The Chris Show

My New Blog

2011-08-07T20:29:00.005-06:00

To my dear friends on the World Wide Web, I have decided to give this blog emeritus status and begin afresh. It's been a blast, but I've decided I need some new digs to re-jump-start by blogging life. I welcome you to visit my new blog at MaxStoneForever.blogspot.com. Cheers!

365 Days in the City: Day 89 - Herb Garden Buffet

2010-12-04T13:00:00.007-07:00

I've been negligent in writing about my city life, namely because while there's a lot going on, nothing really quirky has occurred--well that changed last night.

A few posts back I mentioned how popular my front stoop is for night-time visitors. Since that time, I've placed plants from my apartment in Lake O out front, which has helped remind passers-by that in fact my loft isn't empty. Visitation has dropped significantly.

Two nights ago, I came home and noticed there was a lot of soil on the sidewalk in front of my stoop. Upon further investigation, I noticed someone had dug around in my strawberry pot and taken my small shovel. I was confused, but had frankly hoped the strawberries would die this winter anyway, so wasn't too concerned.

Last night, as I returned home and walked to my front door, I noticed a haggard-looking woman leaning over my oregano and thyme herb pot. As I neared the door and the clearly homeless woman, she didn't flinch one bit as she treated my herb garden as a salad bar. My first inclination was to tell her to back off my herbs, but then I remembered that in fact I didn't ever actually use those herbs, I had secretly hoped they (like the strawberries) would also die, and that she probably needed them way more than I did. So, I just walked by, opened my front door and called it a night.

She hasn't eaten all of my plants yet, but it's only Saturday, and I hear the Herb Garden Buffet has nightly specials throughout the weekend. If you're hungry, I've got a small serving of strawberry plant, withered clematis and some rosemary. I'm sorry to say, we are fresh out of oregano and thyme.

Evolution Disillusion

2010-12-02T00:39:00.011-07:00

Evolution, or the progression of a species, is an observable phenomenon that is constantly driving itself forward. Whether you believe it to be a part of a greater plan or simply the natural order of things, we can all agree that as species evolve or progress, they ideally become better and better.

The relationship of natural selection and evolution tend to go hand-in-hand, however in the case of human beings, I'd say that's not necessarily the situation. We have progressed so far beyond the simple concept of survival of the fittest, that we can all live without any real regard to the core rules of survival so closely adhered to by our many animal neighbors. While I don't really want to offend the majority of the population that would quickly die off if we had to actually resort to self-survival skills (and I don't exclude myself from that soft-exteriored majority), there is a lot of evidence to suggest that we have evolved to a point of uselessness in an actual practical sense. Brush aside the invention of Segways, reality television shows, Go-gurt, Paris Hilton, or the paparazzi that follow her (none of which would have existed if we were still foraging for food, or heck, even farming for that matter) and I would like to point out one particular piece of evidence that highlights my point.

Have you ever thought much about ending petlessness?

Well, I haven't either. However, apparently the folks down at the Oregon Humane Society have, and they mean business. Plastered all over every billboard from here to Timbuktu (that's a little town in eastern Oregon) is the most ridiculous (but admittedly endearing) campaign to end one of the least dangerous afflictions to afflict any afflicted people since the beginning of afflictions. Petlessness? Is that really something to combat or end? Aren't the petless happy?

To tie up the loose end on how this relates to evolution, the one great evidence of a species that has evolved past it's own usefulness (in my mind) is a society that addresses issues with zealous flair that are so unimportant to the core of that society's survival as to make them seem too trivial to waste the word trivial when describing them. Because so many of us aren't likely to die of plague or hunger any time soon (or be eaten by a higher mammal) and the most foraging we need to do is in our refrigerator (or to the nearest McDonald's), we can actually afford to spend time brooding on issues that have propelled us to the stratospheric upper-echelons of the nugatory.

I know. I'm being unfair. But I should at this point disclaim to you, my friends on the internet, that I love pets. I really do. Dogs, cats, rats, hamsters, parakeets, anoles, cockatiels, I'll take them all. I love pets. But some people don't, and that's okay. It's not a plague to be petless. It's not dangerous. It's not contagious. I doubt a single petless soul who sees that billboard or the hundreds of other media pieces that echo its message will say "Well heck, I never realized it, but I do need a pet. I'm going to get one today!" Because the truth is, most petless people are happy. The petless are like you and me. They go to work and live their lives. Like you and me, they enjoy good food, dancing, sleeping-in and all the other things an overly-evolved society enjoys. They just happen to like it without a furry companion to share every minute with.

Someone spent tens of thousands of dollars to develop and implement this campaign. Many someones thought of it and spent many hours working on it. They are the overly evolved who sit in squishy chairs and try to imagine what life would be like without a Whole Foods on every corner and the non-organic hell it would be.

In the mean time, there are the less fortunate of our over-evolved species who are actually still trying to survive. They are all around us. They are like you and me. They may or may not have work and are probably having a hard time living their lives. Like you and me, they enjoy good food, but may be grateful to have any at all. Dancing is something they probably only do once-in-a-while, and sleeping, let alone sleeping-in, may not be a comfortable, feasible or regular practice. They are probably not concerned with petlessness, organics, excessive individualistic freedoms or staying out of the mainstream. They are still concerned about surviving and maybe one day gaining admission to the indulgent club the rest of us languish in as we pine for a better world.

Indeed, we live in an overly-evolved society where trite, but influential pet projects (no pun intended) garner millions of dollars of public and private funding. It's a comfortable and gilded world where special interests so far from the basic necessities of life, or even the outskirts of resources for valuable personal progression, can command center stage and suggest that you and I participate in something as frivolous as ending petlessness.

No offense Oregon Humane Society, I'm all for those homeless kitties and puppies to find a forever home before their time is up, but in a world full of human homelessness, healthlessness, foodlessness, lovelessness, freedomlessness and hopelessness, I don't need to invent petlessness and add it to my list of things to fight to end.

365 Days in the City: Day 58 - Asparagus Walls and Parking Tickets

2010-11-02T23:09:00.004-06:00

So my loft has been coming along miserably. Between being out of town, working late and trying to maintain some vestige of a social life, my place has maintained the look of a second-hand furniture warehouse where you see 'Going out of Business' signs and offers on Craigslist for a pair of used armchairs for $40 (and yes, a pair of armchairs I own came from CL for $40).

The clutter of boxes and other personal effects (which, by the way, where the heck does that term come from?) was like a maze/obstacle course/sadistic Saw game/fire hazard and got so bad, that I accidentally dropped my wallet into a pile of things and had to cancel my cards because I didn't know where my wallet was and I needed to spend money.

Then came the challenge.

A good friend of mine suggested that what I really needed was a deadline. [Queue angelic, heavenly music indicating a break-through moment] He suggested that maybe if I hosted a dinner party (which he and his wife were of course invited to) on Sunday, I would be motivated to go balls out (pardon the brash term) and finish from Friday to 4:59 on Sunday before the party.

I accepted. From Friday evening to 4:59 (and actually more like 5:08) on Sunday, I spent several hours at Lowe's and Home Depot (where I bought a circular saw and a 13-foot ladder among other things), built a kitchen bar/island out of cedar wood and a salvaged door, painted a 12-foot wall twice (first color wasn't right), moved furniture, sold furniture on CL (and hauled it 15 miles to the person's house) , stashed boxes, trashed tons of stuff, vacuumed, killed the last of my summer veggie plants, swept, installed lighting, swept, and prepared a meal. [phew!]

It was a lovely dinner party. My wall is painted asparagus green (after the second paint color was applied) and so I decided to serve asparagus in it's honor. The only down side of the evening, was that as we set off for a walk between dinner and dessert, we noticed that both couples had received parking tickets, which made for a bit of a pisser (again, brash) on the evening.

Still a lot to do on the place, but once it's done, I will post a house tour on here. Until then, here's to another set of adventures in the city!

365 Days in the City: Day 42 - Street Cars and Homeless Penguins

2010-10-17T14:35:00.006-06:00

This day simply couldn't get any more entertaining.

I decided to ride the street car to meet a friend for lunch today. It was my first time trying it, and like a kid on the first day of school, I wasn't without apprehension. I checked the schedule and walked the two blocks to the stop. On time, clean and quick, it was great. Even better, I live in the fare-free zone that encompasses most of downtown Portland (what an amazing city this is), so it was without cost. Lunch was fine and I headed back to get on the street car.

As I was awaiting the car, a man sat down next to me who was clearly homeless (I was breathing through my mouth for a while). I didn't really pay any attention and continued my telephone web browsing, until a somewhat chirpy, sing-song voice said:

"Excuse me, could you tell me what time the next car comes?"
"In about two minutes," I said.
"Thank you, penguins are not very good at reading small print, but we can march in straight lines in temperatures of negative 50, so we are rather militant."

I'm sorry what?

I looked up and now noticed the man next to me. Penguin hat (like the ones that have a face on them and ear-covers that are like wings) and a face painted red. I decided to engage.

"Well, it's a good thing it isn't that cold here," I said.
"Indeed, but it was chilly today," he said as though he hadn't just suggested he was a penguin. "But I don't much like marching in lines, do you?"

I indicated that indeed I didn't.

"It gets quite sunny here, which can lead to sunburn," he said pointing to his face which was clearly painted cherry red and flaking badly. "But if you try to steal anything, they will catch you, red handed," he observed, opening his palm to reveal more paint. I laughed and he indicated that I sounded like I might be a Portlander, and asked if I knew the mayor, whom he said he was quite close with.

He asked where I was from and was excited to hear that I was from the DC area.

"I used to live in Dupont Circle! Have you heard of it?" he asked.
"Yes, I have."
"I worked for a congressman there for a while."
"Oh."
"Are you involved in politics, is that why you lived in DC" he asked.

I explained that my father worker for the Smithsonian (which isn't even why we lived in DC, but it's an easy connection. This revelation made him very excited.

"Ohhhhhh! The Smithsonian! Well, I used to work there also." he beamed "You could say I change jobs like some people do shoes." But then his demeanor darkened a bit. "But I don't like to talk about that experience."

Sadly the street car came at the moment. The penguin had explained to me earlier that he didn't like crowded street cars, and this one had quite a few people in it. So, he wished me well and we shook hands as he waved to everyone on the car.

Well, Portland has penguins who hang out with the mayor after migrating from the DC area where they enjoyed stints with congressmen and the Smithsonian. Well, not the Smithsonian, we don't talk about that.

Best. Day. Yet.

365 Days in the City: Day 41 - Kicking Butt & Taking Names

2010-10-17T10:20:00.005-06:00

Working late and traveling to New Orleans for a convention have put a cramp in my ability to move the loft forward. I am ready for it to be ready!

Yesterday I made some great progress not only on the apartment front, but also on the "Oh my gosh I love living in the city so much, everything is so close and cool" front. I met some friends at Mother's Bistro for breakfast and following that, I went over to the Saturday Market to hopefully score some affordable local artists' work to display on my walls.

I heart the Portland Saturday Market.

The outing was a success, however, I learned from this experience to always bring plenty of cash to the Saturday Market, as I had to visit ATMs twice, racking up a whole $7 in withdrawal fees [sad day].

On the way back I stopped into a little antiques shop two blocks from my house and scored two awesome arm chairs really inexpensively. This day was going very well.

I headed over across the river and met a couple friends for lunch and we went to the Rebuilding Center where I needed to shop for an old door (to use as a top for a kitchen island), and some old wood to top an old buffet I bought earlier in the week. Score and score!

The day continued surveying a couple more Portland restaurants with a friend and then a restful evening at home, putting some of my new artwork in frames and catching up on my guilty pleasure, the Real World.

All in all, a fantastical Day 41.

365 Days in the City: Day 27 - The Front Stoop

2010-10-03T20:04:00.004-06:00

I finally got my internet connected yesterday, so I hope to update more often as was planned originally (despite the disbelief of some).

Since I moved in, matched only by "how's the apartment coming?" is the question "Do you feel safe?" (To remind the world, my apartment is on the first floor with direct street-level access, which is apparently terrifying to everyone, ignoring the fact that most peoples' houses have first floor, direct street-level access.) In brief, the answer is yes, I feel very safe.

Now that being said, having first floor, direct street-level access in a downtown area isn't without it's, well charm. Living in The Pearl, Portland's trendy, art district is a far cry from anything dangerous, but it certainly can be a mixed bag.

On the lighter side of things, the other day I walked out to find a sweet Ferrari parked out front (how bad could a neighborhood really be with a Ferrari parked out front?). The part I am now finding charming about my new loft that at first was a source of major concern is my front stoop. It is a very popular place. I generally enter and exit my loft through the back door into the garage, as I am typically driving somewhere. As a result, I typically leave the front light off. The other night I came home (at around midnight) and there were two men standing on my front stoop talking. It kind of freaked me out, but as soon as I walked in, they left. From that point on I decided it was entertaining. Two nights ago, I turned off a movie and was surprised to hear a woman talking out front. I walked downstairs and realized she was having a rather scandalous conversation with a man on my front stoop. I really wanted to turn the light on to give them a scare, but it seemed unwelcoming. After all, they chose my stoop to have their personal conversation, and darn it, I was going to live up to a reputation for hospitality.

So I put a welcome mat out.

Today while I was working on unpacking, a man came and sat on the stoop for a while. I'm not sure what he was doing, but he was using the mat, which made me happy.

So in summary, yes, I feel very safe, and yes, the front stoop may be the most happening place in town. I'm thinking of putting a chair out there and maybe even a fold-away bed.

365 Days in the City: Days 1 through 15

2010-09-21T10:28:00.009-06:00

Having family stay in my old apartment as it's coup de grace caused the city loft move project to sit dormant for almost two weeks (after all, guests can't see an apartment hemorrhaging boxes as you move out, they have to see it in all its glory). As a result, there isn't much to report on for the first 12 days of the past 15, but I'm trying to prove to you, my intimate friends on the WWW (that's World Wide Web, thank you Mr. Gore).

The move went well (thanks to some great people), and while I still haven't set up Internet in the apartment to facilitate quick blog entries as interesting things happen, I thought I'd give a quick recap (before I get too miserably behind) of a few city highlights of the past couple days since I've been an urbanite:

When I arrived at the apartment on Sunday with some stuff to off-load, there was a homeless lady sleeping two doors down. I gave her a bottle of water later as I walked by, hopefully she liked it.
I left my front door open to the street while I was unpacking on Sunday. There was a beautiful breeze and then it began to storm. I walked outside under the tree in front of my place and was very happy.
As it got dark, I decided to close the door when I shady figure walked by my door a few times and sorta peered in. A few minutes later he knocked on the door and explained that he worked near by and had left his bag when his boss locked up. He asked if he could use my phone to call his boss. Feeling a little sheepish (and distrusting) I lied saying my phone wasn't hooked up and there was RiteAid around the corner. For better or for worse, I lied to a random guy who knocked on my door the first night in my apartment. He could have just needed the phone, or he could have beaten, robbed and ultimately brutally murdered me on my first night in the Pearl. I think I'm okay with being a liar.

Cheers to the new place!

365 Days in the City

2010-09-18T23:28:00.005-06:00

I'm a downtown city-dweller now. It doesn't really feel like anything has changed about me, but then again it does a little. I feel trendier than I did when I was a suburbanite. My old furniture just doesn't fit anymore. It's just not who I am. I am a city dweller.

While not the type to typically bore the world with journal-style rantings, I thought it might be fun to share some of the annals of my life for a year (or maybe more) in a 1200 square foot loft in the Pearl District of Portland. I now live (well, actually tomorrow is when I am going to sleep there for the first time, tonight I am camping out on the floor of my almost empty apartment in Lake Oswego. But my furniture is living there now) in a first-floor, street entry, store-front apartment. I am sandwiched between a hip little Italian restaurant and a garage entry (where I get to park my car for a fee that might be considered steep). I am urbane.

In what I hope to be short entries accompanied by photos of my experiences and anecdotes, I plan to document my life for a year. ...We'll see how that goes.

You Should Always Finish What You Start (And Other Official Statements)

2010-06-30T12:03:00.006-06:00

(If you are just joining us, please see this entry)

OFFICIAL STATEMENT #4

Patronizing tones should be used with caution. Some people believe in a ambivalence of the human race and therefore don't know if you are patronizing them or being serious. I feel like I am on both sides of this coin because 1) I tend to believe in the ambivalence of the human race and 2) I tend to say patronizing things. I suppose I need to change one of those.

# # #

OFFICIAL STATEMENT #5

(Per a coworker) When you are talking about something and the other person you are talking to agrees with you, you should always just stop mid-sentence once they agree. It saves the planet by lowering your emissions of CO2.

# # #

OFFICIAL STATEMENT #6

You should always finish one official statement before moving on to others (for example I am now working on statement #6 when I haven't even finished five or four). This is an example of the attention-deficit society we live in. While waiting in line for dinner at IKEA (the greatest place in the entire world [see Official Statement #7]) with my friends and their kids, the five-year-old had her tray behind mine, and she was tail-gating me. There was a terribly long line that evening, and as the person in front of me moved forward a couple feet, the five-year-old immediately asked (in an innocent tone), "Chris, aren't you going to move forward?" as she pushed her tray up so it was all in my grill. I smiled and moved forward and reflected on how impatient I can be (probably as a result of the immediacy of most things these days) and then was a little startled to think of how much more impatient the rising generation will be, because they never had to wait for anything. Well except for dinner at IKEA.

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OFFICIAL STATEMENT #7

IKEA is the greatest place in the entire world.

# # #

Left is the New Right (and Other Official Statements)

2010-06-29T23:14:00.006-06:00

What exactly qualifies an entity or an individual to make a public or official statement? I suppose you have to be a PhD or a nation or be elected by a group of people or something, but I think more common people should make official statements. It's not like we don't have statements to make, and it's not like those who make statements are all that much more qualified than the rest of us. While we clearly live in a reasonably opinionated world, few people take the time to write their opinions down and distribute them in one form or another for the world to see as official statements. We should definitely do more of that.

Oh that vein, I'd like to release a few official statements of my own. Please enjoy.

OFFICIAL STATEMENT #1

The Chris Show has officially stated today that the two cobs of corn that Chris Giovarelli, Chris Show president, prime minister and only contributor, ate for dinner were excellent. The Chris Show believes more people should buy sweet corn and eat it.

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OFFICIAL STATEMENT #2

I would like to officially proclaim and state that the left is the new right. No, where not talking politics, we're talking driving. Due to popular demand and the overwhelming participation by the Oregonians all around me, the right lane is now the passing lane, and the left is the slow lane. When you pull into traffic, it is your immediate job to get into the left lane and then go below the speed limit. This is simply how it must be. Ideally, when pulling into traffic, just go straight into the left lane (especially if cars are coming up quickly in said lane) and pretend like you are going to punch it, but then don't. When driving in the left lane down a road with two lanes going in the same direction, it is especially appropriate to match the speed of a car to your right and then together, drop to five or six below the speed limit. This shows great prudence and impenetrability to those behind you. Let it be known from this statement, they will be grateful you have force fed them the roses they didn't want to stop and smell by their own fruition. Equally important, is that if you have been driving down a road in the right lane for a while (silly you), it is not only appropriate, but now expected, that you will randomly, with the jerk of the wheel, move into the left lane, even if that means cutting of cars there. Please understand, this is for the betterment of society. Those who can stand driving fast enough to actually pass you can just as easily scoot on over to the right lane to get around you, it's the least they can do for the nerve of driving the speed limit!

# # #

OFFICIAL STATEMENT #3:

Chris Giovarelli will be releasing official statements throughout the next several days. Check back here for updates if you are interested in learning more.

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Silence Is Golden

2010-06-02T23:06:00.007-06:00

In a striking blow to all of those crooks, thieves, hooligans and vicious criminals out there, the Supreme Court ruled on Tuesday that in order to invoke your so-called Miranda right of silence, you have to tell the officers who are arresting you that you'd like to remain silent. Puzzling.

In similar news, the IRS has decided to waive federal income tax, you just have to pay a tax-waiving fee approximately equal to 30 percent of your income, but depending on how much you make it could be less or more. If you have a good accountant, he/she can find ways for you to lower that fee to almost nothing, but if that accountant is "too good," you may be found guilty of income tax waiver fee evasion, and end up in jail with Bruno as your roommate (see yesterday's post). But I digress...

Maybe it's just the small, raging, liberal, ACLU advocate inside of me trying to get out, but I worry about how the tone, cadence and pitch of the verbal declaration of desired silence may be used against the individual who is innocent until proven guilty. What if my voice squeaks when I'm nervous (like if I'm being arrested for a crime I clearly didn't commit)? What if I am just feeling a little agitated and upon stating my desire to remain silent I seem a little crazy, unbalanced, edgy, or I don't know, guilty?

Even Justice Sonia Sotomayor, one of the Justices who was on the losing end of the five-to-four decision, thought it was dumb, saying in her written dissenting opinion (and I'm paraphrasing), "This is dumb."

This is the reality we now face:

Arresting officer: "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say will be used against you in court."

Me (or any other presumably innocent citizen): [silence]

Arresting officer: "Maybe you didn't hear me, you have the right to remain silent."

Me (or anyone else now freaking out): [silence]

Arresting officer: "You can remain silent so I can't make something you said seem incriminating, but you have to tell me that's what you want to do!"

Me (sheepisly): "I'd l-l-like to r-r-remain s-silent."

Arresting officer: "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understood what you said while I was [insert something related to the crime I'm being arrested for which is meant to shock me into confession]. Did you say something about violent?"

Me (annoyed/scared/unsure now): "No?"

Arresting officer: "Okay, so you aren't waiving your rights, let's play ball..."

Subsequently, Chris Giovarelli was tried and convicted of whatever crime you imagined, based on the arresting officer's testimony that he confessed to "wanting to remain violent."

And that's the value of silence.

Litter-al Punishments

2010-06-01T22:48:00.005-06:00

Sometimes when I am driving home on a certain route, I pass a sign that always makes me smile, and sometimes makes me laugh out loud (that's LOL), and shake my head. The sign reminds drivers that littering is illegal, and claims a maximum possible fine of $6250.

Yes, six thousand two hundred fifty dollars.

This raises two questions in my mind. 1) How on Earth did someone come up with that number, and 2) what on Earth would you have to litter in order to be fined the maximum $6250?

I decided to investigate a little more. After going through a number of state Web sites, I discovered the interesting item really isn't in the aforementioned questions, but that in reality, the sign is lying to the public (Yep, you heard it here first folks, the state is lying to us. I am calling this situation Littergate, and I am certain Fox News will cover it. Heck, they'll probably offer me a position as a pundit for this. [Said positions have been given out for less. {Yes, that was an ellipsis inside an ellipsis, and this is an ellipsis inside an ellipsis inside an ellipsis.}]).

The penalty for littering caries a maximum fine of $6250, yes, but it also carries a potential one year in jail, or both! Now, I don't know about you, but the next time I am about to throw, say, a file cabinet full of papers and toxic waste out of my car window (surely deserving of a $6250 fine if it's at least three drawers that are good and full of paper and a big glob of mercury), I'm not really going to be thinking about the check I might have to write for $6250 if they ever link the abandoned files back to me. What I'm going to be thinking about is Bruno (pictured above), who might be my roommate (and maybe more) for a year.

You want to stop Oregon from littering? Put old Bruno's photo on a poster that has one of those talking bubbles coming out of his mouth that says something like: "Go on, throw that empty Mickey D's cup out your window, I dare you." or "I'll be waiting for you." or even "Looking for a roommate, just throw something big out your car window and all my dreams could come true." I'm not sure exactly how to phrase it, or pull it off with real panache, but I'm sure the state's marketers could do a bang up job.

Incidentally, Oregon law classifies littering as a Class A misdemeanor, with puts it in the ranks of stalking, recklessly endangering a highway worker, prostitution, obtaining food stamps unlawfully, hunting with an artificial light (what?), applying a tattoo without a license, child neglect, assaulting an officer and unlawfully operating an ambulance, among other things.

So next time you think about littering (not that you would think about it, or even litter for that matter, but just in case you do), consider not only how it might affect the environment (ha. ha.), but who might be your newest friend as a result... suddenly a preposterous fine of $6250 may not seem so bad.

WRITER'S NOTE: I'd like to thank a friend for reminding me of the need to blog about this particular topic. While he will remain nameless, a la Chris Show rules, I appreciate his brief rant on the topic, which corroborated my first claim of seeing this ridiculous sign.

There's No 'I' in Team

2010-03-19T23:40:00.005-06:00

Have you ever sat and watched a flock of birds moving through the sky in what seems like perfect unison? Or, similarly, have you ever been at an aquarium and seen a school of fish darting through the water like one solid mass? Ever wondered how they do that with such synchronization and perfect coordination? I have.

When watching these amazing natural, living (and moving) formations, I have wondered if there is some extra sensory organ, perhaps similar a bat's sonar or a spacial field of sorts, that helps these groups move. I imagined scientists having done, or currently undertaking research to discover an incredible new source of honing and spacial mapping. The world would never be the same. Such technology would be added to cars to prevent collisions (a technology that already exists for help in baking up), to people to limit embarrassing slams into doorways (you know how that goes, you think you'll make it through fine, and then somehow, part of you just doesn't make it and is now throbbing with a vertical imprint of the molding to show for it) and the entire world's population of deer (to stop them from running into the cars that will also be working to stop running into them). I finally researched the answer some time ago, and it turns out the answer is actually (and maybe disappointingly) much simpler.

Birds and fish travel in flocks and schools primarily for protection. The large, traveling animal mass can confuse and intimidate predators (would you just jump into a heard of fast-moving apples or a gaggle of tortilla chips?). Protection is most guaranteed to those in the middle of the pack, and hence the tight-knit nature of these groups.

In 1984, zoologist Wayne Potts filmed flocks of birds to observe their coordinated movement. From his research (which was published in Nature, a preeminent scholarly publication on all things, well, nature-related) he found that the behavior does not come from any mystical super-sense, but just common sense. As birds on the outer portions of the flock turned inward (either simply to change direction, or to move more to the middle of the group), those around them reacted by moving in the same direction. This movement spread like a wave across the flock until every bird changed direction in order to stay with the group (those who don't stay with the group tend not to last long in the wild). Incidentally, typically movement into the flock is the only movement that is mimicked, individual birds who choose to turn away from the flock tend to go it alone.

What is particularly interesting about the reaction time in this sudden changes, is that it was far faster than could be easily explained by simple visual recognition. The mean reaction time to a bird's startle at a flash of light was measured at 38 milliseconds, but reactions to flock movements were measured at under 15 milliseconds. In response to this finding, Potts developed what he called the chorus line hypothesis, so named because of the Rockettes at Radio City Music Call. He proposed that the birds could anticipate a wave as it approached them from farther away than the bird next to them. This quick reaction is much like how the New York performers could react to an unexpected high kick nearly twice as fast as normal human visual reaction time due to anticipation from movement further down the line.

There you have it, it's simple as a desire to stick together. Truly, there's no 'I' in team, but in this case, there should be an 'I' in flock and school, because of one final tidbit: flocks and schools have no leaders. All the birds are acting on there own in direct reaction to everyone else. The result can sometimes be what seems like a confused group of animals. One individual turns inward, and so the group follows out of instinct. They dart one way and then the other and then back again. Apparently this behavior is normal (albeit inefficient), and eventually the will of the majority is able to get everyone moving in the right direction. Now if only we could take a few cues from that bit of avarian sociology!

Ga-Ga for Gaga

2010-03-16T21:01:00.013-06:00

At the very least, you have probably heard her name. It's almost impossible these days to have any connection to the media and not hear it. You may have caught a few of her tunes on the radio (even, if like me, don't listen to the radio, couldn't really name the songs, or maybe didn't even realize they were performed by her). You've possibly even picked up an urban legend or two about her, or gone so far as to have gawked at her incredibly eccentric dress code, inspired by her friend, Lady Starlight (search "red lace music awards," if you haven't).

Four months ago, I heard her name once in a while, but didn't know any of her music and was frankly bothered by the scent of extreme pop idol status she seemed to be earning. Now, I need to admit to my intimate friends here on the World Wide Web that I am slightly obsessed with Lady Gaga. She deserves every ounce of extreme pop idol status she has earned.

For what it's worth, I still only know two of her songs (Telephone and Paparazzi), but my interest (and admiration) in this nearly-instant sensation comes from much more than "just" her music. Lady Gaga is an example of someone who has created a personal brand empire through her own hard work and determination. She began playing the piano by ear at age four, and by 13 had written her first piano ballad. Now, at 23 years old, she has commanded the rise of a monarch-like media presence and surging fan base in less than 24 months. Since landing on the international scene with the launch of her first album, The Fame (Aug 2008), Gaga has won 54 music awards (according to a tally on Wikipedia), including two Grammys (with six Grammy nominations).

Her music is fresh, fun and lively (and she writes most, if not all of it) with a great mix of meaning. She is an activist and has contributed to raising millions of dollars for a number of causes. Her work has even landed her in the surprising role of creative director for Polaroid. Her skills portfolio seems to include a wide gamut that is serving her well in the fast-paced entertainment world of today.

She's definitely not boring, she isn't without controversy, and keeping with the music world du jour, she certainly isn't without considerable innuendo. That said, she's still very good, and no one can deny that, no matter their Gaga misgivings.

In a recent Advertising Age, cover story, the periodical outlined her incredible rise to global prominence fueled, in no small part, by her business acumen and social media genius. Wielding the powers of the internet, Facebook, Twitter and others as an arsenal at her well-managed hand, Gaga has created an impressive, connected and dedicated fan base of millions. The Ad Age article cites her November Bad Romance music video launch as a perfect illustration of her media control. The video became available first exclusively on LadyGaga.com, causing the Universal Music server to crash, a week-long trend topic on Twitter and more than 110 million views on YouTube. Her most recent video launch, Telephone, has been heralded as a return to music videos as cinema experiences (see MJ's Thriller), rather than the typical song-length artsy clippings of lip-syncing artists traipsing around overly monochromatic, or sickeningly technicolor sets with wind-blown curtains and confusing scene shifts (phew).

In the same Ad Age article, Gaga's manager since 2007, Troy Carter, credits here with control over the vast majority of decision-making in relation to her empire. While his comments hint at a "my way attitude," with the pop princess, who can blame her, it's working terribly well.

In a recent Parade article, American Idol super judge Simon Cowell, when naming Gaga as his number one pick to replace him at the end of this season, called her "the most relevant pop artist in the world at the moment... And I've met her. She is very smart. I like her." Coming from anyone else in his position, that'd be nice, but Cowell, who is known is his day to have made more than one grown man cry, isn't notorious for throwing out loose-lipped compliments.

No matter what your preconceived notion of her may be, Lady Gaga has reached levels in less than two years that many artists have never reached in a lifetime of work, and she seems to be doing it with some staying power. That deserves respect.

At first glance, Gaga has all the surface characteristics of a one-hit wonder, or one of the many shallow pop starlets of our hyped-up world, but with the non-sequitur depth and track record of a true artist, diva (see Christina Aguilera's unexpected rise over Brittany Spears) and long-term fixture. She is genuine, open and real, and stands up for what she believes in. She hasn't been afraid to be an eccentric, young powerhouse risen from an slightly insecure, Catholic school girl, to harness an image and brand of international acclaim.

Where will she be in five or ten years? I don't know. I hope it's still at the tops of the charts, but at the least, I hope she's cemented herself in a place with the likes of Madonna, Michael Jackson, Elvis and Marilyn Monroe--icons whose times may pass, but whose contributions, controversial as than may be, remain timeless.

Luxurious Snacks

2010-03-07T20:08:00.004-07:00

Isn't it funny how words bring certain thoughts and references to our minds? Any variety of word can draw on innumerable experiences from our lives and paint a picture as brief as a clip or flash, or as long and detailed as a memory or series of thoughts and concepts. I get a particular kick out of words people don't like.

I have a friend with whom I used to work who had a thing against the word "snacks" and similarly against the word "luxurious." He couldn't really ever describe why he didn't like the sound, thought, or connotations that came with those words, but nonetheless, he just didn't like them. (It goes without saying, that we often though of types of foods that we could offer him between meals that might somehow be considered decadent or extravagant to necessitate the use of luxurious snacks to describe them).

For me, the work is "stinky." I just can't handle the idea of something being stinky. It's the smell of cheese, dirty socks and other rank odors. I detest the word, and it makes me think of those stinky things when the word comes up. Just smelling something bad makes me think of the word, which sets me on a spiral of stink. Stinky stinks.

When I overcome my crazy spiral, I really enjoy asking other people about words they don't like. It's particularly rewarding to see their faces and the passion they pour into their lists. Some of the favorites (or least-favorites, as it were) that I've heard are: moist, damp, finger, slacks, blouse, crotch (ha!), flesh, smear and sore. The list could go on and on, but it's so interesting really. What makes certain words unappealing? Is it the type of word, what it describes, or just our reference points to the particular word?

Words are so funny to begin with. No matter the language, we are just combining symbols (of one form or another) that represent sounds and concepts. Sometimes the same combination of symbols can mean different things depending on the context, or different symbols can sound the same even if they mean different things. It's really amazing that as you read this, your mind has associated all of these random symbols together to make sentences and meaning just as I wrote them on the screen.

Well, what about you, what words are on your list of least favorites?

Snow is Very in Right Now

2010-02-11T22:15:00.007-07:00

As the East Coast becomes the new Siberia, and Vancouver the new Atacama, I've seen and heard a number of people throwing snowballs (so to speak) in the faces of environmentalists, touting the recent precipitation as a sure sign that global warming is not only non-existent, but patently absurd.

Now before I go any further, let me set a few simple premises to guide us through this entry: 1) the Earth's climate is changing, it's been measured, denying it is patently absurd. 2) Whether it's caused by man, a natural Earth cycle, or otherwise, is irrelevant to this post. 3) I'm not a liberal, tree-hugging hippie.

For a very long time I was one of the smug. I sat by and watched the blizzards and heavy winter weather and amused myself thinking of how each extra flake of snow was like another little needle, piercing their "scientific" bubble. I was pleased to see their environmental igloo melting away at its foundations and was certain global warming would go by the wayside like health care reform or Sarah Palin's bid to run the world (oh wait). When "they" changed global warming to global climate change, I declared victory in Iraq--er--the environment, and prepared for their widened approach to fail as only a second-string strategy could. This is no longer my opinion, and I'd like to briefly explain why, for the information of anyone who may be interested.

The Earth is heating up and it is changing some of the make up of our weather systems. Lest you think my move to Oregon has negatively affected my judgement on the matter, let me dispel your fears with on simple phrase: I hate the green movement. While all the many facets of climate change are more in-depth than I wish to address here, suffice to say that as the earth becomes warmer, more water is evaporated into the warm air. When it comes to winter, while the air is hardly warm, it is still warmer than it used to be. This leads to increased precipitation in certain areas. The change in temperature, which equates to more ice melting and therefore, changing temperatures and flows of oceans also disrupts current weather patterns. Areas that once got a lot of precipitation, instead have their water evaporated which then travels elsewhere. Locations with little ability to withstand heavy precipitation are faced with it, causing increased erosion and desertification. When our atmosphere is concerned, to simply say "things are heating up," is insufficient to understand the intricacies of the issue. While I may have gloated when global warming became global climate change, it was in fact the correct adjustment made by more years of research and understanding about our evolving systems.

Whether or not you believe humans have created global warming, climate change is a reality, and it's far more complex than our limited liberal or conservative opinions and agendas can take us. Single (or even coupled) weather events cannot prove a point. Snow in DC or no snow in Vancouver is only one small piece of the puzzle. For what it's worth, I propose we all learn a little more about the Earth, before making its natural, all be them, reactionary, processes the poster children for our political stances.

The Beautiful Commonwealth

2010-02-05T22:37:00.010-07:00

Now, a week after Caressa Cameron, a native of Fredericksburg, Virginia, was crowned Miss. America 2010, I believe it's very timely to point out that Virginia is a very good looking state. Being that I was raised there, I understand if you feel as though I might be a little biased, but I believe you will come to my side--the Old Dominion side.

Let's be clear before we go any further, I'm not talking in the slightest about the people (although, yes, the denizens are, on a case-to-case basis, quite attractive). And I'm not talking about the landscape (although, again, with mountains, rolling hills, lush forests and shoreline, we've got a pretty beautiful place [which sounds redundant, but isn't]). I'm not even talking about the wide array flora and fauna (okay, I just wanted to use that expression, because it makes me feel very David Attenborough).

I'm talking about borders. Yes, borders. Virginia is a very well-shaped state. When looked upon with any map that outlines man-made state lines, Virginia is, geographically, very good looking. It's got peaks, dips, straight lines, jagged lines. It's really got a little of everything.

Come on a features tour with me, won't you (Please see image below to reinforce the tour)? At first glance, the Commonwealth looks a bit like a scalene triangle. Beginning at the southern side, Virginia has a rather a planed southern border. The straight x-axis tilts slightly, causing the state to look ready and poised for movement. Coming up the western side, the tip juts up, like a shark's fin, before plunging down and then back up in a steep, sail-like rise. Another jut before the descending lines of the northern tip make way for the drop, slide and finger-like peninsulas of the inner Chesapeake shoreline. The Eastern Shore peninsula, while perhaps awkward in its separation from the rest of the state (see Michigan, which would be a very good looking state, were it not for that silly western monstrosity), provides a nice weight to balance the expansive western span. All together, Virginia looks not unlike a sleek, maritime vessel sailing triumphantly from battle (although admittedly, it also looks a bit like a duck that's fallen flat on its face).

The borders weren't always this (I dare say) sexy. Virginia has a long history of shifting its lines. In the early colonial periods, the name "Virginia" applies to basically he entire East Coast down to South Carolina and north and west up into inland Canada. From their, the state was sculpted down to its current trim and tone self through agreements, treaties and general demands from what would turn out to be less good looking states and provinces (let's be honest, aside from Quebec, Canada doesn't have a lot going for it in terms of good looking dividing lines).

Lest you call me a xenophobe, there are a number of states I find attractive (and a number I find unattractive).

Top attractive state lines:

Virginia (of course)
Texas
Illinois
Michigan (minus the western monstrosity)
Hawaii
Florida
New Jersey
Montana (business in front, party in back)
Louisiana (like a foot with algae growing off it)
Idaho

Least attractive state lines:

Wyoming & Colorado (tie for fugliness)
All the other square-like ones
Minnesota (it's like a strange, lanky, tall person)
Oklahoma (what is that sticky-outty thing?)
Maryland (it's so close to being attractive, but instead looks like it's had bites taken out from surrounding states)

Yes, I'm Back, But I Might Be Going Out Again

2010-02-03T22:31:00.009-07:00

Dear Blog,

I want you to know that even though I haven't written on you, visited you, or SEO optimized you in the past 90 days, two hours and 25 minutes (but who's counting?), that I still loved you during all of that time. I thought about you often, but just didn't make the time for you. It pained me... more than you will know.

I've been collecting stories to write on you about.

I've got 10 a the moment, and they're rearing to go.

[Long pause]

I've been thinking about doing another blog.

[Deep breath]

Okay, there, I finally said it. It would be a totally different genre. Nothing would compete with you directly. I even have a pseudonym to publish it under. It's just that I think I have a fun idea, and it would be a good additional release (I know, I don't even use this release, why do I need another?).

It's a blog about cooking. I know what you're thinking. "Cooking? Really?" But it's not like that, blog. I want to do a blog from the vantage point of a single guy cooking. None of the frilly stuff (What is blanching anyway?) No wasted time with foofy crap. Raw. You know?

The other day (like four months ago), I created a stage name for myself. It came from a meeting (which was going on way too long) in which I needed to entertain myself and the person sitting next to me. We thought up names we could take on for an alter-famous-ego. My name is Max Stone (awesome, huh blog?).

But look, I'm still me. This is still The Chris Show. The other blog will be Max's show. It's a clear, psychological divide. Two people, one body. Easy.

I think I'm going to call the blog Cock of the Wok. It seemed kinda cheeky (But then again, I don't even own a Wok, and don't really want to do Asian food only). It should be cool. So blog, I hope you'll forgive me for having ignored you for a bit. I'm back, and even if I do have another blog getting ready to launch, I won't ever forget you. You were my first blog.

What do you think blog?

Yours,

Chris (AKA Max Stone)

Totidem Verbis

2009-11-05T19:03:00.005-07:00

I realize by posting this entry I risk a major case of the pot calling the kettle black (or however that saying goes), but I feel this subject needs to be broached. I speak of our ostentatious dispositions to utilize pedantic and neological morphemes whence non-convoluted locutions suffice (ha!). In other words: speak and write simply.

I do reiterate, mia culpa, on this one, but for what it's worth, I suppose my real gripe is not the use of more diverse word choices so much as the motive behind them. I've read enough peoples' papers and reports to tell when someone is just fluffing their paper with complex lexicons simply to sound brilliant (which inevitably it doesn't). This plague isn't just limited to the average college student who wants to dazzle their professors, it's frankly the whole of the academic community. Have you actually ever read many academic papers? They're terribly written with the most jargon-filled mazes you could imagine.

One of the worst tendencies is the random use of Latin phrases. The language is dead folks, let it go. You know how in some languages they have one word to describe a very complex concept? Latin isn't one of those languages. It would be one thing if we were actually cutting down time and energy, but we're not. I caught myself today almost saying modus operandi. I stepped out of the room where I was, slapped myself, and then walked back in and continued my conversation.

Let's look at some common Latin phrases and think about the benefit of their use by timing the difference in saying each in Latin and then in English:

Tempus fugit (.95 seconds) = Time flies (.93 seconds)
Semper paratus (1.35 seconds) = Always prepared (1.34 seconds)
Quid pro quo (1.34 seconds) = Tit for tat (1.12 seconds)
Ergo (1.06 seconds) = Therefore (.88 seconds)

And the list could go on ad nauseum. The benefit of using the Latin? Well you sound smarter, but you might end up a persona non grata because you also sound arrogant. Not to mention, on average your will be speaking .11 seconds longer per Latin phrase. Multiply that by some made-up number that is meant to represent how many time you'd use those phrases in a day and then multiply that by 365 and then multiply that by an average adult life, divide by 60 and then 60 again and we're talking over two days of extra talking because of your flair for Latin. Absit invidia, but I wouldn't want to lose so much time when I could be sleeping, eating, or even listening to others.

In all honesty, I have a bona fide interest in the fun complexities of our language (or in this case another language), I just think we should go simple when we can and when personal entertainment allows it. And for what it's worth, I hope you take this cum grano salis.

American Psychos

2009-11-04T21:49:00.014-07:00

I got rid of my dog.

Yes, to the credit of a number of pessimistic, gloomy, antagonistic, naysayers in my life (yes, you told me so), I decided my undeniable urge for independence was being stifled by a cute little hairy thing with a curly tail (I mean I had to feed and walk him at least twice a day).

For those who are genuinely concerned about my dog's 20, Parker found a great home with a young couple who have a Husky named Hunter. After Hunter savagely attacked Parker for coming in on his turf, they actually became great friends and played for 90 minutes while I imagined my life without the adorable hair ball.

Let me be clear, I love my (well, their) dog. He was a wonderful pet and taught me some great lessons about tenacity, Houdinism, and anger channeling. When he wasn't destroying my wood molding, flip-flops, area rugs, computer cords, books, magazines, table legs, couch, papers, dryer sheets, socks [insert breath], pillows, doggie gate, toilet paper, belts, carpet, dress shoes and blankets, he was a heck of a good time. He was adorable like no other dog I've ever seen, and had the uncanny ability to piss me off like I thought no living being other than my sister when she was six and cut up my Smurf shirt to make a super hero costume could ever do.

Now that he is gone, I've realized that I was missing the down time, and while I can't wait to have a family of my own, that will be the end of down time, like forever. One day it won't be a puppy destroying things, it will be a little man or lady spawned from my own genetics, pushing my buttons like only a blood relative can do. Not only will they have teeth and claws, but opposable thumbs and brains more devilish than any dog.

The other day I was driving by the dog park we used to frequent, and I glanced over to see if any of our doggy "friends" and their "parents" were there. As I turned back from my strained gaze and swerved back from on-coming traffic, I didn't see any dog I recognized. Continuing on my way, I had to laugh at the enjoyable six months I spent with Parker the puppy.

Since Parker is no longer a part of my life, I thought I would take this time to reflect on the crazy Oregonian dog-owner world that almost took me (We are legion?). The following are a few memorable crazies encircling my life as a Single Puppy Parent at the dog park:

Lady 1: [in a frantic tone] "Does anyone know where her mommy or daddy is? Where are her parents!?"
Me: [Internal monologue] Holy crap! There's a kid here in the dog park whose parent's abandoned him or her. I better help! [I look up and realize she's talking about a dog] Lame.

Lady 2: [Talking to my dog] "Well hi there, aren't you cute! These are my kids, Bernard and Willie. They are really friendly and love to play! Do you want to play with them?" [My dog, not understanding a lick of English, walks away]. "Well guys, I guess you'll have to find another friend to play with."

Lady 3: (yes, by the way these were all ladies) "I just bring Princess (the foofy little dog sitting on her lap that didn't look entirely unlike its owner) here so she can feel a part of things (Princess didn't give a hoot). She doesn't like to play with other dogs, well, not since a little run-in she had with a mean old Bichon when she was a puppy (mind you the dog looked ancient, so the fight had to have been at least a decade ago.)."

And since making fun of other people isn't fair without a little for myself:

Me: "Parker, are you hungry? Parker, are you hun-gry? Are you? [blank stare from dog] Yes you are, you're hun-gry!"

Me: [absolutely about to blow a gasket] "Did you chew up the rug!? [blank stare from dog] Look at this! Did you do this! Did you? [feeling persistent, after no answer at all] Did you chew up this rug!? You're going into time-out!" (yes, I did have a time-out for my dog)

In the end, pets are great. They allow those of us who live alone to talk out loud without feeling too crazy and they serve as an explanation for spooky sounds in the night for those who get scared sometimes (not me, of course). They drive us to the edge of homicidal acts, but then make everything better after a few licks and some snuggling. Sometimes, groups of unsocialized dog "parents" get together to socialize their dog "children" at parks. The awkward, eccentric outcome is to be expected, I guess I'm just okay with not being a part of that scene anymore. I've got a ton of photos, some great chew marks on items around my house and a bunch of fun stories. Gosh, owning a dog was great!

Here's to you Parker!

Emphasis on the "Unquote"

2009-08-19T20:51:00.012-06:00

Back in the day (like three or four years ago), I used to get a little ruffled when people would talk about so called "quotes" from famous people.

"There is this quote I love," they'd begin, with a twinkle in there eyes, as mine would contort to match the grimace forming on my face. The reason for my miff was the improper usage of the word "quote" which would have been more properly represented as a "quotation."

Oh the simpler days.

Little did I know that while I was fighting a crusade against people who were hacking the ends off words, a far deeper crime was happening. The travesty of which I am speaking is not the use of the word "quotation," but the very foundational and blatant overuse of "quotation marks" (for instance, that instance was unnecessary) themselves.

Driving around on any given day, you can see them in use in a variety of signs and posters. I've come to the jaded conclusion that why they are in use on many of these signs and posters, is just as much a mystery to their authors as it is to me. One recent example is at a sushi restaurant I frequent. The sign, advertising their lunch deals states that the deals are available "Mon. to Sun." Who they are actually quoting, I'm not sure. Worse even may be the "finger quotations" that fly around at any given gathering of human beings.

"I don't know, I guess people just think they need to use them somewhere, so they just stick them in where it feels good," said Francine Ramsey, president of the International Quotation Regulation Council (IQRC), in an interview I conducted for this post.

In 1964, Ramsey, along with two Russian physicists invented the double quotation mark commonly used today. The breakthrough, which was a bit of a loss for the Russians, whose alphabet does not use quotations, was a self-proclaimed "perfectly balanced syntactical equation cap." Since their discovery, more than four decades ago, Ramsey has lead the way in promulgating the use of the "useful" marks. Admitting that sometimes quotations are overused, Ramsey compared the marks to other, less fortunate punctuation.

"At least it's not like semicolons," Ramsey explained. "I mean, Bill Stewart over at the National Assembly for the Increased Use of Semicolons can't get people to touch those with a ten foot pole; it's pretty sad!"

According to Ramsey, recent talks with the trendy computer maker Apple, have centered around removing semicolons completely from keyboards. In fact, quotations are so far on the opposite spectrum in modern script, that according to a 2008 IQRC study, conducted in conjunction with the FDA, as many as 65 million Americans may suffer from a sort of "compulsive quotation disorder."

During our interview, Ramsey explained that from the IQRC's perspective, overuse wasn't necessarily such a bad thing. In tough economic times, the high use of homemade signs, which inherently contain more improper usage of quotation marks, keeps the royalties coming in.

"It's not like Xerox, we're not going to lose our trademark," she said. "I'm just glad we aren't facing extinction like some punctuation," she laughed gazing out her office window toward a neighboring office building sign that read: "Space Available "Built to Suit." "

"I'm making $500 a month for each of those giant marks," she said smugly, "and that office was where The AND* was based before they had to close down when the Millennials decided the symbol looked too "loopy."

My time with Francine Ramsey made me decided on the need for a little education. So, to you 65 million Americans who may be afflicted with a compulsive use (or misuse, as it were) of quotations marks, this part's for you:

According to my research, which consisted of a 0.29 second Google search entitled "usage of quotation marks," and the content from the uncontested source for all worthy information, Wikipedia, there are five cases in which quotations should be used:

In direct quotations (duh).
When citing irony (e.g. His "superior humor" escaped me.)
Indicating unusual usage (e.g. She said she was taught "real good.")
Titles of artistic work (uh huh)
Nick names (e.g. Jesse "The Body" Ventura)

The biggest problem people run into (and the source of 80 percent of Ramsey's loyalties) is an attempt to emphasize a word using quotation marks, rather than the appropriate italics. Wikipedia notes that this can lead to a misinterpretation that the author is intending irony or an unusual meaning rather than their intended emphasis. "Real" leather therefore begs the question as to the definition of real, just as ""Silence" please" causes us to question the librarian's definition of silence ("I can't even breathe?").

While I run the risk of posting this and being forever "judged" for my quotation use, I believe the post is important, and somewhat overdue. This post alone cost nearly $200 in royalties to the IQRC, think how much businesses across the country are blowing on the misuse of this "valuable" punctuation mark.

At least I'm not worried about cutting off words anymo'

*The Ampersand's National Delegation, a now bankrupt 501(c)(3) non-profit designed to expand the use of the ampersand (&) in day-to-day writing.

IQ Drops with Groups of 435

2009-07-30T20:12:00.015-06:00

Well, it's official. Government has yet again proven that a group's intelligence quotient drops substantially when said group is numbered at either 100 or 435, is housed in a large, white, domed building, and has its own staff large enough to invade a small country.

According to the NY Times, as of today, the Cash for Clunkers program, so brilliantly designed by Government to pay people for getting rid of perfectly good gas-guzzlers has gone broke. Yes, less than one month since enacted into law, and a mere four days after becoming effective, the program has apparently used up all of its funding.

Now here's the thing. It's not that saving the environment isn't important, and it isn't like Government doesn't have an extra 1 billion bucks (which was the program's funding) to throw around to save the environment at a time when countries like California are shutting down for lack of funds. It just seems silly that anyone would conceive of such a foolish program. I had to find out more.

I decided to call Barry Schmitzer, director of the newly formed government agency over the program, to ask some questions. It was hard to find his phone number, considering his office first opened on Monday and was closing up for good this evening. I finally found him by searching the DC Craigslist under Rental Office Space. He had listed his name as Sarry Bchmitzer, but I managed to see through his clever pseudonym. When I did finally get a hold of Barry, he only had a few minutes to talk before they disconnected his phone line.

Me: "Thanks for talking with me Barry."

Barry: "Well, it's better than talking with all those people who aren't going to get their rebate, but if the phone beeps, I have to see if it's someone calling for the Craigslist ad."

Me: "I completely understand."

*Beep*

Barry: "Hang on."

*Click*

Barry: "Sorry, wrong number. ...Where were we?"

Me: "So you're telling me before the program went broke earlier today, if I had bought a 1984 Chevy Blazer for $800 (which is an actual Portland Craigslist entry from today that I accessed while looking for Barry's contact info) a year ago, left it in my garage while I continued to drive my real car, I could have traded it in (before the program went broke today) for $4500 toward a new car?"

Barry: "Yes."

Me: "But, isn't it kind of sad that the program is already broke?"

Barry: "Are you kidding? I got paid upfront from bailout money for a two year job that lasted four days... Oh wait... please don't quote me on that."

Me: "Sorry, I'm blogging live here."

Barry: "Crap."

Me: "So, is Government looking to spread this program into other sectors?"

Barry: "Absolutely, you'd be surprised how many Americans have old dishwashers or microwaves, or laptops that aren't Macs. My newest idea is to-"

*Click*

That was when the phone line was cut off. I hope Sarry was able to lease his office space.

Well folks, that's it. I just wanted you to know what if you were planning on buying a clunker, you're probably going to be out of luck... At least for now.

If you really want to make a change though, considering buying a clunker anyway. Get some of your friends to also. If we get enough people to jump on the band wagon, drive them around as much as possible and ultimately widen the hole in the ozone layer, perhaps Government will initiate it again.

Maybe in desperation they will even increase the credit. What's $4500 on an $800 clunker when we could go for say $10000 on anything with wheels? For now, stay away from large groups of 100 to 435, I hear they hurt logic and reasoning.

Adventures in Single Puppy Parenthood: Double Vision

2009-07-27T22:00:00.007-06:00

I have decided to expand my Single Puppy Parenthood segment into a mini-series (since frankly puppies tend to provide endless material for blogging). The summary of today's installment: Two puppies have the energy and destroying power of a thousand burning suns.

This weekend I was doggy sitting Parker's brother, Bennie. The words "crazy hellish experience" have a whole new meaning to me.

Let me one-up my previous entry, by saying that being a single puppy parent of one is nothing compared to a single puppy parent of two (that's a SPPOT [pronounced like a dog named Spot, but with a drawn out "p"]). Admittedly, the experience wasn't that bad, but on Saturday afternoon when Bennie relieved himself on my floor for the fourth time in 60 minutes, I was a little put out.

This afternoon when I came home at lunch, I let one dog out at a time to go to the bathroom (after learning the hard way that going together didn't work at all). Parker did his thing, but then Bennie had a decidedly hairier time. I put Parker back in his kitchen prison and took Bennie out of the bathroom (after preventing myself from learning the hard way they couldn't be together during the day). As soon as I closed the door with Bennie, Parker (wanting to play with his brother) commenced his FREAK OUT routine of whining, crying and breaking down what was supposed to be the unbreakable doggy gate.

I should mention that it was about 100 degrees today, so as my dog began to freak out inside, my blood began to boil and the sweat began to run. With all the noise inside, Bennie of course couldn't focus (he has major ADD, not that I am judging) and do his thing. After a few minutes of no peeing, I decided to come back in. Dripping wet, I cursed at my dog and decided to let him out so he and Bennie could play a bit. As Parker bounded out of his now-broken mega gate, Bennie got so excited, he began to (of course) wizzle on the floor. I immediately picked him up (while I was still dripping wet) and took him outside. I'll give you one guess what happened.

Nothing.

We went back inside, have not achieved anything, and with Parker again FREAKING OUT, and with my sweat now causing pools to form wherever I stood. The minute I walked back inside, I'll give you one guess what happened.

Bennie peed on my floor.

I grabbed him to stop him and took him outside again. I sat him down by a bush where he pees a lot, and guess what happened?

Nothing, he had apparently peed it all out.

As I now faced the serious danger of either drowning in my sweat or beating my dogs to death, I decided it was time to do two things 1) Grab each dog by the scruff and put him in his kennel for the rest of the afternoon(for their personal safety more than anything), and 2) get off as much clothing as possible to cool off(don't try to imagine that one).

I cleaned up the pee and sat in front of the A/C vent on full blast for the next ten minutes before putting on a clean undershirt and polo to go back to work.

Stay tuned for another installment in the life of a SPPOT.

Oregon: The Land of the Slow and Calm

2009-07-23T23:31:00.004-06:00

Have you ever worked in a customer service-type setting where a customer was very angry? Did you notice that as you remained calm (and maybe even got calmer as you went along), that the customer's anger escalated? I've always prided myself on being able to stay cool, but it seems like we as a people tend to act like that. When we are frustrated, and the other person doesn't validate us by responding with equally frustrated cues, we tend to explode.

It appears that I am the customer, and the whole of Oregon drivers are the smug little customer service reps who stay calm (darn them).

Their tranquil driving methods are making me more and more "assertive" in my driving.

Since moving to Oregon (which I absolutely love, and highly recommend), I have noticed that most drivers here are on a whole other wavelength from me. Growing up in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC, it was eat or be eaten on the roads--in the which, I was a tiger of the interstate and a lion of the back roads. When I moved to Utah, I enjoyed what I would simply call "dorky driving," and relaxed a bit. Oregon drivers are a whole new experience. The following are real (and frequent) occurrences:

Situation One: I get to a red light, and the car in front of me is 15 (really two or three, maybe) car lengths from the car in front of them. I really don't understand this. At first I thought the would be going for a rolling start to get going--wrong--it's just space, and they seem to like it.

Situation Two: It appears that not only do many Oregonians obey the speed limit (ha!), they seem to feel that driving about five miles under is the optimal speed. You can always auto-profile these types. If you come up behind an old model Volvo station wagon, any type of VW (except those little Golfs), or a Subaru (which alone represents 33 percent of all cars in Oregon), you know you're going to be in trouble. They chug along, as I, infuriated from behind, flail my arms at them and get a little too close, hoping they'll notice a speed limit sign (or pull off) and go faster.

Situation Three: The last major thing I've noticed is the tendency for two cars, driving side by side (on a road that has only two lanes going either way), to go the exact same speed for miles. Has anyone heard of the passing lane? The funny thing, is it seems like the car on the left is trying to pass, but the other car is already going five under the speed limit, so the car on the left doesn't want to go too fast when passing.

The three of these behaviors have amazingly turned me into a far more "assertive" driver than I have been in years. I say "assertive" in quotation marks, because frankly I freak out from time to time and end up getting a little aggressive (but let's just keep a secret between you and me). The irony of the situation, is I really dislike drivers with aggressive behaviors. Tailgating alone is one of my least favorite things (as a passenger, don't you always worry you're going to end up in the guy in front of you's back seat?). Not to mention that I consider myself to be a pretty courteous person. I even let a nice man and his son into my lane the other day. That has to be worth something?

I suppose if I'm going to stay here a while (which I am). I'm going to need to learn to drive more calmly. Maybe I just need to get a Volvo station wagon, and suddenly I will be chill. If I don't downgrade from fast and furious to slow and calm, I may instead need anger counseling. If that doesn't work, you may be reading about me in the paper one of these days... ""Assertive" motorist decapitates Volvo station wagon driver with Racquetball racket."

An Organic Rant

2009-07-21T22:46:00.007-06:00

So I'm just wondering, on any given day, how much inorganic material do we actually digest? I don't really get where we came up with using the word "organic" to describe food that is supposedly more healthy. I'm pretty sure every kind of tomato in the food store (that's my Jersey-talk for grocery store) is carbon-based and therefore organic... am I off base?

No? Good.

I mention this topic, because last night while I was enjoying an episode of Arrested Development (the best show not on TV), I decided to have a snack. I went to my kitchen and pulled out my 75 gallon tub of animal crackers from Costco. As I was enjoying the drawings of animals on the front of the package (who, based on their cooked-on smiles, were clearly unaware when they were tossed in the oven to seal their grins on permanently that they were cookies that were going to be eaten) I noticed on a bright blue banner, hanging in the sky over my soon-to-be-digested animal friends, that read "organic." Aside from spitting the cracker out immediately simply based on principle, a gawked at the notation like it was alien. Who ever heard of organic (or inorganic for that matter) animal crackers? What would that even mean, and moreover, why are they even called crackers, they are COOKIES for goodness sakes!

Organic animal crackers is like selling fat-free lard, or a healthy steak. No! I want to eat inorganic cookies that are bad for me (although incidentally I don't know what inorganic cookies are made from...)! That's why I'm eating cookies and not crackers, or the carrots, celery or almonds in my kitchen.

According to the Food and Drug Administration, "organic" foods must qualify under the following conditions:

Toxic pesticides are not used
Soil fertility is maintained and replenished using natural methods such as crop rotation, fertilizer crops, composting etc.
Regular soil and nutrition analysis are done to test soil fertility and food quality
Natural methods of topsoil management are used to ensure minimal soil erosion
Organic farmers aim to preserve and protect natural wildlife, vegetation and water systems
Organic farmers are concerned about the loss of a variety of species
No genetically modified seeds are used
Organic growers collect seeds from the plants in order to preserve biodiversity

Now, based in as much fact (but mainly unfounded personal opinion) as possible, I'm going to talk through the merits of the aforementioned points to decide whether or not my animal "crackers" really need to be organic:

Toxic pesticides are not used (well thank heavens! but then again, wouldn't I be dead by now if toxic pesticides were used on my inorganic food? Once more, inorganic food wouldn't attract pests anyway, so no pesticides would need to be used. No merit here.)
Soil fertility is maintained and replenished using natural methods such as crop rotation, fertilizer crops, composting etc. (yeah, not so important to me. No merit.)
Regular soil and nutrition analysis are done to test soil fertility and food quality (see comment above.)
Natural methods of topsoil management are used to ensure minimal soil erosion (why bother, we can just haul in more top soil from the rain forests?)
Organic farmers aim to preserve and protect natural wildlife, vegetation and water systems (we've got plenty of that stuff in Africa)
Organic farmers are concerned about the loss of a variety of species (ditto from above, in conjunction with the rain forest)
No genetically modified seeds are used (so what you're telling me is my crackers are genetically inferior and could never make it at GATTACA?)
Organic growers collect seeds from the plants in order to preserve biodiversity (that sounds like a lot of work)

So to conclude my scientific inquiry into the merits of organic food, let me just say, organic is dumb.

I will eat my organic animal cookies, despite their "challenged beginnings," because I am a nice person, and wouldn't deny them their destiny. That said, next time Costco or anyone else tries to tell me how I want to have my top soil managed, I'm going to write a very long letter to Barack.

And another thing, "free range," animal products are a total joke. Don't believe me? Look it up online. You're not going to see me buying free range animal crackers ever, it's a farce, and I wouldn't degrade the memory of those little smiley rhinos by imagining they lived a pre-consumption life any better than they actually did.

Adventures in Single Puppy Parenthood

2009-07-20T19:47:00.014-06:00

I've been blog-negligent for almost six months now, but I think it's a reasonable hiatus. You see, I recently took a new job in a new city, which means one obvious thing: it was time to complicate life by getting a dog.

Yes, I am a single puppy parent. Now in being a SPP (pronounced like "sip" but with less emphasis on the "i" and more on a hard, long "p"), I don't wish in any way to mock single child parents (SCP, [which is pronounced like "sickp" without any strange emphasis or elongation of the "p"]), whose challenges I'm sure far outweigh mine. That being said, having a child does have some advantages.

Children are (at least in most cases) allowed in stores. I've been buying a lot of stuff at PetSmart and Home Depot just so I can let the little guy out of the car when I run errands (incidentally he has a thousand toys, and I just finished installing a third edition on my apartment).

My reasoning for getting a dog was flawless: I'm going to be in a new place without roommates.

Yep, that was about it. I just knew I wanted to get a dog. I did a lot of research into what kind I wanted, and when I found the right one, I did the obvious thing again: I called my best friend in Oregon (where I was moving) and asked him to go pick up the dog for me so that when I got there I would have a new puppy to greet me. My thought process circled around the idea that by having a dog while I was getting situated, we could get used to the place together. I have to admit some of the logic in the above sentences may have not been terribly sound.

In the past couple months I have fallen in love with Parker the Puppy (I even thought of starting a blog about our adventures, but then remembered that I was a negligent single blog parent of this blog (that's a NSBP [pronounced in a way that I cannot articulate with our phonically-challenged alphabet]). I sat down to write this entry about a month ago, but as I typed the letters w-w-w-dot-b-l-o-g-s-p, suddenly there was a whole other kind of pee going on in the room. I jumped up and ran at Parker to stop him from urinating on the rug. All the commotion which was supposed to stop his flow so I could carry him out, instead cause him to run, with the flow continuing down the hall. Needless to say, I didn't get back to the blog.

It's not all bad potty jokes though. The second week I had him, we were out for a very early morning bathroom run (early as in 5 a.m., run as in when he had to go it was a mad dash to get him out). His tummy was still getting acclimated to his food, and as he squatted (lovely mental image, right?) his not-so-solid bowel movement was interrupted by the rapid escape of methane gas from his button. The resulting sound (and propulsion, I like to imagine) caused the little dog to leap several feet in the air from fear... Now that was a hard laugh to come back from.

The aforementioned peeing and pooping in the house has luckily come to an end (although yesterday I did find a petrified present in the guest room when I was moving something that hadn't been moved in several weeks). Parker's new trick (among many that will ultimately cause me to turn pre-maturely grey) has been an escape act.

I came home last week to find Parker waiting for me inside the door. No big deal, except for the fact that he stays in the kitchen during the day, under the impermeable (or so I thought) gaze of a baby gate, and so shouldn't have been at the door. It appears that at four and a half months old, Parker can jump and climb more than twice his height to freedom (and a fair supply of naughty things to chew on.) Over the next few days I rigged everything I could think of together (including flipping my coffee table on its side) to heighten the gate and keep him as a daytime hostage.

I kid you not, he escaped every time (but boy was he happy to see me when I got home).

By the end of the week I was looking into the varying costs between placing a "for sale" ad in the classifieds and hiring a dog hit (the hitter would have probably been a pit bull named Spike).

I even tried just letting him out one night...

Without getting into details, let's just say the results were disastrous with casualties ranging from flip-flops to carpets. When the weekend came, I went to Home Depot (where I could actually take the delinquent child in) and bought two pieces of wood paneling to heighten the baby gate. And then I forgot them in the cart while I was loading the dog and the shingles for my third edition into the car.

I got all the way home and later that night realized what I had done. I went to another Home Depot (to avoid the embarrassment of trying to find two pieces of scrap wood I had asked them to cut and paid $0.49 each for) and got another two pieces of wood. It's now Monday night, and after at least three runs, Houdini appears not to have figured it out.

While I admit (and apologize) to having rambled in this blog, it wasn't even in one sitting that I have written on and on. Since I began this entry sometime earlier this evening, I have paused to watch Parker chase a fly around the house (I don't think he got it, but man was he focused), to scold him for jumping on my bed, to play a quick version of WWF Royal Puppy Rumble and to go for a potty walk. How I get it all done and still manage to blog, I just don't know.

All I want to say now is the next time you go out with friends at night, or run for a fun weekend at an exotic getaway, or even as you leave to run a few afternoon errands that your naive life affords you, remember there are those of us who aren't so free because of the decisions we have made. Yes, I am a single puppy parent, and yes, I am looking to get out of that status... but not by getting rid of the puppy (if you know what I mean).

DISCLAIMER: I love my dog very much, and am thrilled to have him. Purely for the dramatic-nature of this blog, I have chosen to accentuate a few, well, dramatically-natured events. Parker is the more sustainably cute thing I have ever encountered and I recommend pet ownership to anyone with patience, love and a physical inability to do harm to small animals no matter how much they may piss you off when you are tired and just want to relax.

UPDATE (21 July 09): Less than 24 hours after posting, he did it. Parker "Houdini II" the Puppy managed in one leap to rip the new wood panel off the baby gate and escape. I considered how to continue to rig the gate, but opted for what I'm going to call the full-blooded American approach: buy a bigger, more expensive gate that has no guarantee of working. I went to three pet store in the vicinity to find a new gate. $90 later, I am yet to figure out exactly how it works (it's child-proof, so it might take me a while), but once I do, Parker will be behind bars for good.

Can You Hear Me?

2009-01-16T21:44:00.006-07:00

I am a little hard of hearing. I'm not afraid to admit it. It's somewhat sad that someone my age can't hear everything a friend or colleague is saying from a few feet away in a noisy room.

"Your dog bought a motor home in Fiji? How much did he pay?"

Do you remember those ads on TV that showed two older people in a fake restaurant having a fake conversation and the one guy is straining his ears to hear his fake wife over the clearly fake background noise? Suddenly a silver-haired man in a white doctors coat would walk onto the set holding a tiny skin-toned piece of tortellini that promised to filter out those noises and magically select the person or persons you were supposed to be hearing and pump up their volume. I don't know how old I was when I started noticing these ads, but I remember thinking as I played with my dinosaurs, "I need to get me one of those."

Sometimes I have heard that people who don't hear well tend to talk very loudly, but that's not something I've ever had a problem with (well except for when I'm in a smallish room with my mother's family; then we all just tend to get louder and louder). But maybe it's not that they can't hear, maybe just like how I was born without the ability to hear well,

"The doctor is going to rent a clown to ease the trepidation where!?"

some people were born without the ability to control the volume of their voices,

"the DOCTOR IS going TO BEND DOWN to see THE INFLAMATION?"

This seems like a very reasonable answer. It also seems that just as my hearing problem only arises in certain circumstances, like a busy room, perhaps the same applies to the voice-volume-control-impaired (VVCI).

For example, my former roommate only seemed to be VVCI when talking on the phone. We can be in a quiet room talking, and as soon as he answers the phone, it's like he's shouting to someone across the street. "YEAH CHRIS IS HERE TOO. YOU WANNA TALK TO HIM?" The benefit, of course, is that I never have to guess at what he's talking about.

This evening I stopped at a new barber shop to try it out. I was very happy with my surroundings as I awaited a stylist, and then suddenly, I realized that I knew a lot about the guy getting his hair cut across the way.

"AND SO THEN I JUST REALIZED THAT MY SISTER-IN-LAW LOOKED TOO MUCH LIKE MY WIFE, SO WHILE I WAS STAYING WITH THEM ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS MY WIFE. SO NOW I AM LIVING BACK HERE EVEN THOUGH IT'S TOUGH TO MAKE THE MONEY I WAS MAKING THERE. BUT AT LEAST I KNOW NOW WHAT MY PURPOSE IN LIFE IS . . ."

And you get the picture.

At that moment a stylist called me up right next to him. Over the next five minutes I continued to hear all about his life. To make matters worse, because of the "background noise" next to me, mixed with the buzz of the trimmer, the TV and passing traffic, I couldn't hear anything my stylist was asking me in her awkward attempt to spark conversation with a hearing-impaired 26-year-old.

"Am I going out with a winner to the fight? No, I didn't know there was a boxing match this evening."

"No, I've never seen bald eagles sing the National Anthem, but it sounds like you had a great time at the Olympics with Kim Jong-il. Did he look well?"

While I doubt my hair stylist actually hung out with such a comrade, I felt compelled to give her a nice tip for trying to amuse me. She did have to listen to that guy's story and frankly she didn't get anything that made coherent conversational flow out of me.

When the Small Take on the Large . . .

2009-01-13T19:19:00.008-07:00

Imagine with me, if you will, the nation of Estonia. You probably know what continent it's a part of (probably), but could you point it out on a map? Visualize for just a moment, what countries is it nestled between? It is land-locked or coastal? Deserts, forests, beaches or glaciers?

No go? I didn't think so.

For those few of you pursuing International Relations or some other "worldly" study and who do know a thing or two about Estonia, shut up. This is only my object lesson, and I will get to the point in a moment.

Now imagine if Estonia, using its vast $28.7 billion GDP and bottomless population of approximately 1.3 million people, decided to wage war on the United States (with a GDP of $13.8 trillion and population of just over 303 million). Now we aren't talking guerrilla warfare here, this would be a full-out, head-to-head siege over the Atlantic (yes, Estonia is to the east of us). This would be like Estonian President Toomas Ilves (yes, that's pronounced Two-mas) getting onto every major television station and calling Americans a bunch of pansies who couldn't hit Estonia with a bomb if we tried (incidentally most of us couldn't--find it to hit it that is). It would be like their version of Chuck Norris making a movie about how he kicked the American Chuck Norris' trash. It would be like the Estonians trying to make a car that rivals our own--well--the Japanese cars we call our own. It would be like the Estonians claiming they invented basketball, football or any of the other sports our now-obese society has dreamed up. It would be like them claiming that Barack Obama's birth certificate was actually from a little hospital in Tallinn (that's the capital).

Now I don't mean to be a cultural chauvinist, but basically it would be an outrage--nay--a blaspheme. A country whose size is a fraction of ours, egging us into a fight and believing that they could win? The concept gnaws at my very sense of right and wrong. Even more sinister, once we did kick their trash, they would probably believe that as the dust settled they would have the European Union, the UN and NATO (incidentally pretty much all the same people) on their side, because after all, they were smaller and they were just "going along minding their own business." I hope you are as heated about this little tiff as I am, but frankly, it isn't my point. Suffice to say, idiocy would have reached is climax if such a thing were to happen, and clearly, despite any international cries of foul toward our actions, after the mini-war was over (in like three seconds once we actually found Estonia), the former-Republic would be little more than a whole in the Earth in which half the Baltic Sea would be draining (yes, it boarders the Baltic Sea).

Before anyone gets huffy or upset about my genocidal object lesson, let me get to my real point:

Pedestrians, most of you weigh about 150 pounds. My car (or any car) and I (or any average person) weigh about 5200 pounds together (mostly car). That means you are a fraction my size (with the car--please no jokes). If you try to take us on with that daring "I've got the right of way in this crosswalk, so just try and hit me because I have the right of way and will sue you until your grandchildren are paying for my grandchildren's college" glare as you confidently stride into the street, you will die.

No matter what the law says, no matter how many so called "right of ways" you had, no matter who feels it was my job to stop (or even if the UN itself comes in to defend you), if I'm five yards out and coming fast, you are going to end up like Estonia, a whole in the ground.

So next time you are out walking or driving, be courteous to drivers and pedestrians alike. Break when you can and remember, frankly, the U.S. doesn't want to kick Estonia's trash, but a few less Estonians wouldn't really make anyone too sad now would it?

(Disclaimer: I have nothing against Estonia nor any Estonian. I do not condone genocide in any form. Estonians are a lovely people and I adore their country for what Lonely Planet dubs as its "lush woodlands and resplendent coastlines" (yes they have woodlands, lush ones actually).

Do You Know How to Park?

2008-12-18T08:50:00.001-07:00

(While very much against my blog policies, I have decided to re-post again, as when I arrived at work today, I found that the problem outlined below was at the level of national disaster. Enjoy!)

Imagine, if you will, a common parking spot. Envision yourself pulling your car into that spot and parking perfectly between those yellow or white lines, as we all know you can.

Now you step out of the car. Look around and notice, how much space is there between you and the car next to you? [pause]

How many inches do you think it would be? Maybe 18" or 24"? That's probably your average. Typical parking spaces measure between 8' and 8.5', leaving about a foot and a half to two between parked cars. People can generally (except for a few 'special' individuals) handle those standards. We've parked under such specifications for many years, we should do it on an instinctual level such as fitting food in our mouths.

Snow, therefore, must be some form of psychotropic substance.

Have you ever noticed when it snows that suddenly 8 out of ten people couldn't park straight or with reasonable distances to save their lives? What's the change? A little white stuff? I hate to be cynical, but I have created an artist's rendition of what I believe parking lots look like when it snows. As a people we probably lose half the spots in the lot because someone has over estimated their distance, missed the middle line, or otherwise botched up the simple grid that I would hope they could imagine in their mind. It really is amazing.

I know that while driving in inclement weather, your following distance should double or triple, but while parking the same rule does not apply. I would call all citizens of the free world to maintain their parking distances, rain, shine or snow. Sure it may be a good excuse to leave an extra five feet between you and the next car, but think of the people who are running late. Where will they park?

Snow: Friend or Foe, You Decide

2008-12-16T10:21:00.002-07:00

(This is a re-post from last December, however I feel just as passionate about this subject at this very moment as I did then.)

In the last few days, Provo has been invaded by millions upon millions of little weapons created to quickly forward the natural selection process. Who sent this micro-warfare to reap havoc you ask? If you are looking to blame some radical, extremist group like the Democratic Party, you are mistaken. No, this wasn't the work of any ordinary person. She is so much more. Two words: Motha' Nature. You didn't think she was behind all of the chaos did you? Well think again. These millions of weapons I am referring to are tiny flakes of snow (bet you didn't see that coming). Yes, snow. Sure some people think it's pretty, but have you ever seen a "SoCal" driver or pedestrian try to negotiate roads, sidewalks and stairs during these precarious invasions? Nature herself is targeting and picking off certain segments of our population, one "fluffy," "pretty" snow storm at a time. It's genocide. Nothing more, nothing less. Imagine if it snowed more regularly in Texas. In that land of the bigger, those flakes could be used by she who will not be named as ninja stars (see artist's concept at left). No need to worry about yellow snow, no, now children in Texas as they are preparing to go out to school will have to avoid crimson red snow (not to mention the bodies of the victims). Some will tell you that snow is innocent fun. That it comes and collects on our trees (just coincidentally breaking their limbs) and on our cars (making us crash because we can't see) and on our paths (increasing senior citizen hip replacements by two fold) making the place look beautiful before vanishing as it melts (and floods our farmlands). I for one am not so sure. So I submit this important decision to you, my loyal readers. Is snow our friend or is it our foe? If it is our friend, I suggest you heavily pad and armor yourself and go out and play. If foe, then contact your legislators and demand that action be taken. I would rather see war against Motha' Nature in the form of heightened greenhouse gas production and massive deforestation before one more snide and malevolent flake hits my roof.

Clone Wars

2008-12-10T23:31:00.012-07:00

So apparently I have a clone. He apparently is full-grown and apparently only recently came into existence. Apparently. The other night I was Googling myself (yes, vain I know). It seems like a ridiculous thing to do, but every few months I like to see what's out there. Usually it's mostly the same stuff with a few little additions. This time I found an unwelcome addition to my hits. When I looked under a people directory, I was surprised to find that there is a Chris Giovarelli living at 533 Hazel Ave. in Vineland, New Jersey.

It appears I have been living in New Jersey all this time without knowing it. That or I have a cloned twin. That or that or I have a stalker who wants to be me. All of the above (3that), or perhaps someone is trying to steal my identity . . . I tend to think it's the clone one.

Just to be safe, I decided to call my credit card company to report the issue. The lady I spoke with was very helpful, until I explained how I had become suspicious.

Credit Card Lady: Wait, so you Googled yourself?
Me: Yes
Credit Card Lady: Isn't that kind of weird?
Me: Please don't judge.
Credit Card Lady: So, you found someone with your name on Google who lives in New Jersey?
Me: Yes
Credit Card Lady: Did you think that maybe there is just someone in New Jersey with your name?

While I can't fault her logic, I am the only Chris Giovarelli this country has ever seen. If not, what do I have? I am nothing (dramatic pause as I throw myself on the sofa with a lost look of anguish and despair)! NOTHING! Actually, I do know for a fact that I am the only Chris Giovarelli, because with a name like Giovarelli, frankly most of the immigrants were happy to change it to Jones or Smith when they landed. "Did you say your name was Julio Brendizi Giovarelli? How about we just call your Jebidiah Smith?" "Okay." I can count on one hand the Giovarelli families in this country (all related, of course). Aside from simple egotistic arguments (the best there are really), Chris Giovarelli 2 (As I lovingly refer to my clone these days) only came into existence since the last time I Googled myself (which I am sad to admit wasn't that long ago). He couldn't be that fresh off. So, the Credit Card Lady put a flag on my credit and assured me that to this point nothing had been done to ruin my credit except for the things I had done myself (phew). I hung up, but decided I hadn't done everything I could. What if I did have a clone in New Jersey? What if he had no idea he was a 2 and not a 1? A junior, so to speak, and not a senior? He would be so confused when he tried to get a loan to buy a car (he wouldn't know he was actually Chris Giovarelli 2) and suddenly SWAT cars and helicopters surrounded the Audi dealership (good taste C-2!) and took him away. I realized I really needed to call him. He had to be warned. It was my duty to straighten him out. After all, he would do the same for me.

Me: ring ring ring
Unknown voice in New Jersey: Yeah?
Me: Hi, may I speak with Chris two--er--Chris Giovarelli?
Unknown voice in New Jersey: Who?
Me: Chris Giovarelli
Unknown voice in New Jersey that is probably Chris 2: How did you get this number?
Me: Chris? This is Chris from Provo, Utah. I think you might be my long lost clone. People say you're just stealing my identity, but I am sure that's not the case. You (breath) are (breath) my (breath) brother!
Unknown voice that I am pretty sure was Chris 2 in New Jersey: click

His phone must have died, because when I called back with my same number so he'd know it was me, it went right to voice mail. In fact, the next day when I called, the number had been disconnected. I hope Chris 2 didn't decide he needed to come and visit me, and didn't have a car, and when he went to get a loan to buy one he got trucked off the jail. Imagine the horror of being a clone and being in jail?

I hope things work out for my clone. I can't seem to find anything else on him, but if he gets out of jail and tries to get back on his feet by requesting a credit card, I have been told I will be notified. That way, I can know where he is and then I can go and find him. Oh and if by chance he isn't my clone and everyone else is right, well then let's just say he'll wish he had changed his name to Jebidiah Smith when he had the chance.

It's More Than Skin Deep

2008-08-03T19:25:00.006-06:00

We often say that men and women are different in a wide variety of ways. I know better than most. For the interest of time and sanity I won't list all the ways in which this is true, however I will focus on one of which we may not be widely aware. Did you ever watch those advertisements for Sure woman's deodorant? They would say "made for a man, pH balanced for a woman." I always wondered what the heck they meant. Sure she cries more than I do (although admittedly I do tear up in movies a lot), and I do like to crash Hot Wheels more than she does, but are women's and men's bodily make-ups all that different?

In straightforward terms (and therefore male terms), yes.

For those of you out there who want a more detailed description, I'll give it to you. There are many thoughts and conventions about how a man's epidermis differs from a woman's. Women and men will often find skin care products that are for him or her, but many will discount these more expensive products for a generic, unisex product (or if you are like me, you just don't care and don't use anything). There are some key reasons why using a unisex product may not be the best idea.

According to various sources, there are six major differences between man-skin and wo-man- skin. Here they are:

Men's oil glands are smaller than women's. This is where the skin absorbs many of the products placed on it (and dirt for that matter).
While women and men 50 and over have similar levels of oil in their skin, men actually tend to have more oily skin. This higher level is thanks to testosterone production.
Women's skin is thinner, making to more susceptible to damage from UV rays and to signs of aging.
Believe it or not, men's skin is more fragile than women's, and shaving doesn't help!
Due to drops in estrogen after menopause and faster reductions in collagen, women's skin tends to age faster than men's.
Women may have up to twice as many nerve fibers as men. So women are more sensitive on the inside and the outside!

So next time you see some peeling, reddening, rashing, or loss of limb, make sure to consider your options. If you're a man, there may be more reasons than just the fruity/minty/both smells to not apply your wife/girlfriend's product. If you're a woman, you wouldn't ask your guy friends for skin products anyway, so just do what you do. Either way, I wish you happy skin maintenance! Enjoy it while it lasts, because one day, not matter what you do, it's going to look like a prune or a leather couch, or both!

Apostrophe Catastrophes

2008-08-02T14:50:00.007-06:00

The misuse of apostrophes in the English-speaking world is shameful. My most recent and memorable exposure was in a presentation made by college seniors. The PowerPoint's title slide said something to the effect of: The reason's for discrimination. I'm not sure what those poor, soon-to-be college grads were thinking, but I don't believe they meant to contract the word reason with is, nor show reason's ownership over for. The bottom line is that they didn't know what they were doing, but they figured an apostrophe should go in there somewhere. In the nature of good humor and necessary correction, let's see if we can't set them straight.

In the English language, there are two main reasons for the insertion of a single apostrophe, and if you know these two, you pretty much will always know when (and more importantly when not) to use an apostrophe.

An apostrophe is inserted to combine (or contract) two words. Popular examples include: it's (it + is), can't (can + not), we're (we + are), etc. Note that it's is the contraction form of the word it, not the possessive form (which is outlined below).
An apostrophe is also inserted to suggest possession. Examples include: Day's end (as in this end belongs to the day) or Bill's (as in it belongs to Bill). Note that in cases where a name ends in an s already, the possessive s is dropped and only an apostrophe is added, as in Chris' book.

In no other case should apostrophes really be used in common language. If you want to denote where letters in a word have been cut off, as in good ol' guy or port o' call, you would use an apostrophe also, but let's be honest, who really does that?

So all of you who have read this post have no excuse for improperly using apostrophes ever again. Its an important topic, as apostrophes are fairly prevalent. In fact, this blog entry has 19 uses of apostrophes. Coming in at just over 300 words, that's (there's 19 and 20!) a good number and a good reason to know how to use them.

Oh and by the way, there's (21) one that is used incorrectly, can you find it?

My Fluorescent Reconciliation

2008-07-29T23:11:00.008-06:00

For those of you in the blogosphere who know me, you will be keenly aware of my abhorrence of fluorescent lighting. I am an ambient kind of guy. I like nothing more than a room full of well placed incandescent 60 watt bulbs to relax my eyes and soothe my soul (okay, admittedly, that was a little much).

From my earliest recollection, I have associated the harsh, radiated light from fluorescent tubes as the Lucifer to my well-lit path to happiness. The very Son of the Morning or Lightbearer, armed with a high intensity, luminescent staff and eyes that burn like low-heat-emitting fluorescent bulbs of the starkest lab, classroom or dead-end office. Indeed these tubes of harsh light have been an ever-present reminder of the price we pay for energy efficiency and long lasting lighting.

While this hate affair has been going on for many years, it wasn't until recently that I stopped to recognize that I have been in multiple offices that seem warmly lit, but yet bask under fluorescent tubes. I immediately began to research the topic and comenced by Googling the term "I hate fluorescent lighting." The results yielded 118,000 results (incidentally "I hate Lucifer" resulted in a little less than three times that number--while "I hate George W Bush" came in at a whopping 10 times that number. Come on folks, of all these issues, fluorescent lighting is the only one that doesn't have any end in sight.). Being the bright, analytical person that I am, I did the obvious thing and clicked on the first hit listed and believed everything it said.

The site contained an article by a man named Eric Strandberg, LC (I think LC stands for lighting consultant. Apparently they have some sort of a certification program). After reading the article I learned some very important points to consider:

Modern-day fluorescent lighting is available at the same Kelvin warmth as incandescent bulbs (3000K), rendering near identical ambiance.
Rather than the old style magnetic lighting, modern-day fluorescent lighting is has electronic mechanism inside which eliminate buzzing and flickering.
Modern-day fluorescent lighting is available in various sizes and fixtures allowing for both accent and overall lighting.

Some of these facts came as a complete surprise and in an all-too-timely fashion. According to my trusty internet sources, by 2011 or 2012 it will be nearly impossible to find incandescent bulbs, due to new energy-saving legislation recently passed by congress.

To be fair, I wouldn't say I am converted to fluorescents, but you could say we have become reconciled. So for those of you out there with my previous misconceptions about fluorescents, open you eyes, you may be surprised at what modern-day fluorescents have to offer you.

An Open Letter to Mother Nature

2008-04-07T19:09:00.009-06:00

Dear Mother Nature,

What's with the Dissociative Identity Disorder flare up recently? One minute it's sunny and the flowers are blooming, the next, it's pounding snow and wind and the flowers are dead. I know you've been doing this for a long time (incidentally, maybe it's time to consider retirement), but could you maybe work a little on your consistency?

Last time I checked, the East coast is already in the middle of spring and so is the United Counties of California--did you forget the Mountain West? Did the Utah lobbyists not treat you so well this year? No big dinners or shows? It's not our fault that most of the good restaurants are on the coasts and that there are few Broadway shows to choose from.

Sure we are number six of 50 states on the top of the TRI Index (Toxic Release Inventory), but Alaska beats us by almost 375 million pounds of toxins, and they like snow. Couldn't you send it to them? I realize that maybe you are just trying to point out to all the environmentalists that while glaciers are melting in Antarctica we've had a record breaking winter of snow in Utah, but couldn't you prove that pesky "global warming" theory wrong somewhere else? The thing is, I am graduating in two short weeks, and frankly Provo isn't looking too hot right now for the festivities. I mean when the mountains aren't snow covered, they are brown and dead looking. The plum trees on my street haven't even begun to bud, and frankly I think perhaps their buds have frozen right off and they are going to go straight to leaves.

In order to rectify this situation (which I am sure you want to do), I've decided to do a search, and humbly submit another location where I think your inconsistent weather phenomenons might be nice. The way I see it, Provo has about 100,000 people, living in a valley, by a lake. I just need to find the same thing and you could just switch the weather, right?

[pause for Google search]

Ah ha! The city of Spring Valley, California, population 100,000. Just outside of San Diego. They've got mountains and even a lake! The name says it all Mother Nature, they are begging for snow! They have to deal with spring all year long. That must get old. Currently it is 60 degrees Fahrenheit and mostly sunny there, let's just switch that with our 41 degrees, clouds and snow flurries mixed with rain. The city is at 32 degrees North latitude and 117 degrees West longitude. I can't wait for the spring weather to come!

And by the way, not that I am one for threats, but if I don't get my spring weather soon, I have about twenty bottles of hair spray and I know how to use them. There's plenty more where that came from (really, it's on sale at Smith's). I don't want to, but I am ready to release all sorts of greenhouse gases into the air if I don't get my way. So Mother Nature, I think it is in both of our best interests if we get some sun and flowers here in Provo, don't you?

Respectfully submitted,

Chris
Provo, Utah

P.S. I have your sickly son, Jack Frost, and I just might be crazy enough to use my roommate's hair dryer on him.

Got Chips?

2008-02-15T19:41:00.007-07:00

. . . On your shoulder that is. This entertaining American expression actually dates back to the early 1800s. According to several sources, when two young men of the 19th century were determined to fight, one would place a chip of wood on his shoulder, provoking the other to knock it off. The idiom has developed into a reference for someone who has something about themselves that makes them defensive or feel disadvantaged somehow.

Personally, I think chips on one's shoulder (heretofore 'chips') are pretty silly. I was reading an individual's blog this evening and was slightly annoyed by her outlook. She is of Asian descent, is married to a Caucasian, and lives here in Utah. With a population that could be adequately described as 'whiter than skim milk,' she apparently has had multiple experiences with people whom she describes as "incredibly ignorant and sheltered." The quick of the story, was that a person working the check-out counter at a local store inquired if this woman and her husband were married (She suggests that the employee could have just looked at their wedding rings, and made a connection). The employee then asked of and where the man served his church service mission. He replied that he had served in Japan. At that point the employee inquired if he had per chance met his wife in Japan. BOOM! How dare the employee make such an implication!? To suggest that perhaps an Asian-American woman married to a Caucasian man could possibly be the result of anything other than a happenstance meeting on the streets of an American city much more ethnically advanced than Provo is apparently an assault on this woman's entire essence d'être [Okay, everybody take a deep breath.].

Now back to my point. The reason I share the aforementioned episode is simply to point out how common chips are in our lives. She apparently has one about being Asian and the social stigmas that may surround being married to a Caucasian. I am sure I have many. But they do not lead to happiness or anything constructive, and we should strive to get rid of them at all cost.

Think of people you know who have chips and how they act. And how we act around them. It's not pretty. The world is an unfair place, but the sooner we come to accept that and be happy to know that everything will eventually work out, the better adjusted I believe we will all be. I suggest that we all take a moment and think about the chips we have. They may be because we have something, or because we don't. They may be because we are good at something, or because we are not. They come from every side of any scale or spectrum you can imagine, but they are all bad.

The young Christian who feels it is her responsibility to instill her view of the world on others is just as threatening to agency and accountability as the two-time parolee who feels like the system has wronged him and he deserves something for nothing. In reality, chips are just a false and fragmented self image. They are the projection of who we want to be, but aren't or can't be.

In the end, true self images are the healthiest. When we know who we are, and are comfortable with those truths, we will find ourselves with the most happiness and the greatest acceptance in our individual niches.

Or in other words, the truth will set us free.

Fabulous Las Vegas

2008-02-12T14:41:00.002-07:00

I was in Las Vegas this past weekend for a conference, and can I just reaffirm that 'fabulous' has its rightful place in front of Las Vegas. I was amazed at the decadence that is displayed there. Chinese New Year is the season of the moment, and each casino/hotel was decked to the nines with decorations celebrating the year of the rat. Probably my favorite part of the strip are the dancing fountains at Bellagio. What an amazing display of human ingenuity.

Say what you will about the filth of the place, and I don't necessarily disagree, but don't let that distract from the beauty of the locale. In few places so new will you see equal time and talent put into the design and execution of such magnificent edifices. While surely a worldly, materialism is the religion of the strip, Las Vegas is still very much a blossom in the desert. While the human body is repeatedly made into an object for lust through strip shows and provocative dancing, it is equally displayed as an object of supreme architecture and ability through Cirque du Soleil and similar shows. Human-made water falls, forests and mountains lead the eye to a concept of the awesomeness of the natural world, while towering buildings and artistic execution remind us of our race's creative flair. Las Vegas is not for the puritan soul, but neither does it require an avariciousness that so many of us characterize as a part of this shinning metropolis.

Do You Know How to Park?

2008-01-18T12:38:00.001-07:00

Imagine, if you will, a common parking spot. Envision yourself pulling your car into that spot and parking perfectly between those yellow or white lines, as we all know you can.

Now you step out of the car. Look around and notice, how much space is there between you and the car next to you? [pause]

How many inches do you think it would be? Maybe 18" or 24"? That's probably your average. Typical parking spaces measure between 8' and 8.5', leaving about a foot and a half to two between parked cars. People can generally (except for a few 'special' individuals) handle those standards. We've parked under such specifications for many years, we should do it on an instinctual level such as fitting food in our mouths.

Snow, therefore, must be some form of psychotropic substance.

Have you ever noticed when it snows that suddenly 8 out of ten people couldn't park straight or with reasonable distances to save their lives? What's the change? A little white stuff? I hate to be cynical, but I have created an artist's rendition of what I believe parking lots look like when it snows. As a people we probably lose half the spots in the lot because someone has over estimated their distance, missed the middle line, or otherwise botched up the simple grid that I would hope they could imagine in their mind. It really is amazing.

I know that while driving in inclement weather, your following distance should double or triple, but while parking the same rule does not apply. I would call all citizens of the free world to maintain their parking distances, rain, shine or snow. Sure it may be a good excuse to leave an extra five feet between you and the next car, but think of the people who are running late. Where will they park?

The Origins of "Xmas"

2007-12-13T14:07:00.001-07:00

Some years ago I was told that the term Xmas was just an attempt to take "Christ" out of the holiday. I swore from that moment on I would never use the word again. I think it's fair to say that a number of Christians may believe the same thing. While I surely agree that mainstream America is working as hard as Santa's elves to eliminate references to religion in our politically-correct culture, the origins of Xmas are less nefarious.

According to my research (which of course included Wikipedia), the name Christmas has its origins rooted in the 12th century Old English word Cristes mæsse (or the Mass of Christ). The X we see in Xmas is actually the Greek letter Chi, which was the first letter used to spell Christ in Greek. The Greek word looks something like this: Χριστός. The custom of using the letters XC (the first and last letters) to represent the word Christ dates back as far as the 14th century, and the use of just the letter X naturally followed sometime thereafter.

The word Xmas was just one of several Christ-prefixed words (including Christian and Christianity, Xian and Xianity, respectively) that experienced the hyphenation.

And so, for the first time in years, I wish you a very merry Xmas.

The Next Step in Evolution

2007-12-10T08:32:00.001-07:00

Those who know me better will know that I have often joked about my desire to be asexual. Now let's define the word before anyone gets too concerned . . . According to Wikipedia (the definitive source for accurate information on the Web) asexual reproduction is defined as:

A form of reproduction which does not involve meiosis, ploidy reduction, or fertilization. Asexual reproduction only takes one parent. A more stringent definition is agamogenesis which refers to reproduction without the fusion of gametes. Asexual reproduction is the primary form of reproduction for single-celled organisms such as archaea, bacteria, and protists.

In simple terms, it means being able to have babies spontaneously without needing a "mate." As someone who finds the dating process daunting and realizes that his personality type consists of less than 1 percent of the population for good reason (we don't seem to breed well), this seems like a pretty good option.

Think of what a revolution this could be if we could procreate spontaneously? I think the single-celled organisms have it right. This could be a great step toward evolution. Imagine sitting in class (or anywhere else for that matter) and suddenly (but consciously) having a baby. No more "accidents" (unless people spontaneously lose control of their spontaneous reproduction).

Of course I'm not suggesting that we just have kids anywhere; there would be government regulations on "birthing zones." Maybe there would be clinics where would-be mommies and daddies would go. Asexual reproduction produces roughly double the number of children as more "traditional" forms of procreation.

For all of those young ladies who want a big family, but have no prospective man in site, no problem, they could have three kids (all girls, of course) before meeting a man. Maybe that man might have had three kids (all boys) of his own. Perhaps on more than just a hunch that group could somehow form a family. A bunch we could call them. A Brady Bunch.

Above the benefit of choosing the number of children one might have, these children will also be genetically identical to their parent. What greater gratification could a father have than to see his son make the exact same choices as he has?

I guess before divulging too much information, I should mention that I have already developed a radiation gun that can help enable the process. In fact, the original me isn't even writing this blog. I am Chris Jr., Dad is in Bermuda enjoying the warm weather.

Snow: Friend or Foe? You Decide.

2007-12-08T12:26:00.000-07:00

In the last few days, Provo has been invaded by millions upon millions of little weapons created to quickly forward the natural selection process. Who sent this micro-warfare to reap havoc you ask? If you are looking to blame some radical, extremist group like the Democratic Party, you are mistaken. No, this wasn't the work of any ordinary person. She is so much more. Two words: Motha' Nature. You didn't think she was behind all of the chaos did you? Well think again. These millions of weapons I am referring to are tiny flakes of snow (bet you didn't see that coming). Yes, snow. Sure some people think it's pretty, but have you ever seen a "SoCal" driver or pedestrian try to negotiate roads, sidewalks and stairs during these precarious invasions? Nature herself is targeting and picking off certain segments of our population, one "fluffy," "pretty" snow storm at a time. It's genocide. Nothing more, nothing less. Imagine if it snowed more regularly in Texas. In that land of the bigger, those flakes could be used by she who will not be named as ninja stars (see artist's concept at left). No need to worry about yellow snow, no, now children in Texas as they are preparing to go out to school will have to avoid crimson red snow (not to mention the bodies of the victims). Some will tell you that snow is innocent fun. That it comes and collects on our trees (just coincidentally breaking their limbs) and on our cars (making us crash because we can't see) and on our paths (increasing senior citizen hip replacements by two fold) making the place look beautiful before vanishing as it melts (and floods our farmlands). I for one am not so sure. So I submit this important decision to you, my loyal readers. Is snow our friend or is it our foe? If it is our friend, I suggest you heavily pad and armor yourself and go out and play. If foe, then contact your legislators and demand that action be taken. I would rather see war against Motha' Nature in the form of heightened greenhouse gas production and massive deforestation before one more snide and malevolent flake hits my roof.

Pretty Birds

2007-12-02T20:25:00.001-07:00

I really don't know how I feel about shooting things. Over the Thanksgiving weekend, I went pheasant hunting with my roommate, his brother and father. I don't have any moral objection to other people shooting things, especially if they are going to eat them, but I just don't think it's for me. On the hunt we (well, they) shot three pheasants and a duck. It's kind of like eating tomatoes from your garden. As you bite into them, you can't help but think "dude, this grew on a plant that was exposed to bird droppings, acid rain, and dog pee for weeks and that's only after it grew up out of a bed of cow poop and chemicals designed to kill insects." ...Pause... While I don't really think that while eating tomatoes, I must admit, eating the pheasant was a little disconcerting. "Dude, this thing was running through thickets before I (they) shot it with little metal pellets." But more so, this thing was running. It was alive, with feathers and a head, which incidentally it no longer has. I am not a vegetarian, but if I ever become one, I will clearly map this experience as the onset of my separation from barbaric carnivorousness. I love chicken (I love pheasant even) but I rather see them alive and clucking, and then very separately, dead and cooking. I don't know if this will be my last hunting excursion (I doubt it), but it may be the last time I see something alive and cooked in such a close succession.

How Democracy Can Die

2007-11-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

One word: apathy. In the past few years I have seen it among my generation, and a Washington Post editorial seems to confirm it. This increased laissez-faire attitude toward not only the political process, but the entire fabric of this country's patriotic history, is manifest in a measurable decline in interest and awareness of the country's citizen-based democratic system. Many members of my generation are without resolve in the realm of this country's leaders and their political agendas. This apathy may be prominent in the race for the Oval Office, but is actually more prevalent on the local and state levels. The youth of today has grown up in a privileged world of relative ease in the social and political landscapes. As quoted by a good friend, (though in a different context) this generation drinks from a well we did not dig and is warmed by a fire we did not kindle. We live in a country whose international might has jettisoned us past the status of super power. Our wars are no longer for our common defense. Our economic interest is no longer to prevent national bankruptcy. Our politics no longer dissuade civil war and internal strife. While surely I don't suggest that all young people live in a protected, safe and flawless shell, nor that our country is beyond the ability to fall, many simply do not see a need to fight (on any literal or figurative level) for anything more than their superficial fiefdom. With an enormous security blanket, who needs to worry? Combined with the misleadingly promising fact that today's young people are smarter and more resource-rich than any generation in recorded history, we have the making of a generation that will be searching for leadership among increasingly thinner flocks of politically experienced leaders. For what it's worth, may I suggest that as the rising generation we stand up for our beliefs, our visions, and our dreams for the world we will inevitably shape. Our lives will affect those that come after us. An upward trend in civic engagement is the only support to a long-lasting democracy. After all, as the Native American axiom states: "we do not inherit the world from our parents, but borrow it from our children."

Sudden Impressions

2007-11-17T19:37:00.000-07:00

The BYU Student Alumni Association is hosting our annual food drive, and as always, we are competing with our rivals to the north, the University of Utah, to collect more food. The rivalry itself is really less important than using that rivalry to raise funds and collect food. The less-fortunate are always with us, no matter where we go or what we do. According to a 2005 study, 37 million Americans live in poverty--a number doubtlessly higher today. The sum world-wide is considerably more bleak. Since you began reading this entry, 200 people have died of starvation somewhere in the world. Despite the odds, there is so much we can do to help. Today I went out to collect food door-to-door and was struck by a sudden impression. As I was climbing some stairs in comfortable Provo, thinking of how my legs were beginning to get sore, I looked down at the SUV we were using to load food, and the clear line came to my mind: people will live because of that food. It was the simplest of thoughts, but profoundly significant to realize. No, we can't end world hunger, and frankly it will never end. But. We can do something. Those countless students who donated food today, poor by their own standards, are Saviors in their own right. People will live because of what they have given. At this time of year when we give thanks for the fortunate circumstances in which we find ourselves, let us not for a moment forget how disproportionate those blessings truly are. Why we are where we are, we cannot fathom or figure out. Let us do what we can, to help whom we can, no matter how little we really can. Or in the words of the 18 century American author and religious figure, Edward Everett Hale: "I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do."

Paper or Plastic?

2007-11-15T22:30:00.000-07:00

Growing up in the DC suburbs, my family always asked for paper bags when we went to the grocery store. I pretty much grew up looking down on families that were less eco-friendly, with the audacity to harbor plastic bags in their homes. Moving to the west for university, I was suddenly struck by the harsh reality that for some reason, paper was not an option at my local grocery store. For the past three years I have been loading the space under my kitchen sink with plastic bags like a shameful addict would hide crack cocaine. I cringed every time I would hear the bagger at the check-out counter rustling plastic instead of crumpling thick paper. I have recently changed grocery stores and have been elated to see that they offer paper. Coming home from the store today (with three happy paper bags in my trunk) I was wondering whether my paradigm is really accurate. Despite my emotional ties to paper, are paper bags really better for the environment? I did some research and have come across a quotation from MSNBC that I think puts the argument in context:

"To make all the bags we use each year, it takes 14 million trees for paper and 12 million barrels of oil for plastic. The production of paper bags creates 70 percent more air pollution than plastic, but plastic bags create four times the solid waste — enough to fill the Empire State Building two and a half times. And they can last up to a thousand years."

So then what's the answer? It seems it's up to you. Both types of bags seem to be equally hazardous for the environment. I'd say we should take a clue from IKEA and start bringing our own non-disposable bags with us to shop. In all reality, aside from what I perceive as a more green-approach to bagging, paper bags also make me feel better. It's paper for me, but maybe plastic for you. Sure there are ups and downs for both, but I guess in the end of the day it's your gut feel. The crumpling noise, the post-use folding, the natural feel, those are what do it for me. And so when the onerous question comes my way, I know exactly what my response will be.

Romney's Rising Chances

2007-11-15T19:00:00.000-07:00

While I have marked myself for some time as a Mitt Romney supporter, I have also intentionally remained off the Romney "band wagon" in order to avoid getting too emotionally caught-up in the elections. Coming from mixed circles of "lefties" (East Coast family) and "righties" (BYU Mormons), I have had a hard time really seeing where Romney sits in the race. Today all that changed. I read a political column on the Washington Post's (my favorite newspaper) Web site which gave me what I felt was a pretty good view of Romney's real prospects in gaining the Republican Party's nomination. For anyone not savvy to the Washington Post's leanings, the paper is usually seen as a more liberal paper as compared to the smaller and less-nationally-circulated Washington Times. As a result, I would expect its reporting to be skeptical of republican front-runners, but also fair in representing the field and avoiding favoritism. The good news is that Mitt has a chance, and probably a larger chance than most non-Mormons and non-conservatives would realize. So have I joined the band wagon? Not yet. But you never know what's going to happen, do you?

The Curriculum

2007-11-13T17:08:00.000-07:00

Everybody has themes in their lives. We, as a people, are naturally ingrained with patterns that identify us and overarching ideals that we promulgate in much of what we do. We tend to identify with those things which re-enforce our views or represent us in some way, and then use those varied objects as venues to show others who we are. For instance, an angry teen may blast hard rock not only because he identifies with it, but because others can then identify him through it. At times, especially for us who are still developing as individuals (in other words, everyone) we are introduced to presentations (of any media format: print, film, painting, music, speech, etc.) which strike us so deeply, as to not only describe who we are, but to actually define us. These presentations may or may not change who we are, but will ultimately be more than just a reflection of us. These are the media that rejuvenate us, replenish our souls, and inspire us to continue on our marked path. These are not just a list favorite things, but instead, almost a list of necessary things. I have come to call this compilation of media "the curriculum." For me, the curriculum represents a collection of films, quotations, songs, speeches and other media forms which inspire me and lift me. They are the songs that give me chills, the movies that make me cry and laugh, they are the utterances that make me understand better who I am. If you would like to see a working copy of my curriculum, please feel free to e-mail me (giovarelli@aol.com). I would encourage you to think of what is contained in your curriculum. As you grow to identify this grouping of media in your life, you will find it useful not only for you, but also for others. In my life, I have seen my curriculum sometimes help others, if only to understand me better. Good luck!

Are You Feeling What I'm Feeling?

2007-11-11T00:59:00.000-07:00

So there is an exhibit in BYU's Museum of Art which was rather fascinating, after I left and realized what it was all about. Grant Stevens, an Australian video artist, creates art that intrinsically isn't particularly amazing, in fact, it is usually a collection of text-based videos. The fascination I have with the brilliance of his art is the concept that art is not what you are looking at, but the experience you are having as the viewer. In essence, the idea is that when you see, hear or touch certain things, these sensory experiences represent a collection of allusions to other parts of your life, evoking any range of emotions and feelings. This art form is a fantastic representation of the trend in recent years to focus not on interpretation of existing realities, but on self-expression (hence the rise of blogging). As I think of the exposure we each have each day to the many sensory stimuli that surround us, I can't help but be fascinated by my interpretation of sights, sounds and events as opposed to the person next to me or standing across the street. When I look at the sunset, surely I see the beauty of the sun setting, but it brings recollections to me of those many sunsets I have had and the feelings that come with them. This is part of why one may be moved to tears by a silly movie or simple song, while another may hate it or almost worse, be apathetic to it. While surely many of our responses to certain items may be similar, they cannot ever be the same. Our own patch-worked life represents a whole of the screens and filters that each of us has. I have decided to try an experiment. Posted as insets are two of my own "works" of this type of art. If you get a chance, leave a note, and tell me what they mean to you. What is your art?

The Other Red Meat

2007-11-10T22:18:00.000-07:00

So whenever I watch cartoons, the steaks that the lions and tigers eat are always so delicious looking. However, when I buy steak it really doesn't look anything like it. Now don't get me wrong, I love a good steak just like anyone (well not vegetarians or vegans), but it just doesn't look like the cartoons. I have found a suitable substitute however, which meets the bill. Have you ever seen raw pork? (If not just look at the next picture) It looks a lot like the steaks in the cartoons, and as a result of this fantastic similarity, I have become a huge, salivating pork fan. Admittedly, cooked pork looks and tasted nothing like steak, however that detail is somewhat insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I have finally found my rounded, red in the middle, white on the sides, meat slab. Now whenever I'm at the food store I love to go over and poke the pork thinking about those crazy lions gobbling them up like they were steak. Well, probably needless to say, I bought about six pork chops at the store today and am planning on cooking them up tomorrow. Pork, it's the other red meat . . . well sort of.

Whipped You Say?

2007-11-10T01:02:00.001-07:00

I would like to address my opinion on the importance of whipped dairy products. Have you ever tried to put hard, thick cream cheese on a bagel? It's nearly impossible if the cream cheese it cold. However, if you have whipped cream cheese, it spreads on luxuriously with an airy sensation that leaves you refreshed and ready for more scrumptious bites. Another of my favorite whipped items is whipped yogurt. While some may argue that the little cup (what do you call a personal yogurt container?) is mostly filled with air, that's what I love about it. When you walk in to a large, open theatre, you don't say to yourself, "this would be a great place if only there were less under-utilized space." You ignore the fact that your ticket might cost less if more people could fit and enjoy the show. And so friends it is with whipped products. Sure less fits and sure it costs a little more, but give 'em a try and enjoy the show. I guarantee you will be pleasantly surprised at how invigorating your dairy product can be!

It's All About Branding

2007-11-08T17:55:00.001-07:00

It was suggested by a good friend that perhaps I should write something about branding, since it is the field I plan to go into. The picture at the right is an entertaining play on the basis of the term 'branding'. As many know, ranchers often use a branding iron to (barbarically, I might add) label their animals in order to identify them. From that same concept, companies want people to know what products and services are their's and thus they 'brand' them as well. However, unlike the simple rancher's brand, a corporate brand is much more than just a logo. While a logo reinforces a brand it is in no way the brand itself. Simply stated, a brand is based on the individual, at first. When you hear Nike, or Audi, or Claussen Pickles, or Geico Insurance, something comes to your mind. There are experiences you have had which have painted a picture of what these companies are to you. When a company works hard enough to have a considerable percent of the population painting the same picture, a strong brand is born. Brands are dependent on consistency and companies and people will pay a pretty penny to create corporate consistency. So as not to bore my readers on this subject, I think I'll put this issues to a rest. But before I do, some thoughts to consider... What brands to you like and why? Do you know what your personal brand is? Would you change it if you had a chance? These are important questions to consider. As I like to say: "you've got a brand whether you like it or not; wouldn't you rather like it?" If this interests you, or you have questions, feel free to e-mail me (giovarelli@aol.com) and I would happily talk to you more about this.

Canyonlands Half Marathon

2007-11-07T19:26:00.000-07:00

Considering how rarely I actually go to my gym, it may come as some surprise, but after careful reflection and a really inspiring promo video, I have decided to train to run in the Canyonlands Half Marathon in Moab, Utah on March 8. This will be a joint effort with the Student Alumni team so that we can motivate each other. In response to this decision, I am heading to the gym right now!

I Love This Place

2007-11-07T18:28:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess the point of this blog is to keep an accounting of what is going on in my life, so I'll just get started. I was walking home tonight from the Hickley Center as the sun was setting across the valley, and I was taken--as I often am--by the beauty of this valley.

Many evenings I will walk home with an amazing view of the silhouetted mountains and the hidden sun's red, orange and yellow banner lighting the lower sky and I can't help but feel gratitude for such a charmed life.

Everything is going great right now. I just left the MTC after almost three years of work and started a job working for University Communications, helping to research potential story ideas to be released to the news media and other publics. I really like those with whom I am working, and I hope to learn a lot. (Check out our promo video for why you should work at UniComm.)

I can't wait for school to be done! I find it hard to even make it to class sometimes because I feel like I have learned most of what I need, and now I just want to get out and apply it. The graduation application deadline for April is November 15, so in the next couple of days I will be officially on track to graduate in April.

Student Alumni continues to be a great joy in my life and things just seem to be getting better and better there. I am really enjoying the relationships I have formed thus far with the other officers and with Curtis, my advisor, and I am looking forward to the rest of the year with them.

Welcome to the Chris Show!

2007-11-07T10:59:00.000-07:00

I have finally entered the highly segmented world of personal Web logging. I don't really think my life is important enough for anyone to actually want to read about, however I guess at the least this can provide me with something to do when I am bored in class. So welcome to the Chris Show! You are now entering what I consider to be a somewhat enigmatic and highly energetic world of mystery, enchantment and the occasional illogical rant. Enjoy!