Eternally alone, as always, but not lonely and not gloomy, strangely happy, in fact, hopeful and …
I always know beforehand if the day is going to be good or bad. In the morning, if I get the milk to cereal ratio right, I know it’s going to be a good day. Overall I’d say the good days outweigh the bad. I’m considerably happy.
I really ought to leave my comfort zone, that much is certain. But as I absolutely refuse to leave my computer chair, the only way I see that happening is if someone places a decapitated baby chimp on my lap.
What of my ambition, you ask?
I still have my ambition. It’s on the back burner, along with shaving, flossing and getting up before noon. Just kidding really. I have work, which forces me up early. I WORK, which proves — almost irrefutably — that I am an industrious, upstanding and virtuous citizen, even excused — on occasion — to indulge in lavish spending sprees and excessive weekend debaucheries. I WORK, it’s okay everyone. Five days a week, at a real job, that pays real money …
And everyone knows that I am a day dreamer there, at work. Say something to me and I “put it in the mental queue.” What you said will register, eventually. My mind will process it, after I process the thoughts at the front of my mental queue. In some cultures and societies, they call that being slow. I prefer the term deeply contemplative. I can’t help it! There is so much to think about, my queue is overflowing. There is just so much to think about!
Airplanes, for starters. Horses, bombs, trees, Elvis Presley, God, pens, the fundamental nature of reality, dinosaurs—I love to think about the dinosaurs. I’m a day dreamer! I record my thoughts on paper, even while working. I take notes on life. I observe things. Odd I never could bring myself to take notes in the classroom, yet I impulsively take notes outside the classroom. I take notes on life.
“It’s a writer thing,” I tell my co-workers, and they look at me queer. (Bluecollars! Cretins, all of them!)
“Chris, your problem is you don’t think,” a most venerable friend once told me, years ago, after discovering I had left a cigar burning on his kitchen countertop for hours.
That sort of struck me when he said that, in regard to something purely trivial, but it was clearly not a trivial remark, judging from the tone he used. I thought for a long time that was plausible, that I didn’t think as much as other people did. Contemplating that in the years since, meditating on it, ruminating, I had an epiphany one day.
“My problem isn’t that I don’t think, my problem is that I think too much!”
It explains why I can stare at a wall for hours and be perfectly content, absorbed in pure conscience. But if you asked me later what color the wall was, I’d be darned!
I’m mentally distracted, oblivious to my immediate physical surroundings, always elsewhere. When I’m here, I’m there and when I’m there, I’m back here. But I’m at least somewhere. I’m always somewhere.
Not slow, deeply contemplative.
Everyone acts like they’ve lived before, but I haven’t. It’s all new to me. That’s it! I’m not over the novelty of life yet. I need time to think and soak it all in. It’s all very interesting.
I have long suspected that Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups have gotten smaller. As a wee-lad, it took as much as three whole bites to finish a cup. Now one bite feels all too natural, and I really have to go out of my way to experience a Reese’s Cup in two bites. To be fair I got bigger and that might account for their getting smaller.
Still I’ve never been suspicious of other popular chocolate brands like Snickers or Hershey’s, only Reese’s. It’s really been a longstanding mystery. One I contemplate every time I finish a pack of peanut butter cups. Somehow I always feel there should be more in there.
Last night, I decided to investigate the matter of the mysteriously shrinking peanut butter cups. Like anyone with a degree in journalism would do, I Googled it. What I found was both horrifying and shocking. In a word … horri-shocking.
Turns out the nefarious Hershey Foods Corporation  has been duping consumers for years. The cup size has changed, yet we’re paying the same price.
The above image is of a Reese’s wrapper purchased in 2003. Note the old Reese’s tagline, “There’s No Wrong Way To Eat A Reese’s.” Also note, utilizing my advanced image manipulation skills, I’ve circled the net weight in ounces and grams.
The above image is of a Reese’s wrapper purchased more recently, featuring the new orange swirl design and the current tagline “Get Lost In A Reese’s.”
If you compare the net weight with the wrapper from 03, you’ll see that there’s a three gram difference. Less carbs, less fat and less protein. 20 calories less.
So now you know, the peanut butter cups are smaller. As if Mini Reese’s and Reese’s Pieces weren’t insulting enough. Soon the same wisecrack that came up with the “fun” size will have the idea of selling powdered Reese’s. But we’re Americans I say, not Chinamen. Sell us bigger things, diametrically proportionate to our waistlines.
In case I win a Pulitzer for this groundbreaking investigative piece, I’d like to cover all my ground here and attribute the images. I found the images via Google on the website of a candy enthusiast who, for whatever reason, has scanned in the wrappers of every candy he has eaten in the last ten years. He also has a blog about candy wrappers. Not about candy, exclusively candy wrappers. I guess there’s a niche for everything these days.
1/27/12 Update – It looks like I spoke to soon.
“Who Speaks for Islam? What a Billion Muslims Really Think”
As explained by one Catholic-raised white guy. From Brooklyn.
… In 1995, Brand applied for the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art and Drama Centre London and was accepted to Drama Centre. He was expelled in the final term of his last year for smashing a glass over his head and then stabbing himself in the chest and arms after his hearing a criticism of his performance.
… Brand’s first presenting role came in 2000 as a VJ on the MTV. He presented Dancefloor Chart, touring nightclubs in Britain and Ibiza, and hosted the tea-time request show Select. However, Brand was fired after coming to work dressed as Osama bin Laden the day after the 11 September 2001 attacks and bringing his drug dealer to the MTV studios.
… Brand was later announced as the host of the 2008 MTV Video Music Awards … Brand implored the audience to elect Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama and later called then U.S. President George W. Bush “a retarded cowboy fella”, who, in England, “wouldn’t be trusted with scissors”.
… Brand’s radio career began in early 2002, when he hosted a Sunday afternoon show with Matt Morgan on London’s Indie Rock station Xfm. Brand was fired from the job after reading pornographic material live on-air
… After a string of high-profile relationships, Brand developed a reputation in the media as a ladies’ man. His dating life won him The Sun’s Shagger Of The Year award in 2006, 2007, and 2008. The award has been renamed “The Russell Brand Shagger of the Year Award …”
Britain’s spy agencies have a new message for terrorists: make cupcakes, not war.
Intelligence agents managed to hack into the extremist Inspire magazine, replacing its bombmaking instructions with a recipe for cupcakes …
A man sits down at a bar and orders a Grand Marnier. The bar tender pours him a glass.
The man takes a sip.
“This is not Grand Marnier,” says the man, slamming down the glass. “I ordered Grand Marnier.”
“But that is Grand Marnier,” says the bartender.
“No it most certainly is not,” says the man.
The bartender holds up the bottle of Grand Marnier.
“See?” says the bartender, pointing to the label on the bottle. “Grand Marnier.”
“Look,” says the man. “I know what Grand Marnier tastes like. This is not Grand Marnier.”
The argument continues in the same fashion for several minutes.
“Fine!” the bartender says. Frustrated, he picks up the glass, walks into another room and transfers the contents of the old glass into a new glass. The bartender returns to the bar and places the glass in front of the man.
The man looks suspiciously at the glass. He inspects it in the light, sniffs it, twirls his finger in it, and, finally, takes a sip.
“Ah” he says, setting down the glass. “Now this is Grand Marnier!”
WE ARE AN ACTUAL HUMAN SEEKING AN OTHER ACTUAL HUMAN TO TAKE UP RESIDENCE WITH US FOR PURPOSES WHICH ARE NORMAL AND NOT WEIRD, LIKE HELPING TO LOWER THE MONTHLY PAYMENTS TO LOCAL GOVERNING BODIES AND STUDYING FLESHY MEAT SAC INTERACTIONS
OUR RESIDENCE IS VERY DESIRABLE AND APPEALS TO MANY THINGS WHICH ACTUAL HUMANS, LIKE US, ENJOY. EXAMPLES ARE LISTED BELOW
- FURNISHED BEDROOM
- BREATHABLE AIR
- EARTH-STANDARD GRAVITY
- BODY WASTE DISPOSAL SYSTEM
- A FLOOR
YOU ARE VERY INTERESTED IN OUR PROPOSAL, AND WISH TO CONTACT US THROUGH DIGITAL COMMUNICATION. PLEASE CAUSE YOUR SPINDLY BONE-FILLED APPENDAGES TO PERCUSS YOUR KEYBOARD
Yet another installment of Ridiculous Things Found On My School’s Bulletin Boards.
Or an octopus. Really, anything would be better than a cat for a pet.
The infernal feline has taken to parodying me by creating a poorly designed, poorly spellchecked, sort of mock humor blog.
Don’t ask what Penny plans to blog about. His usual routine consists of: going upstairs, napping, going downstairs, napping, eating and repeating. Though recently he has spent a lot of time staking out in front of the oven, waiting to ambush one of the mice that lives behind there.
I think his plan is that one of the mice will walk out from behind the oven and not notice a giant salivating fury gray monster hovering above; then, seizing the opportunity, Penny will claw it to death.
Fat chance. I accidentally killed one of the mice by dropping a garbage can lid on its head (true story). Yet Penny stakes out in front of the oven for 8 hours per day and has yet to kill a single mouse.
Not a single mouse.
The one advantage of having a pet vermin — and yes, cats are considered vermin in the US — is that it kills other vermin. In that respect, Penny is a failure. I may have to reduce his daily rations if this lackluster performance continues.
I’ve also considered entering him into a local cat fighting ring (do they have those?) or patriotically donating him to the CIA as a test subject for their new Cat Guided Bomb project. And there is always the option of relisting him on Craigslist from whence he came.
I just got off the phone with the floor manager at the ol’ box factory. We must be ahead on our quota or something. There’s simply nothing left to do.
No work today!
FIRST, I will experience the streets of Lynchburg, during business hours, on a weekday, in broad daylight. (ALL THE BANKS ARE OPEN!)
Then I am going home and doing this:
Sans the Whiskey and coke of course. (I wouldn’t want to give you a cause for concern Dad, if you are reading this. I would never do such a thing. I drink my whiskey straight).
AND tomorrow? Friday. No work either! Just …
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’)
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after…wards
My manager slash friend at the ol’ box factory says that he used to play a game with his brother, inspired by this song. When his brother would say “everybody plays the pool,” he would be forced to play pool unless he said something quick to counter it.
Something about that strikes me as being very funny. Now I laugh inside every time I hear the song.
Slowly approaching the top of the stairs, Christopher is reminded by a giant and imposing wall of sheetrock that there are only three floors in the main academic building.
He flips out his phone and snaps a picture. Perhaps, one day, Christopher can look back on this moment of Pure Idiocy and laugh. Or cry.
I’m having difficulty with the math.
The nerdy guy is a man. The fat boy is half a man. Add Charlie and you have another half but that only makes two men … I think “Two and a Half Men” is a misnomer.
Or maybe a fat boy counts as a whole man?
Yet another installment of Ridiculous Things Found On My School’s Bulletin Boards.