Irrelevant Cheetah

Yeah, yeah. I know. And it makes it hard to type, too.

SCENE: a dimly lit living room. MAN and WOMAN are sitting on the couch watching TV. OFFSPRING is somewhere off screen, singing his version of “Jingle Bells” rather loudly and somewhat off-key.

MAN: You know, we’ve been together for eleven years now, and every day is better than the day before. (Settles back on couch, grinning smugly, confident that he has just pulled off a romantic coup.)

WOMAN: (Still watching TV.) Twelve years.

MAN: Excuse me?

WOMAN: We’ve been together now for twelve years.

MAN: Wait, wait, wait. (Shakes head.) We got together in ‘96, correct?

WOMAN: Yes.

MAN: And it is now, according to my calculations, 2007, correct?

WOMAN: Right again.

MAN: And the last time I checked, 2007-1996=11. So we’ve been together for eleven years.

WOMAN: Except that we got together in February. And since it’s almost February now, it’s more like twelve years.

MAN:  So we got together in 1996, and it’s now 2007, and we’ve been together for…

WOMAN: Twelve years.

OFFSPRING (offscreen): Jingle bells, Batman smells…

MAN: (Makes sound like somebody strangling a horse with a piece of licorice.) What is that, Venus Math? Because my Algebra professor would have flunked you with calculations like that.

WOMAN: Yup. Venus Math. Good term. And it’s the only math that counts.

MAN: (Flops back on couch, grumbling under his breath.) I have just lost another one, yet I press on. Tally ho!

WOMAN: What’s that, dear?

MAN: Nothing, dear. So what’s on CBS tonight, anyway?

The following is a grammatically correct English sentence:

Buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

It means, “Buffalo from the city of Buffalo intimidate other buffalo who are also from the city of Buffalo.”

For some reason, the spell-check on Micro$oft Word turned that whole sentence red. Go figure.

I’m back. While it was a good trip, photographic conditions on the North Slope were, to put it mildly, crap. Most of the time I was there a thick, soupy fog covered everything, and it didn’t really begin to clear until the daylight began to fail (at about 2 P.M., if you were wondering.) Luckily, it wasn’t too cold. I know that some of you may shudder at this, but it was a relatively balmy 5-10 degrees F (-15 degrees Celsius) on the one full day I spent outside, which is comparable to Anchorage on a cold day.

Although conditions sucked, I did manage to get a few shots that were acceptable. This first shot shows just how big some of the mobile oil rigs really are:

Yes, that’s me in full ESC garb.

This next shot, while not particularly interesting subject-wise, shows two things. It shows a festively-decorated oil rig in the distance, and it shows just how (not) light it gets. This photo was taken about noon.

If you ever decide to visit beautiful Deadhorse, Alaska, it’s easy to find. Simply drive north from Anchorage for roughly 1,000 miles along the Dalton highway until it stops. You can’t really go any farther north, because the land past that is owned/leased by the oil companies, and they tend to frown on riff-raff like you tromping around on the tundra. Should you decide to stay, however, you are welcome to stay in Deadhorse’s lovely four-star accommodation, the Prudhoe Bay Hotel:

It’s a short walk across the street from the Deadhorse airport.

I have, of course, saved the best for last. While out visiting one of the rigs, we had a visitor. I took as many shots as I could, but the wind had picked up and the temperature was dropping, and I ended up with only one usable photo. However, it’s a pretty good one, and I think this one shot justified the trip:

I wish I could tell you all about how I had to trudge through snow and bitter cold and sneak up on him unawares, but I can’t do that. He just walked up to me and patiently sat there while I tried to take a picture with shivering, non-gloved hands, and when I finally gave up and walked away, he trotted behind, obviously holding out for royalty negotiations.

So all in all a good, interesting trip. I uploaded most of the good photos here. If you’ve got any questions, feel free to ask!

Not for long, though. I leave for the North Slope tomorrow afternoon, so I probably won’t be posting or responding to comments for a bit. I’ll be back Sunday afternoon, and then will be spending time going through photos, etc.

Stay tuned!

As you may or may not be aware, one of my hobbies is cryptozoology, the study of unknown animals such as Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and honest politicians. A few years back I started an organization, the Institute for the Investigation of the Unknown, and gave it a website. I have been horribly negligent lately about updating the site, but it still receives several hundred visits a month, mostly from people looking for chupacabra pictures, for some reason.

Yesterday, I received an email from a producer for ABC’s “Wife Swap” television program. They’re starting to cast for Season 4, and one of their goals is to cast a cryptozoologist and his family (I swear I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.) The family must have two parents (including a wife, I assume) and must have at least one offspring between 6 and 17 years old.

Have you ever seen this show? They take two wildly disparate families and the wives/mothers switch places for two weeks in an effort to “see how the other half lives,” normally with as much reality-TV drama thrown in as possible.

Now, my wife and I have watched the show once or twice, and shared a few laughs along with the rest of America about the shenanigans that inevitably ensue when Wife #1 (rich and privileged) discovers that she must now clean the rabbit cage and muck out the horses’ stalls and Wife #2 (hard-working farmer’s wife) suddenly gets to lounge in bed all day. So when I read in the email that the participating family receives a $20,000 honorarium, my ears perked up, and I forwarded the gist of the email to my wife.

Her response (and I quote): Is there a leak over there? Did you hit your head? Are you dehydrated? (As a side note, this is not an uncommon reaction of hers to various communiqués we have during the course of a normal working day.)

So. Nix on the wife swap, obviously. I am now forced to ask several other questions. Hard-hitting, journalism-type questions, like: exactly what is it about a cryptozoologist’s home life that ABC thinks will be a hit? I can only imagine the image the producers have in their heads about “Life in a cryptozoologist’s house.”

HUSBAND: Well, so long, you two! I’m off to search, once again, for Bigfoot! Wish me luck!

WIFE: Good luck, dear! I’ll clean out the chupacabra cage while you’re gone! Do you know what time you’ll be home?

HUSBAND: It might be a little late, honey. Grover called – he’s got a lake monster sighting in Idaho that he just doesn’t know what to do with. I’ll probably have to bail him out with the press again.

OFFSPRING: Why is there fairy crap in my Cheerios?

I guess you won’t be seeing me on television anytime soon, unless the project I’m currently working on with Dr. Werberjensen goes horribly awry (a definite possibility, given our previous track record.) However, I do get $1000 if I refer a family. Any of you suddenly developing an interest in finding the Yeti?

The ESC (Evil Soul-sucking Corporation) where I work is extremely safety-oriented, almost (in my opinion) to the point of absurdity. I have actually received instructions concerning How To Walk Down Stairs. I believe the topic of the Safety Meeting this month is Avoiding Papercuts While Tying Your Shoes.

In keeping with this Keep Our Workers Safe mission, the ESC long ago instituted the RIR program, which stands for Risk Identification Report. Basically, all employees are required to identify safety risks around home and the workplace and report a certain number of them every year, along with possible solutions and prevention measures. While I am not privy to reading the final reports, I can only imagine that they are full of things such as “The roof is leaking around cubicle 27-A, creating a slippery spot that could cause an injury-producing fall.”

Not that the RIRs are ever that obvious. It’s a stone-cold fact that were something that inherently dangerous to actually occur around here, employees would be scrapping over the RIR rights to it like squirrels fighting over a brazil nut. Rather, RIRs are more along the lines of “The lock is sticking on the front door to our building, creating the possibility that someone could break off their key in the lock.” Exciting, dangerous stuff.

Because I don’t actually work for the ESC, but am instead a contractor, I am exempt from the RIR requirement. However, I’ve been feeling left out, so I thought I’d write up a few RIRs and report them here.

Possibility of a singularity in the office refrigerator.

Quantum mechanics quite clearly states that because we can never know both the position and speed of an elementary particle at any particular time, it is quite possible for a black hole to form in the fridge, right next to the bean dip and that slice of pizza that nobody wants to claim. Not probable, perhaps, but entirely possible. The dangers that this could create include massive office implosions, visiting Hell, and creating a field-trip destination for something unspeakably evil (see Event Horizon, starring Sam Neill and Laurence Fishburne.)

Possibility of being chopped up into soup

As a matter of fact, the lock on the front door is a tad bit sticky. If an employee were to be frantically fleeing from the serial killer possibly hiding out in the parking lot, s/he would most likely be caught and messily killed while trying to turn the key in the lock.

Possibility of arterial bleeding

The shiny jagged metal-tooth thing that is used to tear off pieces of Scotch tape is sharp. Trust me on this one – it hurts. Enough so that I used italics in the last two sentences. Get the idea? I’m not fooling around on this one. Were I to attempt to tear off a piece of tape with my elbow (not that I would, but someone might – I’m just sayin’…) it’s entirely possible that the metal-tooth thing could slice right through the brachial artery on the inside of my arm. The resulting loss of blood could not only be fatal, but might attract vampires.

Possibility of vampire attack

See above

Possibility of hyperekplexia epidemic

Working here at ESC requires me to type, read, think and interact with others, all while remaining conscious. While remaining conscious is inherently a safe activity (see Nightmare on Elm Street,) typing, reading, thinking and interacting all require the use of neurons which might otherwise be put to use finding a cure for hyperekplexia. Without my undivided attention to this pressing problem, an epidemic might be forthcoming. I propose paid leave with travel expenses.

Hopefully this list of dangerous situations will enable me to play a part, however small, in the safekeeping of ESC employees. Wherever you are and whatever you do, Stay Safe!®

Why do we close our eyes when we sneeze?

Why does my cat throw up on the carpet, six inches from the linoleum?

If you have one M&M in your hand, is it an M&M? Or just an M?

Why do I practice ventriloquism in the bathroom mirror with a sock puppet when nobody’s looking?

Am I any good?

If there have been signs posted for the last two fucking miles that the right lane is closed ahead, why do people still wait until the last minute to merge left, thus cutting in line (normally directly in front of me) and angering multitudes of other drivers?

Why does my co-worker have “Joy to the World” as his ringtone?

Why is it against the rules for the offspring to play tag in his classroom?

Is it against the rules for me to play tag in the office?

Why is it so hard for so many people to understand that the apostrophe (a wonderful, endangered critter) is normally used to denote a possessive, not a plural?

Why does that bother me so very, very, very, incredibly much?

What was the greatest thing before sliced bread?

Am I running out of blog ideas?

Just wondering.

Apparently, Mars, Inc. does not know me and has, once again, failed to consider the utter chaos that could result from me getting a hold of their latest marketing campaign. You’d think they’d learn.

I speak, of course, about this. For those of you too lazy to click the link, (I mean, honestly, guys! It opens in a new page and everything!) it takes you to a page where you can order, directly from the manufacturer, custom printed M&Ms in your choice of festive colors or color combinations, including, among others, “For Her” and “Hannukah.”

How awesome is this? I mean, this is pure gold! You can put anything you want to on your little candy-coated messengers. I think the best part is the fact that you’re limited to 8 characters per line. This, of course, forces you to put some serious thought into your message. You can’t just write “May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits.” Rather, you must say it in a way that encompasses no more than 16 characters, including spaces (or 32, if you want to cheat and split the message into two parts.) It’s sort of like a haiku, except that it’s using characters, not syllables. And it’s on pieces of candy. And it doesn’t have its origin in Japanese poetry. So maybe it’s not like a haiku at all.

So, of course I started thinking of the possibilities for this. You could send a plea for help:

You could make an advertising statement:

You could even make it a bit more confessional:

And that right there illustrates the best part of this concept: nobody dislikes candy messages. Ordinarily, telling the person in the cubicle next to you that he’s an imbecilic asshat might make him a wee bit sore at you. However, giving him a handful of M&Ms that say the same thing (in no more than 32 melt-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hand characters) can give you both a good laugh. Or not. Either way, the two of you can share a chocolaty snack and some camaraderie.

So now, of course, comes the interactive portion of this blog: lemme see what you can come up with using 16 characters. You can just post it in the comments if you don’t want to go through the admittedly lengthy process of screenshot/download/upload/linking.

One kidney, slightly used. Decent shape. No kidney stones, to my knowledge. Will fit either a male or female, blood type O negative.

I cannot ship this item. Pickup only. Available immediately. Well, not immediately. Rather, winning bidder needs to give me about thirty minutes’ notice before you come and get it. The anesthetic needs to take effect.

Check out my other sales, including half of a liver and a lung! Possible package deals available.