The Fonz: Eyyyyyy!
My favorite image from this blog chronicling the time travels of Patrick Ewing.
I knew I could count on Patrick Ewing to shot block Communism.
Whatever You Can Do, I Can Do Better
I’ve had this knack for walking through crowds with ease since my days working at Disneyland years ago. I can quickly weave through people of all shapes and sizes, and I can avoid the sea of strollers without much effort. When I’m stuck behind a disabled person or a slower moving person, I kind of hesitate to pass by, because I feel like I’m showing off. I’m thinking, “Oh, look at me. Look at what I can do with both of my legs.”
Yes, Hell has reservations for me in the hottest ring. Whatever, I heard they do Happy Hour every Tuesday and Wednesday. How bad can it be?
Marathons for Everyone
What if I wanted to participate in a marathon, or even a half marathon, but I don’t like to run? There are maybe only be a few times you’ll ever see me run. When my life is in danger, or if you formed a giant pyramid of pillows, I would want to get a running start to cannonball dive into the mound of comfortable goodness. We need to create marathons for those who don’t like to exert more physical effort than is necessary. Maybe napping contests, where everyone is a winner.Dirty Jobs
Why are some people so filthy at work? I spent an hour and a half cleaning and organizing my new desk yesterday. Disorganization doesn’t bother me, but the least a person could do is wipe down their desk. I don’t need to see food stains from two months ago.
I went down into the restaurant to grab a towel and some cleaning solution. By the time I was done wiping everything down in my cubicle, both sides of the towel were black with disgustingness. I made sure to wash my hands twice after I was done cleaning. I was sure my desktop was stricken with lupus, consumption and basically any other disease that was big in the 1920s, and I’ll be damned if I get consumption.
editor’s note: Consumption IS tuberculosis, dork.
I'm so manly that I can't grow facial hair.
All of the guys at work have full beards or mustaches, and I feel left out. If I could grow a proper beard, I would look so stunning that just a slight glance of me would make you want to shed tears of joy. You would hear a triumphant horn section playing a tune to celebrate my beautiful facial hair. Confetti would appear out of no where as it slowly floated down to the ground. Wars would end, and hunger would no longer be a problem. This may sound a little far fetched, but I’m sure I could even prevent jaundice in babies if I could grow a beard, but alas, my ability to grow facial hair is stunted.
Could I get a toupee but for my face? I’ll have to look into this.
G'Bye Semi-Retirement
This was my last weekend of being semi-retired, a quasi-lazy lifestyle I’ll miss fiercely. I’ve had random 60 second episodes of anxiety for the past week and a half. Each time, I’d begin to doubt my ability to perform up to my expectations at my new job, and I feel completely unprepared for the task at hand. Have I gotten myself in over my head? What if they think I’m a fraud? After the 60 seconds have passed, I remind myself that I’m great, and I’m going to kick ten kinds of ass. I know I’ll be okay as long as I stick to the same approach I’ve always used. If you’re wondering, my approach consists of these criteria:
- Does it make sense?
- Is it interesting to me?
- Is it simple?
- Does it make me laugh? (optional)
I get a little annoyed when I hear someone talk about thinking outside of the box, it’s something used a lot in marketing. If everyone thinks outside of the box, no one really thinks outside of the box, because all ideas are then essentially homogenous and maybe even superfluous, but I digress.
Going back to work will be fun though. New friends, new challenges, new opportunities for office pranks, and my favorite, testing my new co-workers’ threshold for ridiculousness and hilarity. My favorite office prank has to be the first time my friend Ryan and I rolled up some potluck fudge into tasty pieces of poo, which I placed in a urinal in the men’s room. My co-worker Chris went to the restroom and promptly came back with a look of pure confusion. With a bit of hesitance in his voice he asked, “Have any of you been to the restroom? Uh… because there’s… IT WAS YOU TWO WASN’T IT?!” Poo-shaped fudge met all four of my criteria.