How to Make It in Life

I was standing in line at Fed Ex today waiting to drop off some packages. In front of me was this scruffy fat guy who looked somewhat agitated, in that "sunburnt drunkard who likes to eye people out" sort of way. In fact, it's probably what he does in his spare time. So it was just me and him in line, and as I said, I was standing behind him. Then, rather casually, he let out this loud sputtering fart.

I was rather proud of myself in the way that I didn't burst out laughing. Perhaps it was because I was so shocked that he didn't attempt to excuse himself, or for that matter, even acknowledge that he had farted. He just kept looking straight ahead, scratching his head and shifting his weight impatiently, with nary an embarrassed grunt or cough. Maybe he didn't even realize he had done it, so preoccupied with the FedEx guys as he was. Or maybe he farted out of anger. But if so, why take it out on me?

I took a few steps back, and thanked the good Lord that the guy did not produce the stench he looked capable of producing. I stood that way for a good minute before he was finally called upon. He stepped towards the counter, and as I took his place at the front of the line, I was immediately enveloped by one of the foulest smelling aromas I had ever experienced. Apparently the fat guy was capable of producing farts that, instead of wafting around the room, laid patiently in wait for its victim. For I fell prey to an invisible assassin - a funky ninja if you will. And it is not a thing I will soon forget.

Can't wait for the weekend. Working hard for the weekend. No time for eating or sleeping. Working hard for the money. Working on the railroad. Rolling down the river. Boom boom shake shake the room. Tick tick tick tick boom. Amen.

One thing that gives me pause in the course of the day is drinking water from those giant 5-gallon water coolers at work. For one must consider that the water is coming from a bottle once used by someone else.

I had a friend who would store her used 5-gallon bottles, open end up, outside in her back yard. When it would rain, water would collect in these bottles. Eventually the water would stagnate, leading to the growth of algae, mosquito larvae and all other sorts of nastiness. When she needed more water delivered, she would dry the bottles out and have the delivery guy replace them.

And those disgusting bottles probably found their way back into circulation, into people's homes and offices. Now I'm pretty sure bottled water companies clean out their bottles before refilling them with fresh mountain spring water, but can they really clean everything? Do they submerge them in hot boiling water and scrub the inside for at least 20 minutes? Well if not, don't be surprised if you look in your water cooler one day and spot a few fresh-water sea monkeys swimming about.

A few weeks ago, my friend gave me a dream catcher. I didn't know too much about them, so I did a little research.

It is said that "dream catchers, when hung above one's bed, traps bad dreams while allowing good dreams to pass through, blessing the sleeper with an overall pleasant dreaming experience."

And so -- having had some bad dreams the previous few nights -- I hung the dream catcher over my bed, in the hopes that instead of nightmares, I would dream of Gummi Bears and Monchichis and naked ladies dancing about.

That night, I dreamed of Tony Danza. In my dream, I was watching his new TV show -- a variety cooking show of some sort. In the middle of the episode, and for no reason in particular, Tony pulled down his pants and whipped out his massive dong to show off to the audience. And by massive, I mean something with the heft of a well-stuffed burrito. And if you aren't impressed by that, then you haven't eaten the same burritos I have.

So the jury is still out on the effectiveness of my dream catcher. And yes, I blame the dream catcher for making me dream of Danza's ding-a-ling.

Back from my journey. I was away these past few days rescuing fair maidens in far off lands and touring with my prog-death-rock band, Ogopogo: The Leviathan.

Actually, to be real...

Be real, son! Be realer than real!

...a phone technician knocked out my Internet access on Friday night, and I wasn't able to get it repaired until now.

Yes, I agree, how sad.

But, mark my words, one day Ogopogo will rise from the depths!

Anyway, I must say that not having Internet access makes one extremely productive. I cleaned my apartment, washed my car, paid some bills, read a few books, took my car in to be serviced, spent quality time with my friends, went shopping, rode my bike, went to a few bars, cooked some pasta, caught up on laundry, and so much more.

But now that I got Internet back, the lord's manor will no doubt fall back into disrepair.

Oh sloth, how I've missed thee.

We used to call them pincher bugs when I was a kid. They were fun to catch, because we used to make 'em pinch other bugs. Yes, we were sadistic little kids. In fact we used to try to get them to pinch people. Oh, and I found out first hand that they bite worse than they pinch. Tricky bastards.

Anyway, I know this will make me sound like my grandma, but I'll say it anyway:

Those damn earwigs are eating my marigolds!

I don't want to use pesticides or anything on my plants, so I guess I shouldn't expect them to be bug free, but they're just totally being annihilated. Any suggestions? At least my tomato plants are relatively untouched, so that's good. Of course, when they get bigger, I'll have to deal with the giant caterpillars, but that's for later.

...squirm.

I hope when I grow up, I can avoid questions with more grace and agility.

QUESTION: Mr. President, why are you and the vice president insisting on appearing together before the 9-11 commission? And, Mr. President, who will we be handing the Iraqi government over to on June 30th?

BUSH: We'll find that out soon. That's what Mr. Brahimi is doing. He's figuring out the nature of the entity we'll be handing sovereignty over.

And, secondly, because the 9-11 commission wants to ask us questions, that's why we're meeting. And I look forward to meeting with them and answering their questions.

QUESTION: I was asking why you're appearing together, rather than separately, which was their request.

BUSH: Because it's a good chance for both of us to answer questions that the 9-11 commission is looking forward to asking us. And I'm looking forward to answering them.

That's kinda like being asked why you're going to school without any pants on, and saying, "Because I have to go to school."

"But why go to school without wearing pants?"

"Because if I don't go to school, I won't learn! Next question!"

Now I see why Bush and Cheney are gonna testify together. Bush needs to be chaperoned by his dad's friend so he can't say anything stupid.

UPDATED

Today, I helped my friend Stuart with his student film. Actually, I had a small role in it. I played a guy who gets beaten up without provocation by a group of cheerleaders. At the end of it, I'm pistol-whipped by the head cheerleader. So it's a comedy, I think. And I actually had a good time, getting beaten up by the cheerleaders, except when some of them forgot to soften their kicks and punches. Or maybe they didn't forget, those punks. So now I'm all sore, but it's all about sacrificing oneself for art. Or if not art, then for fame and glory, of which I am sure to receive once the film screens at school at the end of the month. And if Stuart cuts me out of it, well, I'll just have to kick him in the nuts.

Speaking of getting beaten up, my favorite women's volleyball player of all time, Lily Kahumoku, who graduated from the University of Hawaii last year, was arrested for beating up her boyfriend. My sister informed me of this by leaving a message on my answering machine saying that "your girlfriend got arrested" and that her picture was in the newspaper. For a split second, I thought my actual girlfriend had gotten arrested and made the national news, but when I found out it was Lily, and that she had beaten up her boyfriend, all I could say was, "That's my girl."

But then I thought about it, and figured that I probably shouldn't say "that's my girl" about Lily, because if she found out, she'd probably kick my ass too.

But if she did kick my ass, I can't deny that it would probably be awesome.

Hey, I won two dollars on Wednesday's lottery drawing, yay! Okay, so I spent five dollars on the ticket, but still, I won two dollars!

I wonder what I'll spend my winnings on? Let's see, hmmm... perhaps a lottery ticket for this Saturday's drawing? It's very likely!

There is an awful smell in my apartment, and I don't know where it's coming from. It smells like rotting garbage, but it isn't coming from the garbage can, because I emptied it. And it's not the kitchen sink, nor is it the bathroom, since I cleaned both this weekend -- not that either of those places would smell like that anyway, ahem.

Maybe it's a rat that crawled under my refrigerator to die. I've heard of that happening. Well, I hope not. For one, that would mean I have rats.

Perhaps somebody dropped a hamburger patty between my couch cushions. That's happened before.

I'm too afraid to look around anywhere else. I'm afraid I would find something horrible. I have a phobia of decomposition, which I don't think is really a phobia since I'm sure no one really likes it, but I think maybe it's somewhat more acute for me. When I was younger, my cousin took me to a canal to see a dead dog, and it was totally infested with flies and maggots and all sorts of awful nasty things. Then he threw a rock at it... Okay, I won't describe any more because I'm getting nauseous just remembering. But speaking of such things, albeit in a more lighthearted manner, here's a joke I remember from childhood:

Q: What happened to Mozart when he died?

A: He decomposed!

Hohoho! That was actually from some children's joke book I read a long time ago, so I can't take credit for such genius.

UPDATE: You see, Mozart was a famous composer, so when he died, he dec-- aww forget it!

What's Bob Dylan doing in a Victoria's Secret commercial? If you haven't seen it, he's looking all disaffected while one of his songs plays and then there's a Victoria's Secret model looking all mysterious, in lingerie, and then the commercial ends.

What's next? Will Neil Young do an ad for Pringles? Will they take old footage of John Lennon and have him strum along with Tony the Tiger? Where does it end? Hmmm? Hmmm?!

UPDATE: Here's a link to a news article about the Bob Dylan/ Victoria's Secret business.

UPDATE: I have nothing better to do with my life.

I was out in my yard today, talking to my friends because my cell phone reception isn't so great indoors (AT&T, you bastards) and I saw something that reminded me of a great story from childhood.



If you couldn't tell from the picture, those are baby spiders...ring any bells?

Charlotte's Web! Yes yes? Oh that takes me back. I don't remember much of the book, but the animated film had a great impact on me. As a 3rd grader seeing it for the first time, it had me bawling like a baby.

I don't want to give too much away if you haven't seen or read it already, but Charlotte is a spider, and there's a scene towards the end of the movie where Charlotte's children are flying away on wisps of spiderwebs, with poor Wilbur, the broken-hearted pig and friend of Charlotte's, looking on with bittersweet longing. I can't tell you how much I was feeling that pig.

And so these baby spiders brought back those same emotions today, as they waited for a gust of wind to take them away to some other part of the yard. Sigh.

I hope they're not poisonous.

Found out Blogger likes to post stuff that I didn't actually post. One time it posted an earlier draft of something I had deleted. Weirdness.

Or conspiracy?!