Misusing Big Words

Misusing eCards is back!

2008-11-24T02:58:00.000-08:00

Ever since we somehow got hacked several months back, our Misusing eCards site has been down. Well, thank your lucky stars, because it's back: misusingecards.blogspot.com. Head on over to send inappropriate ecards to all of your favorite people for birthdays, anniversaries, an assortment of holidays, and coming very soon, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Surfing the Oregon Coast

2008-07-06T17:39:00.000-07:00

The sun was shining, the sky clear, the waves beautiful and snow was visible on the mountain tops. Though I was skeptic at first, surfing in Oregon is such a beautiful experience.

I've surfed in Hawaii where the waves can sometimes "belong" to certain people and where learning to surf is something that is only truly tolerable by all if you are under the age of 16. Learning at 21 was not such a welcoming experience even for someone born and raised on Oahu. Dirty looks would always be directed towards me and crowded beaches made it an even more nerve racking experience as I dreaded running over, into, or worse yet, dropping in on some other experienced rider's wave. But the beautiful warm water and sunshine is something that I cannot help but miss when I head to the coast to attempt surfing in Oregon.

Cold water surfing is something that I have not experienced before. Making a day trip of surfing is another aspect somewhat foreign to me. The drive to the coast (as ye Oregonians like to call the beach) is about 2 hours from downtown Portland. You must bring with you: warm clothes for the hike (yes, hike) down to the coast, sneakers for the trail through the forest (yes, forest), wetsuit (I'll get into this later), change of clothes (preferably warmer clothes as the temperature will probably drop while your having fun in the "sun"), and of course, sausages.

The hike down and the bringing of food is something pretty familiar to me (although not really for surfing) but the donning of the wetsuit has been a learned and embracing experience. My first wetsuit experience was supernatural. Though putting on the skin-tight, almost unitardian garment posed much delicate difficulty, the end results were fabulous. I pranced around and struck many a pose, uber proud of myself for getting it on in one piece and feeling much like a superhero. But how can you not? Wearing a full length skin tight garment to act as a shield from the elements would make any who sport it feel extraordinary... almost invincible. No need to worry about losing your swimsuit top, or popping out from an embarrassing spill with a major wedgie, I've got my wetsuit.

Surprisingly, not only did my wetsuit look and feel amazing, it really made the frigid Oregon waters seem not so frigid. Yes, some water seeps in through the zipper and sometimes through the arm and leg holes when a wave hits, but it warms up pretty fast... and there's also the option to pee in it which supposedly warms things up a bit for you, but I wouldn't recommend it. I farted in mine once and getting rid of the gas bubble that accumulated in the buttocks area was quite uncomfortable... let's just say that the only real means of air escaping or coming in is through the neck hole. I can't imagine what happens to the pee after you've peed. Yuck.

Bonfires along the coast are legal in Oregon, making your surf experience just that much better. After a long day of driving, shimmying into a wetsuit, and surfing all day, what could be better than warming up next to a fire and roasting sausages to feed that huge appetite you've built up all day? I could probably think of something, but I can't say right now. All I know is how marvelous it is to share my waist-deep, whitewash riding experiences around a campfire with my friends before making the journey back home. To rad*.

So, if you're ever down for a new adventure, are near a body of water, and may not be in the most tropical of places, I would give surfing a try. Although it may be lacking the sunshine and the warm tropical waters, every new experience (though different and somewhat daunting at first) has its unique qualities that make it worthwhile and original. I don't really feel like I can really compare surfing in Hawaii to surfing in Oregon. They both encompass totally different adventures, each with its own distinct attributes.

*Back in the early '90s, East Coasters believed Californians used the term "to rad" to mean "totally radical". Although this is unknown for certain, it is used as an expression of elation here.

The Program

2008-06-20T00:23:00.000-07:00

I have been released.

After nine months of fulfilling commitments and obeying orders, The Program (a.k.a. graduate school) has dismissed me. I have been waiting for this time to come, aching for my freedom, and now it has arrived. For one week, I have been able to wake up when I please, eat what I want, drink and sleep whenever and however I wish. But The Program still looms like a constipated storm cloud over my right shoulder. Not my left one because that's where my conscience resides.

I thought I would make good use of this free time by catching up with my bills, cleaning my apartment, exercising a little, and maybe even go surfing, but the truth is I do not know what to do with myself.

It's like I've escaped from prison. I find myself paranoid that around any corner lies an unfinished commitment or assignment with the potential to drag me back to the Basement of Neuberger Hall and condemn me to another sentence of grueling clinical work, unsatisfied clients, and 20-page papers (single-spaced).

Maybe if The Program and I had completely severed ties, I would feel more at ease with my spare time, but the truth is I have only been excused for a few weeks. To some, I am one of the lucky ones to have gotten part of my summer off and to slip away from its clutches, but in reality, I have traded two solid weeks of changing adult diapers to get on part-time status with The Program. It will not be satisfied without something in return. It owns and consumes me. Almost like a really, really, really, bad boyfriend.

So cautiously, I will celebrate my temporary release from school and pay my humble respects changing dirty diapers with a smile on my face and a giggle in my voice. After all, it's better than being locked in a basement.

Golf Lessons and Post Traumatic Stress

2008-05-29T15:14:00.000-07:00

When I was about 8 years old, my grandparents signed my brother and me up for golf lessons at their country club. At 8 years old, I didn't know a thing about golf (this was before Tiger Woods made it cool and before golf video games were any good), but I had seen it played, and I can't say I was chomping at the bit to try it. Nonetheless, grandma and grandpa signed us up as a gift, and since pretty much anything that grandma and grandpa gave us turned out to be good, such as money, candy, and other things our parents didn't want us to have, we figured this golf thing could be a sweet deal. And that's not even factoring in the notion of having a big club that we can hit something with, which, when you're 8 years old, having any kind of weapon is pretty much the greatest thing in the world, right behind getting sugary cereal for breakfast.

So the first lesson rolls around and our teacher is this blond haired blue eyed yacht club type complete with sweater over his back, too much gel in his hair and too much snob in his voice. Of course, at 8 years old you don't recognize the specific personal touches that make someone a tool, but no matter your age, you still get that creeped-out feeling up your spine.

Once the brigade of polo-shirted children congregated, our teacher (I don't remember his name, but based on his appearance, it was probably Chad) starts teaching. Most of that part of the lesson was hideously boring, due in part to it not involving hitting anything with my club/weapon, but mostly due to Chad being about as exciting as watching old people playing Scrabble. Luckily, I was about as impatient then as I am now, so I went ahead and started putting while Chad was still instructing. Needless to say, Chad got mad. It's fortunate, then, that my young mind was overcome with a feeling I would only later identify as an utter lack of respect for anything Chad said or did.

Fast forward to sometime later when Chad is no longer mad. Chad brings us all to the driving range, where he gives a very precise, very detailed 5 minute lesson on how to drive a golf ball at the driving range. We then proceed to haul off and whack our balls as hard as we can in a way that is neither precise nor detailed. Naturally, it was my favorite part of the lesson.

After a lot of head shaking and heavy sighs on Chad's part, we left the driving range and got to take a ride on the golf carts. Despite numerous pleas and begging from a gaggle of Evil Kneivel-inspired children, Chad didn't try to hit any big jumps. This, I'm sad to say, lowered his coolness rating even further; at this point, the only thing staving off the mutiny was his allowing us extra time on the driving range, since we were all clearly so entertained by our ineptitude. He finally stopped at the end of the range, I suppose to teach us something. I couldn't tell you what that something was, because half of the kids ran through the trees and found a suburban jungle that would be perfect for exploring.

Our expedition party waded into the thick reeds, swinging our golf clubs like marauders with machetes, looking for crocodiles to wrestle, or savages to decapitate, or ancient Mayan ruins to ransack (despite the fact that, at 8 years old, I had no clue what a Mayan or a ruin was). Suddenly, and without warning, one of the kids started screaming and running back toward the protection of Chad and his repulsive cologne (judging from his character, it was probably Ralph Lauren, or something made by some other guy with two first names, one of those being a girl’s). The rest of us wondered if there weren't actually crocodiles or savages afoot, and we suddenly questioned the safety of our imaginary safari. One by one, shouts of panic echoed through the suburban jungle, and before I had a chance to ask anyone what was going on,another child ran by me, his face puffed out as though he had gone through some experimental plastic surgery involving marshmallows. Through the slit of an eye, I could see pure terror as he screamed
"Bees!"

All at once I started running, not even knowing which direction, just trying to escape this near invisible enemy. All around me I could hear other kids--good, decent kids, with families and their whole futures ahead of them--cut down in the prime of their lives by the owners of the incessant buzzing. Swatting at myself everywhere I felt anything, I finally made it out alive, breathing heavily, stinging all over, and thanking sweet merciful Jesus for a chance to continue my existence for at least one more day.

We lost a lot of good kids out there; I tried so hard to block out the events of that day, but you can only run away from your memories for so long.

I eventually tried golfing again, and to my surprise found that I enjoyed it. That is, enjoyed it when I wasn't being attacked by a pack of vicious yellow jackets. And when I didn't have to put up with Chad.

What a loser.

The Selfish Hippie says "You've got baggage!"

2008-05-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

There’s a lot of bad juju going around these days about plastic bags. One article I read even said America was the worst offender in terms of using too many plastic bottles and bags. Those providing comments point out that plastic is a byproduct of oil production. And yet still others disagree with that.

Of course, you all know my thoughts on this by now. I don’t really buy into bad juju without some substantial proof or a good reason. And since we’ve got people arguing over the basic fact of where plastic comes from, it doesn’t look we’ll be getting any good proof anytime soon, so here’s the good reason.

Using more plastic will cost you money. Not in the traditional sense of having to pay for plastic bags (although some ultra-hippie places like the pacific northwest are heading down that road. No, I’m talking opportunity cost. Many grocery stores give anywhere from 3-10 cents back for each bag that you bring in, and often they still come out ahead because they no longer have to pay the costs of supplying those plastic bags. So, if you bought 4 reusable bags (about $1-2 each at the grocery store) and used them each grocery trip (about 4 bags worth of food every week), they’re pretty much paid for within a year, then you start earning money on them. Sure, it’s pennies on the dollar, but those are pennies you didn’t have before. (N.B. Since I don't shop at Ralph's, Albertson's has said they give you 5 cents for each bag used.)

Not convinced? I can see that. But as companies focus more on cutting costs, I wouldn’t be surprised if more stores start charging for plastic bag use, and then the savings will start skyrocketing. In the meantime, go ahead and use plastic bags, but reuse them too. Here’s a few ways to do that.

Personally, I don't do any of those except the small trash can plan. Those plastic grocery bags make a mean trash can liner, and I have such a small can anyway because I barely throw anything away (I reuse everything I possibly can to get my money's worth). They're also good as a carrying case that you don't care about not getting back, such as when you’re bringing a six-pack to the Saturday night festivities. Because let’s be honest: three hours and three sheets to the wind later, you’re not going to remember to take your bag with you when you go home.

I forget things all over the place. That’s one of the reasons I don't allow myself to buy fancy sunglasses or have children. I've definitely lost a few duffel bags and backpacks in my life. Plastic bags are perfect because I don't care if I forget them.

And don’t even get me starting on buying bottled water. If you live in America, quit being a damn pansy and drink the tap. It’s safe, I promise. I can’t vouch for any other countries, though all the ones I’ve been to except Mexico I’ve drank the tap with no problems.

So, maybe plastic isn’t as bad as some of the bad juju says it is. I tend to agree with George Carlin (video here) in that since plastic came from the Earth, it probably thinks of plastic as one of its children. Nevertheless, the best reason not to use it is a good reason for doing most things: to save money.

And as we all know, that’s what the selfish hippie is all about: Saving Money While Saving the World.

Bono and the Mystery of the Rock'n'Roll Bathroom

2008-05-17T22:20:00.000-07:00

I’m on the pot when I hear it. And no, I don’t mean I’ve been smoking the crazy reefer, I mean I’m actually in the bathroom, doing my business, when a slightly echoing version of U2’s “Stuck in a Moment” drifts into my bathroom.

A few things come immediately to mind: Is my phone ringing? No, I don’t have that song as a ringtone. Perhaps a car with an exceptionally loud radio is driving by outside? Unlikely, but I suppose possible. Am I so focused on completing “the task at hand” that I’m humming to myself? No way, I only did that once, and it wasn’t U2, it was Raffi.

Clearly, this will need some further investigating.

I finish up, flush it down, wash my hands and turn around, and it’s gone. I don’t hear anything anymore, and now I’m wondering if I ever actually heard anything in the first place. I take a few steps back into the bathroom, and there it is again, very low in volume but definitely present. Is the ghost of Bono still haunting me? I consider this briefly before remembering he is still alive and has never haunted me in the past.

I put my canine-like hearing to the test, and “sniff out” where the noise is coming from, only to find, after a few seconds of twisting and turning my head at various heights and precarious locations that U2 is piping out of the toilet, still “Stuck in a Moment.” It takes me another few moments to realize that the toilet itself isn’t playing Dublin-based alt-rock. Rather, I’m getting the leftover scraps from my apartment neighbor’s stereo. It seems I've got a neighbor who is an aspiring apartment DJ.

Surreal, yes, but I don’t mind it. Since that day, I’ve enjoyed some great classic tunes while evacuating. The Stones’ “Satisfaction,” Bowie’s “Major Tom,” even Cash’s “Ring of Fire,” and all of them seemed, somehow, to have something to say about their accompanying bowel movements. God only knows whether “Ring of Fire” affected the burning feeling I experienced or it was just coincidental.

Either way, I’m glad we haven’t had any Iron Maiden bathroom excursions yet. I have a feeling that would require some extensive cleanup. (In case you're interested, here's the complete "number 2" playlist. Enjoy.)

Grasp the knowledge of the universe with the click of a mouse

2008-05-14T23:03:00.000-07:00

By the power of ~~Grayskull~~ the internet, I now know EVERYTHING.

Okay, maybe not, but I feel as though I have the capability to know everything (except perhaps, some security-related information, heavily guarded by the government or corporations).

The other day, I wanted to make dinner, but I only had garbanzo beans, garlic, green beans, and a package of bacon. So I went over to allrecipes.com and searched by ingredients and found an easy minestrone soup. It's no apartment gourmet, but it'll do.

Last month was my first time doing taxes when I actually had money to be taxed on, so when I didn’t know what the heck was going on, I surfed the net. First of all, I figured I should know a little about what taxes I had to pay and why, and howstuffworks.com was helpful in that regard. Then, I wanted to see how to pay as little as possible, so I asked my friends at wikihow.com for some info on that. After that, I’m basically an expert.

Okay, maybe not, but I think I definitely could be if I wanted to, just by cruising the web and spending a million hours of my life sorting through complicated tax codes.

Since that didn’t sound too fun, the last thing I decided I wanted to know was economics. After all, we’re supposedly in a recession, so why does everything keep costing me more money? I headed back to howstuffworks.com to refresh my memory on how the economy works in general. After the crash course, I checked out some lectures by MIT professors at the MIT Open Courseware site. And just like that, I’m an economical genius.

Okay, maybe not, but if I could read as fast as I could click, and if I could slow time down at will, maybe I would have the time and ability to become one.

I’m convinced that, by the power of ~~Grayskull~~ the internet, and with a little hard work, anyone can gain at least a passing knowledge of any topic, and with a little more time and effort, could have a commanding grasp of any subject matter. Now, if only there was a way to download information directly from the internet into my mind… but I guess that’s something to look forward to in the future.

The Selfish Hippie teaches you how to read

2008-05-12T21:50:00.000-07:00

Since it’s sunny and warm year-round in Los Angeles, I had to go to my home town of Sacramento (where it was a pleasant high-70’s/low-80’s this weekend, but edging close to 100 this week) to figure out that we’re coming into summer. That can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but this selfish hippie will be engaging in an activity dreaded by high school students everywhere: summer reading.

So, since we’ll be doing some book-learnin’ this summer, I thought I’d offer a few tips to save your cash and spare some paper in the process. You know, in the spirit of “being green” and “sustainability” and all that junk.

There’s a magical world of free stuff
It’s called the Library! Not only do libraries stock the newest book releases, but they are getting better and better at having great selections of DVDs and CDs as well. I can’t remember the last time I paid for a movie rental because the library always seems to have at least one movie I would like to watch. Also, with the invention of this cool thing that I like to call “the internet,” libraries have gotten super easy to use.

For example, libraries may differ from county to county, state to state, but it seems the majority of them have some sort of “place a hold” system where you can reserve a copy of the book you want to read, and if it’s not available, the library will find the next available copy from any library in the system, send it to your preferred home library, and notify you when it’s available for pickup. For most books, this is a couple of weeks at most, just enough time to read another book. I usually order another book as soon as I pickup the one that just arrived, so I’m on a nice laddered book delivery system to keep me constantly entertained. (If you’re in the LA area, check out our library.)

There’s ANOTHER magical world of MORE free stuff
Websites are popping up like whack-a-moles these days with free books you can download. Whether it be Project Gutenberg, Google Books, or Wowio, there are tons of free downloadable books available by just Googling “free books”

Not into words? There are free audiobooks, too. Try LibriVox for quantity and selection or Simply Audiobooks for quality.

For every book you buy, sell one first
For those times you really feel the need to purchase a book, here’s a good rule to live by. Take a look at your bookshelf, right now. Count how many books you’ve read on there. Now, count how many of those you’ve read more than once. I’ll bet you’ve got a single digit number. Unless you’re a literature maniac or teacher, you probably won’t be reading most of your books more than once, so you really don’t need to keep them other than to look smarter because you have so many books on your bookshelf.

So, next time you are desperate to purchase a book, sell one of yours first. Amazon.com marketplace is good, as is Half.com. Something I’ve tinkered with but haven’t actually used it fully yet is swaptree.com (here's a good explanation of it). Basically, you fill out a profile of the books you have and the books you want, and it will allow you to trade one of yours for one you want with someone else on the site. Oh, and it works with DVDs and CDs too. Very community-like, which all you budding selfish hippies should love.

College is the best time to experiment
This is especially true when it comes to books. With college textbooks costing two arms and two legs these days, anytime you can get one free online, from a library, or at least used off Amazon or Half.com is good for the pocketbook. And if you don’t want to bother buying used then selling those books again 6 months later, you could try renting them. It probably ends up costing more, but might be a little bit less work.

So, when you're not busy reading the glorious words of the selfish hippie, enjoy some free summer reading. And until next time, keep saving money while saving the world.

My favorite teacher: Television!

2008-05-09T11:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think everything I need to know in life I can learn from TV.

One thing I'll never understand is the intricate workings of the minds of TV characters. For example, the other day I sat and enjoyed a fine episode of season 1 (the only good season) of "The O.C." The driving force behind this entire series is the abundance of secrets that the characters keep and then ultimately end up revealing, either purposefully or accidentally. In this particular episode, Kirsten and Sandy (her husband, a man, in case you hadn't figured that out from the extremely masculine name) have found out a secret about Sandy's mother, The Nana.

In the midst of their discussion, cue Seth, their son, who wanders into the kitchen and nonchalantly asks "What's going on?" Any fool and his cousin can see that there is no agenda behind this question. The tone of voice, the demeanor during delivery, and the sheer commonality of such phrasing as "What's going on" clearly indicates that Seth has no idea his parents are talking about anything deep, meaningful, or secretive. It's merely another greeting. But, since we're in the land of TV and, as I've already pointed out, TV characters minds seem to work differently than the rest of ours, Kirsten and Sandy both immediately and simultaneously utter "Nothing."

Now, let's go back and examine the mistake they made there. No, never mind, let's not, because there's nothing to examine. When someone asks you "What's going on," you should automatically respond "Not too much, yourself?" or "Oh, just the normal business of life" or "I've just killed twelve people and am planning to buy the Galapagos Islands" or any of the other 2,873,951 variations on that response that would cleverly avoid any and all suspicion. Yet time after time I see these characters make the same mistake, barking out "Nothing" in such a tone that even if nothing actually was going on, a non-English-speaking toddler would become suspicious.

Perhaps TV is like a great, free life coach. We can all learn from the mistakes of TV characters; both big (getting your wife's sister pregnant while on your honeymoon cruise) and small (blurting a suspicious "nothing" when something, clearly, is up).

Get your Mother's Day and Graduation e-cards now!

2008-05-06T09:33:00.001-07:00

If you missed our Valentine's Day extravaganza of e-cards, never fear! Our sister site, www.misusingecards.com, has a brand new batch of cards specially tailored for Mother's Day and Graduation. Show that special loved one you're thinking about them with some simple kind words...

And don't be afraid to check out some of the other e-cards available at www.misusingecards.com. We've got your birthdays, anniversaries, thank yous, and many others covered!

You're still here? Go, go, go! www.misusingecards.com.

More money- and world-saving tips from the Selfish Hippie

2008-05-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

I've been getting a little off-track lately with crusades and Canadians and stories of solar-powered stegosaurs, so let's get back to the basics. Here's a random smattering of tips and tricks to help you live out the code of the Selfish Hippie: save money while saving the world.

What a Crock!
For Christmas last year, I asked for a crock pot for purely lazy reasons. After a few somewhat disgusting stews, I've had some good times making some delicious meals that take about a half an hour of work and that make so much I can live off the leftovers for up to two weeks. Imagine my delight, then, when I read about how good crock pots are for your energy bill. Bingo! So, as long as you can avoid any mishaps like burning pork shoulder and making your whole apartment smell like roast pig (yes, it does happen), then the crock pot can be your favorite method of cooking like it is mine.

Toothbrush Tricks
According to my dentist, old toothbrushes should be changed for new ones every 2 months. According to about.com, it's 3 months. Either way, that's 4-6 toothbrushes per year. So the first tip, while it's not necessarily hippie, is to stock up when prices are down. For example, I caught a toothbrush sale a month ago where they were 50 cents apiece. Needless to say, I won't need to buy another toothbrush for a few years. Now that you're stocked up, let me lay some hippie speak on you: after you're done using that toothbrush on the hard to reach places in your mouth, toss it in the dishwasher to clean it and then use it for those hard to reach places in the home. Window tracks, tile grout, and many other things that you can blackmail a child/roommate/girlfriend into cleaning are prime candidates for the toothbrush trick. If you're not into cleaning, they're also great for all sorts of craft and woodworking projects. Be creative.

Water Worriers vs. Water Warriors
Water can be a major sinkhole on your bills. Luckily, there are all kinds of ways to use less water, do less work, and save more time and money. If you're not down with the whole "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down," mentality for bathroom energy efficiency, here's a few other tips on how to save water. (And no, you don't have to buy into the doom-and-gloom apocalyptic shpeal at the beginning of that article, but you can still profit from their tricks.)

Free Money Reminder
In case you missed my song and dance about this new site called Revolution Money Exchange, check out that previous post. Basically, this site is like PayPal but without credit cards. Instead, you send money directly from your checking account to another. They are completely secure and legitimate, and it's actually run by one of the guys from AOL (but it's not total rubbish like AOL). And, even cooler, extended until May 15, they're giving away $25 just for signing up. If you click on the green button on the right and sign up as my referral, I'll get a $10 referral bonus, which I'll then split with you. So basically, you're coming away with $30 for doing almost nothing. I already spent most of mine on booze and women, then wasted the rest of it. Oh, and the service they provide is pretty cool, so it'd be worth using even if they didn't pay you to.

Do you feel like you're becoming a selfish hippie? Have some tricks or tips you'd like to share with the community? Leave them in the comments, or e-mail me at mark@misusingbigwords.com. Until then, keep saving money while saving the world.

A letter to another devoted friend

2008-04-30T22:26:00.000-07:00

We've spent so many years together, and I feel like I know every part of you. I feel your gentle curves, your rough edges, and sometimes I can even tell you're feeling extra sensitive today. But mostly, I'm just glad I have you with me, because without you, Teeth, how could I chew my food, or open difficult packaging, or bite my nails?

Yes, there are many things to love about you, Teeth. For instance, you're so cute when you get cold and make that little chattering noise. And you know the ladies always get a laugh. Of course, then you help me be more attractive by showing everyone how white and clean you are. Do I ponder whether or not your love for being white is a little racist? Sure I do, but in the end, I'm okay with it if you are.

Despite all the good times though, Teeth, we've had some tough times, too. Remember that summer, back in high school? Of course you do. God, there was so much blood. And I was so worried about you; of course, you must have been much more worried than me, weren't you, Teeth? But we fought through the pain of the surgery, and the separation anxiety of being without your brothers, the wisdom teeth. It was agony for awhile, but we were there for each other then just like we always will be. And it helps knowing that I got to keep the remains of those little wisdom teeth. (Or at least I think I still have them, stashed in that box in my closet... no wait, they're in the filing cabinet... wait, that can't be right...)

Our special times together at morning and at night, me brushing you softly and you feeling great and clean... well, those are some of my best memories of us together. One of my favorite things about you, Teeth, is how you keep that extra buildup of food and junk in between lower right molars 6 & 7. You know that I always feel like I've uncovered an amazing treasure when I dig out a fingernail-sized chunk of carrot during flossing, and knowing that about me shows me that you care.

So, for all those reasons and more, Teeth, let's stick together forever. Or at least until I'm really old and I have to replace you with new, fake teeth. Sorry in advance for that.

Don't Put an "End" to Your Anger

2008-04-28T11:15:00.000-07:00

Click... and she's gone. I hung up the phone with righteous indignation, but sadly, nobody could tell. After all, how can you press a button angrily?

Thus, after a lot of soul searching, I’ve decided I want a flip phone. It’s not the convenience or smaller size I seek. No, it’s the ability to snap it shut with an audible "CLAP."

Part of the appeal of land lines is that back in the day of home telephones, if I was justifiably incensed with the person on the other line, I could slam the phone down with a flourish, cursing the heavens in my rage. And if I was really on edge, I could pick it up and slam it down a few more times.

Now, imagine we're in the world of cellular phones (I shouldn't think this would take too much imagination) and you want to express your fury at your calling partner. How will they ever know they've upset you if you just push the "End" button with malice in your heart and in your button-pushing thumb?

Okay, sure, the person on the other line can't actually hear a difference in hang-up methods, you say. Well, I say it doesn't matter. Can the person in the 18-wheeler that just cut you off on the higway hear you when you insult his mother? No, probably not, but that's not the point. The point is let the anger flow out, let the juice loose, so to speak. Cursing out an ignorant driver and vehemently hanging up a telephone both achieve that purpose.

So here's where we bring it full circle. Since land lines are going the way of Betamax and HD DVD, we will have no choice but to be using cell phones in the coming years. And since many cell phones only have "Send" and "End" buttons, trying to express your rage through pressing extra hard on the "End" button just won't do.

No, the flip phone is different. You can snap that baby shut as hard as you like, and it gives off more satisfying "CLAPs" the harder it shuts. And possibly the best part is that nobody knows it’s happening except you. This is the passive aggressive person’s answer to irritating phone calls, and I love it. And let's be honest: we all know that the person on the other line, even if they can't hear, knows what's happening, and is crying themselves to sleep at night because of it.

Well, I like to think so at least.

In case you didn't know, you look hideous

2008-04-24T15:25:00.000-07:00

“Wow, you look terrible.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but you do look pretty awful.”

Thanks everyone. Tell me how you really feel.

Have you ever noticed how, when you tell someone you are not feeling well, no matter if they don’t even know you at all, you’ll inevitably hear one of those phrases? Why is that?

I’ve always found it odd that people feel like they can pick on someone just for having a cold. Except between mortal enemies or best friends, you don’t often hear one person tell another directly to their face, “Oh my goodness, you don’t look good at all.” Is this an evolutionary thing? Do we prey on the ill and the weakened because our instincts drive us to do so?

Perhaps this is just an excuse. Maybe these comments have been brewing in the minds of others, and once those words come out of your mouth—“Yeah, I think I’m coming down with something,”—it’s just a matter of time before someone tells you “Yeah, I can tell. You look like hell.” And maybe that’s just something the person has wanted to tell you for a long time, and now, in your time of illness, they can get away with it scot-free.

So what can you do? I say be grateful. Thank the germs that infested your body for allowing your friends and acquaintances to finally get some angst off their chest. Because let’s face it, when you’re all better, you’re both going to pretend like it never happened. And if you still feel raw about it, just wait and hope their time to be sick comes soon. To speed up the process, you can even “accidentally” sneeze or cough on them.

Then, when it happens, enjoy it. “Hey! Are you sick? Because your appearance is downright appalling!”

Selfish Hippies in the late Jurassic period

2008-04-22T10:55:00.000-07:00

We could learn something from the dinosaurs. Well, something besides how best to eat a human in two bites.

I was in the Natural History Museum in Mesa, AZ, not far from Phoenix, and I saw something peculiar. Actually, I saw more than one peculiar thing, but I’m not even going to get started on feathered dinosaurs. No, the peculiar thing I saw was a description of a stegosaurus that said the plates on their back were thought to soak up heat in the cold seasons and give off heat in the warm seasons to help regulate the body temperature. And even though this idea is apparently heavily debated in the scientific community, it got me thinking.

If the dinosaurs were using solar energy, couldn’t we be using it, too?

Ever since I got a solar-powered calculator for school many years ago, I’ve always wondered why we couldn’t use the same technology to power our cars or our houses or our world. Since then, I’ve realized some of that may be flights of fancy: after all, if you are working outside and some clouds come in, with a calculator all you would lose is the ability to do big-numbered math problems, but with a solar-powered car, when the solar power goes away you may be stuck out in the middle of Middle America, with no civilization within a thousand miles.

But the idea is still sound. I still don’t understand why people are getting government funding for these “biofuels” like ethanol when we could spend a few extra bucks today to make a fleet of electric cars, then another few bucks to cover every rooftop in any sunny city with solar panels so that we could have power to charge those electric cars. Heck, we could even just cover a bunch of the desert with solar panels. That exact idea was suggested on an episode of the West Wing a few years back. The only major problem was manufacturing enough solar panels. Bust out a good tax incentive and I’m sure we’d see plenty of innovation and rapid manufacturing.

The main point behind all of this business is that I don’t get why we’re freaking out about saving the world and conserving energy when we’ve got a sun that’s crazy hot and that doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon, constantly providing enough energy to power the country, or the world. Let the government go a little bit deeper into debt today and we’ll be reaping the rewards in cashmoney savings for years.

Do we really want to be looked at as stupider than the dinosaurs or Transformers? Let’s take a cue from the solar-powered stegosaurus, start thinking large scheme and long term, and keep saving money while saving the world.

PS Happy Earth Day, everybody.

My "New" Couch

2008-04-19T00:53:00.000-07:00

There is a street in Portland: Couch Street.

Now, to any reader, this may read as a furniture item that one sits on, usually found in the living room area of a home. This is not the pronunciation of this particular street, however. Couch Street is pronounced as one would pronounce the word, "cooch" as in the slang of an anatomical female body part or the first part of the baby talk, "COOCHie COOCHie coo."

Now, this has no relation to my story, but I thought that since I was on the topic of couches, I might bring this little fact to your attention, dear Reader.

I recently got a new couch. Well, not a new couch, but a used couch... which I found on the side of the street right outside my apartment. I know the following of this couch: 1. It was not sitting out on the side of the street for more than 5 hours, 2. It's previous owner was moving and was thus getting rid of it, 3. It is extremely heavy.

Since the true detailed history of this newest edition to my apartment is really unknown, it has sat for a long time in quarantine in my living room undergoing many tests to determine if it is something that I really and truly will keep for use. So far, it has passed the bug test, the smell test and the comfort test. And to my very great surprise, I have found that it has been reupholstered. The old upholstering of this couch can still be seen through small tears in the faux leather exterior which is comforting to me because this tells me that the previous owner of this couch was thoughtful enough in preservation to reupholster this piece.

This led me to think about why I am so tentative to sit on it. If I were at a friend of a friend of a friend's house and I saw this couch and was invited to sit on it, I totally would. I would not scrub it down with soap and water and have another go at it with Clorox disinfectant wipes prior to planting my tushi, yet this is just what I have done with this couch. Why is this?

Now, I was looking into buying a cheap used couch from Goodwill, so why does finding a couch on the side of the street make me less tempted to sit on it? I don't know, but until I find myself a nice thick couch cover, I am not sure if it will be seeing much of tushie action it deserves.

Which brings me back to Couch Street. Why would you name a street "Couch" and have it pronounced "cooch?"

Let's all laugh at France!

2008-04-17T16:59:00.000-07:00

Having a bad day? Feeling frustrated? Can’t wait for the weekend to arrive? Have I got a solution for you: take a moment, right now, and laugh at France.

Go ahead. Do it. It’s okay, I promise. Everyone else has already started.

Can’t do it? Well, let me help you out. We all remember good old Zinedine Zidane, the French footballer (a.k.a. soccer player) who headbutted an Italian player in the 2006 World Cup finals, got kicked out and consequently probably lost the game for France. In case you don’t remember, here’s a video. And here’s a game you can play. Even better, he almost got away with it, if not for those darned TV camera machines.

Laughing yet? No? How about this: after helping invent the word “disco,” the French are trying to bring into the mainstream a new dance called “Tecktonik.” There are even websites that will teach you how to dance like this, though I’m not sure if they help you look ridiculous enough to be taken seriously by the Tecktons.

You’re still not feeling silly? Not even a giggle? What if I were to tell you that the president of France’s new wife just had her nude picture sold at an auction. And it was a charity auction. And the money raised from it is being refused by the charity. I don’t know about you, but I always find it funny when anyone with an internet connection can look at embarrassing photos of powerful people. I find it really, really funny. (Seriously. Just ask my college roommate, who came home on more than one occasion to find a nude photo of the governator on his computer wallpaper.)

So enjoy your day. And if you know any French people, be sure to thank them for the chuckle.

My first experience with time travel

2008-04-16T11:36:00.000-07:00

Right after he asked me the question, a cold chill ran from my neck all the way down my spine. I felt scared and excited in a way I haven’t felt since I tried sashimi for the first time. Heck, I wasn’t even that scared or excited then either.

My friend looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer his question. Visions of Star Wars flashed across my inner vision, stormtroopers and giant robots and little furry Ewoks shooting at each other with blasters, getting hit with horizontal lines of red light and dying left and right. And then, after a moment, I thought, “That sounds like fun.”

So I answered him: “Yes, let’s go play laser tag.” And that’s when I realized my life in the present had abruptly turned into the world of the future.

* * *

From friends and colleagues I’ve spoken to, it seems everyone has one of these experiences: one day you see or experience something that up until then you thought only existed in science fiction, and you feel like you’ve suddenly been tossed like a shot-put, landing 50 years ahead of the current year on the space-time continuum.

For me, that experience has happened several times, but the first, and therefore the one I remember most clearly, was when I discovered we could actually play tag with laser guns, all for only $20 per half hour. Even the name of the laser tag arena, Q-Zar, sounded like some kind of futuristic alien palace.

Everything about the game felt more like going to battle on Mars in the year 2078 than shooting light at nerds who didn’t have dates on a Saturday night. From the team briefing at the beginning to the mission of destroying the other team’s base, I felt caught in a war that wasn’t begun by me and wouldn’t end with my lasered demise. And when those 30 minutes of gut-twisting excitement and anxiety were over, we turned in our guns and vests and ended our tour of duty, but there was now an unspoken camaraderie between we few, we band of brothers.

Since my first laser tag experience, I’ve had a few other occasions where I felt sure the future had arrived: my discovery of the Internet, Y2K, and the first time I saw The Matrix. None of these have effected me as much as my first brush with the future: laser tag.

Short Pants Friday Photo Submissions Part II

2008-04-13T13:30:00.000-07:00

Amy, friend and co-creator of Short Pants Friday submits her picture from North Dakota where the skies were blue and so were her legs!

She bore herself to the elements and withstood 40-50 degree weather in this little outfit to welcome in Spring.

Spreading the word of Short Pants Friday to Presidential candidate, Barack Obama, Amy withstood the biting temperatures for over an hour. But her efforts were rewarded as she was seen by the Senator. Congratulations, Amy on your heroic efforts for this year's annual Short Pants Friday!

The Selfish Hippie realizes that Canada isn't so bad

2008-04-11T09:41:00.000-07:00

For all the flack Canada gets, it's actually a pretty cool country.

The most recent news to come out of the "great beyond" is about money, and was rousing enough to stir this selfish hippie into writing something to get the word out. It's a topic that has weighed on me for several months now, ever since I cleaned out and organized my room. It's something that nearly every civilized country with similar currency has already taken care of, and like usual, for this progressive movement we're at the back of the pack.

It's the penny, and it makes hardly any cents, and absolutely no sense.

Canada is trying to become the next country to do away with the penny, instead just rounding prices to the nearest five cents. Before anybody starts shouting about how we'll be getting screwed out of pennies on the dollar, think about this. You might buy a hamburger for $2.98 with tax. Rounded up, it's $3, costing you an extra two cents. However, perhaps after your hamburger, you buy a milkshake for $1.97. This time, the price is rounded down to the nearest five cents to $1.95, so you save two cents. So, on average, you wouldn't lose any money and you wouldn't gain any.

It makes cents/sense. (And don't worry, I'll only make that joke a couple more times.)

I'm not the only one that thinks this; far from it. Besides several bloggers and newspersons ranting, many countries have abolished their one cent pieces because they cost more to make than they are actually worth. Consequently, there's the risk of people melting the coins down and selling the material and turning about a 170% profit. For some more information on the debate over whether or not to trash the coin, check out the wikipedia article, particularly the portion about other countries that have done away with small change.

Of course, you all know why I'm in favor of getting rid of the penny. Not only does it free up some time, energy and money for the government, as well as use fewer resources manufacturing pennies, which I would then hope (perhaps naively) they use productively in a way that benefits me somehow, but it simplifies my life and frees up a few hours every couple months that would normally be spent rolling my pennies and depositing them at the bank. Although, to be honest, I do feel that rolling coins can be a somewhat zen experience.

In the meantime, I encourage everyone to use your common sense/cents. Use your pennies as much as possible. Nobody seems to like pennies, so when you get some, keep them in your pocket, and use them the next chance you get. Push those nasty little coppers off on someone else, saving yourself time, energy and money.

After all, that's what the selfish hippie is all about: saving money while saving the world.

RIP Great TV, dead and bloodied and dying along the way

2008-04-10T10:52:00.000-07:00

"Katie," he says, so softly it almost comes out as a whisper, but just loudly enough to wake her. And just as he vanishes, her eyes open wide, taking in all the incredible sight of a living, breathing person disappearing into thin air.

And so ends the series "Journeyman," which was not as cheesy as I made it sound but which ran for a whole 13 episodes before the hacks at NBC pulled the plug on yet another great, promising new show.

I understand that TV is a business, that stations need advertisers to pay for the shows on the air, and that if there aren't enough viewers and aren't good enough ratings, advertisers won't pay high enough prices to support the show continuing to run. I get it. I'm a capitalist, after all (though I'm also a selfish hippie, and no, those two things don't contradict each other). What I don't understand is that if TV stations are so cash-strapped that they can't even give a promising show that had a healthy supply of buzz about it, why are they still staging gimmicks like giving guest appearances to washed up spastics like Britney Spears or useless sex video stars like Paris Hilton?

Okay, sure, two guest appearances by these "celebrities" probably aren't costing the networks much because Brit and Paris want to somehow remove the stains from their tarnished dignity and image. Still, it's not the specific costs that matter as much as the poor decisions that lead to actually giving these people money to make a sitcom less funny. Let's like if I paid some illiterate sixth grader a couple bucks to write a post on here about the housing bubble and the Dow Jones; sure, it'd be funny for about two seconds as we all laughed at the kid for being an idiot, but it definitely would not be worth my $2.

So to extend the metaphor, if we hadn't given all of the sixth-grade man-children with the single digit IQs huge chunks of cash, perhaps we would still be enjoying high-end television programming and we wouldn't have such brain-meltingly bad shows like "The Hills," "Laguna Beach," or pretty much anything on Bravo.

With that in mind, here's a few shows that have been pulled off the air in recent years that, had the network execs been slightly less idiotic, perhaps could have and definitely should have been saved.

Journeyman - A fantastic show about a man who suddenly finds that he time travels, but also finds it wreaks havoc on his personal and professional life as he can't control when or where he goes. Reminiscent of my favorite book last year, "The Time Traveler's Wife," by Audrey Niffenegger.

Smith - Ray Liotta was excellent in this heist drama that looked, sounded and felt like it was a major motion picture playing one week at a time. I guess it cost a lot of money to create that look and feel, because this one only lasted three episodes.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip - Okay sure, Aaron Sorkin got lost in his own head a little bit with this hourlong dramedy about the inner workings of a sketch comedy show, but it was still better than 90% of TV.

...and my all time favorite show ever in the world...

Sports Night - Before Sorkin focused on the pretentious inner workings of a sketch comedy show, he did a two season run focused on the inner workings of a Sportscenter-esque show. This program was clever in some parts and downright hilarious in all others, but it also had more heart and emotion than most hourlong dramas, all packed into a half hour and paced within an inch of its life. If you want a life-changing experience from your television, pick up the DVDs.

What shows were your favorites that have gotten trashed before they had a chance to shine?

Me and Mis Modelos de Bikini

2008-04-09T09:25:00.000-07:00

Sweet Lady Fortune, oh how I love thee. And Hugo Salgado, you're pretty cool too.

After a long day at the office, walking home with a splitting headache and trying to pronounce "Ich wohne mit mein Mann hier" in the bitter cold, I walked into my apartment complex and checked the mail. And hidden beneath the bills, Pennysaver and other junk mail lay a gift from the hispanic Gods: the Sports Illustrated Latino Swimsuit Edition.

Let me explain to you something. For almost a year now since I moved into my apartment, my roommates and I have received all sorts of mail addressed to previous residents of our humble abode. In fact, if we desired, we could probably have a healthy identity theft ring going just by opening all the misdirected mail. However, being upstanding young citizens, we send it back with a "Return to Sender" and go about the rest of our days as normal. That includes the issue of SI Latino we received last June, but apparently the good folks at Sports Illustrated disagreed with our assessment that Hugo no longer lived here, and decided to continue sending us their magazine anyway.

My roommates and I all dabble in a little Spanish (or "un poco Español," si quieres), so we would usually leaf through the pages of each issue and then leave it on the coffee table so that to the outside observer we might appear more multi-cultural. However, this mail mistake has not paid off quite so handsomely until today, when I pulled the issue out of the box and found Daniella Sarahyba inviting me to gaze upon her "cuerpo maravilloso."

Sadly, from my brief glances, it seems SI Latino lags far behind Sports Illustrated in terms of swimsuit issues. Where SI regular devotes nearly an entire issue to scantily clad sex objects... er, swimwear models, SI Latino has just six pages, thrown in at the back of the magazine almost as an afterthought.

Nevertheless, whether this answers any questions about cultural differences between readers of SI Latino (presumably, latinos) and readers of SI regular is not my concern. After all, we're not in the business of answering big questions, we're in the business of misusing big words.

Particle Man, a cure for cancer, and the miniature every-device

2008-04-07T09:24:00.000-07:00

I don't mind admitting that I have a pretty healthy belief and respect for science and technology. Some people even think I give these things too much merit when I say that by the time I'm old, I won't have to worry about most of the major diseases plaguing us today—stuff like AIDS, Alzheimer's, etc. Or they tell me I'm being absurd when I say that technology will allow me to have one small Tylenol-sized pill in my ear that acts as my music device, my cell phone, my TV and almost any other portable device we use, and will be completely controlled by thoughts.

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. After all, apparently they've already cured cancer.

I come quickly to the point. For those who hadn't heard, scientists are creating something called a Large Hadron Collider, which is basically the Aston Martin of particle accelerators. They're thinking that once it's all done, they'll find the "missing link" to create a unifying scientific theory of physics, and they'll probably even be able to make black holes and study them in a controlled environment. Essentially, this will go a long way towards delivering the future I'm expecting. That is, if we don't screw it up for ourselves.

And here come the bad guys to do just that. In fact, my favorite news article comes with this appealing headline: "Particle accelerator project sued on fears it will destroy the planet." In terms of headlines, how can you get much better than that?

These particle-accelerating wildmen seem to think this thing is perfectly safe, and as far as I'm concerned, their opinion is the only one that matters to me. After all, if they make a big matter-sucking black hole, they'll be the first ones sucked in, so that's pretty good motivation not to screw up.

Short Pants Friday Photo Submissions

2008-04-05T13:26:00.000-07:00

Our first picture comes from puppy dog, Maxwell. Max is a proud child of Valerie and Roderick and is a lovely 1 1/2 year old Yellow Labrador Retriever and Something Big and Rascally mix. He puts a spin on this year's 6th Annual Short Pants Friday event by not only bearing ankles, but bearing all from the waist down, setting a sexy mood for the festive holiday. Go Maxwell!

If you have pictures of you participating in this year's Short Pants Friday, it's not too late to submit them to cherie@misusingbigwords.com for posting on the website.

For an explanation of the holiday click here.

Legalese and the Slaughter of Men

2008-04-04T09:48:00.000-07:00

When you hear the word "slaughter," what image comes to mind?

For me, it's cows—a steady procession of beef walking into a slaughterhouse, where something happens that involves sharp instruments and lots and lots of blood and results in my being able to order a 12 oz. rib-eye at Black Angus. I highly doubt I'm the only one that thinks of this when the word is heard.

This is the reason I'm confused about the legal term "manslaughter." Though some people think it's a silly word because it sounds like a combination of "mans" and "laughter," I think it's an absurd word the way it's currently used in our legal system. Manslaughter is either the voluntary or involuntary killing of a human, but without intent or malice, whereas murder involves intent or malice. So, murder is clearly the worse crime. But tell me, just by looking at and hearing the words murder and manslaughter, which one sounds worse?

(Admittedly, since the Merriam-Webster woman's voice is more soothing, manslaughter sounds kind of nice, but just bear with me anyway.)

Manslaughter evokes the same image as the cows, only instead of beef heading to their death, it's a line of dudes on a conveyor, chatting about the Packers game or debating the merits of Kobe vs. Lebron, all while moving slowly toward a big shiny metal machine that will kill them efficiently and without holding up the line. I personally think that sounds much worse than murder.

With this in mind, I propose a name change, and I have several possible replacement names to consider:

The Big Whoopsie - This would take the place of involuntary manslaughter, because essentially that's what it is: someone was doing something stupid and someone else died because of it. That's not just a whoopsie, that's a Big Whoopsie.

The 'Oh Shit, Man' - This would take the place of voluntary manslaughter, which is usually a crime of passion or the result of being provoked. This name comes from the phrase that would most likely be uttered after the crime has been committed by the person who committed the crime, when he or she realizes what just happened. For example: "Wait, did I just kill that guy? Oh Shit, Man."

Whether or not this knocks any sense into the heads of any of the people who have the power to change this sort of thing, the main point I hope everyone takes away from this is that the legal term "manslaughter" is an incredibly misused big word. And while we may enjoy misusing big words on a blog, there's no room for that sort of silliness in a court room.

REMINDER: Short Pants Friday Is Tomorrow!!!

2008-04-03T16:50:00.001-07:00

That's right, the Sixth Annual Short Pants Friday is tomorrow, Friday, April 4th!

Show a little ankle in support of this International holiday by wearing ankle-revealing clothing or hiking up your pant legs. Don't forget to take pictures of you and your friends participating in this event! You can email them to cherie@misusingbigwords.com and they will be posted on the site.

For more information on the event click here: http://www.misusingbigwords.com/2008/04/short-pants-friday.html

The Mess that is Higher-One

2008-04-03T15:45:00.001-07:00

The past month has been a horrible whirlwind of financial difficulties rooted in an institution called Higher-One. For those of you who have the joy of not knowing this financial service (which I think should be changed to “disservice”), Higher-One is a financial company which handles the refunds and provides a means for students to lose and spend money. Higher-One enables all students to have their school ID also be a credit card in which holds all your financial aid disbursements.

The bottom line is that Portland State University (PSU) has contracted with Higher-One so that I cannot have access of my money through PSU. I must, however, pay PSU tuition, books and all other financial fees through this agency so that my money flow goes similar to this: US Government Financial Aid to PSU to Higher-One to PSU. Higher-One also does not exist as a banking agency where I can talk to an actual person in person (I prefer this method because I can usually win them over with my personality, or stare them down until I receive the customer service to satisfy my needs), nor does this agency provide a customer service team that actually knows how their business works.

Now while this may be thought as a great idea because this arrangement allows your financial aid money to remain separate from personal bank accounts and makes your money very difficult to access which will limit student spending, there are many overriding factors that make this arrangement not the most optimal. Here is a list:

1. Higher-One ATMs are the only source of cash money withdrawal with a limit of $500/day. There are only two in the Portland area.
2. If you opt out of the Higher-One account, your financial aid money will take up to 2 weeks (sometimes longer) to get to you.
3. Customer service and crappy account security makes it your sole responsibility to duke it out with fraud, should money be stolen from your account.

I’d like to focus on point number 3, as this is the most recent event that has ticked me off with this agency. For the past month, I have been trying to get about $600 back that had been stolen from my Higher-One account. Having called customer service to report and close my account, I was told that I would have to call the people who made the transaction and confirm that it was not a transaction that I had willingly made. After being received by a Motel in Illinois (a state I have never been to) I was told I was one of about 60 people who have called regarding the same type of transaction and that the transaction was not made there.

Assuming that this is fraud, I then re-called Higher-One who then told me that I would be charged $20 to report my card lost or stolen (which it wasn’t, someone just had stolen my account information), or I could just close the account free of charge (how nice of them!), but it needed to be liquidated first. Because the amount left in my account was a measly $4.14 and the only options for account liquidation are to:

a) make a credit card charge of exactly $4.14
b) make a cash withdrawal through one of two ATMs in the Portland area
c) have a check mailed to me which would take up to 2 months to process.

Since I am not able to get $4.14 out of an ATM and making an exact credit purchase of $4.14 poses some difficulty, I saw myself in a conundrum not very helpful to the urgency of the situation. Meanwhile, my new financial aid disbursement of thousands of dollars was on its way to be deposited into this account in which the information has already been stolen. Great.

After all of this and in finally closing the account (I ordered coffee and tipped enough to make the grand total $4.14), I was then told that Higher-One had dismissed my fraud report because the account was closed and that I would not even be considered to get my money back. WTF? It has been over a month since this fraudulent charge has been made and this is still where I stand in the matter.

Until I can definitively close my Higher-One account, I have re-opened my account but have liquidated it to a new checking account hosted by Bank of America so that I can still keep my financial aid/school money funds separate from my other personal checking account funds, but if something should happen, I have the support of the well-trained and knowledgeable BoA staff to help me out in such cases. Plus, I get free lollipops, online banking benefits, and people who I can talk to in person.

If you have an existing account with Higher-One through your school, I would highly recommend you do the same.

3 Tips, Tricks and Tirades of the Selfish Hippie

2008-04-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

This week’s installment is a mish-mash of timely tips, tricks and tirades. Read on with the knowledge that none of these are related to each other, other than that they help one “be green.”

1.

As you may be aware, every few months I like to go through the rooms of my living space and organize and get rid of all the junk. A lot of it I usually find I can sell for modest prices, much of it can be reused or repurposed, and a large amount goes right in the trash. The rest is given away, either to Goodwill, the library, or friends/family/acquaintances/mortal enemies. Starting March 17, though, I have one more place to get rid of my junk: send it to the government!

Free pre-paid envelopes make it easy for me to send old electronics, ink cartridges, etc far away from my now-uncluttered home. This gets my old useless crap out of my line of vision and into the hands of people who can actually do something with it. And considering the circumstances of California, Los Angeles, and the entire country these days, we might as well give the government something worthwhile to spend their time on, since they don’t seem to be doing anything important right now anyway.

2.

Since we seem to be in mid-recession right now, and since layoffs and bankruptcies are happening left and right, now is as good a time as any to offer a way to get some free cashmoney. After all, the “green” in “going green” doesn’t just mean “good for the Earth.” In this case, it means “Good for your collection of greenbacks.”

There’s a new way to send money online called Revolution Money Exchange. It’s totally legit—in fact, read about it in USA Today. As a promotion until April 15, the company is giving away $25 just for signing up. I received mine instantly and already transferred it to my checking account. Plus, if you refer people to the site, you receive an additional $10. So if you want some free money, click the button below. That’s $30 free for 10 minutes of your time. Not too shabs, I don’t think. (Believe me, I'm more skeptical than most when it comes to this stuff, but I've already had a chance to waste my $30 on booze and women, so why shouldn't you have that chance?)

And, in true hippie spirit, this lessens the use of paper money and paper checks, saving a couple trees in the process.

3.

Finally, a short tirade. Probably millions of people from all sorts of countries participated in Earth Hour this past Saturday, where they all turned off all the lights and electricity from 8pm-9pm in an effort to save some power. While I applaud the innovative thinking and I realize it clearly helped cut power, this still seems like putting a band aid on a stab wound. Instead of turning your lights off for an hour, we should be focusing on not using as many lights on a regular basis.

When you leave a room, turn the light off, even if you think someone else will be coming in there in just a minute. If you need a reading light, turn off the main room light when you turn on the reading light. My general rule of thumb is anytime I want to use a light, I make sure to turn off another one somewhere first. Remember it this way: “Turn one off before you turn one on.” And that’s not even counting all the other ways you can cut power.

Sure, a band aid will help a little bit with a stab wound, but you’d be much better off with stitches and some antiseptic. So please, instead of this Earth Hour idiocy, let’s work on continuous improvement. And if you find yourself slacking, just remember the selfish hippie motto: “Save Money While Saving the World.”

Short Pants Friday!

2008-04-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

Has Winter left you pastey and glum? Are you ready for Spring yet? Well, have I got a holiday for you:

Short Pants Friday!!!

Hooray for warmer weather, bluer skies, and appreciation of my most favorite season, Spring! There is no other way to acknowledge that Spring has sprung than to participate in this year's Sixth Annual Short Pants Friday.

What is Short Pants Friday, you ask? Well for all you lovely future Short Pants Friday ParticiPANTS (har har!), I went straight to the Canadian source. I caught up with Amy and Leslie, creators of this most joyous holiday, for more details.

Cherie: "When did Short Pants Friday originate and why?"

Leslie: "It started in the back country of Quebec, where the Winters, so generous with snow, had fenced us in on every side, and cabin fever was inevitable. With April came some faint hope of Spring, some faint hope of escape from the tortuous weather, and so, like early Pagan May Day celebrators we thought we ought welcome the Season of Spring into our lives, to sing Her praises, to worship Her warmth, thus to encourage Her presence to arrive ever sooner. We responded to the frigid cold temperatures by dressing as least-frigid as we could: in short pants."

Amy: "Yes, the idea for Short Pants Friday was conceived one cold and snowy Thursday afternoon in early April, 2003. I decided that it might be entertaining to see how many of our friends I could convince to also wear shorts the next day, and thus the day was born!"

Cherie: "Nice. Seeing as the holiday has taken off and survived an impressive six years, the initial reaction received must have been wonderful!"

Amy: "Short Pants Friday was born out of the cold snowy Northernly regions of the world, where Spring has not yet fully sprung even in early April, and so it is meant to encourage hope to the individuals who live in these climatic regions that warmer days will soon be at hand. If the weather is still cold, it is meant to prove that hope will prevail regardless!"

Cherie: "Wow. That's intensely hope-inducing. Very powerful and positive message. Is this holiday just meant for these Northernly regions in which you speak of then?"

Amy: "Well, the day is meant to span borders as well, to stretch across oceans, and to unite all who love warmer weather, and for one day, synchronize their proud display of ankle-revealing clothing."

Leslie: "Also, the wearing of seasonally-inappropriate-clothing often leads to questions regarding the clothier's sanity, which can be responded to with explanation regarding the welcoming-in of Spring, and the purposeful revealing of one's ankles. This thus spreads the common awareness of Springs necessary welcome, and encourages others to view our Earth's Seasons as fickle friends, needing to be coaxed into our presence with ritual and tradition. We basically just want to get back to the brilliance that was Pagan May Day."

Cherie: "I see, so basically just to welcome in Spring. So how does one participate in Short Pants Friday?"

Amy: "Well, the rules are as follows:
1. The day always falls on the first Friday in April.
2. One's ankles must be showing. What one chooses to wear to display their ankles is left entirely to the discretion of the individual.
3. The weather does not matter, the day must go on!
4. Eligible participants include anyone."

Leslie: "So shorts, short shorts, capris, skirts, etc. The ankles must be showing - that is the main qualifier. It is the freedom of the ankles which are a true signifier of warm weather, after all."

Cherie: "Very true... well I know I for one will be a particiPANT in this year's 6th Annual Short Pants Friday event!"

Amy & Leslie: (laughter)

Cherie: "Thank you very much for your time and I'll do my best to spread the word!"

Amy & Leslie: "Thank you."

Well, there you have it, folks... The Sixth Annual Short Pants Friday. Bear your ankles this Friday, April 4th, 2008. In support of this wonderful holiday, Misusing Big Words will host a picture posting event. Send your pictures of you participating in this year's Short Pants Friday to cherie@misusingbigwords.com and I'll post them on our site. Represent your neighborhood, town, city, state, etc. as a participant in this Global event.

Mustache March ends. Life begins anew.

2008-03-31T18:57:00.000-07:00

I feel naked. Throughout March, I had grown accustomed to getting food, drinks, and sometimes errant boogers that tissues didn’t catch stuck in my ‘stache. Now, as Mustache March ends, I find myself clean shaven, feeling cold and alone.

Here is a Before-After graphical representation of my feelings.

Sure, the fuzz on my upper lip more often elicited a laugh than a look of what I like to call “sex eyes,” but it was still a part of me and I still feel incomplete. I feel like Jerry Maguire at the end of the movie, talking about a “cynical world” and how I need my mustache because it completes me.

Luckily for me, my mustache withdrawal will only last a couple of months… until Fu Man-June.

Tell me your tales of mustache sadness.

Spring Break 2008, Wooo!

2008-03-31T07:28:00.000-07:00

I'm not exactly sure what a hibernating bear feels like when awaking from a Winter's slumber, but I'm sure it must be something similar to the feeling of waking up from your last sleep of Spring Break for an 8a.m. class.

Having escaped all responsibilities for a week and a half (finals ended on Tuesday of finals week, weee!), I decided to take advantage of my most favorite place on earth... My corner bed. Although I still had some responsibilities to address, as I did not get a break from work, the majority of my Spring Break was utilized sleeping.

I started out with 8 hour sleep increments... It then grew to 10, 12 and a most astounding 15 hour sleep increments! I feel this is justified as there were many 3 hour sleep increment nights during the last few weeks of the Winter term and I probably really needed this rest.

Awaking this morning posed a difficult affair. With 35 degree weather awaiting for me outside but wrapped in a feather down blanket, flannel sheets and surrounded by 6 pillows and Bear, the Alarm Clock went off. It took me a good minute or two to figure out what the sound was, where it was coming from and to figure out how to disable the darn thing. Aside from being incredibly grumpy, I let out a big roar of unhappiness as I tumbled back into bed. Grabbing Bear and trying to go back into my most comfortable nest in which I inhabited for the majority of the past 288 hours, the Snooze feature of the Alarm Clock went off again. Stumbling out yet again, I decided to turn on my heater, hoping that a change in temperature may encourage me to creep out from my den. In the end, it was my stomach that won me over and growling and groggy, I awoke from Spring Break 2008.

I am looking forward to Summer Hibernation in three months.

Breaking News: I'm only 51% pure.

2008-03-31T00:41:00.000-07:00

That's down from my score of 55% eight years ago. So, I'm losing purity at an average rate of 0.5% per year. I'm 23 now, so if I live to be 125, I will make my way down to 0%, making me at least as impure as the most impure people on Earth. (And with advances in modern medicine, I am fully expecting to not only live this long but still have full control of all bodily functions. Don't disappoint me, science.)

Perhaps I should explain myself. Inspired by adolescent nostalgia, I just took an online purity test. These gained a lot of popularity around my sophomore year of high school, and the results could be either worn as a metaphorical badge of goodness or bragged about in competition for the "high score."

One test was particularly popular, both for its innovative questions and its willingness explore the creative and humorous side of impurity with questions like, "88. Have you ever eaten sushi off a naked body," the Alanis-inspired "62. Would you go down on me in a theater," and the one-two punch of "79. Have you ever walked in on your parents having sex?" and "80. Did you join in?" That test was provided by none other than TheSpark.com. (It has since been taken down, but the dating site OKCupid.com has duplicated it. Scroll down to the end for the link.)

If that sounds familiar, it's because the guys that started that site are now bringing in boatloads of cashmoney with a little thing called SparkNotes. However, before they were in the business of helping high schoolers pretend like they "did the reading for class," the Spark people were all about sex, drugs and petty crimes, and everyone I knew in high school was quite happy about that.

Nearly a decade later, here I am taking the same test, and I've only dropped four percentage points. As far as morality and purity tracking go, I think that's pretty good, especially considering most people get their craziness out in the late teens and early twenties. So, while I fully expect to live to be 125 years old, I don't actually believe I'll ever reach 0%. Especially considering questions 79 & 80.

That's just disgusting.

[N.B. The duplicated TheSpark.com purity test can be found here. In order to get your results, this site will make you sign up for their dating service thing, and although it's free, it's probably not worth the hassle. So, since it's a 100 point test, just subtract a point every time you answer "Yes."]

Let's hear some of your scores in the comments. Can anyone beat my 51%?

We Aren't Friends, After All

2008-03-28T15:10:00.001-07:00

Even though, I had to ask, or you had to ask, and I had to confirm it, or you had to confirm it, just because we are friends on Facebook doesn't mean that we are actually friends.

"Actually" might not be the right word.

We aren't legally friends.

That is according to this article and a court ruling.

So, to all of you who thought we were friends or thought you had a kidney donation lined up or that I would loan you a couple dollars if you were down on your luck because of our association on Facebook, I guess we need to reevaluate things...

Top 5 Movies by Occupation: Lawyers

2008-03-27T17:46:00.000-07:00

I’m not a big fan of fantasy movies. While numerous nerds, and inner nerds, got literal and metaphorical boners over the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, I didn’t even see them all. Which is big, coming from me, who saw Ghost Rider, The Number 23, and “Step Up 2: The Streets”...twice (side note: great movie). I watch just about everything.

I am much more a fan of real life movies, stuff that could actually happen, like “The Bourne Ultimatum”, “Happy Gilmore” and “The Prestige”.

As such, I am starting a new column focused on the best real life movies, focused on real life people, and real life jobs.

And, thus, I introduce to you, the first in a 237 part series in titled “Top 5: Occupational Movies”. Today, we focus on the most loved occupation in the world, lawyers.

Lawyer movies are always enjoyable* (*note, lawyer movies are not always enjoyable). Forced to be well written, they are often full of passionate speeches, twist ending and shocking reveals.

In no particular order, here are 5 recent lawyer movies that can’t be missed (note, this is not a comprehensive list, but more to inspire you and make you qualified to judge if lawyering is something for you):

1. Primal Fear - This movie belongs to Edward Norton. Even if you bought a copy of the film, Edward Norton still owns it. In this, his first film, he plays the defendant, an alter boy, accused of murdering an arch-bishop. Richard Gere, playing your stereotypical arrogant, money grubbing lawyer, chooses to represent him. The last 15 minutes of this movie will blow your mind, and make you wonder if you would ever want to be a criminal lawyer.... good stuff.

2. Philadelphia - The first of the Tom Hanks (click here for some funny Tom Hanks related humor) Oscar double fest, followed by the loveable and seafood restaurant spurning Forrest Gump, this movie teams Tom Hanks, a lawyer, and Denzel Washington, also a lawyer, up against, you guessed it, lawyers. A trifecta of lawyer on lawyer action, the emotionally charged trial over AIDS and a wrongful termination case, will be tearing at your heart strings as you find yourself arguing against “the man”

3. Runaway Jury - John Cusack (always a winner), Gene Hackman and Dustin Hoffman throw in some gorgeous with Rachal Wiesz and you have quite the cast. Something about lawyer movies bring together the who’s who of Hollywood players. It seems like everyone has been in a lawyer movie, all to make a passionate closing argument. This one looks at a firearms case from the jury’s point of view. Entertaining stuff.

4. A Few Good Men - Because of this movie, people will continuously be asking if you are able to ‘handle the truth’. Jack Nicholson and pre-crazy Tom Cruise come together for some heated moments in military court.

5. Legally Blonde - Perhaps the most accurate depiction of law school ever (I have been told...), as far as chick flicks go this one is actually pretty enjoyable. They use a lot of lawyer words, so it, like, totally counts as a lawyer movie. And it manages to teach you a very valuable lesson, for both in and out of the court room, “the bend.... and snap!”.

I realize now that only five movies is somewhat short sighted...here are some more lawyer movies, new and old that are far better than some other movies you could watch (looking your way, “Beowolf”): “To Kill a Mockingbird”, “Fracture”, “The Rainmaker”, “My Cousin Vinny”, “12 Angry Men”, “Erin Brockovich”, “A Time to Kill”, “Ghosts of Mississippi”, “Courage Under Fire”.

The Twenty-Something Career

2008-03-26T23:26:00.000-07:00

There is a lot of pressure placed on the twenty-something-year-old as far as starting a career, making money, finding a permanent mate, and thus becoming part of the real-world. This financial pressure system has left me with a year and a half left of graduate school and looking forward to retirement.

I remember when I was younger I was so much more motivated and so much more disciplined in getting things done and I strived for big dreams. Now, although I'm only in my mid-twenties and still considered by society as "young", I find myself a cynical, ill-tempered, procrastinator. This leads me to wish that in my extreme youth (birth till 21), I had created financial stability to support my roaring twenties.

This arrangement seems to be a little bit more accommodating. Until about 15, you are not able to drive or get a permit. Legal drinking age starts at 21, and you really are not legal until 18 (16 under some special circumstances). What kind of fun can you really have? Not to mention, your parents are always around to make sure that you're not having too much fun anyway.

Beside the corrupted development of language, and nurturing needed for childhood, working from birth till 21-years of age really isn't that bad. That's 21 years of work experience. We could retire early and having worked for so long, enjoy our retirement not faced with the trials and tribulations that accompany old age. This time can also be spent seriously looking for that special someone to share your life with and to start and raise a family.

Now partying in retirement will eventually get old, especially as we age. My thoughts are that at 41, I'll probably finally realize what I want to do with my life and maybe will want to go to school to learn how to do what is that I want to do. I'll be more disciplined then and actually be serious about school because not only am I starting to near zero in my retirement funds, but I will have had much world knowledge and experience to realize my true calling. Plus, with the fast approaching mid-life crisis, I will be even more motivated to leave a little something good behind in the world.

But alas! I have one and a half years left of school, am frightened of what is awaiting me, and am unsure if what I'm studying is my calling for the rest of my life. Which leaves me wondering if I should put off the real-world for another few years by getting yet another degree. Kanye never took into consideration that maybe those pursuing degrees upon degrees in college may just be scared of what awaits them after school is over.

The Uninformed Concert-Goer

2008-03-25T20:50:00.000-07:00

Living in Hawaii, we don’t get a lot of first tier concerts. We aren’t the entertainment mecca of a Los Angeles or a New York, or even an Albuquerque, New Mexico.

So when a concert is announced and you have even heard of the headlining band the general feeling is that you should go to it.

This year, I have been to three concerts with three bands that have been heard on MTV: Incubus, 30 Seconds to Mars and Brand New.

While I know and enjoy each of these bands, and their hit singles that get said airplay on MTV, going to their concerts made it abundantly clear that I do not know their much of their catalog of songs or discography beyond that. Thus, being at their concerts surrounded by hard-core band fans who clearly know the lyrics of every b-side track and demo songs, can leave you feeling out of place, faking that you know the lyrics, and trying desperately to fit in (which can be difficult when the guy next to you has a mohawk and you are wearing a Banana Republic shirt).

Every concert, though, I know this is going to happen, so the intention is to do a little homework and research to get acquainted with the band. And yet, every concert, I fail to do this. It’s like going into a test at school having not studied a lick. Or in worse offenses, showing up for class and not even knowing you have test.

It usually doesn’t end up working out, and as such, the concert probably isn’t as much fun as the $40 ticket would lead me to believe.

Perhaps I should start being less of a concert whore and being a little more selective. Damn whoring.

What’s the best concert you have been to that you were actually prepared for?

How bout them apples! A guide to recent developments in produce

2008-03-25T09:51:00.000-07:00

I knew Disney was kind of fruity, but this is almost too much.

I was shopping at my local Vons (not Ralph's, for good reason ) the other day and I went to the produce section to pick up my regular purchase of Granny Smith apples, the only good kind of apple. As I was sorting through the individual apples, picking the nice looking ones out, groping them for inconsistencies and tossing aside any that were bruised or otherwise imperfect, I looked up for no particular reason, and there they were.

A bag full of nearly pristine, perfectly-sized Granny Smiths, courtesy of the kind folks at Disney.

A few things should be noted here. First, I’m not a huge Disney fan. I don’t go see all of the movies, I don’t watch the Disney channel, I don’t even look back on a childhood riddled with animated Disney movie memories, except perhaps Aladdin and his whole new world. Man… what I would give to share a whole new world with Jasmine … sigh…

Second, I’m not a snob who eats only organic fruits grown by people with whom I am on a first name basis. I like to support community, like a hippie, but I like to save money more, like a selfish person.

With that in mind, one should realize exactly what I did: at nearly half the price per lb of regular Granny Smiths, I bought the Disney apples. And in recent days, I’ve been enjoying them immensely, both for their perfect size and their juicy deliciousness, and also for the free temporary tattoo that came in the package.

Sure, I might be somewhat worried Disney is taking over the world, but as far as I’m concerned, they have to beat out Google and Apple first, so their world domination is at least a few years away. In the meantime, I’ll be enjoying my cheap but tasty apples. And hey, now they make Disney kiwi, too!

Lifestyles of the (not) Rich and Famous

2008-03-24T01:32:00.001-07:00

One of my life long dreams was fulfilled a few years ago at the the Los Angeles Airport.

A scruffy facial haired, hat donning, guitar carrying, t-shirt and jeans clothed version of myself sat waiting patiently for my flight home. Looking inconspicuous, minding my own business, and doing nothing more than being my normal self , a man walked by, did a double take, then asked “Umm, are you that guy from that show?”

Now, not knowing what guy he was talking about or what show he might have seen him on, I knew exactly how I had to answer, “Yes, yes I am,” and smiled. He asked me for an autographed, I scribbled something illegible and he went on his way. It was the first and probably only time I will ever be mistaken for being a celebrity (which is not say I won’t ever be recognized, at some point, as a celebrity), and it was awesome.

When you are not rich and not famous, there is something neat about those simple moments when you can feel like you are.

I am a somewhat charitable person. When asked, I always try to spare a little change, and not just touch my pants pockets a couple times, shrug my shoulders and say sorry.

On one particular occasion, I opened my wallet, hoping to find a crisp George Washington snuggled between the 20 dollar bill (singular) and the side wall of my wallet, but disappointingly found nothing but the twenty. Having committed to giving something already, I looked up, looked back at the twenty and slowly pulled it out and bid it adieu. Knowing full well that I had just given away my food money and would be eating cup of noodle for the next three days, I acted like it was no biggie, that I had tons of money to spare. I was gratefully thanked, and went on my way.

I think I might have impressed him as I came off looking much richer than I actual was.

Perhaps, though, my greatest instance of this, was my one and only first class flight. Cashing in on some well overdue miles, I splurged an extra 5,000 miles to not just get a free ticket, but a free first class return ticket from a mainland trip.

First class is aspirational. When you are sitting in coach, and you look up there towards the front, sneaking peaks behind that curtain that divides you from the successful people, you want nothing more than to be up there. Especially when you are squashed in the middle seat between an obesely overweight man who’s fat is folding over the arm rest, and a crying baby.

So, with my free ticket in hand, my moment had arrived. Despite being giddier than a school girl at a Justin Timberlake concert, I tried everything in my power to pull off the illusion that I belonged there.

I casually walked up to the first class counter to check in, strolled nonchalantly through the security check point until I took my seat in the holding area. At the preboarding announcement for first class and premier club passengers, I slowly got up, tossed my bag over my shoulder, like I had done this a million times before, and entered the gate.

Because first class passengers board first, when it comes time for the lowly coach passengers to be herded onto the plane, they have to do so past the comfortably seated first class passengers. I tried to look normal, reading the paper, and averting eye contact as much as possible, only occasionally looking up at the kids as they walk by and with a simple look tell them that “yes, one day, you can be living this life, too”.

I don’t think one needs money to be happy. Though, I would agree, it helps. In each of my mistaken richness moments, they weren’t fun because I came off looking rich or that I ever felt I was better than anyone else, they were fun because it gave me a feeling of success. Finding success is to find happiness. Feeling successful, and being able to feel proud about yourself is to really be happy. And if you can find that in cases of mistaken identities and first class tickets, it’s nice, as is finding it in the work that you do and with the people that you love, and that doesn’t require any money at all.

G.I. Joe, He-Man, and other childhood heroes

2008-03-22T14:22:00.000-07:00

My childhood friends are coming back to kill some Cobra Commandos.

Any fans of the toys, cartoons, or NES games about G.I. Joe will be ecstatic to know that come August of 2009, they can see Snake Eyes, General Hawk, Sgt. Slaughter and the gang on the big screen, fighting Destro and the evil forces of the Cobras.

Joe has had a surge of popularity in recent years, thanks in part to the hilarious re-dubbed PSAs by Fensler Films. Perhaps that helped contribute to the film idea going forward. Or perhaps it was the wild success of Transformers. Either way, what I want to focus on is all the other childhood toys that are getting the Hollywood snub.

Anybody remember Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots ? Where’s their big budget explosion-fest? Sure, there was Robot Jox, distantly similar to the toys, but even a hardcore fan such as myself can admit that the plot might have been lacking slightly on that one. With Transformers just coming out, maybe the market is just the right temperature for another hot robot movie.

Another favorite is Mr. Potato Head. We all loved his wisecracks in Toy Story; why not give him his own film? After all, he’s been experimenting will all different looks lately, he’s practically a chameleon. I’m thinking he’d be good for a spy film. Plus he’s got that sweet, sweet mustache, and who doesn’t love their leading men having a bushy upper lip?

What I’d really like to see is a He-Man flick. Sure, Dolph Lungren and the gang already did this one, but let’s be honest, that movie was ridiculous, and I’m not even including Courtney Cox in my judgment. (With her contributions, the film sinks way, WAY lower than just “ridiculous.”) No, what a new Masters of the Universe film really needs is a 300 -style squad of ultra-ripped dudes, crushing Skeletor and his minions in the graphic novel style of Sin City. Can’t you just picture He-Man yelling “This is Grayskull!” as he kicks some fool into a bottomless pit?

Which toys-turned-movies am I missing? What would you like to see brought to the silver screen?

The Selfish Hippie Crusades Against "The Man"

2008-03-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

And “The Man’s” name is Ralph—as in Ralph’s supermarket.

Hippies are all about natural foods, community building, free love and psychedelic drugs. This entry will be about the first two, and briefly touch on the third (apologies to the druggos out there).

I’ve run into some issues since I moved about nine months ago and had to start going to a new grocery store. I’ve shopped at Ralph’s before and was never very impressed with the service or selection, but it was also never anything that dismayed or disturbed me. That all changed when I began shopping at my new Ralph’s.

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Nobody seemed to know anybody else there, which was strange since it seems to be mostly airline employees (due to the close proximity of LAX), LMU students, and Westchester residents, which is an admittedly small community. However, that didn’t bother me so much as the general lackadaisical nature of the employees, long lines at the checkout at all hours, and the very poor quality of the produce.

After all, hippies like their natural foods, but since I’m a selfish hippie, I didn’t want to have to go to Trader Joe’s and pay slightly higher prices.

Trying to be a supportive member of the community, I wrote a letter expressing my dissatisfaction with my neighborhood Ralph’s, detailing my complaints and grievances, and hoping they would be fixed in a timely matter. I received a swift reply saying something to the effect of “We appreciate your business and we apologize for your recent experience. We’ve passed your comments on to the store manager so that they can improve their service. Thank you for shopping at Ralph’s.”

I was elated. My contribution may have actually helped improve the world! And all because I was too selfish to spend an extra couple bucks at Joe’s.

Several months passed with no improvement in service. Needless to say, I was perturbed. Like a dog who looks for better food at the neighbor’s house, I started venturing off, dabbling at Albertson’s, Vons, even Costco despite the general uneasy feeling I get from the type of people who shop there. (You know the ones… they get the huge flatbed carts and usually end up running over at least three people before they’re done buying all their Frappucinos and Velveeta in bulk.) They all were better than my neighborhood Ralph’s.

Well, I decided it. It was time to break up for good. Like all civilized break-ups, I did it through print correspondence. I sent another e-mail through the company website. When I received the reply, I knew I had made the right choice:

Dear Mr. Lehman:
Thank you for contacting Ralphs Grocery Co. Please accept my sincerest apologies for your recent experience. It is our goal to exceed customer expectations and when we don't live up to them, we do want to know about it. I have made the store manager and his team of associates aware of your comments so they can receive the feedback they need in order to improve in this area. A member of management will contact you within the next week to discuss your experiences.
Again, I am very sorry that your experience did not meet your expectations, or ours. Thank you for shopping at Ralphs. There is nothing more important to us than making sure your shopping experience meets your every need.
Sincerely,
Emily Boomershine
Consumer Affairs

Well Ms. Boomershine, I think you work for a crappy company, and you should quit and find a job worthy of you and your very cool surname. This hippie will be finding a new grocery store. Safeway, anyone?

What kinds of bad experiences have you had with Ralph’s?

Social Safeway

2008-03-21T00:33:00.000-07:00

There is a spot in Southwest Portland that promotes dating in a very unique and somewhat revolutionary way. It has been nicknamed (at least by my sister), "Social Safeway."

This Safeway amid the busy college and business life in downtown Portland provides a very sustainable dating arena. I find this somewhat smart as young, out-of-college-ers are not only interested in eating and to some extent working (because of the much needed money to provide for the eating) but young, out-of-college-ers are also interested in dating.

Although there are many places for people to meet, especially in the downtown metropolitan area, there is a certain mentality that accompanies these social "hot spots" that does not promote long-term dating. I mean, come on, how seriously can a girl really take a guy when he's grinding up against her to the tune of "Get Low" in the lovely stylings of Lil Jon?

Social Safeway is a brilliant idea. A friendly and safe atmosphere is provided with soft background music setting the mood for a casual "shopping" experience. Conversation starters are endless (though I would avoid chitchat in the feminine hygiene aisle) and one can guess a person's lifestyle, financial status, and relative age judging by items selected for purchase.

Worried about legal-age issues? Hang out in the liquor section. Looking for that special someone with a similar digestive lifestyle? Just hang out around your favorite foods that you'd like your soon-to-be partner to include in his/her diet. Vegetarians can seek out other vegetarians. Organic conscious can seek other pro-organics. And even if one wanted to put up a facade by sneaking in items into his/her basket, it would be an expensive one to fake, especially after many trips to Social Safeway.

But faking a certain "look" when it comes down to food is not a very convincing lie to make. Eating is a necessary part of life that you really can't hide. After all, you are what you eat.

Building Castles in the Sand: A Good Idea?

2008-03-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

Sand castles are complex.

At the beach, they make an adequate distraction and test of structural design for the young and the young at heart.

Unfortunately, that is about the extent of their usefulness.

As for those people fortunate enough to be in the castle market, actively seeking a castle as a dwelling place and home, I would not recommend a castle made out of sand.

Sand, unfortunately, lacks the solidity and cohesive attributes typically sought after in structural bases and building blocks of homes. It isn’t solid enough to legitimately build a castle out of, even with meager attempts at increased stability with the addition of salt water and slush to the sand mix.

A sand castle would be perpetually susceptible to the elements of nature (and rambunctious two-year-olds) and as such probably difficult to insure, at least without paying a hefty premium that hardly seems worth it.

While I appreciate the innocence and joy a sand castle brings to the beach, I can’t, at any stretch of the imagination, accept them as a viable housing option. It took me twenty-three years to realize this...perhaps, it is time we prepare our children better, and stop encouraging such outlandish fantasies.

Here are some cool sand castle pictures, if that wets your noodle:

A Facelift, a Tummy Tuck and Boob Job

2008-03-20T12:45:00.000-07:00

Our loyal readers may or may not have noticed that we at Misusing Big Words have stopped sitting by our telephones, waiting for a call from the Extreme Makeover people, and have decided to do the makeover ourselves.

We've now got a brand new design that (we feel) is more pleasing to the eye, and hopefully to other body parts as well. In the next coming weeks, look for further improvements, including Search by Topic; Notes by James, Mark and Cherie; and a "Meet the Misusers" page where you can find out more about us, your beloved crew on this sailing ship bound for greatness. And there may even be more improvements we don't know about yet!

As always, let us know what you think about our humble venture, either in the comments or by e-mailing us:
James@misusingbigwords.com
Mark@misusingbigwords.com
Cherie@misusingbigwords.com

My Shame Spiral: The Bluetooth Earpiece

2008-03-19T14:25:00.000-07:00

I read GQ and Details and Esquire, you know, for the articles. Without sounding too pretentious, I’ll admit, I read them to look interesting, intelligent and intellectual. I will be honest, though, and simple observation would confirm, I typically thumb-over the fashion articles.

I think I do this, not so much because I dislike the advice they are providing (heck, I should probably take a couple tips from them considering this), but something about following their advice and putting together their outfits and accessories makes me feel like a douche bag.

It might be the mind set from living in Hawaii, but male fashion just seems kind of ridiculous to me. Messenger bags, suspenders, berets... “You’ve got to be kidding me!” “Are you serious?” I hold back saying every time I witness such ridiculous offenses. I can think of no better way to describe the feelings I feel when I see these things then just a resounding “why?”

Perhaps the biggest offender of all this accessorization, the one that makes me cackle more than anything, the most ridiculous of the unnecessary gadgets, is the cellular phone bluetooth ear piece.

I hate those things. I mean, come on, how hard is it to hold your phone up to your ear. Do your hands not work? There’s such an arrogance behind those things, a “look-at-me-as-I-am-just-talking-to-myself-looking-like-I-am-crazy-but-oh-wait-let-me-turn-90-degrees-so-you-can-see-that-yep-yep-there-it-is-I-am-actually-talking-on-the-phone-bet-you-didn’t-see-that-coming-booyah-I-am-awesome!” kind of aura to them. If you are wearing a bluetooth ear piece, you are definitely “that guy”.

They are ridiculous.

(Now, here comes the twist ending)

They are also ridiculously awesome!

Recent extraordinary developments have led to an increased amount of telephone conversations in my life. $120 cell phone bill overage amounts of conversation. A few weeks of long conversations, sore ears and cramping arms led me to investigate potential phone alternatives. On the top of that short list of alternatives landed the bluetooth ear piece.

One $60 investment later, I found myself experimenting with my very own piece in the the privacy of my own room.

What a marvel!

Hands free communication, and an incredible comfort makes these phone conversations less phone and more conversation. What’s weird, and somewhat vindicating, is that everything I used to judge about bluetooth ear pieces is completely true. You are totally talking to yourself, but there is such a freedom to it. And you totally get these arrogant feelings of self-awesomeness as you converse with a freedom to roam and computer (that’s the verb for using the computer) or fold clothes or sort legal documents. And it is incredible.

Before the torches are brought to me, I should backtrack a little. Yes, the ear piece is awesome, and yes, I proudly support it amongst the dust particles and 500-thread count sheet sets of my room, but I am hesitant to ever take it into the public world. I don’t even want the condo-mates to know. (Though, they do, but, respectfully, don’t ask me about it).

I think this is because of all of the reasons I used to judge people who wear these things for. I still think those things are true, and despite knowing the benefits that this beautiful little invention offers, I still think people that sport them in public are asking to be qualified as major douche faces.

I am not ready to subject myself to such critiquing. Such GQ, Details and Esquire critiquing. Does this make me hypocritical? Absolutely. I don’t care.

There are certain things that are okay to like as long as you don’t admit to them, at least as guys. Romantic comedies, Kelly Clarkson songs, Project Runway, bikini briefs. Whatever. There is nothing wrong with enjoying these things in the comfort and privacy of your own company, as long as they stay there.

Cellular phone bluetooth ear pieces are no exception. So enjoy them away, but keep it your own little secret.

Remembering "The O.C." Season One

2008-03-18T14:00:00.001-07:00

In the Fall of 2005, I wrote a column for the Los Angeles Loyolan entitled “I See, You See, We all see The O.C.”. (Here’s a link to some of the articles) Probably, and sadly, some of my better writings, it was a weekly piece critiquing, reviewing and commentating on the previous week’s episode of “The O.C”.

At the time, the show had hit season three, and while still popular in the teen and 18-24 crowd, its audience and quality, for that matter, had begun declining. I was still watching it, though, still dedicated to the hijinxs of those spoiled kids from Orange County, having been tragically roped in during the incredible season one and unable to separate myself from it in the ensuing years.

Before I continue, I should note, I am a huge fan of the teenage dramas from Fox and The WB of the late 1990s and early 2000s. “Dawson’s Creek” is easily our generation’s “Beverly Hills 90210”. With its racier content, “The O.C.” would complete this SAT analogy to make it our generation’s “Melrose Place”. “Smallville” probably fits in there somewhere, too, as does “One Tree Hill” (which admittedly is the one program of the genre that I never quite accepted. I blame Chad Michael Murray.)

This past weekend, I revisited one of the greatest seasons of recent television with a DVD marathon of “The O.C.” season one (the only better, in my opinion, being season one of “Friday Night Lights” and “Lost”).

Watching it, you realize why the show fell off so dramatically in the later seasons. All the elements of the show that made it so enjoyable and gripping that first season had been diluted or completely missing through the later seasons.

Some observations:

1. The violence. Ryan, the kid from Chino, brought spunk (apparently, I found out this week, that “spunk” also means male ejaculate...wasn’t aware of this, and not what I am insinuating here...just wanted to point that out) and an unfettered temper to Orange County. In the early episodes he seemed to punch people for really no particular reason at all. It made for a type of tourettes fueled excitement. By season two, Ryan was a poon and we were back to watching kids over analyze their lives (ala Dawson’s Creek). Typically, this wouldn’t be bad, but we don’t like these characters for their analytical skills, we like them for their sexually charged violence and shenanigans. It’s like when Michael Jordan stopped playing basketball and switched to baseball. Sure, you watched him play because he’s Michael Jordan, but it wasn’t what you loved him for and hence it wasn’t the same. It didn’t have the same affect.

2. The sex. It might be nothing compared to today’s television, but even re-watching the DVDs this weekend I felt it pretty racy. It wasn’t so much that the main characters were having a lot of sex (evidently since the writers tried to make us believe that Ryan and Marissa waited until a “very special episode” in season three to dance the horizontal tango), but the show effectively created an sexually charged atmosphere of teenage debauchery. The faceless grinding and semi-nakedness prevalent in every party scene throughout the first season created a juicy setting for all of the rumblings.

3. The supporting characters. I suppose in every show characters need to cover some sort of character arc or growth or else viewers will complain nothing changes. I think that is true of main characters, but not so much the supporting cast. Unfortunately in this growth we lose some of the best elements of some of the best characters. Julie Cooper is a marvel in season one. I am hard pressed to think of a character so unequivocally hated than Julie Cooper in recent television memory. She was so consistent, so steadfast. There is not a scene she is in that doesn’t end with my wanting to utter “what a bitch.” I think that says something. In the later seasons, as they pushed her farther and farther into absurdity, and eventually try to redeemer her, she loses that specialness. You kind of want to always just hate her. Luke is another character that sadly got his story line wrapped up and then subsequently written of the show. That’s a shame.

4. The humor. Throwaway lines from Seth, Summer and Sandy (the three “s”) were irreverent and funny. They felt like normal things people would say, not scripted television, which is impressive because lest us not forget “real” normal conversation in the titillating real life knock-offs of “The O.C.” in MTV’s “Laguna Beach” and “The Hills”. (Side note...here is a funny clip from James Franco and Mila Kunis who show how much leniency we provide reality shows and their dialog by acting out some of the dialog. It is funny, in its sadness. Here is the link). The writing that first season was quick, smart and original. Sadly, the later seasons lost some of that.

I suppose I am just reminiscing. But, despite the terrible seasons that would follow, you cannot take away or remove the incredible 27 episodes (!!! that’s a lot more than usual) of the first season of “The O.C.”

8 Gallons of Mustard: A Costco Opus

2008-03-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

In what was probably more one small step for mankind, one giant leap for man than the other way around, a few weeks ago, I moved out of my parents’ house.

It is a big step towards growing up, though probably not as big as this or this.

There are obvious benefits to emerging from under the guarding wings of parents, but there are also some downsides. Increased responsibility, rent and decreased laundry cleaned with the motherly touch. (R.I.P “magic hamper”)

One of those added responsibilities is grocery shopping. No longer on the gravy train of mom provided and cooked food and meals, I have to provide for myself (and the condo mates on Tuesday, Thursday and the occasional Saturday--my designated cooking nights).

I am okay with this, though. I am a big fan of food.

Food gives me chubbies. Grocery stores, loaded with food, also give me chubbies. Costco, with its bulk quantities and king-sized portions of food, makes me need to change my pants. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Costco, technically, is more than a grocery store with its large assortment of products--jeans, vodka, hot dogs--from the Kirkland Signature catalog (which always struck me as somewhat strange that the same people that makes jean shorts and garbage bags are making my gallon-sized vodka and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies...but so be it).

On a recent trip to Costco, I discovered besides 64 oz. containers of Mayonnaise, they also sell engagement rings. Oddly, like everything else in the store, they sell them in bulk. Not sure what you would need with three of engagement rings, but, I am sure if they sell them, someone is buying.

Outside of every Costco, their snack stands sell $1.50 hot dogs and drinks and $2 slices of pizza. My first inclination is to say, “wow, that’s cheap!”, but maybe, it is just that everything everywhere else is just unnecessarily expensive (looking your way, $5 slice of pizza at Sbarro).

Even the selfish hippie, will be pleased that they don’t bag your groceries...at all. No bags, nothing. Well, if you are willing to recycle and reuse they do offer you old boxes to carry your belongs. High class, not really, but hey, if you are shopping at Costco, you probably aren’t the type who is going to judge.

Living on one’s own can be exciting and challenging and angering (more on that later in an article entitled “Roommates” about the differing of opinions upon what is considered “clean”) but it is nice to know that places like Costco exist to make things a little easier.

Midway through Mustache March

2008-03-17T11:01:00.000-07:00

We’re now past the halfway mark of Mustache March, and since mine looks so foolish, I’ll refrain from posting another picture. Instead, this week will showcase mustaches in pop culture.

The first reference may surprise some of you. After all, most of you probably didn’t realize that the lyrics to the song by Kelis actually go like this: “My mustache brings all the boys to the yard. And they’re like ‘It’s better than yours.’” It’s the beautiful tale of pubescent boys coming of age and growing some incipient fuzz under their noses. And don’t pay any attention to the title, “My Milkshake.” Artists these days will name their songs any crazy thing just to get them on the radio.

Speaking of milkshakes, the “I drink your milkshake!” guy himself, Daniel-Day Lewis, won an Oscar for his mustache-wearing abilities in “There Will Be Blood.”

His acting was great too, don’t get me wrong, but so was the acting of every other nominee for Best Actor. No, the thing that really let him stand apart from the pack was that sweet ‘stache he was sporting. Well done, Mr. Lewis.

Finally, one of the Original Kings of Mustache, Mr. Potato Head has had a resurgence in recent years. You can now make him into all sorts of characters from Star Wars to Spiderman to Optimash Prime and this year, he’ll become Indiana Jones from “Taters of the Lost Ark.” However, none of those will ever measure up to the original fantastic ‘stache of Mr. Pederast Head… er, I mean, Mr. Potato Head.

Keep on growing, friends. And send in any updates on the growth process. Pictures are even better… we’ll post any good ones we get.

5 Steps to Good Trash Talking

2008-03-14T15:26:00.000-07:00

Most professional athletes are pretty prolific at it. Politicians have their own ivy-league-preppy version of it, which is kind of effective (at least, in their own circles). Me, I am pretty inept.

I’m not sure why this is. I pride myself on being fairly situationally comedic (you know, like “Friends” or “How I Met Your Mother”) and really isn’t that what trash talking is all about. Making humorous, insulting observations about a person, or their mother, at an appropriate time to break their concentration. That’s my forte. But for some reason, doing so in the form of trash talk, trying to talk the smack, it escapes me.

I couldn’t trash talk a overly-emotional first grader to tears.

In my opinion, good trash talk consists of one or all of the following and must be delivered with ill intensions:

1. A detrimental statement about one’s abilities. (”Your skills at this particular task are inadequate!”) Bonus points if it is sexual in nature (”You’re skills at particular sexual tasks are very inadequate!”)

2. A derogatory comment about one’s mother. (”Your mother sucks!”) Bonus points if it is sexual in nature. (”Your mother sucks... everybody!”) Double bonus points if it is sexual in nature and references yourself. (”Your mother sucks... everybody... including myself... frequently and often”) Triple bonus points if it is sexual in nature and references yourself and is derogatory. (”Your mother sucks.... everybody... including myself... frequently and often... but she sucks at it.)

3. A threatening statement of violence. (”I am going hurt you”). Bonus points if it is fatal in nature. (”I am going to kill you”). Double bonus points if it is really fatal in nature (”I am going to kill you dead!”)

4. Swear words. (”I am going to kick you butt!”)

5. Similes (to convey your intentions with a clear, non-related example). (”I am going to beat you like a rug!)

It seems so straight forward. So easily put together with these easy steps.

Why can’t I do it?

Steps to Growing Up: Part 2 - Purchasing Life Insurance

2008-03-13T17:30:00.000-07:00

In our on-going effort to provide a public service to our readers, today, we welcome part 2 of the on-going series “Steps to Growing Up”. A check list and gut check to evaluate yourself and your progress into adulthood, for better or for worse.

You can read part one, here.

Today, part two. Of equal, if not greater, damning than part one in steps towards growing up is purchasing life insurance.

Nobody actually knows what life insurance does. Not even those kindly old people who try to sell it to other kindly old people during the commercial breaks on The Price is Right. It just kind of exists.

It’s something that at some point you are supposed to buy when you are trying to assimilate into adulthood. It’s sort of like a food processor, or cuff links, but for your life.

I have life insurance. I pay money to some life insurance company every month. As of yet, I have not seen anything in return. And in two years, I have the privilege to give them even more money and not get anything back. I guess that’s not completely true. I do get a quarterly magazine from the life insurance company about how good it is to be living. I guess that’s something...

What I think you are really buying when you cut a monthly check to the life insurance company is the privilege to say, “Yeah, I have life insurance” and get all of the adult connotations that come with it. And if that is something you are striving for then, I guess, mission accomplished.

Benefits of being a Pizza Delivery Guy

2008-03-12T15:19:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of undesirable jobs out there. Genital herpes spokesperson. Adult peep show jiz mopper. Poop Lab Technician. Maybe less grotesque, but also joining these embarassments in the doldrums of career aspirations is Pizza Delivery Guy. Definitely not at the top of the list of undesireables, it’s up there.

I feel few people complete their career aptitude test hoping it returns pizza delivery guy/girl, and I doubt many people major in home delivery at college. I could be wrong, though.

And actually, I kind of hope I am.

Because if you think about it, there are quite a lot of benefits to holding a career in the italian culinary delivery industry. This list is by no means comprehensive, but this is what I could come up with:

1. Your car always smells phenomenal. I am not a pizza delivery guy, and as such, my car does not always smell phenomenal. After going to the gym, it often smells like BO. Most other times it smells like farts, because, well, you know... Perhaps some of its few high moments are after I get take-out and have to transport it home. The next day, I am often treated to the residual smells that smell great. As a pizza delivery guy, your car always smells like that. If you can get them into your car...the women won’t be able to resist.

2. You work for a Fortune 500 company. This is about 90% true. If you work for one of the chains (Pizza Hut, Dominos, Papa Johns), then you’ve got a pretty impressive company to drop on your resume. Some creative wording on the title “Pizza Delivery Guy”, maybe “Human Resources - Sustenance Provider” and you are good to go.

3. People always welcome you at your door. Nobody ever pretends they aren’t home when you ring the door bell. You aren’t a Jehovah’s Witness. People welcome you with open arms. They want you. They need you. That has got to feel pretty good.

4. Free Auto Accessories. People spend thousands of dollars pimping out their cars with lights and accessories. You get to do this for free with your clamp on window sign. Not only does it pimp out your car, every girl that sees you, instantly gets your phone number. Imagine the possibilities....especially when you combine that fact, with point #1. Pizza isn’t the only thing you will be delivering home, if you know what I mean...

If things don’t work out for me in advertising. I know where I am headed...

Shymmetry Results Part 2

2008-03-11T01:51:00.000-07:00

After a few weeks of procrastination, I decided that it's about time to reveal yet another winner of our Shymmetry Photo Contest...

Thank you to Pia for submitting her photo!

Pia uses an unexpected line of shymmetry to create this stunning portrait and comes in first place for "Most Unique Use of Shymmetry".

Pia has won a pat on the back from co-worker, James, and a possible lunch date with previously mentioned fellow employer. Go Pia! And good luck to James on explaining a floating (but very shymmetrical) head accompany you to the lunch room.

For those of you who have not yet submitted photos, it's not too late! Send your most Shymmetrical photos to symmetry@misusingbigwords.com. It's not too late to win!

Stay tuned for more Shymmetry Photo Contest Winners!

For previous winners click here. For an article relating to Shymmetry click here.

Mustache March, Week 1

2008-03-10T10:07:00.000-07:00

It’s happening.

My mustache has now gotten long enough that when I purse my lips and look down, I can see the hairs. It’s really messing with my mind because I keep thinking that after I ate lunch I forgot to wipe the remaining squirrel hairs off my mouth. (Just kidding, I don’t actually eat squirrel, though from the look of me now I could see how you might think anything is possible.)

We’re now into Week 1 of Mustache March, and it's now in glorious full effect.

(If you don’t remember what I’m talking about, refresh your memory.)

Let’s keep those pictures and updates about your ‘staches rolling in. Remember, the best one will get it’s on spot on the homepage for the month of April. And it will also leave a lasting impression on the minds and hearts of America. So get growing!

After all, you don’t hate America, do you?

Crunched! A Tragedy of Slimy Proportions

2008-03-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

Note: this story is not for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach.

It had stopped raining shortly before I left work and headed home. I was walking my usual route, and as per usual, when I saw dried leaves or twigs or anything that looked particularly crispy and crunchy on the ground, I landed my foot directly on them and consequently enjoyed a most satisfying euphony of crunch. I don't know exactly what makes this sound so satisfying to me, but it does, and it does so enough that I'll even go out of my way if I see an object that looks particularly crunchy.

There was a special project going on at work, so I was working late into the night. I got off work that Wednesday around 9:30pm. I remember it was 9:30 because it's a 30 minute walk home and I arrive just in time for my roommate to start watching some trashy top model/house flipping/top chef show on Bravo. In hindsight, I would have been much better off staying at work for another hour, not only because I hate all shows on Bravo (except West Wing reruns, which for some reason show on Bravo), but because of what I'm pained to describe next.

About five paces from the front gate of my apartment complex, I saw a perfectly crispy looking leaf, and it having been a somewhat stressful day at work, this seemed to be karma's way of sweetening my day just a little bit. I actually quickened my stride ever so slightly in joyful anticipation of the sweet music that I would soon hear. When I arrived, I stopped, lifted my right foot, and planted it firmly on top of that dried leaf, and the sound gave me immense pleasure. It was only after my right foot slipped almost out from under me that I realized the tragedy that just happened.

In my haste and my ravenous anticipation, coupled with the darkness of night and the lack of adequate lighting, what I mistook for a dried leaf was actually poor Mr. Snail. And now, for an ever so slight pick-me-up, I had ended Mr. Snail's life in one aurally satisfying crunch.

I paused for a moment, contemplating the life that had been lost. I bowed my head, even, though that was more because I was looking at the ground than I was paying respects. Finally, I told myself there was nothing that could be done, Mr Snail looked like maybe perhaps he had lived a good, long, full life and was ready to go. He certainly moved a little slower than the sprightly young snails. If he had moved a little faster, I may not have mistook him for a leaf.

Rest in peace, Mr. Snail. We hardly knew ye. But I thank the snail gods every day for the joy your death brought me.

Selfish Hippie 3: The Return of the Selfish Hippie

2008-03-07T10:22:00.000-08:00

Your favorite hippie is at it again! If you missed previous Selfish Hippie tips, go back. Here's a few more tips to save money that will also save the world.

Sponge Migration

First of all, don’t use a dishwasher unless you really have to. It’s much easier (and uses less water because it doesn’t take as much scrubbing) to wash a dish immediately after using it. To wash dishes, though, you need a sponge. Use it for a little while (and make sure to follow these tips to keep it from smelling bad), then once it has passed its useful life, deport it out of Kitchen Country into Bathroom-ville to use on the tub. Let a few weeks go by, and once you have another sponge being deported from the kitchen, make the tub sponge migrate to Toilet Town. Worried about the next migration? Don’t; after the toilet, that sponge migrates to Garbage-land.

Itching for Scratch Paper?

Receipts left in the car, essays printed and proofread and found typo-ridden, once-a-day calendar pages, and anything and everything with a blank side can be used for scratch paper. I most often use them for grocery lists, then toss the used list in the recycle bin and keep the receipt to use for the next shopping trip. Also, once-a-day calendar pages work exceptionally well as one-time-use coasters, especially since they are usually good conversation pieces (everyone will have something to say about your “365 Days of Dachsunds” calendar).

Live Where You Work, or Near Where You Work
If you can get away with crashing on the break room couch at night, waking up early enough to make coffee for everyone in the morning, and figuring out a way to shower, then I say go for it. Most of us can't. That's why the second best thing to do is live near your work. If you can find a place within two miles, that's ideal. Two miles is an easy walk that saves gas while letting you get some exercise, and you'll also get to know the area around your residence much better. Plus, there's probably a grocery store on one of the routes home, so stop by there once a day and pick up the groceries you need and that saves another car trip, saving more gas, saving more money and saving your flabby ass.

Don't Just Work at Work
Speaking of work and groceries, don't go out to eat for lunch unless it's a special occasion. Spend a couple minutes brown-bagging those leftover raviolis from last night, toss in an apple, a yogurt and some baby carrots, and you've got yourself a nice little meal. The best part is, you can do that basically every day for a week and spend less than going out to lunch once (well, maybe... if you don't live in Los Angeles like me, your dining out lunches might be slightly less expensive). Added bonus: if you eat at your desk and surf the web while you do, keep some actual "work" minimized so you can pull it up at any moment. Your boss will think you're a real go-getter because of your working lunch, while all those other shmoes will look like slackers.

How to Thai a tie

2008-03-05T10:04:00.000-08:00

Most mature adult males, myself included, know how to tie a tie. However, I’d be willing to bet most people don’t know how to Thai a tie.

The Thai culture includes many diverse factors, but some standouts are the belief in Buddhism, an affinity for kite flying, and an enjoyment of Muay Thai, or Thai boxing. Pictures, representations or symbols of any of these, when stitched onto a silk tie, would help make a classy Thai tie—and that’s my kind of Thai tie. For the financially-impaired, any solid colored tie can be picked up from an outlet or thrift store, and can be modified using puff paint, Sharpie, or even washable markers, should you ever want to un-Thai your tie.

Now you can finally tell your parents you know how to Thai a tie. But what if they ask you to tie a Thai?

While we at MisusingBigWords don’t think you should ever tie someone up on the basis of nationality, we do understand that there are times when any person, regardless of race, gender, age, class, etc needs a good tying up. Whether you’re trying to prevent their escape or perhaps your agenda is a bit naughtier, here are the best ways to tie a Thai.

I personally am a fan of the Double Fishermen's Bend, mostly because the name sounds slightly kinky (though also slightly gay, which is unfortunate for me but perhaps fortunate for gays). The Trucker's Hitch just looks much too large with far too many loops to be usable, but if you’re into both decorative and useful, go for it. Another winner is the Figure Eight, or Flemish, Bend. Small and sturdy, but curvaceous, it adds some fun to Thai tying.

So you’re all set next time you need to tie a Thai. However there’s one more way to tie a Thai, and it doesn’t involve rope.

First, challenge a Thai person to a race or a game of some sort. Next, agree that there will be no extra innings, overtime, or sudden death of any kind. Finally, play well enough not to lose, but not good enough to win. In the end, you should have tied the Thai!

In closing, we at MisusingBigWords like to think outside the box, so we’ve provided you this creative education. We do not endorse harming yourself or others during any Thai-ing or tying of ties/Thais.

Mustache March, the beginning

2008-03-03T00:02:00.000-08:00

Just call me “Patchy the Pirate.” (see picture below)

Well, don’t, actually. That was the name I went by for Halloween one year, when I tried to grow my beard out and after a month, I still had to smear mascara into the hairs because they were long but sparse.

The reason for this confession is so that you can better understand the sacrifice of dignity I’m making in preparation for this month: Mustache March.

Having heard of Octobeard before, I was somewhat familiar with the idea of facial hair-themed months, but I was unaware that it was such a phenomenon. And according to several people who posted on my company forum, Mustache March is just the beginning. Aside from the aforementioned Octobeard, there’s Neckbeard November, Fu Man-June, and at least eight other options, all of which need only either rhyme, alliterate or fit together into one word to be considered valid.

So, I’ve begun the growth period, and I invite all who read this to join me. If I’m willing to undergo countless jibes, jeers, and laughs in the face to stand up for the principle of Mustache March, then you should too. Whether it be for a greater moral good, or if it's just for fun, draw comfort from my strength. And just know, whenever you are feeling down, that somewhere out there is a man with a mustache that looks not like a mustache, but just a dirty face.

I'll be posting photos of myself throughout the growth process and giving weekly updates, and I encourage you to give updates as well via the comments sections. If you want to go the extra mile and take a photo of your 'stache-y goodness, send it to mark@misusingbigwords and I'll post it on the site. The best mustache we get this month we'll place prominently on the homepage for the entire month of April.

The Apartment DJ

2008-02-29T07:49:00.000-08:00

Over the past few months, I've gotten to know my downstairs neighbor a little better. We have never met, but through primitive exchanges and eavesdropping on his music, I feel that I have come to get a gist of his being.

The month of January has been a rough one for him. Nothing but Death Cab or Bright Eyes pounded through my carpeted floors. His tempered mood had him banging at me through his ceiling as I practiced my shuffle-ball-changes, and my accordion playing didn't calm his spirits one bit.

February has brought some definitely brighter times with the weather warming up and after delivering a Valentine's card to his door (anonymously) thanking him for "putting up" with me (har har) he seems to be in a better emotional state.

Bright Eyes has stopped completely and the frequency of Death Cab has diminished, being replaced with the still slightly depressing, but much more upbeat and uplifting The Postal Service.

I have also come to find that February brings hope of a social life for my downstairs friend as his drumming has increased and band practice has begun.

This has got me scheming. Since he definitely has a fondness for music, judging by his musical endeavors and loud music playing, why not send him a mixtape? Well not really a mixtape, as I do not have the technology to make one, but maybe a mix cd. It definitely does not have the same sentimental attachment that a mixtape captures, but let's save that for lovers. This is a neighborly relationship, and a lighthearted, friendly gesture is more appropriate.

I will call it "The 'I Don't Mind If You Play These Songs Super Loud' Mix". Now, creating such a mix holds enormous amounts of pressure seeing as though his loud music playing must be heard by a larger audience than just he and I. It's almost like being an Apartment DJ... only anonymously. The Apartment DJ holds much importance as music plays a huge part in human emotions and moods. This mix must be super fantastic and somewhat communal.

So, I am asking for your help. I plan on getting this mix to my Downstairs friend by Monday, March 31st, 2008. Make your song requests to be included in this mix cd (you can either post it as a comment or send it to: cherie@misusingbigwords.com) and I will collaborate songs, post the playlist and deliver this mix to my downstairs neighbor along with a short note explaining the purpose of this mix cd. Remember, these songs should be songs that you would not mind hearing played at extremely ridiculous volumes sporadically throughout the day and/or night.

If you do not mind (and please indicate this along with your submission) I will also include your first name in the above mentioned note so that my neighbor will know just who these songs are from. If your business/workplace would like to make requests, send those over as well and we can dedicate specific songs from your place of employment. We can even dedicate songs to him from cities/towns/states where ever you are from and whatever you are in association.

This could be your chance to be a part of something uber amazing, maybe even revolutionizing. We can all play a part in being The Apartment DJ.

Life is Ambition's shadow

2008-02-28T21:24:00.000-08:00

The hardest part about life is waiting to find out who you’re going to become.

It’s not the day to day work, the stresses of relationships or responsibilities. It’s the waiting.

Nobody likes waiting. Waiting in line. Waiting for the oven to preheat. Waiting for your ride or a person to show-up. Waiting always feels like time wasted.

Which is weird, because that’s what we spend our whole life doing: we wait. We just wait. We just wait to find out who we’re going to become.

Sure, we do stuff along the way, a lot of stuff actually, in the hope it carries us to that desired destination. Sometimes, even aggressively so. You work on the assumption that it will pay off, but you don’t know. It’s a guess, a hope.

Sometimes, I picture life like a TV show. You watch something happen, it cuts to the outside of a building (maybe the "Family Matters" house) and the words “three months later” or “three years later” appear, and you find out what happens right away. It happens so quick. There’s an immediate payoff and you learn the consequence (unless, of course, you are watching “Lost”, in which case you don’t find out anything. Damn, I love that show, though).

What does the next year hold in store? The next five years? Ten years?

I guess that’s the “fun part”. I didn’t mean to use quotation marks there, it is fun. Bastardly fun.

Just, sometimes, I wonder...

"Can" you go wrong with canned meats?

2008-02-27T12:37:00.000-08:00

I don’t think you “can”. Or, at least, I didn’t so. Until now.

First, though, let’s tout the good qualities.

Vienna Sausage. Corned beef (hash). And perhaps the holy grail of canned meat, Spam. There’s not a swear word among them. Nothing but salty, succulent delicious words. And yes, I know the heavily-covered Spam pundits out there will be quick to naysay its “succulenticity” but I’d dismiss their claims faster than a fart in the wind. In most cases, the naysaying is little more than uneducated claims based on a tainted perception rather than a first-hand experienced disdain. Sure, outside of Hawaii, a hurricane is the only appetizer that would precede a Spam entree, but shouldn’t discount its savoriness.

Canned meats are always there for you. These sodium-saturated snacks never go bad, which also means, these sodium-saturated snacks are always good.

How is that for some solid logic?

Unfortunately, in recent weeks, the unblemished record of deliciousness is being challenged by a German company trying to expand the canned meat market. Take it upon the country responsible for the Nazis to champion their next “great” invention, the Cheeseburger in der Dose (roughly translates to “Cheeseburger in a Can”).

I will admit that this critique is one on concept alone. I have not tried the “cheeseburger in der dose”, but gladly would. I’ve stated a number of times before that I am willing to put most anything in my mouth. This is not an exception.

I suppose I am not against the meat, so much as everything else: the special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.

I cannot imagine how this would be good. This review seems to support my lack of imagination.

But really, the question is: why would someone do this?

A letter to a devoted friend

2008-02-26T17:41:00.000-08:00

There you are, sitting in the corner, staring at me with those big black eyes and those funny little eyebrows. And that smile—it’s as if you’re saying to me “I know you. I know everything about you. And I accept you.”

Though I never realized it before now, you’re the best friend a guy could ever have, Clippit.

I don’t care what the others say. It doesn’t matter to me when they tell me “It’s just a paper clip, and not even a real one at that.” So what if you can’t hold together my papers the way a normal paper clip would. You hold together my life like no one else can, and to me, that’s what is real.

Sure, they call you the Microsoft Office Assistant, but if only people got to know you, they’d realize there’s so much more. They’d see past the outer façade of joviality into the deeper pain and anguish within. They’d understand that even though you don’t have emotions like us, you still feel things deeply. They’d know that when you have a good idea, and demonstrate your desire to share your knowledge with us through your use of the animated light bulb, you hurt when nobody pays attention to you.

I know you must have watched me make a million mistakes in life, knowing you could help, but not knowing how to tell me without making me feel inferior. But it’s OK, Clippit, because I appreciate now the value of your suggestions. I know you’re just trying to help, and just like any good friend, even though your advice sometimes is pretty worthless, for the most part you are spot on. Like that time I accidentally auto-formatted my English paper—you were there for me then, and you are there for me now.

So I just wanted to tell you, Clippit, how much I value your being around. I feel like I can ask you anything. Even when I ask you silly things like “Help me take over the world,” you always know how to gently bring me back to Earth by telling me instead how to format my paragraphs or add borders to my document. It’s your own subtle way of keeping me in check, and I’m able to understand without getting offended.

Finally, Clippit, I just wanted say thanks. Thanks for being my friend. I owe you one, big guy. I’ll see you in a few days for that big project.

The Acceptable Versus Unacceptable Neighborly Borrow Request

2008-02-26T09:35:00.000-08:00

The other night, I had a hankering for my Mom's Famous Stroganoff. With a skip in my step (as this had been the best idea I'd come up with all week), I headed out to the nearest grocery store ("Social Safeway" as my sister calls it, but we'll get into that at a later time), to pick up some ingredients.

Arriving back at my apartment, I realized I forgot one minor ingredient: flour. Now you really only need like two tablespoons of flour to make stroganoff and it really isn't a key ingredient, but it gives the sauce in my Mom's Famous Stroganoff that special consistency, and being the Gourmet that I am, I could not let myself get away with a missing ingredient. So I ventured to my neighbor's to borrow some flour.

But something peculiar happened; I hesitated. Being that this is a college apartment complex, I did not expect my punk-rocking neighbors to have flour as a staple ingredient in their cupboards (and I really doubt that they would give up their precious drugs disguised as flour as a practical joke) but I did not feel that knocking down a few doors, measuring cup in hand would be acceptable social behavior in this day and age. Finally, I ended up at my friend's apartment (who is a frequent baker), and managed to scrounge up the two tablespoons needed for my culinary needs.

This got me wondering: In the past, neighbors have, for the most part, been dubbed as someone to turn to if you should need assistance. Even Dictionary.com defines "neighbor" as "a person who shows kindliness or helpfulness toward his or her fellow humans" (Dictionary.com, 2008). In this day and age, however, it is hard to come by a person who is friends with his or her neighbor. Rarely do we go over to another's asking to borrow a cup of sugar, a cup of milk or any cup of anything for that matter.

Nevertheless, the past is the past, and some things don't come back into style. But back in those days there must have existed some fine lines between what was deemed an "acceptable borrow request" and an "unacceptable borrow request".

I would imagine that a cup of sugar borrowed at 3pm on a Sunday afternoon, was an acceptable amount (I know because of the Outkast saying, "lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor" before I shake it like a polaroid picture). But what about a cup of cereal? Would a cup of cereal borrowed along with a cup of milk (because if you really were a well budgeted person, you would ration out your milk usage accordingly to your cereal consumption) at 7am on a Monday morning be an acceptable borrow request? Maybe and maybe not. Would two cups of sugar still be an "acceptable borrow request" given the same borrowing time frame of 3pm on a Sunday afternoon? Would 4 cups? 5 cups? What quantity starts to surpass the "acceptable borrow request" line, venturing into "unacceptable borrow request" territory?

Maybe the complicatedness of the situation is what drove this piece of social etiquette out of style. We are a society run on convenience and if an affair is not to our liking or advantage, we are very likely not to participate.

But when, exactly, did this custom go out of style? The rush of panic and hesitation I felt must have sparked my social sense and be indicative of some sort of social norm violation. But had I knocked ten years ago, would things have been different?

Only survivors of this great American custom would know for sure.

Shymmetry Results Part 1

2008-02-25T13:55:00.000-08:00

Shymmetry Photo Contests Results

Thank you to all who have participated in our first Shymmetry Photo Contest! Photo judging has been such a difficult process because all submissions are all just about the coolest things we have ever seen in our entire lives. So great.

I know all of you are anticipating the results, so as not to overwhelm you, the winner for each category will be revealed starting today. We will reveal all of our winners over the next few weeks, so if you submitted a photo, keep a look out, you just may be our next winner!

Our first winners come from Charlottesville, V.A. Riki and Kawai are newlyweds who will be receiving big hugs come this August.

They used their new MacBook to capture their feelings on shymmetry and tie for first place in the categories "First Photos Submitted" and "Most Subtly Shymmetrical." Shymmetry is very evident here, even though some facial features seem more apparent.

Thank you for your submissions! And good job with your pictures. We hope you had as much fun taking them as we did receiving them!

Those of you late comers, if you are still interested in weaseling your way into our contest, you may submit photos to symmetry@misusingbigwords.com. We may just create a new category for which your photo may be eligible to win.

*For an article relating to shymmetry, click here.

How to tell a convincing lie

2008-02-25T00:28:00.000-08:00

I’m a liar. I lie a lot. I mean not a whole lot (don’t worry, ladies), but on occasion I'll tell a white lie.

Some times, at work, to cover my or someone else’s ass. Some times, in life, to cover my ass, again. Some times, and this is probably most times, for no reason at all.

Actually, that’s a lie. There is always a reason for a lie. To make someone feel better about him/herself (no, of course, I think you are attractive!), or probably more likely to make yourself look better (trust me, that’s 12 inches). Sometimes, the lie is just a small exaggeration. Not hyperbole, but small changes to the truth. How much something cost... How long you did something... Why you couldn’t come out last night... Just little things.

But, this post isn’t about lies or the types of lies we tell. This post is about selling those lies. Being believable. There aren’t many steps (lying actually is pretty easy, that’s probably why so man people do it), but they are all very important.

In my experiences, the following must be true, to pull off a lie.

1. The lie must be believable

I want to say this is the most important part, but it’s not. I think rule three, above all else is the most important. This rule and rule two can be bended with a solid rule three. But this is still important, especially if you aren’t good at rule three.

This should be obvious. If the lie you tell, couldn’t also be true, it isn’t going to work.

Person: “Why didn’t you come out last night?”
You: “Oh, I was fellating Jessica Alba.”

Chances are that one’s not going to fly, even if it was true. Only push the lie as fair as it needs to go in order to cover what you are trying to cover. The lie doesn’t have to be extravagant. In actuality, it shouldn’t be. It should be contextually unassuming and nonchalant so that there is no reason to question it.

2. The lie must be irrefutable, at the time

This rule is a bare minimum. A lie doesn’t need to be completely irrefutable. Sure, a completely safe lie would be, as you don’t need to expand upon or defend it at a later date, but that isn’t always possible. Really, a lie only needs to work at the moment it's told, it only needs to stand the test of a second. Part of this is knowing your audience, and knowing that they don’t have the knowledge about the lie to refute you.

This is particularly true for fact based lies. It also makes fact based lies the easiest to tell. How many miles is it from here to there? How much does this cost? You can answer these with any answer, you just have to come off confident in your answer.

Which leads to rule three...

3. You must believe the lie, too.

Good salesmen thrive on this. They tell it, whether it is true or not, like their hand is on the bible. When you tell a lie, that is really the most important part, selling it. Which becomes all the more easier if you can convince yourself that it’s true.

This seems obvious, too. If you tell it like you believe it, people have no reason to not to. Why would you not look like you are telling the truth, if you “are”?

Like picking-up people, it’s about confidence. Being confident in what you are saying is always good advice, regardless of the circumstances, but especially in telling a lie.

Sometimes I don't even know what my mind is thinking...

2008-02-23T11:11:00.000-08:00

I wrote this piece after a trip to the movie theater one day. I got about a page into it and then... fizzled... Too bad too, because as I was writing it, I was thinking to myself "Yes! YES! I am insightful! I am wise! This is amazing!" It was like pitching 8 innings of a perfect game, and then walking away from the mound without turning back. Anyway, read on.

Do people who are dying get more out of life?
Case in point: "The Bucket List," the new movie in which Jack Nicholson and
Morgan Freeman get into all kinds of crazy shenanigans after both have been
diagnosed with terminal cancer. As a film, it was very enjoyable, but not
without its heart-wrenching moments.
However, this is not a review.
What I'm more interested in is the notion of doing all the things you ever
wanted to do in life but just never got around to. After all, that's what the
bucket list is--a list of things you want to do before you "kick the bucket."
While I normally applaud this idea and enjoy the romanticism of it, this time
around another thought struck me.
What if you're the type of person who lives his life like this all of the
time? Someone who doesn't have a list of things he has wanted to do for years
but never gotten around to because if he wants to do something he does it? Does
not that person deserve a film about himself (even if he can't narrate it in the
voice of infinite wisdom of Mr. Freeman)?
It brings to mind the old story of the prodigal son--and I'm confident that
no matter what your religious upbringing, you have some familiarity with it. The
elder son stays with the father, helping him around the house, generally being a
good son, while the younger man moves away, goes knee deep in booze and women,
and gets drugged out and sloppy drunk in a Lohan-esque spree, only to come
crawling back to pops when the money is gone. Dad accepts him back and has a
party for him.
It’s a touching tale of unconditional love and forgiveness, except that it
impresses upon us a completely twisted worldview.
Psychologically and economically speaking, why are we rewarding bad behavior?
The prodigal son, like “The Bucket List,” romanticizes the notion of “make your
mistakes along the way, because you’ll have a chance to correct them later.
Nevermind. This doesn’t make any sense.

See what I mean? If anyone can make sense out of this or can pull out a unifying theme/idea that is worthwhile, go for it. I just found it funny that I had actually compared the Bible to Lindsey Lohan. By the way, does anyone remember when she used to be hot (ie "Mean Girls")? What happened there?

Stormy Music

2008-02-21T19:00:00.000-08:00

I lay in bed, reading quietly. The window, inches from my head, sounds with the tiny noises of raindrops drumming against the glass and the sill below like so many popcorn kernels popping. Through the pillow, the muffled sound invades my ears and reminds me of the sound of hunger, of my stomach growling, or of the sound of gas bubbles making their way through my intestines. For some reason, those two things sound the same. As I half listen to the rain and hear this sound of hunger and pre-flatulence, I feel myself getting nauseous.

It’s not just the sound that nauseates, it’s the idea, the feeling. I am alone, in this room far from home, there is no one here that will come to drink hot cocoa and tell stories about the times the rain spoiled their birthday party or car accidents they were involved in caused by rain-slick roads or how nice it is to curl up in an easy chair in front of the fire when the weather starts to make one depressed. There’s just me, the wind howling and distracting me from the pages of my book.

I wrap myself in the covers, but I can’t seem to get warm. No, that’s not right, I’m sweating, I must be warm. I just can’t get comfortable. I turn to one side, then the other, letting the blankets ooze under my body, cocooning myself in warmth, but it’s not enough to warm my thoughts.

I read the last sentence again, then I read the whole paragraph again, then I read the whole page again, and each time I finish I realize I don’t remember anything about what I just read. Did anything important happen to the characters? Did anyone die? Was anyone born? I think I would remember something like that, so I decide none of that happened and I continue reading. I push through to the end of the chapter and close the book, knowing that tomorrow I will pick it up and read the whole chapter again.

All the while the nauseating rain drums the windows, beating out the steady music of stormy weather.

That Tattoo on My Ass is Rafiki

2008-02-21T08:51:00.000-08:00

If I were to ever get a tattoo, it would probably be of Rafiki. See below...

I know as a Caucasian male, that is somewhat sacrilegious. I should get a Kanji tattoos (and continue to perpetuate the White man, asian fetish stereotype) or an anchor or a skull or something, I don’t know.

Since a tattoo lasts forever, or until an expensive surgery, my stance is that tattoos should represent an important motto or role model or guiding principle for life. It is something that should reminded you of how you are supposed to behave. “F--- your mom” probably would not be appropriate.

That’s why, if I had to, I would choose Rafiki.

Perhaps the greatest character ever put to animated film, Rafiki is the perfect representative of how life should be led. He’s a little crazy, a little nuts. He’s a jokester AND a philosopher.

Take, for instance, this nugget he shared with a distraught Simba in the classic animated film “The Lion King”:

Adult Simba: I know what I have to do. But going back will mean facing my past. I've been running from it for so long.
[Rafiki hits Simba on the head with his stick]
Adult Simba: Ow! Jeez, what was that for?
Rafiki: It doesn't matter. It's in the past.
[laughs]
Adult Simba: Yeah, but it still hurts.
Rafiki: Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or... learn from it.
[swings his stick at Simba again who ducks out of the way]
Rafiki: Ha. You See? So what are you going to do?

That’s golden. You just can’t come by gems like that anymore.

Sure, a monkey head tattoo, depending on its placement on my body, could be weird and awkward, but for a reminder of those lessons on a daily basis, it seems worth it.

What kind of tattoo would/have you gotten?

Steps to becoming a grown-up: Part One

2008-02-19T23:25:00.002-08:00

The moment you step out of college, into a work setting, and into some pseudo-responsibility, you don’t become an adult. You might fake it from “9 to 5”, maybe even fool a person or two with a clever ruse, but you’re not. You might binge drink a little less, wake-up naked in a stranger’s yard a little less frequently, and have one or two fewer illegitimate children. And sure, this is progress, but the steps to becoming a grown-up are less about what you stop doing and more about what you start doing.

It is a gradual process, like pooping a pine cone, and it only slowly comes into fruition.

In this umpteen part series, we will look in depth at the process, its individual attributes, step by step, but in no particular alphabetical order.

Part One - Listening to NPR

Talk radio is for grown-ups. No one calls in to give shout outs to the Roosevelt High School junior class or request “Low” by Flo-Rider featuring T-Pain (which is a bit of a shame). It is discourse. Sometimes it’s civil, sometimes not, sometimes it’s smart, sometimes not, sometimes it’s funny, and sometimes not. It’s people talking about stuff. Political stuff. Sports stuff. Life stuff. Grown-up stuff. Kids don’t listen to talk radio.

And if talk radio is the cookie aisle at the grocery store, NPR is the E.L. Fudge Cookies right there on on the middle shelf.

Unlike the scrumptiously delicious E.L. Fudge cookies, though, that are excellent and perceived as nothing but awesome, NPR doesn’t have such a clean rap. Imagine you’re O.J. Simpson and you didn’t kill Nicole Brown and Rob Goldman, no matter how innocent you are, you are always going to be seen as guilty. NPR is in the same conundrum, and arguably much less guilty, of crimes of boredom, stuffiness, banalness and generally seen by the youth as “lameo” (Side note: If you still think youth say “lameo” you also inadvertently have taken a step into adulthood).

It’s actually very much “not lameo”.

Well, some of its programming is. The classical music block is pretty bad. Garrison Kellior is funny, but he talks at the speed of glass bottle Heinz ketchup and with a lack of liveliness unparalleled outside of nursing homes.

But there is some really good stuff on there, too. “This American Life” is, 90% of the time, interesting; “In Character” and “Popular Culture” are always intriguing; and I’ve just started listening to “alt.NPR: Love and Radio”. (Surprisingly, as a sign of hipness, all of these programs are available as podcasts for your convenience and listening pleasure.)

The majority of these programs are people talking about life and elements of life. They tell stories. And as I said, sometimes they’re funny, and they’re always interesting. A lot of times the stories are relatable, able to put your life into perspective, or at least spur some thought. Other times they are absurd, and you get roped in because you can’t believe they are true.

And true stories are always better. They get away with more than fiction. You sit there thinking “bull shit, that couldn’t happen”, but it did and it does and the people on NPR are articulate, so the rope just keeps pulling you along.

Maybe NPR gets a bad rap from uninformed kids. PBS sucks with its Masterpiece Theater and Jane Austin films and America's youth projectile vomit those feelings on to its sibling, public radio. This is not the case. Listening to NPR will distill those misconceptions. Or maybe, you hit a certain point in your life, a stage in your development to becoming a grown-up, that when you finally listen to NPR, you are at a place in your life that you can’t help but find it interesting.

In either case, and for whatever reason, once you start listening to NPR, it’s one small step for man, one giant leap towards Depends.

The Selfish Hippie 2: Full Throttle

2008-02-19T08:10:00.000-08:00

This is the second installment of the Selfish Hippie. For the previous post, go back.

As you know, I’m a fan of conserving, but I don’t do it for the environment. No, Mother Nature is getting the fringe benefits of my selfishness. I conserve because I’ve found ways to do it that help me and the economy, financially. Here’s some of the more recent ways to save money by being hippie-like.

Take Stuff from Work
This one is a given: slowly siphon pens, paper, paper clips, tape, glue, scissors, etc. from your desk or supply closet at the office. Let's face it, they don't really need one set of each of these for every desk; people are irresponsible and will lose them somehow anyway. This way, you are constantly borrowing each others materials, building a community (which hippies love) and at the same time sticking it to the man in a small way.

Reverse Junk Mail

Speaking of sticking it to the man, here's a miniscule but fun way to punish companies who send unsolicited mail while at the same time supporting your government (that way you don't have to feel bad stealing from the government at other times). Those credit card offers you get every week all come with a pre-paid self-addressed envelope. If you simply throw away the offer, the company has spent about 1 cent sending that to you. However, if you send them back that pre-paid envelope, it now costs them 39 cents at least (more as postage rates go up). Just make sure you don’t include any personal info so they don’t think you’re signing up for their crappy offer. (Some people go even further with this...)

Get Your Sh*t Together
Every month or two, do a complete full scale assault on bedrooms, closets, cabinets, common areas, garages, etc... anywhere you keep a lot of junk. Go through and clean and organize all the junk, and you'll be amazed at the things you find. About 1/4 of it you can sell on eBay, 1/4 you can donate to charity ($$ tax write-off $$), 1/4 you’ll likely want to keep or can reuse somehow, and 1/4 of it you can throw away.

"Trade" with Your Workplace
Speaking of reusing old junk, oftentimes cleaning out a home office will yield all kinds of strange office supplies which you probably never used (for instance, that industrial sized box of paper clips you bought at Costco because, well, you never know when you'll need to clip paper together). You could keep these in your home office if you want, but it’s a much more practical idea to bring them to your work. Offices use this kind of stuff all of the time, so you might as well give back a little, since you won't be using them. Plus, this way there's no guilt for pilfering stuff from your office (see above). This way, you're not even stealing, you're trading!

Do you have any tips on how to become a Selfish Hippie? Look for more installments in the near future.

Wiping or Flicking? Who Nose!

2008-02-17T15:35:00.000-08:00

Cost-Benefit Analysis: Booger Flicking vs. Booger Wiping

I don't care what you say about boogers, everybody pulls one out every now and then. Maybe it's that one elusive fellow that doesn't quite come out when you blow your nose, or perhaps you get no greater sense of accomplishment than digging in nice and deep in the morning and cleaning out all the overnight gunk buildup. Either way, from my travels and my study of different peoples, one thing seems to be a uniting factor.

Everybody is a nose-picker.

Some people find nose-picking disagreeable. To you disagree-ers, I disagree. It's a necessary bodily function, like burping and farting (and almost as fun, too!), and it helps keep you healthy and even exercises your dexterity. After all, boogers are all the dirt, dust, and other allergens polluting the air that your nose is able to catch before you breathe them into your lungs. Don't believe me? Check out this article (in easy to read, "kid-friendly" terms) about all the gross stuff that make up boogers.

So, we've established that everyone picks their nose, and we've established that nose-picking is good to get all that stuff out of there. Now, what do you do with it once you've got a fresh one sitting on your finger?

In my estimation and research, there are three options: put it in a tissue and throw it away, wipe it on an unseen surface (such as underneath the driver's seat or under a desk), or flick it as far as possible (I've seen one fly across an entire classroom before). For the purposes of this article, let's assume no tissue is available, leaving only two of the three options available.

Costs of wiping Makes that part of chair/desk/etc unusable, except for booger wiping. Probability someone will notice and be disgusted rises sharply. You miss out on the fun of flicking.	Benefits of wiping You know exact location of booger. Next time you wipe, you can compare sizes, shapes, and consistency with previous boogers. If sitting in furniture of someone you despise, it's a nice way to leave them a small gift. Due to composition, boogers are always wipeable, but not always flickable.
Costs of flicking You don't know exactly where it went (ie possibility of stepping on booger later). Possibilty of someone you know and like being hit by "friendly fire." Sometimes won't work if consistency is particularly sticky.	Benefits of flicking It's fun. If in a moving vehicle, you can flick it out the window and send it back to it's home in nature. Can be used as a subtle attack method against everyday enemies.

I must say I'm surprised at the results. I thought for sure flicking would be the clear winner, but it seems costs of flicking are equal to the benefits, while the benefits of wiping outweigh the costs. It seems, though, that if you practice and can control the direction and velocity (as well as account for wind resistance and aerodynamics), flicking could be a better choice.

What do you think? Am I missing some costs? Benefits? Which do you prefer, and why? Names can remain anonymous, though as we've already established, everyone is a booger-picker, so there should be no shame.

Things I Didn't Learn as a Kid

2008-02-16T00:10:00.000-08:00

BREAKING NEWS: Everybody Poops. Don't believe me, here is the documentation.

I stumbled upon this nugget of information in Borders today. That is some pretty serious news that I somehow missed as a kid. I feel my perspective on life changing...

Again, I exaggerate. I actually figured this factoid out sophomore year of college when my then held belief that only guys, not girls, poop was shattered by an unfortunately unlocked bathroom door, a rather foul but distinctive odor, and a female coed the culprit.

What I am getting at is that I had no idea this book existed, and I know there are many others that were surely staples of most people's childhoods that I somehow missed out on.

I hadn't read "The Giving Tree" until the summer before I left for college. That book broke my heart, but it also taught a valuable lesson, that I had I known earlier, probably would have affected my charitable contributions to the world.

I saw "The Karate Kid" for the first time in my life this past weekend. Sure, I pretended to get "wax on, wax off" jokes when people quoted them, and I eventually figured it out, but never from the source.

"Top Gun" was the same way. Saw that freshmen year of college for the first time.

I purport to have an extensive knowledge of popular culture and all things media oriented, and this is probably true of everything post-1994. But that leaves the first 10 years of my life as missed experiences that seem so vital to people our age.

Somebody in some magazine hinted at this, when they commented that so much humor these days is derived from popular culture and pop culture references, and that if you aren't aware of them, you are going to miss out on a lot of humor and casual conversation in the coming years. Like the author of that article, most "Harry Potter" jokes go over my head, as I never jumped on that bandwagon of nerdiness.

There are other gaps in my childhood experience that are probably not typical of people my age.

These are the ones I could rattle off the top of my head:

1. GI Joe (besides the "Knowing is half the battle" goodness, never saw the show, never had action figures.)
2. Professional Wrestling
3. Comic books (I actually tried this, and my mom bought me a mega pack of second rate titles from Costco when I was trying to get into them, but it never caught on with me).
4. Most Roald Dahl books never made it on my book list.
5. Judy Bloom and "Where the Wild Things Are" failed to do anything for me.
6. "Love you, forever" was never a message I was told.
7. Boxcar Children (more ignored due to perceived lameness than anything else)

I am sure there are loads more.

What was I into... these are the things I can remember:

1. Saved by the Bell
2. Wayside School is Falling Down
3. Sports galore (I was trying to figure out what kept me busy, and I spent probably 80% of my waking hours following or playing sports).
4. American Gladiators and GUTS (Nitro was crazy, but they all used to be crazy and not give a shit. Didn't the first episodes, the judges wore executioner hoods? Way better than this latest version)
5. Brown Bear, Brown Bear: What Do You See? (This was like little kid hip hop, if read correctly)
6. TGIF (and all the shows it encompassed...even Perfect Stangers, Going Places and Hangin' With Mr. Cooper...don't forget the theme song to TGIF..."It's Friday night, and the moon is right, come have some fun, show you how it's done, T.G.I.F)..

This will blow your mind...

7. Baseball card (prized card, my 1989 Ken Griffey Jr. Upper Deck rookie card.)
8. Cookie Crisp (the commercials were awesome, the cereal even better)
9. Kid Cuisine frozen dinners.
10. Cartoon Express on USA Network. (Only caught the end of this, hence the "knowing is half the battle" knowledge, as it came on right before American Gladiators)

I am sure there is more here, too...but I will let you expand.

What do you remember from your childhood? What did you find in later years, you completly missed out on that everyone else feels is quintessential?

We're Freakin' Famous

2008-02-15T14:51:00.000-08:00

In case you weren't aware, we're official. Read it and weep. With joy.

The name is Bond. Mr. Bond.

2008-02-15T11:13:00.000-08:00

I'm now 23 years old, and I've just recently joined that magical world where everybody has a first name.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, ask any child his best friend's dad's name. It's not "David," it's "Mr. Hasselhoff." (Yes, that's right, this particular hypothetical child is best friends with David Hasselhoff's son.) But not me. When I call someone on the phone, I boldly ask "May I speak with Steve, please?" And I don't even get a strange reply, just a prompt "Sure, one moment please."

I work with all sorts of people of all ages and backgrounds, and am on a first name basis with all of them. I supervise many people old enough to be my parents, and some even old enough to be my grandparents, but when I walk the halls, I suavely call out "Hey Janie," "How's everything Tim," "Looking good there, Ron." I am the guy that, as a child, I never thought I'd grow up to be.

The funny thing is, there are some exceptions. My third grade teacher is still "Mrs. Wilder;" in fact I don't even know her first name, and I wouldn't dare call her it if I did. My childhood friend's dad is still "Dr. Adamson;" the closest I've come to calling him by his first name is letting "Doc" slip once, and I felt ashamed for three days afterwards. It’s like when a professor tells you to call him “Chuck” after you just finished a semester of calling him “Mr. Norris.” (Yes, this hypothetical professor is none other than Chuck Norris, who, even in my fantasy world, no matter how many times he told me to call him Chuck, I would never drop the "Mr. Norris." Here's some reasons why.)

There’s something inherently difficult about going from one level to the next. It’s a graduation from authority figure to friend status, and it's also a lingering mental block from the days of Lincoln Logs and action figures and Sega Genesis when the Mrs. Jones's and Mr. Smith's were the voices of reason, telling us "No roughhousing" or "Don't throw water balloons in the house."

I'd like to think I'll get past this mental block, but truthfully, I don't think it will happen. Even as the world changes and kids these days get less respectful of their elders, I don't see my language changing. Heck, my parents still call some people older by their proper "Mr. Copper," "Mrs. Zinc" names.

I guess what I'm saying is whether I'm 23 or 53, my world ain't getting any more magical than this.

What sort of name hangups do you have?

The Moment of Truth

2008-02-14T21:56:00.000-08:00

I really enjoy the television show “The Moment of Truth” (I hope I didn’t just lose readers by admitting this). I am not trying to give it credit for more than what it is. It’s trashy. I wouldn’t define it as good, but it is attention diverting (as I work on blog posts...).

For those who have not seen it, the show puts contestants through a lie detector test where they are asked a number of questions, probably based on a background story or history they provide to the show, the response and the lie detector results are recorded, and then on live television and in front of family and fronts, the person is asked some of the same questions. They answer the questions on the air, if their answer is confirm by the lie detector test taken earlier (which they don’t the results of), the contestant gets money. The more questions they answer truthfully, the more money the get, but also the more revealing/shocking/intimate the questions get.

Intrigued, you can watch the full episodes here.

Besides the exploitation (which is super interesting!), the show touches upon a lot of human traits that are also interesting. Obviously, there is the idea of skeletons in one’s closet. That is sort of what the show banks on for its contestants. I admire the people, though, because they bring them to the forefront. In a way, in just as much as it is invasive, it must also be very liberating. I know I have skeletons that I don’t admit, too, and I don’t know what it would take to get me to.

Which leads to the other neat human trait the show plays on, greed. Like most game shows, this is what drives the contestants motivations. Reality shows, if nothing else, are great at exposing what people, rather the right kind of person, will do for some amount of money. The same is true here.

What value do you put on your personal secrets? What price tag would it take to reveal them?

In a perfect world, this show would just be giving money away. These things are the truth, one way or another. They are who you are, they are what you have done, why shouldn’t they be known.

But, society doesn’t work like that. We don’t work like that. Relationships are maintained because of things that aren’t known. I love a quote from the underrated Nicolas Cage movie, Lord of War, that goes “Some of the most successful relationships are based on lies and deceit. Since that's where they usually end up anyway, it's a logical place to start.” I am not sure if that is totally applicable here, but it gives me a chance, if nothing else, to plug a movie that I don’t think enough people have seen.

Regardless of the show’s merit, its entertainment value, its sleeze factor, it did get me thinking. Which is a lot more than a lot of stuff on TV, so the whole thing can’t be bad...

A Romantic Notion

2008-02-14T08:00:00.000-08:00

I have a secret crush.

My downstairs neighbor plays the best music at such late hours of the night! He cranks it up at 2am and through my carpeted floor I hear The Arcade Fire, Bright Eyes, Broken Social Scene and sometimes Death Cab for Cutie pounding away as I sleep.

To be sure it was my downstairs suitor and I was not being misled by some kind of illusional acoustic reverberation coming from the punks down the hall, I got out of bed and held my ear to the floor. This is what I heard:

"You may feel alone when you're falling asleep, and every time tears roll down your cheeks, but I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet, someday you will be loved."

I blushed. He totally has a crush on me! I have the sneaking suspicion that this has something to do with my tap dancing/accordion playing. He may just be my Lloyd Dobler.

So this Valentine's Day, if you by chance get a bag of candy taped to your door with a note proclaiming my love for your love of music, it may just be from your friendly upstairs neighbor.

Happy Valentine's Day!

The exciting valentines conclusion!

2008-02-13T11:01:00.000-08:00

Enjoy our last set of valentines at http://www.misusingbigwords.com/. If you missed any of the other sets, they can be found here: Set 1, Set 2, and Set 3.

NOTE: This sheet is our most explicit. Viewer discretion is advised.

Don't forget, you can find all of our valentines on our new ecards site. Find out more. Then go check out www.misusingecards.com.

Rock out with your cock out... Jam out with your clam out...

2008-02-12T13:45:00.000-08:00

That might be an exaggeration, but not by much. I’ll be the first to admit that inside of a car, I do some pretty ridiculous stuff. I dig in my nose (and dispense the remnants underneath my seat...which reminds me, is anyone in the market for a slightly used 2006 Nissan Sentra...I promise to vacuum prior to the final sale transaction...only kidding), I change clothes on occasion, I sing like the world has gone silent and all of civilization depends on my voice as the last remaining sound messiah (which is not to say that I am any good, most who have shared a karaoke room/bar with me would beg the opposite). Let’s not even get into the more explicit activities that can be undertook...

Inside of my car, I feel invincible, or is it invisible, maybe it’s both. My 35%-visibility tinted windows (the most allowed on small sedans in the good state of Hawaii) only add to the illusion. But, that is all it is, an illusion. I forget this, often, only to be reminded by the big Samoan guys sitting in the back of a pick-up truck staring at me in bumper-to-bumper traffic as a jam to “Bubbly” by Colbie Caillate. (It starts in my toes, makes me crinkle my nose... I love that. Really.) I quickly pretend that I was talking on the phone.

I suppose since I continue to do the things that I do in my car I don’t really care. I mean, you don’t know the people in traffic around you, nor will you likely see them again. What’s the harm...

The past few days, though, I have been spotting various coworkers in their cars at various points of my trip. It is only a matter of time before one of them spots me.

What do you do in your car that you probably would be ashamed of if people you knew saw you doing it?

Don't miss more fantastic valentines

2008-02-12T10:09:00.000-08:00

Day 3 of misusingbigwords.com's Valentine's Day extravaganza is here! Visit these links if you missed previous valentines posts: Day 1 and Day 2.

We've got a few more sheets of printable valentines. All you have to do is cut them out and give them away. A word of warning: one sheet is clean, the other is pretty dirty.

And of course, our newest addition to the misusingbigwords.com family is here: www.misusingecards.com.

The Selfish Hippie, our newest superhero

2008-02-11T16:19:00.000-08:00

Perhaps it’s because I’m young, fresh out of college, and surrounded by California liberals, but it seems that being a hippie is coming back in style in a big dreadlocked way.

I don’t wade too deeply into the political pool (I think there are more important things in life than staying current with all the idiotic and bureaucratic things politicians do), but I would say liberals and conservatives would probably agree on the reason for this resurgence of Birkenstock-wearing organic fruit-eating hippies—hint: it has less to do with the delicious taste of tofu and more to do with bad taste left in the mouth from the current administration.

Politics aside, though, I’m learning to embrace my inner hippie for all the wrong hippie reasons. Thusly, I am creating the character of the “Selfish Hippie.”

After watching the documentary “Who Killed the Electric Car,” I find myself saddened by the death of something that so clearly would have been an incredible product that millions would have loved and that had the potential to literally change the world. But my sadness comes not from the fact that this car would have helped Mother Nature. No, what I care more about is the fuel economy.

Electric vehicles, as well as hybrid-electric vehicles, are capable of achieving incredible mileage for the amount of energy used, and all that energy saved puts money back in my pocket. And that’s money I can spend in other sectors of the economy (movies, restaurants, bowling), being the good little consumer that I am.

After all, the “bottom line” is one of the main concerns for me, the Selfish Hippie.

My roommates have lambasted me on several occasions for disagreeing with the theory of global warming. And while it’s true I don’t believe global warming is a serious issue (and I often have to beat back the hippies that attack me for saying that), I still vehemently agree with many of the procedures that people have come up with to “prevent” it.

For example, using less electricity, or smarter electricity, such as fluorescent light bulbs, double-pane windows, etc is a great idea—it saves money on the power bill. Walking anywhere that’s less than 3 miles away is beautiful—gets you exercise and uses less gas. Using the back of day-by-day calendars as scratch paper helps avoid having to pay for post-it notes. Plus, don’t forget the granddaddy of cost-saving hippie tips: drinking tap water instead of buying bottled.

Anything you can think of that reduces the amount of energy you use, or that reuses things you might otherwise throw away, will help pad your bank account while saving the world. And that’s what being a Selfish Hippie is all about: saving money by saving the world.

So next time you’re sitting around, passing the peace pipe, not bathing, talking about how “trees are so cool, man,” spend some time figuring out ways to become a Selfish Hippie, instead of thinking of ridiculous ideas like this one.

Get freaky with your valentines

2008-02-11T11:04:00.000-08:00

It's Day 2 of misusingbigwords.com's Valentine's Day extravaganza. If you missed Day 1, check this out.

Here's todays sets of valentines, downloadable and give-away-able to all of your peeps. Like yesterday, one sheet is G-rated, the other is more like R-rated.

If you haven't seen it yet, check out our newest addition to the misusingbigwords.com family: www.misusingecards.com.

Do you really love that special someone?

2008-02-10T15:19:00.000-08:00

If you do, then you'll want to give them the best this Valentine's Day. But we know you're busy. That's why we here at www.misusingbigwords.com have taken some of the effort out of love, by creating some unique and caring valentines you can print, clip and send to your lovers, friends and family, absolutely free.

Here are the first two sets of valentines. One set is somewhat more risque, so we recommend not sending those to mom (unless your moms are as cool as ours).

Be on the lookout in the days leading up to February 14 for more valentine options, courtesy of your friends at www.misusingbigwords.com.

For instant gratification, check out our newest addition to the misusingbigwords.com family: www.misusingecards.com.

The Best Things in Life are Free and Sometimes Expensive

2008-02-10T11:14:00.000-08:00

Someone once told me "Life is like a box of chocolates... you never know what you're going to get".

Although this was Tom Hanks and he wasn't really talking to me, I was moved. This experience has ever since made me realize that there are many events in life that tend to get me down and I won't ever really know when they are coming, but I can definitely spit them out if don't enjoy their gooey centers.

This lesson in life's spontaneity, has helped me accept the fact my plans can be altered with the flutter of an eyelash, a half blink of an eye, or over the course of unloading a hamper full of clean laundry from my car.

Okay, so first of all, I had only been gone for 3 minutes... I know this because I checked my radio when I left the car, and I also checked my microwave clock in my apartment when I left; which are synchronized for reasons you really don't need to know why or how. Prior to the decision to park slightly into the yellow zone marked for a fire hydrant to unload my laundry from my car, I had been driving around for 30 minutes waiting for the bozo parked in the 15-minute loading/unloading area (there is only one spot) to move his car (which no one was to be found loading or unloading and might I note, I had noticed him parked there when I left 5 hours ago). Now, I know I was driving for 30 minutes because OPB was on when I turned onto my street and "In House" had just reached its 2nd hour mark as was noted by Jeremy Petersen. After circling around and finally parking with hazards flashing so as to indicate that I would be right back, the 1 hour mark had shifted to a final half hour mark.

The diligence of Portland Parking Officers is amazing. To ticket a person within 3 minutes and be nowhere to be seen is incredible! But, alas! What an injustice as I had made a parking violation for 3 minutes whilest our nemesis, Mr. White Jeep Grand Cherokee, has violated the law for over 5 hours (who by the way, was STILL parked there a good 3 hours after I got home) and gets off ticket-free! And might I add, he has no parking permit, meaning he should not be parked on this "Parking By Permit Only" street in the first place and really is inhumanely rude to take away the usage of the 15-minute loading/unloading spot. It is because he violated this space that I got ticketed in the first place.

Now really, what can I do to get out of paying a ridiculous parking fine? I can contest in writing but in all honesty, I am totally guilty. I parked in a yellowish area next to a fire hydrant with my hazards on, in lieu of walking 2 blocks in heels carrying a hamper, the size of me, full of clothes.

So what does this have to do with Tom Hanks and chocolate and spitting out the gooey centers that I don't quite agree with? Well, life takes some unfortunate twists and turns which can result in uber frustration with the law, parking officers, and Mr. Jeep Grand Cherokee. So with a grain of salt, sometimes, I just need to embrace these little happenings and take into account some lesson learned.

But as a side note and with really no relevance to anything at all: it did feel good to sit out on my balcony, in my pajamas, popcorn in hand after calling a tow truck at 2am to watch Mr. Jeep Grand Cherokee finally move from the 15-minute loading zone.

2008 Check-In: Who’s More Popular, Pirates or Ninjas?

2008-02-07T21:42:00.000-08:00

The 21st century has divided America. We have become a staunch bipartisan country, with people on the left and people on the right, but relatively no middle. Our ideals and beliefs have put us at polar opposites, each group fighting respectively for their side, doing whatever it takes to see their followings succeed, and their opposition fail. We have seen each side reach a majoritarian power, but where do we stand now? It has been awhile since public discourse has revisited this pressing issue, and at the beginning of 2008, I think it is time to check in.

Who is more popular, Pirates or Ninjas?

I don’t pretend to know the answer. But here are some internet facts and statistics.

A quick search on Google Trends will show that Pirates is a more popular search term than pirates.

But is that pirate fans, or the many millions of ninja fans trying to find the pirates to hunt them down and destroy them? I don’t know.

A global search of Facebook groups tells a different story. As you will see the largest groups of pirate/ninja affiliation puts Ninjas squarely in the lead...

Advancement of People who Want to be Ninjas: 4,507
Addicted to Pirates of the Caribbean: 4,324

If you Ask a Ninja, he would probably support his group.

The “Pirates of the Caribbean” trilogy grossed over a billion dollars at the domestic box office. “Surf Ninjas” and the four “3 Ninja” movies grossed less than forty-six million dollars combined.

Where does America’s allegiance lie? What does the future hold for these groups’ popularity?

Spending Vices

2008-02-07T00:33:00.000-08:00

In 2007, people spent 23.4 billion dollars in DVDs. Based on my calculations, I contributed somewhere between $200-$300 to that.

I did so, buying such noteworthy and cinematic and television classics like:

I used to be rather proud of my DVD collection. It wasn’t always my favorite movies (in fact, I don’t own any of my top three movies: “Shawshank Redemption”, “Fight Club” and “Happy Gilmore”), but movies I felt, that at anytime, on any day, I wouldn’t mind watching.

Somewhere along the way, though, I lost that. I got caught up in Black Friday sales at Circuit City (explains season one of “My Name is Earl”), $5 DVD specials at Best Buy, and the biggest offender 3 for $20 previously viewed DVDs from Blockbuster.

What it amounts to is a twice a week habit of staring at my DVD bookshelf thinking I will find something I will want to watch, and resulting in a begrudging and reluctant grab for “Saved By the Bell, Season 3 and 4” episodes. Which I watch for about 10 minutes, only to nearly give up on life and decide I would rather lie in bed and force myself to sleep, then torment myself with this attack on my brain.

Don’t get me wrong, I love “Saved by the Bell”. I owe much of my life experience and knowledge to its educational, yet entertaining character studies of high school students, but, at this point, it isn’t meant for on-going viewing.

Electronics, including DVDs, are probably my largest vice when it comes to spending money. I spend, waste a lot on the latest gadgets. My room is consistently 10-15 degrees warmer than the rest of the house because of all the heat my purchases generate.

Every time, I think I don’t need anything else, I find something else. At some point, I will need to stop. Or I will end up with more copies of “Elizabethtown” and “The Matador”, or other movies I hadn’t seen prior to purchasing, on my hands.

What are your spending vices?

The Article "The"... Think About It.

2008-02-06T13:40:00.000-08:00

The Beatles. The Monkeys. The Smiths. The Shins.

The article,"the" was once a popular choice of inclusion when selecting band names. But lately, it seems as though "the" has gone out of style. With bands like Of Montreal, You Me & Iowa, and A Tribe Called Quest coming into fame, this definite article seems to be waning, suggesting a loss of hipness.

I for one, am a huge fan of articles. Being a Speech Language Pathology Masters-hopeful, has nothing to do with it. Leisurely, whenever possible, I enjoy adding a definite or indefinite article to any noun. I feel this addition gives a higher importance to nouns and can even highlight upon its mightiness. Much like a handlebar mustache does for one's morality.

For example, you may call me by name, "Cherie," or you can call me "The Cherie." And although the latter has been dubbed before in a phenomena we like to use to explain the concentration of a flatus, it still rings with much more authority than its former counterpart.

So why not add this empowering ring to your name if given the opportunity? "Stars" can become "The Stars", "LCD Soundsystem", "The LCD Soundsystem". And what if by chance you came up with a cool band name like our friends, "Limozine" and some other band thinks it's a cool name and adds an article to be "The Limozine"? You just might be stuck having the latter band fooling everyone into thinking they were the original name-makers and are thusly cooler than just "Limozine."

That would be a shame and a really bad day for everyone.

I Vote for Better Voting

2008-02-05T15:46:00.000-08:00

I’ve just finished voting by taking a little metal peg and punching a hole in a thick piece of paper.

Seriously.

Are we still in kindergarten? Did I miss something? The 20th century called and they want their voting procedures back.

How is it that I can get a credit card and a bank account, enroll in college, pay virtually every bill I have, and complete 90% of my everyday tasks online, but to vote in any sort of government election I still have to take time out of my day to trek over to some dilapidated church or bingo hall or the like and poke holes in paper cards like an uninterested school child.

Don’t tell me it’s because computers aren’t secure. People aren’t secure. On the list of things I don’t trust, there are a lot more people than machines, mostly because the majority of mistakes machines make are due to human error.

Don’t tell me it’s because of costs, either. You know who the majority of poll workers are? State employees. I had a friend who had a job with the state one time, and he did about an hours worth of work per day but got paid for 8 hours at more than $15 per hour. Now multiply that by however many employees at each polling place (let’s say 5, for the sake of argument) and the numbers start to add up quick. Plus, I’m sure the state governments pay at least something to use the various polling locations. You can’t tell me that creating a computer system that would make all of that obsolete for the foreseeable future would not be cost effective.

And don’t tell me it’s because it’s less efficient. Obviously, the most efficient way to do this would be via the internet, but people don’t think the internet is safe or secure enough to transmit that information (although apparently Democrats do). I think that’s hogwash, and with the right measures in place it wouldn’t be an issue, but even so, we can do it without using this crazy world wide web and still be more efficient.

First of all, voting consumes endless amounts of paper, and even if it’s all recycled (which I doubt), the government is still endorsing using huge amounts of energy to manufacture all of this paper. Then there’s the extra time and money spent counting the ballots, whereas a computer would record them electronically. And of course, there’s that sneaky human error factor again, which might accidentally drop a few votes here or there. Or there might even be the faux “human error” factor: the biased employee who “accidentally” drops a lot of votes off of one or another candidate. Computers eliminate all of these issues.

So how ‘bout it, Uncle Sam? I know I’m not alone in asking this: can we finally graduate kindergarten?

Why are we (America) so obsessed with celebrities and their shenanigans?

2008-02-05T10:08:00.000-08:00

I go to the gym frequently/sporadically/rarely. To discourage the monotony of running on the treadmill, they have numerous televisions hanging from the ceiling, with various programs and channels on. On one end, the TV is always tuned to ESPN, no matter what sport is on, on the other end, Lifetime “Television for Women”, and in the middle, it’s typically CNN Headline News. When the gym is crowded, you are at the mercy of the next person who decided to get off their treadmill as to what you are going to be watching.

For me, this usually ends up being Lifetime. Go figure. But on occasion, I’ll be in front of CNN. I am not sure I would use the word “improvement” in describing it compared to Lifetime, but it is something different. So, that, at least, is nice.

But, what’s interesting, is what is consider to be “Headline News”. More often than not, the latest status on Britney Spears is their leading story. What Britney Spears is doing, according to CNN Headline News, is the most important thing that happened in the entire world that day. Something about that doesn’t seem right.

I understand sensationalism, and I understand that these celebrity meltdown cases write themselves and their headlines, or rather, write a type of headline, that for some reason, people find interesting.

Why is this? Why have things gotten so bad that it is no longer adequate for entertainers to just entertain us while they are doing their craft, but also, to do so when they are just out being themselves? Why has it gotten so bad that you have outcries like this?

I offer up a couple reasons. Some stated before, and one, I like to think, is all my own.

1. Vicarious-ism.
Probably the most used argument for this. It is the same reason we dig TVs and Movies and Pornography. For the most part, these things play out situations that we ourselves will never be in. Both the incredible highs and the incredible lows. I will probably never wipe my ass with hundred dollar bills, or be walked in on in a bathroom stall in the hottest club in town with the Olsen Twins snorting coke out of one either (Which is not to imply the Olsen Twins do drugs...). Following the escapades of most celebrities will let me see this go down first hand, from a third-person perspective, of course.

2. Train Wreck-titude
There is nothing we like better than a good old fashion train wreck. It’s why we rubberneck. It’s why we always enthusiastically take a whiff when our friend says, “Smell this, it smells awful” (Side note: this is probably the stupidest thing, as humans, that we knowingly and actively decide to do). We love us the drama, and will do anything to catch a glimpse. As bad as we feel for people, we get jollies from watching them go down in a blaze of glory.

3. Emotional Scapegoating
Stemming directly from train wreck-titude, it is our ability to watch the Titanic go down, and say “at least it didn’t happen to me”. Celebrities offer us perspective. Sure, we got problems and issues, but nothing we go through is as bad as having our vagina plastered across the internet (Side note: the fact that this has occurred here and here to name a few, makes me think these are more than just accidents. Links Not safe for work or faint of heart).

4. Jealousy
I hate that people justify their swarm tendencies on the argument “if they didn’t want all of the attention, they shouldn’t have become celebrities...”. That’s like saying “if you didn’t want herpes, you shouldn’t have had paid for the sex with the hooker”, which is to imply, when worded the other way, “you wanted herpes so you paid for the sex with the hooker”. Sure, some people got into it for the attention. Some people managed to get all the attention without doing anything. We are okay with people getting up in their grill constantly, because if they weren’t annoyed, at least a little bit, their life would be TOO perfect.

5. Nipple Slips
This is my reason. The only justifiable reason to trail any celebrity 24-hours a day, is for the off-chance of catching a nipple slip. Some celebs are better at protecting the “tv dials” better than others, but if you follow them long enough, and you take enough photos at all the right angles, surely, eventually, you are going to catch some goodness.

I haven’t decided yet, if all the trouble is worth it...

Mourning morning

2008-02-04T15:23:00.000-08:00

Every morning when I wake up early, in that fuzzy region between consciousness and actual wakefulness, I like to spend a moment or two of my time imagining what life would be like if I could return to slumber rather than set out to do whatever it is I have to do at such an unholy hour. I also like to ponder what the consequences might be if I were to skip whatever it is I need to do and opt to sleep-in instead. And on those rare, special occasions, I come to the fantastic epiphany that the world will not end if I stay in bed a couple extra minutes. I’m not going to discover the cure for cancer or end world famine today. Heck, let's be honest, I probably won’t even recycle. Might the world would be better off without me for the next couple of hours?

It's at this point that I shake myself, scoff (audibly), and think, "How absurd a notion! The world is never better off without me."

The Science of Smelling Farts... A Sequel

2008-02-04T11:20:00.000-08:00

We at Misusing Big Words always support and encourage reader participation. Due to some interest via online social networking sites (i.e. Facebook) regarding a previously posted post, James, Mark and Cherie thought to share an article discussion... Our first comes from Subscriber Nick Clark.

Nick writes:

I just read your "Farts" story. I disagree. I think many of those gases except perhaps the sulfides would diffuse through the alveolar membrane of the lungs into the blood of the pulmonary capillaries. The reason I think this is because they are all fairly small and/or non polar molecules and there is a relatively low concentration of many of those molecules in the blood, so the gases would diffuse through by means of passive transport through the alveolar membrane of the lungs. Are you or anyone interested in trying and testing out our respective theories? I think it would be a very interesting experiment.

Or did I just miss the meaning of this whole website, to not take this so seriously? Shit I always do that!

A response:

Dear Mr. Clark,

Thank you for subscribing to "Misusing Big Words" and for your outputting of sorts! I appreciate it tremendously.

You may be right. I have not conducted much research on the topic, and the theory presented is a personal hypothesis.

The reason your flatus has such a unique essence, however, is because of the presence of sulfides. The other gases (in which you say will diffuse through the membrane of our lungs) are essentially odorless. Thus, highlighting upon my concluding paragraph about concentrating your stank.

I present the following equation:

Presence of Sulfides + O2 + CO2 + N2 + CH4 + H2 ---> Presence of Sulfides

Where "--->" is lung absorption of O2, CO2, N2, CH4, H2.

As you can imagine the volume of the gas has shrunk, leaving only the olfactory components of the flatus present.

I like to call this phenomena "The Cherie".

Sincerely,
Cherie.

An afterthought and very misused P.S.:

After further consideration, I believe you are right about the additional investigation of this topic. I haven't the time being in graduate school, but perhaps a couple of research partners and yourself may want to consider testing this hypothesis.

I am not sure about the exchange of gases part. I forgot to take into consideration the exchange of O2 for CO2. I'm not sure if the same volume of gases absorbed by our lungs is exchanged for an equal amount of CO2... The equation should then look something like this:

Presence of Sulfides + O2 + CO2 + N2 + CH4 + H2 ---> Presence of Sulfides + (unknown coefficient) CO2

Therefore, the amount of sulfides present in our flatus may not necessarily be as concentrated as I previously thought.

If that is the case, we may just be filtering out the flammable components of our flatus, making the world a little safer; not to mention more ozone layer-friendly.

You may even want to further this study to that of the flatus of cows and the efficiency of human lungs to eliminate its component harmful ozone-deteriorating gases.

Should there be any other discussion regarding our forum (which we highly encourage and support) it will be posted here at Misusing Big Words with your approval.

Thank you to Mr. Clark for his contribution to our site and we look forward to hearing from all of you!

I Made You a Mix Tape

2008-02-02T08:28:00.000-08:00

I am currently reading “Love is a Mix Tape” by Rob Sheffield. It’s a memoir about Rob’s relationship with his wife from the time they met until her relatively abrupt and untimely death (you find this out in the first two pages, so hold the anger on the spoiler alert). Rob is music critic for various publications, and having shared a common bond of music with his wife, strings the story together with the memories and situations behind a series of mix tapes Rob and his wife made for each other throughout their relationship.

It’s some real touching shit.

Mix tapes are incredible. Though, if someone were to give me one now, I probably wouldn't play it. Not because I didn’t want to, but its the 21st century and cassette decks are somewhat hard to come by. In all practicality, they would more than likely be giving a mix CD, maybe even an iTunes playlist (though, the later lacks substantiation since it isn’t exactly tangible, and you cannot design mean cover art for the mix).

Purists would argue that a mix CD doesn’t compare to a mix tape. On a CD, you can jump around, skip the songs that don’t ring true for you, whereas on a tape, for better or for worse, you have to follow the story of songs as it was laid out for you. That might be true, but I don’t think that is enough to discount the value of a mix CD. The thought and emotion (and the RIAA-lawsuit risk undergone in obtaining the songs) is still represented and still comes through, no matter the medium it is delivered on.

I still remember the Love Jams, Volume 4 CD I made junior year of high school. It was preceded by volumes one, two and three, and followed by volumes 5 through 7. Number four was the pinnacle, the perfect mix of better known Bryan Adams and Boys II Men songs, mixed with the gems that lacked notoriety, but carried in their lyrics and music, the feelings I, at the time, thought I was feeling. Nothing ran truer than All 4 One's "I Swear" directly followed by Boyz II Men's "I'll Make Love to You", read together "I Swear I'll Make Love to You". That is a pretty solid message...

I wouldn’t say I am great at it, but push comes to shove, I make a pretty good mix.

I admit that I dig mix tapes.

But, I know a lot of haters, especially nowadays, and I think I can understand their argument. A mix tape is a pretty cornball thing to make and give someone, especially in the courting stages of the relationship. It is sort of like say, “I want to tell you how I feel, but I am too chicken, so please let Richard Marx tell you how he feels instead, and hopefully you will figure out, that, like Richard, I, too, feel that way about you.” It’s a total copout, and should not be used....until, at least, date four or five.

Once you are in a relationship, though, I don’t think it is any worse than giving your significant other a pet name (Honey Bunch, Sugar Britches, Blubber Buns (a favorite)), or writing her a love letter or a poem, or shaving her name into your back hair, or whatever. People in relationships do a lot of cheesy stuff, and to outsiders that is exactly what it looks like, cheesy, corny-ass stuff. But, to the people in the relationship, oh, they love it. It’s a good thing it’s cheese and they are not lactose intolerant because they just eat it up. It’s sentimental and it makes them feel special, despite its recognizable corniness.

I would like to see mix tapes/CDs/playlists back in the limelight. Really, they work in any situation. Make one for Granny and call it the ‘Bust a Hip Mix’, or a party mix, a road trip mix, a break-up mix, a taken-a-dump mix (nothing inspires movement, bowel movement that is, then "My Humps", which on a take-a-dump mix brings new meaning to junk in the trunk)... They are versatile, and they deserve more credit, even if they are enormously corny.

If for no other reason, you have the opportunity to do this:

This isn't called 'Untitled,' because that would be a title

2008-02-01T08:07:00.000-08:00

I awake with an odd feeling in my belly. It is almost like the feeling one receives after having been falling for more than a few seconds; that sense, after the initial reaction of feeling like all of one’s internal organs became gridlocked on their through the neck into the brain, that one experiences several moments into a free fall in which it no longer feels unpleasant, but sort of euphoric. It is similar to that momentary enjoyment that occurs immediately after a sneeze.

The dream that sent me crashing back to consciousness was bizarre, to be sure, but more in a “what does it mean?” sense than a “I’m afraid I’ve gone insane” way. I had been trapped in some sort of environment without any gravity, though I had no suit of any kind and I was able to breathe freely. I floated around for a few moments before I noticed that one of my back teeth was loose. This struck me as odd, because I was a grown adult and had already lost all of my baby teeth, but I tried to pull it out anyway. The more I pulled, though, the more I just did somersaults in mid air. Because there was no gravity, I could never get any leverage, so I simply pulled myself in circles over and over.

Then, at some point, I simply woke up. Nothing woke me up, there was no loud noise or anything of the sort, I just snapped out of it, which is something that rarely happens to me while I am dreaming unless it is a bad dream. This wasn’t a bad dream, though, just strange.

Simple Remedies: Remedy #2

2008-01-31T16:10:00.000-08:00

The Bargain Dish Detergent Edition

This is just one simple remedy for life's quandaries... for more, click here.

The other night I attempted to attack a sink full of dirty dishes collected over the week. Dish detergent in hand, I aimed and squirted a good amount of this slippery soap and hosed down my dishes with hot water to get the cleansing started.

After leaving my dishes to face an attack of soapy, antibacterial goodness, I suited in gloves. I was astonished to find my dishes had not responded to my pre-soak offense.

"Maybe no visual affects have taken place," I thought, "surely a soak in hot water and dish soap has got to have made some substantial difference."

I dived in scrubbing at left-over calzone particles but surprisingly I struggled. I added more soap to my assault but the food residue remained. I guess that's what I get for purchasing the value-buy detergent from the $1 store.

Now the fact cleaning my dishes took extra effort did not bother me as much as the fact I wasted a hard earned dollar on faulty soap. Obviously this $1 buy will not satisfy my clean dish criteria; new, powerful dish soap is warranted. But what am I to do with all this detergent?

In collaboration with colleague, Mark, I decided to create:

Simple Remedy #2: "The Super Soap"

To extend upon Mark's research and to build upon his experience, I would like to note that dishwashing soap lacks the moisturizing properties of hand soap. So why not add the super cleaning powers of dishwashing detergent with hand moisturizer? I don't know.

The Super Soap:

2/3 part $1 store dishwashing detergent
1/3 part moisturizer that you don't quite like, but don't want to waste because of sentimental/familial/economic reasons.

Gently stir and voila! Super Soap!

I have found that after sitting overnight, Super Soap gets to be super watery making it a great candidate for use in a foaming soap dispenser (no need to add water). Just pump and enjoy the amazing cleansing powers of dish detergent, but the moisturizing properties of hand soap.

*Side note: Super Soap may lose it's super properties as the dish detergent is working to dissolve the oily compounds in the moisturizer... this is a hypothesis, but a reasonable a priori assumption nonetheless. I recommend making small batches at a time.

You! Me! Bowling!

2008-01-31T13:51:00.000-08:00

As a 23-year old, I have a rather uncharacteristically deep relationship with and appreciation for bowling. It is not uncharacteristic because it is bowling, as you will learn, but because such sentiment is typically reserved for the more geriatric crowd.

This, too, is not because only old people enjoy bowling; a Saturday night trip to the local lanes featuring “cosmic” or “galaxy” bowling would prove that isn’t true. (Side note: I am not sure what about disco lights, pumping 80s music and black lights constitutes a galactic or cosmic experience...I am not an astronaut, though, unlike Mel, the ponyhaired old guy behind the counter at the alley, so perhaps I shouldn’t judge).

It is the amount of my weekly dedication to bowling that is verging on senior citizen.

Myself, and 3 friends, are in a Wednesday night bowling league. We are about 30 years below the mean age of the rest of the teams. if there is nothing better to do (and there rarely is), we, also, end up at the alley for two to three games of the cosmic on the weekends.

I used to think this dedication to be somewhat pathetic, but, at our most recent league outing, I realized I was wrong. It suddenly became clear why we dedicate so much of our lives to bowling.

Bowling is the number one social activity. Period.

It offers the perfect mix of physical activity, the atmosphere for conversation and shenanigans, food and beer. The actual act of bowling offers enough of a reprise to keep things moving while you have a generally pleasant time with friends. It is not too loud where you cannot talk (a la clubs/trendy bars), and drinks are reasonably priced. And the activity is easy enough that even that even your large and nonathletic friends can participate.

While bowling chicks are something to be desired, the occasional diamond in the rough will come through, and, unlike clubs, you are at an immediate advantage because you can just look up at the scoreboard, and already know their name. A perfect entry point....

Yes, bowling has seen better days with the in-crowd, but the social opportunities it offers will always keep it right their on the cusp of being awesome.

The Shymmetry Contest

2008-01-30T01:29:00.000-08:00

Attention all Misusers:

Due to frivolous interest, Misusing Big Words proudly presents:

The Shymmetry Contest!

Yes, that is right. We palatalized that /s/.

Send us your pictures of your attempts at symmetry (no special effects necessary). Upon a careful eye and good intentions (and your approval of course) we will post "the best of" pictures on www.MisusingBigWords.com. Just think... you could be e-published!

To make this contest a little more fun, there are no rules. You may also submit a little snippet of your feelings on symmetry or a small explanation of your picture, though this is not required.

All submissions may be sent to: symmetry@misusingbigwords.com.

Good luck and we look forward to seeing your pictures!

Click click,

James, Mark & Cherie.

A Good Day and a Bad Day for Heroes

2008-01-29T15:18:00.000-08:00

Heroes. They are the people we look up to, the ones who seem to achieve the impossible in front of the greatest adversity. They drive us, inspire us, help define us (or at least seemingly define us, as it was frequently a college admissions essay/interview question). I would wager that much of the greatness that people achieve in this world is the result of personal heroes.

But just as they inspire us, so, too, can they break us, devastate us, when they fall.

Some disturbing news from the celebrity circle yesterday. Something I never thought would ever happen. I was scanning the news, the uppity-up at work, when I came across this. For this not wanting to click the link, here is an excerpt:

“Hollywood movie star Sylvester Stallone admits he used Human Growth Hormone, HGH, to improve the appearance of his body for his latest Rambo movie, and does not think it was wrong to do so.”

Of course there is nothing wrong with defeating evil, but if you must do so with performance enhancing drugs, something is terribly wrong. Rambo is fraud. The bad guys have won. The Soviet Union was too strong for normal American Patriotism, it needed enhancement. I don’t remember much about the cold war beyond jokes about the giant birthmark on Gorbachev’s head, but this is devastating to our victory. To think that baby-oiled, bandana wearing American patriotism is not enough to defeat the evil in the world; that illegal substances are required to relinquish evil's grip on the world spells doom, in these young eyes, for the world and mankind’s future.

...

But wait! As we know, the darkest hour always precedes the turning point towards great light, and in my heartbreaking despair over my fallen hero, a glimpse of the sun breached the horizon offering me sanctuary and solace when I stumbled upon this. Again, for those too lazy to click (or too engrossed with this article), here is an excerpt:

“They may no longer be new. They may no longer be kids. But NKOTB just might be out to prove they still have the right stuff.

New Kids on the Block, the prototypical boy band of the 1980s and early '90s that preceded the Backstreet Boys and 'N Sync on the pop charts and in the pages of Tiger Beat, are reportedly on track to reunite.”

Hallelujah!!! There are two shocking elements to this announcement. First, the New Kids on the Block are getting back together. Bzzzzzz! Shock number one, and what a shock it is. But, if you keep reading the article, you find out that the band made the announcement on “The band's official Website, www.nkotb.com,”...

The New Kids on the Block have a website. Bzzzzzz! Shock number 2! No wonder so few people read Misusing Big Words. Everyone is on a site with no relevancy to anything that has occurred in the past 15 years. Like the Corn Nuts website; why would such a site exist? It has no reason, no purpose. Well...I guess it didn’t, until now with the return of my other heroes.

What a serendipitous occasion! While one hero falls into a big hole of lies and deceit, out of the hole of has-beens and irrelevancy climbs 5 heroes to take his place.

America still has a chance.

Lies Parents Tell

2008-01-29T11:40:00.000-08:00

Parents are liars. Seriously. I think it’s a requirement to be a parent.

Don’t believe me? Who told you all about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and the Labor Day Gnome? (What, you’ve never heard of the Labor Day Gnome? You know, the little fellow that comes at night and stocks your kitchen full of beer, pretzels and pork rinds for the football-filled holiday? I guess that was an original creation of my dad.)

Parents lie all the time. I don’t fault them for that—it’s part of the job, like passing the buck in a corporate job or schmoozing in a marketing job. In the job requirements under the posting for “Parent,” you’ll see all kinds of personality traits and characteristics, such as “Able to withstand loud noises for extended periods of time,” “Enjoys saying the word ‘No,’”and “Willing to work evenings, weekends and holidays, as well as basically every minute of every day.”

And at the bottom of such a list, were it to exist, would be the last, but nowhere near least important, requirement: “Capable of telling lies with conviction and finesse.”

If this seems harsh, I apologize. I’m in favor of this. I’ve met a lot of rotten kids in my day, though thankfully I never was one. If parents can exert more control over them by stringing them along with a cute little lie about a magical rabbit who poops candy on Easter, then so be it.

However, some of the common lies parents tell I just don’t agree with. With that in mind, here are some parental lies I think the world could do without:

1) Eating raw cookie dough could kill you.
Yeah yeah, I’ve heard all about big bad “salmonella,” but have your parents ever told you what it does to you? Have you ever known anyone who got “salmonella poisoning?” Of course not. As near as I can tell, the only reasons for this lie is to avoid kids getting their slobber in the cookie dough and to make sure parents have enough to make all the cookies they want to make. Based on how delicious cookie dough is, I don’t find those reasons to be substantial enough to warrant those lies.

2) Eating vegetables is good for you.
People are still spreading this falsehood around. To refute it, one must only think of the natural world. Many poisonous animals have very distinctive colors to ward off predators from eating them, thereby saving two lives. I think this is a good comparison to make with vegetables. The reason they taste so bad is because they are bad for you—so don’t eat vegetables and save two lives.

3) It’s bad to lie.
Ah! Lying to kids about how it’s bad to lie—that’s like putting someone to death for committing murder. It’s not always bad to lie. Case in point: Sam’s wife asks him how he likes her new haircut. Sam tells her the truth—that her new haircut makes her look like Sasquatch with Chihuahuas growing out of its ears—and Sam sleeps alone on the couch for a couple nights while Sam’s wife cries herself to sleep. Wouldn’t a little lie have benefited both parties?

What are your favorite parental lies?

Body Hair: The Story of the Super Chest Hair

2008-01-28T10:10:00.000-08:00

Men are supposed to have body hair. This is a fact. People, mostly women, who argue otherwise are just wrong. You will see from the graph I copied from a very scholarly and scientific journal that the amount of body hair a man has directly correlates with his amount of manliness, up until his amount of body hair pushes him past the Sasquatch line, in which case he is inevitably more Sasquatch (and therefore, most likely difficult to photograph without appearing blurry) than he is man:

As you might assume from my staunch believing in the male body hair, I have a sufficient amount. On the graph, I would put myself around here:

I do believe, that a certain amount of kemptliness is necessary, though, based on my experiences with women, in the following places:

1. “Down There”
2. Chest Hair
3. Toe/Foot Hair
4. Armpit Hair (if necessary...you will know it is necessary if with your arms completely at your sides the hair is still visible).

(Note missing from the list is back hair. Apparently, any back hair is a negative)

It was during a recent trimming of my chest hair, that I discovered I possess super human abilities. The majority of my chest hair is normal, moderate length, but upon combing through it (not actually combing, it isn’t that thick), just below my left nipple, I found what I have dubbed “the super chest hair”. A single hair, over 4 times the length of a normal chest hair, had sprouted and made home. Attached is what I would like to introduce as evidence 1:

This “super chest hair” is just further proof, along with my left-handedness, that I am, in deed, an X-men.

The Moral Mustache

2008-01-27T01:59:00.000-08:00

The handle-bar mustache has gotten some bad rap as I have recently discovered.

This saddens me as I have found that a mustache (especially the handle-bar) can really define the character of a man (or woman, I won't be sexist). Personally, I have found that a mustache usually highlights and distinguishes between two truly important traits that will determine whether or not that person is someone I would want to approach. That is, a mustache can discern the creepy from the endearing.

Okay, so I know this is an extreme example, but it illustrates my point so nicely. Both are illustrated pictures. Both are male. Both have similar hair color and both have mustaches.

Now, I'm not a betting girl, but I would guess that the person to the left has a few issues. And even though he is gesturing a sign of peace, he just looks like a fellow who would come after you with a wooden mallet. The mustache just punctuates this.

Now the person to the right, I would definitely date. Look at him. He's adorable. And although he is gesturing just the same as our friend to the left, his mustache accentuates his sweet and peace loving personality, and something about him just screams that he'd be a lot of fun and perhaps share my love of mushrooms, also.

The mustache in both pictures compliments and highlights these points clearly. It does not make the person who he is, but rather calls attention to otherwise hidden-to-the-naked-eye personality traits. For this reason, it seems reasonable that everyone cultivate a mustache sometime in his/her life to check upon his/her moral esteem to assure that he/she is heading down the right track. For if one day you wake up and a mustache does not look quite the same as it once did, you'd better check yourself.

Personal Responsibility

2008-01-26T11:08:00.000-08:00

I am sure I’ll want to forget what I cannot remember doing last night. That’s typically how these things play out. A mass text message apology fishes out the most memorable mishaps and outlines the more personal apologies I might owe to people (for any number of reasons). Apparently, everyone is aware of my love for sausage (of the polish and vienna variety, not any other type of sausage). That’s not too bad, but I’ll spend the rest of the weekend nervous until all of the details are filled in by co-workers on Monday.

I guess some people might call this problematic. I just call it a good time.

I am a firm believer of personal responsibility, though. That is why I am quick to find out the horrors (not whores) that I have done, own up to them, and make my amends. Inevitably, the photos will surface on Facebook, and James ‘James Malins’ Malins will be tagged in the most ridiculing of situations.

But, I will never untag those photos. No matter how bad. Not as the firm believer of personal responsibility (see previous paragraph) that I am.

As more and more people and companies use Facebook and MySpace profiles of perspective hires as resume/interview annotations, this could potentially be problematic. I don’t agree with people, though, who take issue at companies doing this. The complainers argue it is outside the work setting, or the lesser of arguments, they were drunk and it shouldn’t be held against them.

If you consciously decide to drink, and drink to the point that you do regrettable things, even if you don’t remember doing them, it’s your own damn fault. No one made you/me drink that much. Unless you were unconsciously drugged, you are always responsible for your behavior, regardless of the state you might have been in when you did it. Own up to it, and deal with it.

It is the only way you will learn.

That said, if you are going to engage in immoral or reprehensible activities, get blasted, visit strip clubs or porn shops, or sodomize farm animals in front of cameras, there is one way you can escape some blame. If people cannot prove it is you, in some sense, you are free of on-going blame (you do have to account for it initially, but there won’t be any long-winded aftermath.

This little invention will help you out.

Side note on MySpace profiles: While I never had one myself (that is one of my favorite self bragging points), if you are a MySpace owner, you will be interested to know about this.

It makes me Sick!

2008-01-25T12:56:00.000-08:00

I think we could all take a cue on how to act from Mr. Flu.

This isn’t a wise elderly gentleman I know that you haven’t met yet. Rather, I’m talking about influenza, the disease that gets passed on from person to person so well it would make Haley Joel Osment and his co-stars of the film, “Pay It Forward,” quite proud.

Here we come quickly to the central point of this post: contagious diseases, like Mr. Osment, teach us about generosity. They coach us on how to live more deeply, in a more fulfilling way, helping others and giving of ourselves constantly.

And how do we repay disease and illness? Are we ever thankful? When was the last time we said to one another "Hey, I think I got my cold from you. Thank you! Now I can pass it on to several of my healthy and deserving compatriots."

Sickness and disease are most underrated, underappreciated, and generous of all of us. And despite adopting several different foreign children, Brangelina isn’t even as generous as disease. I think even Haley Joel Osment would agree on that.

ExSchmooze Me.

2008-01-25T09:13:00.000-08:00

I am in the “People Industry,” or so I have been told. While the new-agey nomenclature, “People Industry,” is cornball at best, motivational-speakeresque at worst, there is some merit to it. About 70% of my job is building, establishing and using relationships to push marketing recommendations and ideas into fruition for clients.

Naturally, we spend a lot of time with these relationships. In the “Business World” (more new-age goodness), this means we schmooze. We schmooze a lot.

I do not like schmoozing.

I am not a schmoozer.

Like electric nipple clamps, it is extremely uncomfortable and just a bit awkward. The corresponding cocktails that typically accompany the schmooze help, but not as much as they should.

For me, the issue is that by-and-by I don’t have anything to say to these people. Don’t get me wrong, they are all incredibly nice, but I cannot relate with anything they talk about. I bring nothing to the table. I am a schmoozing moocher, and this is not good. If you take the word ‘schmoozing’ and rearrange some of the letters, and change some of them to different letters, you get ‘sharing’ and that is what it takes. It is a giving and taking. I take.

See, compared to most of the clients I interact with on a regular basis, I am relatively young. Despite repeated reminders from friends that I am "the coolest 31-year-old" they know, I am but a frisky 23. This makes it difficult when you are talking to Vice Presidents, Senior Vice Presidents and Presidents of companies. There is a bit of a disparity in life experiences.

They have traveled the world, stayed in huts on the hills in Bali for weeks at a time. I have been to Manitoba, Canada, once, for three days, for a marketing competition, which, surprisingly, does not carry as much weight as I thought I would.

They frequently talk about dropping their kids off at the pool. I frequently refer to pooping as dropping the kids off at pool.

Typically, I am relegated to standing there, smiling when appropriate, and shooting the Pavlovian “approving head-nod” response upon eye contact with the current speaker.

I suppose it is my fault for this. In college, they used to offer “practice mixers” so that we could develop our schmoozing skillz. I rarely attended them, and when I did it was only for the free alcohol. I would end up drinking beers in the corner talking to friends I already knew, who were also there for the free alcohol. Not much gained from that.

In the end, it provides motivation to gain some life experience and do something interesting. (Getting wasted and not remembering the weekend apparently does not fall into this category. Again, a story that did not carry as much weight as I thought it would.) Until then, though, I am just standing there, thinking really hard about how to get the nipple clamps off without being too obvious.