So a friend of mine and his wife recently started a diet. Good for them! Unfortunately, they haven’t started a regular exercise program yet. And as we all know, diet and exercise go together. Of course, you can lose weight by dieting without exercising. It’s highly effective and a rather cheap way to lose weight. I believe its called anorexia. Hey, it can work just as well for guys as it does for girls. Give it a try today!
And what I mean is, don’t actually do that. Anorexia is bad. You need to eat. Otherwise you’ll end up looking like a two dimensional stick figure that is easily blown around on a windy day right in front of an 18 wheeler whose solid steel frame is much more dense than your pathetic sack of bones and skin. So unless this sounds like your idea of a fun day, make sure you keep eating, three meals a day preferably.
But since my friends haven’t put together a workable exercise routine yet, I decided to do it for them. So here I have a comprehensive list of exercises to work the various muscles in the body to receive a total workout. I think I should take this time to reiterate that I am NOT a doctor, nutritionist, physical therapist, junior high PE teacher, or someone who has actually read a book or two on the subject.
First up are aerobic exercises. Aerobic exercises work on increasing endurance levels of your muscles. The most basic of these is jogging, where you just run for an extended period of time. BORING! I spent some time here coming up with new ideas to make the aerobic workout more exciting.
1. Shopping mall picture scavenger hunt: While your wife/girlfriend/significant other is busy trying on clothes, pull out your digital camera, you’re going on a scavenger hunt. Look for these things: a video game demo, a new car being showcased, the information stand, any Craftsman power tool, a pay phone, a group of high schoolers who obviously have nothing better to do than hang out at the local mall, and a guy who is actually waiting patiently for his wife/girlfriend/significant other to finish trying on clothes. And remember, you have to get all these pictures before she finishes trying on her clothes and notices you missing. So that’s about a good 20 minutes.
2. The gauntlet: Run down a series of narrow European style roads, dodging and weaving around every corner to avoid the German sniper fire. This is either the most effective aerobic training ever, or I have been playing way too many video games lately. I’ll let you decide.
3. Interstate cycling: Get on your bike and ride on the interstate. But there is no wussy riding on the shoulder crap here. You’re riding in the lanes just like a regular car. If you can’t go 70 miles per hour using only pedal power, then you aren’t in shape. The various cars and trucks whizzing around you and riding your tail that could easily turn you into road kill should be incentive enough to push yourself.
Well those are just a few aerobic exercises you can try out. If you noticed, there’s not much new to them. It’s mainly just running and bicycling. The trick is in the motivation. If you’re about to get run over by a soccer mom in a gas guzzling SUV, then I think you’re going to be willing to push it just a little bit harder to spare your life. That’s the general idea at least.
Now its time for muscle building exercises. While the aerobic exercises burn away fat, anaerobic exercises build muscle. And that’s the general idea, less fat, more muscle. Once again, I have my list of unique exercises that will help you do this quicker and with less fuss.
1. Oprah pushups: Go out and buy the latest issue of O Magazine. I can almost guarantee you Oprah will be on the cover. Now lay that magazine in your living room with Oprah’s face staring up at you. Now get down to do some pushups, making sure your face is resting on the magazine when you are in the down position. This way, every time you come down from your pushup you are face to face with the one and only Oprah, giving you the incentive to shove yourself right back into the up position.
2. Break into your friend’s house/apartment and move all of his heavy furniture out onto his front lawn. Make sure you’re there when he comes home to see all of his stuff laying out for birds to crap on so you can have a good laugh. Then, after he beats the crap out of you mercilessly, offer to move it all back into his place for him.
3. Buy a set of weights and start lifting. Then realize after about two days that lifting weights really isn’t your “thing.” Now pull the Xbox out of the closet, which is a feat of strength in itself, and start playing some Halo. Hey, thumbs need exercise too.
Ok, so now we’ve covered the basic parts of exercise, endurance and strength. But before we go, there’s one more facet of exercising we need to cover, and that’s flexibility. You need to make sure to stretch both before and after every workout. This way you won’t pull anything.
You also need to try to improve on your flexibility. From what I hear, you can take yoga, which will help you bend in all sorts of weird ways. You can also do daily stretches on your own. But there are better ways to increase your flexibility. Personally, I think the Kama sutra is the way to go. It blends flexibility with fun! Also, as an added bonus, sex is a great way to burn off extra calories. Although, I doubt this will work well for you married guys out there, sorry.
Well, I hoped you learned a thing or two about keeping healthy today. I know I did. Well, no I didn’t. But the important thing is that you go out there and get some exercise! And while you do, I’ll be in here, playing WWII based video games. Let me tell you, my thumbs are going to be in awesome shape!
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Things I Do for Food
Well, Saturday I did the unthinkable: I used a kitchen appliance other than the microwave. I know, I know, there are inherent dangers involved when setting foot in the kitchen with the actual intention of cooking. But I was not daunted. I did not waver. I happen to have renters insurance, so if I end up burning the whole place down, it’s covered. No worries.
Ok, so it’s not like I was going to war, I was only baking cookies. Making cookies from scratch is one of the few things besides micro waving pizza rolls that I excel at. But don’t let the sweet and tasty nature of the cookies fool you, the entire experience was a journey, and not one to be undertaken by the light of heart. However, if you have the fortitude to read onward, I will take you through that journey, step by step, in hopes that someone out there will learn from my endeavors.
First off, I entered the kitchen and was immediately besieged by a foul stench. The source of this noxious odor was already known to me. A pile of dirty dishes sat in my sink looming above me, casting a shadow over my kitchen much as Mount Vesuvius shadowed the ancient Romans. And as the Fates would have it, my dish washer was broken. Well, it’s always been broken, and I just haven’t gotten around to getting it repaired. Washing dishes by hand isn’t that big of a deal, is it?
So I wielded my mighty sponge and extra strength dishwashing detergent and I ambushed the decaying stack of kitchen debris. However, my best efforts were quickly thwarted when the sink refused to drain and it filled to the brink with hot water. But no, I had come too far to turn back at my first set back, so down went my arm into the scalding pool of water. After a few minutes, I managed to clear out all of Tuesday’s Rice-a-Roni Special that was clogging the pipes. As the water level gradually dropped, I breathed a short sigh of relief. Then onward I pressed scrubbing each dish harder than the last and after a considerable amount of time, and no small amount of vigor on my part, all the dishes were cleared from the sink.
With my first foe skillfully removed from the field of battle, I turned to my next opponent. For once, luck was on my side. I had all the necessary ingredients in my pantry for my recipe, which is great because some of the spices I use cost almost $10 for a .9oz container. And that’s just ridiculous.
Sugar, eggs, shorting and other ingredients piled into a large bowl. I prepared my electric mixer for the one specific task its creators forged it for… mixing. Although my mixer is quite capable, I do wish it had more power. I was thinking it would be so much more efficient if I put in a gasoline powered internal combustion engine to replace the underpowered electric motor it currently sports. Think of it, a mixer with 15 horsepower could do some real damage. It could probably be used to make some baked goods as well from time to time.
I hate flour. It’s white, it’s powdery, and it has a tendency to fall all over my kitchen like the first fall of snow in the winter. But flour is needed to make just about everything in the baking world, so there’s no getting around it. Once I opened the flour container, the fine powder erupted out of the top, spewing forth like the blighted ash from a volcano and covering not only my kitchen, but my face as well. I don’t think I’ve ever had a carbonated beverage explode with such ferocity. I hate flour.
Now that my kitchen looks like what I can only imagine is a Columbian drug cartel’s mixing room, I realized something important: I forgot to preheat the oven. So I set the oven to the usual 350 degrees Fahrenheit, and I began to fill up the cookie sheets. Rather than sit around and wait for the oven to heat up, I turned on my TV and watched some playoff hockey. Ah, there is nothing the reaffirms ones manliness like a good game of hockey. Well, maybe a few rounds of Halo 2 on Xbox Live, but since I don’t own an Xbox, hockey it is.
The oven light turned off alerting me that it was time. I pulled down the door to the unholy furnace and was greeted by waves of heat emanating from liquid hot magma. I tossed the first sheet of cookies inside shuddering at the thought of what strange chemical processes were occurring within my new concoction. A bare nine minutes later I pulled the sheet out and replaced it with the next one. What were once shimmering balls of goo were now flat and rigidly solid. I briefly wondered if I had created a new force of malevolence in the world. But one taste test confirmed it: they were thoroughly cooked, but not to the point of getting burnt, and oh so delicious!
Now the smell of death and decay began to pass from my kitchen. It was replaced with the sweet fragrance of ginger and cinnamon (I was making gingersnaps; it’s an old family recipe). But I was not done yet, there was much cleaning to be done. Bits of cookie dough, flour, sugar, and who knows what else were strewn about my kitchen counter, as well as the floor, the walls and even the ceiling. I don’t know how I got stuff on the ceiling, and to be honest, I don’t think I want to know.
I quickly equipped a dish rag in each hand and utilized my “Super Double Fisted Ninja Scrubbing Attack.” You can laugh all you want, but by adding the word “Ninja” to the name, I succeeded in making the technique twice as effective. You should try it out sometime.
So, two periods after I had set out on my journey (approximately 40 minutes plus TV timeouts), I had reached the end. The cookies were done and sealed away, the kitchen was clean, and I had my revenge that I had sought for so long. Ok, so there wasn’t really any “revenge” going on, I just thought it would go along with the rest of the epic journey motif. Therefore, until I again must hazard the strange and monstrous appliances that haunt my kitchen, I will leave you with this one bit of advice… I hate flour
Ok, so it’s not like I was going to war, I was only baking cookies. Making cookies from scratch is one of the few things besides micro waving pizza rolls that I excel at. But don’t let the sweet and tasty nature of the cookies fool you, the entire experience was a journey, and not one to be undertaken by the light of heart. However, if you have the fortitude to read onward, I will take you through that journey, step by step, in hopes that someone out there will learn from my endeavors.
First off, I entered the kitchen and was immediately besieged by a foul stench. The source of this noxious odor was already known to me. A pile of dirty dishes sat in my sink looming above me, casting a shadow over my kitchen much as Mount Vesuvius shadowed the ancient Romans. And as the Fates would have it, my dish washer was broken. Well, it’s always been broken, and I just haven’t gotten around to getting it repaired. Washing dishes by hand isn’t that big of a deal, is it?
So I wielded my mighty sponge and extra strength dishwashing detergent and I ambushed the decaying stack of kitchen debris. However, my best efforts were quickly thwarted when the sink refused to drain and it filled to the brink with hot water. But no, I had come too far to turn back at my first set back, so down went my arm into the scalding pool of water. After a few minutes, I managed to clear out all of Tuesday’s Rice-a-Roni Special that was clogging the pipes. As the water level gradually dropped, I breathed a short sigh of relief. Then onward I pressed scrubbing each dish harder than the last and after a considerable amount of time, and no small amount of vigor on my part, all the dishes were cleared from the sink.
With my first foe skillfully removed from the field of battle, I turned to my next opponent. For once, luck was on my side. I had all the necessary ingredients in my pantry for my recipe, which is great because some of the spices I use cost almost $10 for a .9oz container. And that’s just ridiculous.
Sugar, eggs, shorting and other ingredients piled into a large bowl. I prepared my electric mixer for the one specific task its creators forged it for… mixing. Although my mixer is quite capable, I do wish it had more power. I was thinking it would be so much more efficient if I put in a gasoline powered internal combustion engine to replace the underpowered electric motor it currently sports. Think of it, a mixer with 15 horsepower could do some real damage. It could probably be used to make some baked goods as well from time to time.
I hate flour. It’s white, it’s powdery, and it has a tendency to fall all over my kitchen like the first fall of snow in the winter. But flour is needed to make just about everything in the baking world, so there’s no getting around it. Once I opened the flour container, the fine powder erupted out of the top, spewing forth like the blighted ash from a volcano and covering not only my kitchen, but my face as well. I don’t think I’ve ever had a carbonated beverage explode with such ferocity. I hate flour.
Now that my kitchen looks like what I can only imagine is a Columbian drug cartel’s mixing room, I realized something important: I forgot to preheat the oven. So I set the oven to the usual 350 degrees Fahrenheit, and I began to fill up the cookie sheets. Rather than sit around and wait for the oven to heat up, I turned on my TV and watched some playoff hockey. Ah, there is nothing the reaffirms ones manliness like a good game of hockey. Well, maybe a few rounds of Halo 2 on Xbox Live, but since I don’t own an Xbox, hockey it is.
The oven light turned off alerting me that it was time. I pulled down the door to the unholy furnace and was greeted by waves of heat emanating from liquid hot magma. I tossed the first sheet of cookies inside shuddering at the thought of what strange chemical processes were occurring within my new concoction. A bare nine minutes later I pulled the sheet out and replaced it with the next one. What were once shimmering balls of goo were now flat and rigidly solid. I briefly wondered if I had created a new force of malevolence in the world. But one taste test confirmed it: they were thoroughly cooked, but not to the point of getting burnt, and oh so delicious!
Now the smell of death and decay began to pass from my kitchen. It was replaced with the sweet fragrance of ginger and cinnamon (I was making gingersnaps; it’s an old family recipe). But I was not done yet, there was much cleaning to be done. Bits of cookie dough, flour, sugar, and who knows what else were strewn about my kitchen counter, as well as the floor, the walls and even the ceiling. I don’t know how I got stuff on the ceiling, and to be honest, I don’t think I want to know.
I quickly equipped a dish rag in each hand and utilized my “Super Double Fisted Ninja Scrubbing Attack.” You can laugh all you want, but by adding the word “Ninja” to the name, I succeeded in making the technique twice as effective. You should try it out sometime.
So, two periods after I had set out on my journey (approximately 40 minutes plus TV timeouts), I had reached the end. The cookies were done and sealed away, the kitchen was clean, and I had my revenge that I had sought for so long. Ok, so there wasn’t really any “revenge” going on, I just thought it would go along with the rest of the epic journey motif. Therefore, until I again must hazard the strange and monstrous appliances that haunt my kitchen, I will leave you with this one bit of advice… I hate flour
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
The Day the Music Died
Last night I was driving home from work and a Pearl Jam song came on the radio. Now, I have nothing against Pearl Jam, they’ve made some great music in their day. I do however have a problem with the music I grew up listening to being played on the classic rock channel. I’m not that old. Let’s just say I still have a few years before I reach my midlife crisis and buy a Mazda Miata convertible and somehow think, for some strange reason, it actually makes me look cool.
You might be wondering why I’d prefer listening to classic rock over a more contemporary station. Well, let’s just say I have a few issues with contemporary music. No, no, not the RIAA, they’re ok with me. They’re just trying to make sure the people who make music for a living actually get paid for it. That is perfectly acceptable, at least until we start outsourcing our music to India and China where it can be made for half the cost. Hey, it’s going to happen eventually.
My problems with today’s music lie in what I actually get for a $15 or more purchase of a CD. Nowadays an album will consist of 11 tracks (or 12 if you’re lucky) with maybe two or three songs actually worth listening too. Most of the songs will all sound the same since bands aren’t capable of any sort of creativity beyond the one song that made them famous. However, CDs now give you bonus features you can view when you put them in your computer. I don’t know about you, but when I buy a CD, it’s so I can listen to the music, not to watch a music video that doesn’t make any sense. That’s what we have MTV for. Well, maybe not MTV, but at least MTV2 still plays music videos.
And as for the individual bands… I think it might be easier if I split this up.
Staind: Yes, we get it. Your girlfriend broke up with you five years ago. GET OVER IT. The rest of us already did about the 13 thousandth time we heard the song “Outside.” And that was still in its first week on the radio. Seriously, get a new girl, and start writing lyrics that don’t say the same thing song after song after song.
U2: I don’ care who you are, or what you do, but U2’s music does not, in any sense of the word, rock. “Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me” comes close to it, but still doesn’t get the proverbial cigar. Play the song “Vertigo” next to the song “Welcome to the Jungle” and see which one you can hear better. I guarantee it will be Guns ‘N Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle,” not because it’s that much louder, but because I personally will come and turn the volume up so it will drown out the U2.
Puddle of Mudd: Do you realize how many times I had to listen to the song “Blurry?” Enough times that I wanted to put a plastic bag over my head to end my misery. And this happened on several occasions (luckily I keep a plastic bag in my car with holes poked in the bottom of it for just such emergencies). But, they did come out with “She Hates Me” and “Control.” And any song that states “I love the way you smack my ass” is ok by me. So, I forgive them.
Clay Aiken: I’d really hate to see the chicks that you pick up with lines like: “If I was invisible, then I could just watch you in your room… I wish I could be a fly on your wall, are you really alone…” That is just… creepy.
Michael Jackson: Yeah, I really don’t think there is any need to go there.
Janet Jackson: See the above statement.
Brittney Spears: Anyone who marries a back-up dancer deserves to fade away into the shadows of obscurity. Hope you got a decent 401k plan.
Hoobastank: The first self-titled album was great. Songs like “Crawling in the Dark” and “Remember Me” definitely rocked. Their second album came out with “The Reason.” I mean no, just… no. You can’t follow up a really good album with an incredibly crappy one. That’s seriously not cool.
The Rolling Stones: Ok, I know you guys rocked it back in the day. And it was cool you got to do the Super Bowl Half-time Show, but after you break 60 years old, I think it’s time to retire. Mick Jagger is just not a sex symbol anymore. Well, maybe to the 40 year old house wives he is, but even that is vaguely disturbing. It’s time to hang up the guitars and drumsticks guys. I know it’s not fair, but hey: You can’t always get what you want.
Ozzy Osbourne: He’s a walking, talking (sort of) advertisement for kids to stay away from drugs. I can’t think of any stronger incentive to stay away from a life of drugs and alcohol. I miss the old Ozzy, the one that did “Crazy Train” and ate the heads off live bats.
Green Day: Now, I don’t have a problem with Green Day, and their new album is pretty decent, not quite as good as the Dookie album, but its pretty good. My problem is with all the people who walk around singing the lyrics to “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” You are constantly surrounded by friend and family, yet somehow you walk down this “lonely road” all by yourself? Give me a break. If you find yourself singing the lyrics to this song to yourself at any point during the day, you are in fact a loser. I just thought you might like to know that.
Ok, I think I’m done with all my complaining and whining for today. I could go on all day long about bands I hate or people that really need to stop making music, but I think you get the point already. Oh, and bonus points to the people who got that the line “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” is the title to a song by the Rolling Stones.
Ok, now I know what you’re thinking, but no, you don’t get any “points” or anything else for reading this article. I just wanted to give some joy to the people who made that connection. But now that I’ve utterly crushed that joy, I think I can retire, a happy and content man
You might be wondering why I’d prefer listening to classic rock over a more contemporary station. Well, let’s just say I have a few issues with contemporary music. No, no, not the RIAA, they’re ok with me. They’re just trying to make sure the people who make music for a living actually get paid for it. That is perfectly acceptable, at least until we start outsourcing our music to India and China where it can be made for half the cost. Hey, it’s going to happen eventually.
My problems with today’s music lie in what I actually get for a $15 or more purchase of a CD. Nowadays an album will consist of 11 tracks (or 12 if you’re lucky) with maybe two or three songs actually worth listening too. Most of the songs will all sound the same since bands aren’t capable of any sort of creativity beyond the one song that made them famous. However, CDs now give you bonus features you can view when you put them in your computer. I don’t know about you, but when I buy a CD, it’s so I can listen to the music, not to watch a music video that doesn’t make any sense. That’s what we have MTV for. Well, maybe not MTV, but at least MTV2 still plays music videos.
And as for the individual bands… I think it might be easier if I split this up.
Staind: Yes, we get it. Your girlfriend broke up with you five years ago. GET OVER IT. The rest of us already did about the 13 thousandth time we heard the song “Outside.” And that was still in its first week on the radio. Seriously, get a new girl, and start writing lyrics that don’t say the same thing song after song after song.
U2: I don’ care who you are, or what you do, but U2’s music does not, in any sense of the word, rock. “Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me” comes close to it, but still doesn’t get the proverbial cigar. Play the song “Vertigo” next to the song “Welcome to the Jungle” and see which one you can hear better. I guarantee it will be Guns ‘N Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle,” not because it’s that much louder, but because I personally will come and turn the volume up so it will drown out the U2.
Puddle of Mudd: Do you realize how many times I had to listen to the song “Blurry?” Enough times that I wanted to put a plastic bag over my head to end my misery. And this happened on several occasions (luckily I keep a plastic bag in my car with holes poked in the bottom of it for just such emergencies). But, they did come out with “She Hates Me” and “Control.” And any song that states “I love the way you smack my ass” is ok by me. So, I forgive them.
Clay Aiken: I’d really hate to see the chicks that you pick up with lines like: “If I was invisible, then I could just watch you in your room… I wish I could be a fly on your wall, are you really alone…” That is just… creepy.
Michael Jackson: Yeah, I really don’t think there is any need to go there.
Janet Jackson: See the above statement.
Brittney Spears: Anyone who marries a back-up dancer deserves to fade away into the shadows of obscurity. Hope you got a decent 401k plan.
Hoobastank: The first self-titled album was great. Songs like “Crawling in the Dark” and “Remember Me” definitely rocked. Their second album came out with “The Reason.” I mean no, just… no. You can’t follow up a really good album with an incredibly crappy one. That’s seriously not cool.
The Rolling Stones: Ok, I know you guys rocked it back in the day. And it was cool you got to do the Super Bowl Half-time Show, but after you break 60 years old, I think it’s time to retire. Mick Jagger is just not a sex symbol anymore. Well, maybe to the 40 year old house wives he is, but even that is vaguely disturbing. It’s time to hang up the guitars and drumsticks guys. I know it’s not fair, but hey: You can’t always get what you want.
Ozzy Osbourne: He’s a walking, talking (sort of) advertisement for kids to stay away from drugs. I can’t think of any stronger incentive to stay away from a life of drugs and alcohol. I miss the old Ozzy, the one that did “Crazy Train” and ate the heads off live bats.
Green Day: Now, I don’t have a problem with Green Day, and their new album is pretty decent, not quite as good as the Dookie album, but its pretty good. My problem is with all the people who walk around singing the lyrics to “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” You are constantly surrounded by friend and family, yet somehow you walk down this “lonely road” all by yourself? Give me a break. If you find yourself singing the lyrics to this song to yourself at any point during the day, you are in fact a loser. I just thought you might like to know that.
Ok, I think I’m done with all my complaining and whining for today. I could go on all day long about bands I hate or people that really need to stop making music, but I think you get the point already. Oh, and bonus points to the people who got that the line “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” is the title to a song by the Rolling Stones.
Ok, now I know what you’re thinking, but no, you don’t get any “points” or anything else for reading this article. I just wanted to give some joy to the people who made that connection. But now that I’ve utterly crushed that joy, I think I can retire, a happy and content man
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
According to the Universe, Card Games Don’t Play Fair
Ok, so it took me way too long to write the article today. I got caught up watching the Anaheim Mighty Ducks and the Colorado Avalanche go into overtime. And if I have one weakness, it’s playoff hockey… and possibly gummy bears. Let’s face it, gummy bears rock (ok so that’s two weaknesses but nobody told you to keep track).
Thankfully, watching hockey is a lot more exciting than my usual tool for procrastination. Normally instead of writing, I’m playing solitaire on the computer. The idea is to screw around and get some of the creative juices flowing, then eventually get down to the writing. But in reality, I just spend a few hours yelling at the computer screen. And by yelling, I mean screaming at the top of my lungs. Yes, I know it’s pointless to yell at the computer since it can’t hear me (I haven’t figured out where to plug the microphone in yet). But I swear to everything that is holy: that game cheats!.
I will see a six of hearts in the deck when flipping through. And then 30 seconds later when I desperately need that six of hearts to win the game, it isn’t there anymore. Where did it go? I don’t think the six of hearts had a hot date with some blonde chick at the movies. I also don’t think he joined the army and got shipped off to Iraq. So where is he? The game erased him for the express purpose of screwing me over, that's where. See when you’re playing with an actual physical deck, you can see that there are 52 cards, and the requisite 13 for each suit are accounted for. But on a computer game version, you don’t know if the program just up and decided to replace your six of hearts with a nine of diamonds. And we all know the nine of diamonds is no help at all. Stupid diamonds.
So I probably don’t have to say it, but I’ve quit playing solitaire. I’ve moved on to a much more sophisticated way of wasting my time. It’s called spider solitaire. It is superior to regular solitaire in every way, including how often it cheats me out of victory. I have well documented proof of its misdeeds too. See, in spider solitaire, the computer keeps track of your statistics, which mainly consists of how many games you’ve won, how many you’ve lost, and the percentage of games you win. Right now I have been winning 40% of all the spider solitaire games I play. Obviously this number is low due to the game making it impossible for me to win rather than my skill as a player. Obviously.
Every time I get that win percentage up to 41%, I automatically lose five games in a row. Then I have to crawl my way back up for the mid-30’s range back to 40%. The game usually accomplishes my virtual demise by sandbagging me with a bunch of kings and sevens all at once. For those of you not familiar with the spider solitaire let me assure you that this game is in no way similar to poker. Having several kings and sevens right in front of you is a bad thing. Generally it makes it very hard to win. And so the game continues to cheat, and my self esteem reaches all new lows.
You might wonder why I even bother playing anymore. Well, it’s either that, or I actually buckle down and do some work. And to be honest, killing my self esteem is much more uplifting than doing hard work.
But we need to focus on the real issue here. The raping of my self esteem on a regular basis is not your concern. However, someone screwed up when programming these solitaire computer games, and that is your concern. Apparently they forgot to program in the part where the universe revolves around me. And yes, that’s true. I will repeat it here so you don’t have to reread the previous sentence: The universe revolves around me.
Now I don’t have completely conclusive evidence of this theory just yet, but I’ve spent the last year recording data, and most of it seems to support my being the center of the universe theory. Here’s just one of the latest pieces of data I’ve uncovered, and it’s a brilliant bit of reasoning if I do say so myself:
This evidence by itself is not conclusive, but I think you can see that I have strong support for my theory. But just because the universe revolves around me doesn’t mean you should be neglected. You know what, after you get done reading this, go ahead and do something for you. Take a bubble bath, read a good book, or eat some chocolate. It’s ok, I don’t mind, and therefore, neither does the universe.
But I do need you to do one thing. I've been having problems convincing the “scientists” and the “astronomers” (you know, the nerdy guys who study the stars) that the universe does indeed revolve around me. They seem to be impervious to my obviously superior reasoning. This is why I need your help. Please, continue to come back here and read everything I write. Even if your boss fires you, your wife leaves you, or the planet turns out like the movie Waterworld (utterly boring without decent character development or a cohesive plot structure), I need you to keep reading these articles. Only then will I have enough evidence to prove my theory once and for all. Not only do I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but the universe will thank you as well.
Thankfully, watching hockey is a lot more exciting than my usual tool for procrastination. Normally instead of writing, I’m playing solitaire on the computer. The idea is to screw around and get some of the creative juices flowing, then eventually get down to the writing. But in reality, I just spend a few hours yelling at the computer screen. And by yelling, I mean screaming at the top of my lungs. Yes, I know it’s pointless to yell at the computer since it can’t hear me (I haven’t figured out where to plug the microphone in yet). But I swear to everything that is holy: that game cheats!.
I will see a six of hearts in the deck when flipping through. And then 30 seconds later when I desperately need that six of hearts to win the game, it isn’t there anymore. Where did it go? I don’t think the six of hearts had a hot date with some blonde chick at the movies. I also don’t think he joined the army and got shipped off to Iraq. So where is he? The game erased him for the express purpose of screwing me over, that's where. See when you’re playing with an actual physical deck, you can see that there are 52 cards, and the requisite 13 for each suit are accounted for. But on a computer game version, you don’t know if the program just up and decided to replace your six of hearts with a nine of diamonds. And we all know the nine of diamonds is no help at all. Stupid diamonds.
So I probably don’t have to say it, but I’ve quit playing solitaire. I’ve moved on to a much more sophisticated way of wasting my time. It’s called spider solitaire. It is superior to regular solitaire in every way, including how often it cheats me out of victory. I have well documented proof of its misdeeds too. See, in spider solitaire, the computer keeps track of your statistics, which mainly consists of how many games you’ve won, how many you’ve lost, and the percentage of games you win. Right now I have been winning 40% of all the spider solitaire games I play. Obviously this number is low due to the game making it impossible for me to win rather than my skill as a player. Obviously.
Every time I get that win percentage up to 41%, I automatically lose five games in a row. Then I have to crawl my way back up for the mid-30’s range back to 40%. The game usually accomplishes my virtual demise by sandbagging me with a bunch of kings and sevens all at once. For those of you not familiar with the spider solitaire let me assure you that this game is in no way similar to poker. Having several kings and sevens right in front of you is a bad thing. Generally it makes it very hard to win. And so the game continues to cheat, and my self esteem reaches all new lows.
You might wonder why I even bother playing anymore. Well, it’s either that, or I actually buckle down and do some work. And to be honest, killing my self esteem is much more uplifting than doing hard work.
But we need to focus on the real issue here. The raping of my self esteem on a regular basis is not your concern. However, someone screwed up when programming these solitaire computer games, and that is your concern. Apparently they forgot to program in the part where the universe revolves around me. And yes, that’s true. I will repeat it here so you don’t have to reread the previous sentence: The universe revolves around me.
Now I don’t have completely conclusive evidence of this theory just yet, but I’ve spent the last year recording data, and most of it seems to support my being the center of the universe theory. Here’s just one of the latest pieces of data I’ve uncovered, and it’s a brilliant bit of reasoning if I do say so myself:
Right now you are reading an article that was written by me (you know, me? The guy the universerevolves around?). And I’m estimating that you have read at least some, if not all, of my articlesin the archives. I must be pretty important for you to read what I write down every week. I mean,have I ever read anything you’ve written? No, I didn’t think so. In order to take the time to readthis article you have to give up spending time on something else. So what is it that you’re givingup? Is it work? Is it buying a nice gift for your spouse or loved one? Is it producing newefficient means of renewable energy that will lessen our dependence on oil, lower our energy costs,and help circumvent global warming?
So by reading this article you are postponing the health and happiness of others. And by no meansis this your fault. It’s obvious that the universe doesn’t care about those other people you aren’thelping right now. The universe cares about me, which is why you’re reading this article. It’s something we like to call fate.
This evidence by itself is not conclusive, but I think you can see that I have strong support for my theory. But just because the universe revolves around me doesn’t mean you should be neglected. You know what, after you get done reading this, go ahead and do something for you. Take a bubble bath, read a good book, or eat some chocolate. It’s ok, I don’t mind, and therefore, neither does the universe.
But I do need you to do one thing. I've been having problems convincing the “scientists” and the “astronomers” (you know, the nerdy guys who study the stars) that the universe does indeed revolve around me. They seem to be impervious to my obviously superior reasoning. This is why I need your help. Please, continue to come back here and read everything I write. Even if your boss fires you, your wife leaves you, or the planet turns out like the movie Waterworld (utterly boring without decent character development or a cohesive plot structure), I need you to keep reading these articles. Only then will I have enough evidence to prove my theory once and for all. Not only do I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but the universe will thank you as well.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Oh, Oh… Pick me! Pick me!
This past weekend marked the pinnacle of sporting events for the year. It was March Madness, Super Bowl Sunday, and the World Series all rolled into one. No, it wasn’t the start of the Stanley Cup playoffs. I’m talking about the NFL draft. Two days of nonstop action! Thankfully, ESPN was kind enough to display the draft without pause, even during commercial breaks.
Now I know what you’re thinking: How can one draft pick every 15 minutes be exciting? It just is. The waiting, the suspense, the agony… will Heismen winner Reggie Bush be the first pick? Will Vince Young get picked over Matt Leinhart? So many questions and you have to wait so darn long to find out. And those are the easy ones. What we really want to know is who is who will the Carolina Panthers select in the fifth round as the 155th overall pick? With all the top names gone and many of the smaller ones as well, who is left for them to pick up? What positions do the Panthers need to fill? The answer, of course, is Jeff King, a tight end from Virginia Tech. But you already knew that, didn’t you?
The action is cutthroat as teams look to out maneuver each other with their selections and their last minute trades. This is the time for the teams’ general managers and presidents to shine. All year long the players and coaches get the spotlight, but on this very special weekend, it’s the management that takes the field. And what do they get for their efforts? Practically nothing. Can you even name the GM for your favorite football team? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
I think the main problem with the draft is that there is no clear winner. Sure Huston got to pick first, but does that mean they won? We could let the industry analysts vote to decide who had the best draft picks and made the best trades. But since most analysts are former players and coaches, I think that would be entirely too biased. We could let viewers at home vote online for whom they think had the best draft. But I don’t trust the average viewer to have ingested all seven rounds thoroughly enough to make a sound decision. Instead, I have devised a simple way to choose a winner that is both unbiased and fair.
You take the average height of the players drafted for each team, and divide that by the average age. Then you multiply that number by pi (about 3.14). Add to that the number of current team members selected for the most recent Pro Bowl, and then multiply that by the absolute value of the difference between the age of the team’s head coach and its general manager. The team with the highest score wins. The secret is in the formula’s simplicity. I don’t think I could have made it any easier to keep track of. But just in case, I’ll write out the shorthand of the formula for you here:
[((AvHei/AvAge)*3.14)+ProB]*CoaAge-GMAge = team score
See, simplicity itself. But since I don’t happen to have a calculator nearby at the moment, I’m going to designate the winner of the 2006 NFL Draft to be Denver. Because, why the heck not? They deserve it just as much as anyone. So I’d personally like to congratulate the management team of the Denver Broncos for winning the first ever NFL Draft Champions Cup. Way to go team!
I’d also like to announce that the NFL Draft Champions Cup is not an actual cup. Nor is it any other sort of tangible object. The winning of the NFL Draft Champions Cup does not confer any special privileges or rights, monetary or otherwise, to the victor. You can get a special Certificate of Achievement for a reward. By request, I will email a copy of the Certificate to the winner of the NFL Draft Champions Cup, but the team’s management will be responsible for going to Kinko’s and paying to get the fancy print job done. I’m not running a charity here.
But I am hoping that this new award will pave the way for management to get new, lucrative endorsement deals. As I said before, the team management is often the forgotten, but extremely crucial, part of the professional sports team. In this day in age professional athletes make multimillion dollar deals with apparel companies. Coaches have even begun to make their way into commercials and brand endorsement. It’s certainly true even in college athletics where players are banned from endorsements, but coaches are not. This is evidenced in Duke Basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski (pronounced Sha-shefskey)… (I know I know, apparently the K makes a “sh” sound, crazy) participating in commercials during March Madness while watching his team get knocked out early in the tournament.
The time has finally come for the GM’s of pro sports to get their endorsements. Instead of signing with Reebok or Nike, I think management should sign with classy outfitters like Armani, Ralph Lauren and Sean John. Since management is always in the suits, they should endorse the people who make the suits. I for one would jump at the chance of owning a Marty Hurney sports coat (Carolina Panthers’ GM). I’m sure this new wave of endorsements would trigger a nationwide surge in demand for business suits. And I back this claim up with absolutely no relevant data whatsoever.
The bottom line: the NFL Draft rocks! And you should watch every second of it and devour each and every draft pick as if your life depended on it. Either that or you could actually get a life. It’s up to you.
Now I know what you’re thinking: How can one draft pick every 15 minutes be exciting? It just is. The waiting, the suspense, the agony… will Heismen winner Reggie Bush be the first pick? Will Vince Young get picked over Matt Leinhart? So many questions and you have to wait so darn long to find out. And those are the easy ones. What we really want to know is who is who will the Carolina Panthers select in the fifth round as the 155th overall pick? With all the top names gone and many of the smaller ones as well, who is left for them to pick up? What positions do the Panthers need to fill? The answer, of course, is Jeff King, a tight end from Virginia Tech. But you already knew that, didn’t you?
The action is cutthroat as teams look to out maneuver each other with their selections and their last minute trades. This is the time for the teams’ general managers and presidents to shine. All year long the players and coaches get the spotlight, but on this very special weekend, it’s the management that takes the field. And what do they get for their efforts? Practically nothing. Can you even name the GM for your favorite football team? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
I think the main problem with the draft is that there is no clear winner. Sure Huston got to pick first, but does that mean they won? We could let the industry analysts vote to decide who had the best draft picks and made the best trades. But since most analysts are former players and coaches, I think that would be entirely too biased. We could let viewers at home vote online for whom they think had the best draft. But I don’t trust the average viewer to have ingested all seven rounds thoroughly enough to make a sound decision. Instead, I have devised a simple way to choose a winner that is both unbiased and fair.
You take the average height of the players drafted for each team, and divide that by the average age. Then you multiply that number by pi (about 3.14). Add to that the number of current team members selected for the most recent Pro Bowl, and then multiply that by the absolute value of the difference between the age of the team’s head coach and its general manager. The team with the highest score wins. The secret is in the formula’s simplicity. I don’t think I could have made it any easier to keep track of. But just in case, I’ll write out the shorthand of the formula for you here:
[((AvHei/AvAge)*3.14)+ProB]*CoaAge-GMAge = team score
See, simplicity itself. But since I don’t happen to have a calculator nearby at the moment, I’m going to designate the winner of the 2006 NFL Draft to be Denver. Because, why the heck not? They deserve it just as much as anyone. So I’d personally like to congratulate the management team of the Denver Broncos for winning the first ever NFL Draft Champions Cup. Way to go team!
I’d also like to announce that the NFL Draft Champions Cup is not an actual cup. Nor is it any other sort of tangible object. The winning of the NFL Draft Champions Cup does not confer any special privileges or rights, monetary or otherwise, to the victor. You can get a special Certificate of Achievement for a reward. By request, I will email a copy of the Certificate to the winner of the NFL Draft Champions Cup, but the team’s management will be responsible for going to Kinko’s and paying to get the fancy print job done. I’m not running a charity here.
But I am hoping that this new award will pave the way for management to get new, lucrative endorsement deals. As I said before, the team management is often the forgotten, but extremely crucial, part of the professional sports team. In this day in age professional athletes make multimillion dollar deals with apparel companies. Coaches have even begun to make their way into commercials and brand endorsement. It’s certainly true even in college athletics where players are banned from endorsements, but coaches are not. This is evidenced in Duke Basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski (pronounced Sha-shefskey)… (I know I know, apparently the K makes a “sh” sound, crazy) participating in commercials during March Madness while watching his team get knocked out early in the tournament.
The time has finally come for the GM’s of pro sports to get their endorsements. Instead of signing with Reebok or Nike, I think management should sign with classy outfitters like Armani, Ralph Lauren and Sean John. Since management is always in the suits, they should endorse the people who make the suits. I for one would jump at the chance of owning a Marty Hurney sports coat (Carolina Panthers’ GM). I’m sure this new wave of endorsements would trigger a nationwide surge in demand for business suits. And I back this claim up with absolutely no relevant data whatsoever.
The bottom line: the NFL Draft rocks! And you should watch every second of it and devour each and every draft pick as if your life depended on it. Either that or you could actually get a life. It’s up to you.
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