So I was lounging around in bed this morning, trying to fight past the raging headache that threatened to leave me paralyzed from the brainstem down, while feebly struggling to free myself from the tangled mass of bed sheets that had turned into hateful ropes during the night, chaining me to the bed like some kind of drunken Prometheus waiting for his liver to be torn from his stomach and eaten.
And to make myself properly prepared for the day ahead, I turned on the news, to feed my mind with the important issues of the day, like the inmate who gouged out and ate his own eyeball, (it wasn’t the first time he’d done it either. I guess raw eyeballs are really delicious), the worsening economy and the attack of the Killer Mutant Peanut Butter that is currently devastating this great country of ours.
But the thing that really stuck out, the most vital topic of the morning news, was how schools are fazing out teaching cursive handwriting. I, for one, cannot tell you just how shocked I was to learn that they’re still bothering to teach people how to write at all! Don’t we have computers for that shit these days?
Of course the news anchor had to take the moral high ground that not teaching little kids cursive will lead to the downfall of Western Civilization, making us China and India’s bitch, (and in all honesty, he’s right. It’s not the recession/depression that’s going to bring America down; it’s the fact that kids don’t know how to draw a cursive “S”.)
What’s so special about writing in cursive? It doesn’t improve what people actually write, especially with the inane things most people write about these days anyway. Writing in cursive, for the majority of The Great Unwashed, is kind of like gift-wrapping dog shit. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
In fact, I’d go far as to say that writing in cursive is ridiculously overrated. The only thing you really need to know how to write in cursive is your name, (unless you’re one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of girls who, in elementary, middle and high school, have practiced writing my last name, excited for the day when we’d finally be joined in marital bliss*).
Take doctors for instance. They’re infamous for having handwriting worse than a Parkinson’s victim. Michael J. Fox has a super steady hand compared to those in the medical community. But that doesn’t make them worse doctors. You can’t judge a person based on whether he can write in cursive or not, and you can’t judge the fall of a society based on how many people connect their letters while writing their poorly-spelled letters to Penthouse.
Interviewer: Well Bob, Deacon is far more qualified for this job. He’s got way more experience and even wrote the handbook we’ve trained our other employees on. On the other hand, I love the way you do that loop thing with your capital “L”. So you’re hired!
Bob: Hooray for me!
If anything, we should worry less about whether people are writing in cursive or not, and focus more on spelling, grammar and syntax. Because to me, a well written and executed sentence counts for a lot more than if it’s in print or cursive.
What we need to do is attack this new “text speak.” Why isn’t our collective dander up about that nonsense? When I have kids, I won’t care if “ I’ll see you later” is written in print or cursive, as long as it’s not written “I C U L8R.” Now that’s some bullshit!
I personally quit using cursive around my freshman year of high school. It was lame and I wanted to develop a more distinctive and unique style of writing. So for the next three years I practiced writing in print in a new style until I came up with something that is entirely me and very identifiable. When somebody sees something I wrote, they know its origin, (on the other hand, I’m still proficient in cursive and use it when I’m hiding my hand writing. A true Evil Genius has multiple writing styles for every occasion.)
There’s one problem with my writing style: it’s slow. If I were to try to take notes like a normal person, I’d be screwed because I wouldn’t be able to keep up. Maybe that’s why in college, instead of taking notes, I just wrote jokes to myself during class. This would explain why I got kicked out.
But, like all good journalists, I developed my own shorthand. I’ve interviewed thousands of people and you can’t always tell them to stop or repeat themselves while you’re trying to write, (especially since most people can’t remember what they said no more than 30 seconds earlier. It’s true. Try having somebody repeat a point, word-for-word that they just told you, and they won’t be able to. Their minds are already somewhere else. God Bless ADD) it’s just not conducive to good interviews. So, you come up with shortcuts and tricks to make you go faster. And you know what? My shorthand doesn’t use cursive and yet I’m still able to write decent stories.
In the end; cursive or print: does it really even matter? In this day and age, isn’t there something more, I dunno…important to blame for the downfall of man?
*Sorry to disappoint you ladies, but it ain’t gonna happen. Can’t tame this Wild Stallion!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Let’s Get Caught up!
So, in the midst of getting back from Iraq, getting the hell out of the army, moving into a new apartment, growing a dirty hippy beard, burying an aunt, getting drunk on days that end in “y”, trying to keep off the 30 pounds I lost in Iraq and acquiring a girlfriend, I really haven’t had the time, nor the inclination, to write any Eighty-Four Glyde entries recently. Too many damn things on my plate and I’m far too lazy to be efficient.
Sorry. Let’s get updated on things.
Looking back, it seems that I haven’t written anything since the middle of December. That’s not strictly true though. The same frustrating thing seems to happen to me whenever I come back from Iraq: I lose a thumbdrive that had a bunch of pre-written (as we in the news writing business call “evergreen” stories because they’re not topical and can be used whenever) entries in it and it bums me out to no end. Truly, it frosts my buttons. It pains me to think of all of the laughs you (my loyal reader) will never get to enjoy because those entries are lost to time (or lost somewhere in my ridiculously dirty bedroom. It makes Theo Huxtable’s room look Spartan and clean.) Pity.
Tomorrow is the third birthday of Eighty-Four Glyde. That’s right, my stupid little blog is three years old. Amazing, no? Yet I still haven’t gotten paid or laid because of it. Such injustice! There won’t be much in the way of any kind of special birthiversary entry as in past years. I had hoped to get the 84 Glyde website up and running in time for tomorrow, but couldn’t get it done in time. My bad, gang. But keep your eyes out, because it’ll be coming soon and it’s going to kick so much ass that you’ll lose your sense of smell! (And I don’t even know what that means.) Of course birthiversary wishes are always appreciated.
***
Hey, get this: They voted a black guy for president while I was gone! Ain’t that a hoot!? I honestly had no idea America had it in itself. I figured all the WPs would be too scared of black people making rap the official music, ebonics the official language and chicken the official bird, to elect a HNIC. I’m almost proud of this crazy country. I still want my damn 40 acres and a mule though. Quit bullshitting and give me my reparations!
The inauguration was a few days ago, but there are plenty of stories out there of what happened on Tuesday. How historic it was, how iconic the images are, how nipple-freezing it was and how bangable Michelle Obama is. So I won’t go into the event too deeply here.
I live 20 or so miles away from downtown D.C., yet refused to leave my apartment. I’m not crazy, I knew there’d be (literally) billions of people on the mall, and that at least 15% would be ex-girlfriends that I didn’t want to run into. Instead, my girlfriend and I stayed in and toasted with some champagne when the awkward swearing in went down.
Of course, had I known that there wouldn’t be any kind of terrorist attack (I can’t help it, like all patriotic Americans I’ve been brainwashed and frightened by a government trying to convince me that Jihadists are trying their best, 24/7, to specifically kill me) I might have gone downtown to better appreciate the moment.
…Nah.
***
About a month ago I was voluntold (because that’s how the military works) to participate in a hoagie building contest for the opening of a WaWa’s in Shithole, N.J. (otherwise known as Any Town, N.J.). For those of you not familiar with WaWa’s, it’s a typically middle East Coast place where you can buy poorly made sandwiches, sub-par coffee and diabetes-inducing morning pastries. People in Pennsylvania and New Jersey go wild for WaWa’s. Scientists have yet to understand the phenomenon.
Anyway, as some kind of publicity stunt, for the store’s opening, they had ten soldiers, divided into two teams, form hoagie assembly lines to either make as many hoagies as we could in three minutes, or be the first team to make 20 hoagies. Or maybe both, nobody was quite sure what the rules were, or what we were trying to achieve. It didn’t matter because my suck ass team lost like the giant toolboxes we were. It was pathetic, but at least we got to keep the hoagies we made.
I didn’t eat a single one. They were gross.
***
As I wind up this rambling and non-linear entry, I’d like to close with something new. With each new year that greets Eighty-Four Glyde, I try to do something different, to keep the blog fresh and relevant. Last year I didn’t use the letter “e” in any of my entries. Two years ago I only typed with my toes. This year, at somebody’s request, I’m going to do less abstract, nonsensical blogs where I pretend to be fictitious James Bond villains, and more entries that have to do with the weird things that go on in my life. Because even though I try to live my life as a shut in, I still manage to go out amongst The Great Unwashed and have kooky misadventures.
So, in 2009, you’ll get to know more about your favorite blog writer: Joshua. Playboy, raconteur, debonair man-about –town, messiah, nose-picker, unparalleled lover, last son of Krypton, philanthropist and kitty-cat petter.
Happy 3rd Birthaversary Eighty-Four Glyde! Sorry for the gift card, I promise to have a real present next year.
Sorry. Let’s get updated on things.
Looking back, it seems that I haven’t written anything since the middle of December. That’s not strictly true though. The same frustrating thing seems to happen to me whenever I come back from Iraq: I lose a thumbdrive that had a bunch of pre-written (as we in the news writing business call “evergreen” stories because they’re not topical and can be used whenever) entries in it and it bums me out to no end. Truly, it frosts my buttons. It pains me to think of all of the laughs you (my loyal reader) will never get to enjoy because those entries are lost to time (or lost somewhere in my ridiculously dirty bedroom. It makes Theo Huxtable’s room look Spartan and clean.) Pity.
Tomorrow is the third birthday of Eighty-Four Glyde. That’s right, my stupid little blog is three years old. Amazing, no? Yet I still haven’t gotten paid or laid because of it. Such injustice! There won’t be much in the way of any kind of special birthiversary entry as in past years. I had hoped to get the 84 Glyde website up and running in time for tomorrow, but couldn’t get it done in time. My bad, gang. But keep your eyes out, because it’ll be coming soon and it’s going to kick so much ass that you’ll lose your sense of smell! (And I don’t even know what that means.) Of course birthiversary wishes are always appreciated.
***
Hey, get this: They voted a black guy for president while I was gone! Ain’t that a hoot!? I honestly had no idea America had it in itself. I figured all the WPs would be too scared of black people making rap the official music, ebonics the official language and chicken the official bird, to elect a HNIC. I’m almost proud of this crazy country. I still want my damn 40 acres and a mule though. Quit bullshitting and give me my reparations!
The inauguration was a few days ago, but there are plenty of stories out there of what happened on Tuesday. How historic it was, how iconic the images are, how nipple-freezing it was and how bangable Michelle Obama is. So I won’t go into the event too deeply here.
I live 20 or so miles away from downtown D.C., yet refused to leave my apartment. I’m not crazy, I knew there’d be (literally) billions of people on the mall, and that at least 15% would be ex-girlfriends that I didn’t want to run into. Instead, my girlfriend and I stayed in and toasted with some champagne when the awkward swearing in went down.
Of course, had I known that there wouldn’t be any kind of terrorist attack (I can’t help it, like all patriotic Americans I’ve been brainwashed and frightened by a government trying to convince me that Jihadists are trying their best, 24/7, to specifically kill me) I might have gone downtown to better appreciate the moment.
…Nah.
***
About a month ago I was voluntold (because that’s how the military works) to participate in a hoagie building contest for the opening of a WaWa’s in Shithole, N.J. (otherwise known as Any Town, N.J.). For those of you not familiar with WaWa’s, it’s a typically middle East Coast place where you can buy poorly made sandwiches, sub-par coffee and diabetes-inducing morning pastries. People in Pennsylvania and New Jersey go wild for WaWa’s. Scientists have yet to understand the phenomenon.
Anyway, as some kind of publicity stunt, for the store’s opening, they had ten soldiers, divided into two teams, form hoagie assembly lines to either make as many hoagies as we could in three minutes, or be the first team to make 20 hoagies. Or maybe both, nobody was quite sure what the rules were, or what we were trying to achieve. It didn’t matter because my suck ass team lost like the giant toolboxes we were. It was pathetic, but at least we got to keep the hoagies we made.
I didn’t eat a single one. They were gross.
***
As I wind up this rambling and non-linear entry, I’d like to close with something new. With each new year that greets Eighty-Four Glyde, I try to do something different, to keep the blog fresh and relevant. Last year I didn’t use the letter “e” in any of my entries. Two years ago I only typed with my toes. This year, at somebody’s request, I’m going to do less abstract, nonsensical blogs where I pretend to be fictitious James Bond villains, and more entries that have to do with the weird things that go on in my life. Because even though I try to live my life as a shut in, I still manage to go out amongst The Great Unwashed and have kooky misadventures.
So, in 2009, you’ll get to know more about your favorite blog writer: Joshua. Playboy, raconteur, debonair man-about –town, messiah, nose-picker, unparalleled lover, last son of Krypton, philanthropist and kitty-cat petter.
Happy 3rd Birthaversary Eighty-Four Glyde! Sorry for the gift card, I promise to have a real present next year.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Villainous Ne’re Do Wells
Due to contractual obligations with being a member of the upcoming presidential cabinet, Dr. Gooch will be unable to participate in any Eighty-Four Glyde entries for the next couple of months. In the meantime, I’ve asked my other Glyde contributor, Sir S.G. Thuggish Killington III, Esq. to help me with today’s entry.
With the recent release of the new James Bond movie: Quantum of Solace, we’ve decided to track down and interview some of the best, old Bond villains to see what they’re up to these days. So, without further ado, Here’s the esteemed Sir Killington and his interviews.
Killington: Salutations. We’re joined here today by a great member of the Bond Gallery of Rogues. He was the only villain to appear in more than one movie and was an excellent foil to 007.
Mr. Jaws, thank you for joining us today.
Jaws: Mmmphhirg.
Killington: I’m sorry, what? It’s hard to understand you.
Jaws: Shorry, itsh shometimes hard to talk wif deesh teef I’ve got.
Killington: Yes. Tell us about your teeth. They are quite a defining characteristic. Why did you choose them?
Jaws: Well, assh you know, I have titanium teef. I felt that deesh teef would be a great ashet to my career aash a goon. Before I had deesh, I was jusht a lowly thug on the totem poll. My only defining feachur wash that I wash really, really tall. Wif the new teef I wash able to update my resshume, wif shuch shkillsh assh: cable-bitter, bullet-chewer, flesh-ripper, and of coursh pershonal mirror for any criminal geniush in a hurry.
Killington: Fascinating. So tell us, Mr. Jaws, what have you been up to since your days as a badguy?
Jaws: Ironically enough, I’ve become a dental shpecialisht. I shpecializsh in dental work for children wif bad teef. I’ve alsho had quite a lucrative shide-job making grillsh for rappersh.
Killington: Thank you Mr. Jaws for that insightful look into your life.
Killington: Next I was able to sit down for a short time with the original Bond villain. The one by which all other Bond Second-Bananas were judged.
Oddjob, tell us what you have been up to these last 30 or 40 years.
Oddjob: (Annoyed grunt)
Killington: Really? And how has that been treating you?
Oddjob: (grunt)
Killington: And what lies in store in Oddjob’s future? What’s next for you?
Oddjob: (Very annoyed grunt)
Killington: It’s truly been an honor talking to you sir. Thank you.
Killington: Imagine my surprise when my next guest agreed to my interview. I’ve long been a fan of this particular Bond villain since I was but a wee Killington, and I was excited to be involved with this.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mayday!
So Mayday, as the first major female Bond villain, how did you feel blazing a trail for the evil bitches who followed you, such as that Russian temptress Xenia Onatop?
Mayday: Well, Killington, I thank you for the praise, but there were actually a few villainesses before me, such as Pussy Galore and Octopussy. These women gave me the inspiration to join up with the forces of evil.
Killington: True, true, but they all ended up as Bond’s lovers and eventually his allies.
Mayday: If you recall Killington, I too shared James’ bed.
Killington: …That’s right….I guess I had blocked that part out.
Mayday: It was a wonderful, and memorable, evening. Up till then I had just been the concubine of the evil genius industrialist Max Zorin. But after that night with James, I had changed from a six-foot-three, short-haired, androgynous, ebony villainess with jungle fever to a six-foot-three, short-haired, androgynous, ebony villainess with jungle fever who cared about the fate of the Silicon Valley.
Killington: Yikes. Okay. Well, what have you been up to since your supposed death at Bond’s hands?
Mayday: I’ve been keeping very busy! I’ve spread my wings and discovered the joys of being a professional call girl for Japanese businessmen in California.
Killington: Really?
Mayday: You’d be surprised how many Asian men have a fetish for tall, scary-looking black women with eyes that bug out.
Killington: Yes….Yes I would.
Those are all the interviews I have space for this time. I look forward to sharing some more of my interviews with Baron Samedi, Tee-Hee, Mr. Kidd and Mr. Wint and many more, when the next James Bond movie is released.
Sir Digby Chicken Caesar was unavailable for comment.
With the recent release of the new James Bond movie: Quantum of Solace, we’ve decided to track down and interview some of the best, old Bond villains to see what they’re up to these days. So, without further ado, Here’s the esteemed Sir Killington and his interviews.
Killington: Salutations. We’re joined here today by a great member of the Bond Gallery of Rogues. He was the only villain to appear in more than one movie and was an excellent foil to 007.
Mr. Jaws, thank you for joining us today.
Jaws: Mmmphhirg.
Killington: I’m sorry, what? It’s hard to understand you.
Jaws: Shorry, itsh shometimes hard to talk wif deesh teef I’ve got.
Killington: Yes. Tell us about your teeth. They are quite a defining characteristic. Why did you choose them?
Jaws: Well, assh you know, I have titanium teef. I felt that deesh teef would be a great ashet to my career aash a goon. Before I had deesh, I was jusht a lowly thug on the totem poll. My only defining feachur wash that I wash really, really tall. Wif the new teef I wash able to update my resshume, wif shuch shkillsh assh: cable-bitter, bullet-chewer, flesh-ripper, and of coursh pershonal mirror for any criminal geniush in a hurry.
Killington: Fascinating. So tell us, Mr. Jaws, what have you been up to since your days as a badguy?
Jaws: Ironically enough, I’ve become a dental shpecialisht. I shpecializsh in dental work for children wif bad teef. I’ve alsho had quite a lucrative shide-job making grillsh for rappersh.
Killington: Thank you Mr. Jaws for that insightful look into your life.
Killington: Next I was able to sit down for a short time with the original Bond villain. The one by which all other Bond Second-Bananas were judged.
Oddjob, tell us what you have been up to these last 30 or 40 years.
Oddjob: (Annoyed grunt)
Killington: Really? And how has that been treating you?
Oddjob: (grunt)
Killington: And what lies in store in Oddjob’s future? What’s next for you?
Oddjob: (Very annoyed grunt)
Killington: It’s truly been an honor talking to you sir. Thank you.
Killington: Imagine my surprise when my next guest agreed to my interview. I’ve long been a fan of this particular Bond villain since I was but a wee Killington, and I was excited to be involved with this.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mayday!
So Mayday, as the first major female Bond villain, how did you feel blazing a trail for the evil bitches who followed you, such as that Russian temptress Xenia Onatop?
Mayday: Well, Killington, I thank you for the praise, but there were actually a few villainesses before me, such as Pussy Galore and Octopussy. These women gave me the inspiration to join up with the forces of evil.
Killington: True, true, but they all ended up as Bond’s lovers and eventually his allies.
Mayday: If you recall Killington, I too shared James’ bed.
Killington: …That’s right….I guess I had blocked that part out.
Mayday: It was a wonderful, and memorable, evening. Up till then I had just been the concubine of the evil genius industrialist Max Zorin. But after that night with James, I had changed from a six-foot-three, short-haired, androgynous, ebony villainess with jungle fever to a six-foot-three, short-haired, androgynous, ebony villainess with jungle fever who cared about the fate of the Silicon Valley.
Killington: Yikes. Okay. Well, what have you been up to since your supposed death at Bond’s hands?
Mayday: I’ve been keeping very busy! I’ve spread my wings and discovered the joys of being a professional call girl for Japanese businessmen in California.
Killington: Really?
Mayday: You’d be surprised how many Asian men have a fetish for tall, scary-looking black women with eyes that bug out.
Killington: Yes….Yes I would.
Those are all the interviews I have space for this time. I look forward to sharing some more of my interviews with Baron Samedi, Tee-Hee, Mr. Kidd and Mr. Wint and many more, when the next James Bond movie is released.
Sir Digby Chicken Caesar was unavailable for comment.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
It's an Eighty-Four Glyde Thanksgiving!
It's that time of year. And just like the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special (originally created in 305 B.C.) will air every November until the fall of our great country, I've decided to create my own yearly tradition. So here's the Eighty-Four Glyde I wrote about Thanksgiving two years ago. It's the definitive blog about Thanksgiving and could never be duplicated, improved or changed. It's the ultimate story of Thanksgiving! So settle in with a nice pumpkin martini, and prepare to learn about...
The History of Thanksgiving(originally written 11/23/06)
Ahhh, the colors of the leaves on the trees, the smell of a plump and juicy (unless you're at my mom's house in which case it's a dried out and whizzled old) turkey, the sound of people shuffling through dead leaves, lost on their way back home because it gets dark unnaturally quickly, the taste of a fresh and deliciously prepared pumpkin pie, and the feel of something vaguely autumn-related on your fingertips; they all combine to spell out one thing: tryptophan. Just kidding, they spell out Thanksgiving, the American holiday dedicated to eating large quantities of food, watching football games and falling asleep at random points in the afternoon. Oh yeah, and giving thanks.
I would be remiss this holiday season if I didn't help those of you out there with any and all Thanksgiving questions. Because who hasn't wondered about the secret, mystery-shrouded origins of this ancient and beloved holiday? I know that I wonder. A lot. It consumes me. So, I figured that other people might also be interested in the past, and maybe settle a bar bet or two. Please sit back and enjoy as I present this short, but completely thorough and one hundred percent accurate history of Thanksgiving.
THE NEW WORLD, (i.e. America) 1645
After a long and devastating war between the Catholics and the Protestants, resulting in the deaths of millions and the invention of the microwave oven, the super up-tight Protestants gathered together on boats made from billions of pine needles woven together and began their journey to America where they could live in up-tight splendor. Not engaging in sexual relations, drinking, using soap or showing any parts of their bodies beneath the lower lip
When these pilgrims (Latin for geeked-out loser) arrived in America, they landed at Plymouth Rock, which immediately sunk their boats, removing all hope ever returning to the old country (Blatislava I think?) But the pilgrims didn't mind because they looked only to the future and because they were really stupid. What they didn't count on was landing during the biggest snowstorm to ever hit the east coast, (as featured in the movie The Day after tomorrow).
The first thing the pilgrims did was to sign a pact, while they were still on their boat (the SS Minnow) that no matter how bad it got in the new world, they would never eat each other. This important and history-making pact is known to us today as The Something-or-Other. I did a report about it in 8th grade.
As previously mentioned, the pilgrims were stupid, and didn't really know what it would take to survive in this new and exciting world. Whereas a normal person might bring tools to build houses and seeds to plant vegetables, these people only brought corkscrews and Playstations. This was quite a tragic move as electricity had not been invented yet. So basically, ye olde pilgrims were screwed.
Until they met Squanto. You see, Squanto was a hero amongst his tribe (the asquamotavotivains) which was located very close to the cesspool the pilgrims decided to set up in. He was the Indian version of Superman, he could do anything: fight bears with his legs tied behind his back, swim up waterfalls to spawn with the trout, fly across giant precipices and make love to five squaws simultaneously.
Squanto taught the pilgrims how to plant barley, hops, yeast, bananas and cannabis trees. He showed them the secrets to trapping and killing the wily and extremely cunning wild turkey, and he instructed them on the proper way to drink wine while acting pretentious and snooty.
The pilgrims were so thankful for the things Squanto showed them that they decided to have a really big party with food and fun for everybody. It was to be the first Thanksgiving. Sadly, the pilgrims got distracted and slaughtered Squanto's tribe instead, but at least their hearts were in the right place, right?
THE CIVIL WAR, 1865 MAYBE?
The nation was deep in a war between people who were for turning to communism and people who preferred a totalitarian oligarchy. Our 23rd president, Abraham "Deep Pockets" Lincoln needed something to unify the people of America. Luckily, Lincoln had a time machine and was able to go back to the planning of the first Thanksgiving. He thought it was a great idea, (though it lacked a little in the execution) and decided to bring it back with him. Thus Thanksgiving was born. He also placed it on the fourth Thursday of November. This might seem arbitrary, but it actually required a lot of calculations and phases of the moon and junk like that. Trust me, it was a lot of work.
YOUR HOUSE, TODAY (well, not today really, tomorrow would be more accurate)
This Thanksgiving you will most likely (unless you're a dirty, hippy vegetarian!) enjoy turkey, cranberry sauce, some sort of potatoes, gravy, some pies, booze and Go-bots. This is because of the sacrifice and hard work put forth by the pilgrims so long ago (and by the sacrifice and hard work put forth by the illegal aliens last week.) So be proud of your heritage and be sure to fill yourself to bursting this Thanksgiving. Do it for Squanto!
The History of Thanksgiving(originally written 11/23/06)
Ahhh, the colors of the leaves on the trees, the smell of a plump and juicy (unless you're at my mom's house in which case it's a dried out and whizzled old) turkey, the sound of people shuffling through dead leaves, lost on their way back home because it gets dark unnaturally quickly, the taste of a fresh and deliciously prepared pumpkin pie, and the feel of something vaguely autumn-related on your fingertips; they all combine to spell out one thing: tryptophan. Just kidding, they spell out Thanksgiving, the American holiday dedicated to eating large quantities of food, watching football games and falling asleep at random points in the afternoon. Oh yeah, and giving thanks.
I would be remiss this holiday season if I didn't help those of you out there with any and all Thanksgiving questions. Because who hasn't wondered about the secret, mystery-shrouded origins of this ancient and beloved holiday? I know that I wonder. A lot. It consumes me. So, I figured that other people might also be interested in the past, and maybe settle a bar bet or two. Please sit back and enjoy as I present this short, but completely thorough and one hundred percent accurate history of Thanksgiving.
THE NEW WORLD, (i.e. America) 1645
After a long and devastating war between the Catholics and the Protestants, resulting in the deaths of millions and the invention of the microwave oven, the super up-tight Protestants gathered together on boats made from billions of pine needles woven together and began their journey to America where they could live in up-tight splendor. Not engaging in sexual relations, drinking, using soap or showing any parts of their bodies beneath the lower lip
When these pilgrims (Latin for geeked-out loser) arrived in America, they landed at Plymouth Rock, which immediately sunk their boats, removing all hope ever returning to the old country (Blatislava I think?) But the pilgrims didn't mind because they looked only to the future and because they were really stupid. What they didn't count on was landing during the biggest snowstorm to ever hit the east coast, (as featured in the movie The Day after tomorrow).
The first thing the pilgrims did was to sign a pact, while they were still on their boat (the SS Minnow) that no matter how bad it got in the new world, they would never eat each other. This important and history-making pact is known to us today as The Something-or-Other. I did a report about it in 8th grade.
As previously mentioned, the pilgrims were stupid, and didn't really know what it would take to survive in this new and exciting world. Whereas a normal person might bring tools to build houses and seeds to plant vegetables, these people only brought corkscrews and Playstations. This was quite a tragic move as electricity had not been invented yet. So basically, ye olde pilgrims were screwed.
Until they met Squanto. You see, Squanto was a hero amongst his tribe (the asquamotavotivains) which was located very close to the cesspool the pilgrims decided to set up in. He was the Indian version of Superman, he could do anything: fight bears with his legs tied behind his back, swim up waterfalls to spawn with the trout, fly across giant precipices and make love to five squaws simultaneously.
Squanto taught the pilgrims how to plant barley, hops, yeast, bananas and cannabis trees. He showed them the secrets to trapping and killing the wily and extremely cunning wild turkey, and he instructed them on the proper way to drink wine while acting pretentious and snooty.
The pilgrims were so thankful for the things Squanto showed them that they decided to have a really big party with food and fun for everybody. It was to be the first Thanksgiving. Sadly, the pilgrims got distracted and slaughtered Squanto's tribe instead, but at least their hearts were in the right place, right?
THE CIVIL WAR, 1865 MAYBE?
The nation was deep in a war between people who were for turning to communism and people who preferred a totalitarian oligarchy. Our 23rd president, Abraham "Deep Pockets" Lincoln needed something to unify the people of America. Luckily, Lincoln had a time machine and was able to go back to the planning of the first Thanksgiving. He thought it was a great idea, (though it lacked a little in the execution) and decided to bring it back with him. Thus Thanksgiving was born. He also placed it on the fourth Thursday of November. This might seem arbitrary, but it actually required a lot of calculations and phases of the moon and junk like that. Trust me, it was a lot of work.
YOUR HOUSE, TODAY (well, not today really, tomorrow would be more accurate)
This Thanksgiving you will most likely (unless you're a dirty, hippy vegetarian!) enjoy turkey, cranberry sauce, some sort of potatoes, gravy, some pies, booze and Go-bots. This is because of the sacrifice and hard work put forth by the pilgrims so long ago (and by the sacrifice and hard work put forth by the illegal aliens last week.) So be proud of your heritage and be sure to fill yourself to bursting this Thanksgiving. Do it for Squanto!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Hey Jealousy!
It’s the sweetest word on ones lips.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Jealousy has always been my favorite emotion, (followed by the contentment one gets after a really good bowel movement). I see it as a mixture of anger and sadness, with just a dash of hate thrown in for good measure. Truly, a recipe for deliciousness that often delivers the satisfaction of a belly-full of drama.
I’ve been a pawn of jealousy, as my friends and some ex-girlfriends can account to. It’s not my fault. I just happen to suffer from a distinct need to care. After all, those who know me know that I’m Johnny McCare-a-lot, (put that on my tombstone!)
But in all honesty, jealousy is a wholesome, if not essential, emotion. Jealousy drives us, it is the catalyst (as much as an emotion can be a catalyst) of everyday life.
Don’t believe me?
Remember that one time? You know the one. It was the time you did something, but it wasn’t based on jealousy for you…it was vengeance. Or, if you don’t like that word, it was justice. Jealousy is healthy, isn’t it? You want the one you’re in a relationship with to be jealous, to some degree, n’est pas? After all, it’s a sign of power.
Jealousy is the driving force in American culture. It’s the foundation of how our wacky country works. The “American Dream”, going “from rags to riches”, “keeping up with the Jones’”, basic ambition, all are driven, in part, by jealousy. We see other people having good jobs and we want that for ourselves. It’s capitalism! If, as Gordon Gecko said, “Greed is good,” then surely jealousy is the bees’ knees as well.
Hell, just about all of Greek Mythology is based on jealousy. That’s why everybody was getting killed, dying or being tortured. Those gods were some green-eyed bitches!
Alright, let’s break it down between the two camps, within the confines of a functioning (or semi-functioning) relationship. Either you are the jealous one, or you are the one creating the jealousy. You’re bound to play at least one of these parts at least once. Let’s go with the latter first.
Jealouser: It’s all part of your plan, you sly devil. Think about it: this makes you the bad guy. Is that what you want? You are purposely creating strife in your relationship*. And why, for attention? Maybe it’s for the action. I can understand that. Relationships are, by nature, boring as shit (and I don’t have to be in one to know that). We, as normal, everyday, average people, feed on drama. It’s intrinsically more interesting than a safe, boring relationship. Whether it be real life, or fiction. Nobody wants to watch Ozzie and Harriet on tv anymore, we’re all fascinated by Heidi and Spencer.
I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve rarely been on that end of a relationship, (as far as I know). Why do people create jealousy? Is it even done on purpose? I’m curious to know others’ opinions on this.
Jealousee: Ahhhh. Now it’s your pain I understand. Let us join together. I plan on hosting a retreat next winter. We’ll get together, roast marshmallows, engage in trust exercises and sing campfire songs.
It’s always easy to be the victim, isn’t it? It’s so easy to take the attacks, the shit, the rebukes, of the person you’re with. Leaves you in the clear, blame-wise. There’s nothing cleaner than that. But it isn’t fun to be jealous, (unless that’s how you get your jollies). It becomes a slippery slope.
First you start of as a kid, being jealous of a sibling or playmate for having something that you don’t, perhaps a toy or a room with a western-facing window. Then, when you get older the jealousy spreads, you can’t control it. You start being jealous of what your friends are eating for lunch, their Hello Kitty! erasers, the fact that they have cars before you do so you end up having to walk to and from school everyday, regardless of the weather and nobody ever offers you a ride, (jerks!).
Then you become jealous when you enter a relationship. You’re jealous of your partner’s friends, be they same, or opposite sex. That’s just one step away from being an obsessive and controlling nutjob. Which is no fun for anybody.
Tell me, is it your partner’s fault for making you jealous, or your fault for having no trust?
Don’t ask me. I’ve played both parts. And I hate them. But I can’t help it, I’m a prisoner of my own character traits and values.
For me, my jealousy will keep me apart from people that were/are my friends, (unless they’ve got free pizza and beer, in which case I might be willing to compromise my values). My commitment to self-reliance and independence only adds to my earlier declaration of being a loner. I have strong feelings about people who betray** me.
I have a strong feelings about myself, for betraying people.
Oh, what a crazy world we live in.
*no matter how tenuous that relationship may seem
**what a great word, it reminds me of Darth Vader pulling a Dr. Phil while talking to Luke about his feelings in Return of the Jedi
Or maybe it’s just me.
Jealousy has always been my favorite emotion, (followed by the contentment one gets after a really good bowel movement). I see it as a mixture of anger and sadness, with just a dash of hate thrown in for good measure. Truly, a recipe for deliciousness that often delivers the satisfaction of a belly-full of drama.
I’ve been a pawn of jealousy, as my friends and some ex-girlfriends can account to. It’s not my fault. I just happen to suffer from a distinct need to care. After all, those who know me know that I’m Johnny McCare-a-lot, (put that on my tombstone!)
But in all honesty, jealousy is a wholesome, if not essential, emotion. Jealousy drives us, it is the catalyst (as much as an emotion can be a catalyst) of everyday life.
Don’t believe me?
Remember that one time? You know the one. It was the time you did something, but it wasn’t based on jealousy for you…it was vengeance. Or, if you don’t like that word, it was justice. Jealousy is healthy, isn’t it? You want the one you’re in a relationship with to be jealous, to some degree, n’est pas? After all, it’s a sign of power.
Jealousy is the driving force in American culture. It’s the foundation of how our wacky country works. The “American Dream”, going “from rags to riches”, “keeping up with the Jones’”, basic ambition, all are driven, in part, by jealousy. We see other people having good jobs and we want that for ourselves. It’s capitalism! If, as Gordon Gecko said, “Greed is good,” then surely jealousy is the bees’ knees as well.
Hell, just about all of Greek Mythology is based on jealousy. That’s why everybody was getting killed, dying or being tortured. Those gods were some green-eyed bitches!
Alright, let’s break it down between the two camps, within the confines of a functioning (or semi-functioning) relationship. Either you are the jealous one, or you are the one creating the jealousy. You’re bound to play at least one of these parts at least once. Let’s go with the latter first.
Jealouser: It’s all part of your plan, you sly devil. Think about it: this makes you the bad guy. Is that what you want? You are purposely creating strife in your relationship*. And why, for attention? Maybe it’s for the action. I can understand that. Relationships are, by nature, boring as shit (and I don’t have to be in one to know that). We, as normal, everyday, average people, feed on drama. It’s intrinsically more interesting than a safe, boring relationship. Whether it be real life, or fiction. Nobody wants to watch Ozzie and Harriet on tv anymore, we’re all fascinated by Heidi and Spencer.
I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve rarely been on that end of a relationship, (as far as I know). Why do people create jealousy? Is it even done on purpose? I’m curious to know others’ opinions on this.
Jealousee: Ahhhh. Now it’s your pain I understand. Let us join together. I plan on hosting a retreat next winter. We’ll get together, roast marshmallows, engage in trust exercises and sing campfire songs.
It’s always easy to be the victim, isn’t it? It’s so easy to take the attacks, the shit, the rebukes, of the person you’re with. Leaves you in the clear, blame-wise. There’s nothing cleaner than that. But it isn’t fun to be jealous, (unless that’s how you get your jollies). It becomes a slippery slope.
First you start of as a kid, being jealous of a sibling or playmate for having something that you don’t, perhaps a toy or a room with a western-facing window. Then, when you get older the jealousy spreads, you can’t control it. You start being jealous of what your friends are eating for lunch, their Hello Kitty! erasers, the fact that they have cars before you do so you end up having to walk to and from school everyday, regardless of the weather and nobody ever offers you a ride, (jerks!).
Then you become jealous when you enter a relationship. You’re jealous of your partner’s friends, be they same, or opposite sex. That’s just one step away from being an obsessive and controlling nutjob. Which is no fun for anybody.
Tell me, is it your partner’s fault for making you jealous, or your fault for having no trust?
Don’t ask me. I’ve played both parts. And I hate them. But I can’t help it, I’m a prisoner of my own character traits and values.
For me, my jealousy will keep me apart from people that were/are my friends, (unless they’ve got free pizza and beer, in which case I might be willing to compromise my values). My commitment to self-reliance and independence only adds to my earlier declaration of being a loner. I have strong feelings about people who betray** me.
I have a strong feelings about myself, for betraying people.
Oh, what a crazy world we live in.
*no matter how tenuous that relationship may seem
**what a great word, it reminds me of Darth Vader pulling a Dr. Phil while talking to Luke about his feelings in Return of the Jedi
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