The Best Day of the Year

Well, another Halloween has come and gone. This might be my favorite holiday of the year. But I think most people are biased towards their birthdays like that. Suffice to say I’m technically a year older, but I still don’t feel it. The number doesn’t really matter to me if I don’t feel it. I can’t help but wonder when I’ll reach that threshold though… I’m sure it’s different for everyone, but I am curious when I’ll reach that point where I go from excitement to dread of my date of birth. Not there yet.

As it is Halloween, there are a few things I’d like to discuss. First, let’s look at the art of pumpkin carving. In the years past, I’ve stuck to the standard, eyes, nose, mouth format. This is all well and good, but then last year, I came home and my sister had gotten a pumpkin carving kit, and put forth a pretty formidable effort. That memory carried with me all the way to this year. Though never having attempted such a carving before, I decided to go with a pattern that the experts deemed “difficult.”

As you can see, I was equal to the task. But, as the following picture shows, the pumpkin didn’t have much longevity. I went to bed, but apparently, Darth stayed up late partying and had one hell of a hangover the next morning. I was able to patch him back together with some toothpicks, but he just hasn’t been the same since.
On the flip side to that, as pleased as I was with my pumpkin, I was put to shame by my girlfriend. I used a pattern. She saw a picture on the internet that she liked and wanted to try and carve it. She had never attempted such a carve before, nor did she have any experience with the carving tools provided in the kit I had purchased. I will admit, when I saw the picture she wanted to recreate, I thought she had bitten off a little more than she could chew. I was proven wrong and was humbled. I will never underestimate her again. She is amazingly creative and extremely talented. (did I mention she’s also gorgeous? Well, she is.)

Impressive, no? I was told by my sister’s sister-in-law (I don’t know what my relation is to her, but for now we’ll call her my SSIL) that my pumpkin sucked compared to hers. Then she heard how I made mine and how my girlfriend made hers and I was further told that I shouldn’t procreate… I thought that was a little harsh…

At any rate, that was the most fun I’ve had carving pumpkins in a long, long time. I’m looking forward to next year. And I can’t confirm anything right now, but I may try and convince my family that pumpkin carving is also a Thanksgiving and Christmas tradition.

Slightly related story/question for the ladies… begin story - I was driving to the pumpkin patch with my girlfriend the other day and we passed a house where there was a man and a woman out front doing some yard work. The man was sweeping some stuff up and the woman was mowing the lawn. I had to do a double take, but once I visually confirmed it, I asked my girlfriend, “Did you see that lady mowing the lawn?” and she replied, “No, why?” I said, “Look again, do you see what she’s wearing?” and she said, “Yeah, really short shorts.” To which I prodded, “No, look lower…” And my girlfriend said, “Oh my god, she’s wearing heels?!!?” - end story. Question for the ladies: At what point do those four inch heels get tossed out of the regular nice-outfit rotation and get relegated to yard work duties?

And lastly, it seems like every day I’m finding something new out about our youth and being more and more disappointed. Today’s kids have an unbelievable sense of entitlement. They believe they deserve everything and shouldn’t have to work for anything. They are becoming more aggressive about it as the days go by. I realized just how far things have gotten out of hand when the trick or treaters came around this evening. A little less than half of the kids were well mannered. They came and said, “trick or treat?” as is customary, and I gave them the treat because I’m all full of tricks for now. But the majority of the kids didn’t even speak to me, they just held out their sacks and expected me to fill it up. There was even one kid (probably 8 or 9 years old) that came up to the door with his mother. He had a pudding snack in one hand, a spoon in the other, and an unreasonable amount of chocolate pudding all over his face. His mother said trick or treat and held out the candy bucket while he continued to lick the spoon clean. I almost didn’t want to give up the candy, but if his mother spoils him that much, she’s probably very mean to people that aren’t nice to her son, so I figured I’d let this one slide. You have to pick your battles. (did I mention the kid was probably 8 or 9?) I was ok with most of this though because I remember what it was like when I was a kid. I got sick of people asking me who I was supposed to be (specially when I wore my care bear outfit. Who doesn’t know what a care bear is? Criminy!).

My mistake came when I ran out of candy. I did what anyone would do, I blew out the candles on the pumpkins and turned off the porch light, the universal Halloween sign for “I’m either out of candy, or I didn’t have any in the first place, please don’t knock on my door.” But undeterred, kids continued to walk up to the door and repeatedly knock until I answered. Now mind you, I didn’t have any fancy decoration set up to make the place look like it was supposed to be dark and haunted. All I had were the carved pumpkins. I told a few waves of trick or treaters that I was out of candy and that I was sorry, but I felt terrible doing so. I decided that for the next group, I wouldn’t answer the door at all. This is when I learned that today’s youth simply doesn’t take no for an answer. And they are bold. After four attempts at knocking, one of the kids just turned the knob and OPENED THE DOOR! I suppose I should have locked the door but seriously? Opening a stranger’s door? I do not know these kids, they do not live on my street. Who does that?? I’m baffled by this one… I can’t fathom this ever happening when I was a kid. Times have really changed… no word yet on if it’s for the better.

Halloween Eve…

I think enough time has passed so that I can now comment on my office Halloween party without throwing a large, heavy object through the nearest window. At this point in the post, you may have noticed that today is October 30th and that I’m talking about our office party in the past tense. A couple of thoughts may be running through your head, like, “Office Halloween party? But it’s only the 30th. Halloween isn’t until the 31st.” or, “He must be talking about last year’s party, because Halloween is on the 31st, and today is only the 30th.” Or, even more likely, “I can’t believe all of the Christmas stuff is already up in the stores. Can’t we at least have Halloween first?”

Whatever your thought process, these are the facts: I’m talking about this year’s, 2006, Halloween party. In my office, it has already happened, and the party occurred on Friday, the 27th from 3 to 4 pm. There was a hay ride for the kids, as well as some decent candy being handed out. Most of that candy was eaten by some inconsiderate adults.

We’ll also be celebrating Christmas on January 14th, 2007 and New Year’s has been pushed back to mid March. See, where I work, when a holiday that has been celebrated for hundreds, if not thousands, of years falls on an inconvenient day, we just move it to whatever day works better for our industry. We’re the number 3 XXXXX (edited for content) company in the country, so we have that kind of power.

I did not dress up this year for the second year in a row. This is because for the second year in a row, we have moved Halloween to accommodate work. I’m against this, and in protest, I refuse to defend my title of “Most Entertaining Costume,” for which I was awarded a sort of crappy fruit basket and a $5 gift certificate to Target. My parents were very proud.

I guess what I want to know is, am I the only one that thinks we should celebrate Halloween ON Halloween??? I’ve heard of places where they force the kids to trick or treat on the Sunday right before Halloween between the hours of 3pm and 5pm, when it’s not even dark yet?!!?!?! Is this kind of nonsense and chicanery actually being practiced? Will the good people of this country actually pay me money to protest that sort of behavior? Is there some private financier that will give me an unusually large bank account to draw on to support myself and possibly a family while I campaign against these Halloween travesties? Hmmm… yeah, the more I think about it, the more I think there probably isn’t anyone willing to support me like that… but there should be! This has got to stop.

Am I biased? Of course.

Seriously though, my costume was pretty sweet…

Should have seen that one coming.

To be clear, yesterday’s dental extravaganza only took about 20 minutes. It was 7:40 am and I was ready to move forward with some more excitement. In a little less than one week, my driver’s license will expire. In light of this, the Department of Motor Vehicles has taken the time to inform me via regular mail that I must come down to the DMV, pay them money, then take a written test to prove that I still have what it takes to pilot a four wheeled, non-commercial vehicle.

I arrived at the DMV about 10 minutes before 8. There was already a line outside. Awesome, I thought. I was afraid I’d get done with this quickly and be able to sit in traffic sooner rather than later on my way to work. (by the way, it’s a little known fact that if I leave my house at 7:00 am, I can get to work by 7:40. But if I leave at 7:10 am, I’m lucky to get there by 8:15. Math was never my strong suit, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t add up quite right. If I leave at 8:30, well, I’m just going to be late, there’s no way around it.) The doors opened promptly at 8 and all of us happy-to-be-at-the-DMV-before-8-am people cheerfully walked inside.

I’m not sure how they’re handling the DMV situation in other states, but they seem to be working out the kinks here in CA, or at least in my county. Now, everyone gets funneled through the information desk, and depending on your business and appointment status (either you have one or you don’t), you are given a number and told to wait until that number is called. It seems to me to be a fairly efficient way to move people through the line. Rather than have everyone actually stand and get more and more annoyed by the one lady who has no real information regarding her car’s license plate number, her driver’s license number or even her home address, but is convinced that she absolutely, positively needs to get some sort of misunderstanding taken care of here at the DMV, we can all just sit down, relax and stare at the keno like screen for our number to pop up, at which point we feel like we’ve won something and are more than happy to go to the window to collect our prize.

I drew G004. I immediately felt like I had a winner in my hands. And after they called F001 5 times without anyone jumping up to claim victory, I was proven right. In order to claim my prize, a series of death defying tests would be required of me.

First, with only the use of my eyes, I was made to read 6, somewhat small letters on a chart nearly 10 feet away. Once with both eyes, and again with just my left eye, then with just my right. I was yelled at when I used only my fingers to cover my right eye, not my entire palm. I only made that mistake once. After I passed this daunting task, I was shipped off to the other side of the building where my thumbprint and a picture of my face were taken. I assumed these would be used for identification purposes if I failed the next test and was never seen nor heard from again.

Once the ID work was taken care of (and I can assure you, I looked spectacular in the photo. I’ve shaved as recently as 3 weeks ago, and rather than use product in my hair, I simply wore a hat most of the morning.), I was handed two written tests to complete. I had been prepared for one, but not for two. (and by prepared, I mean I knew the test was coming, I certainly didn’t study for it. I didn’t study for any of my tests in college, and I wasn’t going to start now.) That’s when I was reminded that my license doesn’t just say that I have a class C license, it also states that I have a class M1 license. That, ladies and gentleman, is for my motorcycle license. I was taken aback. But I remained calm as ever on the outside. I hadn’t taken the written driving test in over a decade, but the motorcycle one I had taken about 4 and a half years ago, so I figured that would be the easier of the two.

In retrospect, I probably should have spent more time in answering all of the questions. 5 minutes seemed a bit fast for the 43 combined questions. That means I spent an average of just under 7 seconds per question. And I know for a fact that I spent more than that on some, so there must have been a few that I didn’t even read…

I passed the driving portion without any problems, but on the motorcycle portion, which was twice as long, I missed 8 questions. You’re only allowed to miss 4. I can retake the test as many times as I want for the next year, so I’m not really that worried about it, but I do feel it necessary to show you what kinds of questions I missed. Check out the following picture.

The correct answer has the red slash through it. I have not photoshopped this at all. You tell me, does that answer seem like prudent riding to you given the picture? Was my answer really wrong?

In the mean time, I can still drive a car. I have an impossible to counterfeit piece of paper that says so. Unfortunately, when my new license comes, it will have “LOSER” stamped across my face until I can pass that motorcycle test. In the mean time, my girlfriend, mother and one of my sisters, couldn’t be happier about my illegal motorcycle status. But the jokes on them because I haven’t even ridden my motorcycle in over 2 and a half years! Ha ha!!

After that, I went to work, sucked at my job, stayed late to make up the hour and a half I was late, came home, posted (what? Yeah, I have this blog… sometimes I post.) and called it a day.

Ok, that’s two posts in two days… I’m starting to wheeze… that’s not normal… typing shouldn’t make you wheeze…

Starting off right

I woke up this morning with and insatiable urge to be gagging on something. This is a bit of a rarity, as I usually prefer not to be gagging on anything. Fortunately for me, today was the day the dentist was planning on taking impressions of my teeth to fit me for a new mouth guard. Long time readers know that awhile back, my dentist recommended a mouth guard for all the teeth grinding I do in my sleep. Previously, the $302 price tag had deterred me from pursuing this otherwise enticing endeavor. I mean, who doesn’t want to shove a custom fit piece of plastic in their mouth before going to bed? I’ve been getting by on packing tape in the mean time, but as I understand it, it’s just not the same.

Approximately one week ago, I woke up and found that I was unable to completely close my jaw and grind my teeth. You may not realize this at first, but when it comes to chewing food, grinding your teeth is precisely what you need to be doing. I wasn’t in any pain, so I shook it off for two days before the annoyance became too much to bear. I met with my dentist who took approximately 35 seconds to decide that I needed to see an oral surgeon. He did seem to think that this was a direct result of not having a mouth guard though, so we made the appointment for today based on the assumption that in the future, I would like to be able to chew solid food on a regular basis.

The appointment wit the oral surgeon was almost twice as long as the one with my dentist as he is a specialist in this sort of thing and consequently much more thorough. He basically called me a sissy and came just shy of actually kicking me in the groin. I was instructed not to eat anything denser than hamburger meat and not open my mouth too wide for then next couple of weeks. That should cure me. He also scheduled a follow up appointment in two weeks so that he could have time to invite all of his colleges into town so that they could all gather around and laugh at my simpleton antics as I explain how I was unable to fully clench my jaw. He said something about a video camera and possible a bloopers show for Maxillofacial Surgeons… whatever that means… My oral surgeon had a unibrow. I’m not really sure how that’s relevant, but now you know.

Back to today… My appointment was at 7:20 am, so already I knew I was going to have an amazing start to the day. I got there early because I simply could not wait to have impressions of my teeth taken. It was like Christmas morning, the first day of school, a first date and an unscheduled chubby bunny contest, all rolled into one. I was sitting in the waiting room ready to be called, watching the seconds slowly tick by. When they finally did call my name, I all but skipped into the back room and quickly seated my self on the hydraulic dental chair of joy.

My dentist’s office has monitors in all of the rooms that are all showing the same movie to give the patients something to watch while their mouth is being excavated. I’ve often found myself in a movie theater and briefly thought, “I’m so engrossed in this movie that I could easily have a dental hygienist’s hands fully in my mouth, just prodding away at my gums with some obscenely sharp device and not even notice.” But then I immediately become skeptical of my own engrossment level due to the fact that I just had a passing thought of being in a dentist’s office while I’m supposed to be enjoying the movie.

Regardless of my painfully distracting movie theater thoughts, the fact remains that my dentist has TV monitors in all of the rooms. It was the beginning of the day, so the movie was just starting. I’m going to avoid all the pun potential here and just tell you that “Just My Luck,” the soon to be classic Lindsay Lohan masterpiece, was the order of the day. Having somehow missed this one in the theaters, I was pleasantly surprised that while my teeth were being duplicated with a hopefully non-toxic substance, my eyes and ears would be privy to a visual and audible feast of another fine Lohan production. I’m fairly confident that future generations will regard Lindsay as The finest actress of this century. I’d even go so far as to say the whole craft of being an actress will become synonymous with the name Lindsay Lohan. People will say absurd things like; “did you see that new movie about the bank robbery?” “Yeah, the lead Lindsay Lohan in that was great. She really knows how to Lindsay (in this, the more absurd of the two sentences, “Lindsay” means “act.”).”

The first part of getting dental impressions is figuring out which size metal tray to use. Based on my experience this morning, my best guess is that they find out which tray will barely fit inside your mouth, then find one three sizes larger than that to use for the procedure. The hygienist set about mixing the chemicals while I settled in to watch the cinematic eye candy. I feel it necessary to mention that before the hygienist started working with all of the materials that would later find their way inside my mouth, she made sure that she put on gloves, a facemask and a visor. I’m always skeptical of any procedure that involves direct contact with something that the doctors themselves wear lots of protective clothing before even going near it. No matter, I was quickly wrapped up in the adventures of the lucky Lohan.

Just as the world of Ashley Albright was beginning to take hold in my mind, the hygienist turned to me and said, “Open.” As I did this, she shoved in the first tray of gelatinous goop. When it’s first placed inside the mouth, it has the consistency of yogurt, and almost none of the flavor. When the upper teeth are being done, this is where the gagging fun begins. At first, you’ve just got this yogurt like substance in your mouth, so instinctively you want to swallow, but you can’t. As time passes, the substance begins to harden and really trigger the gag reflex inside all of us. It’s a truly magical feeling, and I hope everyone gets to enjoy it some day. Supposedly the tray was in my mouth for about 2 minutes, but my internal clock registered somewhere between 7 and 9 days. Although, I can’t really be sure because no one had a stopwatch with them at the time.

Once the hygienist was satisfied that the substance had hardened enough and would be a usable mold, she went about removing it from my mouth. It turns out this was not as pleasant as when she first put it in. The pulling that ensued in order to remove the mold from my mouth, left me provided me with the time to contemplate the following thoughts:

1. I need to do more neck exercises.
2. I wonder if they can make dentures from this mold?
3. Would I really want dentures that look like my current teeth?
4. I wonder what mischief Lindsay has gotten herself into this time…
5. Is that crowbar really necessary?

From there, they did the lower teeth, and then made me bite down on some special green cloth or something to record my exact bite. I assume that was for a trophy case somewhere in the doctor’s office. After that, I was free to go.

That fairly well cured me of my desire to gag on something, so overall, I’d have to say that I was happy with the way things went. Now, I only have to wait two short weeks before they give me my custom made, bedtime, chew toy. I’m already crossing off the days on my calendar. I’ve crossed off 3 so far. A lot of people wait until the end of the day to cross it off the calendar when counting down for something. I do that myself, but that’s for things that I’m not really excited about. This is different. I crossed off today right away for obvious reasons, then I crossed off tomorrow because I’m practically there already. Thursday got the X because Thursdays almost always fly by. Tomorrow I’ll probably knock off Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The weekends don’t count because I don’t work and won’t be there to cross them off anyway, and Friday might as well be the weekend considering how hard I usually work on those days.

For a lot of people, this is where the fun would end, but not for me. I know how to pack in as much of a good time as anyone, but I know I’m going to get some complaints about the length of this post, so I’ll stop this for now. Stay tuned for what happened after I left the dentist’s office. Maybe I’ll post about it tomorrow, maybe I’ll post about it next month… you never know with me.

Meme Time

There is a long and storied past to how memes are handled on the Shuck N Jive. So long and storied that I’d rather not get into it. My life is filled with so much more important things to do, no the least of which is convincing the few remaining readers that I have on this blog that I am still blogging. You’d think the easy way to do that would be to post more, but I’ve never been one to do things the easy way. Cadiz12 tagged me with this one, so you know there was pretty much no getting out of it. This meme involves the following: Grab the closest book (this was no easy task, I had to bust out the measuring tape and bring in three unbiased judges to confirm which book was, in fact, the closest. The streets were literally paved with biased judges, so it took me the better part of the weekend to find 3 who couldn’t give a crap one way or the other.) turn to page 123, go down to the 5^th sentence and post the next 3 sentences along with the name of the book and the author. Then tag 3 people.

Before I begin, I’d like to ask that each person that leaves a comment on this post explain how and why they pronounce “meme.” I’m having some trouble with this one. I’ll let you know what the 2.71 cumulative GPA, BA in English thinks after I’ve seen a few responses. Then I’ll also let you know exactly how many grammatical errors there were in that last sentence.

Ok, here’s what you’ve been waiting for… (I’d like to request that everyone find a couple of pens or pencils in the nearby area and simulate some sort of a drum roll. Don’t worry about whether or not it will annoy anyone around you; just tell them I said it was ok. They won’t know who I am, but perhaps they’ll keep their mouths shut for fear of looking stupid because they don’t know who I am.)

With the exception of a chiropractor’s office, all of my jobs were residential, apartments and lofts I visited once a week or once every other week. The owners were usually off at work, and on the few occasions that they were home they tried to make themselves as unobtrusive as possible, acting as though it were my apartment and they were just guests.

One such client was a claims adjuster in his mid-sixties.

-Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris.

Ok, so that caught me between paragraphs, but the meme was pretty specific. I should also say that I was not yet at this page in the book, so it’s totally been ruined for me. Thanks, this was a great meme.

I also have a certain reputation to maintain when it comes to tagging on the memes. So I’ll go ahead and kill this one too. Unless, of course, someone really wants to do it. I know how it can be. Sometimes you’ve just got this killer book within arms reach and you can’t wait to point out to the internet that you’re reading it. So for you people, go for it. Knock yourselves out. I tag you in the name of the Society of Literary Braggarts.

Sacrilege to follow…

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not coffee cake, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not coffee cake, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not coffee cake, I gain nothing.

Coffee cake is patient, coffee cake is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Coffee cake does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Coffee cake never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and coffee cake. But the greatest of these is coffee cake.

A big Thank You goes out to my mom for making this most delicious treat :)

Let’s talk about Trust

There’s been a lot of talk lately about the reliability of the news providers lately. We here at the Shuck N Jive take no exception to the reliability and trustworthiness of our news. That is why we have gone and sought out what we believe to be someone we can trust. We’re proud to announce that we have found such a media outlet, and we fully support it. We are also not selfish here at the Shuck N Jive, so without further, nonsensical, blathering and delay, click here or here to check it out.

Email me some world domination

The “D” is for Danger

Due to the legality of possibly jinxing my team, I have previously been unable to mention this year’s summer league. As of last night, we completed a perfect 6-0 summer season. Yes, there were some close calls along the way, and there were a few mercy rule games, but in the end, we remained undefeated.

It didn’t come easy. We battled through injuries and flakes. We played some good teams and some bad. But most importantly, we played for free because the company picked up the tab.*

It’s not easy to win every game of the season. You rarely see it in professional sports, and at this level, it’s almost impossible. We aren’t saddled with the burden of playing to make money. We’re all out here for the love of it, which makes it ten times more competitive then you’ll ever see in the pros**. When you see a 450 lbs man try and leg out a slow grounder to the pitcher, you know that it’s done out of love, not for a paycheck.

We have one week off, then it’s on to the fall season. As always, there will be some turnover in player personnel. I think we have the makings of a dynasty here. I believe the core of the team will remain intact as they are all still under contract and what with the perfect season and all, it’s hard to see anyone demanding a trade. But there’s still some fat to trim. That one guy, who never came to a single game and was actually fired from the company midway through the season? Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be resigned.

* The author had no intention of making this paragraph rhyme, it just worked out that way.

** This statement is most likely false as there was no research done on this topic. Often times the author makes up “truths” in his head and sees little reason to verify such obviously idiotic claims.

The New Look for Summer 2006

After cracking triple digits for the 2nd week in a row, I felt it was time to take action. I needed to cut my hair. It’s been well documented that shaving as little as one inch of hair off the top of your head can cool you down approximately 10 degrees. I went the extra mile and cut off an inch and a half. It wasn’t a hard decision. Just knowing that everyone else would be sweating it out at 100 degrees and I, with my new do, would be chilling at a very acceptable 85 degrees, was all the motivation I needed. (also, the fact that I’ve shaved my head several dozen time in my life already, didn’t hurt)

I’ve never been one to pay for this sort of activity (ok, I did that one time, but I had a sprained ankle, and I think we’re all acutely aware of how important good ankle support is when you’re cutting your own hair with some clippers. I’m not proud of it. In retrospect, I really think I should have gutted it out and just clipped through the injury, but what’s done is done and there’s no taking it back.) so I grabbed my trusty clippers from their secret location in the closet, (damn it!! I just gave away the super secret location!! Why did I have to fall asleep during the backspace key lesson in typing class??!?!?) oiled them up and got to work.

I’ve spent the last decade perfecting a technique I call, “just randomly shave everywhere for 10 minutes until you think you’ve got everything, check the mirror, realize you totally missed half of your head, then repeat.” Only one, short hour later, I was done. Or so I thought. See Exhibit A.

EXHIBIT A:

This little guy could not be beaten. As I’m sure you can tell, there were a few others that were severely wounded, but none defied the death of the clippers more than this guy. I first caught a glimpse of him in my rear view mirror on the drive to work. At first I was like, “What the F…?!?!?!?” and I nearly swerved off the road and into a gaggle of geese, but I was promptly corrected back onto the road by a fortuitously high curb. This correction, however, was short lived. Bystanders that witnessed this particular maneuver might be inclined to say that I “over-corrected.” This would explain why I quickly found myself on the opposite side of the road competing with oncoming traffic. Right about that moment is when my body was able to create some new sounds that were emitted out of my mouth, of which I had previously been unaware even existed. I can’t really explain what happened next. Partially because my vocabulary is lacking the proper adjectives, and partially because I was distracted by what I believe to be a diamond studded pair of shoes on the feet of a small toddler, which came across very eerily as I had Paul Simon’s “Diamonds on the soles of her shoes” blasting on the radio.

After approximately 10 minutes of zigzagging through oncoming traffic while listening to more Paul Simon (I had the cd on random, and I have to be honest with you, when you’re battling against on coming traffic, trying to save your life, “Rene and Georgette Magritte with their dog after the war” and “Slip Slidin’ Away” are not the most ideal songs to help you through that time), I was finally able to return to the proper side of the road and make my way to work. I totally forgot about the hair until probably the middle of the next day when an ever so slight breeze caught hold of it and made me freak out because I momentarily believed I was being attacked by a very small, yet extremely dangerous, spider. But I quickly remembered the previous days near miss with the geese and had a little chuckle over the whole situation.

At this point, I could no longer bring myself to cut the hair. We had been through entirely too much together. I’m also convinced that piece of hair is the strongest part of my body and to cut it would bring about Sampson like consequences. Frankly, I’m just not prepared for that. Not until I perfect my invulnerability suit anyway… It’s coming along, but we’ve still got a ways to go with it. The current model is only rated to stop a reasonably forceful spitball. I’m not willing to put it into production until we can crank that rating up to a meteorite. I fully expect a lot of meteorites to hit the earth in the coming years, so I’d really like to corner that market before it gets too late. I’ve already printed up boxes with the slogan, “Protecting frail humans from meteorites for over a decade” on them, so I’m pretty invested in this.

Of course, there is a downside to not cutting the hair. When people say, “Hey Jon, I see you cut your hair. Looks pretty questionable, I hope you didn’t pay a lot for it.” I can no longer quip back, “Actually, I cut all of my hairs!” followed by a knee slap and a cackle. This is, admittedly, an enormous sacrifice.