My Addled Brain

This is a Facebook meme. I put on The Brain because I can, and because RSS feeds mean I don’t have to double post. This also means I bypass the 25 people tag thing, which is cruel and unusual according to the Geneva Convention. This also means I love you more than anyone else on Facebook, so keep that in mind come Christmas.

1. I’m pretty much done with alcohol. Sure, I may have a drink every now and again, but honestly, I’m not even really interested in being buzzed ever again, much less drunk.

2. I have often wondered if I could make someone’s brain explode just by staring at them. I have tried this on a few occasions, to no success. Of course, I would never do that to you. I stare at you because I like you.

3. I graduated from USF three years late because of a clerical error. Someone didn’t credit my AP Calculus credit towards my math requirements.

4. I have prepared myself for the upcoming zombie apocalypse by reading the Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks. You may laugh now, but when I’m living in my northern Canadian citadel eating caribou and leading the last remanants of the human race, and you’re just a mindless, soulless automaton endlessly craving the taste of human flesh, you’ll wish you had read it too. If you could wish. But you can’t, because you’re a zombie.

5. I will never even consider voting Republican as long as the party continues to believe that the solution to their problems is Sarah Palin.

6. A number of my family members will probably be upset with me when they read #5.

7. I started reading ten books in the last year. I finished reading exactly one of them.

8. I regret nothing. Regretting means I would change my past, and changing my past means I wouldn’t have my present, and there is no experience or decision that could possibly be better than my wife and my son.

9. I sing in the car. And I sound awesome. Those people in other cars that laugh at me when they see me are just jealous.

10. There is no experience more divine than the first cup of coffee in the morning. Unless it’s Millstone, which I’m certain is actually dirt.

11. Thinking of 25 things is difficult.

12. I’ve never tried hallucinogenic drugs. Not because I’m afraid of becoming addicted, but I know if I did become addicted, I would want to make my own - and I was terrible in Chemistry. The results would probably sterilize me, but at least the colors would be pretty, and I could visualize being “fixed” by a group of smiling housecats in tie-dye shirts, which would be both psychedelic AND ironic.

13. Speaking of irony, Alanis Morrissette is either a moron or a genius. If she intended to write a song about irony that actually contains no ironic statements on purpose, then she’s a genius - the song itself is ironic, and that means she’s gone all meta on us and should be applauded for her expert lyricism. But if she actually thought she was being ironic, then I take it all back and she should be beaten with a textbook on literary devices until she either grasps the irony of the situation or falls unconscious.

14. I miss reading comic books. I absolutely plan on using my son as an excuse to read them again. I mean, introduce him to them to encourage reading.

15. I take #8 back - I regret eating that ice cream last night. Went right to my hips.

16. It took me a week to get to #16.

17. I have an unhealthy obsession with kitchen gadgets. Cabinets and shelves full of the stuff. Unlike most gadgeteers, however, I actually use most of them; so I feel justified about things like owning three different lemon zesters.

18. I TOTALLY cheated on #11 and #16. And this one.

19. Morning radio consists of either NPR or random contents of my Zune. NPR because I actually like to know what’s going on in the world and if I try to listen to 620 the sound of Jack Harris’s voice can actually make my ears bleed. The Zune because, despite my hardcore geek LINUX4LYFE roots, there’s something to be said about a brown and green music device I named “YodaIAm”.

20. I took piano lessons when I was in middle and high school . I never practiced, except when I went to the lessons (which caused no end of exasperation for my instructor) because I didn’t like the feel of my keyboard, and the upright piano we had downstairs had a row of twelve keys stuck together on the third and fourth octaves. Despite this, I still remember the basics, and can pound out a tasty fresh version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on one of those toddler pianos they sell at Toys-R-Us.

21. I’ll be honest: I think your dog is great. I’m sure he/she’s very well behaved, and wouldn’t bite anyone. But I’m so allergic to them that too much exposure will turn me into the Incredible Swollen-Headed Man With a Wicked Runny Nose and Eyes So Bloodshot They Glow In The Dark. Kind of like the Hulk, except there’s a lot more sobbing.

22. I have a photo of two of my Facebook friends making out with each other in the seventh grade. I think you know who you are. Fifty large from each of you, or I publish it next month.

23. I am completely incapable of organizing physical environments. And I don’t just mean “put books on a bookshelf”, either. My office at home looks like a mail carrier detonated in it. And if it wasn’t for my brother, I would still be navigating a nine inch wide path to get around my desk so I can exit my office.

24. These are some of the best things I’ve ever written.

25. I think memes suck.

Of course, if you follow my Facebook profile, you would know this. MAN. However, since blog posting is for thoughts on truly consequential matters, I have decided to keep things away from here.

Or, I could be incredibly lazy. Yeah, probably that second point.

I could easily pile up the parenting cliches here (it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced, my life will never be the same, I don’t sleep as much as I used to, etc etc etc), but I’ll just make this a simple exercise for the reader, whether they are familiar with me or not: picture this man with a child of almost one month of age.

And it’s pretty much like that.

Which, in turn, somehow references Winnie the Pooh (the books, not that bastardized Disney version). I have this on my mind a lot lately, as the wife and I have already begun reading to Max most nights before bed. This schedule varies, depending on time we go to sleep, what we’ve been doing the evening prior, and occasional bouts of “Where-the-hell-did-I-leave-that-book-anyway?”-itis. Milne’s approach to children’s literature fascinates me, how he introduces concepts that one might think would be way over the heads of the intended audience, like self-insertion. It’s also startling how honest the author is about how childhood can end, and places like Pooh Corner get left behind as a child grows older.

And that’s something I don’t want to think about right now. I just want to be able to enjoy the time I get with my son, and watching him grow and learn. Of course, he has to be born first, but it’s never too early to feel melancholy, I always never say!

Something else I would really rather not think about right now would be Joe the Plumber. Thank you, Barack Obama the Democratic Presidential Candidate and John McCain the Republican Presidential Candidate, for forcing me to think of people in terms of their employment - I’m certain every person on the planet wants to be defined that way. As a result, everyone has become the . I realize this is not a new concept, but it’s taken a hold of my tiny, fevered brain and will not relinquish control to the parts that aren’t completely batshit crazy. So, I shall entertain my fellow employees by referring to people like Craig the Owner, Lena the Accountant, and Tim the I’m Not Exactly Sure What You Do Here.

For those of you who stare at the screen whenever someone mentions the financial crisis, yet hasn’t the beginnings of a clue as to what it all means - this week’s This American Life is absolutely for you. It’s 60 minutes. Take the time.

I’ve listened to this episode four times. I will more than likely listen at least that many more so it all sinks in. Not because it’s hard to understand, because it’s not - more because I want to hang onto every nuance of this. It’s easily the most complete and clear explanation of why the world’s economy is going blooey I have heard to date. It doesn’t point fingers - well, it does a little, but it’s not at any one particular person or party - but it explains how our markets got into this mess.

The getting out? Not so much. It does discuss the Paulson plan, as well as a rather tantalizing alternative…which seems to have made it’s way into the final bill under the noses of those who most did not want it in there (read: big commercial banks and others who want the money from this plan without suffering the consequences of receiving said money).

As one of the reporters in this story says (and I wholeheartedly agree with), “I want people to be able make money, I just don’t want their mistakes to cost me, and that’s all I’m asking about.” That’s my question. And it seems to me it’s very easy to blame people on the consumer end - people who should not have been able to receive money to buy a house, and blame them for the system. But that’s a simplification - just as pointing the finger at one party or another is a simplification. To steal (and then bludgeon to death) a line from John McCain (who has been unsuccessfully attempting to steal the line of thought from his opponent) - Be sure my friends, blame is coming. But by the time this blame arrives, will there be a reason to care anymore? With every passing day, I’m becoming more convinced there won’t be.

Yes, I’m as surprised as you that our solar system still exists following yesterday’s exploits at the Hadron Supercollider yesterday. However, since this was only a test of the proton stream and not an actual experiment where protons collide into each other with enough force to potentially render reality asunder, it looks like we have a little while longer to breathe easy.

Not that I’m worried. In the event that headcrab zombies, miniature black holes, or strangelets make their way to this plane of existence, my family will be safe and secure in our Real-B-Sure Saf-T-Tent 2000. Made from 100% pre-shrunk cotton, it’s guaranteed not to lose it’s shape either in the dryer or while being crushed by the intense and inescapable pull of a world-devouring black hole. I feel safer already!

Not to mention that it comes with two convenient robot helpers.

In news completely unrelated to the upcoming apocalypse, Maxwell is coming along fine - apparently, he’s discovered the joys of gently placing his foot on his mommy’s bladder. My wife is overjoyed, of course - when she can get out of the bathroom. Twenty-four weeks down, honey!

The results for the 2008 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest have been posted. For those not in the know (and really, how could you not know? I’m ashamed to admit you read my blog. Probably not as much as you’re ashamed to admit you read it, though), the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is a yearly event where writers are asked to come up with the worst first line possible to a story that will never be written.

This is in honor of Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, who’s 1830 novel Paul Clifford begins with this immortal line:

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents–except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

Yes, that’s where the “It was a dark and stormy night” writer’s gag originated from, for those of you who were aware that at one point, Peanuts was not only funny, but clever and subversive. But I digress.

The BLFC chose their winner for this year, a rather ribald number that goes something like this:

“Theirs was a New York love, a checkered taxi ride burning rubber, and like the city their passion was open 24/7, steam rising from their bodies like slick streets exhaling warm, moist, white breath through manhole covers stamped ‘Forged by DeLaney Bros., Piscataway, N.J.’”

My favorite, however, is the runner up:

“Hmm . . .” thought Abigail as she gazed languidly from the veranda past the bright white patio to the cerulean sea beyond, where dolphins played and seagulls sang, where splashing surf sounded like the tintinnabulation of a thousand tiny bells, where great gray whales bellowed and the sunlight sparkled off the myriad of sequins on the flyfish’s bow ties, “time to get my meds checked.”

In the spirit of this year’s BLFC, I’ve decided to slap one together myself - hope you like it.

The light poured through the slats in the blinds, filtered through the dust and grime of the windows, pouring into the small office like a fine Port wine left out opened for three weeks: moldy, grey, and with a hint of cedar, cinnamon, and applesauce; “Just the way I like my day-care centers,” he thought to himself.

There is no doubt about it - my wife has Olympic Fever. (Symptoms of Olympic Fever include watching sports until 2am and occasional screaming at the television). Apparently she’s always been this way, obsessively watching riveting events like Air Pistol and weightlifting. In a previous life she was a personal trainer, so I can understand her enthusiasm for people performing at the peak of human physical condition. However, until our main television gets fixed, my personal television viewing options are, well…limited.

I’m actually not really complaining here - without her, I would have missed that insane swimming relay Sunday night, and that was sports drama at it’s finest. But I’ve never been huge on the Games myself, which I suppose would have been my loss this year. At least my wife can obsess over something relatively healthy.

Unlike some people.

The scene in question is from Tropic Thunder, which as anyone who has known me for oh, thirty seconds can tell you, looks to be right up my alley. It’s an absurd look at Hollywood. Absurdist comedy, which has been brought back to America via the full power of Will Ferrell’s marketability as a genuinely insane person, roots itself in pushing boundaries, taking risks, and occasionally making audiences uncomfortable. Don’t believe me? Let’s go with an example from the Man of the Hour, Mr. Stiller. For those of you who saw Meet The Parents, how many of you can honestly say you watched that entire movie and didn’t feel uncomfortable at least once? I spent half that movie alternately laughing and wanting to crawl under my chair.

This movie looks to be no different - in addition to Stiller playing an actor who once starred in a movie called Simple Jack (which formerly had a parody movie website before being pulled by Dreamworks a couple days ago), Robert Downey Jr. (no relation to Morton) plays an actor who, in order to properly play a role, dyes his skin black and acts like a black man ALL THE TIME. Anyone who can look at the roles in this movie and think that anyone watching will either take these people seriously, or find them to be in any way, shape, or form sympathetic must be delusional. Or, they don’t have much faith in people being able to separate reality from fantasy.

It’s idiocy at it’s finest. The people raising this fuss, who number among them the director of the Special Olympics and several disabled rights groups, are not only calling for a boycott - they’ve put together a list of demands. Now who’s being retarded?

I’m not denying there’s a very real plight involving those who have developmental challenges. As a soon to be father, I am delving into a great unknown with my as-yet-unborn boy. My only hopes for him are for his health - but if my child should encounter issues such developmental issues, I genuinely hope I will be able to handle it with the strength and the grace of parents around the world who help their children every day.

But God forbid I should lose my sense of humor as a result.

As previously Twittered, we’re having a boy. The name is decided upon: Maxwell Damon, because our child will be kick-ass, and as such, requires a name to equal his supreme awesomeness. In this, I believe we have succeeded.

Little Max was ready for his sonogram close-up yesterday, shakin’ it (but not quite breakin’ it) for his mother, his aunt, his cousin Jack, and myself, which leads us to believe that not only will he lead the simian revolution when he comes of age, he will also succeed Michael Flatley as Lord of the Dance and lead us into a new era of disco-pop dance fever. However, he will not wear polyester while doing so. Sorry, man-made fabrics manufacturers.

We’ve got some pictures (incuding one with a mouse pointer directing attention to his maleness, which I’m sure is something involved in about 75% of my nightmares), but I currently have no way to scan them since my fabulous all-in-one printer/scanner/copier/stapler/geiger counter/defibrillator/coffee maker thought it would be a fantastic idea to clog an ink port, thus completely disabling every other device on it, including ones not related to printing. HP, you truly are one of the world’s great evils.

Thought I’d keep things a bit simpler this time, so instead of creating a design from scratch, I just decided to modify something that already exists. Of course, I can’t just tweak one or two little things - so right now the only things that remain are the font and link styles - and those won’t be around for much longer either.

Still, it’s nice to bring this site somewhat back to it’s roots; for those not around for the first few years of this website’s life, Robby here was our original mascot and occasional guest blogger. If you’re interested, you could read up on Robby’s ridiculous escapades. Or, not. But that’s up to you, my friends.

I figure that if I’m getting back into this blogging thing, I should probably spruce up the place. I’ve had the same theme for several years, dating back to when I used to update regularly.

Yes, that long.

So, for now you will suffer with this drabness until I get the new look complete. yes, I have one in the works. Yes, there will still be a simian of some sort involved. No, I don’t quite know what the rest will be. Yet.

But you have to admit, the new theme involves a certain amount of effort on my part. You’d think I might actually be serious this time…