With Great Power Comes 50 Rolls of Toilet Paper

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. And a Costco membership is absolute power.

In a previous life, I was able to purchase just one dozen eggs at a time. In a former existence, I bought 24 plastic knives in a single trip to the grocery store. In a preceeding state of being, I obtained tissue paper one box at a time.

But now all of that is no more. Those golden days of bliss are long behind me now.

It began innocently enough, as it usually does. Who among us is strong enough to resist the seductive calling from the beautiful siren that is a quarter-pound all-beef hot dog with unlimited soda refills for $1.50? For those that (for some incomprehensible reason) are not hungry and only thirsty, the unlimited soda is available by itself for 55 cents. 55 cents! You would have to be some kind of soda eunuch to turn that down.

And then it escalates. Now we're running home with whole rotissery chickens for $4.99 apiece. That's food for three days! Unless you're me, in which case it's food for one day, but still very economical.

The trap is sprung, and the devious fangs of wholesale are firmly entrenched now. They've gotten us in the door, why wouldn't we stay for the $200 4GB iPod Nano? I had thought I was just getting the membership for the frighteningly cheap food for the rest of my life, but now it's 432 ounces of soda for $7.99. Now I'm buying enough paper towels to wipe off a kitchen counter the size of Texas. Now I'm acquiring plastic knives by the thousands, as though I were girding for battle against the massive legion of primitive invading marauders from Plastic Barbaria. After the titanic battle, I could hand each one of them a can of soda as a consolation prize.

But alas, I cannot continue this indulgence in self-pity. I have to run off now to replenish my supply of garbage bags. For the next sixty-two years.

pb78

He's back! Hide your food!

Holy crud! It took me less than a year to post again! Fortunately this means I won't have to do so again for another year, because it will be approximately that long before anyone sees this, I'm sure.

So what has happened during the Year of Latency? I got one year older (although not until June) and a little bit less mature. I also surmise that I have been dwelling in a small crevice in the dirt beneath a damp moss-covered rock for the duration, because the marshmallow Peeps phenomenon seems to have passed me by like a Kevin Costner movie. These cute little birds have wormed their (mostly) organic little bodies into a firm nest in pop culture consciousness, it seems, and yet the first time I'd ever been in the physical presence of a Peep was two weeks ago. It's not that I'm out of touch, I don't think. I just don't have any idea what goes on around me.

What else happened during the Year of Latency? Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes proved that absurdity is an infinite sliding scale. There's always room to raise the bar just a little bit. Having said that, T&K getting a little bit weirder fascinates me in the same way as G. W. Bush mispronounciating a word that doesn't exist: I cringe a little bit when it happens, but somehow I'm more surprised if it doesn't happen.

In other news, as of 9:30 am today I am temporarily giving up fried chicken. Yes, you did read that correctly. This is not necessarily a health-conscious decision, this is merely a voluntary test of my iron will. I feel that subjecting myself to psychological trials and tribulations such as this will ultimately be better for my body, mind, and soul. And boy, will that fried chicken taste good when the trial/tribulation ends at 11 am this morning!

So if you're still reading this, I've been honored to (barely) entertain you for the last 14 seconds. I will try to do so more regularly from now on. Although when I was 6 I also tried to fly by leaping off the top of a jungle gym from an altitude of three times my height.

pb78

Underwear on the Outside

A recent conversation with my cousin on the phone quickly degenerated into a two-sided shouting gallery of nonsensical noises, with a side of incomprehensible laughter. This made this converesation quite typical for us. What was a typical about this particular talk, however, was that it actually provoked some thought in me afterwards. Yes, apparently it is possible.

Having been geeks and dorks of the first order for our entire lives, the two of us had begun discussing hated comic book superheroes. The idea seems incongruous at first consideration - an individual who generally does selfless things, risking life and limb to save people they don't even know, or possibly even like. Are we as an audience really capable of being as callous as that?

Well, yeah, of course we are. These guys are tools, and let's meet a few of the ones that bother yours truly:

Aquaman
No look at reviled superheroes can fail to include this guy, for Aquaman is truly the inflamed appendix of the superhero universe. His usefulness is nonexistent ("Drop those guns, are the next time you go swimming at the beach jellyfish will mercilessly sting you!") unless the poor guy is in his element (water), in which case he has the option of getting the denizens of the oceans to do his dirty work. Being such a specialized superhero does not exactly endear you to the fans ("Ooh, look, this week Aquaman's going to repel henchmen of evil oil drilling companies! Again! And they're armed with spear guns this time!"), along with sporting green tights with fish scales on them.

Robin
The Boy Wonder is a victim of guilt by association, sadly. Not that Batman isn't a cool superhero - quite the opposite in fact. The Dark Knight is a brooding, ruthless millionaire replete with world-class athleticism and genius-level intellect. And next to him stands a pipsqueak of a kid garbed in bright primary colors. Being associated with Batman accentuates all the things that people hate about Robin - namely that he is not Batman. Also, his name is "Robin." I suppose if I were a criminal, I would feel slightly more confident tangling with someone named "Squirrel" or "Cuddly Bunny." But only slightly.

Jubilee
This is a very similar manifestation of the same problem that plagues Robin. If you're going to ride the coattails of someone as cool as Wolverine, it would behoove you to be packing a mutant power that's more impressive than causing fireworks to appear out of nowhere. You don't need to be a mutant to do that, drunk college students sneaking across certain state lines can do exactly the same thing. Also, does a superhero really needed to be using a code name that's a compressed version of her real name? Apprently affirmative action is no more forgiving upon the X-Men as it is upon anyone else.

Finally, we have arrived at my personal pet peeve of all time:

Superman
I realize that this may be a controversial choice, as Superman has a large and rightfully earned fan base. But the ultimate comic book superhero of all time should not, in my humble opinion, be zooming about in a costume that is primarily red and blue, with a splash of yellow.

I also fully realize that Superman is nigh invincible. The guy is a solar-powered nonstop dynamo of devastation, stopping locomotives with tall buildings in a single bound of speeding bullets and what not. His Achilles' Heel is a mysterious compound conveniently not native to Earth at all, although apparently Lex Luthor grows the stuff in his backyard along with his carrots. Superman is power personified.

But where's the heroism in that? Where's the vulnerability? It's mind-numbingly easy to fight crime and defend the planet when you realize that the only things which can pose remote threats to your safety probably eat stars for lunch. I submit that the guy with the bulletproof flesh who foils a bank robbery is merely being a good Samaritan. The ordinary human being who battles the criminally insane is a hero (yeah, yeah, I'll stop with the Batman thing now).

So, yes, Superman is powerful. Yes, he can roll over almost all opposition quickly and efficiently. But how many people hate the New York Yankees?

Yes, you can flame me in the comments. It'll be fun. =o)

pb78

It Just Is, Okay?

Recently, a friend of mine belonging to a gender other than my own was watching TV with me when I burst out laughing at what we just saw. This was not the discreet chuckle that one employs during brief moments of levity during solemn occasions such as weddings, formal dinners, or signings of treaties between major international powers. What issued from my mouth (and other assorted emitters of sound located on my face) was a 3,000-horsepower snorting guffaw which started some sort of nuclear guy laughter fusion reaction. Within mere seconds, the original mildly embarassing (by my standards) guffaw had blossomed into an uncontrollable spasmodic seizure that forced me to double over and clutch my liver.

"Why is this so funny?!" demanded my baffled associate.

In case you're curious, the video clip in question featured a stink bug and a praying mantis. The two creatures were placed in a moderately sized glass enclosure intended to demonstrate the stink bug's natural defense mechanism against its enemies, whose ranks include the praying mantis. As expected, the larger mantis advanced menacingly upon the stink bug who reacted predictably with its aromatic cloak. What I did not expect to see, however, was that several seconds after the praying mantis had passed out, the stink bug actually managed to pass out from its own stench. It wound up on its back, its legs twitching in the air.

And why was this one of the funniest things I had ever seen in my life? I'm actually at a loss to explain this precisely. It's not just me, either - every guy I've described this video clip to agreed with me regarding its hilarity. Accord from the Other Gender on this issue was not nearly so forthcoming.

"That's the greatest video I've ever heard of," Joe Raysfriend declared, despite not having actually ever seen it.
"You're weird," Jane Raysfriend muttered, rolling her eyeballs far enough to detach her retina.

Is the guy's appreciation of humor so eclectic to encompass such a broad set of elements? Is his taste for funniness so transcendant that it defies rational explanation even by himself?

Don't be ridiculous. Most guys think any kind of scenario involving bodily functions are hilarious beyond belief, or at least male bodily functions. Some age-old insecurities will prevail till the end of time, to the surprise of no one. But even so, this why those of us saddled with Y-chromosomes will find farts, burps, and scratching funny forever. We can't explain why, and maybe it's better that way. If we could, then wouldn't the true spirit of humor be blah blah blah yackety schmakety hey look there's a kid burping out the Preamble!

pb78

I Heard There's Something Going On Sunday

This post is directed at women.

Yes, that sucking sound that just graced your ears was the shreds of whatever credibility I may have had to begin with packing it up and heading for the nearest parallel dimension.

Anyway, the hypothetical quandry facing you is this: your not-really-better-half is into the Super Bowl, and you are not.

You may have a guy in your life whom, for reasons that are probably buried in the deepest recesses of male genetic code, cannot stop talking about The Big Game. Even now, 96 or more hours before the actual rumble. A guy who will sacrifice the niceties of life like social contact, marital responsibility, or oxygen in order to watch a pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-game show about the Super Bowl at 10 am. On Saturday morning.

It's possible that your guy doesn't care one whit about Super Sunday and doesn't have any friends who care one whit about it. You are possibly among the luckiest of all women, who instead on the big day will be treated to a romantic picnic out in the fields where you can lie on the grass and admire the twin suns of the planet Beta Nonexistus III, where you live. However, if you are less fortunate and reside on Earth, this is not a likely scenario. It may seem like a Herculean feat to put up with this silliness without considering measures similar to the Lorena Bobbitt Final Solution, but I am here to implore you to perservere.

For many guys, professional sports fandom presents an opportunity to fantasize about something which they could never actually do in this world outside the Matrix - compete in professional sports. The Super Bowl is the crown jewel of this indulgence, a day of unparalleled excitement for millions of out-of-shape guys who would probably hurt themselves performing a touchdown celebration. I plead with you to let us have this day - we let ourselves get dragged off to see You've Got Mail, didn't we? Which I guarantee you we didn't like. And if we did, we would never admit it to you.

It doesn't make much sense at all, but to a guy it really doesn't have to. Just let the dog have his day and he'll probably be much more likely to behave afterwards. For no reasonable cause, we love football, and we love those twins. But like the commercial says, we do love you too. Absolutely.

Just maybe not as much as football.

pb78

Anticlimax

Quick! What did Ray spend New Year's Eve doing? If you answered "Throwing his own sexy party," then you are officially an awesome person. However, you'd also be wrong. If you answered "cleaning the house," then you are either omniscient or happened to be online at the right time. I spent last year's beginning doing pretty much the same thing, although I don't feel nearly as bummed about it this time around. I think that's a symptom of either long-overdue and unlikely maturity or weary resignation.

However, I did get my entertainment regardless. I had dinner with my dad earlier in the evening at a Chinese-owned sushi joint (as far as I can tell, the Chinese restaurant proprietors in Montgomery County don't even observe *Chinese* New Year), and there's something to be said for having sat at a sushi bar and been served by a sushi chef who was among other things 6'6", German, and into the Beastie Boys (that was apparently on his CD player in the kitchen). On top of all that, the man slices a mean fillet of salmon.

Resolutions? I resolve to not make any resolutions. Here's to setting realistic goals. =o)

pb78

Misguided Patience

Far be it from me to condemn laziness, and in fact I admire it to some shameful degree. After all, in my warped and twisted universe, I look at my job (engineering) as finding new and innovative ways to promote laziness. It was not a workaholic health nut that came up with the self-propelling lawn mower, I promise you.

But apparently even I have my limits. The scenario breaks down like this: late at night, I'm basically the only car in the parking lot at Giant, right before closing time. So of course, I park in the space closest to the door, surrounded by literally dozens of empty spaces. As I'm coming back out of Giant, I see another car in the parking lot, but with its engines still running, signalling and waiting for my spot.

"Thou jesteth," I say to myself, in that way that I would only ever speak to myself in. I thought maybe they were sitting around waiting for someone. To test my theory, I deliberately take as long as I can to load up my car. The occupants of the car merely watched me patiently as I efficiently carried cans of soup between the shopping cart and my trunk one at a time. Sure enough, once I had completed my protracted labor and pulled out of the spot (after taking about 10 minutes to load 9 bucks of groceries), the other car pulled into the newly vacated space.

Note to self: next time, get them to pay me to leave the parking space.

pb78