Irish Politics & Media -- Photo of the Week 30 Jan 2011

You may have heard -- the Irish were (still are?) up the creek, economically-speaking, and the government used a bailout as their paddle. The media was none too happy about it and expressed their anger thusly. 

Now, this is a newspaper headline about politicians that I can get behind.

Speaking of Ireland and financial woes, I am going to share a theory that I call "The Sisters' McD Corollary." (McD = Mrs. RoSA's maiden name) It is something I hypothesized a month or so ago, and which received further supporting evidence this weekend.

See, Mrs. RoSA and her sisters like to travel to foreign countries, and I have noticed the following pattern with their last few trips: Whichever foreign country the Sisters' McD travel to will thereafter experience financial/economic/political ruin.

Here's my proof:
--May 2007 -- Three of the McD sisters visit Iceland. In fall 2008, the Iceland economy collapses.
--August 2008 -- The entire McD clan visits Greece, and one of the sisters returns in July 2009. In spring 2010, the Greek economy collapses.
--May 2010 -- Four of the McD sisters visit Ireland. In fall 2010, the Irish government announces the bailout that spurred the above-pictured headline
--January 2011 -- The youngest of the sisters visits Egypt -- her mere presence single-handedly causes riots against the Egyptian government on the very same day of her arrival.

Admittedly, I haven't really used vigorous statistical analysis to prove my point, but four anecdotes isn't bad. Basically what I'm saying is that the McD sisters, while very sweet and lovely, are the harbingers of economic destruction and/or political instability to countries that they visit. So watch out, Holland. They want to come on a visit to do some genealogical research. Brace yourselves.

Oh, I found this beauty while looking up the Irish bailout info:

Sometimes British Isles English is so much better.

Happy Monday! Pray that the McD Sisters do not pay YOU a visit, lest your home collapse in economic woe.

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Weekly Selects #45

Follow-up from last week's Weekly Selects: A few of you expressed confusion over Zelda's gender. Isn't Zelda the princess, and Link the hero? I was never into the video games that much. Now that you've all expressed doubts, I'm wondering if Zelda is some gender-confused hermaphrodite. VIDEO GAME NERDS: BRING ME INFORMATION

Okay. Let's do this:

--Via Google Reader from Case:

Case called my bluff that I wouldn't post about tattoos. I had to post it. I just had to. But really, I have nothing to say that hasn't already been said...

--Via Google Reader, if you happen to have 10 min to watch some clips from a movie that I can only describe as some sort of hybrid between The Matrix, Quentin Tarantino, and an acid trip gone terribly, terribly wrong.

--Via GChat from White Josh:

In case you aren't adept at deciphering infrared imaging, this is a picture of a bunch of ordinary guys. With a catapult. Launching marijuana across the US-Mexican border. (There is no audio with the video at the link, but it is still worth watching). It's ingenious, really, because it saves on the extra costs of having a drug mule physically transport the drugs across the border. I hope those cost savings are passed on to the customer... or, at the very least, I hope the dealers launch a couple complimentary bags of pork rinds, Doritos, and other such snacks to their clientele. It's just good business.

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Ramblings of a 5-Year Old

Mrs. RoSA and I teach the 5-year olds at church. G is the one boy in the class who consistently comes, and -- perhaps feeling there is an alpha dog feud to be settled -- is constantly threatening me. The first couple of weeks it started out as veiled threats couched in rhetorical questions (all of the below quotes are said with his face six inches from mine, in what I can only surmise is an attempt to stare me down into submission):

 G: "Do you have any idea how strong I am?"

G: "Do you have any idea how hard I can punch you?"

G: "Did you know that I'm a billion strong? You can't stop me."

This past Sunday, G cut out the rhetoricals and went straight for the direct threats:

G (hand in karate chop shape): "I can karate [sic] you in half...from head..." (moves hand from my head to my feet as if bisecting me) "...to your toes."

The girls have some one-liners, too. Here's one Mrs. RoSA got from one of them:
Girl (referring to me): "Are you in marriage with him?"
Mrs. RoSA: "Yes."
Girl: "He looks like a Chinese man."
(Mrs. RoSA futilely attempts to explain the difference between China and Japan to a 5-year old)

Oh, the joys.

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Photo of the Week -- The "Rising Tide" 24 Jan 2011

Management here at the Compound likes flyers. A lot. Here is the latest one that I couldn't help but notice (Click to enlargin'):

This is a typical flyer that gets posted around here: ClipArt; lots of highlighting and underlining and bolding so we know what's important; and, of course, the forced metaphor ("Our pet problems are like the tide...they rise and fall"). Yes, yes, Management, that is spot on... the ocean tides -- which have been used in poetry and literature for centuries to symbolize universal human themes like the constancy of nature, the ebbs and flows of prosperity and famine, as well as the futility of man's struggle against the relentlessness of nature -- are the perfect symbol to convey to tenants that when their pet has "an accident" in the common areas, they should clean up after them.

Poorly attempted metaphor aside, I think my real issue with the flyer is the sheer volume of them. I found four of the exact same flyer within a 2-foot radius in our stairwell. I kid you not, and I took a video as proof.

They are all THE EXACT SAME.

I want to buy a pet now, just to break some more rules. Something simple, really -- like a grizzly bear.

Happy Monday to you. Another work week commences...

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Weekly Selects #44

Let's do's us some Weekly Selects:

-Via Email from Matty, who had this to say about a YouTube clip he sent:

This very bizarre Japanese commercial for a Zelda game seemed to be a viable contender for one of your weekly selects.

Well, really, it has been too long since I've had a chance to ponder about the strangeness of my people. It reminds me a little bit of Dungeons & Dragons re-enactments (costumes) and Matt pointed out that it reminded him of the Michael Jackson's Thriller dance (choreography), so there you have the targeted demographic of Nintendo's ad campaign: The maladjusted social outcast losers of D&D... and, the pedophiles (Michael Jackson jokes: too soon?)

(Kudos to Matt, for his first RoSA contribution)

--Via Email from Case:

I blew it didn't I?  I can't believe I wasted that chance to be part of the blog.  I got to tell you the truth, I got stagefright... I'll never forgive myself, such a big moment and I choked.

Background: I wanted Case to leave me a voicemail that I was then going to post to RoSA for the Seahawks' win last week, but he, as stated above, "blew it." Remember the translator in Saving Private Ryan? The one who totally froze up out of fear during the last battle scene and doesn't help anyone in his unit, and then they pretty much all die? Yeah. That's what Case did here. Instead of clutching his rifle, though, I imagine him clutching his cell phone and rocking himself back & forth under his desk at work.

Thanks for abandoning me, Case.

I am dubbing this The Unleft Voicemail Incident, and I will not forget it.

But I suppose his candidly stated reasons for not coming through are funny enough that he totally redeemed himself. Ironic, really.

--Via Email from Lexi, an article titled "Man Flies Into Rage Over Photo of Saved by the Bell Character":

"[A] man pulled a framed photo of Saved by the Bell character A.C. Slater from the wall and smashed it on the ground..." stating " 'I just don't like Slater.' "

Lexi's comment:

Does it please you or make you afraid that you are the first person I thought of sharing this with after I read it?

I think I'm more confused than pleased or afraid. My honest initial thought: What's a bar in Chicago doing with a picture of Mario Lopez on their wall?

Subsequent thoughts: "Is Lexi sending this to me because she thinks I'm violent and would do something similar? Or does she think I like Saved by the Bell more than the average person? I'm totally confused."

Like I said. Unbridled befuddlement. Welcome to my thoughts, people.

--Lastly, via Facebook from Sister Jen: 

On Display In Portland: The Art Of Beautiful Beards 

I recommend checking it out. That facial hair is impressive. This was not.

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Chapstick Gets Me Out of a Jam

I have very distinct feelings about each of the four seasons.

Spring and summer were great back in the Pacific NW and at BYU, but ever since I moved back east and have had to endure the adult-onset of allergies during the spring and unbearable humidity during the summer, my valuation of these two seasons has dropped considerably.

I remain a fall and winter guy. Always have been. Probably always will be.

My only problem with winter around here is that with the freezing winds make my face all dry -- it bugs me all day at work because I never think to bring lotion with me. It's just not on my priority list when I'm scrambling to get out the door in the morning (other things, like hygiene, are).

One day at work the dryness was unbearable, but I had no lotion with me. So, I improvised. I took the chapstick on my desk and started putting it on my face.

Unconventional, yes -- but I had no other recourse. And it helped to relieve my irritated skin.

Good thing my chapstick is clear, though. Or else I would have ended up looking like the dude from Twisted Sister:

That's more than enough to make me shudder uncontrollably. And it has nothing to do with how cold it is outside.

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Photo of the Week -- The LOST Tattoo 17 Jan 2011

I SWEAR this will be the last time I blog a tattoo*-- I realize this makes three weeks in a row and you are screaming for variety... but really, PotW was primarily meant to zero in on the humorous and dumb things that people do, and nothing says "lapse in good judgment" than a poorly chosen/placed tattoo. Also, it's a holiday, and I'm feeling lazy and this was the closest thing available.

Additionally, this will be the last time 'LOST' is mentioned, as well, as I thought I had already bid the show farewell last year:

I hope 40 years from now this person grows old and gathers the grandchildren at their feet:

Old Person With LOST Tattoo: "Children, gather around, gather around!"
/young children gather around expectantly/
"Let me tell you about a show I loved as young teenager, LOST. It rulzed [sic]! It was about a plane that, uh...uh, it was about..."
/checks arm tattoo/
"...oh, yes! About a plane that crashes on a tropical island. And uh...ummm..."
/checks arm tattoo again/
"...and two guys! And one fires a gun at the other. The end."
/children leave disappointed; Old person is smiling in a self-satisfied manner/
"Good thing I got this tattoo."

*I'm probably lying right now. As I type.

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Goodbye, Christmas Tree

Well, the BAR Tally sits at 8, as Mrs. RoSA and I moved our Christmas tree out of the apartment at about 11PM the other night, leaving a trail of pine needles and snapped branches in our wake (Mrs RoSA: "A trail of tears"). It wouldn't be hard for security to track down the culprits -- the trail is easily traceable back to our place, much like Hansel & Gretel's bread crumbs.

It was almost sad, taking the tree away. We got him when he was all young and vibrant, but at the end he was all frail and brittle; throwing him away was almost like taking an elderly person you care about to a nursing home, or an old dog to the vet to be put under -- we knew he wasn't going to "a better place" ("They have nice gardens where you can go on walks" "They have sewing classes there!", etc etc), but we wanted to tell him he was, just to make him feel better.

Too bad the reality is that he is probably headed for a wood-chipper somewhere, if he hasn't been run through one already.

Wait, am I on the verge of giving a eulogy for a Christmas tree? Snap out of it, man!

Perhaps the key to avoiding emotional attachment is to go artificial next year (yes, I believe this one is made of beer bottles)

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Weekly Selects #43

Why do the weeks go by so quickly...Let's do this:

-On Google Chat Status, from high school friends Jay Z and Boyer, regarding the colossal upset that was the Seahawks beating the Saints in the first round of the NFL Playoffs:

BEAST MODE

and then I found this photo here:

Marshawn Lynch pulls off the rare "backwards leap into the endzone with hand on jock" move

Well, as a WA State native, good on the Seahawks for being one of three teams (the '82 Lions and Browns -- pretty bad company right there) in NFL history with a losing record to make the playoffs and then go on to beat the defending champs. It is the team of my childhood, so this made me happy.

It's unfortunate, however, that watching the NFC West this year was like watching four members of the chess club get into a fistfight: their scrawny and lanky arms flailing ineffectually in futile attempts to land punches; hair getting pulled; eyes getting gouged; and finally having one of them emerge victorious simply because he wasn't as exhausted as the other three. Now that I think about it, though, I think the chess club fight would have been much more entertaining to watch than this division's 2010 season.

--Via Google Reader Share:

Calvin and Hobbes/Fight Club mashup

I felt this was pretty brilliant; I love Calvin and Hobbes. And my favorite line from Fight Club is still when Brad Pitt is getting up from his seat on the plane and says as he's passing by Ed Norton, who has the aisle seat: "Now, a question of etiquette -- as I pass, do I give you the a**, or the crotch?"

It's a good question.

--Via Google Reader, an article about real-life vigilante crime-fighters:

The dude's crimefighting name is Phoenix Jones. He is part of the "Rain City Superhero Movement." Along with a desire to fight crime, he has a skin-tight armored suit, a taser, and an extensive Batman action figure collection that he plays with every night in his parents' basement (that last one is speculation on my part).

I just keep hearing the exchange from the beginning of The Dark Knight:
Batman Impersonator: "What gives you the right? What's the difference between you and me?"
Batman: "I'm not wearing hockey pads."

But hey. More power to Phoenix and The Justice League.

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Giving Thanks

Sometimes when people are filled with a sense of gratitude, they say "I want to thank (so and so), but I have no idea how to."

I feel that way right now, but my inability to express myself is not because I'm overcome with emotion or because I'm teary-eyed.

Take this mighty toaster oven, for example:

It is, as Gimli declared, "a kingly gift," but I have no idea how to thank the person who gave us this because I have no idea who gave it to us. It came with a card, but there was no signature on it, and as I am no graphologist, nor am I a voodoo diviner, I don't know who gave it to us.

So here's the best I can do, via the blog: Thank you, Anonymous Benefactor, for your gift. In addition to obvious functionality, it has apparently helped us maintain our already hipster lifestyles by serving in lieu of, in some ways, a microwave. (Apparently not having a microwave is part of being hipster -- who can keep track of this stuff? Not having a microwave, of course, must be accompanied by greasy hair, tight jeans, and a healthy sense of superiority.)*

*Having anything in common with hipsters is such a scary prospect that I am currently shopping for a microwave on Amazon. Perhaps I should purchase two, just so there are no misunderstandings.

While I'm thanking random anonymous folks, I'd like to thank whoever leaves the sports section of The Washington Post in the bathroom stall every morning at work. Your consistency in this department has greatly benefited my mornings.

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Photo of the Week -- The Twilight Tattoo 10 Jan 2011

You know, I should really just make PotW "Horrible Tattoos"-centric. There would be no shortage of material, as there is no shortage of stupid people willing to ink themselves in an unflattering fashion. I presented a pretty horrible cat tattoo to you a while ago that I thought would never be topped, but perhaps this one could give it a run for its money:

Oh, the horror.

A 49-year old fan of the Twilight series got this full back tattoo inked because, well... she is as addicted as teenage girls are. Which is a greater test of perseverance and endurance, though: The 22 hours she spent in the tattoo artist's chair, or the hours she spent enduring these cringe-worthy books and movies? Toss-up.


I do have to give the tattoo artist some credit, though. If I were a tattoo artist and someone came in and said "I want the entire Twilight series tattooed on my back," I would have tattooed on four elephant-sized piles of poop and called it good.

Some key quotes from the article:

She plans to save £2,000 more to spend another 12 hours under the needle as she eclipses her whole torso with the gothic tribute...
...'I love Robert Pattinson. I want to tone up so I can get his character Edward Cullen on my stomach.'

For. Shame.

Happy Monday, people. Think long and hard before you go and get tattoos...

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Of Sickness and Death

It has been an interesting three weeks featuring all kinds of run-ins with sickness and death.

So there I was a few weeks ago, racked with unrelenting stomach pain for three hours straight, essentially dying of death. This landed me in the ER for a late night visit and a groundbreaking diagnosis: "stomach pain." Thank you, modern medicine. That would have been an informative diagnosis had it not been the exact thing I told you I had when I checked in. A parrot -- or my nieces, when they get in one of those moods where they repeat everything I say -- could have properly diagnosed me under those terms.

I suppose the one positive outcome of going to the ER was that I did get a nice, healthy dose of morphine, which I'm pretty sure is the greatest invention since the printing press (replacing the Snuggie, of course. Coincidentally, both Snuggies and morphine make you all warm). By the next morning, the mystery illness was gone, and I triumphantly declared in an opiate-hazed delirium something along the lines of "Death wanted to play chicken with me, and Death blinked."

Mrs. RoSA: "Yes, dear. Death came knocking at your door, and you slammed the door right in his face."

(These metaphors portraying my active and aggressive triumph over the Grim Reaper are actually to cover up what really took place that night: Me passively and resignedly doubled-over in the fetal position, body spasming, pleading for the sweet, sweet relief of painkillers or the surgical removal of my stomach and both sets of intestines)

I recovered within a few days. As my immune system limped its way to my sister's house for Christmas, however, neither I nor my family had any idea what lay ahead of us. The scariest incident was a grandchild having a finger almost severed in a slammed door, which required attachment at the hospital. But that wasn't the end of it... no, perhaps it was merely an omen of the coming doom that awaited us...

A plague that I can only surmise was the 5th Horseman of the Apocalypse, or some manifestation of the angel of death (perhaps we forgot to put that lamb's blood above the doorpost?), smote the household over the Christmas holiday, leading my brother-in-law Ben to declare 2010 to be "the Christmas of Vomit."

The plague waged war by first manifesting itself via the oldest grandchild, who woke up in the middle of the night (perfectly normal -- I do it all the time to pee), crawled into bed with grandpa and grandma (tender), and proceeded to vomit on the latter (perhaps not so normal). This was merely the first volley fired by the illness. Eventually, we were pretty much all toppled by the disease throughout the week, one by one -- pick your domino effect/chain reaction analogy, really, and it illustrates what happened. I'm personally going to go with the Pie-eating contest scene in Stand By Me, where the first contestant vomits, which causes another contestant to vomit, and then the audience to vomit, etc -- Only time-lapse the scene so it lasts over four or five days. This is basically what happened.

By day two most of us knew, deep down, the undeniable and inescapable truth: It was just a matter of time before we were sick. The resignation in the air was palpable. It felled most of the grandchildren with vomiting and most of the adults with flu aches and lack of appetite.

But we all survived. And aside from the whole health thing, it was a great holiday. Family time. Kids opening presents. Kids running around and sassing adults. Good food. True Grit. Ben trapping five mice in a single night (It was like watching some combination of the Predator and Bear Grylls practice their trade. Awe-inspiring). Some Call of Duty on PS3.

Mrs. RoSA (walking into the TV room and seeing me playing Call of Duty): "Oh-- well isn't it encouraging to find my husband engaged in bloodsport once again."

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Weekly Selects #42

Not much came in this week. You gotta step up your game and help me out here, people! And holiday hangovers are no excuse. Let's do this:

--Via Google Reader, a pretty hilarious video:



I don't know why this is so funny to me...

--Via Google Chat, from White Josh:

"just got cropdusted by a really old professor"

Poor, poor Josh.

For all of you people not familiar with the term "cropdusting", UrbanDictionary.com has the following: "Farting, silently, as you walk by someone you either want to move out of the way or leave. Only works in crowded areas where you can't be discovered as the farter."

I'm guessing the professor's version was just as toxic...

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Photo(s) of the Week -- The Sticker & The Ashtray 3 Jan 2011

For all of its rules, this is one of the Compound's that I can actually get behind:

This is the sticker outside of the sloth-like elevator in our building that measures a paltry 3'x4', which you have to have a special key to use, and which you MUST use to move in all of your furniture (moving in, of course, is made exceedingly difficult if you happen to have any furniture that is larger than the aforementioned 3' and 4' dimensions). These are Ridiculous Rules #36 and 72, respectively.

The only problem is, you look a little below this sign, and behold the laziness of the Compound:

A golden ashtray, a relic from what I'm assuming is the 1970s. Methinks it would have been a smarter solution to remove the ashtray from the wall than to slap a cheap sticker on it...their current approach  is like telling a bank robber: "don't rob banks... but if you just happen to, I have a Swiss bank account you can store the stolen money in for undetectable safe-keeping." But what do I know about running an apartment complex?

PS: the Broken Association Rules (BAR) Tally sits at 7, thanks to us moving some bookshelves in at 11PM a couple weeks ago. You should have seen us stealthily scrambling between the truck and the elevator like thieves in the night.

Happy Monday! Hope you had a Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year.

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