Category: Finds

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In Other News…

Live!It’s a boy! If China were a pregnancy, I’d be giving birth. Today officially marks nine months. And for those of you that think it’s ridiculous to talk about a man giving birth, you’re not reading your news very well.

Also a boy: Kent Halsey. Kent has officially been awarded a highly coveted place on the blogroll both because he is an all-around cool guy, and because his stuff is always worth reading. I’m not even kidding, I invisibly added his blog to my blogroll as soon as I set this thing up even though he hadn’t posted in something like five hundred days. And my faith paid off. Kent is back online. Definitely worth celebrating—a celebration of reading, that is.

In case you were wondering, it’s moderately official: Binge drinking makes you dumb (as in, actually causes dumbness, not the weird verb tense that I’m sure has a name I don’t know that means binge drinking proves you are dumb). I say ‘moderately official‘ because they performed what seems a relatively unscientific test (see science disclaimer) on twenty six binge drinkers, comparing their results with a control group of thirty four. And all to prove that binge drinking is bad. It hurts your memory. So now I know not to trust habitual binge drinkers’ judgment. ‘Cause I would have otherwise.

I have discovered I like links. It think it makes me feel academic, with links functioning as footnotes.

I am actually going to be helping teach basketball today. You might want to wipe the spittle off the screen. I hate laughbursts because of the spittle.

And, finally, global warming is a hoax. OK, so that’s not exactly accurate. They say, though (and this time I actually know who ‘they’ are), that temperatures have decreased over the last few years. Temperatures peaked in 2005, and are now back to 1998 levels. And while these temperatures still seem to be higher than previous decades, I can’t help but question their evidence. Anything that has ‘proven’ rising temperatures in the last three years has suddenly been proved wrong, and anyone who said anything contrary is a liar. More or less.

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Whistlin’ Jack

This video comes with instructions: Check them before watching.

1. Listen to the movie without watching it. This is an important step. Don’t skip it. Enjoy the old-school cheeriness. Let it wash the grime of skepticism from your body.

2. Watch the video. Be amazed at how shockingly sexy whistling has become. Try to look away. You won’t be able to.

3. Watch the video yet again and dance along.

4. Repeat step 3 as many times as you want. Don’t worry—no one is watching. And even if they were, they’d just get pulled in too.

5. Try to explain why he’s wearing a military-esque jacket. And where did he get those medals?

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A new entry for the improv book

I read this article and immediately wanted to blog. I wanted to think of something funny and clever to say about it, but that just couldn’t happen. I mean, there is no way to top a story about a woman who grows onto her toilet. What could I say to make this story any more ridiculous?

I could spice it up by mentioning that it wasn’t even her own toilet. Or that she had sat there for two years. Or that she just wanted to be left there until she felt like leaving. Or that the medical team had to pry the seat off the toilet and leave it attached to her until they got to the hospital. Or that they blame it on her difficult childhood. Or that it happened in some rural Kansas town and became the big news in the city.

But all of that is already in the story. I suppose I just have one question.

OK, I’m single. I admit that at the outset, acknowledging my lack of understanding regarding romantic relationships. But how exactly do you end up as the boyfriend in this situation?

So many things should have prevented this. Like, how did it start? They’re both sitting there watching Lost and she excuses herself. By the end of the episode, he realizes she’s been occupied a rather long while, but doesn’t want to be rude and say anything, so he goes about his business—cleaning up, washing dishes. How long did he ponder the situation before going to check on her, and getting the response, “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a little while”?

How late did he stay up waiting for her to emerge? At some point he had to go to bed, no doubt mentioning discreetly through the long-closed door the circumstances necessitating his action.

Next morning, and the door’s still closed. Same awkward explanation of his behavior as he heads off to work. No doubt he was a little distracted from his work, but walked into his house confident that normalcy was restored. And the door was still closed.

At some point, he had to start taking her food.

At some point, his excuses for why he didn’t have a girlfriend with him when he went out stopped being necessary.

At some point, she became furniture.

Officially the worst first date ever.