the hour. The idea that one might make some cash by putting this fuzz up for sale is rather asinine... but I imagine it could have the wheels turning in the heads of some of my family members. I know of living room rug that could offer up a rather bountiful harvest.

BLOWN KISSES EMPTY BAG OF BLOWN KISSES
It seems that I should probably bookmark this link. Thus, whenever I get the feeling that the heights of human stupidity have finally been reached, I can click this and remind myself that no one was foolish enough to bid on this empty plastic bag.

Texas Cockle Burrs for sale, Authenic Home Decor
Then again, doubts assuaged by the previous item can creep back into your head when you read this product description. In my experiences with the earthly wonder that is the outdoors, cockleburrs have proven to be some of the most infuriating forms of plant life I have encountered. They cling like the girl who doesn't understand what "let's just be friends" means, and the process of completely separating yourself is just as painful. The idea that someone might pass them off as a "home grown" items for decorating use("Check out the cockleburr crop... It's a beauty this year") is kind of like advertising your toenail clippings as mini toothpicks. It's a bad idea all around. Then again, I guess I'm unclear on what a "Porky Pine" egg (see eloquently worded description) actually is... Maybe such knowledge would make me realize that this is really a bargain.

Dog Or Cat Poopie Doo Boxed Like Candy Rubber Realistic
The mere notion that something with "Poopie Doo" in the title has zero bids is pretty mind-boggling in itself.

Initiation into the Vampire Arts
This seems to argue for the idea that people are not born as vampires, but rather choose to be vampires. The table of contents listed is very helpful, however it seems that having a section titled "What you will NOT find in this booklet" in the booklet is a little contradictory. Apparently vampires aren't sticklers for such details.

98 DEGREES GUITAR PICK
What do you mean fan interest in 98 Degrees has faded? (Insert terrified expression of choice here... I prefer the deep-breath followed by the voice-fading "NOOOOOOOoooooooooo!")

1988 TOPPS FOOTBALL PAUL MCFADDEN #240 PSA 10 EAGLES
No one is willing to put up $9.99 for a football trading card featuring a kicker that spent six whole seasons in the National Football League? Weird. Especially since Tuff Stuff's online price guide values this card as being worth a shiny nickel. While the photo on the card of Mr. McFadden seemingly reading a book he'd taped inside his helmet is a nice one, I'm not sure it's worth that extra $9.94.

How to make money and Get rich
The final item of the evening gives us an opportunity to work through an issue together... Remember, everything listed in this Writing is an eBay item that had received zero bids at the time of composing (by definition, the fewest bids one can receive). If something on eBay receives zero bids, that means it will not be sold, which means it makes the seller a profit of nothing. Although I've never done much of it myself, I am fairly confident that making money and getting rich require profits greater than nothing. Please keep this in mind when considering options you might use to "make money and get rich."


Remember, only 71 days until Christmas.

What has four wheels and looks like ballpark food?

I saw a National monument today.

Well, it may not be an official National Monument, but it's considered one by a portion of the nation, anyway.

... Fine, it might just be me that sees this work as one of the heights in human ingenuity, but I'll let you decide for yourself...



Sure, this vehicle I witnessed is not the only Oscar Mayer Wienermobile in existence, but such a fact does little to sway my opinion. This giant, motorized hot dog is an important piece of American History.

Consider the power of the Wienermobile:

- It brightens moods.
I traveled to Dillon's on this very day to provide my car with the gasoline sustenance it requires to maintain forward motion. Naturally, the idea of forking out the cash required to fill up a gas tank these days was not a thrilling concept. Yet, as soon as I saw the Wienermobile* in the parking lot, I forgot all about prices of oil, offshore drilling, alternate sources of energy, and the possibility of having to sell a kidney if I ever take a road-trip. There was only one thought in my mind: I have to get a picture of that.

*The fact that I have never referenced the Wienermobile before in this blog - a collections of Writings that covers everything from the evils of water that has dipped below its freezing point to male flight attendants that look like Lando Calrissian - is surprising even to me. To make up for such literary neglect, I'm using the Wienermobile name far more than it should ever appear in text.

- It promotes the arts.
Photography is an art, and everybody around wanted a picture of the Wienermobile. I have witnessed some really interesting people and really interesting sights in public parking lots throughout my life, but few have merited a photograph to commemorate the event. Nevertheless, with the Wienermobile just across the parking lot, I considered abandoning my car while it filled with petroleum to snap pictures with my shoddy cell phone until the battery died.

Honestly, there are very few motor vehicles in existence that can make me actually stop what I'm doing to take a photo. In three days at a car show featuring over 1,600 cars, I took exactly zero pictures of cars that had not transported me to the park.  Yet, when presented with Oscar Mayer's hot dog on wheels not only did I snap a photo, but I actually sent it to people to share the joy in the event... This from a guy that didn't take a single photo on a trip to New York years ago.

The idea of having a Wienermobile staffer (What would one call the drivers of this vehicle? Every idea that comes to mind seems a bit risque for such a Writing) snap my picture next to the oversized redhot even crossed my mind. Alas, it was ultimately thwarted by some combination of pride and insecurity (mostly the latter).**

**I probably looked a little place as it was, considering the face that I am neither a six-year-old nor a soccer mom^.

^We have "soccer moms," and now we have "hockey moms"... what about the sports that are, you know, popular in our country? Have you ever heard anyone referred to as a football, baseball, or basketball mom? From my understanding, soccer moms are always running around from place to place for their kids (soccer practice, etc.), which is similar to what soccer players do, as there is entirely too much running in the sport. Apparently hockey moms are similar, but also tough, like pit bulls. Are football moms the ones that like hitting people? Do baseball moms enjoy spitting more than other moms? What about basketball moms? Are these women giving chest bumps after successful drop offs? Can someone sort this out for me?

As it stands, the only other vehicles I can think of that I'd really have to get a picture of upon sight is the original Batmobile and maybe the A-Team's van if Mr. T is hanging around. Some might argue for the General Lee, but it seems to be easily replicated with a '69 Dodge Charger. (And who doesn't have one of those?) Obviously, I'm no car buff. If you're frustrated with my ignorance, comment below with a vehicle I'm missing out on. With some feedback, we may have a future poll on our hands.

-It makes people burst into song.
No, your author did not serenade all in proximity with the Oscar Mayer Wiener song, but the lyrics were certainly rolling through my head as I approached the bumper (Bun-per? ... The Writings - all the crappy puns you'll ever need, and all for free). In the world of television advertisements, people love singing the jingle... despite the fact that it doesn't really make sense. Do people really wish they were some combination of meats served on a bun, even if they had the opportunity to be packaged by Oscar Mayer? Is that what they'd REALLY like to be?

Honestly, given the option, I think I'd rather maintain my current status as a person that isn't served at all (as long as I stay away from any freestyle rap battles or dance contests... oh snap***). It seems the odds of me being consumed by a severely overweight man in a baseball jersey are far less as I currently stand.

***Yes, I am fluent in the language of 1980s rappers. Funky fresh, I know.


I do have qualms with Mr. Mayer's choice of song lyrics (then again, from what I understand Mr. Mayer is actually a piece of bologna, so what can you expect?), but it seems that he pegged the final line of his ditty. Much like the Statue of Liberty and Mount Rushmore, everyone loves the Wienermobile.

Now we just have to get a presidential candidate to make declaring it a National Monument a campaign priority.

Debate This

It's debate night, and that can only mean one thing*: it's time for unsubstantiated claims.

*Okay, two things. It also means millions around the nation will tune into their favorite network and exclaim, "What's goin' on? It's time for 'So You Think You Can Eat Your Weight in Tacos.'"

That's right, candidates could say pretty much anything without having to worry about the burden of having to provide evidence of such claims. It's the reason news stations and websites now make a point of citing the errors in hours of debate dissection. During the live debate, nearly anything can be claimed as fact as long as someone is willing to argue for it. They could say anything and, odds are, someone out there would believe it.

Such an idea really got me thinking. What type of claims (sans any sense of supporting evidence whatsoever) could candidates make during this town hall meeting? How about:

- The real downfall of the economy is the demise of the sports trading card industry.

- Any Americans named Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac have been deported.

- P.D. Eastman's "Go Dog, Go!" contains a coded map leading to treasure meant to bail out the U.S. in times of economic disparity.

- Abraham Lincoln used to hide snacks in his hat.

- The three blind mice were actually anorexic, glaucoma-suffering squirrels.

- A combination of Kroger brand Cheese Puffs and Red Bull is the future of clean energy.

- Alaska was not the largest state in the union until it hooked up with BALCO.

- Global warming can actually be stopped by people setting their air conditioners to lower temperatures.

- Terrorists turn against America because they can't find Nintendo Wii systems anywhere.

- Pork barrels helped make last year's Independence Day barbecue the tastiest ever.

- Back to the Future is based on a true story.

- For a brief period, the two major political parties considered changing their names to the Nation of Domination and the nWo.

- The opposing candidate would not have run if Brett Favre had thrown his hat (helmet) in the race.

 
--------------


Unfortunately, 104 minutes later, none of my suggested unsubstantiated claims were brought up in tonight's debate. Sure, there was talk of the economy, foreign policy, and more, but how can you have a debate without any movie, video game, sports, or professional wrestling references? It's mind-boggling.

At least we have one more debate before the election.

I'm #1

It's true, ladies and gentlemen. I'm number one.

I'm the best.

I'm the tops.

Those who speak Spanish might call me "numero uno."

Others might refer to me as "da bomb*," "the shizzle**," or "the cat's pajamas***."

*If they have time-traveled from 1997.

**If their name rhymes with "doop snog."

***If they are... trying to start a small business where they sell feline sleepwear.

Please don't jump to the conclusion that I've begun sailing in the great ship of narcissism (especially because it doesn't catch much wind with mirrors used as sails), I'm simply speaking the truth.

Don't believe me? Check this out.

That's right, a simple Google search for my name along with the word "fool" lists this very blog as the top result. Thus, it's clear that in the all-seeing eyes of Mr. Google (as far as I know, he has not earned his doctorate), I am the most foolish of all Derek Larsons.

I'm currently in the process of adding this to my resume.

Granted, some (including Google) may say that the listings of search results should not be used as any sort of scientific measuring stick or ranking system (or cough suppressant, but that seems obvious), but that sounds like the talk of those in the corporate world trying to keep me from taking my rightful spot as the most foolish of all those who share my name. Like King Arthur receiving Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake or the most rotund of all the Lost Boys, Thud Butt, receiving leadership responsibilities from Peter Pan at the end of Hook, I have earned this title and will not take it lightly.

Now that I know where I stand in relation to all others that don my name as if they've raided my personality, it seems natural to wonder what others are doing with my 11-letter moniker that begins with 'd.'

Google (an anagram for "ego log"... somewhat fitting) brings forth information on several Derek Larsons - most of whom I'm 98.9-percent sure are not me. At the top list is an assistant professor of history and environmental studies. I do not have a business card listing such as my form of employment (and this guy has a beard, while I could not even grow one if Abe Lincoln and Grizzly Adams were offering me membership in the Benevolent Order of the Folically Rich Faces), therefore I can conclude that this DL and I are not the same person.

Using the logic of this blog, the fact that he is atop the search listings for "Derek Larson" must mean he is the most important of all DLs. Is this a shot to the ego? For some, possibly.

For me, no.

After all, if you're a single 20-something who writes endlessly about trivial matters, odds are your ego has been beaten down to a nearly unrecognizable point through the years. Sadly, mine has been on life support since the days when I enjoyed chicken patties (on buns!) in the elementary school cafeteria (/old gym).

But enough about me... lets talk about people who share a name with me. There's a Derek Larson that is a web designer. There is another that is a conceptual artist. There's even one who has put himself out there in the world of YouTube. (Please note: not all who sport my name condone combining fire with flatulence. Play smart, kids.)

No matter what these folks are doing, even if they're crafting canoes out of limestone, one fact remains: there may be 8,510 search results for "Derek Larson," but there's only one atop the list of "Derek Larson" + "fool."

I'm #1.

Crazy Like a... Cow?

Sometimes you see a story in the news that makes you want to flick yourself in the eyelid to make sure you haven't drifted off to the land wacky dreams, where chickens eat people and cliffs that people stumble off lie around every corner. This is that story.

For those of you too lazy to click on the link, the gist of it is that a woman apparently decided to celebrate All Hallows Eve a bit early. She dressed up in her finest holstein costume and took to the streets. Unfortunately, instead of going door-to-door soliciting for Sugar Babies, she decided to chase real children. In other words, she whiffed in the pursuit of treats.

Oh, but there was a trick involved. In apparent effort to fully channel her inner bovine, she showed no regard for personal privacy and urinated in a neighbor's front yard. Thankfully, the lawn received no fertilizing.

As one who often attempts (and fails) to conjure up humorous stories, this serves as a reminder that sometimes fiction just can't compete with reality.

The whole situation is extremely bizarre, but I implore you to go back and read the story linked above again. Pay particular attention to the final line...

...

...That's right. A woman wreaks havoc in a neighborhood by chasing children around and peeing in a neighbor's yard, yet the big unsolved mystery in this report is the motivation for her wardrobe.

Honestly?

It's Witchcraft

In the eyes of a sports fan, there are many things that might seem evil. The ever-increasing price of tickets, the deep pockets of the New York Yankees, and the management decisions of Al Davis are all fine examples. Yet, none of them can really top this.

I realize I'm a little slow in getting to this story (I blame the economy), and for that I apologize. Nonetheless, it seems that the teachings of Hogwarts* have finally transcended the magical competition of Quidditch* to influence mainstream sports.

*I use these terms with severe trepidation. As one who has never read the tales of young Mr. Potter, I don't really have any clue what I'm talking about. Of course, this has never stopped me before.

Although the ensuing riot was certainly no laughing matter, the idea that world of Bedknobs and Broomsticks** may be merging with the world of non-animated sports has me intrigued.

**Yes, I'm hip to Academy Award winning Disney musicals from the 1970s. Hello, icebreaker.

Imagine if the Chiefs signed a safety that could cast a spell to turn opposing players into animals.

Announcer 1: Here's Rivers back to pass, he spots Tomlinson open in the flat, but, ohh, the ball bounces right off of him. It seems he turned into some sort of sheep as the pass was in the air.

Announcer 2: You're right, Jim. And while he may now be enjoying the abundance of grass on that field, those cloven hooves sure aren't much for catching passes. Oh mercy.


Perhaps a Royals pitcher could inflict temporary blindness on an opposing batter, forcing them to swing at anything they throw.***

***I'm fairly confident this spell would be conjured by saying, "abra-cadrez bat like Neifi Perez."

Then again, I guess I cannot be entirely sure that certain individuals in the world of sports are not already suffering from something brought on by combining eye of frog, toe of newt, and tongue of toad. (Please note: I'm referring to a spell... not indigestion.)

Surely the San Francisco Giants were suffering from some sort of curse when they signed Barry Zito to a seven-year, $126-million contract. Perhaps someone ought to double-check the ingredients of the cream and the clear for newt toes.

Furthermore, with witchcraft apparently becoming commonplace in the world of organized sports****, can the introduction of other mystical abilities into athletic competition be far behind?

****Does one rumored case of attempted witchcraft mean it is "commonplace"? For the purposes of this Writing, absolutely it does.

Will the World Series be decided by the pitcher that is stronger in the force? Or will the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl be scored by a running back that picked up Super Mario's invincibility star (or just the strength of the NES Nigerian Nightmare). It seems that only time will tell.

...Well, time and mystical fortune tellers.

 

The People in Your Neighborhood - At a Car Show

When one heads to a car show, one expects to see classic cars (that, or talking cars doing a comedy act of the Abbott and Costello variety... Who's Shifting From First, anyone?). If such were not the case, we would probably be dealing with a massive case of false advertising.

Thanks to this past weekend, I can attest that the number of unique, visually stunning vehicles parked at such a show can be overwhelming. However, there is another aspect - an unadvertised draw - that these automotive showcases feature. It's the attendees. The folks scoping out everything from engines to spoilers can be as different as the Model A and a '71 Stingray. Naturally, they're a crew prime for examination.

These are the people in your neighborhood...

-The guy with an uncomfortably warm belly
As someone who may be quicker than most when it comes to reaching the point of perspiration, I don't normally scoff at new ways to keep cool, but Mr. Warm Belly has taken things to a rather creeptastic level. When the temperature reaches the mid-80s but there's still several classic V8s to see, he fights off sweat by pulling up his grimy t-shirt and tucking it so that it stays snugly above his protruding gut. (The fact that there is actually somewhere to tuck his shirt above his gut tells you something about his physique.) I guess the basic premise of the idea seems close to conventional. After all, if your arms are warm you roll up your sleeves... But, the end result looks like something that would have most drivers shifting into reverse.


-The members of ZZ Top
Unfortunately, I cannot confirm that the actual members of ZZ Top were in attendance at this motor carriage extravaganza, but their look was popular enough that it left all those who are folically challenge in the face feeling inadequate.. I am pretty confident you would struggle to find this many chest-length beards at the World Beard and Moustache Championships.
The forest of facial hair was so thick that I fully expected to hear the familiar chords of "Sharp Dressed Man" and see the signature guitar flip as I searched to find some sort of purchasable sustinance that did not have grease as the primary ingredient (mission: failed).


-The power-walking guy with great fashion sense
Some people come to car shows for the cars. Some come for the company. Some come to ignore all else and power-walk laps around a park, all while sporting the latest in early-90s fashion: the fanny pack. What treasures lie inside this zipper-bound representation of all that is hip? (The Writings.. Your source for horrible puns.) Only this man knows for sure. However, my guess is that it's some sort of shoe in-sole, because he just started another lap.


-The multitasker
Being a father of three young boys would be no easy task. Of this, I'm very confident. Simply keeping the kids entertained would be a continual challenge. However, taking the youngsters on a bike ride around the park would be a good start. The kids would get the opportunity to be outside on a lovely day, and you would be able to get some exercise at the same time. And what is the logical way to get the most out of a healthy cardiovascular workout like a bike ride? Naturally, it's by enjoying a cigarette as you pedal along.

That's right, the multitasker gets his nicotine fix while cruising on his Huffy. Unfortunately, reports that he shotguns Budweiser while jogging or eats deep-fried Oreos by the handful while jumping rope remain unconfirmed.


-The fool who falls victim to a ridiculous sunburn that leaves his nose redder than a certain reindeer's and provides a farmer's tan that would have Old McDonald saying "e-i-e-i-oh crap"
This fool normally follows up such an event by writing about it in self-depricating fashion in his blog... Yes, I'm an idiot.

Quick Thought on an Ad... Well, Quick for the Author

Often, at some point in the course of an automobile commercial, you'll see the following text quickly flash on the bottom of your television screen: "Professional driver on a closed course. Please do not attempt." In most cases, this is an outstanding advice. Granted, that Saturn zipping through the winding roads on the countryside with no regard for traffic lanes or rules of the road may look to be enjoying itself, but if you go out and mimic this in your 1994 Ford Tempo odds are you may wind up flipped over in ditch or embedded in the grill of an 18-wheeler.

Recently though, I noticed a car ad that I feel should not put forth this message, no matter how small the text is. It features a large arena that appears to be some sort of 21st-Century Colosseum. A crowd of thousands pounds its hands in unison as some sort of motor carriage wheels out on the arena floor. Like Maximus Decimus Meridius on his way to another gladiatorial victory, the car moves slowly, as if it's absorbing the cheers of the crowd. (As best I can tell, the crowd does not refer to the car as "Spaniard.")

It is at this point that the "Do not attempt," message presents itself, like and unwanted magazine salesperson.

Honestly? This message is seen as necessary in this commercial?

Call me crazy, but if someone has the time, resources and motivation to:
1) secure a plot of land large enough for an arena that seats thousands;
2) design the arena;
3) acquire the materials necessary for arena construction;
4) construct the arena, following proper building ordinances;
5) hire thousands of people to sit in the arena;
6) have the crowd practice their uniform clapping and cheering;
7) and slowly cruise out to the center of the arena while the crowd does their part on cue;
I think they should be encouraged to follow their dreams. Granted, it's a pretty odd dream, but aren't those the basis of pretty much every reality show on television?

Something is Missing Here

Quick, think of the phrase you would least expect to hear while at a fast food restaurant.

I'll even offer up some examples:
- "Thanks for coming in, sir. We really appreciate your business."
- "Wow, that's an unbelievably clean restroom!"
- "So many healthy options. What do I choose?"
- "Well, time to go work out."

All are fine options, but try this one out: "Sorry, we're out of hamburger meat."

Alas, this very sentence - word for word - was spoken in my direction today, at an establishment that claims to be royalty in the court of processed bovine, no less.

Right now, you're probably asking yourself one thing (hopefully, it's not, "Why is he writing about fast food again?").

How does a fast food dining establishment that is known primarily for the hamburgers it serves run out of "hamburger meat"*? Has the king been too busy filming commericials to pay his bills? Did Ronald McDonald finally convince The Hamburglar to go after the competition? Maybe the capersome Chick-fil-a cows are moving their act to larger pastures.

*Something I like to refer to as "ground beef." Call me crazy.

This whole ordeal kind of threw me off, as an anti-Atkins diet just did not seem appealing. I quickly glanced around for hidden cameras, thinking I must have been in the middle of some commercial doomed to be ignored by millions. Seeing none, and noting the no-nonsense look on the register attendee's face, I realized that the events of this story were true, and my name was not being changed to protect the innocent. A menu with an abundance of options had now been cut down to offering chicken and salad**.

**Isn't going to a fast-food burger place for a salad kind of like going to Wal-Mart for a haircut? Think about it...

Fighting all notions of screaming in the inevitable terror that comes from a world without flame-grilled beef patties, I ordered a chicken sandwich meal and moved aside.

I was cooperative. Others were not. One man, upon hearing of the burger drought, declined the opportunity to place any sort of order and walked directly out the door. Where he was headed, I have no clue. But I hope it was someplace with so many greasy patties lying around that he could practice his butterfly stroke in them.***

***This sentence brought to you by the Awkward "Picture This" Moment Foundation. The APTMF - making you wish you couldn't read, one sentence at a time. 

With the fateful sentence running zig-zags in my head like a squirrel with no sense of direction, I walked home and ate my meal. The chicken assuaged my hunger, but my mind remained unsatisfied. My head swiriled in curiousity.

Would other businesses allow themselves to run dry of the very product they're name for?

Would Staples ever run out of staples?

Would a clerk at Blockbuster Video ever be put in the position of having to tell someone, "Sorry, we're out of movies. But you can still buy some of that outrageously overpriced candy"?

Could the folks at Ticketmaster get away with saying, "Believe it or not, we ran completely out of tickets. For everything"?

What if a store like Christian Books & Gifts ran out of Christian books... and gifts? It would be pandelirium.

As best I can tell, the situation is unprecedented and I'm still perplexed. I'd think about a Dairy Queen run to ease my worries with a bit of ice cream, but monarchs who rule from castles with drive-thru windows haven't been having the best day, it seems. They're probably fresh out of anything with milk.

Things I Don't Understand - The Return

It's true. The series near and dear to so many (or perhaps just two) hearts is making its return. My streak of unblemished clearheadedness has reached its inevitable end, and I'm back to my befuddled state (at one time thought to be my default setting). It's almost like I have come home (to a house with no door).

So, what events have left me feeling like a third grader from the Midwest trying to read Swahili? Read on...


One of these things is not like the other...

If you're like me (I realize that's a very dangerous qualifier, but stick with me), you grew up watching Sesame Street. Sesame Street, in its efforts to teach impressionable children with crazy puppets, occasionally featured a game called One of These Things is Not Like the Other. In celebration of Big Bird's upcoming winter migration (think of the mess he could leave on your windshield), it's time to play our own round.

One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just isn't the same. Please identify that thing now...
1. Pepsi
2. Pepsi
3. Pepsi
4. Diet Pepsi

Please, I encourage you not to feel rushed. Take as long as you need to weed out the black sheep.

... Got it?

If you picked Diet Pepsi, I would like to congratulate you. Sure, you may think this exercise was pointless, but I've got news for you... This test has proven difficult for a few of our friends in the fast food business. Twice in the past two weeks, I have ordered a Pepsi at the drive-thru of a Mexican fast food chain (hint: it features a device that rings in its name... No, Burrito Phone is not the answer), only to receive the inferior diet version of the soft drink in its stead. If dramatic music of the 'dun dun dunnnnn' variety was ever called for, this is the case.

Why does this soda switcheroo happen? Have I lost my Pepsi-drinking rights? Do the soda servers of America think I need to be even skinnier? Is the fast-food industry trying to feud with me? (You're not getting near the Fast Money round, Colonel Sanders!)

Obviously I'm perplexed, as the title of this very Writing implies. Granted, I have never worked in the fast food industry, but last I knew the buttons on soda dispensers featured colorful labels that clearly state what carbonated beverage will reach its mobile transport (e.g., cup) should the button be pressed. Alas, the only conclusion I can reach is that there is an unwritten code for those in the Society of Soda Servers (a surprisingly tough group to get into... I can't even get anyone to admit it exists) that every third drink must be dispensed with the server's eyes closed as he or she hums the theme song to Mission: Impossible.



Weather forecast? I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with the term...

When you live/work next to a college campus, you witness many things. Some might be ridiculous. Some might be funny. Some might be utterly mystifying... in a very foolish way.

Imagine, if you will, that you're a college student. Somehow you've lucked out, and your first class today is not until 1:30 p.m. This means that, if you really hustle, you don't even need to leave your apartment for class until 1:21 p.m. Not too shabby. Even if you had a late night, you can still sleep until noon.

My question for you, oh future valued member of the American workforce, is: At any point in the hour and 21 minutes that you're awake prior to your departure, do you turn on the television to check the weather? Or check it online? Or on your phone? Or do you walk by a window through which you can view the outdoors?

Forgive my inquisitive nature, but this hypothetical was reality around here recently, and I was not exactly impressed by the results. If it is post-noon and precipitation has been continually plummeting to the ground from the clouds above since the previous night, I am the type of person that expects people to be somewhat prepared for the weather. Umbrellas seem to be effective in such situations. If you're anti-umbrella, wearing something with a hood is a decent alternative. Even a jacket, sans hood, will be better than nothing.

Yet, the number of students seen sprinting through the rain in their t-shirts and shorts as if the storm had materialized within seconds was mind-boggling. Even if one exits their home unprepared for the rain, wouldn't they make note of the current weather conditions once they're out the door?*

*Possible inner monologue: "Hmm, there's precipitation falling on me in a repeated manner, yet I exited the shower an hour ago. If this continues as I trek to class, my clothing could be quite waterlogged by the time I sit down for Physics. Perhaps there's some way I can combat these basic liquid droplings from above."**

**I think I pretty much nailed the vernacular for the majority of college students today. It certainly wouldn't be simplified to something like, "Dude, it's raining. Where's my @#%#@$ hoodie?"

Maybe I just misundersood the reactions. Perhaps being drenched when you arrive at class is the "in thing," and the sprinting was actually a physical representation of their unsupressed joy to be conforming to popular style brought on by the ever-growing popularity of Michael Phelps... That makes more sense that just being ignorant of the current weather conditions, doesn't it?

Making Chicken Salad

When tasked to think of a name for a fantasy football team* yesterday, I was reminded of a quote that came about last summer. The Chiefs were featured on the HBO program Hard Knocks, as producers had yet to realize how horrendous their season would be. When it came time to cut a quarterback, Casey Printers - who called signals for TCU and Florida A&M in his collegiate career - was on the chopping block. The situation was unfortunate (especially considering the face that the Chiefs did not really have another decent quarterback), but his conversation with Chiefs' Director of Player Personnel Ray Farmer proved to be an entertaining one. Citing the talent (or lackthereof) of the players he had been taking the field with, Printers said it was difficult to be too successful when he "had to make chicken salad out of chicken s#!%."

Why am I bringing this up? If this blog had an editor who had to sort through all my random thoughts, he'd probably feel the same way.

*Derek's total number of fantasy football teams will be withheld, as he'd rather not have a concerned reader suggest he join a support group for those addicted to the ... uhh... sport.


Oh well, let's make some chicken salad...


- Occasionally (read: far too often), I'll come across something so bizarre, that I'm certain I have seen the depths of human stupidity. This should not surprise you, as I usually follow that up by writing about it. Tonight's example comes in the form of the TV show, Greatest American Dog. From what I gather, the show takes all the idiocy of every reality competition that has ever appeared on television and drags a bunch of poor, innocent dogs into the mix. Past episode titles include "Dancing with the Dogs," "Top Dog Model," and "Dog Swap." Thankfully, they decided against imitating Flava Flav's show. I think the title, "Flavor of Dog" may have received some backlash.

Currently, a woman is being interrogated about her relationship with her canine, and tearing up while answering questions. I enjoy dogs as much as most normal folks, but at no point in this interview were tears warranted. The pup never cried. In fact, the pup looked like he had realized that he's appearing on a version of David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks stripped of all (intentional) comedy, inundated with overbearing dog owners and judges, and dragging on weeks too long. Does PETA come to the rescue when psychological issues are involved.


- Speaking of dogs (of sorts), how does one go about becoming a bounty hunter? What's that job interview like? I like to think the interviewer is a corporate type, handling the situation solely as a manager of personnel, leading to the following:
Interviewer: So, are you willing to push the limits of the law to hunt down the dregs of society?
Interviewee: Dregs?
Interviewer: You know, bad guys.
Interviewee: Yeah, I'll whoop those $#%@$^@#%$!
Interviewer: Alright then, I'll just write "yes." Now I notice you are currently sans facial hair and sporting a shaved head. Are you willing to grow some sort of whiskers on your face and grow out your hair so it can be braided or crimped?
Interviewee: Crimped? Like bloods and crimps?
Interviewer: Uhh, just say yes.
Interviewee: You betcha', brotha.


- Speaking of reality shows, is it a bad sign that 70-percent of the shows on television seem to be of that genre. When I show up for my 25-year high school reunion, will "So, have you been on a reality show yet?" be a common question?


- I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I used the same logic as Netflix. According to their "Movies You'll Love" section, I will really enjoy the British TV drama series, State of Play because I enjoyed the American comedy series Arrested Development. Isn't this kind of like saying that I should love the taste of lamb hooves because I enjoy hamburgers? I guess if I ever buy a girl an antfarm because she likes flowers, I'll know I'm suffering from netflixation.


- I don't claim to be knowledgeable when it comes to the world of physics, but if you're currently reading this writing from the inside of a black hole, this is probably why. The Big Bang Theory may be a controversial topic (along with a mildly funny TV show), but I'm not sure anyone - be they a subscriber to the theory or not - should anticipate the recreation of anything that involves the phrase "primordial fireball." I'd rather have all flaming orbs on this planet limited to the Mushroom Kingdom, thank you.


- In my book, it's not officially an election year until a quote about a farm animal adorned with cosmetics has been completely overblown. Let the race begin!


- For the K-Staters out there, it's rough that there's no game this week. How does one fill the void? Hopefully this will help a little...

Mario Smith Hit

The Reason TVs Have Mute Buttons

Before I go anywhere with this Writing, I must make one thing as clear as your grease-soaked napkin after eating a slice from Pizza Shuttle: I would be an absolutely horrendous football play-by-play announcer. When it comes to the spoken word, I often wonder if my mind has a personal vendetta against my mouth; if my mind is secretly thinking "you'll feel like an idiot after this one, sucker" when providing the script for regular conversation.

That said, the return of football season has quickly reminded me that some play-by-play announcers occasionally seem to suffer from the same ailment (I refer to it as cranial-oral loathing). Even if you don't consider football personalities that have their own series of video games, there are still several things stated over the course of football games that either: a) don't make sense; b) are so obvious that they don't bear mentioning; or c) are completely inaccurate. It seems that the first Sunday of the football season is an opportune time to discuss these very verbal follies.


- "The pass is intercepted, and then dropped."
My two ears (that's right, despite my cartoon-sized head I still only host two ears) played auditory witness to this statement just minutes ago. Unfortunately for the announcer that dropped this bit of knowledge, "interception" means that actual possession of the "pigskin" by the defender occurred. Therefore, a subsequent drop would then be ruled a "fumble." This would mean, pending the recovery of the fumble, two potential turnovers on one play (i.e., something pretty exciting). Meanwhile, what actually occurred on the field was a near-interception, but ultimately a play that amounts to nothing more than an incomplete pass.

To put this in more scholastic terms for the students out there, this is kind of like saying you aced your quiz, but then misplaced it on your way to turn it in, when in all actuality you failed the quiz because you spent the previous evening watching Top Chef instead of studying.


-"It's an end-over-ender" (in reference to a kickoff)
My problem with this phrase does not deride from the fact that it sounds like a description of a hefty man falling down a hill. It's the fact that the statement is obvious. When kicking the ball down-field off a tee, it's pretty much a guarantee that the kick will travel end-over-end... It's common practice.

Imagine if you had dedicated your life to the study of pterodactyls and then someone began trying to capture your attention by sharing that the winged reptiles lived in the late Mesozoic and were known to have wingspans up to 40-feet. You'd probably wish to hear a member of the pterosaur family screech as it materialized out of thin air and whisked you away to someplace where you'd be away from such basic knowledge.** It's the same basic principle.

**The fact that the carnivorous pterodactyl would probably be taking you back to the nest to be fodder for its kin is ignored for this particular illustration.


-"He's out with a (insert body part here)"
Someone I have great tolerance for has covered this point already.


- "Nothin' doin'."
Thanks to the today's technology, this one is an actual reader suggestion (yes, people do apparently read this... I'm stunned, too). Thanks to Mr. Quatro Seis for the suggestion.

The problems with this phrasing go far beyond the fact that it renders the letter 'g' useless. It is also a blatant disregard for the usage of meaningful verbs. "Nothin' doin'" will commonly be uttered when a running play goes for little-or-no gain. Yet, even if no yards are gained, there still is, in essence, "somethin' doin'." Someone carried the ball. Someone was credited with the tackle. Someone in the stands probably looked like a fool reacting to it. These are "somethings" in my book (Derek's Chronicle of Determining Somethings... look for it on bookshelves soon).

The only time I want to actually hear that there is nothing doing, is if it's a true statement. If, through some unexplainable disturbance in the space-time continuum, time actually stops on the football field, but continually progresses forward in the announcing booth, then I'll accept "nothing doing"*** as a valid description.

***I won't compromise on giving the letter 'g' it's due respect. Without it, farmers who have both goats and oats would get pretty confused.

Ouch, my freakin' mind!

What do you get when you combine the mysticism of David Blaine, the wonder of David Copperfield, and an odd desire to pretend to be some sort of gothic figure? Nope, it's not the latest rumor of political scandal. It's the subject of tonight's writing.

In effort to satisfy a readership thirsty for an examination of the closest thing prime time television has to Houdini's Transylvanian cousin (Draculini?), it's time for an examination of Criss Angel's Mindfreak.

The show opens with a theme song that makes me feel as if I'm about to be trampled in a mosh pit, only to have people spit on me afterward... Fun start to the show.

The big event on tonight's episode is the "safe prediction." Apparently the so-called Mr. Angel makes some sort of prediction, locks it in a safe, only to have it shown a week later to a stunned crowd.

I have a different sort of "safe prediction." I can safely predict that this show won't become part of my regular viewing schedule.

Apparently, one of Criss' big tricks is the ability to grow a full Grizzly Adams beard on demand, as he did not have such an overbearing amount of facial hair in the previous camera shot. Sure, they're editing clips from different time periods in the same episode, but I like my imagination better.

Following the first commerical break (featuring the cartoon bears that advertise toilet paper... I've heard the phrase "Does a bear poop in the woods?" but the folks at Charmin taking things a bit too far), it's time for Criss (back to no beard) to demonstrate some telekinesis. The trick features a glass box, a pepper shaker and a pencil. Unfortunately, it seems that telekinesis requires more grunting than a U.S. Open tennis match. After he makes more noise than a grizzly settling for a non-Charmin brand, Criss finally gets the pencil to spin atop the shaker... Ooooh.

Commercial break two has passed, and now beardy Criss (who looks a bit like the Macho Man in his nWo days) is back and is looking for some viewer interaction. He gives some instructions, which end with the viewer touching the screen. Apparently those who touched it when he said to were supposed to feel something. I'm much to dedicated to my typing (read: lazy) to go up to the TV, thus the only feeling that struck me was the desire to change the channel.

Back to Criss* sans giant patch of velcro on his face, and we're nearing the conclusion of the "safe prediction." In the shock of the century, his prediction was correct.

*Wouldn't Criss Cross have been a better name than Criss Angel? Then the show could have a better theme song.


Because people love nothing more than creepy magicians, another episode follows. He begins by hanging out with The Girls Next Door and making the type of cheesy puns one might expect from a guy overwhelmed by large... personalities. Unfortunately, he kind of comes off like the guy who would hit on your girlfriend even though you're standing right there... Yeah, that guy.

One segment later, he performs a slight-of-hand with some business cards in a restaurant. The result leads one diner to say "Criss Angel for president"... Apparently he didn't realize Duck is campaigning.

The new president of the Beard Club for Men is now back performing a card trick. He's also sporting some sort of handcuff necklace and more rings than the sixth planet from the sun... Interesting presidential garb to say the least.

For his final illusion, Criss made actor Melvin 'Shorty' Rossi appear out of seemingly nowhere. Then again, where else can you come from when one of your film credits is All Babes Want to Kill Me?


Fighting all notions of logic in this world, another episode of Mindfreak has just started... Unfortunately my mind simply cannot handle any more "freaking." I'm off to work on my own illusion... I call it, "getting the last hour back."

Don't Run A-Fowl of This Candidate

If you have paid attention to any news whatsoever lately, you realize that it's election season. Granted, this "season" seems to grow longer every election*, but political talk is everywhere.

*I believe current plans are for the two major parties to hold their conventions for the 2012 presidential election just minutes after our next president is sworn in on Jan. 20, 2009.

Do I have opinions about the current candidates?

Sure.

Are those opinions going to be the subject of this writing?

There's no chance.

I'm leaving the political commentary to those who get paid to spend hours (and hours, and hours (repeat exponentially)) dissecting every word uttered, every glance given, and every handshake handshook by the current candidates.

No, I'm here to discuss an alternative candidate.

A candidate who would give new meaning to the phrase "ruffling feathers."

This candidate, of course, is... a duck.

A friend of mine mentioned today a book she had read to her young son, titled Duck For President. Imagine that... A duck that runs for president. Now some may lambaste the idea, saying that it's absurd (they obviously forget that we live in the "land of opportunity"), but would it be feasible (keep in mind that the duck is 35 and is a natural born citizen)?

I haven't read the book (and I'm unsure whether or not it's fictional), and I'm trying to steer clear of most of the reviews (in attempt to avoid spoilers), so I'm unsure as to whether the duck actually earned the votes needed to work in the White House. All I know is that I think this is a topic worthy of examination... What would it be like if we, the American people, elected a duck to be president?

Here's what we know...


The gun control policy would be extremely stringent.
This seems rather obvious. Innocent ducks are gunned down all the time in this country. What happens to the shooters? They're celebrated. This duck slaughtering is so glorified, there once was a video game focused on the very subject.
Sorry folks, but you can consider guns as good as banned if Duck is elected**.

**We can safely assume that Duck's vice president would not have any hunting accidents.


There would be deportations.
Who would be sent back to their homelands?
Illegal aliens?
Nope.
People who didn't vote for him?
Wrong again.
It would be rabbits.
To be in the position he's in (top duck), Duck obviously is educated about the world around him. He's been witness to several things... and these things include Looney Tunes cartoons. Duck has seen how one "wascally wabbit" has constantly put roadblocks in the path of a fellow duck's life. Odds are that Duck's judgment on all rabbits would be swift: back to Spain with all of them.


The duck would run as an Independent.
As a veteran of the air, he values left and right wings equally. (Insert drum rimshot here.)


Jobs would be lost.
Are you an employee at a pillow factory? Better update that résumé. President Duck thinks down is for the birds, and he plans to keep it that way. All manufacturers that use feathers will be immediately put out of business.
Unemployment rates be damned, Duck won't stand for down-filled pillows.


American traditions would be re-written.
At elementary schools around the nation, The Pledge of Allegiance is recited at the start of the day. And prior to sporting events, you'll hear The Star Spangled Banner.
President Duck has a few changes in mind.
America's new national anthem? How about We are the Champions? It's the victory song at the end of Duck's favorite movie, The Mighty Ducks after all.
And what happens to the Pledge of Allegiance? Your new pledge is a simple, "quack, quack, quack..."***

***Because President Duck is such a huge fan of the film, we can probably guess the identity of his vice president. Congratulations, Emilio.


Finding alternative energy sources will be a priority... but wind won't be the answer.
Duck loves the outdoors, of course he's going to do all he can to help the environment. That said, Duck won't stand (or sit, swim, or waddle) for bird deaths by wind turbines. He reads**** the reports that mortality rates are exaggerated and that improvements have been made, but as long as a single bird is at risk, President Duck won't back such structures... Like most ducks, he's a stickler for details*****.
Fact is, President Duck would do away with our electricity completely, but he likes the idea of having a heated pool to swim in come wintertime.

****Can a duck read? If you paused for a moment upon reading that, remind yourself that this duck is running for the highest office in our nation, of course it can read.

*****Please note: I have no evidence to support that most ducks a sticklers for details.



Knowing what I do about candidate Duck, would I vote for him?

Again, I must be noncommittal.

While some of his policies seem pretty radical, he certainly does not suffer from the "downfalls" of the current candidates.

He's not an "elitist" liberal and he's not "old" conservative... He's a duck. He has a beak and webbed feet.

He doesn't suffer from "property amnesia"... He's a duck. He knows he owns zero homes.

He's not "the biggest celebrity in the world"... He's a duck, and he's not even the most popular duck referred to in this writing (see: Duck, Daffy).

Like every candidate, there are countless arguments to be made both in favor of and against Duck.

... I guess that's why election season is so long. Good luck choosing your candidate.

The Cure for (or cause of) Football Fever

Every year around this time, my mind brims with optimism like a cup of coffee poured by a waitress with poor depth perception. As the football season nears, I begin to envision touchdowns and interceptions fueling my chosen teams to victories. The names on the rosters have never seemed to matter; this blind hope has always led me to believe "my teams" could compete for championships.

Apparently things change as you get older.

For the first time I can remember, I am markedly concerned about the chances at success for both the Kansas City Chiefs and Kansas State Wildcats. Why is this the case?

Maybe it's the pessimism that comes with being closer to 30 than 20.

Maybe it's a vicious symptom of hayfever.

Or, maybe it's the fact that the two teams combined to go 9-19 last year.

Whatever the case may be, the squads are prime for examination.


The Chiefs

We'll begin with the more depressing case. How rough are things in KC right now? The Chiefs will use the fourth and final preseason game - a contest where the starters are normally on the field about as long as the Star Spangled Banner performer(s) - to actually determine who should be playing in the opener.

Things are so loopy that the Chiefs signed a veteran kicker in attempt to settle the position battle, but released him one day later.

Kansas City is set to start a quarterback that has never won a regular season game, a wide receiver that caught 18 passes last year, and an offensive line that created as many holes in the last preseason game as a quadriplegic mole.

Thankfully, on the defensive side of the football, the Chiefs have a legitimate playmaker who opposing teams need to prepare for in their gameplans... No, wait, he's now in Minnesota.

Because I don't think I've ever written anything as negative as this brief overview (at least they can't really under perform when compared to that dissection), it's probably time to move on (and it may also be time for counseling).


The Wildcats

What is there to say about the 2008 Wildcats?

... No, really, what is there to say? I really have no idea.

The team finished last season on a very disappointing note, dropping the final four games of the season when only one win was needed to earn bowl eligibility. Nevertheless, the team that takes Wagner Field on Saturday will have a significantly different feel. Different because a number of players expected to play significant roles in 2008 played as many snaps for the 2007 Wildcats as Kermit the Frog.

On the most recent depth chart, the Wildcats have three players listed at runningback. The three backs have combined for exactly zero carries in Division I football. Is this a sign of impending doom?

No. But it is a concern.

The number of junior college players the Wildcats brought in this season has been discussed endlessly. Will the class be the Wildcats' key to success? Will it be a crippling thwack to the program's spine that sets the squad back five years? Will it fall somewhere in middle ground?

I'd bet on middle ground, but who can be sure?

It's true, several of the JuCo players have impressive stat lines and come highly touted, but I can think of an ever-expanding list of players that arrived under similar circumstances only to ultimately make little impact. Then again, the Cats pulled Michael Bishop, Darnell McDonald and Jeff Kelly from the junior college ranks in 1997.

I want to get back to feeling positive, and spirits haven't been much higher around the Little Apple than when that '97 class was roaming the turf.

It's settled. I'm going to repeat "It's the class of '97 again" over and over while watching the following video (linked for the Facebook folk). Feel free to do the same if you need a pick-me-up.

Kansas State v. Nebraska 1998




Now I think I'm ready for some football.

Lessons Learned

It's Saturday evening, and I'm in the midst of watching the Chiefs look particularly feeble in a preseason match up against the Miami Dolphins (yes, the same Dolphins that won just a single game last season). Naturally, I need something else to occupy my thoughts.

Today also marks the second-to-last day of my "vacation," as I return to the office on Monday. (Insert chorus of "boooooooo"s here.) With that in mind, I figured I should try to sum up things that I've learned over the past few days.


From the Olympics:

- Team handball is an excellent spectator sport.

- Platform diving is not.

- Marathon runners are shameless litterers. Sure, you're running a race, but can't you at least look for a recycling bin to toss that water bottle into?


From Mother Nature:

- Mind melting heat is not the only downside of the summer months. Even when it's not present, hordes of allergens can make you long for late October. (Notice I didn't mention looking forward to winter... You're still on my list, ice.)


From my calendar:

- I'm older.


From my four-week old niece:

- Days are best spent sleeping, with occasional breaks for eating or getting cleaned up.

- Passing gas can actually be cute.

- Words are not necessary for communication. All that's needed are a variety of facial expressions, combined with sighs, grunts, and cries.

- Dressing yourself is for suckers.


From the Chiefs game:

- Offenses can't be run if the offensive line cannot block. (Crazy thought, I know.)

- If this game is any indication, I may need to have things other than football occupy my thoughts for most of the Fall.

Greetings From... Home

I am currently on vacation. Yet, I'm sitting in the same spot where I spend 80-percent of my free time. While an abundance of people travel to interesting locations while "vacationing," I'm planted firmly on my couch. You could say I am vacationing to get away form work, and that might hold some merit. I am not in my office, after all. However, I live less than a football field away from my office, and continually find myself checking my work e-mail.

... It's good to be away.

Seriously though, it is nice to have a week that I can spend however I please. Unfortunately for anyone hoping to read exciting tales of intriguing travels, this vacation will contain nothing of the sort. So, what is in store? How about observations like:

- I've seen Bob Barker host The Price is Right. I've seen Bob Barker act. I've seen Bob Barker fight with Happy Gilmore. Drew Carey is no Bob Barker.

- There's something about The Price is Right that extracts the heights of human stupidity from the contestants.

- I just saw the greatest team handball shot that I've ever seen. Granted, I've never really watched team handball before, but rest assured, the shot was amazing.

- It's odd to have to get your purchase of Robitussin approved by the overlord of the self-checkout stations. It seemed like she was waiting for me to sacrifice a small farm animal before she'd punch in the magic code.

- Watching episodes of The Office from your couch groove is an excellent way to spend vacation.

- It seems fairly obvious that I'm just one step above being a bum.

What else will vacation teach me? Stay tuned.

Always High Aggravation... Always

There's a certain large chain store that I have grown to despise (I'm not here to name names, but you should be able to crack this case). Yet, through some stroke of temporary insanity, I ended up going there this evening.

At 5:30.

Being at this store at 5:30 p.m. any night is about as enjoyable as licking the whitewash off a splintery picket fence. On Friday nights, it's worse.

Imagine being stuck in rush hour traffic in a big city. Now, imagine that the honking cars and fist-clenching gridlock are replaced by the depths of human ignorance and rudeness... Welcome to (insert store name here).

The aggravation starts before you even enter the store. Searching for a parking spot is not only extraordinarily difficult, but the hunt is continually impeded by the lackadaisical gait of shoppers.

Folks, I realize pedestrians have the right of way, but you're pushing your limits when you traipse about in front of my car and make no effort whatsoever to saunter to the right three feet so that I can drive by.

Inside, things don't get any better. People are everywhere, cutting you off with their shopping carts, and nearly knocking you over when reaching for items they're purchasing. It's like a mild riot of people fueled by saving 18 cents on a bottle of NyQuil. All this, and nary an "excuse me," or "pardon me," to be heard.

Back in the parking lot, preparing to leave, it's time for the "Hey, I almost plowed into your car 500." Unfortunately, you're on the "almost plowed" end, as an SUV zooms past your bumper when you're halfway backed out of your parking spot.

What started as a quest to check out some video games ended as yet another lesson learned: low prices aren't worth it.

The Olympics and Bigfoot - Together at Last

-- In the world of South Park, Gerald Broflovski once had a dolphinplasty. It seemed like a fun, completely fictional idea... but now I'm beginning to wonder. After all, I've been watching a lot of Olympic swimming lately and it seems that world records are being broken a... well, record pace. (Is there a world record for most world records broken within a certain period of time?)

Is it possible that swimmers around the globe are being surgically or genetically modified so that they're now part dolphin? I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I just want to see how they all react if a bucket of fish is brought into the Water Cube.


-- Is it just me, or do Olympic gymnastics announcers get a little too excited? Sure, that double-tuck, triple-lindy, 23-skidoo roundoff* was neat, but there's no need to yell.

*It's at this point that you realize that I know absolutely nothing about gymnastics. If my gymnastics aptitude was tested, the score may actually wind up in the negatives. Then again, the test would probably be judged and not graded, so who knows how it would end up.


-- I'm not sure who the official DJ for the Olympic games in Beijing is (Jazzy Jeff would be my pick), but all the tunes heard in the background definitely have a United Statesian flavor. Not only that, but the song selection seems questionable, at best. Does Billy Squire's The Stroke really reflect feelings of international camaraderie or the spirit of competition?


-- If this does not excite you, you may want to head to a doctor immediately. No, I don't expect any sort of evidence that could actually prove that bigfeet (obviously, herds of bigfoot) exist. I just want to see what people are trying to pass off as a bigfoot.

On another note, what's with the laziness in naming the bigfoot? He has big feet, sure, I get it, but elephants have big ears. Giraffes have long necks. My head is much larger than it should be. Yet, these characteristics don't determine our names.** If people want bigfeet to be taken seriously, maybe it's time they got a more respectable name... You know, like the jackass.

**This marks the first time I have ever grouped myself with elephants or giraffes... Quite an historic occasion.

Copyright Derek D. Larson

Tales of obsessive announcers, the dark side of the Olympics, and a summer cold

Mid-August is a great time for vacations. Mine starts next week... Unfortunately, my immune system decided to take off a week early. As a result, I'm dealing with a sore throat and congestion in the midst of summer. Awesome.

My antibodies displaying as much fight as the Washington Generals aside, tonight marks an interesting Monday evening. Monday Night Football returns, and showcases the Packers' debut everyone will be talking about. Yes, I'm referring to the young offensive player trying to fill the clown-sized shoes of a legend. That's right, wide receiver Jordy Nelson will line up at wide receiver, with former Packer Koren Robinson nowhere to be seen.

Also on tap in these twilight hours will be a smorgasbord of Olympic events, direct from Beijing. In true American fashion, I know little about several Olympic events, but I'll root for my fellow citizens as if they are my next of kin.

On to the evening's thoughts...

- The Monday Night Football announcers follow the recent trend of anointing one particular former Packers' quarterback as the most significant person to ever stand on solid ground. I'm beginning to wonder if Aaron Rodgers has legally changed his name to "Brett Favre's Replacement, That Other Guy."

- Why didn't Don Majkowski get this sort of love? The guy was on Tecmo Super Bowl.

- There is a dark side to the Olympics, and it comes in the form of a Speedo. Listen, synchronized divers, the fact that you can jump off a high-dive and mimic the mid-air twists and turns of your teammate does not make wearing a skimpy pair of swimtrunks (minus the trunks) permissible. If the event was getting people everywhere to change the channel, you'd all win gold.

- Seeingly realizing the error of their ways, the National Broadcasting Company switched to women's beach volleyball immediately after I finished the previous paragraph... It's as if my voice has been heard. Thank you, NBC.

- Illustrating a previous point, the cameras at Lambeau Field just showed a fan's #4 Packers jersey with "God" written in the name block. This marks the first time I can recall readily expecting a stadium to be struck by lightning.

- On tap directly following women's beach volleyball? Men's gymnastics... You win some, you lose some.

- I continue to get the impression that popular opinion in the world of professional football is that Brett Favre would have created the heavens and Earth in just five days, and would have led a fourth-quarter comeback, won a hot dog eating contest, and rescued a puppy, a baby, and a geriatric from a house fire on the sixth.

- Meanwhile, judging from another self-promoting interview, Bengals receiver Chad Johnson may think that he could have accomplished all of that in three days, and then capped it off with touchdown celebration that sportscasters would spend pointless hours dissecting.

- This just in: Michael Phelps can swim pretty fast. Nonetheless, reports that he is related to Flipper remain unconfirmed at this time.

- Just heard on a professional wrestling program: a quote from Ronald Reagan... This is what you might call "not connecting with your core audience."

- Just heard during the football broadcast, "Favre-ity favre favre favre. Favrer, favre-ish, favre, favre, favre."*

*Quote may not be 100-percent accurate.

- In other news, the newest iteration of Madden Football is being released at midnight. News states that a former Packers quarterback is on the cover, but I want to go check to make sure there is not actually a picture of me gracing the case. It certainly seems like I'm in the middle of the "Madden Curse" right now.

Writing What Everyone is Thinking (and by "everyone is," I mean "only I am")

-- On a visit to the nursing home on Sunday, I made one particular observation. At the entrance to this care facility for the elderly, there was one of those signs that graphically illustrates the concept of "no firearms allowed." In my opinion, this is an excellent policy. I'm not really sure why anyone would ever need a firearm in such a setting (I don't advocate medication distribution at gunpoint). I agree with the line of thinking, although I have to wonder if it is really necessary. Are there a lot of nursing home visitors that bring their new 9mm to show grandpa? And if someone was "packing heat"*, would the Ghostbusters-style (I ain't afraid of no guns) sign make them turn around and put the gun back in the car?

*I have no clue where the phrase"packing heat" originated. All I know is that a Google search on the words shows that there's a website with that very name dedicated to tips on writing erotica... The more you know...


-- In sports news, there are some tube-top-tight pennant races going on in the world of baseball, and the Olympics start up in a few days. Further details are not available, because Brett Favre doesn't play baseball or do the long jump.


-- The word "celebrity" is being used rather loosely once again. This time around, the culprit is Celebrity Family Feud. Forgive me, but I have a hard time considering anyone from Son of the Beach a celebrity.


-- Down in the dumps about the way things are going for you? You can at least be pleased that you don't suffer from this condition. Imagine the chaos if she got a kick out of seeing others stumble and dated a klutz... Ice skating would be a bad idea.


-- Happiness is having the opportunity to draft a friend for your fantasy football team. Unhappiness is realizing that Brett Favre doesn't play fantasy football, so the season will probably be canceled.

It's Hard to Type While You're Sweating...

This just in:
Apparently the Earth is about to crash into the sun. Granted, this has not been reported as "news" and there is no "scientific evidence" to back up this claim, but it is waaaaaaay too hot outside for things to be considered "normal."*

*I know I used a lot of "quotation marks" in that paragraph. I have no "good reason" as to why... It just "happened." Now this is starting to get pretty "irritating."

I'm not a fan of the hot weather. I guess part of the reason for this loathing may be the fact that I don't enjoy being soaked with sweat when I walk into a public place. People even give a few weird looks if you're dripping sweat in line at Burger King, and that place isn't exactly Harry's Uptown (local reference... those unfamiliar, please insert the name of the fanciest restaurant in your area).

Today, I combined the unenjoyable activity of being outdoors in triple-digit temperatures with another activity that has become a bane of my existence - buy gasoline. I have to think that paying for gas that costs more than it should in temperatures hotter than they should be nears the top of Derek's Big List of Things He Despises.

What follows is a list of things that may be less painful than paying for $3.59/gallon gas when the nearest thermometer has passed out from heat exhaustion...

- Having a root canal with habernero sauce injected as the local anesthetic.

- Sitting through an entrie episode of The Hills without making a single smart-aleck remark.

- Removing contact lenses with a pair of scissors.

- Watching another national sports segment on Brett Favre.

- Using a nostril as a candle snuffer.

- Running against the flow of bovidae traffic in Pamplona.

An Anticipated Introduction

Over the last 10 days, I've traveled approximately 2,500 miles, and put in over 100 hours of work. Today alone, I've been awake for 19 hours. Using my own personal history as a guide, I should either be passed out on my couch from exhaustion or staying awake only because of a periodic dunking of my head into a cooler filled with ice (don't ask).

Nevertheless, I'm awake and typing; fueled by nothing more than the thoughts in my head. Thoughts focused on one person. One tiny person.

After being beyond the northern border of our nation when my niece entered the world, I finally - after three whole days (it seemed like a long time) - had a chance to meet the little lady. I was wholeheartedly looking forward to the meeting, but I have to admit, there was a bit of anxiety. I hardly trust my ability to drink coffee without some dribbling out of the cup; could I really be trusted to hold an infant that was living the womb life just last week?

Apparently the cure for anxiety is your niece's head on your shoulder*. Once she was in place, all was well. Her tiny fingers gripped at my shirt, and an occasional wriggle or readjustment were the only disturbances to her slumber. Later in the evening, I read a quote saying something like, "The closest thing to perfection is a sleeping baby." After tonight, I'll have a hard time finding fault in those words.

*Please note, the author has a patent pending on this cure for anxiety.

Perhaps it's a sign of getting old when you spend time sharing the enjoyment of holding a newborn. If that's the case, save me a spot in line for arthritis meds.

Congratulations!

A congratulations so large that the sheer size of it would make Godzilla quiver like a frightened chihuahua goes out to two dedicated readers on the addition of a third to the family.

I apologize that my introduction to the little lady formerly known as Niecephew will be delayed, but there are some things beyond personal control (this includes Canadian business trips). Please know that the anticipation of meeting the newest KJ in the family is greater for this author than all birthdays and holidays the author has ever experienced, combined.

Welcome to the family, little one. Perhaps my oft-incoherent ramblings will make more sense to a developing mind. Granted, you won't be able to read for awhile, but I'm sure some might argue that I can't write, so it all balances out in a way.

Again, congratulations to the new parents, and welcome to my niece. Rest assured, young one, your family cares for you more than you'll ever know.

These Are the People in Your Neighborhood - Quick Canadian Version, part 1

The kid in the line for customs that looks like a young C. Montgomery Burns*
You'll recognize this kid from the gigantic backpack he carries, which is so large that it may very well contain the Ark of the Covenant. As a result, young Monty is hunched over like Quasimoto. It's fairly obvious that the entire set of encyclopedias in his bag are more important than his posture.

*Mr. Burns of The Simpsons, for those who may be confused.


The old man in the line for customs with the eyebrows
Yes, I realize most people have eyebrows, but this guy has the kind that make you look once... twice... and then a third time, just to make sure you are not hallucinating. This elderly gentleman could best be described as having a a gray gerbil perched above each eye. The eyebrow hairs were longer than those atop my head, and the silvery drooping over each peeper had to impair his vision just a bit.


The cab driver so interested in telling the author about the town he grew up in that he looks directly at him, instead of at the car traveling 100 km/hour that is about 0.8 m in front of his cab
Picture the author smiling and nodding in polite fashion, while also gripping his seat's armrests so tightly that his wrists ache and his eyes exhibit a terror only seen in horror films... Welcome to Montreal, Derek!

And so it begins...

I'm heading north of the border; up Canada way. The big question is, what shenanigans will this business trip see me get tied up in?

Will my iPod get confiscated at the airport, because it contains the song "Mac the Knife"?

Will I get lost during a layover in Chicago, leading to comedic misadventures that are later turned into a feature film that flops at the box office, leading to the death of my never-aspiring acting/directing career?

Will I feel like a complete idiot every time someone begins to talk to me in French and I follow with, "Uh, yeah... Hello"?

Stay tuned...

A Heartfelt Farewell

This is dedicated to my neighbor down the hall. You will be missed, neighbor.

It was a great surprise today when I noticed your Penske truck parked in front of the apartment building; door open and ramp down. After all, I didn't even know you were moving. How about providing a little warning?

Granted, prior to today I could not have picked you out of a possible neighbor lineup (for all I knew, two chimps wearing capris lived in your apartment)... but still, it was not easy see all your things packed up*.

*The "was not easy" part may or may not deride from the fact that your stuff was all over the place, making it difficult for me to even get up the stairs.

The large cardboard box overflowing with issues of Thrasher magazine tells me we would have been quick friends. After all, who doesn't love in-depth discussions about kickflips, ollies, and rail-grinding? I mean, it's all extremely riveting... or should i say killer**?

**This attempt at skateboard terminology brought to you by the "You Are Right, I Have No Clue What I'm Talking About" Foundation.

When I left my apartment after lunch, there you were down the hallway, pushing two packed boxes across the carpeting, caveman-prior-to-the-invention-of-the-wheel-style***. You're obviously a motivated person... No carrying one box at a time for you.

***I'm no Rhodes Scholar, but I might venture to guess that someone who reads more issues of Thrasher than should have ever crossed a printing press might own a skateboard himself. A skateboard is a mode of conveyance with wheels. A heavy box would be a lot easier to push if it were on top of a mode of conveyance with wheels... Hmmm...

It's tough to see you go, neighbor, but I do understand your motivation. The fact that these apartments lack a built in half-pipe was nearly a deal-breaker for me, too.

Brett Favre is an Accomplished Texter (and why this is apparently more important than anything else)

In reviewing sports news on the national level over the past few days, one story has seemed to be placed on a level above all others. Does it involve Major League Baseball, a league actually playing games at the current time? Nope. How about the NBA, which just had its draft and now has begun summer league play? Nuh uh. Then surely it must be something involving track and field, where some of the nation's top athletes just qualified to compete at the Olympic games this summer? Wrong again.

No, the one story that kept flying into my face like a persistent mosquito was this: "Report: Favre sends text message to Packers' GM."

Yes, my friends, we have reached the point in our society where a simple report of one person texting another is the top news of the day.

I understand Favre was a great quarterback. I understand he's a legend in Wisconsin. I know he can still make an impact if he plays next year. I even have an interest in the Packers this year, thanks to one of their draft picks.

... but still... The story being reported is this: A guy sent a text message to his old boss.

Again, this is the top news story of the last three days. A text message.

I have so many problems with this method of journalism, I have no idea where to begin. It's time for rambling bullet points...

- Guess what an "unconfirmed report" basically amounts to... That's right, kids, a rumor. It's my opinion that the object of the "news" is to report facts, not spread rumors. Can rumors be mentioned? Sure. But it should be emphasized that the rumor is just that. And rumors should not be analyzed.

- A text message is not news. Think about all the text messages you have sent. Do you consider them newsworthy? Am I going to see a story on a kid sending "UR dumb.. j/k, lol! :)"* to his friend on the 10 p.m. news tonight?

*Please note that this "text language" was used only to make a point. I still believe it should be banned in 49 states.

- Who reports on a text message, anyway? Was somebody peeking over Farve's shoulder as he typed? Does news companies now have guys on the inside at AT&T? Do we have any reports on whether Mr. Favre used a winking smiley at the end of his text?

- Favre hasn't even missed a game since he retired. Does this even count as retirement? That's like me saying I'm retiring from my job, but I'll unretire at 8 a.m. tomorrow. This is too much. I'm retiring from writing.


...Hey, I miss writing. I'm going to unretire.

- I have to reiterate, the story taking 10 minutes of reporting on a national sports program is about a guy typing maybe 10 words into a portable electronic device and hitting a "send" button. That's it. I sent a text yesterday evening. Feel free to call the newspaper with that lead.

On another level, I think this just speaks to the problem with sports journalism today. Athletes are overhyped. Stories are overblown. "Experts" are overexposed. The focus seems to be on everything but the reason people are fans in the first place - the games.

When I watch a sports news program, I expect to get the latest news on what is happening in the world of sports. I want highlights on the night's games. I want updates on current standings, streaks, and playoff races. I'll even take a report on an athlete returning from injury.

Notice what is missing from the above paragraph? "Reports" of a retired athlete sending a text message. Stories about one of the best players in baseball possibly dating a 50-year-old pop star. Talks of scandal when pictures surface of a young NFL quarterback surrounded by co-eds in a hot tub. Anything involving a contest that decides who is "now" or what is "titletown." ... I'm not interested.

I have to quit typing now. There's a Royals game on, and if I don't watch I'll have to rely on the 23 seconds spent recapping the game on the sports news tonight. Who has time for game recapping when there may be a report of a new text message?

The People In Your Neighborhood - At The Movie Theater

It's readily apparent that I enjoy spending a bit of time detailing observations of folks I encounter on an everyday basis. Until today, I have never had the gumption to name such pieces so that they can be properly cataloged. I figured this series needed a hook. Where does an educated person look for inspiration? Naturally, they look to Sesame Street.

Sesame Street - People in Your Neighborhood (1988)


Anyway, on a trip to the movies Friday afternoon, I familiarized myself with a few of folks in your neighborhood (in your neighborhood... in your neigh-bor hoo-ood). These are the people you may meet at the movie theater...


The guy so beaten down by the life of a husband and father that he does not even know what movie he is seeing
TGSBDBTLOAHAFTHDNEKWMHIS (for short) usually comes in the form of a guy in his late 20s or early 30s. He has the run down look of a guy who has changed more diapers, read more stories, and played with more dollies than he ever imagined. How can you be sure you are encountering TGSBDBTLOAHAFTHDNEKWMHIS? Stand behind him in the line to purchase tickets. If he says to the girl behind the counter, "Yeah, gimme three for that panda thing," you can cross this guy off your "People I Need to Encounter" checklist.

That's right... He did not even bother to find out the name of the film he was about to sit through for 90 minutes. He knew it had a panda, he probably was aware it was animated, he realized there was little chance of nudity or grotesque humor, and apparently checked out. Hooray, film.


Mr. Curious
Mr. Curious has a little too much time on his hands. He's waiting in the lobby for other members of his party and he looks a bit like Richard Dreyfuss (particularly in What About Bob?). Hands stuck deep in his pockets, Mr. Curious strolls around the lobby, just looking to pass the time. A display for an upcoming movie, perhaps Space Chimps, catches his eye. It is constructed of different pieces, including a spaceship portion, that rocks gently.

Mr. Curious did not win his name in a poker game. He got it for a reason. How is that contraption rocking? He has to find out. Naturally, the best way to do this is a quick check of "what is under the hood." In this case, it involves stretching to his tiptoes to peek over the top of the display to see the backside... Curiosity fulfilled.


The bonehead sitting alone in the movie theater furiously typing notes into his phone so that he can remember things for a blog entry, trying to finish before the previews begin
... Ladies and gentlemen, your author!

It's Good To Be (at) the King

Three minutes and 41 seconds ago, I entered my apartment. Considering that I had a Burger King to-go bag in hand and that I had not consumed food of any sort for six hours, one might think that I would have sat down and torn the wrapper off my Tendercrisp sandwich. Yet, here I sit, typing away on my laptop.

What could cause such disregard for my own hunger? Have I suddenly become ill? Did I discover my food has been replaced with rat remains? Is a member of PETA holding me at gunpoint?

No.

I just experienced a magical moment one can only have at a place like Burger King.

Upon my entry in BK, I noticed group of teenage males waiting for their food. Naturally, I thought little of it.

After placing my order with the guy behind the counter (unfortunately the 65-year-old German woman who has worked there since the first Bush presidency was not in), I walked by the awkward group of guys. They were apparently discussing plans for setting of fireworks. The discussion included the following spat of verbal volleys:

"We have to wait awhile. It's not close to being dark yet."
"Yeah, but it can't be too dark. We have to be able to see the stuff."

... Checkmate.

I barely had time to hope that these kids were on the debate team before I noticed something. Something that will occupy my thoughts whenever I enter this royal burger establishment from now on.

Picture, if you can, the two nerds that befriend Billy Madison in the motion picture about the latter's return to school. It's lunchtime and Billy has food dumped on him by the eldest O'Doyle*. Two kids sitting across the table begin to tell Billy that he's become one of them... Someone unpopular (dun dun DUNNNNN).

*O'Doyle rules.

Hopefully, now that the scene is set, you're picturing those two kids. Now quit picturing the fatter one, and focus on the one with long hair.

Now picture the long-haired kid from Billy Madison standing in your local BK, discussing strategies for firecracker usage. This kid was the spitting image of him. I kept expecting him to look my way and reel off some spiel about "loser denial."

I was so taken aback, I could barely fill my Sprite. Luckily, I fought through and was able to hold back from asking him what it was like kissing the "mucus queen" at the end of the film.

This all was too much. My brain was overloaded. I needed the chick who was calling out order numbers with the zest of a death row inmate to give me my food so I could go home.

... Then the guy with the guy with the mullet that made his head kind of look like a black French poodle had suffered a cardiac arrhythmia atop it walked in....

Must-See TV?

I pay much more than I'd like to for cable television. I am provided proof of that very statement every month when it's time to write the check for the cable bill. Signing my name leaves me feeling like an aardvark shot in the side with a pellet gun - a little sore, and pretty unhappy*.

*This statement is actually a guess as to how I think an aardvark might feel if shot with a pellet gun. I have never actually met an aardvark who had been shot with a pellet gun, and even if I had, I'm not sure how it would have conveyed its feelings on the subject of the shooting to me.

With the cost of this programming, you might think finding quality entertainment on something like a Tuesday evening would not be difficult. Yet, had it not been for a Royals game this evening, I would have been flipping through channels like some sort of electrified flipping machine. Naturall, it's time for a quick rundown of the junk that passes for entertainment on a Tuesday night.

NBC - America's Got Talent --- a.k.a, NBC's Got an American Idol Ripoff
If David Hasselhoff determines who has talent and who doesn't, I fear for the future of our nation.

ARTS
It looks to be some sort of ballet about barbarians of the Ghengis Khan sort... Or maybe it's historical narrative. I guess I have no evidence that the Mongols conquest of the Jin Dynasty did not happen with dancing, prancing, and mincing.

Insert name of news station here
Subjects of tonight's top stories... A-Rod/Madonna, Angelina Jolie, some lawsuit surrounding the Pedegg (an egg-shaped device used to remove dead skin from your feet, naturally), and Hulk Hogan... Aren't we currently involved in international conflict and dealing with a struggling economy? When did CNN and company turn into Entertainment Tonight?

ESPN2
Some sort of dog competition is on... If ESPN is "The Worldwide Leader in Sports," does that mean ESPN2 is "The Worldwide Leader in Crap That Has a Competitive Element, But Definitely Is Not a Sport"?
I am fully expecting to change to ESPN2 at some point in my life and happen upon "The World Staring Contest Championship," complete with a timer in the corner of the screen, idiotic commentary, and pointless sideline reporting from someone serving more as eye candy than as a source of information.

MTV
Could it be anything other than a crappy reality show?
Nope.

A&E - CSI Something or Other
This is one of the best shows on television? Honestly?
The reenactments on When Animals Attack may have better acting.

ABC Family - America's Funniest Videos
Hey, a guy got hit in the groin and a fat guy fell over... Hey, a guy got hit in the groin and a fat guy fell over... Hey a guy got hit in the groin and a fat guy fell over... (please repeat for 30 minutes).

SciFi - Vampires Los Muertos
A movie on SciFi starring acting sensation Jon Bon Jovi and featuring a special effects budget that would trump most high school plays?
I take it all back. My cable is worth it.


---Please note: In the writing of this blog, several channels were omitted from my listing. This was not done with the intention of labeling these stations as homes of quality programming. A complete list of stations that contain a majority of quality programs will be included in an upcoming blog titled, "TV, in Six Letters."