Sunday, February 26, 2006

Shark chunks

You know that scene at the end of "Jaws" when the shark eats the guy on the boat as he screams and blood goes everywhere? That was what popped on the screen right as I turned the TV on earlier. That was a nice thing to see. A couple minutes later, Roy Scheider threw an oxygen tank in Jaws' mouth. Jaws swam away, came back and Roy shot Jaws. This exploded the oxygen tank sending chucks of bloody shark flying through the air. I've always thought the end of that movie was funny.

Once again, I'm tired and not too articulate tonight.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006


Did you know 26 of the 50 states have an official state beverage? I didn't. Milk is the overwhelming favorite. However, Alabama went with Conecuh Ridge Alabama Fine Whiskey. That's interesting. It's not even my favorite. That's because the official state beverage of Nebraska is Kool Aid. It was first produced in Nebraska, so it makes sense, but I respect Nebraska a lot more now.

Speaking of Kool Aid, the Kool Aid guy's voice is deeper and less gravely now. It's actually kind of scary.

Monday, February 20, 2006

I always wanted my own baseball card

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Go away, George Washington. Go far, far away.

You know, I'm not entirely sure how, but over the course of the day Saturday, I collected 16 one-dollar bills. This came after I started the day with one. One of my quirks is that I never like having more than four one-dollar bills on my person at one time. They waste space, and make it uncomfortable to sit down. All they're good for is to buy poisonous food out of the Carousel of Death vending machines at work. I've been trying to figure out how this happened tonight because it's bothering me at this early morning hour. Maybe I can work it out if I time-lapse this sucker.

2:15: Buy two programs at the Purdue game. One for me, and one for a co-worker. They are $4 each, and I gave the seller a $20 bill. In change, I got a $10 and two $1's. (three total)

6:15: Give said program to said co-worker. He thought it would be $2. I say $4. He gives me four $1's. (seven total)

8:30: Here's where it gets fuzzy. I agree with two other guys to chip in $8 for a couple pizzas. When the pizzas arrive, I take out a $10 bill to give to The Pizza Leader. Worker #2 is holding a $20. I'm about to hand my $10 to the Pizza Leader, when Worker #2 takes it out of my hand, gives me his $20, says, "That should make it easier," gives my old $10 to the Pizza Leader, he gets two dollars back, while I stand there with a dumb, confused look on my face because I can't do math, so I hand this $20 to Pizza Leader, and he gives me eight $1's. I stand there with an even dumber and more confused look on my face before walking away to jot some numbers down that add up to the square root derivitive of the Pizza Leader is correct. (18 total)

8:32: I'm still not entirely sure what's going on. I can't fit all my one-dollar bills in my wallet without it looking like I have a tumor on my butt, so I take a few out. Silently, I stew. In my mind, I curse George Washington and cherry trees and my middle school history teachers and the new chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, whatever his name is. I consider approaching anyone who appears to have larger bills, but I remember that this is a newspaper and everyone here is poor.

8:35: I head upstairs, still confused, in search of a drink. One goes into the machine, and I have orange juice. I'm a little more contented, even if this orange juice is overly strong. I like orange juice out of a box, but out of these little bottles, it is way too ripe. Orange juice with pulp is gross, though. (17 total)

10:15: I'm bored and want to go for a walk. I buy a Pepsi, which I never drink. I feel my teeth rotting as I write this. (16 total)

So, I guess that explains it. I have 16 one-dollar bills. It would be a little more impressive if George Washington's dead face were replaced by Benjamin Franklin's dead face, but we deal with what we have. If anyone has change, please help. It's playing with my neuroses.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Drunken tree

And here is a weird story from the San Francisco Chronicle, "Stanford tree mascot fired for drinking at basketball game." If you don't know what the Stanford Tree is, here is a visual...

From the story...

The Stanford University tree has been toppled for being drunk on the job.

The student wearing the costume of the legendary mascot was suspended from duty after UC Berkeley police observed her drinking from a flask during a Stanford-Cal basketball game last week, officials said today.

"She was taking drinks inside the tree,'' said Kevin Klintworth, assistant athletic director at Cal. "The officers could see the flask through the costume.''

If you are blessed with the opportunity to be the Stanford Tree, it is not a good thing to throw it away by drinking from a flask while prancing around. I'd like to wear that suit in public, while driving a riding mower and eating a burrito. But no flask.

# # #

Earlier today, it was 60 degrees. Then storms with 60 mph winds swept through, and it is now 27 degrees with 40 mph winds, and it feels like -142. This seems like a good time to go for a walk.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Don't mess with us

We are Daniel's cats. We have taken him hostage. If you would like for him to live, you must send $50 million dollars and seven bags of cat food. You have 24 hours.


Friday, February 10, 2006

Storytime with Daniel

There's something I haven't revealed about myself yet: back when I was a wee Daniel, between the ages of two and five, I was a huge grocery bag collector. Yeah, and you know what? I'm not afraid to admit it. Back then, every time my parents and I went to a store, I had to get a bag to add to my collection. I was pretty serious about this. I was known to sit on the floor of my room for hours at a time where I would take one bag, look it over, front and back, inspecting for defects, place it on the floor face down, and then I'd take another bag and do the same thing. This repeated over and over until I tired myself enough to take my nap.

After I woke up, I had a habit of harassing my dad for him to take me to the Preston Safeway store down the street from my old house to get a new bag. The employees over there must have thought I was crazy. Or that I was cute and adorable, but that my dad was using me as a front to hide his own paper bag fetish. But he wasn't. The fetish was all mine. When we got home, dad and I would have a paper bag taping "party." This consisted of my handing him a grocery bag, and he would help me put layers of tape over it. Most cultures would consider me to have had an obsession or maybe a defect. However, dad didn't seem to think anything was wrong with me. Oh, how wrong he was.

My favorite store of all was also down the street. It was called Big E, which was a coincidence considering my favorite letter was E. (The letter W was pretty good, too, but E was No. 1 in my heart. I was also a big fan of the number 8, the color blue, Sesame Street, Huey Lewis and the News, Australia and 1940 Ford Woody's.) Tying all this together was that my favorite paper bag of all came from Big E. Seeing as I was a pretty unoriginal child, I named it Big E, and he came along with me everywhere. Big E got extra-special layers of tape, some of which were necessary to hide the deadly pathogens it collected in its adventures.

God, I loved that bag. And yes, it went through some battles. Among other things, it got run over by a car, thrown in a trash can at Chuck E. Cheese, nearly misplaced at home and put somewhere where it never would have been found, lost at another restaurant and found at said restaurant when dad went back to get it hours later after it had been thrown in the trash. It also had an unfortunate incident involving a toilet, but we won't discuss that here tonight. When out, I'd show off Big E to people, and usually they didn't know what to say to me. Sometimes, revulsion was their reaction. But what would you say if a three-year old brought to you a folded-over paper bag covered with layers of tape?

This paper bag was my pal. While most kids sleep with teddy bears, Big E kept the night monsters away. That's not to say I didn't have a favorite stuffed animal. I had a stuffed dog named Fluffy. I loved that dog, too. My left hand was my Big E hand, and my right hand was my Fluffy hand. That's how I learned my right and left, and it's how I carried them around. I was probably a year old when I got Fluffy. He's falling apart now. One of his legs is hanging by a thread.

That last part answers a question and poses a few more. Yes, I still have Fluffy and Big E. No, I don't sleep with them. Yes, I know where they are. No, you can't have them. Yes, I was a strange child. No, I don't still ask for an extra grocery bag "for my collection" at Kroger.

For some reason, I have a suspicion that someone will use this post against me someday.