The dumbest thing I’ve done this year

Posted on June 10, 2008

My mother-in-law has a rather unique notion of what constitutes casual dinner conversation.

“So, what’s the dumbest thing you’ve done this year?” she asks, as if we’re suddenly playing a familiar party game.

It doesn’t take me long to come up with an answer. A few weeks ago, I was strolling across campus, happily listening to my iPod. Happily, that is, until I noticed an odd crackly distortion in my earbuds. Then, the sound briefly dropped from the right audio channel. A few seconds later, the right audio channel had returned, but the left was gone. My assumption? The earbuds are dying. Seems reasonable, right?

A few hours later, I was back home. I swapped out the presumably dying earbuds for a backup set. Much to my dismay, the distortion and dropouts were still there. My new hypothesis: the headphone jack is loose/corroded/busted/generally jacked up. In other words, it’s the iPod — not the earbuds. Of course, my iPod warranty had expired a few weeks earlier, and I’d need a plane ticket to get to the nearest Apple Store.

Knowing that I couldn’t live a day without my precious music-giving device, I bit the bullet, rushed out to Best Buy, and purchased a new iPod nano. I then returned home, charged it up, popped in my favorite earbuds, and heard…the same crackly distortion and stereo dropouts.

This couldn’t be right, could it? I tried the earbuds that were packaged with the new iPod and, lo and behold, the distortion was gone. Then, out of morbid curiosity, I tested out the new earbuds with the old, supposedly busted iPod. No distortion. Everything was crystal clear.

So, to recap, two sets of earbuds inexplicably failed on the same day, leading me to assume that it was my iPod — not the earbuds — that had a problem. So, I immediately ran out and dropped some cash on a new iPod, only to discover that there was nothing wrong with the old one in the first place. Of course, Best Buy wouldn’t accept a return on the new iPod since it had been opened.

Oh, well…I guess I have a backup iPod now for the next time mine dies. Or appears to have died.

A tale of scoundrels, consumer electronics, and writer’s block — full of sound and fury, signifying nothing

Posted on August 17, 2007

Sigh…it’s been one of those days. First, I was alerted that some jerkhole is selling t-shirts on eBay featuring my “Snape’s on a Plane” design without bothering to ask my permission. I’m reminded of a quote from B-movie idol Bruce Campbell: “Imitation is indeed a form of flattery, but paying a guy is an even better form.”

Then, just a few hours later, the unthinkable happened: my cherished iPod shuffled off the mortal coil. It’s dead, Jim. Kaput. Pining for the fjords and all that. I immediately swore that I’d wait at least a few months to replace it and maybe even comparison shop some non-Apple MP3 players. Six hours later, I was in the process of charging up a brand new silver iPod nano. Damn you, Steve Jobs! (he says, shaking his fist in vain)

To top it all off, I’m in a blog funk. It’s one of those deals where I come up with an idea for an entry, decide it’s not actually clever and/or funny enough to post, and end up deleting it. Then, the next day, I come up with another idea. Unfortunately, it’s not as good as the idea I deleted the day before, so obviously I can’t go posting the new idea either. Anyway, it usually goes on like that for several days until I decide I need to post something — clever or not — just to break the cycle.

So, I guess this takes care of that. Thank you, and goodnight.

Maui? Wowee!

Posted on August 1, 2007

Some of you might remember last year when Kourtney, the lovely Dr. Mrs. Apropos, submitted a veterinary case study that won us a free trip to Hawaii. Well, believe it or not, she’s done it again!

We just received word earlier today that she placed first in this year’s competition, and the grand prize is a week-long trip to Maui! The trip is this November, and I’m already bouncing off the walls with excitement.

As always, however, I remain deeply aware of the ever-present danger of cursed tiki idols. I’ve watched my share of The Brady Bunch; I know how these things go down. It all starts with someone finding the discarded idol, then there’s the “diddle-iddle-oo” musical sting, and pretty soon, people are finding venomous spiders in their purses and I’m wiping out on my surfboard and banging my head on a coral reef.

Not that I’m going to turn down the trip or anything…

OMG!!! MAUI!!!

Is there a doctor in the house?

Posted on July 19, 2007

Why, yes. Yes, there is.

Okay, so even after successfully defending my dissertation, I’m still not the kind of doctor that can technically write prescriptions. But, since I earned my doctorate in political science, I’m pretty sure I can officially tell people who they should vote for now.

One thing’s for sure: I’m finished with learning. I’ve been in school for twenty-five years straight, and I’m pooped. I hereby vow not to learn anything else whatsoever for the rest of my life. Nuts to you, mankind’s eternal quest for knowledge!

In conclusion…woo-hoo!

Crazy helmet lady

Posted on July 3, 2007

So, I was lying in bed asleep at eleven o’clock last night when I heard someone knocking on the front door. Well, not knocking so much as banging against the glass inlays. So, I scrambled downstairs to see what was up, bringing along my trusty cocker spaniel for protection. I flipped on the porch light and saw a lady, maybe in her early sixties, standing on the porch. Wearing a helmet. Actually, I guess it was more of a hardhat than a helmet. Perhaps an illustration would help.

 
I cracked open the door and asked, “Can I help you?”

Irreconcilable differences

Posted on June 26, 2007

No matter how compelling an argument I advance, my wife simply refuses to concede that an air hockey table is not only more affordable than an expensive dining room table, but also superior in just about every way possible. “Imagine when you ask me to pass the salt,” I suggest, “and it comes gliding gently across the table on a cushion of air. How is that not better than your fancy walnut-stained, polyurethane finish?” No dice.

Why do I get the feeling that my plan to substitute a Galaga arcade machine in place of the proposed china cabinet isn’t going to fare any better?

Prelude to domestic violence

Posted on June 20, 2007

The scene: My wife and I are watching television when a commercial for alphabet soup airs.

Me: Hey, do you know how many letters are in the alphabet?

Her: This is a joke, right?

Me: No, I’m totally serious! How many letters are in the alphabet?

Her: Sigh…26?

Me: Wrong! It’s 24 — because E.T. went home!

Her: What’s wrong with you?

Me: I guess I’d be angry too if I just got totally owned by some classic third-grade humor courtesy of 1983.

Her: Yes, you’re right. I was totally owned. Can we talk about something else now?

Fin

Welcome to the neighborhood…prepare to die!

Posted on June 18, 2007

So, I was out for a stroll in my new neighborhood this evening when I happened upon a rather curious gentleman. He appeared to be in his late fifties and was dressed in black from head to toe — black suit, black dress shirt, black tie, shiny black shoes. Curiouser still, this unusual chap was carefully adjusting a pair of black leather gloves while surveying with furrowed brow a nearby house. Mind you, it’s nearly 90 degrees outside. Yet, Mr. All-in-Black is wearing gloves. Like he’s concerned about — oh, I don’t know — fingerprints?

Call me paranoid, but as far as I’m concerned, that whole scenario basically screams, “Hey, look at me! I’m a hitman!”

Oh, I almost forgot the best part. His dark ensemble was topped off with a black fedora. Longtime readers may recall my bitter, months-long struggle against a certain Fedora-and-Pipe Guy. It seems only reasonable to assume that the two are somehow connected. Perhaps members of an secret underground fedora society? Maybe bent on world conquest? Or eliminating a certain blogger who knows too much?

The plot thickens.

Holy crap — I’m 30?!

Posted on June 15, 2007

If I were to die today — and the day is still young — I imagine my epitaph would likely read, “Here lies the author of ‘Eight Women Who Look Better Bald Than Britney.’ He really spent a lot of time on the Internet.” Touching, no?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get cracking if I hope to achieve my childhood dream of becoming a globetrotting archaeologist/adventurer before the end of the day. Cake and ice cream for all!

(Except my enemies. You know who you are.)

Flummoxing the flimflam man

Posted on May 23, 2007

So, I was shopping for groceries earlier when a guy — maybe 25 years old, dressed like a frat kid — approached me in the pet supplies aisle. “Dude,” he implored, “I totally locked my keys in my car outside. I have a job interview in Atlanta in an hour, and I’m short on cash to hire a locksmith. Can you spot me ten bucks?” Smelling a rat, I replied (truthfully) that I didn’t have any cash on me and wished him the best of luck getting into his car.

Flash forward five minutes later. I’m wheeling my groceries out to parking lot, and I see the same guy getting into a car with an unidentified woman (presumably his girlfriend) and desperately trying not to make eye contact with me. Of course, I couldn’t resist calling out across the lot, “Dude, did you get your car unlocked?”

Embarrassed, he stammered, “Um…well, I guess it turns out that…er, it wasn’t locked after all?”

“Awesome!” I cheerfully replied. “Good luck with the interview!”

Here’s a hint, matchstick man: next time you plan to run the locksmith con, at least have the decency and common sense to park your getaway vehicle out of sight. Show your marks a little respect.

My worst nightmare

Posted on May 15, 2007

No, I’m not talking about the nightmare where I’m starring as Willy Wonka in a stage production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and can’t for the life of me remember any of my lines. I’m talking about my real worst nightmare. The one thing I’ve dreaded since I was a small child. The thing that gives me a severe case of the jibblies just thinking about. Well, that nightmare came true last night.

I found a tick on myself.

I absolutely abhor the thought of a tick embedding itself in my supple flesh, yet there it was — taking up residence on my hip. Drinking in my deliciously nutritious blood. Spreading God knows what diseases. Oh, and most of all, creeping me the hell out.

My immediate reaction was to run around the house, sobbing, waving my arms, and screaming, “Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!” Eventually, my wife got me to stand still long enough for her to yank it out with a pair of tweezers. Afterwards, she calmly declared, “Oh, look — it’s a Dermacentor variabilis. Female, if I’m not mistaken.”

It’s times like this when being married to a vet is less comforting than it sounds.

Anyway, I’m parasite-free now (to the best of my knowledge). Of course, I can still feel “phantom sucking” from the spot where the tick had attached itself. And I’m developing psychosomatic Lyme disease symptoms including fatigue, achy joints, headache, and malaise (of course, in all fairness, I’ve suffered from a general malaise for years now). Just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll just stay in bed for the next week and bathe in rubbing alcohol every few hours.

<shudder>

So, what really skeeves you out?

Welcome to my weekend

Posted on April 15, 2007

You know what sucks more than driving nine hours across six states to get an estimate for refinishing the hardwood floors in your new house? Fuming for another nine hours on the drive home because the flooring guy didn’t bother to show up for the appointment.

Sigh.

Bad Car-ma: My Wife is a Fugitive from the Law

Posted on April 10, 2007

A few days ago, I wrote about my good car karma. What I neglected to mention, however, is that my wife doesn’t share the same blessings. A tendency to cruise around town with the needle on empty, a lack of respect for scheduled oil changes, and an outright contempt for the two-second rule have garnered Kourtney some seriously bad car-ma. That being said, it seems there was a balancing of the Cosmic Automotive Scales this weekend, and it all came crashing down around her ears.

I’ll try to make this brief. On Saturday, we received a notice of cancellation from our car insurance company. When we called to ask why our policy was canceled, the insurance company informed us that Kourtney’s driver’s license was revoked back in October 2006. Surely we’d know if that were the case, right? Well, she called the DMV on Monday, and they confirmed that, yes, her license was yanked over six months ago because of a legal discrepancy in her records.

A call to the local Social Security office revealed that her name change following our marriage in 2003 was never actually processed. As a result, the name on her driver’s license didn’t match the one in her Social Security record, thus causing the DMV to take action (years after the fact, of course). Now, we’re working with the DMV, Social Security office, insurance company, and state police to get this whole rigmarole sorted out. In the meantime, Kourtney has no license and therefore can’t drive herself to work.

See what I mean? Bad car-ma.

Anyway, a few thoughts occur to me in the wake of this whole ordeal.

Car-ma

Posted on April 7, 2007

You might remember my entry from a week ago complaining about my auto mechanic’s $4,000 estimate to replace my car’s dying transmission. Well, I got another call from my mechanic yesterday. It seems he decided (of his own volition) to contact the manufacturer about my situation, and Honda agreed to give me a new transmission free of charge. Yeah, I know — unbelievable, right?

I attribute the whole thing to a lifetime of good car karma, or car-ma. I think this free transmission is the universe’s way of repaying me for all those oil changes, all those times I stopped at crosswalks for pedestrians, all those times I waved at people who cut me off instead of giving them the finger, all those times I resisted the urge to use a pile of dirt as a ramp to launch my car into the air and over traffic — it all adds up. I have good car-ma, and the ancient Car Gods have smiled upon me and blessed me with a new transmission. Henceforth, it shall be known as the Transmission of the Gods.

My wife, on the other hand, attributes my good luck to a five-leaf clover she found the other day. Seriously, though, who has time for silly superstitions when it comes to something as important as automotive care?

Cross posted at humor-blogs.com.

Gonna take you right into…the Danger Zone!

Posted on April 2, 2007

It may sound crazy, but I’m pretty sure I bumped into ’80s soft rocker Kenny Loggins on Saturday night. At least, I assume the homeless guy I saw yelling out the lyrics to “Danger Zone” while — how can I put this discretely? — humping a bench was Kenny Loggins (and not just a Kenny Loggins tribute artist).

I guess the “Footloose” royalty checks ain’t what they used to be.

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