“I resolve to write more letters this year. What about you Jared?”

“What are you doing?"

"It's my new years resolution, for the party. You need to fill yours out so we can get going."

"Okay. let me think. I resolve to grow a third eye!”


“A third eye... right in the center of my forehead! That’s my new years resolution this year.”


“Don't look at me like that Samantha.”

“Jared, don’t be stupid.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Try. First off you don’t need a third eye. Even if you did, you shouldn’t have it in the center of your forehead. It would serve you better in the back of you head. If you’re going to make idiotic resolutions they should be slightly sensible. Now, what is your real resolution.”

“I resolve to eat fewer peanut butter and pickle sandwiches!”

“That sounds simple enough.”

“I don’t want it to be easy. Okay...I resolve to be the first person in space...”

“Too late.”

“..dancing the polka.”

“Having a little trouble with your resolution this year?”

“To put it bluntly. Yes.”

"Sometimes its hard to identify parts of our lives that need improvement."

"Maybe that’s just it Samantha, maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe I can’t think of a resolution this year because I’m flawless. I don’t have anything left to change! I’ve done it! I’ve attained perfection!”

“Get off the table and write down your new years resolution! We're going to be late. It’s easy. Ahem, ‘I Jared, resolve to spend less time standing on the coffee table acting like an idiot.’ Now get down here and fill this out so we can go.”

“No really! Listen. Maybe I’ve done it. Maybe I’m perfect.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, I have a great job and I’m still in my twenties! That means I’m obviously very smart.”

“Or just plain lucky. I don't want to burst your bubble but you are the worst person at math I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe that’s normal for perfect people.”


“Stay with me now. I’m in decent shape and hardly ever get sick”

“I admit you are mostly healthy but Jared, you do get sick.”

“I get stomachaches sometimes but that’s different. I mean like colds and flus and cancer and stuff. I mean, maybe I'm immune to viruses and things!”

“Jared. Are you telling me you don’t think you ever get colds? Why do all men think they never get sick? Is it some universal delusion of your sex?"

“I have natural charisma.."

"Hello! ALL MEN GET SICK! Plus you are also the biggest babies about it! It's always, ‘My head hurts!’ ‘My throat is sore!’ ‘I can't stop vomiting!’"

"...I have good looks..."

"On the other hand, men will drive a nail through their finger and just wrap it in duct tape! I don’t get it.”

“... and of course charm.”

“Additionally you’re also a good listener.”

“I heard you. Listen, I’m having an epiphany here."


"Stand back and bask in my glow."


"Turn your eyes and gaze on perfection!”



"I’m sorry to break it to you but you're not perfect. You have poor eyesight, you're slightly bowlegged and you’re too short to be perfect.”

“What! What do you mean I'm too short?”

“It’s nothing bad. It’s just when I think of the perfect man I picture him as least as tall as me. Thats all.”

“Wow. That's nice. I had no idea you thought of me as short. I'm five eight. That's pretty average I'd say. I mean you're five foot ten. Maybe you’re just too tall!”

“Its not important, I’m just saying, you are not perfect.”

“Fine. The giantess has spoken.”

“Whatever. Hey midget, do you have a new years resolution yet?”

“I resolve to grow taller this year!”

“Good. Write it down! Let’s get going.”

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 13

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption. This week I've picked two pictures for you to choose from. There is just something about that bottom situation that always makes me smile!

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Hippie Arts and Crafts

Okay very funny everyone! Turn off the MRI! I'm wearing my metal insoles!

Stuff I've found this week:

Point and click adventure Haluz I just started but this is a lot of fun. like a flash version of Myst. Lemme know how far you get, I'm only on the third scene.

Boston Love. My sister has succumbed to the power of the blog. She has been a blog reader for months, but now is full on blogger. Additionally she has a very cute Boston Terrier who loves getting into trouble.

Secret Ingredient

My nose is captivated by the smell. Grabbed and dragged into the inviting mists of aroma that surrounds and comforts me. My eyes are enveloped by the menu items, each complete with catchy name and detailed photo. There is a certain quality to the food that I cannot put my finger on. I see by a flashing neon sign that this is none other than that august fast food restaurant, “Bucket O’ Grease!”

As a rule I’m not a fast food eater. It’s not to say that I feel that the cuisine is beneath my overly sensitive and developed pallet. It’s just that a majority of these establishments are hamburger joints. For the most part I’m not a hamburger person. I mean I like them well enough, I suppose, but I wouldn’t normally pick them. As such my fast food choices are a little more limited. Smallish greasy chicken pieces, or smallish greasy tacos.

For some reason lately I have been drawn to fast food. I have not given myself over to the urges but I must say it is getting harder and harder to resist!

“Come to the dark side Peter.”

“YES, NO! wait...”

“We have a pail of seasoned curly fries! And a 67 ounce soda option! ”


The thing is recently I have been trying to watch what I eat. The trouble with watching what you eat is that you also spend a lot of time watching what you cannot eat. I find that while I’m eating my healthy and nourishing dinner, things that wouldn’t normally even appeal to me, like burgers, sound better than they ever have in the past. While I normally would be quite turned off by the idea that a guacamole jalapeño bacon burger even existed, I find it dancing in my head as I consume my chicken salad with light dressing.

I believe that the real draw is the wanting and not the having. I cannot recall ever being happy after consuming my weight in extra crispy chicken, that is once I regain consciousness. For some reason though it is hard to remember that when my car unexpectedly veers to the left and I find myself puzzling over which sides to choose. My only conclusion is that there must be some secret ingredient, beside the treasured 1000 island dressing.

Why else would I be willing to risk my pocketbook and another three day bellyache, for the least satisfying meal in America? It might be for convenience, ease, or possibly price. More than likely it's for the double-double burger with onions, well done animal style fries and a cold, thick, chocolate ice-cream shake!

Whatever the secret is I hope that I can continue to resist, though I’m not sure for how much longer. All their full sized ads, mail-in coupons and super size options are calling to me. As far as fast food is concerned the only real clarity comes with the aftermath. When the grease soaked bag lies in the trash, the jumbo gulp is gone and all you have left is a body of discomfort, and a knowledge that you have once again succumbed to the secret ingredient.

Bridge Street

"I said take Washburn Ave."

"I don't want to take Washburn, I want to take Bridge."

"Steve, you can't get to Madison from Bridge."

"Molly, I've been going Bridge to Madison for ten years, will you please stop trying to tell me how to drive."

"You should have taken Washburn."

"How is it you can't find your way to the grocery store unless you're a passenger in my car!?"

"You're just like your father. Steve, before I married you - LOOK OUT!"


"Steve, what happened?!"

"We hit something. I think it was a dog. Get out Molly, lets see if it's hurt."

"Oh. Its not moving. it dead?"

"Should we poke it with a stick?"

"Don't you think it's gone through enough! What is wrong with you! Get down there and see if it's still breathing!"

"Fine. ...He’s not breathing."

“Does that mean he’s dead?”

“I not a doctor Molly! I sell children's raincoats for a living! I don’t have a clue. Look, he’s not breathing and he’s not moving I think it’s safe to say he’s dead.”

"You should have taken Washburn."

"[sigh] Should we try and find it's owners?"

"Look at him Steve. He's clearly a stray, no collar, straggly, worn and tired. You should have taken Washburn!"

"Stop saying that! You don't think they have strays on Washburn! Look it was an accident okay! I'm sorry, I wasn't aiming for him Molly! I already feel horrible, you aren’t helping anything! Help me move him to the side."



"We have to eat him."


"We have to eat him Steve. We have to eat this dog."

"Molly, what in the world are talking about. Look just get in the car, I'll be there in a second."

"I'm serious. Look at this dog Steve. It looks horrible, like it was never loved. Liked no one cared for him, and before he got a chance to ever find happiness we come and hit him. We stole all his chances. We don’t even know his name! We need to eat him.”

“I feel bad about hitting this dog but I don’t see how eating him is going to make up for it Molly.”

“It will be a way to show him how we appreciate him. That we cared, that he meant something to us.”

“Like the worst memory of my life, followed by the worst meal?”

“I’m serious Steve.”

“So I am I! You are obviously traumatized by this and I understand. Please just try and relax Molly. I’ll deal with this. ”

“No Steve, I’m perfectly rational, and serious. I just couldn’t stand knowing that you and your stupid driving sucked the life out of this animal and the we just threw him to the shoulder and went on with our lives. He deserves to be loved and right now the only way we can do that is to eat him. Steve we have to do this!”

“This is ridiculous. People don’t eat dogs Molly! What if he’s diseased? What is someone finds out?! How would you explain this to your mother? Molly what if he tastes horrible.”

“I doesn't matter it’s our duty Steve.”


“-Steve if you don’t do this I’ll never forgive you.”

“Fine. Molly. Fine. I’ll load him up into the trunk and we’ll take him home and eat him. I feel like some crazed redneck out on a hunting expedition. I just need a plaid shirt, five less teeth and a hat with those ear flaps!”

“Thank you Steve, we’re doing the right thing!”




“This is the worst Christmas dinner I’ve ever had.”

“You should have taken Washburn!”

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 12

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Suzies toy was missing. All those on the naughty list were checked, twice!

Fun Christmas Flash Games:

Turkey Shoot Bag some Christmas dinner!

Santa Ski Jump A Classic!

Rudolph's Rooftop Challenge 964.7 is my best... very odd game...

Fear of Fruitcake

It’s that time of year again. Time for holly, ho-ho-ho and happy times with family and friends. Christmas is also the time for that thoroughly maligned little dessert. The most unwanted, uncared for and misunderstood baked orphan. The ever feared fruitcake.

Johnny Carson once said “The worst gift is fruitcake. There is only one fruitcake in the entire world, and people keep sending it to each other." This is funny on many levels. One is that many people feel that fruitcake will never go bad, and so it could be passed around for an eternity. The second is that most people would never think of actually trying the bar of confection if anyone did send it to them, so no one would know if it had gone bad. Some else once said "There is nothing dangerous about fruitcakes as long as people send them along without eating them."

I sometimes feel that I’m the last person on earth who actually likes this heavy little Christmas treat. I know a lot of people who claim to be fruitcake haters but haven’t ever tried one. There is something trendy and appealing about saying you dislike it. Sort of a way to fit in with everyone. Yeah, I wear designer jeans and hate fruitcake, I'm cool. In it’s own way fruitcake has a thick wall of prejudice built up by naysayers. This isn’t surprising as it tends to be the ugly duckling of Christmas. It weighs a ton, looks like a hodge podge of leftover refrigerator items and is about as dense as crazy Uncle Fred. What is a cake to do against all this injustice?

Luckily it’s tough enough to take it. Despite the fact that its name is now synonymous with insane, and people fear that loaf like package under the tree, it may surprise you to hear that fruitcake sales continue to rise every year. I’m not sure if these are maybe closet fruit-cakers, protesting disgust and then running home to their dirty secret. Possibly people are buying them for gag gifts, or even more likely, maybe they are being used as pothole fillers in the federal highway system. Who can guess?

My folks would make fruitcake every year when I was growing up. Starting near the end of November the house would be filled with the smells of candied fruit and rum. It was a long process that literally took weeks to get the fruit to the point of being ready to add to the batter. I have great memories of think slices of fruitcake, toasted in the oven with a pat of melted butter on top. There were no upturned noses for the fruitcake in my family. I was blown away when I reached adulthood and found the animosity this cake endured.

Of course there is nothing saying you have to like fruitcake. I’m just saying, why not give it one more try? In the end if you still don’t like it here’s a nice way to get rid of it.

Ode to a Frozen Car

You just have one purpose
You just have one task
To get me to work
And to get me there fast

I spring from the house
At a quarter to eight
Fifteen minutes to work
I cannot be late

You sit there and smile
You’re all covered in ice
I can’t see through the windshield
Now isn’t this nice?

I work my key in the lock
And I open my car
like a small icy tomb
I’m not going far

I start up the engine
Pry my hand from the key
Feels like everything frozen
And sticking to me

I engage the wipers
They stress and they strain
“We can’t break through this ice,
What is wrong with your brain?”

The garden hose frozen
No bucket, less sun
I need to get going
Something has to be done

So I take out my charge card
And I scrape a small square
Now driving five miles an hour
...I’ll never get there.

-Peter Brown 2006


Waiting at the intersection can be one of the most enjoyable experiences in life. You might find that statement a little odd but I assure you it’s true. That is, if you know what your doing.

People watching is a very engaging pastime. Some places are better than others. Weddings are good, amusement parks are great and supermarkets are superb. You need to find that place where they feel that they are in a protected bubble. Somewhere that there is both a level of privacy for them and a clear view for you. I submit that the car driving through the busy intersection is just such a spot.

When you are alone in your car you are at liberty to do some of the most outrageous things. I find that while I’m at the stoplight I get to see a dozen vignettes pass by at high speeds. Like the collection of various blooper reels all pieced together for my enjoyment.

Leading the show is the juggler. To watch the expressions on this mans face as he simultaneously, turns on his left turn blinker, shift into first, works the steering wheel and tries to finish that last bite of cheese burrito is worth a full priced admission to the movies. His performance only lasts for a second of course but it is followed up with a fellow who believes he has totally privacy until he looks over and sees me giving him a huge grin. This wouldn't be so bad if he hadn’t had his finger so far up his left nostril that I could see his hair moving. Luckily he’ll never see me again and if he does he will not remember me. As for me, I will have his face etched in my memory till the day I die.

Just when I though it couldn’t get any better the next car in the parade is one of my favorites. The singer. It looks very funny to see someone belting out a very energetic song complete with clapping and head wagging while you can only guess what it sounds like. This particular performance is even more fun for me, because it is one that I frequently engage in. When I see the singer drive by I laugh both for how odd it looks, and knowing that additionally how much entertainment my silence singing has given to others.

That car was followed by a commercial break. It was a huge shipping truck with a very dull but obviously dedicated driver. Since I had nowhere to go I waited for the regular programing to return. I was not disappointed.

There is something amusing about two passengers faces when they don’t think the other person can see them. The man was driving with a very disgusted look on his face, as his female passenger used her left hand as an outrigger and with her right she applied a very think layer of mascara to her eyes. Make-up while driving. This activity is one of the most daring you will see as a motorist watcher! To put your entire days appearance in the hands of a whole road of bad drivers is as daring as it gets!

Then the light turned green and ended the show. I was a little disappointed but really had no choice but to continue on my way. Of course I knew that there was also a good chance I would hit the upcoming light just right and get stopped again for an encore performance at the next intersection.


“Alright Bob, let's stop. Um..What are you doing?”

“Playing tennis with you.”

“This is not tennis, Bob. I don’t know what you think we have been doing for the past fifteen minutes, but we haven't been playing tennis.”

“Frank, what are you talking about!? I love tennis. I've been playing for years. Look don’t I have the tennis shorts on?”

“Yes. Yes you’re wearing very nice tennis shorts. You also have a nice shirt, and very expensive tennis shoes. Additionally you’re wearing a headband.”

“Sweatband, Frank. It's called a sweatband.”

“Right. Do you know what’s odd about that?”


“You’re not sweating! Do you know why you’re not sweating? I’ll tell you Bob. Because you haven’t moved one step! I’m sitting here serving tennis balls to you and if they aren't right next to you don't even try and return them. I not even sure you’ve hit one of my serves to you!”

“We’ll...That’s tennis for you!”


“You’re just not as good as me Frank. It’s no reason to get sore.”

"Not as good as you?! Why do you think we both have these huge sides of the court?"

"So it's harder for you to hit the ball to me! Clearly you're not doing a very good job of that as I'm winning this match."

“Winning this match?! What do you think the score is Bob?”

“Forty, love”

“WHAT! I haven’t scored! Are you insane!? I’ve been acing serves and you don’t think I've scored? Bob you have to return the ball to me in order to make points! Not that you could with the way you’re holding the racket!”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you ever seen a traditional grip?”

“Look I don’t even care. You want to hold it over your face like that, it’s your choice. You just look like an idiot. I mean you look like we're in a fencing match. Why did you ever tell me you had played before? Why can’t you just be honest with me Bob, you haven’t got a clue what you’re doing.”

“Frank, it’s not my fault you’re not up on the latest tennis trends. Now can we please get back to the game? I’ve almost got you beat!”

“Latest trends!? Got me beat!? BOB! You don’t know the first thing about tennis! ... Bob”


“Do you see all the courts to our left?”


“Do you notice anything strange?”

“They aren’t playing.”

“Right. What are they doing Bob?”

“They all appear to be slack jawed and staring at me.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“Hero worship?”

“Bob this is my tennis club. Do you have any idea how much money I spend every month to come out here and play?”


“Plenty. Now I will be embarrassed to even get an orange juice at the snack bar. Do you know why?”

“Because you lost to an amateur?”

“BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL SCARED OF YOU BOB! You’re turning me into a tennis club freak. I will be laughed right out of this club and will have to start going to a different club. It will take me months to live down the humiliation you have caused me in the last fifteen minutes!"

"Wow, not a very friendly bunch are they?"

"No. Bob, will you please, just for my own sanity admit you have never held a tennis racket, let alone played a round, before today?”

“Okay, Frank I'm sorry. I’ve never played tennis before...”

“Thank you. Thank you for being man enough to admit that.”

“...but you should see me at racquetball!”

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 11

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Here's the one to get it started:

The year Rudolph lead the famed reindeer strike!

Stuff I found this week:

Sling Shot Santa 250 is as much as I've managed.

Cell Start Start your car with your cell phone.

Pretty Challenging Christmas Quiz I cheated...

Calvin & Hobbes

This is a post about snowmen...or little boys...or tigers. I'm really not sure. I love Calvin and Hobbes and here are some of the famous Calvin snowmen for your blogging enjoyment!

Waiting To Cool

As I sit here typing this up, I’m engaging in rite that most people would not find unusual. I’m waiting. I’m waiting for the moment. I’m waiting for that moment when my joy can be fulfilled and whatever it is that is too hot for me, becomes cool enough to consume.

The cooling ritual is a process that hot food eaters have had to endure for generations. It is a specific rite of passage that many go through every morning and some more than once a day. It requires patience to sit there and listen to your insides call out to whatever it is that is overheated.

“I really want to, but I cannot consume you yet.”

“But I’m here! And I’m piping hot and ready for you.”

“I will not be tricked again! No, I will wait.”

A hot cup of coffee yearns to be gulped by some innocent schmuck who believes in comment decency and has no understanding of what one hundred and ninety degree liquid feels like going down. As everyone knows who has taken that larger than necessary initial sip, it burns like the dickens! Burning hot liquid, even a normal sip has done it’s duty. It's burned your tongue. By doing that it has succeeded in turning your four dollar mocha into a cup of motor oil in a trendy paper cup with an inspirational saying on the side.

Additionally all throughout the day it now speaks to you.

At the office you should have waited.
In line at the video store, you should have waited.
Smelling you lunch, you should have waited.

"Leave me alone! I get it okay?!"

A constant reminder that holds on for hours, of a mistake that will render the rest of your day into the same raw feeling that your tongue now endures.

Waiting is not exclusive to liquids. Order anything with cheese at an eatery and you will find yourself counting ceiling tiles or forking at your kale as you wait for the bubbling to cease. You might fill your time watching your friends polish off their salads or chips, as you haven't even started on your meal. This is a test of patience like no other. In the end it is worth all the patience you can muster. For time stands still when hot cheese touches tender flesh. All the blowing, weeping and ice water in the world will not make the slightest impact.

For those who do not order the overly hot meal, don't feel left out. The hot plate is a device used to bring everyone into the waiting experience. In a way the hot plate is even worse than burning food. The thing is that the plate so hot that even once the food has cooled to eating temperature, the plate is still too hot to touch. So what choice do you have? Wait for the plate to cool enough to touch and have a cold meal, or try and eat your food without burning your appendages? A friend with a hot plate. This is the only real dinner theater.

In the end though it seems that the cooling ritual is one we cannot forgo. While it might be fun to sip your coffee or consume your cheese enchilada that is perfectly seasoned, without hesitation, you might be surprised how much less you anticipate it. Anticipation can be the best seasoning of all. So just sit back, relax and wait for it to cool.


“What are you doing Ben?! Put those down!!”

“What? Why do you care if I have some of your rock candy?”

“That's not rock candy Ben! Those are Insta-Pet crystals.”

“Insta-Pet? Justin, what in the world are you talking about?”

“Have you been living in a cave or something?”

“I think that was uncalled for…”

“ You know, ‘Get some Insta-Pet and grow your new best friend’.”

“Okay, I recognize the tag line. I honestly thought it was a gag.”

“It’s no gag Ben! It's the real deal! I mean first there was the pet rock, it didn’t do anything but it looked pretty. You could use it to weigh down your papers, or hold open the door. Then you had the Chia Pet."

"Right! Chi-Chi-Chi, Chia."

"Uh...Yeah. Anyway, Now we have Insta-Pet! Drop these crystals in water and in a few hours you can grow a pet.”

“Is it alive?”

“A fully breathing, living pet!”

“That’s astounding. And it’s all grown from these crystals? I’ve never heard of anything like it. How does it work?”

“What do I care? I'm not a geneticists! All I know is I pay one hundred bucks and get to grow a pet. How cool is that!?”

“What type of pet?”

“That’s part of the novelty. You won’t know till it’s done.”

“What are the possibilities?”

“Anywhere from a hamster to pigmy goat.”

“A goat? You’re telling me you don’t know if you’ll get a rat or a great dane? You’re just going to drop those crystals in water and sort of hope for the best? Justin…”


“You live in a apartment…”


“…on the fourteenth floor…”


“…in the middle of the city.”


“What will you do if this turns out to be a can chewing, table climbing, door butting, carpet eating, neighbor waking billy goat?”

“A pigmy goat.”

“Like it matters.”

“Well anyway, the chances of that are pretty low. The guy at the store told me something like ninety percent are dogs or cats. Oh and get this, all the animals are purebred.”

“You mean pure grown. Are you sure this isn’t a gag? You know like sea monkeys?”


“-No listen! You remember the whole 'Grow your own Sea Monkey's' tripe? They just marketed them to the naïve. You think you can really grow an animal from blue crystals? I mean it still looks like candy to me. I almost ate some!”

“I'm so glad I stopped you!"

"Me too!"

"Could you imagine? My new best friend…WITH NO FRONT LEGS!! That would have been horrible.”

“Your new best friend! Is that all you care about? I could have been growing a billy goat’s head in my stomach! Horns and all!”

“A pigmy goat.”

“Who Cares! Doesn’t THAT concern you at all?”

“Yes of course, Ben, but it didn’t happen. Okay? I mean it’s just lucky I caught you before you did.”

“I’m at least glad of that.”

“I don’t have another hundred dollars to buy a second new best friend.”



“This is crazy. Are you really going to try and grow your own pet?”

“Ben. I already started…”


Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 10

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Here's the one to get it started:

Okay fellas I'm sorry! Listen what do you say three Big Mac for $1, and we forget the whole thing? Fellas?

Two Funny Japanese McDonald's Ads...

Ad # 1

Ad # 2

This ended up in my search somehow...So I added it...

Ode to a Christmas Shopper

Well now, put on your grimace
Head out to the store
Your shoppings not done
They all must have more

With elbows a flying
And a snarl on your face
You just stole from that couple
The last parking place

You ram with your cart
You push and you shove
To get all the presents
They will think the most of

You bark at the shoppers
And belittle the clerk
You grabbed both the last toys
You are really a jerk

Think back to a time
When shopping was fun
Before you decided
You hate everyone

Why are you out here?
So bitter and cross
Christmas’s meaning is simple
Our gain for His loss

You hurt only yourself
With a gift bought in venom
Give your children some joy
Not that jacket in denim

So remember it's Christmas
Remember the reason
It’s not to be bitter
But Christ’s love in this season

-Peter Brown 2006

Lowering My Ears

As I’m driving down the road, I see in front of me the shiny tail fins from a restored Chevy Belair. I hear what sounds like The Everly Brothers belting out “Bird Dog". I imagine this is blaring from some modern CD player in the car. As I pull up along side this classic ride, I see an older gentleman. A throwback to a bygone era, he is quite cleary attempting to regain his past through excessive spending and nostalgic crusing. He is obviously in his early to mid 60’s with a leather bomber jacket, white tee and 50's greaser hairdo. He smiles at me and gives me a nod of recognition, and that’s when I realize it. We both have the same hair style.

I desperately need a haircut. It’s getting out of control. I’ve gone nearly three months between clips and I’m having trouble keeping this pile together for a entire day. This last realization, that with a white t-shirt, leather jacket, and cuffed Levis I could easily look the same as a 1950’s greaser, has got me down. It’s not that I don’t admire this persons style, it’s just that I don’t want to be known as greaser with a pompadour and ducktail in 2006. Beside I don’t really know many Paul Anka or Pat Boone songs.

I’m always happy once I’ve gotten a haircut, but I dislike the experience itself. It’s hard to willing subject myself to something I'm not looking forward to, with the addition of paying sixteen dollars plus tip. Invariably there is always the uncomfortable small talk.

“Hello, so you want a haircut?” She asks.

“Umm...yes, that is the hope.” I say. “Do you have a package that offers a non-chat option?”

“Only with Pam,” she smiles, “but she will ignore your requests and leave your head looking like a wild mountain goat. And she expects a fat tip for it too!”

“Fine I’ll take the chat.”

They always ask me what I do. I explain that I sit at a desk all day type emails, check files, and move very infrequently. It’s not very exciting and certainly doesn’t fill up much of the cutting time. Sometimes I want to lie just to make things interesting.

Well... I work for the CIA. Today we cracked down on a rouge group of scientist who were very close to inventing a perpetual motion machine. I would then explain how the oil companies have been suppressing other neat stuff like cold fusion and magnetic hover cars for decades. I could end it all by saying that the President called and left me three voice mails but I hadn’t gotten around to listening to them yet. This conversation would probably be better than what normally happens.

“You have a lot of gel in your hair”

“I know. ”

“It’s hard to cut with all this gel.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I use more gel because it’s getting long, which is why I’m here.”

“What brand do you use?”

“It comes in a white container with colored squares on it. I buy it at Target because it’s cheap.”

“Have you tried-”

“Please just cut my hair. I don’t want any of your sudo superior products that make me smell like a chemical factory and cost a fortune. Thanks for asking though.”

“So... What do you do?”

Selective Order

Are you a chronic pencil sharpener? Do crooked pictures call to you? Do you know where every item on your desk should be? Do you still leave your wet towel on the floor? Then you might be just like me and be one of the millions who suffer from a new affliction I’ve discovered. I call it Selective Order.

The person who suffers from Selective Order believes their life to be orderly. They have no idea that it isn't. They will devote countless hours on one project that they feel needs to be done while putting off less important tasks, like getting ready for work, or packing diaper bags. The person who suffers from Selective Order will spend an hour and a half investigating an odd sound in the kitchen while a pile of dirty dishes sit in the sink. Additionally they will be surprised when no one is impressed when the sound has not only been identified, but stopped.

I spent this last weekend knee deep in cables, wires and rack hardware. I had to rewire one of the dozen server rooms I’m responsible for. This process took me over sixteen hours. Cables and zip ties were flying. I have to confess I love every minute of it. There are points when I’m tired, frustrated just plain beat but in the end I get to take a step back and enjoy something that I have saved from disorder. This morning when I came in I found that I had neglected to turn back on about half the equipment that I rewired yesterday. The users could care less if the cables are new and shiny.

It is very similar at home. There are certain things which must adhere to my order. My office desk has to be arranged just so. Pens on the left, mouse and CD spindle on the right, papers in order and stacked neatly in the corner. All my software ordered by box size. Non-box media in color coded jewel cases according to type of software, but my shoes can be kicked off anywhere I choose.

In the restroom, my hygiene products are all lined up. They are arranged by the order they are applied. I always wash out the sink when I’m done, and then leave by stepping over my dirty sweats that I’ve left lying on the ground. Additionally I’ll take time to remove price stickers off of household items, but go seven days without a shave.

I will work for an entire afternoon re-organizing the garage and my work bench but not even think about mowing the lawn that is so overgrown, neighborhood pets have gone missing in it. It’s been three months since my last haircut but I’ll always find time to fix the mini blinds if there’s a strip that’s out of place. I can’t say I understand it, it’s just the way I’m made.

So if you know someone who suffers from this same affliction just try and understand. They honestly believe that they live their life in an orderly fashion. So if you do have to tell them please, break it to them gently.


“I hear what you’re saying but I’m having trouble with one part of it.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“I told you Ryan, I can see around corners”

“When did this happen?”

“Well I’ve been trying for weeks and this morning I had a breakthrough.”

“Trying? You say that for weeks you have been attempting to see around corners? Was this a breakthrough or a breakdown?”

“It’s normal for people who are gifted not to be understood in their own time.”

“Remember in high school when you thought you could move things with your mind?”

“You should be relieved to know I only plan to use this new power for good.”

“You sat there for hours trying to move that leaf...”

“I’ve been trying to decide if I need a suit or something? I mean I could just go around like I always do, I’ve never been a fan of polyester.”

“...and when the wind finally picked it up and moved it about a foot, you thought you had telekinetic powers! You ran in and made a fool of yourself to Mr Ramsey. For the next month I was the best friend of Carl the ‘mind moron’. Please don’t do this again.”

“That was different. It wasn’t real. Ryan, this is the real thing. I really can see around corners. I can prove it to you.”

“Fine. Okay, so um...over there...what’s around that corner.”


“That’s astounding!! Is this the extent of your new abilities?”

“Wait. Here comes someone... she’s wearing purple....RIGHT THERE! There she is! See I told you I could do it!”

“Ok. I see her but Carl, I don’t see any purple on her...”

“Right there, see?! She’s wearing a purple scarf!”

“Carl. This is ridiculous. You didn’t see that from around the corner. You just got lucky. You heard her footsteps, guessed it was a woman and picked a random color. I mean really this isn’t something you can do. It doesn’t even makes sense. I mean do you have the ability to see through concrete or wood or something?

“No I can just see around corners. I don’t know how, I just can. I admit it’s a little fuzzy, like looking through a fogged up window, but every time I try it gets a little clearer. OH! Here comes someone...He’s tall and brunette, he’s wearing a suit with a yellow tie and a gold watch chain.”



"There he is...”

“Just like I described him!”

“How in the world did you do that?"

"I told you, it's a gift."

"I mean you couldn't have guess about that! Do see a mirror I don't see?"


"Are you bugged? Is Johnny feeding you information?"


"Am I on Candid Camera?!”

"No. Ryan this isn't a joke. It's real!"

"I don't believe it. I mean how in the world are you doing it!?"

“I DON’T KNOW! I just can. I have a power that lets me see around corners.”

“Carl. I can hardly believe this. I mean you CAN see around corners!"

"I know."

"How did you say you found this out?”

“I was just thinking that I had super powers and just started trying stuff, and then today it happened Ryan. I mean, it just happened.”

“Wow. Carl, do you think I might have any super powers...”