M. Giant's
Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks


Friday, April 30, 2004  

Reader Mail Slot, Episode XXIV

I give up on trying to guess what's going to draw the most e-mail in a given month. I know I've given up on this before, but I give up more than ever now. Yesterday I posted a video link of a poor, innocent kitty getting its head snipped clean off and not a word from you people. Y'all are a mystery.

Most of the e-mail I got this month were from people submitting jokes to the joke show, all of which I appreciate, even the ones the boss didn't end up using. But I did get a few notes on other subjects. Poo, for instance. From Stacy:

Admittedly, I'm not in Minnesota, and haven't seen your actual lawn. And most of what we grow isn't grass. But if the texture of the back yard is really similar to "the flight deck of an aircraft carrier", maybe some amendments could help. Compost would be best, but my personal tip is Steer Manure. You can a bag from Home Depot [or the big box of your choice] for 94 cents in my area, and all you need to do is mix it in to the soil before seeding, or sprinkle it on top, after the seedlings break out. It's not fresh manure, but a composted mixture, so it's not gross. It adds a lot of organic matter to lousy soil. Personally, I go through at least a dozen bags a month at my house, and everything is flourishing. Starting from where you are, I might go even heavier than that.

If you ever see me paying money for a bag of crap, it will be the definitive sign that my lawn has become too important to me.

Sarah has an alternate solution:

Dude, one word: Astroturf. It was good enough for the Bradys. Green for the summer, brown for the winter, no mowing/watering/seeding ever again.

Sarah may have something there. Right now, twenty-six days after I seeded, thick patches of bright gren grass are cropping up, with large bare patches spreading out between them. Maybe I can fill in those areas by using a combination of Stacy's and Sarahs' suggestions, i.e., lay down strips of Astroturf that I've wipd with. It's worth a shot.

After I got my ears rinsed out and my hearing fully restored to its previous Technicolor splendor, I got the obligatory "Hey, that happened to me too!" e-mail from Alan:

Here is the obligatory "Hey, that happened to me too!" e-mail.

Didn't I just say that?

I basically had the same experience as you at the physical. Didn't realize that I had been accumulating a whole lot of crap in my ear canals - didn't even realize that my hearing was diminished. When the doctor finished giving me the dual aural enema (that's a search phrase for sure), I was hearing whispered conversations at the nurses' station. The noise from people walking was pounding in my head. I got really disoriented by the echoing that was happening. I walked out into the parking lot to get to my car and heard music blaring from behind me. Except when I turned around, the music was playing in some guy's garage a block away.

I'd like to say that was the end of the problems, but I since I was going to spend the weekend at my girlfriend's, I got to drive from Central NJ to Washington, DC immediately afterwards. In the less-than-quiet Suzuki Samurai canvas-top convertible. In the rain.

One last thing - "they" told me that using Q-tips actually pushes stuff further INTO the ear and not to use them.


Thanks Alan. I'd just like to ask:

WHAT? WHAT ABOUT Q-TIPS? AND WHY'D YOU PUSH GOETHE INTO YOUR REAR??

Seriously, my hearing restoration wasn’t anywhere near as dramatic. That sounds like a superhero origin story, practically. Be sure to read next month's issue of…The Ear!

Today's best search phrase: "The phlebotomist cartoon of the future." Man, whoever eventually comes up with that will never want for saucy young admirers who are phlebotomists.

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Wednesday, April 28, 2004  

Humpblog (4/28/04)

Trash got a call today while in a meeting with a client:

...Ring...

Trash: Hello?

Me: I just wanted to tell you that I'm sitting in my office with the windows open and they've fired up the grill in back and I can smell the hamburgers that I'll be eating soon.

Trash: I'm going to let you go now.

Me: You have someone in your office, don't you? [I can always tell.]

Trash: Yes.

Me: Is it hamburger smell?

Trash: Goodbye.

Trash's office is on the fourth floor and her windows don't open. Good thing, too.

* * *

Our friend Chao has sent us not one but two rather upsetting video links.


Here's one.
It's not funny. It's really not funny at all.

(Update: And now it's not even there, which makes it even less funny. I don't know what to tell you. Maybe it'll be back later.)

And here's the other.

It's dark and wrong, but you should be aware that it's CGI and didn’t actually happen. For more information, you'll want to look here. I certainly did.

The important thing, though, is that neither of them is funny. Even a little.

* * *

And then there's this, which you can laugh at and not feel quite so guilty about. I mean, it's still somebody else's pain, but at least in this case the victim has a sense of humor about it. This is probably a hoax too, but I don't care. I've only seen it from two sources (Deniece's mom and somebody on the 24 forums at Television Without Pity), so as far as I'm concerned, it's still new.

Today's best search phrase: "squirrels. ground. pictures. sik sik" Sik sik? Am I getting hits from Saturday morning cartoon characters now?

posted by M. Giant 4:53 PM 0 comments

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Monday, April 26, 2004  

¿Que the Hell Pasa?

Trash and I have really been enjoying Chipotle a lot lately. Me especially, because it's just about the only exposure I get to Spanish any more. That'll probably change when we go to California next month; just in time for me to forget every last word I knew, probably.

Unless I really crack down on my studies. Help me out here, won't you? As it says above, this is part four in a series. Links to the previous parts are below.

Parte Uno

Parte Dos

Parte Tres

Let's get to it. As you'll recall, our hero is a small boy named Pedro. We rejoin his saga in Scene 9 as Maria, the school secretary, greets him:

Maria: Pedro? Is that you?
Pedro: Certainly! It's me all right!

What you don't pick up from reading this is that Pedro now has the voice of a young man in his early twenties.

I find this off-putting. I thought the whole point was for us to learn Spanish the way small children learn it as their native language. What's going on here? I'm not going to be able to catch up to Pedro, who is now undoubtedly speaking Spanish at an adult level! Wait for me, Pedro! Por favor!

Pedro then mentions that Mr. Garcia is still his teacher. Um.

Excuse me?

Maria: Oh, yes. Many men and many women are studying with Mr. Garcia.

They are? What the hell has been going on here for the last fifteen years? Is this a school, or has it become Mr. Garcia's cult compound? And if Maria has been the secretary all this time, and Pedro has been a student all this time, and they don't recognize each other in the morning, what in God's name has Mr. Garcia been putting in the tamales?

We don't get answers to these questions. What we get is Maria's other boss, Mr. Lopez, asking her if she's busy. Does anybody ever answer that question in the negative when their boss asks that? Is anyone really that stupid? Besides me, I mean?

Maria reports that she's writing a letter for a Mr. Johnson. Mr. Lopez wants to know if she's typing it.

"Of course I'm typing it! I always type in the office!"

Now Mr. Lopez wants to know if she's writing it in English or Spanish.

"In Spanish. I'm writing the letter in Spanish. Mr. Johnson speaks Spanish. He speaks it very well." I don't know how the folks at Berlitz make her eye-roll audible, but they do.

But Maria, don't you see what's happening? Mr. Lopez isn't your true enemy, despite his micromanaging ways. It's Mr. Garcia, who wants to turn you all against each other to keep you weak! Resist him!

More on that in part five.

Today's best search phrase"They collect car number plates and hence are rightly called..." I guess we'll never know.

posted by M. Giant 6:39 PM 0 comments

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Friday, April 23, 2004  

Joke Show Overflow

So the Joke Show is over. It was last Saturday. You can listen to it here if you missed it.

Here's the thing about the Joke Show – I've read nine quintillion jokes the past couple of months. I have more jokes in my brain than neurons at this point. I can't keep them in. And of course, there's only time on the show to tell two hundred or so of them.

Now, I know how ridiculous it is to use a web journal to tell jokes. You don't come here so I can tell you jokes. You come here out of abject ignorance of all of the better stuff the Internet has to offer. But you're here, and I've got all these jokes, so you might as well get comfortable.

* * *

So Jesus walks into the Holiday Inn and lays three nails on the counter. He says, "Can you put me up for the night?"

* * *

A man appears before St. Peter at the pearly gates. "Have you ever done anything of particular merit?" St. Peter asks.

"Well, I can think of one thing," the man offers. "On a trip to the Black Hills, out in South Dakota, I came upon a gang of high-testosterone bikers who were threatening a young woman. I directed them to leave her alone, but they wouldn't listen. So I approached the largest and most heavily tattooed biker. I smacked him on the head, kicked his bike over, ripped out his nose ring and threw it on the ground, and told him, 'Leave her alone now or you'll answer to me.'"

St. Peter is impressed. "When did this happen?"

"Just a couple of minutes ago."

* * *

Two nuns were driving through Transylvania when Dracula runs from the woods and jumps onto their car. The driving nun says to the passenger nun, "Quick, show him your cross!" The passenger leans out the window and screams, "Dracula, get your ass off this car now!!!"


I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day but I couldn't find any.


On the other hand, you have different fingers.


I am against animal testing. They get all sweaty and give the wrong answers.


I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.


Would a fly without wings be called a walk?


I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear loose-fitting clothing. If I had any loose-fitting clothing, I wouldn't have signed up in the first place.


Why were only 49 states represented in the "Miss Ebonics" competition?
Because no one wanted to wear the banner that said "Idaho"

What do you call a dog with metal testicles and no back legs?
Sparky.

Why does Mike Tyson cry during sex?
Mace will do that to you.

Why didn’t Hitler drink tequila?
Because it made him mean.

Dad: When Abraham Lincoln was you age, he walked miles to school, uphill, in the snow, every day.
Son: Yeah, Well, when Abraham Lincoln was your age he was President!

How many synonyms does it take to change a light bulb, to replace it, to reinstate it, to substitute for it, to exchange it, to swap it, to put another it its stead...

Ole and Lena lived on a lake in Northern Minnesota. It was near the end of winter and spring was just beginning. Ole asked Lena if she would walk across the frozen lake to the general store to pick him up some tobacco. She asked for some money, but he told her to put it on their tab. So she walked across, got the tobacco and walked back. Then she asked Ole why he didn't send her with any money. He said, "I vasn't goin' to send a dollar ven I vasn't sure how tick de ice vas."

* * *

Sven and Ole are fishin', and Sven asks Ole-"Vat's dat ting ya got dere?"
"It's a termos", says Ole.
"Vat's it Do?"
"Keeps hot tings hot and cold tings cold."
"Vat ya got in der, Olie?"
"2 cups a coffee and a popsicle for later".

* * *

A 97-year-old man goes into his doctor's office and says, "Doc, I want my sex drive lowered."
"Sir," says the doctor, "You're 97. Don't you think your sex drive is all in your head?"
"You're dammed right it is! That's why I want it lowered!"

* * *

At a nursing home a group of seniors were sitting around talking about all their ailments. "My arms have gotten so weak I can hardly lift this cup of coffee," said one. "Yes, I know," said another. "My cataracts are so bad I can't even see my coffee." "I couldn't even mark an X at election time, my hands are so crippled," volunteered a third. "What? Speak up! What? I can't hear you!" said a fourth. "I can't turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck," said a fifth, to which several nodded weakly in agreement. "My blood pressure pills make me so dizzy I can hardly walk!" exclaimed another. "I forget where I am, and where I'm going," said an elderly gent. "I guess that's the price we pay for getting old," winced an old man as he slowly shook his head. The others nodded in agreement. "Well, count your blessings," said one woman cheerfully. "Thank God we can all still drive."

* * *

A blonde pushes her BMW into a gas station. She tells the mechanic it died. After he works on it for a few minutes, it is idling smooth. She says, "What's the story?" He replies, "Just crap in the carburetor." She asks, "How often do I have to do that?"

* * *

There are more. A lot more. But I'll save some for another day when I'm too busy to write an actual entry.

Today's best search phrase: "Kids, beaten up, clothes, Beaten OR up, OR clothes 'Kid gets beaten'." There's not enough [sic] in the world.




posted by M. Giant 6:01 PM 0 comments

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Wednesday, April 21, 2004  

Humpblog (4/21/04)

Trash has been out of town for the first part of this week. Her mom is coming up tomorrow, so we’ve been trying to get the house ready for her visit.

Yesterday afternoon, it occurred to us that last night might be a good time to rip the ugly-ass carpet out of the living room and hallway. The blue area rug that used to be in our upstairs bedroom, but no longer matches the newly green walls, has been back from the cleaners and waiting to be redeployed for a while. Trash and I talked yesterday afternoon while I was at work, and we agreed that I’d go home, spend a couple of hours getting it all torn out, and watch 24.

Well, 24 came on and I still wasn’t done, so I took an hour-long break and went back to it.

We’d torn out carpet before, but that was in a small, square room that was still empty after being painted. This was a little trickier, due to the necessity of working around the furniture and the room’s irregular shape, especially with the hallway included. And I’d forgotten about the stuff under the carpet: the padding, the little wooden strips all around the edge of the room with tiny carpet tacks sticking up from them, the staples (let’s just say it’s a good thing I got my tetanus shot last week), and a metric ton of pulverized carpet backing. But I got it done before bedtime. Even though I had to push bedtime back in order to do it. In fact, I pushed it back most of the way to 4:10 a.m.

Not the most fun I ever had. That would be the experience of getting up and going to work three hours later.

* * *

Speaking, of 24, my first recap is up over at Television Without Pity. I must confess to being fairly pleased with how it turned out. But of course, you probably know that already because I’m linking to it.

* * *

The band I’m in has just finished a CD. Except I’m not on it.

Myrtle, the bandleader, had already begun work on recording it when I joined the band. Plus her producer is also a bass player, so he took care of those parts. Which is fine. They finished up initial recording back during the holidays, so I wouldn’t have been able to participate. Myrtle promises me I get to be on the next one, which will be cool. I’ve never played in a real recording studio before.

In any case, the tracks from the CD are available for you to listen to here and you can buy the CD itself. Go check it out.

* * *

Speaking of the band, I hope none of you are actually planning to come to that thing we’re playing at next week just to hear us. For one thing, it’s $35. For another thing, we’re only playing two songs. Seriously. And for another, I’ve had the wrong hotel listed up there the whole time.

You’re better off waiting and coming to the CD release party next month. I’ll have details on that up after next Tuesday. Complete with the right location and everything.

Today’s best search phrase: It’s not a search phrase today: it’s a referrring page. Namely, this one. Aw, yeah.

posted by M. Giant 7:47 PM 0 comments

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Monday, April 19, 2004  

Audioblog

We have a winner in the Audioblog vote. It's the entry I call "Low Rider" from August of 2002. It's edited for time. Thanks again to Josh for the idea.

Powered by audblogaudio post powered by audblog

Today's best seach phrase: "Cheap left-handed warlocks." Hey! I'm not a warlock!

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Saturday, April 17, 2004  

This Is Not My Beautiful Keychain.

Last fall, when Trash and I were in Iowa for the weekend, our niece Deniece was staying overnight at her grandmother’s house. Trash and I went out with her parents for an evening of drinking, carousing, and karaoke. After the bar we went and had a late, greasy dinner at an all-night truck stop just off the freeway.

This is an actual truck stop—or “travel center,” as some of them apparently prefer to be called now. In addition to the restaurant, it has an arcade, a gift store, expansive bathrooms, and many other amenities that I’ve never needed to make use of in my many years of not driving trucks. On the way out the front door, there are a couple of those “games of skill” where you put a quarter in the slot and a robotic arm flails around randomly for thirty seconds in a way that is meant to give one the vague impression that one is controlling it, as you try to get it to grab tiny little prizes that you don’t want.

So my brother-in-law dropped a couple of quarters in to try his luck. I should mention that he wasn’t driving that night, and judging from the way he “operated” that robotic arm, it’s a good thing. I don’t even remember what he was trying to get, but he wasn’t pleased that the robotic arm couldn’t seem to reach it. Nothing he tried could get his prize out of there, including giving it a mighty shake. Although that did loosen many other prizes, which he immediately scooped up.

I try not to piss off truckers. I try not to cut them off on the freeway, or hang out in their blind spots, or rob “game of skill” machines that they’ve probably poured fifty dollars into in the course of ten years on the Duluth-San Antonio route. But then, Brother-In-Law was, um, not driving, if you get my drift. We amassed a collection of hairy eyeballs that rivaled the collection of useless junk in Brother-In-Law’s arms, and scooted out of there. Like I want to find myself in a nighttime version of the movie Duel right now.

The only knickknack that we could possibly have found any use for was a key chain shaped like a one-inch-long flip-phone with a tiny analog clock where the keypad would normally be. It would have been good for Trash because she hates wearing watches. I say it “would have” been good if it had a live battery in it, which it didn’t. So we left it at Brother-In-Law and Sister-In-Law’s house when we got home.

Or so I thought, because I discovered it in my coat pocket when we got home.

The next trip, we brought it back. “Didn’t you guys want to keep this?” we said. Apparently not. We didn’t mean to bring it home with us again, but somehow we did.

Then we brought it back down at Christmastime, and hid it to make sure they didn’t spot it before we went home. We had all of the gift openings, Trash’s sister rolled her car off the road, and we drove her home so there wasn’t room in the car for all of our gifts. Trash’s brother brought some boxes of stuff up a couple of weeks later, including a box of presents we’d had to leave behind. It was all summery-outdoorsy stuff, so it went straight into the garage.

Two weekends ago, it was finally warm enough to go out into the garage and look through the box. There was any manner of stuff we’d forgotten people had given us. And the cellphone keychain. Khaaaan!

We brought it back to Iowa with us last weekend for Easter. We were barely in the house when Trash told BIL where we’d found it the previous week. She didn’t say we’d brought it back, but she didn’t have to. I don’t know why she alerted them. I will be a long time forgiving her for that.

So on Easter Sunday we went to Trash’s mom’s house for Easter dinner and an Easter egg hunt for Deniece and the daughter of Trash’s sister’s best friend, a child I’ll call Deotherniece. We were glad to be there for their first real egg hunt. Easter hasn’t been the same with the in-laws since Trash’s mom stopped having the egg hunt for her kids. Two years ago.

So the plan was for me and Trash to drive straight home to Minneapolis from my mother-in-law’s house in Lacona. It was around four o’clock, and we turned west, towards the descending sun. Trash, in the shotgun seat, lowered her sun visor—

And that damn cellphone keychain dropped smack into her lap.

“Son of a bitch!” I said. “How did he get into our car? It was locked all weekend.”

I was ready to turn around and bring it back, but Trash stopped me. And she was right. We’d lost this round. Thanks to her.

This is the end of the entry. But it’s not the end of the story.

Today’s best search phrase: “’Sherlock Holmes’” relaxation concentration concert.” Dude! When do tickets for that go on sale?

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Wednesday, April 14, 2004  

Humpblog (4/14/04)

I don't know if our radio show is appointment listening for you most weeks, but if there's a show I don't want you to miss, it's the one coming up on Saturday. It will contain the highest concentration of My Soul of any show to date. Please listen. Plee-hee-heease!

Long day, man. Long-ass day. The Joke Show is this weekend and it's crunch time at the old comedy factory. I've gone through so many jokes today that nothing will ever be funny again.

I was all excited about being in charge of the Joke Show. I have a freakish memory for the things. Everybody at the office warned be that it was a lot of work, but did I listen? No. How hard could it be? I figured. They're jokes. I'm working with jokes. There are people who have to work with raw sewage and animal entrails while I'm working with jokes. I've got a sweet deal.

On the other hand, some of the jokes we've gotten are indistinguishable from raw sewage or animal entrails (not yours, though. Yours were great. Seriously).

And they're still coming in. We still need them. So keep sending them. I can't guarantee that I haven't heard it before, or that my boss will think it's funny, or that I won't respond with a pissy e-mail that reads "har fucking har," but what have you got to lose?

* * *

And of course, this happens on a day that I start my second job. What's my second job, you ask? Or would, if you had the manners God gave a warthog?

I've joined the staff of Television Without Pity. I'm not just a fan, I'm an employee. I'm taking over recapping and forum moderating duties for 24.

And it's an exciting time for this to happen, because last night's episode got preempted by the president and pushed back to Sunday. And then the following episode will be shown as scheduled the following Tuesday. So my first week of recapping will contain two episodes. Stupid president.

I'm up for it, though. I'm excited (more excited than I was about the Joke Show, even). I have a few days to learn the forums before my first episode airs. Then I'll bang out my maiden pair of recaps and after that, the rest of the season will feel like coasting.

But still. Stupid president.

* * *

Thanks for those of you who have sent in votes for which entry I should read for the Audioblog. The response has been gratifying. However, poor planning on my part has screwed me once again, and I want to be sure y'all don't get
screwed by extension.

As it turns out, it wasn't entirely wise to ask for votes on your favorite entries when I have several hundred of the suckers. Now I'm looking at a multi-way tie for first, with each of the nominees garnering one vote each. Mind you, in the event of a final tie, my wife will cast the winning vote. But that may not be necessary if I get more votes, see? Your vote could be the vote that pushes one lucky entry over the top, with twice as many votes as the others. You have the power. Don't blow it. Choose or lose, as they say on the MTV.


Today's best search phrase: Oh, fuck it. I'm too tired.

posted by M. Giant 7:39 PM 0 comments

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Monday, April 12, 2004  

Hear, Hear

About six years ago, I woke up with my right ear feeling like I’d descended to crush depth in a submarine and then opened the hatch. Okay, it wasn’t anywhere near that painful, but that’s about how well I could hear through it. Several Valsalva maneuvers and a box of Q-Tips™ later, my ear still felt a) popped, b) full of water, and c) non-functional, so Trash drove me to the hospital to get it looked at. After a four-hour wait, I finally got to see a guy who squirted warm water into my ear until a ball of wax the size of a toddler’s fist got flushed out and my hearing instantly returned to normal. I resolved to be more diligent with the Q-Tips™ after that.

But apparently that’s only good up to a point, especially if one has allergies, as I learned this morning.

When I went in today for a physical, the nurse shone the little scope into my ear and saw that my ear canal was about as clear as Marlon Brando’s aorta. She told me as much.

"WHAT?!" I responded.

On the one hand, I was disappointed to learn that all my swabbing had had limited effect. On the other hand, I was relieved to realize that the two-liter syringe she brought in a few minutes later wasn’t going to be attached to a needle and jammed into my ass.

No, instead, it was going to be filled with hot water that would then be firehosed into my ear canals.

The right ear came first, and the nurse, after firing the third or fourth tsunami into my head, asked me if I was all right. Which is odd, because I thought I’d been concealing my dizziness pretty well. I figured, if someone’s going to be pressure-washing my eardrum, obviously that’s going to have some temporary effect on my inner ear, the seat of balance and equilibrium. So I said to the nurse, “Some dizziness is normal, right?”

“Um, no,” she answered, and went to work on my left ear.

I didn’t see what got fished out of there today, but I didn’t think it could be anything drastic. I never had an “unmute” moment like I had six years ago. But after the nurse and I had dried off my ear, the side of my head, my neck, and the far wall, I realized—somebody had cranked up the world’s treble to eleven.

It was weird. I could hear higher-frequency sounds louder and more clearly than I had before. I put my shirt back on, and to my new ears it rustled as if it were made if stiff tissue paper. The nurse said I might have to ask people to talk more softly around me for a while.

“Shhh,” I said.

It was the aural equivalent of putting on a new pair of glasses for the first time. I met up with Trash in the lobby and told her about it. She asked if she was going to have to repeat herself less now. I couldn’t resist.

“What was that?” I asked.

So it’s nice to have my ears working properly, even though I didn’t know they weren’t before. It’s not like it would come up or anything. It’s not like I’m an amateur MUSICIAN whose day job is in RADIO, right?

Jeez.

I’m going back in another six years to have them do this again.

By the way, yes I have heard about ear candling. No, thank you. I don’t think my earwax would make a very pleasant-smelling candle anyway.

Today’s best search phrase:The Sopranos character that had its body parts buried in a bowling ball bag.” I had this search about ten times today. Was there some kind of massacre at a bowling ball bag factory?

posted by M. Giant 5:52 PM 0 comments

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Friday, April 09, 2004  

My Grass Is Ass, Year Three

Okay, what the hell gives? Isn’t grass supposed to be a perennial? So far all it is is a perennial disappointment.

I know what I did wrong the first year I tried reseeding the back yard. I waited until too late in the season, and then I quit watering too soon. Those first “teaser” seedlings popped up, and I declared victory rather prematurely. Just in time for my fragile little babies to get roasted in late June. Fine. Learning experience.

Last year, I seeded much earlier. I watered longer. Most of the grass died again by the end of the summer, but I figured there was still enough left alive that I wouldn’t have to start all over again from zero this spring. I thought there’d be something growing back there this spring. But all that’s there is a desiccated brown thatch that isn’t even attached to the ground.

So I seeded last weekend. It was sunny and the temperature was in the sixties. I raked the new seeds (specially formulated for shady areas) into the ground, which, given the quality of the soil, was not unlike raking them into the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. And now I water twice a day, until I die or the grass does.

(Yeah, right. If my life expectancy was equal to that of the grass that gets planted in my back yard, do you think I’d spend it watering?)

I have to say, though, the motivation for keeping up with this project kind of takes a hit in the face of my record of failure. I’m not the lawn nazi I was two years ago. I skipped the watering on Wednesday evening, because according to the weather forecast it was raining that second. I skipped this morning because I was sleepy. And we’re skipping this weekend because we’ll be out of town. Whereas last year we drove home three hours twice a day just to make sure the ground didn’t dry out.

This time we’re letting things take their course more. And also counting on the seeds getting some moisture from the SNOWFALL that’s expected this weekend. Snowfall. This is the earliest I've seeded, and perhaps there’s such a thing as seeding too early. Or perhaps next January I’ll just drop an unopened bag of seeds down the snowblower discharge chute and hope for the best.

On the plus side, the front yard has come back better than ever. The only bald patches left are the ones right near the curb, where the snowplows deposit a metric shitload of road salt every winter. But I found just the thing for it: salty grass seed. According to the box, it’s grass that flourishes in salty soil, particularly curbside soil. This is Minnesota; why didn’t anyone think of this before? I think it’s a great idea. I even bought an extra box of the stuff for us to sprinkle on our fries.

As for the back yard, I’m not ready to give up just yet. You’ll know when I am, because that’ll be the day I agree to Trash’s proposed plan to have the entire area paved.

At least then grass will grow through the cracks in the concrete.

Today’s best search phrase: “Planning a vacation to Pluto.” Hey, sounds like fun! See if you can find out how they get grass to grow there, would you?

posted by M. Giant 4:37 PM 0 comments

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Wednesday, April 07, 2004  

Humpblog (4/07/04)

Last October, I went to the post office near my work. The guy behind the counter was wearing a Three Stooges tie.

I mailed something else in February. He was again wearing the Three Stooges tie.

I thought to myself, rather snottily, I'm here twice in five months and he's wearing the same tie both times? Is that the only tie he owns?

I've been in there several times in the past month, mailing off books that we've sold on eBay and Amazon. And now I can say with a fair degree of certainty that yes, he does own only the one tie.

Although sometimes, for variety, he twists it around so the back of it is showing.

* * *

Trash used to know somebody who worked at a Volkswagen dealership. All the time they would get calls from people saying, "I'm responding to the ad."

"What ad?"

"Drivers wanted."

True story.

* * *

Throughout history, science has made any number of discoveries that are entirely accidental. I can't imagine that this could be one of them.

Drinking pig worm eggs to prevent a bowel disease that I might never get anyway? Thanks, but I'd rather get sick.

* * *

Remember that Boston Market BBQ Chicken Sandwich I told you about a few months ago? I do too. Sadly, all I can do is remember it. It's not on their menu any more.

I went in there a couple of weeks ago to pick one up and their menu is completely changed. I asked about it and the lady behind the counter said blithely, "We're not doing chicken breasts any more." Just like that. She might as well have ripped my heart out of my chest and showed it to me.

The least she could have done was wrap it in paper so I could say goodbye.

* * *

Today's best search phrase: "Surgery involves snipping the thin tissue under the tongue to make it longer and supposedly nimble." AHHHHH! AHHHHHHHGH! OW!

Besides, can you imagine what happens when the pig worm eggs get in there?

posted by M. Giant 3:15 PM 0 comments

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Monday, April 05, 2004  

¿Que the Hell Pasa? (Part Tres)

Trash and I were having lunch at Chipotle the other day, and a few of the employees were carrying on a conversation in Spanish. After we got to our table, Trash asked me, “What were they saying?”

“They were saying you’re pretty,” I told her.

“No they weren’t,” she said.

“They might have been. 'Cause, you know, you are.”

If there’s anything sadder than the worst Spanish speaker in the world, it’s the worst Spanish speaker in the world getting rusty. I sort of abandoned my studies when I started working on my Project Greenlight screenplay (which didn’t make the first cut, thanks for asking), and never went back. But that’s no reason why you should suffer.

By the way, parts uno and dos of this series are here and here, respectively.

Scene 7. We open in a classroom that, oddly enough, appears to contain something resembling a class. Several teenage students greet each other, until Pedro warns them the Mr. Garcia approaches. He doesn’t say whether Mr. Garcia is armed.

By the way, what’s Pedro doing in a class with a bunch of teenagers? Is he in some sort of accelerated genius program? If so, that’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.

Mr. Garcia enters, sounding like he’s nursing one mother hangover (which would explain the dark glasses he’s wearing in the book’s illustrations), and orders everyone to sit. He asks Pedro to count the students, presumably because he’s seeing twice as many as there actually are. Pedro completes this task successfully, but Mr. Garcia asks Carlos to give it a whirl as well. Sure, the teenager’s going to be able to pull it off. He listened to the six-year-old do it.

But before the proceedings can continue, they are interrupted by a much more interesting conversation from out in the hallway. Two young women are holding a spirited debate:

“Don Miguel is Spanish.”

“No, Don Miguel is not Spanish, Don Miguel is Italian.”

“But Don Miguel is Spanish.”

“Not at all! Don Miguel is Italian.”

On and on ad nauseam. Realizing that this is vastly more fascinating than whatever is going on in his classroom, Mr. Garcia asks Pedro to close the door. After a slow, steady walk that would allow Pedro to cover the entire distance between Spain and Italy, Pedro reluctantly closes the door. The scene ends before we find out whether Mr. Garcia then asks Carlos to close the door as well, or simply passes out.

Scene 8. Maria, the tardy secretary from earlier scenes, takes a taxi to work. “Is this Central Avenue?” she asks her driver. The driver, speaking in the voice of the Big Bad Wolf for reasons that are not made clear, affirms that it is. She’s been coming to work on this street for how long and still doesn’t know where it is? No wonder she was late before. She was lost. While commuting.

Now we meet Maria’s other boss, Mr. Lopez the office manager. He’ll have more to do in future scenes. Right now all we need to know is that he works in the office with Maria, which is a little confusing because before, the office was also the classroom. Which may still be the case, I suppose. I don’t know. I still think this school is a little top-heavy, what with having five students and three faculty members. But maybe I’m just falling behind on the “cultural understanding” aspects of the course. Even so, I think I’m still ahead of Maria and Mr. Garcia. The jury’s still out on Pedro and Mr. Lopez, but I can tell you that I’ve peeked ahead and it doesn’t look good for them either.

Today’s best search phrase: “Letter about a funny incident on a boat trip.” Do I have to do everything? Look, if people are expecting a letter about a funny incident, just go on the damn boat trip. Jeez.

posted by M. Giant 6:41 PM 0 comments

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Friday, April 02, 2004  

April Fool

Yesterday morning I went up to Trash and I said, "Honey, I did something you won't believe."

"What?" she asked.

"April Fool!" I crowed.

It's the ideal April Fool joke. It requires no planning, and there's no risk of the victim getting pissed off at you. And it's non-specific, so it applies to every situation. Feel free to use it next year.

I remember last April Fool's Day, when I woke up without any idea of what to do for an April Fool's Day entry. I cobbled something together, but I was never really happy with it and I decided I wasn't going to get caught out like that again. So I decided to do something really cool for this year.

I thought about it for months, but the idea didn't really hit me until July. Everyone knows that a humor blogger's dream job is that of professional comedy writer, so why not pretend I'd accomplished that goal?

I started laying the groundwork right away, writing an entry that hinted at big changes in my future. I was deliberately vague because at that point, I was still planning the details. At first I was going to say that I'd gotten a job in TV or the movies and was moving to New York or L. A. But I quickly nixed that idea, because I didn't think I'd be able to pull off that level of deception. Fortunately, even in the post-MST3K era, comedy is being produced right here in the Twin Cities.

So I decided to make the outrageous claim that I'd been hired on at this locally-produced, internationally-broadcast radio show as a staff writer. Which turned out to be a pretty ridiculous move, as I learned shortly thereafter that the guy I've been referring to in these pages as "the boss" hasn't hired a staff writer, like, ever. I feared the whole house of cards would come down in a matter of weeks. But I'd committed myself, so I went ahead. I figured that if I had to drop the façade in September, then that's just how it goes. We'd all have a good laugh together, right? Except maybe for all those people who'd sent me those congratulatory e-mails. They might not take it so well.

After my "hire date," I stopped updating daily. My entries about work, never numerous, dropped off even more. And then I caught a break. My "boss" actually did hire a staff writer. So I had somebody I could pretend to be: this guy. I learned as much about him as I could, and more or less folded his identity into my existing online one.

I must admit, I got more and more nervous as JournalCon approached in late October. Fortunately, I kind of resemble that guy in real life, aside from being considerably taller. But I really wasn't sure if I would be able to fool a hundred-odd journalers into believing he and I are one and the same. Hence the plastic surgery. The scars healed just in time, and I got through the whole weekend without anybody suspecting a thing. By the end of the second day, I was answering to my fake name like it was my real one. I felt kind of guilty about deceiving so many people, especially as I made friends with them under my assumed identity, but they're good people and I think they'll forgive me. Right, y'all? See you in August!

After that, I kept dribbling out just enough work-related entries to maintain suspension of disbelief. I'm particularly proud of the travel-related ones (Is the Erie airport really tight? I was just guessing). I knew I was pulling it off when I got all these e-mails from people commiserating with me about the Cincinatti and Detroit airports, structures I've never seen in my life. I guess airport stress is universal, huh?

And then, after all that effort and planning, it turns out that this year's April Fool's Day falls on a Thursday. I don't update on Thursdays any more. My "new job" schedule doesn't permit it.

How could I be so stupid? I must have forgotten to take the leap day into account or something.

Yesterday I decided I'd try to keep up the pretense for another year and reveal the truth on April 1, 2005 (which is a Friday; I double-checked). But it's just too exhausting to keep this up. You win. The joke's on me, okay? April Fool.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a call center to watch over.

Today's best search phrase: "NKOTB picture of Donnie getting his feet tickled." Because the pictures of him getting his feet tickled on Boomtown just aren't cutting it anymore.

PS: You know I was just messing with you up there, right?

posted by M. Giant 4:26 PM 0 comments

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