Blowhard (or The Ventriculatory MassWhale)

I thought something felt a little funny yesterday. It was hard to pin it down due to my recent acquirement of full-throttle absent-mindedteenism (not a word), or my decision that cigarettes were last years news. Turns out it wasn't anything to do with me - things were just a little funny.

After finding out that one of my best friends from high school now lives down the street from me, I had a stigmata over my kitchen sink. Whether or not this was due to my finding out he lives down the street from me remains unclear. The particular stigmata I had was the one where Jesus readjusts his crown of thorns on his head, and consequently pricks six out of ten of his fingers. Six out of ten of my fingers (about 6/10 of them, or 3/5 if you use the metric system) started gushing blood, for no reason in particular - besides the stigmata of course. Only one of them was really split open, so I wiped up the other cuts, and put band aid over the seriously stigamatad one. The Little Finger That Could bled through that band aid, another one, and yet another one, before I was able to leave the house to go to work. Oh, the valiant bleeding. Keep on bleeding little buddy! You're so brave!

As I exited my house stage right, and approached my four-wheeled steel horse of valor and consequence, I noticed a strange pile of garbage abutting the entrance to my carriage of guilt and glory. "Bizarro." I thought, "though this is Ypsi. Naymind, not bizarro." But I as I neared the pile of garbage, I started getting the eerie feeling that the garbage was familiar. In fact, it kind of looked like...no, not..."could it...is it MY garbage? But of course it is! I can recognize my garbage from anywhere! Heavens, this garbage is the garbage that used to live inside my car!"

-1 bottle of mostly empty Victoria Secret lotion, left-over from my sister's habitation of said automobile.
-10 batteries, their life-death status unknown.
-2 bags half-eaten snacks from recent road trip to Tennessee.
-5,000 receipts, memorializing the purchase of cigarette packages (lo, the days of yore!)

Now, why would anyone ever want to go into my sapphire-encrusted transportation mechanism of serendipity and shyness, pull out handfuls of garbage, and leave them there?
At this point, I started to use my head, instead of my heart. I came to this conclusion:
Someone had gone treasure-diving in my car!

But really, the joke is on them. The mostly empty bottle of Victoria's Secret lotion and 2 bags of half-eaten snacks were really the best things in there. For no reason in particular, I had taken my iPod out of my car the night before, leaving the only other valuable, but pretty much useless, item in there, which is my cd-to-tape adapter. They took the adapter. Good for them. I would hate for them to leave empty handed - what kind of hospitality is that?

I mean, really. I hope they don't go smearing my reputation around Ypsi by telling everyone what a gross, useless quadped roar-box I have, or how I truly own nothing that costs more than $10.47.

The tale ends with me cleaning up the garbage with my blood-stained fingers, and quietly exiting the city. A weird spell, a tepid air, and a morose ghost fell upon Ypsi yesterday. Let us exercise the demon and let the city sleep at last.

Finally, a movie that accurately represents an entire species.

I had an idea for a short story yesterday, but as I worked it out in my head, I realized it wouldn't be anything more than a romantic comedy. Heavens! We don't need more of those! So I decided to do what everyone in Hollywood does when they are entirely out of good ideas: Make it about Penguins!
Here's the voice-over from the trailer:

She's a girl, who's making her way in the Big City.
He's a down-home boy from the South Pole.
Her writing career has finally taken off.
He's finally met her.
The only problem is...

"See, I can't write unless my heart is broken."
"So that's why you're always waddling around dejectedly!"
"It's not emotional - it's just my work."
"Damn girl! You need to find a line between work and play!" (Hearty laughter)

She's addicted to having her heart broken.
He's addicted to her.

"I've never seen flippers move that way before."

Will this salt water lover risk her job for the one guy who could make her happy for the rest of her life?

"I mean, he's no Emperor Penguin." (Hearty Laughter) "But there's something in his plumage."

Or will she trick him into breaking her heart for the sake of a story...just like all the other guys?

The critics are saying
"Finally, a movie about real penguins."
"A hilarious, toboggoning romp!"

The only mature comedy with full-frontal penguin nudity, and all the laughs that will get you Puffin!
This summer, see the movie that dares to ask the ultimate question - What Will a Penguin Do For Love?

This summer, don't miss out on the writer's block:

The Pen is Mightier Than the Guin






Sooooo...what do you guys think? Besides, of course how retarded the critics who previewed the movie are. A tobogonning romp? What were they thinking?

But I think it's a winner, and I'm pitching it to Aaron Harburg in the morning.

Be Inspired by Life's Tender Succulence

I've always hated the adorable posters people have hanging up, shamefully, in weird parts of their house, that are titled "Life's Little Instructions" or "Lessons I've Learned" or "Things I Know Now Because I'm So Damn Old but You're Still a Teenager, So Listen Up, Screwhead." These, sadly, usually permeate society and become cutesy adages, and, consequently, infallible wisdom.
So, to be proactive about my loathing, I decided to make my own.

Life's Little Instructions

Go into the priesthood. Wear socks. Become a man. Don't be overly frightened of bats. Stop to creepily stare at the roses. Wash your dishes immediately after use, otherwise they get crusty and a lot harder to wash. Don't hold it in - just go to the bathroom, and always take into consideration the germs you're encountering by giving them names. Wink at old men, then call them creepy behind their backs. If you don't have a coping mechanism, make one up! The internet is all around us, so be careful where you fart. Remember the ducks, for when you get older, they will haunt you in the night. Dance like no one knows you're a quadriplegic. Wash behind your ears out of duty, never out of desire. Children are inherently creepy, and that's why they always put them in horror movies.

But above all else - wear clothes that are memorable, otherwise you might forget and think you're naked.

Jack and Coke, and feeling Bloggy!

I've started viewing my life in haikus. Haikus in the good way - not in the way that annoying, prescriptivist weirdos who find enjoyment in useless restriction like them. (Given that description, I'm not sure anyone fits that build.) (Hooray for talking in parentheses!) ((Double parentheses denote a secret))

So yeah, haikus. Viewing my life in captured moments. They generally turn out to be paragraphical moments, instead of silly 5-7-5 lines that don't make sense in any particular way.

I realized that most rap songs nowsadays are haikus. Take, for example, "Get Low" by Flo-rida. The song, or at least the chorus ,which is all that my ineptitude is able to decipher, deals entirely with him seeing a girl in a club, and what that's like. He sees a girl, apple-bottom jeans, furry boats, and she's smacking her butt. He describes what he's wearing, and that's about it. Lame? I think not. He's describing a poignant moment in his life. It's easy to doubt the sincerity (since we generally connect sincerity with morality) in the song (though maybe he REALLY likes furry boots!),...but the point is the capturing of the moment, got it?

When I look back at my life, I generally see it in Polaroid snapshots, and moments that I treasure in my life. I work in moments. Anything longer than that indefinable space of time I can't handle for meaning. Ten minutes in time holds no meaning. All I can seem to capture is the beauty in that moment, and what the insertion of myself into that moment creates.

At this point, I would normally make a silly Top 10 list of my favorite moments, which would be an entirely farcical, and a potentially clever exploration....but I don't feel like it. Moments are too sacred, and I wouldn't dream of sharing the ones that actually mattered to me on the internet - The Whore of Information. Moments are sacred pieces of fleshy-life, encapsulated in a block of ice, that we're trying to find a freezer big enough to keep it in. Once the ice melts off, all you have left is quickly perishable flesh that holds no beauty.

Metaphors aside, I'm tired and going to bed. Tell me your thoughts on the matter, haikus, and how nice my butt is. I think your's is pretty awesome.

I Love Me

I just ate the most friggin delicious coffeecake in the whole world. How does a cake that good even exist?
Well I guess it doesn't anymore. All gone. So sad.

I didn't get much sleep last night, at least not enough to work an 8-hour shift today. But before you go sob for my sorry-little-tired-hiney (Yellow Polka Dot Bikini!), let's look at the facts:

HAND-SLAMMING FACT: I had four hours of sleep last night.

TRUTH: My job at the coffee shop currently consists of sitting around, and stalking people on Facebook for 8 hours, ooh and drinking lots of tea.

HAM-SLAMMING TRUTHFACT: This isn't so bad!

Except I'm not sure I know what's real anymore. These two people are here right now, and I think I accidentally forced the guy to pay for both of them, though I'm pretty certain that they meant to pay separate. Ha, now they're on a date. And keep looking at me awkwardly, like I'm some creepy, dilapidated vulture...not so far from the truth!

GLISTENING HAM TRUTH: I am a vulture.

I'm so depressed that coffeecake is gone!

Alright, I'll just make a Top 10 list and get out of here.

THERESA'S TOP 10 FAVORITE FINGERS:
10. Left-Hand pinky
9. Left-hand pointer
8. Right-hand ring-finger
7. Right-hand pinky
6. Left-hand middle finger
5. Right-hand thumb
4. Left-hand thumb
3. Left-hand ring finger
2. Right-hand middle finger
1. Right-hand pointer

CONGRATULATIONS RIGHT-HAND POINTER! You've done your accusatory work so well over the past 20 years, that you came in at Number One! Keep up the good work, Pointer!

For all my fingers that didn't make the Top Ten List this year, keep trying! If you can dream it, you can do it!

The Joy of Humans

I've always had an easier time expressing cynicism towards humans, and telling them that they're generally pretty stupid. This is the main reason why I believed for awhile that I was Mark Twain in a past life, but obviously this was thrown out since he's not British. Obviously, I was a British subject in a past life, and quite possibly, a rock star.

TANGENT:
Recently, I was told I look like Keith Richards. British Rock Star. Ugly git. I told the two men that told me that they were assholes and should go away. They giggled to themselves, and tried to further explain their reasoning (something about my hair-piece), but I got away too quickly to be healed from their slanderous remarks.

UNTANGENT:
Where was I? Oh yeah, I'm not Mark Twain. I know this since deep down I've always had such an incredible affection for humans and their quirks, mannerisms, and plights. It just hurts a bit too much to show love sometimes. I am a rock, I am an island.
My Grandma died this past Saturday. I loved her dearly. She was one of my favorite people, and a great friend of mine. She was the kind of human that I just really, really liked. I get so sad when I think about how she won't be around anymore, won't invite me over to dinner, won't be around to make us Pineapple Coffeecake and her Jello salad. She won't be poking things with her cane, or making snarky comments about circumcision. I won't be able to do crossword puzzles with her anymore, or watch Jeopardy with her.
This makes me very sad.
And it's all the little stuff like this that makes me sad. All the little, silly things that she has done for me and my family that I love and treasure about her.
In a frenzied search for meaning, I find myself trying to only look at self-designated profundities, none of which hold any more meaning than the memory of my Grandma making mint tea.

That's what makes me think Humans are just so neat. We scurry around at break-neck speeds, panic at our follies, and despair at our lack of progress. We get so worried about things. But then we're able to slow down enough to notice that we're really, really stinkin' cute. The ways that we entertain ourselves, joking around together, and trying so hard to stamp the universe with our precious authenticities, are so much more important than the over-arching meaning we seem to be on a constant quest for.

I think God has been trying to show me how he sees people. And if it is God showing me these glimpses of His Heart, then it's pretty unexpected.
First, I was driving to work. I was almost to Golfside, thinking about nothing particularly important. Then my mind wandered to gesticulation, and thinking about how people speak with their hands. Sometimes their hands just get so wild, traveling around their bodies, slicing air with the blades of their fingers, in such a desperate attempt to communicate. My heart filled with love for humans. How cool is that. Gesticulation. Golly.

The second was just today. I was Stumbling through the Great Internet, and watched a music video the Navy made for the song "Hey Ya." I started crying halfway through it. It was just so beautiful to see all these people happily goofing around together, and enjoying themselves. How magical is it that they cared enough about doing something funny, so that bored people like me can have a good laugh? To me, it was just so tender that people care enough about each other to make each other laugh.

I guess it never occurred to me the altruism in humor. We've all seen someone fillet themselves to get a laugh out of someone else, simply because they want them to be happy, and people are just so beautiful when they're smiling. I love to make people laugh, and sometimes succeed. I never knew why I liked doing it so much, and why I love laughing so much. Sometimes I get the overwhelming desire to be selfish with my jokes so that people will appreciate them more when I pull them out. More so, maybe people will finally put out with their jokes, because I sure as hell get lonely when I'm the only one horsing around. But I don't like that. I don't like when humor dovetails into bitterness. We're meant to be bringers of joy to the people around us, and humor isn't a bad way to start.

Well, those are my thoughts for the day. Here's the video of the Navy for you guys. I understand that it may not be as profound as I made it out to be, or maybe it is. You'll have to let me know:

glumbert - Navy does Hey Ya

Food Perverts

I'm at work right now, and it dawned on me that I should probably milk the cow of benefits. Unfortunately, the only milk this cow produces is Free Wifi (goes great with cereal!) and day-old bakery items (which are generally of the food variety). I was already using the internet, and it's hard to use the internet twice at the same time (Done it!), so I decided to go for a cupcake.

The cupcakes we serve at the Common Cup, however, have a tenuous grasp on cupcake status. A better way of describing them is Frosting Holder. The "Holder" bit exists for the sole purpose of keeping the consumer's hands clean -- and health code reasons. However, thanks to the latest developments by Gluttonologists, the days of "Holder" will be gone, and we'll be able to eat just Frosting without the burden of messy, sticky hands which bare the proof of indulgence (Though let's be honest - what a fun mess to lick up!).

NOTE FOR MY BOSS:
I actually think our bakery is fantastic, and admire their judicious, yet generous, portion choices.

Eat the cupcakes. You'll probably get diabetes anyway.

But anyways, that went on longer than I wanted it to. What I REALLY wanted to talk about was the idea of Pornographic Food. Hooray! Food having sex! What a great idea for a blog!

Or, less of that, and more of the idea of food being objectified. Let's quit joking around guys, we have serious issues, and it's time to address them (blog-style, meaning posting pictures, watching videos, and commenting about how fat everyone is). Food Pornography is taking so much of what is wanted from food, and what people like about food, and putting so much of it in there, that it comes out perverse on the other end. People do this! Bah - cupcakes!

It's disgusting. Do we not respect food anymore? When we objectify food, we make it so that it doesn't even seem human, and treat it with the same respect as a piece of meat.
Here are a few samples for, for your scoffing enjoyment:

CHICKEN FRIED BACON: Deep fried bacon, served with ranch! Mmm!
Watch a whole video about this CRAP!

DOUBLE DEEP FRIED DONUT: These exist more often than you'd think. Yeah, ok, I had one once. But it was just once in high school, and I didn't even like it.

DEEP FRIED COCA-COLA: I don't even know. It's really weird.
Click to try and understand.

Last deep fried one:

DEEP FRIED BACON WRAPPED BANANA: Dear God! What are people doing to that poor banana?!


THE FOOL'S GOLD LEAF: Some kind of hocus pocus created by some guy named Elvis Presley. Nastiest thing possible. To construct one, mix one jar of peanut butter, one jar of grape jelly, and a pound of bacon. Scoop the mixture inside a hollowed-out loaf of fresh-baked bread, smother the outside in butter and bake.













That's it. That Elvis guy -- what a creep.

TURDUCKEN - This one has become more popular, though it's an abomination. I've had one before, and the 20 pounds I put on after a single bite lives with me to this day.















Chicken meet Duck. Duck this is Turkey. Turkey, this is Chicken.
Chicken this is Turkey. Duck this is Chicken. Ok, everybody good? Let's all pile into each other and be creepy!

THE BEER BARREL BELLY BUSTER: I know you want to like this one because it has an alliterative name, but stop yourself. This is the omega of Objectified Food. Food Perverts flock to it at night. This is it guys.















No, this isn't just a normal-sized burger photographed with a small camera to make it look enormous! (that's how photography works, right?) This burger is 15 pounds of fury, ready to electrify your intestines, and throttle your arteries with its hefty glory.
Along with your 15 pounds of flesh, you'll receive 25 slices of cheese, a head of lettuce, three tomatoes, and one onion! See, vegetables! Maybe this burger is just a friendly giant.

(P.S. The restaurant responsible for this unspeakable tub of guts also boasts of a 123-pound monstrosity called the "Main Event." I couldn't find a picture of that one though, probably because Danny's Beer Barrel Pub is too damn ashamed of themselves to post a picture of their sluttish sandwich.)



After all that, I don't think our cupcakes are all that bad. Our cupcakes just wear a mini-skirt and dance around on stage.