[Okay, ril quick jist follow this link, read the comic, and then come back and read this post; otherwise, this ain't gonna make a good deal of sense.]
So. Arby's sells a Southwest Chicken Eggroll. This strikes me as a mite bit--uh--idiosyncratic; I mean, combining Oriental and Occidental cuisine in such a way seems--I dunno--just weird, if not totally sacrilegious. Working at Arby's, I ask as many people who order the Eggrolls as I can what they think of them, and most agree that the cultural convergence is not as harmonious as its creators undoubtedly hoped it would be.
My question is, if Arby's wants to sell something that has black beans and chicken in it, why don't they just wrap it in a tortilla? Has our society really been improved by the advent of this culinary mutt? (Not that I think our society has gained a whole lot from fast food in general....)
Anyway, whenever I see the big poster that advertises "New Southwest Chicken Eggrolls Now For A Limited Time Hurry In!" all I can think is ***.
28 September 2007
21 September 2007
Post 22
[DISCLAIMER: this isn't as wretchedly sappy as it seems; if while reading this you find yourself thinking, "Woof! Gag me with sugar!" then I've accomplished my goal; just keep reading--I promise to reward you in the end.]
I'm out here lookin'
For someone to love
Someone who came straight
From Heaven above
Someone who's pretty
And witty and bright
Someone who always
Does ev'rything right
Someone who's lovely
In body and mind
Someone who's perfect
Oh what a find!
I know that she's out there
I know this is true
'Cuz I know someone like that
That's right: it's me.
I'm out here lookin'
For someone to love
Someone who came straight
From Heaven above
Someone who's pretty
And witty and bright
Someone who always
Does ev'rything right
Someone who's lovely
In body and mind
Someone who's perfect
Oh what a find!
I know that she's out there
I know this is true
'Cuz I know someone like that
That's right: it's me.
17 September 2007
Post 21
So. Thmazing emailed me a mp3 of a classical piano piece called "Schmetterling." I'd never heard it before; it's pretty nice.
Curious, I Wikipedia'd myself and learned that, just because I'm a butterfly, doesn't mean I'm not tough; check me out!
Curious, I Wikipedia'd myself and learned that, just because I'm a butterfly, doesn't mean I'm not tough; check me out!
13 September 2007
Post 20
Two quick sagely admonitions for you, things I have learned from painful personal experience in the past 24 hours:
1) If you want to eat a hard-boiled egg, even if you're feeling excessively macho, do not attempt to crack it by squeezing it in your fist. I imagine that the badness of this idea would be compounded if the egg in question were raw, though I can't claim to have experience in such a scenario.
2) If you feel inclined to slam your car door while simultaneously turning around to walk away, be sure to rotate yourself in a direction that is harmonious with the path of the door lest a corner catch thee in thy bicep and filleth thee with remorse.
1) If you want to eat a hard-boiled egg, even if you're feeling excessively macho, do not attempt to crack it by squeezing it in your fist. I imagine that the badness of this idea would be compounded if the egg in question were raw, though I can't claim to have experience in such a scenario.
2) If you feel inclined to slam your car door while simultaneously turning around to walk away, be sure to rotate yourself in a direction that is harmonious with the path of the door lest a corner catch thee in thy bicep and filleth thee with remorse.
12 September 2007
Post 19
So, Thmazing went and put this really, really creepy picture on his latest post, and I wondered, "Where the heck does he get this stuff?" So I clicked on said creepy picture and wound up at Sugardoodle.net, which I immediately began to explore. One link I followed has "58 actual newspaper headlines," which were actually mildly entertaining. One, though, especially caught my attention insomuch that I felt I just had to call attention to it:
Enraged Cow Injures Farmer with Ax
Oh man! Where can I get my hands on that article? Seriously!
Enraged Cow Injures Farmer with Ax
Oh man! Where can I get my hands on that article? Seriously!
10 September 2007
Post 18
And now for some sagacity that will surely help you through your many woes:
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph." --Anita Gale
I first heard this straight from the horse's mouth while I attended my first SSD competition at Kennedy Space Center. It was a tip she gave us on presenting our material well as she demonstrated all eight orientations on the overhead projector: north, south, east, west; ʇsǝʍ 'ʇsɐǝ 'ɥʇnos 'ɥʇɹou (kinda like that; pretend it's mirror writing instead of just upsidedown).
Since then, I have discovered that these wise words apply to many aspects of life. For example, when I worked at an office supply store, I often was tasked with assembling furniture. One time, I was trying to put together this office chair, but it just wasn't working for me. I finally went and asked my supervisor for help. When he came over, he looked at the chair for a minute and said, "Well for starters, most people prefer the cushioned side to be towards their back."
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph."
This past weekend, I visited home. While there, I helped my sister put some dishes away. She handed me a pancake flipper to put in a drawer, but I couldn't make it fit.
"I think it goes in horizontal," she said.
I thought I was putting in in horizontally, but I flipped it over, wondering if that's what she meant.
"No," she said, "horizontal."
I flipped it around on a different axis.
"Horizontal!" she said again.
To be funny, I stood it on it's end--a position that was vertical no matter how you looked at it.
"No," she said, "like this," and she flipped it around--oh--horizontally.
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph."
At Church on Sunday, a man told a story to demonstrate how husband-wife communication is not always perfect:
He and his wife were putting up a fence, as they got toward the end, she said, "We're gonna have to cut one piece in half," so he obediently took one of the wooden slabs to the garage and cut it in half.
"WHAT DID YOU DO‽" she asked when he brought the two pieces back.
"I cut it in half like you said!"
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph."
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph." --Anita Gale
I first heard this straight from the horse's mouth while I attended my first SSD competition at Kennedy Space Center. It was a tip she gave us on presenting our material well as she demonstrated all eight orientations on the overhead projector: north, south, east, west; ʇsǝʍ 'ʇsɐǝ 'ɥʇnos 'ɥʇɹou (kinda like that; pretend it's mirror writing instead of just upsidedown).
Since then, I have discovered that these wise words apply to many aspects of life. For example, when I worked at an office supply store, I often was tasked with assembling furniture. One time, I was trying to put together this office chair, but it just wasn't working for me. I finally went and asked my supervisor for help. When he came over, he looked at the chair for a minute and said, "Well for starters, most people prefer the cushioned side to be towards their back."
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph."
This past weekend, I visited home. While there, I helped my sister put some dishes away. She handed me a pancake flipper to put in a drawer, but I couldn't make it fit.
"I think it goes in horizontal," she said.
I thought I was putting in in horizontally, but I flipped it over, wondering if that's what she meant.
"No," she said, "horizontal."
I flipped it around on a different axis.
"Horizontal!" she said again.
To be funny, I stood it on it's end--a position that was vertical no matter how you looked at it.
"No," she said, "like this," and she flipped it around--oh--horizontally.
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph."
At Church on Sunday, a man told a story to demonstrate how husband-wife communication is not always perfect:
He and his wife were putting up a fence, as they got toward the end, she said, "We're gonna have to cut one piece in half," so he obediently took one of the wooden slabs to the garage and cut it in half.
"WHAT DID YOU DO‽" she asked when he brought the two pieces back.
"I cut it in half like you said!"
"There are eight ways to place a viewgraph."
05 September 2007
Post 17
THIS JUST IN!
Okay, dear readers, this is exciting! Here's some honest-to-goodness eccentric wisdom that will surely become indispensable shortly after you first try it.
Alright, everyone together now; do this with me!
1) Open your word processor
2) Hold down ALT and then quickly type 8253
3) BEHOLD THE MAGIC!
(It's called an interrobang, by the way; to see it in action, look at Post 14).
Now go, my people, and be sure to use that little bugger as often as is reasonable--which ought to be a heckuva lot more than heretofore!
Okay, dear readers, this is exciting! Here's some honest-to-goodness eccentric wisdom that will surely become indispensable shortly after you first try it.
Alright, everyone together now; do this with me!
1) Open your word processor
2) Hold down ALT and then quickly type 8253
3) BEHOLD THE MAGIC!
(It's called an interrobang, by the way; to see it in action, look at Post 14).
Now go, my people, and be sure to use that little bugger as often as is reasonable--which ought to be a heckuva lot more than heretofore!
Post 16
Hello, faithful readers!
All none of you....
I just got to thinkin'; if no one's actually going to read this, there isn't any danger in throwing out a confession. And maybe by throwing out a private matter, I can depend on Murphy's Law (especially since it originated so close to my home town) in hopes that suddenly every person on the planet with internet access will look at my blog all at the same time so my dark little secret will be known the world over.
Hmm.... Sounds like fun to me!
CONFESSION:
I think I have a drinking problem.
Now, to understand that confession fairly, please remove from your mind any connotation that the word "drinking" carries and go with a completely literal definition, kay?
That I may have a problem occurred to me just a few minutes ago as I opened our refrigerator and had a nice, cold drink of--that's right--spaghetti sauce.
Is that normal?
Sharing an apartment with five other guys makes me feel really self-conscious--almost paranoid--and I make sure I take my occasional swig of honey when no one is around.
Is that normal?
Back in my high school days, whenever I needed a quick snack, I used to crack an egg into a mug, fill the mug with milk, stir the concoction with a fork, and then drink it down.
Is that normal?
Sometimes I think I may be weird--not odd or strange--straight up weird.
Nah, probably not.
All none of you....
I just got to thinkin'; if no one's actually going to read this, there isn't any danger in throwing out a confession. And maybe by throwing out a private matter, I can depend on Murphy's Law (especially since it originated so close to my home town) in hopes that suddenly every person on the planet with internet access will look at my blog all at the same time so my dark little secret will be known the world over.
Hmm.... Sounds like fun to me!
CONFESSION:
I think I have a drinking problem.
Now, to understand that confession fairly, please remove from your mind any connotation that the word "drinking" carries and go with a completely literal definition, kay?
That I may have a problem occurred to me just a few minutes ago as I opened our refrigerator and had a nice, cold drink of--that's right--spaghetti sauce.
Is that normal?
Sharing an apartment with five other guys makes me feel really self-conscious--almost paranoid--and I make sure I take my occasional swig of honey when no one is around.
Is that normal?
Back in my high school days, whenever I needed a quick snack, I used to crack an egg into a mug, fill the mug with milk, stir the concoction with a fork, and then drink it down.
Is that normal?
Sometimes I think I may be weird--not odd or strange--straight up weird.
Nah, probably not.
04 September 2007
Post 15
I like cows.
Okay, so that's not exactly accurate; cows themselves are actually not very exciting, but something about the--how shall I call it?--idea du vache (to flaunt my rusting French that was only ever rudimentary at best) is so dang cool!
Anyway, I have long been attracted to the Bovine Concept, so you can imagine my joy when I read the following on page 60 of the May 2007 Reader's Digest:
*
Lie down in a cow pasture. If the herd is far off, yell to get their attention, then immediately drop down and lie flat. The entire herd will come galloping over and form a tight circle around you, staring down at you with intense bovine curiosity. I have tried this three times on two continents. It is marvelously surreal.
*
Can you think of anything more intriguing? Come on; try to; I dare you!
See? It can't be done! Why? Because there is nothing more intriguing than the thought of a bunch of Bos Tauri standing in a circle above your head! That's why!
So one day (30 May 2007) I got a wild hair as I passed a some grazing cattle while cruising down the freeway, pulled over and parked, and hopped out of my car, armed with my cellphone, ready to get irrefutable evidence of what I was about to do.
Getting over the barbed-wire fence was a delicate procedure, put I manged to get by it without any visceral wounds, and I found myself standing in a pasture full of--uh--cows. Black ones--Jersey Cows?
Who knows....
Anyway, they didn't seem inclined to acknowledge my existence--like, at all; apparently chewing cud is a very enthralling activity that requires all of the participant's concentration--so I "yell[ed] to get their attention, then immediately drop[ped] down and lie[d] flat."
And they ran away.
They ran away!
Disappointment of my life....
Okay, so that's not exactly accurate; cows themselves are actually not very exciting, but something about the--how shall I call it?--idea du vache (to flaunt my rusting French that was only ever rudimentary at best) is so dang cool!
Anyway, I have long been attracted to the Bovine Concept, so you can imagine my joy when I read the following on page 60 of the May 2007 Reader's Digest:
*
Lie down in a cow pasture. If the herd is far off, yell to get their attention, then immediately drop down and lie flat. The entire herd will come galloping over and form a tight circle around you, staring down at you with intense bovine curiosity. I have tried this three times on two continents. It is marvelously surreal.
*
Can you think of anything more intriguing? Come on; try to; I dare you!
See? It can't be done! Why? Because there is nothing more intriguing than the thought of a bunch of Bos Tauri standing in a circle above your head! That's why!
So one day (30 May 2007) I got a wild hair as I passed a some grazing cattle while cruising down the freeway, pulled over and parked, and hopped out of my car, armed with my cellphone, ready to get irrefutable evidence of what I was about to do.
Getting over the barbed-wire fence was a delicate procedure, put I manged to get by it without any visceral wounds, and I found myself standing in a pasture full of--uh--cows. Black ones--Jersey Cows?
Who knows....
Anyway, they didn't seem inclined to acknowledge my existence--like, at all; apparently chewing cud is a very enthralling activity that requires all of the participant's concentration--so I "yell[ed] to get their attention, then immediately drop[ped] down and lie[d] flat."
And they ran away.
They ran away!
Disappointment of my life....
03 September 2007
Post 14
Anne Frank wrote, "It's an odd idea for someone like me to keep a diary... because it seems to me that neither I--nor for that matter anyone else--will be interested in the [secrets] of a thirteen-year old school girl" (my source), but then--surprise!--less than 100 years later, more than 31 million copies of that diary have been published in 67 languages (source).
Well. Just goes to show you never can tell.
Frankly (hahahahaha), I suppose I have the opposite problem; I sit here wondering, "How is it that I, Schmetterling, the butterfly who has such fine things to say, continue to flit about this blog almost entirely unnoticed?"
Perhaps this means I will never attract any attention.
Or maybe--just maybe--maybe there's the off chance that I'm not read because The Eccentric Sage has only existed for a month and this is only my 14th post.
Maybe....
Anyway, enough of my whining; on with the eccentricity!
I was perusing some thmusings earlier today. After reading the latest, I dove deep into his archives to read the first few thmusings to see whether Thmazing got off to a 'mazing start or started out kinda like me with posts that mostly said, "Okay, I've got a blog; the theck am I supposed to do with it?" I never discovered that for sure because his second post had a link that sent me hurtling off to another blog that kept me distracted for the rest of the time I was online--especially after I discovered that her label "on my crap list" had 28 posts in it, which led me to this post, which is really the only link in this paragraph that is relevant to this post.
It's occurred to me a lot in the past few months that I have almost entirely lost my ability to rant. This is sad to me because I was so good at ranting as a high school kid. Now, before you get thinking cynical thoughts about teenage angst and hormonal idiocy and the mass conformity to the ironic trend of nonconformity--I know all teenagers go on pathetic little tirades about the unfairness of life and parents and rules and stuff from time to time, but I'll have you know that I was actually, in my own humble opinion, quite good at ranting back in those days. But somewhere I lost that--probably during the whirlwind of accelerated maturation that carried me off to Spudland USA for a couple years--and I don't really know how to recover it.
I'm only 21! Can all of my teenage angst really have been resolved already‽
I dunno; perhaps this isn't all bad. I mean, no matter how proficient a ranter I used to be, and no matter how entertaining some people thought I was, it's probably annoying to most people when someone has the capability to light his own fuse on any given topic at any given moment and rant about it for-ever.
Now, obviously I haven't completely lost my ability to rant--else from whence pulled I post 9?--but, all the same, I feel totally unable to come up with a list of things I'm really snobbish or picky about. The truth is, not many things get my dander up these days, which I don't suppose is entirely bad--unless I'm becoming boring, which, I dunno, is up to you, my faithful readers--all one or two of you.
Hmmm....
Am I boring?
Searching through my personal journals for some recent expression of snobbishness or some such, I find--aha! Here we go! This from 16 April 2007:
*
The mountain pass between [my home town] and [the nearby city that I commuted to to go to school] is gorgeous!
Gorgeous isn't a word I use very often, but it seems an appropriate descriptor for a mountain pass because it sounds vaguely like "gorges."
I find of all subjects, I'm most picky about word choice regarding beauty, and, for once, I'm actually consistent in the way I use the various terms.
Behold:
Cute is reserved solely for small critters and the occasional young child.
Sexy I only ever use when referring to cars.
Hot I never use. I think it's rather crude. The closest I come is when a seating person says, "Man. I'm hot," I always come back with a, "Well, that's a matter of opinion!" Usually gets a good chuckle.
Beautiful I use a lot when referring to nature--sunsets, landscapes, etc.--but also occasionally to people, though usually with more emphasis on the type of person they are than their actual looks.
Pretty is my word for attractive girls. Seems innocent enough to come off as harmless.
*
And there you have it--me being picky!
Okay. So. As it turns out, I really am pretty boring!
Good to know....
Well. Just goes to show you never can tell.
Frankly (hahahahaha), I suppose I have the opposite problem; I sit here wondering, "How is it that I, Schmetterling, the butterfly who has such fine things to say, continue to flit about this blog almost entirely unnoticed?"
Perhaps this means I will never attract any attention.
Or maybe--just maybe--maybe there's the off chance that I'm not read because The Eccentric Sage has only existed for a month and this is only my 14th post.
Maybe....
Anyway, enough of my whining; on with the eccentricity!
I was perusing some thmusings earlier today. After reading the latest, I dove deep into his archives to read the first few thmusings to see whether Thmazing got off to a 'mazing start or started out kinda like me with posts that mostly said, "Okay, I've got a blog; the theck am I supposed to do with it?" I never discovered that for sure because his second post had a link that sent me hurtling off to another blog that kept me distracted for the rest of the time I was online--especially after I discovered that her label "on my crap list" had 28 posts in it, which led me to this post, which is really the only link in this paragraph that is relevant to this post.
It's occurred to me a lot in the past few months that I have almost entirely lost my ability to rant. This is sad to me because I was so good at ranting as a high school kid. Now, before you get thinking cynical thoughts about teenage angst and hormonal idiocy and the mass conformity to the ironic trend of nonconformity--I know all teenagers go on pathetic little tirades about the unfairness of life and parents and rules and stuff from time to time, but I'll have you know that I was actually, in my own humble opinion, quite good at ranting back in those days. But somewhere I lost that--probably during the whirlwind of accelerated maturation that carried me off to Spudland USA for a couple years--and I don't really know how to recover it.
I'm only 21! Can all of my teenage angst really have been resolved already‽
I dunno; perhaps this isn't all bad. I mean, no matter how proficient a ranter I used to be, and no matter how entertaining some people thought I was, it's probably annoying to most people when someone has the capability to light his own fuse on any given topic at any given moment and rant about it for-ever.
Now, obviously I haven't completely lost my ability to rant--else from whence pulled I post 9?--but, all the same, I feel totally unable to come up with a list of things I'm really snobbish or picky about. The truth is, not many things get my dander up these days, which I don't suppose is entirely bad--unless I'm becoming boring, which, I dunno, is up to you, my faithful readers--all one or two of you.
Hmmm....
Am I boring?
Searching through my personal journals for some recent expression of snobbishness or some such, I find--aha! Here we go! This from 16 April 2007:
*
The mountain pass between [my home town] and [the nearby city that I commuted to to go to school] is gorgeous!
Gorgeous isn't a word I use very often, but it seems an appropriate descriptor for a mountain pass because it sounds vaguely like "gorges."
I find of all subjects, I'm most picky about word choice regarding beauty, and, for once, I'm actually consistent in the way I use the various terms.
Behold:
Cute is reserved solely for small critters and the occasional young child.
Sexy I only ever use when referring to cars.
Hot I never use. I think it's rather crude. The closest I come is when a seating person says, "Man. I'm hot," I always come back with a, "Well, that's a matter of opinion!" Usually gets a good chuckle.
Beautiful I use a lot when referring to nature--sunsets, landscapes, etc.--but also occasionally to people, though usually with more emphasis on the type of person they are than their actual looks.
Pretty is my word for attractive girls. Seems innocent enough to come off as harmless.
*
And there you have it--me being picky!
Okay. So. As it turns out, I really am pretty boring!
Good to know....
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