The Rent Keeps Going Up Though

Money really can’t buy you happiness, but it can rent you forgetfulness for a time.

I’d Be Pretty “Sithed” Off Myself

Since I’m still sore and in the recovery phase, yesterday (among other things, of course) I ended up rewatching the final lightsaber battle between Anakin Skywalker (pre-Darth Vader phase) and Obi-Wan Kenobi, and found myself thinking just how unnecessary so much of what I saw was.  My major objection though, can be summed up in the following fictional letter written by Darth Vader, but never delivered since Obi-Wan changed his name to Ben and claimed to be an entirely different Kenobi when the post office tried to deliver it:

My dear former master,

Thank you for warning me against my ill-advised attempt in leaping at you when you clearly had the superior defensive position.  It was most kind even if you did slice off an unnecessary number of appendages when stopping me. (How exactly did you do that anyway?)  I just wanted you to know that I understand perfectly why you didn’t come down and drag me away from the lava; it was already burning me alive, and if you had taken hold of me you likely would have ended up sharing my fate.  Why to safely pull me away from the lava so I didn’t start immolating, you would have had to have had telekinesis or something.

Oh, wait.

I guess you just forgot.

Looking forward to splitting a beer (or something) with you upon our next meeting.

Ani

Particularly When You Have To Type Through It

There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathise with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life’s sores the better.

– Oscar Wilde

(It’s been a while, I know, and technically I didn’t push myself too hard this time.  Yesterday I recognized that lately I’d been carrying too much muscle tension, particularly in my hands and wrists, so I took some serious steps to relieve said tension.  This is a good thing, even if it does mean that today I’m about as sore as I’ve ever been.)

If You Can’t Take The Heat, Don’t Set A Fire In The Kitchen

Son, as you grow you’re going to find that a lot of people have a lot of ideas about this, that, and the other when it comes to what is and is not a “normal” pace for your development and growth.  In practical terms, this means the odds are that at any given time you’re going to be ahead on somebody’s curve, while being behind on somebody else’s.

I wouldn’t sweat this too much.

With that said, there are some practical guidelines regarding development.  For instance, if you are old enough to tell me that you set the toaster on fire because you put a paper towel in it, you are old enough to anticipate the consequences of placing a paper towel in the toaster.

And I don’t just mean the fire.

(This post was inspired by a recently heard “nightmare babysitting story” from a friend.)

This Also Applies To What You See From Hollywood And The Political Arena

This is an admitted oversimplification, but today in one sentence I going to explain 90% of what you see on the Internet:

It’s there because it involves money, and/or because somebody gets off on it.

It May Not Be “Art,” But It’s Still An Art To Me

Son, there’s a really bad knock-knock joke out there that goes something like this:

‘Joker’:  “Knock knock.”

Victim:  “Who’s there?”

‘Joker’:  “Interrupting cow.”

Victim:  “Interrupting co . . .”

‘Joker’:  “MOO!”

Pretty bad, right?  The type of joke that just sort of makes you ashamed for some people’s ideas about comedy.

Still . . . waste not, want not, you know.

I just wanted you to know that recently I had great success (with your help) in telling a variation on this joke to your mother:

Me (with you in my arms):  “Knock knock” 

The Victim (i.e., your mother):  “Who’s there?”

Me:  “Interrupting Bu.”

The Victim (sighing):  “Interrupting B . . .”

Me (thrusting you toward her, prompting you to laugh):  “I’m cute!”

The Victim (rolling her eyes):  “Oh, that was ba . .”

Me (thrusting you toward her again, making you laugh even more):  “I’m cute!”

The Victim (starting to laugh):  “Okay!  I get it, I get . . .”

Me (repeating the same motion yet again, getting even more laughter):  “I’m cute!”

The Victim (cooing):  “Oh give him here!  I know what you’re doing and I don’t care!  I simply must play with him now!”

And while she played with you, I went and got a much needed snack.

I’m not sure, but I think we just ran our first con together, kiddo.

Because Making The Second “One Small Step” Is Greater Than Any Dance Step

Recently I read an online article regarding Buzz Aldrin’s personal life, and I would like to clarify something for the person who wrote it:

Buzz Aldrin did indeed appear on Dancing With The Stars, but there was no need to make that part of your description of him in your headline and your introductory paragraph.  Trust me when I say that Buzz Aldrin being the second human ever to walk on the moon is a way cooler lead in, and the fact he was on Dancing With The Stars is the tidbit that deserved to be tucked away halfway through the article.

Funny thing is . . . as I write this now, I see somebody else agrees with me, because I see your article has been re-written since I bookmarked it yesterday.

This makes me happy.

Yet Another Window Into My Dreams

It was a particularly sleep deprived night last night, but at least the few moments I got to dream pointed out something interesting to me:

As cool as you might think it would be to be the guy who suddenly realizes that tank the damsel in distress is standing next to is about to explode, giving one the opportunity to heroically hurl her around the corner and to the ground away from danger, until that tank explodes, to her you’re just some freak that’s knocked her to ground and is lying on top of her.  To make matters worse, the faster you are at getting her away from the impending disaster, the worse the awkward moment that follows.

That may have been the longest and most awkward fifteen seconds I’ve ever dreamt.

It was a cool explosion though.

This Was Funnier Back When The Economy Was Only Depressed Instead Of Suicidal

This was a few years back, but I thought of it again recently:

In a parking lot, I turned and noticed on a very nice car there was a custom license plate that said “Jah Bless.”  Now that should be pronounced “Yah” (as in Yahweh), and not like “Jaw,” but to use an excuse I’ve used before, looking at it that way wouldn’t have been funny.

I turned to the person I was with and said, “Those poor jobless people.  Their car is so expensive to maintain they’ve taken to advertising on their license plate.”

I was kidding.   She knew I was kidding, but she took the bait anyway.

“Jah bless,” she said (pronouncing it correctly), “is them calling down a blessing of universal benevolence on every human on the planet, inviting all to share in their good fortune.”

Feigning chastisement, I hung my head and said, “Oh.”  Then I grinned and added, “I hope they find a job soon then.”

It Be That Time O’ Year Again

Today not be the day to be mindin’ yer “P’s” and yer “Q’s”, today be the day to mind yer “Arrrrrs.”

International Talk Like A Pirate Day