A long, almost lazy weekend

I'm actually glad to be back in the office. Mind you, it has been raining steadily since yesterday afternoon, so I'll be scrambling to find work my crew can do, but I was starting to feel tired of being home for four days.

Or maybe I was tired because I slept like crap the entire weekend -- and I couldn't sleep in. On Thursday and Friday mornings, I did my normal workouts. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings, I arrived early at a store in Idiotville. (Shopping in Idiotville after Thanksgiving? That makes me an idiot.)

It wasn't as bad as I feared. Traffic was pretty light, and I went to a store that wasn't as sought after as others. Parking was full at the nearby Maul and Toys 'R' Us, but I found close spaces at my store.

I went to Cost Plus World Market each morning for three mornings. Why? Because they were giving away a free Tintin ornament and voucher for a movie ticket to the first 100 customers each day. (What kind of Tintin fan am I that I didn't know there was a movie coming out soon?)

So, I got my three ornaments and ticket vouchers. (I was 33rd in line the first day, 1st the second day, and 3rd the third day.) I also plan on entering the store's sweepstakes for a trip to Belgium. (I won't link to it, lest you also enter, thus reducing my chance of winning.) If I win, I'll take one of my brothers, also a Tintin fan. (And he'll tell me that he doesn't remember any of the French he took in high school.) I didn't get second ornaments for him because I couldn't talk Thing One into accompanying me rather than sleeping in.

The rest of the weekend, I ate turkey and read and played computer games. If it weren't for the ornaments, that's all I would've done, and that certainly wouldn't have been worth blogging about on its own.

Consider it a verbal flyswatter.

Yesterday, as we prepared to leave our daily meeting, Thing One yawned for quite a long time. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I'm catching flies."

I stifled my laugh but couldn't help but smile. After all, she was standing next to the sourpuss Miss Kitty, and I remembered that you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.

Later in the day, I was pondering how nice it might be to stick it to Miss Kitty one last time before she retires. She has gotten even sourer and more mean-spirited than I thought possible. Can she not be happy about anything anymore?

How, though, could I be clever enough to zing her in a way that 1) can't be retorted and 2) isn't blatant to everyone else. I thought of it (and Thing One helped me refine it) after surprisingly little time. It's clever, it's short, and it sticks it to her just subtly enough.

I will sign, on her retirement card, "I hope you'll be happy in Texas."

'Tis the season, but I'm not jolly yet.

Skippy said yesterday that the company which decorates the school's live tree for Christmas every year would be here today. Naturally, they showed up yesterday. Even though we're still a week away from Thanksgiving, the lights were on last night. Ho-ho-ho, and all that rot.

As I passed by the building which houses the band room, I heard the students practicing the song "I Saw Three Ships". Naturally, it got stuck in my head. Also naturally, I thought how easy it would be to parody that song. I came up with this.

My waitress asked me, "Red or green?"
"Red or green?" "Red or green?"
My waitress asked me, "Red or green?"
On Christmas day in the morning.

I think it's because Thing One has been talking about making tamales and posole, traditional Christmas-season dishes for some people. (Now those are symbols of Christmas I don't mind coming early!)

I thought up a second verse this morning.

Tamal, posole, refried beans,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day.
Tamal, posole, refried beans,
On Christmas day in the morning.

Yes, "tamal", not "tamale" is the correct singular form of "tamales". (How about that? "Mr. Language Person" is also "Mr. Foreign Language Person"!)

I hereby invite you to contribute whatever verses you can imagine. They don't have to be Mexican-food related. And, as you can see in this link, I varied the form by repeating the first line in my first stanza, but I kept the second line intact in my second stanza. Heck, if we're making a parody, why not vary it? (Scroll down in the link for sheet music, if you're not familiar with the tune.)

Have fun! Share and enjoy! (And if you're sharing tamales and posole, call me!)

Share This! (Like a Disease)

I follow a couple of blogs that normally post things like this, so it amazes me that I haven't seen this link before. You, too, can buy your own plushy diseases! (Vinyl now available, as well.)

Updated: I thought of an effective marketing slogan -- but it might generate a lot of attention but not actual sales. "Give your spouse VD for Valentine's Day."

Another Sure-fire Moneymaker from the Cap'n

I'll open up a seaside fitness center called Shipshape. Its slogan will be, "We specialize in thighs and glutes. We'll leave no stern untoned."

If I keep this guy around, I'll never need to think of another blog topic again.

Right before clocking out yesterday afternoon, one of my new employees was talking to Cold Miser about anti-matter. He ought to know better than to try explaining science to a Jesus Krispy; Cold Miser was resistant to what he thought wasn't proven. (Naturally, he didn't see the irony that he firmly believes in an unproven God.)

"Stop smiling, Boss," my employee said.

"I can't help it," I replied. "Cold Miser said it doesn't matter. He's right; it doesn't, because it's anti-matter."

I haven't gotten a laugh from a group that large since college. (I need to find more groups.)

It pays to enrich your word power.

Yesterday, I experienced another vocabulary discussion between my two newest employees.

"Boss, are you familiar with the term 'conflaggeration'?" (Well, that's how he pronounced it.)

Since they knew what "conflagration" meant (even if not how to pronounce it), they were hypothesizing that the capacity of being flammable must be "conflaggerable", the state of actual burning must be "conflaggerizing", and the result of combustion must be "conflaggerated".

How did I get named as the judge in these sort of things?

Naturally, I whipped out my large dictionary to settle the matter. First, I pointed out the proof that I pronounced "conflagration" correctly and they didn't. Second, I read to them that there is only one variant (at least in this edition of this dictionary) of that word, and that is "conflagrant", which means "burning intensely; blazing". (I'll give them a point for logically extrapolating other words, but they're still in negative numbers for being incorrect and not knowing how to pronounce the word in the first place.)

Speak softly and carry a big dictionary.

This is why you'll never see me in cowboy boots.

I hunted for shoes this weekend, but I didn't bag any. I did see one species I liked, but it was smaller than the allowable limit. All the others were out of season.

I mentioned to Thing One that work shoes were on sale at a particular store, and she told me to check out a special shoe store first. Apparently, "special" in this case means it's where overstocks go to die. Do you recall how Ollivander's shop was described in the first Harry Potter book? Do you know how COAS has room upon room of shelves stacked to the ceiling? That's what this place was like. It's a pity they didn't have any my size. Well, okay, they had shoes in the proper length, but they all were medium or wide, or D or EEE widths.

It's not just this store. I can't find shoes my size unless I go to one of those fancy, high-priced stores (and, even then, they can't always give me what I want). Am I the only man in America with B-width feet?

I did! I did taw a puddy tat!

The second kitten is alive and well at Thing One's house. He still is adjusting to the environment, and he threw up once, but he used the litter box correctly. He's very receptive to scritching but looks dubiously at Thing One's giant but loving German Shepherd. (The dog is so loving, she previously nursed a kitten. Really, I mean produced milk for a cat.)

The kitten is pure black and has green eyes. Thing One wanted to name it something to do with Halloween, since that was about when the kitten was found, and since it is black. Renfield (that must be an inside joke with Thing One) didn't fit. Igor wasn't quite right, either (even when pronounced eye-gore). Jack (as in Jack o'Lantern) couldn't be used because that was used by a prior family cat. I believe that they have settled on calling it Trick (as in Trick or Treat), a name suggested by yours truly. :) Not only does it fit the Halloween theme, it also fits the tradition of giving most of their pets names which begin with "T". Am I awesome, or what?

Sharing My Evil Genius with the World

I know I have a small group of readers, but, every so often, someone might stumble across my blog and wonder, "Who is this guy, who thinks he's so witty?" Then, of course, they discover how truly awesome I am. I'm humble, too. :)

This isn't a new thought for me, but it's a new blog topic. Seeing as how I work at a high school and use their weight room for my workout, I thought this morning of something I had shared with my friend Betty some time ago. It was about our high school fight song.

Hoorah for lions!
Hoorah for lions!
Someone in the crowd's shouting
Hoorah for lions!
1-2-3-4
Who are we for?
Lions, that's who!

Something had always bugged me about that song, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Finally, it dawned on me: there were two things wrong with that song. So, I revised it to be grammatically and mathematically correct.

Hoorah for lions!
Hoorah for lions!
Someone in the crowd's shouting
Hoorah for lions!
1-1-2-3
For whom are we?
Lions, that's whom!

You know what I'd like to see? I'd like to see a football team go to every marching band competition. It's only fair, since I had to go to every darned football game, just because I was in the marching band.

Take two; they're small.

My mom always said that sarcastically whenever one of my brothers or I would take a larger helping than we should. Here, it has a more literal translation. I thought it also would be a nice title since it's more like a movie retake.

There was a second kitten in our equipment yard. It was rescued by one of my employees and taken home by Thing One at lunchtime. I wasn't her chauffeur this time (can you believe I spelled that word correctly the first try?), and I haven't spoken with her since, so I have no word on this kitten's health, nor even its color.

Further updates as events warrant.

Three Words: Chocolate Bacon Cake

You think I'm kidding, don't you? You think this comic was a fluke. It has been proven, however, that lightning can strike twice in the same place. (There's a tree on this campus that could testify to that, if it could speak, of course.) Here's a prior example I know about. (I encourage you to listen as well as read; it's fun.) I would suspect that someone out there has already tried to make one. I'm not sure I could bring myself to taste it, though.

Requiem for a Kitten

Upon arriving at work yesterday morning, I heard something that sounded like meowing. It was a kitten, hiding under the shipping container which Froggy dumped in our parking lot some months ago. I asked Thing One to notify the local animal shelter, as I figured someone would adopt it. She wanted it, though, since she has a soft spot in her heart for animals.

She came to pick it up, cuddled it as I drove her home, and gave it a saucer of milk. It wasn't until she put it on the rug that we realized the poor thing's back legs didn't work at all. Alas, it still went to the shelter, but for an entirely different reason. At least it was comforted and fed in its last hours.

I lose more denim jackets that way.

It wasn't until I had arrived home and stepped out of my car last night that I realized I had left my jacket at the bowling alley -- and that my cell phone for work was in the pocket. So much for going to bed on time. I drove back to the bowling alley but couldn't find it. I left a message at the desk and hoped that one of my league mates picked it up for me. When I got home the second time, there was my teammate, parked in front of my apartment. "I thought you'd probably need this," he said.

That was almost the second time I had lost a denim jacket in the bowling alley. The first one was back in college. That time, it wasn't so much the jacket I minded losing; it was the button I had on it, which read, "I refuse to grow up."

Variations on a Theme by Cap'n

I still think it's odd that one online quiz calls me a bumble bee. Sure, I work hard for the good of the hive, but I'm not ready to be called a social insect. Along those lines, I thought of this lyric parody this morning.

He works hard for the honey.
So hard for the honey.
He works hard for the honey,
So you better treat him right.

Any implication or double entendre about honey is entirely up to you and your dirty mind.

After that, how can I not share this?

Now would be a good time to hope for a nuclear holocaust.

People often bemoan the current youth (whatever they consider "youth" at whatever time) and say that they fear for the future of the planet. Today, I offer you proof that we are in trouble.

A student currently enrolled at this school sent an e-mail, requesting "lofting" materials for his dorm bed. Skippy replied to the e-mail, asking, "What dorm and room are you in?"

Wait. It gets worse.

The student replied, "I am in Presley and I am pretty sure I am in 211."

The really sad part is that he didn't even spell the name of his own dorm correctly.

What kind of insect are you?

No, this isn't a stupid, internet quiz (although I did try out two before I started this post). It's a comment on my life.

It struck me yesterday that, if an alien life form came to Earth and observed my behaviors for the past week, it would think I'm a social butterfly. I've been out, doing something, every day. I stayed up late almost every night. In that case, I feel like a blend of the ant and the grasshopper (and the grasshopper at night creates one tired ant in the morning).

Normally, I'm not like this. I tend to be sedentary and seldom emerge from my cocoon (so to speak). Still, occasional fits of social behavior do come over me, and I go out and meet others on infrequent occasions. I think what I really am is a social cicada.

Oh. The quizzes? One result calls me a bumble bee. It's not as dippy as it sounds. It claims, "You are hard working and people don't want to piss you off." I guess that's not far off. The second quiz was more precise, though. According to it, I am a praying mantis because, "You are very intelligent, inquisitive, patient, and well respected by your peers. However you tend to be a loner."