A Day of Celebration!

Happy OFFICIAL Nevada Day!

Can you believe it's been 142 years since we were admitted into the Union? I swear, it feels like it's only been 130.

I hope none of you get too caught up in the evil commercialism and forget the TRUE meaning of Nevada Day. And that, of course, is the fact that it takes a long time to drive from Vegas to Reno. I mean, c'mon, what is it? Like 11 hours? That's ridiculous. What will Gibbons or Titus do about that, huh?

That's what I'll be thinking about as I decorate my Nevada Day sagebrush, watch "King of Cars" on A&E, and sing Nevada Day classics such as: "Oh Little Town of Pahrump", "I Heard The Bells of Slot Machines", and "I saw Mommy Kissing Another Stripper".

And for you losers who use Nevada Day as an excuse to dress up in wacky costumes and go door to door asking for candy, I only ask that you at least take a moment of silence to think about all the brave quarters and dollar bills who sacrificed themselves so that you can live in a place with no state income tax.

May the Silver State be with you. Always.

Random thoughts from Reno (apologies to Thomas Sowell)...

Has anyone ever used the internet service at a hotel? I'm not talking about using their wireless connection for your laptop. I'm talking about those of us Neandertals who don't own a laptop and have to use the cordless keyboard provided which surfs the web via the hotel TV set. This thing sucks! It doesn't have a normal mousepad like a laptop. It just has a button. A very hard to control button. And look at this--I can't even hit "Enter" to make a new paragraph! Arrrrgh! Perhaps there is some way, but I can't take the chance to experiment since I've already accidentally closed a dozen websites and launched a few nuclear warheads (sorry Argentina). Other than that (this *would* be a swell time for a new paragraph), my trip to Reno has gone swimmingly. I have free vouchers to use the buffet for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but since I slept in until 2pm I didn't even make it in time for lunch. Who wants to set the alarm to eat? My stomach is going to have to growl loudly in the morning if it wants to be fed. And the dinner buffet closes at 9pm. 9pm! Is that what time they close in Vegas? I don't even know, but it's cramping my style. Who eats dinner before midnight? Only mogwai, I think. // Pretend I started a new paragraph. This is a horrible looking blog. I shouldn't even press "post". By the way, I've decided to go with the British and from now on, I will put my end quotation marks before the punctuation because it makes more sense. No more of "this." From now on, it's "this". Hurray for the English for choosing logic over tradition. James J. Kilpatrick and all the other "language mavens" can kiss my ass. // Speaking of language mavens, I recently received an email from Steven Pinker. Yes, THE Steven Pinker! I wrote to him to say that something in one of his books ("The Language Instinct") inspired me to write a comedy bit. I almost felt like I stole it, so I asked for his permission to use it. He said of course I could use it and he added that he was "honored". I don't even do the bit that often, but I guess now I'll *have* to do it if I ever perform for the Harvard psychology department. // I'm done now. This hotel internet costs $45,000 an hour and my hour is almost up.

I didn't know they got that big

I came home on Friday night after work and as I opened up my screen door, I saw a shape by the corner bottom of my front door that didn't look right. It looked kind of "bugish." However, I knew it was too big to be a bug. I was hoping it was a just a leaf until I was able to grab a flashlight and see this:

I'm not going to say I screamed like a school girl. Let's just say my neighbors might wonder when I adopted a 13 year old girl. A 13 year old girl with a screaming problem.

When it comes to bugs, I'm not a stomper. I'm a shooter. I love killing from a distance. Yeah, that's right Bill Maher, go ahead and call me cowardly. I went back inside (utilizing my saviorous side door) and came out armed with "Country Fresh" scented Raid. Considering the size of the beast, this was no job for "Unscented" Raid.

Half a can later, the critter finally flopped on its back for good. With a stick, I was able to manuever it into a plastic bag so I could take cool pictures of it next to a pen:

How's this for judging the size of it:

Check out my cool penguin calendar:

I think we make a cute couple:

I want to name it Oscar, but it might be a female in which case, I'm leaning toward Elizabeth. I haven't decided for sure yet. I'm going to go to the library tommorrow and check out a book on baby names.

Oh--here's a nice postscript. The very next night, I came home and jokingly said to myself, "Better look closely to make sure it doesn't happen again." Ha ha ha, right?

WRONG!

It DID happen again. I opened up my screen door and--boom--there was a disgustingly large possible-cockroach #2 was sitting in front of my door. I couldn't believe it. Once again, I went inside and armed myself for war. It didn't take very long as I was now a battle-worn veteran. Once back outside, I shined my flashlight on the latest enemy:

A leaf.

Sheesh.

Me and Oscar/Elizabeth/To Be Determined are still laughing about that.

I do think I shall be wary of every leaf in the world from here on out, though.

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I don't think you're ready-o for this jayo

I have a friend named Melly. I don't know why she calls herself Melly. I'm guessing it is short for Melissa or Melinda or maybe Melancholy, any one of which would make a solid first name. The word "melly" reminds me of my first best friend, Steven.

We were the tightest of pals from kindergarten until 7th grade. We used to kick tennis balls together (what else are you gonna do with them?), fortify our Joshua tree forts, and have philosophical conversations ranging from the existence of free will to what kind of boogers are the most delectable.

Steven was one of those kids who had a bit of a mumbling problem. The kind of problem that most of us reacted to in the same way when we talked to a mumbler in school--just laugh at what they say and let them wonder what's so funny about "Can I borrow a pencil?"

He also had problems with certain words. One day as his mom prepared his lunch for school, she asked him what he wanted to eat. He replied, "Peanut butter and melly." She asked again to make sure, and yes, indeed, the hard "m" confirmed that peanut butter and melly was the combination he was craving that day.

Obviously, he meant jelly. I find it odd that his mom didn't put two and two together because she ended up making him a peanut butter and *mayonnaise* sandwich. Thank goodness he never asked for extra "jayo" on his tuna fish sandwich.

Steven was quite shocked when lunch time came around that day. I'm sure he went hungry because there's no way I would have offered him any of my baloney sandwich. Speaking of bologna, when's the last time you had one of those sandwiches? Seems like we're not supposed to eat them past puberty, especially if they are stored in a Star Wars lunch box.

When Steven brought the now mouth-watering sandwich home that night, somehow his younger brother and father ended up trying it...and they liked it! Thus, peanut butter and melly became a staple in their house although Steven never warmed up to it. True story.

Thanks to google I found out that sometimes Santa and his sons serve peanut butter and melly to children.

All this reminiscing has me yearning for simpler times. You know what? Screw social norms. I'm going to the park this weekend to kick some tennis balls, make a fort, and eat a baloney sandwich. And for dessert: a nice bloody booger. I think even Aristotle would agree that those are the tastiest by far.

Jesus Loves Supercross!

On Saturday night I went to the final round of the 2006 Supercross series which was held here in Las Vegas at Sam Boyd stadium.

I was surprised at the number of riders who mentioned Jesus while being interviewed after winning their heat race. Apparently, Jesus cares more about Supercross than even football which might come as a shock to many. The thing that really stood out was the context. Many riders talked about a previous crash or injury that might have kept them from standing on the podium that night, but "thankfully Jesus was on my side" or "the Lord works in mysterious ways."

So, if you have evil deeds to do, I suggest doing them during a motocross race because the big man upstairs is probably too busy keeping riders in one piece to spoil your good time.

Additionally, I guess no one should ever survive a crash. No matter how minor it is, if you crash--you should be dead. It's impossible to survive crashes without divine intervention. What if it's just a fender bender, you ask? Well then, I'd say you didn't notice the supernatural cushioning which kept your head from ripping right off your body, Captain Oblivious!

I wish Jesus could have made the race more entertaining. The top three finishers were in place after only the 2nd lap. Unfortunately, there are 20 laps in a race. How do NASCAR fans watch 500 laps? I did enjoy watching giant bats feast on the insects near the stadium lights.

I've finally decided that Supercross is pretty boring to watch. It took many years to come to that conclusion probably because the first Supercross I ever saw was in 1987 at the L.A. Coliseum when Rick Johnson went from 17th to 1st. To this day, that's the most exciting sporting event I have ever witnessed. And to top it off, BMX legend Stu Thompson sat right behind my dad and in front of him sat the kid from Mr. Belvedere. When have *you* ever seen such greatness in closer proximity?

I've gone to supercross events ever since hoping for another show like that. However, exciting races are few and far between. For the most part, the best rider gets the holeshot and then it's time to look for bats.

By the way, it's impossible to survive a bat attack without the guiding hand of Providence.

Pretty much sums it up...

Sure, there are exceptions, but for the most part this comic nails it right on the head:

4/20

A couple of days ago, I heard this DJ on 107.5 FM--that's "Xtreme Radio" for those of you who don't enjoy listening to the same twelve corporate rock songs every hour--talking about how it was April 18th which meant there were only two days to go before it was 4/20.

He kept going on and on saying, "I cannot wait! Oh man! Two more days until the greatest day of the year! It's going to be awesome!"

Now, seriously, what's this guy going to do to celebrate 4/20? Oh, wait, I know...he's going to do the SAME THING he does the other 364 days of the year. Look, if you open up presents every single day, Christmas ain't that big of a deal, know what I'm saying?

Anyway. Happy 4/20. Or, as the pot smokers call it....just another Thursday.

Does soap have an afterlife?

Today my liquid Dial soap dispenser stopped dispensing due to emptiness. I reached under my kitchen sink and grabbed an unopened replacement bottle of generic "compare to Dial" liquid soap so as to refill my dispenser.

Then something on the container caught my eye.

An expiration date.

An expiration date of 11/04.

That's right, November of 2004.

I never knew that soap could spoil. If it wasn't for the expiration date, how could I tell? It didn't smell. Well, actually it did smell--it smelled like soap. What does bad soap smell like?

It didn't look like it was expired. It wasn't brown. It was the same orange-like color it was back in 2004. Shouldn't bad soap turn green or black?

Alas, I had to face the fact that my soap was past its prime. It was over the hill. Presumably, it had become too decrepit to fight the evil forces of dirt. I'm sure it could have kicked dirt's ass back in 2004 and maybe even gotten in a few good licks in 2005, but what chance would my soap have now in 2006? Dirt would probably dominate it the same way it currently dominates Yasser Arafat who also expired in 11/04.

By the way, I wasn't surprised to find something in my possession that had an expired date. I've got plenty of things in my medicine cabinet dating from decades of yore. It's rare, but sometimes I'll clean things out. Two months ago I threw away some hair gel that I bought when I got my first flat top back in 1987. So rash, I know. I miss it already.

Anyway, back to the soap.

As I poured the dead soap into my dispenser, I wondered what sicknesses awaited me in my foolishness. What viral epidemic would I spread into the world by washing my hands with zombie soap? What hole in the space/time continuum was I tearing open with my utter disregard for expiration dates?

Who knows?

One thing is for sure, I am going to shake lots of hands tomorrow.

Super Bowl Bandwagoners

I haven't cared about the Super Bowl since, oh, I don't know...1967? And that was before I even existed. OK, that's not entirely true. I did exist for a brief moment in July of 1876. And I also went through a run of being a football fan during my high school years. I even went to an NFL game...in Los Angeles no less! How's that for old timey?

Yesterday, I did have the game on in the background but I only gave it my full attention when the commercials came on. If I had a TiVo, I would have set it to record the commercials and skip the game. Can it do that? Has modern TiVo science advanced enough?

I would also like to say that the more I hear John Madden, the more I think that Frank Caliendo is actually John Madden.

Anyway, on to today's topic: Super Bowl Bandwagoners.

If you have been a Steelers fan for less than two weeks, then you and me are about to have a serious disagreement.

Leave the celebration to the actual fans, you losers. I don't want to hear about how the Steelers kicked ass yesterday unless you cared about how the Steelers did during weeks one, two, three point one four, twelve, twenty-six and however many weeks they play these days.

It's ok for non-fans to pick a team to cheer for during the game. It is NOT ok for a non-fan to act like "their" team's victory is something to crow about. You had your Super Day and now it's time for you to take off that Steelers jersey and back away slowly. Yes, I understand that Tim from accounting now owes you a doughnut because he unwisely picked the Seahawks to be his new favorite end of January/beginning of February team, but you need to move on. You've got lots of sports to ignore before suddenly caring about college basketball sometime in March.

As for you Seahawks fans...you can take heart knowing that people won't even remember your team made it this far. You're getting off easy, for there are far worse fates than that. Just ask a Bills fan.

Finally, if anyone was able to TiVo the "In Living Color" concurrent halftime show this year, then let me know because that would be a TiVo worth owning.

Why bother?

Don't you hate it when people post quick blogs like this?