27 January 2007

24 January 2007

Google Is My Bitch

This is too cool. I am way too psyched about this.

1. Enter the world's greatest photographer into the Google searchbar. Quotation marks are not required.

2. Look at who's site is NUMBER ONE ON THE LIST!

3. Know that the only reason why it is so is because I made it so!

It's amazing to me to think about it, but apparently I possess the power to fuck with the internet. I am a god of electrons!

Now that I am a god, when do I get to start smiting shit? Cuz I have a list here, all ready to go...

"I fuck you!" in a German nihilistic voice, "I fuck you, internet!"

I'm going to smile about this all week...


You Scurvy Zeepdogg, You!

Just so we are clear, we are now seven years into the 21st century. I wanted everyone to clear out of whatever haze they may be in and know this for what I am about to say.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that my energy was really low. I was lethargic and sluggish, some mornings I was incapable of getting out of bed. Now, for those in the know, Zeepdoggie is a pretty energetic li’l monkey. I like to move it-move it, as we say here in Z-town. And I am a morning person, much to the chagrin of anyone who has ever slept over.

Then I started to get these aches in my joints and muscles. Not just sore aches, but really dull pains that would last for hours. It would hurt to type, or to hold a book. A little bit after that, I started to get pains in my mouth and my gums were bleeding a lot.

When blood is gushing out of my mouth without the presence of a fist, Zeepdoggie hightails it to the doc, toot sweet.

So I go to the health center at College, and wait for a while and see the doc. I tell him what’s going on, and he looks at me, and asks me if I’ve lost weight. I said that I didn’t know, since I don’t own a scale (sometimes it’s awesome not living with a woman); he says I look like I have, so I get weighed.

The last time I checked my weight, I was at 167, which is a little underweight for a man my age, but I don’t mind, since America just got fatter around me. I am at 145. I’m roughly 25 lbs underweight.

Doc looks at me and says, “You have scurvy.”
I replied, in the only way I know how, “Yar?”
He informs me that one in three college students on our campus are malnourished, usually from poor diet choices or simple lack of food (I figured I was down to about five meals a week at this point). My symptoms are in line with scurvy, which he says he sees, “all the time.”

So he tells me to get a lot of vitamin C, since my scurvy is pretty advanced. He says I should be concerned, since scurvy will kill you dead, without fail. He gave me some vitamin C tablets and some homeopathic remedies and sent me on my way.

I still am not fully recovered, because scurvy wipes you out pretty good, but I am feeling much better; my energy is up, and I no longer feel the need to shout “Avast!” and have a parrot poop on my shoulder. It’s embarrassing to have a disease that was essentially cured by the 19th century, but in a way I am proud of it. I mean, how many people do you know with scurvy? See… And now I feel like a real old salt sailor, thanks to my ailment. It’s like now I’ve earned the right to say, “Yar!” since I am a scurvy dog!


For more info, click here. It could save your life. Or you could just eat an orange every once in awhile.

22 January 2007

What I Can vs. Who I Am

I can be a jerk. I can be an asshole. I can do horrible things. I can say things and can do things that upset and frustrate people. I can be rude and selfish. I can tell lies to get myself out of trouble. I can be crude and crass and can be very opinionated. I can yell and scream and pout to get my way. I have hurt people’s feelings, and will likely do so in the future.

But that’s not what I do all the time. And it is not who I am.

If you know me, then you know that. If you don’t, then you probably won’t stick around long enough to find out. I wish you would, because I like having friends and I like knowing new people and making them happy; but if my bad behavior is too much for you, then it’s best that you don’t stick around. Some folks don’t think I am worth the time and effort that it may take to get to know me. That makes me sad, even though it’s happened a hundred times if it has happened once. It makes me sad because no one thinks they’re a son of a bitch, even in the face of apparently overwhelming evidence. Eichmann thought he was an all right guy; I’m sure Custer thought he was the bee’s knees. I’d like to think of myself as being better than those two, at least on a karmic level, but like them my bad behavior is often unnoticed by me, until I have had some time for introspection.

And I can be a son of a bitch (with all respect to Zeepmomma, of course). But I am not a son of a bitch. In the great consideration of my personality, I’m not even an asshole. I am more than what I do; I am better than what I share with most people.

For those that jump ship, I’ll miss you. For those that stay with me, I thank you, and apologize in advance, for doing what I can, and not always being who I am.


19 January 2007

Happy Birthday GringO!

Happy Birthday, GringO! He’s twenty-three, everybody! Can you believe it? All growed up, just about. And what do we have to show for it? Well, there are pics from his birthday bash! I only have two, because other folks had cameras, notably Wheels, who will hopefully share the images they have of that night with me so I can share them with you. Here are the pics that I have. Actually, the other pic is too dark, so I guess I just have the one. Aren't we cute?

But what I do have to share with you are some random quotes that came up that night that I feel I should share with you all.

And away we go!

“Everybody’s face looks Asian from far away…”

“I’m bringing my flask to work!”

“Your what?!”

“Oh, I thought you said ‘Flash,’ like your Flash costume.”

“I am not an asshole; I am a dick, because dicks fuck pussies and assholes. If they didn’t, the world would be covered in shit.”

“He called me a Jeffersonian!”

“So, Nietzsche…”

"Yeah…those wacky Germans!”

After that, it all got really drunk.

Happy birthday, GringO! Did you get what you wanted?


15 January 2007

Thirty One What?

Thirty-one. 31. Einunddrei├čig. What can be said about this number?

• It’s an ugly number. I mean, just look at it. No consistent form, no flow, it even sounds wrong. Go ahead and say it. Uck.

• It’s prime.

• Seven of the months end with it.

• It’s been the second-worst year of my life, which is almost over. Not that 32 is looking to brighten up anytime soon, but thirty didn’t look good from two months away, and that was a banner year for ol’ Zeepdoggie.

• Baskin Robbins has 31 flavors.

• Halloween is on the 31st of October.

Anyone else know anything about 31?


11 January 2007

No Child Left Behind-The Football Version

1. All teams must make the state playoffs and all MUST win the championship. If a team does not win the championship, they will be on probation until they are the champions, and coaches will be held accountable.

If after two years they have not won the championship their footballs and equipment will be taken away UNTIL they do win the championship.

2. All kids will be expected to have the same football skills at the same time even if they do not have the same conditions or opportunities to practice on their own.
NO exceptions will be made for lack of interest in football, a desire to perform athletically, or genetic abilities or disabilities of themselves or their parents.


4. Talented players will be asked to workout on their own, without instruction. This is because the coaches will be using all their instructional time with the athletes who aren't interested in football, have limited athletic ability or whose parents don't like football.

5. Games will be played year round, but statistics will only be kept in the 4th, 8th, and 11th game.

6. It will create a New Age of Sports where every school is expected to have the same level of talent and all teams will reach the same minimum goals.

If no child gets ahead, then no child gets left behind.

7. If parents do not like this new law, they are encouraged to vote for vouchers and support private schools that can screen out the non-athletes and prevent their children from having to go to school with bad football players.

You know, if someone explained it like this to W., he might actually see the problems with NCLB.


09 January 2007

My Dishes

Lately I have not been able to muster up the drive to wash dirty dishes. Possibly it is due to this idea that slithers around in the back of my mind: what is the point?

You can try to clean dishes so well. Soak, scour, rinse, dry, polish, everything it takes to make them ready for the next meal even though afterward your hands are chapped, cracked and bleeding. Then comes the inherent problem. The next meal just makes the dishes dirty again.

If you don't wash the dishes they pile up. Some bits harden and cling to the dishes, solid and almost a part of the dish. Sometimes the dishes become stained from use, besmirched by a powerful and thick hue in the meal. As they stay there, untouched, unwashed, bacteria cultures, organic elements decay and rot, creating a foul odor about your dishes.

What is the alternative? Disposable plates? But then your old dishes still stay dirty and what you have now is not really yours. It does not require responsibility and ownership for one's dishes. Out of the package, used for a single meal, then thrown away.

Maybe we need someone to wash our dishes for us if we cannot do it ourselves. Someone who does not mind cleaning up after the last snack, meal or feast. This would be ideal if we could find that person and actually allow them to wash our dishes. But ultimately it would be an unfulfillable and one sided arrangement. All giving on one side, consuming and discarding, with only receiving on the other, endlessly cleaning up another person's mess.

I think the answer is to look for someone who's dishes you would not mind cleaning, in exchange for them washing yours. Though my dishes are now still sitting in the sink, untouched by me, I can only hope that one day they will be clean again.