Popcorn Lust, Part II

I found the air popper I had in college. The little plastic intake fan was cracked, so I applied some Gorilla glue, stuck it on and, to use a dated term, Bingo!

I have air popping closure.

Elbow Banging

I am banging the hell out of my elbows lately. I'm fed up with the pain of how it feels, causing me to get angry and wave my arms and bang my elbow on the counter.

High-risk activities for elbow bangings:

1. turning in chair at work
2. eating at kitchen table
3. reaching for shampoo dispenser in shower
4. getting out of car
5. carrying daughter to bed

I could hold a concert where all I do is walk around on stage, banging various objects with my elbows. The applause might be worth it.

And now, a neural detour

Saturday morning I woke up, and in less than two minutes I was in the presidential debate of 2004. That's right, in the debate. Against Bush. At the podium. In my bathrobe. And I was making some good points because I wasn't dreaming.

What the hell? Why would I think of such things on a beautiful day off before driving home for my 3-day Easter weekend?

Other mornings I've had comedy routines go through my head, or how I'd apologize to a friend years and years after an argument, or what I would say at a family member's funeral. And at the time it makes total sense to be thinking of it. But if I have to decide what to have for dinner...(sound of clock ticking)

If you could go back in time, or forward -- anywhere but the present -- I'd know just what to say, which is why I can't think of a good ending for this blog right now. I'll see what happens over Cheerios tomorrow and get back to you.

Popcorn Lust

I bought an air popper at Target today. It blows. Half the kernels just kind of fell out with the ones that popped. Some shot out like I'd packed it with gun powder. The butter melted fine.

When I was a college freshman I got a Black and Decker air popper because they didn't allow microwaves. (Too evil?) It was a well-built, self-contained appliance. Loud, sure -- but that thing could air-pop a buffalo if the need arose. (It didn't.)

Yet here we are, 17 years later -- 17 years to perfect the science of air poppage -- and I'm zipping up a flak jacket and barking orders at my wife (who, I'll admit, is neither getting caught up in the drama nor firing the flares like I asked her to).

So we turned to the Internet, as do all who survive a war with a household appliance. We went to Sears, Kohl's, Bed Bath & Beyond, Herbergers, JCPennys, Linens & Things (whatever the hell that is), Walmart, and even Black and Decker, who no longer makes them. Every model looked the same as the one I bought, basically a Pez dispenser with a backwards Darth Vader helmet.

All I'm saying is, don't buy an air popper unless you are filming a war movie that takes place in your kitchen.

Happy Daylight Saving Time

Since Daylight Saving Time is not considered a holiday (and it should be), I chose to celebrate it by getting myself a white chocolate mocha. (I stopped drinking coffee two weeks ago.)

I'm also holding a moment of silence -- because I lost 60 of them -- to mourn that holiest of hours, the one that gave itself so I could have more light in my day.

And to curse the guy who thought of it. I'm sure there was a reason, and I'm sure he didn't sleep much, and I'm sure he was a dork.

Technically the loss of one hour and the acquisition of more light should not make that much difference, yet today I felt like I had been on a plane that went around the globe nonstop and then dropped me off at my job. What if I were a landscaper? A pet groomer? The guy who bends paper clips for a living?

I know it doesn't sound like a holiday, what with all the drinking, mourning, and cursing, but I feel that it should be one anyway. And I wish you all a Happy Daylight Saving Time.

I'm John's Brain. Good night, and good luck.

I've got a pleasant voice

Last week I was approached about narrating a DVD for a medical book. Seems the regular guy had a thing about saying medical terms the not-right way, forcing their hand. That's where I come in.

I used to be in radio. It's almost exactly the same as what I do now, which is proofreading medical text.

So you see.

Anyway, I've been doing it for six years and can pretty much pronounce medical words until I regurgitate and have to consult a gastroenterologist.

The moral of this story is, don't sit on your hands waiting for something cool to happen, because it will take about six years.

Paradise: I'm lovin' it

I was on teflonjedi's about-me page and listened to an audio clip of the Olympics theme.

That is probably my all-time favorite song. When I get to Heaven, that is the song that will be coming through the speakers, right as I am handed a plate of Chicken McNuggets.

Heaven is Olympics and Chicken McNuggets, is all I'm saying.

Binary Puberty (or, "11001001")

Yesterday Posy bought a robot vacuum cleaner. It cleans the floor and scares the dog.

Today she's trying to show me how a blog works. It doesn't clean the floor and scares me.

Someone once said, "People are not thinking machines, we're feeling machines that think."
(Hence the robot vacuum.)

That's how I feel about technology. Posy loves it. She gets it. She could spend hours telling me what she's learned about html code, but in the end I'm still Frankenstein, holding out my arm and saying, "friend?"

I am going through binary puberty.

Scarecrow vs. Tin Man

At work today I wondered if it would be possible to have a heart attack from boredom. Then my heart rate went up a little, so I stopped wondering and went to get an apple turnover.

My thoughts are steering toward another job. This has happened a bunch of times but today was a little different. I realized I can't learn any more useful stuff at this job. I thought how it might be fun to edit videotape.

Related Thoughts That Occurred Just Then:
1. I just got a cost-of-living increase
2. I know what I'm doing at this job
3. It's a stable job
4. The benefits are good
5. I might hate editing videotape

If you sacrifice happiness for security, are you still alive?