This is from Spring '06 at BYU, I believe.
Nothing quite like getting your shorts completely ripped off of you while playing some intramural flag football. Remember when Bush 41 puked in the lap of the Prime Minister of Japan at that state dinner? Pretty embarrassing, right? This is on that same level.
Bank of America is my bank. They just launched a new set of commercials with Kiefer Sutherland as the narrator.
Now, if there is anything that TV (24) and movies (Phone Booth, The Lost Boys) have taught us about Kiefer, it is that he is an emotionally unstable psychotic. Need an illustration? This is from Season 1 of 24, where he is about to torture someone he needs information from:"You wouldn't think I could force this towel down your throat, but you'd be wrong. Russian soldiers in Katjata shove towels down prisoners' throats during interrogation. They leave them there until the stomach starts to digest, which only takes a couple of minutes, and then pull the towel out... taking the prisoner's stomach lining with it."
See why I would hesitate to entrust my money to this man? It's not so much that he doesn't instill confidence, but more that he instills fear:
Do I really want the guy who was the creepy caller in Phone Booth handling my mortgage?
What if he's my teller at the bank and he shortchanges me? If I call him on it, I run the risk of him beating me senseless with an improvised weapon (likely a sockful of quarters) just because I questioned him, right?
What if I try to negotiate the rate on my car loan? Do I walk out of there only after he's ripped my fingernails off one at a time?
...I guess what I'm saying is that I am now officially scared to go into my local branch to do anything. This is the worst marketing campaign ever.*
Oh, and don't tell me I'm confusing reality with fiction.
*I guess the only way it could be worse is if they had Anthony Hopkins narrating with his Hannibal Lechter voice.
I just found further reason to hibernate until the spring:
The Wolverine movie:
...and the Terminator movie:
May 2009 is basically going to be the nirvana of action movies.
Sing it with me: "Ch- Ch- Ch- Chia!"
Seriously, though. Would it surprise you if this was a college prank gone awry? Like a few of this guy's frat brothers snuck into his room while he was sleeping, applied some of that ChiaPet cream to his eyebrows, and this was the result -- that he hasn't been able to rid himself of for 30 years?
C'mon. It's possible.
(This is from a German website. I know nothing about this guy because I don't read German, but who cares? His eyebrows speak universally to all of us, and refute the old maxim that "bigger is better")
As some of you know, I talked about training for a marathon.
Well, I am now officially committed to the 14 Nov 2009 Run the River Marathon from Folsom, CA to Sacramento, CA. I heard that they give the runners a 50-meter headstart, then release the prisoners from Folsom Prison to chase after us -- like the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. Added incentive to run faster than we normally would, I suppose.
I acquired a coach about two weeks ago -- he's my sister's coach and was kind enough to take me on after I applied for admission. (Actually, between you and me, I'm convinced affirmative action played a role in the decision...with my sister being only half-Asian, and Coach undoubtedly needing to fill his quota of at least one full-Asian runner, I was allowed in)
Anyway, I logged my longest run to date yesterday: 6 miles. I know. This is chump change to you seasoned distance runners, but it was raining and freezing out there. And those running/training montages from the Rocky movies? Not nearly as cool or inspiring when you're the one doing it.
Anyway, here's the running diary from yesterday's run:
Mile 0.02 - I hate this. I want to quit.
Mile 1 - Still hate this. Want to quit.
Mile 1.5 - Need to start brainstorming possible injuries that justify quitting.
Mile 2.5 - Thank you, thank you, thank you for iPods.
Mile 5 - Focus. All. Effort. On. Breathing.
Mile 6 - Just chant it. Tylenol. Advil. Motrin. Tylenol. Advil. Motrin.
Cooldown - There was a 30 minute span of time where I don't remember anything, so I'm assuming I blacked out.
My cell phone got run over last week. I got out of the car for a second and it must have fallen out of my pocket onto the road without my noticing. It was obliterated by the next day:
Thanks to Megs for gathering up the pieces that were scattered across the road the day after. I don't think I would have gotten closure otherwise.
Apologies to my phone for flushing our two-year relationship down the drain by abandoning you in the middle of the road to suffer a pitifully lonesome death.
Kind of like when Ben Affleck left Bruce Willis to die alone on the asteroid in Armageddon. Only instead of death by nuclear explosion in order to save the world, my phone probably just got run over by a Ford F-150 or something.
Also unlike Ben Affleck's situation, I didn't go home to Liv Tyler.
I think I'm on my fifth cell phone now, and this was by far the most violent death of any of them. What have been the worst fates of yours?
I saw a book cover in the bookstore the other day, and I need someone to explain it to me.
The part that has me confused is "Nora Roberts writing as JD Robb." Before this, I was fairly sure I understood the purpose of a pen name, but just to make sure I turned to the un/educated masses on Wikipedia and found this:
Respected authors have used pen names to conceal identity and to provide differentiation when they have crossed into newer genres, etc. If Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens did it, I can't really argue against the practice.
(Apologies to Mr. Twain, who no doubt just rolled over in his grave because I mentioned him in the same entry as Nora Roberts. I'm debating which he would perceive as more insulting: Mentioning him and Nora Roberts in the same breath, or rounding up all remaining first editions of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and burning them right in front of his eyes.)
I guess what I take issue with is why you create a pen name for yourself and then immediately identify yourself by your real name on the same book cover. This woman wouldn't last a second in the Witness Protection Program.
Am I missing something? I better be, and somebody better have an explanation, because I just threw Nora Roberts' name all over my blog and I'm feeling pretty insecure about it.
So I was driving home from work. The car in front of me was lecturing me on my moral inferiority using five-word bumper sticker catchphrases. Look, I understand why people have bumper stickers. I have a Japan sticker and a BYU one on my car, because those are things I identify closely with.
However, there is pride in things that are important to you, and then there is excess:
This spurred me to develop a theory: The more bumper stickers on your car, in excess of three or four, the less people care about what you want to say.
...an equation:
Lecture over.
Read more...
I got a tour of the West Wing a month and a half ago.
W and Dana P were out sick, so they asked me to fill in. Here's me taking questions from Reuters or some other media guy in the White House Press Room.
This got me thinking about the myriad of reasons why I would be a subpar to horrible president:
Reporter: How do you feel right now? I mean, you trained for four years and came to represent your country at the Olympics, and had all these expectations, and totally lived up to none of them. How do you feel about letting your country down?I absolutely lose it when I watch interviews like this. My press conferences would likely consist of me fielding one or two ridiculous questions, getting agitated, upending the podium, and storming off.
I hate traffic. Hate it. Like Michael Scott hates Toby. The only thing that elicits more profanity from me is watching BYU football games.
Last year I wrote about my attempts to stay entertained in the car. In Virginia, the best way to do this is attempting to decipher the overabundance of vanity plates that drivers decide to hang on their cars. Recently, I found this CNN article, which claims that 1 out of 10 vanity plates in America belong to my fellow Virginians.
After two years of being a VA driver, I have found there are three types of plates, and that I have three distinct reactions to each kind:
--Type 1 - The Paris Hilton Plate: It is obviously a customized plate and grabbing for/needing attention. Its message is -- 99% of the time -- oversimplistic, annoying, and of no benefit to humanity. The only redeeming quality is that its message is clear: You don't need to think deeply in order understand what it's trying to say. I can tolerate these. Did I just semi-compliment Paris Hilton? I sure hope not.
Example: Remember that "Seinfeld" where Kramer gets "ASSMAN" as his license plate because the DMV accidentally swapped his plates with a proctologist's? See, those kind of Type 1s make this type tolerable.
--Type 2 - The Kanye West / Tom Cruise / Rosie O'Donnell Plate: These plates are obviously customized, so you know the owner wants attention. But unless you know the owner, the message they are attempting to convey is complete drivel. Incomprehensible gibberish. These annoy me to no end. I just don't understand why you would put such an esoteric message in so public a place. It's like preceding a speech with "What I am about to say is of importance" and then delivering the speech in Klingon.
--Type 3 - The Normal Plate - These are the ones that were randomly assigned numbers and letters. There is no deeper meaning or hidden message.
The problem is, thanks to Type 2, I already KNOW these have no meaning, yet I still look for them. And then I'll start conjuring up crazy things to make them fit.
Example: I saw a plate, "KBL-6602." I thought to myself "Oh, I see. The guy probably lived in Kabul from 1966-2002, then he moved to the US." I KNOW. I told you. CRAZY. This whole looking for non-existent clues, coupled with my interpreting of messages that aren't there, reminds me of why I was perpetually horrible at "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?"
Therefore, I am enlisting your help. I need your help with the Type 2 Plates! I will try to get pictures of what I see on the road and provide my best guess. I need you to provide your best guesses in the comments -- decipher the meaning.
"Dented Jeans"? I have no clue.
At least this should provide some amusement.
I was blogging about something having to do with my childhood and remembered this poster that one of my old college roommates, Jason, received as a sort of gag gift. Even though he claimed he didn't like it, he held on to it for some reason, had it in a nice frame, and hung it in our kitchen.
I would just like to draw your attention to Tom's distinctive Asian features.
Apologies PoTW has been semi-lame as of the last couple of weeks... Been busy. I will rededicate myself.
© Blogger templates Inspiration by Ourblogtemplates.com 2008
Back to TOP
