Recently in Humor Category

The Magic City Flickr Group (which I recently joined) is having an impromptu portrait taking seminar/lesson/thing this afternoon in my hometown of Helena, AL.  Since photography has become my latest obsession, I am attempting to make the meeting in order to both learn a few things as well as get to know other photography professionals and enthusiasts in the area.  One of the things suggested to bring to the meeting is a portrait subject.  I thought my daughter would be a perfect subject so I asked her if she wanted to come along.  She said sure (she normally likes hanging with her dad) and I just assumed that would be all I would hear about it until I picked her up this evening.  I was wrong.

My wife called me this morning to inform me that as soon as Emily got to school this morning she went running to her teacher to tell her what we would be doing this evening.  The following is apparently what she told the teacher:

"Miss Alexis, guess what?  This afternoon after daddy picks me up he and a bunch of his friends from work are going to meet to take pictures of me!"

If that doesn't sound like a pedo bear situation I don't know what does.  I can only imagine what went through the teacher's head after hearing that statement. 

Thanks goodness my wife was still in the room.  After an initial moment of shock, my wife explained the real situation to the young teacher.  I can only hope that the explaination was believed.  I guess I will know it wasn't if I am not allowed to go on any of the field trips or talk to any of the other kids.  I guess a phone call from local authorities would also be a telling sign that the clarification was not believed. 

Gotta go, I think my phone is ringing... 

 

I did something the other day that sort of surprised me.  I was sitting at a McDonalds letting my daughter have some nuggets when I became the "outraged parent".  Well, I wasn't outraged as much as I was mildly concerned.  This particular location (the new one near the Target in Alabaster) has a television in the main seating area and playing on the TV for two full episodes on Monday was Family Guy.  I love Family Guy.  I probably watch at least one episode if not more every day as several channels on my Dish Network service carry the show in syndication.  It is completely nonsensical, mysogynistic, crude, rude, and pedantic and I love every minute.  The show, however, is 100% not for young children.  The episode that was on in the restaurant, for example, centered around  Peter pressuring his wife to have sex with him at his office.  Lois finally gives in (she always gives in, she is just that kind of gal) and they throw down on the floor right in front of Peter's mentally challenge cubicle mate.  Maybe I am old fashioned, but I just don't think that is something my 4 year old needs to see out in public.

My first reaction to what was on the TV was "Cool, Family Guy!" but that quickly dissolved into "Wait, this should not be on here."  Not only was it on, but one of the teenage employees was sitting there watching the show.  I struggled with my feelings on this subject for the rest of the meal.  I am certainly not a prude but I eventually decided that I should at least tell the management about the show because maybe they just didn't know.  As we were leaving I walked up to the counter.  There were three people there, an older white lady, a young black male, and a young white male.  I asked them if they knew what was on the TV and I got blank, glass eyed stares.  I told them it was Family Guy and that the show often had content like simulated sex acts and that it might not be the best thing for their customers.  Again, blank stares.  Then, Captain Genius of the Starship Losertini spoke up.  "Oh, I have never seen Family Guy.  I am not allowed to watch it."  This was the young white guy who appeared to be in charge.  I found it strange that his TV time was still monitored at his age and then he dropped this gem on me:  "Yeah, I am 20 years old and I am still not allowed to watch Family Guy or The Simpsons."

"Oh holy hell," I thought.  I knew right then that I was wasting my time.  This guy was the legendary "living in mom's basement" guy I have heard so much about.  I never met one of these elusive creatures in the wild and though maybe they were an urban legend.  I found out otherwise. 

"Look, it doesn't really bother me so much, but other people might get offended by the show.  You probably should change the channel, " I said and began making my way toward the door. 

As I was leaving I caught a glimpse of the brain trust looking at each other.  Captain Genius then said, and I kid you not, "I don't think we can change the channel."

The TV was picking up the over the air broadcast from channel 68.  Changing the channel could not possible be a difficult task.  I foresaw a bright future in the food preperation industry for Captain Genius.  I am pretty sure the other guy knew what was going on because he had that look of understanding in his eye but he deferred to the Captain.  I left them to sort out the crisis and exited the restaurant.

I am not sure if what I did qualifies me as old and out of touch, but I am glad I said something.  Again, it was not an issue of me being offended or upset, I can promise you it was not the first time my daughter has seen Family Guy, but I really felt they needed to know what was on the TV.  There are so many people out there ready to sue over the slightest thing that I honestly wanted to save the restaurant that hassle.  Plus, no matter how much I personally enjoy the show, I am not usually in the mood for bondage humor (Lois is a real team player in that regard) when I am out with my 4 year old.  Some things are just not for the general public's consumption.

One final note:  If you are over 16 and have not seen The Simpsons or Family Guy my heart goes out to you.  Just do me one favor.  Don't take up taxidermy.  It happened to Norman Bates, it can happen to you.

So, you are all geared up for a few hours of alone time before the wife and child get home from their Thursday night adventures.  Your iced cold drink is on the coffee table, you laptop is booted and ready to rumble, the AC is kicking and the couch is comfortable.  Everything for an evening of BSG season 2 is ready to roll but it things aren't as good as they seem.  You pop the disk sent loving by Netflix into the DVD player and stretch out on the couch.  After a short pre-roll you launch into the menu and hit "Play All".  Then, everything breaks down.  The title sequence rolls and the "Previously on Battlestar Galactica" kicks in and you recognize none of it.  WTF?!   Lee Adama and President Roslin were in jail but they escaped?  Helo and Starbuck are on New Caprica with a bunch of human survivors?  Admiral Adama is no longer in charge of Galactica?  When the fuck did all of this happen? 

You fumble with the remote to jump out to the menu to see if maybe the disk started on the wrong episode only to find out that the entire disk is wrong.  NOOOOOOOO!!!!  Neflix shipped me Season 2 Disk 2 in the Disk 1 pouch!  Those COCKSUCKERS!!!  After all the good things I say about the company I still get the shaft.  A perfect evening RUINED I tell ya! 

Ok, maybe that is going a little overboard but it was disappointing.  The good news is I reported the error to Netflix and they are shipping a new disk no questions asked.  I should have it no later than Saturday.  All in all that is pretty good service.  I'd still like to get my hands on the person responsible for mixing up the envelopes though! 

I am a very sarcastic smart ass much of the time.  It's ok, I have comes to terms with it even if my wife and family have not.  I guess you just can't change who you are.  I am finding, however, that my bad habits are rubbing off on my sweet, innocent little girl.  I don't know if that is a good thing or not but I must say it can be quite humorous at times.

Take for example what happened yesterday.  We stopped by Wal-Mart to get some nightcrawlers (them's worms for you cultured types) in order to do some fishing at the local pond.  My daughter, curious as she is, wanted to look at the worms, touch them, drop them on the ground, etc.  So I let her hold the container as we went through the checkout line.  Since I dislike most other humans as a rule, I try very hard to use the self-checkout lane whenever possible and yesterday was no exception.  We got everything scanned and paid for and my young child insisted on carrying the nightcrawlers sans bag.  Her loud insistence brought the attention of the self-checkout monitor clerk.  The lady asked my daughter a few questions:

Lady:  Are you going fishing?

Emily:  Yes.

Lady:  Are you going to use those worms?

Emily:  Yes.

Lady:  Are you going to touch them?

Emily:  Yes. 

Now, this was a fairly normal conversation for my daughter.  Emily tends to say only what is necessary to people she doesn't know.  However, it is the last bit of the conversation that was noteworthy. 

Lady:  Oh no, I don't think I would ever touch a worm!  They are slimy and dirty!

Emily:  Well, you aren't going with us so that's good!

I burst out laughing.  Not because she kind of "stuck it" to the cashier for being nosy, but because it sounded EXACTLY like something I might say.  For that one instant I saw my legacy in my child.  I sort of half apologized to the clerk through my laughter and shuffled her out the door with my wife smirking at me the whole time.  She looked over at me and said, "She gets that from you you know."

"Yeah, and her delivery was spot on," I said.

That got me another "look" and a quiet walk to the van.

My mom always hoped that I had a kid exactly like me one day.  I think, without a doubt, she got her wish.

If there is one thing I can't do it is dance.  I believe I could learn to do just about anything given enough time, money, and desire but dance is just not one of those things.  I can't keep a beat and I am certainly not light on my feet.  Given this fact of life, it might seem odd that I purchased a dancing game for my Xbox 360.  However, when you have a child sometimes you do things that you would not do in absence of such a motivating factor. 

My daughter, you see, has dancing in her.  From a very early age she loved to dance.  Before she could walk I would often turn on some music and bounce around the room holding her in my arms.  She would laugh even if I was totally off the beat and completely without grace.  That's the beautiful thing about children, the don't care.  They are just happy to be with you.  As she got older it has become obvious that she really likes to dance.  It is not uncommon for her to start wiggling if she hears music.  Just this Saturday she enthralled about a dozen people with her "moves" as she calls them during halftime of the basketball game we attended.  My daughter has rhythm...something she must have gotten from her mother.

Given that my family is big on games it seemed like a good idea to pick up the latest console version on Dance Dance Revolution.  Emily has a DVD version of this game but it is a little bit of a trick because there is no scoring mechanism.  You are just supposed to dance to the screen and the other players are supposed to "judge" how well you did.  Well, I just can't stand such subjective scoring and had to get something that would provide better feedback.  Emily really doesn't care.  She just loves to dance to the music.  It was I who insisted on the upgrade because I tend to want to inject competition into just about everything.  Yes, it is an admitted character flaw and has gotten me into trouble more than once in my life.  We are now the proud owners of DDR Universe 2.

Nothing has ever made it more clear to me that I will never, ever, ever be even a casual dancer than this game.  I think my wife described me playing the game was like watching a spastic Celtic dancer trying to stomp out a thousand imaginary cockroaches.  I think she was being generous.  I am surprised I don't have a broken leg from all the uncoordinated stumbling I did last night.  Apparently there is supposed to be some kind of pattern to the beats and thus my steps on the control pad.  I have not idea because I lost control after about the third note over every song.  To say I am bad at this game is like saying Hillary Clinton suffers from a slight lack of sex appeal.  The real truth just doesn't come through in that statement.

Nevertheless, my child loves the free play aspect of the game and thus I shall soldier on and continue to look like a monkey trying to stay off an electrified floor.  I will say though that we have fun and that playing is certainly very akin to exercise.  The only saving grace is that my wife is even less adept than I which does bring a touch of warmth to my heart.  I find that I have the urge to buy a second pad in order to enable head to head competition.  We can call the competition:

I shot this video on my cell phone at about 12:50 today.  This is between 3rd and 4th Avenue South at the Hwy 31/280 exit.

So yet another school board, this one in Pinellas County Florida, has decided that intelligent design must be taught along with evolution.  Superstition has thus become part of the curriculum.  While I am not surprised that a theory of creation with NO BASIS IN SCIENCE is being forced onto a student body, what does surprise me is a statement from one of the board members.  Board member Peggy O'Shea suggests that discussions on the origin of the universe are just too controversial to be important.  I wonder if she has a doctorate in thinkology. 

From the article at Tampabay.com:

"O'Shea suggested that parents who object to evolution being taught to their children might be able to opt them out of that day's lesson. "I'd probably ideally like to keep it all out of the classroom," she said. "If it's going to create this much controversy, how important is it?""

Not only is the origin of life just too controversial to be important, apparently it is ok for students to "opt out" of parts of their education that they don't agree with.  That sets one hell of a precedent don't you think?   Maybe I don't agree with coaches teaching math...can my child opt out of that?  How about if I really think that faster than light travel is possible?  Can my daughter then opt out of physics?  Wait, what if I am a communist?  Can my children opt out of American Government, Economics, and Civics?  Really Mrs. O' Shea?  Really?

Look, those that want to learn about "Intelligent Design" already have a place to get their fill of such nonsense.  As far as I know, most churches are open 7 days a week.   I am sure someone there would love to teach a class on magic.  Public school, however, is not the place to study superstition as the basis of the universe...unless it is in history or sociology class.  Do you insist on this "evolution is just a theory" argument?  That's fine with me.  Just about everything we know is a theory.   That is a solid, scientific approach to a scientific argument.  We also theorize that the sun will come up every day.  There is no way to PROVE this is true because we can't observe every day both past and future, but all evidence points to the sun rising (it actually doesn't rise...but we won't get into that today) every day and thus we accept it as true.  Let's keep mythology where it belongs...at the church.

And since we are talking about the origin of the universe let me make a point.  Do not try to argue with me that everything has to have a beginning.  That is a regressive argument that only allows me to negate your point.  Usually the argument goes like this:

Theist:  "If you believe matter and energy are the basis of the universe, who created them?"

Atheist:  "Why do they have to be created?  Why can't they just be?  Science says matter can neither be created or destroyed so maybe that is all there is?  Even before the big bang all matter and energy existed but just in a very compressed state."

Theist:  "But where did it come from?  Surely some intelligent force created matter and energy."

Atheist:  "No, I don't need to believe that.  I can believe that matter and energy are the beginning and end.  Those things have always existed and always will."

Theist:  "But it all had to start somewhere."

Atheist:  "Ok, you argue that there has to be a beginning.  You also argue that some intelligence, God, created matter, and energy, and the universe.  So, I ask you, if you insist on there being a beginning to EVERYTHING, who created your god?"

Theist:  "Oh no, God is God.  He has always existed and always will."

Atheist:  "Funny how I have to accept your God as a possible beginning with no creator, but you can not accept matter and energy as the beginning.  If you insist on everything having a creator then there is no end to the creator, creation chain."

Theist:  "But I know God created everything."

Atheist:  "Prove it."

Theist:  'Ummm...aahhh...The Bible....umm...personal revelation...umm...ahh....faith or something."

Atheist:  "Stop right there.  I seem to have an urgent appointment to go bang my head against a wall.  We'll talk later."

The whole "Someone must have started the whole thing" bit doesn't work with me.  Don't try it.

I went to Wal-Mart last night.  I didn't WANT to go to Wal-Mart.  It just sort of happened.  I was driving home from my last class meeting and the next thing I knew I was standing in a floor to ceiling aisle of cheap, foreign made, plastic junk.  My vision cleared for a moment and I realized I had somehow been transported to another world.  I looked around and noticed all of the glazed eyed zombies scrambling to snatch up every $5.00 toy and $20.00 power tool and wondered if that is what I looked like right before I "woke up".  It was a frightening feeling and for a brief moment I panicked and tried to find a way out.  Reality in a Wal-Mart is so distorted, however, that I found myself in the toy section instead. 

Maybe it was all the lead paint in the area, but the zombification in that particular section seemed to have progressed to a near terminal state.  There was one particular lady that caught my attention so strongly that I couldn't help but stare.  It was like coming across a brawl in the street.  You don't want to stand there and gape, but some force prevents you from walking away.  I couldn't tear myself away from the scene that was unfolding before me.  This lady, in her middle to upper forties if I had to guess and large like you think of dinosaurs as large, was filling her cart randomly.  She had come prepared to battle the unforgiving land of discount shopping in a matching grey sweatsuit with her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a rubber band so it didn't get in the way of her peripheral vision.  I think her critical mistake though may have been the brown Crocs that were about two sizes too small as there was raw, pink flesh trying to escape from the horrible fashion trend on all sides.

This lady seemed to have gone mad in her attempt to fill her cart before some unknown clock ran down.  She wasn't picking things off the shelf so much as she was snatching whatever was in reach.  It didn't make sense.  It was like a scene from out of a disaster movie where the survivors are cleaning out the shelves of the local grocery store because civilization is crumbling around them.   I honestly don't believe she knew what she was taking.  The only commonality I could spot was that the majority of the items were "on sale".  The sense of manic desperation was strong and, for just a moment, I wondered if I too should stock up on Play-Dough and Spiderman figures just in case she knew something I did not. 

And then, just like that, she was gone.  Run off to some other part of the store to get some other critical item.  I tried to clear my mind of the strangeness that had just played out before me, but a cloud was settling over my thoughts that I could not shake off.  The reality distortion field surrounding the land of Wal-Mart was taking hold and I knew it was time to leave.  I quickly made my way to the grocery section and grabbed a few things and that is when I thought maybe I now looked like that desperate lady I saw only moments ago.  My desperation reflected hers and I shuddered.  I knew it was time to leave.  I pushed my way through the camouflage wearing families with their kids in NASCAR t-shirts and soon found myself standing in line waiting to be checked out.  Why I did not choose self-checkout I still do not know.  Something was not right at this place and it was starting to affect me.

As I rolled into the line, an older lady looked kindly in my direction and then slammed down a divider before I could get my dog food mixed up with her Metamucil.  Her face was warm and welcoming in the way Hansel and Gretel thought the witch's face was warm and welcoming right before she captured them and told them she would soon be eating them.  I sighed and kept my distance.  I knew it was not a good idea to mess with the almighty divider on a night such as this.  I unloaded my $1.50 juice boxes, and lonely, single serving ice cream containers and then glanced at the magazine rack.  It was the normal stuff concerning celebrity crises and unbelievable soap opera twists and just as I was about to reach out and find out why Jennifer Love Hewitt was so angry about some photos, something familiar crossed my vision.  It was a lump of flesh with fingernails that could only belong to one person...sweatpants lady. 

"NOOOOO!!!"  I thought.  "That's impossible!"  But it was true.  She had found her way behind me in line.  So there I stood slack jawed watching her continue to randomly grab trinkets and candy from the checkout aisle shelves.  Four packs of Chapstick, travel size tissue containers, and pocket flashlights where all victims to the gaping maw of her shopping cart.  "Who could possibly need all of this stuff?"  I wondered.  I imagined a run down trailer with stacks of old reader's digest books in the corner, 50 cats, and an old television with rabbit ears sitting on top of an even older cabinet style TV?  The image was so clear I thought maybe I had been transported to the place.  It went away quickly, however, and I forced myself to turn around and see if maybe, just maybe, it was my turn to get out of this crazy world.  Sadly, it was not.

The undercover witch in front of me had just pulled out a check from her purse.  Not a checkBOOK mind you...just a check.  A single, solitary check.  Who carries loose checks around with them?  Hell, who still uses checks?  As I slowly realized that the nightmare might never end I looked for a way out.  No chance I could go back the way I came.  Sweatpants lady had that way completely blocked.  The only way was forward, but the undercover witch had positioned her cart in a way that prevented me from getting out without moving it into the the final pathway of shame that lead to the front door.  I was effectively trapped.  I looked back and sweatpants lady was looking more and more distressed.  It seemed that there was not another almighty divider for her to use to be sure my snack cakes did not mingle with her bulk Froot Loops.  Her eyes kept darting over the solitary almighty divider that was still in front of my dog food.  That is when the Wal-Mart monk reached down, grabbed the almighty divider and handed it to me.  She saw how the situation was building and took action to diffuse the tension.  She had been taught well. 

I carefully placed the almighty divider behind my pathetic pile of groceries and I saw a wave of relief pass over sweatpants lady.  "Thank You," she said in a way that would make you think she had just found the last roll of toilet paper under the 12 issues of The Enquirer strewn about her bathroom floor.  I turned back to the cashier and saw she was ringing up my purchases.  I preemptively swiped my check card and queued up the device to be ready to process the transaction as soon as the last item was scanned.  The Wal-Mart monk was efficient in her duties and soon enough I was loaded with bags and with a "Have a good night" I was on my way.  I looked back for a moment at sweatpants lady and wondered where things had gone wrong in her life and then watched as she snatched a handful of Big Red from the shelf in front of her.  Realizing there was nothing I could do, I turned and walked out.  Out past the display of Harry Potter DVDs.  Out past the shelves of "Dip Style" Fritos and out past the Wal-Mart greeter whose honest, if toothless smile gave me some hope that everything would be ok. 

By the time I got to my car the weird cloud had lifted from my mind and I wondered if what I think I saw really happened or if it was some king of warning from my subconscious telling me to stay away from the mysterious land of Wal-Mart. 

Either way, it is probably best that I don't return.

I think I understand why Data had such a hard time with comedy.  Things I think are funny...don't seem to be funny to other people.  Am I a deviant?

Why is it that I can sit and laugh at Dennis Miller and Lewis Black and other people I know, including my wife, can't stand either of them?  Do you have to be a cynical, sarcastic people hater to get the jokes?  I think my sense of humor has caused more arguments and misunderstandings than any other facet of my personality.  Apparently there is a very fine line between a joke and an insult and I can't seem to stay on the right side of said line.   I sometimes think I should deal with this issue.  However, I don't want to change who I am.

The question "What is funny?" is more interesting than it appears.  Funny can't be defined, it can't be quantified, it can't be standardized.  Some people love Jerry Lewis.  Others, like me, just don't get it.   Humor is a strange beast. 

That's really all I have to say.  It was just something I was thinking about.  What's funny to you?

*****Updated at Bottom*****

Things annoy me.  A lot of things annoy me.  I am an easily annoyed person.  Odds are, I annoy others.  It's ok though because it works in my favor given my occasional anti-social tendencies.  However, since this is my website I get to talk about how others annoy me. 

Today's piece of annoying idiocy comes direct from the south.  Today I am talking about the failure to pronounce words correctly.  I am not talking about long words, words with three or more syllables, or even words with a foreign flair.  No, I am talking about normal, everyday words that should not give any one a problem.  Let's get started.

#1.  Athlete.  The funny thing about this word is that so many people who mispronounce it are actively involved in sports.  Athlete is a two syllable word pronounced ath-leet.  It is not a three syllable word pronounced ath-a-leet.  That second "a" just doesn't exist.  If you hold a teaching certificate and pronounce the word with three syllables you should be fired and your certificate revoked.  You know who you are.

#2.  Bulb.  Jeebus this one should be easy folks.  One syllable and only three different letters.  Using standard pronunciation notation, the pronunciation for this word is buhlb.  Please don't forget the "l".  Bub is not acceptable.  If you walk into a store and ask for a "bub" and really mean "bulb", don't be surprised if the guy behind the counter doesn't know what you are talking about.  Sound it out Frank.  I have faith you can do it.

#3.  Ask.  Look, I am not going to say much about this one.  An ax is something you use to cut down a tree not a way to get information. Stretch that s sound if you need to... Assssk.

#4.VCR.  This is just initials.  Say the letters and you are done.  V...C...R...  that last letter...say it like a pirate..."Argh".  Nope, it is not Argh-ah.  I am actually glad to see this piece of technology die just so I don't have to hear someone mangle its name again.

There is one more that I hear around the office all the time and I can't think of it right now.  I will update this post when it comes to me or I hear it in conversation.  These words are mispronounced by people young and old, black, white, red, and blue, and by people of varying education levels.  I don't get it.  While I am known to be a lazy writer, poor speller, and pathetic grammatical editor, I do TRY to do things correctly.  However, when I hear these words come out of some peoples' mouths a cold shiver runs down my spine.  Am I wrong?  

What mispronunciations get under your skin?

*****UPDATE*****

So I remembered what the other one that bugs me is...

#5.  Error.  Being a technology professional in Alabama, I hear this one a bunch.   Error should be pronounced er-er.  What I often hear, however, is era (eer-uh).  Now, this one is a little tricky because both words have two syllables.  They mean very different things.  An error is a mistake while an era is a period of time.  If you ask me to "take a look at this era on your computer" I think you just found out something interesting about the Romans or something, not that you crashed IE because you were looking at porn.  Note the double rr, the o and the final r in "error".  They need to be pronounced. 

That will be all.