From Cynicism to Stardom--Why We Adore Susan Boyle

If you're over five years old and have been awake anytime in the last week, you've heard of Susan Boyle--the quirky, middle-aged Scottish woman with the beautiful voice. The clip of her audition on Britain's Got Talent has been viewed 7 gazillion times (6 gazillion by myself alone) on YouTube.com, there's rumor that she's working on a record deal, and she's receiving fan mail from all over the world.

As I've mentioned before, I don't tend to jump on societal trends, but I've unabashedly embraced Susan Boyle.

Susan's story has been repeatedly compared to a fairy tale and it just happens to be one that plays out on screen in only seven minutes. Think of it--the fairy tale opens when we meet our heroine on stage in front of three judges who live up to the many meanings of their title (including "to pass sentence on; condemn") and an audience of snickering, eye-rolling critics for a day. Not unlike David and his Goliath, or Rudy of the 1976 Notre Dame football team, Susan faces off against a seemingly impenetrable foe. It's not Simon Cowell and his eye rolling or the audience's jeering and mocking whistles. Nope. Amanda identifies it best in her post-performance comments--Susan's villain is cynicism.

And Ms. Boyle's foe is banished within the first ten words of her performance, when the jaws of all three judges hit the floor and millions of goosebumps simultaneously pop up on audience members' arms.

But the victory isn't in those goosebumps or the long standing ovation our heroine receives. It isn't in the three emphatic yeses that allow her to go on to the next round. It isn't in our tears. It's in Susan Boyle being herself and knowing that was enough.

We cried (admit it) because we've all faced a similar foe (sometimes in ourselves and sometimes in others) and haven't always handled it with the "cheeky grin" and confidence of Susan Boyle.

The long-term victory for the world's sweetheart will be to remain exactly who she is no matter what--because we love her for it--and because in so doing, she gives us permission to do the same.

Bumblebears and the Tender-Hearted Roomie

It's Spring. Yeah, I know, it's not official until this Saturday but I know it's spring because I can barely breathe, I use the wipers to remove an inch of pollen from my windshield every morning, and the bumblebears are out. There's also, you know, the blooming of the dogwoods, the flowering of the azaleas, and the general feeling of whimsy in the air.

So, I was clipping the blooming bushes and sharing the space with the bumblebears (that's what I call the kind of bees with the rotund, bear-shaped, fuzzy-looking bodies) when one bumped into me. No big deal, he wasn't being aggressive, just clumsy. And his clumsiness made him that much more endearing. Bumblebears are endearing even without human qualities and the magic of DreamWorks animation--they're just cool little fellas. I suppose you could say I'm mostly indifferent to the little guys. Until they come in the house.

Now the roomie on the other hand, has a tender heart towards anything small and furry and she has a vague recollection of hearing or reading or imagining that modern-day bees are dying out. When we eat honey, she goes into monologues about how amazing bees are, how they work together to create the hives and the honeycomb and how sad the world would be without them. She's loved them even more since she saw The Bee Movie.

So, when Mr. Bumblebear came in the house we saw him differently. To me, he was an inconvenience. To her, he was a friend to save--even though she wasn't excited about his stinger.

I was happy to oblige her wishes and cheered her on as she got the tupperware and the piece of paper. After approaching him tupperware first, with a backwards leap at every twitch or buzz, she sprang for him. When she opened her eyes and saw him bumping into the tupperware walls, she did a joyful little jig. Mr. Bumblebear, however, was not so joyful. As she slipped the paper "lid" on, she consoled him saying, "Don't be mad, little guy, I'm just trying to save your life." She began to relax a little, feeling good about facing her fears while looking out for the bee population of the world.

Just one step left.

I opened the door for her and she opened the tupperware, flicked the paper, and pulled the trap back inside. I slammed the door shut and she leaned against the door smiling, "He's out!"

Bzzzzzz.

"He's in!" He'd resisted her flick and stayed on the paper. And that's when she ran into her room and slammed the door--a bee with a human target isn't nearly as endearing as a rambling bumblebear.

Now it was just me and the angry bumblebear and the would-be bee saver whimpering behind the door. So, you know, I took care of it.

She hasn't come out of her room yet.

A Skeleton in the Closet

Okay, so maybe it's not in the closet but on top of the ticket booth thing. But either way, here's a bird skeleton I had to remove before the big show.

Nobody told me this would be one of my band duties.

What do potato chips and star crunches have in common?

Jamarcus, who plays the lead character in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat," came over today to make a recording. He plans to send it off to a music academy, along with some clips from the shows. Perhaps this time next year, he'll be performing in California. So while the roomie worked on getting the "studio" ready, Jamarcus and I warmed up our vocal chords.

I asked him what he does to warm up. He opened a grocery bag full of potato chips and star crunches and start eating. I asked him what the chips and star crunches had to do with warming up. His response? They help him hit the high notes.
Jamarcus himself, backstage during the last performance (Seussical, the Musical)

Another Noteworthy Performance from Britain's Got Talent

Two Greek dancers (a father and son pair) on Britain's Got Talent have a few things in common with fellow contestant, Susan Boyle:

1. They give an endearing example of being exactly who you are and being just fine with that.
2. Their audition will bring tears to your eyes (but for a very different reason).

Dream a Dream

1. Go to YouTube.com
2. Search Susan Boyle
3. Watch
4. Dream a Dream

The Queen's English or English in Queens?

Good ole' England is in the throes of a battle regarding the apostrophe.

An article called Its a catastrophe for the apostrophe in Britain (see what they did there?) explains that Birmingham's transport scrutiny committee (yes, that's for real) has settled the decades-old debate by removing apostrophes from street names and public places (like St. Pauls Square) saying they are confusing and unnecessary.

I beg to differ. Removing the apostrophe is what causes confusion. Even my spellchecker recognizes that St. Pauls Square is probably not a place with multiple Pauls and suggests an apostrophe. Some purists agree with my spellchecker and me and have engaged in public campaigns to insist that the helpful little apostrophe remain.

Take some time to understand the little chap, we say, and let him remain in his rightful place.

If you don't, you may find yourself wondering if you're speaking the Queen's English or English in Queens.

**Thank you, mama, for sending the article.

Chicken Thai Fusion (It's Fast, Frugal, and Funky)

This is a recipe for Thai chicken in a crock pot. It's fusion because it's not exactly authentic (when was the last time you saw the word crock on a Thai menu?), but it has the essence of Thai (it's spicy, has peanuts, and is served with rice).

I first tried this recipe at a friend's house and have since created two of my own versions--one in a crock pot and one in a frying pan. Each time has been scrumptalescent. That's not a word, but it's in my vocabulary anyway (thanks Mitch!) and describes this dish.

One roomie (the one who likes spicy foods) and the chef whose catering company specializes in "fusion" (Roboto) both love it.

As usual, I use the recipe as a guideline and can tell you from experience that adding too much peanut butter is a recipe for a very thick sauce and an even thicker stomachache. Besides that, it's probably fair game for some substitution and varying amounts to taste.

Happy Thai fusion to you!

Ingredients:
8 chicken breasts

Sauce:
3/4 cup hot salsa
1/4 cup peanut butter
2 tablespoons lime juice
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon fresh ginger

Toppings:
1/4 cup chopped peanuts
2 tablespoons cilantro

Side:
3 cups rice
1 cup coconut

Put the chicken breasts in the pot. Mix the sauce ingredients and pour on top. Cook on low for 8-9 hours.

Top with peanuts and cilantro.

Prepare rice as directed. Add 1/4 cup of coconut after the rice is fully cooked.

"Shower Song" by guest writer

It is my pleasure to introduce a new guest writer who I will call the Voice from the West.

He is an artist, a film maker, and a real hip dude. He likes singing in the shower, unexpected metaphors, and making me laugh.

In his first submission, "The Shower Song," the Voice of the West combines all of those passions:

It's clear why the tradition of singing in the shower began--the bathtub's design provides the quintessential acoustics for song.

With three perfectly positioned walls and a shower curtain, you receive––while, say, humming a tune––a touch of reverberation, and just the right amount of bass. For background percussion, you're accompanied by the gentle pattering of water as it strikes the tub floor. Close your eyes for a moment in any household shower and listen to your voice echo. You can almost imagine standing in a small cathedral, or huddled in the depths of the Himalayas in spring.

Millions of shy performers (a.k.a. bathroom singers) find solace in the shower. I am unquestionably one of them. But there is a stigma attached to this tradition that I would like to shake. Singing in the shower is thought of, in the popular canon, as a bashful, "amateur" hobby, to be kept behind closed doors.

In response to this terrific slander, should we not embrace our bathroom voices with vigor, like a noble giraffe embraces the highest boughs of a tree, or a pioneer embraces the savage unknown?

Let us wrench the bathroom door from its hinges for the whole neighborhood to hear. Shatter the walls of linoleum and marble with bebop and bluegrass. Let the shampoo dance and conditioner resonate.

We must sing so the bars of soap at our hips flow into honey, so the shower curtains flutter in rhapsody, and pools of water droplets nestle about us like throngs of fans on the eve of a moonlit concert.

Then, our tongues will ignite the great spirituals, hymnals, and anthems of old, and summon a new music––one that honors the sacred bathroom-singing tradition, and runs uncivil judgment down the drain. May our chants fill the plumbing and pipes, and soar in harmony with the millions of other naked, belting voices.

Long for the day of a proud, aquatic chorus. And hopefully, save a little hot water for the next singer.

Do a little. Change a lot.

T-mobile recently introduced the green account with the following tag line: "Do a little. Change a lot." I bet they spent a lot of green for that, but I like it.

I like green--the color (which happens to be the color of the packaging for my favorite ice cream ever) and the concept. It can save money and save space. Oh yeah, and then there's the whole saving the environment part.

Signing up for paperless updates and automatic bill pay is satisfying and immediately rewarding. Then you can file things electronically rather than in boxes. Wow. Less paper, less waste, less clutter. That's a win/win, I'd say.

It doesn't take long to make a few changes with your bills and to be a small part of a big change.

Happy Birthday, We Made You a Cake!

When I was a kid, I hated that my birthday was just days before Halloween. I didn't invite ghosts and goblins, so I didn't want them to show up at my parties. I didn't want to go running into the house looking for a bandage for a guest's gushing wound and return to a cluster of laughing boys tossing the "fake wound kit" around. I just wanted to have a regular old birthday party, thank you very much.

Speaking of birthdays, we celebrated my mom's with a Styrofoam cake one year. We were just little tykes and covered a piece of Styrofoam in icing. Dad told her that we (the tykes) worked really hard on it. When she cut through it, it squeaked and flaked away bit by bit. See, her birthday is today, April Fools' Day (happy birthday, Mom!).

April Fools' Day has a long, rich history. Even media outlets and corporations get in on the joke. A "documentary" in 1957 discussed Swiss spaghetti crops and in 1996, Taco Bell took ads out stating that the company had bought the historic Liberty Bell in an effort to reduce national debt. The ad said they were renaming the national treasure to "Taco Liberty Bell" and encouraged other corporations to help out in similar ways.

This year, g-mail joined in by introducing CADIE technology, which allows you to put your email on autopilot so you'll never have to read or write another message.

It also reports that it matches your style and tone with the following autopilot settings:

The technology also promises to help manage relationships, as demonstrated below:

Somehow, the jokes never seem to get old. I wonder if Mom would agree?

Centennial Ice Cream

I buy ice cream about once a centennial, but I've been hearing about the famous Blue Bell brand since I first mentioned that I was moving to the South.

I wanted to see what the fuss was all about (when in Rome, you know) so I scanned the vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. *Yawn* Then something caught my eye--a green, four-leaf clover and the words "Centennial Cupcake."

Blue Bell's Centennial Ice Cream is cupcake batter ice cream with cake pieces, chocolate icing and sprinkles. Did you catch that? I said cake batter ice cream filled with a bunch of goodies. So many baked goods (cookies, brownies, cakes) are even gooder before they're baked. Totally worth the raw egg risk. Admit it--the spoon and bowl licking is your favorite part too.

Bracing myself for the disappointment that sometimes comes when foods sound better than they taste, I took a small bite. Then I upended the tub and polished it off in 35 seconds. Of course I went back to that aisle next time looking for another half gallon. Gone! This ice cream is special edition to celebrate 4H's centennial.

So if you're in the South, get it while you can at Wal-Mart, Publix and Winn Dixie. If you're not in the South, fly, drive or walk here and buy a half gallon.

After all, this is the kind of ice cream that only comes around once in a hundred years.

"April Showers Bring May Flowers" by William P.

We've had a bit of rain lately.

And by a bit of rain, I mean daily downpours. The kind that bring the phrases "sheets of rain" and "rolling thunder" to the English vernacular. You could swim in my backyard.

What's that saying about rainy days? Daily downpours bring delightful dogwoods? March monsoons bring magnificent blossoms? April showers bring awesome azaleas?

Whatever it is, I'll take those April showers. And I'll take my daily walks among those May flowers-- bumblebears and all.

William P., popular guest writer, weighs in on the subject below:

"April Showers Bring May Flowers" by William P.

If April showers bring May flowers, then May flowers bring pilgrims! Wow, that's a terrible joke. I guess that saying means that some bad things actually bring about better things.

Kevin Rose, for example, was a TV personality on Tech TV before the network was bought by G4. When G4 bought TechTV, they fired many of the people that worked there, including Kevin Rose.

Down on his luck and unemployed, Kevin used all of his savings to create the social networking news site known as Digg. Kevin had a decent size fan base, including me, that joined his site. The website used Google AdSense, so the more people that visited his site, the more money he made.

With the money he made from Digg, he started a sort of online video network known as Revision3. Digg is now the number one user submitted news site in the world. Revision 3 is one of the most viewed tech video sites, with shows such as Diggnation (number one tech video podcast according to iTunes).

And now Mr. Rose is a millionaire.

Tony

I was surprised at the emotion I felt from this short video so I wanted to share a father's journey for a teddy bear named Tony.

A Monkeychip Tale

You may recall the story about the bumblebears, but that isn't the first word I've made up. I renamed chipmunks "monkeychips" as a child. Like all furry creatures--I loved the little guys.

So of course when I found Pepper the dog barking at a monkeychip she'd chased and trapped in a bucket, I wanted to save it. The bucket was about half full of sand, so it was too full for Pepper to knock over, but not full enough for the monkeychip to be close to the rim (and within reach).

Pepper was strong, especially when in pursuit, and I was just a kid. I tried to pull her away, but couldn't overpower her. So I got a dog biscuit (always a surefire bribe) and tried to lure her away. She had none of it. She continued to bark, growl, and paw at the bucket.

My parents had enough sense to keep me from getting too close to the wild, even though I wanted to feed all the furry creatures by hands. I grew up in Colorado, see, where we often had wild bears and mountain lions in my backyard (literally) and where I'd hopped over my share of rattlers sunning themselves on hiking trails. You're liable to have some problems if you don't keep a proper distance.

So I was trying to think of another plan without getting too close and leaned over the bucket to assess the situation. I'd never seen a flying monkeychip before, but in an instant, all four monkeychip paws were clinging to my shirt. I felt the claws on my chest and saw the little guy looking up at me--inches away from my face. I screamed and shook my shirt like you do when you're trying to get crumbs off. That's what you call instinct.

When the monkeychip hit the ground, it made easy prey. I was left to watch Pepper chomp the monkeychip I'd tried to save. Pepper had instincts too.

The last thing I saw was its tail.

Frontline Ink Logo!

Thank you FHP! You do good work!

"The Irony of Hybrid Cars" by William P.

Most people that buy these "earth friendly" cars think they're doing the environment such a big favor. The truth is that the companies use tons of fuel just to make the batteries used in these cars. Then the cars are shipped out on eighteen wheelers, which also use a large amount of fuel.

With that said, there are also many benefits to owning a hybrid. They get way better gas mileage, which means less fuel to buy, so you can use all of the money you saved to buy more useless, overpriced, American junk. They also emit less pollution in the air. Great idea? Yes. The answer to global warming? No.

According to a new study, cows are now the number one reason for global warming. So what now? Are they going to make hybrid cows?

100 Words or Fewer

I'm writing a story in 100 words or fewer. It's harder than you'd think.

Saying You're Sorry in the 21st Century

The movie "Love Story" made this line famous: "Love means never having to say you're sorry." Of all the assinine love quotes, this one's gotta top the list.

I say I'm sorry to my friends, my roomies, my clients...I'd even say it to my dog if I had one.

This is where the text phenomenon comes in handy (pun intended). The text message eliminates the sweaty palms and stumbling first words: "Hey, ummmmmmm, well, see, the thing is. Yeah, hey, uhhhhh. Soooooo, uh, can we talk?"

No more working up the courage to knock on someone's door. You can apologize from the next room using carefully chosen words with exactly the right amount of humility and humor, "Srry I threw a pizza at ur face. bff 4evr? :)"

You can sit on the same couch and let your thumbs do all the work. You write "Hey, sorry I snapped at you earlier. It wasn't personal. Hugs!" Voila--reconciled.

Or, you can sit across the table from each other with a crowd of oblivious guests between. Eventually, you both look up, cell phones still glowing, give a wink or a smile, and move on.

God bless the text message for making it easier to say you're sorry--frequently and sincerely--in the 21st century.

T-Shirt Slogans

This is a cool site for t-shirts with witty slogans. I happen to enjoy the shirts, but I really like the fact that I can submit my own slogans and maybe even get paid for them.

Oddly enough, grammar seems to be my recurring theme. Unfortunately, grammar lessons don't seem to have the same appeal as Chuck Norris jokes.

"The Neverending Story" by guest writer, Roboto

When I was a kid, one of my favorite movies was "The Neverending Story." Brilliance! If you ask anyone if that's a good movie their response will be, "I LOVE that movie." Unless of course their response is, "Actually, I never saw it." Which is easily combated with, "WHAT?!?! Oh man, it's great! Let's watch it sometime!" Here's where the trouble begins.

I recently had the chance to watch that movie again with some friends--all of us in love with it except for one who hadn't seen it. Popcorn was popped, shoes thrown off, and couches circled. Everyone was nice and cozy. After we giggled about the cheesy 80s effects, we settled in for the long haul to greatness. During the following hour and a half, I realized that this was a terrible movie with some shining moments. I mean stinky terrible. Seriously, Bastion (main character and lovable loner reading in the school's attic), actually talks to his sandwich at one point. After two bites, he speaks to it as he puts it away, "No....we've got a looooong way to go."

Wow, it was a real stinker.

Now, that's not to say I don't still love the movie. I think it's actually cinematic gold. It did its job of entertaining children and leaving a long-lasting impression. Just the fact that we thought it was brilliant and lovingly remembered it proved what a great movie it truly is.

This retrospect started because I went to a Mexican restaurant this week...wait, I'm sorry, a "Mexican" restaurant which hardly any of my friends like. They all complain that it's not authentic Mexican food. I chuckle to myself a bit every time they say that because I was raised on rice and beans at least three times per week. I'm a for-real for-real Mexican. I love it too, but that's another day.

Anyway, I happen to really enjoy this restaurant. I have had good memories and great experiences. I can even say that I have always enjoyed their food. So I went there with a mission: to prove how authentic and delicious their food is and once and for all say it to all my friends. I wanted to stand up for their AUTHENTIC Mexican cooks and staff. By a friend's recommendation, I ordered the Mexican Chicken. Again, that's where the trouble began.

Let's just say that I have fond memories of this restaurant and that it's...pleasant. Americanized? Sure, but hey, we're in America and it's tough to find non-Americanized Mexican food. (*By the way, an enchirito from Taco Bell...NOT real Mexican food.) After going back and eating one more time to prove my point that it's good food, I've settled on simply saying that it's a Mexican restaurant...without the quotation marks.

The Neverending Story = (This unnamed) Mexican restaurant.

Two Things I Already Knew, but Confirmed by Experience Today

Trying to clear a yard and sidewalk of three inches of leaves with only a push broom and a rake that falls off its handle every few minutes is not very effective.

Savasana (relaxation pose) in yoga should be called nap-inducing pose.

Love Is the Sweetest Music

Love stories make for some great music. I'm thinking "Gift of a Thistle" from Braveheart and "Justin Returns to the House" from The Constant Gardener, among others. In Slumdog, it's "Latika's Theme" that strikes a chord and moves the soul.

But it's not the only noteworthy song on the Slumdog soundtrack. "Ringa Ringa" will make you want to paint your hands with henna and dance with your thumbs and middle fingers together.

And if it doesn't make you want to dance, it will at least make housecleaning go a bit quicker.

My Second Year Walking the Edmund Pettus Bridge

On March 7th, 1965, a crowd of civil rights marchers (led by John Lewis and Hosea Williams) walked over the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama. There, they were met by a sea of men in blue who beat them with billy clubs, chased them on horseback and temporarily blinded them with tear gas.

The day became known as Bloody Sunday and it brought national attention and support to the Voting Rights Movement.

Today, I joined the 44th annual celebration of the day that precipitated the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Two years ago, Barack Obama spoke at Brown Chapel. Last year, t-shirts promoted his candidacy.

This year, t-shirts celebrated the election of America's 44th president.

A Dog's Life

This just in, your dog can now get "massages, happy hours, and monogrammed towels" at fine hotels everywhere. No seriously. Thank goodness, because I don't know what Fido would do if he didn't know which towel was his.

"Because It's Friday" by William P.

My only question about this post involves the title but we'll save the discussion on semantics for another day.

"Random Post that Makes No Sense Because It's Friday"

Tony ran 138,000 miles to the planet Mars to get a glass of lemonade. When he arrived he realized that he forgot to put his socks on so he ran all the way back to Earth and robbed a bank. With the money he stole, he bought the first season of Friends, a tiger, five hundred blank DVDs, a jar of peanut butter, 108 gallons of Pepto Bismol, and a single pair of tube socks.

He put on the socks, ran back to Mars, made a turkey sandwich and finally poured his glass of lemonade. Then he took a sip and realized that it was unsweetened. He was horrified. "Unsweetened, refreshing beverage? This is madness," he said as he clenched his fists with the great fury of a thousand lions. Then out of nowhere appeared a red Power Ranger. He looked at Tony and said, "No, THIS IS SPARTA!!!" They sat there looking at each other for about 35 minutes, then all of the sudden they were eaten by a wild pack of vicious dogs.

The End

Slumdog Millionaire

Since I tend to let societal fads pass by without notice, I was late to get on board the Slumdog train. I'm glad I didn't miss it altogether though because this is one craze worth its weight in Oscar gold.

I'll try to refrain from spoiling the story in my enthusiasm, but if my intentionally vague description isn't enough to convince you to see it, take the Academy Award folks at their word and give it a go anyway.

Slumdog Millionaire is about an orphan (Jamal) and his two companions (brother-- Salim and fellow orphan--Latika) who grow up in India surrounded by poverty and an unlimited supply of villains who want to exploit the kids for their selfish gain. The movie takes a front-row seat to life in the slums as the main characters face all the circumstances you'd expect for penniless and motherless children. And some you wouldn't expect too. These are the ones where you remind yourself that somehow, Jamal makes it to young adulthood and to the game show stage that provides the flashbacks to his life.

Jamal maintains a certain purity in his character--enough that he covers his eyes when Latika gets out of the shower, but not enough to keep him from swindling gullible Americans. He also maintains a clear conscience that allows him to give honest (and often cheeky) answers to inquisitor and game show host alike.

The characters' respective decisions--often heartbreaking, often surprising, and sometimes funny--separate and reunite the trio many times over. In the final reunion, you find the answer to the first question the movie presents:
"Jamal Malik is one question away from winning 20 million rupees. How did he do it?
a) He cheated
b) He is lucky
c) He's a genius
d) It is destiny"

Slumdog Millionaire reminds me of The Shawshank Redemption in that it earns its hope and the redemption for which it is named through the suffering, not in spite of it.

Slumdog offers hope, love and redemption. All three are well-earned.

Quirks

Roboto is one quirky fella', as demonstrated by yesterday's post. In addition to the thrill he gets from square roots, Roboto insists on having only white plastic hangers in his closet. I wonder if he has to count them for square root compliance? Any other color causes the same *shudder* as prime numbers and the mere suggestion of wire hangers is grounds for termination of friendship.

I find quirks endearing, puzzling and occasionally a bit inconvenient. Always though, they are fascinating. I'll now turn my writer's eye to the quirks around me and bring them to my beloved readers for future entertainment.

Stay tuned. And don't be surprised if Roboto's name continues to pop up.

Hooray for Square Root Day!!! by guest writer, Roboto

Do you know what bothers me most about flies? Not that they land on you and supposedly throw up or that they’re dirty and irritating. It’s not even that when one hovers around you it makes you all self conscious as if people are looking at you wondering, “Geez, I wonder why that guy didn’t shower today…”

Though irksome, those qualities pale in comparison with what bothers me most about flies– the randomness of their flight. There’s no pattern to what they do! Long flight, short flight, short, short, long, buzz, wing-flap, long, long, hidden somewhere, short, buzz, etc. GAHHHH!!!

It’s randomness that bothers me--when things don’t wrap themselves up into nice, neat little packages. It’s the wobbly stool or the lid that just doesn’t quite fit just right.

And then a gift such as today comes. I was reminded by two friends that today is Square Root Day. To put it plainly, 3 X 3 = 9 (today’s date: 3/3/09), or the square root of 9 is 3.

Now we’re talking perfection. Look at how perfect that is! The SAME number multiplied by ITSELF equals…well, it equals beauty, quite frankly. We’re talking division with no remainders. I mean three teams consisting of three people each. Nobody’s left out. No team resigned to say, “Fine, we’ll take the fourth person,” or opposition to say, “That’s not FAIR! Why do THEY get 4 people?!?” You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face today if you tried.

Square roots are mathematical beauty. They are the numeric equivalent of coloring inside the lines. Square roots, and conversely squared numbers, are like getting out of your car and realizing you parked perfectly…evenly spaced on both sides. Ever go to the store and get a thrill when they tell you your total is $12.00 EXACTLY, including tax? You know that little extra smile that brings you? Yeah, that’s what Square Root Day does for me.

Now, I know you might be thinking, wow, this guy really loves math. Yes, I do. I’ll own up to it. I’m an unabashed math nerd. And it’s days like today, and the other eight Square Root Days that happen every century, that make up for all the times someone leaves the radio or TV volume fixed on a prime number. *shudder*

HAPPY SQUARE ROOT DAY!!

A Dream Black and White

Once upon a time in a dream black and white,
a golden-haired puppy trembled with fright--
whether chasing or fleeing, it's hard to say,
but this pup's in a hurry, we know, either way.
His gait was gentle as he pawed through the air,
but then he was urgent to get quickly there.
He stirred from his sleep with a bark and a leap
And ran with such force, no longer asleep.

A Whistling Responsibility

Yes, that's right, I'm with the band. And now I have an added responsibility--a whistling one.

I've always dabbled in whistling, but I never expected to have an audience of 900 which is exactly what I'll have on April 23rd and 29th.

In fewer than ten measures, I am to add to the country western ambiance of "One More Angel in Heaven," in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

My lips are poised and my chapstick is ready.

Freedom of Smell

It's nearly spring and a lovely time to live in the south--the azaleas, flowering trees, and gentle breezes are poetic. But there's an interesting phenomenon with said trees and breezes. Sometimes, one such breeze will lift a visible cloud of pollen off a tree and hang it in the air for an impossibly long time. You may walk through the cloud if you choose, or you may walk across the street to avoid it.

But what if the tree could walk into a room and leave its cloud behind? That's what happens with the cloud of perfume, hairspray or aftershave that often lingers long after the bearer (or overbearer) has moved on.

And what if the overbearer wants to embrace? To quote a friend, "Sometimes, I hug someone and smell them on me the rest of the day. Is that fair? I didn't choose to smell that way!" Some folks like to hug trees, but I've never seen a tree offended if you choose to keep your distance.

What if that hug occurs in the morning and then you sit down with a cup of tea that ends up smelling more like Old Spice than chai spice? In approaching a gently-scented blossom, you may reach for it, take a pleasing whiff and move on without having to continue smelling blossom on your shirt, in your car, and in your dinner.

Some flowers don't actually smell so nice, but a subtle odor that stays with its blossom is preferable to a manufactured fragrance that leaves a long-lasting trail.

I am especially sensitive in vehicles since I have a propensity for carsickness. My queasiness is exacerbated by four things: sitting in the back, reading, looking back while the vehicle is in motion and strong smells (especially perfume and cigarette smoke).

The first three are easily managed:
"Anyone mind if I sit in the front?"
"No, I'm sorry, I can't look for your purse in the backseat."
"Can someone else read the directions?"

But that last one is troublesome. It's a bit harder to say, "Your aftershave makes me want to vomit" or to roll the windows down when it's 15 below. I'd rather not choose between losing my fingers to frostbite and losing my lunch.

Pretzel Rebuttal, by guest writer, Roboto

I figured I'd continue with my recent tradition of having a guest writer on Friday by posting Roboto's rebuttal to "Why Pretzels are Wack."

"Pretzel Rebuttal" by Roboto

Wow, I can't believe nobody came to my poor friend, Mr. Pretzel's defense! I'll give it the old college try.

Dry foods are amazing. It must be some sort of masochistic thing in me, but I could eat an entire loaf of bread, toasted, no butter, no jelly. Dry.

Tell me you've never started eating saltines without a glass of water, only to look down and realize that you've eaten almost the entire sleeve? And then you actually contemplate opening another sleeve because, yes, dry saltines are just that good.

The pinnacle of pretzel delight would be the Rold Gold Honey Wheat Braided Twists. MAN! Rather than air, carbohydrates and salt, somehow Frito Lay, makers of Rold Gold, have used unicorn breath and honey-laden carbohydrates, and then dusted them with angel freckles. Seriously, they're DELICIOUS!

The soft pretzel--though delicious, as you said--really can't be considered a pretzel, so let's just throw that argument out the window.

An entire bag of popcorn, nothing to drink? FANTASTICALLY dry. Toss in some pretzels to liven up the popcorn and I'm instantly brought to my childhood of watching Charlie Brown and his gang eating such an amazing snack for Thanksgiving.

If Charlie Brown is cool with it, so am I.

Obama/Biden/Pretzels - '08!!

Do the ChaCha

Ever wonder how many holes are in a Chinese Checkerboard or how many stars are in the sky? Ever find yourself at a family reunion but dying to know the current score of the big game? Or craving sushi in an unfamiliar city?

With a mobile phone, six numbers, and nimble thumbs, you can get the answers to these questions and more. Simply text your question to ChaCha (242242). In minutes, you'll receive an answer. Standard text message charges apply, but there is no additional cost.

Don't get too crazy though because you're only allowed four questions in 72 hours. And if you find yourself asking ChaCha if your socks match, it might be a good sign that it's time to put the phone down and get reacquainted with the world around you.

Do yourself a favor

and listen to "Central Park" from the King Kong soundtrack.

No More Spicy Pickles

She names her poop before flushing it down the toilet. When she grows up, she wants to be a teacher or the boss. She loves to dance, play hide and seek, and hang out with the "big girls." But three-year-old Gracie recently discovered that she's not quite ready for the pickles that feel like fire on their way in and out.

Her mother discovered it too when she walked away from Gracie's bed holding green-spotted sheets as far away from her body as possible. "No more spicy pickles."

Gracie followed a few steps behind with the green spots on her shirt and agreed, "No more spicy pickles."

I'm With the Band

Good ol' RATco is doing another musical. This time, it's about a dreamer named Joseph.

I've hardly played since I had corrective (not cosmetic) surgery on my lip a decade ago, but I couldn't resist the chance to dust off my flute and play a bit of Andrew Lloyd Weber for a high-quality production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

That's one of the great things about RATco--you're able to try acting, singing or dancing even if you're not an expert. You get individual coaching and a personal investment from the director and producers. Along the way, you get to know new people and gain confidence.

RATco productions have always defied traditional logic by making a place for everyone, investing in everyone, and bringing it all together for a great show. By experience, I know that I'll be a part of something really special with this play.

Besides, now I get to say, "I'm with the band."

Things That Are Overrated, by William P.

Due to the overwhelming popularity of William P.'s recent posts, I thought I'd share a bit more from our sarcastic and endearing guest. I love the creative way he expresses his opinions even when I don't know what he's talking about or don't agree. Please understand that, despite recurring comments about things that make him so angry he wants to hurt things, William P. is actually a friend to the furry creatures.

"Things That Are Overrated"

Wow, I don't even know where to begin with this one. I'm not the type to complain about everything, but there are just some things in this world that I just don't get. For instance, the band Nickelback. Sure, they probably worked hard to get where they are now, but seriously, they are extremely overrated. If you ask me they sound more country than anything, nowhere near the modern rock they claim to be. The majority of the time the lead singer is just screaming at the top of his lungs. He sounds like a mix between McGruff the Crime Dog and Toby Keith.

Since I'm on the subject of music, I also think that Soulja Boy (yes, that's spelled correctly) is the most overrated thing in rap music since....since, well EVER!!! If I hear "Crank dat soulja boy" one more time, I'm going to kill a kitten. Also, the color yellow is overrated. Plain white tees, The War on Terror, Dane Cook, Carmen Electra, Mitt Romney, AC/DC, the whole year of 1999, Napoleon Dynamite (it's not that funny!!!), self-loathing, Jew and/or gay bashing (just stop, it's not funny), soda, life after high school, and emo scene/goth kids (because we all know that dressing exactly the same and listening to the exact same music makes you a non-conformist....NOT!!!). I'll just leave it at that.

To the Dogs

I couldn't let this topic go just yet. After my research into the world of luxury items for pets, this story, about a man who was apparently robbed of 300K in pet jewelry, doesn't seem quite as shocking.

Let that be a lesson to you if you really must carry around the equivalent of a mortgage in puppy bling.

The Discerning Pet

My favorite product from yesterday's post states in its description that it is "for only the most descerning of canines."

Maybe they should hire these "descerning" dogs to check their spelling. Their "moms" could probably use a little extra cash.

Just Four Paws

Have you been affected by dwindling investments or dropping home prices in today's troubled economy? Save your money from risky banks and 401K plans by putting it in the one investment that is guaranteed to bring long-lasting returns--pet jewelry.

Where bone-shaped birthday cakes and puppy brownies fall short, personalized dog jewelry shows how much you really care.

There's nothing that says "I am loved" like a glitzy pet cuff (just $55):

or a matching set of charms for you and your pup:

Appeal to your dog's sense of irony with the "Diva Collar," which accents her real fur with fake fur:

If you want only the best for your dog, turn to the designer for the stars who caters to Ricky Estefan (Gloria’s Dalmatian), Lola De La Hoya (Oscar’s Chi) and Neal Tyler (Liv's pup).

Though pet fashion has come a long way over the years, some customers, like Michelle, express consternation about a largely unpublicized size bias. Michelle describes the emotional experience of looking for a "pretty necklace for [her] pretty princess" at Glitzy Pet Jewelry, and realizing that "all of the necklaces were biased towards toy or smaller dogs."

"Surely that's not possible," you might be thinking. Think again. Determined, Michelle persisted and got a custom necklace for her "girl" Zoe. The site now carries a special collection for "plus-size" dogs.

Michelle's sense of injustice is furthered by this $1,700 bed at Bling Bling Puppy, which is only big enough for dogs up to 25 pounds. Perhaps a little sensitivity training is in order?

Until this issue is addressed, Michelle will have to get by with a regular bed fitted with custom dog steps ($150 and up) for Zoe's ease.

Other gratuitous ways to spend money on things your dog doesn't understand include diamond earrings and Gucci carrying bags. You may also wish to grind $20 bills into a fine powder to mix with her food.

Just Some Things on My Mind

A friend came to me after she read Turn Around with some things on her mind. She said, "Something's bothering me! Why does my spellchecker always try to add an apostrophe in somethings? What if I just want to talk about more than one thing?"

This is another case of a word meaning something entirely different as two words:

*something's=something has or something is:
Something's been on my mind all day.
Something's troubling me about your grammar.

some things=more than one thing:
Some things in life that just don't matter. Grammar is not among them.

Adore the Smore

Decades after it first made its messy way into my heart, I was finally reunited with the campfire smore in an unlikely place--my kitchen. That's right, after countless less-than-melty chocolate squares, un-roasted marshmallows, and mushy graham crackers, I have perfected the kitchen smore.

I'd like to share what I've learned so that you too may enjoy all the subtle nuances of the smore in the comfort of your very own home.

Many kitchen methods have proven insufficient in producing a graham-y, chocolaty and marshmallow-y treat worthy of the long-revered title of "smore."

For example, an impatient few will head straight to the microwave, where the marshmallow will balloon to unnatural proportions and the chocolate will puddle atop soggy graham cracker squares. Don't even bother.

Those with respect for the smore will try to incorporate fire in some way. This is commendable, but take heed. Gas fireplaces melt the marshmallow nicely, but may also melt your face off. Matches are less dangerous, but 137 matches, two burnt fingers, and seven hours later, you'll be more in the mood for breakfast.

Candles seem promising at first because they provide a long-lasting flame, but do not be fooled. Vanilla-scented candles do not enhance the flavor and, trust me on this, you'd much rather smell Ocean Breeze than taste it.

The trick, smore lovers, is in the toaster. No, NOT the projectile waffle kind of toaster--you wouldn't be the first to try shoving a marshmallow between the wires and you wouldn't be the first to fail.

A successful kitchen smore requires a toaster OVEN with a broil setting, marshmallow and chocolate topped graham cracker squares, and a combination of patience, skill, and tenderness.

The broil setting provides a gentle browning effect for the marshmallow, melts the chocolate without turning it to liquid, and leaves the graham cracker crisp.

Delicately rotate the marshmallow as it browns and glory in the chocolate glow. The magic of the smore is back.

Definition of Quirky

I just got back from a big night out at Sonic.

There, I watched a friend decide what she was going to order by dipping a pretend spoon in a pretend cup of pretend Oreo Blast and then pretending to taste it. She wasn't convinced yet so she then tried pretend Butterfinger Blast. She went back and forth between the two pretend cups before deciding that she was in the mood for Butterfinger.

And then she ordered an Orange Creamsicle.

Ultimud Frisbee

We had a long, Southern-style downpour yesterday and played Ultimate today. That's a muddy combination.

The game has gotten so popular that we've had to split into two games at once. Several kids from the local Children's Home joined us today, including one superstar who consistently caught impossible tosses. But even the third grader (whose dad just happened to see us playing and has brought his son every week since) left feeling like a superstar. Everyone has a chance to play and the score remains tied at all points--for the official scorekeepers anyway.

My favorite moments were the slippery ones--especially when they involved flailing arms, long skid marks and muddy clothes. But I didn't particularly enjoy being folded in half (by someone twice my size) during one such moment. Those stars sure were pretty though.

Anyone know what day of the week it is?

The Quest for a Successful Grapefruit-Eating Experience

Grapefruits are delicious, nutritious, and nearly impossible to eat. Crate and Barrel and other such stores actually sell spoons and knives dedicated specifically to making the grapefruit more accessible.


The knife just doesn't look right and I don't think spoons are meant to be dangerous. I'd like to keep my tongue, thanks.

And even if you manage to remove the delicious flesh with the spoon without getting a blinding squirt in the eyeball, you'll find sticky spots all over the counter and floors within a 10-foot radius for weeks. Of course, you could just peel it and eat it like an orange, but then you can't put the sugar on it and that's just yucky.

I've discovered the solution. Actually, my shopping soul mate (more on that later) introduced it to me and I'm a believer.
Del Monte Fruit Naturals, people.

They're fresh enough to require refrigeration and to have an expiration date. They still taste like grapefruit and don't turn into another food entirely like canned oranges, peaches and pears. They're cheaper than the real deal too.

Best of all, you can eat them without risking life and tongue.

Why Pretzels are Wack

Pretzels are wack–as in as not legit, unnecessary and lame. Wack is pronounced like whack (which is what I recommend doing to any pretzel not covered in chocolate), but the h is dropped to make it 20% shorter for texters (and primary users of the word).
Pretzels are straight air, carbohydrates and salt: they are not a legitimate food. If you're going to eat air, carbohydrates and salt, you may as well make it worthwhile. Try Dill Pickle Pringles or Cheetos–they actually have flavor.
A case has been made for pretzels filled with peanut butter. This is the most offensive kind of pretzel around. Why someone would combine the two driest food stuffs in existence is beyond me. You can get the same dry mouth and subsequent lip-smacking without going to the grocery store and exchanging money. Just go to the nearest playground or beach for a spoonful of sand.

There is one exception–soft pretzels–which are really just pretzel-shaped pieces of bread covered in various sweet or savory toppings. As such, they're delightful.

This post is for William, Joseph and Sophie who don't agree that pretzels are wack and who are wrong**.
**Proper etiquette requires me to invite rebuttal posts from pretzel lovers–misguided as they may be.

William P. On His Least Favorite Things

These two go hand in hand, so here's another post compliments of William P.

Similar to "My Favorite Things," I also have a lot of things that I hate, so this should be easy. First off, Aquaman. Seriously, why is he a superhero? All he does is talk to fish. Wow, that's amazing. Whoopdie-freaking-do!

PG-13 horror movies. I'm so sick of these unscary, piece of crap movies that are only made because teens are dumb enough to pay and see the same movie over and over again. "Oh noes, there's a ghost of a little girl that was hurt by her parents and now seeks revenge on anyone who watches a cursed movie and calls them in seven days!" FAIL!

Another thing that makes me want to stab kittens is sweet spaghetti. Dear Batman, I hate that stuff. I like spaghetti, but when it's extremely sweet, I want to punish small animals. When I see my friends eat the cafeteria's so-called spaghetti, I want to punch them in the face. I'm serious. Okay, not really, but still, that stuff is yucky.

Next up is cigarettes. The biggest waste of money in history. Even more than Nickelback's last CD. I just don't get it. It gives you bad breath, makes your clothes stink and slowly kills you over time. Well, sign me up for that! DOUBLE FAIL!

Other things I don't like include: hot weather, hypocrites, soda, losing, being told what I "need" to do and gas prices. Wow, I don't even know where to begin with gas. Gas is like 147 million dollars a gallon. OK, maybe I'm exaggerating, but dang! I can barely afford to buy enough gas to drive to a gas station to buy more gas. Hey, look on the bright side, there's always bikes, or extreme inline roller blading (oh goody!).

Speaking of extreme stuff, why is everything all of a sudden extreme? There's extreme Doritos, extreme deodorant, extreme fruit snacks. There's even extreme yogurt. Huh?! Seriously, how the heck is yogurt even remotely extreme? It's mind boggling. It's a freaking dairy product! Cows aren't extreme, so milk isn't extreme, therefore... YOGURT IS NOT EXTREME!!!!

Have you ever seen the movie "Meet the Spartans"? Don't, it sucks. Well, I haven't seen it but I'm pretty sure it sucks.

William P. on His Favorite Things

I have a very special treat for the blog followers today. Rather than a whole post talking about how I still can't lift my arms after my recent boxing match, I thought I'd share some writings from my favorite undiscovered writer. Back in my teaching days, we started class each day with a journal topic. This particular student never failed to make me laugh and has given me permission to post some of his writing. Below is his journal on "My Favorite Things."

Well, I have a lot of favorite things, so writing this shouldn't be too hard.

I love music, plain and simple. Music is like a drug to me, I've just go to have it. I listen to nearly every genre (well everything but country, except two or three songs I listen to when doing drive-bys in Grand Theft Auto San Andreas). Speaking of GTA, I also love playing video games. I've been playing ever since my brother went to college and gave me his Nintendo Entertainment System (or simply Nintendo) as an early fourth birthday gift. Since then, I've had a Sega Genesis, Sega Saturn, PlayStation, PlayStation 2, Gamecube, XBox, and an XBox 360 (my favorite).

I've never been big on watching TV, but over the past two years, I have become addicted to watching certain shows: Smallville, Lost, Heroes, Mythbusters, Dirty Jobs, Intervention, and two others that just stand out. My favorite show would have to be House MD. Gregory House is the coolest, most arrogant, prescription-drug-addicted doctor ever. The other show is Family Guy. BEST. Cartoon. Ever. "Nuff said.

More random favorite things are iguanas, movies, comic books, winning, pizza, BBQ, computers, YouTube, EBay, Digg, drawing stick figures in random, usually violent, situations, playing guitar, Michael Moore documentaries, driving and mostly anything cherry flavored.

The last thing I would like to write about only my closest friends know, but since I'm writing about my favorite things, I might as well add it to the list. I love 80s music! I know you're probably thinking, "Wow, he must really like 80s music." WRONG! I LOVE 80s MUSIC. I love it like a parent loves his kids, like Al Gore loves green stuff, like Tony Danza loves being the boss.

My favorite groups and artists include Tears for Fears (I'm listening to "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" as I write), Guns 'N Roses, A-Ha, Styx (Domo Arigoto, Mr. Freaking-Roboto), Foreigner, The Police, A Flock of Seagulls, Corey Hart (I actually own a pair of sunglasses which I sometimes wear at night), Toto, Cutting Crew, Mr. Mister, Squeeze, REO Speedwagon (just a couple of songs)...

I'm gonna stop here because this is actually a little embarrassing, seriously.

Relax, let's just talk.

Over the years, I've gained quite the reputation as a stickler on grammar. I have bolstered that reputation by using my blog to rail on such things as misplaced apostrophes, typos and commonly confused words.

Sadly, friends express self consciousness in their emails and in conversations with me--no matter how much I insist that mistakes don't bother me a bit in casual communication and that I make grammatical missteps too (seriously, I do).

I often ask for help from two people who know more grammar than me (the same two people who knew automatically that I should have said they "know more grammar than I"). And I also start sentences with and, but and because. I stubbornly leave out commas and end sentences in prepositions. And sentence fragments? I love 'em.

So relax--no need to walk on grammatical eggshells around me.

With that said, if you start writing for the Dining and Wine section of the New York Times and say that the third coarse had too much course salt or that the red potatoes were heavy on the time and didn't come out in a reasonable thyme, I will make an example out of you.

Ultimate Frisbee

Here's a picture. And yes, it's that serious.

I played ultimate twice this weekend. My big brothers would have been proud. Here's a photo with the Selma youth.

I learned that I'm better at sports now that I have glasses, that hustling is good but pacing myself is better, and that blood on my shirt is an effective intimidation tool.

Police Academy--Week One

Kelly came home from week one at Police Academy with swollen cheeks. She smiled through her busted lip as she described her first-ever boxing match. On the first solid punch her partner landed, she saw stars.

She also described what she'd been learning. The lessons on how to turn and salute were secondary to the lessons on teamwork and sacrifice. She described the oath of an officer and how it doesn't allow for selfishness and individualism. She understands.

She also smiled because she was finding out that she really does have what it takes to get through this. The moxie. The chutzpah. The stuff. Not just to get through it, as it turns out, but to lead the way as the Guide On--the one who carries the flag at the head of the group. One of her superiors told her she was chosen for a reason.

I'm not there to watch her at the academy, but I see her diligence at home. What I see is that she understands that true leadership is sacrificing self for the team.

To serve and protect while others wait to be served and protected.

Third Annual Martin Luther King Celebration

At the Third Annual Martin Luther King Celebration, the Freedom Foundation honored several Selma community members with lifetime achievement, courage and youth awards.

In preparation, I interviewed two of the recipients: Jean Martin and Annie Cooper.

Annie Cooper was a foot soldier of the Civil Rights Movement. A photo of Ms. Cooper's struggle with four officers, including Sheriff Jim Clark, ran in the New York Times on January 26th, 1965 and provoked national sympathy and support for the voting rights struggle.

Jean Martin is a true public servant. She has demonstrated a commitment to doing what she believes is right, no matter what the cost.

I had the opportunity to chat, look through family photos and reminisce with these two special women. And though my official reasons have ended, I'll continue visiting my new friends.

I was happier to hold the flowers for these two special women and to sit backstage, unable to hear much of the program, than I would have been to present an Oscar for best actor or to sit at the 50-yard line at the Super Bowl. These aren't heroes of entertainment or of physical strength—they are heroes of courage.

One young man who once said he was "too poor and too black" to go to college, gave a speech that started with, "I know what it's like not to have running water. I know what it's like to be made fun of for old, dirty clothes" and crescendoed with the proclamation that he has been accepted to Samford University. He ended with a challenge to the youth and his final words brought the audience to its feet: "Yes we can."

As one of the 40 plus choir members, I wasn't there to showcase my beautiful voice (it's not) or to be seen (I feel awkward on stage). I was there for one purpose: to sing my heart out for the award recipients and for the crowd that gathered to honor them.

Though the night was long, I left filled with energy and stayed up discussing the highlights of the evening and laughing with friends.

When I finally crawled into bed, I fell asleep with a companion I cherish—contentment.