floorpie

On my early mornings, I observe my neighbors’ rituals.

The family living downstairs is comprised of a young mom and dad, and their extremely cute little boy (maybe 2-3 years old). Every morning, dad takes junior out for a spin on his tricycle around the apartment complex before going off to work. Junior squeals with delight and gusto, and dad smiles happily as he shares a scant few moments with his progeny.

My next door neighbor is a young guy, about my age, who either lives with, or sees a lot of, his girlfriend. Every morning, Joe takes his dog downstairs and around the apartment complex before going off to school. The dog runs happily along, and Joe smiles bemusedly as he shares a scant few moments with his beloved pet.

cough cough

Every so often I randomly post about TV shows from back in the day. I inexplicably put up a picture from the series, lyrics to the theme music, and good times are had by all. and yes, I usually do this when I’m hard-up for blog ideas, how’d you guess?

I was watching the greatest show on television (MASH) today, and was wishing it had a lyrical theme song; when, I got to thinking about the obligatory femme fatale: Hot Lips Houlihan.

Let me first reitereate: Greatest. Show. On. Television. I could watch it everyday for the rest of my life. I don’t know why, and frankly I don’t care, but I swear every time I watch it, I’m in Korea (or more correctly, the Hollywood hills). Sure there have only been about 3 instances where a black soldier strolled by in the background, but, at least the asian population is represented, and that’s better than 90% of the shows on television, right?

Anyway, the camp infatuation is Hot Lips. I can understand the attraction, of course: stranded in a foreign country, away from your wife, surrounded by death and destruction; and, here comes this incredibly abrassive, frizzy-haired, olive drab garbed woman, that wants nothing to do with anyone. Love at first sight. Nevertheless, it occurs to me: Hot Lips ain’t that hot.

I can’t help thinking MASH missed the boat when it came to the show’s sex symbol, especially when the camp was crawling with bit-player nurses who were obviously aspiring actress/models. What’s more, the televiosn climate of the time had many other gorgeous leading ladies in similar time slots. The mind boggles.

So, I propose a vote. Please see the contestants below, which represent Major Houlihan and my main crushes from back in the day, and choose accordingly. I think you will agree that MASH could have done better.

The Contestants:

Vote for only one:

Holy crap The Osbournes rocks! Best show on television. Seriously.

Seeing Ozzy struggle with his satellite TV, mingled with him picking up a ringing cell-phone like it’s made of crystal, mingled with him putting a bayonet on his gun, mingled with everyone cussing at each other in a fervor, and and and *breathe*. So funny. So compelling. So good.

Ozzy to his son Jack (in awesome quavering English accent): “You ‘ave to understan where I’m comin from. I love oo all. I love oo mo’ than life iself…but you’re all fuckin mad!”

Not funny-insane, insane-insane

I do not understand the insanity plea. I never have. An explanation for a behaviour is not, in my opinion, a justification for it.

Take the Yates case, in which a mother (and I use the term loosely), drowned her five kids, one after the other, in order to save them from going to hell. I think the idea being that they should die now while they were still pure, instead of risking the corruption of being raised by the self-deprecating mom who new she would only lead them down the wrong path. Or something.

There is absolutely no question that this woman is fucking insane.

But, so what? That means she gets to throw her Get Out of Jail Free card, and literally get out of jail…free? Granted, she will probably spend the rest of her days under observation in an asylum somewhere, which is no kind of life; but that, to me, is a punishment that decidedly does not fit the crime.

I am more aligned with the credo of my man Hammurabi, where if you steal my goat, I get yours. Although I personally am against unnecessary violence and would change “an eye for an eye” to “an eye for imprisonment and heavy public embarrassment” or the like. Either way, I feel that every person is responsible for their actions, no matter how pre-meditated, accidental, or colored by mental deficiency. I am a firm believer that you need to stand up and take what life has dealt you, because that is the honorable thing to do. If my car blows a tire and I inadvertently plow into a bus-stop full of people, I do not deserve to just walk away guiltless. Yes, it was an accident, but nevertheless, there is still the matter of all these dead people.

What do you think?

Updated the plates section with half-a-dozen submissions from some guy named Dave, and another from here.

Like the Earth being round theory, my plates project is a venture that’s not yet caught on in the general public, as I’m still the number one creator. (hint, hint)

I cut my tunafish sandwich into quarters at lunch today. Keep in mind that I am an unemployed engineer living alone. You’d be lucky enough to see me use a plate, let alone cut my sandwhich into anything. Yet, today I did as my mom always did and made near-perfect little squares of my meager sustenance.

Granted, I still ate said sandwich on the floor in front of the TV; so at least I haven’t lost all of my identity.

Guy Secret #2

One of a guy’s greatest fears (next to male pattern baldness and an irrational phobia of potpourri) is getting an erection at an inopportune time. Within this fear are two subsets based on location:

.:Getting an erection in the locker room

.:Getting an erection at the doctor’s office

The locker room problem largely takes care of itself, as the usual etiquette is an I-don’t-see-anything-if-you-don’t type of attitude. In fact, if you blindfolded a guy, spun him around 10 times, and then plopped him down in the middle of his usual gym locker room, 9 times out of 10 he’ll have no idea where he is because he’s only seen the place from the perspective of the three foot radius around his feet. This, coupled with the astounding suppression capabilities of today’s modern undergarments, pretty much keeps this issue under wraps.

The doctor’s office dilemma, however, is a whole other animal.

In this case, options must be considered, and weighed relatively based on their merits, or lack thereof.

As most men know, erections do not always necessarily involve sexual arousal. Often they are the result of some cosmic roulette, over which we have no control. You’ll be walking the aisles of the grocery store, mentally ticking off items whilst looking for the Cocoa Puffs when suddenly, “OK, baking goods and spices, no, umm, international foods, canned vegetables and fruits, no, no, ah cereal…oh waitaminute, what’s this?!” Sometimes these things just happen for no particular reason, and you therefore have to consider the environment in which you may potentially be in.

Case 1: The female doctor

Whether attractive or not, getting the high hard one while being examined by a female doctor is paramount to that recurring nightmare of showing up to school inexplicably naked. There is absolutely nothing you can do in this case to save face or life-long embarrassment. If this ever happens to you, you will move to another town, change your name, and preferably take on a foreign language as your primary one. Never, ever, go to a female doctor (Note: you may edit accordingly if your attractions lie with the same sex. This is only my best guess, however, and I welcome debate on the subject from those with more, ahem, first-hand, experience).

Case 2: The male doctor

This is even worse than case 1. I know what you’re thinking, “How is this possible? Case 1 is horrible. I wonder if I have any popcorn?” (I told you I knew what you were thinking.) The only known recourse to getting an erection in front of a male doctor is suici…killing him. Of course, I cannot recommend this, but if you know a better way, I would be more than welcome to hear it.

Case 3: The male doctor with the pretty female intern who is in to “just observe” the procedure from over the doctor’s shoulder as you pull down your pants and reveal your hormonically raging, testosterone driven, 15 year old, twigs and berries to your absolute horror as you get the physical required for God knows what reason and you can’t believe your mom dragged you to the doctor’s office for this to happen and please please please let there be a power outage right NOW…damn!

Err, never mind

To continue, when considering between Cases 1 & 2, you are inexorably drawn towards Case 2. Although the results would be far worse should the unthinkable happen, you bank on there being less of a chance for arousal, and then hope for the best. Unfortunately, medical technology has not yet progressed far enough to guarantee flaccidity in all cases, which means there is always a certain amount of luck involved. There are, however, a few things you can do to swing the odds in your favor.

– Two words: Janet Reno

– Two more words: Margaret Thatcher

– Injure yourself elsewhere really really badly. If the pain itself doesn’t distract you enough, hopefully the loss of blood will keep your body from allowing it to flow, err, elsewhere

– Never ever go to the doctor. That swelling is normal.

So, I hope this has helped you guys out there in making your own decisions on this important matter; not to mention you ladies who were always wondering why your little brother always seemed so full of anxiety over a routine check-up. Remember, only you can prevent forest-fires. Thank you and goodnight!

My latest Mirror Project submission.

I learned what “too good to be true” really means this morning, and, I am astounded at my mature reaction to it.

Update

Never mind (mostly), my mistake. Move along, nothing to see here. Turns out I didn’t learn anything after all, and I’ve never been more pleased to be ignorant.

insomnia