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by Richard Timothy | Apr 21, 2010 | I Just Don't Get It, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
If I had to choose a word to describe this morning it would be random. Not just random, but random random, as in random squared, actually make that obscurely random squared. In short it was a WTF morning.
I have a collection of Smirks started from the weekend and we’ll get to those in due time, but before I work on any of that you deserve to hear about this morning. To put it into a little context and to help clearly convey my mood, here‘s a quick overview of what the weekend was like.
- Friday 3 AM – got picked up and headed to California
- Friday 5 PM – got to hotel in California
- Saturday 9 AM – workshop started
- Saturday 6 PM – day 1 of the workshop ends
- Saturday 11PM – got to bed
- Sunday 9 AM – started last day of workshop
- Sunday 6 PM – day 2 of the workshop ends
- Sunday 8 PM-ish – started driving to Las Vegas
- Monday 2 AM – arrived at condo in Vegas and went to sleep
- Monday 12 Noon – visited corporate office and warehouse for tour for a company my wife and her friends are working with
- Monday 7 to 8 PM – left Vegas
- Tuesday 2 AM – got home
Yeah, so our schedule for the weekend was a little hectic and explains why I didn’t have a chance to get anything posted. Please note that the above schedule is a very proficient way of experiencing a very long weekend in a very short period of time.
So what could have possibly pulled my exhausted tush, along with the rest of me, out of bed this morning while at the same time winning the award of most bizarre wake-up call I’ve ever or will ever receive throughout this or any life. I bird… a damn robin for about three hours straight keep flying into our bedroom window. Yes repeatedly over and over again, for THREE hours. Starting at 6 AM and it was still going strong when I left the house to go to work at 9:30 AM.
Really? Yes Really! I only wish I was making it up. The bird would fly into the window, fall downward, loop back up, and do it all over again. After about three to four loops in a row it would fly over to the fence and rest for a minute or two. It almost felt like the bird had a snooze button. My only guess is that it was catching its breath before it started its next barrage.
We even opened the blinds, thinking that maybe the wood blinds had left it a little confused, but no that didn’t detour it at all. I mean I’m a fan of people and animals living together, and if you are going to kill something, make sure you eat what you kill… but this bird was making me lose perspective in a hurry. I wanted to get a tennis racket, open the window and just wait for that little bane to do its next fly by.
I don’t know if there is a catnip equivalent for birds, but based on this little robin’s actions I’m pretty sure it had exceeded the daily dosage recommendation. And for the record, if you happen to find yourself in this type of situation, don’t stand in front of the window the bird is attacking while brushing your teeth. If you are still waking up those little buggers come out of nowhere. I mean I cleaned it up, but that side of the room does have a minty fresh aroma now.
I mean I guess I could thank it for getting me up and off to work, but I don’t want to. I’m still a little grumpy about the whole thing. If it shows up again tomorrow, I’m going to get a “Hang in there!” kitty poster and make stick it on our bedroom window facing outward, as a kind of window scarecrow. And if that doesn’t work I just might go rummaging through the garage to find that old racket.
Any of you have any similar wake-up call experiences?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: wake-up call, bird hitting window, washing window, and hang in there.
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by Richard Timothy | Apr 5, 2010 | Holiday Banter, I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
With Easter arriving on a Sunday this year, I found myself a wee bit distracted from the documenting Smirkful observations and spent the day with family. Besides laughs and conversation, it also included consuming chocolate, food, chocolate, sugar dipped marshmallow baby chickens, and hard boiled eggs… and chocolate. There are some holidays that carry with them certain smells that when you come across them reek that the holiday has arrived. The smell of evergreens filling the house will always announce to my nose that Christmas is here. Just like the smell of the mingling aroma of baking pumpkin pie and cooked turkey slaps my taste buds into a confusing state of mouth watering appreciation which can only be defined as Happy Thanksgiving. (I say confusing because I hate pumpkin pie, but do enjoy a real turkey out of the oven.)
Then there is Easter, which unfortunately carries with it the ominous odor of chocolate covered egg burps. I’m not saying this is how I want to remember the holiday. It’s just that over the year’s one of the most common reoccurring fragrances that Easter has always offered it the pungent smell of hard boiled eggs with just a hint of chocolate from all those damn Whopper Robin Eggs.
With Easter now over with, and with the bargain shoppers now rushing to all of the grocery stores to buy carts full of 50% off Easter candy and holiday décor that will be used next year, what better time than now to learn a little something about this holiday. Apart from the unfortunate smells associated with it.
If you know anything about this holiday it’s that you can’t have Easter without the Pagans. Granted there are a number of holidays we wouldn’t have without the Pagans. That being said… thanks Pagans. What few people know is that the name Easter comes from mistakes that were made in the east, as in east errs. Ok, I made that up. According to a fair amount of random internet sources that I perused for the sole purpose of shared enlightenment the word Easter comes from the name Eostre, who as the Great Mother Goddess of the Saxon people in Northern Europe. Apparently the name of the goddess originates from the ancient word for spring (or eastre), and a festival was held in her honor every year at the vernal equinox.
Regardless of your beliefs, Easter is a salute to spring. For the Earth, spring is a very literal type of resurrection, renewal, rebirth, regurgitation… of sleeping vegetation, and other “re” words that would require much longer explanations as to how they relate to Easter, but that I really don’t want to get into. For Christians and Pagans alike it represents either the symbolic or literal resurrection of a god. Of course, this is dependent on either what kind of Christian or Pagan you are.
In Gerald L. Berry’s book “Religions of the World,” he wrote:
“About 200 B.C. mystery cults began to appear in Rome just as they had earlier in Greece. Most notable was the Cybele cult centered on Vatican hill …Associated with the Cybele cult was that of her lover, Attis (the older Tammuz, Osiris, Dionysus, or Orpheus under a new name). He was a god of ever-reviving vegetation. Born of a virgin, he died and was reborn annually. The festival began as a day of blood on Black Friday and culminated after three days in a day of rejoicing over the resurrection.”
That’s not all though. I know for me Easter has and will always mean one thing that thing is bunnies! And from here on out, it’s only predominantly going to mean Flemish bunnies. They are both adorable and huge. I have only recently been introduced to these massive creatures of fluffy adorability, and quite honestly, I have been waiting for Easter to arrive so I could share their existence with others… mainly because of the flawless segue I would be able to make from Easter Bunny to Flemish rabbits. Oh damn, I forgot to talk about the Easter Bunny.
Well, according to the myth, the Easter Bunny is a rabbit-spirit. Before being referred to as the Easter Bunny, he was called the “Easter Hare.” The reason being that rabbits and hares are renowned for having frequent multiple births. Because of this they became a symbol of fertility. The practice of the Easter egg hunt began because children believed that hares laid eggs in the grass. In looking more into this I found that the Romans believed that all life comes from an egg, forever answering the age old question of which came first the chicken or the egg. I also read that Christians considered eggs to be the seed of life, thus making the eggs symbolic of the resurrection of Jesus. Also, on a side note, I’d like to point out that once you devil eggs, they do become rather tempting.
Right, so Flemish rabbits, or as they are commonly referred to the “Flemish Giant” breed of rabbit, are the super sized options of the bunny kingdom. Some of these Bugs-like offspring have been reported weighing as much as 28 pounds (13 kilos). That’s like a Thanksgiving sized rabbit, and you probably wouldn’t even need any stuffing. Although you’d still have some because it’s stuffing, and stuffing is the delicious love child of a pride of garden herbs and a gaggle of croutons that have been spending too much time in a sauna. 
And no, I’m not recommending, suggesting, or in any way inferring that we should consume these large furry bouncing ground clouds of happiness. I was just making a very poorly thought out size juxtaposition, which I am not proud of. A better comparison would be canine. I mean they might not weigh as much as a golden retriever, but they could look it. Besides, everyone knows that visually speaking the fluffiness adds at least ten pounds.
My gripe with the present day celebration of Easter is psychological trauma that children suffer from in regards to how the holiday is usually celebrated. I am, of course, referring to all the children who are graced with a large collection of sugar infused goodies. After consuming as much of the candy as possible they are taken to some type of ceremonial activity and expected to be well behaved and quite while some religious themed message is shared to a group of attendees.
Getting your kids all jacked up on sugar and then punishing them because they were fidgeting, or screaming and running up and down the aisles as fast as they can is poor parenting, period. How is it possible that anyone be surprised that their children are behaving badly after you have just enabled and encouraged them to overload on sugar is like getting a Brazilian hot wax treatment and then acting all surprised that it hurts. It baffles me… on both accounts, the feeding candy to kids then yelling at them for being hyper bit, as well as the hot wax bit.
Regardless of your feelings about Easter and its symbolism and origins I think there is one thing we can all agree on… the urge all of you have, myself included, to pet one of those Flemish Giant rabbits. When I think of Flemish Giant rabbits I can’t help but think of Hugo the Abominable Snowman, who summed things up perfectly when he said, “Just what I always wanted. My own little bunny rabbit! I will name him George, and I will hug him, and pet him, and squeeze him.”
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JlVqfC8-UI]
Any Easter, or more importantly, Flemish Giant thoughts?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Flemish Giant, Flemish Giant with dog, Easter, Eostre, and kids eating Easter candy.
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by Richard Timothy | Jan 29, 2010 | I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to Smirk my way into the political realm. I have no intention telling people what to think, or how to vote. I’m a firm believer of getting your own opinions in regards to politics and then never ever share those opinions with anyone ever, unless of course, you are congregated with a group of like minded political projectionists.
There is one key element that I hope all people take from this, nurture it and make it your own. That is, if you get a mass forwarded e-mail about any political individual, delete it right away. Never read these. This is because 99.99982% of the time they are lies, and 100% of the times they are smear derived propaganda designed to manipulate you. I don’t care what politician they are about or what party they belong to, Republican, Democrat, Green, Independent, Constitution, Libertarian, Federalist, or what ever party Ralph Nader is getting paid to run for, they are all just an electric from of political toilet paper. It smears crap all over the place instead of cleaning anything up.
I remember getting a link to this video a few years ago. The message in the e-mail was to point out what politicians are like and that they are the same all over the world.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-QNAwUdHUQ]
Click here is the video does not load.
Sure it’s a fake, but I’ll admit that the first time I saw it I was open to accepting that it was a legitimate politician. Granted, this was during the Bush monarchy at the time and my perspective on political dialogue and responsibility was a bit negligent and cynical at the time. The generally accepted and expected media response during the time was to stick their fingers in their ears and start yelling, “LA la la la la la la.”
I’d like to point out that 90% of the people I have shown this video to still believe and concede that this video is of a legitimate politician, handing a political situation the way they would expect most politicians to behave. Yes 90%, which is a statistic that I just made up and has no validity or factual backing whatsoever.
The main thing that got me started on this whole topic was an e-mail I friend of mine sent me yesterday. It was a reply he had received from Utah congressman Jim Matheson. My friend’s response to Matheson’s reply was this:
“I love how hard Matheson tries to stay out of any debate that could be even remotely controversial, but this takes the cake. Carbon Monoxide? Who is pro-Carbon Monoxide?!? What about health care, or the wars, or ethics reforms, or banking regulation…. nope, not from Jim!”
Apparently Jim is leading the way in anti-Carbon Monoxide legislation. I mean sure, one might equate that traditionally the first rule of politics is to do your very best to not take a political stand on anything that anyone might be in opposition to… unless of course a lobbyist for some billion dollar corporation is giving you perks that assist you in making a firm stand that protects a corporation and shits on the people.
Yeah, so maybe I’m a little jaded when it comes to politics, but it’s not like they’ve done a lot of good for the people as of late. I get that there is the random noble act and attempted to make things better, but it seems that there are far to many black knights roaming the political landscape yelling that “None Shall Pass!” at every noble gesture that any attempt to make. So far, all of the black knights still have all of there arms and legs, and the search for the Holy Grail is still just an idea being sketched in a notebook belonging to Sean Connery.
Yeah sorry about that, I got caught up in a few to many pop culture references there. So back to Matheson, of course his big legislative push is going to be for anti-Carbon Monoxide. He’s representing Utah, a state so red that you’d think it were a baboon’s blushing ass. This is a state where we gauge our political successes based on whether any new liquor laws get passed that enable drinkers the same rights that drinkers in other states experience.
I suppose that fact that Matheson is attempting any type of legislation at all, says something. Personally, I think it says, “Hey, Facebook is down and I can’t play Bejeweled all day today. I wonder what I should do?” and thus birthed the anti-Carbon Monoxide legislation, but then again all of this is just my opinion. I feel it’s important to point that out, because, well, I don’t want some to get emotionally unstable and attempt to violate me for slanderous frumpiness.
My political battle cry… “Can’t we all just get along?” I hope someday we can, or at the very least we’ll be able to wave a friendly hello at each other from across a crowded Earth, and everyone will be ok with that.
What do you think?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: politics, fingers in ears, and Monty Python black knight.
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by Richard Timothy | Nov 26, 2009 | Horribly Horrible, I Just Don't Get It
With Thanksgiving a day away, I figure what better time than now to bring up one of the staple dishes this holiday season that I consider to be culinary vulgarity. Much like melted marshmallows on baked yams, or carrots coffined in green lime Jell-o, the pumpkin pie falls onto my list of epic culinary failures.
It’s odd too, because I really don’t mind pumpkin as a flavor. For example, I find pumpkin chocolate chip cookies quite lovely. I even enjoy the occasional sit down with a small bag of pumpkin seeds, and not once have they caused me to shudder, gag, or spit up. I’m also a big fan of pie crusts, light and flaky, and with the perfect hint of toasted doughy goodness, they help accentuate the endless combinations that ultimately make-up what is the baking equivalent of Prozac pie.
Say what you will, but next time life overloads you with a series of random events that you’re not sure how to handle, instead of reaching for your pills grab a warm slice of your favorite pie and take a few bites. The worry free euphoria kicks in a lot sooner than the Prozac ever will. I mean, I’m no doctor, but at a basic and logical level it does make a lot of sense. But do be warned, if you have a tendency to do this a lot, the probability factor that your nether region will start expanding at an alarming rate does go way up.
For me, and I’m really not sure why, pumpkin pie is one of those rare experiences where a collection of tasty single ingredients are combined to create a flavor-foul dish. Also, when I bring up my lack of pumpkin pie appreciation, especially around this time of year, people usually stare and point, and call me… a lot of things really. Here is a sample of just a few of them: crazy, deprived, anti-American, broken, insane, damaged, sick, and the spawn of Satan (but that only happened once). Some people take it very personally when you publicly put down their favorite pie.
I’ve tried for years to try to visually explain my distaste for this dessert in the most precise way I could, but I was never able to perfect the imagery… that is until now. Last week a friend sent me an image that I feel encompasses my feelings toward pumpkin pie and how I think those vile buggers taste. Case and point…
Yes, that is truly how I feel about it. But, regardless of my pumpkin pie issues, I do hope you all have a brilliant Thanksgiving… even if you decide to eat pumpkin alapooh.
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by Richard Timothy | Nov 20, 2009 | I Just Don't Get It, Observationally Speaking
So last night, on my way home from work I suddenly found myself being violated by a barrage of very bright lights attacking me from every reflective rear view surface in, on, and around my car. Instead of just readjusting the mirrors I began the optimum positioning avoidance dance of bobbing, sliding, and twisting just enough to get my head in a position that none of the mirrors were reflecting the bright lights back into my face.
I know, I could have just repositioned my mirrors, but that would have meant having to reset them all in the morning on my way to work. Which would be fine except readjusting ones car mirrors is never that easy. I can never get it right the first time. It’s like my body mysteriously settles for the next three days requiring me to do a whole series of mini adjustments each time I get in the car until they are back to were there when I originally moved them.
It turned out that the headlights weren’t brighter than your average car, it’s just that they belonged to a damn puddy wagon, also known as the very large and ridiculously high jacked up truck. I have no idea what puddy wagons even means. All I can tell you is that it was the nickname my friends and I gave those types of trucks while growing up in Wyoming. And for the record, Wyoming may very well have more puddy wagons per capita than any other state in the US, or the whole of Canada for that matter.
The puddy wagon is a concept that has always confused me. On the average these trucks are around 3 to 4 feet off the ground, and I don’t know why, but for some reason the owners of these trucks always seemed to be shorter thank your average person. Not like a little person, or jockey, but still a wee bit on the stumpy side, say in the 5’4” to 5’6” region. This confuses me even more because that means the driver commonly needs a little foot stool, step ladder, rappel equipment, or hydraulic lift cowboy boots to even be able to get in and out of their vehicle.
I remember asking what the point was for having a truck that high off the ground. The most common answer was, “To go off roading.” The thing is most of these blokes also implied that because of all the money they had put into their trucks on left kits, oversized chrome wheels, and jacked up suspensions they had no plans on ever taking it 4x4ing. That’s like buying a Hummer and telling people you got it because you want to save money on gas.
I mean I get the point of having a truck. It can be very handy for moving items from point A to point B, or going to point B to pick up a friend and then going to point C to move something back to point A. Regardless the formula for moving things in a truck, the point is I get it. BUT, can you really haul things in a Puddy Wagon, you know, other than groceries, or… a dog maybe? I personally have never seen a Puddy Wagon haul anything around except for the additional cowpeoples that were not able to fit in the front seat.
It’s too high off the ground to be a useful moving vehicle. A few puddy wagon owners even said that they would never haul anything substantial because of the fear that it might scratch the bed of the truck. Boggling, isn’t it?
In an attempt to find some sanity pertaining to the puddy wagon conundrum I’ve done a bit of research over the years, and what I’ve discovered is this… apparently the whole point of this type of vehicle is to help the man (or woman) attract a mate.
Here’s my made-up mathematical formula for deriving this hypothesis:
I also learned that this happens in more than just the cowboy culture. Here are a few examples of vehicles designed for the sole purpose of attracting a mate in different cultures of this planet:
So, I guess I sort of get it now. This type of thing happens all over in the animal kingdom… still, it is bloody obnoxious when a puddy wagon does show up on the random eve and follows you for a few miles making it very hard to see anything other than their blinding headlights.
Can’t we get someone to talk to Obama about an exchange program? So after the puddy wagon owner obtains a mate then they can exchange it for a real vehicle? I personally would be an avid supporter of this type of governmental injunction.
One last thing though, if you are of the disposition that you think this is actually cool…
You sir, are an ass, and the world shall celebrate in the event that your kind fails to ever reproduce… can I get an amen?
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by Richard Timothy | Oct 21, 2009 | I Just Don't Get It
Ah coffee, that deep dark aroma engulfing hot elixir of the gods. What is it about the early morning ceremony of the cradling of a cup of hot coffee, wrapped in swaddling fingers being warmed on the walls of the cup, as your nose hovers above the rim, steadily and rhythmically inhaling breath after full breath of tongue watering coffee aroma? Honestly, I have no idea. It’s not that I haven’t tried; it’s just that my appreciation for it has failed every time. When I think of coffee, I can’t help but turn to words like, ack, eww, blaa, and “I’m sorry I just threw up in my mouth a little.”
For me coffee is the equivalent of a piping hot cup of liquid ass, or iced ass depending on how you like it. Don’t get me wrong, I do like the idea of coffee. I have many dear and close family and friends that are huge fans of coffee and all the delights it offers. I even spent a few years working in a coffee shop, learning the art of the barista and their espresso wielding ways. And even though through all the years of being a close neighbor to the coffee experience, there is no place on my palate for the flavor of coffee. It’s the core coffee flavor I have an abrasion to.
I know there are many yummies that have coffee in it, mocha drinks for example, the practice of adding coffee (espresso) to hot chocolate, or the B52 cheesecake (coffee flavored cheese cake), or coffee ice cream, or even tiramisu. Sadly, all of these have that nasty coffee flavor at their core, which always leaves me in the “not a fan” classification of what many consider to be delectable delights.
Whenever I try something coffee flavored I find myself doing that tongue grating the teeth thing. You know where you repeatedly keep sticking your tongue out of your mouth, and every time you do the top of your tongue grates against your top front teeth in an attempt to try to grate off the nasty flavor in your mouth from your tongue.
When people become emotional to my abrasion to coffee, flabbergasted at the notion that someone does not like the smell or taste of one of their staples of the human experience, I usually share this story as an explanation for my dislike, other than the simple truth that I just don’t like coffee.
I grew up in a home where coffee was considered a vice of evil, in the same light that some people look at alcohol as evil, or smoking, or drugs, or naked bungee jumping. Because of this, I was not introduced to the scent of coffee until I was in 13 years old and sitting at my desk in my 7th grade English literature class.
See, in the junior high school I went to, we had two hours of English, one was for grammar and the other was for literature. Well for my entire 7th grade year I had my English classes back to back third and forth period just before lunch. My English teacher was a huge fan of coffee, and not just any coffee but very strong, pungent, no sugar or cream added, coffee. Every day before lunch for my entire 7th grade year I would be sitting in class and my teacher would crack open his thermos, which was… not an ordinary thermos for you. 
But the extra best thermos you can buy, with vinyl, and stripes, and a cup built right in… sorry, damn you Steve and your catchy little thermos song.
So… right! Ok yeah 7th grade, so every day the thermos would open up and this vile stench of ultra stout coffee would fill the class room and leave me sick to my stomach just before lunch. Yes, it was a great appetite deterrent, and if I ever write a diet book that will be one of the chapters, but for a 13 year old boy who was rather fond of food and the act of consuming it, that was a hell of a year. But then again I was 13, meaning I was pimply, awkward, just learning to swear for the sake of being cool, immensely fond of, but also terrified of, girls, and experiencing puberty… which was much, much, MUCH worse than that whole coffee experience, but that’s a completely different story.
So, to all of you that love your coffee, take comfort in knowing that I support you and that there will always be an extra cup for you when I am around. Also, on a personal note, from me to all coffee everywhere… screw you coffee! Screw you.
There, I said it. I feel better.
If I had to choose a word to describe this morning it would be random. Not just random, but random random, as in random squared, actually make that obscurely random squared. In short it was a WTF morning.
I mean I guess I could thank it for getting me up and off to work, but I don’t want to. I’m still a little grumpy about the whole thing. If it shows up again tomorrow, I’m going to get a “Hang in there!” kitty poster and make stick it on our bedroom window facing outward, as a kind of window scarecrow. And if that doesn’t work I just might go rummaging through the garage to find that old racket.
