One of the more frustrating things about trying to be a nice person is the amount of weird stuff you have to completely ignore. And if I could develop a program to help people increase their self-awareness, I'd be a rich man. Because while it might be funny on The Office for Michael to push the barriers of awkwardness and ignorance, it's not as funny in real life.
EXAMPLE #1
One of my older brothers thinks it's normal to clip his fingernails at any time… and in any place… in the presence of anyone. He actually carries nail clippers with him and isn't shy about pulling them out during dinners, meetings, or even weddings (yes, weddings). I understand that a person should be well-groomed. But I would much rather see a semi-unacceptable fingernail length than hear that clicking noise over a bride's vows. Especially when I'm sitting right next to him while he does it.
EXAMPLE #2
Another one of my older brothers doesn't seem to understand proper phone etiquette. He calls from elevators and concerts, he hangs up on me without any signal that the conversation is ending, and he puts me on speakerphone while brushing his teeth. Utter ridiculousness. But there's a new leader atop the list of infuriating phone etiquette breaches: eating fruit while on the phone. I know he's not messing with me, because he's totally oblivious to anything he does that might annoy other people. So somehow in his brain, it makes sense to chomp on a pear while he tries to tell me about the weather. It's like listening to Hooch drink from a bucket of pudding while a concussed person speaks in the background. And that's usually when I pretend I'm in an elevator and I "lose service" long enough for him to finish what is apparently an amazing pear.
(And in case you don't know who Hooch is, he's the one in the picture below that's not Tom Hanks. Now imagine him drinking from a bucket of pudding. Now you know what I hear in Example #2.)
This is my 400th blog post. And since I've reposted so much stuff and borrowed so much other stuff, 400 means absolutely nothing. Except maybe that I've spent a lot of time posting to this blog.
So let me assure you, my purest desires for this blog are still here. And in case you're wondering what those desires might be, here they are, each with an explanation:
1. Money. Lots and lots of money. - I'm not entirely sure how this works yet. Maybe some sort of benefactor. Maybe a rich cyberstalker with little to do with his/her money. Time will tell.
2. Fame. Lots and lots of fame. - Again, not sure how that works. I'm pushing two years on this thing and I'm not sure my parents even know I still post here. And if you make a graph of my followers by date (which I have), you can see a noticeable plateau since I stopped putting my link on craiglist under the title "need to sell this car quick before moving overseas - $300".
3. Creative Outlet. Lots and lots of outlet. - This one I'm feeling successful on. I rarely even share anecdotal stories with my friends anymore. When they ask me what's been going on, I just shake my head and hand them a napkin with my blog URL scribbled on it.
I'd like to pretend that I'd still write here if people weren't following me or actively/occasionally reading it. But we both know that's a lie. I do it for the people. I do it for the tens of followers I've amassed (only 6 of which are dummy accounts I created out of self-pity). Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go write my URL on a bunch more napkins. My supply is running low.
I'm not gonna lie. I recycle my jokes. I'm not funny enough to come up with something new all the time. So if I say something that I think is funny on Facebook, I usually use it here at some point. So it's time again to reimagine some of my Facebook statuses as a non sequitur blog post. Again, I apologize for the two of you who are my Facebook friends who also read this blog.
It's okay to be jealous of your children, right? I sure hope it is. Because my son sat up in his sleep a couple of nights ago (eyes still closed) and excitedly asked, "You have puppies?!" And considering my last dream involved finding a five dollar coupon for raisins, I'm really jealous. I want to dream about puppies, too.
Note to the people who make Banquet frozen entrees: If your instructions include the phrase "stir the lasagna," then it's not lasagna. Worst 84 cents I've ever spent.
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. Unless it's insulin.
I never know when it's appropriate to say "apropos."
Conan O'Brien says he got this for his birthday. Now I want one too.
A few weeks ago I told you about my older brother picking up golf. I can now reveal that this was one of the many times that the "older brother" was really me. So all that stuff I said about how bad it was going to be and how funny it was going to be to see my older brother fail, was really all the stuff I was most fearful would happen to me.
So, anyway, I played my first real round of golf this past weekend, and everyone who expected me to fail miserably (perhaps just me) was pleasantly surprised. Because it seems that I'm picking up on the game quite nicely. I mean, I'm not a prodigy by any means. I shot a 132 (that's 60 over par in case you're curious), but all-in-all I could have done a lot worse. And I mean, a LOT worse.
The group I'm playing with determined as part of the rules that your score can never be more than five strokes over par. So the highest score you can get on a par 5 would be a 10 (9 on a par 4, 8 on a par 3). This means if you hit it into the woods on your 10th shot when the par is 5, you just move on to the next hole and take a 10 for your score (let's call that "maxing out"). And I'm happy to say, that I didn't max out a single time during the 18 holes. I mean, I did take 10 shots on a par 5 a few times, but the 10th shot was always when my ball actually went into the cup. The 132 swings I took accurately reflect my score. And most importantly I didn't fall down, sprain a muscle, fall into a water hazard, or hit anyone.
I even got par on one of the holes. In fact, I got about 6 inches away from birdying that one. And that made me think that I could probably start playing on the PGA in a few months. All I have to do now is practice and get used to tucking in my shirt and having a tan exclusively on the bottom half of my face. Because if there's one thing I learned Saturday, it's that golfers look stupid when they don't wear a hat.
Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but I just remembered Binaca. I hadn't seen it, heard about it, or even thought about it in a really long time (like as long as it's been since I called someone collect). And I don't know what triggered it, but I just remembered it. Isn't that weird?
Well, maybe you don't think it's weird, but I was curious to see if Binaca was still being made. I figured it went away like a lot of other things from that era (baggy carpenter's jeans, cell phones with antennas, decent alternative rock, etc.). But lo and behold, it still exists! And that's not all. They actually have a Facebook fanpage and a Twitter feed! And you can't argue that that's weird. Okay, maybe you still don't think it's weird. But let me explain why you're wrong.
Binaca is from the 1990s. Period. That's when Jim Carrey asked someone (via his Canadian booty) if they had any Binaca in the heartwarming 1994 drama, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. And now the Binaca people are doing all the new social media advertising that's become so popular for companies these days. But they're from the 90s! See? Weird! It's something nostalgic trying to be modern!
Still don't agree? Fine, it's analogy time. It's like Ralph Macchio (aka The Karate Kid) at age 50, on Dancing with the Stars. Or it's like finding out that the little kid you babysat when you were in junior high is married and has a couple of children and builds websites in his spare time. Or it would be like realizing that not only do slap bracelets still exist, but there's an iPhone app to design your own (I wish).
Still don't see how Binaca being on Twitter is weird? Fine, I give up.
