It's fun to obey the machine! -- Ralph Wiggum
If you really want something in life you have to work for it. Now, be quiet! They're about to announce the lottery numbers. -- Homer
Family, religion, friendship. These are the three demons you must slay if you wish to succeed in business. When opportunity knocks, you don't want to be driving to the maternity hospital or sitting in some phony-baloney church. -- C. Montgomery Burns
Once something is approved by the government it's no longer immoral. -- Rev. Lovejoy
What the hell is this, some kind of tube? -- Senator Bob Dole
The Lord has given us ten commandments by which to live. I shall now read them in no particular order. -- Moses
What's my cut? Nothin'?!? I make more than that taking a schmitz! -- Krusty the Clown
It wasn't easy juggling a pregnant wife and a troubled child, but somehow I managed to fit in eight hours of TV a day. -- Homer
May we all burn in foul smelling fire for ever and ever. Amen! -- Rev. Lovejoy
12.27.2008
Saddled With A Lotto Problems
Every week I go down to the local Cash & Carry to purchase one lottery ticket. The game I usually play is called "Cashole," which has an expletive sounding name, but the game is so called simply to convey the idea that if one were to win the jackpot he would win so much money that he'd have to dig a very big hole in his backyard for some reason.
My numbers are always 6-16-27-34-52 and 20 for the "Domination Ball". (I guess the state lottery association thought that "Powerball" was trite, but "Domination Ball" just doesn't have the same ring to it.) I chose these particular numbers because they have personal meanings of luck.
-6: There were Twelve Apostles. We all know that in any given situation a person has a 50/50 shot of being successful, whether it's flipping a coin for tails, shooting foul shots, or opening the mail. Therefore, there were six lucky apostles and six unlucky ones. I'm going with the six lucky ones.
-16: When I was sixteen years old, during a freak winter storm, the roof of some house a few miles away caved in from the weight of the snow. That was where Lyman Thornocker lived. I knew who he was as we had electronics class together, but I don't think he knew me. However, if I had been a friendly boy growing up, and if I had ever talked to him, and if Lyman had provided the standard North American salutatory retort, we may have become buddies, and I could have been at his house that night, and I could have been injured or at least slightly traumatized, so I feel very lucky that I never spoke to Lyman Thornocker when I was sixteen.
-27: There are twenty-seven days in June and we all know that June is the lucky month.
-34: I was once clipping down a residential street at 48 miles per hour, and got nabbed by a cop. Fortunately, just before the officer clocked my speed, I had slowed down to swerve away from what I thought was a pile of nails in the street. The officer clocked me at only 34. Since that is less than ten over the limit, I got hit with a less severe penalty. I was very fortunate there was a big pile of nails (or a mirage of one) in the middle of the street that night.
-52: 1952 was the year that Great-Grandpa Tarsus won the lottery. (Or maybe it was the year he choked on a turkey bone.) I'm chancing that he won the lottery that year - a lucky year.
Now, for the "Domination Ball", I chose 20 because the prize money is paid out in twenty installments.
The jackpot is up to $3.2 million. Wow! Think on what I could do with all that! Actually, don't think on it, as it will only frustrate you that I won and you didn't. I think with the first installment, I would pay my taxes, donate some old clothes to the Goodwill, rent a backhoe, and dig a big hole in my backyard.
My numbers are always 6-16-27-34-52 and 20 for the "Domination Ball". (I guess the state lottery association thought that "Powerball" was trite, but "Domination Ball" just doesn't have the same ring to it.) I chose these particular numbers because they have personal meanings of luck.
-6: There were Twelve Apostles. We all know that in any given situation a person has a 50/50 shot of being successful, whether it's flipping a coin for tails, shooting foul shots, or opening the mail. Therefore, there were six lucky apostles and six unlucky ones. I'm going with the six lucky ones.
-16: When I was sixteen years old, during a freak winter storm, the roof of some house a few miles away caved in from the weight of the snow. That was where Lyman Thornocker lived. I knew who he was as we had electronics class together, but I don't think he knew me. However, if I had been a friendly boy growing up, and if I had ever talked to him, and if Lyman had provided the standard North American salutatory retort, we may have become buddies, and I could have been at his house that night, and I could have been injured or at least slightly traumatized, so I feel very lucky that I never spoke to Lyman Thornocker when I was sixteen.
-27: There are twenty-seven days in June and we all know that June is the lucky month.
-34: I was once clipping down a residential street at 48 miles per hour, and got nabbed by a cop. Fortunately, just before the officer clocked my speed, I had slowed down to swerve away from what I thought was a pile of nails in the street. The officer clocked me at only 34. Since that is less than ten over the limit, I got hit with a less severe penalty. I was very fortunate there was a big pile of nails (or a mirage of one) in the middle of the street that night.
-52: 1952 was the year that Great-Grandpa Tarsus won the lottery. (Or maybe it was the year he choked on a turkey bone.) I'm chancing that he won the lottery that year - a lucky year.
Now, for the "Domination Ball", I chose 20 because the prize money is paid out in twenty installments.
The jackpot is up to $3.2 million. Wow! Think on what I could do with all that! Actually, don't think on it, as it will only frustrate you that I won and you didn't. I think with the first installment, I would pay my taxes, donate some old clothes to the Goodwill, rent a backhoe, and dig a big hole in my backyard.
12.15.2008
Fanta of the Opera
I remember my first words in the theater: "Peanuts! Popcorn!"
Okay, okay, that is a tired, old joke. But it is spookily close to what my actual first words in the theater were: "We have Coke, Diet Coke, Caffeine-free Diet Vanilla Coke, Sprite, and Fanta." That was in response to the question posed, "What do you have to drink?"
To this lady's follow up question, "What kind of Fanta?" I replied, rather sternly, "Look, lady, we got Orange, Orange, and this one looks like Orange, too. Now hurry up and buy something!" Those almost were my last words at the theater. This woman did not take too kindly to my tone of voice and expressed her disgust to the concessions manager. The manager frankly apologized for my unsatisfactory customer service, and offered her a free, possibly Orange Fanta.
"May I have a word with you, P.J.?" the manager called me over.
"Yes, Aunt Madeline?" I responded. You see, the concessions manager is my favorite aunt, Madeline. I have been referred to as her third-favorite nephew. Although, now that I think about it I shouldn't be too flattered as she only has four nephews, and I'm going to guess that the one she likes least is Avery, who stole her car and "accidentally" shot her cat with a BB gun.
Aunt Madeline helped get me this job. She's got close connections with the theater's general manager. That would be my Uncle Bernard. Bernard didn't think I was up for the job as a concessioner, as I was only 14 at the time, and wasn't exactly what you'd call a "people person." A weakness that has persisted with me to this day is that I am quite curt with others. I'm very impatient. I scream at red lights if I have to wait stopped for more than a few seconds. I tap my foot loudly at the bank as I wait in long lines. And I can't tolerate annoying questions that have obvious answers, such as "What do you have to drink?" and "What kind of Fanta?" as this information is clearly presented in big letters on a large poster board near the concessions table. The idea is for customers to make up their minds before they reach the table, so as to maximize efficiency of sales.
Bernard was correct in presupposing that I would have a hard time with customers that were oblivious to the menu and that took a long time to decide what to purchase. However, Madeline persuaded him enough to offer me the job. I almost blew it in the first thirty seconds.
"P.J., dear, it is my impression that our customers prefer to be greeted with a warm smile, and we do well to thank them for their purchase."
"Um, okay," I said as I walked back to the table. At that moment I wasn't sure what she was trying to get at, but I did successfully hold back a scathing comment as the next thirsty patron approached with the question, "So, whaddya got to drink?"
Okay, okay, that is a tired, old joke. But it is spookily close to what my actual first words in the theater were: "We have Coke, Diet Coke, Caffeine-free Diet Vanilla Coke, Sprite, and Fanta." That was in response to the question posed, "What do you have to drink?"
To this lady's follow up question, "What kind of Fanta?" I replied, rather sternly, "Look, lady, we got Orange, Orange, and this one looks like Orange, too. Now hurry up and buy something!" Those almost were my last words at the theater. This woman did not take too kindly to my tone of voice and expressed her disgust to the concessions manager. The manager frankly apologized for my unsatisfactory customer service, and offered her a free, possibly Orange Fanta.
"May I have a word with you, P.J.?" the manager called me over.
"Yes, Aunt Madeline?" I responded. You see, the concessions manager is my favorite aunt, Madeline. I have been referred to as her third-favorite nephew. Although, now that I think about it I shouldn't be too flattered as she only has four nephews, and I'm going to guess that the one she likes least is Avery, who stole her car and "accidentally" shot her cat with a BB gun.
Aunt Madeline helped get me this job. She's got close connections with the theater's general manager. That would be my Uncle Bernard. Bernard didn't think I was up for the job as a concessioner, as I was only 14 at the time, and wasn't exactly what you'd call a "people person." A weakness that has persisted with me to this day is that I am quite curt with others. I'm very impatient. I scream at red lights if I have to wait stopped for more than a few seconds. I tap my foot loudly at the bank as I wait in long lines. And I can't tolerate annoying questions that have obvious answers, such as "What do you have to drink?" and "What kind of Fanta?" as this information is clearly presented in big letters on a large poster board near the concessions table. The idea is for customers to make up their minds before they reach the table, so as to maximize efficiency of sales.
Bernard was correct in presupposing that I would have a hard time with customers that were oblivious to the menu and that took a long time to decide what to purchase. However, Madeline persuaded him enough to offer me the job. I almost blew it in the first thirty seconds.
"P.J., dear, it is my impression that our customers prefer to be greeted with a warm smile, and we do well to thank them for their purchase."
"Um, okay," I said as I walked back to the table. At that moment I wasn't sure what she was trying to get at, but I did successfully hold back a scathing comment as the next thirsty patron approached with the question, "So, whaddya got to drink?"
10.25.2008
Hilarious!
I was just browsing around on Amazon, when I came across this series of CDs that set popular rock bands' music to lullabies. I won't comment on the content, but I found some of the album art very witty.
The Led Zeppelin cover:
And the Rolling Stones:
10.23.2008
The $52 stick of deodorant
Recently, we stopped by the local Wal-Mart with two items in mind: some anti-perspirant for me, and some new sewing needles for the misses. Expected cost - around $7. We didn't stick to that list. We bought a number of other things, things we had been talking about getting, a couple of impulse buys, but really only one other necessity, that being a small package of diapers for the little one.
All together the purchases totalled to $52. Of course, this isn't an unusual occurrence, but it sure makes me take pause and consider the cost of not sticking with just our needs.
All together the purchases totalled to $52. Of course, this isn't an unusual occurrence, but it sure makes me take pause and consider the cost of not sticking with just our needs.
9.30.2008
I'm William Jennings Bryan, and I approve of this message
As the leaves turn orange, as the Christmas decor is put up just behind and to the left of the Hallowe'en merchandise, and as C.A.S. exam season passes by without me participating (hooray!), I must endure another slew of campaign ads that all end in the perplexing phrase, "I am Slick Q. Politician and I approve this message."
I've wondered why politicians stated so in their ads. Isn't it obvious? Isn't it a little self-serving? Couldn't they say something else that is more interesting and memorable, such as "I'm Horace Maynard Philabuster and with your help we are going to wipe the floor clean with my opponent's ugly butt!"?
So, I did some research. It turns out that candidates are required by law to make such a self-evident pronouncement. This requirement came as a provision of the Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act of 2002 (sponsored by John McCain). Apparently, the purpose behind the provision was to force candidates to stand by their ads and discourage them from taking cheap shots at their opponents.
This certainly would have saved Senator Philabuster some grief, as he made the above comment in 2000, two years before the act was passed. Philabuster's opponent for the senate seat was Hoyt Rockefeller Montana, a man as chiseled and dapper as his name suggests. At the end of a support rally in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, Montana shouted to the boisterous crowd, "I have to say, though, that my opponent is most definitely wrong about one thing!" And with that, Montana bent over and mooned the crowd revealing a very attractive derriere.
And, as you may have noticed in my title, apparently "I approve of this message" is the grammatically correct form, but don't tell that to the politicians who need to conserve those precious seconds of air time.
I've wondered why politicians stated so in their ads. Isn't it obvious? Isn't it a little self-serving? Couldn't they say something else that is more interesting and memorable, such as "I'm Horace Maynard Philabuster and with your help we are going to wipe the floor clean with my opponent's ugly butt!"?
So, I did some research. It turns out that candidates are required by law to make such a self-evident pronouncement. This requirement came as a provision of the Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act of 2002 (sponsored by John McCain). Apparently, the purpose behind the provision was to force candidates to stand by their ads and discourage them from taking cheap shots at their opponents.
This certainly would have saved Senator Philabuster some grief, as he made the above comment in 2000, two years before the act was passed. Philabuster's opponent for the senate seat was Hoyt Rockefeller Montana, a man as chiseled and dapper as his name suggests. At the end of a support rally in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, Montana shouted to the boisterous crowd, "I have to say, though, that my opponent is most definitely wrong about one thing!" And with that, Montana bent over and mooned the crowd revealing a very attractive derriere.
And, as you may have noticed in my title, apparently "I approve of this message" is the grammatically correct form, but don't tell that to the politicians who need to conserve those precious seconds of air time.
Better Than Fiction
Hey, I wasn't lying about that last post.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20080930/od_nm/us_hornygoatweed;_ylt=AkOACBt6mj9x2uO_KL2m5RGs0NUE
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20080930/od_nm/us_hornygoatweed;_ylt=AkOACBt6mj9x2uO_KL2m5RGs0NUE
9.06.2008
Better Than Better-Than-Sex Cake
My wife made a cake last night. Not just any cake. In a small effort to spice things up a bit (if you know what I mean (not that we really need any more spice, just a bit, nothing more than the proverbial cherry-on-top (man I love these nesting parentheses))) Mrs. Cornucopia added a special ingredient to this cake.
A few days ago, the misses was grocery shopping, rummaging through the boxes of bow-tie pasta, searching for the most beat up box (hoping to score a discount) when she came across a misplaced bottle of dried-up ground leaves of the plant Epimedium grandiflorum a.k.a (and printed in very large block letters on the bottle) "Horny Goat Weed".
"Double-you tee eff??" muttered she, having never heard of Horny Goat Weed. Upon reading the label, my wife learned that this alluringly-named product is in fact (or purported to be) a powerful aphrodisiac, guaranteed (or purportedly guaranteed) to boost one's sexual prowess.
"Hmm, this might prove interesting," said Mrs. Cornucopia with a sly grin on her face.
"You talking to me?" asked some frizzy-do'd forty-something, pulling her head out of the display of canned pinto beans. (This lady had been scrounging for dented cans, also trying to score a discount.)
"Excuse me," replied the misses, and dashed off to the checkout.
So, anyway, last night after dinner, with the lights turned down, and some incense burning, my darling wife serves me a large piece of this very yummy-looking cake.
"Wow, smells delicious," I say in a line of dialogue so obvious I didn't even need to type it. After a few bites, I had to pause.
"Really rich," I say.
"Do you feel anything different?" my wife asks.
"No, not really. What do you mean?"
"Huh?" she questions, disappointed. "Right about now you should have a really big..." Awkward pause. "...red rash streaking across your forehead!?!"
It started as a slight tingle. Then a minor burning. And then, a major burning, a suffocating itch, and a trip to the emergency room.
I won't bore you with the details of how we had to wait in the lobby of the emergency room for 45 minutes and being forced to watch CSPAN. Nor will I bore you with the details of all the forms we had to fill out. (Okay, so I will bore you.)
In sum, as a warning, if you ever come across a bottle of "Horny Goat Weed" whilst seeking out smashed boxes of bow-tie pasta, well, sir, you just keep focused on your search.
A few days ago, the misses was grocery shopping, rummaging through the boxes of bow-tie pasta, searching for the most beat up box (hoping to score a discount) when she came across a misplaced bottle of dried-up ground leaves of the plant Epimedium grandiflorum a.k.a (and printed in very large block letters on the bottle) "Horny Goat Weed".
"Double-you tee eff??" muttered she, having never heard of Horny Goat Weed. Upon reading the label, my wife learned that this alluringly-named product is in fact (or purported to be) a powerful aphrodisiac, guaranteed (or purportedly guaranteed) to boost one's sexual prowess.
"Hmm, this might prove interesting," said Mrs. Cornucopia with a sly grin on her face.
"You talking to me?" asked some frizzy-do'd forty-something, pulling her head out of the display of canned pinto beans. (This lady had been scrounging for dented cans, also trying to score a discount.)
"Excuse me," replied the misses, and dashed off to the checkout.
So, anyway, last night after dinner, with the lights turned down, and some incense burning, my darling wife serves me a large piece of this very yummy-looking cake.
"Wow, smells delicious," I say in a line of dialogue so obvious I didn't even need to type it. After a few bites, I had to pause.
"Really rich," I say.
"Do you feel anything different?" my wife asks.
"No, not really. What do you mean?"
"Huh?" she questions, disappointed. "Right about now you should have a really big..." Awkward pause. "...red rash streaking across your forehead!?!"
It started as a slight tingle. Then a minor burning. And then, a major burning, a suffocating itch, and a trip to the emergency room.
I won't bore you with the details of how we had to wait in the lobby of the emergency room for 45 minutes and being forced to watch CSPAN. Nor will I bore you with the details of all the forms we had to fill out. (Okay, so I will bore you.)
In sum, as a warning, if you ever come across a bottle of "Horny Goat Weed" whilst seeking out smashed boxes of bow-tie pasta, well, sir, you just keep focused on your search.
Like a Feather...
Crude oil prices are now down to their lowest levels in five months. So why am I paying 40 cents more per gallon now than I was five months ago???
8.23.2008
Easy Ass Pie
Some of my readers may be shocked at the three- and four-letter words I have used in the title of this piece, such as "pie" and "easy". Of course, this is just a play on a well-cliched phrase.
When I lived in Argentina, I was quickly introduced to one of their delicacies. It looked and smelled and tasted just like a regular burrito. Yes, the Argentines simply ripped off the idea from the Mexicans (or whoever came up with it).
As we all know, the word "burrito" is a portmanteau of two Spanish words, "burro" meaning "tortilla," and "ito" meaning "filled with beans and cheese". The Argentines had a different word. I don't actually recall the word, but I do remember that it loosely translated to "donkey pie". Now, the idea of eating pie made out of a donkey didn't sound very appealing to me at first. Hearing the word, and grasping it's translation, my brain immediately conjured up images of farm-fresh cow desserts. Even though it looked and smelled and tasted just like a regular burrito, I was rather suspicious. Even though my taste buds were saying, "C'mon! Eat it! You know it's just regular beans and cheese," my mind was saying, "Ugh! I don't know about this. A donkey? Are you positive that it's not ground-up disease-ridden donkey? You've only been here three days and you've already witnessed tardy mail delivery. Are you sure you can trust these people?"
Turns out I could trust them, and did. My taste buds ruled that day, and I helped myself to another donkey pie.
When I lived in Argentina, I was quickly introduced to one of their delicacies. It looked and smelled and tasted just like a regular burrito. Yes, the Argentines simply ripped off the idea from the Mexicans (or whoever came up with it).
As we all know, the word "burrito" is a portmanteau of two Spanish words, "burro" meaning "tortilla," and "ito" meaning "filled with beans and cheese". The Argentines had a different word. I don't actually recall the word, but I do remember that it loosely translated to "donkey pie". Now, the idea of eating pie made out of a donkey didn't sound very appealing to me at first. Hearing the word, and grasping it's translation, my brain immediately conjured up images of farm-fresh cow desserts. Even though it looked and smelled and tasted just like a regular burrito, I was rather suspicious. Even though my taste buds were saying, "C'mon! Eat it! You know it's just regular beans and cheese," my mind was saying, "Ugh! I don't know about this. A donkey? Are you positive that it's not ground-up disease-ridden donkey? You've only been here three days and you've already witnessed tardy mail delivery. Are you sure you can trust these people?"
Turns out I could trust them, and did. My taste buds ruled that day, and I helped myself to another donkey pie.
8.16.2008
Put Your Pajamas On!!
Action-flick superstar Michael J. "Pudge" Amazon is in trouble. Again. His recent shenanigan took place right on the set of his new film "Pudge Amazon and the Goblet of the Kingdom of the Crystal Dragon Emperor". Pudge is accused of pilfering some very inexpensive and easy to find eco-friendly fluorescent light bulbs belonging to key grip Solomon P. Patterson.
This indiscretion doesn't come as a surprise. Amazon has always been a bit of a kleptomaniac. His Wikipedia entry even says so. Amazon has a long history of stealing small items. When he was seven, Pudge swiped a pack of gum from a convenience store. When he was 10, he stole a glance from a cute little girl in his fifth-grade class. At 13, playing little league baseball, he stole (Duh, professor! I get it. He stole second base. Come on! I've heard that one already.) No, you moron, he stole third base and it didn't make a difference anyway, as his team lost 12-2.
At 16, Amazon began his light bulb stealing habit. By this time, Amazon was well into his acting career, starring in a number of low-budget "talkie" advertisements. Of course, his acting gigs required him to be on the road a lot, staying at many a Super 8 around the country. And Amazon couldn't ever seem to leave a Super 8 without sneaking out a light bulb or two from a lamp or an E-Z Bake Oven.
And so it was with Mr. Patterson's poor bulbs. As I mentioned before, Solomon is the key grip on the set. For those that may not know, a grip is a job title more commonly known as "What the heck is a grip?" You may be asking, "Who cares? Why is Patterson boo-hooing over a few dollars worth of light bulbs?" Patterson tells it this way:
"It's not the value of the light bulbs that's the problem. In fact, I got them all back. Suspicions were aroused when a caterer spotted Amazon walking off the set holding a back labeled 'Stolen Light Bulbs'. The problem I'm having is, well, what's next? Today it's my light bulbs, tomorrow it could be my sandwich, my car keys, my lawn. He's put me on edge to be very wary of what he's doing at all time. And I have a job to do. Which brings up another good point. Not many people know what key grips do. My main responsibility is to..."
Whoa! That's all the time we have for this week. ("But Professor, this is a blog. It's not like you're taking up air-waves time. You can write for as long as you want.") Next week, I will give my belated review of Amazon's last movie, "Pudge Amazon and the Self-Fulfilling Long Named Movie Title".
This indiscretion doesn't come as a surprise. Amazon has always been a bit of a kleptomaniac. His Wikipedia entry even says so. Amazon has a long history of stealing small items. When he was seven, Pudge swiped a pack of gum from a convenience store. When he was 10, he stole a glance from a cute little girl in his fifth-grade class. At 13, playing little league baseball, he stole (Duh, professor! I get it. He stole second base. Come on! I've heard that one already.) No, you moron, he stole third base and it didn't make a difference anyway, as his team lost 12-2.
At 16, Amazon began his light bulb stealing habit. By this time, Amazon was well into his acting career, starring in a number of low-budget "talkie" advertisements. Of course, his acting gigs required him to be on the road a lot, staying at many a Super 8 around the country. And Amazon couldn't ever seem to leave a Super 8 without sneaking out a light bulb or two from a lamp or an E-Z Bake Oven.
And so it was with Mr. Patterson's poor bulbs. As I mentioned before, Solomon is the key grip on the set. For those that may not know, a grip is a job title more commonly known as "What the heck is a grip?" You may be asking, "Who cares? Why is Patterson boo-hooing over a few dollars worth of light bulbs?" Patterson tells it this way:
"It's not the value of the light bulbs that's the problem. In fact, I got them all back. Suspicions were aroused when a caterer spotted Amazon walking off the set holding a back labeled 'Stolen Light Bulbs'. The problem I'm having is, well, what's next? Today it's my light bulbs, tomorrow it could be my sandwich, my car keys, my lawn. He's put me on edge to be very wary of what he's doing at all time. And I have a job to do. Which brings up another good point. Not many people know what key grips do. My main responsibility is to..."
Whoa! That's all the time we have for this week. ("But Professor, this is a blog. It's not like you're taking up air-waves time. You can write for as long as you want.") Next week, I will give my belated review of Amazon's last movie, "Pudge Amazon and the Self-Fulfilling Long Named Movie Title".
7.30.2008
A Notable Sacrifice
Gilbert Arenas, All-Star NBA player for the Washington Wizards, recently signed a six-year $111 Million contract.
But, get this: "the Wizards actually offered him $127 million, but that he took a lesser contract to give Washington room under the NBA’s luxury tax limit to possibly bring in another player.
“It’s really unheard of for a player to do the kind of things that he did and make the sacrifice for the team that he did,” team president Ernie Grunfeld said."
Let's see him donate a lung, then we'll talk sacrifice.
But, get this: "the Wizards actually offered him $127 million, but that he took a lesser contract to give Washington room under the NBA’s luxury tax limit to possibly bring in another player.
“It’s really unheard of for a player to do the kind of things that he did and make the sacrifice for the team that he did,” team president Ernie Grunfeld said."
Let's see him donate a lung, then we'll talk sacrifice.
7.20.2008
Done with Exams
So, now I am a Fellow of the Casualty Actuarial Society. Quite an exclusive club; there are only about 3300 members throughout the U.S. and Canadia. There are probably that many lawyers and dentists combined just in the greater Hartford area.
It was a long struggle. Over 5 and a half years of studying and test taking. The demand for actuaries is high, the competition is intense, and the rewards are worth it.
And yet, the examination process leaves much to be desired. I wondered many, many times if the material over which I was racking my brain had any practical application in my own day-to-day work. You study and study and memorize and study some more. You learn every single nuance of every paragraph of every paper on the syllabus. Even if you know you could not be any more prepared, you take the exam and walk out of the room not feeling totally confident that you passed. That never happens in college, right? You study and prepare for the final, walk into the room very confident, finish the exam in half the time, and know you got at least a B+. Not so with actuarial exams.
And if you don't like your results (read when you fail) you can't see your graded exam. One can appeal, but getting a re-grade is very difficult. And how can you appeal that your exam should be re-graded if you can't even see what you wrote to use to defend your position. It's not like you can remember what you wrote down on any particular problem two months later.
I could go on and on about how I feel that the examination system can and should be improved, but I'll stop here. I should say that those who create an exam and those who grade them do so on their own time -- all volunteer work, so it is expected that there should be some weaknesses with the system.
Anyway, I am very relieved that it is all over.
It was a long struggle. Over 5 and a half years of studying and test taking. The demand for actuaries is high, the competition is intense, and the rewards are worth it.
And yet, the examination process leaves much to be desired. I wondered many, many times if the material over which I was racking my brain had any practical application in my own day-to-day work. You study and study and memorize and study some more. You learn every single nuance of every paragraph of every paper on the syllabus. Even if you know you could not be any more prepared, you take the exam and walk out of the room not feeling totally confident that you passed. That never happens in college, right? You study and prepare for the final, walk into the room very confident, finish the exam in half the time, and know you got at least a B+. Not so with actuarial exams.
And if you don't like your results (read when you fail) you can't see your graded exam. One can appeal, but getting a re-grade is very difficult. And how can you appeal that your exam should be re-graded if you can't even see what you wrote to use to defend your position. It's not like you can remember what you wrote down on any particular problem two months later.
I could go on and on about how I feel that the examination system can and should be improved, but I'll stop here. I should say that those who create an exam and those who grade them do so on their own time -- all volunteer work, so it is expected that there should be some weaknesses with the system.
Anyway, I am very relieved that it is all over.
7.06.2008
Writer's Lab #9
A Math Puzzle
"A Ben and Jerry's delivery truck loaded with quarts of Phish Food leaves Burlington, Vermont at 9:30 am traveling south-southwest at 55 miles-per-hour with a 4 knots-per-hour head wind.
"At 9:45 am a Breyer's truck filled with Plain Vanilla half-gallons leaves Philadelphia traveling north-northeast at 55 miles per hour with an undetermined head wind.
"When these two trucks collide, how many people will run into the street to feast on free ice cream?"
The class was stunned silent.
"Well?" Mrs. Archive asked. "Martin!" she exclaimed, pointing at him. "How many?"
"Uh, I dunno. Twelve?" Martin answered squeamishly.
"Twelve?" the teacher asked. "How did you come to that answer?"
"Uh, well, uh, 'cause I'm twelve years old?"
"Keep in mind Martin," Mrs. Archive explained, "that the trucks will crash somewhere near New Haven, Connecticut during the lunch rush. It is a hot day, so a lot of people are going to want ice cream."
"I believe I know the answer, " Jamie stated confidently. "Forty-seven."
"How did you arrive at that number, Jamie?" Mrs. Archive quizzed.
"Well, it was simple. I merely calculated the third moment of the arc-coversant derivative ellipsoid field quadrant. Multiplied by a factor to account for those who are honest and won't steal ice cream from two crashed vehicles. Oh, and I factored in the E.M.T. who would otherwise normally jump in for free ice cream, but having been trained in emergency response instead goes to help mend the badly broken bodies of the drivers."
"You are correct," Mrs. Archive said proudly.
"A Ben and Jerry's delivery truck loaded with quarts of Phish Food leaves Burlington, Vermont at 9:30 am traveling south-southwest at 55 miles-per-hour with a 4 knots-per-hour head wind.
"At 9:45 am a Breyer's truck filled with Plain Vanilla half-gallons leaves Philadelphia traveling north-northeast at 55 miles per hour with an undetermined head wind.
"When these two trucks collide, how many people will run into the street to feast on free ice cream?"
The class was stunned silent.
"Well?" Mrs. Archive asked. "Martin!" she exclaimed, pointing at him. "How many?"
"Uh, I dunno. Twelve?" Martin answered squeamishly.
"Twelve?" the teacher asked. "How did you come to that answer?"
"Uh, well, uh, 'cause I'm twelve years old?"
"Keep in mind Martin," Mrs. Archive explained, "that the trucks will crash somewhere near New Haven, Connecticut during the lunch rush. It is a hot day, so a lot of people are going to want ice cream."
"I believe I know the answer, " Jamie stated confidently. "Forty-seven."
"How did you arrive at that number, Jamie?" Mrs. Archive quizzed.
"Well, it was simple. I merely calculated the third moment of the arc-coversant derivative ellipsoid field quadrant. Multiplied by a factor to account for those who are honest and won't steal ice cream from two crashed vehicles. Oh, and I factored in the E.M.T. who would otherwise normally jump in for free ice cream, but having been trained in emergency response instead goes to help mend the badly broken bodies of the drivers."
"You are correct," Mrs. Archive said proudly.
4.20.2008
Writer's Lab #8
The following poem was published the year after my prize-winning essay, in the Kearns High Literary Magazine. I didn't win anything for this one. Not even respect. I recall a lunch period when this poem was being passed around the group to read, and one person said, "This is the stupidest thing I've ever read!" Enjoy!
One Beer, Two Beer, Red Beer, Lite Beer
The big sot takes a swig of shot,
The fat drunk smells like cats and skunks.
How smooth is the beer? Here,
Drink it down! Turn that frown upside-down.
For only two bucks more you'll get beer galore.
Another half-quart; your liver is constructing a fort
From all that alcohol you drink. I think my pink
Skin is turning bright red, becoming quite dead.
"You are what you eat," they say. Don't be discreet.
That red barley is making me see
Things funny. I see dark replacing the sunny
Skies. My eyes! They burn like railroad ties
Being formed from hot iron. My wallet is not
Empty of money. One more round for me and my honey.
I call her Pooh-Bear; her hair is so soft! I love to stare.
She's almost as sweet as my brew. Hey, you!
With that case of Duff, bring it here. I can't get enough!
It cools my throat. Recently I've been as sick as a goat
That's had too much mash at that loud party bash.
The beer is so fine, just like red wine
At the Red Lion Hotel. I'm so high flyin'
'Cause I'm as drunk as a skunk in a bunk
At the barracks. This bar is so far
From the real life. Oh, dear! My wife is here.
One Beer, Two Beer, Red Beer, Lite Beer
The big sot takes a swig of shot,
The fat drunk smells like cats and skunks.
How smooth is the beer? Here,
Drink it down! Turn that frown upside-down.
For only two bucks more you'll get beer galore.
Another half-quart; your liver is constructing a fort
From all that alcohol you drink. I think my pink
Skin is turning bright red, becoming quite dead.
"You are what you eat," they say. Don't be discreet.
That red barley is making me see
Things funny. I see dark replacing the sunny
Skies. My eyes! They burn like railroad ties
Being formed from hot iron. My wallet is not
Empty of money. One more round for me and my honey.
I call her Pooh-Bear; her hair is so soft! I love to stare.
She's almost as sweet as my brew. Hey, you!
With that case of Duff, bring it here. I can't get enough!
It cools my throat. Recently I've been as sick as a goat
That's had too much mash at that loud party bash.
The beer is so fine, just like red wine
At the Red Lion Hotel. I'm so high flyin'
'Cause I'm as drunk as a skunk in a bunk
At the barracks. This bar is so far
From the real life. Oh, dear! My wife is here.
3.29.2008
Writer's Lab #7
The following is an essay I wrote in high school that one me first place essay in the 1996 Kearns High Literary Magazine. The prize was $30 in cold hard check form. It is based on an English class journal entry. At the beginning of class, the teacher would write a question or thought, and we took a few minutes to write a response to it. So, in a similar format to what I have been doing so far, here is the question, and my response.
Q: What do you believe is this country's most pressing problem?
A: Why I Chose Linoleum
The United States of America is experiencing a mad obsession that has a dominating influence on the lives of the people. This crazed fixation, of course, is the demand for having clean carpets.
For years women have been stereotyped as staying home all day tidying up her family’s residence while the man is out laboring by the sweat of his brow, earning money to buy cleaning products for his dame. But in this day the men have also been lured into the demand to have unblemished floor matting.
The sweeping passion of having clean carpets is a needed one. This nation would not stand if people’s carpets remained soiled. The prominent issue of those who may choose not to cleanse their carpets is the cost involved. A Regina Steamer Carpet Cleaner with all the accessories – such as the Tight Corner Hose and the Stairbrush to Heaven – can cost upward of three hundred dollars. And, of course, carpet cleaning solution may cost six dollars per gallon, far more than most people want to spend on their carpets.
Nevertheless, carpets must be clean. Dirty carpets are America’s weakness and must be eliminated. The consequences of having tarnished carpets can be calamitous. Other world powers would recognize this nation’s sore point and invade. Germany would replace our culture with theirs. All Americans would have to return to kindergarten, every pair of legs would be seen with lederhosen, and bratwurst would be served at breakfast. Singapore would take over the government. Everyone would have to walk in a straight line and not be allowed to chew gum. Japan would take over TV programming. The only shows to be seen would be those where the actors’ lip movements don’t correspond with the words they speak. Clean carpets are a must if the United States is to retain its global authority.
Carpet cleaning is a happy time. A big grin should be on every soul’s face as he or she disinfects the floor. Yet many become discouraged while cleaning carpets, making it seem like a chore. They sing, “You load sixteen tons, whadda ya get? Another day older and deeper in debt.” Others become downright frustrated, cursing out explicit four letter words across their lips that Granny Clovis wouldn’t dare be kissed by. Frustration is turned to anger which is followed by quoting Shakespeare --“Out, Damned spot! Out, I say!” (Macbeth 5.1.38) and “I… despised the…dank and dirty ground” (A Midsummer Night’s Dream 2.268, 73, 75).
But one must not become infuriated with stubborn stains. One must stand tall, feel the hate of putrid germs, and yell out to the world, “These carpets are filthy as hell and I’m not going to take it any more!”
Carpet cleaning is a must. One must take great pride in doing this necessary task. Those who are obsessed with having immaculate carpets have to be looked upon as heroes. Clean carpets have to be looked upon as heroes. Clean carpets keep America united – in peace, in happiness, and in eternal glory.
Q: What do you believe is this country's most pressing problem?
A: Why I Chose Linoleum
The United States of America is experiencing a mad obsession that has a dominating influence on the lives of the people. This crazed fixation, of course, is the demand for having clean carpets.
For years women have been stereotyped as staying home all day tidying up her family’s residence while the man is out laboring by the sweat of his brow, earning money to buy cleaning products for his dame. But in this day the men have also been lured into the demand to have unblemished floor matting.
The sweeping passion of having clean carpets is a needed one. This nation would not stand if people’s carpets remained soiled. The prominent issue of those who may choose not to cleanse their carpets is the cost involved. A Regina Steamer Carpet Cleaner with all the accessories – such as the Tight Corner Hose and the Stairbrush to Heaven – can cost upward of three hundred dollars. And, of course, carpet cleaning solution may cost six dollars per gallon, far more than most people want to spend on their carpets.
Nevertheless, carpets must be clean. Dirty carpets are America’s weakness and must be eliminated. The consequences of having tarnished carpets can be calamitous. Other world powers would recognize this nation’s sore point and invade. Germany would replace our culture with theirs. All Americans would have to return to kindergarten, every pair of legs would be seen with lederhosen, and bratwurst would be served at breakfast. Singapore would take over the government. Everyone would have to walk in a straight line and not be allowed to chew gum. Japan would take over TV programming. The only shows to be seen would be those where the actors’ lip movements don’t correspond with the words they speak. Clean carpets are a must if the United States is to retain its global authority.
Carpet cleaning is a happy time. A big grin should be on every soul’s face as he or she disinfects the floor. Yet many become discouraged while cleaning carpets, making it seem like a chore. They sing, “You load sixteen tons, whadda ya get? Another day older and deeper in debt.” Others become downright frustrated, cursing out explicit four letter words across their lips that Granny Clovis wouldn’t dare be kissed by. Frustration is turned to anger which is followed by quoting Shakespeare --“Out, Damned spot! Out, I say!” (Macbeth 5.1.38) and “I… despised the…dank and dirty ground” (A Midsummer Night’s Dream 2.268, 73, 75).
But one must not become infuriated with stubborn stains. One must stand tall, feel the hate of putrid germs, and yell out to the world, “These carpets are filthy as hell and I’m not going to take it any more!”
Carpet cleaning is a must. One must take great pride in doing this necessary task. Those who are obsessed with having immaculate carpets have to be looked upon as heroes. Clean carpets have to be looked upon as heroes. Clean carpets keep America united – in peace, in happiness, and in eternal glory.
3.28.2008
Writer's Lab #6
Q: So tell me, Mr. Cornucopia, why you haven't written in months?
A: There are many reasons for that. Let me list them, in alphabetical order:
1. I am not disciplined. That's right, when it comes to updating my blog, I lack discipline. Since I have no external forces pressing me for deadlines and updates (except for one brother. I won't give his full name, but will only refer to him here as "James") I have to set my own deadlines to write. Which I just haven't gotten around to doing. See, in order to set deadlines and a schedule to write, I have to set a deadline as to when I will sit down and set said deadlines. And you can easily infer that spirals into a deadly combination of "not" and "done".
2. I have been very busy with work. Yes, my real job. Running the Food Magorium is my moonlighting post. My day job is some sort of insurance professional that requires credentials and a code of ethics. In order to attain said credentials I have to successfully pass a series of nine gruelling examinations covering every possible insurance and risk management topic from "Why are my rates so high" to "Why did my rates go up this year -- AGAIN!" Fortunately, I have only one exam left, but studying for that exam, plus actually working a full time job, plus commuting 35 minutes each way 5 days a week, plus sleeping, leaves me with little time to myself. And lately I have been filling my free time with reading books, when I should be writing them.
3. I need some better idea starters. My very first post introducing the writer's lab referred to a Question Jar which produced writing ideas. So far, up until now, I have followed that format. However, I really don't like to pull a question from the jar at random and feel forced to write a witty response to only that question. Some of the "thought-inspiring" questions are down-right lame. So, I have fished through them until I found one I like. Honestly, even though there are dozens of questions in that jar, I think I have exhausted all the ones I would enjoy writing to.
4. The novelty of this blog has worn off. Not to say it's not still fun. But at first, I discovered a magical new way to express my thoughts and share them with the general public (all six of you). Now that the initial magic and set up has evaporated, I am not as excited to post something new very often.
Solution?? Not sure yet. Once this exam is over, I will have more time to write. I really want to pursue it.
A: There are many reasons for that. Let me list them, in alphabetical order:
1. I am not disciplined. That's right, when it comes to updating my blog, I lack discipline. Since I have no external forces pressing me for deadlines and updates (except for one brother. I won't give his full name, but will only refer to him here as "James") I have to set my own deadlines to write. Which I just haven't gotten around to doing. See, in order to set deadlines and a schedule to write, I have to set a deadline as to when I will sit down and set said deadlines. And you can easily infer that spirals into a deadly combination of "not" and "done".
2. I have been very busy with work. Yes, my real job. Running the Food Magorium is my moonlighting post. My day job is some sort of insurance professional that requires credentials and a code of ethics. In order to attain said credentials I have to successfully pass a series of nine gruelling examinations covering every possible insurance and risk management topic from "Why are my rates so high" to "Why did my rates go up this year -- AGAIN!" Fortunately, I have only one exam left, but studying for that exam, plus actually working a full time job, plus commuting 35 minutes each way 5 days a week, plus sleeping, leaves me with little time to myself. And lately I have been filling my free time with reading books, when I should be writing them.
3. I need some better idea starters. My very first post introducing the writer's lab referred to a Question Jar which produced writing ideas. So far, up until now, I have followed that format. However, I really don't like to pull a question from the jar at random and feel forced to write a witty response to only that question. Some of the "thought-inspiring" questions are down-right lame. So, I have fished through them until I found one I like. Honestly, even though there are dozens of questions in that jar, I think I have exhausted all the ones I would enjoy writing to.
4. The novelty of this blog has worn off. Not to say it's not still fun. But at first, I discovered a magical new way to express my thoughts and share them with the general public (all six of you). Now that the initial magic and set up has evaporated, I am not as excited to post something new very often.
Solution?? Not sure yet. Once this exam is over, I will have more time to write. I really want to pursue it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)