Thanks for Coming

Traffic to this here snoop-bloggy-blog is up quite a bit--in fact, it's doubled over the past year. I can't attribute it to my sparkling wit or McConaughey-like good looks, so it must be something else.

With that in mind, I checked the referrer logs to see what's bringing people here. Y'all are a diverse bunch. Here are some of the more, well, "interesting" words and phrases that you've used to find me:

• "Its" and "possessive its" top the list. Yes, I am a deputy in the grammar police force. Don't make me call out my posse of gerunds.
  
  
• Lots of you find me through a Google image search for "mullet". Folks, not only did I steal that image, but I removed it a long time ago. Friends don't let friends wear mullets.
  
  
• Someone was looking for "Schipperke Wallpaper". I miss my Schipperke, but she's buried in the back yard; I can't imagine using her for wallpaper. If I'd saved all the hair she shed over the years I might have been able to do that, though. Hmmm...
  
  
• A couple folks are looking for "Kristy McNichol". Yes, I had quite the crush on her back in "the day", as the kids these days say. I'm not sure what she's doing now--probably getting botoxed or something. Anyway, that was a silly boyhood crush. I've moved on to more serious pursuits, like Rachael Ray.
  
  
• There was a search for "Richard Smallbone". Hey, how did you find out my last name?
  
  
• That last bullet was a joke.
  
  
• An old post where I referenced "Gin and Squirt" led some poor soul here. I hope they weren't looking for porn.
  
  
• Another clown wants to see "all kinds of liner rider games". That sounds vaguely obscene, but I can't be sure.
  
  
• Rounding out the list is someone looking for "When Harry Met Sally" quotes. Ah, my favorite movie, and the best examination of "men and women as friends" ever put to film. You want quotes? Here are a few of my favorites, although some of them will be incomprehensible if you haven't seen the movie. And if you haven't, go out and rent it tonight. It's a great New Year's flick. BTW, there's nothing here after the quotes, so feel free to stop reading here if you're not interested, 'cuz this goes on for a while. If I don't blog before the first of the year, Happy New Year, everyone:
  
  
  

Harry: What I'm saying is... and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form, is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way. Sally: That's not true, I have a number of men friends and there's is no sex involved. Harry: No you don't. Sally: Yes I do. Harry: No you don't. Sally: Yes I do. Harry: You only think you do. Sally: You're saying I'm having sex with these men without my knowledge? Harry: No, what I'm saying is they all want to have sex with you. Sally: They do not. Harry: Do too. Sally: They do not. Harry: Do too. Sally: How do you know? Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive, he always wants to have sex with her. Sally: So you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive. Harry: Nuh, you pretty much wanna nail'em too. Sally: What if they don't want to have sex with you? Harry: Doesn't matter, because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story. Sally: Well I guess we're not going to be friends then. Harry: Guess not.

-----

Harry: Suppose nothing happens to you. Suppose you lived out your whole life and nothing happens you never meet anybody you never become anything and finally you die in one of those New York deaths which nobody notices for two weeks until the smell drifts into the hallway.
Sally: Amanda mentioned you had a dark side.

-----

Sally: Well if you must know, it was because he was very jealous and I had these days-of-the-week underpants.
Harry: (imitates a wrong answer buzzer) uah! I'm sorry I need a judge's ruling on this...days-of-week underpants.
Sally: Yes. They had the days of the week on them and I thought they were sort of funny. And then one day Sheldon says to me, 'You never wear Sunday'. It's all suspicious, where was Sunday, where was Sunday? And I told him and he didn't believe me.
Harry: Why?
Sally: They don't make Sunday.
Harry: Why?
Sally: Because of God.

-----

Jess: Marriages don't break up on account of infidelity. It's just a symptom that something else is wrong.
Harry: Oh really? Well that symptom is fucking my wife.

------

Marie: Someone is starring at you in personal growth.
Sally: I know him. You'd like him, he's married.

------

Harry: Are we becoming friends now? Sally: Well... (Pause) yah. Harry: Great! A woman friend... You know you may be the first attractive woman I have not wanted to sleep with in my entire life. Sally: That's wonderful, Harry.

-----

Harry: Waiter, there is too much pepper on my paprikash.
Harry: But I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie.

-----

Harry: You know I have a theory that Hieroglyphics are really an ancient comic strip about a character named Sphinxie.

-----

Jess: When someone is not that attractive, they're always described as having a good personality.
Harry: Look, if you would ask me, "What does she look like?" and I said, "She has a good personality." That means she's not attractive. But just because I happened to mention that she has a good personality, she could be either. She could be attractive with a good personality, or not attractive with a good personality.
Jess: So which one is she?
Harry: Attractive.
Jess: But not beautiful, right?

-----

Marie: Everybody thinks they have good taste in a sense of humour but they couldn't possibly all have good taste.

-----

Sally: Harry, you're going to have to try and find a way of not expressing every feeling that you have, every moment that you have them.

-----

Jess: Baba...baby fish mouth, baby fish mouth!

-----

Sally: She's supposed to be his transitional person, she's not supposed to be the one. All this time I've been saying that he didn't want to get married, but the truth is, he didn't want to marry me. He didn't love me.

-----

Harry: If you're there please pick up the phone, I really want to talk to you. The fact that you're not answering leads me to believe that you're a) Not at home. b) Home, but don't want to talk to me. Or c) Home, desperately want to talk to me, but trapped under something heavy. If it's either a) or c) call me back.

-----
Harry: Well how does it work?
Sally: I don't know but not this way.
Harry: Well how about this way. I love that you get cold when it's seventy one degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich, I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts, I love that after I spend a day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes and I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Years Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of the life to start as soon as possible.

Why Women Go To The Bathroom In Pairs

...they're afraid they'll encounter this:

The Secrets of Life, Death and Family

Note: This post turned out to be a lot longer, a lot more rambling, and a lot less lucid than I intended. It may, in fact, disappear at a moment's notice. Bear with me, folks. I think I'm a bit loopy in this post-holiday season.

Lyvvie writes:

It's a real shame I went and gave this blog address out to so many folks because I have a huge pile of family gossip to spill and I'm not allowed to share because "We don't air out dirty laundry for the world to see!"

I know what you mean.

This Christmas provided what could be a whole new batch of blog fodder, but I'm keeping the family drama to myself. Between what's going on in my own immediate household, and all the stories I could tell regarding the 30 or so family members that shared Christmas, it would be a long and very interesting blog post.

But I won't go there. Not completely, anyway. Instead, I'm going to submit a long (and long-winded) blog post that, hopefully, will come around the block and make some kind of sense at the end. We'll see.

Several people went in together this year to buy me the Six Feet Under box set--all five seasons, plus the two soundtracks from the show. I spent most of yesterday getting reacquainted with the Fisher family and all their hidden secrets.

"SFU" was my favorite show, and I miss it terribly. It follows the lives of a family that runs a funeral home, and what happens to them after the death of their husband and father. What's striking to me now is how deep it digs into those clandestine family secrets--the ones we know about, the ones we don't, the ones we suspect but keep hidden, and the realization that we never really know even the people closest to us.

Those of you who have more than a passing familiarity with this blog know the story of my Mom's death better than you probably want to. I won't rehash it in this post, but I bring it up because it's relevant to the subject I want to discuss. Our worst- and best-kept "family secret" was my Dad's alcoholism. Those that knew never told. Those that didn't know wouldn't believe. And my mom kept that particular secret very, very well. I think she felt it was her responsibility to keep the family glued together, and she did it the best way she knew how. Oddly enough, it was only when she exposed the cracks in the veneer that things really got better.

After her death, there were more secrets that would be revealed--some silly, some relevatory, some shocking. When my Dad died, my brother and I spent countless hours filtering through the family archives; much of that material still sits unopened in our relative homes (to wit: despite transferring literally hundreds of hours of other people's 8mm films, my family's movies still sit in a corner of my office waiting for me to garner the courage to tackle that project). I thought I knew my parents pretty well, but after filtering through a lifetime of memories, I realize I didn't know them at all. Not really. Even now, I still don't. I have a million questions I'd like to ask; a lifetime of them, really.

One of the regular plot ploys of "Six Feet Under" features the dead patriarch of the family, Nathaniel Fisher Sr., who makes regular appearances on the show, talking to his wife and children from beyond the grave. These "conversations" are meant to expose the internal thoughts of the living characters, but it's not much of a stretch to imagine that (at least in the early episodes) Nate Sr. is really reaching out to these people.

Not that I believe that's possible. Not at all. But I will say this: after my Dad died, we had sporadic but very real conversations. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced. In the months that followed his untimely demise, Dad would talk to me in my dreams--the most realistic, lucid dreams I've ever had. We'd chat about the kids, how everyone was holding up...normal, day-to-day stuff. The only time he ever refused to talk to me was when I asked a question about the afterlife. He just smiled and shook his head. "Can't tell me that, can you, Dad?" I asked. "Nope."

Do I believe that these conversations were anything more than the equivalent of a "mental fart"--my own confused brain trying to make sense of a senseless death? No. They say more about my own messed-up state of mind than they do about the possibility of conversing with the dead. But they were important to me. And in some ways, I hold the memory of those fake conversations as close to my heart as any real ones I ever had.

But let's get back to my subject (and I did have one).

Our families, our friends, our relationships--they all have secrets. Sometimes they're out there for everyone to see. Sometimes we sweep them under the carpet and walk around the lumps, hoping and pretending that no one will notice.

My own family lives out of state. I haven't seen many of them in years, although I've made it my mission to get out there next year and touch base with everyone. So my extended family is all here in New York. It's interesting to watch the dynamics among people that you don't have a lifetime connection with. I've now known many of these folks almost as long as my "blood" family, but I can still sit back with a sort of interested detachment and observe. It's fun.

And they're a great bunch to watch. I can't--and won't--get in to too much detail, but suffice to say, they'd make a great book. There's a great Far Side cartoon titled, "God's Kitchen" where the old man with the beard is mixing up "Earth". He holds a shaker labeled "jerks" over the globe, and says, "...just to make it interesting." That's this crew.

But I enjoy them immensely. There are some I wish I could see more often, and some that I'm glad only come around once a year (kind of like the circus). It's hard to write this post and not dish out all sorts of juicy gossip and family secrets. Suffice to say, there's a carnival missing a freak show somewhere.

Anyway...

Where was I?

I dunno. I guess I should close this post and stop rambling. Life, death and family. They've all been on my mind a lot these days. I hope your holiday season (whatever tradition you celebrate) brought you much joy and happiness.

As Promised (THANK YOU!)

To those of you who looked, and those of you who found, a huge thank you!

You made a kid very happy this morning. Proof positive:

Still Going...

...one last deadline, and that's tomorrow morning. Then I'm done! Whoooppeeeee!

For the truly curious: Kira's cat has a blog. It's better than some HUMAN blogs I read.

Good stuff.

See you all soon.

Engage!

I'm watching TNT, and Captain Picard is playing Scrooge.

Yeah, this is cool.

Well, I think the rush is over. I have one major project to finish up, two performances of "The Nutcracker" to videotape, then dinner to cook for 30 people. AFTER Christmas, I can relax. Maybe. Actually, I have to prepare for a trade show...there's a ton of work for that I've been putting off as well.

This was a good month for business, but it has drained me. Despite bringing in some extra help last week, I still found myself working until 5AM last night to meet a last-minute deadline. I'd like to relax, but it's proving to be nigh impossible.

In a way, that's probably good. I don't do well with long periods of inactivity. I like to be busy, and if I'm not busy, I'm just not comfortable. After running at full speed for the past few years, I'm afraid I've forgotten how to relax. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

Anyway, here are some random thoughts I wanted to pass along, mostly holiday-related. Take them for what they're worth; I'm too worn out to be clever or ironic tonight.

• It's no secret that "Christmas" has almost been eradicated from public display in stores these days. I was actually shocked to see "Merry Christmas" in a Target ad recently. It's not a conspiracy, it's just good business, I guess, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me. Stores sell all this Christmas crap, but don't mention the name of the holiday.* OTOH, the grocery store I went to this afternoon had a huge sign by the entrance proclaiming "Happy Kwanzaa!". There was even a stack of four-page glossy handouts explaining the meaning and significance of Kwanzaa. Whatever.
  
  
• As a corollary to that, I'd like to ask people to quit shitting all over my holiday. Ultimately, the celebration of Christmas is an expression of faith, and (I'm talking to you here, CNN) if you're going to broadcast a smarmy "documentary" that preaches to me that everything I believe is wrong, please save it for a different calendar date. I'm quite aware that historians differ on their views of the origin of the Christian church. I get it. There's not much I take on faith these days, but let me live with what I have, please? I don't dump on anyone else's faith--please stop dumping on mine, at least during my religion's holy season. I don't fear your questions, but I'm upset with your timing.
  
  
• I'm not prone to dumping copious amounts of change in Salvation Army buckets, but I'll be volunteering to ring the bell for the first time every this Saturday at our local mall (through my Kiwanis group). The "Army" does a marvelous job helping those in need, and their overhead costs are incredibly low. I'm sure they'd appreciate whatever help you can provide.
  
  
• Despite everything, this is one of my favorite times of the year. Part of it is spiritual; I'm not a "holy roller"--never have been, and never will be--but I see the goodness in people that comes out at this time of year, and despite my growing cycnicism, I find myself optimistic during the Christmas season. My customers are even happier, and there's a general friendliness that's absent during much of the rest of the year. Unlike some of my readers (I'm talking to you, here, Jodi**), I love the music, the decorations, even the conspicuous consumption. I love that the tree in the corner of my house has decorations on it that have been passed through four generations now. I love that the nativity scene in my home was painted by two important women in my life, and will some day be completed by hands yet unknown. Decorating the house. Setting up the tree. Entertaining friends. It's all good.
  
  
• The Pillsbury Dough Boy is dancing on the screen with some show tune in the background. It's a good thing I'm in such a good mood, because that's the kind of thing that could take me down otherwise.

It's going to be a busy few days. If I don't blog before then (yeah....right. There's always time to blog!), have a joyous Christmas. And if you don't celebrate Christmas, enjoy whatever winter tradition you do or don't celebrate.

Be well and be happy.


* As I was typing this, Hallmark used the "C" word in an ad. Good on them.

**No offense meant and, I'm sure, none taken.

Yum

I've been working in front of the TV all day, editing a batch of 1,500 slide scans while watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy on TBS.

Anyway, they've been running ads for Sonic all day. We don't have a Sonic around here, but everything they show looks freakin' delicious. Does anyone live near one of these places? Are they any good? Good being relative, of course...I don't expect fast food to be great, but if you're gonna be bad, it should be worthy.

Back to work I go...

It's OK To Be A Little Stupid

Did you ever read a person's blog and wonder:

• What do they look like?
• What do they sound like?
• How well do they dance?

Here's your chance to find out.

Civility Ability

I was going to write a blog post about online civility, but the always-excellent David Pogue beat me to it. Seeing as how he writes for the New York Times, and I write for myself, I think his article will wield a much larger sphere of influence.

But that's not going to stop me from writing my post anyway. David, if you stumbled across this blog, I really didn't steal this idea from you, and FWIW, you probably said it better than I will. Please don't sue me.

Here's what got me thinking about this subject. I subscribe to "The Dilbert Blog" (I know: Geek Alert!), which features the personal musings of Dilbert creator Scott Adams. Now let's face it: if Scott Adams were just another average guy, he'd probably be like the rest of us "normal" bloggers. He'd have a few regular readers, a half-dozen or so comments on each post, and most people would be polite and generally positive. Just like real life, eh?

But because he's a minor celebrity, the comments section of his blog is filled with equal amounts of breathless plaudits for his literary brilliance, and the most vile criticism you can imagine. Witness some recent comments made by total strangers:

No real worries, you live a perfect life.

Not to be taken personally- just some thoughts about the post:
Get over yourself. Wash your genitals, teeth and arm pits.

Seriously, you read these things and post replies like this? Or do you have a high school dropout doing it for you?

Obviously, your lack of free will also renders you an idiot who fails to understand the concept of free will on any level.

Did you use all your 130 points of IQ to come up with this, or only 21.67? I bet 21.67 (I'll let you figure out why the .67, genius). Good going, cartoonist! Stick to the comics please.

And that's just the tame stuff.

It's so easy to be an "armchair pundit" and criticize everything you see. It's also very easy to take potshots at those who have actual influence, as opposed to those who think that because a handful of people read their blog, they're somehow prescient enough to solve all the world's problems with a few quick keystrokes.

Now, for full disclosure: I'm guilty as the next person of firing off a snarky missive here and there. I do my best to be polite, or at least wrap my criticism up in some kind of self-deprecating humour, but I miss the mark now and again. And words can get interpreted; we often lose the nuance and meaning in written communication. But review the comments above once again: there's not much nuance in "Get over yourself. Wash your genitals...".

And isn't it odd that we feel comfortable taking potshots at complete strangers, when we would never say these things face-to-face to people we actually know? Again, I'm guilty as charged. I'm completely comfortable referring to Paris Hilton as a mattress-backed-sperm-gargling-bar-slut, but if I knew her, I probably wouldn't call her that to her face. In fact, that was quite rude. Paris, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. Really.

I generally confine those kinds of comments to blogs that are being intentionally provocative, because I think the authors expect it. For everyone else, a little civility would go a long way.

I'll share two examples from my own blogging experience that have taught me a lot about online etiquette, and the perils of saying what you think. Many of you know that LBB and I had a flame war a while back. In response to some of his posts, I made a (misguided) attempt to be funny by posting in the name of a fictional character he created for his blog. I thought it would be humourous to have this guy that he was writing about send back some potshots to Mr. Bugsbutt via the comments section.

Well, LBB didn't "get it". He wrote a post calling me a dipshit (he hadn't discovered the word "douchebag" yet), and pissed me off enough that I temporarily stopped blogging. The interesting thing is that his readers largely loved it...and my readers, for the most part, backed me up. Eventually, I responded with an equally bitter post, and resumed blogging.

But you know what? We buried the freakin' hatchet after a while. LBB now links to this blog, and I'm adding a link to his. Do I agree with everything he has to say? Hell no. But he's a funny guy--misguidedly conservative, homophobic as hell, and destined to be the kind of drunken hermit that screams at "those damn kids" that cross his lawn when he's 80--but he has the kind of honesty that's rare these days, and he wraps it up in clever (if somewhat vulgar) humour. He's a good read, and he's probably a great guy. If I ever meet him, I'll let you know.

Contrast that to my blogging experience with the now-missing-in-action "Abrasive Grace". I used to be a regular reader of her blog, and found it to be funny, insightful, and clever. My mistake came when I made a comment on her blog about her use of the term "Biketard" in reference to people who practiced unsafe bicycling habits. Regular readers of this blog know of my distaste for the use of the word "retarded" as a pejorative. I left a comment--not a flame--on "Abrasive's" blog that upset her to the point that she picked up her toys and moved to an unlisted address in the blogosphere. Her other regular readers took that opportunity to lash out against me (oh, and "Abrasive" called me a "creepy guy". So much for civility).

Good grief.

Has it really come to this? It seems we're getting to the point where we can make two kinds of comments: Smarmy insults or back-slapping "attaboys". Is there a middle ground?

I know that the people who read this blog have a huge diversity of opinion. My regular readership consists of conservative Christians, Atheists, Pagans, rabid conservatives, loony liberals, single people, married people, men, women, artists, business folks, gays, lesbians, and everyone in between. I suspect that many of you disagree with me on a regular basis. I don't expect everyone to be like me, nor do I expect everyone to LIKE me. I don't care if you disagree with me. Ask my brother--I like a good intellectual exchange (he calls them arguments) as well as anyone! It sharpens the brain and keeps you on your toes.

But please...if we can't all "just get along", at least let's try to keep it civil.

And if you can't, well, then in the works of LBB, you're a douchebag.


edit: Clarified some points and corrrected some spelling errors. Oops.

Behold, The Power of the Internet

Holy crap.

Remember my request for the elusive toy for my son?

My brother posted the request on his blog, and someone who reads his musings found the thing. Tim's having it shipped today.

THANK YOU ALL for your help. I'm very happy and humbled at all your efforts. And a huge thanks to Jo, who discovered it and made the frantic call to my brother.

You all rock.

So When Does The Fun Kick In?

I've been going through this blog in an attempt to compile some posts for a self-published book, a la LBB. Mine won't be as funny, but then again, I just don't know how to use the word "douchebag" like he does*.

Anyway, in looking back over the past two years, I realize I did a lot of whining. Good grief, some of you have been along for the ride almost all this time. You deserve medals for sticking with me.

So here's the deal. I've been trying to take better care of myself, physically, emotionally, mentally, etc., etc. I've mangaged to get my business in (I hope) good shape, and I finally put down the cigarettes for the last time (despite my protestations to the contrary, I've been something of a "social smoker"...if I'm around other people that are smoking, or if I'm drinking, I'll light up. But they started to taste like dog crap, and I couldn't figure out why I was paying 5 bucks a pack for that), and I've been off the meds for a while now. I still can't seem to lose any weight, but at least I've stopped gaining.

So tell me, long-suffering readers, when does the fun kick in?

I'm serious. Maybe it's the time of year, maybe it's just that I have unrealistic expectations, but life seems to have lost a lot of its fun lately. Maybe I'm self-sabatoging--when things get good, I tend to look for the dark cloud in the silver lining--but I just can't be sure. Nothing's awful, but it's like walking outside on a cloudy day. It's just hard to get excited about anything (well, except Rachael Ray and Chocolate.).



* Who can, really?

Here...

...this should keep y'all interested for a while:


Click on it to open the full-size version for even more optical fun. Stolen from Mighty Optical Illusions.

How About Six? Six is Good...

I don't normally do these, but for Lyvvie, I'll make an exception, because she's from Scotland, and according to my babygirl, everything in Scotland is awesome.

So here we go:

The rules--

According to the rules…"Each player of this game starts with the '6 weird things about you'. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog."

I was tagged by Lyvvie.

This was rough for me, because my life is filled with all kinds of weirdness. I chose six fairly inncouous things to write about; chances are that if you know me, you already know how weird I am. If you don't, here's a primer. I'll save the good stuff for my obituary:

1.) I don't always balance my checkbook, but I'm really good about knowing how much is in there. It would probably drive a "normal" person insane to see that I haven't balanced the register in, well, forever. But I know my balance: Not Enough.

2.) I'm no good without a deadline. If you don't give me a deadline, it'll never get done. I'm not a slacker; I'll just push the deadline stuff up in the line ahead of you, and you'll be waiting for your stuff until, well, you give me a deadline.

3.) My head is full of useless information. I mean, we're talking really useless stuff--crap that only Ken Jennings would know. I'd go on Jeopardy, but I'm fairly certain there's not a category called, "Flotsam Floating In Rich's Brain." As a corollary, I don't remember people's names. I remember faces, but I have a horrible time with names. There's something seriously wrong with the wiring in my head when I can tell you that August 15 is the anniversary of the opening of the Panama Canal, but I can't remember the name of the person I was introduced to just 10 minutes ago.

4.) I can't stand it when pictures are hung crooked. It's a real problem, because I'll try to adjust them any time I see one that's not straight. There's probably nothing ruder than walking into someone's home and straightening up the artwork on their wall, but seriously folks: It's called a "level". Three bucks at Home Depot.

5.) I can't stand a cluttered house, but right now my office is a disheveled mess. A business associate of mine is a complete neat freak, and he came into my office the other day, looked around, and said, "I take it you don't entertain clients in here." My response: "My clients find it VERY entertaining to be here!". Actually, it's not horrible right now, but when things slow down, I have some serious cleaning to do. Maybe I need a deadline.

6.) I can't stand tags on my clothing...at least not the kind that stick out and scratch the hell out of you in places you can't (or won't) reach. The first thing I do when I get something that has one of those stick-out tags on it is cut the bloody thing off. I already know what size I am, thankyouverymuch, and I don't pay any attention to the laundry instructions anyway. If I haven't figured out how to do laundry by now, I never will, and I don't need the help of "Inspector #27" from some country whose name I can't even pronounce. Thankfully, manufacturers are catching on; I see Hanes now sells "tagless panties". I'm thinking of buying a pair just to save myself the hassle of ripping the tags off my boxer briefs.

So there you have it. Since I have to tag six people, I'm going to tag those who are unlikely to play along: justtim, rick leonard, freedom girl, jodi, and two people who never do these things: LBB and Mist1. The rest of you (and you know who you are) can play, too!

Have fun.

Oh, That's Rich!

I'm going to out myself.

No, not like that. Get your minds out of the gutter. It's my name. I'm going to give you my name, and the story behind it.

Many of you know my first name is Rich. Technically it's Richard. But it's also lots of other things.

If you knew me when I was a kid, you called me (and probably still do) Rick. My brother, my family, everyone I grew up with--they call me Rick.

But everyone I've known as an adult calls me Rich.

Confused? Yeah, so am I. Here's what happened:

When I was in second grade, I had this cranky old witch named Mrs. Barrett for a teacher. Seriously--she was about 120 years old, with a hunchback and a voice that sounded something like a jackal with a sore throat. You know that old lady on the Hallmark cards? This was her--only with a less appealing personality. She allegedly had a very nice home in a good neighborhood, but I'm still fairly certain she lived under a bridge with the rest of the trolls. After having had the same teacher for both Kindergarten and First Grade (a wonderful and lovely woman), this old wench was quite a shock.

So anyway, on the first day of Second Grade, she was going through the roll call. She got to my name, and called it off as written: "Richard ******". I raised my hand, and the haggy old bag looked over her ancient glasses and sneered at me: "Now, are you a "Richard", a "Rick" or a "Dick"?

Seriously. In front of my classmates, the woman asked me if I was a Dick.

Now, I should have come up with some witty retort (with her last name being "Barrett", I'm sure I could have put something together that involved "Bare-Ass"), but I just stared at her in slack-jawed amazement, eventually dropping my eyes and mumbling something like, "no, it's Rick".

She then proceeded to finish the roll call, but discovered that, to her horror, she had two boys named "Rick" in the class. Well, this wouldn't do. No, her shriveled, addled brain couldn't possibly wrap itself around the possibility of having two kids with the same name in her class. One of us would have to go by a different name.

Traumatized at the possibility of having to be known henceforth by the moniker "Dick" *, I volunteered to be known as "Rich".

So anyone who knew me after second grade knew me as "Rich". It's OK, really. When I moved away from home, the folks who called me "Rick" (or worse--"Ricky") became fewer and fewer until, today, hardly anyone calls me that. I dodged a bullet when my former fiancée called off our wedding; having dated my brother in High School, she knew me as "Rick". That would have been awkward at social functions and such...everyone would have wondered who this "Rick" person was.

So there you have it. Some call me Richard, most call me Rich, and a few call me Rick. Call me Dick, though, and I'll refuse to answer.

Mrs. Barrett wouldn't understand.


* It gets worse. My father, also named Richard, went by the nickname "Dick". I can only imagine the horror of people calling our home and asking for "Big Dick" or "Little Dick".

edit: Changed text to more accurately describe my former teacher, and other clarifying information.

Well, I'm Back to Stealing Content

You've all seen the "I'm a Mac/I'm a PC" ads. Well, the inevitable parodies have started surfacing.

This thing is really awful, yet still compelling in a strange way. I may be in the minority here, but I'm kinda liking the PS3.

But hey...the Wii is cheap!

Eeeeeeeexcelent!

Over on The Dilbert Blog, Scott Adams points out that as Bill Gates ages, he's starting to look a lot more and more like Montgomery Burns.

I present proof positive: