Unga Bunga, Winter is Supposed to Be Cold

Well, I’m posting this article a little bit early this week. This is because I have to leave early on Tuesday morning to catch my flight to Georgia. I’m off to visit the family for Thanksgiving. It should be tons of fun and I’m really looking forward to it. Mostly I was looking forward to showing off my brand new Nintendo Wii since I preordered mine, and my brother didn’t. But my mom, being the wonderfully kind and loving lady that she is, went to several different stores and by sheer karma was able to purchase the last of only three at a local K-mart for my brother. Well, since I don’t have bragging rights, I guess I can still beat up on him in some Wii boxing.

But here in North Carolina, I’m currently having huge problem with the weather. Just a few days ago it was freezing cold. But now it’s actually somewhat warm outside. It’s the middle of November, it’s not supposed to be 70 frigging degrees! Unfortunately, I have no control over the elements. The warm weather of summer was nice and all, but I’m ready for the winter months. I’ve already pulled out all my sweaters and long sleeved t-shirts, but I can’t wear any of them if it doesn’t get cold again. I really just wish the weather around here would make up its mind.

Mainly though, I wish it would get cold and stay cold. You see, I’m a warm natured person and I have a very hard time getting to sleep if I’m too hot. So during the summer time I have to leave my air conditioning on almost at full blast. But during the winter I don’t even touch the heater. I just like to bask in the coolness of the season. That and it gives me a good excuse to wear my Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, which is a perfect substitute for a robe and is oh-so comfortable. It also does a good job making me look stylish and sophisticated. I’m not exactly a man of fashion, so any help I can get on that front, I will gladly take. Besides, who doesn’t want to be like Hef? The guy owns the Playboy mansion. Need I say more?

Beyond that, I live on the third floor of my apartment building. And as we all know, heat rises, which is diametrically opposite of the president’s approval ratings (bonus points to you if you know the correct meaning of the word “diametrically”). So that means during the winter heat generated on the first and second floors creeps up to my apartment. This make my place somewhat heated even if I don’t turn on the hot air. I like it because I enjoy saving money on my energy bill. And thanks to our wonderful friends in OPEC and those SUV-driving soccer moms, energy isn’t exactly cheap these days.

Now, it doesn’t always stay warm at my apartment when I leave the heat off. When it’s freezing outside, it is very cold inside as well. And I’m fine with that. I happen to be a huge cheapskate, so whatever money I can save by not using the heat then I’ll gladly take it. I also only buy groceries when they’re on sale, which leaves me with a rather interesting collection of corndogs and Lean Cuisine meals in my freezer. I don’t really care if the food is healthy or not, as long as it’s “buy one get one free,” I’m all over it.

Being cold has never really bothered me. The cavemen didn’t have heat, and they did just fine. In fact, I have this theory that I’m actually a step backwards in evolution from normal humans. That would make me closer in relation to the cavemen then the rest of society. I know it sounds silly, but let me assure you that I have plenty of evidence to support this theory of mine. Mainly, I have hair on my knuckles. Well, not just my knuckles, but my toes too. And it’s not just peach fuzz, its bonafide Neanderthal-esque hair. Before you get all grossed out, let me assuage your fears by letting you know that it is neither scary nor freaky. It’s just hairy.

You would think being a not quite fully developed homo-sapiens would make me some sort of social pariah. But this is not the case. I am fortunate to be on the same level as many famous and well respected contemporaries such as: Captain Caveman and the Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. And that’s pretty good company if you ask me.

Unfortunately there is a downside to being a caveman. Congress is talking about passing an act that would specifically forbid cavemen from producing any offspring. Apparently they don’t want me to pass on my de-evolved genetic material to pollute the future gene pool. My name has been specifically mentioned in the proceedings. Honestly, I think they just fear me and my awesomeness. Nevertheless, the national government seems to want to get up close and personal with my reproductive habits, and that is just wrong. I mean, it’s genetic profiling. That’s just not cool.

But the negative sentiment doesn’t end there. Nope, there are plenty of people in this society who have something against the caveman. I try to tune it out, but it’s hard to do sometimes. GEICO has been airing commercials for a while now that are purposefully malicious to those that are less than sapiens. You shouldn’t make fun of us like that. I may just be a simple caveman. Your ways frighten and confuse me. But I do know when something is spiteful like that. And it hurts my feelings.

If you buy your auto insurance through GEICO then shame on you. You’re actively supporting this unsolicited bigotry and it has to stop. I have already tried unsuccessfully to get a petition signed to have the bureaucratic insurer to cease their current line of advertising. Unfortunately, using cave drawings as a signed petition isn’t very popular these days. None of my supporters could find the cave I was using for the petition and so I didn’t receive any signatures. But don’t you worry one little bit. I have plenty of other options at my disposal.

Apparently, you can use this internet thing to send messages directly to a person or a company. And if you send lots and lots of messages all at the same time, it will slow the company’s internet access tremendously. It seems that this can seriously hurt a business’ ability to operate and will upset many of its employees. I think maybe I should flood GEICO with these electronic messages asking them to stop their recent advertising campaign. “Emailing spam, so easy to do even a caveman can do it!”

Well, chances are I’m already in Georgia by now. While you’re reading this, I’m probably enjoying some wonderful time with my family that I haven’t seen in many months. In all truthfulness, I’ll probably spend all of my time playing on my brother’s Nintendo Wii and ignoring anyone or anything that’s not on the TV screen. I’m sure I’ll take a break now and then to get my hands on some homemade cookies and fudge. Maybe I’ll grab some turkey and stuffing too. Choices are so hard to make sometimes. And to think, I’m the good son… at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Here’s to hoping you’re having a wonderful holiday!

Jeff, the Legend

Over the past month or so I’ve reconnected with some of my old college mates. I would quickly like to point out, that I haven’t been out of college that long, a little over a year at this point. After talking with several guys I used to hang out with, and with some of the kids who are still in school, it has become apparent to me that I left something of a legacy behind. Apparently, word of my collegiate deeds has spread and I have become a legend. Here I will regale you with the various tales that have accrued to award me with this title.

How does one become a legend? Well first we have to look at what traits the college student admires. Surprisingly, grade point average and responsibility don’t rank very high on the list. Not so surprising is that I don’t exactly place legendary in either one of those categories. The thing I’m most capable at is drinking. And I think we all know how much those college kids love to drink. In fact, I’m so capable at drinking that I managed to get my name put on the wall of my favorite bar by drinking over 200 documented beers. You only need to drink 100 beers to get your name on the wall there, but I’m just so committed that I got it put up there twice.

The other major thing college kids admire in a role model is women. Or better put, they care about the quality and quantity of women a guy surrounds himself with. Well, I didn’t exactly get famous for being popular among the ladies. It’s actually quite the opposite. See, I have this problem where I say the exact opposite of what a girl would expect me to say. This usually ends up in the girl hating me for life. But on the plus side, guys find my actions absolutely hilarious. I just think it’s a good idea to let guys know that yes, every once in a while it’s ok to think entirely of yourself and ignore what the needs and wants of the female. Of course, acting like me is not recommended since you’ll probably be blacklisted by every woman you meet. But hey, it works out for me, mainly because I really just don’t care.

But then again, you could be nice to girls, take them out on dates, and get into that whole relationship thing. I mean, it works out for some people. Though I’m sorry to say, I generally don’t advise it. Case in point: my friend Michael dated a girl for almost a year. They broke up about halfway through our senior year in college. She wasn’t real fond of him after that, but unfortunately, the two of them ran in most of the same social circles. They had a bad habit of running into each other throughout the rest of college and even beyond. It could get pretty awkward, which incidentally is quite fun to watch. The latest of these occurrences happened this last weekend at the UNC vs. Georgia Tech football game.

Michael’s ex pretty much ignored him every time she could and gave him the evil eye. If you’ve ever had an ex-girlfriend then you know what I’m talking about. And this is even though they had been on pretty good terms lately and had spoken together quite a few times. Strangely enough, she had no problem talking to me and even seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Now this is the odd part. Michael dated her and for the most part was kind and generous, that’s just the kind of guy he is. On the other hand, late one night just as we were about the leave a bar (this was after they had broken up), I got into a slapping fight with her and two of her friends. I have to say in my defense, the girls started it. Well, no, maybe they didn’t. To be honest the whole event is kind of fuzzy… alcohol will do that to you. But I do know that it was three against one and those are totally not fair odds no matter how you stack it up.

So what’s the moral of this story? If you date a girl and be nice to her, then she won’t talk to you after the break up. But if you slap her around… well no, I’d better not finish that sentence. The thing is I don’t agree with physically harming girls in any way, shape, or form. Even though I’m an outspoken critic of the female species (and yes, I truly believe they are a different species), even they don’t deserve that kind of treatment. And in all honestly, I am very surprised that Michael’s ex and her friends never got upset at that incident. It could possibly be that they were even more inebriated than I was. Really, it was just one of those nights.

To be a legend is no easy task. There is no cookie-cutter solution to making a man legendary. Drinking copious amounts of beer, getting your name put on the wall of a bar, and getting into a slapping contest with three sorority girls may not make you a living marvel to all of your admiring friends. It just so happened that it worked out for me that way. The most important thing you can do is to just be comfortable with yourself. As it turns out, I happen to hate women. And I’m very comfortable with that. Some guys wouldn’t be, and that’s why they aren’t awesome. And yes, I am awesome; I have proof to back up this statement.

This past Saturday evening (the same night I alluded to earlier), I managed to convince a girl I met in a bar that I was awesome. To be honest, it’s really not my fault. All I did was tell her the truth. Apparently chicks dig honesty. Who knew? The truth, as I told it, was that I came from a very long line of awesome. My brother, my dad, and heck, even my grandpa is awesome. I was raised in sheer awesomeness. So the girl decided to call me by the name “Awesome” for the rest of the evening. I didn’t mind because I really couldn’t find any fault with her nomenclature. Apparently remembering my real name was far too difficult. But you know what I’ve always said when it comes to girls and names: totally not important.

Even if you weren’t created by the fusing of two sets of genetic codes into a zygote of pure awesomeness, you can still become a legend. It just won’t be easy on you. You can get a good start by trying to change your name. If you can come up with a really kickin’ stage name and convince your friends to call you by that name, then you’re well on your way. Eddie Vedder was originally named Edward Louis Severson by his parents. And there’s no way you’re going to be a rock star with the name Edward Louis, even in Seattle. (You did know that Eddie Vedder is the lead singer for Pearl Jam, right? Right? Jeeze, next you’re going to tell me that STP stands for “Standard Temperature and Pressure.” Please don’t be that big of a loser.)

Grunge rock music references aside, there is one important thing I think you should take away from this. Above all else, you just have to be true to yourself and be happy with who you are. I am perfectly content saying things out loud that all the other guys are thinking but never have the courage to say in front of women. Guys tend to think I have balls made out of pure steel. I assure you, this is not the case. I really just don’t care what most women think of me. As far as I’m concerned, good looking girls are a dime a dozen. If you want to be admired as a great person, you only have to be passionate about what you do no matter what it is.

Just be sure that you’re not passionate about pissing off women. That’s my thing, and I’m not going to let you muscle in on my territory. Although, I have to admit, it is a lot of fun and very liberating. Besides, you know what they say: “Nice guys finish last.” Hence, I am very seldom a “nice guy.” And this is why I’m known as a legend.

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:

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.