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.