Fundraising idea

In one of my classes last week, I was called 'egocentric'.

Not a big deal. It wasn't malicious, more a hands-on form of explaining a subject to the class. But I thought it was hilarious.

Largely because, through whatever mechanics my mind goes through, it resulted in the creation of this fundraiser, designed especially for me, by me.

I think the madness behind it was that in order to prove that I'm not egocentric (the new subject of mine in that class) I would show that a fundraiser for me would not garner any financial support from anyone, whereas other fundraisers would. Not a strong argument.

Maybe one day if I have the patience or desire to, I'll make this an actual thing, capable of receiving donations. At least that way it would be more than just funny. It could also be unprofitable.

A Dire Need

I think I'm having withdrawals from not pranking anybody. This is serious business.

The last time I got a really good prank was when a good friend Aaron and I wrote 'HIV' (part of a long and juvenile/awesome game) on the truck window of our other friend Frank, then rolled it down, broke a completely separate window that we bought, and scattered the glass everywhere. Man did that rock. It even snowed the next day and he didn't know. He called his insurance company, too. Couldn't have been better. Can you imagine calling your insurance company for a broken window, then calling them back to say that you were mistaken? My bad, my window isn't actually broken, I just thought it was?

As a matter of fact, Frank is the best friend I have for pranking. Something about his mindset makes pranking him roughly a million times better than my other friends. Not to say I haven't/won't prank my other friends. But it isn't the same.

Maybe I'm just antsy because I haven't done anything worthwhile in, well, quite a while. Today was basically me doing poorly at a midterm, putting up with snow, finishing Bulletstorm (a Meh+ game) and eating a Cola-flavored Airhead, which is the candy version of taking one for the team. And I'm currently concluding my day writing the penultimate blog entry for my grade while my roommates engage in Pokemon battle in the other room.

So things certainly could be worse.

I think the next prank will happen soon. It's been planned for a while. We are going to put a couple of marbles in an Altoids tin, wrap it in duct tape, and then fixate it to the bottom of Franks car. That way, every bump/turn will make it sound like a small part of his truck is falling apart. We'll add one a week. This prank has actually been in a sort of prank limbo (prankatory) for a while, so this time I really really mean it. This Saturday. Honest. Unless he reads this (which I doubt).

I'm positive that a Pranks on Frank YouTube channel would be rad, but I don't think the pranks that we play are meant for video. They take time, and the humor kind of grows with how long they remain. That might be the same for this blog.

Last week

It's been about twenty-five minutes since I have come back to school and I'm already back to people-watching. There is a gigantic man in front of me with a shirt that says 'ENOUGH SAID'. This shirt is hiked up to his upper-middle back because of his fat lethargic slouching. Enough said indeed, sir. Perhaps too much.

St. Patrick's day was a good time this year. Nothing wrong with a little Stereotyping O' the Irish. I volunteered to be the Designated Driver the day before and was told to meet up with my mates at 11 A.M. People familiar with my sleep schedule can recognize this as a classic Dick Move. So I was exhausted all day and ended up falling asleep at some ridiculous time for a drinking holiday, like 9 P.M or something. Embarrassing. Boy were my ears burning. I didn't even drive that much. But my mates got me a beer and some sort of authentic boar bratwurst that tasted like any ordinary hotdog (read: perfectly good) AND a badass shirt, so I certainly can't complain, or shouldn't anyway.

Now the same mates and I are engaged in a competition to stay sober and lose weight for thirty days. It's kind of like Super Size Me, only the exact opposite and not entertaining at all. We were supposed to have a collective bet on it, but I refuse to participate in that aspect because I am incredibly broke, and there isn't even an intelligent form of regulation for this. We're apparently basing it off of actual pounds lost, despite the fact that some of the contenders are clearly fatter. I think halfway through the competition I'll fake a breakdown and spend the rest of the time developing a taste for hard alcohol and fast food. In front of them.

Loudly.

Free Sister to Good Home OBO

People that know me become aware of two things.
1) My mothers house has too many cats.
2) Believe it or not, this isn't really her fault.

My mother loves cats. It is a cat household and has been since I was small. That's quite a long time. My sister is reponsible for the majority of the cats being at my mothers house, however. I'm not sure how it works exactly, but I bet it's something like

Sister acquires cat, falls in love with cat
Sister brings cat to mothers house, mother falls in love with cat
Sister decides to hate cat
Mother acquires cat

It's not an exact science. But my mother is okay with it. She loves those cats. I love the cats as well, but it is easier for me because I'm not often there. The problem now is my sister.

Earlier today, my sister found that somecat had taken the liberty to use her room as the bathroom. This isn't the first time it has happened and it probably won't be the last, although the issue had come under control. Her response? Put the accused cat on Craigslist. [technically] My cat.

Oh Hell no.

This is my cat. That is my mug. That was my tea.

I quickly visited my cat at his office and asked him about the situation. He (the cat) was both surprised and quite concerned regarding the incident and the action.

"What about my right to a trial?" My cat inquired.

"Such legalities do not apply to cats," I informed him. His ears went back at this information.

The two of us consulted further on the matter. What is the best way for everyone to be happy? What can be done to ensure my sisters happiness (clearly her prerogative) while preserving that of my mother, cats, and self?

It was then that we realized a potential answer lay right under our noses. So I have taken the liberty to offer my sister on Craigslist, in lieu of my cat. I don't know if the ad will last the 45 days, as I really tried to sweeten the deal. Tell your friends!

Real Simple is a stupid magazine

I am aware that, as a male, women's interest magazines are not going to hold any appeal to me. But I do like to cook, and my mother offered me one of the more recent volumes so I could check out the recipes inside. As I was leafing through the pages, I couldn't help but laugh out loud at how straight-up ridiculous some of their offers are. People that don't skim through this are actually missing out.

First and foremost, as of at least January 2011 (I know fashion travels fast), the 'Most Wearable Trend Right Now' is MODERN SAFARI. What the crap. I'm both disappointed and relieved that nobody appears to be doing that around here. Didn't Banana Republic start off doing that like thirty years ago and then stop, as nobody wanted to do that? It doesn't matter. I'd be way more interested if they accessorized a machete, pith helmet, and elephant gun.

Also, I have, wear, and enjoy expensive clothing. But when you title your magazine as 'Real Simple', I think it's misleading to almost exclusively promote overly expensive products. It's like their target market is a woman who is a housewife who happens to have no knowledge of personal finances. And a desire for a sixty-dollar non-electric juicer. That's niche marketing right there.

At any rate, I'm going to hotlink some particularly great pictures featuring an unhealthily skinny woman modeling clothes in a grocery store. I'll also give you the link.
Also, the photos were taken by Christopher Griffith. Remember that. Christopher Griffith shot these photos. Not me. They aren't mine. Christopher Griffith.

"Oh man, 117 calories? Guess I'll just have a half serving.. but I'm so tired, I have to sit on these cans."

"By not eating food, I have more money for clothes! Tee-hee!"

In this photo, she isn't saying anything. She's clearly weary from hunger and staring into the distance.

"I can't wait until I'm done with this shoot, so I can treat myself to a Fig Newton!"

"I have a shopping cart filled with fruit so I can make the most out of my sixty-dollar juicer."

In this one, she's either hot from all that modeling and needs to sit in the refrigerated section, or she's weak from hunger, because she doesn't eat. She might be trying to look attractive in a grocery store, but that option is a distant third. 

Crime is King

In this tiny desert of about 400,000 people, I estimate that there are at MOST seven police officers doing anything at any given time. And their priority target seems to be me, and my stupid garbage headlight.

Pretty much every time that I have sped, or in one case, followed too closely, the law has been quick, ready, and able to pull me over, lest I commit these crimes again. Currently, the new threat to everyones' safety is my headlight.

It's an electrical issue, and my Nissan Maximumcost has a tendency to pull my pants down over every problem/price that it gets. I don't have the money to try and get it fixed, so I figure that the only thing to do is wait until I can fix it. The police have reminded me no less than seven times about this.

I know that it's my job to get it fixed and all that, but what I'm getting at is that now whenever I drive anywhere, people are rocketing past me, blissfully aware that if there's going to be any police activity from the seven police officers, it's going to involve me and my stupid headlight. I'm almost positive that last time I got pulled over I got to see an entire limousine full of people drive by, firing pistols into the air, trying to hit half-full vodka bottles.

At any rate, if you ever decide to visit this place, feel free to speed.

Quiet disappointment

The following was written during class, as the first sentence quickly reveals.

Currently, in my IS class (the class that effectively spawned this blog), there is this girl who absolutely needs to text. It is CRITICAL to this girl that she text during class. It's interesting to me because I have absolutely no desire to talk to anyone before 1 PM, and this girl has an undeniable need at 11 in the morning.
(I am aware that 11 in the morning yields no emphasis to a lot of people. I don't care.)

The best thing about this text-addicted classmate is that she is doubtlessly the worst at hiding it. In the world. She moves her whole body to cocoon her obvious black iPhone 3g(s), and she stares/types for way, WAY longer then you should for secrecy, or really for any messaging other than transcribing The Great Gatsby or something. Which she totally wouldn't. Clifford the Big Red Dog, maybe.

At this point in my initial writing I mentioned something about how if you find a lecture particularly dull, and if texting isn't allowed and you don't like to write, you should just politely get absorbed in your own thoughts. A few hours of reflection on this idea, however, and I remembered that I've heard this girl speak (several times, really loudly, in class), and as such I bet getting lost in her thoughts is like a limbo or purgatorial state. I imagine it would be like walking in a straight line forever across a white sheet of paper populated with her crude drawings of dogs or something.

Cuss, she's doing it again. Incredible. If she were a spy, she'd be the one with the huge black trenchcoat and sunglasses, sitting on a bench, holding an upside-down copy of Highlights for Kids and looking right at you.

Be Concerned

It may be because I started watching The X-Files, but I have a high degree of certainty that the owners of the tiny Chinese food place near where I live are some form of extraterrestrial life.

It couldn't be like X-Files aliens, or Fire in the Sky, I'm talking about like Men in Black, or Third Rock From the Sun. Lighthearted and not too serious aliens just trying to eke out a living the best that they can, which happens to be operating a tiny Chinese restaurant in a tiny desert. I don't know how aliens think. Maybe this is a great deal for them. Maybe they come from a planet that is entirely like Mexico or something, I don't know.

Anyways,

I took this picture while everyone on the other side of the counter either scurried about with no visible purpose or were overtaken by their own thoughts. The real point here is the Sesame Street wrapping paper.

What the hell is the point of that? Seriously, any idea would be great. Why would you have anything in a clear display that you'd want to hide, and why would you think that a disgustingly colorful set of wrapping paper is the way to do it? Besides, you have to be able to see it over the counter, which is kind of a deterrent for any child right there.

I don't have anything against Sesame Street. I was a kid once. But every time I see that wrapping paper, I can't help but imagine some alien logic going into its placement. It's like the equivalent of a shirt that says 'I ♥ EARTH CULTURE'. It's so out of place it hurts. Hurts enough for me to write about it, anyway.

Fun Fact: This is not the only example of my 'Aliens run sub-par Chinese restaurants' deal. In fact, it's the lesser of the two examples. I literally remembered the other one and how much better evidence it would be in the middle of writing this, so I decided to leave and go get a picture of it. I ended up ordering food at the other offending establishment so as to not just waltz in there and photograph, and I returned home COMPLETELY FORGETTING what I had bothered to go there for in the first place. I literally ate Chinese food for two meals in the same day while hating on the restaurants that provided it. I'm human garbage.

But that Twice-Cooked Pork is the cat's pajamas.