When Good Chickens Go Bad

The stories about my new apartment are plentiful. I enjoy sharing them with you all, so here’s another.

A little over a week ago, I was sitting on my couch watching TV. I glanced up for a second and noticed a crack in the ceiling. Is that new? I wondered. Has that always been there? I totally forgot, so I moved on.

A few minutes later, the wife and I were preparing to go out to see a movie. I was in another room when I heard her say, “Why is the light fixture brown? What is that?”

I came into the dining room area and looked at the light fixture. It’s a fixture that has three globes with a light bulb in each globe. One globe had a brown line in it – a brown line that was not there earlier in the day.

So she grabbed a ladder and took off the globe. Water. The globe was filled with brown water.

“Sick!” we both yelled. What the hell? We both freaked out – we had no idea where the water came from or why it was in our light fixture or why we weren’t being electrocuted right then and there for touching the globe. She put the globe in the sink while I called maintenance. They promised to send someone right over.

I then ran upstairs to see if our neighbor living directly over us noticed a leak. Until then, we knew nothing of our upstairs neighbors except that the way they walked around made it sound like a small army of sumo wrestlers lived up there with them.

I knocked on their door. Suddenly, I entered an episode of COPS! as a shirtless man answered the door. He fit the mold of how large I had thought our upstairs neighbors were in comparison to the ratio of noise and floor-creaking when they walked around.

“Um, hi, I’m your downstairs neighbor.”

“Uhn,” he grunted, not seeming excited about knowing a new neighbor, nor introducing himself. So much for my hopes that they might bring us down a “Welcome New Neighbors!” cake or casserole.

“Okay, um, did you notice any leaks in your apartment? Because we just had a light fixture fill with water?”

“Nope,” he grunted.

That ended the conversation.

I ran back downstairs to wait for our emergency maintenance folks to arrive.

An hour later, there came a knock at the door. Maintenance had arrived. The guy walked in, we showed him our new crack and the globe o’ water. He went upstairs to see if they’d had a leak. Of course, the upstairs neighbor wasn’t there.

So the maintenance guy told us it’s probably the neighbor’s washing machine leaking. He said he’d contact the neighbor the next day (Monday), make any needed repairs then, and let us know how it went.

Monday evening rolls around. I ask the wife if she’d heard anything. She said no.

We both go upstairs to ask the neighbor. Fortunately he was wearing a shirt this time.

“Hi, did maintenance stop by your place today?” we asked.

“Oh yeah, they did. Turns out I was just defrosting a chicken and it got a little out of hand,” he replied.

The wife and I responded with blank stares. How do you respond to a statement like that? So many questions pop into one’s head when given that line. Here they are, in no particular order because they’re all so closely related and involve the same amount of exasperation.

#1- How the frick were you defrosting a chicken that it caused a minor flood into our apartment?!

#2- How big was the chicken you were defrosting?!

#3- Did you just happen to forget about your freak chicken defrosting accident when I asked you last night if you noticed any leaks in your apartment?!

#4- What the $^&!?

#5- No, really, what the $*(&?

But, what we said was:
“O-okay.”

We then went back downstairs. I began thinking that I was just being supplied with these experiences because someone really enjoyed hearing about the weird-ass places I’ve lived in.

The next day at work, because the day before I had told my coworkers about our minor flooding, I had to explain to them what had caused it.

They’re still laughing. And so am I.

The Holy Land of Furniture

scroll down to see previous installments of My Move-in Stories

Friday, March 12: Mom, aka Grandmaster Decorator, arrived at 8am.

A fury of unpacking ensued. We were like machines -- boxes and newspaper and bubble wrap were flying about as dishes, clothing, books and everything else were being thrown into place.

At noon we stopped and looked around. It was like a U-Haul war-zone, but things were almost completely unpacked.

"It's time to shop," said Grandmaster Decorator Mom. We nodded.

We decided to go to Ikea, which is Swedish for "The Holy Land of Furniture." My mom had never heard of Ikea before, and none of us had ever been there. The wife and I had only ever heard about the wonders of Ikea. So we made the drive down to College Park, teaching my mom the correct way to pronounce 'Ikea' and listening to me talk to no one in particular about "Well, let's see if those crazy Swedes can dazzle us."

It's hard to miss an Ikea, as it is a huge display of Swedish nationalism. The gigantic store is painted screaming blue, with yellow stripes and "Ikea" in huge yellow letters. There are rows of flagpoles with the Swedish flag (the old yellow n blue) waving proudly. When we arrived at Ick-ee-ay ("No, mom, it's Eye-keee-uh"), we were amazed by the grand splendor one could make a furniture store into.

"Those crazy Swedes, they sure know how to make an entrance," I said. Amy and my mom looked at each in confusion.

We entered Itch-a-ay ("No, mom, it's Eye-kee-uh") and were instantly awed. Upstairs was the showroom part, where they had every piece of furniture and appliance they sold set up like they could be in your very own home. We had to get a map to direct us through the maze of Swedish furniture.

Not only is the furniture at Eee-kay-ah (“No, mom it’s Eye-kee-uh, but you’re getting closer”) really cool and good quality, it’s also all really cheap.

“These crazy Swedes!” I yelled triumphantly as I plopped down in the coolest couch ever. “They know meatballs and furniture so well!”

My mom was amazed at the prices, Amy was testing out chairs, and I was gazing lovingly at the recliners.

Four hours later, we were still in the endless showroom area, tired, eyes glazed, and dehydrated.
“Damn the Swedes for not having drinking water stations set up in this place!” I yelled, shaking my fist from the comfort of the Ikea (“Yes, mom, that’s how you say it!”) ergonomic bounce recliner.

We had looked at more dining room sets, chairs, couches, desks, shelves, tables, and lights than one should safely see during a day. It was time to go downstairs to the “Self-Service Furniture” area to pick up what we wanted.

With the help of flares and the Ikea showroom map (“Those crazy Swedes and their orienteering!” I yelled. “Shut up!” yelled my mom and Amy), we finally made it out of the showroom section and into self-serve.

Huge rows of furniture towered over us. And nothing we wanted was in stock. We had wandered aimlessly about the Swedish furniture jungle for four hours, and had nothing to show for it.

“Agh,” said Amy.
“Damn Swedes, all show and no substance,” I said.
“No,” said mom. “We’re getting you chairs.”

So we didn’t leave empty-handed. We were successful. We found chairs that we liked that were also in stock and we walked out with them.

To be continued…

Next up, What Bugs Me

Settling in?

When we arrived at our new apartment complex in Maryland, we were excited -- to say the least. We'd just been through a horrid move and were happy to have reached our final destination.

The rental agent took us on a tour of our new apartment before we moved, so we could note any damages together before signing the lease. My wife hadn't yet seen the new place. She had trusted me back in February to come down myself and find a place. I was really hoping she would like the new place.

The agent unlocked our front door and let us in. Holy crap. The place was HUGE. I knew it was going to be significantly larger than the broom closet we lived in up in Boston, but man, it was amazing. When I came down to find the place in February, I hadn't gotten to see a floorplan like the one we were getting. We had gotten a one bedroom apartment with a den, balcony, walk-in closet, and a breakfast nook.

I know the agent was chatting with us about something when he showed us around the place, but I couldn't hear him. All I could think of was how huge the place was. I was holding in a maniacal triumphant laugh. I looked at Amy with crazy eyes. She seemed to like the place as well.

Off we went back to the rental office where we signed away our lives to the complex for one year. Then we went back out to the rental van and drove it up around to our new place. That's when we realized that there was not a parking lot close to our building. Our building was in the center of a few others, with only a long sidewalk path leading down (with about 12 stairs) to it from the parking lot. Once you went down all those stairs, then you had to go up another flight to get to our second floor apartment. This does not making moving in easy, I didn't realize we were going to have to carry all our belongings that far to move them in.

Oh well, I sighed, it could be a lot worse. So, our friends showed up and helped us move in. It was three skinny chicks and one tall guy with back problems, but we did it.

That evening, I sat and marveled at the appliances in our apartment. Not only was our new place mansion-like to me, but we also had a washer and dryer in there, AND a dishwasher. I could wash clothes whenever I wanted to. Whenever I wanted to. No more weekly hunts for quarters. No more carrying 50lbs of laundry down the street to a laundromat.

And hey -- if we had a big dinner party -- who cares? I have a dishwasher. If I spill something on myself at said dinner party, later that night I could wash that stain out immediately in our washer, and at the same time wash the offending dish.

I sat on the kitchen floor with a funny little smile on my face, nodding approvingly at my new best friends/appliances. Amy caught me before I started giving my new friends the hugs they so deserved. I made a note to sneak back into the kitchen later to do that.

As we unpacked things that evening and the next day, we made several significant observations:

#1- We had no chairs. Because of the van size SNAFU, we had to leave our chairs behind. It was no big loss then because we hadn't paid much for them at a garage sale. And honestly, they were ugly and didn't match. Yet now our new place was chair-free.

#2- We had only one lamp. Our new place had many rooms, yet only three light fixtures.

#3- We had no vacuum. Sure, we had the little Dirt Devil thing, but I didn't really feel like crawling around the entire place on my hands and knees vacuuming with that tiny thing.

So we went shopping. First, it was off to Target to buy lamps.

I was stumped -- how the frick does one buy lamps? This was going to be a major decision because for once we thought it would be nice to have some of our furniture match. We had a futon we used for a couch that had a black frame.

I sat there in the Target lamp aisle stumped. It was like remedial reading. "L-L-Lamps? M-M-Matching?" The color chart in my head went crazy.

And you also have to buy the lamp and the lamp-shade separately. WHAT THE HELL?!? So now not only the lamp had to match the room, but now the shade had to match the lamp AND the room? My eyes started to cross.

Amy handed me a bag as I hyper-ventilated in the aisle. She made an executive decision to lay off the major lamp decision -- and instead buy a floor lamp like the one we already had. It was one piece, easy to match the other things in our rooms.

We decided to save the lamp decision for the Grandmaster Decorator: My mom.

She would be arriving the next day to help us unpack and make the apartment look good. This made me happy, as it appeared to me that I was now entering the stage of life where one does not get their furniture out of the garbage. Things must look nice and match. That was the new goal that I had to now adjust to. One of my new goals was to keep myself from visualizing in my apartment the garbage furniture I'd see along the side of the road. It was a re-programming.

Back to Target shopping: After Amy had to help the quivering mass of lamp-confused me out of the lighting aisle, she made another executive decision to not have us look at chairs that day. It would have pushed me over the edge. And as for a new vacuum, we again knew that Mom would make the best decision.

To be continued....

Still to come, Heather's first trip to Ikea, and how to scare a roach. Stay tuned!

A Big Fat Crappy Move Story

When we moved almost two weeks ago, the van we rented was not big enough for all our stuff. That's saying a lot, because we really don't have that much stuff. Okay, we do have eight million books. But as far as big furniture -- we only had two dressers, our mattress, and two bookshelves.

Several weeks before the big move, the wife told me she rented a ten-foot van. I was nervous. The bus I rode to work each morning passed a Budget rental place. One morning they had ten foot van out front. I freaked out because it looked tiny.

I told her of my worries, she assured me we'd be fine. The Budget website said how many rooms of stuff could be packed into which sized vans. I still worried.

The morning of the move, Amy pulled the van up in front of the apartment building. Amidst the slush and snow (it was a proper New England good-bye), I freaked out more. Here I was standing in front of this ten-foot van, imagining all of our stuff not fitting into it. The wife again assured me it would be fine.

The movers showed up and started moving. Let me take a second to say that these guys from Gentle Giant movers were awesome. If you live in the Boston area and need to move, use them! There were only two guys, but they sprinted up and down our three flights of stairs carrying large and heavy objects for two solid hours. It was amazing.

As the movers moved, I paced nervously in the snow by the truck. I watched it slowly fill up, knowing that I didn't want to see how much stuff was still left in our apartment. One of the movers jumped up into the back of the truck. I peeked around the corner to look in at him.

"So, uh, how's it lookin'?" I asked sheepishly, huge snow flakes floating down all around me.

"Fine," he said.

I cut to the chase. "Is it all going to fit?"

He paused and looked around at the inside of the truck. "It's going to be close," he laughed.

I laughed too, nervously.

Watching them pack the truck was like playing Tetris. There were square objects being fit nicely into little nooks, the dish boxes fit nicely between the shelves of the bookcases. I could hear the digitized music of Tetris in my head.

The truck was getting really full. I headed upstairs to freak myself out more by looking at how much stuff was still left in the apartment. In I walked, and out came a gasp. There were still chairs, some pots and pans, our suitcases filled with our clothes, our little school desk, and more.

So I played the "What's Most Important" game with the rest of our belongings. I grabbed a mover and started pointing.

"Leave the chairs, leave the desk, leave that basket of hangers, those suitcases of clothes have to be on that truck or the good people of Maryland will be blind from our naked pastey-white New Englander
bodies." The mover nodded, knowingly.

And then it was full. They had jammed that little truck so full of our crap it took their mighty Giant strength to pull the truck's door down and lock it. I took a moment to live through my vision of driving that nice Budget van over a small bump on the highway -- and glimpsing into the rear view mirror to see every bit of our belongings being shot out of the back of the truck all over I-90.

So we started jamming things into the cab of the truck. Amy's suitcase of clothes got the passenger seat. It was all buckled in like some large, square-ish relative. Behind Amy's seat was her guitar. In the section between the seats were some boxes of files. And then scattered about in the remaining tiny empty spaces, Amy stuffed her shoes one-by-one into the truck. I expected to be driving my Saturn in front of the van and look back to only see a pair of eyes looking out of the windshield.

I'm glad we had professionals doing this because if it had just been Amy and I with some of our friends, we would've had to leave a lot more behind.

Amy and I surveyed the "left-behinds" in the apartment. We picked out the most important items and left them at a friend's house. Another "I'm glad": We had arranged with some friends that if the truck did prove to be too small for all our crap, we could leave some stuff in their basement to retrieve at a later time.

So we took what we could. And I'll take this moment to again say that even though any more than two people riding in my little two door Saturn SC2 is incredibly uncomfortable, it can fit an immense amount of stuff in it. All I can say is thank God for the one Saturn engineer who said, "Hey -- let's give these car owners some more trunk space by allowing the backseats to be folded down." If you know him/her, give them a large hug for me.

We finally set off. The New England - Mid-Atlantic Caravan of one ten-foot Budget Van and one little Saturn headed off into the sunset (or more appropriately -- the winter snow squawl that was our good-bye).

I'll tie this into another story I mentioned that I would tell: The Saddest Dinner Ever at a Friendly's Restaurant.

My fish "Fishstick" was all packed up to go with us down to Maryland as well. I was nervous about toting the little guy all that way down there, but I thought he could make it. He was stowed in his waterbag in the passenger seat of my car. I chatted with him on the way down, apologizing for hitting certain potholes, chatting with him about a topic heard on a talk show, singing along to bad 80s music, and assuring him that he would love his new spacious home. I also told him that I would invest in some new aquarium rocks for him once we got to our new place.

When we hit Kimona, NY, we stopped to eat. I grabbed his little water bag to take him inside to eat with us. It was dark in the parking lot of that Kimona Friendly's restaurant, so I couldn't see him that well.

We sat down in the restaurant and I untied the top of the bag to get a better look at him. Poor little Fishstick was floating along at the bottom of the bag, upside-down. He had not survived the trip.

So I sat there, crying through my dinner of grilled cheese and french fries. Amy hates seeing me cry, so she started crying too. I felt so guilty. I felt like I had been selfish -- I knew that the trip would be hard on him -- why didn't I just leave him behind with some friends who would give him a happy, non-mobile life?

It was the most pathetic dinner at a Friendly's Restaurant ever.

Fishstick was a mighty goldfish who was over two years old. Amy had gotten him for me as a Valentine's Day gift. In his old age, he had even gone gray. He used to be totally orange -- but then he slowly started fading from orange to gray. When we moved, he was almost transparent. But he was still very active. I thought he was good enough to make the move.

We buried the little guy in the Friendly's parking lot, behind the dumpster so no one would bother him. Then we drove off, crying some more.

So far, the move had absolutely sucked. The moving van was too small so we had to leave some stuff behind, it was snowing the whole time, and now our poor innocent little fish had died. At that point I was just waiting for someone to flag me down to the side of the highway where they would then just give me a good kick in the shin if only to add some more unexplainable pain and inconvenience to the trip.

After staying with a wonderful friend in New Jersey that night, we made it to Maryland the next day.

To be continued...

Moving

I would compare moving to being stuck in a snowglobe. Take everything you own, take all the little details you have to worry about, etc... and put it all into a small enclosed area. Then, shake it up.

When it looks like it's starting to settle, you'll discover that the van you rented is too small to fit all your belongings. This equals a good shake of the snowglobe.

When it looks like it's starting to settle, it will snow like a mofo on your drive to your new place. This equals another good shake of the snowglobe.

When it looks like it's starting to settle, your dear pet fish will die en route to your place. This equals another good shake of the snowglobe.

When it looks like it's starting to settle, also en route to you new place, you will receive phone call from your irate former landlord who will accuse you of leaving town and breaking your lease even though he's known for two months. He will threaten to send his lawyers after you. This equals another good shake of the snowglobe.

When it looks like it's starting to settle, you will discover that your new place comes with neato six-legged roommates. This equals another good shake of the snowglobe (and now the snowglobe will always be faintly scented with Raid).

Okay, I'm actually really used to moving. I'm a military brat, my family used to move every four years. Then once I got into college, I moved at least once each year, every year, up to the present. I know what a hassle it can be. Yet I also know that moving can be fun. It's a chance to go through your belongings each year and get rid of what you don't need. It's a chance to get a know a new place and new people.

All that moving while I grew up made me pretty adaptable.

I think I made my most recent move (last week from Boston to Maryland) sound worse than it was. Well, the actual driving part of the move did suck. All of our stuff didn't fit in the van, my fish did die during the trip (RIP fishstick), and my landlord did call us up to scream and yell even though we had only left three hours before-hand and he'd known that we were moving for over two months.

When your life is all packed up into one ten foot van (with some of it having to be left behind with friends because your wife thought a ten foot van would fit all your stuff) -- you tend to worry more and think that everything and everyone is out to get you. It makes you more vulnerable. You don't have your own space for a short period of time. You look and feel exhausted because you are exhausted. People call it "pulling up your roots" for exactly that reason. It is like trying to pull a huge tree out of the ground without damaging it too much, transporting it carefully, and then trying to get it to fit in and grow well in an entirely new place.

Anyway, our new apartment is really great. It's HUGE and much cheaper compared to where the wife and I lived in Boston. It's in a fantastic part of Maryland. I absolutely love my new job because I've returned to what I'm at good at and to what I'm supposed to be doing with my life: writing.

Sure, we've found some extra little six-legged roommates in the new place, but the maintenance folks are spraying tomorrow. I've lived in places with bugs before -- much larger bugs than the ones we have frequenting our kitchen. Hell, the roaches I had at my rented house in college could've kicked us out if they'd wanted to, they were that big. We had to give them their own shelf in the fridge just to appease them. They also requested the TV every Thursday night so they could watch 'Friends.' We didn't argue.

Sure, the ceiling of our apartment/floor of the upstairs' neighbor's apartment makes it sound like there are 30 elephants living upstairs -- but I've lived in places by loud stuff before. Growing up I lived by train tracks and an airport. In Lowell I lived downstairs from a freakin' drug dealer (who also served as our maintenance man). I can handle what this apartment throws at me. And if a few extra little roomies who will be zapped tomorrow and a squeaky floor upstairs is all there is right now, then I think I'm doing pretty darn well.

Besides, all this stuff does is give more more humorous things to write about -- which I greatly appreciate.

Stories coming soon:
-Packing a Budget van is like playing Tetris
-The saddest dinner ever at a Friendly's
-Things you learn about your apartment after you sign the lease
-Descriptions of me hugging various home appliances
-My first trip to an Ikea
-How to scare a cockroach

Stay tuned...

Merry-Land

So I've moved. No more Boston. No more Cambridge, no more Massachusetts. It's all Maryland now, kids.

And any of you who have ever moved in your life know this:

The process of moving sucks. I mean, it really sucks. Suckity suck sucks.

But our new place is HUGE compared to the old overpriced broom closet in Cambridge. The area is pretty, the new job starts up on Monday, and we're doing our best to get settled in.

I'll write some more when I manage to crawl out from beneath the 3 million boxes in my office.

This is the end

Today is my last day at my current Office Manager/Systems Administrator job. Here are some fun things I could do today to make it all even better than it already is:

-Use at least one swear word every time I answer the phone.
-If someone asks me to do something for them, say "No."
-Take a hammer to everyone's computer.
-Turn up that song "Tequila" and do the PeeWee Herman dance on my desk.
-Pretend like I've just won the World Series, shake up a bottle of champagne and spray it everywhere while on my victory lap around the office.
-Roll a keg into the office. Any time someone asks me a question, start pumping it and pretend I can't hear them.
-Replace the company marketing photos in our reception area with large portraits of me hugging various pieces of office equipment.
-Wear my velociraptor costume.
-Eat Cheetos non-stop for that nice layer of cheesiness on my fingers. Then, make sure to touch everything around the office, including employees wearing nice clothing.
-Crowd surf in the sales department by jumping off their cubicles. If possible, do it by surprise.

I could probably go on, but I shouldn't waste my entire last day blogging. I should tie up any loose ends here -- and by "tie up loose ends here," I mean "talk like a pirate for the entire day."

Feel free to comment on some other fun things I should do before I leave.

Questionnaire

I love getting those emails where everyone answers questions about themselves and then forwards them on. My good pal Katy made her own more creative and challenging version. Here's how my answers go. Feel free to add your responses in the comments section.

-----------------------------------------------

1. Who plays you in the film version of your life?
Ellen Degeneres, not because she's the one famous hollywood homo, but because I think she and I have similar personalities.

2. What is your favorite word?
cankle

3. Which part of the human form do you find most terrifying?
Any disease that makes the body attack itself, so I guess the fact that the body can attack itself.

4. What is the best board game ever?
Battleship, although maybe that's not a boardgame.

5. Are you more influenced by legal or ethical considerations?
Law really intrigues me, but I think it comes down to ethics for me.

6. A two-part question: If you could ensure that one actor never made a movie again, who would it be? Same question for musician whom you could remove from production.
Actor: Juliette Lewis
Musician: Michael Bolton

7. Would you rather play Twister with Jerry Falwell or Trivial Pursuit with the Teletubbies, no translator included?
Man, I think adding the teletubbies to my twister game with Jerry would be the best of both worlds.

8. In three sentences, give me a narrative linking "tempeh bacon" and "a slashed portrait."

After consuming her usual vegan dinner of oddities, Jennifer started feeling a little funny. The tempeh bacon and tofurkey in her stomach were fighting, and her recent vision of a giant praying mantis speaking to her in Yiddish made her aware of the soy-induced hallucinations. She blacked out ten minutes later, awaking the next morning to a trashed apartment and a slashed portrait of the praying mantis in bed next to her.

9. Do you ever suspect that Ronald McDonald (either the mythical being or the clown-suited army of unemployed actors protraying him) could be an agent of the devil?
Not really, although I do view him as some type of evil. Maybe it's the clown thing. I don't fear clowns, I just don't like them very much.

10. Do you believe in ghosts?
Yes, I do. I know that if I said 'no' to this question, then one would start haunting my apartment and scare the be-jesus out of me.

11. Would you time travel if you could? If so, where ("when?") would you go?
No. But if forced, I think I'd visit my parents and grandparents when they were younger, see what life was like for them.

12. Would you rather spend two weeks working on an archeological dig in the desert or participating actively in affairs of state with the British royal family?
Give me the dig.

13. How do you feel about fried ice cream?
I think it's dumb, and the restaurant Chi-Chi's has ruined it forever because every time I think of Fried Ice Cream, I think of that stupid "Fri-yi-yi-yi, iiiiiiiice cream" commercial song. Annoying. Oh, and it's gross. Why must we fry everything?

14. If you found yourself in hell, who would be the first three people you saw?
Rev. Fred Phelps, Osama bin Laden, Adolf Hitler

15. Sort of in the same vein, list three activities that are sure to take place in heaven.
-really fun pickup sports games, like softball, tag football, and basketball
-big family meals with lots of good conversation and food
-watching humans down and earth for entertainment

16. What's one rule that you really should start to follow?
Look at everyone as someone's son or daughter.

17. What are your three main weaknesses?
-I get a big head about certain things
-I worry, even though I know things will be okay
-I criticize the people I love

18. What's one skill you wish you had but are too lazy ever to learn it?
I'd like to know basic wilderness survival skills

19. What's the first thing you'd horde in the event of mass panic?
bottles of clean water

20. Continuing the theme, if there were looting involved in said panic, would you partake in it?
probably not

21. Are you currently addicted to any songs/albums? If so, which?
I'm stuck on both my Coldplay albums right now.

22. What's the dumbest thing anyone's ever said to you (or that you've overheard)?
I had a antigay preacher tell me once that if we start letting gays get married, then people would be allowed to start marrying dogs and cats and other animals. I also once heard a hockey commentator say the following when asked how the one team could improve in the next period, "What this team needs to do is put the puck in the net."

23. What's the best birthday present you've ever received?
Either tickets to an Orioles ballgame, or my George Foreman grill

24. Favorite time-waster
day-dreaming, web-surfing, reading (if you consider that wasting time)

25. What are you doing right now in your alternate universe?
Sitting on a quiet, white sand beach on some island in the Caribbean, sipping a margarita, surrounded by close friends who are all on vacation with me and the wife.

I'm a Whale Counter

While reading a news article today, I stumbled upon one of the longest event titles I've ever seen:

"The Eighth Annual Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale National Marine Sanctuary Ocean Count"

I think I'd like one of their official t-shirts.

What if you were the director of that event? Does that make any journalist's interview with you more trying? Any time someone asks you what you do -- would you find yourself at first attempting to rattle off your whole title -- but then just mumbling out a few words about counting whales instead of throwing that out there?

"What do I do? Well, I'm the Organizing Director of the Eighth Annual Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale National Marine Sanctuary Ocean Count. Repeat that? I'm the Organizing Director of the Eighth Annual Hawaiian -- aw, screw it -- I fricking count whales, okay? And this year is the eighth time I'll do it. I fricking count fricking whales every year. That's right. A fricking whale counter. That's me."

I guess in that example I'm just assuming that this job holder would have a short temper. Maybe whomever would take that job would have lots of patience anyway. I mean, they would be counting whales. That takes patience, I would think. Whales don't just line up for you when you hold up a megaphone and yell out, "Hello good whales of the ocean area around the Hawaiian Islands -- I'm now doing my annual count of you all -- so please form an orderly line by my boat and we'll get on with it."

In any case, I'd like to see if there are any longer event titles out there. So, if you find one, please share.