I Can Ignore That Raspberries Are Not Blue, But This...This Is Too Much

Dear Candy Industry,

When we go to eat colored candy, we have certain expectations - things that we, as a society, have come to an agreement on so that we can all have a safe, enjoyable experience. Principal among these expectations with regards to your particular craft is that, given a color, I will know what flavor I am about to encounter. It is this foundation, this trust, that our relationship is built upon.

Unfortunately, something went awry at some point. Someone decided that the colored candy experience was overwrought with citrus flavors. Thus began the gradual shifting of the color green - previously a pleasant, enjoyable lime - to the less favorable green apple.

This will not do.

Please, take a note from the frozen treats industry, or even your own Mike and Ike: green is lime. Always. Anything else is...well, it's just uncivilized is what it is.



Sincerely,
Your Friends At Dangerously Low On Grog

What's Really Sad? She Never Said Anything Like That.

Despite what you all may think, I am actually a bastion of self-control when it comes to deciding what I do or no not say in public spaces. A bastion I tell you. I'm extremely adept at determining what is or is not appropriate in social situations, and make decisions based on that knowledge. Sure, I'm willing to push a few boundaries, but I usually know right when to reel it in.

That said, I do face temptations - things I think about saying, but resist due to societal pressures. For example, when asked how things are going by a coworker, I have thus far resisted telling them that my workload is backed up like the inventor of the all-cheese diet. Also, I don't ever say "that's what she said", even if it's completely fitting. You don't know how hard it gets sometimes.

You just said it to yourself, didn't you? See. It's harder than most people realize.

Okay, now stop it.



It's not just work either. When I'm using a public urinal next to another guy, and a bit of gas escapes me in a boisterous manner, despite my usual misgivings I have this nigh-irresistible urge to turn to the guy and declare, "That's right. I said it.". I have no idea where this comes from, or what the consequences might be of such a thing, but I'd hate to have to explain to my lovely wife that I got my ass kicked because I was backing up the statements of last night's nachos.

Ah, self-preservation, you ruin so many good joke opportunities for me.

I Should Be Grateful They Work At Softsoap and Not Massengill

Today I read to my daughter's elementary school at lunchtime, and while there I had cause to use the restroom, where I made the following observation: the hand soap they put in elementary school bathrooms is the same pink liquid that they used when I went to elementary school, a long, long time ago. This is both amazing and somewhat comforting. More importantly, it had the two qualities I look for in a liquid soap: it was liquid, and it smelled like soap is supposed to smell like.

Now some might scoff at the preceding statement, but think about what you have at home right now on the bathroom counter. It seems like over the last few years, someone went nuts in the creative department of Softsoap, and now we have liquid soap in at least 99 flavors. My lovely wife protests my use of the word "flavors" when describing such things, but really, once you have "black raspberry & vanilla", "pomegranate & mango" and "juicy melon" varieties, we're talking about flavors. These are deserts, not sanitary products.

More egregious, however, is what has evolved from the liquid soap industry. Now we have advanced liquid soaps, which include random stuff floating around in it. "But it's just beads of shea butter to soften your hands". Bah. They look like spider eggs, and their in my damned soap. Besides, I don't want to put stuff on my hands. I want to wash stuff off of my hands. Isn't that what we were shooting for in the first place?

Don't even get me started on the self foaming stuff. How lazy are we as a species that we have found a way to get around the ever-tiring process of lathering? Sheesh.

So huzzah to the producers of pink liquid soap for staying the course. As soon as I find out where I can get a case, I'm on it. I may even install the little hand pumps at home, so I can have the full experience.

Now the little milk cartons - the ones that only open correctly like two-thirds of the time - those could still use some work.

Hey Baby, Wanna Split a Jalapeno?

Today, I have learned yet another bizarre bit of history: graham crackers were originally developed as a bland food made to discourage "carnal urges". Yes in 1829, one Reverend Sylvester Graham decided that spicy, flavorful foods were a bit too exciting for the average, easily-tempted yahoo, and that he needed to come up with a more innocuous comestible to curb our more animal desires. This is the same view held by our own semi-local famous health nut, one John Harvey Kellogg. I wonder how the good reverend would feel knowing that his attempt at blandness was perverted by the sultry marshmallow and seductive chocolate bar. Aghast, I imagine.

More importantly, what if the dude was right, and we just never caught on? I mean, it's common knowledge that spicy food release endorphins, which arouses feelings of pleasure. What if instead of the sexual revolution being driven by the throwing off antiquated inhibitions and flowering personal freedoms, it was really just that Mexican food was getting more popular? What if the increased population growth rates in Asia have less to do with changes in economic and medical improvements, and more to do with increased access to chana pindi and szechuan chicken?

One thing is for certain: this would explain a whole lot about my unnatural attraction to the international foods aisle at Meijer and why I blush when I get caught manhandling the big bottles of Pace Medium Salsa.

The Power Of The Net, Corrupted Absolutely

While discussing the fact that my previous list of interview questions to avoid would not apply when interviewing interns, the topic of Natural Light came up. For those not in the know, Natural Light is to beer what Paris Hilton is to actress: it's a loose affiliation at best. It is, however, a favorite of college kids, as it is dirt cheap and contains alcohol (something else it has in common with Ms. Hilton). This put a quandary in my head, though: what precisely is Natural Light a light version of? Why is there no Natural?

Fortunately, in this age of instant information, we are able to resolve even the most mundane of inquiries immediately, and thus I promptly emailed the good people of Anheuser-Busch to inquire about the full-calorie version of Natural Light. Less than 24 hours later, I have my response: Natural Pilsner was introduced in 1991, but lasted a mere six years before being removed from the market. How is this information useful? It isn't - not even a little bit. It does, however, bring me a certain amount of glee that I can not only posit what is an inherently silly question, but actually get that question answered promptly thanks to the power of the Internet.

Next week: why are there no nuts named after alcoholic beverages other than beer? Is there no marked for Whiskey Nuts, Vodka Nuts, or Bartles & Jaymes Tropical Fruit Wine Cooler Nuts?

The Happy Dance Was Legendary

I just won a writing contest, and I could not be more full of myself (okay, I could, but my lovely wife would stop talking to me, and that's no good). The contest was to write a creepy story in 140 characters or less - essentially, a Twitter story. I will now reproduce all of my entries, including the winning entry, for your enjoyment. (Warning: My entries do not have my usual language filter, so the eight-year-olds reading this will find it extra juicy.)

First, the winner:

She giggled. No one would look in the dark closet. Through his noose-bent neck, the hanging man shared the laugh and reached towards her.

And then the rest:

He's eccentric, this one, his wall covered in faces, all photos or sketches. "They're all dead," he sighed. Seems an odd place for a mirror.

Why yes, it was a shock finding so many spider eggs. Pretty though, and matched the color of the cookies I was making so well. Have another?

It had been hard, caring for so many cats. Now, as she fed them one last time, she wondered what they would do once her bones were clean.

The mirror on my desk at the morgue lets me know when someone is behind me. Just once I wish they would still be there when I turned around.

I hate distrusting her. She's my own little girl. But ever since her mom died, I swear when she laughs, it's with someone else's voice.

Arms pinned now, the cold water reached her chin. She looked to the distant light trying to remember when the sound of rain calmed her.

He stood, naked and sweating, over bodies lain on years of old comics pages. The knife raised again as he screamed, "Fuck you, it's funny!".

I know you said to stop or you'd call the police, but my iPhone is so quiet I just had to share. I mean, you didn't even hear me click send.

I looked into the mirror, and said to my reflection, "I don't know if I can do this." As I turned away, I heard it whisper back, "I know."

She could have said "I love you" at the funeral, but that's okay. She say it soon enough, once she realizes I'm still here.


A big shout out to Halforums for a particularly interesting challenge, especially for one as garrulous as myself, and a special thanks to our fearless leader Dave, who not only funds this foolishness but tries his hardest to keep our weird little band together despite all the adversity the internet can offer.

It Felt Like Success, But It's Snot

This morning, I had agreed to go into the Princess's school to discuss her weekly work sheet with her teacher, as not all items had been marked as completed and she had insisted they were done. I went in and discussed it with her teacher, who responded as I had expected - she had been out sick for four days, returning just in time for the Halloween festivities. As such, she was a little discombobulated, and some things had slipped through the cracks. (Side note: I've never considered that, for teachers, being sick means you have some other person working in your space, moving your things about and manhandling your personal effects. I would not abide by this. One more reason the programming gig is a good one.)

Anyway, I played the role of the good parent as best I can. I was charming and attentive, showing support for my daughter and understanding for the teacher's situation. When I walked back to my car, I was all puffed up, as I often am when I successfully interact with one of my daughter's teachers or friends (or anyone else in real life, for that matter). I got into my car all happy with myself, kicked on the radio, and looked into the rear-view mirror to check for cars and/or short people behind me, which is when I noticed it.

You know, there's nothing that sucks the confidence out of a person like that moment when you have to ask yourself just how long you've had that big, honking booger hanging out of your nose.

DLOG Presents: Halloween Safety Tips

Once again, we come upon the time of year where we all encourage our kids to take candy from strangers, which would be viewed as hypocritical if there weren't potential Reese's peanut butter cups at stake. As the ever dutiful watcher over the denizens of the internet who wander through here, I offer the following helpful hints for keeping your kids safe this Halloween:

• Make sure your kids know that they need to let you inspect their candy before they eat any of it. Follow through on this. Personally, I go so far as to take a small bite of each piece of candy, just to make sure it is safe, but not all parents are as dedicated to safety as I am.


• If you see a zombie, and there isn't a discreet way to check it's pulse, take it out. Better safe than eaten.


• Kids walking streets in the dark make for unsafe conditions. Some suggest having costumes include neon colors or reflective strips. Of course, this will ruin their costumes, and possibly their social lives as well once the other kids see how their costume now sucks. Is one night of safety really worth that risk?


• Some people give out healthy treats on Halloween, like pennies or toothbrushes. Remind your kids to change into darker clothing and avoid roads when they go back to throw eggs and toilet paper at those houses.


• If you see a pet dressed up on Halloween, remind your kids to stay far away. Most pets are just waiting for an excuse to kill you. Putting a Yoda costume on one is like handing Jeffrey Dahmer a blunt object and a bottle of steak sauce.


• Your kids may become frightened by the scary costumes they see, making them prone to running away unsafely. To help alleviate this, find a couple of kids in really scary costumes, and show your children how easy it is to knock them down and take their candy.


• Some people will encourage you to feed your kids a big meal before trick or treating so the kids won't fill up on candy afterward. These people hate children. Besides, what's so healthy about eating a five-month-old Snickers bar that you've been saving since Halloween?


• Remember that kids are impressionable, and some may get into their costume a little too much. Remind them that just because they are dressed as a monster or a superhero, it doesn't mean they have those powers. Use a painful personal memory if possible to bring the story home, like my ill-fated invisible man costume. (In my defense, and this came up at the trial for indecent exposure, a lot of the people in that mall were acting like they couldn't see me at all.)

Have a safe and happy Halloween, Internet!

Trust Me On This One

In addition to making me a better person environmentally, my lovely wife also plays an important role in making me a better person in my household - defending our cat. For those that don't know, about eight years ago we picked up a Siamese cat. Given that all of my previous cats were of the "come to the barn and take a kitten" variety, I was not aware of the specific temperament of the Siamese cats. Mainly, they have two talents: yowling, and getting in your face and yowling. Neither is particularly endearing to me.

Don't get me wrong - when she was a wee, white kitten it was cute. We'd come home from work, and she would make the arduous journey climbing pants and shirt to get all up in our Kool-Aid and subject us to a tiny feline version of "Just where the Hell have you been all day?". Now that she's all grown up, however, I find myself looking back at my past cats, who were far less vocal, with a certain longing.



My lovely wife thus defends her. "Look how pretty our kitty is," she'll say, and I have to acknowledge that she is the prettiest cat I've owned. "Look how much kitty loves you," she'll say, and I grudgingly acknowledge that, yes, she is very affectionate (especially with me, who is not nearly as friendly with her - I'm thinking daddy issues, but whatever). She also tells me to stop it when I point out that for a cost equivalent to that of her adoption, I could have gotten a hamster, cage and all, who would have made far less noise. So she has thus protected the cat from my ire, which is probably a good thing.

Now she just has to protect her from the Princess, who once again brought up the idea of a kitty Halloween costume, an idea that rates with visiting an amateur proctologist both in awfulness and potential physical harm.

You'd Think Someone Named "Iron Eyes" Wouldn't Be So Weepy

One of the many things my lovely wife does for me is act as my social conscience. This means that when the grocery stores we frequent began selling reusable bags, she was the one that suggested we pick some of them up. Myself, I was contented collecting plastic bags, although in my defense I had intended to reuse them eventually. Having not yet found the time to put together a hang glider composed entirely of old Meijer bags however, I relented and now own enough of the reusable bags for most of my shopping needs.

There is, however, a cost to being responsible in this manner. See, when the cashier is bagging my groceries now, he or she seems to be incredibly self-conscious about how much they can fit in one of the reusable bags. This means that I stand there a lot longer while they call upon all their hours of Tetris playing to arrange and re-arrange the items in the bag. Yesterday, my cashier was actually taking things out of the bag, slowly looking over what she hadn't rung up yet, and then selecting items based on what would fit best. When she finally ran out of room in the bags, she actually looked ashamed when she asked if I wanted paper or plastic for the four items she couldn't fit.

Of course it probably exacerbated the situation when the question prompted me to sadly look across the store at the crying Native American.

Although That Venomous Duck Thing Is Tempting

So, a guy was mauled to death by a bear in Russia, which in and of itself would not be newsworthy, what with the fact that Russia is lousy with bears. What makes it newsworthy is that the guy was mauled to death by a bear wearing figure skates. No, not the guy - the bear. While this is a tragedy to be sure, it didn't happen to me or anyone I know, so it has now inspired a new feature:

Horrible ways to die that would look awesome in an obituary

• Mauled to death by a figure skating bear (duh)


• Dismembered by rabid fans


• Spontaneously combusted during a tour of a popcorn factory (a firework factory would work too)


• Poisoned by a venomous duck


• Sexed to death


• Devoured by an escalator


• Eaten by a grue


• Trampled during the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade during a particularly spirited edition of Dancing Queen played by the Kennesaw Mountain High School marching band



• Beheaded by group of misguided teens and their dog when mistaken for for Old Man Jenkins wearing a mask


• Zombie Apocalypse: Patient Zero


• Killed during a high speed buggy chase across Amish country

Me, I'm sticking with "died peacefully in bed surrounded by loved ones at the age of 127 years old", but hey, you guys are welcome to any of these.

Not A Word Until Thanksgiving. Got That?

Dear World,

I haven't had Halloween yet. As Halloween does not occur until October 31st, and today is October 21st, I'm guessing you haven't had Halloween yet either. As such, I would appreciate it if you might accommodate the following request: stop talking about Christmas. Don't tell me how many shopping days I have left. Don't put away the skeletons and ghouls on display to sell Snoopy in a Santa suit. Don't start discussing trips to Bronners with the kids. Just %#$&ing stop it. I'm not ready yet.

Sincerely,
Roger

P.S. I will make an exception for The Nightmare Before Christmas. That is all.

The Shopping List As Performance Art

A conversation on Facebook has awakened a new creative outlet in me. I have decided that my new favorite activity is coming up with shopping lists for our local superstore (Meijer, in my case) that are designed to invoke a narrative for the poor cashier who would otherwise have nothing notable to talk about his or her day besides screaming toddlers and furious debates over the price of Spam. The key here is that I know for certain I can get each of these items in the same store. As such, I present to you the first of these lists:

• 1.75 Liter Cheap Whiskey


• Machete


• Party hats


• Tampons


• Duct tape


• The Best of Tiny Tim CD (If they don't have that, anything by Abba will do.)


• Rubber hose (Good catch, Adam. I would have forgotten this one.)


• You-Mix Concrete

I like this list especially because in my case I follow up by asking the cashier if the industrial building up the road was still abandoned. Nice.

Your Home, Now Heated Through Sweet, Sweet Bunny Lovin'

As Fall slides through Michigan, bringing with it colder days and spectacular displays of colored leaves, some of us are forced to consider the impending Winter, and the heating bills that it will bring. Of course, in addition to the cost comes the consideration of the environmental impact of whatever method of heating that we each choose. My household uses natural gas, the cleanest of all fossil fuels (which is like saying that Jack the Ripper was the most charming of mass murderers, but I digress), so I don't feel too guilty. Still, there are those out there that are truly thinking beyond the rest of us.

For example, there's a town in Sweden burning bunnies.



Apparently, in response to the mass of rabbits eating up their public park foliage, Stockholm acted with extreme prejudice, resulting in a sizable pile of ex-rabbits. Instead of simply burying the bunnies (or having the biggest hossenfeffer cook off ever), someone had the bright idea of using their furry little carcasses as fuel to heat homes. Apparently, the body fat of a bunny has similar properties to heating oil. While I find the idea slightly repugnant (one can only imagine a town that reeks of barbecued bunny), you have to admire their inventiveness.

In fact, I'm thinking given rabbits natural habits, we're a case of Viagra and a carrot farm away from an endless supply of heat. Investors looking to get in on the ground floor of this can email me for more information.

I'm Not A Doctor, But I Advise Like One On TV

So, I'm reading one of the many blogs I follow, and this one on vaccinations and the people who protest them got me thinking about something important I've been meaning to mention to you guys. I understand that we here in America have an odd celebrity culture, and that we tend to idolize people for...bizarre reasons. It is because of this that I must pass along the following knowledge:

Celebrities are just people, and therefore are just as likely to be ignorant morons as anyone else.



Seriously you guys, I don't trust celebrity endorsements of snack foods and cooking machines (see above), much less medical advice. They are entertainers, not unlike clowns or that guy at the bus stop who will dance for a buck and a quarter (best money you'll ever spend). This is not to say they're all ignorant, but if you want to know if you, or your children, should be getting vaccinated or taking vitamins or seeing a psychiatrist or whatever, ask a %#$&ing medical professional. Do not trust Bill Mahar, Amanda Peet, or even Bill Frist. As much as I would love to leave those who need this advice to your own devices, and thus let natural selection work its magic, I feel that your kids should get a fighting chance.

On the bright side, we can look forward to a future full of interesting reality television like "I'm a Celebrity With Polio, Get Me Out Of Here. And By 'Here', I Mean This Bed.".

It Was a Three-Year-Old's "Barbaric Yawp"

Yesterday, the Moose was acting up at the dinner table. As a result, I put him in time out. As he was already in a dinner chair, all I did was pulled the chair away from the table where he couldn't reach anything, so he ended up sitting behind me. As he railed against his being in time out, he showed his dissatisfaction by taking off one of his socks and throwing it at the back of my head.

For me, the hardest part of being a parent is being an authority figure, which means when things like this happen, I have to hide the fact that I'm giggling like an idiot.

But Hey, Find Something That Works For You

I've been thinking a lot about workplace diversity lately. This is, in part, due to an email that went around my company suggesting that managers look around at their group and see how many of them share ethnicity, background, etc. with them. I reassured my manager that despite my appearance, I was actually a great employee to have around for diversity's sake as not only am I part Mexican, but I also grew up as a poor, black woman. (I saw The Color Purple at a very young age. It's...complicated). This did get me thinking about the companies I've worked at.

When you get right down to it, most of the places I've worked in the past have been populated with a lot of white people. I personally don't think of this as an issue of discrimination, as it pretty well reflected the population of the area where the business was located. Still, my teams have traditionally had all the diversity of, say, the Kidd Video crew.

Still, part of me wonders if by continuing to draw attention to our differences, we're just prolonging the awkwardness. I find that given a little consideration, you will find that you have more in common with the people around you then you think. Even furries. We're all just trying to get along, and focusing on what makes us different seems to be a backward approach to addressing the real issue, which is equality.

For example, I personally take great comfort in the fact that no matter who I meet, regardless of race, background, or religious convictions, is probably at least a little overwhelmed by my charm and good looks.

I Hope They Were Recording It - They Can Use It For Samuel L. Jackson's Next Screenplay

You know what I love? I love the fact that many companies have replaced the old standard automated answering systems where you press numbers to navigate menus to the new ones where you talk to them. This combines many of my favorite things like listening to crappy, ambient music no one would intentionally listen to, being misunderstood by a machine after I say exactly what it told me to, and cursing out machines, which in my defense is actually part of my job (a lot of people who drop out early in the Computer Science program miss out on the advanced machine cursing classes, which is why we professionals seem so good at it). These systems are far more efficient than the old ones. It used to take me like five, maybe six menus before I was ready to kill someone before.

Now, I'm pretty much ready to lay waste to humanity the first time I hear "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that".

One Even Had The Nerve To Mention My Unshaved Legs. Brute.

At some point in the last century, it was decided that in order for a man to be sexy, he has to completely lack body hair. I don't who the originator of this concept was, although one is forced to suspiciously eye the major razor manufacturers. Either way, it has become the norm that magazine ads, romance novel covers, and the walls of mall stores I refuse to enter on principal are adorned with sullen, half-naked men who seem to have skipped the part of puberty that gave the rest of us body hair.



This is bothersome to me, as I actually went all the way through puberty, and thus come equipped with said body hair. While I have no issues with shaving my face, the idea of taking a razor to the rest of my person just seems wrong, not to mention time consuming. I'm sure right now there are hypocrite alarms going off for some of my female readers (assuming I have female readers that is), but it's true. I can't imagine adding forty minutes to my morning routine to de-wookie myself, not to mention the investment in razors and shaving cream that would entail.

The thing is, because this is all I see, I become self-conscious about it at times. I mean, I'm not Robin Williams furry. If I take off my shirt, you can tell I'm not wearing a sweater or anything. Still, it makes me wonder if my good lady wife would, despite her protests, actually prefer the more aerodynamic look I see all around me. This is especially true in the most complained of area, the back hair, where I don't actually have full coverage, but rather one decent row of hair right across the top of my back.

Yeah, nothing says sexy like a unibrow across the back.

Still, I hold fast for the most part, taking comfort in the odd exceptions. Hugh Jackman seems to have retained sex symbol status, so there's hope for us manly men yet. In the meantime, I'll maintain my longstanding policy of simply remaining clothed pretty much all the time I'm within public view. Well, I don't know about longstanding, but at least since the neighborhood association got that complaint about me taking the garbage out half-dressed because I was running late.

If any of them knew how long it took to get those garters on in the first place, I'm sure they would have been a little more understanding.

DLOG Presents: Public Speaking Tips

In my never ending efforts to bring my extensive experience and knowledge to you, good readers, today I continue my series of educational posts. Among my many talents, I happen to be an expert public speaker. Calling on that talent, today we provide:

DLOG Presents: Public Speaking Tips

• Familiarize yourself with the space you will be speaking in. This will help you become more at ease. It will also make you familiar with the exits in case the audience turns against you and becomes violent, which could happen if you suck.


• Try not to suck.


• Visualize yourself giving the speech ahead of time. Picture yourself expressing your ideas, your voice loud and confident, the audience being impressed with your knowledge, the thunderous applause after your finished, clothing being thrown onto the stage as they rush to you, your own outfit being ripped asunder as each tries to physically express how moved they were through deviant acts of...wait, what was I talking about again?


• It's important to remain relaxed as possible during a long speech. Sometimes it helps to have something to drink nearby so when your nerves are getting the best of you, you can pause and take a sip while reminding yourself to relax. I find either either gin or vodka look enough like water to avoid arousing suspicion.


• It never hurts to prepare notes to refer to at various points in your speech. Try to make them specific enough to be helpful though. "Tell them about that thing with the clams." is probably not going to help you in your time of need.
  


• Make sure you know the audience you'll be speaking to. This helps tailor your speech to those who will be receiving it, making it more effective, as well as allowing you to choose appropriate minorities or fringe groups to mock without offending the crowd. One should not go into a furry convention expecting their best Chip and Dale material to kill. In fact, one should not to to a furry convention at all. %#$@ing freaks.


• Sometimes when you're nervous, you can try to imagine the audience in their underwear. If that doesn't work, try to imagine them naked. If that still doesn't work, try to imagine them picturing you naked. If you're still having trouble at that point, you're probably visibly aroused and should just get off the stage before someone calls the police.

Now get out there and do some public speaking - remember, no one has ever started a war giving a speech. Well, almost no one. I'm sure you'll be fine.